Everyone has stories
and I imagine them
when I look at strangers
what sort of tales
did their lives spin?
I wanted to know the stories
I made them up
in my head
because to really
you can't just be
a quiet onlooker,
you have to let them
know you too
and that was something
I was no longer
willing to do
the last person
to really know me
denies he ever did
like he's ashamed of me
in fact I am sure
he curses the day
he ever laid eyes on me
no... that is one thing
I am not willing
to do again,
to let someone
really know me.
The meadow evolved with the wind,
loving how the breeze caressed everything.
Moving its thin stalks and delicate petals
in lulling, knowing sway,
gently letting go of tiny seeds –
now floating off and far away.
The day fades in spectrums of brilliant light
and delights in all angles of the blooming field
as it reveals the shadow, the colors,
the life that flutters and reels within the soil,
toiling beneath the sleek grass.
The challenges of being, seeding, eating
all come to and then they pass.
It is everlasting: the scurry, the shift --
billions of tiny creatures that feel and live.
They sift through instinct,
they take and they give
back to the warm, doting earth.
They are unconscious participants
engaged in divine work.
And the spiral keeps on twisting --
the movement persisting, beckoning.
A silent whirlpool spinning without restraint
in all souls, in all bones resting
deep within the ground.
The old growth withers,
then silently falls down
with a most graceful ease.
And so it all vanishes away.
But the light remains.
The buds grow infinitely, intimately with the sun --
overcome with delight, blessed and ripe.
Blissfully, they sway and then peacefully fade.
Unafraid, the field abundantly lives.
It does not resist.
It gives itself instinctually, freely to love
even as it comes undone.
It never dwells upon, nor does it succumb,
Whats become of the creed, my brother?
People filling their coffers
with so much dirty coin
And filling their head
with empty irrationalities;
A temple of gold is no buidling
to atone their sins.
Oh why Oh why, cant they see
the cobwebs of dogma gathered
in their temple over the ages.
How do I see all this, my brother?
and they dont.
None of this was to be,
Not in the book that they swear on.
So lets stop waiting now,
No more prophets are coming now.
It is time, lets bring this diseased
temple of theirs down on them.
It is time, my brother,
for the gods to die now.
They need some new ones now
We build a promised land now
From the ruins of the old now.
The fairy flew like a dried leaf,
Way beyond the red coral reef,
It flew unto its fairy mom.
The mom was unlike other fairies,
For it is red in colour & has horns,
It also has a pointed fairy tail..
For it is the Devil's own fairy agent!!!
We sit only 3 feet apart
Yet you refuse to look at me
Compliments no where
Despite the dress I'm in
The dress you bought
You called me pretty
Then laughed hysterically
At my surprised face
Of course -.-
Again I'm only a joke to you
I cannot wait until the food gets here
Hopefully I won't throw it at you
Although that would be fun
But the faster I eat the better
So I can leave this darkly lit restaurant
Away from your stupid grinning face
Out of this beautifully formal dress
And into my elmo footie pajamas
I hate dating.
You unconscionable poltroons!
Your minds have the intelligence
Of helium filled balloons!
You had a chance to save us
But when it came down to the wire
You chose to let a circus clown
Win the race and play with fire.
Who could know you have learned
Nothing at all from before
When you elected those two morons
Run the show while you snored?
Who could guess that people who
Claim to be so Christian and good,
Would act like from the ears up
They were made entirely of wood?
Do you not see what you have done?
You chose a man who seems to think
Lying and embezzling are great fun.
You did not choose the candidate
With experience and knowledge;
You chose the guy who swindled those
Who signed up for his bogus college!
Millions of us with wisdom predicted
This man who praises Vladimir Putin
Would want to start World War Three
Because he is so fond of shooting!
He thinks, without a bit of experience,
He can simply put on another act
And all the rest of the world will
See his mad delusions as facts.
You have sold your country out!
Later when it all falls apart
You'll blame someone else and pout.
Now you cheer and chant USA,
And pretend you are so damned brave
The rest of us fear for the world
And hope there is something to save.
The surprise of the moment, I just can't comprehend
standing in the wreckage, not knowing where, or when
What's funny is... I used to believe I could understand
the complexities of woman, the availability, of sand
Too long have I spent, my plans being known and defined
all the things that I had worked for, which she has undermined
Cowering in the corner, the boy began to cry,
Sucking in the gloom.
Searching the room
As his father slowly went by.
His father’s reddened nudity
Caught under the weak bedroom light
His genitals pink and bright,
Like a swollen crucifix hanging impudently.
“Out my boy.” He called
In a voice that to the child
Sounded like thunder, ill-tempered and wild.
“Daddy needs you.” The father bawled.
The father’s affection was a wound
That disfigured body and mind
Care sullied, love unkind-
First loved, made love to, then wholly ruined.
His father’s hand jabbed the gloom
And laughing cruelly pulled him out
“I knew you were somewhere about.”
Dragging him through the room.
The child at first whimpered,
Then was muted. As his father began,
Through his small body the pain ran,
Biting his lips, the boy quietly simpered.