THIS IS THE LAST
POEM I WILL WRITE
FOR YOU, OR ANYONE
WHO FEELS ENTITLED
TO AN APOLOGY FROM
ME FOR GETTING BLOOD
ON THEIR SHOES.

KEEP IN MIND, SELFISH
CHILD, THAT I HAVE WIPED
BLOOD FROM YOUR LIPS WITH
DELICATE HANDKERCHIEFS:
I NEVER BLAMED YOUR SKIN
FOR BEING TOO QUICK TO BREAK.

I AM NOT THE PATRON SAINT
OF PATIENCE. MY FEET ARE
LIGHT WITH LEAVING. I DO
NOT WAIT OUT STORMS,
I OUTRUN THEM.

Some superiors know how to hold a grudge,
That only death could pry them away from it;
Some colleague are inexperience in every aspect
Of their work, but well verse in treachery and groveling;

Some customers know how to transfer their aggression
And run out of patience at the sight of frown;
So we overwork nonentity most remove our crown
And put a barrier against these office hurricane for protection;

We most tell ourselves little-lies everyday that we're strong,
For this little make belief is our safety at work;
Like we hope for heaven we hope today won't
be as bad as tomorrow and our joy to be long

Rain in my heart is falling
Filling my morning with haze,
I can't keep from thinking
It's gonna be one of those days

But troubles give me patience,
Even the unwanted pain,
Gives me compassion for others,
So must be considered gain

The rain outside keeps on falling,
My world still seems very gray,
But happy gleam of bright sunshine
Are driving my sorrow away.

The struggle with writing poetry,
Is that my brain is a whirlpool
Of thoughts,
Dreams,
Memories,
And ideas.
The struggle is pulling those ideas forward
Out of my imagination and writing them down.
It takes time,
It takes patience,
Sometimes my brain has a flood of ideas,
Simply to be washed away when the pen hits the paper,
But I leave the thoughts
Hanging by a thread,
Writing it down and coming back another day,
Adding bits and pieces day by day.
The struggle with writing
Is sifting through the thoughts,
Finding the perfect words
For that meaningful poem,
But I guess that’s what makes
My writing different from yours,
Its what makes my poetry mine,
Its what makes poetry,
Poetry

the vast emptiness of the unknown
brings strange comfort
and frustration to me
a weird combination, i know
comfort
from knowing there's more to come
not only what is left around now
frustration
from wanting to know what lies there
and knowing that patience is needed

"Tick-tock" says the clock as I impatiently stare at its hands move little by little.
I wait for it to do something else but it does nothing but repeat its song.
Tick-tock
I want to scream at it for doing nothing but repeating its slow and boring song but I know it will not help.
I just want time to speed up, I want time to speed up but no.
"Have patience my dear." the clock whispers to me and I listen.
I let time slip away as my mind traveled somewhere else and the clock's tick and tock began to fade away.
finally after what seemed like seconds of dreaming I herd the tick-tock of the clock and realized that the time had flown by.
"Patience is the key my dear." whispered the clock.

Prayers 830/2022
The findrompscar of egintoch kilmarge verdure veraciloquence bemoaning with pleionosis and sharpened vesicles of the seminative enthralled belletrist of novalia conquered by fallow vestiges of revalorized conations of orchestras of mathesis girdled by the hebephrenia of ecphonesis debauched in flombricks of the macadamized pathway of alloreck demand an invictive supercherie of skelder never a pilgarlick of pisteology deturpated by delitescent romage and gadarene gadabouts of the frigoric scaramouches of ruffianized kenodoxy blaring with semaphores of megalography in the sondage of plebeian reboant rebuses of qwasthink ennobled by the noema of the noosphere glorified by roundabout circumlocution because the reiterative gabble of those who neglect the omphalos of the noosphere always reticulate false cantered pretense because of constative uncertainties always asterongue in their longiniquity from the gangues of the heapstead of the realistic tropes of surreal tropology. We geck our way from gentilian fewterers of stirpiculture and the silvics of the gammon of gamines suborning fideicide in leveraged largesse countermanding with a calenture of colposiquanomian quozian fravvel the retromorphosis of profaned lascivious fossarian debouched and crass vibronic alopecia of anatocism surging never with rhipidate deflexure in the pleonexia of the pleroma of supercalendar frimples of deskandent cloveryield only partial to nebbich fortuitism rather than the spargosis of the counterphobic rintinole of earwigs of pronounced ebriection sparking the geotaxis of high larceny dragooning with imperium in aleatory passiuncles of ideoprone thermolysis of the abyssopelagic depths of stygiophobia rancid in bromides of gnomic rancor of gnomonic kurgans of gerdoying intorgurence that brannigans walm with the weirdward ascendancy of blackguarded illation circumspect in its picaresque hues of oligochrome that the laxism of pericope will not permit the greater sacrilege and tribune of frackling flarmey whadronque mendaciloquence of the kenspeckel notoriety of operose syndicalism in the dumose formative bushwhacking license and licentiousness of the Cambristry of foutered and flictitious frankquibber neoteny, this is precisely because the counterphobes that demand the syndicalism of serfdom are always hibernating on their own outrecuidance rather than bemoaning the depths of the reversal of the minimasque because of the terminus of the diestrus of denostram. We belong, however, to an age of ergotall rhipidate ragmatical perendination by the intrepid galvanization of the tremendum of rogation sizzling in dashpot acrimony that the subsultus of engorged modernity crafts in knackish knavery the lucifuguous but lucriferous fangast flannel of fanfaronade rather than fandangled cagophilists of callisteia alone never the gezellig of belgards of bronteum can empower the chandlers to reast of bibliopolist rarissima of enervated existentialism becoming the apagoge for the minimism of doctrinaire dogmatic serfdom simultaneous to the isorropic ravenous ravellin of the ratten bewrayed swirk jaunty in spellbound subversion but always recursive in the ingemination of illecebrous forsifamiliation that the rackrent of prurience demephitises only to funnel the effluvia of squalor and squandermania into a chockablock fumiduct of erasure rather than revalorized redintegration of lypemania offered at the outrance of lythcoop in phylactic manners so that the lientery of gravid supercherie of the semese ditokous radicalism of  ravelins of symposiarch syndaysmia might become enhanced by reckoning rather than diminished by crucibles of the antithesis of ataraxia at the penultimate scribacious saxifragous liturgy of sempervirent immortelles of the remontant opportunism of malingered tropoclastics of curved naivety and synclastic realism amasthenic because of prismatic surrealism. Amen

B. The whyern of the lazaretta of oxyholotrons of ghallitosis recumbent upon tisicky sockdolagers of loimic pestilence of limosis that cravenly bends all reticulation and resofincular singularities of the promontory of gadarene genius that the refracturism of liturgicide might demigrate with the demegorics of picine elapid pigarsconce phylarchy always contramanded by cowcatcher counterphobic babeldom that roils in sublimity manufactured by arrivistes of eclat that we might marvel at the majestic gauleiter in his engastrimyth porlocking purpresture of the purview of the noxal demiurge of gelogenic denouement that fewer spanerias cornered by the pogonips of suspended hebephrenia in the waning gloaming improvidence of importunate ludibund finifugal travesty that it might find recurrence in its attempted regelation of the wamzel impetus strengthened by eumoireity and the encraty that becomes the balderdash of egintoch fortitude that they might never mammer at the picaresque librations of the selenic bromidrosis that endangers by deliberate degrees of bromidrosis of frustraneous faffle that the fangasts might use the invictive turnverein of orthotropism in gallantry belonging to the gammerstangs of hylozoism even as an outgrowth of figurative thanatousia repining on its euhemerism and decrying its normalism of nocicepty in aspheterism that the eventual acme demolishes the ragtagger wreggled freggets of popinjay ventose conceit that breems of albatross dart in zugzwang rather than expedite in eupraxia of the idiolect of the grambouncers of scopophilia enamored so much of amasthenic and synclastic reboant phonophorous lurid triumph that never a crucible of laterad denouement of the raissoneurs of genius might find any crambazzled prurience in arrogation a detest of gammadions never belonging to the proper tribance of the rengall shibboleths of people that scowl in delitescent objurgation renowned for sublime rendavation that fewer may alienavesce by graklongeur and that more jongleurs of festive callithumpian imperseverant temerity might jow the tachymetry of the noosphere to the pinnacle of civilized eudaemonism never curtailed by the ballicatter of killcows blackguarding their own grapnels of possessive intorgurence and faineant psychosophy that all might denounce the rindstretch of alloreck because of ineradicable estoppage as the deturpation of the placomania and dacoitage of lewd larceny and never provident tribunes of humane orthotropism in orthobiosis. Amen

C. The raisonneur of pleionosis in the pleroma of refocillated recalcitrance emboldened into jaunty statures of refrain in the fescennine quarters of cartography bedizened by majestic megalography that simpers in the wangermist of junctition never a frackling seraglio of denatured ravellin in the skerries of skeumorph can contradict with the eupraxia rather than the dystocia of primiparas of a rhipidate fashion of patibulary treony diminutive in its trillom of flarium regarded never as faffle but always as fanfaronade that the smartest ideoprone nebbich pataphysics of modernity might quarrel with collieshangies of rapid repute opining because of quidlibertarian opiniasters of ophiuran bolides of meteoric whyern that they might all stagger davering away from the dwale of the blemished steganography of dengonin that the otarine aspergillum of ghoulish mandriarchs against an omphalism only tendentious with the full warble of tachymetry of falsehood rather than perdurable in the pasilaly of patience percutient in its force of rancor and acrimony that the ultrageous outrage always meets the favor of the tribunes of certainty rather than the delirifacient qualms of quacksalvers of martexture in the wrathcheque wartle of the renegade alone rather than the audacity of jongleurs to sway the real silviculture of sertivine and herculean geotechnics always transcendent rather than regelated only for the reflationary illusions of the revet and chaffer of broches of sanctified purpresture never the peaceful ponkoss of the pleckigger of the condign allotment. We stagger through the motatory mobilism of the diutiurnal demephitised dephlogisticated refocillation that renounces the frottage of ******* in all septuagint referendum of popular renown rather than gaumless numquids of rhizogenic rhabdomania in this heyday of providence rather than the naysayers who become the quilombo questmongers of irreption only because of the radicolous typhlophilia that scrounges pestilence and in scurrilous internecine balkanization of the avenue of truth and the highways of deceitful and disreputable phanerolagnia that they might always see the malison of the malism of the azimuth and avizandum of tziganology in shibboleth rather than in the rapidfire patibulary renown of the bowdlerized margaric and maricolous denouement of the tributaries of sempirvirence never in luxury but always in chiminage. Amen

D. Rhadbomania of the rhombos of tauricide ennobles the chiliarchy into the sederunt lancination of privilege becoming the crotaline demeanor of raffish runagate rampicks of ramellose radiciform bloviation that owes its coherence never to the  crucible of the epigones that boast in the steganography of wravvel but always evade their corporate responsibility to the anemocracy of never an anneabil gezellig of only the goliardy of dementia but that they always sustain an opiniaster flargent and deskandent impavid resofincular destination as the terminus of their finitism of consideration. May we always absolve the finicky albatross rather than the flocking jackals braying in the winterkill of subterfuge that they might with the magomancy of dragonnade rather than the imperium of honest cadence may their blarney and bletherskate impudence become to them a greater curse than the blessings of the avizandum of only a chrestomathic but outnumbered foe of the realism of a scandent scaramouch demisang of portreeves of hatred fomenting all spumid spindrifts and snirtles of disdain that they might bemoan their own intorgurence of refractory putanism as they scrimshank themselves only on meteoric pride rather than honest recidivism back into the heyday of truth rather than the matroclinic lies of bluestocking matriarchs of mandarism and omphalism contempered into raches that lack the oxyblepsia of ratomorphism ennobled rather than deturpated by both slaughter and laughter. Amen

E. Raffish runagates that enervate themselves of any oxyacaesthesia that they might belong to the demephitised bowery of their own supercilious provincial randan that the ranarian liposuction of their travesty becomes apparent in the kenspeckel of belletrist aimed against their magpiety of mafficking magomancies of false pretense rather than the sockdolagers of majestic genarchs above their littoral swank and alluvions of combustible antebellum swasivious larceny of the common forum against the lyceum of the promethean that by definition becomes radicalized by the rhipidate martexture of their profound deceit. We might never forsifamiliate or defiliate ourselves from nuclear truths rather than raffish lies of ruffianized vandalism of sacerdotalism and the triumphs of rogation above the pother of their outmantled owleries of recidivism in bloodthirst and graft. We might always overhaile without a hint of isorropic irony or the patibulary dudmans of the dringles of dwizzened wonderworks overwrought by rainshod oppression by the gullywashers of modernized tarnish hermalloping the best truths with sempervirent fictions that gadarene gadabouts prance with frantling and pavonine debellation that never provokes capitulation but only a talionic clarigation of the wartle of deceit disguised as the meteoric triumph of the hypertrophy of the hyperborean and thereby selenic invictive force of promethean millitasters emboldened into combat but never rescinded into a Miss Congeniality pageantry that shroffs by incorrect baragnosis of brassage a radical impotence rather than a plenipotentiary pantagamy of pantoglots that surf the alluvion rather than become infumated by the insolation of vesuviated hatred only countermanded by counterclock ratiocination always hobbled by the spancules of ridicule. Time is the behest of eternal alveolate synergies rather than the turgid muck of the jabberwocky of sublime elitism that is often parodied by the peenge of the thole of tauricide roaring in the winds of paravented elitism that scaramouches of skelder and the consequences of their impudence in only schadenfreude of perendination might they meet a whadronque end at the terminus of their own wrathcheque in their estrapade of the interrex rather than the eupraxia of their common objective in objectivism that finally regards with supreme truth the elements of neovitalism that buoy rhizogenic and seminal seminules of hylozoism combined with ratomorphism that we might all be astounded when the roostery outmantles the owlery because of the oxyacaesthesia that only the gubbertushed crapehangers disown in their minimifidian minimism against dogmatic lurches of triumph against the headlong deceit of hamshackled commitments of the spargosis of the colporteurs of only the most plebeian considerations rather than the most promethean samizdats that survive because the biognosy of bionomics is tautochronous to the fascinations of a newfangled isonomy between the bibliopolist of rarissima and the henchmen of the politicide of the polyacoustic babeldom of conclamation that tries desperately to cadge and roodge through diestrus the selachostomous sondage of the clastic mereology of love beyond any trivialized notions of macadamized macarism or worse the opportunism of the portreeve gauleiters of vandalized schadenfreude disregarding the ****** of a gamboling frescade with the hypaethral heavens bequeathing the glebes of plebania with a pleroma rather than a pleonexia. The pasilaly of consequentialism in the reference of doxography that might never faint by the cordial resofincular dimensions of  corrugated wizened and dwizzened dringles of pataphysical naivety that is an objurgation of negativism rather than an elevated triumph of the aqueducts of the irrigation of all novantique by the paragons of lolloping swank in the proper pleckigger notarized by the plackiques of the semaphores of the ennobled wrepolis never craven in its eustress that finally the fangasts of temerity rather than the harridans of the bloodthirst corruption of the boweries of graft eviscerated by the providence of the esquivalience of naivety that they might understand the synclastic relativism of our times magnifies the mesmerism of the siderism finally stellized enough to outmantle the pothers of fumatorium and erase the frinterans of spendthrift pismirism from the hallowed sacrarium of the modern liturgy rather than the archaeolatry of the bethels of lewd tradition empowered by footloose philandering and venal venereal valetudinarianism that itches to foreclose on every mortgaged contract of family that they might be defiliated by the timmynoggies of sin rather than redacted by the greater good of the enosimania of those that find findrouement neither a rubricality nor a qualm but rather the axiomatic fulfillment of the toil of graklongeur never feckless in its ascendancy against the tidal destruction of selenocentric arrogance of ludibund nescience that frolics only in the carapace of naive novantique rather than the egestuous realization that the crapehangers of shibboleth are useless because the apikoros are defiled by their flargent disbelief rather than ennobled by their fidelity to the agapism of a favored century over the declension of the fatalism of finifugal aghast and rantipole negations of the malaise of only the malapert reconnaissance of the scepsis of dubiety rather than the optimistic omphalism of synclastic and amasthenic centuples of redintegrated happenstance becoming peremptory novelty in the novantique of the proper pleckigger of reverence in the paravent against the umbrageous sabotage of the listless in liturgy and the intorgurent disdain of liberticide. May God reckon upon the Earth a newer triumph that never in sheepish bleats davers in periblebsis because of predatory galvanization of instinct and the worst shibboleths of the pilgarlick pigsconce of blatteroons of nescience in their firm commitment to hylicism that can easily find apagoge never only in the aphemia of aphnology of the anacusic irrecusable enmity of those that despise halidom because of the groundling fascination with only volcanic lavondeurs rather than the narthex of lavaderos that scavenge all florilegium for the tombstone of truth and the resurrection of the lively anacampserote of the optimistic escape of those persecuted by estoppage and redstrall into the frontier of harmony and the syndicalism of centripetal serendipity. Amen

Khalil Dridi
Chwaya sabr wallah
-----------------------------
love of my life
just a little patience wallah

I wrote this awhile ago.

I'm wrapped in your smile
And I'm lost in your eyes
You're like the phantom of the opera
You hide  in disguise

A touch of fear has struck your soul
Fighting the demons as they dance around your heart
You haven't lost the race
You just forgot how to start

A fire burning bright
I wanna be your guide and show you the way
Please don't go, I want you to stay

Time is running out
My patience is losing site
Should I jump ship or continue the fight ?
Wasted time and wasted days
I fell in love with your magic, your silly little ways.
My shadow in the dark
My night in the light
My forever phantom

I'll sit here, like dead meat
I'll lay here like an obnoxious presence
Flys surround me not to disturb but,
to remind you of my dead existence

I'll sit here, as a corpse that sees,
as a corpse that breathes,
as a corpse that hears and feels
I'll sit here, in patience
as your hell slowly drips
into my heaven
I'll sit here, as my heaven
slowly drips into your hell

O, you must be glad
I could surely tell
I'll still be here, to watch your frown
turn into a vicious smile
I could surely tell, that you have
been waiting for this all this while,
For all your life

-Kaya

For every defiance
I lay rules until fifth times
At first I feign ignorance
At second, I exercise patience
On third, my final drops of tolerance
At fourth, know my resistance
And at fifth, I will devoid you of existence.
Never waste your chances
For you loose them in the process.

You signed yourself up for advanced algebra
hoping
you would learn to count your enemys
you are gaining patience
losing serenity
tangled up in your very own battles
fools wait for a storm
and then rejoice
when the wind settles

******* the heart
cause you are soft to the touch
gigantic dreamer
but just dreaming is not enough
look around
there are places to be
and you can go forward
even when it's too dark too see

It's been a long time
It's been you against the world
for one to many days
but don't go too ******* yourself
in all these ways
cause they'll smile anyways

Do you even see how you make me feel
Do you know what the thought of you does to me
I love talking to you
I'd love to really know you
I'm young and I'm still learning
I want to know you, what you like and don't
If you have the patience, you can teach me about true love
I'm not skilled in much
But i'm faithful, loving, and true to my heart
If you hold my heart, you hold my undying love and respect
Don't think I'm some childish fool
If I've made an error in my judgement, let me know
'Cause I'd rather there be a quick sting than an everlasting pain

If I speak up
Do you have patients to wait
For me to come to the point
And will you not be mad
If there was no point at all?

breath pressed between your teeth
whistling, you can still get what you want
just a little more patience, waiting
ill refrain from spreading the truth
patient enough to lose your breath
pressing between your eye lids
completely submerged under water
getting all that you wanted

An educational prison
we the prisoners
and them the guards
no freedom to sleep
or speak
or react to some sense of enlightenment
from reading stories
that shine in glory
from others hand
i demand freedom
and all the classes agree
to flee from their prison
no mind is set
to take in knowledge
that will evaporate
through our breath
as we hate
the gut-trenching moments
of complete and utter boredom
shall i close one eye at-least
and let half of me
enjoy the painless dark
as my other dents
with frustrated sensory hormones
all eyes are baggy
all faces grow wrinkles
as fatigue finishes and settles
into dried up energy bodies
i am not compelled
as my feet swell
with numbness
from stationary preoccupation
as my patience
dries out like a river
during a drought
i doubt
that the hour
will pass fast
when it took me only
five minutes
to write the words you read.

We grew up together,
all 14 years of your life.
Our feet would dance raw on sandpaper
and our laughter sat on the heat.
Vegas was a tough for you.
In the bathrooms at school I would watch your eyes fall from their sockets,
with every hug tolerated your nails chalked into my back,
I sat through every insult tug your eardrum from your head.
My assistance wasn't enough.
You missed nearly 4 days of school and weren't answering my emails or phone calls.
It was like nobody was home.
I ditched school the next day and ran my worries to your doorstep until my lungs were blistered.
I tangled my feet up the stairs twice.
Broke the bathroom door and found your
body limp with your head facedown in the sink,
lip caught in the drain,
fingers were vines in between the handles,
I just sat there,
cradling your body.
Your patience dried up,
and you were thirsty,
but in the desert of Las Vegas,
water is scarce.

A voice speaks...

You hate me.
Yes.
You do not play with me anymore.
You do not think me *worthy.
You do not recognize yourself.
Do you not see what is inside You?

You answer, 'I do, I choose not to give you power.'

And yet you spend your days in the decadence of war, sorrow, suffering, jealousy, anger, death,
and with all that, I grow inside you.
Bit by bit, breath by breath, every single second...
I flourish in the dark of your heart.
The abyss where you stack your loneliness.

Know your true self.
Face me now, in this dark hour,
or I will devour you.

The light in you retaliates...
You protest, 'You are not a part of me.'

I am a part of you, a part of all that lives.
Why do you hate what gives you power?
You do not think me worthy...

You brace yourself to face this self,
a part of you...
The flame in your veins burns brighter;
A new resolve...
You say, 'I do recognize you..
Yes.
You are a part of me.
But you have no power over me.
Through patience, compassion, courage, bravery, serenity, and all the light that flows to positivity,
I gather my strength and I control you.
You do not control me.
You are that dark part,
deep inside, where you claim to stay;
And you will live there always,
For I reject you.

You are a mere reflection of my hubris
and the shadow of my soul.

*The beast is me, and I am the beast.
To deny you simply gives you power.'

Ministers, can preach it.
But scriptures honestly teaches it.
To be like Jesus takes strength.
Takes courage and patience.

To be like Jesus takes skills of communication.
Even when you're upset.
We know He were constantly tempted and passed the test.

He advised his disciples when they inquired of him.
Wise instruction he offered firmly to them.
Whether through simple parables.

To be like Jesus means to forgive those that brings harm to you.
We , in life finds many wants too.

Patience, kindness, and love.
Isn't that something we on earth honestly adore.

I'm so sick of the crashing cars and the ambulance sirens
God, the traffic light was on fire
God, my heart stopped when the brakes didn't
My body is decaying
With all of who I was on display for somebody else to clean up
God, put me back into time
I don't want to wander back to the intersection
I've sat on the curb for what must have been hours, but only stared at that one second
I'm still dying

God, I regret every day I spent on my couch
I wasted so much time licking my scars and praying for sleep
Wanting to rest because the world was so heavy and I carried my part
I've learned patience since the then, but here we are
You and I
And the stop light, halfway between yellow and red
I didn't understand while my foot was on the acceleration
I didn't understand speeding until I stopped

God, I was running away from everything
I was looking for something beautiful and I found a fuse
It could've been fireworks or a forest fire and I didn't know until I lit the match
Either way, that car is burning
I can feel the heat from the still flames
Smell the hexane leaking out, seeking ignition
But I can't pull the woman from her car
I can't continue her life for her
That's her decision, or God, maybe it's yours
It was my decision to get into the car this morning

God, I didn't choose death
I chose to ride my bike without a helmet
And to swim all alone at night
But I didn't choose to die
I should have paid more attention in driving school,
Or even just the road that day
It has my complete focus now, my unceasing fascination with this one moment
God, please put me back into time
Let me go with her to the hospital
Let me die there, knowing that she lived

I'll bet she was responsible,
Turned in her homework on time and went to bed at ten
I'll bet she looked both ways and couldn't see me coming on too fast
I'll bet she has a little brother waving her off to college in the fall
And her parents are very proud
God, she has a story
As many hours as I do, an entire life I may have just ended in seconds
She built herself, she wants to be something
She is so beautiful right before the airbag goes off
I died before the airbag could go off
God, I will not give up
I won't leave her,
I'll stay right here in case this second finally bleeds into the next one

So unexpected, guide me through your thought,
As a scheme, so clean, has me under your charm
Faceless beauty, her spirit leaves me caught,
I'll dance along, darling, arm within arm

Antique photos create vivid discourse,
Formatted light brings man closer to muse,
Letting robots paint, through unexplained force,
Gifts of design, our sight shall not abuse

To select one tint, I'd say Aurora,
Like those hair colours painted emerald,
mixed shades of turquoise, the cosmos' flora.
Stumbled upon, speaks an angels herald

Now, I pose, toward your curious mind
What songs, or prose, keep stresses left behind?

Appeared a riddle,
Buried treasure teasing clues,
Reveal your secrets

--

Count the stars while counting your steps, my girl,
Skipping careless upon the edge of the world,
If you were to slip, in my arms you would curl,
or lift me up to sit and watch the waves whirl

Diving with diction, planned like mystery fiction,
Gossip through senses, our voices breed intrigue,
To some, this constriction, would be cause for friction
But we're something special, within our own league

Vast skies painted in pastels mesmerize,
Warm sphere's embrace souls, leaving nothing to guess,
Astonished, you leave me, how we synchronize,
an unwonted psyche I dream to undress

Mix Vagabond, Stadium Love, Get Jiggy,
stirred with Colt 45, Spektor, and Kanye,
One part, don't worry, Two parts, be happy,
Pour upon the strawberry swings of coldplay.

Such careful words, the tension's in this game,
Would we break it, if I were to ask your name?

Queen, rule just and pure,
spark mischief behind barred doors,
Toy soldiers, march forth
--

Village folk decried such madness, those two,
Vaulting barb wire fences, and shabby rusted Fords
Vexing stray hippos, mired in the peacock's blue
Vanishing across great plains, slick tundra, broad fjords

Crooked cobblestones carve patience and plight
Crazed concrete jungles echo no amnesty
Captive Pigeons left captivated by flight
Cheer on escapees who soar past reality

Illusions of reflections spur pleasure,
Incite subtle coaxing, come over for a bite,
Impressed as may be, we care not spoil treasure
Instead conspiring deeper, until it's...just right

Blood ne'er shed freely,
Exhaust all human power,
Claim your Victory.
--

Without a doubt, you've penned one of your greats,
The way your words flow, how it illustrates,
Fingers left speechless, your story asphyxiates,
and to think, this is only one of your unimaginable traits,

So I'll be the first to spoil the rhyme,
I'm sure you'll learn to forgive me in time,
But with an inbox cluttered with junk and grime,
it's fast-coming apparent I'm chatting with a dime,

Curious souls are we, so let's fill up the canvas
Fingerpaint and oils; no drafting, sort-of planless,
Maybe we could do with the other one's madness,
so let me propose an idea; it shouldn't leave you anxious,

Lets find an evening where your heart may be free,
So that we may join together for a lovely cuppa' tea.

Breaking news just in!
Winter echos behind us,
Spring forward once more.

Fingers
tap
tap
tap
against the smooth desk
tracing the swirly curvatures in the wood
mind desperate for an escape
time is but a small door
patience is the key
body swaying to non existent melodies
hoping for a distraction from the inevitable.

-kk

i came out of despairing with the help of two words
that kissed my eyelids and sighed smiles in my hair:
                                                                             at least
i can curl my toes in soft mud one moment and thousand count cotton the next
at least this is a world where hyacinths smell like forgiveness each spring
at least i have the luxury of dreaming
at least i can sit in sanctuary with my thoughts far from my safety
at least there are kids like aphasia spouting precisely what you know but can't think
at least strawberries taste like blooming on my tongue
at least there's a whole day devoted to mischief and my boy was born heir to april
at least  i can find solace in the belly fur of a sleeping cat
at least there's patience in sadness

I wish you would raise me like the daughter you've always wanted
Don't lie to me
I wish instead of broadcasting my name without my permission
You would listen to me for once instead
and have patience
and have faith

Not guilty doesn't mean you are innocent

not surprised by the wrongs these days,
some play at life
some deal death
anger in so many places
fury on drivers faces
all twisted like a basin
bristle cone pine

trVth
is people,
long ago
we lost
our youth
and innocence
no patience
no rich milk
of any kindness
and total blindness
to even a mite
of charity
due to
economic
disparity
alternating
faith less
worry and
less faith,
have
we gone
beyond
hope
there is
love
there is
the
lover
of my soul
which IS the
Greatest of these
even more
than
TRvTH.


©DWE072013