Navajo Spirit


The Amazon is amazing, so why are you still destroying,
Its beauty and your integrity?  You are a monster devouring.
This natural beauty is in our way;
So we must destroy to build again.
We must cause Mother Nature incredible pain;
For she has given us all these trees and this bloody rain.
A forest stump wouldn’t complain about anything.


Oh no!  A Navajo!
We must kick them out of their homes!
We come in peace,
Shoot to kill!  Shoot to kill!  
We come in peace,
Shoot to kill!


Er; Captain.  Yes what is it?
This thievery is taking longer than expected.
What!?  Do you think I am an idiot?
No Sir; it’s just, we haven’t got enough biscuits.
What about Jaffa Cakes?  No Sir, we’re all out.
Well what about meat?  It’s all dead and cannot be eaten.
What do you mean?  It’s obviously dead. (Clout!)
Ow!  Sorry Sir, I mean it has gone rotten.


Well find some more natives and buy some more meat.
We can’t Sir; they have disappeared, since the last broken treaty.
They haven’t been seen and new supplies we just cannot get.
Doh!  Why did we have to be such bloody stupid English Men?
Now we shall all starve because we couldn’t share the land;
The winter is coming and we have no friends.


Oh hello…I am Amity.  I am a Navajo.
You look rather ill…where is your home?
England, I think; please help me I’m starving.
Oh of course, wait a second and I’ll get cooking.


Here take this, it will make you healthy.
Cough!  Sorry.  I never meant to scare you.
Oh you didn’t, don’t be silly.
I just saw you lying here in need;
So I thought I would come and see,
If there was anything I could do.


You’re too kind, after the way my people have treated you.
Oh don’t be silly, you gave us money,
To help us arm ourselves against you.
Such irony really, when we could just have been friends.
Here smoke this peace pipe, it is completely free…
I’m seeing visions…


I see us as neighbours, living beside each other in peace;
I see a time of change in the wind beneath our dreams.
Let us live in peace and never forget history;
For the Navajo Spirit has always been at home
In the Land of the Free.


(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The Artist


I need a Muse.  
Do you think it could be you?
Can you pick up a paint brush
And show me what you can do?


I need a painter of portraits;
To fill in the gaps inside my head.
I need a Goddess of Love,
To notice the stuff I write in my bed.


I need an Artist, who is simply magnificent,
A breath-taking vision, who is simply Heaven sent.
I need an Angel to paint me a Picasso,
Of my poetry in pieces, before I end up like Van Gogh.


Slightly impaired by deafness, I guess.
Going grey now; thank you stress.


Hi Mona, how’s Rembrandt?
He’s been seen drinking in a bar,
With someone called Cezanne?


Call Michelangelo; Donatello will have a plan.
Leonardo’s busy with his inventions,
But here comes Raphael.
Turtle Power!  Hi Master Splinter.
Do you have your easel and paints ready,
To see you through the winter?


Paint me a story
And I’ll write you a picture.
I think if the two of us worked together,
What I see, to you, could become much clearer.


Are you sat there looking for some inspiration?
Then read one of my poems, sing one of my songs;
Maybe then you could paint our creation.
Maybe then, I could write poetry about your art.


My vision brought to life,
With the gift of your care.
Paint a picture of us together,
So you will remember that I will always be there.


If you ever need some inspiration,
Just creep inside my mind for a little vacation;
An escape from reality, or from your personal Demon’s.
You will see we are all the same;
I have as many foibles as you do.


My heart belongs to any Woman who truly wants it;
But she hasn’t told me how she feels yet,
So I guess I can’t live without it.


But soon I will meet someone
And offer them my love;
Because an artist without inspiration,
Is like a poet who has never been in love.


Joyous tragedy! Shakespeare laughs,
As he tears apart love with just a couple of paragraphs.
Dead and gone!  Not our fair Juliet.
If Romeo had just gone home instead,
He would have turned into a moody poet.


(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Abby Jo 18h
One bottle of wine all to myself
Didnt even need a glass
Just drank straight out of the bottle
Not one person aware
Just as I prefer it
Im sure it will come to a head
As soon as my tongue touches that one drop
that will push my limit
Everyone will hear it time and time again
Cant keep it bottled up
But for now, I'll keep the bottle up
Don't want to talk just yet, but it will allll come out eventually
I met to question/accepted and the question became as seen fixed to the finite involvement of the arrayed expressions seen with every eyelash, I answer. From what is seen afar and meet to a close distance made to fit in its progression to the appearance meant for the eyes. Having the time I have watched as the matter made to appear/endure; looking from as to be meant and you were as the air made to see not to touch and I concern as the progression made to save the air from myself as would the air from the (self) but the (self) made what I'd seen to endure until I practice and I became the work of how concentration became into the form of what the body did and I decided that one fix of relaxation and one breath became the beginning of the impression of a thought and the instant of you became and considering contemplation as it made to the sense of how it proceeded during the question of my existence while a friend of mine came about into the smile of a question that lingered with you next to me and you sit free of emotion to have the heart to challenge the thought of self-obedience and to the right of age and the life of your contentment of your youth. Waters? I do not challenge the thought of self-obedience; rather, the right of my calmed emotions that count when the arrival of my spouse speaks in hurtful tones; as she ages to the sight of my sighs; I wanted more of the time spent between the skin and its wrinkles; just as the age remains on my old face. Returning with the laughter of a grabbing smile; ageless, her smile of beauty as she reflects in my deepening eyes pressed like the light of the morning air; drying the eyes that awaken the sight of our endless perfection. (Silence). Who will age and die before the end of our discussion of the state of aging and perceiving the accounts of others who have aged and received word that affect the many in a sag of a face and a drop of sweat on the side of my head to receive my pulse, worrying if I am alive. To you and the pulse drop of sweat entering age as you would answering the emotions of a high; (we both looked to the ends of the tables and  became aware of the ends of any conversation, ageless.) What do you see now? While your face ages and your heart made you sit with a cynical smile that directs our current thought with trials of a hand birthed to flawlessness by the inner markings; to the ache of thought; I wonder if our colleagues were correct? One stated - “To master emotion; and age truthfully eclectic to our minds causing our very age to suffer a calamity of misfortune or to impress the people of our ageless perception which overcame the calamity of death. Which to choose? We gather in our first attempt of colleagues to inquire the state of people on the verge of old age by our second source of life, emotion. Our theory of emotion was by the ink of writings that placed in our planet one to them of history and the other to the question of the planets of amazing gas only for the pleasure of sight. The grounds of galactic lay placed colonies for meddling as the torment of other nature places men and women to the science of origin, once again. The unpleasant reaction doubtfully greeted by your age and to the stack of papers to continue increasing our understanding of emotions placed in our universe. Where is the origin of the once belittled emotion of simple disputes? I watched as the houses emptied. The universe is not complementing the planet as the time became the emotion of how we age in the universe. As the night approaches the car lights pierced through the window. My ride; in attempt to end our discussion with success. I take my leave and I remind the world to you as emotions wanted to spend my time giving with the whites’ and grays’ found in my hair and the youth that came and went; day and night into the need of resting, in my timeless day; dying in what my dress made me feel, clean; the quickness that made notice throughout my walk in the halls with the hurries of cold, weak sweats on my skin-under the sleeves of my cold wet arms. I walk out the building. And I called out to any person I see on the streets. I asked this strange man if I was young? I get the heart of palpitation and it begins this anxiety while the need of these highs to react and manage to label it the intelligence that I find.   fascinating; and the answer of our universe, emotiona claims to be and the walk that became the shakes of what sense made. Have you seen my cheeks blushed it's new and a brighter red?I smiled and asked and what of the woman? What'd she say? With her eyes? It was with as if she had seen the touches of her face and she didn't mind the moment as she stared into mine. I muttered. Dare I die with this idea that made me worry of the “state of aging?” (looking to him) And? Like you say it and made me believe that one day will reach the end of our lives; with more kisses and an uncounted number of flowers that I make room for each hour of the morning. I'll remember what you say just to pile dead and pale yellow roses into the night count after I suffer dementia and place my wasted tears on the smell of roses when I open the trunk. Just to remember. (I looked to her for the chance to smile not knowing if she was the same; but, she drives not looking my way and the headlights kept passing her sight of how she just makes me smile at the ideas of her walking throughout the city asking if she is still young. I wanted to make her appreciative in the decision of how she wanted to react in the public. Crazed, apparently. I wait for summer each morning and I behave accordingly to the sweet air and the soft face that touches as if I wanted my beauty to return with the brushes and vanity. I wait for old age in the evening and suffer the smell of the dying roses just to pluck them from the sun and the pretty I see when the roses are lit by the moon and in my trunk. So here could be a funeral with the smell of roses. And this face I dare to see in your eyes. (I hoped for a kiss.) I face closer to the window and fog the night and I wipe the cold window and I see far city lights and I calm just to remember the glow of the city lights.
          The Yearning
    
The wind that sounds to the empty streets that time around noon; the even emptier vehicles that were parked to the laps that heighten the night in the appearance as we sleep. I heard the voice that became of my mind; the loud voice in a concerning tone-made to believe that all would be okay to the age of those suffering. I was amazed while my skin became the forgetfulness of my mind. I suffer the acquaintance of the flesh; unlike the decline of mans. Amongst the new inhabitants that walk my universal ground made to face the beginning of emotional life to change the universe as we came to know that time is as the planet has undoubtedly never changed to itself, until now; and the variation of nature to consist with time itself and the skies mastered intergalactic travel and made nature equally as the perception of man.

                                                               ­       Metropolis
    The steps of my daughter became as the age claimed the youthful movement; while she aged and changed several appearances before the age three. She began to walk her first steps of her old age; what was it? I said. At a glance her age became the winter still of the bare trees. I smiled, to ease the emotion into her mind-settling with the face resembling a cuter form of my gone forgotten mother. I taught the child to walk as I held her hands; she pranced and pranced and she cried-confused becoming the reach of her father. I walked her to the front of the mirror and she wept. I could not bare the tears of her old age while my youth became as clear as the starnight of our struggle. Happy to thought as she neared the piano; I begged of her to climb the bench as she smirked and struggled she became as the old replied with her understanding of how her mother died. Emily had said “I’m old and my heart hurts, why?” Emily, dear my hands will act to the ache to the age of how you became the sadness that hurried the death of your mother. I to am to blame as well as she aged to my absence I became the air that suffered my tears in my throat; my wife your mother who passed a song-to the birth of your smile-will immediately cause you to love the way your heart will become as the song brushes your hair as I forgotten the acts of your kind mother. I stood her up smiling and lifted her hands to play the piano. I smiled, as I recalled the time when Emily began to stare noiselessly into the piano. I knew she had the heart that kept her alive to the playing of Samatha, her song. Are you prepared to bare the hearts of those who speak age and yearn for life as death approaches all? Who are we? Only to be subdued by the limitations of our age-a constant grief when the loss of someone belittles our time with our beloved ones. The life of others teach us to mend and approach the emotion of our wavering hearts. Listen, Emily age did not mention the youth in the bare moment of our time together as the piano played your age becoming the youth of soul found in the light of your mind. Be ready as the sound plays more soul of heart that your body yields strength to compose a sound of beauty to the tips of your weightless fingers-given the life of my love.
       I returned a phone call to one of the colleagues of the late night conversation on about the emotions claiming the lives of people. With no response I took to the last ring and my face sunk to the depths of how the speed of the highway will count to the speed limit of each breath, I heave, I heave as I awaited as I deprived as I took to the next breath to the seconds I tried; but, I immediately took the chance and chased my room as my findings led me to believe in the hurries of a sight of being the response of many of those who considered the instructions of how emotiona began to fate the deaths of people; who practice the constant of life with one emotion to dictate the body of those accumulating moments as they wanted the old to release the life of a stare  ran by their tears. Please, anyone, can I calm the help of oneself to seek as I take my keys? I drive to the highway to keep what wits made as the cars drove on to my breath and more that hid to the seven that I counted to keep the time as memory approached my lungs; I seen the distance to know that time is on the road, I nearly slept behind the wheel and I awoke to beam of lights in a curve of what rain made car beams to signal to the right of my inhale one after another I knew the time had vanished, I sink into to my mind from the dark night I wanted the time to reach the body without the ache of those who know of sorrows. I make what I had to discover as my heart began to slow I saw as the night became as the pitch darkened to the stress of the beam of lights spinning to the direction of its perfection. I swayed to the moments of breath during the fall of the pouring rain; bright as I could only see what the eyes allowed the mind to perceive, blinding with the darkness reaching the light as the instant it took to recover to the expanse of the highway scene. I seen the windshield wipe away to the clarity as my sight extended to the glass; rain drops to the speed of the quickest highway drive I began to laugh. The rain poured and I rolled the window to find fate pouring into the car making the way a cold night drop shivering my sleep to the wet sleeves; I am wet and I know that time was as I knew a friend; who gathered in the light of the star that illuminated the day and the moons that appeared yellow as the sun; time, I wanted to be as the weight of the tears that fell and the moons were lit to fade and the world became the darkness of how I swallowed the air whole of pain to know air gave life and now it is the winds slowing and the air thinned; at last, I knew time was leaving and the nature of what we expected to know and realized the road became smaller and the way to know that Elis and the galaxies made soon the end of time; I layed to the highway side as the roads became too close to the streets as the water filled the way of the road.
Wejdan 1d
I tried to run from your lips
Which are so sweet to me.
Even with your words in my DNA
You became a sin I could never stop asking god to forgive.
Its your body that brought me inside this hole
And because of the law I tried to control myself.
I turned into a knife to kill you away but I ended up killing myself instead
Bleeding from my lips,
It is the same spot from where you kissed me.
To wipe my tears away
Only one shot is needed
But I love you and making our own family was the only wish id ever want
But you happen to be a heart-breaker seeds of sins were growing in your mind.
Behind your blue eyes
I saw the sea of unspoken words and untold stories.
A dream of a continuum


Continuous is the continuum.
The never ending story.
Oblivious to oblivion's din,
Because I cannot believe in fables about former glories.
A lack of faith in myself, has caused this Hell
And all the daisies are so far away.
Chrysanthemums smell of the earth I am told.
I would not know, I am wrapped in my box,
For living life day to day.
Locks upon my lid because there is nothing inside worth stealing.
Words are all I have…except for the dreaming.


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Help me!
I'm dying!
I'm bleeding.
I'm bleeding out!

Help me!
I'm trying!
I'm lifting.
I'm lifting off!

My levity leads
My passion to answers
I'd never.
I'd never!

Mangled my flesh myself
Make me higher make
Me something.
Something else!

Left on my own
My own devices
Will I push the knife
Into my heart
Right through

Doctor, my hands want to kill me
So, keep me from trying
Doctor, I'm begging

Heal me and make me
Someone else!
Taken


In this graveyard I sit and inhale the smoke.
As I sit, I read names, dates and quotes.
He was this and she was that.
They didn’t escape death…that is all I know.


Roses among the moss, the raindrops begin to fall down;
I stare into the dying sunlight and see images through clouds.
Then I see another mourner, praying to God;
We are both dressed in black, but she is no Goth.
She is just lost and has lost someone she loved;
I will not disturb her in her time of grief,
But I will glance at the grave stone when she is gone
And I am heading home, past all the head stones.
What is this sadness that surrounds us all in this place?
They have all been taken away.


Etchings and numbers like nineteen forty seven;
Names no longer remembered now they have all risen to Heaven.
Families reunited, never truly divided;
Always nearby if needed, inside a guiding light.
I kissed a girl and I kind of liked it;
But now her kisses are bitter to the thought,
Now she has been taken from my life.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The Path


The path I have followed has many twists and turns;
I have walked alongside angels and behind me my demons still lurk.
Quick to seize upon a trip, or a slip of the tongue.
Without a vice I would be nice;
Every day I tell myself that I smoke too much.


Still I continue into the unseen ahead;
I can only keep on walking, knowing I have never tried my best.
I will not try to persuade you to join me on this journey;
For this is my path to walk alone.


So I will continue to journey onwards,
Bid you goodbye and thank you for the talk;
Because you have a path of your own, which you alone must walk.


In peace for once, I slow to a crawl;
No energy left to put up a wall.
So inside they creep, the darkest of thoughts.
This is just a part of my story;
A stepping stone on my long walk.


Careful of placing my feet and lost to the world;
I have travelled along with no guide to show me a real love.
Forever searching for warmth in a life left so cold;
But pure of heart is my choice, so my future I must endure.


As years pass on by, the scenery changes day by day;
The thorns in my life will be replaced with milk and honey.
So I will continue, because I know this is the course I must take
And one day all this rain will transform and become sunny.


True north is the only way I know I am heading;
All the painful memories, I am slowly forgetting.
Forwards I march, into the distance,
Leaving no crumbs behind me as I walk.
I have no intention of turning my back on what is ahead of me;
I intend to embrace and feel it all.


The good, bad and the ugly;
The happiness and the tears.
I have followed this path for a lifetime
And my journey does not end here.


This path stretches out ahead of me,
Until the time my feet cease to move.
I have walked barefoot through the fires of Hell
And I have walked many miles in your shoes.
I have carried the weight of the world upon my shoulders sometimes;
I have put my thoughts down to rest, among the lines that I write.


I have let go of everything and what I miss the most;

Is the thing I never had…

…the knowledge of where it is I am going
And when it is I will know, where to go.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
People never listen anymore
With ears
They seek out the one who loves to spread words

People never care anymore
With ears
They thought have understood the story from the narrator

Infact they were the sidekicks
The insignificant petty villagers

While they could have asked the characters themselves
Paint the picture themselves
They don't care anymore
To put the effort in
They would rather just hear it from somewhere
Then pretend they learnt everything there is to learn about the story

Fact is
It wasn't your story to care for at the first place
It's not caring it's plain boredom and hopes to be the holy judge of 'none of their business'
Care is not like that

When will the peasants see
The truth
the truth that lies
lies between the teller and facts
the teller and players
Listen with your heart and not your ears
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