"offset" poems
I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods
deep in thought with a book
He licked a finger, turned a page
too engrossed to give me a look
I met a young lad named Solomon Woods
humming a gentle tune
He smiled and waved, shook my hand
and wished me a good afternoon
I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods
while he sang me one of his songs
What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal
and insisted I sang along
I sat with a man named Solomon Woods
glad of his still, gentle manner
His reliable smile and kind wise words
drowned out the usual clamour
I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods
glad of his confident stride
I knew for sure he faced the world
trusting God as his strength and guide
If you meet a man named Solomon Woods
he'll certainly stop for a while
If you have the time, he'll sing you a song
and leave you with a smile
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
The Day...
...huff, huff, ...huff
breathe
Not one but many,
downed
twenty-two a numbered set
Push!
break, reset, align...
frost, huff,
Great God of Light reveals our Glory!
breathing...breathing
Field of pain, torn, exhausted,
sweat, rain, mist, colder
as grass-stained; the warrior's drobe.
Situate,
whistle! -stop!
Realign,
Randint, paired, matched to offset...
feign, move
'Eleven-by-Eleven,' storied beget
tension
Forty-Five!
Eighteen!
Okemah!
Rush...
*In the fields herds collide,
as Chaos, Eros, Geron, Adonai,
War portends a losing side?
The cheering throngs cast coronae...*
*Eleven steers to sacrifice,
go they do to God.
The ritual structure to suffice,
Violent nature absorbed by sod.*
BULL *
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Breaking News
A Robinson’s affair
It has been called party goers in beware
The Pelican Club know fore shoot outs
There are also fights to talk about
The Chef’s have been making guest sick
The Pelican Club is not a good pick
The ratings of the club had been very low
Business is certainly somewhat slow
As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go”
The Flamingo Club is the place to be
When you walk inside this is what you will see
Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties
Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance
The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance
Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance
All kinds of drinks for you to sup
However don’t forget to leave a tip
The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself
The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else
This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know
It goes too show
Take in the Flamingo Club and just let senses go.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
Perception is something of wonder.
I see black and she sees pink.
She feels warm and I feel empty.
Not necessarily opposite.
Not necessarily similar.
An offset of brainwaves and past events.
Might as well be fire and skin.
Might as well be the start to my half way.
Because life is not different.
Because life is not close.
Perception is a thing of infinity.
And there is nothing to do about it.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
There’s a lot to be said for this place.
A near-perfect pitch for diversity,
Diversity: a neurolinguistic term;
A quaint way to say: miscegenation.
No, just kidding; I meant the melting ***
A fine blend of Anglo, Hispanic & Indian blood—
That’s Pueblo & Plains Indian blood--
Not that **** masala, chapati & dal Indian blood.
My apologies to "Who's the White Guy?" Bobby Jindal.
New Mexico: “The Land of Enchantment.”
Where 310 sunny days per annum,
Are like money in the bank, earning
Double-plus compound interest for those
Suffering with seasonal affective disorders.
A land of sunshine without the orange juice,
But substitute chili, red or green?
An equitable offset to be sure.
310 days of sunshine:
Even the white people are brown here.
Which does a lot for my self-esteem.
Back east—New York, Chicago & Philadelphia e.g.—
People that look like me, i.e.,
People with dark brown hair, eyes and skin,
Get stopped/ass-cheek spread/& frisked, routinely.
Stop & Frisk: NYPD’s spectator sport for decades.
Stop & Frisk: Mayor Bloomberg-defended
Crime-stopping Godsend,
Getting guns off the streets.
Getting homicides down.
Everything’s cool until some slick race baiter,
Starts yelling: RACIAL PROFILING.
Forget for a moment that people that look like me,
People like me with dark hair, eyes & skin,
Commit 78% of the crime in most cities.
“It’s not racially driven profiling,”
Said Newark’s police director recently
Referring to stops carried out by his officers.
“IT’S CRIME-DRIVEN PROFILING!”
But, again, political-correctness trumps common sense:
August 2013: Judge Rules NYPD
Stop-and-Frisk Unconstitutional.
Well I’ll be a monkey’s *** ******
I moved to New Mexico to blend in.
My complexion a shoe-in for
The Witness Protection Program or
Any other public or private,
Domestic or international rendition site.
But I digress.
New Mexico: no passport necessary, Babaloo!
New Mexico: be you white or black, Hispanic or Indian,
Or even Roswell extraterrestrial,
The cops here will beat the **** out of you.
Or shoot you dead, Kemosabe.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
Breaking News
A Robinson’s affair
It has been called party goers in beware
The Pelican Club know about shoot outs
There are also fights to talk about
The Chef’s have been making guest sick
The Pelican Club is not a good pick
The ratings of the club had been very low
Business is certainly somewhat slow
As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go”
The Flamingo Club is the place to be
When you walk inside this is what you will see
Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties
Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance
The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance
Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance
All kinds of drinks for you to sup
However don’t forget to leave a tip
The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself
The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else
This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know
It goes too show
Take in the Flamingo Club and just let your senses go.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
THE SAXOPHONE STORY
BY RAJ NANDY
The Saxophone is perhaps the most expressive
instrument next to the human voice.
Was made by Adolphe Sax, a Belgian, through
a deliberate choice!
He wanted to offset the tonal disparity, -
Between the string, wind, and brass instruments,
with musical clarity !
He felt that the strings ones were overpowered
by the wind instruments.
While the wind instruments got overblown by
the brass ones instead !
Now what would happen if the best qualities
of these three instruments types,
Could in a fusion blend and coalesces into a single
instrument type ?
So finally at the age of 20 years, in March Eighteen
Hundred and Thirty Four,
Adolphe Sax created a magical instrument for the
World to hear and adore!
It had the power of the brass, the flexibility of the
strings, and the woodwind’s variety and tone;
Which got christened after Adolphe Sax as the
SAXOPHONE !
Adolphe’s famous composer friend Hector Berlioz
in Paris City,
Gave this new instrument wide publicity!
In 1844 the Sax was presented in the Industrial
Exhibition at Paris;
And subsequently got patented on 20 March 1846.
It soon got adopted by the Bands of the French Army.
Making other instrument makers to become green
with envy!
The Sax was 80 years old when it became part of the
musical instruments of the Jazz Band.
A small bore mouth piece was created to suite the
varying tonal qualities required by Jazz.
Initially, 14 different sizes of Sax was created by
Adolphe.
Today only five types are in use for us to hear and
see;
The Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass and the Baritone
Saxophone.
They now form a part of our Jazz music's backbone!
- By Raj Nandy
FOOT NOTES :
Adolphe Sax (1814-1894) , son of famous musical instrument maker
Charles Joseph Sax of Belgium. Woodwind Instruments = Flute, Clarinet, Bassoon etc. Brass Instruments = Trumpet, Tuba, Cornet etc. String Instruments = Violin, Guitar, Harp, Banjo etc. The Saxophone today has become the very backbone of Jazz Music!
** ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY: - RAJ NANDY **
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
sing me your inspiration,
so that words may blossom
through the rings of the tree
in my paper.
gift me your passions,
so that pathways may carve
through inked rivers
and graphite daydreams.
paint me your love,
so that I may palette
your rainbow
and color my canvas
with my favorite colors of you.
the soft pink
of the inside of your lips,
and the offset grey
haloed through your eyelashes.
tiger lily freckles framed
by sweet peach
and wallflower blushes.
rainfall wrists
and dutch cocoa silk.
all my canvas needs
are the colors of you.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
The smell of a spring rain
settling on the earth
is the smell of life anew.
At the window, I sit with a book,
both cracked,
cooled by the alfresco air seeping through,
and tiny droplets glissando down the pane.
The pitter-patter of a soft rain
falling to the parched earth
is the sound of life replenished.
At the rain's offset, I leap from my chair,
exiting the front door,
to saunter through the lush green pastures
that linger outside the library's confines.
How green the trees appear, and the grass--
how rich the stalks of the trees,
their boughs with budding leaves quenched,
glistening in the sun.
I even enjoy the scent coming off the once arid pavement--
it is the smell of the earth,
freed from its impedance,
rising above the stifling asphalt.
I smell the life that lingers beneath,
and the dull metallic tinfoil taste of the pavement
fills my open nostrils--
It is pleasant, though a little less so, than the ambrosial landscape.
I inhale ever so deeply,
relishing my favorite part of spring,
in the offset of a warm afternoon rain on a brisk day,
sauntering through the wood-laden trails on worn brick paths,
to the paved parking lot where my car awaits--
delineated in a filmy layer of mired pollen residue.
It needed a wash anyways.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel so caved in,
With all my thoughts, all I can do is swim.
Through these energies that are flowing from within,
Just because I cant stop and ask what’s with him?
Why do I always have to make a choice,
My mind just wont let me be free,
I feel like I have to make a decision
but that’s not how Ive learned to be.
So let me tell you about this chick I know,
Shes not like all them girls that we always see,
The first time I met her I grabbed her by the arm,
I knew there was a story that was deep.
I looked in her eyes and all I can see,
her color contacts, that were trying to deceit.
But deep down inside there was a story that was real,
Her eyes and smile did a good job to disguise,
But that didn’t fool me,
I wanted to know the story that underlies.
The reason why she seemed so attractive to me.
Im not ususally a sucker for eyes, but the way she looked at me,
Made me feel like she understands how to be free.
I should’ve known the story she hides is something that might really hurt me,
Because any story that’s locked up inside should never have a spare key.
In the beginning I tried to make the situation feel sooooo real,
But soon I realized that she had an addiction that was unsealed.
Her wandering eye couldn’t stop her from speaking to many guys,
Im not saying shes some ***** in disguise,
But really she was a free spirit floating around that didn’t know her goodbyes,
Even though she realized that might soon lead to her own demise.
I shouldn’t say guys because in reality its just one that makes me compete,
That look in her eyes was that she once knew what it felt like to be complete.
That one other guy had left her so traumatized that shes never willing to forget,
It was her obsession just like a cigarette.
Everytime she felt angry or terrified there was one person who she knew would help offset,
That one guy who she never wanted to regret,
No matter the endless amount of time that he made her feel upset,
Dreaming in her mind that one day they can recreate that fierce duet.
See the problem was within me, I felt the need to help her realize
That life is always filled with opportunities
If we live in the past and never let go of what we once all had,
We ll stay blind and you would never get to see.
That there is some other guy that’s willing to improvise in order to help you lead,
I got shot down with all of these stories about how she cant commit,
The sad thing is she wont even realize how beautiful she is,
She lets one experience judge her whole life and all she thinks about is what if.
I even learned to like who she is regardless of the lovefilled flaws.
Just because I want to show her that her craziness can be fixed.
She thinks shes always lost her mind, and that her process is so one of a kind,
That no other guy can help her define, who she wants to be.
But I learned how to believe,
Before my insecurities and perfectionism took over my next decision,
But now what I learned is that life not about some kind of demonstration,
Its process that involves many years to learn,
I don’t know why but I really feel the need to have her in my life,
Even though it was causing me concern,
Now you know why I feel so caved in,
I fell for a girl who wont let me win.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
I used to write poems about nature.
Nothing in particular,
just clouds,
and wind,
and sounds.
Of brief encounters
with other living things
of various species,
none more mysterious than my own.
I remember once,
this bird landed on a thistle.
He was colorful and bright,
offset against the waning light.
Suddenly, sharply,
as if awaiting the tap of a maestro,
as if stricken like a note itself,
he sang his heart out.
It was brilliantly composed,
masterfully performed,
a truly inspired work.
A silence followed.
Looking briefly from side to side,
hoping someone noticed.
He reluctantly flew,
bobbing on gray skies, into the autumnal horizon.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
Autumn, like an Indian classical dancer, dressed up
Arrives with soft rhymes and quickening steps
She comes aglow, aglow with a rare beauty
Dancing to the bracelet's tinkling song
Her floating robe falls in deep folds around her feet
As she mesmerizes all with moves full of grace
Viewing the flaming colours in assorted display
We are apt to wonder if Nature carefully saved up
All that is best for the closing grand finale
Autumn tints look enchanting all through the land
With pervading green, offset by crimson, citrus yellow
Flaming red, lustrous gold and a faded russet
The air stays crisp and sweet in the ripening fields
While stray clouds ramble in flawless turquoise sky
When autumn is thus all agog like a frenzied dervish
It gives us morbid pictures of death and decay
The trees wrestle to free themselves of their worn cloaks
Causing a cascade of withering autumn leaves
Now they fall scattered in endless stream and lie in piles
Like charred carcasses after a fierce forest fire
The rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind
Falls in our ears with the gabble of migrating birds
Pale sunshine sifts through leafless trees of maple and oak
All those leaves once stayed regal in stations high
But now tossed out like worthless chaff
They come nose diving and fall several meters below
Spreading a hazel curtain over the moist earthen crust
When trampled mercilessly by careless feet
They silently mourn their thankless fate
Graying that comes at the end of each autumnal fall
Reminds us of the pall of gloom that awaits
It is disturbing like the parting song of birds
As they fly southward before the fall of winter
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC
~~
behind the shadow a distinct lost dream
standing opposite of a long bridge
crossing through the middle cutoff
see the river flowing beneath
illusive calling but can't go
on the edge a dark sharp sign
known voices floating over
echoing an ego which cover the shadow
how many days offset!
and try to touch the last sunset
still silhouette stands on the shore
what is mystic that always opens the door
the river bumping with waves
between the broken parts of the bridge
passing a phase of life on the ridge
yet subconscious grew a cohesion of dream
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
the waterfall pours from my eyes
pedals fall underneath the guise
stunting growth, lethargic dope
cogs and knots, perched atop
Frozen locks, offset and lost
denial of fact, unravelling fiction
dine in solitude, reset and listen
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 6:12 PM UTC
There's no Sunrise,
to Sunset the Beauty
and Smile of a Woman.
There's no Season,
to Offset the Charm
and Elegance of a Woman.
Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 2:05 AM UTC
It was the first gift he ever gave her,
buying it for five five francs in the Galeries
in pre-war Paris. It was stifling.
A starless drought made the nights stormy.
They stayed in the city for the summer.
The met in cafes. She was always early.
He was late. That evening he was later.
They wrapped the fan. He looked at his watch.
She looked down the Boulevard des Capucines.
She ordered more coffee. She stood up.
The streets were emptying. The heat was killing.
She thought the distance smelled of rain and lightning.
These are wild roses, appliqued on silk by hand,
darkly picked, stitched boldly, quickly.
The rest is tortoiseshell and has the reticent clear patience
of its element. It is
a worn-out, underwater bullion and it keeps,
even now, an inference of its violation.
The lace is overcast as if the weather
it opened for and offset had entered it.
The past is an empty cafe terrace.
An airless dusk before thunder. A man running.
And no way to know what happened then—
none at all—unless ,of course, you improvise:
The blackbird on this first sultry morning,
in summer, finding buds, worms, fruit,
feels the heat. Suddenly she puts out her wing—
the whole, full, flirtatious span of it.
2.5k
Seasons come and go, it constantly changes
Like changing a notebook that's running out of pages
Modernization comes and wipe off traditional ways
But does it really help us ?
- That's the big question now a days
Long time ago, we're all living in simplicity
Everything's enough, and there's no scarcity
We're contented with God's gift together with our family
But those travellers came and changed our mindset
Our culture experienced a very big offset
And up to now- we can still see the disparity
-For our country once became a kind of charity
Adopting every detail of other's culture
And had almost forgotten our own
Theirs had grown in stature
While ours was rarely sown.
Tis' one of the sad thing to imagine
But it's like just some of us are concerned
Our culture is experiencing famine
We need to feed it! - that's what I learned.
Come to think of it my fellow Filipinos
Culture is part of each and everyone of us
So let's continue to enrich it and learn more values
For in this modern world that constantly changes, it's the only thing that'll last.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 6:31 AM UTC
Nervousness speaks true thought
turning fresh air to gold as it travels
across the pub interior ether from
rough pale lips to your rouged
set, sitting tidy in front of me.
Shaking fingers shake hands with
thoughts and nothing, melding something
of answer to your question you asked
I think twenty-five minutes back,
I know not of Richard Feynman, please explain though.
Come the occasion of a plane crash or
shipwreck, can I sink with your voice
running soft laps around my head?
At least then your intonation's tread
and heel's step of educated well-read
can offset any pain caused by a wing in my thigh
or a timing belt leaving my tongue tied and wrapped.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
It's a chilly evening.
Our breath, billowing.
Every offset light,
framing her face.
Our frantic ears,
scrambling to keep pace.
The simple warmth
of a flushed cheek
sends my mind reeling.
And the exquisite contours
of a trembling hand,
well...
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 9:58 PM UTC
She snorts her Ritalin
she snorts her xanex
she snorts her *******
before she has ***
She loves her codeine
and her amphetamines
her world spins so fast
she needs some Dramamine
she buys and sells pills,
writes prescriptions
she skips most meals
to feed her addictions
light up a cigarette
gulp down a percocet
mix uppers and downers
hoping that they offset
she takes bottle after bottle
of pills and alcohol
she just tips it back
and swallows it all
a walking pharmacy
a waiting tragedy
a princess of pills
her Medicated Majesty
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
[Intro: Quavo]
**** man. Brrrrtttttt
Hello?
What the hell you mean Ma? I ain't did ****
****
[Hook: Quavo]
Feds hit the spot man I ain't saying nothin
They came around about 5 o' clock this morning (12!)
They telling me I'm copping contraband from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Feds hit the spot say I'm copping from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
[Verse 1: Quavo]
Yeah, yeah, Quavo
I pick up my **** and then hit the door (Oh **** **** 12!)
Surrounding my house and they kick the door (Boom! Boom!)
"Don't move, get on the floor!" I hit the window and fell on the curb
I'm trying to get up and take off, the officer speared me, like Goldberg
Say "Where were you 3 o clock on the dot?" "My Momma's house" "You a ******* liar"
Have you heard about your new worker? (Nah) Know I put him in your circle
I witnessed you purchase the pound (nuh uh)
I witnessed you purchase the brown (no you didn't)
I witnessed you purchase the white (no!)
Say goodnight down the road for a long flight
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Takeoff]
Hot Boy like Silkk the Shocker, pull up on your blocka with the Waka Flocka
Momma hit me on my cellular told me that Quavo got caught by the coppers ****
They say they've been investigating and Migo gang we connected with the mobsters (Huh?)
Can't talk to you ****** my lawyer talk. **** the prosecutor Mr. Marcus
**** Lookin out of my window, I see a black truck and it's empty
Walk to the door check the peephole (what that is man?)
Then I start hearing a noise and it makes me paranoid ****
Thinking what the **** is going on? (What the ****
All of these tools like it's Autozone
If I get caught I ain't coming home (No!)
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Offset]
Offset!
They said that I sold to informants
I told them I just got off touring
They circle my house like an orbit ****
He telling me he gon extort me (huh?)
50% of my income, unfortunately he not gon get none
Life sentence or freedom so pick one
**** ***** you trying the wrong one **** *****
Quavo call my phone, his spot got raided it just got kicked in
We all met up in the Westin
Who know what the **** going on it ain't making sense (who know?)
The police talking they got evidence
I told you ****** bout serving them Mexicans (I told you ******
**** There go 12 ****
I picked up my **** and I moved out the residence
[Hook]
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
*They fill the air in sweet soft scents,
When their delicate petals unfold,
Slowly waving in the dulcet breeze,
In vibrant shades of yellows, pinks, and blues,
And stand tall, between an arched rainbow.
After a bashful touch of rain showers,
Forming into crystalize droplets,
Dripping upon the blossoms fragile leaves,
On a stimulating summer day,
As the golden rays offset.
Instilling a charming glow,
Adding a radiant ambiance, to a welcoming atmosphere,
As I listen to the precious birds chirping,
Into a melodious tune,
On this comforting, and inspirational time of year.*
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Running through the fields I used to find your face with sunlight bouncing off your lilly cheeks in the Spring
Flying up so high I would go kiss that lilly sun and try not to burn my feathered lips against your face
Please do not blush, my love, your smile will scorch the Earth we walk and fire will tango with my soles
My blackened feet will trudge along down your snowy path my love and leave my charcoal footprints in your wake
I would sail across the sky to catch your trail down in the fields and when the grass and flower'd plants do part deep down in the meadow, Love, I know just where my anchor shall be cast
As a boy I dreamt of you and all that you might be
I'd chase you like a hare in fields and trap you in the trees
You'd fly out like a raven every single time
And I'd run until my heart collapsed so's long as I were mine
Girl you set my heart on fire it's burning with your deep desires and nothing's what I want if it isn't you
Pumping red hot blood you send it coursing through my firey veins and boil up to the brim of my eyes
I'm blinded can't you see, my sweet, you've locked my eyes you've stole the key and nothing you can do can offset my gaze
You dance along with hurricanes, hips swing side to side like rain, hair whips here and there with the winds
Your steps, mockingbird, mimic quakes on Earth and herds that trample through plains deep in the ground
When you smile there is a ray of sun piercing through the stormy dance you conjure with your magic eyes of gray
Will I ever sweep you off your lovely, perfect, snowy feet with my dance that I dance for you so neat
Down your door of safety I will beat until you recognize I'm the twisted, shifted, misfit made for you
Love me till the moon becomes the Earth
Love me till your heart goes in the dirt.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 8:04 PM UTC
Strolling beside a stream
On a crisp Autumn day
The water frothing like cream
Getting drenched from the spray.
I see a Kingfisher further ahead
Perched on an old Oak twig
Its breast a bright brick red
To offset his very blue wig.
The blackbirds sing to me
A sweet tune they know
They are high in the tree
The Kingfisher thinks it’s time to go.
The leaves crunch underfoot
Delicate veins being crushed.
Like Mother Nature’s put
Down stuff to be brushed.
But the wind blows them to a pile
Neatly arranged by the bank
In colours in single file
Like soldiers in their rank.
The stream flows with vigour
Taking no prisoners, no stone turned
The force, compelling rigour
Another penny earned.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC