MY FROG MASTERS

How thoughtful were the rainfalls
To water our gardens and flowers
The flowers spread wide garments
To celebrate their terminal beauty

The joyful frogs occupied my pond
To orchestrate their vocal prowess
They taught me to take blind leaps
Like lightning bouncing in the skies

Squatted, stretched, beeped down
I was a millstone on the pond floor
My slippery pond mates wondered
How soft I was in the maritime arts

Mortally rescued in a muddy mood
The clouds sent in rescuing showers
To confirm my firm loss to the frogs
Like a grain of salt cast into the seas


673. MONEY BAGS IN THEIR BODY BAGS

The money bags shopping for their body bags
Waggled through the makeshift supermarkets

Their ancestral homes they plotted modernity
Like the general gathering fine forces together

To the villages they made to return with pride
Like pregnant elephants caught up in the mud

Their desolate villages are deep and sickening
Glowing flamingly in the crucibles of local gins

The dusty and gravy pathways are like furnace
Burning the leather off from their frozen souls

Traditional birth attendants cut off their cords
And zipped the money bags in their body bags

674. A GLORIOUS DAY

The new day spoke powerfully
Like a war making superpower
And his voice roared forcefully
Like the skies forced to shower

The sunrays came dynamically
Like love responding to silence
Beauty crawled in submissively
Like the mixed arts and science

One eagle soared energetically
Like lions feuding in the colony
Far clouds relocated peacefully
Like souls betrayed to harmony

The breeze sighed thoughtfully
Like horses galloping on the lea
Inspiration unfolded thankfully
Crowns monuments with a pea

675.  THE FOG BANK

The sun had gone to pay our bill in the fog bank
The world foggily crawled into the strong rooms
Darkness demonstrated her strong mindfulness
Provided for the strong gale with lurking shrieks

The black paint billers snowballed to our dreams
With the bill of exchange for wild sunny excesses
Ghostly bats emerged with the bill of indictment
In demonstration of our acrophobic dispositions

We packaged the sunrays for our folk memories
To reassure the day of our eternal followerships
We cherish our follow-throughs in our dark beat
To usher the sunlight out of the hollow fog bank

676. THE PROTRACTED INTERNECINE FEUD

These things had happened before we were born
Like sulphur deep into our fresh hearts they burn
Now we stumble on the bumpy terrains in horror
Like one frightened by ghosts in a standing mirror

The internecine feud has razed our men of valour
With their carcasses dumped in their cold parlour
Our community cattle graze in the barren pasture
Like the unrepentant sinners awaiting the rapture

For our plight the once glorious sky is grown pale
Like the ***** fetching territorial waters with pail
The storms have rolled off the catalogues for rain
All our efforts to mop up the mess end up in vain



677. THE AREA LEADERS

They cracked coconuts on the heads for the crown
And embraced our days with their castaway pollen
Sadness and sorrow have dyed our garment brown
With the strongest song sung when night has fallen

These are the blinding dusts from our barn’s grains
They breed cunning serpents in the soft pasturages
They are failed cargoes on our broad societal trains
They dedicate our common committee to outrages

Now our days seek deliverance from their tentacles
Like the colourful fields immersed in gloomy beauty
They play our eyeballs with the stenciled spectacles
With our consciences to sight and found us off duty

To rescue us the colossal clouds were born gadarene
Our communal life was willed to pageants of gaieties
Then moonlight stories held us for a larger gathering
Now all the objects we sight dress up like cold deities

678. THE LAST DESCENDANTS

The rapacious thunderstorms ***** the skies for their tears
The hot embers were born to glow mourning the late forest
The moon crawled out of the blue like a great grandmother
Cuddling her descendants wrapped up in her ancient shawls

The wild waves were weird weavers weaving withering wails
The captioned wigs gyrated on stunning shoes upon auctions
The little creatures crouched in primeval baskets of the night
To gnaw at the generational tubers in the creative farmlands

The dazzling specimens of dentitions relaxed in water basins
Like bright red artistic architectures on potent ocean boards
Golden hearts glow in the threatening prisms of the furnace
As beautiful sunset defines her beauties in her nightly corset

It had been a sweet pill for the past descendants to swallow
Depending on the colonial masters for loaves, lore and lures
Our creativity had been packaged in their mortal depravities
Like the tranquil days resting sorrowfully upon the dark oars

The centenarian thunders downgraded our minute whispers
We had been kept upon our toes by the eternally sworn foes
At last our worthy artworks have worn their wormy catwalks
The refreshed dawns greet our easting days in their greenery



679. VICTIMS IN THE VALLEY

The victims in the dark rally
Caged, dried and browning
Therein their meanings tally
With waves born drowning

In the depth of a cold valley
Horrible nobles are cultures
Like pilgrims in the dark alley
Willed to ravenous vultures

The victims all robed in tears
With hearts like potter’s clay
For pains they have no fears
Only mimed games they play

For victory awaits the victims
Alien to a blind mimed game
Glorious are eternal rhythms
For death Christ died to tame

680. THE GIANT SCARS

These are our giant threatening scars
Engraved on our demonstrative heads
Our sympathies crawled on superstars
Weeping for us on their moonlit beds

They threatened us with nasal sounds
Like thunderclouds seasoned to burst
For us their galleries are out of bounds
Behind the iron bars plagued with rust

Our patience passed their wildest tests
Like the lions roaring in the thick jungle
On the heart of the Lord our faith rests
Like numbers posted on the right angle

681.  A LADY

In a lady’s handbag
Is her hidden hunchback
Stuffed with her heart ache
For the pains relieving groom

In a lady’s tender smile
Is hidden miles of similitude
Marked with the zebra crossings
For the ever winning marathoner

In a tender lady’s heart
Is hidden her cowboy’s hat
Soaring within the white clouds
To soothe the earth with the latter rains

682. BRING BACK OUR GIRLS

Bring back our homesick girls
Their vacant cradles are bleeding
Bring back our innocent girls
On the chariots of fire descending

Bring back our suckling girls
Their feeding bottles are weeping
Bring back our infant girls
Their mothers’ ******* are heavy

Bring back our harmless girls
The united universe is thundering
Bring back our dewy girls
In the sharp sun rising in the skies

Bring back our beautiful girls
Like light plucked from darkness
Bring back our glorious girls
Aboard the shore-bound waves

Bring back our worthy girls
On their fresh faces our lights seek to glow
Bring back our living girls
Our fountains of joy are bubbling to burst

For our returned girls the skies shall bear
Roaring rivers, singing seas, chiming clouds
With gongs and songs, pianos and praises
Dulcet dulcimers and documentable dances
With healthy hymns and eloquent embraces
All nations shall into a common cathedral flow

683. ****** GENEOLOGIES

They electrify their demonic high tables with old fears
Only their ****** genealogies are bookmarked to reign
The sight of their portables whetted our eyes to tears
We are reinforced by the clouds born to the later rain

Our skins have renovated the sickening cattle wagons
With our dreams flying upon huge smokes in the skies
Beneath their tables we abridge their creaking jargons
Upon their floors with our generational landmark tiles

The dew drops dropped like old crops upon our brows
To soften the veils falling to the flaming edged swords
The flaming hearted sword of the penetrating sunrays
Born to pluck us alive from our hotly bandaged bruises

684. LET US SPEAK UP

The light is climbing downstairs
And danger is sprouting abroad
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light is melted on the glades
And terror grazing our eyelashes
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light is late and lately buried
The mourners are on danger list
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light has divorced the grave
Her grave clothes are dew dyed
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

Silence is a forgotten tombstone
Lost in the din of cold morticians
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

685.  THE SUN

The sun smiles on all prescriptively
Like the waves spreading on shores
The green grass glows descriptively
Like the full moon upon dark sores

The sun is a tailor fixing the buttons
Preparing the sky for incoming stars
Like the weaverbird weaving cottons
To conceal the day’s damnable scars

The sun is a marker on diurnal pages
Tall grace he bestows on the flowers
The sun retains his graces for all ages
Bees and butterflies are his followers

Our common laughter is endangered
When sun bows down in big setbacks
All mortals have the starlets fingered
When the night comes on drawbacks

686. UNTIL HERE

(For Lou Lenart and his team)

Their floods came seeking Jewish bloods
Like streams they roared for our dreams
They emerged as columns of soldier ants
Like whirlwinds they zoomed towards us

Until here we were crumbs for the reptiles
Until here we were like airborne cloudlets
But here the sudden change unveiled to us
From here the elusive victory embraced us

With skeletal jets we fought like bold lions
Soared like eagles and spoke like thunders
We conquered columns of invading armies
The bleeding armies turned back and blank

From here we turned from victims to victors
From here enemies’ defeat our greatest feat
Upon this memorable bridge it all happened
Victories leapt upon our pool like joyful frogs

687.  JOY UNLIMITED

The fledging sun offers its rays
And the rays offer golden trays
For our joy a platform to spray
Rowdy paratroops like thunder
To scoop roses from pure oasis

Our joy is ripe upon celebrations
Our celebrations with decorations
Decorations with documentations
Documentations for all generations
Generations in our joyful habitations

688. ANOTER RAINING DAY

The dark clouds are wandering river basins
Spiral bounded by breakable outer casings
The rivers and the seas display empty cups
For the swift blessings descending the tops

The rains come as defense troops’ missiles
And the drowning lands look like imbeciles
Now we are groaning in the watered claws
With the liberated scales marking our flaws

The retreating clouds crawl away in a belch
Dumping the missing cargoes on the beach
The winds bow in a state of shock in a cord
Praying and fasting for a visit from the Lord

689. GRANDMOTHER

Grandmother, please wake and get up
The sky is quarreling with her husband
Soon they will spill their freezing sweat
On our bodies for us to catch dead cold

Grandmother, please sneeze not louder
The sky and her husband are quarreling
Soon they will send old floods like gales
To sweep mankind away from the world

Grandmother, you are everything I have
My moon, my sun and my morning stars
Provoke not the couples with your cough
Lest they refill their greasily wraths again

Grandmother, the big reptiles have come
With their lethal grandchildren following
They are laced with secret burial shrouds
With sympathetic tears tearing their eyes

Grandmother, I kiss you a shaky goodbye
With broken pains roaring within my soul
Grandmother, where are your groundnuts
To conduct my solo heart as you sing away

690.  A NIGHT WALK THROUGH THE FOREST

Lured away on an alluring dream by fables
I trudged along the grassy paths with fears
Upon my steps spilling the prevailing dews
The shadows bowed their heads in silence
Like the soul issued with a death sentence

The night crawlers emerged above boards
Throwing light upon contrary communities
In their hearts and eyes were painful tears
Crawling down their exaggerated eye *****
Like a handbag filled with rotten cosmetics

The shadows were bold animators’ shelves
Stage managing the horror motion pictures
In the ghostly commodities I met wild hosts
Lifeworks evaporated from my fresh breath
Like foreign tragedies in common comedies

The sorrowful shadows cast away their veils
Like the candles letting go of the weird wax
Sadly I sat in the sack for conflicting fetuses
Another sun appeared like a serial divorcee
Counting the testicles of another naked day

691.  SUBJECTIVE SUBJECTS

The sad sun descended upon her haunting melodies
Reeling from mysterious layers for electoral riggings
To harden the flowerbed for flower girls born tender
Disenfranchised voters came weeping in barren polls
Dressing the blank nest for the fat electoral parodies
With the mourners the faulty bells they came ringing
Like the angry water castigating a ****** port fender
And the smokes climbed upon their wide aerial poles
Arching over the emptied shelves with liberal singing
They subjected their subjective subjects to all objects

They decked their bodies on the hexagonal stairway,
That primed up into the heavens of boulders.
Decked boulders,
Eyes from the dead shoulders,
That ran the dust of time and concern,
With double ambiguity;
That ran the cobwebs of melodrama,
Of Purple voids
And dainty scars,
There were just blocks.

There was no God.
No Owl.
No leaflet or Foliage.

There was just a dainty scar
That cervically opened
Into a white expanse of rugged and dusty fieldstones;
With the waves expanding their circumference
It was hard to keep the shells afloat.
Rosebuds, it looked like,
The little ***** that dug out of dung holes,
Everywhere on the white crystalline beach;
Rose budded footprints of an animaline saint.
It might just not be the little *****.
Then the dust rose up.
It amalgamated into the purple haze
That became the tender feet of cupids that embedded
Their rose-budded footprints along the shore of the sea
Sea that circumference the earth;
A Chinese fishnet flew out of the foliage
That, that is drugged in a an embrace
Gently over the ocean’s tiny footprints.
The fishnet was not targeted or focused on oars
But it was the Oars
That roared an echo
That conjured a Wraith
With Ate by its side;
They roared in unison
In a screaming echo of the overdue night before.
One with desperate fledging oars,
In a senseless sea
And,
In an endless churn;
Then the sky drifted apart
To clear the grey remains,
That of a nuclear battleground
Of the last world
It skid along a steep drift
And found a purple pathway.
The pathway took enough time to open them
The dingy awls of ancient machine plates.
Entwined and unforgotten,
These had made a rounder depth into its omnipotent boulders
Than the mongrel-ic infrastructure of the present world;
Mongrels of a primitive category of potential.
The wisdom that was as ****** as
A bloated hyacinth in its first blossom;
It took a speck of a quarter wink.
Chaos followed obstruction,
And the dust jostled out in the jiffiest.
It was a strange new octopi.
With blades for pearls.
With fangs for lustre
With gigantic dilation of a black void of pupil;
How could it run through?
It phantom-ed the serpent in one plunge;
And a single spasm.
Then it exploded.
A million nebulas bristling with a zillion kind of rainbows,
Rainbows of hydrangeas in elixiric daze at the tip of each finger.
And,
Starlets.
Then it was all purple.
Cosmotic falancho on a curly fledge.

After the rain settles
the Fieldfare appear one by one
The fledging Sun paints shadows,
clouds part themselves
Barefoot,
on cold bracken
we look for the threadbare
stumps and leaves
Winter cold,deep
against its snare, snaps.

In this breathing gallery
Art is vivid for science to be
For science to be executed
Art is a spatter of feelings
In wows and wonder

Chemistry goes on and on
In vigorous interactions
of substance, of souls, of colors
Art surfaces as chemistry deepens
Then there comes the Art collector
Fledging up the souls.

When did the soil give birth to ideologies of hate?
Floating thoughts taking hold of tempestuous souls
To wreak destitution and abject destruction upon City slabs
Intangible ideas, not to be grasped, squeeze hard
On curled metal, give birth to flying shells

Hit ******* soft targets
Stories held within forms, never known to thy perpetrator
Indiscriminate fury built upon muddled theory

How powerful a virulent ideology
Minds clash in spoken wars, yet the earth does recoil
As fragile limbs confronted by flying shells
Limp, lifeless hand stretched forth
Pleading for continuation of a life not contemplated to end
Not here, in this way
Crudely broken by the stench of decay
I remember when Friday night was for play

Humanities throat pressed upon not by religion
Knife drawn not by capitalism
Shots fired not by secularism
Yet a common strain persists in all
That of power seeking
Corrupting hearts, dividing parts uneven, the spread obscene

Impose a will on another
Crush fledging life pursuing what is best to you
Oh! The clouds I plead beneath pass me by
Your ‘best’ is but yours, permit me to fly by

The sunlight, like a mother’s touch,
lies gentle on the water’s face.
The last warm breath of summer past
Not ready yet to yield its place


And you and I walk, hand in hand,
Around the long and winding path
Past where fledging Mallards stand
And weeping willows sweep the earth.


From beyond the rushes comes
the soulful melody of a horn..
All else is still, no sound intrudes
upon the bassist and his song..


Above us Ninja squirrels fly
And bomb the path with acorn shells
If they should hit me do not laugh
Odds are that they’ll get you as well.

I’m glad we came to Oakland Lake,
To watch the waterfowl at play,
And have a quiet conversation
about a nearly perfect day.

Like human drones,
They trailed the messiah
From Frisco to Guyana,
In search of Eden
Among anacondas, tapirs,
Diminutive Wai Wais,
And Purple-heart giants....

Where torrential rain
Blasted the ****** soil
Like B-24 bombers
Over Normandy...

And piranhas
Shredded human flesh
To naked bone
In black-water creeks
Coursing through the Amazon...

And a fledging nation
Of less than 1 million
Navigated the treacherous canefields
Of independence...

Why....?

The question lingers
Like maggots on
900 rotting corpses...

Why....?

The answers wither
Like 900 minds mesmerized
By Jim the messiah...

Forfeiting lavish luxuries of freedom
For the Temple's tickets
To a worry-free ride...

To Heaven.

~ Pablo
(#JimTheMessiah)
3/1/2014

Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
Pencils grow heavier
As they scratch lies across a page.

Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
Sparks that flew
Hearts that grew
Lips that met.

Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
That life gets in the way
Of fledging happiness.

Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
Words that fell
Down the nape of her neck
And into her chest.
Fingers that caressed
The line of his jaw
And the ridge of her cheek.
Whispers that rose
Yielding into the ice of the moon
And crept into the lining of their souls.

Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
Happiness carries the inevitability
Of pain underneath its wings.


Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
One basket of memories never made
And of growing disappointments.
One slowly cooling heart.
Two stale throats musty and seldom used.

Write a happy story,
They said.
They did not know
That no matter how much heart’s-blood
You pour into their soul,
Sooner or later, destiny comes to play.
Even the greatest love story,
eventually finds an end.  

Pretty girl,
Handsome boy.
Fairy-tales incarnate.
But fairy-tales cannot survive in this world.
The magic mirrors cracked.
The poisoned apples fail.
The dragons triumph.
The animals voiceless.
The princes leave.
The princesses stray.

Write a happy story,
They said.
I wrote them a fairy tale,
But happiness had already flown away,
And my pencil had been
Too dull to capture it again.

Oh the men that make their way
Sitting around in lapping bays
How a wish is whispered naked in the corner bar
Never heard from someone close but always from someone afar
A listless night of effort is remembered fondly
Worlds torn to pieces just because the sight of another temptation missing
So the story goes from soul to soul like fish peeking from their fishy bowl
Scattering for a thought into publishment to share a pain that can only be felt within
Experience tempts the senses to reveal and spit and *** and bleed onto the page scanned and verified and blotted by high ink and
Misinterpreted
But still tried as if a jury full of fledging turtles tempting the God's to bring the wisdown unseen but known by clowns with twisted frowns, and analyzed by sizes with flashy prizes and excavated by the mindless & ****** vacated and ripped to shreds but still seemingly in love in bed
So the bearer of the bad appears in blue
Shifting from side to side from the news
Knee deep in his own birthed and electric disease
A breath of air touches the ears of the virgins
The attempting takers
Eyes that gaze up skirts and oh how I remember how it hurt, how it hurt
With the water entrenched with the back and forth touch within but still no sight of a friendly boat
But oh the loafs, the hot bread manics, underlying a temper furious hot ferocity, fast and fast and fast until they met themselves, seeing themselves sweating, panting, exhaling and finally feeling what it feels like to expel the spell they were cursed with and are now forced to live with
Through it all if one doesn't have a ball
They'll turn out to be just another victim with a gripped dulled saw
With a wasted mother's gift, a wasted torn ticket, a pocket of wasted rockets, Their grandly sad and oh so deserved
Epic fall

Lust consumes my every waking thought
The inevitable fall from grace that follows after trauma
I was young, a fledging then and yet was still cast out
Into hell
As my fragile feathers sizzled
I was choked by them
An acrid mixture of burned chemicals, of ozone
The pain is unbearable
Screams, the muscle contortions wrenching my body apart
Blood and flesh take shape mortally and the fall ends
A sudden crack, my vision blurs
Sore ribs reflect a broken heart. Memory erased
The ground is hard beneath me. Flames lick at my back
Cast out from paradise for the trace of impurity my thoughts evoked
One of the fallen. Birthed in sin.

Clocking in,
Trudging on,
Grinding the nose down to the bone,
Clock out,
Et cetera,
Ad Nauseam,
Goes the routine of the last of the Blue-Collar poets.

Can't think of words,
Too dog-tired to think of rhyming schemes,
Too sore for clever entendres,
Too broke to focus on fixing verses, stanzas, and metrics.

Thinking of the too-long day,
And the too-long day to come,
Fighting for a long shot of a good-night's sleep,
For a glimmer of a decent day off,
Clawing for a decent day's pay.

Sweeping up the metal shavings,
Spattered with hot, hot grease,
Bones broken by falling boxes,
Maimed by unsafe machines.

Keep the Blue-Collar poet in mind,
As you operate your computers,
Sitting in your White-Collar dream,
For their fledging numbers dwindle,
That will never get the chance at your dream

Submerged
in slumbering marshes of youth
soot riddled, benign mole
mermaids and Jupiter bathed in the
water of her soul
shape shifting contradictions
crumbs of a whole

Strewn
in the irony of thorned garlands
on eggshell whims, jettisoning off cliffs
She plunged headfirst
seeking his gnawed bristle lips
lattice tresses curving
along his finger tips

Scrambling
she held a chisel in one hand
the other groping a Jade shard
fledging yearnings
to make hay in the barnyard
As surly incense sticks turned to ashes
on a wedding card


Serendipity
experienced by intertwining fibers
of a coarse, unruly yarn
parables murmured to her torso
he laid  sprawled in the barn
plucking leaves off petioles
in her threadbare farm

A fledging writer
but a budding jester.

When the offspring has  flown from its  nest,
having been nourished all for the best
it will soon fly westwards
to welcome the  beginning of  its own time.
How our original plans  speck away
when we had  laden the  powder of  trust
on  its  feet
but so  often the web has run full circle
turning from purity to  false flight
the inner being of the  fledging

Let not love take to flight
Consuming thought and reason
For it can burn with fiery might

Pray. do not heed the poet’s delight
As he fervently pens his newest obsession
Let not love take to flight

Guard your fledging heart, so bright
How easily it can be scorched by loves passion.
For it can burn with fiery might

Blinded, by rose tinted sight
Too lost in he, too late to see his seduction
Let not love take to flight

His words, his lips, excite
Desire ignites into molten combustion
For it can burn with fiery might

But, how hard will the break smite?
How far the fall into tears? I beg, take caution
Let not love take to flight
For it can burn with fiery might

What is important to thee?

Be it thine own peace,
                           pure and sacred
Be it thy sweet rest,
                           sacred and pure

   Be it thee dances,
       prances and sing,
through the fabrics of thy years
               with grace

Be it Love
                       pure,
                               ­     and sacred

Forgive thine fledging wisdom
for misguided yearnings.
Its growth is tragic.
o'er slow.
The pace brings suffering  
long before the light of clarity can shine on
what thy dreams do say.

One cannot dream this shell of existence anew
without breaking skin.
Cuts and scorns will bleed the soul
           like a life laundering leech;
                            Yet will heal thee in kind
                - and oh, what mysterious kind it shall be

Harken to the old oak voice:

"Through those bleak and dark nights
Hold,
        with passionate patience
        and marveling whys.
Each tender breath,
                           sacred and pure,
                                            brings a subtle flourishing
                                                     and a light will shine."

Time will mend thy fragile frame,

and lest you worry too oft
(and sleep too little)"

Harken well this billowing breeze,
as unto thee I say:

                "Your heart will rekindle,
             Set ablaze by a truth learn'd
                                                         ­      pure,
                                                           ­           and sacred."

Oh, templed god, why did
you snare the palmer?

The importance of being
the autonomous? I am trying to
stay away from me to keep
a watch on you.

The itinerant sorcerer had
become a legate of gold trade.

The flesh is for sale, the
small mouth with big hunger.

A fledging of scar has become
a bleed. The synopsis was out.

I am going to ask some question
from the bo tree today.

Homecoming;
the fledging to his nest
All snug, secure
and every feather warmed
Love fills the nest,
for it is the fledgling's own
And within the straw
he is himself

Something ineffable;
the droves of life
denied in splendor
to the mind

Something perplexing
a vexing muse of
reality
infused with abnormality

That absurd thing
we call the soul
ever whispers
even in its screams
we behold

Questions fledging
answers swarm
to ride on seraph’s wings
above the storm

Never being
erred, and e’er become
All but streaming
fleeing, gleamed in
growth, amidst hope
with such aplomb

We are meant
in the meaningless
Squandered passions
roused ambivalence

In freedom
we are lost
Untethered from truth
As we amass the idle questioning
Formed in what makes us
Aloof

What does it mean
to be
human?

Monstrous indulgences
of wandering in abundance
seeking shelter
in the wholeness
of fulfillment

Yet
We are ever empty
Never fully

We

Share with me
Give me your fledging feelings
I will shape them into something probable

And I cherish the rain
that musters under your feet
Tansy herbes of the heart
would turn you into Eve
And I as Adam drinking
the nectar of your countenance

On an Archipelago
I place broaches and pins
in a wooden box
And lay a translucent lichen box for you
Somehow the fledging seagulls
Will seek your precious door

Rainclouds fall like christening diamonds.
Yet there's no silver lining,
well hedged around this  tempus fugit.
Yesterdays grey hubris
is undone by a fledging bird song.

For my state of mind needs no repairing,
deeply woven, establishing a living,
trying to convince ourselves,
for so many good kinds of reason.

I am a  swallow,
furnished on a  nest
capturing the essence from  my flight,
diligently following a hidden path.
Pretending Buddha's hand is a hallow truth,
parried by the wind
this old world will not  change because,
you're a fledging
tears like the fallen rain
along with the passing cumulus

Today the day
My father passed away
11 years to the date
Who can fight fate

Crosses my thoughts
Day after day
Lives in my heart
Night and Day

Your love for me
Till you feel hungry
Don't fool yourself
He used to tell me

Man of great talents
Communication almost absent
Man of few words
Heart the size of the universe

Very highly educated
Accounting and Taxation he meditated
Glorious corporate career
Used his skills till his end got near

Epitome of integrity
Naturally helping tendency
Value systems consistency
Known for his decency

Truth and God
His mates in his path
Never slipped once
Haven't met any since

Talent to invest
When to divest
Master in his own class
Shared his knowledge with all

Terrific strike rate
Would make fund managers irate
Percentage of growth in top gear
Beat the index year on year

Watched 4 movies a week
No other pleasure did he seek
Matinee idols on the screen
Watching them his only dream

Knew about the movies
Matching his subjects of study
Encyclopedia of cinema
An ocean to learn from

Investment banker or Movie critique
Easily shined in them too as a career
Not because he' was my father
His actions speak loud and clear

Calm disposition his personality
Empathy greatest quality
Loosing temper waste of energy
Long walks his tool to gain clarity

Never a negative word spoken
Nothing good to say don't say it
Conduct and Class predominant
Never expressed much emotion

House buzzing with family
Joint and extended
Treated all equally
Showed them Hollywood fares regularly

Alone or a Group
Fledging career or Rock Bottom
In the midst Calm or Chaos
Balance proved the man he was

Was he a Saint i often wonder
Or carried away because he's my father
A saint is a different dimension
But he was an excellent human being

His negatives i recall
Stored in my memory wall
Waves that leave behind salt water
Even in that we wet our feet with fun and laughter
Greatest strength not in these
Ray of light and a gentle cool breeze
They added to his inner core
Meaning of life and ways  of the world
Intuition and experience he optimally combined both

He loved Paul Newman
His birthday God chose as his death day
How else will you say
When the last movie he watched was HOMBRE

Iced Dark Beer and Gallon of Margarita...
Faire terns relinquish the draught from tempest boast that
Daughtered the spiders running spout which
gland nor goad had taken a' sure
Fire maw lapse to foment by
the lash of tongue words an 'bout

Still many heinous fledgling derricks
for citrus n tequila  flapped aurum
Allows a fledging heckle doers 'n feisted
their doubt to fink the stockade
Which earnestly held embossed
spiritual letters donning clad
That spoke of weddings and joy
soaked frost not a catch of the day lost
They had

Heft the clod hopper or tankard or masskrug or pale
Dainty once winged and free swanks none
other all folks of the townehall
Choose the beast path forward for previous
rather than bourgeoisie commercial of other
Thou who thanks loess n troll of vanity
which doled the age an name of the
Finest distillery and brewery still derives a
Djinn waster fought and over with
As trial of nepotism mocks on an the liver's faith
shows magic's jist once more
'what now this been all 'bout'