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 Nov 2015
Denel Kessler
It is possible to live
at a remove so mesmerizing
so glacial blue
the narrow crevasse
opening beneath
your careless toes
swallows you
grinding past - present - future
until there is no you
only time
       a tumbled moraine
                               a shrinking river.
Be well, my brother.
 Oct 2015
Y Rada
It is difficult to be a man,
For I am not a typical one.
It is hard for me to go on,
There’s a secret that pulls me.

I loathe when my memories strike,
They hit emotionally with might.
I struggle so much to survive,
In a world so deaf towards my cries.

I look at a He and my heart convulses,
For I recall a He who gave me kisses.
I was young, forced and naïve,
I fought but He was much stronger.

Society might tell that I’m gay,
For I let a man violated me in a way.
But I’m not a ***** and I’m sure,
I play a role for which others envy.

When I was a teen I met her,
I admired her even if she’s older.
I was then shy and very timid,
With mental and emotional scars.

I thought of her as a dear friend,
Then she turned to be my worst fiend.
One instance she forced herself on me,
And used things that hurt me so.

A girl’s tactics differ from the stronger ***,
Tears she used first and blackmail next.
She was cunning, sly and very clever,
She stole my pride and my dignity.

My fears now mixed with anger,
My determinations got bolder.
I still cry and sometimes get lonely,
Like any other victim I want to fight.

I can not shout to the whole nations,
For societies will scorn at my declamation.
Both sexes forgot that I have feelings too,
I am also made of flesh, bones and spirit.

I am not proud of what I become,
Within me clouding reasons try to calm.
My desire is to win this battle to the end,
I am capable of vulnerability like any human.

But where does my right begin?
This universe has compassion for women.
The likes of me are expected to be steel made,
Yet I have feelings too for I am just a man.
Dedicated to all abused males by other men and to the men abused by females. A simple shout out to the world that I care…that I have heard your cries… and that you are still loved.
 Oct 2015
betterdays
worthless words
fall from my mouth
to beat like moths
at the dim light bulb of your brain

we at present speak
different languages
and have no desire
to find a translator

we circle each other
and watch understanding
whirlpool down the drain

for the wont of kindness
we expire, we declaim
not my fault, as we take new aim

this is not a dual,
life at ten paces
not a race
no one wins
no gold for first place

this is life, and living
gritty bits and all
this is the big wide world
where all are destined,
to fail and fall

this is how you get up
not how you fell down

this is the world of world weary
and the panache of wearing
a truly battered crown

this is the sticking point
the stinking, smoking left-over joint
the left behind,  the neverminds

this is your day
and yes...
you can live it your way

but you need to know
there are consequences
things that go bump in the night
things that in later years
you strive to make right
things that affect the trajectory
of your haphazard flight.

live your life!
live it free....
but sunshine,
in my class...
if you don' t hand
in your assignments
you heading for disaster
and this is the word.... from
the red ink master.
please mind the gap...the generation gap that is....talking to a student today who wanted a participation medal for just turning up to class ....none of the three assingments done...outraged that I would fail his lazy ****
early afternoon
golden sun through feathered clouds
a cat curled asleep
Haiku
 Oct 2015
Dreams of Sepia
If you are in pain,
if you feel sadness,
if you are racked with fear
that they judge you for
if you rage with an angry fire
if you have ever been betrayed
if you shout at the top of your voice
if you're not afraid to love
if you're not afraid to cry in public
if you sometimes want to die
if you are not afraid to question
the oppressor & reach out to the oppressed
& look for some Blessed heavenly light or
the  mysteries of the Universe in all things
if you know you are a candle
that might get snuffed out
but the memory of which will never fade
you are alive
& it's all worth it
Written because often the world & psychiatry tell us these things are not ok. They are. Shine that light & let it blind someone with it's beauty.
 Oct 2015
Tawanda Mulalu
I graduated fresh and ****** from my mother's womb,
a gift, greater than any other.
My sister before me too.
My brother after me was swallowed up by Him
mere hours after drawing his last breath his first.
Behold:
This is my unambiguous declaration against
this universal truth: my unparalleled defense
of the dignity of man
against the temperature-empty, relentlessly inhuman
universe unconcerned with these ventures
which characterize knowing it

not. For one day I shall call
my teachers by their first names. One day
they shall call me doctor. This is the totem
declaring the worth of the living and the dead,
my sister and my brother: myself. The totem
of the disenfranchised and  barely and disabled
and black. Even also less including I guess
the enriched the cup overfloweth and mighty
and colourless. Our skin and bones and graves
and blood and ****** and lust and chest and
******* and being and nothing and isness is

beautiful

regardless of everything. It is mine.
It is yours. It is yours.

Votre.
The Victoria.
A circuitous route to get me there where the Central line should be.

"we apologise for any delay, there is a good service operating on all other routes"

Circuitous where the two of us go round in circles and not on the Circle line,
Yes,
travel in London and you'll have a fine old time.

This has been a twenty minute rhyme on the Victoria line, Greenwich mean time.
She counts her shells

her feet sand ribbed
her toes ricely white
her hair windy vagabond
her eyes low tide sea.

She gives me back my years.

Through tears
I count eternity.
 Oct 2015
Dreams of Sepia
The clocks have gone back
& you're losing evening light
the squirrel eats whatever seeds
it can still find
the bold blackbird rustles in the bush
the crimson sunset followed
by the dazed moon,
the feral chill in the air
hits you
straight in your restless heart
as you collect wet leaves
as big as your hand
Yes, the clocks have gone back
to dark old winter time
i chaw a trifle
a quid of desparate thoughts
soon hawked on a page
Senryu
No, i do not chew tobacco
 Oct 2015
Denel Kessler
Cormorants face east
to blood-rimmed clouds
holding the morning hostage

they await silver
resonance humming
through weighted bone

wings angled toward
the radiant blindness
of an eternally rising sun.
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