On this night
The king-god Zeus does battle
With the titans of old.
The sky is livened
By his hurled bolts of lightening.
Their targets simply
Unseen to the mortal eye.

The calm is shattered
By the clash of thunderbolt
On stone and molten rock.
Our protector, he remains.
Though many have forgotten him
To myth, legend, and lore
We have forgotten the safety
That his lightning strikes provide.

On sunny days
Cloudless nights
We are allowed to forget his ways.
But on this night
In these dark and stormy hours,
The true believers remember.
That Zeus has watched over us
For millennia. Battling an unseen
War, waged in the tales of old
But carried out before our eyes.

We must recall that he,
The one King-God, Zeus, has
Watched over us dutifully since time
Before time before memory.
He has kept us safe
From the titans of old.
And the lightening strikes
Remind us of stories untold

This remembrance somehow still makest me guilty;
in every minute of it I feelest tangled, I feelest unfree.
I loathest this less genial side of captivity,
but still, 'tis ironically within my heart, and my torpid soul;
ah, I am afraid that it shall somehow becomest foul,
and I wantest very much, to endear my soul to liberty,
but so long as I hath consciously loved thee,
My confidence remaineth always too bold-
But I promisest that this shall becomest my last sonata,
Should thou ever findest, that thou desirest it to be;
whilst my incomplete song shall be our last cantata.
Ah, this series shall but never end,
Should I approachest and befriendest it,
but to confess, more I thinkest of it, the more my heart is pained;
No coldness shall it feelest, nor any beat of which, shall remaineth.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still restricted, and left within thee,
And amongst this dear spring's shuffling leaves, still blooms,
And shall bloomest forever with benevolence,
and even greater benevolence, as spring fliest and leavest
Just like thy sweet temper, and ever ostentatious laughter,
Thy voice and words, that are no longer here for me,
But still as clear, and authentic like a piece of gospel music, to me.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My pleasurable toils, and consummation still liest in thee-
as forever seemest that I shall trust thee, and thee only,
For the brief moment we had was but grand-and pleasant,
All the way more enigmatic, though frail, and exuberant
than I couldst perhaps rememberest,
But as I rememberest them, I shall also rememberest thee,
For those short nights are always fond and stellar to my memory,
As thou pronounced me lovely-and called myself thy lady,
As thou lingered about and placed thy sheepish fingers on my knee.
Ah, thee, whose heart is so kind and ever gently considerate,
From the moment thou stared at me I knew thou wert my unbinding fate.
And thy scent-o, thy manly scent, too calming but at times, poisonous;
Was more than any treasures I'd once withheld in my hand.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My enormity liest in thee, and so doth every pore
of my irrevocable, consolable sense;
Thou awakened my pride, thou livened up my tense,
Thou disturbed my mind, thou stole my conscience.
And with thy touch I was burning with bashfulness,
meanwhile my mind couldst stop not
ringing within me, unspeakable thoughts.
Ah, thee, thou made me shriek, thou slapped me awake;
And thou steered me away from any cruel dreams, and lies
these variegated worlds ought to make.
But still I hatest myself now, for leaving all of which unspoken,
Though plenty of time I had, whilst walking with thee, by the red ferns;
And every now and then, their branches ******* terrific sounds-
But not loud; benign and soft as heartfelt murmurs in our hearts.
And those dead leaves were just dead,
Over and under the gusty tears they had shed,
And their surfaces had been closed,
But as we stormed busily with laughter, along their dead roots,
All came back to life, and polished liveliness, and guiltless temperance.
Ah, thy image is still in my mind-for it is my ill mind's antidote,
With all the haste and loveliness and ardour as thou but ever hath,
Thou art loved, by me and my soul, more than I love myself and the earth,
Thou art more handsome even, than the juicy unearthed hearth yonder.
Ah thee, my very own lover and drowsy merriment at times,
Thou who keepest fading and growing-
and fading and growing over my head,
Thy image hauntest my sleep and drivest all of me crazy,
For justice is not justice, and death is not
death, as long as I am not with thee,
And I shall accept not-death as it is,
for I shall die never without thee,
For I am in thy love, as thine in mine,
And dreams shall no longer matterest,
when thy joys are mine-and fiercely mine,
I am blinded by urgent insecurity,
That occurest and tauntest and shadowest me
like a panoramic little ghost,
Massively shall it address me,
Painstakingly and, in the name of justice, ingloriously,
And shall them address my past and destroy me,
For I hath carelessly let thee fade from my life,
And enslavest and burdenest my very own history,
For in which now there is no longer thy name,
ike how mine not in thine.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Still thou art gentle as summer daffodils,
Thy image slanderest me, and its fangs couldst ****.
Thou owneth that sharpness that threatens me,
Corruptest and stiflest me, without any single stress,
And charming but evil like thy thirsty flesh.
Ah, still, I wishest to be good, and be not a temptress,
though all my love stories be bad, and
endest me and shuttest up in a dire mess.
I feelest empty, and for evermore t'is emptiness
shall proudly tormentest and torturest me,
Stenching me out like I am a little devil,
Who knowest but nothing of love nor goodwill,
I needst thee to make everything better, and shinier,
In my future life, as later-in my advanced years,
As death is getting near, for more and greater
shall my soul hath accordingly stayed here.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Thou art my summer butterfly and beetle,
I shall cloakest thee with sweet honey and sun,
And engulfest thee safely and warmly
under the angry sickly moon.
I am thankful for thee still, for thou hath changed me,
For thou made me see, and opened my flawed eyes
Thou enabled me to witness the real world;
But everything is still, at times, beyond my fancy,
For they keepest moving and stayest never still,
Sometimes I am, like I used to be, astonished
at the gust of things, and the way they grossly turned
Their malice made my heart wrenched, and my stomach churned
What I seest oftentimes weariest my *****, and disruptest my glee
And still I shall convincest myself, that I but needst thee with me,
Thee to for evermore be my all-day guide and candlelight,
Thee who art so understanding, and everything lovable, to my sight.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
If thou wert a needle then I'd be thy thread,
If thy rain wert dry then I'd makest it wet.
But needst not thou worry about my rain;
For 'tis all enduring and canst bear
even the greatest, most cynical pain.
Ah, and thus I'd be thy umbrella,
Thou, whose abode in my heart
is more superfluous, and graceful-
than my random, fictitious nirvana;
Oh, thee, thou art my lost grace,
And everyone who is not thee-
I keepest calling them by thy name,
How crazy-ah, I am, just like now I am, about thee!
Ah, thou art my air, my sigh, and my comfortable relief,
And in my poetry thou art worth all my sonnets, my charm,
and forever inadequate, affection!
And only in thy eyes I find my dear, effectual temptations,
As under the hungered moonlight by the infuriated sea,
Who standeth strenuously by the peering strand of couples,
Thou evokest within me dangerous eves, and morns of madness,
Thou makest me find my irked melody, and vexed sonnet,
Thou made, even briefly-my latent days gracious,
Thou made me feelest glad and undistant and precious.
Thou art a saint, thou art a saint, though thy being a human
intervenest thee and prohibitest thee from being so;
ah, and whoever thinkest so is worthy of my regrets,
and the worst tactfulness of my weary wrath;
For thou art far precious, more than any trace
of silverness, or even true goldness,
Thou art my holiest source of joy,
and most healing pond of tears;
Thou art my wealth, ****** trust,
and my only sober redemption;
thou art my conscience, pride, and lost self;
Thou art indeed, my eternally irredeemable satisfaction.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I adorest thee only-my prince, my hero, my pristine knight;
Ah, thee, thou art perfect to my belief and my sight,
Thou who art deserving of all my breath and my poetry;
Thou who understandest what kindness is, and desires are,
Thou who made me seest farther but not too far.
Thou who art an angel to me-a fair, fair angel,
Thou who art beguiling as tasteful tides
among the sea-my courteous summer sea,
Thou who art even more human than
our fellow living souls themselves;
Sometimes I think thou art courage itself-
as thou art even braver than it, the latter, is!
Thou art the sole ripe fruit of my soul,
And my poetic imagination, and due thought;
Thou art the naked notes of my sonata,
And the naughty lyrics of my sonnet,
Thou art everything to nothingness,
As how nothingness deemest thee everything;
Thou makest them shy, and dutifully-
and outstandingly, changest their minds;
Thou art a handsome one to everything,
Just as how everything respectest, and adore thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
By whose presence I was delighted, as well my breath-dignified,
Ah, my love, now helpest me define what love itself is;
For I assumest it is more than fits of hysteria, and sweet kisses
Look, now, and dream that if death is not really death
Than what is it aside from unseen rays of breath?
For love is, I thinkest, more handsome than it doth lookest,
For in love flowest blood, and sacrifice, and fate that hearts adorest
But desiccated and mocked as it is, by its very own lovers
That its sweetness hath now turned dark, and far bitter;
Full of hesitations engulfed in the best ways they could muster;
O, my love, like the round-leafed dandellions outside,
I shall glancest and swimest and delvest into thy soul;
I shall bearest and detainest and imprisonest thee in my mind,
But verily shall I care for thee,
ah, and thus I shall become thy everything!
Let me, once more, become obstinate-but delirious in thy arms;
let me my very prince-oh, my very, very own prince!
Doth thou knowest not that I am misguided,
and awfully derogated, without thee!
Ah, thee! My very, very own thee!
Comest back to me, o my sweet,
And let me be painted in thy charms,
o thee, whom I hath so tearfully,
and blushingly missed, ever since!

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I loveth thee adorably, and am fond of thee admirably,
so frequent not outside when all is dark and yon sky is red,
For I hatest justification, and its possibly hidden wrath;
I hatest judging what is to happen when our hearts hath met,
but how canst I ever knowest-when thou choosest to remaineth mute?
Then tearest my heart, and keepest my mouth shut
O thee, should this discomfort ever happenest again;
Please instead slayest me, slaughterest me, and consumest me-
And lastly let me wander around the earth as a ghost.
Let me be all ghastly, deadly, and but penniless;
Let me be breathless, poor, imbecile, and lost-
For in utter death there is only poverty,
And poverty ever after-as no delicacy nor taste,
But I shall still dreamest as though my deadness is not death,
for I am alone; for I am all cursed, without thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully cherished,
To thee whom I endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still left within thee,
Just how weepest shall the leafless autumn tree,
Waiting for its lost offspring to return,
and be liberated from its pious mourns;
And as I hearest their shaky, infantile chorus,
I shall but picturest thee again, thus;
Thy cordial left palm entwined in my hand,
Strolling with me about the leafy garden.
A joyed maiden having found her dream man,
a loving man swamped deeply with his love, for his loyal maiden.

It was a Saturday afternoon
The legion branch was full
The band was playing some old twangy country song
The front four tables were singing along
Up at the bar
A steady line up of Nevada players
hoping for another jackpot
to cover another few beers
And to make the afternoon last
Nothing worse, than having to milk
a weak draft for an hour
Until the men came back from horseshoes
About three o'clock
the branch livened up as Jimi McGonagle arrived
grandson of the past president
and general all about me, *******
He was strutting around
showing off his new tattoo
No different than his other
thirty or so, but it was new
and it was Jimi McGonagle
so everyone wanted to see
He was proud he now had eight peacocks
All up one leg....there's a joke here
But, even I won't go that far....
The crowd swarmed around him
But, in the back corner
The table....I mean THE TABLE...
didn't move a muscle
In fact out of the three individuals at THE TABLE
Two continued with their dart game
while the third just chuckled, let out a loud
HARUMPH
and went back to his screwdriver
with the quickly melting ice cubes
famous at all legions for helping water down the drinks
Jimi, heard the HARUMPH and looked back
The old man took a slug from the glass
and HARUMPHED louder
Jimi, perplexed, came over to see what was the matter
"Don't like my tattoos Mr. Stein?"
HARUMPH..."they're fine, if you like that kind of thing"
said the old man, knocking back his glass again
"Gives me eight peacocks on my leg now" said Jimi
Again, no response from me on the possible joke here
"cost me almost $700 bucks to get this one done"
"HARUMPH" said the old man....
"What is wrong with you Mr. Stein?"
"Don't like it?"
"Like I said...."
"I know, I know"....said Jimi
"Got any ink?" asked Jimi
"Yep" answered the old man, as a fresh glass arrived
He took a slug...
"So?"...said Jimi, "Is it any better than my peacock?..
"Maybe..maybe not"...said the old man
"It just depends"
The crowd had moved away and was dropping back to the bar area
"Can I see it?" asked Jimi..."What is it?"
"'tain't much to speak of...but I'll show you"....
"Just quit strutting around and sit....and I'll have another screwdriver"...
Jimi sat, and the old man looked him in the eye
"Don't have much colour, like your'n do...don't have any at all"...
"But, a tat's a tat, and you want to see it"...."You sure?"
Jimi nodded, ordered the drink for the old man
"HARUMPH"...said Mr. Stein
He unbuttoned his shirt cuff on the left side
and rolled it up, with his big, beefy, work worn hands
"There she be" he said
"Where", said Jimi
"There'n, on my wrist....just there"
"All I see is a number, an old, worn number"
"That'd be her" said Mr. Stein...."It's all I got, and it's all I need"
"What is it?" asked Jimi
"It's who I am...who I was reduced to"
"It's my curse, and my strength"...
"I was 17 when I got this in Hammelburg, Germany"....
"It was 1943 and we were rounded up"
"and sent to the camps...we were some of the last jews"
"they missed us in the first go round"
"gave me this...don't need another one"
"It's me...this number....it's me"
"Yours are nice...colourful....but are they you?"
"Mine is me"...
"You can see...I have ink....only one....don't want anymore"
"Can I sit a while?" asked Jimi
"Sure, son"...."you can tell me 'bout them silly peacocks"
"Bartender....two screwdrivers"
...and so developed a new and deep friendship....

Your soul fills the air,
With the energy of your being
Benevolence and purity and understatement
You, so perfect that my knees wobble
You cam straight from my dreams,
To my ever plain reality,
And livened up my world
A cataclysm could not take my eyes from you,
The earth could shake, and I would still
Reach out for your touch,
To taste of your grace, and body
Your perfume smells like lilacs,
Your eyes emit sunshine
I can't come to embrace that,
You walked into this life of mine
I'll hold you till the world stops turning,
When pigs fly, and fire falls from heaven
I'd climb a fissure with the promise
Of your open arms waiting at the top
I still can feel the ghost,
Of your lips on mine,
The flavor that I'll savor till the end of time

the moon must be crazy
in the way that it glows
when it does,

for only ***** things
happen at night,

at twilight is when the
hungry men prowl
for the ripened darlings
in their lacy things -

when the fingers of
the raving ones
are stickiest in their
rabid breaths,

in the time that
wallows in the dust
of the stars' dusky debut
is where the shadows
are livened with
all things creeping
and perilous,

though,

it was in my
silken milk moonbath
that i rinsed the nagging
sharp terrors from my
fortitude undergoing
a quickening,

and in the pool of light
amid the crystal rocks -

that i gave my fervent
wet hearted
soliloquies.

--

lest i forget,

it was in the
late moon's lament
with his opal grand aura
painting softly my glowing path
that i embraced the silent
white cub, in his quaky
ascent who radically
up-ended my
existence.

--

treasured Sir Moon
in your tremulous
spry loon

i trust the satin truth
in the madness you brew.

The morning was somber,
Lonely,
Methodically, she pretended
And prepared.
Carefully applying war paint
For a war she'd rather
Not fight.
Sleepy eyes lined,
Red screaming dots covered;
Muffled.
Hair arranged quickly
In a semi-pleasing placement.
Lips livened with
A bright sheen,
Music pouring into ears,
And then she's off.

The halls whine
With impatience,
And ring with the silence
Of inadequacy

I want conversation and car rides,
long nights of green eyes.

I want pastries with whipped cream,
text messages that make me kiss the screen.

I want belted Frank Sinatra,
followed by Moonlight Sonata.

I want gifts I can't afford
that you bought when you were bored.

I want to be calmed and collected,
defended and protected.

I want knowledgeable open-minds,
loquacious words to be defined.

I want my hands to be called soft
and looked at more often

I want my neck to be smelled
then my face to be held.

I want impressed parents,
please share your organic carrots.

I want admiring looks
over the top of Ayn Rand's books.

I want a loss of words
over a song that you just heard.

I want minor disputes
over ideas that don't compute.

I want you to continue to listen
when I question your decisions.

I want button-ups and bowties
that make you different from most guys.

I want time to freeze
and for you to always need me.

I want envious stares
from people who shouldn't care.

I want effortless chemistry
to attract me helplessly.

I want tension filled days,
say you want me with a gaze.

I want my back to be a painting so scandalous
you brush your lips up and down the canvas.

I want clean, boring sheets
to be livened with heat

that I provided.

I want you to be excited

when I come around.

If you have the expectation
you can avoid the unexpected
in life, then you will never
end up making a left turn
unbeknownst that it is right.

For it is the simple sense of you,
and the vulnerability, and the
admirable quirkiness within it.
The unquestionable understanding
of self stands atop the world.

And with wandering eyes, which
are unlike any star or moon,
and a bold heart that beats
beneath your chilled skin, you
hope to find a deserving warmth.

So you take this world by storm
and create waves that rush
and break even the smallest pebble.
A world that was not ready
for such a breathtaking force.

And this world was stunned,
ill-prepared to embrace this gift.
You threw the world off course.
Now caught in a strange situation,
he wonders what's next in store.

This world has been overcome
by a force it can't avoid.
But this force is something special
the world can't seem to deny,
so it's attempting to tempt it.

This world has been overrun
by a light that gives the blind sight,
something beauty can hardly describe,
something that is overpowering,
something that this world can't shake.

Your sight has livened this world
and made it greener in all corners.
And now whenever your bright eyes
set sight upon it's bountiful land
it is overcome by a storm of feelings.

But what this world is yet to know
is if this force is receptive.
Because this world wants to show
how it feels towards something
that is so unearthly beautiful

Inside and out.

Rock's chill in early Spring shadow
keeps leaf-buds folded
while greenery's frocks, still frozen
in fuzzy stiff mold,
reveal growth's frigidity goes
hand in glove with cold.

As ice-wind becomes zephyr stone's
rime loses control,
frost melts when pairing takes over,
plants' ****** role
exchanges gender, smouldering
with intent that shows.

May's rising sun resurrects tones
of need-coloured gold,
male and female lustily hone
livened desire, hold
hands, steal kisses and gene-loaded
feel blood embolden.

As time turns to love Nature owns
the chase will not slow
for copulation re-proves growth,
appearing sans snow
stirs fur, feather and human bones,
to what all are prone.

The heat of togetherness sewn
into weather owes
its success to overflowing
need for warm clothing
for cold never turns bread to toast,
or so I am told.

Three weeks of dryness and the rain is now approaching.
On the back porch under the tin awning, I sit on the swing and face you.
You've been watching the field ahead, awaiting the oncoming storm.
We spot the rain as it approaches from across the field.
A flowing wave of dying weeds dance towards us,
set in motion and livened by the rain as it quickly approaches.
You turn my way as a few initial drops land on the awning, loud and inciting.
The silence of the drought is broken by thousands of raindrops landing continuously against the tin.
For the first time in what seems like years, you turn my way and speak.
With eyes as intent as the downpour, I see your lips moving, your voice muted by the rain.
The dry ground is now wet.
You turn, once more, towards the field.
Together, we watch in silence.
Saying nothing.
Saying everything.

Irrelevant are the revelries
that cast themselves upon me often.
Like beaten and weathered souls
we walk amongst the dead, whilst living.
Blackened hearts; unwilling, yet copacetic.
Life has come routine and bland.
The cold, and dampened sound
of another numbing day in and out;
only livened by the thought of you.
A pure and shimmering light
that echoes through the mundane.
Screaming out for me to be the change I dream.
How is it we hear each other; so far off shore?
Come drift into my widened pupils and remind me of who I once was.
Innocent and genuine.
Setting fire to my every fiber, this magnetic masquerade must end.
I feel I am made for something more when I am standing in your warmth.
So would you remind me of who I am, before the sunsets again?
And would you free me from the currents, that have long since been sweeping me out into darkness?

Some voids
You just can't fill
But that never
stopped you
From loving me.

Some of us
Go too astray
To ever come back
To who we once were
But that never stopped you
From calling out my name

Some things
You just can't repair
But that never stopped you
From trying

Some flowers
Wilt when you touch them
But your tender touch
Only livened their petals

Some angels
Are destined to fall
But somwhow you were always
At the right place
To catch one of them.

And today when
I stood among stangers
In the pouring rain
Waiting for my train
I was reminded
How it felt
Without you

Amidst the nightly dimness
Branded by vicious lights,

Minds rife with uncertainty
Perch behind strange eyes.

Foam and froth cushion doubts
Of shadows further down.

Tossing, turning, entwined;
Cries against the dreary drizzle.

Thoughts of daybreak vanish
Upon night's nimble prowl.

High above the goddess grins
Veiled by velvet and dust

As desire siphons, ****** and pins
The embers of livened skin.

Sheets of white glide underneath,
Illuminated by tainted radiance

****** on unfamiliar tracks,
Drowning in oceans uncharted,

Knowing less of the world.

Flowers glowed-
Juxtaposed behind
Glowing end of cigarette.
They glowed with vibrance,
The cigarette looked dead.
The holder looked
Somewhere in between.
Bland slated eyes
Livened with churning nicotine,
Heart speeding
In context of
Present company.
He held the cigarette
Delicately,
A union
With lips
Leaving chills
To smolder up from her feet and
Out from spine.
The air was cold
But she looked at the smoke
Knowing the heat
In his body was close
Enough
To fable heat in her own body
And test morals.
She was watching his lips too much
And broke her gaze away,
Directing eyes
To watch the flowers.
They angered in red,
Disappointed they hadn't
Held her eyes completely.
But she massaged their petals,
Scrutiny turning up satisfied
As it danced along the lines.
His smoke hazed the lines and she couldn't help but look back
At his eyes,
His mouth,
And listened still
As he murmured words
That hardly glowed at all.

Nature’s lessons
Drift among the distant hills of Texas call the blue bells from sleep
Remember youthful play to far away amidst the mist with gray to weep
Clear the eyes by today’s joys see the river endlessly meander enter the flow
Never a heart as livened by the blustering wind release your heart let it go
Deepest longing when nature is observed clouded sky blades of grass sigh
Walk with bare feet delight sensual connection with spine among tender shoots
Hills ever roll lower lands expand to the morning sun in these common rays are its roots
The butterfly’s wings brings a carefree silkiness in tiniest span painted in miniature still spell bounding
Was the soul before in a fix trouble wide seemingly to high follow with the eye the bird’s joyful sounding?
The trees stand in a blessed grove canopied sheltering arms holds you with tendrils most tender
In this shady soft light you can find rest and comfort all is ease here you can have your heart free just surrender
In this we conclude by scenes of rapture we have loved and together we have tasted earthen glory
By minds in concert we have purged evils vale arrested mystical truths and with great thrill we share the story
Not everyone will go on this quest to define and know each other in innocence it makes for a rare find
The key that opens the door is discovery the door is patience the way ever opens by love and trust ever will the two bind

Went  a  walk  in  the  park  today.
The  grass  was  glistening  white
with  the  hard  frost.
Two  hardy  souls  were  having
lunch  on  a  bench.
Some  children  playing  livened
up  the  proceedings.
It  was  very  cold.
The  only  view  was  the  brooding
mountains  in  the  far  distance.
I  didn't  stay  long.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I burned her name into my mind,
Saved the cage even though the bird flew away.
I recall her form like the rolling waves
But I still miss her so again today.

The way she smiled was warm as summer,
Just her presence livened my soul.
But as days grew by I saw a lonely bird,
In the cage was an estranged ghoul.

So I let it go and let it free,
Though inside hoping it'd stay with me.
My friend rejoiced as she flew away,
And I still miss her so again today.

I thought she was a companion for life.
For her I was elated, yet not so,
I can only hope she does ever return
Cos I never really let go.

Way back, way back
Rewind time like a VHS
Way back, way back
Yesterday was feeling stressed
Today I am feeling changed
Things don't have to be the same
Way back, way back
I feel just like a kid again
Walk around the world with wonder in my eyes
From the darkness I emerged, you would love it if you tried
You've got to accentuate the positive
We're all gods and goddesses
Never falling off, 'cause we're on top of it
Watched the topic shift quick from an obelisk
To talkin' shhh, I don't really get why people follow it
'cause last night - I had an epiphany
The ambrosia full of life we can grab, no hostility
Way back, way back, see I was really free
But as the days past, gained masks like I was shielding me
Now there is no fear in me, I'm way back revering Lee
I don't **** a beat - I pick it up, it's healing me
Now I only deal in peace, surrendered to my dying wish
To just be climbing higher, Mike - remember how you livened it
Likened to the older you, both in the past and what's to pass
And what's to pass? It wasn't bad, I know this 'cause I'm coming back
Hard to be the chosen when you're lost in awfully deep emotion
Prophecies unspoken, walking tokens, ought to see awoken
Qualities unfrozen, brought to motion harmonies and woven
All this in a piece, no apologies for being open
Calling pleas, you know him as a quiet kid, who tried to spit
Might have tripped a couple times, but that's alright, I write to live
Mic is gripped tight in my fist, I've got my own back
Own path, own goals, no wrath, all soul

"Am I good enough?"
Then why do things never work out for me?
"Am I Insecure?"
Hiding inside a shell still to bloom.
"Am I strong enough?"
Streams fall down my face,so effortless.
"Do they make me happy?"
Isolating myself for as long as I could remember,
Makes me satisfied.
"Why are the blinds still shut?"
To block out the world of people with self-confidence.
I once felt a tingling sensation inside me,
That livened my blood-red heart,
That so suddenly turned to black frost,
A mal-formed work of art.
I used to shiver of the coldness,
Now I shiver at the brightness of the day,
Huddled in my cave of satisfaction,
Till death takes me far away.
They don't know the trouble I've had,
An internal wound on the brink of death,
Tears stream one last time,
As I forcefully take my last breath.

Yes, I love beer
And beer loves me,
We’re as thick as thieves
As honey is to bees.

I can’t help but wonder
What life would be
Without this golden amber,
Not a world I’d like to see.

Every sip a luscious joy,
Food for body, mind and soul,
It warms in winter, cools when hot,
As water is to ice, as fire adores its coal.

But now they claim it hampered,
My judgement in my youth,
A baseless common slander,
Insulting and uncouth.

A lifetime spent in service,
As a bastion of the law,
A judge regaled with honor,
Not just a man of straw.

So what I had a tipple
And sometimes a few more,
It livened up the party,
With a drink I so adore.

As to these accusations
That somehow I blacked out
I just can’t help but wonder,
How folks could not this doubt.

A father and a husband,
A friend to countless girls,
A man of faith and principle,
Tarnished by innuendo’s swirls.

So let this be a lesson
To all young pups today,
Consider each and every action,
Beware of what posterity may say.

everyone is the same;
and no one can be blamed.

i feel so boring;
until i met this one girl yearning.

we met and she was so upbeat,
she livened me up; right out my seat.

i married her, comforted her.
i was happy, content, sure.

...until her voice started changing.
she began to talk like the rest, estranging.

i felt her face change day by day,
until i saw her fade away.

i left for a trip this one night,
and met another, glimmering and bright.

my love thickened like never before,
and i told her i would love her, evermore.

but the next morning, her face changed.
her voice altered, and blended and rearranged.

i heard everyone's voice again,
all i felt was agony and pain.

and that was the shortest day i've ever had.
some say it was quite sad.

ok even ****** watercolors
and over drawn charcoals
oil colors that blend blue and yellow skies
making Martian like clouds
and rainbows and butterfly poems and all that rhyming *****
do do do
make me all grab my nuts and hold  on delirious
wanting to spank the world's *** again
gets me livened up
thinking god is not dead
yet

Aromas sweet of sherbet smell
Lily-o'-vale softest parget
Among the lightest blue harebells
Danced the fairies on lilac carpet

As river-current's shimmering wave
Shafts of golden sunlight
Bewitched the purple feys' enclave
Of pixies, elves and sprite

Dappled sun in woodland dell
Afore the hours o' nighttime fell
Like magic chessboard o' bluebell
'Twas the place the little folk dwell

In rolls of sky-blue tapestries
Checkered piebald mauve
Beneath the oak and hazel trees
'Mongst herb-robert 'n foxglove

There dwelt the wood-nymph fairie queen
With yellow hair and gown of green
Eyes dark-black and lofty mien
Spoke of things hidden, unforeseen.

She whispered as the seashell talks
As the soft tread of lovers' walks
As the windswept Dover chalks
As the wings of buzzard hawks.

There she taught the secret tune
Of eternal life, nature's boon,
'Twas the song of midnight moon
Whitest sphere of silver strewn

It was the song of constant yearning
Constant running and returning
She said it kept the earth-sphere turning
'Twas the secret of sages learning.

Then as the twilight spread its shadows
As the creeping water primrose
As the buttercup o' green meadows
As the dying in death's throes

Then I heard no more her whisper
Perhaps it was the water stream
Or the ripple of the river
Livened by the white moonbeam.

The symphony
The mating of Benga melody

with the classic Nyatiti
With
Stealth,
On a momentous go
Inciting a twist and turn
Of rhythmic body movements

Unrelenting in sync with serenity
Livened by rhumba, Like an aphrodisiac
Lokua kanza “wapi yo,” Makambo Ezali Bourreau,
Le grande maitre: Franco: heaves
Ardent fans to the floor

Awestruck she emerged catapulted by urgency

Her sensual silhouette,

Converged our beings To the rhythm of her delight
Our souls
Enslaved
By
Mbilia bel Enchanted with her charm
Of seductive voluptuous hips

Dance, pretty one,
Grind your spine
In the celestial fire dance on blazing feet,
Bewitching tread
Vigorous moves
Paralleled by turbulent winds

In exquisite sequence infatuated with oblivious spirits
Throbbing within A whirlwind

Akinyi craved being her

Okinyi envisaged infused in her

Primed with ravenous desire

Drew to her And probed,

Stuttering, “Where thou learneth exemplary art,
A master?”

Oblivious to him,

She was no mere mortal

But a souls ripper.

I have a kinship with ghosts,
Sailing with echoes.
enthralled by permanence
And slow demise,
The illusions
Of paradise.

But Life was given me
Through livened eyes,

I would have wandered,
Through spiral stairs of stone,
Would my soul have a awoken?
Or would I have wondered, alone?

What is their else,
Than the look in the eyes,
Of another cosmic being,
Of this very cosmos, seeing

The children are
like flowers in a rockery
climbing between the
crevices, unbleached
And wildly colorful,
made a-livened by the sun.
They wear out
toward dusk when
the sea has been
painted flat.
Then, hard wooden bowls
and their light soup.
Breaking the baked bread
with stories of their day.
They will become craftsmen
the way they weave
their tales.
They don’t worry.
Jumping from
a springboard with
eyes closed, to
spin in the air,
and enter sleep.