Everyone’s sleepwalking through city square
It’s twelve fifty seven
And seventy families have bled black against Israel’s rockets

Come Sunday morning
The drunks in my hometown
Will be too hungover to recognise their own faces
While Palestinians across the world
Will have to sort through the bones of dead relatives

This country was built on colonial empathy
Freedom from suffering through self-absorbed apathy

We’re all sewn to our seats
Caring for nothing

I smoke and I think. I lament and I drink.

I tell myself in a few months it'll be someone else's name; and I tell myself that name will bring about a contrasting feeling to what yours brings me now

I lie to myself

But still I act surprised when your name stumbles through every corridor of my mind, opening every door and sabotaging every room - yet still finding nothing   inside my intellect appealing to renovate into something beautiful.

I clean up the rooms, I tighten lock the doors, I set alarms but none of it stops you from breaking in and destroying everything again.

I rebuild stronger each time and when I think I've finally locked you out and I think you've given up, you carefully pick each lock and you decimate everything again, leaving nothing beautiful for anyone else that passes by to relish, forcing them to leave without any interest of coming back.

Why the **** are you doing this to me?

You've been incarcerated in my subconscious and you long to escape.
And I won't let you.

So you destroy everything in your sight hoping the destruction will force me to set you free. But darling, I've lost the key to the only entrance of my mind and I don't have the strength to break open the gates myself until I've rebuilt everything I've allowed you to destroy.

I continue to lie to myself

What goodness is there in this wine?
Am I trading time for smokey phantoms,
or is this the way it always was?
Rising from fire and running away.

All my dreams speak softly of progress
and the violence of life,
their murmurs like a word I mistake for my name,
echoing in a crowd and
turning me around.

I've found no solace in peace,
nor in the luscious droughts of love
together we drink and have been drunk on.
However, under my restlessness
my steps are sure,
and the road home,
winding as it may be,
seldom seems against me.

Let's Begin*,
Join the circle,
Show a grin,
Laugh hysterical,
Then you're in.

Take a knife,
And here we go,
**** their wife,
And let everyone know,
Don't leave a life.

Play in blood,
A whole **** tub,
Bodies buried in mud,
Or throw em in an abandoned hearse hub,
Then smoke some bud.


.........................................
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦­♦♦♦♦
.........................................

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?

I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.

The moon has become a dancer
at this festival of love.
This dance of light,

This sacred blessing,
This divine love,
beckons us
to a world beyond
only lovers can see
with their eyes of fiery passion.

They are the chosen ones
who have surrendered.
Once they were particles of light
now they are the radiant sun.

They have left behind
the world of deceitful games.
They are the privileged lovers
who create a new world
with their eyes of fiery passion.

As the earth sprouted deaths seeds
The moon crumbled  into shadowy dust
Greed's skeletal  hand did blind
The seeing eyes of mankind
Into the universe was evil's blade ******

Unseeing
Uncaring
The sun grew cold
The seas rose from their depths and beds
Mountains shook with vengeful power
The long anticipated hour
Till the sound of humans were no more.

From dust of those before us we came
To this same dust we will return
Our existence fading into lore
Written in the infinite skies
Our doom and destinies prophecies    
Alas this was the sad stars tale
Of those who did not see



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Aug. 25th, 2014.

There is a forest old as hillsides
tall, majestic, dappled shades
fall on ground beneath the silent
gnarled defenders of the glade.

There they stand in ancient splendour
many souls have passed their way
often used as welcome shelter
from the heat of summers day.

Sweet the air they breathe in chorus
our life's breath their lungs provide,
soaking up our daily poison
so that we may live and thrive.

You seas of men intent to clear them
citing progress, peddling greed
tearing roots from precious mooring
laying waste to nature's seed.

**** the beauty of a landscape
displace creatures for your need
rupture fragile ecosystems
scar the earth and watch it bleed.

To you I ask a simple question,
as I see the land bereaved.
What need has man of all this progress
when he can no longer breathe?

So much of life
Is wasted
Nine to Five

Exhaustion cripples
Down time, anxiety
Controls the next

Worry about bills
The looming certainty
And lingering doubt

Up at early
The pattern
Hardly broken

A vacation spent
Away; life's return
Still follows how

The training of
Nine to five
Work and life

But coffee copes
When the restless
Rise