"dynasties" poems
Magick 13
My rhymes periglacial slash through foes ****** leavin' corrupted maxillofacial stay laced with the coco
Til my nose blow out nothing but deadly keys makin' monopolies at ease see my desert ease
Could make the devil freeze with the beautiful ephipanies laid though my flow cinematography ain't no fictions here G
My pedigrees been deadly since the age of three
First sips of Hennessy pictured a glare of my enemies stories of me biblically
Born a David killin' Goliath's society defiant
Knock down the orders in the cornered borders
Of the Jesuit I'm the black Pope
Elope to the celestials gods that rope
My mind hanging on to the highs of the ****
Better yet the marijuana sneaky as an anaconda
Once I tighten cells begin biting
Fighting tryna stay alive like Bee Gees
Fiendin' for my lost dynasties kin to Nefertiti since I ****** on *******
As a baby I got a taste of the universe thoughts deeper than a hearse words hurts exciting flirts beating all perks through my vengeful works
My alias an archangel leave the game triangled Titan mentality dribble like Cousy so you might loose me?
Sick with the tracks axe minds like Moses to the red sea knockin' down Rome legacy
Back on top like the greatest plot dimensions traveler like Bishop
Capitalizin' land plots I be the Black Wieshaupt
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
749
All but Death, can be Adjusted—
Dynasties repaired—
Systems—settled in their Sockets—
Citadels—dissolved—
Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs—
Death—unto itself—Exception—
Is exempt from Change—
7.3k
Witness the unknown
Reach the unforeseen
Travel,to live
Penniless and Excited.
Burn the midnight oil
Drifting through subconscious visions
Toil, for such majestic realms
Penniless and Excited.
When hunger strikes
Kingdoms, rather Dynasties, fall
For the ever growing appetite
A man hunts
Penniless and Excited.
That sweet spot, a special place
Where love is felt
To live, love
Penniless and Excited.
Travel.
Dream.
Hunt.
Love.
Penniless and Excited!
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 5:09 AM UTC
(Inspired by article below)
I.
Continuity
your filibuster egg of sand
dazzled curiosity
with creaky shell of hints
heaped upon the tedium
of knowledge's unfurl undeterred
by encyclopedic impatience
Assurances of rip(Van Winkl)ed
economics shooed paper strings of
revelation like anarchy-powered
taxes summoning a foreword
to anachronistic campaigns
of environmental friendliness
II.
Meanwhile years
have been filed down to flashes of
chronology for continuity's organic rebus
However long it took
the economic karma to fall into the
abodes of hedonistic pharaohs
it was instant
Skin that ruled behind the constitution
of allergic breath
bailed on the bones against their most
sublime intentions
Limbo-treading landlords
huddled in their mummified freeze
after breadline bashers scolded them
with the spoils of a new brand
of pyramid scheming
Robbers of the coffin palaces
stole the intimations of identity
theft from today
Immortality and freedom
were compelled to share a meaning
like estranged siblings
or bound dynasties
I(a).
Abydos
how you coyly toyed with us
with a diversion bordering on monolithic
04 23 14
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
She paves the path
Of dynasties carved
With buckets of sludge upon back;
Bent, not unlike her mother’s limb,
But under shinier red flags,
Cloth coated, with lesser blood.
She’d had a hint of gray
She’d not had last time,
She had a newer limp
She’d not had last time,
Her ***** furthered from firm,
Reaching for the ground, a promise,
In years to be wed with,
And yet the underneath
Of it all remained as radiant
As any sun’d ever been;
And come the cloudy day she leaves,
Even mine own eye
Will remain far from dry
As I’d remember freshly cured bacon,
And her tender chopsticks offering life;
She’d saved me once, she’d save me again.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
please come flying,
to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
descending out of the mackerel sky
over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
please come flying.
Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
Please come flying.
Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim of your hat,
please come flying.
Bearing a musical inaudible abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this fine morning,
so please come flying.
Mounting the sky with natural heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and injustices at large,
while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
that simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
please come flying.
For whom the grim museums will behave
like courteous male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading rooms,
please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
please come flying.
With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers flying,
please come flying.
Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
2.9k
Triumphantly raised colorful flagpole insignia dynasties
of this country and that country and other country
destroying each other territorial
like rabid animals and house pets.
Atomic bomb cat food will feed us full
in fallout by the end!
Meeeee-oww!
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
You are there in the centuries,
standing on the hottest sands
face of illusion, higher civilizations
everyone tried to understand,
For you they wrote so many poems,
books and pages, history archives
the unbearable block stone can't hide
what you have inside your cold womb.
Pharaohs, kings and dynasties are
there to come and go as shadows,
Embraced by you their faces remain
deep in underground finding the truth,
but you still live proudly with the time,
until existence of the earth and sun
return you to the ashes of greatest love song.
-nour-
June-013
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC
I
Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.
II
Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onwards the same
Though Dynasties pass.
III
Yonder a maid and her wight
Go whispering by:
War’s annals will cloud into night
Ere their story die.
1.7k
My black is beautiful
And there is nothing in me that is evil
My black is not synonymous to darkness
Look into my blackness and behold brightness
I have an unwavering consciousness of who I am
Self-aware of my innate abilities
I belong in a line of dynasties
Regardless of my height, I stand tall
No matter what they see through their lenses
I am a description of what excellence is
I don't crack
I lead the way, I create the tracks
I'm not from a dark world
I'm illumination in this shady world
Solution I am, dissolving any problem
I'm unstoppable... Greatness is my emblem
Opinions don't move me
I cruise my own boat
I love good clothings but
Melanin is my favorite coat
I'm a seed of greatness
And that's what I'm going to sow
My heart is clean and pure like the snow
Yes I'm black, if I come to this life again, it shall be so
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
liquid crystal display
glimmering salacious self-imagery at you,
your lips parted and breath
staccatoing along, flitting just
behind the beat, like your aunt's
first dance at the wedding reception (before
she's had enough to drink) or
her last (when she's had
too much)
she was in the passenger seat
on our drive homeward, leaning in
to the driver's seat conspiratorially,
oblivious to your beauty splayed out
exhausted in the backseat.
"she's my
baby niece, and you better not
**** with her
heart, you hear me missy?"
and I assured her I wouldn't as you
laughed and laughed, bell peals
in the backseat and church bells
echoing in my ear, past and possible
future, sodium vapor lights
slipping away along the highway as
your aunt slid back into the passenger seat.
"so"
"so"
"she's quite a
character," I say, bemused, and your
eyes crinkled at the corners like
newspaper redesigned during crumpling as
kindling for the fire, blue and blue and blue
in the backseat.
"that's true"
"just like you"
"just like me" you agree,
crossing your legs, legs that go on
for dynasties in thigh highs and
your dress riding up too high for my eyes
to focus on the taillights ahead of us when
paradise is in the rearview:
love is
cold lobster bisque
in a big bowl in bed in the morning,
two spoons and a carton of orange juice
arrayed on the covers atop our
entangled legs.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
one of the Orient’s oldest
and most beautiful important cities
inhabited for thousands of years
by generations after generations
of craftsmen, merchants, artists, dynasties,
famous architects of all styles and religions,
the western end of the old silk road
home to over 2 million citizens
until not long ago
a few weeks of modern warfare
were enough to destroy
what hundreds of generations had built
for their living as well as their sense of beauty
rockets exploded churches, temples, and mosques
artillery pulverized ancient palaces and new houses
barrel bombs and poison gas
killed the people
on tv we now see acres of urban wasteland
miles of rubble with no life
except for occasional tanks and soldiers
proclaiming victory over these ruins
in the name of a dictator whose regime
has become a puppet in global power games
no matter what the cost in lives or things
to destroy is easy
building things up is hard work
with friends like these
who needs enemies
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
Cain slew Abel –
Thus began the parade of
Characters whose dynasties
We remember, who decorate
Our memories.
Abraham –
He gave us all the stars
In the sky, a greater lineage
Than the grains of sand
Slapped by seas.
Moses –
The babe in the bulrushes,
The prince turned traitor
Whose whiplashed back
Parted the Red Sea.
Tempus fugit –
Geo Washington, Thos
Jefferson, Alex Hamilton –
Madison, Adams, Franklin –
Minds who created, who
Dreamed, who begat.
How many names we find
In those first tumultuous
Years – warfare and love,
Duels and decadence,
Politics and party.
Scant years later, across
The pond – revolution is
Catching on – les français
Waged a ****** scene,
Ousting the régime.
What would become a
Baby democracy – birthed
More than one new flag
And song – yet lived to
Fight again and bleed.
History is ours to hear –
We respect the honorable,
Honor the drama, revere
The prudent and refight
The battles.
The District of Columbia
Paints a new canvas – she
Sings off key, her promises
Begging for whitewash, her
Patrons vice and folly.
What offspring will such as
These sire? Are they fathers
To found a new nation – to
Garner worldwide pride, or
To slay the abled?
Let the wings of victory
Carry us back to the days
Of greatness – let us exceed
In probity and virtue – let
Freedom succeed again.
© Lewis Bosworth, 3-2017
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
as you trod upon your floral dream-world
pierots on pillows gaze.
watching you with
intent.
peonies are being pulled back beneath,
the false divider, between
earth and fire.
barriers.
are simply states of your soul stuck watching,
divine totems decapitate themselves
instead of succumbing to
slumber.
the blades on which you rest end abruptly.
leaving only an ancient path within.
lost somewhere between dying
dynasties.
there is a hole in the dirt where gravity sings,
to cobblestone satellites scanning
the skies.
for more than a sign that knowledge need not be,
a colossal misconception...
transcending
even the most distant star cluster.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 8:30 PM UTC
substitute your mind for the divine presence
open you eyes and gaze upon the unknown
I speak for a plethora of overgrown gardens
are we cartons of cigarettes or bundles of sweetgrass
answers like these are never necessary
yet we borrow everything from life's apothecary
i am among the tired lions
who offer their music to your dynasties
its a weekend campaign finance escapade
to bring farms to your table and then go back to the basics
i wish you could see the benefits
that only exist beyond these earthly dimensions
for limits expand whenever we question them
I give thanks for the earth
i give thanks for the trees
i give thanks for the mother
i give thanks for the bees
i give thanks for the soil
i give thanks for the work
i give thanks for the passion
i give thanks for the hurt
i give thanks for the smiles
i give thanks for the children
i give thanks for the flowers
i give thanks for the silence
i give thanks for the power
i give thanks for the rain
i give thanks for the sunshine
i give thanks for the pain
i give thanks for the anger
i give thanks for the rage
i give thanks for the strength
to never separate myself from you
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
It was a scam, a sham
The flimmiest of flams
There was more pork there
Than a Christmas ham.
It’s nothing but a racket
Stuff it all into a big packet
And put into a time capture
Leave it until the rapture
Where it can’t hurt anybody
Then, fix yourself a hot toddy
And laugh about how shoddy
Future folks will think we are.
They won’t be wrong by far.
They’ll marvel at how many
Candidates worth a penny,
Or less, showed up to run
Like the whole thing was fun
And better than a TV show.
How could they tumble for
Not that good of a governor
Didn’t know what lips are for
Or what to say on the floor
Yet some wanted her to run?
What fun the press had with
Filling up the internet bandwidth
With screeching permutations
Of tired old KKK reiterations
Of the wonderful Aryan nation
The South advocated before
We had us a big-ass ugly war.
It’s like they didn’t know they lost
And were prepared to pay the cost
To do it all over again, not just men
But women too, who shouldn’t do
Because they were not part of
The government to be started up.
It was rather Alice In Wonderland,
The fuzzy details of their whole plan.
Certain things were carved in stone.
Some should go back to an age of stone
And forever leave the real people alone.
Because they’d shout out now and then
That this world was meant for white men
To run and control and own. Nothing tribal.
They said it was written in their Bible
Which was obvious they never really read
Or they would know what it really said
About helping the poor, the halt and lame.
They went on doing harm in the name
Of the King of Passion and Rescue
Saying that was the wrong thing to do.
They insisted they could do what pleases
And it should have nothing to do with Jesus.
It’s all about who is rich and who is not
And who doesn’t need what they have got:
All the good land and the mineral rights.
The rest can just stay up nights working
Two jobs, maybe three, they didn’t care.
Those pundits had to start somewhere.
Let those dishwashers and caddies
Go get their own filthy rich daddies
To leave them accounts full of millions
So they could hire undocumented millions
To build their dynasties of marble and gold.
Really, folks. This story never gets old.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
after the body has decomposed and decayed and is done being with being a body, the insects feast on the flesh, desperate for nourishment.
1. after: the close of
decompose: to separate into parts
decay: to decompose; to separate into parts; to rot
done: to be finished
feast: any abundant meal
flesh: the sweet, outer coating of a body
desperate: having an urgent need for nourishment: something that is necessary for life
First came the blowflies, then the maggots. They attacked you while you were breathing. They thought you were done: to be finished. They crawled in and out of your nostrils, through your gaping mouth, down your throat. Your body took the phrase "being eaten alive" too far.
2. maggots: legless larvae of flies
attack: to set upon in a hostile or violent way
nostrils: holes in a face that helps a body: the physical structure of a material substance breathe
down: on or to the ground
throat: the part where insects run through and burrow and live in the not living
You're imprinted into the ground now, your ribs a perch for vultures to peck upon your carcass. Your skull is laced with sand and other sedimentary rock as a nice garnish. Bodies are strewn here, peppered with dynasties of dust, ancestry of asphalt.
3. ribs: curved bones shaped like armor to protect the heart and other vital organs
carcass: a human devoid of being
skull: the bony framework of a head
laced: the lightly draping of a thing
garnish: the supply with; to decorate; to lace: lightly drape a thing
ancestry: generations and generations of sediment forming into people forming into lives forming into experience forming into decay: to separate into parts
~~a.s.f.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
The smoothness of your brown skin
captivates my soul, hazel eyes so bold
and beautiful, a palace of romance and
sensual dreams, shimmering beams and
nightlife gleams.
His sweet lips touch my skin so
peacefully, melodic vowels and
fascinating sounds, deep channeling
languages of sheer temptations,
harmonic creations.
I can feel the music inside his chests,
the dynamic beats drumming endlessly
around Neptune and Jupiter, explosive
Mars, spinning dynasties over magical
majesties.
To run my fingers through his dashing
dreads, wavy locks upon my heart,
an aura of celestial instruments
intensifying my flow.
To inhale the lucid lyrics all over
his body, taking in his world of
magnificent nations – the upbeat
rhythms traveling through the
cityscape, the flashing light
posts standing in glorious delight,
the midnight skies of love over
divine cuddling.
The phenomenal poetry gliding
on top of the balcony. The
shimmering syllables sparkling
in the air. The brilliant metaphors
bursting in celebration. The
vibrating alliteration pounding the
pavement. The swagging similes
dancing in the night.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
i'm unwinding my head
on
honey moon belly
******* carnivorous lozenges
falling in love with glazed
eye ball devils
hypnotic stare
destination
a tunnel of fiendish odysseys
blood drooling eel
vomits gush white
daddy long leg threads
in honeys wet cage
to wither
writhing spit hot
in fat muscle and bone
headless
head first
like a mindless falcon
after scattered mice
i feel her teeth tearing
syringes of ecstasy
ransacking swollen motion spirals
and ***** like bronz buckaroos
at a fancy pool party
crimson *** macabre
****** roast bon bon fire
licking her lump of desire
a rousing boogyman sermon
speaks in incinerating tongues
swallowing a hideous parfait
**** growl
girl squat
**** ****
mint julip throat
choke symphony
abducting lascivious pollinated gulps
take me in like reckless bull sap
through your red
dada warp land
pit of the brain
undulant flesh landscape
of shapeless ovule spume
mouthing night blows
Incised flagellation's
devour buffet spread maiden derelict
arched and trembling
drunk and drugged
like a buttermilk sky
groaning hysterical
in feral muck stained beds
of puce and slime ochre pigments
stunned umbra
a famished
deep veined jutting peninsula
longing for princess ***** dynasties
with vast thighs radiating inferno hearths
and rolling hill **** hieroglyphics
decipher rug pugilist lap songs
my goddess i long for your
bruised fruit
crawling like the dead of night
on pitch vanta shadows
where love becomes a savage
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
“On the edge again.”
Why would you hurt something so grand?
RipRip
Dynasties were never meant to last
“How did you love her?”
How do I love him?
“No, her.”
The sky is her hands
"Why?"
Scrreeechh
Halted down to taste
“Taste what?”
A bit of my soul
...
Savor the colour
"It has colour?"
Mine does.
"How?"
With time.
"Time?"
Silver ebbing off the corner
“Souls have corners?”
Well they’re not ‘round
**I didn’t plan to stay
Electric**
Happy happy happy
“What do you see?”
Glass.
“Glass?”
**No, water.
Shining to the sun
It’s a bit** shiver.
“How?”
Because he said so.
Chilly
“What do you feel?”
How did I fall?
“No, what do you feel?”
With the stars.
“Hm?”
I feel with the stars
“What?”
**Past the burning lake
And into lust.**
“Lust?”
**No,
Reckless**
“What do you hear?”
No
“How-”
Dull
“What?”
Numb.
All I hear is empty.
“Why’s that?”
Don’t you hear your heart echo too?
“End of session”
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
Time was we spent in an abyss
Looking towards the falling stars
Like kings of yesteryear
Centuries gone by and dynasties fell
To the tremor of your aftershocks
Thinking thoughts of purity
Reminded me of how we used to be
Pitch black midnight hour
Singles the halo of astrology
And years of vermin run thru the streets
Plaguing the healthy
And making wealth of the diseased
Some thought we could see the end
Some thought we were only where it began
In the ocean I swam with sharks
And made mad friends with the deep
Anchor around my feet
So I can’t risk the escape of air
And digital dreams I’ve remembered
Mixed with truths of your fiction
We depict the despicable in black
Soiled our whites obsolete
With out intentions
And mentions of a better life
We plead for our illuminations
Of a bitter embrace
But descend silent in your aftershocks
Silence in your thoughts
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
I used to love rocking
with him in the gaudy
nightclubs, sea-green eyes
drifting into dance jams,
drunk rhythms, spinning
inside burning Mars, his
feet moonwalking through
the crowd, waiting for the
blazed beat to sound off,
as he bopped his head
to the hypnotic music,
flashy shoulders moving
in the breeze, embracing
the iridescent chemistry.
And as I hopped onto the
dance floor by his side,
electrified rhymes rumbling
through my muscles, so raw
and pounding, a bursting bomb
of atomic funk, I grooved inside his
galaxy, hips twisting and turning
into intensifying dynasties,
funky legs breaking down
to the ground, whipping it
around and around, going
downtown, spine-igniting highs,
cool consonants skyrocketing
towards Mount Olympus.
Our bodies spun, the nightlife
shining within our souls,
faces floating in extreme fever,
knees rising in paradise,
crowned, intoxicating,
hands wild-waving,
lost in this amazing
enchantment.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 8:49 AM UTC
"Perhaps, Martin Luther King never had a dream,
but he had seen a dream.!!!"
This is a description of my theme;
Rhemes of his speech gathered steam,
which stimulate and create a remembered stream,
" I have a dream.!"
Nowadays, dreams are not the ones you get from a slumber steep,
but are those that deprive you of sleep.
I hope that one day our countries will no longer appoint leaders again, based on their individual gain.
Apart from their political parties, they come from,
but due to one single universal party, we are all going to form
Neither, for the agenda of their race, color nor religions,
But with an organized calendar, and tremendous visions.
The day we shouldn't be interested in their background stories;
popularity, prestige, and their wealthy glories.
not even their power, pomposity storied-houses.
Despite being the lineage of dynamic dynasties,
but just a human being with the visionary eyes for minorities'
One who should not focus on celebrities and Hollywood Stars,
but will celebrate with poverty-stricken, take them as the stars,
well recognized as the sons of the Sun'
helping the country economy shines,
Am looking forward to the election days,
The national quadrennial event, Tuesdays.
our voices will bring impact through our votes.
When we shall elect mentors, role models and not our Idols,
Am looking toward the day the financial crisis will fall through
when our leader's mission comes through.
Focusing on the fact of where they are heading us to,
and where they are taking our dreams too.
The dreams for our country's bright.
Rights and freedom for our countryside,
the ease for our forefathers' long century sight.
I can't wait for that day indeed,
my dreams will no longer be just like a dream,
but actually, film-strip with its factual receipt.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 11:22 PM UTC
Better to be dead
Than live in your head
All the lies and discontent
Are better left
In the cleft
Of cleverness
You slice
While i sever it
Never hit
The hard six
Without two clips
Backing my ****
I submit
To nothing
But
The sultry shade
Of my suffering
While still loving
Every minute
Of the absolute
Truths
Starting coups
With youth
In suits
Made of bombs
Watering roots
To grow on
Lacing boots
For strong arms
Staying calm
In the calamity
Detonating
The anxiety
Inside of me
Pawning the notoriety
For a long gone society
In the brawn
Of a family
Burning in the tragedy
Magically
Melting
The dynasties
Of rotting cities
Raising from the grave
With rave reviews
From slaves in suits
Who missed the news
To the dark pursuits
Of suicidal fools
Abiding by the rules
Of lawless crooks
Flawless cooks
Of crutches
For assumptions
In thunderous
Concoctions
Altering the functions
Of the faction-less
Getting traction
With the hack and slash
Mashing the happenstance
Of meaning
Seeding into rants
I am the giant
I am the defiance
In an alliance
Of one
Got all the ammo
But no gun
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
Oh,
blessed muse
who are you?
How can
you be
so real?
When
I
sense
your
presence,
a quixotic
erotica;
a
soft
burnish
more
friendly
then
silk
envelops
me.
The folds
of your
warm
*****
press
my face
into
coy
riddles;
more mysterious
then the secrets
of ancient
Oriental
Dynasties.
Do you have
eyes to see,
arms to hold,
legs to dance,
ears to hear
and a voice
to sing?
How
do you
touch
me?
You
enter
my dreams
as effervescent
vapor.
You
frighten
my
imagination.
You
open
doors
to me
my
heart
felt
long
closed.
You
gently
chide
my
prejudices,
in raptures
with
mythic charms
as you goad
and trick me.
You speak
magic words
and etch
fantastic
landscapes
in my head.
You
playful
nymph.
You
appear
in the
night
as a
purring owl,
whispering
something,
about
something,
then
wing away,
into the
glossy night.
Where do you go?
I'll
patiently
wait,
for your
mysterious
return.
Music Selection
America, Three Roses
Oakland
10/98
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC