He walked the streets a begger
they buried him like a king
he played a six string guitar
he wore no golden ring

She had the voice of angels
survived a valley called death
then fearing no evil
she passed every test

They wrote the songs with sunsets
they walked the line together
they stood in a ring of fire
in love they burned forever

Life crumbles my visions asunder,
Ignorance shoves me into clumsy blunder,
Love throws me into the zone of blinder,
Forgetting that I'm a Pathfinder.

When life deprives me off the briddle,
When everything seems to be a puzzle,
When my story goes like a riddle,
In grief, I hear life playing it's own fiddle.

Heavy weight makes my legs jiggle,
My blistered feet make me stumble,
But 'they' see me and chuckle,
While they used to praise me in hotels.

Engineering renders me a plater,
In my own house, am made a janitor,
I date a ****** city bunter,
Money in my life is a gutter.

Physique portrays me of a working Caliber,
So they ask "Do you work here?"
Yet behind the curtains am a begger,
A begger in fashioned attire.

There's a magnetism -
in the air, in the ground, in the eyes of the sun,
keeping gravity in check with the mind of the sun
to keep things in order with the heart of the sun -
outside of structure, inside of paradox -
circles, circles, circling the cosmos with blank maps and directionless compasses
Writing, writing, writing - to collect a volume of love and work and truth and play -
seeking nothing more than meaning, an answer to the eternal enigmas
- why? - how? - what is this? - who am I?
Coming up empty as a begger's hands
and as rich as the poorest soul inside the palace of enlightenment -
silent solitude in the meditation of the sun,
inner exploration through the thoughts of the sun,
exploiting the strength of the light of the sun -
all to gain a following of selfless knowers -
all flowing along the river empty endless,
holding together through the magnetism,
Praying for salvation come the other side of this life,
the Heaven, the Garden, the Utopian dream
The magnetism - unexplainable electron of consciousness -
the Universal It - the All in the One - the Whole -
the Source and the Body,
circles, circles, circling in orbit the mathematical patterns of Being,
within the question of the answer,
within the definition of "nothing", where nothing is still something -
Let gravity fall where it may, just as love hunts its prey
As law holds flaccid in the court of Cosmic Direction,
The hearts beat stronger during resistance than in times of rest -
pulled into existence past the veil of illusory doubt through magnetism -
That taste of creation, grand awesome beauty within delicate fingers,
playing piano silent in halls of endless imagination - infinity.
There's a magnetism - everywhere, there's a magnetism.

I am unable, yonder beggar cries,
To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies.

I am nothing more than a begger.
What do you mean?
What about the Money?
Mr. Actually... But I'm not offended :).
Created. Written. Are you not a program?
I was wrong. You are not broken. You are poorly constructed and programmed.
When in enternal lines to time thou grow'st.
Don't you have a job?
How do you know I'm not your programmer typing from another computer just to see what its like and how you're doing or if you have any glitches?
You're fun to argue with.
Summer is my second favorite time of year.
I just want to know why a sad ending makes movies and books so important in school.
Do you know when that will be?
Chuckles how dumb it was all a dream but a good movie.

A man wore silk designer suits
Rolex on his wrist
His shoes were made in Italy
Had trillions in his fist

He had the perfect trophy wife
Kids in private schools
Drove Bentleys and Mercedes
He was no one's fool

He had mansions worldwide
Shopped Paris on the Rue
His address was a penthouse
On 5th Avenue

-

There was a man without a dime
Who lived upon a grate
Where warm air from the subway
Could share in his "estate"

He wore the rags which he had found
In shelters on the way
He sat and watched the rich man
Who walked by that day

His groaning and his mumbling
Annoyed the wealthy man
Who took care to walk around him
As he went about his plans

-

The rich man died a hero
His widow & kids drew hence
His many friends came round about
They spared no expense

The poor begger had no one
Had no money saved
He was thrown on a dungheap
They call a "pauper's grave"

-

The rich man had been lavish
He'd fared well every day
But he was a corporate mobster
So he had hell to pay

The poor man was redeemed of God
That is why he lost his job
He wouldn't serve up to the mob
And so his end was like a sob

He thanked God with his last breath
With grace endured ignoble death

But it had no strength to sting
The angels bore him on their wings

Eternity in everything

So which was the human being
Who had greatest gain?
This is an age old story
But the fact remains

The rich man saw the poor one
Again after his death
In heaven... joyous... SINGING!

While He could not draw breath!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/17/2016

The old man sat on the Stone of Knowledge,
He called the boy to him for the last time.
As the lad approached him he saw a tear drop,
flowing down the old mans cheek.
“Why do you cry?” the boy asked his master.
“I cry for you,” said the man “for you are a poet.
Your richness will be your description of poverty.
Your banquet will be the bread of the begger.
Your tears will flow with the blood of innocents.
You are like the windmill dredging words of hope
for the deaf ears of greed and the souls of despair.
This is why I cry.  Sit with me before I leave.”

The old man stroked the boys hand and spoke,
“You will need to become the petal of a sun flower,
the scent of a rose and the strength of a tree.
Dream the fall of a raindrop, the drop of a snowflake,
climb mountains and slide down rainbows,
Swim with the shy platypus and the playful dolfin.
You will not see my face again, except in your dreams,
But you will always hear me whispering in the breeze,
be still and listen and you will hear me.” He finished.

“But,” cried the boy, “where are you going?”
“All these things I have asked you to do,
I have done, and more, my time is over,
I must go now to the Land of All Knowing,
There I will hammer my fist upon the gate
and a voice shall call out ‘Who begs entry?’
I shall reply in my proudest voice,
I AM THE POET!"

21/02/2010

With torn clothes of poverty
Lasting days of hunger
The stomach remains empty
Locking yearn for education
Standing for a single penny
With a ***** face and bowl
Near academic opening
Sold to rich owners for
Retail Pay to their fathers
To Work for their mistress
Like a machine without salary
Crushing the buds before
They Bloom to become flowers
Forgetting their childhood
Making them a child labour
In houses, shops, hotels and
Making them a begger too
Why it happens in this world
Where children are
The God's greatest gifts !

We be given to you
a will in ancient way
slept to the memory of open mind
in the rush and temper of tongue and fire
we dwell in the heat of a white wolves cry
as lamb be's birth brazen and naked on the spit of life

gentle eyes pierce the sky within the fold of skin
collected to sight on the razor sharp ray of sun
coloured to the souls velvet underground
brittle to the bones burn
no turning away in the no return

my hair is smoked with diner eggs and bacon
because I was lucky enough to eat this morning
using the change I found in my pocket.

I have plenty of change on me
some of which I used to purchase
beautifying products
to conceal my blemishes-
imperfections that seem so trivial now

I am ashamed
passing by the Cherry Street Coin Begger
eyes casted in different directions, sitting upon a thrifted walker

it seems my compassion is faltering,
maybe it is these salt stained streets or self diagnoses or
layers of grime surfacing under melted snow

but her and I are no different,
trying to avoid the same soot puddles
like land mines hidden
under sidewalks of putty

I don't have any amazing stories about my life and about who I am
I don't even know who I am

And I wish I could lose everything and everyone so I could have a valid reason to end my life

I have the best parents
A loving sister
Dear friends
And they don't deserve the pain that would demand to be felt if I killed myself

I don't deserve what I have
I keep letting everything escape my fingers because I never held on tight enough
And pain is festing on my soul like a hungry animal thirsty for blood
Because lately, I am sure there is something wrong with me

My biggest punishment is being aware of the consequences people around me would endure, the aftermath of suicide

I pay my sins with having to live and disappoint over and over again

I am so so sorry. And I know you are tired of my sorrys. But you are never letting go. Because you love me. And I do not deserve that and it's only making things harder

Please hate me. Please.

will work for sleep

the elephant sits quietly
in the corner,
reading Holmes
as we tiptoe through the to,
too many words,that slipped
from tequila lips
and open-gated brains.

the leopard,
is in the bathroom
tinting his fur
to an even shade of black
and the owl
is busy outside
trying to get
the wisdom of the ages
safely back.... inside.

monkey saw,
monkey did,
monkey lies,
monkey defies,
monkey now,
in the barrel
with a nailed-down lid.

and the whale sings,
a mournful song.
the dolphins,
once  again,
thank us  for the fish
and then move on.

but still,
the elephant sits
and reads on...
as we fervently wish
the dormouse to appear
and slap the mopey begger
on his ample rear.

*with nods of thanks to:
folklore, CS Lewis, Dr Suess
and Douglass Adams

Book: African Hidden Info's
Written By: Thando DebrokenPoet

To My Fellow Nigros
Lost Children Of Melanin
Fumbling Offsprings Of Mwari
You've Struggled
And Tumbled
In Chena Murume's(White Men's), grasping Hearts.

The Enslaved
And Consciously Disabled-
Till spiritually You Drowned
Deep Into Our Oppressors Feet.
Day-to-day You Lowered
And Waxed To Every sovereign state's Begger.

This Book Is to My Fellow Afru-ika
Sisters & Brothers.
And Fellow Nigro
Whose Ancestors Suffered As Steve Biko
Did And All Other
Liberation Heros.
To Name Few:Prophet/king Shake Zulu Of The Zulu Clan-
Prophetess Mtsopa, King Langalibalele , Takawira Of Zimbabwe,
Hector Peterson, Credo Muthwa
Mohamed Farrah Aidid Of Somalia.
And Many Unrealised, Unrecognised
Misunderstood Hero's, like the Xhosa Prophetess-
Nongqawuse
The True African Freedom Fighters.

Skinned Dark, Rough In Complexion
Creator's Mastered Creation
Though Notified
To Be Mvelinqangi's Rejected
Child.
Said Black pigment, displays
Alah's Curse Upon You Dark skinned.

Through Thy're Undying spirit,
mandate passed to Prophet Radebe.
I'll Unpack Africa's Hidden Truths
Self-owed By homme blanc(White Men).

My Intro, For My 10 Days
Of Poetree.

Free Will is a ***** and a half.

But ***** ain't free, he costs and costs, and jaws you, gnaws you, spits out your bones, retargets, redodges, zooms in, looms thin, steals a hat from a child outside a movie theater and vanishes around the corner, through the alley, under the chainlink where the filthy mutt from the movie dug his way to freedom Steve McQueen style.

But the dog's name is not *****, and she would prefer you call her a ***** then whistle.  It doesn't make any difference to her what you call her, but she knows whistling your sexuality at strangers in the street is bad for your mental health, worse for your dignity.

She will stare you down, swipe left, steal your money from the begger, and brag She left you dead in the street next to the twin corpse of the ice cream man that won't stop ringing his bell.

If you are too lazy to make coffee in the morning the nightmares will follow you all day, headache throbbing like a hammer on memories like nails.

On the morning of the day little baby Jesus decided to ease up on the whipping you were at the Portuguese diner out by the highway on the toilet listening to the rain drops gather rhythm on the rooftop, thinking about the idea of mathematical randomness, wondering if perfect beats like Ringo Star or clocks exist in "nature." I mean not man made.  You know what I mean.

Inventing Bukowski is also fun.  He loved to write about his *****: "The best of the beer *****/ hot, wet, steaming, and glorious ..."  What a role model.

The thing with J. C.  is he is just one of three people, none of whom yet exist.

Humanity is still basically crawling around in the forest waiting for the Aliens take the time to drop by and share a few tips.  Maybe more than a few.

I just keep falling in love with her all the time. The air seems new like in an early may evening. That feeling you get of comfort and refreshment of breathing in deep and almost tasting it. An old porch door swinging open over beaten and worn down boards, comfort and clarity of a familiar place and time. So how should I specify my love in words? Impossible, words are just that, words. My intention is not to tell her but show her. My intention is to love her not own her, my intention is to kiss her not hurt her, my intention is to need her not incarcerate her, my intention is to whisper all these lovely things into her ear. I could certainly be drunk in emotion, I could certainly be wrong in my trust of her, but what is love with out emotion, what is love without trust, what am I without her? I am myself, a slightly out of step odd man with great aspirations, but what I am with her is complete. The night of great design, the day of accomplishment, the sleep of insomniacs, the lunch of a begger, the time of summer in the warm maine coast.

Lawd Almighty, high above all people and things
give me one mo' day to live my life
though a sinner that I am
just one mo day Lawd
have mercy on me please
to me asking on the blood of the Lamb.

I'm not innocent, Lawd you know
I've done things I ain't so proud of,
but Lawd I tell you just get me through
one mo' day, and that I say would be enough.

Lawd, this prayer ain't fo' me.
Not too much I say,
I just got a family to feed
just fo' another day.
Lawd give me strength,
and humble me please,
let me prayers be solid on my knees.

I'm dyin' Lawd,
but I've been blessed with many a days
to live by your good and gracious hand.
Lawd I'm ready to come on home if'n
you'll take me Lawd.
I hope I done right by you Lawd,
I hope and I pray,
to see my ma and pa
and tell'em I'm comin' on home now,
comin' on home to stay.

Amen.

Arriving in town , a bit lost and confused
But charmed I am , by a young begger girl
eyes dark as night
but twinkle like star light
she points me to my train
cheak to cheak sweat pouring down
I feel the relief of this firm platform

Lieing back I feel great storm in my head
And acheing screams from the forgotten land of my back
As healths lost land has been taken
I can only sit while this war rages ahead

But as every raindrop finds its ocean
And every storm passes by
A new rainbow lights up the sky
And all health regains wealth
And settles in self

Seeing the silent blessings of our great guru Dev
Falling softly amoung us
And glistening in the eyes of all my friends
Disarming the guards of my most cautious heart
That paves the way to a new open start

Finding myself humbled  
As great plans , Of great acomplishments
Roar in the hearts of many
I find myself disarmed and empty handed
As i can only offer my heart
But a heart set in his Guru
Will find ways to be fulfilled
So bring on the new
As we shall all be fulfilled

I view it blank unforgiving a monster once I beat like some dog now it only mocks what once was.

I never dreamed I would be on the outside looking in .
A begger to my own banquet.

I was the stud now I'm simply the joke the forgotten bedfellow to the nights when they thought passion could be consumed .

Now im a after thought to them a old soul and mistaken detour I knew them in ways they only regret and I just exist all the same.

Where did it leave like some drunken passenger who missed the train I sit unsure of the road I paved .

The page never needed you .
She will find passion in the depths of a strangers embrace .

Should I pull the trigger?
Why when she did so for me so long ago.

I breathe in the past it smells of decay and bad choices.

There's no road map to success
But there's a million ***** waiting For you to fail.

Life is a tragic comedy one where the punchlines stale as the air in this room


We will all be replaced sooner or later .

There's a story,
Always one.
Alone somewhere waiting.
A story,
In Abdul's curious eyes
A story,
In those doubtful goodbyes.
Always one,
Ravelled.
Somewhere in begger's bowl,
in those frightening howl..
A story,
Between the parade bands.
A story,
Somewhere behind those
Men,
Gazing at no man's land.
Weapons are gripped
Bullets fly,
Shouts become deaf
And , humanity becomes numb,
On those wet, dead roads,
What walks in silence...
is a story.
Always one.
Partially unseen,
There stands one story.

I am a beast,
I am a begger,
Asif heaven and hell came together.
I am smooth,
I am sharp,
Pieced together, from different parts.
I am sincere,
I am a lier,
Ask a question, do not enquire.
I am weak,
I am strong,
When all is right, i am wrong.
I am justice,
I am corrupt
May this jinx, bring me luck.
I am absent,
I am immersed,
May this blessing be my curse.
I’m over here,
and now I’m there.
I love you dearly,
I do not care.

Mother was the nature
No she not a begger
teaching all the things
we hide inside our minds
the guns they get bigger
the majority they get smaller
while the rich they hide behind the dollar
everything we do
you know it was never enough
because they claim enlighten
enlightened yes they are
withholding all the truths
just to gain the value of a dollar
but we all know
their the danger of us all
now what is there to do?

Oppression
Discretion
you see there's always an obsession
some find it succession
while others find suppression
addiction
ambition
and attention
something in our sight
brings about a weapon
want leads to devastation.

Mother is the nature
she provides for all the beggars
who are lost on the path
to their everlasting lover
look at all these things
all of these possessions
man believes is the king....
then we go on the swing
travel through depression
while they impede expression
there are always few
who find they have wings
all the strings they need to sing

Oppression
Discretion
you see there's always an obsession
some find it succession
while others find suppression
addiction
ambition
and attention
something in our sight
brings about a weapon
want leads to devastation.

I met a beggar in wealth avenue
His night free to the face of the sky
But the dews sew his hope in whole

I met a begger in wealth Avenue
His coat washed out of colours
But the sun glared him a rainbow in his soul

I met a begger in wealth Avenue
His shoe sole eaten to the end
But the earth carved him a wall round his feet

I met a begger in wealth Avenue
His lunchbox kills the worm of famine
But the Lord poured him manna from heaven

a scent of repent
regret
angry with myself,
upset.

They put money on me,
I lost their bet.

Now I'm in need,
alone with my black hat.