A bright, jewel washed night
Light sound swirls 'round a
Pair, hidden in the Eden of
Their arms, enfolding a moment
That hides in the tinny speakers
On the ground, and blossoms in
The tiny space between forms
Flowering open when,
A dark forest brown
Looks into
A dark ocean blue
Shifting like a coward back then forth,
I watched my lover vacant.
His eyes looked at me as if there where nothing else in the whole world.
There was.
And I told him so:
“I do not love you any more.” I said, so confident and proud.
“I swear to god you will not see me in heaven
and I'll find my own heaven somehow.
I value my beer
and my places and dreams
and perhaps some new lovers for now.
And though it may hurt
you cannot calm my screams
and that matters
it fucking matters
you failed!!"
He looked down as if I had just ripped something out of him,
I did.
I loved it so much
and cried like a baby all night
wishing I had him to hold on to.
His jewel was wrapped around my neck like a noose.
I tugged on it to see if he would notice.
He didn’t.
And in that moment I tugged so hard that it broke.
I threw what was left at him.
Broken gems hit the scattered floor.
They where gone.
We where.
I revved my engine and hoped for hell that he would take me back!
He didn’t.
And those eyes like marbles rested comfortably upon his ugly cheeks.
His face all torn up by liquid and hate.
Then he kissed me so sweetly that I felt like the devil.
I was.
And I knew just then that I would never forget that moment.
A lusty wanderer,
from life to life; I am a butterfly,
fragile, but my desires take me from,
flower to flower, in search of new flavors,
I often find, myself in quandaries, quagmires and coal fires.
And at the end I am left with nothing else, but unfulfilled desires,
the nectar, that used to be my bait, I thought would be the end I seek;
but now it is clear, there is a jewel I want to adorn on my crown: Enlightenment it is.
Now I am aware, a seeker I am first and last, my hungers will vanish when I embrace cosmos.
This butterfly's flight through the mist will end when a flower will feed me with nectar eternal.
Tamaso ma jyothir gamaya (lead me from darkness to light)
Mrityor ma amrutam gamaya " (Lead me from death to immortality)
Brahadaranyaka Upanishad(1:3:28)
Fashion this as liquor to give spirit to
a song in write. Seen seldom to weigh
words at play in search, sewn
expensive for time spent in trust and
recite. Penciling not for profit so
rhythmic this may show. Find in the
presence to open and reflect our
woes. Only prescription for
uncommon those in write. A same
those who compose. This on display is
the compromise of sheltered dreams
and the soul, of rhythm in gentle prose.
This is the allure of the jewel of
life. Sent as promise a same a
wish. Stem those genes and make
heavy this vision and prayers in
might. These are our rays made ink, to
weigh the pressures of waves constant
in cycle, to detract from nature’s
Heavenly sight. Lost we shall dream
and ever so patiently grow old ~ but in
heart live bold.
Rugs were in Persia mathematically
correct and with an Indian craft
colorful, Heaven sent. Only captured
in a metaphor this day, so men do
master, so simple this way. Simple this
as to measure the years past, shudder
away tears, for the river purifies our
passions commandeered. So culture
our gardens to prosper and replenish,
in the green untamed, and natural in
wonder, behold.
Today we thimble a sew for tomorrow,
for our craft is spared only to simple ~
ness of editing, not journeyed journals
to an ever-changing composition.
Perhaps unfamiliar this vest, this
life. Sample the living, in books that
inspire. Dismal I think the desire to
purify a pen in this heavy practice, a
dance an art. Time lends a flavor,
marinating appealing to a fashion so
write.
Always calm to prolonged righteous
reason, modern making, yet captured
still as storytelling. Uncommon
to cues, but refreshing at leisure, is now a
computer who makes simple what once
was wasted time. Measures made in
this art are laborious, the passion is
for the pen, reel it in as your tool,
rations will in turn ~ give as a well and
nature and sow, the seed of the write.
Refinement ~ un-forsaken, notes of
detail, must reinvent and inscribe in
ink. The bank of intuition lay tender as
our diction. Replenish in the soil of
our Native grounds to seed another
tool, the luxury of our lingo. For
inspirations may befriend or become
uncharted if left in the cold. Sold but
without a surrender to all integrity, we
will call for many souls to ship and
receive what Forefathers intended. In
over our heads, over watering our
behaviors, half unknowingly over
diluting our mental treasures, is this
the liquor of life, all too fancy in
measure but it was the tea of rebellion ~
and so I toast ~ to a drink tonight.
Inherent as memories of a generation
now surely within time, we will fill the
promise within crafted lines, and
file away ~ many promises ~ many
revisions ~ many times. In spoil we shall
not surrender our bounty of honesty
and wisdom, so gray in years we
mend. Dent our self-serving self ~
respect, make and justify the wheel in
role common. Like a beard in keep,
intention is relevant. Surely women
refine makeup as to show beauty in
character. Thus what we intend to
refine is an endeavor to unwrinkled
and celebrate the qualities of growing
old. Time is of new defining, for the
times are naturally at all times in
ritual of change.
Memories to grace the gift of sight ~ are
the shades to carry our reflections
away. One, who trusts and so cares,
lay in the daydream of light. In a wish
sent salient, reference to eyes unveiled,
patiently as a seed shall ripen, the
flavors of life will flower in springs
day. We hanger ~ thus shelter, the rags
made clothes, best when leather to
weather firm and tight.
Regift the promise, to harness the
wind and make words potent as those
before did without regret. Today in
general we lean and conform on the
fundamentals, too disciplined, mirror
of stale literature. Similar to wood
varnished but without the stains of
life. First revision is not for giving,
only what is taken, luxury of
time. Color your copies of the wood
you talk in and pencil in your
pressures to relieve the pain, simple ~
ness and cold feet lay sold, as buttered
bread to fill. But imperfect, so
forthcoming, wills the literature of
today ~ finding promise in ceremony
by charting drafts and revisions to
send in message to those young in
read. This voyage is regretfully gentle
as our host made monumental any
verse, so breathe within the soul and
hearts of men, to find new styles to
milk the mind of reason. Leafs from
the tree of intuition ~ censure the
picture, sell in the filter of Freedoms
fight, not first drafts ready when
write.
Battered but purely by pace and
meager beginnings, the wave of
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will saddle and shelter the idea
profound. Don’t toss away the raisin
of a pen in hand, for we lean to easily
in bits and bytes. Promise of Heaven's
pennies falling in rhythm will sing
tonight.
Majestic in find, common in ground,
gift a find, in leisure, in time. Gather
they guard and uphold the greater
good, not to entertain but inspire. Just
as ones soul is when right. Humbled
in behaviors so chips in clever may
fall. But poker face we have become,
once centered in earnest of essays in
rent, now owners of ideas
embellished ~ in verse ~ our native
treasures. Second we charter the raft
of ideas in mend, to conceive works so
aspiring as the poets and linguists of
historic claim. So riddled ~ so
mastered. Surely a new discontent
shall offer, in a pebble of examples
met, but with practice and structure
our youth will pen.
Demand must be patient, for
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will nurture and mother our future
Leaders to a discipline in their own
right. Never forget the days of past
generations for they marveled in the
arts ~ and in rain it falls in our hands
~ to luster and defend. Poetics are too
political if not in share. Protection of
this is how Freedom was rung. The
hungry will maintain its resolve and
rightfully so. Riddled as sow ~ these
lentils, this meal, these feathers, this
ink ~ shall fuel the fire. A dance in the
pillows of night ~ shall brush the painting
in the Autumn of ones days. Flaccid in so
many ways.
Glorified by the shadows of
protection, but only one day is stored
for this intention. Freedom is in the
work engraved beside it, within it,
sharing we celebrate it, and our Brave
provide it. Celebration comes by way
of duty and hard work, and is rises
high and early in the dawn. Yes, on
the Forth Day of July. Food and
pleasures are gifts for price paid by
our Soldiers and Agencies who protect
and defend our freedom and intelligence, and
calmly watch over it as we carry
along. All under the calm watch of
Gods umbrella. Future dreams are
blessed a same, for all under this Flag
by notion alone, seam and dress and
hence sail ~ with solemn truth. Trusting
the winds of reason to keep us Forever
Free and on course to replenish the
soil, for those young in years. Students
in the day dream of life are in the send
to allow their pen to charter this
peaceful but daunting Nation to one of
peace and prosperity. Willingly and
calm the lion stares afar from
American shores, Democratic in nature and
always reinventing in this idea we
call ~ the American Dream.
As in the west glows setting sun
Red and crimson, as day's near done
Forest deer from brook do drink
From it's burrow scurries forest mink
Birds fly home to trees to roost
As crickets to singing are induced
A small frog as though on a whim
Into the brook dives to swim
With crickets chirp comes twilight nigh
As sun's last light leaves the sky
Out comes the first night time star
The heavens first jewel seen so far
Peace and quiet fill the land
A man travels with his bag of sand
To sleep for now many do fall
As others awake to night's first call
As forest is swolowed in evenings dark
In the distance sings a meadow lark
All in the forest now is right
For the saying of good night
And by hope did he sit by the river, waiting for a chance for his heart to quiver. Would his luck deliver? He always sat by the mystic river always wondering, day-dreaming and one day a girl named Mbali came on the other side of the river to draw water. He couldn't speak as he was timid, struck by her beauty. The sun wouldn't shine by day as he'd have to wait for the entrance of dawn to see her again... In the blurry image of the night did her eyes shine and his heart pound. Everyday he would go at night just to see her, even from a distance, even though he wouldn't speak to her...
Until one day, he decided to write letters and tie them to rocks and then throw them to the other side. On opening one letter one day, it read: "I have not known day until I met you. My heart has been solid until it was melted by the likes of you. My eyes were blind until I saw you. My mind was dull until I pondered on your every pixel."
Elated she responded: "And though I do not know you, it is the steerer of the rivers who has brought you here. Whatever game you are playing I cannot cheer. You are so near yet so far, how can you be my lover when you are not here?". Frustrated the boy continued to write but stopped posting. He went to a farmer who lived in a distant village, he made a deal to work for him until he could earn a cow. The farmer asked, "what is it you want with a cow young man?", the boy replied, "There is a precious jewel awaiting to be collected and I best hurry before the rich find her...err-uhm - I mean it"... Chuckling, the farmer said: "So it's a girl you're in love with... Well not a problem, you will do half the work and take part in my bi-annual ancestral ceremony then shall you earn your cow". And so it was, the boy got drenched in the blood of a goat and his cow for him was skinned and butchered.
He left dragging its skeletal system and its skin worn as a coat. So he began building a boat to cross the river. The first was made from rubble but did not move. So he sent another letter, this time she replied kindly, saying: "But oh warrior of love, slave of folly, do you work this much to be my one and only? You best be heaven for hell I've seen, Without the muscle of passion lonely have I been"... Inspired, the boy now used only wood to build the boat, however testing it it sank. Frustrated he wrote: "Does this heart of love only bleed? As the boat of my redemption ever breaks, you and I cannot be a mistake, doubt and hesitation dare I forsake. My sun, my flower in winter, my snow in summer I am not a quitter".
This time the boy used wood, a bit of rubble as well as the skeletal system of his cow. (The meat of the cow he sold for a good price to the highest bidder) This would be the first person in either divided villages to cross and live. There were crocodiles and snakes in the river. The water was sacred and used for healing. The girl had an ill grandmother and she had to wear a certain necklace each time when drawing water... This probably the reason why her eyes sparkled at night.
And so the endeavour began, and as mystery unveiled; the boat moved and on it he got and rowed and rowed. Just halfway a snake jumped into his boat and a crocodile was nearing. He then calmed the snake by whistling in a strange rhythmic tone, this woke the girl (as she had been thinking about him ever since) and she took a lamp with her to go see what was transpiring by the river.
Shaking from what she saw, she screamed and started crying, the boy remained calm as he was dealing with the snake... Bravery either out of fear or character sprung out of the girl as she threw the lamp along with her necklace... The boy wore the necklace and shun the lamp and the snake, the crocodile and other creatures instantly disappeared. And this is how Mbali and Zulu met. Zulu went on to become the chief of that village and took just one wife; Mbali. Being the only chief-king to ever do so.
Twenty-even nostrils in stale air
& not one of them flares--
so little that I'd lost
the jewel of their significance--
carrying upon them, then,
much of it--
continuing in spite--
in a sense, meaningless.
for instance, a grand trine--
time reading, time writing,
time dismissing it as rubbish;
all frivolous & thus comes wisdom
from temerity or
thought plus action in callow degrees--
such Incoherence derives out of tumult.
A foreground.
He grabbed me from behind,
Gagged me so I couldn't scream,
He took what was rightfully mine,
Tied me so that he was supreme,
Then he left me lying there,
No food or water,
Just me and my despair,
Was I awaiting slaughter?
He came back the next night,
And then he did it again,
An agonizing rite,
In my mind, I vilified all men,
"If just one would act this way,
Then they all could,"
Is what I say,
Why he did this, I thought I understood:
Men are evil and with no self control,
They are selfish and cruel,
To gain his own pleasure was his only goal,
And even though he called me "his jewel,"
I knew it meant nothing,
When I was found,
When I was freed,
Nothing was ever the same for me,
My story did not astound,
The officials and police,
For it's not the first that they'd seen,
"Why don't you stop it?"
Was my demand,
They said that they couldn't,
They said that they can't,
They can't prevent it,
That made me frustrated,
And I blamed the men, for they're the ones who narrated,
This insane explanation,
But no one believed in my accusation,
They all thought I was crazy, so they locked me away,
Then they sent me some "help,"
However, they shouldn't have sent,
A male my way,
I tried to rid myself of the whelp,
He only wanted to supplement,
His bank account,
Darn the man,
To him my story did I recount,
And my reasoning did I explain to him,
Day after day, he tried to change my mind,
And through this treatment grim,
Did I fume with undefined,
Rage and frustration,
Then one day I let it out,
I verbally lashed out at him,
I shouted at him,
I screamed at him,
Then I slapped him across the face,
All was silent,
He seemed stunned,
Then my mind began to race,
And I apologized for my violent,
Act against him and I asked,
For forgiveness,
And somehow,
I don't know how,
But in some way he,
Most candidly,
Forgave me,
He shrugged it away,
Said that he was fine,
It was okay,
He got up then,
And left me all alone,
So I lay awake,
On my bed all night long,
The next day he came back and when,
I saw the bruise I had left on his cheek ,
And heard his voice and its kind tone,
I hid my face in my hands,
My eyes filled with tears,
I broke down crying,
What was this creature who defied all my fears?
He was not a man,
Not as I knew them to be,
But maybe he,
Is an exception to my rule,
So when he sat beside me and asked me, "What's wrong?"
I looked up into his clear blue eyes,
And I lost control,
I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him,
I know it was on a whim,
But I wanted to see,
Just exactly how he,
Would react to that,
. . .
And that was that,
He really did love me back!
I told him that I only trusted him,
No other man could touch a single limb,
He laughed and said that was fine by him,
We got married shortly thereafter,
And we lived almost happily ever after,
Except that I never left the house,
And I never truly got over my fear,
I treated any other man like a louse,
But my love did I hold dear.
(No, this is not the voice of experience, thank goodness!) For some absurd reason, this was actually a lot of fun to write! Especially the part where I vilify all men. That's not my honest opinion about men, but it was fun to write, anyway. I know this is more of a story than a poem, and the meter and rhythm are pretty bad, but I don't really care, so don't bother telling me. I have no idea how this ended up happy. Maybe there really is an optimist way deep down inside me. Or maybe I'm just a creepy sadist who needs help.
Here;
Take it;
No, don't speak;
I can hear it now;
You shouldn't have done it.
I can't take this.
What have I done to earn this gift?
Well if I told you what you mean to me;
You'd roll your eyes in disbelief;
If I said the words, You're my everything,
you've already heard all those schoolgirl's strings;
If I say that you have stolen my heart;
I would be lying, for I gave you that part;
If I swore to you that you complete my soul;
You'd laugh for all of the girls you've made whole;
So to prove to you that I haven't misruled;
I've taken my essence, and made it a jewel;
I've taken my words and my thoughts and my self;
and I've turned it in-to a small diamond of wealth;
It is this that I give you in my being wishful;
that you'll make out of rope and leather, a crystal-
pendant you'll wear 'til the end of all days;
for my self is contained in that violet haze;
Don't speak and don't shake for if you refuse;
It's all of my spirit that you will abuse;
This is the only gift I can give;
And I give it to you, the reason I live;
So take it and wear it and carry me close;
for it is my soul that does swing on that rope.
Money! The root of all evil they say
Yet money is the perfume
Money is the jewel
Money is the king of all kingdoms
Money is precious Taj Mahal
Money is ticket to stardom
key to power and freedom
Money is short term happiness
Money is greed, evil and hate
Lust for the money..
Fall to your feet..
Years to rise again...
