The seconds become minutes become hours,
I wait,
The days stretch to weeks,
I hate,
To wait.

For a bus for a plane
Yet I am no nearer
To expounding my love for you


            I wait.

Law, say the gardeners, is the sun,
Law is the one
All gardeners obey
To-morrow, yesterday, to-day.

Law is the wisdom of the old,
The impotent grandfathers feebly scold;
The grandchildren put out a treble tongue,
Law is the senses of the young.

Law, says the priest with a priestly look,
Expounding to an unpriestly people,
Law is the words in my priestly book,
Law is my pulpit and my steeple.

Law, says the judge as he looks down his nose,
Speaking clearly and most severely,
Law is as I've told you before,
Law is as you know I suppose,
Law is but let me explain it once more,
Law is The Law.

Yet law-abiding scholars write:
Law is neither wrong nor right,
Law is only crimes
Punished by places and by times,
Law is the clothes men wear
Anytime, anywhere,
Law is Good morning and Good night.

Others say, Law is our Fate;
Others say, Law is our State;
Others say, others say
Law is no more,
Law has gone away.

And always the loud angry crowd,
Very angry and very loud,
Law is We,
And always the soft idiot softly Me.

If we, dear, know we know no more
Than they about the Law,
If I no more than you
Know what we should and should not do
Except that all agree
Gladly or miserably
That the Law is
And that all know this
If therefore thinking it absurd
To identify Law with some other word,
Unlike so many men
I cannot say Law is again,

No more than they can we suppress
The universal wish to guess
Or slip out of our own position
Into an unconcerned condition.
Although I can at least confine
Your vanity and mine
To stating timidly
A timid similarity,
We shall boast anyway:
Like love I say.

Like love we don't know where or why,
Like love we can't compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep.

how can we know where lovers go
or when they take the notion
to stop the flow and try to slow
the rhythm of the ocean.

we cannot seek to reach this peak
or lift above that sea,
we are too weak to mug the meak
of their sincerity.

we are alone, together and free.




and here's some stream of thought (that just so happens to rhyme, kinda)...

loopy arousal.
lofty appraisals.
disabled and taken for granted.
in the eyes of the dead,
instead of the usual red,
we decided on green
to dress the scene.
the sound man listened.
the light man leered.
the chef was cooked.
i'm hooked.
heaved on to me like voyeurism
and sought like publishers.
distasteful? yes.
useful. yes.
knowledgeable? sometimes.
lurid trysts and poltergeists
expounding.
multiplication escapes me.
pen and paper **** me.

The bandits and outlaws own this town,
The anarchists and killers roam free,
The innocent haven’t suffered,
They’re extinct,
Genuinely,
Intensely,
Migrated to a better place,
Now that the laws and rules don’t apply,
This world is free of substantial duty,
Discipline exists as a rule of criminal code,
The conduct of personal freedom is to live,
Numero uno lives to rebel and scratch out,
To know the enemy as himself,
Regretting nothing,
Punching himself in the chest
Treasuring the moment,
In all fickle splendor,
To not be thought about too hard,
Experienced in mishap,
Total bedlam the usual events,
Drunken buffoonery,
Lazy expectations,
Silly and trite,
Can’t tell the difference after a while in this town.

Maybe at one point there was a group,
A genuine collection of unique and careful persons,
With a great deal to offer and intelligence,
A new way to think,
An ****** for the masses created in a basement with some *****,
The ceremony turned to reality,
Too intimidating to comprehend and soon it consumed,
Corruption and went ugly…quick,
Roots went sour and now spread,
Core and far and wide,
Grew up to make it all sunken,
Down the tubes,
Fueling the sun and expounding nothing,
Just mindless energy wandering,
No purpose,
Dealing with the devil everyday,
Coming up on top.

Orange Loom you leave again,
conflating royal blue and red,
calm and warm like an old friend,
but you were grey once.
Your yellow lilt is surely just a show;
an ephemeral, vestigial truth.

Is that you, brooding on the horizon,
pausing for your latest audience?
Your powerful symphony flirts
with your stagnant players;
a panoply of mountains
-expounding their own soliloquies-
and trees as straw-roofed bungalows.
The ocean floods your eloquence,
like an impending harbinger speech.

Your tame light evokes an urge,
something Great, magnificent and pure,
but you will return in time again.
Some will wait but all will learn;
your author's notes, or are they burned?

I've got the world's best kept secret
locked in 2 AM screenshots--
her late night musings over a crusty joint, a crushed pill,
or some ***** cigarettes.

She sends me her thoughts,
fears,
anxieties,
insecurities--

at her most vulnerable,
absolutely the most beautiful.

Her anguish stressed in the digital scroll
(though she doesn't like Kerouac, I let her borrow my copy),
her stained fingers mashing all their hurt and nicotine
into the keyboard--

and her pen aches and her paper stains
with the unrequited love she empathizes with
in the somber pop punk songs that explode from the stereo
she sings loudly on cold and lonely night drives
(I shiver in her passenger seat).

And she made for me the greatest of mixtapes,
her holy scrawl expounding upon a dull grey donut-shaped
slowly fading form of intimacy,
a blank CD--

"This mix is a good time"

and when I jammed it into my car stereo I was illuminated.

She is so cool, she is so punk,
and in her clandestine drugstore car charger thefts,
broken poems,
impalpable aesthetic,
impeccable music taste,
illuminated or even further obfuscated drug trips--

I have the world's best kept secret,
and more than anything, I wish to share it with you--

                                     so she can make someone another mixtape.

Expounding on the concept of energy in motion
Compounding to the group like skin does to lotion
Surrounding myself with strangers an commotion
Heart pounding at my nerves with tepid demotion
Abounding to the waves just like riding the ocean
Confounding my words and their goal of a notion
Astounding even myself with this crazy devotion
Resounding thoughts change to words in e-motion

People watching through the glass
Just Inches away, but worlds apart
Remind myself, this too shall pass
Want to quit before I can even start

My mind is muddled as I contrast and compare
I"m left utterly befuddled, as I accidentally stare
So many thoughts in my brain I'm dying to share
I"m alone, I can't believe we breathe the same air

From a rowdy loud crowded bar
To a franticly crazy coffee shop
Stuck on a cramped subway car
En route to a lounge on a rooftop

They will stick to all their clicks
Avoiding all direct eye contact
Like momma birds to their chicks
How dare I even think to distract
May as well be a wall of bricks
Cementing the non disclosure pact

I wanna break the wall down
Demolish all of the barriers
Black, white, yellow, or brown
We"re all red blood carriers

Waves of freedom reigning down with power
Comfortably numb standing under the tower
Free of thoughts on the rocks amidst the ocean
Have nots drift away down a hole with e-motion

Adeptly wading among the chaos and disorder
Decisions being weighed as I stand at the border

Cold and motion less frozen into absolute solitude
Old is all relative and my energy is finally renewed

I remember a certain cold
Cold like a scalpel
I remember your face

Illuminated by a Ferris wheel
The aquiline nose and glint in the eyes
Asymmetrical ivory in the mouth

We were bibliophiles
Expounding upon the potency of the written word
Enthralled by each other's soliloquies.

I remember
The moisture, texture, warmth of your lips
Comforting, numbing, exhilarating

The ****** effect of your flesh
Delirium in my bloodstream
The hushed tenor of your voice

Temperate breath tickling the whorls of my ear
Known to me only in a dream.

Overindulgence
can be habit forming.
A **** with diction
expounding
addiction will provide
rudimentary confliction.
Therein lies the problem
engraved on a needle
thrown in a haystack.

A **** or addict
can only shoot up
in a barrel that smells
of dead fish for so long
before stagnant water
leaves a residue and
film that peels off
quicker than a
week long scab.

To search for clean cotton
resembles digging through
a trash can for ingredients to
prepare a five course meal.
Flatware covered in water spots
are placed on a napkin that
doesn't dare dab chapped lips.

Fork to the left,
knife to the right,
and bent spoon shoved
in the back pants pocket.

If life is a box of chocolates,
overindulgence is the empty
box buried at the bottom of a
trash can. Struggle becomes a
wet glassine bag in an empty
wallet. And death is a pair of
silver bracelets. This is all about
over-extending, because if one
is enough, then two is too much.

Your poetry is daffy; your mind
Is gooey taffy. You rhyme
Like Seuss on ****** –
Your grammar makes disaster
of your ludicrous expounding.
Those rhymes are cheese,
And couplets, please.
You couldn’t find a foundling.

The air is heavy,
As it occupies this space
Leaden molecules fill my lungs
Weighing me down
My chest aches from the pressure
Breathing, expounding the effort
I in-, ex- hale.
My weakness manifests,
In a state of pure duress.

I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful things inside,  
108 of waves, you are searching for.
The true colours you love, wrapped up in a blissful layer by layer,  our doorway to knowledge path,
Expounding the absolute power,
As committed and receptive naturally.

The parcel I am sending you, to say how much I miss you.
Holding the heart- " the mystical heart",
Where you always remain, beautifully inside it.

I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
The remaining just flower for you, the way the potters wheel is,
Opens up various levels of perception,  
Everytimes puts out, when it silence, gets hurts.
I am trying to be flower for you to your potential,  external  and largely fortunately internal.

I am sending a parcel  on its wings,   be careful when you open it.
Better to maintain conducive atmosphere
Is called KAVACH, create a cocoon energy inside,
That simply transmit that you wish.

The parcel , it has , things inside,  full of beautiness
That you had initiated into meditativeness,  
generating receptivity , you transmitted into me,
In a short time,
as a doorway to knowledge.

I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Trying to  praise your emotional integrity,
Whatever i send, be careful when you open it.
The beautiful things inside it,  The thought
Quiet powerful transforms spiritual process.
Starting the aware of kundalini with the help of ganapati.

I am sending a parcel on its red wings.
Grounded bases of balance emotional issues.
For reduction of anxiety to energize your powerful spirituality.
With another parts of parcel  on its orange wings.
Which help you to open up for the feeling of
Maintaining harmoneous relationship together.
Because of human beings being empowered with this.

To promote your beautifully things,  self confedence and
To be continued effective manner in which you are travelling miles and miles,
See in this parcel.

I am sending a power with  its yellow wings,
Be careful when you open it.

It has full of beautiful heart , the mystical heart..
On its green wings
Having full of love , kindness,  experiencing compassion which you opened a balance of sympathetic love.
During our conversations.

I am sending a parcel on its blue wings .
When you open it carefully,  you will find positivity,
Singing a song that you most love.
It has also contain a indigo one called 3rd eye
Helps you to visualize inside
And connected the way the path of spiritual heaven.

I am sending a parcel on its violet wings
The crown you will find,
When you open it carefully.
Enjoying with spiritual connections.
Creation of emotion, bonding meditative path.
Melt completely wisdom.
Leaving probably me alone
In the world a path spiritual
Where we will be reunions
Our soul again and again.

DEVIL’S DREAM!


1995


Ayad Gharbawi


The Cathedral’s sorrow
Whose eyes
Feel alone
Searching
For stillness
Amidst leaves
Scattering
Murmurs suggesting
That Death calls
You;
Your roads dance
Insane
Bewildering Nature
And her creatures
As Cruelty’s hands
Speak inside
And for yourself
Expounding
Words’ meaningless intents
Let sleep hover
Hover heavy now
‘Neath winds undeciding
I scream!
Hope is nailed!
Love is nailed!

Commitments built by words
To be mentioned but never confirmed

Promises spoken
Only to be broken

Your mouth's
In a season of drought

Your lips did not send me rain
Tongue's so dry; it burst into flames

You are all talk
Words expounding; and knees locked

Dazzled by the morning sun clawing to the sky
Refracting to a million shards in opalescent eye,
Conscious of the brilliant way a soul reacts to light
Expounding in a genuflections inspirational flight.

Incredible the freshness of the dew on morning grass
Where green-ness saturates and then explodes like shattered glass,
Where the prism’s glow contracts within as image caste implodes
And the dawn comes up like thunder midst the blood red walls of Rhodes.

To feel the plight of Shakespeare, knowing words were not enough
Immersed amid the etching paint in Van Gogh’s manic tuft?
Meandering through vagaries of Einstein’s theorem’s pall
Is to rue at ****** humanity’s impending future fall.

Terror in the realisation mercy clearly can’t
When the blade cuts through the jugular to Allah Akbah’s chant,
Terror in the milliseconds sensed before the fall
Of the incandescent smart-bomb plummeting from high drone’s call.

What now the plight of splendour in the face of this demise,
Confronted by delusions failure now to realise?
In the dawning revelation brightly etched into the sky
Screaming urgent proclamation, re-evaluate or die!*

M.
Auckland N.Z.
Sunday August 7 2016

as love holds you  you abound
as love leaves you  you soar
I awoke in the solace of western winds
this great libido of womb in kind
into her nature of the ever flowing air
of pedals blooming the all nurtured
of loving living humans being
I a rose blooming her scents intoxicating
the fragrance of life expounding
the created love of  life living
lifting the rituals of life being
up up into the great winds of the west
the all giving of  love the builder of Eternity
my memories now bound by binding
to the forces of life creations
the simple elements finding reason
to join to produce a journey
the west winds blowing bringing
life forces enhancing coupling
to produce the living rapture this
beings created an alive moment
to join another to create the on-living
moment of eternity our being
survives in love love
let the fragrant west winds nurture
natures all arise life arise flower power
be one arise  ride the winds of the west
flowing all over the lands of love
over in on of... the lands
in the unknowing of each other
arise into the light of day
the living life nurtured Star rays
greeting the birds one and all
hopping walking on the Earth land
beaks pecking living life nurtured
left to fly a marvel to ride the winds above
flying thru gravity such love
to hold the Earth to the above
in western winds time for life
a day of our love to survive
share in life living creatures hue beings
reach out for love each and everyday
share your being with others all creatures
not alone hiding frightened loved loved
sharing humanity riding the winds of the west
arise thru education the teaching love existence
powerful binder of sharing creation
much to do to stop war against Earth nature
first stop pollution never use the Earth
that destroys what the Star produces
lift life above let her sun rays nurture
educate the science of Earth lead the way
survive above war and greed follow the Sun
arise come the hands of Earth await you
to hold your needs together the Earth offering
a shared ***** the life we chose to be
our hands the making of life together
stop the usurpers of earth power
stop money profits over Stars ray
hold life to this *****
stop the killing of earth resources
do this each and everyday  
love our greatest resource     gjmars 6/8/15

the horn starts sounding,
my head starts pounding,
the whole world's surrounding,
off these walls i'm bounding,
the walls of the city i'm founding,
from this there's no rebounding,
they just wont stop hounding,
my problems they want me expounding,
everything's confounding,
me this is astounding,
their questions are resounding,
until I hear their echoes sounding,
And so,
I let them know,
And then they let me go.

Its been a long while since I rambled in the night, while my head won't get tired and everything feels like lightening.

But two years later and its just like I remember. Makes my skin itch a bit less, but here I am, alone late at night, whirling about in my in-congruent thoughts. There's an electric peace about it, the mix of its familiarity and its origin.

Not surprising after my first big low of the summer that I have my first big high. Just kinda odd how easy it all feels. Its no pounding, screaming, kicking, biting. Its just like a neighbor stopping by.

I guess now to the ramblings. The expounding expression of my random, endless thoughts to get them out of my head and try to get me to bed.

I thought about love a lot on my way to work. Granted, I work only a five minute walk from home. But I remembered how the definitive point in time where I decided what kind of love meant most to me happened in the worst summer of my life, the most hopeless depression I ever felt.

Mom liked that I was quiet about it.

Dad was oblivious.

Friends forgot I existed.

Then there was him, the one I never expected. He was angry. So angry.

He was so upset he was losing the person he loved to my depression and he felt helpless to do anything about it. He needed me to fight. He needed me to get better. He couldn't stand watching who I was fade away.

He yelled at me.

I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't.

I'd been content to float, to hide behind my childhood walls and use the same tactics that hid my mental turmoil all of my life. If no one saw it, it was ok. Its what my parents always taught me.

Yet he looked at me, heard my mentions of pain and non-existence, and couldn't stand it. He didn't want me to change, or never be crazy. He just wanted me to have a will to fight it. To get better.

He didn't want to lose me just because it was so much easier.

I think its why I began to hate my parents, for awhile. Compared to wanting to set me on fire to save me? How could their naive complacence compare? I hid a lot from them, I grant. But that summer I told my mom I wanted to be hospitalized.

She said no.

If no one saw it, it was ok, right?

I couldn't stand all the years I spent trapped between those walls, feeling like I was hiding some mythic beast inside me, like I had to do everything right because everything in me was wrong. Outside, I was their cheery, sweet, smart, empathetic perfectionist. Inside, I was a passionate, dark humored, fireball of curiosity and imagination and limitless possibilities. The two never quite meshed, but I never got the chance to find a way to do that. Only the chance to force them apart.

Makes relationships hard when you've become two people. And once the other one shows up, everything changes. You're a lie, now.

Things are starting to mesh better, little by little. But its been a long journey.

Seems quiet acceptance isn't the love I like most. Fire is.

And its even wilder now that, after years of moving away from that isolation and pain, I'm finding a new belonging in the things that I used to cope. I thought they were all just silly things I did because I had nothing else. Now I prefer to do them instead.

As if on cue, I'm distracted by some writing and my head is slowly calming. I guess its my cue to bid this adieu. Always fascinating, how a thought-dump helps settle an insomniatic head.

English village timed out under a cloud,
questions asked of strangers
and their intent.
Bubble wrapped in picteuresque hue,
comical telephone box book exchange
a pub's  wall smothered in New Music Express pages,
forever expounding the 1990s.
The wildlife park pervading
through the  air,
less thoroughfare more nasal flare.
Perhaps they should live by their derivation
a place where sheep were washed.

In my dream it crept then lapped across
the stream in which my boyfriend the photo-
grapher was expounding on new ideas for grinding
lenses.  Large black dragging teats and sloping
back, with brown knobs
tumors protruding from
its chest and shoulder.

Then it stopped and fell there across the rivulet.
The size of a carry-on bag, fur matted fake and
flakey as it peeled in places.  Who ran to it? I did and
touched grit and hair and bumps. Thinking:
Get it to the vet
We can take it home
I can nurse it back to health.
Jim said: I’m not sure it’s a cat…..

This confusion.  Is it a cat? Or
something we do not know yet, an oddity
exhausted, too far gone, ready to birth
new ideas and breeds the like of which we’ve
never seen.  I would like to make it my pet or if
too far gone wear its little pelt.