Low light and the murky air
Damp, lurid; dust parade
Stale breath and the pounding of soft wood
Stage set, waiting for life

Walls set so high among the purple sky
The hills but glancing over the parapets
Icy hot stone turning me away
Perhaps the gate is on the other side?

Music starts, blank stares
Somehow betray a thought
As movement becomes grace, grace becomes meaning
And for once a call beckons

And the walls begin to tumble
Chipped by every sigh and every turn
Waters rush through the hills, sweeping aside
Sage brush and hot sands, charging
To drown out the scared girl’s cries

Yet they seep through the cracks
And lift you up

I had sent a ship to these shores
And the polished wood moaned as it came
Happy tidings of wealth and good-fortune
Its sails flapped in the winds
As I ponderously shoved it on course
Tentative as a mother releasing her child

The cold winds shake and maim
The crack of the heavens scare and restrain
The heaving hearts of the galley crew
Between the charming bay, engulfed by flame
Flares that failed and faltered when needed most
As the crew found themselves dashed against the rocks

It is odd to see this city, where my wares were bound
Inundated, gloriously awash
Perhaps my wares will float right through the gates
And betray effort and worry and care.
Because they are still out there
Floating through lurid seas, waiting.

The Power of the Pen may blind
As to the reason of the bind
Yet for all words paper can find
the soul may lack reply in kind

The Children are Tired
As I dropped you off
the fake rock
plastic foundations of whispy dreams
clattering and slipping

The Children are Tired
as they grasp for my arm
Wary enough to ignore
I, too, rest on the ground
waving arms as they crash atop of me

The Children are Tired
as they scream at the lights
defeated again by flashing colours
While the bonds of blood
fade into an oblivion
of self-realized failures

The Children are Tired
as they shake off the dreams
of beseiged mental injections
and arise in the ashes of another's grave
and struggle clumsily
for their first-known home

The Children are tired
smiles drained shallow
as they cling to hugs
praying for the old deities
of love-play and warmth
but find cold calculation

"Whose temple did we stumble into?"
We cry in anguish
but while we were pushed
we were not dragged.

The monotonous shuffle of feet
lays claim to the knowledge

The Children are Tired.

I kicked the wall
I said "I'm not ok"
pride
I spell it out
I cry
I    I    I    I
I yell. For My
...

I
                      apologize
I
               bleed

“A relationship with knowledge”
It was said in preschool classrooms,
Childish cafeterias and forgotten
Blissfully, on the monkey bars and jungle gyms

It was said to raging delinquents
Preached to a stuffy, shy girl
Busy pushing her glasses too close to her nose
Fidgeting around the corners of the library

It made its way towards teachers
And  raucous PTA meetings
Each lobbyist far too  adamant;
Ears drooped and beleaguered

A relationship with knowledge
Well
Who is this knowledge?
Does he play nice?

I think I met him, once
He smiled at me, dirtied- on the street
But I can’t really be sure
He seems to be awfully elusive

How silly, to make a relationship
With someone who never seems to show up
But maybe its not his fault
maybe we’ve ruined his fun

Watching us now, elbows dug into text
Bracing like bulls staring down cobbled streets
It seems an awfully aggressive stance
To take with company

It looks as if our teachers lied
We are trying to capture knowledge
Or I wouldn’t be the only one
To sit by the train tracks
Waiting for my friend to come along

The horns ring and the bells chime
Room in the lists for no pantomime
Lads atop boney old nags
Stylized of coursers
Of course and manner
Leading the charge, yet fields behind
In all courage, hair flying
Without fear and without crying
Under hoof and boot, to carry forth
Towards lands of unending fame
Yet how quickly the arrow flies
To make his mount lame
And familiarize his clear face
With the dirt, fear and famine
Hidden so plainly within his race

I felt the world rejecting me- quite literally.
I feel the stars and black stare racing towards me
Cold, icy, boiling space. Vertigo and G’s
Dazed and confused, love in a dugout
Static movement erupted by the oddman out
Electric dogs and burning books
For the man who leaves the party to do nothing
Or is it?