Brazen collarbones
Alabaster dream
Jutting out like little wings
Pouty grin
Ready to fire quicker
Than any takers
Girl, you sit there,
And I can tell
You want to watch
Men burn

Under the open sky's benevolent eyes,
when everyone in the caravan
was in deep slumber,
                                   his  lonely heart was on fire,
when he felt, someone touching his forehead.
The past he could tell, was catching up with him,
a venerable monk,  a divine presence
with his white, long flowing beard
stood leaning on his long, strong, staff
peering at his face, those eyes, the light of grace,
"Make peace with your past,
make the bats hanging upside down, vanish,
with deep repentance, cleanse your turgid soul,
its in your hands, then see what happens"
rang the Guru's words in his ears.

He rocked all his dark loves to sleep and bid
good bye for ever to his weeping wounds,
Eyes raised skywards, he sought forgiveness
to everyone he did wrong, in silence.
He heard the guru's words repeatedly booming in the wind
"Repent, it would absolve you for ever"
He meditated, till his cloak from black to white transformed.

At the day break, he woke up to a new life,
the ground, was deserted, silence reigned, expectently
No trace of any caravan, did they vanish in to thin air?
The rhythmic pounding of the staff, of the monk,
was it just an illusion of mind, a visitor
at moments of darkness and doubt, bringing light?

To some questions, we don't really expect answers,
the very questions are the answers we look for.

The valley was full of flowers,  and sky
was crowded with robust white clouds, portentous!

**As he was walking down the rocky path,
a woman looked at his face and asked:
"Monk, where did you come from?
aren't you the one they told, would come, no doubt!"
He smiled.Understood.

We're screaming,
Drunken and reeling back to where we were before,
I just want to let you know now,
That I didn't mean a thing I said,
My words poured out,
And before I knew what I was doing,
I saw that I was the one doing the hurting this time,
The years are rolling by now,
And I'm trying to catch up,
But I always stumble,
You were always so good at getting back up,
I don't have my helping hand this time,
I guess that happens one you keep on hand wrapped around the bottle,
The whiskey doesn't like to stay here,
And it's all my fault,
I know why.

You're sitting on a stool,
Nearest to the door,
Slurring words about the past,
Saying how you were so *******,
How you said a lot of things, that you wouldn't take back,
You drink cheap beer and liquor,
It's the only thing that keeps you alive,
I wonder if you ever wish I was there,
I'm just a ghost now,
Haunting every memory,
Somewhere between drunk and sober,
I hang around there,
You stumble out into the parking lot,
Pass out beside the cars,
You hardly know where you are,
But that's how you like to be,
And I just wonder if you ever think of me,
If you ever thought I was good enough of a reason to stop it,
But I'm gone with the wind,
While I was leaving, you were sitting here,
With one hand on the bottle,
One foot in the grave,
At a bar with black walls,
And while a drink was calling your name,
I called "Daddy come back here."

Ailsa Craig, Ailsa Craig. Ailsa Craig
Why can't  I have you instead of
Kelsea,Kelsea,Kelsea,
what a favorite of the showbench.
Give me Leak the Lyon anytime
in favour of Pendle Improved.
Onions are for eating,
flavour is more important
to hell who wins on the show day.

Roses are red, but only sometimes
And I don't care much for them anyways
Violets are never blue
But I like crepe myrtles better
Sugar is sweet, but too sweet for me
I'd much rather have spicy
As for you? You're only sweet all the time
Other times, you're incredible.

you can feel it;
all thought is makeup
over our emotions.
why does it surprise us that
we can often only see things
as black and white
when good and bad
and happy and sad
and yes life and death
are part of a larger whole
that we can't see in this spectrum.

The sore on my neck,
The mark that you left,
Not a thing that I regret.

After the wind lifts the beggar
From his bed of trash
And blows to the empty pubs
At the road's end
There exists only the silence
Of the world before dawn
And the solitude of trees.

Handel on the set mysteriously
Recalls to me the long
Hot nights of childhood spent
In malarial slums
In the midst of potent shrines
At the edge of great seas.

Dreams of the past sing
With voices of the future.
And now the world is assaulted
With a sweetness it doesn't deserve
Flowers sing with the voices of absent bees
The air swells with the vibrant
Solitude of trees who nightly
Whisper of re-invading the world.

But the night bends the trees
Into my dreams
And the stars fall with their fruits
Into my lonely world-burnt hands.
_

Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml