It takes courage to be born in a grave
where the earthworms caress
and the night is like day.
But where two or three are gathered
they will burrow deeper yet,
pressing the earth to their faces.

It takes gall to bite the mouth that eats you,
little rocket ships
who never left the ground.
Launch your cultured pungent taste,
for if you must go,
go loudly.

Daikon, Cherry Belle, Easter Egg,
Black Spanish, Red King,
you are conquerers.
Digging away until the sun comes to find you,
blushing in myriad shades
of fearless ambition.

It takes integrity to never leave your roots.
Break bold and crisp,
candied keg of gunpowder.

ironically democracy is imposed
by our capitalist task masters
clothed in our rolled gold souls
if it cant be bought
its worth more when its sold
and nothing pays faster
than disaster
war and famine
to a conquistador

Forbidden night, with your sheltered hours.
How I long to paint you in broad strokes, adding water to the brush,
That you may spread and extend your precious mercies beyond the borders of your designation,
up and out into the wicked day.

May the sun forgive me for bankrupting its grand offering in favor of the always-waning dark, when it’s easier to walk between worlds without touching.
Daylight brings out the conquerers and also the conquered,
creating a vacuum that devours the air between gaps in the dimensions,
the grind and squeeze of many lungs contracting at once.

And although every period of light and compression is followed by a period of darkness and grasping strangeness, I am never unsurprised by the strength of my enduring love nor less enchanted by the singularity of our shadowy and permissive embrace. I have traveled great lengths to con my own rhythms into abandoning  their posts.

Oh night, I hold on to you like a new bride at a military wedding,
resolute in the knowledge that you will only return once you’ve already gone.
No sooner do you pull from my arms do I finally rest, too early and too late for a gentle landing onto the unforgiving surface of the sunrise.  

the hourglass breaks and so appears Morpheus, great and ancient, to call down black night upon the wretched world.
For it was agreed that once per cycle, the world must lose itself in necessary madness, and thus rests the cosmic balance upon which fares the day

Her brother's
vinegar-soaked-oven-baked
                  
conker

conquering all other

conkers.

The moment held on a a string
before swinging to collision

like a cartoon
pOW!wOW!baMMM!

She cuts her chestnut
carefully in two.

The popped out conker
...her baby

in its greeny spiky
pram.

She talks to it.
Kisses it.

"Shhhh...baby a sleeep!"

Her brother's marble
a blue and cold world

propelled by a swift deft flick
of a bitten-to-the- quick thumb

the little blue world inches
relentlessly  towards

scattering all be-
-fore it:

when worlds
collide.

A solar system
destroyed.

He now
the conquerer of conquerers.

She
places her marble

gently in her other
spiky green pram

like she's rearing
an alien.

She's got two babies.
One a conker...the other a marble.

She takes good care
of both of them.

Worries about
their well being.

Loving them for what
...they are.

She watches the world
through the eye of the marble

a tiny blue universe
held in her palm.

furious as the sun,
vibrant as the moon
dancing tantric motions
through a swift magnetic swoon.
our cups are overflowing,
now the spillage will ensue
but ive become alright
with spilling myself into you

penetrating my flesh with your gaze,
soaked into the earth
as the suns brightest rays,
a quite brilliant display
of the spectrum of light
you engulf every day. 
and once passes the light of the late afternoon
you still cut through the dark
as the light of the moon,
your heart shines on strongly
and the night ends so soon,
the hours are only as moments with you.

furious as the sun,
vibrant as the moon,
now I'm  lost for words
as once again it came so soon
we've come here searching the same thing,
the fearless conquerers of truths.
and when even the constants
start changing themselves,
our nature is
clearly
*unmoved.

Blanket troupe called finally finalizing finances
beseeched of asian seas and deformities
begone of witch's seeds
creeds,
and further formalities.

Controlled and sold away,
disney ears and candied shmears of salmon serendipity and forlorn serenity

collapse, perhaps?

can't strap the wrap of boot soles and cannoned poles
of butts and handles throwing sandaled barbarians in their foolish faith
For Empire!
the dire need of those to take and feed and be the god-men to tickle and bleed friends and foe alike,
to nettle the fangs of the good hounds blindly following;
scent dividing love and steeds to carry armies and lone conquerers to their final destinations, permutations of how so many flowers whittle at the broken touch of thunderous life;
of hidden strifes that attack these patient sentinels
their yelps yet signals of defeat so unburly pardoned

Stage spotlight off
Darken Theater
No Image to see
Total Silence
Franco Columbu is no way to be
The Bodybuilding stage has loss another of its own
Franco Columbu has a name that was full blown
His strength our courage to venture
Living life being his adventure
Your posing ability perfection to the core
Your challenging mode in bodybuilding will be remembered in your taking whole
Franco Columbu, you achieved while others wondered
You had a plan that had been created yonder
Being small in Bodybuilding didn’t matter, Franco Columbu  you felt were giant being Goliath
You were used to competing other Bodybuilding Giants
I remembered seeing on ABC-TV in the Strongest Man Competition and you proved there was another side of you beside Bodybuilding, and it was strength
You went every length
Being unstoppable yet able

You were a total sportsman in every sense of the word
The Bodybuilding world is stunned of your passing
But your strength of Character will live in all of us
It’s that pumping iron experience that gives us strength to carry on
Its fan too fan being strong
You are absent from the Bodybuilding stage, but will be close to our hearts
I saw you Franco Columbu as Robin and Arnold being Batman
Conquerers with a destiny to triumphed to center stage
Mission to establish dignity in honor of Bodybuilding
You will be pumping up spiritually
I will remember you on TV in the Mr. Olympia 1975
You shined with greatness and your muscles were tensed
There’s a legacy for us, “Prove in effort until done”
You were an Achiever and Believer
Who says one shouldn’t if one never tried
Excuses is not an never option being your thought
Bodybuilding and Powerlifting work hand in hand and you proved that
It’s a known fact
You will be missed
Wine and grapes will never be the same
But your remembrance in the Bodybuilding game will always remain
As a fan you will never know
But your name Franco Columbu I will never let go
Until we see each again
My eyes look to the Heavens until when.

Ants on a dry leaf
conquerers and pioneers
sailing the puddle

The civil fight for peace, the conquerers for might.
Clashes over vision shall breed eternal night.
The eyes and ears are one, the difference is in sight.
But man the wall you shall in war there is no wrong or right.
Only victors, victims and losers eternal is the night. The morning is adjournment, the day is just respite.
True darkness is as cold as the sun is bright. A telltale sign in natures eye there is no wrong or right.

My armies are in full retreat:
the cannons cold,
boots worn down,
muskets jammed and rusted --
Well fought and ready for rest.
My men seek shelter deep,
deep enough that hands cannot reach,
and they shall stay there for, perhaps, ever.
I was always told "no,"
that money ran the world
and a passion for words will not be enough,
that I will fail...
So my army is in retreat,
tired of fighting a constant defense,
using our last resources to build a keep
to lock away every imaginative flutter of golden butterflies,
and hide away any stray flicker of a thoughtful flame.
The oak trees of my mind's forest have been cut down,
nothing but stumps and leaves
and the smell of industrial smoke
from the bark of my oaks.
This time next year,
I hope not to be completely dead inside
that, somehow, deep in the keep of my soul,
a willow will weep beautiful tears
for lost soldiers and fallen oaks.
Perhaps the keep will thrive,
fighting off the countless sieges
and housing pilgrim dreams.
Perhaps the conquerers will be kind,
offering mercy to the innocent
and a quick death to the ones who deny "no."
It breaks my heart to call retreat,
but a small, crumbling, wounded dream
is better than no dream at all.

I thank
every black
woman,
for being a
black woman
and staying true
to their soul
while knowing
that the goal
is to keep them
spiritually,
and mentally in
a black hole
where they
brittle and burn
down to
nothing more than
broken black coals
but in every sistah’s
triumph is ignited
deep down by a riot
that doubles as a lion
to nash and knaw through
each of the
trials
and slowly, but
surely
every inch
and pinch
forward turns
into many miles

As you
slice through
your struggles
with a heavenly
finesse and
a flourishing style,
I pray you
wear proudly
your curly haired
crowns
as dark skin
conquerers that
NO man
can defile

I love you

i have found myself in a club. not established out of intent, but the tugs of the earth and its circumstance have strung us together. we found ourselves, brows beaded with sweat and hands bloodied and calloused. we did not mean to form, but we were meant to. to meet each other’s exhausted eyes, glazed over with indifference from the constant prejudice of cards dealt, and no words were spoken. none were needed. we met each other’s eyes and we knew that finally we had found someone.

we are the conquerers of the forgotten. we are the collectors of broken glass and innovators of redemption. we are artists of absurdity. failure is face all to familiar. but we are not bitter. failure is the reminder of the ultimate goal.

this was not of intent, but what beautiful people.

death terrorizes the world
suffering strikes fear
far and wide
individuals attempt to restore
while questionable governments limit
people lay in captivity
the walls growing bigger
closer
the reality of death
suffering
all becomes too much to handle
a hero
a nurse
a loved one
welcomes comfort and restores

once we are through
conquerers
escaping the thick autumn-winter bush
spring will be on the horizon
death behind us
giving way to life ahead of us
death behind us
a defeated Covid-19

...suddenly! I arose with a strength that was greater then me,
Seeing my body there I didn't question I had a thirst of defeating my enemies.
My sword was my mouth the clouds were *******...
More then conquerers fought right beside me!!
Amen the shouted as my lips embraced "thank you for Saving me"
A scroll walked carefully wanting me to read and see

"20156661241IZCOMDOENTWARRYBLIVENME"

Once,

I spoke to myself in crowds;
a unibody with heavenly mouths,
clouds lost in air that carried serpent tongues.

I dreamt we had a child
and named her Many Moons;
she grew to be the slayer
of conquerers and the
thief to tyrants.

And in between
her coiled arms
she bore poisonous fruit.

A ***** blossoming
infernal scents of dews...

She looked like you
when you were a young illusion;
an astral image projected
by a silent conversation.

I sat to myself and pondered
the freedom of thought
with limited mental capacity;

I sat by myself
and tried lonesome on for size;
and I saw that I lost you
in all the useless things I find;
a fragmented concept
produced by a whole mind.

I dreamt we made love
while others spoke of
it's practical uses;

I dreamt you were inside me
while you surrounded me;

And then I saw the eclipse
eat itself alive.

SHE PLAYS WHAT SHE PLAYS

Her brother's
vinegar-soaked-oven-baked
                  
conker

conquering all other

conkers.

The moment held on a a string
before swinging to collision

like a cartoon
pOW!wOW!baMMM!

She cuts her chestnut
carefully in two.

The popped-out-conker
...her baby

in its greeny spiky
pram.

She talks to it.
Kisses it.

"Shhhh...baby a sleeep!"

Her brother's marble
a blue and cold world

propelled by a swift deft flick
of a bitten-to-the- quick thumb

the little blue world inches
relentlessly  towards

scattering all be-
-fore it:

when worlds
collide.

A solar system
destroyed.

He now
the conquerer of conquerers.

She
places her marble

gently in her other
spiky green pram

like she's rearing
an alien.

She's got two babies.
One a conker...the other a marble.

She takes good care
of both of them.

Worries about
their well being.

Loving them for what
...they are.

She watches the world
through the eye of the marble

a tiny blue universe
held in her palm.

Pines, loyal pines, endless pine sentinels
In this forest with loneliness and me.
Giving refuge to my thoughts, pains, of growth
Reminding of the strength which lies within
Wondering if the sentinels, in their
Glory, question the ascension toward sky.
Blessed are the flourishers growing without
query. They shall be conquerers of life.
In the station of pines, strength beseeches
The weary. Their convalescent I’ll be.
A world without the wilderness invites
Tempests to rage, forgetting the nature
Lying cast away. Allowing the known
To dictate volitions of hearts’ desire
Waiting for seasons’ return to the pines.

Through darkest night and raging seas,
We stand unshaken, bold and free.
No fear can break the fire inside,
For love has won, our hope, our guide.

Chains are shattered, doubt erased,
Grace has met us face to face.
Though trials rise, though storms may roar,
We march as victors evermore.

No force can steal the light we bear,
No shadow dim the songs we share.
With hearts aflame, we rise and soar,
In Christ, we’re conquerors and more.