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bright little pearls
sparkling white in an arc
i love your smile
Senryu
 Dec 2015 Dawn of Lighten
Matt
To listen to the guy
Blab about money
Each and every day

And because
It was always more
And more

Life turned
Into a total bore
5 days a week
From 9 to 5

Seemed like
Money
Was a drug
For this guy
To stay alive

He could have retired
A long time ago
But he spent
And wasted
So much you know

And so he'll
Work and work
Until the work is done

What a miserable
Existence
And not much fun
I Fell In Love With You**

I fell in love with you
slowly,
syllable by syllable,
word by word,
poem by poem
imagining the moon’s
dancing affair with stars,
twinkle by twinkle.
And then
all at once
like the explosion
of a super nova
affecting distant galaxies
and down to my very soul.
~~~
I fell in love with you gently,
the way a dew drop
glistens in the morning sun,
the way a flower often opens
to a moonlit song.
~~~
But like all love worth holding,
it turns to fire-
raging,
uncontrolled,
wild and consuming;
you have become the flames
dancing across my skin,
smoldering brightly
within my heart
turning me into the sweet smell of ash.
~~~
I fell in love with you
slowly
then quickly,
the way a meteor flashes
as it skims across the night sky
or hearts melt
within an ******* sigh.
I fell in love with you.
Sorry.

Aztec Warrior 12.4.15
forgot to add the music.. enjoy
https://youtu.be/cHg-Zkwndqg
You are my coffee
Not just in the morning
You keep me awake even at night
With thought of you that's never ending
Thank you for chosing this piece for the Daily.  This is my first so I am so happy, grateful and more inspired to write.
The greatest general of all time.
Born in 356 B.C. in Pella, Macedon.
Son of Phillip II of Macedon.
Became King of Macedon in 336 B.C.
Led an army of Greeks to victories,
conquered most of Greece.
Invaded and conquered the great
Persian Empire. Extended his empire from
Macedon all the way to the outer parts of India.
Near the Ganges river,
his tired and war weary army refused
to go on. Alexander dies in Babylon in 323 B.C.
thus ended the life of Alexander, greatest of all generals.
sepia paintings of days long since gone
the rattle of a shopping cart at two am
the sounds of leaves stirred by wind in the
golden glow of streetlight
the close smell of the car my mother drove
the oil and vegetables
perfume and cigarettes

the summer sunlight shattered to
pinpoints on the lakes water
its warm liquid spills slowly over the toes
of laughing children eating sandwiches

lantern held up in the deep wood
the path dispersed in the shadows dancing
each gravel stone that scatters underfoot
each windswept hour spent retracing our lives
passed with incredible clarity

prison of memory
rattle the cage seeking attention of the jailer
plunder what moments he gives
what crumbs fall from his full table
he chews loudly at the meat of your mind
clean shaven his robust frame stuffed into the tight uniform
his keys replay the songs of freedom to the ear
his meaty fist inked with brutality
there is no soul in his gaze

remember me
so that i can say that i left some mark on this world
remember our laughter that sang out into summer night
our hands entwined in the warmth of our hearts
so that what i leave behind is true to my heart

the dry lips of spoken poems
leave this dreamer
with a heart full of words
i have to inhabit this planet of panic
to stand among man and practice it's habits
i can't understand this plan of the manic
standing in line to be trampled by havoc

a mad dash to the racks and cabinets
their drawn to a status as if it's a magnet
pressed against glass, madly and frantic
planning their route to the plastic gadgets
this series is about an alien from another planet, who is stuck on earth...this is how he might see things
I woke up this morning and my name flashed on T.V.
They said i blew up places , they said i killed masses .
Men , women & children I murdered them all.
Who am I ?
I am a muslim and i am taking this fall.
They used my name and spread the terror.
I am not them , it surely is an error.
We, muslims, are the holders of peace , we spread love.
Why am I being  represented by their false actions.
I am a person, with different notions.
World will now brand me a terrorist.
Don't judge me by their actions , I insist.
I am not them, they pilfered my name.
They inflicted libel , and my religion to defame .
I have been robbed , robbed of my name.
I am a muslim , human like you , all the same.
My name has been robbed , my identity stolen
I deprecate the terror and mourn for fallen.
There are millions like me and humanity lies in our depths.
But we are all victims of Identity Theft* ...............
We Muslims condemn  the Paris attack.
A Birthday Poem for Sally B:
what-matters-can-neither-be-created-or-destroyed

~~~

the principal thing about principles,
like the concept of time,
that in time, with time,
they come to reflect our
immutable essence's own best reflection,
come only, round or square
come only, too little too late
come, too much too soon

so the simpler, the better,
so the matter
of what really matters
needs capture in some
capsulated summary form,
a daily vitamin for the soul

so I thank you for
the gift
of your birthday,
the anibersaryo of a day of naissance,
this one solo, kakaiba,
among the many,
a present presented to the world

*so on this particular day,
we must thank you
for the wonder of wonder
that justifies existence,
for what truly matters

cannot be created or destroyed,

and your matter, mass,
your presence's  Grace upon this earth,
graces the hearts of thousands,
today and forevermore

this is what matters and
can never be recreated,
can never be destroyed...

~~~
Oct. 24, 2015
6:24 am
dispatched from NYC
~~~
Oct 6, 2013      October 20, 2013
The Banyan Tree (A Tribute to Sally)
I am a man, grandfather to four.
Adherent to the same religion,
Poetry.

Breathing through mine eyes,
Exhaling carbon words,
That with time and pressure become
Poems, verbal musical notes upon life.

Each motion, from tiny to grand,
A capsule of expression,
That if examined under microscope,
Familial DNA, interconnected tissue,
Discovered, tho logic says,  
Time and distance render impossible.

But this is a diamond
This is a writ to be slipped
Upon the finger, the heart, the essence,
Of the only Banyan tree I have hugged.

This poem but a fig,
In the cracks of kindness,
The crevices of caring,
It has slow germinated.

You dear, Sally,
My host,
A building upon I can lean,
When wearied spirits uproot
My surficial composure.

Your seeds carried from east to west,
By a fig wasp, a bird unknown,
An ocean voyager, of indisputable vision, strength.

This seeded messenger, word carrier,
Supplanted in me, and your pupils,
Jose-Bolima-Remillan
Xavier-Paolo-Joshh-Mandrez
Whose very names breathe poems,
in others too, like me and Atu,
Seeds to become new roots, but you,
Our Host official and forever
Planter of trees of loving kindness.

You already know with love and affection,
I call you Grandma Sally,
And when you ask, beseech,
I cannot refuse.

Together we will will banish the sad,
Acknowledge we, that life's ocean,
A mixture of many, even sad, a necessity.

But I promise that will turn it into
Something simple, something good.
For you have asked and I answer you
Right here right now - your wish,
My objective, deep rooted like you,
Like an old banyan tree,
Your roots spread far, spread wide.

So some eve, when to the beach, to the sky
You glance, smile, no matter what, troubles dispersed,
For the reflection of you, seeds, full fledged trees now,
Bending skywards, in search of your rays of expression,
Your maternal wisdom rooted, spread so wide, globally,
All over this Earth, is visible from your
Beloved Philippines.


---------------------------------------
In her own words..

I am a widow,
with five remarkable granddaughters....
all beautiful, intelligent girls.
It is such a waste not to write....
each morning that unfolds is filled
with things to write about....
the people, the birds,
the trees, the wind,
the seas,
everything we set our eyes on,
they are all
poetry in motion.
Life itself is poetry,
I always have pen and paper within reach.
My past experiences are a
never-ending source
of ideas and words for my poems....
I shall write until time permits me,
"til there's breath within me."
-------------------------------------------------
A banyan (also banian) is a fig that starts its life as an epiphyte (a plant growing on another plant) when its seeds germinate in the cracks and crevices on a host tree (or on structures like buildings and bridges). "Banyan" often refers specifically to the Indian banyan or Ficus benghalensis, the national tree of India,[1] though the term has been generalized to include all figs that share a characteristic life cycle...
Like other fig species (which includes the common edible fig Ficus carica), banyans have unique fruit structures and are dependent on fig wasps for reproduction. The seeds of banyans are dispersed by fruit-eating birds. The seeds germinate and send down roots towards the ground.

The leaves of the banyan tree are large, leathery, glossy green and elliptical in shape. Like most fig-trees, the leaf bud is covered by two large scales. As the leaf develops the scales fall. Young leaves have an attractive reddish tinge.[6]

Older banyan trees are characterized by their aerial prop roots that grow into thick woody trunks which, with age, can become indistinguishable from the main trunk. The original support tree can sometimes die, so that the banyan becomes a "columnar tree" with a hollow central core. Old trees can spread out laterally using these prop roots to cover a wide area.
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