He who expends his days a wanderer,
Is not aware of his gift,
Though he may hunger,
and steal into the wicked alleys
where the spirits of evil men dwell,
He lives and sees the world in a view,
one that is unimaginable,
as he sings lowly as he walks through the end of night,
He has no possessions that are worth possessing,
Such that another wanderer may wish for his own,
None except his life,
One of seeing the world from the outside,
As he is starving from within.

I gave him some money, and offered him my seat.
And society's eye upon me
as if I am naive,
but I wish them to hold their assumptions,
for I believed this man, even his lies.
I could sense his sincerity,
as distinguished from the typical
**** beggars that would scold
anyone's failure of compliance.
And though he solicited me until the last moment,
I knew that my advice may settle in,
and for he to use his supreme vantage point
of a Sufferer of the City, one without another,
I asked this man, who convinced me of his
desire to be a writer, to document his days.
And to educate himself, this 30-year-old, black, amputee,
Torn between drugs and gangs, and a better life
that is unattainable.

I asked him to be infallible in his refusal of
Those evils which will deteriorate his soul,
For its royalty will be paralleled not to material wealth,
but to any base behavior, or noble virtue.
and if he stutters in his gait, to channel such self destruction into
a productive means to write about his sufferings.

1301

I cannot want it more—
I cannot want it less—
My Human Nature’s fullest force
Expends itself on this.

And yet it nothing is
To him who easy owns—
Is Worth itself or Distance
He fathoms who obtains.

I hold fury in every space between my ribs
and in every hollow of every bone

Never before had I felt the strain and stress, the heart palpitations that result from the loathing abhorrence and simple seething self hatred that come from loving more than I am loved

Proper Nutrition holds that
the body must take in enough to replenish what it expends and still be left with a small surplus.
My body is undernourished.
My ribs are bare.
They feel the cold, though they've no nerves.
I feel the cold.

I am by no means insatiable.
But I must take in more than just the crumbs that would feed
a bird.

Feed me. Feed me. Replenish me.
Cover my bare bleeding ribs with your warm hands
Collect each drop of blood as it runs off
Bleed yourself and put the marrow back into the hollow of my bones.

I lay belly up now. But I am a hell hath no fury Hades Hound
And I will not hesitate to bare teeth and rip flesh from bone.

(The starving will feed)

Silence expends all possible thought of nameless emotion
Nighttime of soundless expression

Driftwood on beaches of shaded joy
Rocky outcrop escapes
Rivulet beauty we don’t see

Rock skip hip hop euphoria
Asunder Sauntering
When Eventually Someday Comes

The snow outside
My sparkling paradise
Evanescent dreams

When snowmen melt
And angels disappear
Spring blooms sunshine daisies
Let’s go smell the roses
Sit down and see-saw the morning glories arise

Summer blows in on the breeze
Running for your heart
I have green grass melancholy
Erring rain emanations:
Like a candle in the wind.

Someday Eventually Will When Only Loosely

Lost to the in-mind,
Eyes almost teary with exhaustion as city exhaust expends my already weary body, (... mind... soul!...)
I walked into the washroom at Tilley's travel emporium (you know those hats you see on Steve Irwin? The stereotypically Australian saucers with a tilt like a collision? Tilley hats. They were invented by the creator of this store.)

and it smells like you.

all my weary head can imagine

is your

midnight mouse

of a snore

and
       your

soft

       lava-stone skin

the solar system of freckles on your shoulders

the stars of

birthmarks

on your

      arm.

I say good night

as

    Canada

     tucks the 2 of us in

   for the last time


     until

    April.

An amber landscape expends across the rambling hills,
The Barren trees stretch desperately towards the sky,
As if the higher they climb,
The more they are engulfed by the overwhelming beauty.

The dying embers of the sun race to cover the land in honeyed hues,
Extending across the landscape in rays,
Slowly melting toward the horizon.

All colours become the spectrum of the sun.

The security of a nation
By armies, tanks, and guns
Expends a lot of energy
But protects our lands and funds

It’s cheaper to defend ourselves
With flowers in children’s hands
But it won’t be as effective
In defending our lives and lands

The cryptographic proof of work
Has served us well for years
It’s not the same as proof of stake
Which will end in regret and tears

True consensus takes some work
This is a feature, not a bug
Bitcoin was built with energy
Not with flowers - not with hugs

Flowers and hugs are mighty fine
But won’t make a network secure
It takes a lot of energy
To make the ledger safe and sure

Stalling,
Protracting
Procrastination
To its limits before
I put pen to the pages
Engage with the latest
Of sapien traits
To sate its **** Deus
Ex Machina milieu
Of acculturated
Anti-natalist ends
Without means or wherewithal
The journey expends
A final destination
Where it can reside
Free of incarcerations
I've sealed it inside
Thinking mine
Is a mind
Of exceptional kind
And I must keep it safe
From the dumb, deaf and blind
But I see what they see
What they hear
What they feel
When I make these
Insanity
Fantasies
Real

Be at peace,
Creature of earth and oak
Your brittle, soft bark
Painted a deep crimson,
With limbs curling, retreating to their root.
And whose buds wither in the dry,
Desolate province: “home”.

Do you remember the monsters,
Trampling over vein and chute,
That grew larger with every word they spoke,
Till soon their dark shapes stood high above,
Their mass and form eclipsing the light,
Leaving only a sliver to feed you?

I remember a shape formed with care,
Whose trunk was strong,
And resilient as steel!
But, Chiseled and reduced
By philosophy and temptation,
It became a thing I couldn’t recognize.
A corpse that shone of good intention,
With marks of wisdom and ingenuity,
Abandoned, forgotten in time.

Do you remember the forest,
Where brother and sister once stood firmly?
Their unfortunate fortitude rendered them ideal
For the beasts’ machines,
And made kindling for the nightmares
You had when you were small.

I remember a young seedling,
Who sacrificed friendship and comfort
For a little shelter from the cold.
And now lives in darkness
And has been for so long,
That a candle is mistaken for the sun!
A faint, false, glow is all I have to illuminate my life!

With age, and of circumstance,
My eyes grow weak,
And this heart will expends its stores
To chase the promise of reprieve,
Offered by a lie of ever-changing form,
And striking, beautiful melody.

We are that which hashes
    her

That which expends her swirling muscled tones

That which chisel at
this four-by-four;
her cedar

      a vessel desecrated.

We are terse,
we are pixels projecting this
    dance—

Her steady plateau
Her watery eyes

My thoughts
like the guts of a jellyfish
Swirl under a fragile sheath
that is my stare

From dormant tick
to fortified tock,
time has had its hands full with me
For silenced words only fester
within the absence of light

Soon I will take my wounds, my scars
and cast them out to be
To dance among the waves
of my tongue
and sting who they may

How I will embrace their sharp return...

To rip this placenta of pain
dawning a coma white
that expends yet again

I see you staring off into space,  your trajectory
aimed towards a specifically-patterned constellation.
I am only the launch tower--
providing stability, support
aiding in your refueling  and the replenishment of your supplies.
Star-patterned destinations are your calling
and, I am just the launch pad,  
and its ever accommodating tower.

They say that a rocket expends fifty
percent of its energy just clearing the tower;
It is the final destination:  
not the clearing of the tower,
that your heart needs most
and holding you firm,  I know that as you lift off
I will  even now  be tempted to
reach out with one of my ever-sustaining arms..
that I may touch your gorgeous tail section  
as you fly clear of me

But even in the doing of that,  
I would change your trajectory
and the constellations would never come to know you
nor you, them

I am just a tower, love..
a platform,  constructed solely  
to aid you in your newfound flight into freedom:
a tower  to love you
and hold you steady,  
with a finely-built strength

until you are finally clear
even,  of me.

Let us relate our police beatings with recollections recounted hazily
while even at 70 Barbi Benton's 32 teeth will fit in her mouth lazily
like 2 cottage-cheese thighs that in her dotage she exposes brazenly
in the company of Hugh Hefner who expends **** broads cravenly
which ain't too much unlike hairy tramps cravin' a clean-shaven me
or needs enumerated by gay coal miners in a coal-mine-cave-in plea
Because not every black lesbian is a connoisseur of elderberry wine
there is chardonnay, Merlot & Syrah for Y.W.C.A. diners who mine

Betwixt the plains the river runs
Through hill and forest, beneath the sun
Where fauna stop to pray for drink
And rocks appeal their will to sink

Betwixt the mounts the river runs
The scars it cuts ne'er be undone
And though men try to place a fight
The river claims them all with might

Betwixt the towns the river flows
And some may follow wherever it goes
The start of a trout, the end of a snake
Yet the river kills not, nor does it make

Betwixt the states the river flows
In places straight, where others it bows
For all of the knowledge contained within
It can retain not, how it were to begin

Betwixt the nations the river can rush
The lands that it touches can't help but be lush
Blessing the many who bask in its essence
And swallowing those who scorn its presence

Betwixt the cliffs the river will rush
Surging on to its final gush
All of the effort the river expends
Knowing too well, too soon it will end

In fading twilight I see the stars begin to appear. The last rays of the sun fade into the softness of night. The veil between twilight and nightfall is draped like a curtain over the existence of all things. In this short span of time of closure and awakening, is what solitary moments of time seem to stop. When small birds begin to flutter and settle in for the long night, and an old Oak creaks in the wind as it starts to blow. Sounds and sights fill the mind as time slows to standstill. The senses capture the rhythm of nature as life seems to reset itself. All things realign and become melded into a symphony of life that revolves over and over until slowly the light of day has faded and night has taken hold. Then time begins to wind slowly forward leaving the bridge of two worlds behind, giving one part of life a chance to renew while another expends energy saved up from a long slumber in dark places until the bridge is crossed again from night to dawn in the moment of twilight between two worlds that seldom ever meet.

19/6/2022





Dreams, eyes wide open, she said
to me "there's only an abyss underneath the bed," and grey clouds, against the blue skies, "that is just a thought in your head," she said to me.

"what is noon to solitude?," she whispered to herself, "what is a forest to the moon?," and the curtains set themselves on fire; "it must be the heavens knocking on our door," i said in a hurry.

the angels plead for discomfort, how quickly the pedestal invites scrutiny, how slowly the day fades from benign existence - is that how autumn expends herself every spring? waiting to find a lovers arm to stop breathing?





@writeweird

What in the world would you settle yourself down and start imagining about?                                          
      Whatever that is, or would be; you only come down to common ground with the mother nature. Imagination is no dreaming.
And never sleep walking.                                                                                                             To see visible movements in life;                                                                                                                                        talk the talk and walk the talk.  
Natural symbols are no evil.                                                                                                                                             Only when we push to it, to making them gods, that becomes a doom in a way.                                    
Well,                                                                                                                                                                    miraculously we all have symbols and we just don’t dare to go beyond our bonds and see what really lies within us and that we represent within us.
Animal symbolism is a powerful aspect of connecting with nature.                                                                                     A quite number of people may say for them it’s a lion they connect with,                  
  because of their rule-less,                                                                                                                                             overrule and anger perhaps,                                                                                                                                                    or anything they relate to.                                                                                                                                                        We realize a lot in common with us to the nature, the moment we seek symbolism in nature.
Vulnerably,                                                                                                                                                                 butterflies have a powerful transition, which I see a connection with transparency to every thought I mold and inevitable fates.                                                                                                                                              It may be a tiny creature;                                                                                                                                              when we undergo a phase to see how much energy butterflies expends,              
we’d really get a vivid light and lean on how nature operates and clearly understand why it never goes wrong.
Interestingly,                                                                                                                                                                             in so many cultures, the butterfly is associated with the soul.
And it also symbolizes time and growth that links animal symbolism to faith with the butterfly.
Despite the short life of the butterfly                                                                                                                                       it continually reminds us of an endless passionate bond together with the other.        
Even hopelessly in love we find expression and seek trust to have growth.
Throughout the life stage,                                                                                                                                                         in my opinion,                                                                                                                                                                               I think there’s a lot I can relate to and you may also find similar existing ideals that lie in the elegance. That lies in imagination,                                                                                                                                                         that lies in us and the connection we have with nature.

Let us relate our police beatings with recollections recounted hazily
while even at 70 Barbi Benton's 32 teeth will fit in her mouth lazily
like 2 cottage-cheese thighs that in her dotage she exposes brazenly
in the company of Hugh Hefner who expends **** broads cravenly
which ain't too much unlike hairy tramps cravin' a clean-shaven me
or needs enumerated by gay coal miners in a coal-mine-cave-in plea
Because not every black lesbian is a connoisseur of elderberry wine
there is chardonnay, Merlot & Syrah for Y.W.C.A. diners who mine

Let us relate our police beatings with recollections recounted hazily
while even at 70 Barbi Benton's 32 teeth will fit in her mouth lazily
like 2 cottage-cheese thighs that in her dotage she exposes brazenly
in the company of Hugh Hefner who expends **** broads cravenly
which ain't too much unlike hairy tramps cravin' a clean-shaven me
or needs enumerated by gay coal miners in a coal-mine-cave-in plea
Because not every black lesbian is a connoisseur of elderberry wine
there is chardonnay, Merlot & Syrah for Y.W.C.A. diners who mine