Within the stomach of the world
The country stretches its branches, uncurled
Who is the horror of Napoleon Bonaparte?
Who darkens and fools the heart?
Often when man is shaken to the core
Other worlds sneak peeks in his door
And even in the junction of cattle
Metaphysical and mystical truths dazzle
Touched by the sea, a vision came
The pearls of the earth in flames
A jackdaw perches itself on pistons
Radiating heat from all of its mission
His mystic sense stayed tight beneath eyelids
Yet lit the flame in all said and undid
Like a voice in the wilderness
Or even a prophet of old, who might deliver us.
When I die
Roses to bloom
From beneath my grave
Violets and blue-bells
And emerald grass
Blooms in my memory
Is all that I ask
And pink -petaled lilies
I'm my resting place
Would be lovely
You look at them,
I look at you,
our thoughts light-years apart.
But I will whisper,
in your ear,
in hope to change your heart.
You think of them and evening dress,
I think of only,
you and them,
I close my eyes to dare.
You put them on,
they touch your skin,
you turn and ask me “See?”
I want to burst,
in billion pearls,
and let you swim in me.
To my Anabella
A litte bird
trapped in a golden cage,
fed with precious jewels,
diamonds and pearls.
anyone could ever ask,
except for one thing
she can never have.
I cast my pearls before a blind man.
I assumed he could appreciate my open hand.
Some share diamonds
with blind men scorpions.
Assuming they are worthy champions.
Poets offer gifts freely at broad doors.
Usually these are doors that can't understand metaphors.
Poor hearts some just can't relate.
They can't consume a healthy poetic plate.
There are those that will say speak plainly to me.
Keep it easy and elementary.
But for a poet there's revelation in the mystery.
Often we feel they just don't get me.
The less you read write learn or explore..
The less you want to dive into the brains deep shores.
I could give you a plain white flower.
Or I can decorate it give it colorful power.
If you don't understand the reasons.
That there are beautiful things in all the seasons.
And how every dish has its flavors.
How every emotion is relevent enhanced with its vapors.
Then I will just have to understand..
and pull back my gifted hands.
I'll give you a 1 and not a 2..
I'll give the less and let that do for you.
I'll keep my poetic expressions.
You'll not slander my word therapy notations.
My gifted juicy stories.. will be like vibrant leaves.
Bouncing freely on strong big trees.
Ready for the picking,
for those that love reaching.
Those that love climbing.
Those that love giving, sowing, planting and achieving.
We all will keep glowing in sunlight..
Rays of knowledge colorful simmering delight.
Yes sometimes we try to share some sunshine..Even with the blind..
Some chose to stay blind.
But if you could get to feel the light.
Would you still put up such a fight.
Poetic liberty is justice for me..It sets the captive free.
Poetic Therapy is soulful,
bringing every emotion possible.
Unveils or conceals situations of lifes mystery.
casting of pearls
a funny thing
yet so promising
is but a paperweight
atop a dresser
meant as a promise:
you wouldn't make
the same mistake
yet it sits,
pearls won't fix
how my heart aches
was never really there
one of the best ways to heal is to write about it and move on.