have you ever grappled with despair
not in imagery, symbolism or portrayal.

I mean, have you ever felt the elevator drop
the watery weakness that extenuates breath
a depth of fatigue that makes lying on the floor a burden
an aching pounding in your chest,
the broken-glass dryness in your throat
the gritty ache in your eyes
that makes you want to close them forever?

Struggle no more, leaden limbs,
free the weary weight.
Eyes that struggle, release the light.
The body begs to no more fight.
In a blur of sluggish thought,
I whisper sleep's sweet name.
The will has dropped.
The yearning stopped.
I’ll rest on that distant shore.
.
.
Songs for this:
Nessun Dorma by Sarah Brightman
Caruso (Live at "Pavarotti International" Charity Gala Concert, Modena 1992) by Luciano Pavarotti, Aldo Sisilli
Pie Jesu by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman & Paul Miles-Kingston
0730.0722

poetry. folded into my back
pocket marooned pages are
left frayed and friable like
leaves on the bottom
of a teacup

poetry. stancion of
formed glass emptied of
its torch by breakage
each shard a grain
of obsidian
sand

poetry. lamp of a great
beast structure struggling to
find its way through the labyrinth
Minotaur myths blackness
camera obscura to a feast of souls
who's meat is dusty tomes
skeletons in tombs
choking on their crusts of
parchment owls

poetry. oil of anointing
for to wrap the Christian
alive as he burns in
the garden of
Caligula

i am poetry. all of these
am i. a paper soul clipped
from an origami bird's wing
frayed like a homemade
leaf but never

empty


SoulSurvivor site
Write of Passage

If I couldn't walk
would you be my cane?
If I couldn't think
would you be my brain?

If I couldn't talk
would you be my tongue?
If I couldn't breathe
would you be my lung?

If I couldn't see
would you be my eyes?
If I fall down
would you help me rise?

If I get lonely
would you be by my side?
If I lose my way
would you be my guide?

If I get sick
would you comfort me?
If I'm locked up
would you be my key?

If I lose someone
would you help me grieve?
If I lost hope
would you help me believe?

If I get riled
would you calm me down?
If I get sad
would you be my clown?

I need you more
than I’d dare say.
If I asked you
would you promise to stay?

I'm yet to feel my age,
All I feel is burning rage
with inflation comes reducing wage
As I figure through all my problems,
there is no permanent solution
but with every fix
there is a new mountain ready
To envelope me.

In a world where words dance upon the wind,
And verses weave tales of joy and sin,
We gather here, on this special day,
To celebrate the power of what we say.

With ink-stained fingers and hearts afire,
We poets dare to reach higher and higher,
Exploring depths of the human soul,
In search of truth to make us whole.

To my fellow poets, I send my regards,
Across mountains, deserts, and seas that charge,
May your quills never falter, your muses inspire,
And may your verses set the world on fire.

On this World Poetry Day, let us unite,
In the magic of language, in the realm of light,
For through our words, we bridge the divide,
And in each other's lines, we shall abide.

So here's to the dreamers, the bards, the seers,
To the poets who quiet the world's clamorous fears,
May your rhymes resonate, may your stanzas endure,
Happy World Poetry Day, let our voices

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI

WRITING MY BROTHER

I create a world
of words

for you to be
alive in.

See, I give you
verbs

you walk...you talk

I surround you with
the necessary nouns

sustain you with
adverbs and adjectives

split the
infinitive.

I adjust the past
make it last

longer than
a future could be

change my mind
change time

tinker with the
what-could-be.

Here, I have us

a cloud of words
emanating from

our Christmas faces
making angels

the newest snow
on the tip of our tongues

on the tip of our tongues
or noses

awed by an Aurora
Borellis.

My breath
mingled with yours.

A star glows
trapped in a window pane

as if it only
shivers there.

A prisoner
of itself.

Now I change
the weather

see...it's summer
autumn whatever

I want it
to be

I reach for another
the next word

another page and
another page

until my pen
runs out of words

leaves you alone
upon a page

the blankness
terrifying.

"Brother mine
...Brian!"

"Shhh. . !" Death admonishes
". . .enough!"

as I try to keep you
alive for ever.

*


I wrote this on the eve of the New Year....4,000 miles from anywhere in the middle of the Atlantic...emotionally it was like that too.

To give life to the inner workings of my mind I ink the surface of these pages with secrets untold,
A breath of fresh air is this release of suppressed expression that now flows freely,
Life is but a muse to the poet’s pen.

Poetry is a universal language that defies all boundaries,
Such serene stanzas touch souls with hidden splendor,
This prose awakens dreams in the heart of the wanderer,

Lost is the mind as it travels across the words on display,
Connected is the spirit as it creates meaning unique to the self,
Life is but a poem waiting to be discovered.

He seeks reflections
In shadows on walls
expressions induced in others
sounds of praise
to clarify
his current illusion of
who he is

Are there mirrors
Clear enough
To find
A vision that
might become different
might be clearer

the end
is nigh

when ink blots drip on stark white pages  
curling and crawling along
the crisp white of paper
telling a chilling tale
of something sinister

it lurks in depths of devilry
heavy darkness scraping down strong
dragging its spiny black fingers along
the remnants of cordiality
puncturing at the corners of rationality
drowning all logicality
for you know it writes scouring all identity
building demons in intensity
peaking in tantalizing brutality

its contempt robs the light of your pages
albeit, this is a story familiar to all ages
for you know the chronicle of this beast
he who bloodies his teeth
as a begrudging and hateful feeder
whose name

is Jealousy
dear reader