From a crippled thought,
that resides in our mind...

Stone encriptions,
from far away times.....

The sinking sun,
the rising moon...

The pressures on earth,
of love and gloom....

A world with no war....
Would mean a world with no religion...

So, if there is a god,
then peace should be easy...

From the minerals they seek....
To the poison they spread.....

It's blood for gold,
that's harvested on earth...

For control of the almighty dollar,
they seek to keep one in grief....

There is a world order,
that dates back in time....

If you would learn the blood line,
you would be surprised.....

The banks will be controled,
possibly by one....

Now marshall law,
can play it's part....

It may come into play,
and one day be law..

She was the type of girl that read books no one had assigned to her
She refused to take the sidewalk if the quickest path went through the grass
Her eyes were the color of mud saturated with rain from the night before
I loved her and that was the biggest mistake I'd ever make

This isn't a poem about how girls are evil
or how the world is rigged
it's just that when I saw you I believed in love at first sight
and maybe that was wrong of me

There is a method to the madness, a puprose for the pain
We may not see it now, or even next year
But somewhere down the line, there will come a time
In which we get to reflect, with retrospect,
On the pain that taught us and brought us here
And it will be worth all the tears that fell like rain.

You carry words
In your belly-
Pregnant meaning

I read in awe
Raw emotion
Direct communication..

Avoid spilling
Into oblivion

Your beauty
Lights the world
Courage inspiration

They took down the eaves
after all shelter was destroyed.
Left a pay packet
and the desolation of ailments
that sang long after
the contract was done.

Fed the blade across my bicep,
irretrievable fault lines
from everyone I had called a friend.
Every message in a bottle
was a disturbance to still water,
the peace I gathered alone
but could not sustain
with two hands, one mind.

Stole the salt from my hunger,
the youth from my face:

I would not let them take the music.

Filled every cup to feign optimism,
clouded eyes that had seen too much.
Every plateau I took to,
they steeped the gradient,
each flower, they reminded me,
came from death.

They took down the saints of kindness.
Cut each nerve ending
as I slept on broken glass.
Left a pay packet
and a phantom of good will
once I finally loosened the strings,
sailed away at a snail's pace,

my boat savaged by the tempest,
my sails torn and weary,
my flag falls low, at half mast.

It is hard to say father;
the thought of you stumbles through me when I see
a Gerber baby food jar or a wooden pop crate.
Once you came to mind when I saw a Polish flag
on TV; that is humorous because
the only Pole I know is a pale man at the gym
whose left eye is shaped like a rotten pear.
Do you still burn your fingers when you
fall asleep smoking in a recliner?  I hope
you still do not trim your fingernails while
sitting on the toilet stool; that seems so un-American.
Today is your eighty-fourth birthday;
I hope wherever you are you do not think of me.

I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,
and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying,
and I pick
up her lovely
dress,
all her loveliness gone,
and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods,
chips of blinking things,
idols, pills, bread,
fathoms, risks,
knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of 2 gone quite mad
without a chance,
hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of this
and I know:
her dress upon my arm:
but
they will not
give her back to me.

When she has a bad day and yours falls to pieces
when you build her back up, and realise you're put together again too,
when she cries and you wipe away her tears
and when you realise her tears are yours,
does that mean you love her?

Why do they die?
The healthy ones against
wind rain, snow and disease.
It died. Fell over with a groan.
It was just a red oak; I loved it.