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Folks from forty-four countries set sail today their boats to join the Global Sumud Flotilla. Folks able to go on ships go in hopes of breaking an aid blockage. After all the carnage of  joints, the limbs of young children still suffer a malnourished fate. Why sail? why not sail. May the winds of change favors the sails of the brave. For history will not forget, for fate is in the making by those fearless enough to attempt upholding fundamental principals
Guadalupe S P Aug 24
You made too many leaps in your mind, from one island of thought to the next, wearing yourself out, worrying about things, and ways to bend to no avail, without realizing I would not refuse you—
Guadalupe S P Aug 17
news rooms across the country close as the orange Leviathan slouches forward

folding facts out of sight from the country folks
as the falcon dives out of view

the grim prospects of a hunt: the prey—the vulnerable

Where are you, Falconer? Is man, beast,
roaming from coast to coast?

further juked & blinded within a gyre of misinformation & turmoil
Guadalupe S P Aug 16
here are the tears of world for you; be good and let them open you like a heavy wooden chest creaky in the way it’s made to screech louder and louder with the cries our the vulnerable
Guadalupe S P Aug 14
I see a golden bird ready to take to the skies. The sun is high, and the leaves are becoming golden. I wish I could congratulate you, but a good wish is all the end of summer’s breeze  can carry. A voice is too heavy, and a plane too slow. good on you and your gilded heart that uncoiled like feathered serpent towards the sky
Guadalupe S P Aug 10
Where is the steel wire brush that scapes at the red rust like a doe silently drinking water, or still quieter flowers that sway in the pondering light of another city, with another language covered by the mortar of another, where people built cities too. Who is still up in Glasgow staring at the moon? The river Clyde is below me, and the seagulls dance as if they were drunk
Guadalupe S P Jul 30
My heart says yes/ pour into me/the longest night/ within my *****/ becomes a morning glory planted/at the foot of a hill / even when moths descends/ I sit/ fingers touching the grass/ under the sun/ the soul too is radiant/  and in all heavenly bodies/ there is bright/ just as there dim lamps at bed sides/
My fingers are still touching the grass
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