Oh me Ireland from the green emerald shamrock how you tantalize and share the blarney cool pools
And streams in diverse scattered form you bedazzle the mind I and all others are your prisoner
We fell under the spell of your charm wickedly fun delight smites from the heights of joy we
Stroll even the national theme is to cajole it’s born from the woods where the wee ones abide
They are the pride and honor of Irish lore Dublin the lilt the thrill rolls down the hill Joyce
Found and spoke from his native tongue so well there is the Mexicali rose and the” Spanish rose
That grows in Spanish Harlem” but what I know is those Irish eyes are gleaming makes my
Heart start my dreaming oh soliloquy with haste you make your statement the blends of this
Ancient twist of tree and steam that flows and then breaks a fix point to gather from wind and
Water the beliefs and wonderings of Leprechauns how else could such magic unfold and be told
After you awake conscious thought is so limited walk on my dreams and you will find my inner
Heart there revealed lost garrisons and bastions of thoughts and deeds spread to the woods
And coast spellbinding the listener the cistern of bliss was cracked open it profoundly and
Evenly coursed through city and villages alike timelessness found its place in this land uttering
The wistful richer than many pots of gold it was as distinguishable as a man’s own signature it is
Like a check list it holds close and tight the facts a man who as a stone mason handles the hard
And course and lives with the residue of fine stone work deeply ingrained like the esteemed
And like forth telling words of Thomas Aquinas who had the closeness to God and set forth
Those royal surmising that scorched the earth of his day it could almost be said as it was of
Jesus no man speaks after this order overwhelmed by the laudatory speech it rises on the
Breeze it stands in these excellent hills to walk is to be staggered with emotional fervor the
Bloodline of Ireland runs deep and is abiding what privilege to stand as a voice a teacher for
Such a place that has such great history that is easily exported to other places making inroads
To build Ireland anew in other lands if nothing more than in a small way that is the greatest
Deterrent to war is for all people to meet and share their positive and unique outlooks nothing
Can build quality life like sharing and creating like mindedness in others crafted out of feeling
And knowing of your world and your place in it to dispel doubt and fear and replace it with the
Quaintness and charm that makes every rock and bush in wee fair Ireland

Sleep with my eyes open.
Hearing the redundant
crack as my heart is broken
and keep it submerged in tears
to truly know it's choking.

Losing life
before my eyes
I send my ***** to the sky
and hope to never love until
the day I die.

Admitting riddance
to take care of my heart’s
disappearance.

No one else's love to chase
while ice grows in a particular shape and
formed a cold faux heart to take its place.

Stares grow colder.
False heart gets older.
Mentality changes as
he finally lets go of the boulder
residing on his shoulder.

Family doesn't need him.
If he succeeds they'll need him.
Talk about how they never [leaved] him
and as truth resides in your eyes you
correct, and say [left].

You hear their lies in every single letter that is spoken, but where were they when your heart was broken, where were they when your innocence was stolen. Which one of you helped me look for it? Which one helped me find my dad. Who told me to just forget him. Who told me to just ignore it. None of you taught me to write, but you all wish to take credit and I won't let it happen.

I'm angry release endorphins.
Ignore every family member
until they see me become an orphan.

Hold back all the frozen tears.
They want me gone I overhear
and so I pack it all up.
Leave with no regret.

Family said they'd never
Leave, but I'm the one
who left.

Stirring
it seems the ground is stirring
With those who have been long forgotten
By those who are slowly rotting
The blackened sky silent
in mourning for those lost
The crescent moon somber
as it shines down upon the forsaken
Not a sound, only the stirring
The constant movement, the restlessness
No creaking limbs from barren branches
No mellifluous whispers from the wind
Nothing to mask the stirring
That horrid dreaded stirring
A cold blanket shrouds the grounds
Trying to quell those who are abandoned
Trying to silence them
Trying to lay them to rest
But it is a distasteful embrace
A cold and unpleasant embrace
Tomb to tomb
Grave to grave
Each so similar, yet so different in their ways
A different epitaph
A different life story
But it all ends the same way
With a fleeting thought and a relinquishing sigh
Death gives them a subtle kiss
Before they could ever say goodbye
The air has a bitter taste
That of sorrow and tears
Of those who were once remembered
Of the ones that stir
But as death can never be avoided
And time waits for no man
Slowly, the tear stains on the markers faded
And those that stir are left in waiting
A solemn and grimly sight it is
To see what awaits us all
A dark descent into hollow ground
Where we shall turn from something to nothing
It is a fate that is inevitable
a destiny that is unavoidable
To become the stirring that lies beneath
Where we shall, as well, wait restlessly
But there is something that has been unnoticed
An aspect that has been overlooked
The sweetness
There is something sweet in the air
A light-hearted scent obtruding the trepidation
A superfluous aroma cloaking the anguish
What is that wondrous scent?
What is that which makes the dead stir less?
But a vibrant arrangement
A beautiful bouquet
Of exquisite pink carnations
And lovely blue forget-me-nots
The flowers seem to be smiling
Wistfully smiling
Warming that which is cold
And lifting up spirits that were once so low
In full bloom
they seem to be singing
Singing a soft melody of tranquility
Comforting those that stir below
With a reminder that they are not alone
A reminder that we should all heed
That we will never be forgotten
So long as there are flowers for headstones
We shall never be utterly alone.

Lila dogma Om
yoga prana namaste :)
English karma Hum

Faster, faster,
Pump your arms.
Faster, Faster.
Don't you rest.
FASTER !
YOU'RE NOT TRYING !
you fat blimp...
...
ouch that hurt...
...
my ears hurt from your screams...
my arms hurt from pumping so hard...
my legs hurt from the consecutive runs...
...
aw...can't beat the others huh...?
Are you putting in more effort ?
Why won't you just try harder ??
Just move those chunky legs forward.
WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT ???
bet you forgot how to...
...
your snide comments are my fuel...
yet it rips me apart to be criticized...
By you.
...
who are you..??
...
you remain quiet at this question,
and you go on mocking me.
...
WHAT ???
You ate a slice of bread...?
great work...
...
then the screams of anger
they replace your softly delivered sarcasm
...
Look ! What have you done ?
98 calories !!!
YOU FAT SLOP !!
Dont you DARE...Take The Bus Home !
Its just a little more than 3 miles...*
...
my voice no longer strong enough
i stop arguing...
i've lost the strength to go against you...
...
i'll walk...
i guess...
you win...

Pax.
Pax.
Be with you.

Peace train.
Peace Corps.
Power to the peaceful.

Peace or violence?
The peace of the grave?
Shalom, amani, pagas:

Peace.
To the far off.
In the streets.
Peace child.

Peace.
Strums a guitar.
The sound of the stars.
Your face in my heart.

Blessed are those who make: peace
on earth,
between brothers,
with God.

Peace
of path.
Of mind.
Of sleep.

Peace
I leave with you.
Peace, foreigner

At his little hippie college
he shows me a *** that looks like a wall
in a Rwandan museum, all skulls, he

learned clay in the Rift Valley
boarding school, on a kick wheel,
still his favorite

My brother is a potter
multicolor plaid shorts
little goatee

Banjo
Japan dreams
girl from Mozambique.

When we were little in Loiyangalani
we made tiny huts out of obsidian
while our Rhodesian Ridgebacks

sniffed the ground for cobras
sand vipers
scorpions

while twenty camels
walked by in a row
followed by tiny replicas

My brother is a potter, says to me
'When I am doing this I am
doing what I was created to do'

He makes a green and blue
candleholder for me which he calls
'The Islands,' light escapes through many holes

which look like sea turtles
pockets of air and
an atomic bomb just gone off

we turn off the lights
in my room in the hood,
snorkel in candlelight

My brother gives me
Rumi, incense, peace flags
We walk the silent night

smoke a clove
look at stars
like we used to do in the African riverbeds

in a Me society
you stand on my broken back
to climb

in a We society
you share roof & blanket
we look at stars, both warm

in a We society
you share knowledge,
story, guitar

for the good
of everyone because
it's not about Me

in a Me society
you are showing off
if you do that

unless you are making money
(can someone explain this
to me?)

everyone though is always free
to be a Me
or a We

and life America
despite what you say
is not a competition

come be
a We
with me

i'm 9 in nairobi
playing foosball with a masai man
whose lip and earlobe
(both well-stretched)
bounce against his face,
he hangs lip over nose,
ears over ears,
we play on

funny, those kinds of scars
began with young women,
east african, who
fearing ****
and kidnap
from the north,
cut holes
in lip, in earlobe,
lifted skin of stomach
to slice smooth turtleshell shapes,
rubbed camel dung in wounds for better

scars,
which meant:
resistance, meant:
freedom, meant:
don't take me away,
don't steal my life.
funny
those scars
mean beauty now.
funny, these scars
on my wrist, funny how
much i love life now.
funny scars