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-on a decent starting point, or the act of breathing

I'm not fit
to live the life,
to shrug the burden
off my shoulders.

Weep, weep...
woosh - woosh - woosh,
dang-dang, dang-dang:
bye bye, bye...

There goes your train...
Let it go, let it go!

Let the air breathe your lungs,
let the wind bleed your ears.

Then ask
what you really -
what you really want:
what you - or I - really need.
Inspired by Paige Henry's Reverse Andy Challenge
...but take an old man's advice  :-)
Oh my dear Lord
Your beautiful creation of the dandelions...
Oh my great God
Your beautiful creation of my heart...
Oh the beautiful dandelions
The owners of the blue sky
Ask God whether I can imagine
your dress carrying Jasmines !!!
I haven't told the sky how much I love you
but I've told God...


ای خدای من
...قاصدک ها را زیبا آفریدی
ای خدای بزرگ
...قلب من را زیبا آفریدی
ای قاصدک های زیبا
که آسمانی آبی دارید
به خدا بگویید
اشکالی ندارد
اگر فکر کنم
!!! پیراهن شما گل یاسمن دارد
من به آسمان نگفته بودم
شما را دوست دارم
...به خدا گفته بودم
i wrote this poem for my favorite poet ''Keikavoos Yakideh'',,,,,, i am very sad
.
*Yellow apples fall—
Memories of spring blossom
Gentle deer arrive
Fasten your waistband
Put on your shoes
The pigtails shine under the sun
The little doll you're hugging now
Will die tomorrow
Come on
The window was staring at us
Demanding breath
Have you ever noticed the
blueness of everything in the morning ?!
I love this blue
Our white skin with the livid lips
Your eyes were touchable
through the blue fences
Where did you leave your doll ?
I'm so sad
Ouch !
Your waistband is open
Haven't you noticed ?
It's ok
I'll fasten it
Don't cry
The windows have been daydreaming
Always .


بندینک ات را ببند
جوراب ات را بپوش
دم گوشی ها در آفتاب روشن می شوند
عروس کوچکی را که در آغوش گرفته ای
فردا خواهد مرد
بیا
پنجره به ما زل می زد
نفس می خواهند
هیچ دقت کرده ای
در صبحی که هنوز خورشیدش درنیامده
همه چیز آبی رنگ است
من این آبی را دوست دارم
پوست تن مان سفید بود
...در لب هایی که کبود می شوند
از میان نرده های آبی رنگ
چشمانت لمس می شدند
عروسکت را کجا گذاشته ای!؟
من خیلی ناراحتم
...آخ
!!! بندینک ات باز شده
تو فهمیده بودی!؟
اشکالی ندارد
من برایت می بندم
گریه نکن
پنجره ها همیشه خیال کرده اند
~

i recall the ward,
smell of antiseptic
and new paint blended,
with the stench of
dried on bandages,
the smell of
rotting flesh,
the cries of men
too old to cry,
faces now, too
burned for tears,
could only wonder why.
the clang of
stainless steel
bowls that held the
closest thing to soothing,
unquenchably thirsty skin.
for these,
souls sent off to war,
though i was
but a boy,
my father,
was a preacher,
sent to save
these men from hell...
i knew already then
hell was...
a place already known,
seen and felt;
and flames...
these men had walked.
and when asked to pray,
believe you me,
pray i did,
that these images,
and these men...
would all go away.

~

*post script.

some chuckle when i, born in 1960, tell them i remember Vietnam.  yet i still weep when i remember.  Vietnam was to this young boy watching formations of fighter jets taking off for a battlefield he could not know; accompanying his father to visit with and pray for the GI’s in the burn ward of Sagami-Ono’s US Army Hospital near Yokohama, on the main island of Japan, a few minute’s drive from what we then called home.  the sights, sounds and smells of Vietnam are etched forever, without having ever set foot on it’s soil.  my five siblings have no such recollection, leading me to believe... either they were never invited or... their prayers were answered.
 Feb 2017 Senor Negativo
Lora Lee
dark storms rising
as electricity
crackles up my spine
in ascent of moonspell
as I trip through
            my own wires
                 my inner sense
                     of flesh
      reverberating  
in waves of
magnetic fireworks
      and suddenly
I am spinning
     my fibers
all splayed out                
for you to see
a cartographer
of emotion
mapping your veins
               and arteries
and we hold citizenship
of a private inner land
a country              
    that we share
as we into light expand
my inner goddess in tune
with your
molecules and carbon
your cells rushing like
                a river
into my estuary
in landscapes of longing
blissfully unaware
but for our souls'
secret language of
pumping blood and fire
from here, it's uncharted
but for the rhythms
                   of desire

invisible to the naked eye,
we exquisitely penetrate
the surface
descend into the
depths of bones
the most primal core
where lava licks
push spirit's will
            straight up to the fore
and I am the spark in
your most opaque rage
ready
to give it up
in dust and magic
as pulmonary exhale
flows the blood
and we dissipate , slowly
into uninhibited flood

Take me apart,
dark love
pulverize my limits
fly with me
to the opposite
of loneliness
where
    every
        millisecond
  breathes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVhDfzV941E
"You've got that medicine I need/Give it to me slowly"

www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQUhb3YMzsY
Sun come up but
not for me.
My name is not whispered by the wind
when it blows through that tall stand of pines.
What now passes for a winter night,
with its tepid atmosphere and
lack of magic,
does not call.
If it did I wouldn't answer.
Standing sentry
are the haints and phantoms -
the faded pains
felt as echoes are heard,
left forgotten but waiting.
All of this time spent idly watching the world feels wasted, but
we've been secretly reinventing nuance.
I dont recognize it anymore.
Too bad, really, since
I've always loved subtle difference.
End of a terraced wall
Atop of Hungry Hill
Three of us, two thirteen
Smoking John Player Blue
**** all else to do
This council estate
All we knew
From there i could see
My Da's own family home
Where he grew
How far he'd come
Could retrace his journey
While the ash still hung
Council estate to council estate
Old Ballynanty Beg
To this shiny and new
No boarded up houses yet
But stifled with bags of glue
Yet we were no dreamers
Just a three minute pop tune
A wish to run wild and free
No thoughts of  breaking through
Red brick, grey skies, hollow minds
To town we'd go
Dunnes, Boyds, Roches Stores
Robbing what we could
Batteries, perfumes and tackies
The thrill of the chase
A need to feel alive
Over Sarsfield Bridge
Where we could belong
Hearts pounding, legs racing
Back to Hungry Hill
And yes we were young
Of course we were young
But we'd still be there now
Smacked up on those bags of glue
If not for our Ma's and our Da's
For they knew how far they'd come
They knew
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