On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoin’d by Neptune’s might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offer’d as a dower his burning throne,
Where she could sit for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments were of lawn,
The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and border’d with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,
From whence her veil reach’d to the ground beneath;
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,
Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives;
Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
When ’twas the odour which her breath forth cast;
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone,
Which lighten’d by her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silver’d, used she,
And branch’d with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perch’d, of hollow pearl and gold,
Such as the world would wonder to behold:
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,
Which as she went, would chirrup through the bills.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d,
And looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true; so like was one the other,
As he imagin’d Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her ***** flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms threw,
And laid his childish head upon her breast,
And with still panting rock’d there took his rest.
So lovely-fair was Hero, Venus’ nun,
As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from her than she left,
And of such wondrous beauty her bereft:
Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer’d wrack,
Since Hero’s time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young
(Whose tragedy divine MusÆus sung),
Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none
For whom succeeding times make greater moan.
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,
Would have allur’d the vent’rous youth of Greece
To hazard more than for the golden fleece.
Fair Cynthia wish’d his arms might be her sphere;
Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.
His body was as straight as Circe’s wand;
Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand.
Even as delicious meat is to the taste,
So was his neck in touching, and surpast
The white of Pelops’ shoulder: I could tell ye,
How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly;
And whose immortal fingers did imprint
That heavenly path with many a curious dint
That runs along his back; but my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men,
Much less of powerful gods: let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander’s eyes;
Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leapt into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow, and, despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,
Enamour’d of his beauty had he been.
His presence made the rudest peasant melt,
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;
The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov’d with nought,
Was mov’d with him, and for his favour sought.
Some swore he was a maid in man’s attire,
For in his looks were all that men desire,—
A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally;
And such as knew he was a man, would say,
“Leander, thou art made for amorous play;
Why art thou not in love, and lov’d of all?
Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall.”

The men of wealthy Sestos every year,
For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,
Rose-cheek’d Adonis, kept a solemn feast.
Thither resorted many a wandering guest
To meet their loves; such as had none at all
Came lovers home from this great festival;
For every street, like to a firmament,
Glister’d with breathing stars, who, where they went,
Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem’d
Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seem’d
As if another Pha{”e}ton had got
The guidance of the sun’s rich chariot.
But far above the loveliest, Hero shin’d,
And stole away th’ enchanted gazer’s mind;
For like sea-nymphs’ inveigling harmony,
So was her beauty to the standers-by;
Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery star
(When yawning dragons draw her thirling car
From Latmus’ mount up to the gloomy sky,
Where, crown’d with blazing light and majesty,
She proudly sits) more over-rules the flood
Than she the hearts of those that near her stood.
Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,
Wretched Ixion’s shaggy-footed race,
Incens’d with savage heat, gallop amain
From steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain,
So ran the people forth to gaze upon her,
And all that view’d her were enamour’d on her.
And as in fury of a dreadful fight,
Their fellows being slain or put to flight,
Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead-strooken,
So at her presence all surpris’d and tooken,
Await the sentence of her scornful eyes;
He whom she favours lives; the other dies.
There might you see one sigh, another rage,
And some, their violent passions to assuage,
Compile sharp satires; but, alas, too late,
For faithful love will never turn to hate.
And many, seeing great princes were denied,
Pin’d as they went, and thinking on her, died.
On this feast-day—O cursed day and hour!—
Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower
To Venus’ temple, where unhappily,
As after chanc’d, they did each other spy.

So fair a church as this had Venus none:
The walls were of discolour’d jasper-stone,
Wherein was Proteus carved; and over-head
A lively vine of green sea-agate spread,
Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung,
And with the other wine from grapes out-wrung.
Of crystal shining fair the pavement was;
The town of Sestos call’d it Venus’ glass:
There might you see the gods in sundry shapes,
Committing heady riots, ******, rapes:
For know, that underneath this radiant flower
Was Danae’s statue in a brazen tower,
Jove slyly stealing from his sister’s bed,
To dally with Idalian Ganimed,
And for his love Europa bellowing loud,
And tumbling with the rainbow in a cloud;
Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron net,
Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;
Love kindling fire, to burn such towns as Troy,
Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy
That now is turn’d into a cypress tree,
Under whose shade the wood-gods love to be.
And in the midst a silver altar stood:
There Hero, sacrificing turtles’ blood,
Vail’d to the ground, veiling her eyelids close;
And modestly they opened as she rose.
Thence flew Love’s arrow with the golden head;
And thus Leander was enamoured.
Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed,
Till with the fire that from his count’nance blazed
Relenting Hero’s gentle heart was strook:
Such force and virtue hath an amorous look.

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is over-rul’d by fate.
When two are stript, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows, let it suffice,
What we behold is censur’d by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?

He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed.
Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said,
“Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him;”
And, as she spake those words, came somewhat near him.
He started up, she blushed as one ashamed,
Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed.
He touched her hand; in touching it she trembled.
Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled.
These lovers parleyed by the touch of hands;
True love is mute, and oft amazed stands.
Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,
The air with sparks of living fire was spangled,
And night, deep drenched in misty Acheron,
Heaved up her head, and half the world upon
Breathed darkness forth (dark night is Cupid’s day).
And now begins Leander to display
Love’s holy fire, with words, with sighs, and tears,
Which like sweet music entered Hero’s ears,
And yet at every word she turned aside,
And always cut him off as he replied.
At last, like to a bold sharp sophister,
With cheerful hope thus he accosted her.

“Fair creature, let me speak without offence.
I would my rude words had the influence
To lead thy thoughts as thy fair looks do mine,
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.
Be not unkind and fair; misshapen stuff
Are of behaviour boisterous and rough.
O shun me not, but hear me ere you go.
God knows I cannot force love as you do.
My words shall be as spotless as my youth,
Full of simplicity and naked truth.
This sacrifice, (whose sweet perfume descending
From Venus’ altar, to your footsteps bending)
Doth testify that you exceed her far,
To whom you offer, and whose nun you are.
Why should you worship her? Her you surpass
As much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass.
A diamond set in lead his worth retains;
A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains,
Receives no blemish, but ofttimes more grace;
Which makes me hope, although I am but base:
Base in respect of thee, divine and pure,
Dutiful service may thy love procure.
And I in duty will excel all other,
As thou in beauty dost exceed Love’s mother.
Nor heaven, nor thou, were made to gaze upon,
As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one.
A stately builded ship, well rigged and tall,
The ocean maketh more majestical.
Why vowest thou then to live in Sestos here
Who on Love’s seas more glorious wouldst appear?
Like untuned golden strings all women are,
Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar.
Vessels of brass, oft handled, brightly shine.
What difference betwixt the richest mine
And basest mould, but use? For both, not used,
Are of like worth. Then treasure is abused
When misers keep it; being put to loan,
In time it will return us two for one.
Rich robes themselves and others do adorn;
Neither themselves nor others, if not worn.
Who builds a palace and rams up the gate
Shall see it ruinous and desolate.
Ah, simple Hero, learn thyself to cherish.
Lone women like to empty houses perish.
Less sins the poor rich man that starves himself
In heaping up a mass of drossy pelf,
Than such as you. His golden earth remains
Which, after his decease, some other gains.
But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone,
When you fleet hence, can be bequeathed to none.
Or, if it could, down from th’enameled sky
All heaven would come to claim this legacy,
And with intestine broils the world destroy,
And quite confound nature’s sweet harmony.
Well therefore by the gods decreed it is
We human creatures should enjoy that bliss.
One is no number; maids are nothing then
Without the sweet society of men.
Wilt thou live single still? One shalt thou be,
Though never singling ***** couple thee.
Wild savages, that drink of running springs,
Think water far excels all earthly things,
But they that daily taste neat wine despise it.
Virginity, albeit some highly prize it,
Compared with marriage, had you tried them both,
Differs as much as wine and water doth.
Base bullion for the stamp’s sake we allow;
Even so for men’s impression do we you,
By which alone, our reverend fathers say,
Women receive perfection every way.
This idol which you term virginity
Is neither essence subject to the eye
No, nor to any one exterior sense,
Nor hath it any place of residence,
Nor is’t of earth or mould celestial,
Or capable of any form at all.
Of that which hath no being do not boast;
Things that are not at all are never lost.
Men foolishly do call it virtuous;
What virtue is it that is born with us?
Much less can honour be ascribed thereto;
Honour is purchased by the deeds we do.
Believe me, Hero, honour is not won
Until some honourable deed be done.
Seek you for chastity, immortal fame,
And know that some have wronged Diana’s name?
Whose name is it, if she be false or not
So she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot?
But you are fair, (ay me) so wondrous fair,
So young, so gentle, and so debonair,
As Greece will think if thus you live alone
Some one or other keeps you as his own.
Then, Hero, hate me not nor from me fly
To follow swiftly blasting infamy.
Perhaps thy sacred priesthood makes thee loath.
Tell me, to whom mad’st thou that heedless oath?”

“To Venus,” answered she and, as she spake,
Forth from those two tralucent cisterns brake
A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face
Made milk-white paths, whereon the gods might trace
To Jove’s high court.
He thus replied: “The rites
In which love’s beauteous empress most delights
Are banquets, Doric music, midnight revel,
Plays, masks, and all that stern age counteth evil.
Thee as a holy idiot doth she scorn
For thou in vowing chastity hast sworn
To rob her name and honour, and thereby
Committ’st a sin far worse than perjury,
Even sacrilege against her deity,
Through regular and formal purity.
To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands.
Such sacrifice as this Venus demands.”

Thereat she smiled and did deny him so,
As put thereby, yet might he hope for moe.
Which makes him quickly re-enforce his speech,
And her in humble manner thus beseech.
“Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve,
Yet for her sake, whom you have vowed to serve,
Abandon fruitless cold virginity,
The gentle queen of love’s sole enemy.
Then shall you most resemble Venus’ nun,
When Venus’ sweet rites are performed and done.
Flint-breasted Pallas joys in single life,
But Pallas and your mistress are at strife.
Love, Hero, then, and be not tyrannous,
But heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus,
Nor stain thy youthful years with avarice.
Fair fools delight to be accounted nice.
The richest corn dies, if it be not reaped;
Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept.”

These arguments he used, and many more,
Wherewith she yielded, that was won before.
Hero’s looks yielded but her words made war.
Women are won when they begin to jar.
Thus, having swallowed Cupid’s golden hook,
The more she strived, the deeper was she strook.
Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she still
And would be thought to grant against her will.
So having paused a while at last she said,
“Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid?
Ay me, such words as these should I abhor
And yet I like them for the orator.”

With that Leander stooped to have embraced her
But from his spreading arms away she cast her,
And thus bespake him: “Gentle youth, forbear
To touch the sacred garments which I wear.
Upon a rock and underneath a hill
Far from the town (where all is whist and still,
Save that the sea, playing on yellow sand,
Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land,
Whose sound allures the golden Morpheus
In silence of the night to visit us)
My turret stands and there, God knows, I play.
With Venus’ swans and sparrows all the day.
A dwarfish beldam bears me company,
That hops about the chamber where I lie,
And spends the night (that might be better spent)
In vain discourse and apish merriment.
Come thither.” As she spake this, her tongue tripped,
For unawares “come thither” from her slipped.
And suddenly her former colour changed,
And here and there her eyes through anger ranged.
And like a planet, moving several ways,
At one self instant she, poor soul, assays,
Loving, not to love at all, and every part
Strove to resist the motions of her heart.
And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such
As might have made heaven stoop to have a touch,
Did she uphold to Venus, and again
Vowed spotless chastity, but all in vain.
Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings,
Her vows above the empty air he flings,
All deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent,
And shot a shaft that burning from him went,
Wherewith she strooken, looked so dolefully,
As made love sigh to see his tyranny.
And as she wept her tears to pearl he turned,
And wound them on his arm and for her mourned.
Then towards the palace of the destinies
Laden with languishment and grief he flies,
And to those stern nymphs humbly made request
Both might enjoy each other, and be blest.
But with a ghastly dreadful

~
I cast my net
                  into the tributary

and release into you, a seasonal swim,

I give to you a mother's color,
        as you recite
        infant hymns,

                    you're a bleeder
on the days sunfire meters out its origin,
                    you're my river

free and clear from the grip

      of anchorage,

                         my river,

drifted on to wherever
                       moon wishes glister
~

inject glitter in me and sprinkle me with stardust;
smother every inch of my body with a brilliant sheen,
maybe then I'll shine just as bright as everyone else.

For a child once laid upon the field, of which an empty park rested,
And stared into the night skies, towards the stars, gracefully blessed,
A ferris wheel hath stood before his view, which ponders his thoughts,
For his life too, be but a wheel, a cycle, that lives but moments forgots,
Shall he treasure the moments of which his dearest breath blows,
Or live’st the days unknowingly lacking of a meaningful purpose,
Oh, for the dearest stars may glister to light the midnight skies,
Shall even the falling stars pass through his glowing innocent eyes,
Oh, but to be an innocent wandering child, for many shall wish again,
To hold such innocence without both society’s shackles and chains,
To possess the eyes that glare into the dreaming midnight sky,
And to hold such idiotic bombastic dreams that shall never die,
To be fearless of inevitable failure and fearless of seeping love,
And even to be fearless to face alone the Heavens above.
For may never again shall we hold the mind of our childhood self,
Hath, both maturity and society values our minds unwillingly engulfed,
For hath we made such greatsome dreams that failed to succeed,
As no longer are we children who call upon the stars for our deeds.

Do you see the lights when they glister over a quiet sea? Do you understand the snow’s twilight? Like this are the hearts of the unsleeping physician. They stand like trees but instead of leaves there are patients' faces and instead of chanting birds there are beating hearts. In that warm space, you see the flowers with colored wishes and merciful hands. There, you can touch the infinite warmth’s essence with worry eyes and hot pulses.
Instead of metaphors, the physician surprising innovation is the melodic compassion. He catches the remote lands valleys and from that magic universe, he brings a smooth management like a poet.

On what day did the Seeker, that foul-shaped gangly
Figure, weep and belly-crawl toward me
Forward winding? In craven eaves, in parsley fields,
I wrinkled sleeves, running, running,
A bare-foot straw sock stuck fast and wide
While crows were nodding, nodding, nodding.

The mansion breaks the parsley skirting; my mouth
Is panting, low, unsightly. A butter cloud of moths
Were dancing, and caught my cheeks with tender tags
Of sickly salt-pan glister. With baked stone walls I
Pushed the tail-bone, and time was wailing fast before
Me, it scratched my back into a cup of clawing,
Chasing fingers.

He seeks me still in wooden boxing, under sweating
Hands are shaking; time atop my crush of raven
Swings a hefty, dullsome, tune. Knees were pulled far
Up and rounded, domed and white, and jade, and black,
Stuck and stinking fragrantly, the skiddish slums of slime
Betrayed me- sleeves were *****, hot, and green.

With backbone slinking down the body, the clock
Grows loud with muffled strumming. In front, the crack,
The door before me, small enough to wholesome hold
Me, blanks the mansion's putty light. Arms that longly *****
The run trail, scoop a crackle from the door frame;
Ones that pester, hound and perish
With longing, longing, longing.

Where has our honesty gone?
The world is spinning out of perspective

Individualists
More like conventionalists

Wanting to be a free soul
Instead, we’re losing control

How do we define different?

“Different
            A pseudo-polite way of saying something is unpleasantly weird or unacceptable”                      [www.urbandictionary.com]


What about individual?

“individual
         Individual's may actually conform, just to prove that they are individual from other individuals...
        There is no definition of an individual, for to define an individual is hideously oxymoronic.”                     [www.urbandictionary.com]

All of these rules and ideologies
Which become more like mythologies

Giving us a…what… purpose?
Because without one were all worthless?

How does the media propel
Drive some great minds down to hell

But wait, sometimes those scars
Are not the real person they are

What about the girl next door
Is she perfect? Or is she a *****

How come the prepped up ****
Gets a thousand girls to put his ****-
-Y  attitude towards

What about all those hipsters
“individualists” in all their glister

PROTOTYPES
We are always followed

“To be, or not to be”
Now THAT  is a real question

Why cant we all just BE

F R E E

Within our own minds
Refuse ourselves to be confined

But no matter where we go
The world will be a tv show
[scripted and masked]

Because the crazy professor who screamed in the crowd
Did a small scene from a movie out loud

And the individualist across the street
Got her haircut from Georgia O’deet

While the artist down the road
Saw his painting when it snowed

Though its obvious we refuse to admit defeat
Individual doesn’t march to its own beat

Glister of the glasses shattered
The dream state of the masses scattered
Picture perfect was always tattered
But even so I pray my praise mattered

Others see what I adore so much
But none as I, all they seek is touch
I would too, but I seem to crutch
Because through this lens I can see a hutch

I wrote instructions on how to live and strive
But I cant read my own handwriting on how to survive
Without certain knowledge how can one thrive?
I know if I continue an end will soon arrive.

These once renown lenses shown a world
Kinda rose tinted but slipped and hurled
Cracks on the lens, the glass was curled
Disorienting sight that was swirled.

I'll leave the glasses there on the shelf
Until I can get up and find it myself
Nothing is perfect and no one is either
I guess it means this is now a breather

Toward lower place, holy steps I set
Process, solely to pleasure you
On traverse an atman, to gaiety get

Nor nimble nosedive quantify free
Greater love; comparable, higher
Twinkle, flash, glister this treasury

Wholehearted welfare bid proceed
Serve solicitor, man’s nourishment
Assign an office, your eyes indeed

Devotional candle, clarity in light
Love is not debt, to which subscribed
Gliding pathway bearing orbit’s flight

Still, this I am helpless to choose
Why you here feel, as if sanctity
From every lover, which I did lose

Sparse conclusions, respect to heart
Luminary moment of sudden spark
Accept this love as forgotten art

In the whimsical arbitrariness of the sky, a beauteous star illumined distinctly—
that even when concealed by the vivid and sharp rays of the sun,
a brush of hint of your existence unceasingly radiates before my eyes.

Do you, of little stature in the eyes of many,
know how much I adore you for the way you glister?
Continue to scintillate— for a stouthearted like you must know how much value lies inside of you.

Never grow sullen and let nothing bedim you,
for in any turn of events you shall compose yourself my love.
Know that in times when you shine a little less bright than before—
I was already stricken blind.

angels of the solstice
gather on exalted cloudways
and descend as heliotrope whirlwinds
bejewelling leafless trees
with melting ice and dew
adorning in silence

they beckon verdant spring
when shimmering moonlight
will cease to glister on diamond snow
and winter's periwinkle gowns
shall withdraw into violet pillows
and then into silver streams of resignation

the tissue-paper sky is a luminous dome
veined with gold and pearl anticipation
the meadows are covered with gossamer blankets
that drink the sound of the ruby-red cardinal
like a sacrificial drop of blood on the velvet-white altar
offered for the birth of the first tender blooms

Dawn is an eclipse
Yawning from deep repose.

Light coughed up, a shimmer and a burp
Then a glister, a small belch
Followed by a hurricane, a furnace glow
Escalated to a simoom, a sunscaped lightning struck optical blast.

Occultation sun shine blindness
To darknesss hidden.

Dawn unleashed is an eclipse to darknesss looming
Until evening’s return
Stygian kisses quell,
Regenerate sleep and dreams, mending ways
Windless gloaming waxes.

Night is an eclipse
Awakening from thin poise.

every year she comes to town

carrying nothing but thoughts

still every year they weigh her down

her tapestries of plots



so many plots,each unraveled yet tied

drawing you in with her nets

couldn't escape if you tried

she tells everything,never forgets



the faintest whisper

loud as a storm

air full of glister

as her voice grows warm



warm as the fires lit at night

to keep away the bitter cold

or hot as summers and bright

you never know what her voice'll hold



she speaks so softly

yet the pictures are clear

she tells them fondly

for everyone to hear



once you hear her stories

they'll be yours aswell

they don't fit categories

but they're yours to tell

there's a black bar glister--

that strikes between the

flippant poles, of this steady

rate of rain.

while bone dry with a rain that

has letup its old footage, a present

nonevent.

an encinctured iris shot.

WOMAN
An epitome of beauty, wisdom, sacrifice and care,
She could climb the mountains and be your adhere.

Have ability to dive the ocean and cross the raven,
Unconditionally, the most waited gem that could be heaven.

The deepest sea of affection and the sensitive queen,
The only shoulder, probably, you can comfortably lean.

Can shelf the seas of emotions and darkness of pain,
Capable to shower peace and happiness' rain.

When it comes to right she never gravitate,
But, its equality for which she deeply agitate .

Some love, compassion, respect and welfare,
These are the most favourable ornaments, with her to share.

Catching a fly ball and saving an infant's life,
From a bird in the enormous sky to a perfect kitchen sharp knife.

She plays, at single time to depth, the various role,
The counter part, just unable to console.

From  a caring mother to a cautious, lovely sister,
From a steady companion to a lifelong & way-shower glister.

From, the worshipped Idol to the adorable tender feet,
Heart-full strength, mammoth reservoir of love, completely neat.

yet trapped in just one day for so-called empowerment,
The nerdiness of civilization is the base amusement.

Don't pay respect for just a mere entitled day,
Save this gesture in your nerve for everyday.

Life..Life..and still Life

To all
Life is a mystery
To some
Life is a challenge
To others
Life is a rat race
To a few
Life is a lottery

Some born into light
And grew in light
Some born in darkness
Grew in darkness
Few born in dark hours
Yet grew into light
And some born in light
Yet grew in darkness

With empty bowel
Some build store house of grain
With silos in their house
Some grew  to beg for grains
Some met a talent
Increased it to two

From the dustbin baby
Some grew to be Kings
From palace of gold
Some slide into the trash house
Noise of the plane in the ear
Drove some kids to being pilot
Dance to the music in ear
Made some loose their path

Some are happy with a little
Yet live longer than excess
Some are in love with excess
Yet life end  so short
The begger on the street
Gives details of short life's of the rich
Their cars,wivies,parties and death
Some so rich without kids to call theirs
Some so poor with kids to throw away

Some so poor,
yet they return found riches
Some so rich
Yet steal unlost wealth
I saw the house of a dead rich man
Trees grew in his rooms
I saw that of a poor dead
The mud still glister like today

The car sticker ahead reads
Fear woman
That beside
Says trust women
My neighbor beats his wife
Yet she refuse a  divorce
Some men love theirs with all
Still got killed by them
A man with many wives
Lives to old age
One with one dies at a young age

Some prayed and are still praying
Yet appears no answer heard
Some laughed at those praying
Yet they had all they wanted
Some areligious life's are religion
Some religious life are no way

Some have no knowledge
Yet they are wisdom themselves
Some full of knowledge
Yet the wisdom is feeble
The rich says he dose not believe
Story of bedtime without food
The poor can't  imagines
Of left over in trash bin

Tossed by the wind
Some got  to house of Kings
Moving in defined direction
Some got tossed to no where
We see the distance
Not the destination
Not the destiny

Some clam been just matters
Some say they are souls
Other say they are spirit
Until we get there
We remain travellers
In this revolving globe
Call life.

Christmas Inspired farm always takes a moment to celebrate
The time to decorate
Stand back observe and appreciate
All the town’s farm people coming together
The farm is Welcomeville, Vermont
Since the town’s people are all here
Let’s have a sing along and the words go like this
It’s the Christmas Inspired Farm that brings Christmas alive
It’s the snow that falls
The echoing winds
Jingle Bell rings
Anticipation of Christmas Day
Sleigh’s dashing through the snow
** ** **
Christmas Trees with all their glister and shine
Drink up in cheers genuine
Preserver
Gift Wrap Event
Time certainly went
The Christmas Inspired Farm says so long
Bring the holiday season to someone who maybe alone
Togetherness is the season full blown
Enter and rejoice
Joy and Peace
Feel relaxed at least
Happy Holidays

Through my own time capsule
Enterprising memories
It was that small Greyhound Bus Station in Togetherness County, Georgia
That’s where I would visit my Grandparents for the Holidays
The Greyhound bus would be the way
My Grandparents would be the stay
The Christmas air and anticipation of Grandma’s variety of Food and deserts
I Can’t forget her homemade biscuits
As I often reclined back in my Greyhound bus seat, I would sleep and dream of snow
It was almost like magic
It always snowed
The Greyhound Bus Motor Coach Engineer would maneuver the bus ever so carefully around the slick highways and back roads
We would pass Caroler’s singing and wave on the side of the road
Town’s people would wave as if to say, “Welcome”
I could almost smell Grandma’s cooking while traveling on the Greyhound bus
We were getting ever so close to my final destination
Soon my Holiday adventure would begin
Just around the bend and down the road
We arrived at Togetherness County, GA Bus Station
My Grandparents were right there when my bus pulled in
Once I got off the Greyhound bus, it was strong hugs from my Grandparents of enduring love
Nothing but warmth of affection
My mouth of watering for my Grand Mother’s sweet potato pies
Aroma of food goodness touched my senses in the house
The Holiday to embrace
The sweet memories
I am old now
Still having those memories
My Grandparents have longed passed on
Tears are starting to form in my eyes
My Grandparents who were wise
The holidays that were galore
I know for sure
Glister of delight
Christmas Grandparents style
A look back
It’s hard to keep track
Blessings at that
A small Greyhound Bus Station with singing Caroler’s started all
My Grandparents memories, togetherness a lifetime
Rejoice and be happy
Memories pure memories
Everlasting thoughts
Embracing heart
Holidays never a depart.

Love describable in words
Echoes through the sentences
Roses are red and it is about you
The sky is blue and we have love to pursue
Endless and enduring love
Together for all times
A Champagne raise and kisses
Candy for my sweetness
My cherished love for you in glister
Enter in as the door is unlocked
Every embrace is for our love to flourish
I am the Poet across the room
You could be my write
Every hand hold I will know you are my true love
The Stars twinkle romance with our eyes of fascination
Every smile on our faces is joy and blessings
Every candle lit the goodness of us
It’s the passion being love throughout
You are my honest and I am your promise
Together our love is hot and ready to boil
We stand together as one with romantic always on our minds
My Sunshine and I am the blue skies
Crystal clear, just come closer near
Enchanted our story tail
I love you more than ever
A Poet’s romantic ways
Love will continue every day
Year in and never out
Love you Baby