Night from night remade
with the strangest contemplation
like Gogh's fantasy of sorts... unsorted
hapless, on an empty linen bed
laid, bound in Brixton's *******
Not like the whistler's queen
nor Mona... more unsettling
maybe a strumpet's retreat
Too brisk were strokes in anguish
and forceful a brush, one and another
with all manner of emulsion
Yes? Then too... a little k-y
Art is always made and paid for
The artist is prized
John Myatt's a Masterpiece
It fetched him a sterling glut

My wondering child
never lost in the clutter
young encephalon

dream of birds in flight

dream of birds on trees

but rows on rows
of murderous crows singing

these dreams, have not please

who told Moise to flee?
from these mountains
so free, so free: "Hayti"

to the plains his men go
egos of pharaoh's Egypt
egos thunder at night
this land of promise
so free, so free: "Hayti"

fill this basket, Moise
and sail on our tears
to the promise land
from these mountains
so free, so free: "Hayti"

Beyond these lines...
on worrisome papyrus
where names fall in anguish
like hailstones on Nebraska
cold and violent
none lost in turbulence
in the hall of two truths
weighed on death's feather

Beyond these lines...
words sharp as bayonets
on loaded guns, pointing
... pointed as lead, drawn far afield
beyond sight
beyond purpose
beyond comprehension, yet
accurate as a ******'s breath

beyond these lines...
these crude and relevant lines
that calls forth to death
with rhymes ... with syntax
imagery, impeccable imagery
refrain, can we refrain?
beyond these lines... of death
beyond these lines... of death

The world turns over and again
A wheel on the carriage of time
Like the days of creation:
with the manifestations of men

To what end the wheel turns?
How then will it all end?

Like the septenary of God and Sages:
A sabbatical for atheists
A sabbatical for believers
To rest... To the rest

Like hot feet and broken chains
on the chalky hills of Normandy
A prolonged accolade for failure
An insipid brevity for success

Like rope, flag and wind
Full mast; Half mast
Baptism, Bells and Choir
Black bands, Bells and Spire

Like marshmallows in heaven
burning in dew drenched bonfires
White sheets and tears
White sheets and tears

Over and again the world turns
Junipers and Gin
Sistine smoke and Pope
Fuel and Fire

To what end the wheel turns?
How then will it all end?

Black is a book of secrets
The world's words written
without fanfare for the colour
just the hue of inhumanity
Like a plague... like a sin
if its black... it's hard bound

Bound, booked and stacked
high on history's shelves,  
real words living life: over again
chain, maim, pain, inhumane
Don't flinch figure! Lynch figure!
If you ain't a figure, go...

Figures, black as night as day
stray cats ain't panters, they can't pant
Counted cruelly as commodities
But who's been chequeing?
Says who black isn't beauty?
Says who diva Devi isn't a cutie?

Black is now back
with a Kodak claque
hot like Lewis Hamilton's wheels,
hot heels, a black dress stepping
on broadwalks, cats talking
"time to lift off the tarmac"

Where Emperors go
caterpillars can't contend
but by changing state

Your diamond eyes still amaze me
From a thousand moons courtship
Drenched from the sun's embrace
Like a French kissed maiden
Limp from the pleasures of life

Yet still, your diamond eyes reflect
The dreams you once dreamed
Beneath a twilight of silver stars
With the innocence of a crying child
Comforted by the warmth of a bossom

Your diamond eyes still amaze me
More than indiscretions of my youth
When dew dripped petals were tossed
At the soles of our stumbling feet
Holding my hand, you walked with me

Your diamond eyes still amaze me
For all the riches which they sent
Your love scattered across my life
Your diamond eyes amaze me
And I am a child of fortune

In my kitchen
your place
is at the table

That sunset for George Floyd came so soon
was indeed another heartbreaking cheat
But what's worst for us: another blue moon
shone again so bright on Ebony Street

A brick was laid in the wall of pity
while the darkness of the nights are sombre
Isn't it for poor George's adversity
That the yellow-hat men had not ponder

Now cities aglow for George Floyd's fall
As knives clatter and windows shatter
Yet still this Curious wall stands tall
to show us all: black lives don't matter

In these perilous times I'm forced to think
Would it be the same if Floyd was pink?

She spoke gibberish
words I did not understand
We shared great laughter

My patience is a virtue
Still hands
Straight shots
Full bodied
Another on ice
Keep walking my friends

Johnnie Walker

The daughter of time
as naked as truth can be
Reflecting our lives

The foamy seaside surf retreats
on broken waves, replete
with inebriated words
sober hearts
surrender
❤

Mannequin men murals
Stationed on a crazy catwalk
with their mundane masks
and bloodlust eyes
Such was the intensity
In the silence of night
Tiny drums crescendo
with stubborn teflon skin
As stars tossed from hell
Crazy cats on a catwalk
Meow Meow Meow
Moving mannequin men

... and the concordance of history is best illustrated in the words of the 21st century emperor himself ... "# flagged for violent content".

Oh William, Oh William
The Franciscan Friar
Oh William of Ockham
Who deems thee a liar?

If the solution is simpler
Then it ought to be right
But not... not for love's hurt
That I crave in my lonely plight

Oh William, Oh William
Wild roses and briers
Oh William my brother
Princes, Kings and Choirs

The dame on the Rhine
Through larch, spruce and pine
Called as she was without a name
"La dame", "De dame", "Die dame"
She came with Purple Heather
Tulips and Buttercups in September
From Graubünden to Hague
Ne'er deemed a plague
And it rained; a scarlet rain
For Constance and for Cologne
For Saga, Scenes and Scents
Hot baths under Weber's tents
Yes, it rained a scarlet rain
She steered her great course
To the enclave of the Norse
And it rained a scarlet rain

When the eastern winds are freed
On vast fields of scattered seeds
In a season of smoke and fire
One million and more is dire

To themselves each flower keeps
While those close bequeath a wreath
As minds burn and mine burns
Buddies piled high for urns

When the eastern winds roam free
On the lands of the north Atlantic sea
We'll live days and nights of doom
When the wild Bergamots bloom