Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."

Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,
I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?

Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,
where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA., friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,
of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.

even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.

AWAKENING

Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell

12 DELIRIA

1st Delirium: COLLAPSES

Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice

2nd Delirium: DESCENTS

Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted ***
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb

3rd Delirium: FATES

Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks

4th Delirium: LOST SOULS

Sunken cities, pilgrims peering... gawking,
squinting eyeballs, blazing sun
Janus facing, shepherds chasing... stalking,
friends embrace before they shun
Tearooms steaming, tumult teeming... talking,
lovers listen, poets pun
Broken stones unanchored, quaking... rocking,
slipping, falling, one by one
Beaten pathways, footsteps marking... mocking,
wedged in webs which spiders spun
Circus shelters, big tops tumbling... locking,
people pacing, soon they’re none
Numbered exits, zeros numbing... knocking,
midnight daylight’s days undone
Moon blood shackles, shivers shaming... shocking,
starlight striders streaking, stun
Hushed but harried hermits waiting... walking,
restless rainbows on the run
Pixies, elves, and echoes bouncing... balking,
fading fast when dawn’s begun
Bantum butterflies are flitting... flocking
sometimes conquered, overrun
Hocus pokus, seers focus... squawking,
voodoo wavered, witchcraft won

5th Delirium: INTROSPECTION

Sundown furnace, fires fading... coughing,
dusky dew drops drain the air
Empty chalice, sipped in silence... quaffing,
thirsting shadows unaware
Looking glass and lattice scorning... scoffing,
local loser gapes and stares
Faces covered, dancing naked... doffing,
peering inside, hope despairs

6th Delirium: THE VOID

Tales of taboos, mystic mythos... missing,
windows shuttered, bolted door
Kindled candles, tongues and anvils... hissing,
heavy hammers, echoes roar
Dark deceivers, raven charmers... kissing,
draging demons from the shore
Hopeless hollows filled with doubters... dissing
standing empty - nevermore

7th Delirium: SEARCHING

Martyred monks haunt runic ruins ... waiting,
banging broken bells below
Vaulted hallways, voided voices... grating,
churning Chinese chimes aglow
Granite graveyards, spectres spooking... skating,
blackened bushes, roses grow
****** dwarfs seek mutant migrants... mating,
packing parcels, ice and snow

8th Delirium: NIGHTTIME

Throbbing drumheads, fingers blazing... steaming,
coins of copper, beggars plea
Rusty residues of resin... streaming,
opal amber filigree
Orphan shades in shallow shadows... teeming,
steeping twigs in twilight tea
Cloister doorsteps, Prophets gaming... scheming,
tracing tracks of destiny
Blacksmiths blanching, horseshoes glowing... gleaming,
partially sheathed in black debris
Phantoms feigning, nightmares scathing... screaming,
dusty dreamers drifting free

9th Delerium: EMPTYNESS

Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum

10th Delirium: ALIENATION

Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why

11th Delirium: JETSAM

Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found

12th Delirium: RELIEF

Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony

REAWAKENING

Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores

hereunder is served some poetry pouches full of love,
dear reader, stir them as you like,
if you wish you may crack them to pour into mouth,
you may smear them on your body
or you may sprinkle them on the ground
and then chant the name of god
with love and enjoyment

1.
the simplicity that rolls down
from the body of the sweet-meat
made by my mother

let it brings light
to our radish-red love-story

to hear or to notice
love
does not need
putting an ear on the wall
of the wall-street journal

the bottle could be filled
from the voice

when you go to fill the bottle
you would see that everywhere
the arrangement of picnic is ready

when i want to take part in that feast
my neighbours would drive me towards
the home  

although i’ve spent all my life
running behind the love

2.
who’s won the muddy-battle
was yesterday’s politics

my addiction is actually to cater
the pouch of love
to develop all vitamins
and all bathrooms

people say you don’t love
the claps of the rats

yet i’ll come down
from the branch of a guava-tree
as a wave-of-shopping-mall
to the lake of your love

now i’ll jump out
from this computer screen
to register a kiss
on your lips

don't miss to applaud
by clapping the hands


3.
the heart is half-sunk
in the window

to some extent
in the lipstick too

on the dinner-plate
there is the feelings of the lord

that means
i’ve to be burnt more
i do agree

i would become
the sculpture of khajuraho

this happenings may have been
the right search for love

on either-side of which  
a green is being worked out
by the nostalgic-cycle

whose colour-texture is very much harappa
which has too many geometric-memories

4.
an undertone is speaking
from within the solitude

now i’m in very much
distress

or i’m in love

i don’t know my love is what-for
may be that’s an arrangement only

so easily are those interactions
stitched with words

strenuous or effortless
in flight
initiated
with seclusion

but when in the sinking of the playfulness
i  write the games of the street-charmers


the birds again and again
pierce the archery

thus becoming ashes
through travelling

in time-gaps still
the audacity to compose poems
on you

5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love

or i do love to think
that i’m loving

and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love

my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less

6.
in course of burning
i look around

the chilly-plant  in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies

oh-** how sweet they are

it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death

no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf

now easily some words
can be written
on you

i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem


7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another

there is the far-off
whispering

at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly

i notice her
for the first time in six weeks  

the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence

within our skull
there is the love

or the midnight of the orion

the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties

those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling

the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses

would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper

in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if  a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain

within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time

had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger

9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself

whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die

rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look

beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues

beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be

is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra  
tell me

i would now make love
with that idea from you

10.
the  apparent golden *** that i thought
to be the underneath of a kadam-tree

in the dim light i can notice that
the stars in the sky are disappearing  

this session of poetry
is coming to an end

now where would i
go

to that little home

the home
a tiny word of 4 letters

within that home
the children are giggling
playing … and making funs

when i entered
with a tri-cycle in hand
for them

i have been perplexed
many old persons are waiting there
to shake hands with me

10.
almost most of my desires  
are very much hurt

to show it publicly
i wrap bandages
around all over my body

i keep on the stage-drama  

in our programme of reading poetry
tea is served twice
current has gone off for three times
for four times the mobiles ring

to pick up love  
some people think about returning back
from today’s dais to the ancient stage
of performing folk-drama

then they are also sympathetic
to my sufferings

12.
everyday
on my way to return home from the school
when my mom took hold of my hands

i could see in my body
the dancing of an unforgettable
aura

even now that mystical halo is walking
on the leaves of the trees
to fulfil my mornings

that wayfaring along the road
is ringing far and far-off

thus taking bath in every day’s  
dust smoke hue and cry

many such love
gradually gets aged

is it true
in the long run
i too
would be the ingredient
of a fairy-tale

just because i love
that paddy field

some time later
she will also become
human

13.
then she will make all of us  
join her walking

those inmost feeling
those memories meditations

the loneliness  and solitude…

sans the touch of the imagination of
a crater…
a creator…

this blunder…
this socially outcast white …

this type of uneven…
and irrelevance…

sume words
when peep in the mind
i surprise to see that
it’s ten to 2 at night

then in the balcony
my father is crying

he always notices some grave-yard men
in front of him

and sheds tears  

14.
after the dry leaves of the winter
fall in innumerable drops
the spring comes

the cover-face of spring means
a note-book of the rain-tree
letting float in the sun-water

and mr harry says that
this question of change
is a major pull

because all the unreal talks
you are delivering one by one

to keep pace with it
the ambulance comes at 10am
with a stale dead-body

in it’s shirt
is written the spelling of myself

i then sat on the grey volume
of the college-campus

in the front
a beggar from the war of waterloo
is passing by

over the dust of myself
with a faster pace
blowing is the thoughts of

ataraxia  
in the air… and air… and air…
    

15.

if your wishes colour silver
then do return back to the x-mass dancing
of the autumn

sound of whose far-off hoof-steps
digging so much soil of
story-weeds

i went into the nail-polish
with the proof of tea-cup
in my hand

there in the midst of lot of snow-flakes
and in the bed soft with the light of the candle
is now that honey-name more tarnished

now the atomic-howling
does not follow the rules of nature

so the rain-tree that seeks a-field-more-sky
with the hope to become king after the sun-rise

so that king is now waiting
in the grocer’s shop
at a stretch  for an hour

16.
does her well-wisher esse then thinks
to escape from the love-making whirl-wind

on the dry branches of the axis power
the new generation of the birds

rather stop a while there silently and listen
which song is hidden in the bronze-buddha

or in the school of the terracotta-horse

i’m now opening the coating
of the night-enamel to read this home

and behind the coo of dove
is smiling

the god of the penalty-kick

17.
sitting on an orange-coloured balcony
in an outsider lane
the green is writing poems
  
better than the face-powder

from this side all long the famine
i’m the priest of the
agro-based civilisation

still-then i think
why so much light of partiality
is on the body of the chrysanthemum

within the monsoon
in collusion with the  hair-band
now thousands of birds are born  

they can hear my
dry straws and twigs

whose hearing is the police
in so depth of the forest

don’t move the
dreadful resorts

one such photograph of the girls
who wakes up in the midnight

speechless…
unmindful …
destruction…

that is you now

i’m then in the spore
of the perfume-bounded body
of match-making

18.

who has lied in the box
made up of the temperature
of god

all on a sudden
there is a hue and cry
in the abdomen of the time
wearing a ***** pajama

actually that has been filtered up
from the voices of rock-songs

the roaming
of a fatigued traveller …

the lies
within their wishes
write my existence

and then run
to buy vegetables
from the station-market

so many lay-offs
come to the body of paper-weight

to listen to all those
is not improper

walking through the traffic-jam
gradually
this home becomes solely my home

one day the golden of
human

then it is i
who is you

and walking through the
monsoon

on either side of the field
it is all autumn

19.
when borrowing the religion of
the night-queen  
i fall in love

then is it real
that our mangos and jack-fruits  
can make the perfumed-soap
vigorously from the light of the
blood-line

i count the bells of the churches
ringing repeatedly

and piercing the image
of your prominent face

rounding through lots of old
the love becomes exhausted

and the love comes back
in the form of college-classes

there are you myself
and so many notes
of the body

apple

did you imagine red?
so did I
which is weird because the apples I eat are kind of yellow

asia

I said asia
not China

I remember the time
my history professor told my class to imagine asia
I thought of an exotic
country
with arab sheiks
and snake charmers

the Chinese
the Japanese
chopsticks
and the orient

it was then that she pointed out
"haven't Western ideas just messed with you?"

and it was then that I realized
"Wait; I'm Asian. I've lived in Asia all my life."
how come I saw it as something foreign
and strange?
I've never even seen the things I imagined.

I remember when I watched Big Bang Theory
and the four friends sat down to Thai food
Raj made the mistake of asking, "where are the chopsticks?"
which led to Dr. Sheldon Cooper saying
(in this paraphrased version:)
"they don't use chopsticks. They use spoons and forks.
The fork doesn't go into their mouth.
They use it to push food unto the spoon, which then goes into their mouth."

I sat there thinking..
well that's weird

when a couple of months later as I watched the episode again
I realized
that's how my people eat!
that's how I've always eaten..

the houses I picture in an average neighborhood
are two story
concrete structures
with shingled roofs

cul-de-sacs
and oak trees

my own house
is one story
of brick and wood
it is beside a highway
and surrounded by guava trees
and coconuts

I don't even know what a picket fence is.

Scales on bodies
Of that of farmers
Sun bares no harm,
On swinging charmers
A drop of a bit
Gives no smiles
To the hand that feeds
That walk for many miles
Cracks flap, mudcakes
Steaming heat rise won't stop
Children doing rain dance
While egg fries on roof top
Clear sky, bathes no cloud
Just stroke of heavy rays
Heatwaves tants the skin
Bad are these days...



©sim

In the arid dust I can see a shimmer of you in the distance, the red of your hair mixing with the ochre earth
Amid the noise and collision of caravansary in Jemaa el-Fna I hear your soft drawl joking with Snake charmers, always in hustle
In souks the sweetness of fennel and myrrh swirl in the wake of travellers steps and I'm reminded of your desert scent, like cedar and musk covered dust
In the dissonance of the call to prayer I can feel your awe as struck as mine, while the roiling sound of voices lifted in faith erupt over the Medina
In the coolness of Jardin Majorelle, I can feel your head resting on my shoulder as I contemplate the reflection of Lotus blossoms in stark blue pools
I see your eyes in the green of the Atlas Mountains, echo your amazement at Saharan navigation, feel your peace as the stars appear over the Riad
But can't feel your hand in mine as the sun sets over Marrakech

(For Marg and Laurice, snake charmers extraordinaire)
  
Like the Burmese priestess
kissing the cobra
I must never take my eyes off
that steely, staring, coal-black serpent eye
lest the fangs swaying in that unborn smile
strike
in the split-second
that contains my salvation or my undoing.
Lips always poised between heaven and hell,
I advance on the servant of knowledge
hooded with an assumed mastery,
that hood branded with Nature's tattoo:
Omega, the end
and that flickering tongue that reads my body
temperature could cut it cold.
Cold as the smooth-bumpy reptilian snout
upon which I lightly lay
the final kiss.

It makes sense that a mummy was required
For the exodus out of my king rut
By wrapping me in silk and satin
And embalming me with love
But my brief time as pharaoh ended
A tomb at the pyramid I once attended
Thoughts of my sins plagued me
Did I get too froggy?
Or maybe he just met another sarcophaguy
Or maybe I misunderstood him
When he invited me over for desert

I wanted to conquer you
Like Brendan Fraser
Now I just want to talk to you
Like John Edward
I tried unearthing artifacts to channel your spirit
But your grave had been robbed
And after swimming in denial for so long
Wandering through the Sahara feels wrong
Your carefree kingdom is where I belong
But the evasive Ra warned
That the ghosts of snake charmers
Are abrasive and horned

Anachronous monogamy
Schwarzenegger gets to the choppa
Invisible maliciousness awaits to those who
Explore the jungles, Danny Trejo just wants help
Crisis in the management takes two eggs to heal it
Two eggs, two dregs, two more lines to make it through
The day. **** like howitzers, snake in my trousers, wearing overalls
Doesn’t make me gay. Pig farmers, snake charmers, **** undercover, pigs
Make the best companions. Dead of night, chill or fright, I’m here so talk to me.

I am not yet defiled; O hear me.
Let not the crazed hornets or serpents or ophidian or the
   buzzard bee come near me.

I am not yet defiled; console me.
I fear that the snake charmer may with rhythmic body clocks clock me,
   with predatory hissing paralyze me, with authoritative power anger me,
      on wicker constraints constrain me, in bamboo-patches pierce me.

I am not yet defiled; provide me
With beauty to free me, dressage to cover me, silence to come
   to me, souls to save me, charmers and angels
     in my wandering existence seeking fights to waver the war within me.

I am not yet defiled; forgive me
For the provocative glances in me, my presence when womanity holds me,
   my mythological beauty by deities beyond me,
      my head held high when they slay by means of my
         crossbow, my addiction when they poison me.

I am not yet defiled; rehearse me
In the dreams and the prayers I must take when
   art interrupts me, material disturbs me, splintered souls
     gaze at me, smiles fade at me, the knifes edge
       stains me and everlasting scars pain
         me to shame and the shames taints
           my skin and my heart abandons me.

I am not yet defiled; O hear me,
Let not Perseus who is warrior or who thinks he is King
     or a rival to me.

I am not yet defiled; O fill me
With gasoline against those who would inhabit my
  bones, would sink me into empty caverns,
    would make me a prisoner locked, a monster with
      blood dripping, a monster, and a passer of dis-ease
        who would execute my self, would
          flush me like ***** oozing and
            ***** and ooze and *****
              like alcohol seeping in the
                pores would drown me.

Let Poseidan not make me defiled and let him not **** me.
Otherwise **** me.

© Sia Jane

Spirits, sages, mystics and wizards
shamans and charmers
voodoo, hoodoo...wanga and juju
and..
old old women- those teller of tales
weavers of dreams....casters of spells

Warnings of darkness and deepness
conjuring clues or readings
from spangled stars on black nights
Guidance on this spiritual journey... this mystical quest
Sunrise into sunset... dark into night

Answers to questions you never asked
Questions to answers
long buried in self shrouded past

There are those who would lead you
to dark alleys astray
Those who would steal your hearts diamonds,
your trust.. and betray

You hear whispers and rumors
strange tongues, and hushed voices... muffled sighs
You search for everything and nothing in the shadowy mist
What are true truths... what are lies?

Keep your eyes open..receive the whole
and know..
That real truth is sometimes
in the unexpected, the untold, the unwritten, the uncharted....

Like..
in the moment of exhale from one true kiss!

I wish I could use words the way a woman can
Not struggling to let go of each one
But pouring them out like water
A smooth steady stream to comfort others or herself
A raging torrent to wear away the most recalcitrant earthen lump
A sudden drenching that dumbfounds the dignity of the pompous
A steady drip that will break the coldness of self serving reason
The pretty, witty music that entices one to dance
The shrewish cackling mockery that makes you feel you’ve got no chance
The calm murmur that can reach the loneliest, most troubled soul
The endless seeming wittering that will always have its goal
Or perhaps her words don’t mean anything at all
They just break the surface of previously parched land
Making little bubbles that pop before they’re seen
With a puff of freshly made air
The tiny gasp with which life can begin
And even when she’s silent and alone
The words will not stop
Going round and round her head until someone can be told
Pressing to express her joy and stress
The wild life she struggles to control
The dear words she wants to give with love
Which may escape to wreak revenge or savage the innocent
Which may be used against her by ruthless charmers
With echoes of what she wants to hear or damaging quotes
Of things she said but no longer feels or means
So sometimes even the best of women may feel defeat
Beaten by words she said that have been ignored
Or twisted till the love has been choked out of them
And they come back to haunt her, weary little beasts
That she must contain all over again, even though she knows
That soon they and the thoughts they hold will return to demanding life
And she that was once their mistress will become their slave
And that is why though talking with women has been one of the great joys of my life
Though I love the verbal jousting and respect a sound tongue lashing
I still hope and dream of the time when the woman I love and I
May be together in wordless peace
Comfortable enough with each other not to speak
Knowing that the immensity of silence
Is easily filled by our mutual love.

this society of ours is so gargantuan,
policed by the daylight we hold at night for ransom,
Like a Jesus or a black Aphrodites,
I'll be your daddy if you let me call you my mommy,
give me your milk, the nectar that forms at your eyelids
We can go out in public on a weeknight Ireland,
I won't drink, but I'll wrestle every penny you
throw into each fountain, unless each wish
you make puts us together in California. At 55º it's as
cold as it seems your heart is, you whisper the omissions
of lies over mute. Every silver trinket on this charmers'
bracelet abused. Be the freeway and I'll be the car, drive around my circles, and we can drive the map of the Hollywood Stars. This circus- paddy-wagon, sewer stardom, I've always been the over-roasted beans from your local Starbucks. I grew up to grow up, I got up to throw up, I sought you to show up, and give you this leigh garland. Egyptian or pitiful, critical mister 'are not.' My words were worthless and wounded by such ardor of this perfervid martyr. Enveloped by threading the eye of this tempestuous hourglass, just another sign of being extremely intolerable to the minutia, the worried, and nervous curse of being so human and the fear of being, quite heart broke.

And the cor anglais
Plays
The snake charmers
Medley
In the oriental artifice
Created for you

And the jasmine soaked
Velvet
Of the cushions and curtains
Masks
The devotion
Engendered by you

And the blue tiled
Fountain
And Moorish arched garden
Cool waiting
For moments
Gifted by you

outrageously funny
the matters of the heart
makes clowns of us
when we play the part

the cast keeps changing
with the part

from stalkers to streakers
charmers to weepers
lovers to cheaters
playboys to loners

the cast keep changing
with the part

walking out of the theatre
of dead spectators
i think i played
each part

the cast was nothing
but only my past
and my heart
it plays no more parts

The Charmers of Hupomeno

Mankind and his ambition  
Might have thought  
To take slowly from the pile
  
But he seems to heave and throw
Eager to watch it burn
Eyeing the cinder
The ember his eye
Puff and pride swelling his chest
  
What destruction  
And brought tempest
The storm placed  
  
And mankind grins  
Believing it echoed a rain dance
Barking snake oil  
To crowds huddled  
Shaking hands  
To chuck the bottle
  
They lick their lips of its placebo
And stoke the fire  
With sticks of ivory
***** charcoal  
And remnants of nature  
And its source
  
The tapping of singed fingers
Plays a tune  
To impromptu a soft shoe  
Buffaloes time step
And the cake walk shows white teeth
Bared and dinged
And shuf shuf shuffles off
  
Mankind and his cane
To beat the rock  
With the bones of holy ancestry
They drink  
But cannot further the tribe  
Dancing does nothing for distance
Endurance withers  
In the heat furnaced and fueled  
  
Mankind procreated
Whip in hand and behind her like a dog
He has raised a son
And named him Meribah
The Great Entertainer
Watch him twirl the torches
Gasp as they burn
  
The soul at siege  
Will rush the plank  
Will caress the sky from falling
Will scald his flesh  
To prevent the stage on fire
But dismantle it piece by piece
And find a fortress in his stronghold
  
The temple of man
Made of skin
And three rings announce a master of ceremonies  
He is loathe to crack the lions
But had intended them lambs

He languished in the stocks but never was hunger
A problem. For he caught apples between his yappers,
Playing catch with each bite, it flew through the air
And once again a pinching of it till a stalk was left.
The crowd stood around in awe of his culinary
Performance, then they threw once again.

Released his time of languishing ended and returning
To his ship, "never slap the mayors wife's ****, he
Thought but who was he kidding he would do it
Again but next time not in front of him. She was where
He had left her, pride on his bearded features.
Daddies home, as his hands caressed her wooden features.

He went to his abode, lingering views of a picture
Of the oceans essence of high pitched waves. He pressed
Upon a singular spot and a secret revealed itself on his views.
A small casket, others would have seen it as a trinket box
Of lessened value. My precious thing of beauty that I hold,
I'll let you free when from port we discard the solid land.

The crew were pleased as the waves graced the ships bow
and the captain discarded his weavings of land lubbers
threads that clung to tight. Raise our flag my mates of
what is our nature true. Captain Black Heart Bart,
"Yes I know its a mouthful, but its my pirate #tag,
The chest came forth and with an even hand opened up.

The wisps clung to the captain as if a loving embrace,
my love, soul of the ship, lend us your breath to move
to our destination where the tides are silent and the
wind is death, motionless and soundless where ships
linger in a graveyard of wood and bones of the lost.
With a gesture the mists encircle the sails migrating forward.

Her breath kept motion where there would have been neither,
they stared at the wrecks of those lost in time. Were those
of white washed echoes, moving dead eyes following or
was it but the motionless reflection of the static seas grasp.
"Sir we see the place that her breath has taken us too,
"Thank you my love, you can now slumber, rest your breathe,

Upon the shores or blackened sand, they were called the
Remnant Tears, old lore said it was the tears of a lonely
god as he watched the sunset of his life, and these are all
that is left the residue of a time long past. They were sharp
as well, like jagged torn metal. We wore hadderned leather in
layers to save the blood from tearing from us as his did long ago.

We were home a shelter from those that would hunt us upon
ocean waves never did we take souls we just took material
things of value to sell, we melted precious metals, released
gems of equal sizes from their clasps, and in bowls they gleamed
of the suns rays ravishing the walls with a kaleidoscope of
colours that's changed with even shards of light gleaming through.


He sat on the crows nest of a ship, of older design than known,
made from not wood or metal another of majestic times long
faded into obscurity glance. Gathering thoughts on the mirrored
façade that never moved just like a reflection of above, one could
Be sent crazy in thought of which was land or sea, below or above.
He liked this illusion on his senses that was art to his perception.

Breezes of sea air rustled his beard and it was relaxing him
to slumber. but only when the waves graced him descending
into its eternal grasp would he rest these sea legged bones.
But now was the time to inspire the charmers below, with
a voice he greeted ears below. "Ya lazy dogs, move them bones,
And like mice they scurried to there hidey holes.

Nodding his head he discarded gravity as he plummeted to the
waiting deck below. Right or was that left no he was facing the
wrong way, she was playing tricks with her breath.  He burst in
to laughter and they nervously laughed with him, come on
my woman and men of the sea lets do some gentle persuading
that other relinquish there cluttered possessions to our ship.

With heart felt cheers they, sang their song to the stale winds,

"We're not pirates we be releasers of others greed,
"Possessions are who ever holds them be in cargo hold free,
"We'll never hurt you, we'll just gently nudge till you agree,

"Pirates that's a name we be called who we be,
"We be good looking, folks don't listen to history,
"We walked many a walk way plank to you and me,
"Yes I said we not above but that between you and me,

"Get done with the cutlass, respect the captains beard,
"We sail the high seas cos low ones make me sick,
"Trend setters of the ocean that's what we be,
"My flag is named skully, black & white he be,

"Pirates that's a name we be called who we be,
"We be good looking, folks don't listen to history,
"We walked many a walk way plank to you and me,
"Yes I said we not above but that between you and me,

Repeat and rinse sing what you feel, that's when I call upon
my beauty, "Awaken from slumber, breath to the wind,
And in to the great blue we sail, never a life have we took
never shall there be. For we are the new version of the old
but we will always win with her breath in front of me.

See you soon if to plunder I do mean, sail happy if your
not of greed and wealth or we will set our sights on thee.
The waves splash upon our bow, spray invigorate the souls
of all upon our beauty "The Wind Of The Sea, now ill
wish you good travels its time for us to earn our keep and
to visit those who need to lightened to heavy on the sea.

Nothing but a forlorn pain
Phantoms of art
Snake charmers
Larva tamers
“Free Me from the sun”

Helicopter steed
Blaring Gjallarhorn
Crystalline ammunition
Shrub-like heads
Civilian militants

Snake charmers, take my hands
Sting them once again
Render me strong and heartless
Tend to my obsidian horn
It grows longer as the sun subsides

Blood on the papers
Christened for television
Whitened crusade
Negotiation for control
Count your blessings

Arm the hangars
Send the reserves
Whip the cavalry
Watch the nation
Watch them bleed again

We're danger stalkers
searching for the modest
at dawn in the garish part of this metropolis.

And my soul sprints
when everything is secure and sane,
and I want to stalk the danger again.

So I make meager attempts at blackmail,
to attempt to satisfy all the charmers like me
frozen in the frigid north.
because discipline is gobbledigook
in balmy compartments.

I have a charcoal rosette
taped to my chest.
Is it honorable?
It calmly smolders my heart
at this banquet with all my company.
I leave nonchalantly at the hazy end of the night,
-casually slip on my gloomy boots-
and build up my wails for creatures.

I love the heinous beasts
and stories of lad meets lady.

It's here with me now
I can soak up the universe
Into the needle
With a plunger
It's satanic charmers are going to the bowling alley
They are smoking cigarettes and talking about being human
****
If I am not the moth
slamming my full
weight against the lightbulb
at the bottom of your soul
I want to kiss you
and tell you that the universe is not a secret
It is right here in front of you

Words are sure strange hunh?
Ever think about it dipping its finger into the energy river
and it dripping off into black nothingness
The black universe
like an eyelid
like shadow
it becomes needle
and I am dead
Everything I am
bashed against the wall like a lightbulb

Miryam walked with you
through Tangiers
miles from the base camp
still feeling tired

from the previous night
after the late evening
on the beach
hugging and kissing

each to each
not going further
that time
back to the tent

(your tent colleague out)
you and she
lay there
almost making out

but then he was back
and she had to leave
mouthing words to you
as she left

behind his back
then the morning ride
to Tangiers
on the back

of the truck
the smell of the city
the aromas
the people

almost Biblical
the snake charmers
the shops in alleys
the kids

trying to sell you
hashish on corners
and she held your hand
clutching her bag

with her other hand
her curly hair
orangey red
and she talking

of bags and clothes
and how back home
there was
so much more

to buy
and her hand
warm in yours
her small thumb

on the back
of your hand rubbing
as she walked
and you felt

and sensed her
and recalled her
a few days back
on the beach posing

for a photo
with a camel
and a Moroccan guy
in that skimpy

bathing suit
( giving the guy
the heat)
and you taking

the photo
with the borrowed camera
and she stopped
in a side street

looking at clothing
beautiful colours  
and this guy
brought out

two cups of mint tea
while she decided
what she wanted  
and you sat there

beside her
smelling her perfume
looking at her hair
and lips

and how she held
the small cup
in her hands
sipping

breathing
talking
her eyes
bright lights

her small **** pushing
against the cloth
of her purple top
and the tightness

of her jeans
on her thighs
and the whole scene
like something

you'd seen
in one of those
coloured pictures
in the Bible

the people passing
some with donkeys
one guy
with a camel loaded

and you watched
her sipping
her hands holding
the fingers curved

about the cup
and she talking
of what to buy
and you drinking

her in
all aspects
with your greedy
all too human eye.

We got the ocean breeze and the seven seas.
humming birds and buzzing bees
plant's and creatures
the beauty features .
farmers armer's and those midnight charmers
we have food not hard to search for,
kids who have to line at  church door's  
         there'e are stores to by our sneekers others off to be a tweeker.
we get clean drinks with out no kinks it's the U.S.A with out no pay.
with a clean head, and a nice bed.
some call it lucky to live in a shed...
a different country roomate with a monkey ,
roof made of hay the dirt bed a lay.
we live like survivors , we search for our dinners , how is it made to be u.s.a winners?
with you're cool cars and movie stars,
you get ocupied ,
             and well supplied...
what a cool plate i'd wish for in fate
you have you're singers we eat with our fingers.
you roll those dice and hope for some nice,
lets go find dinner and cope with some rice....
Look who's at bat and serving at war,
                           you're lifes just so hard with you're  one choor.
      I want MY MONEY!!!
                                                            HA!
                                                                                             thats ****'s just funny...

_---Look at this world--
                                         with a breef glance ,
                                                                           Think of it more then some school dance.

You are a drink of warm water come to fill
The void in my chest, ease its ache for
A desperately needed hour of rest,

His red hair and charmers smile
Set fire to the things I said about
Being so void I was numb,
Seems dumb now as heat
Rushes through my veins.

I think of him and his laughter
The next night and every after.
And how his broad chest and long arms
Protect me from all the pains
Of complete maturity.

He  hurries to encourage me
To dance in the rain, and play make believe,
Maybe that’s how he got me to see
I could be happy, I could live in rapture
Created by captured moments of his touch,
Collaged out of memories of us

Like running across campus
Bare foot and key in hand,
Single piece of hair like superman.
Your hand in mine despite
Angry words misplaced and
The feeling of your chest
Rising and falling beneath my cheek.

Your eyes mean everything.
A Band-Aid across my brokenness,
Long desperate kiss
To fill my chest with butterflies
And play and bliss, no one means as much as this.
You are a complete twist ending,
To the way my life was spinning
And half my reasons to still exists.

We got the ocean breeze and the seven seas.
humming birds and buzzing bees
plant's and creatures
the beauty features .
farmers armer's and those midnight charmers
we have food not hard to search for,
kids who have to line at  church door's  
         there'e are stores to by our sneekers others off to be a tweeker.
we get clean drinks with out no kinks it's the U.S.A with out no pay.
with a clean head, and a nice bed.
some call it lucky to live in a shed...
a different country roomate with a monkey ,
roof made of hay the dirt bed a lay.
we live like survivors , we search for our dinners , how is it made to be u.s.a winners?
with you're cool cars and movie stars,
you get ocupied ,
             and well supplied...
what a cool plate i'd wish for in fate
you have you're singers we eat with our fingers.
you roll those dice and hope for some nice,
lets go find dinner and cope with some rice....
Look who's at bat and serving at war,
                           you're lifes just so hard with you're  one choor.
      I want MY MONEY!!!
                                                            HA!
                                                                                             thats ****'s just funny...

_---Look at this world--
                                         with a breef glance ,
                                                                           Think of it more then some school dance.

clue time   game of bluff-man blind   fuss of obstacles scold up my mind -(the-vermin-are-quite-rife) / portrait, ambitious portrait   racing a train - broadsword toward - a fertile pocket of prissy death ;/ crown, fist and sprawl in the court of The Charmers   sole hissy-fit upon your knees

the phases of moon devoir every night
I get more far away,
these days repeating themselves,
a miser might know better,
collective thieves,
and the charmers of the night,
just want to be better than yesterday,
yet the undeservings won,
but till when, until then
so many questions have been asked,
so many have got unanswered,
can this be called crescent

Cocktail slamming
She grabbed him and reached for the sun
And returned after a while
Seeming like she had to tell me
Said she was the one who loves me
Now my nerves are all riled
And I just don’t know

Mismatch socks yeah, I know you
Won’t pay your late fee
As long as the snake charmers around
Temptation will **** ya
Fetish paraphelia
You wanna be gagged and bound
In the most intoxicating wine we will drown

Rain clouds come and heal this drought
Table for two
Room with a view
Thunder’s heavenly sound

Go down
To the other side of town
I know a few
That might be able to
Help us out

Insane romance
No more chances, you can afford
Another drink although you say you could
It really goes to show
Even though you’ve sworn
You’re not on board
And your judgments not so good
Let’s just wait a little while

I’m not proud
Of how this all turned out
Who could have knew?
And look through
And seen what she was all about

They count
The treasures they have found
Conclusions drew
Captain and crew
Discovering the world is round

Be forever watchful for the charlatans , the snake charmers
of certain Baptist denominations ...
The monsters in need of jet airplanes to spread the Gospel of
their convenient , malleable Jesus that scour the Earth ..
They tell of Gods word in privy , ****** the elderly and the afflicted out of every last penny ..
Jeweled Temples built with iniquity , ever reaching for the clouds will find a scarlet termination , an incredible hard fall one day to the cold , unforgiving ground ....

Between the dust of mulberry bend
Sat seven little men
Each one had a whistle that they had carved out of enchanted wood
And the sound that came out of them made the air become filled with enchantment

And magical things would appear as though like snake charmers

And so one silent evening as the dew met the grass
A rabbit hopped out,

Yes I said a rabbit
Why is it that you are now doubting me
For do I not hold this pen of mine?

And so this rabbit was so unusual because he had three eyes and he did not hop
He skipped and he had a jump rope,

And so out came those seven little men and they wanted that rabbit to be gone

And so they each picked up their whistle and out came that sound that scared that poor little rabbit into jumping right out of that magical place that he had fallen inside of,

And to this day those rabbits are known as jumping jack rabbits

And I heard you all booing away at this short little made up story

And hey you!
Why did you just toss my book away?
jo.

WANDERING THOUGHTS
hold that drop of water , lest it flow away,
my throat is burning ,but your wound is fresh,
You need it, if you were to stay.
The cold air is piercing my face
I have no means to convey...
That you must hold that drop in the palm of your hand,
that i wish for you to stay.
I scan your face,but i see no feeling.
i search the horizon ,but see not a soul.
I have never been so furtive, the glances i am stealing...
I gently close,narrowly tread when the road bends toward the unknown,
Sunder-bans and freezing peaks and the golden Indian shore.
A land not just of snake charmers , of beauty, of galore .
I stand alone you by my side but still not there to be '
While you scream in myriad tongues ,
i don't understand the words you utter,
But this is our story,
We're lost, we're found...
the globe the map of our minds, yet we've never been wronged,
by each other, by home , by our motherlands
Cause i'm a vagrant, you a vagabond.

the opening lines
of his manuscript
said such vacuous words
here is a portion of his text
I especially like you
in a special way
he charmed the birds
right out of my tree
as a foolish girl
I fell for the lines he spoke
and after a while
I wised up to this bloke
charmers can work
all manner of smooth lines
on a lady every time
but there was always a hint
of unbelievability
in his rhyme

You look like the star missing from the sky.
You look the glow missing from the moon.
Or the reason the sun missing its shine.

Oh, you smile with gleam.
Until reminded by friends, you fell for that line.

You like the cream missing from my coffee.
Or the chocolate from a milky way bar.
Or the sugar needed in my tea.
Until reminded, you fell for that.

Charmers, knows the way to their destination.
A few words of smoothing swaying to sway ladies to them.
Which is no different than women batting their eyes.

Or sweet voice talking to get a reward.
Until he's reminded, you fell for all that.
Than men fall for various things.

Until she request a wedding ring.