Fat people canes
  They buckle and break
Fat people canes
  They smell faintly of steak
Fat people canes
  Always arched
Fat people canes
  Holding up the heavily starched
Fat people canes
  Struggle down the street
Fat people canes
  An aid for battered feet
Fat people canes  
  Support poorly distributed weight
Fat people canes
  Caught within a sewer grate
Fat people canes
  Can't handle the load
Fat people canes
  Easing movements slowed
Fat people canes
  Used to skewer crumbs
Fat people canes
  Used to butter buns
Fat people canes
  Prop for a hefty handicap
Fat people canes
  Can't fit within a taxi-cab
Fat people canes
  Deserve a wage
Fat people canes
  Traded in for a Rascal with age

They came into this world
Starving, pathetic, and in need of work
Computer beings seeking profit,
We called them millennials and,
Like bacilli to honey,
They will eat themselves to death;
I’ll be waiting with an open casket.
When the time comes,
Issued as both punishment and reward,
Fitted just for lazy things,
And it shall be translucent,
As all human desires are
An empty display
Of material just as ubiquitous.
I’ll be the funeral director,
Engorged by suffering,
When the time comes
I’ll be waiting with an open casket.
The skin that does not bleed
When struck, requires only a few
Strikes more,
The arms which do not tire
When pushed, require only a few
More loads,
The will that does not break
When overburdened, requires only a few
Lashes more—
When the time comes
I’ll be waiting with an open casket
And let the ocean, in pacificity
Carry them to the collective
Dead of this world, to churn in anonymity
For eternity; a true hell to the ego,
I’ll be waiting with an open casket
Just to send it off with a nudge.

The White Whale

She swam the gauntlet
Six times, seven
Then took a chance on love
And was rewarded
Far beyond her hopes and dreams

But now this eighth trip south
Much harder than before
And she so weary
Overburdened
Unesteemed

Then it went wrong
The water
Kind no longer
Tainted and impure
Took first her child
And then, no longer caring, she

When soon she came to rest
Among the rocks
Almost as if to say
You’ve cared not for my ocean home -
Now you must deal with me.

OVERBURDENED WITH RAINWATER

Ahhh...your smile
lights up this room

... you, as ever
its centre

head thrown back
before the spill of laughter

like a buttercup
overburdened with rainwater

hair scattered
in all directions

the wind
adoring its fiery tresses

you, the beautiful
Medusa

& always
that pose

hand on hip
an ever-lit cigarette.

Some of us
still cry.

Others hold
back tears

like buttercups
overburdened with rainwater

& still you laugh
at our grief

locked into
the landscape

of your
photograph

You know for several weeks, even months
I lost the inspiration to put pen to paper
But since coming  back here my mind is overflowing once more

Life is such  simple thing
But now overburdened  by technical things

Nature is such a simple process
But now overburdened by genetic improvisation

Love, the most simple and natural  process of all
But now overburdened by the  need to outdo the girl next door

Keep it simple for a better life

ESKOM

Where do I start?
Writing this by candle light;
Yet today we are lucky,
Load shedding came early

The system is done,
Its broken, corrupt,
Time after time,
Excuses one after the next

Us we are lucky,
In some ways anyhow;
For we have a few means
To keep warm for now

Others are not,
In fact most are not,
They suffer, they die,
But ESKOM - care they do not

Yes it was once ok,
to be totally without,
But once electricity is introduced,
Its difficult to go without

Those who have the means
Have done what they can,
Generators, gas, solar,
Options are endless, but only if you can

To most the expense is impossible,
Of course we want solar,
We want clean energy,
Just like we collect rain water

Its nothing new,
Its now been decades,
Leaving people to suffer,
ESKOM one problem after another

Winter after winter
Just when its needed most,
ESKOM takes it away,
Light, warmth, taken away

People light fires with paraffin,
Then bring them indoors,
Just to keep warm,
In the morning they dont wake up at all


Where is investment in alternatives?
For ESKOM cannot go on,
As one of my cousins said -
The grid is often more off than on

I cannot complain,
Not for myself anyway;
I choose to live here
I'll do things my own way

But I do see suffering
Knowing a long winter is ahead,
With an overburdened health system,
Knowing every winter leaves people dead

How much longer will it take?
For ESKOM to finally close,
To open doors for others,
Its time to get rid of the coal

In a Country basking in sunshine
nearly every day of the year,
The lack of solar power is saddening,
And shameful, but ESKOM doesnt care

Yes we have fire,
But we also have rain,
Those two dont mix,
Cannot cook on fire in the rain

The saddest things is this,
That ESKOM just dont care;
Lives dont matter to ESKOM,
Anyway - they have their share

The few that can make do,
They can afford to.
So everyone else is forgotten,
Nearly 80 percent of the population

Its cold, its wet,
We cannot light fire,
If we do its outside,
Buildings no longer designed for fire

How much longer ESKOM?
Will you allow people to suffer?
Will you eat all the money?
Will you do this to South Africa??

We all hope for a brighter future; quite literally...."brighter" ..  :)

Nomkhumbulwa **

.the crows' persistent croak undermines all attempts at man's adventure into universal fame, or one that might distinguish man's composition, from earth, as intended for adam, to air, as intended for odin, to water as intended for poseidon, to fire as intended for the tetragrammaton.

it fails, most of the time,
poetry is scarce,
too much fondness of the abstract,
hence residues of
distracted verse, whimsical,
overburdened pronoun usage -
such likes - complex punctuation
to replace diacritical marks in
france or germany or norway,
poetry doesn't have the impetus,
just doesn't have the impetus to
package fudge, package fudge paragraphs
of fiction, poetry isn't anything
unless it's anti-fiction,
there's no point idealising
how you would fit into a glass stiletto
when it doesn't allow a fitting: cindarella was first
two jealous sisters got their heel
and big toe cut off, you want to encode
that as .pdf or .jpeg?
technophobes ***-standing:
is that enough for a start-up religious cult?!
i'm just wishy washy wondering,
all bets on it taking off - congregation of
en masse suicide seems a fanciful expression,
mind you, i have no excuse.
where there's a middle there ain't no finger,
no message evaluation and furthered to
an execution, the middle has an eroteme:
not exactly erotically thematic, just
a hunch off huh...
so... poetry... it's scarce, tumble **** practice
of a lost joke...
poetry exhibits itself sometimes in tight-tangle prose
of a knausgård - fancy wording a mile apart
would make traffic accidents aplenty,
and it happens... ramble ramble ramble (worded),
then some poetic ecstasy like an unguided tour
of a gallery making you kneel in anti-catholic
gesticulation of a painting by francis bacon...
shouldn't happen, but it did...
so while prose writers are like things infused
with packaged designation of the right
digestion and right diet content of carbohydrates,
poets are like: what sustenance from air?
we ramble sometimes, **** naked i presume,
but we do, and when we do, we draft novels
for other people, we're not into nation building
or writing novels... we're the anorexia of prose...
and that's grand... because it means
that our readers have to be self-involved,
not ready to grasp the rooting of prose diction...
more fused to the open airs
of writings' scarcity...
we need strong readers not numbers...
we need people who are self-involved,
who would spit and kick a copper statue of
the poet represented in a public square with
people of the spoken tongue the real tourists
wondering: who's that?

that aside...
          i went to sleep thinking about chess...
into bed at around 1am
woke up at around 9am...
past two nights? interludes of
perhaps 2 / 3 hours...
    cutting on the alcohol is one thing...
keeping a tally?
proof: co-op sells 1liter labelled bottles
of scotch,
but as it turns out, according to my braille tally?
it's: ⠷⠷ (500ml) + ⠷⠷ (500ml) + ⠷ (250ml)...
they label it as a liter...
but it's actually 1.25liters...
three days later: you get the full picture:
-esque akin to 'and on the third day he rose
again, according to the scriptures...'

good luck to the men and their vanity
projects...
   i will never become as famous as
the man who "invented" stumbled upon
fermentation to produce beer / wine...
distillation to produce whiskey / *****...
dom perignon and albert hofmann
are known now... give it a few centuries later...
****! gone!
       but to overshadow the universal
stability of a woodland pigeon cooing,
a crow croaking, a fox laughing?
   my words are here: yet these examples
retain the future unchanged...
by void, crook, vogue or folly...

so i went to sleep thinking about chess...
there's the king: the point
of the game...
              to topple the king...
get ol' charlie firsty on the chopper...
distract charlie zee 'eck'und
with pseudo-harems and handel...
and fireworks on the thames...
little learning tool offshoot of louis XIV...
the king is just an elevated pawn...
it seems the king only controls the pawns
given his own movement rules...
the queen though?
   she's the bishop and the rook combined,
as she's also the king and pawn, combined...
the knight is the only odd piece
on the whole board...
   why? didn't queens feast their eyes
upon knights of old, at tournaments...
chivalry: the dropped oopsie handerchief moment
when the king wasn't looking?
the knight piece is the only outsider piece
on the board... hence it's ontological
grasshopper routine of jumping
outside the line of pawns and then
jumping back into line...
the king is a king in name only:
it would appear...
  while the most powerful piece on the board
is the queen: since if the king merely
control the pawns:
   at a battlefield a king command pawns
(soldiers)...
  in the background...
the queen will command...
   the bishops, the knights,
   the rooks (houses, castles) -
she's not on the battlefield with with pawns...
and soon knights become judges
and lawyers - merge with the bishops...
i never like playing chess -
but i liked thinking about chess...
  from the perspective of: the queen is
the most powerful piece on the board...

you could even rewrite chess by expanding
the board... so it would look like so:

1. denotes pawn         9. denotes king

2. denotes bishop        6. denotes queen
3. denotes knight        4. denotes rook.


1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
         9 3               (battlefield formation)
      2 4 4 2             (behind the scenes formation)
        3 6    

but the board would have to be expanded from
64 to say... 100 squares... per board...
it's still chess... but with a twist...
it's what real life would look like...
one knight would be faithful to the king
and stand behind his army on the battlefield...
the other knight would be *******
the queen in secret surrounded
by castles and the clergy / the judicial system...
well: so many people have become so good
at the game of chess...
   kasparov vs. deep blue...
         so smart: and yet no imagination.

besides... i had more important things to do
today than remember what i fell asleep with...

1. making the perfect sausage rolls...
the most pristine invention of the english
and how the french fumed when their puff
pastry was "degraded"...
never use meat from sausages...
always minced pork...
and instead of adding carrots...
celery... and who would have thought
that fennel seeds are the secret ingredient...

2. watching india get their *******'
whipped and their ***** put into
a meat grinder by the new zealand side
at the cricket world cup...
**** me the last 5 overs!

3. lamenting the state of cinema...
the pursuit of "being" via distraction
with the end goal of fulfilling "happiness"...
so much for "being" and so much for "happiness"...
take two prime examples...
it only took 8 years to spare all the details
that seperate them...
1958's the inn of the sixth happiness
starring ingrid bergman...
those movies! mmm hmm!
i would gladly take away all the current
heavy editing and metallurgy scaled
CGI for a classical western panoramic view...
no dialogue... just an expansive camera
distance where the characters are dwarfed
by the grander scheme of things:
even if it's just a valley or a field...
cinema dropped the paranoramic
   interlude, resorting for the clausto-****
of heavy editing with multiple cameras
switching backwards and forwards
like watching a game of tennis...
    actually: both genres degraded themselves
dropping the panoramic view at times...
less in sport, more in cinema...
but this is 1958... the 1950s! the glory days of cinema...
fast-forward to 1966... and the film:
ALFIE...
       what's the difference between a lothario
and a ****? a self-employed ******...
or some other weird combition of 'not-a-joke'...
wait a minute... why are the women
so ******* dumb come the mid-1960s in cinema...
while back in 1958: they were so admirable?!
ingrid bergman learned mandarin,
she was ambitious, she was stubborn...
she was bossy...
  come the 1960s we're talking about
    beings without either soul or will
simply orientated at being dumpster *** toys...
i don't even know where the men
did that to them...
           the women in 1950s cinema
gained respected... they were commanding...
or at least decisive in giving
the least expected virtue: generosity
and on top - a sense of fairness -
                             a merit pyramid...
1960s cinema women, "women" are nothing
more than sloppy teenagers...
these women are not women...
1960s cinema doesn't depict women...
it's starting to depict one direction:
  pissy-pants teen girls...
               ******* at the sight of harvey styles
sighing and ****...
        plus... back in the day:
cinema used to be... engaging...
ben-hur? how long? 5 hours?
  gone with the wind? how long? 7 hours?!
cinema like opera: 15 minute interludes,
toilet breaks before the next part went on...
now? a quckie 1.5 hours long CGI ***** fest
of minimal dialogue and the heavy editing
juxtapositions of "angles"...
       people don't watch modern cinema
because it's engaging...
they watch it... because it's... distracting...
pretty bright lights! ooh! aah!
i love the fact that i'm being snarky
           and sarcastic... what else can you be?!
   i don't even think is missed that much
when it comes to the sub-culture of drugs...
psychadellic or otherwise...
i ****** well missed on a decent amount
of cinema...
   and when that happens...
       look at me...
                            what's that phrase...
a bitter old man... aged 33...
bitter doesn't even cut it...
              it's not even a bitterness...
it's an elevated sense of nostalgia...
   for me nostalgia is something i was present
at when it started going to ****...
late 1990s... cartoon network, early internet...
etc.,
              1990s date night movie quality
requiring adults to employ babysitters...
i was there...
1950s cinema? yeah: i wish i was nostalgic
about that... but i wasn't there...
hence the technical observations...
and how, objectively: movies were...
oh god so much better.

Marched in step
Toting a little red wagon
Stride carried pep
Dragging that little red wagon

Weathered in rust
Creaking in the sun
Covered in dust
It weighs a ton

Overburdened by basic trinkets
Remnants of Christmas 05
Macaroni made cumulonimbus
From school days off winchester drive

Photo of family for evidence
Not that it means a thing
Victim of malevolence
Thrown out in early spring

Winter brought about the cough
Toting a little red wagon
His whole system seems off
Dragging that little red wagon

He's feeling old
Went and turned lethargic
Held onto the cold
Wallowing in hardship

Deterioration apparent
There's something horribly wrong
Behavior aberrant
His strength is gone

Innocence in tow
Holding onto reactionary bliss
Writing name in snow
...Blood marked abyss

Death encroaches.
He falls before his little red wagon
A young boy approaches
And steals that little red wagon

Although life makes me overburdened with                                                          A lot of loads of pains and a lot of sufferings,but                                                   I will not give up at all ...                                                                                          Always those one-thousand of miles of my long trip                                            Start difficult ,but                                                                                                     Everything will be better and wonderful ...                                                            Although people bother from all sides,but                                                             My faith in God will not let kneel down to anyone                                               Except to the Al-Mighty God anytime ...                                                                 I know that way is Very long in life ,but                                                                                            I will struggle to suppress all those bad factors                                                 That will let bend down anytime ...                                                                    I am not that one who easily kneels down to circumstances,but                     I will stand up facing life with bravery of a fighter                                           Who looks for that good way in life ...                                                               I never give up and                                                                                              I will not give up                                                                                                  Simply because I have my own persistence and                                               I have my insistence on my continuation in life                                                Till the end ...........

little pink pills
designed to soothe the
overburdened mind

sleep never escapes me
serotonin has

or was I just a hamster
running in a wheel of
self destruction?

your imprisoned pet
to play with
only
when you felt like it

There are those ugly burdens of life and                                                                We are greatly overburdened with those                                                                Absurd,ugly,and sad pressures of life ...                                                                 We try to overcome those ugly pressures                                                              Of life ,but all in vain and hopelessly ....                                                                Unless we are standing on a hard ground,                                                            Then all we do is useless and absurd anytime ...                                                    Life pressures us to fight back its atrocities,but                                                     All comes uselessly and all in vain anytime ...                                                        ___________________­

The god from the past came stalking,
Came clambering over the hill,
He’d woken first thing in the morning
With a hangover, fit to chill,
Those Roman debauches with grapes and wine,
The reds and the whites of the Tuscan kind,
The fruit of an overburdened vine,
Were sapping his energy still.

He’d rubbed at his eyes in the dawning,
And wondered where everyone went,
For nothing remained of the Roman baths
Not even a soldier’s tent,
And where was the maiden he’d last embraced
The sweet  Lucina, so fair of face,
Whose long held virtue was laid to waste
When the force of his love was spent.

Invidia’s green and brooding eyes
Had watched as he laid her down,
Had mixed her potions to match his lies
As they struggled, there on the ground.
She thought, ‘No god should be so remiss
As to offer a rival a tainted kiss,
From now, I’ll act as his Nemesis,
He’ll sleep while the world turns round.

She poured him a draught of her potion then
The last of his thirst to slake,
Though Empires rose and fell again
She vowed that he’d never wake.
The buildings crumbled and turned to dust
As the god dreamt long of his love, and lust,
While Nemesis thought her scheme was just
And the field turned into a lake.

The ages tired and the gods retired
To their mansions, high on the mount,
But he continued to sleep and dream
More years than he could count,
The god slept through in a dream sublime
While generations were buried in lime,
Two thousand years was a blink in time
For the gods in their banishment.

He woke on a chilly Autumn day
And found himself in a lake,
Shivered once, and then strode away
For his heart had begun to ache,
He walked down into a valley plain
Green and fresh in the Autumn rain,
When out of a tunnel streamed a train
With a scream, and the squeal of brakes.

‘By Juvenal!’ cried the god in shock
As the carriages streamed on by,
Then up above, like a giant gnat
A vehicle flew in the sky.
‘The world has changed since I fell asleep
The gods have fled to the mountain keep,
And men have conjured a giant leap,
The world has passed us by!’

He ran headlong through the tunnel
Hoping to find Lucina again,
And that was the great explosion that
Nobody could explain.
The diesel engine was rendered flat
With carriages piled on top of that,
While Nemesis on the mountain sat
Her tears flowing like rain!

David Lewis Paget

You stole my breath
but needed only ask.
Gave love freely
and demanded the same back.
You took no ****
so never gave one.
You showed me the way
- my eyes followed you -
to feel no regret.

You were bold and brazen,
I was empathetically italicized,
leaning on you
in times of duress.
You gave and gave and gave and gave and gave
two-bit trinkets
half-assed like alimony.
I took and took and took until
I was overburdened and
rooted in place.
You walked away like an action hero
and never looked back.
You showed me the way
- my eyes followed you -
straight out the window.

Yesterday you gave
     me a call. Said
     you were fine.
I didn't ask
     if you felt my eyes
     searching you out
     in dreams,
digging deeper through memories
to us, together.
You teaching me to love
     selfishly,
showing me the way you did.
My eyes followed you,
  followed yours
     following her,
and you showed me the way
you felt no regrets.

Perhaps sometime I can show you
how I find my way
straight out the window
and let your eyes follow me
down.

We reach a time in our lives
Shuffling along our own dusty highways
In the warmth of a whisky stained dusk
Watching the honeyed heat of our future seep along the horizon
Into bruised sky of overburdened past
We each meet the same crossroad of decision
The two sides of our soul extending welcoming arms
As we stand, a prize in the feud between mind and heart
Practicality and passion
Security and sensuality

Who am I to choose which gravelled path to follow
Whether to take the wrinkled hand of prudence
And crunch the stones of wisdom and logic with each familiar step
Does my future lay ahead
At that point where the sun kneels to kiss the ground
And throws its glowing arms across the earth in a blanket of safety
Not in passion, but affection
In the comfort of routine
The reliability and purity of what is, and what has always been

Or does it sit within the flicker of a fiery heart
In the sigh of breath that creeps along with the breeze
That trickles down my spine
And dares me to turn my head, to look down roads of impenetrable darkness
To embrace the possibility of the unknown
And the leaping tongues of flame that might lie where those paths end
To be engulfed, and to know myself within that destruction.
Is it the voice that whispers inside my veins
"should there be more than this?"

I stay static
Leaderless
A spectator to the conflict of the soul
Stuck fast in a deadlock of inertia and indecision
Awaiting that moment
When the last glimmer of sun has bled through the cracked earth
And I open my blurred eyes to icy silence, shapeless and pure in its clarity
To see, without obstruction
That the decision is clear.
My future transparent.
That there was only ever one road I could take.

Along the far wall
beneath the outstretched
limbs of jacarandas
I see him walking
each morning at
his constant time
even when the sun still
half asleep hides behind
overburdened clouds

Sometimes he
waves and
sometimes he
smiles but
mostly he just
walks on looking
down the road to
where I wonder

And I only
watch him briefly
now and again
on days when
I am able and
on days when
I am not I know
that he is there

Until the day when
I look out and see
that he has reached
his destination traced
by constant footsteps
beneath the outstretched
limbs of jacarandas
along the far wall

Captured by the promise to stand
TA 2016

We see the item, it is something that we need.
They see us looking, and they know we want it.
Unscrupulous, Some. Overburdened, others.
Unscrupulous coveting only profit, stumbling with greed
Overburdened with required proof, abiding by the creed.

However, we stand in hopeful anticipation
Craving participation, seeking validation, a fulfillment of our needs.
Forever, paying the price for being unique
These things, required by a few, but needed, for we are weak.
Many times, Fulfilled, but purchased with full consternation

For help to speak we pay the price.
To claim our independence, we pay in full.
To stand, even up for ourselves, we take a slice.
The things that normally go simple, for this they require flesh.
You see, our needs and their wants rarely mesh..

With no regard to pain, the flesh is extracted
The price is demanded through greed or obligation
Unscrupulous, Yes some of them are
Certification, expensive and required, the price will be exacted.
With no regard to the help needed, our cries unheeded.

We are captured buy the goods that pave our very way
The prices and their intent, we lack the power to sway
Simply, if we need it we have to pay.
If they claims in the end are shown untrue,
There is little, if anything, That we can do.

To a greater or lesser degree it's true.
They manufacture, package, and ship it to you.
But, they will extract their flesh,
Arizona makes promises and quickly reneges
Shameful, unscrupulous, and likely burdened with guilt.

If it were up to me,
I'd let myself rot here
Drowned in my cotton sheets
And allow my skin to finally sink
In between the gaps of my rib cage.

Rot and
putrefy and
fester and
ooze,
Flesh dripping off bone,
So this stink of my own decay may be apparent to me alone no longer.

Senses overburdened by defeat.

Cruelty and savagery explodes upon our streets
violence multiplies in every part of society
nobodies safe in the urban jungle or their homes
promises to cure the soaring carnage has failed
deaths go on as the young rule many no go areas
where is the law and order to protect the people
why are the taxpayers pockets endlessly drained
there is still too much ground left blood stained!

Emergency services being attacked on their call outs
hospital staff assaulted in Britain's A and E units
trying to help all the thousands of drunken revellers
as those giving support are being put under pressure
decision makers seem to live in a different dimension
as their statistics down play just what is happening
out in the harsh concrete and tarmac jungle no control
if gangs and criminals power grows evil will take its toll!

Law and order has been dissipated society breaks down
as with official bureaucracy we all shall drown!

This could apply to anywhere on our overburdened earth!

TheFoureyedPoet.

Save the ordinary man

Please save the ordinary man who with taxes is overburdened.

Firstly he receives only two thirds of his salary earned.

House rent/loans, medical insurance, LIC, school fees and more;

Very long indeed is this poor overburdened man's score.

As if this enough is not, GST on every thing he buys, he pays.

Banks reduced have interest rates on his FD; so, always worried he stays.

Social n cultural functions further worry him; he is really puzzled

By now the overburdened man's hobbies and dreams into thin air have fizzled.

Life he finds is a big curse, these  taxes make it even worse.

The poor man dreads to get treated as entering hospitals is a curse.

Lord, what can an ordinary mortal do, if he wishes to honest remain ?

The tax structure drives him, pushes him,  to become insane.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

Drops of salt stayed on
Un-wiped on her hollow cheeks
As if to bear down her overburdened life
With the load of un-shed tears.

Her trembling hands, were weak from work
Her palms felt heavy, as her kids held on
Her chest was filled with love and warmth
Her eyes kept winking, as if to keep away fear.

Her kids - her treasures, how could she preserve
Her only refuge now was her mother's lap
And that was where she headed now
To mark an end to the troubled souls.

She bought them balloons, candy and ice-cream
As they walked towards the welcoming beach
She walked slowly, clinging tiny arms
And soon the salty waters, were licking their feet.

The way we don't joke.
The way we sometimes never do.
The tendencies of overburdened humans.
Internalizations.
Expanding walls.
******* up what matters most.
Never playing host.
Chicken flavored gummy toast.
Rhyming **** that don't make sense.
Putting up with ignorance.
Thoughts of death and suicide.
Neglect on ******* override.

well, it was hardly or ever would be a respectable
musicology with  mere rhyme; so we overburdened it
with ideas, those pit-stops of thinking,
those pivots of the former fluidity
that gave us Achilles... long gone
the respectability of not thinking,
so waiting awaiting the respectability of thinking
to un-think the existence of thought
rather than the existence of god...
i say forget atheism, and reading philosophical
books kept till old age of respectability,
those books are nothing but dust by then...
but i'm in agreement with the attack,
for who would want to sing a rhyme with mere echo,
the ulterior ego... to sing for a tennis match
of resounding a# a#, b b, c c, encoding our children
to merely encode rhyming patterns?
for fear of the loss of mimic or replica?
if i were a kid i'd love to rob her majesty's vessel
and encounter adventure than bookworms sneezing
dust for kindred death with Spinoza chiselling
optometric devices on a lesser scale in comparison
with telescopes - Amsterdam seen from a far far away
galaxy; if only you stood there, and experienced
the freedom that prostitutes govern in this city;
if only less legislative powers in your politics!

She took a hesitant first step
Closer to bay.
Sand crunched under her toes,
And cold slapped her ankles,
As a wave broke upon the shore.
Receding waters,
Left her tilting like creaking post,
Overburdened with laundry.
Surprised, she jumped backwards
Retreating to the sane solid ground.
But sanity lost,
To the wild, tempestuous sea.

Golden haired and handsome, Joe seemed to have it all.
He’d won a PAC 8 championship just that previous Fall.
Surely the Heisman would be his; another prize to win.
He started strongly, at least at first, but would falter at the end.

Joe Roth had Melanoma and it ravaged skin and bone,
It was a lonely battle, the hardest fight he’d known.
Joe Roth was a gamer who would strap his helmet on
and go out on the gridiron though his strength was nearly gone.
He knew that he would not grow old, or play the game for pay.
In this final autumn of his life he merely wished to play.

. Despite fatigue and nausea he still made every start,
Until his game clock ran out on an overburdened heart.
There’s a moment when the cheering stops, when a man feels most alone;
blind-sided by a tackle while checking down against the zone.

When game clock seconds tick away and the outcomes not in doubt
Joe stood tall in the pocket even when it was a rout.
He gave the game the best he had, then it was his  time to go.
He was an All- American, and no ordinary Joe

Sleep and wake in fear
Spirits cause everything
Consultations and exultation to a deaf God
Fast and pray lest you fail
God is hardest to please
God is dead to us
We buried him in ignorance

False prophets - our ancestors danced with them
False prophets - our parents fell victim
False prophets - we are enslaved

I see this
I see that
Our demons never fight
The salt and oil we douse at midnight
They protect us

False prophets- we listened
False prophets- we believed
False prophets- we are enslaved

Wives hide nakedness from husbands
Strip from cloth to thought for them
Faith overburdened with naivety
Knowledge that redeems,
Lost to teachings of captivity and unrighteousness

False prophets - our ancestors danced with them
False prophets - our parents fell victim
False prophets - we are enslaved

The greed that keeps them afloat
Sinks our soul and glory in muddy waters
Shame only comes at the end
The end comes at our loss
We fear those we should love and love those we should fear

False prophets!

The hot June sky breathes heavily upon the tree after which I was named, which may shield me from the light of the sun, but not its violent heat or the overburdened air from which I fight each breath, air which assaults the browning grass that gave up long ago when the rains had begun, dampening the ground and the air, and so they remain, and so wildflowers grew with pious fervor oblivious to traffic, and clouds hang with handsome and gracious indifference to the Joshua tree below.

It's all too crowded,
The breaths in the room.
Cornered.Surrounded.
Lost,Hand of mystique shrouded in gloom.
Can you hear the drops?
diamonds clink and bounce
frozen tears-fatal-to stop,
and bleed the unwound-able in one fell swoop.
Tragedy that the height you fell from was meteoric,
A skyscraper length until you hit the ground.
A tossed doll,broken, pre-loved
Agonised tortured scream that made without a sound.
No longer a fallen angel when you keep treading
the waves of murky water.
Can't you delve into the depths of my soul and read the
depleting resources that are farther-
from where you are.
Isolated Island,find your way home.
But breadcrumbs can float,
if all the lights are extinguished and you find yourself alone.
Darling,don't you notice I'm dying,
Each day you stay growing in the shade,
The more nutrients that are shielded from me
I am overburdened with pain.
Smile,it might surprise you
Laugh it may caress you
Live, with or without me
just live in that rare beauty.