I may create and belong
and language
which seeps so effortlessly
may pull and bind my being into knots
but I bleed for knowledge.
My lungs fill with words and I choke
on memory as it hits me.
Mastery, meaning, crushing definition.
Division, collision,
a crash of colour and lightening
crushing my skull in anticipation.
Knowledge of death
worse than the idea of dying.
Nerves tied into knots
impossible to untie
unless I know the code,
electric pain
with my limbs
flush to the flames.

In our fast-paced world, many things have become easier:
   communication, information, food preparation, even study.
We have the internet, smart phones, tablets, emails,
   Google, Wikipedia, fast food, and instant coffee.

But have we ever stopped to observe just how
   things being easy make them seem more trivial, too?
For the things we’re after, we no longer know
   how to sweat, sacrifice, aspire, wait, persist, endure…

Maybe it’s made us cease to dream as well
   as everything is merely thrust upon us to take.
We have lost the values that only hard work, toiling
   and fighting through insurmountable odds can make.

And even then we never seem to have enough of what we desire,
   not enough sleep, time, knowledge, money, or power;
We find no contentment in what we already possess
   as our seconds, minutes and days are spent wanting more.

Perhaps we need to re-examine where we’re heading,
   take instruction from the numerous generations past.
That it is only that which we strive for, that which we cherish
   with all our hearts and everything we have, that can last.

In that moment I knew, that feeling of knowing,
To without any reasonably conclusion,
Have an unyielding sense of where the pieces lie.

And that tasteless grain of alabaster, so profuse
Raining even harder now, the ground a pathetic mixture.
Blood, mud and betrayal.

Two strangers, one in bed with the shit of the world
The other, with an unamused smug, hating the other.
Pausing, the rain stops, checkmate.

For all of an eternity, how does one not know self.
And upon becoming one with filth, why was it so?
In envious conclusion, I sleep, relinquishing control.

He rummages to the forefront, having prepared.
Having mastered this scenario hundreds of time,
So seamlessly did he maneuver.

Casting away the mask of my failure,
To carve forward his dominating force of hand.
This personality, so fiendish but still me.

The Right believes it is right
And so by default we are left
To fight both day and night, bereft
Of the loving eye of Propriety.
Denied by those with single site
Those who once believed in divine right
Even though that was never right
Never really acceptable
Mostly reprehensible
Spouting their religious twaddle
They were always ready to fight
For what they were told was right.

The Right listens to entertainment
And claims they are news shows.
And regard the truth with amazement
But that is just the way it goes
When you are raised by dunderheads
Who think education is a waste.
Listening to people like that
Will always leave a horrible taste
For those who prefer research
And knowing what is going on.
But don’t expect the Right to see
Charlatans and say “Move on!”

The idea is to listen to the words
And find the ones you want to hear
And then parrot back the lies
Smiling broadly from ear to ear.
Every time you repeat untruths
They gain a bit more credibility
And it matters not one whit
That the words don’t mach reality.
So, the Right keeps up the fight
For anger and hatred to win.
And every time the truth arises
The Right will fight it once again.

It was an overcast night. The Moon cast an illumination across the gray sky which created an unusual sense of contentment.

As I was dozing off on the back of the boat, I zoned in on the constant ripples of the bay, containing a zig-zagged reflection of the architecture posted above it.

It was consistent. The small waves. Some looked like they were constantly chasing the boat, but could never catch up.

This awakened my senses. It looked as if the other ruffles were trapped under the navy blue blanket, yearning to break through the film by gliding in arbitrary directions. It was as if God was attempting to divulge some enlightenment I desperately needed. It was as if I had some connection to the seemingly near pitch-black setting.

And it came at an instant. The ripples either followed the boat, or went off in their own directions. Our lives can be compared to ripples in a bay. We have two choices. Attempt to fill someone else's shoes, or make your own. The constant chase towards the boat represents our desire to change ourselves to someone else- it won't produce the result we desire.

The other ripples make their own paths. Some gaining so much momentum, they become waves, crashing to shore with a bang. This is the result of creating our own lifestyle, based on our own ideas of happiness and success. Not all will make it to shore, but the ones that do sail in the path their own heart desires.

So, you’re from Africa?”

“Yes, I am.”

“When did you come to the United States?”

“In 2007.”

“Cool, so did you see any lions?”

“Yes. At the Zoo.”

“Did you have running water?”

“Yes. So much so that I was forced to take a shower every night.”

“Did you have electricity?”

“Yes, I almost got electrocuted once.”

“Did you go to School?”

“Wish I didn't. Every weekday at 8 I was there.”

“Then, do you speak African?”

“…. No. As talented as I'm not good enough to speak an entire continent worth of languages. I mean do you speak North American?”

Little jimmy was curious and nosy
His cheeks were fat and rosy
He always had to find out why
One way or another or he would cry

This made his mother angry
If it was YOUR things he broke you would agree
It was a hot summer day and little jimmy was lounging on the floor
His brother watched the dog, the dog watched jimmy and jimmy stared at the door

Through the door his mother came grunting in
When his mother grunted, there was always things she would bring
She told his brother to get the rest of the bags from the car
On his last trip, he brought in a box black as tar

What could this little box be? Could it move? where would it go?
Jimmy just had to know
His mother told Jimmy that the radio was not a toy
If Jimmy touched it he would be a bad boy

Jimmy wanted so desperately to know what made the radio talk
He failed many times till he learned to walk
Now he could go as he please
He could track down the radio with ease.

He found the lradio on the counter in the kitchen
Using his stool he climbed up to listen
He thought there must be little people singing in there
He needed a way to get them out here

He opened the top but still they would no show
Irritated and impatient he started to grow
He had to force them out
to get what he sought

But fate always has a twist
With just a flick of the wrist
A loud bang filled the house
He knew what he did deserved no applause

His brother ran in fearing what harm he brought to himself
All he saw was the radio removed from the shelf
Disappointed and sad jimmy sang his own song

acres of flowers
    flood my nose and fill my lungs
i am reborn
    waiting to be fed
              knowledge in stippled sunlight

when i am thirsty
         bring me the melted snow
i want to taste the skyscraper sierras

and sing a song sweetly (like a blueberry bluebird):

i am here
                 i am this
                                  i am now

a feeling of incomplete awakening
where sleep has not set in before
a glimpse of another time and space
calm primordial darkness
pervading unity
predating everything
before the stars
and gravity
arcane sensation of belonging
expanding intuition warming
self-awareness fading in
thickening drive
for breaking out of comfort
for a journey of discovery
the cracking of the eggshell
the slow withdrawal
of the veil of slumber
outstretched arms will welcome
the emergence
come alive
my eyes are yours now