Reading your poems makes me feel something




Some   love

Some    hate

Some    pain

Some   lust

Some    hope

Some regrets

Some fairy tales
                        
Reading your poems makes me see some

Some crushing stories stuck on repeat
Some words screaming for help
Some hate for take nology
Some mystic life stories
Some some some for Donald Trump


                       Some tears for peace
                         Some trust in God

"Her other name must be Peace"'
Doubted  it was writ large too, on that face,
Yarns of tranquility waved her dress
In it's tight drapes her shape does express
More than expected within that gentle grace.

For a moment he held the reigns, took stock,
Deeply inhaled the scent of musk, she exudes
Sensed a turbulence, an effect opposite, yet sweet
"Need to initiate a change, a bend in the flow, quick
Amble to her and shake hands"his other murmured
"Otherwise you wouldn't forgive yourself,for the lapse
Letting slip a rare glowing moment, from your hand"

Alter ego's prompt, was carried out with such ardor,
She briskly met him halfway and gracefully asked:
"We sure met before once, didn't we some time?"
"Certainly, but in some other life time, it was"he says
She smiles as if his was a seductive move, she liked it.

But these waves that reach him has an intense warmth
"Will you give me a hug?" emboldened he ventures further
She did more than what he could expect, tight was the embrace.
Yes, that's right, appearances are deceptive,pleasant surprise!
One needs to expect the unexpected,make serendipity work.
It was too fast, he couldn't see what really was  happening,
She perhaps leads him to a timeless space , he imagined
That volcano camouflaged as a green  island of tranquility!

i wait standing at the old metal gate
my soul is tired, it has been a long Monday
then i see you run toward me
that action alone makes
my heart bloosom like
a sunflower,
all bright seeds, turning
toward you,  the sunshine
of my world

Muted warning
red-line horizon
submarine morning
a full moon wanes
by nature, earthbound
yet of the heavens
meant to transform

those seeking sky
forget the ocean
how stars appear
upon reflection
celestially untethered
navigating the wild
uncharted reach

....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

No man an island
yet we stand with brand
in hand, waiting
to set set alight all bridges
as we make our stand
for ourselves
over our fellow man.

We stand and watch as
killers ****, then
turn the channel
seeking the next
momentary thrill.

Less and less we involve
ourselves with others
in a meaningful way
we are more likely
to be engaged in
digital play
as we die
a little more
each solitary day

If it sounds
like I am preaching
it is because  I am

More to myself
than others
but then again
perhaps I am reaching
to you and others like
to those who understand

the carillion is a ringing
that, the sounds of bells
are stealing up upon us
as we ignore calamity to play,
tetris and zombie clan

"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated.**

we the poets of consciousness,  
are the translators ....
of the thoughtless thoughts
and long lost creeds

we are the heart that cries
as this world bleeds
from razors cuts
by the many thousands,

we are the recorders of the deeds
both small and large
important an seemingly insignificant.

scribes and libraians we be both
noting written word and oral oath
we partake, we give to all
but at our best we are the accord
of action and thought, deed and word

so that we reflect upon
ourseleves and others
the joy, the hate,
the hurt, the succour
the wonderment and ease,
the love and loving care
we make the hard easier to bear
we make the horrible, we make crazy
we have the ability to make the hard person care
those in despair hope...those at the end of themself
reach once more for the dangling rope

we are the fabric, the paper
on which this world is printed
we are the old gold coin
and the newly minted

we are islands with bridges between
we are understanding,
between commoner and queen

we are those who stand ready
to extinguish harmful flame
yet we are those to set hearts alight
we are those who call others
away from the game
and into the heart of the heart
into cognizant frames

we are listeners
and bell ringers both
we refine the languages
we create the quotes

we are the fresh morning
we are the new start....

Found out recently
that I'm no longer afraid
of dying; I fear
most mere survival until
I've used up all of my days.