~~~

someday soon gonna reread
the four figures of my
poems over lifetime inked,
divvy  them up by what each is about,
assemblage of
the themes of me

review the who what when and weird
of this guy through his own eyes
multiplying confessions
of graces and disgraces

particular to recover,
desirous of collecting those poems that:

valorize society’s strugglers
and stragglers...humans doing the work of living^

don't know how many will be uncovered,
but here's hoping there are plenty,
needy of recovery and uncovering the poet
and worthy of pointing too,
valuation markers of a
decent human

strugglers, stragglers,
those from all over this world
and lives that can only visualize
no-horizon-in-sight oceans
sailors, from ports unvisited,
some even, still undiscovered,

working ****** and women,
not those,
don't owners
of fancy dress whites,
topped of by jaunty angelic-angled caps

the ones I sought and seek,
grime and coal dust etched into
every ****** crevice, ink under fingernails,
in obscurity, toil in windowless engine rooms,
in the nooks in libraries hiding,
satisfied with
a moment of glory,
and a lasting
hand upon
their wracked minds

these are my mates,
sharing fates
of woeful countenances
of bruised bodies,
recipients of hardest blows repetitious,
comrades in open arms

the unflavored, unfavored of
sons and daughters,
unblessed with sobs and smacks,
who rare lift the head in hope

the sufferers of ignominy
of the
prison of their existence,
for those I write,
have, will, and willing

to do it till I see a
chin rising, white of eyes gleaming,
a hand delisted,
arms defused of black weights

come to me,
words, encouragement, perspective,
that this too shall pass

believing ain't easy,
take it from one who couldn't see
happy endings, but had no choice but
to choose to,
now prepped, ready
for my arms to do some serious uplifting,
shoulders heavy-loaded and wide of loads,
eager for honest work,
aiding and abetting
the stragglers and and stragglers...
humans doing the work of living,
deserving for valuation,
awaiting their salutation,
and relief, even if,
tiny and small,
a slim volume of poems,
that but one
poet
provided

The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.

I found Him in most unusual places on earth
where I least expect Him to be.
I found Him
in the heart of *******
in the dikr of a reeking alcoholic
in the fury of burglar
in a wish of a gambler regardless of the content
I found Him everywhere and yet no where
in repentence and pride;
in sanctified matrimoney and an illegal intimacy;
in heart of believers and strugglers;
in melt of an ice, molding in the shape of its base boasting to be submissive in its act and in fire offering just the opposite: submission of everuthing rewarding them by turning in to ashes;
I found him in every little thing and mystics;
in canvases and waterfalls;
in art and ruins;
in earth and sky;
in filth and dirt;
in mansions and huts
I found Him by seeking Him not by searching HiM