Now all the years of continued appreciation and near awe is to be sweet mingled with burning tears
Sugar cane can represent a lot of things to a lot of people and everyone has a different level of
Understanding how much it really means and then you factor in the tender years the Age of Aquarius
The coming of age standing in the sugar cane is one heck of a ride even greater with two wonderful
People in the front driving a 56 two tone Chevy love was new it was all consuming even from the side
View advantage when one projected a certain aura a mystique that was all of charm pure and simple
Fantastic vibes the dark night had a deeper ******* and knowing cumbersome had this distillation it
was one hundred proof it burned all the way charging changing you at deep levels the thing that over
Years was always renewing itself year by year the world has a wonder about it she was and is part of it
And always will be she was the sweet storm that could and did break every so often that would clear out
The heat and aggravation that is part of your summer of youth she always spoke and stood for truth this
Natural part of coming of age was developing in her character the very membrane of sugar cane I would
Think truly she was the finest quality I think they call it private reserve that special one that grew alone
but did all the richest sharing wait not in longing the true vine and stalk bears with preciseness to the
need of the land we have that in abundance life twist and turns seems at times to reel out of control but
Not so the divine hand holds the life steady all the days and then at harvest when they burn the sugar
Cane what unattainable value is found and then only then it pours clearly and vital worth
Unprecedented the gold separated from the dross is now possible for it to dwell and take its position
Among the other Items of true glory this was created over protracted time with love and patience it
Developed right before our eyes and a t times we knew it not but now we know fully well our profit pour
Out the benefit what life transpired thank you savior for sugar cane we are in disbelief of such greatness
in Our midst take care of it as only you can do !

There are times
When the clock
Stands still
And has no use at all

There are times
When the hourglass
Is empty
Without  a single speck of sand

There are times
When true love
Is not the fiery flame of bursting rose petals

But holds the guilty pleasure
Of a freshly exhaled cigarette
Crying its way into split grey and blue wall paper
Water stains splattered around
Like a shotgun blast
To the temple
Of Pollack

In this hour of stillness
The sound of dripping water
Is like
A solitary fortress
Filled with Ancient
Chinese gongs

The crow taunts with universal preciseness
Staining itself with blind savageness

They are like my ex's
Crying for
More and more
Love

Here
This place of pink eraser head monotony
Head bobbing as blue faced doctors
Flick their butts into the eyes of God
Their names being called half way through their break
Their lives being spent and bent around the dismal dead
Their lives to be revealed as the table of savage time slowly slowly turns
And they will look into the eyes of the young and say...
"That was me once"

But here
In this lapse between love and loneliness
Ambition and Ambivalence
Passion and Impotence
Elegance and Clumsiness

This place I
Clumsily
Naively
Stumbled upon

Where the block is ****** with heads
With all that have come before me
Strewn mile long entrails
Lining a wooded dust covered stage
As  thousands of peering peasants and tight tipped thieves and makeshift martyrs and raving royals
Watch
With keen and stale horror

Here where eyes and ears and teeth belong to everyone who has ever lost

Men and women
Lift their heads
Towards the last stretch
Of key clicking
Infinity

Here
In this place
I turn and stare into the gritty haze
Of the past

I turn again
Like the wheel of mismatched fortune
Toward the blinding illusion
Of a future
With no clear stars

In this place

A lone tree poses atop a hill of fire and death and freedom
And I stand
Beside it

As if
It were

My only

True

Friend

for Alice*

seen from the terrace above
this rectangle of water
absorbs the variousness
of the late spring skies
changing incessantly
from folds of uncertain cloud
past brief appearances of blue
to the sudden closeness of rain

the preciseness of it
this rectangular pool
set in an oblong garden room
on a terrace the middle of three
that fall away to the valley’s end where
up and through and which a funnel of trees
climb to the tops the very heights today
severe against a modulating sky

yet in the camera’s eye
this horizontal mirror
is a painting fit
for Le Musée d’Orsay
a season’s accident no less in
light and growth and colour
where the chequered strings of
toads’ spawn and darting tiny fish
are brush strokes come alive

kneeling on the stone rim
as if in prayer afore
this reflecting space
attentive to what seems
between what is
this woman holds within
her perfect hand the pond
photographically framing
its image as it moves and stirs
across her gentle gaze

I think for the most part
It's when you're actually alone
That you have no choice
But to become stronger.
You have no shoulder to lean on
You have no-body to listen
You have no faith on anyone
So you pick up yourself.
Trust becomes so vague
You search its preciseness at times
But you don't spend much on it
You rather leave your troubles behind
Because the moment you remember
Is the moment you rather forget
All the ******* you have endured
And how alone you were then.

we lay war
dead shoulder
to shoulder in blank
friendship,
line graveyards
in perfect rows
as if to confound
death with our preciseness.

startled by the carrion's blue
and winking eye
the child wonders
if this is how the hero feels,
sickened at the orange
taste of blood,
its warm way of covering
the hands and feet.

and when the hero
in his blond blood
comes before
the child for execution,
old men draw near
to whisper lies
that fill the ear
and stay the hand.

in perfect rows
the soldiers pass,
parades the child can learn
to march in,
machinery precise
complete with young girls
dressed in black
with dark blank eyes.

The Birds of Candaba

Hail ! Migrant birds,
hordes of feathery forms
in colorful hues !
Airborne gentle creatures
lured by munificent swamps
the wet lands of Candaba.

The  heavenly skies
deltas and marshes on the main
are but their vast domain
amidst hazy clouds, azure
our views obscure
In broad daylight
what great flight,
soaring to great heights
like spirits they glide.

Broad wings in full span
the flocks take plunge,
down in a dash
poor fishes in splash
preys pitifully borne away.
what plentiful howls
feasts for waterfowls
in the marsh .

The admirable preciseness,
one sweep in a hiss
birds glide high anew
wings flutter at will
their very sinews
flying in unstoppable drill
what tireless pursuits
their fragile frames house
the predators‘ indomitable spirit.


               By  Delilah  Causin , August, 2012

Does death inspire you?
His preciseness?
His skill?
His unpredictability

The way he may come in winter
but then leave us be till summer?

Does death inspire you?
with his cool demeanour
and shaded eyes
the way he never gets up
and just keeps going

Does death inspire you
to live and be you?

Can they not see the dried tears that cascade down my cheeks and rest below my eyes, the crystalline preciseness all the patterns leave?
Can they not hear the grotesque scream I'm constantly screaming?
leaving my voice small and hoarse.
Can they not feel the quaking symphony I hold deep inside?
The one that makes a simplistic yet booming sound.
Can they really not tell?
Or am I simply translucent...?

feeling too much makes you weak
men are dogs, I see

confirmation needed
who this is, is hard to know
preciseness please god

My gods are living
my gods breath, guide me softly
then abandon me

Who am I pretending to be?
Can anyone tell me?
Pick up that pen and paper, who am I imitating today?
Who's passion and preciseness becomes filler and *******?
Who's vigorous melodies become the background to my ******* fake scenes of emotional clarity?
Who gets to be the air I breath?
Because God knows my supply is empty.
Because I wake up with worse eyesight than I'd gone to sleep with
And that's just so tragic to me, right?
Because my body does nothing but relay horrifying secrets and things to be afraid of, and all it takes is a glance to believe it
Because I've seen it.
But I don't want to lose the fundamental parts of me that just happen to experience this hell I'm living
I just want to stop this aching.
But no matter how many times or methods I use to say it,
it doesn't stop.
Words and songs, and things I want and things I want to be
colors and concepts that I find fascinating - no, life saving - no, everything to me
Art can't save me.
Art is what I choose to be, and I know I can't love, or take care of, let alone
save
me.

From the moment we enter into motion of time.
We ask ourselves questions that demand logical reason and rhyme…

We acutely have an intricate sense of our intellectual awareness.
Our thoughts racing night and day, our thirst to know, is limitlessly relentless…

Time seems to vanish, while all the while gracefully appearing…
It moves with moments ever so puzzling, as we endure in our daily battles, teaching us what is in fact, persevering…

We ponder the future that is yet to come?
Also we think deeply of this, where did everything come from?

Time, are you giving us more?
Perhaps we can run out and get additional years, and stuff you away in some mental drawer?

Alas, that isn’t the way it is to be.
Time you have no capture, you are unbound, and your will is utterly free...

The reality, we look in the mirror and what do we see?
Time you have been all along charging us each day, incrementally...

Time you are there on every of life’s occasion.
You are holding us prisoner with your preciseness of ticking, in our entire existents equation.

Time, I wonder do you really care?
Please do not leave me in such broken despair.
Answer me, and please with compassion be complete, as well as insightful, otherwise my next breath will be lacking sufficient air…

Time, because in all life’s past you’ve been present, and will be there to greet infinity’s future you should know where the answers are found, so for me this once please
propound…

Times personified reply:

The answers you seek
I personally know not, however I will tell you where you may with all confidence look.
It is my advanced understanding, they have always been written down in his one and only authentic book.



J.I.F.



Ecclesiastes 3:1-9
There is an appointed time for everything, A time for every activity under the heavens:  2 A time for birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what was planted; 3 A time to **** and a time to heal; A time to tear down and a time to build up; 4 A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to wail and a time to dance; 5 A time to throw stones away and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; 6 A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away; 7 A time to rip apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak; 8 A time to love and a time to hate; A time for war and a time for peace.

2 Peter 1:21
21 For prophecy was at no time brought by man’s will, but men spoke from God as they were moved by Holy Spirit.

Daniel 12:4
4 As for you, Daniel, keep the words secret, and seal up the book until the time of the end. Many will rove about, and the true knowledge will become abundant.”

Revelation 11:18
18 But the nations became wrathful, and your own wrath came, and the appointed time came for the dead to be judged and to reward your slaves the prophets and the holy ones and those fearing your name, the small and the great, and to bring to ruin those ruining the earth.

2 Timothy 3:16,17
16 All Scripture is inspired of God and beneficial for teaching, for reproving, for setting things straight, for disciplining in righteousness,  17 so that the man of God may be fully competent, completely equipped for every good work.

While the world around us goes completely insane!
We strive everyday to cleanse our hands from any blame.

Will mankind, on its own be able to succeed?
So common nowadays it’s considered just good entertainment, to see someone bleed.

No surprise to us, as we have been educated about how in the days of Noah, so would the days of the son of man be.
Who but Jehovah, would’ve been able to prophesy this acute mess, and with such preciseness foresee?

We must remember though that love is our heavenly father’s foremost outstanding quality!
He looks at every individual with respectful and tender equality…

Emulating his personality is of course a choice.
Clothed with it, we are able to wear it in such a way that will actually make HIM rejoice.

Father we humbly ask you help us not to cower!
Especially at this evident time, of this wicked world’s final hour!

Our unity amidst chaos comes from our knowing that your ultimate will, most certainly will be done.
So jointly with this state of mind and heart, we continue without let up, to reach as many as possible with the good news of your appointed son, and how he will soon usher in your everlasting kingdom.



J.I.F.



Colossians 3:10,14
10 and clothe yourselves with the new personality, which through accurate knowledge is being made new according to the image of the One who created it,

3:14
But besides all these things, clothe yourselves with love, for it is a perfect bond of union.

1 John 4:8
8 Whoever does not love has not come to know God, because God is love.

Matthew 24:37
37 For just as the days of Noah were, so the presence of the Son of man will be.

Matthew 4:17
17 From that time on, Jesus began preaching and saying: “Repent, for the Kingdom of the heavens has drawn near.”

Matthew 24:14
14 And this good news of the Kingdom will be preached in all the inhabited earth for a witness to all the nations, and then the end will come.

Proverbs 18:10
10 The name of Jehovah is a strong tower. Into it the righteous one runs and receives protection.