She was full of such grace
That she radiated utter splendor!
Lilacs in her hair,
Violets, paeonias, and roses.
Adorn simple fabric,
The smells citrus & floral.
I loose my sextant,
My rubric,
My laurels.
In her fair sight, near eye,
Her ear offers to listen
On the thoughts that pass by.
What more could I ask for?

You think I speak of blood lineage,
Clearly I hold the whetstone,
But that's because you're dull.

Maybe,
I am.

From my shine, shimmer-
I'll stay solid as file;
Whether if needed firm or gentle,
Soft or abrasive.

In address to the west,
The rising sun.

At least, that's from our perspective.

From the hammer
Who shaped the stone.

Dabble in travel duel citizen?
Come from the land of elims?
Most are not from Rome or Turin,
Berlin or Bavaria-
Most don't speak Italian or German.
Likewise with Russian, Mandarin,
Arabic, the King's English, Hebrew.
No winding Rhine,
No rushing Niagara,
No swelling Yellow River.
All the ponds & gulfs left behind
Like Aden, Bothnia, Carpentaria.
No more Urals, no more Himalayas,
No Alps, no Andes,
No Atlas, no Pyrenees.
No more blackcurrants,
Going without papaya.
Put back that whiskey,
Send back that bourbon.
No more Jarlsberg cheese,
No more bottles of champagne.
Cut out the list of avocado,
No more palm or olive oils extra virign.

No more fancy foreign fruits,
No more spoiled rotten vegetables.
Right?

This is nationalism
As it's being directed,
You'll get to watch the film.

I'm sure it'll be inaccurate,
But I doubt it.

You guys really messed up that message-
Do you have the postage? Addresses?

The records & reports
For what you purport?
Are all the passages
Just rewritten, or
Pages overwritten?
Torn out or rearranged?
Perhaps overlooked?

No longer properly understood?

Is the truth lurking out there,
Somewhere?
Buried under heaps of rubble,
Covered by mud & dirt.

Wipe the muck off.

Through the weeds & brush,
Thorn & thrush,
Save the vine & water the bush.

Get looking.

If it comes out the tap,
I'm drinking it.
Whatever is public.

If we can't at least guarantee clean water,
Who are we?

If you think I'm only talking about one thing,
I'm sorry.

If it shouldn't bother you,
Does it?
Why do different?
Why worry?
Like a fly buzzing,
Best just to ignore it.
Swat it!
Stamp it!
Crush it!

"Jesus, son of Stada, is the Jesus, son of Pandira?"

Rav Hisda said, "The husband was Stadia and the lover was Pandora. His name was Spartacus & her name was Pythia."

"But was not the husband Nicodemus, son of Socrates and the mother Juno?"

"No. His mother was Raet-Tawy, who let her hair grow long and was called Maccabees." Maacah says about her: "She was unfaithful to her husband."

"But what of the roots of his tree?"

"The fruit that you see be not enough?"

"What of that which still eludes me?"

Do you still wonder?

The first time I met them,
I was met with silence;
These who did not speak.
They were unfamiliar with communication.
They were silent, but pondering beasts.
They looked up to me
With eyes full of fear.
Such beautiful innocence
When you lashed out at me,
For you were only trying to protect yourself
At what you perceived as dangerous.
But I placed my hand on your shoulder,
I rested my head against yours.
In your confusion,
I embraced you.