Poems flow in a stream
That winds through me
As I guide them,
Through meandering, uneven
Places in my life,
Or once in a while,
The smooth runs
Where fishing seems easy.
And I collect the pretty stones
That come to rest,
Water-washed, shining,
Along the river’s bank.
And often, there is a pool,
Green-blue, with clear water
And trout shadows, swift
And still, making a brief home,
Suspended above the sand.
Those are the ones I choose,
The surface touched only
By tree-filtered sunbeams
And beckoning on summer days.
It seems sometimes to me
That poets travel backward
Up to the source of beauty,
Where the water is still pure,
After struggling up through
Rapids and waterfalls,
Or wading through swamps
Down where the stream ends
And a wide river opens up.
Giant rivers can be majestic
But they often bury the gems
Brought down from the
From mountain caves and highlands
Swallowing them to swirl,
Mixed-up with the jewels
Of other poets’ streams.
And from remembrance
We gather our dreams.
Does sorrow fill the traveler
Who reaches the dark places
Where springs emerge
From some place we cannot see?

The best of your days,
spent in vast fields of memorabilia.
Golden drops of sunset rain,
wash over your haste,
and you reach out for the hidden starlight,  
to rewrite the melodies of your broken heart.

Where the dead lie the flowers grow,
The trees shoot tall and the winds blow.
Resting in their eternal peace,
Memories live on and never cease.
Weathered stone and faded names,
At home, broken pictures in broken frames.
The woosh of an aeroplane flys overhead,
To honour their sacrifice and salute the dead.
For they have died so we might be free,
Lives lost inland and those at sea.
For we recall all that they gave,
As we whisper quiet prayers beside the grave.

A river runs red
From my knuckles into the sink.
As I stand there,
Hands dripping.
Washing the evidence of loving you,
Scrubbing the remembrance of the flesh.
Draining into pipes are memories of bodies together,
And mouths full of lies.

Will I go out like the sun
Yellow, orange, red, and pink
Burning until the end?
Or will I be like the moon
And quietly let the coming light
erase me from the sky?

Precious gems
started January 14th, 2021

Sometimes I think of
poems and people
misplaced lost missing gone

they live on
as gems in
my heart

tumbled smooth
by the turbulence
of my frantic love

each a precious
polished stone
ruby labradorite jade peridot

nightly before I sleep
I kiss them each one
so they will have sweet dreams.

You shine as far off mountain range
or breath of southern sea,
you shine like yellow meadow
basks with butterfly and bee

You shine as lonely patient gorge
crawls from heart of Earth,
and rivers ablaze with autumn fire
dream long forgotten birth

You shine as that kiss one
ripe
electric
afternoon
trickles down your spine,
you shine eternal morning
you shine
you shine
you shine.

"Arise O compatriots, Nigeria's call obey "
Bullets singed through the air  
Bodies danced and fell in a parody of ***
A foul stench  followed the bullets
A stench of fear? One could not tell
The stench of death amidst dying flesh
Guns blasted, screams echoed
Legs flapped,  hands flailied
And there i sat with my eyes shut, shouting my anthem, praying this cup passes me by

"To serve our father's land with love and strength and  faith"
"Hush now" my mind berated
"What father's land?" She  questioned
"It's filled with thorns, be careful least you fall" she cautioned
"GET UP" she shouted, "RUN NOW" she bellowed
"Live to tell this tale, for thy father's land has forsaken thee "

"The Labor of thy heroes past, shall never be in vain"
Death brought chaos in its wake
There I sat in deathly calm
I felt it like a whisper in my ears
"I'm here now hero"
peace enveloped me
This is how it felt, to die for a noble cause
My eyes snapped open unseeing, my lips moved unheard
Down fell the tears, the last my eyes could do
"One nation bound in freedom, peace and unity".
                                          Cderah

I remember the lights going off in the brains of young poets.
Deep in the dank streets of New York or Columbia college.

When the blues and twos would come and round up
The beatniks snapping to the howl of a homosexual mind.

When the generational attitudes of those too old to know,
Control the ****** acts of “violence”, or
The deepening scars of our philosophies.

When the urbanization of historical prowess leads to
Gentrified gypsies of the diamond deserts and endless skyways

When the great in the country isn’t good enough
For the red hats and spray tanned millionaires.

When the stocks of corporate dragons burn down
The attempts of upstart knights and online kingdoms.

When the politicians of old become the scapegoats
For the ironically gerontocratic few.

When the female few who dared couldn’t find their lost primaries
Or control the lifeblood leaking out of the Strait of Hormuz.  

When the powerful and powerless fought in-between
The dejected and all too often ignored.

When the powered halogen lights flooded prison yards of
Wrongly convicted and murderously in need of help.

When the San Francisco clubs lit up with muzzle flash
And the dancers lay weeping in their blood.

When the schools became places to duck and cover
Or learn to trip a friend when running from a gun.

When parkland high became a manufacturing ground
For casings, tears, and candlelight vigils.

When the American dream came combo packaged
And supersized with obesity and unemployment.

When the education of the youth became about
The profit margin in a spreadsheet full of debt.

When the sun sets in the smoke filled horizons
And sleepless rest settles on the western front.