My ankles transport me to work
Work on nothing
Nothing

A moth directs itself to light
Direction
Nothing

Who is this life for, anyway?
Some-thing or some thing?

Things someone thought about and it seemed right at the time

Nothing can beget nothing
No thing is possible without hope

The thing I want most is to be a wire.

The grand turbulence, the fury
Of the flower's first opening,
     The song of spring
At the tips of the leaves,
     Dripping the delicious
With the buzz and the sting.
The nectar-lady, the juice
That she brings, and
     The chaos of a thirst
     In the mouth, with a burst,
          Scrumptious, satisfying.*

© 2016 J.S.P.

It is not like a tree
In bulk doth make man better be,
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year
To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sere,
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night—
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see
And in short measures life may perfect be.

የሰው ትክክለኛ መስፈርት

እንደዛፍ መግዘፍ
ሠውን አያደርገውም ከፍ፣
ጭራሽ እንደዋርካ
ለሦስት መቶ ዓመታት
በስፋት ተንሰራፍቶ፣
በመጨረሻ መውደቅ
ደርቆ ፣ተራቁቶና አርጅቶ!
በጥቅምት ወራት፣
ባላንድ ቀንዋ ሊሊ
በጣም ብልጫ አላት፣
አመሻሹላይ ብትደርቅም
የብርሃን አበባና ተክል ናት
በምጥንም መስፈርት
ይስተዋላል ውበት!
ክትት ማለት ሲሆን መስፈርት
ግሩም ሳይሆን ይቀራል ህይወት!
(በቤን ጆንሶን) //

Nothing is Impossible
Because there is always Something
And always a Way
For Something
To happen.

Paul Butters

It was her first frolic,
Raw, non-prolific, she has eyes
On the ceiling, staring at her, her feet,
     Bare, tiptoe with the wind outside, yet
Her brittle body aches, as though
     To embrace the hardest pillow,
A realization, a brand, a scar, a grand
     Turbulence, somewhere
On the inside, the fury
Of a soft rose, it's first opening,
     Too early for the spring, bitter,

          At the applause of one.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Our love was a tragedy,
A bridge, a gap, a separation,
A masterpiece, somewhere,
     In Edvard Munch's The Scream
An unknown affair, a farewell
     With very few witnesses.

          Nothing can save us.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

And even if you had to hurt her,
And bare yourself like a broken
Promise, shedding off your wool,
     Make her moan in petals,
Let her curse all butterflies, and
See to it that the stars ache with her,
That way, your cheek won't miss the beauty
     Of being thumbed.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Of all the many that had fallen
From and to the love-bed of love,
     He was the one to take her heaven,
The white-winged monster
Under sheets, her blankets,
     Devouring dreams
          Between her legs.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Life is short, and to think of you,
Long and mad, is to long the longing
     Of long bond papers, stretched,
Untouched and unmolested,
An ice rink awaiting
     Its solitary soul.*

© 2015 J.S.P.