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in this generation what happened here?
we got blood and drugs in the atmosphere
we got hatred in our hearts and lust in our wants
kids killing each other and no one gives a ****
the ones that do are in a corner
no one listens so no one bothers
adults giving up like its a profession
students in school aint there for the lessons

im scared of the future but the past is cursed
i dont even know which half is worse
we no longer wanna be doctors and moon walkers
we just wanna be dope dealers and street talkers

always trying to get away from the problems instead of tryna fix it
we dont even care any more we just living
and im afraid for what goes on from here
im afraid to breathe in this atmosphere
On the third of June, at a minute past two,
where once was a person, a flower now grew.

Five daisies arranged on a large outdoor stage
in front of a ten-acre pasture of sage.

In a changing room, a lily poses.
At the DMV, rows of roses.

The world was much crueler an hour ago.
I'm glad someone decided to give flowers a go.
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Stelling
Winter
Prescription drugs
They my only love
Back in the days
Deep in the 80's faze
We play, blaze
In the front yard of maze
Mother was a stoner
Father used to **** her
Beat her choke her
Gave her the kiss of death
And where she laid
He danced on her grave
My brother cried
Our hearts went numb
Remembering the song
She used to hum
Running her hands
Through our hair
We whispered her stoner prayers
The lily song she sung
'pon our ears it hung


'hypocrites and parasites become men at night
don't lay too close or you'll catch a fright
just take these chains away and set me free
remove me from this ******* and
then we can agree'

Prescription drugs
They my favourite love
Whether you black
Or be it blind white
The streets of Babylon
Be too dangerous at night
He made us run
Before we could walk
The road was rough
Our feet like chalk
The slave in me
Never be free
(Never be free...)
And in the dark
The parasite come
Grind the sweet kush
Between my legs they come
The sound I make is none.
My soul be broke
My mind be stole
******* so tight
No control

But nothing can compare
To the Creole bird
My mother love us sweet
Her hands through our hair
As we whispered for her
The Stoner Prayers
~~~

the wind of correction

*those invisible currents
for which we create labels
like most everything,
comes in shades of vagaries,
colorations of fierce and gentil

some bear the names of hurricanes,
gale forces, and those, the knotted stiff ones,
welcomed by man's power mills and sailing ships,
and the softest of summer breezes,
caressers of my isle sheltered,
for which I must winter~survive,
that have far too short a half-live,
those summer winds that rejuvenate my sinking soul

but the wind that gets no acclaim,
is the wind behind us that straightens the hunched,
the wind that has no illustrations of its un-famous name,
'tis the wind of correction
that lifts
the wings of the becalmed,
the bewitched, and the downtrodden,
the one that lifts chin from chest,
the one that energizes,
cures the curvature of our spines
to make us sally forth, clear eyed and optimistic,
leaving behind the residue of debris of destruction

when blown off course, be patient,
for a course correction by a kinder kindred force
will set you aright, push you into flight.,
for this wind comes to everyone,
someday, sometime

you do not know the wind of correction?

unfamiliar where and when it blows?

perhaps you call it something else?

I have heard it said,
that its other,
more
correct,
truer name is
love
For TMR
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Stelling
cg
Mirror
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Stelling
cg
I see a forlorn figure.
Eyes pensive and absorbed
Yet lost.
A smile sruggling
To deem positive.
A body lifeless,
Surrounded in an island
Of melancholy and woe.

Looking into a mirror
Was never good for me.
c.g.
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