Tropical depression
Tired of this elongated recession
Needing that moment of egression
I would rather just sleep until the next day
Yet it doesn't put the elephant away
Only making it more obvious
Master of procrastination
No matter how many pilcations
It seems to be the same result.

Gently it pours
Like cotton on the skin,
Forming puddles therein,
And reflecting the lights it showers in.

Gently it spills
Veiling the hills
And wash away all the lethal ills;
To spare hopes and wills.

Gently it falls
Like little, cool, crystal *****
Melting onto the abundant furniture of this green halls
Along with waltzing winds it calls.

By Wardah
23rd November 2017 (6.18pm)

I am losing my mind in this heat
Can anyone rock on some crazy beat
Let's do a hip hop rain dance
So we all can feel a little less tensed
Rain God, hear us through
We dance from our heart, that's true
O'Cmon, don't be so stubborn
Just shower hard in our urban
I honestly can't think straight
Soon we'll turn into human bait
Baked in this burning sun and heat
O'please can you give us rain as a treat
Things are moving in slow motion
There's salty smell coming from the ocean
It's getting too stuffy, why can't it snow
A little cooler, but I really don't know
Tropical Fiji, why are you getting hot
It's like sitting in an oven or being stirred in a ***
All my energy seems sapped in
I am feeling hot, I am suffocating within...


©sim

Flying deep above the flowing water
is the Ocean Butterfly.
Its wings  are blue as the waves totter.
Its beryl wings fly so high.

It lives in a tropical tree with others.
Where they live free
in their beautiful ocean colors.
Where they are destined to be.

These beautiful, beryl butterflies
are special in every way.
They fly above the sunrise.
Brilliantly and gleefully away.

My idol walks. Behold her beauty
born of Nicaraguan night
summoning poetic duty:
tremors of volcanic light!
Clouds of ash and lava dropping:
I come back… I going shopping.

Sounding her primeval waters
crater lakes, her green lagoons,
fabulous—this diverse daughter’s
humid palms and storm-tossed moons;
ascending up her jungle mount:
Transfer dinero to my account!

Stone-faced idol, pre-conquista;
rice with beans or sacred maize
labyrinthine Latin vista,
cumbias and sacred lays.
Hurricanes and quaking earth:
******, what’s your dollar worth?

She who left her quaint dysfunction
reeking of colonial woes
for the multi-culti junction,
holy in her *****-pose;
scowling like exploited nations:
How you say… congratulations!

Gushing like a flow of lava
running down her placid gaze,
ripened flesh; the scent of guava,
passion-fruit in paraphrase…
Monkeys howling, torrents pouring:
Poetry to me is boring…

Rubén Darío’s wonderland:
Flor de Caña the anesthetic.
Marx’s tropic reprimand:
Sandinismo as emetic.
Verses don’t impress this lass:
Please—the car need fill with gas.

Lost in hurricanes of thought,
pounding the roof, God pours, it rains.
What was it, really, that I sought
In her land where the poetry reigns ?
It’s love. At times I long to shoot her:
Why you waste time on that computer?

Standing here, in 90-degree land
Where nothing is right
But the drink in my hand

Sweet saving coolness, fine eastern breeze!
I welcome thee warmly,
I welcome you, please

Stand fans may blow this languor away,
But I cannot stand
These bills I must pay

Summer is hot on my heels as I run
Through prickly white sands
– and the daydream is gone

In thick sticky air, seconds trickle and crawl
As sweat from my temples
To the sides of my jaw

The sun's got a fever and my blood could be boiling
I laze inch by inch though my insides are roiling
To be productive in this haze – this hell of a heatwave
But instead I'm in bed, just rotting and spoiling