Substratum

Beneath the surface there are blocks of time
a keep ticking ticker
investments in soiled identities that are loosing
clots of what never was.

There is treasure too, locked away in a nautilus shell
waiting for the call of the wild key
bits and bobs of let loose and fancy free
Also locked away is my familiar
azure blue and tonic green amiability

The 'cannot' telling is the buzzing round your
sailent (fears) ears,
like unused sails
slapping at thin defeated air strikes called
possibilities...

here

I avoid all contact
(you asked me to)

yet here

you display stagnent reaction
with absent mind
you forget the yesterdays
and how you long to hear
what you ask me not to say

absent now
both of us have decided in secret:

lock out the playful place
slide below the surface (substratum)
(we find) serendipitous angst, common place
cross our fingers behind our backs
as promises

will not fix our fateful syntax

Linaji

I am not a writer.

I am a fox
in a man-suit
pretending to be a writer.

Just to trick you all.

Just to trick myself.

If I put down
the pen
and the pretententiousness;
pulled the costume off
in a papery rip like a jet breaking the sky,
and
looked in the mirror
to see
that fire of fur,
then it would mean
that there is something inside of me that I've been using as fuel.

Something
non-renewable.

The elephant is my religion
I am the elephant
A swarm of magic locusts
Flittering into the sunset
A maggots breath of hope
This pact is my priority
Sworn into secrecy to a spirit within myself
Two thoughts becoming one
Like a fairy on slippers of purity
Humanity, a cycle of insanity
Can we overcome the cotton candy
Mystery of mountains in the trees?
An elvish land of history
Like heat upon the leaves
Dilate the sight to see
A cringing demon of flowers and seeds
And bullfrog dances in circles round
A night in the forest
My night on the town.

When life happens
And you are young
There is nothing
But confusion
You are helpless
Don't have a choice
And draw
The wrong conclusion
A hug, a word
A gentle touch
Can turn
That fragile emotion
For growth
Is not just physical
It's your spirit
That's in motion
You form, you grow
Within yourself
Through love
And interaction
The unseen growth
Of your soul
In thought, feeling
Reaction
So when our bodies
Are full grown
And now the issues
Surface
We look back
To our childhood
To find our inner purpose
So often
We've believed a lie
Self taught
Or others have said it
The damage done
To our surprise
It cripples
If we let it
Forget the cruelties
Of this earth
My special
Wonderful child
Be healed
Of all the wrong
That's been
And allow your life
To smile
Your spirit now
Is formed
And strong
Don't believe
Your childhood dictums
Get up in courage
And live your life
And remove
The victim

A darling girl of three
Violet ribbon cradles golden hair
They fuss over her porcelain skin
Blushing cheeks and baby blue eyes
“Eyes you just want to steal,”  say They.
She crayons pictures of castles
And heroic princes.
Her little dolls are played
Then locked in their little dollhouse

A fair girl of fifteen
Mornings she is taunted and condemned
By the mocking mirror.
She stares
And draws a smile on the vacancy.
Head, shoulders, knees and toes-
Strings attached to all.
Puppetted by the fetters of Expectation,
She smiles, and acts,
And dresses in little outfits
To please Them.

A charming girl of seventeen
Immured little fingers cradle the wiled world.
A Crayoned face fronts the masquerade.
Mangled in tangled strings,
She offers her heart and scissors to a little blonde boy
And cries, Kiss it better.
He smiles and smooths her brow
As his honeyed whispers tear her open
And he ties a heartstring.
He stitches her up with the thread of Promises
Leaving ribbon-scars delicate as lace.
Blueblack bruises blossom across
And stain her porcelain skin.
She shatters
While screaming his innocence.

Thieved eyelight
Makes for a jaded girl of eighteen.

A darling girl of three
Plays with toys
As They toy with her.
Just another broken doll to be.

*** for tat only means that another generation seeks vengeance and war
Evening the score only means yet another must even the score
Just ask the palestinians and the israelis, just ask the tutsis and the hutus
Ask the protestants and the catholics, and the crips and the bloods
The hatfields and mccoys, too, were all about grudge
And what has it gotten us, where does it end?
Who is the enemy and who the friend?
I ask this because it seems clear to me
“Either you’re with us or against us” denies diversity
One man’s terrorist is another man’s hero
But you **** mine, I **** yours leaves a net gain of zero
And what about the children in whose faces war is fought?
What parentless future — or present — have they got?
And who stands to gain from perpetuating violence?
Who profits from the pain ... ... and the deafening silence?
Typically a handful of white men do, that’s who
It’s that top one percent, not you
A few families control the likes of halliburton, bechtel and g.e.
It’s their balance sheets that gain from the misery we see
Divide and conquer is their modus operandi, their mode of operation today,
Keep us fighting amongst ourselves and all blame ... is diverted away.