The rocking chair
  a paradise for termites
  front porch pictures portraying
   love are nebulous within her eyes
    she busks in the moment
    the delightful smell
    of the effloresecent
    garden being the front-row
   sit to memories of young
  lovers, a vistage of ecstacy
lost with time

  Frazzled by years of affairs
   She still yearns for that
   kiss that cares not for
   time and space that
   leaves a mark of falicity
  on her visage.
a birth mark for when love is
born as lady nature sings her songs

.....The brush rushes the paint, the
                        grudge    
    is ripe. Cultivate it or let it rust.
  The paint stale, the painter frail.
   Caved canvas like sails of a sailor.
  Clash of nimbuses pales the skin  
as thunder waltzes ashore the ocean,
       ballets on the sea like swans
  entwined dancing with the wind.
You'll love the voice of melody when  
                  harmony sings.
       Deep bliss drowns sins for    
      peace to glimpse the surface

              Poets — coherent,
          honest with even pens
     and odd ends. Warm hearts
               with cold hands.
      The bane engaged with pain,
               as faith fades and
          blank pages mar sanity.
                Life springs anew
From the well of thoughts flowing
                Through the pen.

Sometimes I wonder where I should truly be
No X on the spot, no key to set me free
The past clouding me I wish it would leave me be
Nothing guaranteed, my soul held in captivity
Every corner reminds me of my past activity
My loss of personality seemingly lasting an eternity

Lost and confuse hope mizzles
destiny becomes kind
faith extends a helping hand
Ink sinks in my mind
words become alive
imagination spreads wings and suddenly I can climb the sky
my destination is home
made of potent imagery
the only greeting I know
being Hello poetry

Silence breaths violence ominous sounds at night loud owls being quite

Knifes dine with guns mate with thugs and breed sons who spill guts

The old bath in young sins of love while caved by deeds of pride

At the edge of horrors the Sun rises, darkness is incinerated and peccancy is evaporated

With dead dreams
Can you ever sleep?

Struggled, befriended effort
Only to return to  blankets
Of disheartenment where despondency
Warms your heart as it tears you apart.

Do your dreams die
When sleep departs?

Shattered limbs and blisters reposed in your mind.
The blood moon residing in your eyes.
Your resolves never diverging as you hobble.
Paving the path with skin, flesh and blood.

Sleeping beyond the grave
Do dreams live on?

Eyes roped by gardens of thorns and fleeting petals. Dreams whistle wonders, kindling hope, in hearts of those still asleep, wandering in dreams.

Standing still
Crushed rampaged
  metals collide the face
  splashed with guts of the
      masses Massacras being
            routines in all routes the
                   scenes are blinding
                        as light flashes
                     before the eyes
                  like angry skies
                in  darker nights

           The day is reborn
      the face wiped with
  cloths of sorrow black
bags already gone but
  not forgotten, pardoned
     only when the bones have
           cracked and the body
           can no longer stand the
             pain, with holes deep
             enough to be filled
                    by the rain.

Standing still
Crushed rampaged
  metals collide the face
  splashed with guts of the
      masses Massacras being
            routines in all routes the
                   scenes sear the eyes
                        as light flares
                     before the wrathful sky
                 Consuming the night.

           The day is reborn
      the night's sin erased with
  cloths of sorrow, black
bags already gone but
  not forgotten, pardoned
     only when crevices bloom,
            with holes deep
               enough to be filled
                    by the rain.

The well of inspiration, the whisperer of words of wisdom washing away woes and wounds of wallowing men and women.

She imbues lost and broken hearts, with bliss not a drop of ink is waisted as her skill is demonstrated.

Passionate and proud, we ponder after she writes. She's the master of imagery and the Queen of Poetry.

I don't care any more
nor do i care any less
but i'm your lover, not your *****
and you're the reason for this mess

Parading your **** like you're in command
I have limits to your inane nonsense
I'm finally making my stand
No longer giving out to your reasons

I will stand tall, no matter what
Shape up and become a Man
Quit thinking below the waist
and treat me like I know you can

Empty vessels would clang the most
Never exercising the need to be humble nor coy
You're an underachiever with the penchant to boast
You were never a man, but a childish little boy

But, no matter what you have done or who you have become, i still see the passion within you
I see a pure love that we have created, one that is so true...
Although you have made many mistakes in the past
I am still sitting here willing to stick around for this love i know will last...

for ever and until the end
until they lay us six feet under
hand in hand as we die
i will be your lover

a lover to cherish the ground you walk on,
even when you stumble and shake,
i'll be your first in command,
because with you, there is too much at stake.
i want to be that lover,
who awaits in adoration of your arrival,
that one lover,
who loves you until our love is final.

I carved my chest and gave you this heart.
We flowed through the nile and overcame ocean tides.
A seed of bliss you planted in me and our love was born once more, leaving me scarred.
I thought you were proud and passionate but the truth was cloacked by your lies.
You dined with others while I recovered.
I resent you but appreciate the gift of new life that we have, this bond we share may never break,
for it's the only bond that makes us care.

Abandoned murals across the boarder, the walls still painted by war. The scrap yard a pile of torn limbs, needles embedded in phalanges divorcing finger from nail the soil still grieves .

Infants don't see the sun.
Autumn leaves, with fleeting lives.
a thousands hills with wooden crosses rooted in, What is beneath?

An old man sighs before the last breath departs
Chasing a wind of memories escaping dark pasts. Hands mirror fire remnants, scatter across the vast lands with red tears immersing the white grass .

Am I not more than just letters and alphabets ?

I blossom flowers and array them in colour —
beauty to be admired,
a river to wash away sorrow,
a whisper of hope for tomorrow.

In a web of scandals I am weapon — for truth, for lies, for bottom feeders.
I shift the views of mankind,
I give birth to leaders.

I’ve felt the gentle hand of a lover,
the pain of a broken heart,
the tears of despairing minds,
and the fears of villainous victims burdened with sin.

I've witnessed horrors in hollow places.
I'm forever in an abyss of blissful sorrows .

Through countless centuries I've been a mirror for reflecting notions and emotions,I confess
I am a donkey exhausted but allowed no rest.

I await the day when the last man  lays down his pen and
welcomes the grim reaper as an old friend, I too would be able to finally rest.

Fell in deep slumber
But my soul is wide awake;
Nights filled with horrendous dreams
Or are those my realities haunting
me ?
Falling in the abyss of thoughts
Ready to feel shattered
and lost

my soul weakens and breaks my emotions separate themselves
from each other
and exit from my husk of my body
no one around as I die
lonely starving for love
i wake up
lonely

Afraid that
the dreams
could become reality
or at least haunt me
for the rest of my life ,
leaving my soul
forever tainted

I'm taunted but At the edges of my fears for a moment,
Wisdom breaths courage
And  I  a m F r e e  
With each step
I can see a glimpse
of elation
enchanting my soul
awakaning my hope
replenishing the hole
in the mists of my heart lost
without love joy is found
and at long last I am whole.

You embellish my life, I cherish your love, trust and the time you take just to make me smile

My eyes awe at the sight of your visage. It must have taken God eight days to perfect you before his eyes.

You gave me hope when I thought I  was lost. Your voice is melody echoing the sounds of joy.

In your arms, I am in a garden of heaven basking in bliss, resting in peace but alive and indeed enjoying the aroma of elation swaying with the wind.

Fall away into sweeter dreams, where tears are but the morning dew escaping the sun.

Sleep in fields of abundant ecsasty, where cupids need no arrows as love
is melody.

Dream of memories mirroring     mesmorising scenes. Where plants      dance to the rhythm of the wind.
Elation being the theme.

Perpetually perplexed
Painted poignant
Pictures praising
Potent preachers

The brush is rough and
sore from years of labour
even time has aged but the
paint remains favoured

Piously positioned
Proudly portrayed
Poets patiently
Perfecting parody

Empty,
vacant notions
evicted, the land lord
dismissed them. The tenant is left standing still as though the world has been pludged into voids of deep mists.

In an abyss of shadows no glimpse in sight for thoughts which might rescue the notionless mind

As the rope begins
to look friendly wishing
in the ground he may be burried..
a voice breaks
bonds and ideas are wildfire, a disease
corrupting the mind with tranquility erupting the heart with serenity

Your mind is an abyss sated with emptiness,spore of an ink-jet,
the heart is erupting with repugnant repulsiveness.
Your conscience ravage by your impulsive act.
You indulge in savagery shackled by misery creativity is a mystery .

You diverged from an honest life and now you're perjuring in art you dark-prowlers.
Converged with parasites marauding, Proud-Writers.

Cursed with uncertainty you're embracing lies, in the realm of thieves there's a decaying crown.