Rapprochement
was necessary for survival

Handicraft helped
but shelter was not necessary as the world burned

To phase'out companionship
invites emetic death

Blazes hot enough to burn stars
smolder with sulfurous fumes

The flames burgeon illumination
as worlds are rent

All forms of hesitation are irrelevant with
society's abutments collapsed.

To pass freely was
never an option.

Being divorced is not very much fun
Two kids, no dad, life on the run
A king-size bed with two pillows
But she’s sleeping alone

On a whim she headed East to the West
The Cowboy convention in Tucson
With her new boots and hat
And old friend Laura Lee, wearing a vest

This Hollywood screenwriter has seen them all
Jive city slickers with cell phones and new cars
It had been so long since she’d really been kissed
Her love life needed a punch, it could not make a fist

Samuel Dawson was born on and still lived on the ranch
He rode fence, chased cattle, is one studley man
With a soft streak as demonstrated by his craft
He works wonders with leather, why it was art

He too was lonely, this singular man
He’d cleaned himself up since his wife went and made other plans
For he had deserved it, so he sat hoping to sell
Wishing he’d find that artesian well

Stop the action, let me set the stage
There he sits at his craftsman’s booth
Underneath the canopy in the hot afternoon sun
Here comes Rebecca meandering along
She lingers and fingers his feathered and leathered strands
He smiles and she notes his mustache and tan
They talk, she will not turn away
Laura Lee shouts, “Let’s get on the way.”

This is where the story begins
One cowboy love that has no end
She’s still a writer on fine TV shows
Sam is the wrangler, whom everyone knows
Loves a lady who fancies parasols
On hot Summer days, who now rides a horse
Who no longer leads a half-finished life
Where western handicraft is everywhere in sight
And their love is on course

Some don’t understand, some don’t want to know
But bridges are built wherever you go
Even on land with no river in sight
When a cowboy finds love he succumbs without fight

The ranch is now located in Southern Cal
The fence he mends is picket, see for yourself
For I know them, and please call me Sam
She’ll be home in a few, I’m her lover man.

He comes out of his house, off into his ****** limousine,
The pride and glory of American handicraft,
Drives away past his main gate, guarded by a Luhyia national,
The nation from which watchmen are mass manufactured,
The gate is banged closed with a sharp emblem dominating;
tafadahli umbwa kali, please fierce dogs are in don’t dare enter,
when no piece of a dog is in, hen pecking husbands perhaps,
He drives away in low spirit, like the tail of a snake,
Sharply contrasting his tiger thoraxed debates in the parliament,
In defence of state corruption; Anglo leasing and her sisters,
The wife has chased out our state officer, his sole Succor,
of the night and chilly loneliness so nameless ,in the streets of Nairobi,
Is the epiphanous street of koinange, after Mbiu Koinange
The colonial orchestrator of intellectual globalectics,
He sired political immorality that sired social depravement,
To rove his avenues as the state and money capitalist
Convert beautiful daughters of the poor peasants
Into defenseless protégés of class misfortune
Roaming the back streets minus
Any lingerie in their bosoms.

Words form in your expression
of fluid emotion and air castings
so essential it's beyond the special
the mere figures of square or circle
your handicraft disturbing the randomness
an existence that calms yet stings
at the channel between the really spectacular
and my most beautiful imaginings

motion mixed with feeling to give breath vibrating meaning
sending my heart dancing to the tune of your waves
before the voice is even there to be heard beating
on the little drums inside my head where love's
stirring my feet into step with your presence
as you transform sentences into spirited rhythm
catchy and sharp so that inside I wince
with the vigorous release from realisation's thorn

that I never want to escape listening to your words
to what your thoughts don't say but start
in a gorgeously threadbare chapter coloured
through the artful lens you focus in and out

carrying and pulling me into amazing places
where the world unravels and dodges me
using the whole dilemma of clinging and races
to keep me gathering your loosely packed energy

I wish to grab you so tightly time ceases to flow
yes!.. over there's a gazelle leaving a gymnasium
as perfect as warm sunshine on crisp fresh snow
and winter's lion seems too slow to prey on autumn

you show me how to spring
straight out into a season
bright with mown meadow's green
so I pounce on you with a passion
which sent us flying and rolling to summer
into the fun of a hidden rabbit burrow
echoing with sudden peals of laughter
so loud that sorrow took fright and flew

while we hopped out to a brighter tomorrow
falling head over heels deep in a warren later
a one way maze built by paws for only two
your kiss the beginning and the end even better

a bobbing tail signals danger.. I follow

One night, one evening
Girl, scared
O’re the toilet she’s heaving

Ok
Refrain
Another shot
On the way
Methane
*******
Ecstasy in her, broke veins
Insane
Propane
She puts down the bottle to find her
Left brain
Mundane
How to drown out
This pain
This pain

Her thought train
Now just an empty track
Please Father I pray
Give this girl her life back

Hey but,
This time around
She’s gonna be alright
This time around
She’s gonna put up a fight
This time around
She’s ready to ignite
Yea this time around
She’s gonna get it right

Sayin’

This time around
She’s gonna be alright
This time around
She’s gonna take it to the heights
This time around
She’s ready to rewrite
Yea this time around
She’s gonna get it right

Comeback
Icepack
She’s feeling around
Pitchblack
Missed that
Take a deep breath
Fill her air sack
Kickback
Relax

Stop time
Rewind
To the gods above
She whined
But they could only sit there and laugh
At the suffering of their favorite little handicraft

One second
from a blast
From the past
“Why me” she would ask
She would ask
Agast
Harassed
Daddy put his hand on her back
Abashed
She lashed
Against the bed
roughcast

Night after night
And day after day
Their little secret
Would never ever walk away

Down the street
Watch her feet
Clippings on the concrete
Retreat
So sweet
Calm her little heartbeat
Repeat safe
Repeat scared
Find comfort in ******* on her hair

Get away from him
Get away from them
She ain’t never gonna go back again
She’s on her own now
It’s up to her
Mindset switch
Emotional transfer

Ain’t nothing but a reflex you see
Little girl grown up
She drinks away reality

Clouds hide and shy away
Under mountains so high,

Under hills of pine trees;
Forged by God above are

The lofty mountain peaks,
Where trolls and dwarves  

Dwell is where the snow is 
Born glimmering under 

Morning sun; the pine 
Tall as can be! The high folk 

Of the forest, like a quilt 
They cover the land, keeping 

Warm her children in cold 
Night winds; like a rose 

God's handicraft blooms,
His work is shown off 

By mountain top snow 
And cloud hidden valley.

Since its inception, Aarong has been determined to bring about effective changes in the lives of artisans and underprivileged rural women, by facilitating and advertising their handicraft. Today, it has become the foundation of independent cooperative groups and family-based artisans. Now, it is known as a contemporary life outlet, among people not only in Bangladesh, but all over the world.

This wedding season, you can adorn yourself with one of Aarong’s festive looks. On November 17, Aarong launched their latest product line – the Wedding Collection.

Aarong has introduced a series of looks and styles to try out this wedding season for brides, the bridal entourage and the wedding attendees. What’s more, they are promoting Jamdani, Muslin and Katan sarees as the choice of outfits to wear for the bride and her close ones.

The line is introducing bridal wear in some uncommon hues, moving away from the routine “red” to peach, pink, purple, blue, green and beige. These unconventional colours can also look grand on the big day, and this is the idea that the creators of Aarong are attempting to establish.

Jamdani saris will be incorporated with remarkable embroidered and printed blouses, helping ladies look regal on their special day. The wedding entourage also has a lot to look forward to. This special compilation includes Katan and Jamdani sarees, paired with embroidered blouses, ideal for any reception soiree. Katan sarees can be worn in bright or bold colours and contrasted with multi-layered pearl jewellery and complementing blouses. Furthermore, the collection also includes Jamdani saris in light shades such as light pink, peach and white, and these can be paired with frilled petticoats or dupattas.

Along with gold, the creators encourage the brides to try out silver jewellery with complementing stones, layered pearl neckpieces and hair ornaments. Hence, the looks are a mix of modern and traditional, and are not only advised for the bride, but also for the close relatives or wedding attendees.

This collection also comprises of saris, appropriate for the bridesmaids, the cousins, the sisters, and even the parents of the to-be-weds. Aarong has prepared similar ‘matching’ attires for the bride and the groom, that are perfect for particular occasions like Holud, Mehendi, Aiburo Bhaat, and so on. For the bridegroom, as well as his family and friends, there is also an exclusive range, that includes Sherwanis and Panjabis. Aarong also provides a variety of gift options such as ceramic dinner set, cushion and bed covers, as well as women’s accessories, such as bags and purses.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses

We all want to help
The squalid
Little kid
But trust me
Stay home
You’ll be glad that you did
Your donations
Don’t make it
Don’t make a dent
Save it
Corruption is permanent
Cracks in the pavement
If even a cent’s
Spent on people,
Won’t change it
Imperial culture’s
The vulture
So blame it
Like ***/Aids
Foreign aid is a band-aid
On old, open wounds
Precede even the slave trade
And can’t be unmade
With free trade
And some wage slaves
So come for your photo ops
Droppin’ like tsetse flies
Stop with the white savior
Ivory lies
And buy
Some useless handicraft crap
And get out
Before you feast your eyes
On the famines of drought
Or become one of millions
Of orphans in slums
You can read them a book
As they’re playing with guns
For some problems
Are just not your problem
To solve
And some people don’t need to be saved
Or “evolve”
To whatever the rest of the West’s
Best intent
Was hellbent
To pave their Rhodesia’s
With heaven-sent
Diamond minds
To enlighten
The Dark Continent

Being divorced is not very much fun
Two kids, no dad, life on the run
A king-size bed with two pillows
But she’s sleeping alone

On a whim she headed East to the West
The Cowboy convention in Tucson
With her new boots and hat
And old friend Laura Lee, wearing a vest

This Hollywood screenwriter has seen them all
Jive city slickers with cell phones and new cars
It had been so long since she’d really been kissed
Her love life needed a punch, it could not make a fist

Samuel Dawson was born on and still lived on the ranch
He rode fence, chased cattle, is one studley man
With a soft streak as demonstrated by his craft
He works wonders with leather, why it was art

He too was lonely, this singular man
He’d cleaned himself up since his wife went and made other plans
For he had deserved it, so he sat hoping to sell
Wishing he’d find that artesian well

Stop the action, let me set the stage
There he sits at his craftsman’s booth
Underneath the canopy in the hot afternoon sun
Here comes Rebecca meandering along
She lingers and fingers his feathered and leathered strands
He smiles and she notes his mustache and tan
They talk, she will not turn away
Laura Lee shouts, “Let’s get on the way.”

This is where the story begins
One cowboy love that has no end
She’s still a writer on fine TV shows
Sam is the wrangler, whom everyone knows
Loves a lady who fancies parasols
On hot Summer days, who now rides a horse
Who no longer leads a half-finished life
Where western handicraft is everywhere in sight
And their love is on course

Some don’t understand, some don’t want to know
But bridges are built wherever you go
Even on land with no river in sight
When a cowboy finds love he succumbs without fight

The ranch is now located in Southern Cal
The fence he mends is picket, see for yourself
For I know them, and please call me Sam
She’ll be home in a few, I’m her lover man.

Being divorced is not very much fun
Two kids, no dad, life on the run
A king-size bed with two pillows
But she’s sleeping alone

On a whim she headed East to the West
The Cowboy convention in Tucson
With her new boots and hat
And old friend Laura Lee, wearing a vest

This Hollywood screenwriter has seen them all
Jive city slickers with cell phones and new cars
It had been so long since she’d really been kissed
Her love life needed a punch, it could not make a fist

Samuel Dawson was born on and still lived on the ranch
He rode fence, chased cattle, is one studley man
With a soft streak as demonstrated by his craft
He works wonders with leather, why it was art

He too was lonely, this singular man
He’d cleaned himself up since his wife went and made other plans
For he had deserved it, so he sat hoping to sell
Wishing he’d find that artesian well

Stop the action, let me set the stage
There he sits at his craftsman’s booth
Underneath the canopy in the hot afternoon sun
Here comes Rebecca meandering along
She lingers and fingers his feathered and leathered strands
He smiles and she notes his mustache and tan
They talk, she will not turn away
Laura Lee shouts, “Let’s get on the way.”

This is where the story begins
One cowboy love that has no end
She’s still a writer on fine TV shows
Sam is the wrangler, whom everyone knows
Loves a lady who fancies parasols
On hot Summer days, who now rides a horse
Who no longer leads a half-finished life
Where western handicraft is everywhere in sight
And their love is on course

Some don’t understand, some don’t want to know
But bridges are built wherever you go
Even on land with no river in sight
When a cowboy finds love he succumbs without fight

The ranch is now located in Southern Cal
The fence he mends is picket, see for yourself
For I know them, and please call me Sam
She’ll be home in a few, I’m her lover man.

almost-lover, what i wouldn't give
to once more, devotedly thumb over
the golden chains laid in rivulets
over the proud crest of your sternum
as if i were some man of faith, raptly
counting off beads on a rosary:
your body was my cathedral, my house of worship
and now i elegize the lifetime of us

my sweet sweet summer child, my beautiful boy,
i might've laughed when you spoke to me of
children and 401(k)'s and home-cooked meals,
of a century home and a little coffeeshop of our own
but in our dreams began responsibilities, cariño;

i was prepared to climb the massif of my self-doubt
ford the raging rivers my stream of consciousness feeds
embrace the sharpness of you with outstretched arms
because you were everything i am not, and i said
"te quiero" despite and because of it

i didn't want to abstain from you, sip you in moderation
because, ****, i came to live for the fire you lit in my chest:
meteoric, blooming, it lived fast and died young, i was as a
candle burning at both ends but i could bask in the heat
and make believe it was enough to keep you around

almost-lover, my marble-hewn myth, how i wish
you were less frugal with your words of affirmation:
would that you gifted me them as readily as bouquets of
yellow carnations or fistfuls of overexposed polaroids,
i would treasure them all the same

almost-lover, it's the stroke of midnight and i'm still
wearing my 5 o' clock shadow like melpomene's mask
******* in the pit of my stomach and any out-of-turn words
revering the gym calluses growing in from clenching
knurled steel bars, not letting myself grieve the
erasure of all that makes me soft despite knowing
there is a death in every change

we were a rhapsody sweet and ephemeral as
honeysuckle nectar on hot and wet tongues,
peppermint gum still fresh on your breath
and the lavendered spice of your cologne
morphing animalic between us: at once,
inches and worlds apart as we kissed
by the creek in the burgeoning dark

almost-lover, when i asked of you, "what are we?",
painfully with too much articulation, and i
heard the reply in your silence: "out of time,"
i wondered if limerence could be clemency

i could be your handicraft, the wind in your sails
your big spoon and the keeper of your emotions
if you could, for a moment, stop flitting your eyes
and meet my gaze, just once

if ever you loved me *******,
then don't walk away:
won't you never let me go?