There is beneath us the progenitor and we call it “Mother”. Above us is the progenitor and we call it “Net” for it takes us and tosses us into the known and the unknown.

Our home star is not as bright as yours. We prefer your temperate lands when we visit, where the vegetation is lush and green. Those of us who remain inhabit your deserts and open spaces.

We are your brothers and sisters. Our development has been to grow in awareness and the development of our power. You have the potential to develop as we have, but your instincts are of a social group who need dominant members. You develop your material reality and your physical world. Your anchor is fixed and you grip the familiar and reject the unknown. There is a comfortable point where you feel the fullness, that is the anchor. In order to maintain this as a static point you develop belief systems to support it. This is your weakness, you are innocent children.

We grew and developed along another pathway, our anchor is not  rigid. We use Net for our anchor and so are able to change our perceptual reality. We move in ways that you do not understand and in any direction. We draw the fibers of Net around us and jump and fly. You see us only from your anchor point so that you see us change shape, appear and disappear.

Our voices and languages are barely accessible to you. You hear deep sounds and high pitched chirruping and whistling. Very few among you have remnants of language incorporating any of these. Those remaining are as clicks and whistles. We prefer direct communication.

We are masters of illusion. Our survival has depended on it and it is our instinct.
Our power developed so that when we pull around us the fibers of Net we create a shield and throw an illusion before those who depend on vision. It is one of our protections and also our hunting technique. We are hidden from your material probes and instruments of increased sight in this way.

Although we have been close neighbours for aeons, you have hardly seen us, except for the Few. Your interpretations have created problems for you. Your reliance on the anchor is so great that some among you do go to great lengths to maintain it. There are those among you who will silence the Few rather than lose the fixed anchor.

You are infants only, a seeding coming to fruition, and you play with dangerous toys. Your anchor is geocentric. You are in danger as is any youngster who plays with fire. If we showed you ourselves openly your rulers would not be gentle in their curiosity. We have technology and use material tools but we have had less to restrict us. We held back your development as much as we were able to enable you to develop power of the mind and independent thought.

Your grasp of Net is strong but you are rigid and anchored. You have learned to stand up and hold on. Now is the time to let go and walk, let go and run, let go and fly.

Around what you name “body” and believe to be “All” is more that you do not perceive with your restricted vision sense. You are aware of this. If you will learn acceptance and filter less from your senses, you will find the beauty of the universe of energy around you and available. A small perceptual shift would show you how you appear to those of us outside your narrow sphere.

Your body has filaments, which when translated to sight, appear as small moving threads which shine with rainbows. They move and ripple inside an energy body of light. This is your true body. It has abilities and senses that are dormant as you do not access them. They are accessible but as your anchor renders you blind to this you do not use them without intense effort or instinctively in extremity. The filaments are drawn together and pass through the anchor. Depending upon your ability to select filaments of the Net, your habitual plane and reality is selected and determined.
Those among you with abilities in your energy senses you ostracise and even ******. You succumb to misinformation to treat them as fools or freaks. This may be instinctive but it is a control mechanism to perpetuate the anchor and maintain the hive of your artificial society. So due to this, you have even less sense of true reality as it could be to you, by breeding out and suppressing your gifts. We have attempted to rectify this with limited effect in successive seedings.

You may notice that our words to you have reference to sight. Your terminology is geared to vision. You rely on visual information  so much that you have neglected physical senses of taste and smell, hearing, touch and proximity. Compared with our perceptions you are as blind as a mole is compared to to your visual abilities.

Your construction of reality is so anchored that your dangerous inclination to gather around you artifacts gives to you a sense of permanence. You are anchoring yourselves in time, yet to you it is dead because your senses are dead. There is an opportunity for your predators to use this to enforce your perception of, and control you within, your anchor's limitations. In this way, producing written or pictorial and symbolic records in permanent form is beneficial only so far as understanding continues to exist of the conditions under which these records were left. By changing current understanding and language to suit their purposes, your enforcers are able to manipulate your branch of humanity on a large scale.

You seal yourselves into the rejuvenation plane of the Mother progenitor where you feed and breed. It is so pleasurable to you to stay within this cocoon of reality that you fail to open your cast and therefore fail to fly into the spaces of Net outside where your true inheritance lies. The end result of this is greed and unrest. Your greed is paramount to you as you seek ever more pleasurable gratification. You enslave one another, buy and sell time and forget what you are. You are allowing the destruction of your home world. Without the home world you will have no place of rejuvenation, and worse neither will the myriads of others who share this progenitor.

There is a song from each mother progenitor within Net. It is a combined song and made up of the host progenitor together with silent voices of each and every life form. Together from each home world, the inhabitants send out a pulse. This is not a song from one species of a world but rather it is a song from all species, in fact every particle of every organism that lives.

To our developed senses the song of a world is brighter than the star it orbits. They are filaments of Net. The varied forms of life all send out their unique song. Many of us interact, harmonise, visit, commune and combine. You feel isolation only because you fail to harmonise and join your own song.

In your past and present we have felt the song of your world. Those of us belonging are part of that song. It is the song of being from the many. It does not end at the perimeters which you imagine. You have a problem in that, for the majority, you do not join your voices to the song. Mainly it is in dreaming, in childhood and in old age that we hear you.

We attempted to observe and commune and found many of you receptive to us. We have taught to you methods of development and given you gifts and tools. You have kept and preserved some of this knowledge only for a select few. Fears and distrust among others has caused destruction of a great proportion of the gifts that we have given to you. We found many lines of breeding where potential for development was possible. Your greed and your predator class destroyed many of them due to the competitive desire to have power over others.

In past seedings upon your progenitor and in the oldest times of your present incarnation, we have been known well and respected. Acknowledged for our seniority and loved as cousins. You did call us gods to distinguish our abilities. Then what did you do? Your control mechanisms changed the meanings of your language, whole languages were lost in wars over territory. You developed power structures and religions. Powerful rulers accumulated and isolated your shared knowledge.

You reduced your development by selective education in the Way. Territorial disputes and greed over resources divided you. You ceased to listen to the Mother. Instead of harmonious living which you had managed in agreement with each other already, you were divided by hormonal impulses, insecurity, violence and greed. The natural openness of the female within it's central domain became enclosed, imprisoned and the natural desire of the male to outwardly discover and interact was turned inwards until it became a sedentary desire for dominance within the female domain. You lost the harmonics of the song. Your religions underestimate the power of borrowed tools. Your ruling classes made deals that they didn't understand, with predators they didn't recognise, in order to save themselves.

We stood on ground over ground and were called Immortals. We gave you wisdom and were called Kings. We moved and played among you and were called Jinn. We moved among the small folk and were called Faerie. We appeared in light and were called Angels. We wandered in places where you too did once wander and were called Ghosts and Demons. Those who spoke to us and attempted to impart to your hive our knowledge, you raised as prophets or slandered and ridiculed. You stole their words to make them your own words of power, changing them to your own ends or you murdered the messengers because you feared the changes that increased understanding brings.

You incorporated the experiences of your murdered victims into a celebration of your own power structures, twisted and out of synchronisation with the song. There are some among you who are in communion with the Great Spirit of life. We seek to heal your song, your complete home world song for the benefit of the myriad sentient beings who rejuvenate here, including yourselves. We seek to set you free to wander the threads of Net. It is within your reach but not in the ways that you  are taught.

Your world is about to change and you must change with it as you are a small part of it. Holding the threads into your own anchor point will break them. You have reached inertia, entropy. The movement has to come, it is inevitable. Imagine one of your large machines of cogs and wheels and bars. Your insistence upon a rigid anchor is like a bar within the machine that doesn't move. A point of inertia in a moving system will be removed. This has happened over and over among your kind and our kind in many places and worlds. You do not remember when worlds underwent cataclysm, forgetful of trauma you have followed a similar path.

We travel along pathways of energy, both upon worlds and in the Net. Moving bodies follow these paths. We follow comets and small bodies able to move freely within Net. Net permeates your mother progenitor.

Survivors mapped the movements of Net after the slate was wiped clean and you were reseeded. There is a secret that your rulers are aware of and you are not. The secret is that there are no rulers within Net. You all have the freedom and capability to access true harmony of the song. You allow a faction, to call themselves an elite class. You fear this as a hidden power, a predator. It's aim is to amass Time: a power based on material wealth. They take this power easily as they have taken and twisted truth and history. The gifts are shared among you equally and these few know this. Resources are plentiful and yet you succumb to their restrictions. A predator cannot survive without it's prey. We are not your predators although we move among you. Your predator is within and feeds upon your fear.

You are not in the tribes now, you have no shaman, no guide to take you in and out of the gate and this role cannot be allocated to parasitic Blind Time Hoarders. These whip up your passions and lead you into war and destruction to further their material wealth. It leads you away from the song, as these think to enhance their own survival which it may do but never can as they understand it. They seek to steal your dreams and make them their own, they are helpless without you. They care nothing for the song because they are aware of successive seedings.

Net is a dream reality, changing, immeasurable, boundless, filled with infinite possibilities and you are creators. Blind time hoarders drive you by combining the minds and dreams and belief systems of many to focus onto what they themselves desire, in order to bring it to fruition. They employ dream stealers to prevent your development. They believe that their own song can exist independently and they guide you only to anchor yourselves into your own prison.

All is a dream, all is ephemeral, changing, dynamic. There is no death after death, no damnation on any particular plane. Reality is how you construct your song. Your rulers create inertia for you the many and profit for themselves using you as the tools of your own entrapment. There is no death and no damnation, they are constructs of your reality made by material anchor points and you are controlled by fear of the inevitable. It is a statecraft to use belief systems to control perceptions of reality in order to fix the anchor point to a rigid point of convenience. In this way you are farmed, you are a crop in each seeding. Who seeds you? You seed yourselves. Sentient beings are all naturally regenerated by the mechanisms of Net when conditions exist that are compatible, world after world, in each growth cycle of every celestial body. In the regeneration, holding to your rigid anchor point, you seed into your prison after each cataclysm, each breaking of the inertia.

If you would be open to the mechanisms of the place you inhabit with it's creative forces, it's sentience and it's dynamics you will learn to fly the progenitor Net's pathways and return home for rejuvenation to your progenitor Mother of the tribes.

wear gloves on your hands,
leaving your eyes free to speculate
and your mind to record
the life of the plant;
and the life of the one who nurtures and tends

follow-from the fallow soil
to my edible plated consumption,
from the baby bud nipping
to sharp crack shot at picking,
to my tongue licking
both your produce and you

you may feed me poems
when the real harvesting is done,
grown in your own private plot,
from you, my good fellow,
follow with love delivered to
my expecting fallow-soul,
awaiting your seeding me,
and I,  
you...

Product placement is subliminal.

Coercing kids is criminal

Things you know are minimal.

Baby brains are spongy.

Bending minds is grungy.


Try shooting ducks in a barrel.
much harder to hit.

Washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning
The work is never done!
Lunching, shopping, relaxing, reading
I’ve heard is much more fun.

Sweeping, mopping, dusting, shining
Who thinks up all these gigs?
But what I really want to know right now
Is who left open the barn door to let in the pigs?

Mowing, weeding, trimming, seeding
Are mans work, but I’m all on my own
I gave birth to a virtual army
But housework is their No Go Zone!

Yelling, screaming, crying, keening
Achieves naught but my puffy face
I’ve given up such futile exercises
That puts no one in their place.

I hear “Can you help me please”
They hear “Blah Blah Blah”
Maybe I need to learn sign language
One gesture can go so far!

To this end I have ultimately decided
And I really do think this is for the best
To sit right down with drink in hand and
Let the little piggies wallow in their own mess!

24/07/2010

Break the body and give forth freely
What comes back
~ Comes back to heal Thee

poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand,
all are product of criminal mischief, and Lord, I know,
I’m one of the most thieving, most mischiefing ones

when no one was about, I scribbled many notes,
transplanted from my eyes, for a bottled voyage
to fallow beaches for sandy seeding

no matter IF these poems are from your womb ripped,
****** red concoctions of life’s cute cutting edge inscriptions,
no one cares re your titanic love’s labors, your children’s betrayal

no one cares from whence and wherefore they birthed,
all words, low class and progeny, not prodigy, of demeaning circumstances, best tossed back without much foolish hesitation

writ with pen tip of broken green glass from a parking lot,
the point I broke once more before my commencement,
inked from a wicked witch’s melted green spittle pooling alongside

poets of no way, falsely prophesying falsehoods most singularly bad,
waste not-want not, time better spent than reading rhymes of stolen disrepute and cloudy ownership and ignoble authorship

unless you among a blessed few, who see a full blown poem in glassine clarity, birthed fully formed Elton songs in a mouth full of amniotic fund, you, put down thy laboring eleven instruments

if words you claim of new parentage, you as the mother dear,
know there is nothing new under the sun, even these very words,
scripted by Israelite king whose tomb gone, he, too, poet forgotten

join me in a needle park of junkies who tried and failed, nickel bag
smoking budget dope words, in cigarettes of mostly discarded seeds and twigs, hallucinatory inhaling the same vision again & again

you refuse, naturally, glamming in notional newness, your arrogance, a plentiful commodity of wood-be writers by thousands buried in wooden caskets, under wooden inscription-less crosses

and of the trillion readers possible, to coloring picture books and instant grams, all have gone to the labor-free glancing look-see
of a seconds-short, lengthy meme, 10 second videos, 140 limitations

of the greatest, of Shakespeare and Coleridge, reader’s fast-dying, sunburned neurons reply; “free ***** of his Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the Ancient Mariner, overdue, free him too!”

ancients mock you aware that there be no verbal combination yet to foretell, what Lear said, that’s the the idea, “When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools.”^

fools we are, for there be no fore, the tale already told, once before & more, vaingloriously does this poet’s false vanity speak, so, so boisterously,  
“why my tale, why my tail, is as new as the oldest fossil”

growing up to choruses of revelation and redemption,
i always heard them say that this world is approaching
hell or heaven.

now that years have passed and i have found my own voice,
i say -with scars of experience- there's not much difference between
an abundance of wildflowers or an abundance of wildfires.
life continues to blossom fearlessly forward;
lovers continue to burn just as brightly.

so, dear friend, i beg of you,

spread me like your wildflowers.
hiding beneath the weight of loam
bodies curled tight in the shell of youth
clinging tight to the gentle flame
that burns within us all.

spread me like your wildfires.
ever expanding heat and humidity
swelling and growing faster, faster
collecting sparks like goosebumps
and awaiting the ignition of touch.

spread me like wildflowers.
roots like fingers tunneling
their way through the damp
fertility of adolescent life stumbling
through hallways headfirst into the light.

spread me like wildfires.
bellowing smoke like clouds dances
from lips never kissed
now singed to a gentle crisp
from the intimacy of a catalyst.

spread me like wildflowers.
stems burst forth from the dark
with the kinesthetic rage
of a child no longer content
to crawl upon hands and knees.

spread me like wildfires.
gasping, wheezing, aching,
spreading further, higher to find
new sources to burn like blood in veins
in the heartbeats following a first touch.

spread me like wildflowers.
bodies now rising strong against the tide of winds
lifting the burden of petals upon shoulders capable
like butterflies crouching upon fingertips raised,
poised to fly.

spread me like wildfires.
flames stretching like arms across
the skin of a now familiar lover
embracing in the hot throes of passion
and the brilliant burn of innocence's remorse.

spread me like wildflowers.
buds burdened with dew
heavy with expectation to begin anew
straining against the drowsiness of flesh
until finally bursting forth with brilliant zeal.

spread me like wildfires.
the overwhelming euphoria
of feet finding steady ground
and of thoughts no longer filled
with concerns of mere survival.

spread me like wildflowers.
growing past fearful worries of tomorrow
content to stretch limbs and petals wide
seeding the earth with children
and blessing a new generation with beauty.

spread me like wildfires.
drowning the overwhelming clamor
of a forest in the midst of song
replaced only with the lonely blaze,
the roaring glow in that crackling ******.

spread me like wildflowers.
the seasons of youth long passed
leaving trunks and bodies to thicken and knot
scarring deeper with every lingering reminder
and memory of the light left dimming.

spread me like wildfires.
always hungry, wisps of flame
lick at the heels of the forest
stealing the air of life and lungs
and leaving the body breathless.

spread me like wildflowers.
the brisk, impersonal wind of winter
chills the rooted beauty of Nature's eye
gently wilting the aging passion
under a soft crown of frost.

spread me like wildfires.
never content to rest in one place
or shy away from raging against
the gall of day to ever end at all
and lower the shades on former lovers.

spread me like wildflowers.
gently resting like bodies
no longer warm to the touch
sleeping deeper than corpses
in the morgue of your memory.

spread me like wildfires.
ash swirls in the flurry of
flame's last breath, whirling
in the charred remains of intimacy
no longer returned, no longer found.

so lover, i beg now of you,

bury me like your wildflowers.
drown me like your wildfires.

the winter has shed tears for the year, seeding ambition in soil.
my daffodils remember to spring. folding inside a
hot bed of bacteria.

i turn and bend in tuned to chronic aches.
each twist in the tree around time
caught a glimpse
of lighting showers.  

this garden is filled with dead leaves.

the first bloom of heat.
sparks, a summer fire.

Our galaxy, a ship, speeding into the depths, of deep space, a casualty in permit, heeding the concepts, of our place, in space-less mass, glimmering from the cast, of gods, even from the cracks and smog, we move along the path, of our intent, hell bent to extend our wrath, upon the woes of men, unknown to the myriad angles, in the dangled essence, of the limitless blessings, in the finite structuring, of negative nothings, filling our hearts of imagination, manifesting, in our epiphanies recollections, of days gone, but came back to be, born freely, looping infinitely, simultaneous, in every possibility of personally realized realities, realizing themselves in sunless helms of technology, merging with the organics of our being, and seeding, the start of everything.

The first leaf born from the forests seeding. Birthing
What flourished, grew here today. Each woodland had
A keeper, a life born from seed to the fruit of souls.

Animals nourished this new born, language of each
Taught, spoken winds told her of what happened
Near and far the woodland was a majestic place.

Upon a staff the first leaf flourished free floating
Energies of the forest flowed, emanated from its aura.
The winds spoke and she listened staff  held in hand.

A light birthed from the sky had found ground and
Trees set ablaze in it anger, their cries heard felt, pain
As life was slowly turned to lifeless ash, she cried.

As her staff called upon elements, ground, water, air.
Each apart to platy as the stream did rise upon the
Banks water did touch her feet and the staff came down.

The vines did drop entwined in circular stance and water
Fed and rained out, quenching diluting flames anger.
The pain felt as smouldering now floating ash.

Her hand felt the orchard of blackened bark, some lost.
But in time new life would flourish where it fell, consumed
To ash before. A seed she settled where new birth given form.

She bowed to the forest for it guidance. A droplet feel from
The first leaf, a tear of sorrow for what was lost, nourishing,
Healing those not fallen bark did scar, reminders of before.

She walks among the trees, the winds talk too her, she laughs
Sometimes a joke maybe wind is funny that way, the cycle
Continues she is the guardian of first leaf, and then she walks.

When
I'm in the cleansing-shower,
hot memories of you swirl.
My breath escapes me as
I hold your vision up
against the wall,
you lower yourself
in rhythm on me,
a dreamy motion,
indeed, this craving
to seed you
is intense.

My hand searches myself,
a firm grip applied,
imagining your
fiery steady tempo.
Water splashes
in huge droplets,
a cascade
on my taut back,
my ******* go granite
as a warmth floods
over me .

My knees crumble
as I empty myself
into your pure spirit
& watch us
breathless,
go down the drain
together.

Bump,thump,bump,thump.... the bass cases shake and quake  
Secreting heat, my skin blushes, that rush of a new secret crush.
She passes and her scent renders all around helpless.
The DJ's plush talons tow and myre you soul's wires.  
Seeping through, the beak crushing your conscience,  
falling, sleep down, the sound grounds you.  
Sowing the seeds of desire on the stone below.  
Called by the thumping, bumping beat,  
You jump from your seat into a market of meat, a sea of shifting feet.  
10,000 lights spin like sugar bright.  
Blood fuels your feet,  
feats of flight,  
blurs of sight.  
Spinning like cotton candy with all your might.  
Body overheating, heart overbeating, grains of lust over seeding.  
Your scars begin to heal as glassy eyes not blue appeal to your "at first sight" senses.  
Senses slow there motion to primal, tingling too much,  
not too much to touch, no sting as such.  
Such a blissful kiss t'would be from she before thee.  
Snip the wire.  
Feed the desire.  
The need grows to fan passion fire.  
The potent scent of dripping skin steams up like the devotional incline of nine combined love potions.  
Love, as real love, survives as only a notion in this moving motion of lust's contrived plot...  
But to feel alive, even for a moment,  
love's emotion fails... drawing bust to the ever opulent opponent of lust;  
a proponent to disguise the potent demise of the heart's conscious component.  
Gas and smoke blows.  
Beats high and low.  
The dancing mass of suppressed woes ebbs and flows,  
capturing the seconds, snatching your essence, rapturing your ethics.  
Feeding the peak you seek, heart weak, roaring soul silenced to squeak.  
Waning away your stay with the sweating sea of swing and sway leaves you adrift.  
The waves of the DJ begin to hammer you into enamerment  
Did this quaking wake the sober state of your forsakenness?  
That complaicent stained vacant place aching to be filled.  
A painful, dizzying blood rush floods your mind and muck the feeling first struck secret love crush  
Were the judgment-blurring thoughts occurring so alluring? They fought off pure thoughts sought before she heart-stopped me.  
In light of a moment caught, wrought with knots of naughty thoughts.  
Light and sound and the thumping, bumping ground drown your bounds. 
No more, no more. 
"Now I remember" internally sounds, profound rebounds. 
Lore from before when the last passing blue-eyed leggy lass tore the door off your soul's core.  
No more, no more.  
The crush becomes dust. You become stone.  
Cut to the bone. No seed will be sewn.
You face the floor and breathe. alone.
  
 "Cameo Theater South Beach"   
R. Craig David-Copyright 1995

Madness round about us and no one knows,
Memories of ember fired trust,
Watch them, these entombed brains,
Piano sonata, violin concerto, torn notes,
Who are the ******, them or us?

Madness, insanity, absurdity, irrationality,
Craziness, dementia, stupidity, psychosis,
Senility, fanatical, deranged, mental,
Foolishness, hysterical, delusional, frenzied,
Psychotic, maniacal, lunacy, neurosis, disordered,
Take these notes and from them weave
A hymn to chaos.

And so here it begins...

Bee bar locked up honey sting hive,
For them that have wept grains of sand warm yet wet,
In that dark distant horizon mountain bark,
Onion quake cuts splash serrated blade,
Insanity uncorked frothy so seeps humanity.

Orphan sky spits pregnant daggers drip,
Wing plucked harpies never will sing,
Dead sailors salted lie in silken mermaid beds,
Schooners sail the scattered chase round the horned tail,
Skulls bubble air sockets freed from cloven trouble.

Roads webbed spiralled butterfly miles of bottled lies,
Venom harvested acres baked into medicine,
Undone years plunged inside veins popped into mouths,
I loved you know,
No, no, you did not know for all eternity.

Hope filed cabinet all lost my ghostly dancer,
Rooms silver sunned windows seared,
Playground memories brim on the haze,
Smoke fogged pipes puffed clouds,
Asleep amongst trees over green glass grass blades frost.

Hold fingers to hands strange,
Notes ring around maze tower of desires,
Low sands but tides rise and torrents break or fall,
Alone we enter same goes exit,
Midnight clowns ****** into dreamscapes.

Creased rage silver ironed steam brains,
Unfurl flags red and painted war pain,
Impotent artful eye with sedated lust,
Boil drum not loud remember to listen,
Say less, speak more, silence best of all.

Galleons crawl upon the divided cloud docks,
Look there, point to starboard land ahoy,
Deep bosomed tear slaked shore,
Sense mixed universe reduced to a tick-tock,
Never shall it stand, withered time no glance past.

Adios, fare thee well, goodbye, auf wiedersehen,
Tongues weep, eyes talk, observe tender songs silence,
Contradiction philosophises perplexing paradoxes pure,
Marbles, one and all, drown in the air,
Narrow, so narrow are those who judge all.

Sin to fear and all is terror called,
Wanton doves warble tunes broken,
Afraid I was, too wrapped in fear coiled I,
To know fright and bride forsake,
Never were holes deeper dug.

Reason not the rhythm nor rhyme,
Pandora, oh Pandora, what hast thou done?
Stare upon thy casket coffin spread-eagled,
Fire stealer Prometheus universal milk burns,
Gorgon Medusa snake dancer charmer seducer.

Silent bones drum against skin, wake up fool!
White winged dove blood red beak suite,
Humbled blood sore butchered vows vain,
Then as now silent partner is all,
Meant so much more you were.

Rapier, pistol, kiss and hold, to my temple place,
Slash, bang, smack and rake, let matter escape,
What uncharted continents we all are,
Walls rise hand bricked high over hill and sky,
Dilated screams of the civil dead no wall can cage.

Tears glitter sky to earth,
Seeding jewels amongst dung natural,
Fountains colour horizon wide,
Sanity transfigured stitched, haggled,
Eternal slaughter diamond edged sold.

Torquemada burrows rib cracked skin blood,
Skeleton tomb dust for leprosy romance,
Wail now poor Quasimodo tongue-tied,
No one to keep company but rat bones,
Unborn, forgotten, locked and barred.

Hush there! Let there be deafening silence,
Lie, cuddle snuggle, caress dark death,
There, still now, wipe away sleep,
Space time galaxies born in minds beyond measure,
Planets die, titans die, you and me we all certify.

Madness here! She creeps into bed mine,
Yours too! Oh, how richly embraced we,
Paris Town cellars breed inmates,
Lice tea stirred drunk and promises sung,
Escape none, trapped all, sky above and death underfoot.

This asylum madness no wall can hold,
Floats into night skies and into ears young,
Oh no, goodness no, you cannot out keep it in,
Destroy the house of madness you cannot,
Dost thou fear thyself knave? ‘tis merely a jest most musical,
All the chords sprinkled peppered and cast asunder.*



©Rangzeb Hussain

Free falling; gone in an instant-- blink of an eyelash faster than lightning, flashing like brilliance
Drilling holes into the psyche
Astronomical; impeccable aim
Breathtaking colors with patterns like kaleidoscopes the creativity blows the mind
It's the morphine you can take without overdosing in pain and numbness
It's the chase you can't escape if you wanted to but you won't even try
It's the height of ecstasy and the awe of gratification
Its pure and magnetizing invigoration
When you prove what you set out to prove
When you give it all, you have everything to lose

The negative chatter fills the gaps of endurance and credence
The silence of the aftermath, leaves a clear distinctive taste
All the critics and the villains siphon air so you lose the ability to breathe
There is a glimmer, a tiny microorganism still standing on two feet pushing forward
Moving slow
Falling sideways
All, all alone
Glowing, fueling, bursting...flooding roadblocks, causing traffic
All the commotion is seeding havoc
Like an artist left unknown...you will grow
Flow and flower into a masterpiece

And the free fall secures you high amongst the nebula
There is no more spiraling downwards there is only a tiger lurking, always ready to pounce
On their victims, on the goals you've set ahead
Like a real winner always does, you finish first
because you did your very best
You're a tiger and you just earned you your stripes
So leave the amateurs on their soap box discombobulated
You're resilient, even savvy
You're a vision to be reckoned with

maybe someday I'll give a ****
and write something with substance

or maybe I'll keep the ****
so I can have something in abundance

and maybe I'll quit this ****
as a "*******" to redundance

nah

super novas
seeding flowers
a woman's powers
late night hours
falling towers
jehovah jehovah
these flowers are novas

They said you wanted a maid
That you were born with a silver spoon
that you have a sense of Entitlement
and every had come easy to you
so I must be as difficult as possible
that I should treat you mean
told me you'll come and cling on to me
they said you were broke and would soon start borrowing
they said you were violent and a Dictator
that you will start dominating me
cause you're a Chauvinist Pig
They said your style was
Treat them mean to keep them keen
Those ******* liars were so convincing
Now I see what their aims were
but I can't let them know I see their evil machinations
I just played along because I was overwhelmed by them
You said their game was 'divide and rule
you said they just wanted to isolate you
with smears and character assassination
You were right all along
these are evil people
I thought I knew that all along
But the Devil tells the best story
they say.........
those sick lying *******
even call themselves
The Red Devils
Now I can see how
they really hate
a successful
black
man

Stunning she called the morning to gather it was her reflection that made all luminous and she
Turned from side to side all quarters of sun and shade settled in precise conforming feature it
Had no deviation it had no desire but was content to be her blossoming statement where her
Hair softly flowed down the sides and back was illusion and reality colliding slipping into a soft
Dark unspoken richness that defied appropriate telling her forehead was the first mold God
Used to make the first Angel from this creation dreams were first formed they arose mist like in
The quietest indulgence of the mind the eye brows were the seeding place of richest
Placements on fine porcelain it would begin the guessing of wonder how can such creation be
The eyes were jewels not mined in any worlds that we know cheeks aglow from fires deep
Within jungles unexplored by man the nose pristine you have to venture forth to rarest tents
Where nomads set in the midst of tapestry where inlaid golden folds lay with purist
Silver and emerald cloth and distilled breathing of goddesses and gave them a fitting that
Staggered the thoughts of those who came to look on these sights her lips were desire
Encapsulated in pink the entering of layers rivaled one another one on the top and between
Teeth a mix of ivory and pearl to be exposed was to lose ones breath and cast away
Reason briefly the chin the master stroke the line flowing from the ear was the perfect order
Holding all in eye appealing perfection the neck was enthralling understated composure
Shoulders rounded joining the graceful arms that premiered as musical a ***** that completes
Everything into perfection curvaceous loveliness man proclaims his strength woman surpasses
Him through soft quiet femininity that even assures his success through these powers that rise
Not from pride but from gifts that is profound and indescribable not better than man but the
best of man resides in her heart of hearts

Wake up some days like I must be dreanin
Feinnin for a state a mind
That gives life meaning,
Submerged in reasoning,
Drowned by thinking
I see the white light
Or am I dreaming
Am I feeling this way for no reason?
Subconsciously bleeding
Sharing my thoughts like I’m seeding  
An open book who’s reading
A case against life I’m pleading
In the game I’m seasoned
But if it’s the truth I’m speaking
Tell me if I’m dreaming,
Tell me if you see them
The haters the fakers the tyrants
Promoting convictions and violence
My people on the Earth are dying
Because these demons in disguise stay lying
I’m trying **** right trying to cease the pain and the crying
Mothers tears who fear their children’s death is near
I’m clear in what saying so don’t get my words twisted
Like I be having distorted visions
, Never That,
My dreams are vivid my lyrics descriptive
I’m not saying I’m gifted
But this truth will make you question religion
Will make aggressive from timid
God said we are all made in his image
Minus mutations from Chemist
Our genes don’t flex like gymnast  
This world’s stress is our limit
Without artificial stress we can live it
Live life like back in the Garden of Eden
Like children at play hope hasn't gone away
Conscience fleeting today,
Emotions peeling away
Drinking whiskey straight
I guess this is the way
I guess this is the place
Life just whisking away
Who’ll miss me anyways?

I am the vessel of my ship,
I am to wrestle a little twit.
Will you help me find my virginity?
I think I've lost it somewhere,
Or someone borrowed it.

I am a farmer of black beans,
I am the Tarmac at the airport,
Will you join me for coffee?
I think I'm seeding the soil,
I found purchase in this toil.

I hate traffic and sputnik,
I love triptychs and music,
Is it you, me and everyone we know?
I guess we can play monopoly,
Just lay down your weapons, I'm fun you see.

Of course you can trust me,
I'm not a wet black bean,
Can I sing the national anthem?
I speak ****** and some other lingo,
I read French and women undress.

On second thought I'll be a stallion,
And yes I'm part French-Italian.
How far does it go?
I'll tell you what, do you know the muffin man?
The one that lives on Drury Lane?
If you do open up, let Thomas the train do his run.
A hippopotamus would laugh at this,
These lines said with such a clever lisp.
It'd have to be high as a koala bear,
Eating eucalyptus leafs at the fair.

I couldn't be more assured of this,
I wouldn't be reimbursed to read miss.
Doesn't it hurt? Aren't you choking yourself?
No me feel no pain,
Cookies are like nova cane.

Last but not least,
It feels better than summer heat,
The question everyone is a critic for,
Are you happy?
If Lois Lane was a *****,
Cookie Monster a compulsive eater.
Then of course I'm sure.

Evening cleats The Bay,

As cavalcades of passive argon, sulphur on
the ogham slicks,
to treacle ways toward the seeding
cooling of the hours,...

The sleights of crimson, fringe
the bruising cower of the West, to
brightly die behind the leathered hill.

From a wrist of tallowed amethyst,
a Tiercel purls a last ellipse, and in
his sinking helix ships, the Sommes
of curdled estuaries, to brood
the closing Mill....

Fear is the razors edge pushing into a vein,
Making tears fall like bitter rain.
Attaching to every thought,
Seeding doubt within every action,
Or regret with every word spoken.

Over-thinking, and contemplating
That the worst is forever inevitable.
Inescapable, a hellish prison indeed.

Insecurities come flooding through,
Rushing like a wild river rapid.
It shatters confidence and plagues the mind,
Relentlessly gnawing at the intestines.
The festering infection spreading
Turning into a disease with no cure,
Leaving the hapless victim broken and unsure.

Eventually

We all become believers
You will see

We all hit the gutters
And deceive
What we know
Into what we need

Feeding
On the hope
To cope
With the NO
Of every plea

Foiling
The gaping holes
While fruitlessly
Feathering dreams
Of ceasing
To be

Anywhere but there
Anywhere but here

Afraid and aware
Lying barren
On a hair

To everywhere
But where we want to be

Your everything
Believed in our belief
In our grieving
Of a meme

Obsolete and teething on a ***

Seething in seeing it
Unseamed
And undone
Unto nothing

Disconnected dots
Unlit

Breathing out
And away
From meaning

Slightly clinging
To the things
Believed
To Matter

Scattered over
The tattered matters
In meteor
Metaphors
Seeding
The other chapters

But not until after
Factoring in
The tractor beams
Of nothing

Just waiting

On the bottom
Of the gut
Crawling up
The throat lumps

And stuffing our luck

With all the succulent stuff
We are made of

Until eruptions
Of higher functions

Save us
From the ****

When enough
Is enough
And we just stop
Giving a ....

And let go

Blow after blow
Until we know
Who is in control

Of what is real
And what is
Made up

From atoms to the eave
Of our dreams
We must glean
What we need to

To get us through
These words
Of hurt
Out from lurking
In the work
Of our enemies

Forever tempting me
To blaspheme
In the wake

Of your passing

The endeavoring
Ever lasting
In careful mapping
Of the synapses
Collapsing
Into relief

Though brief

Locked in eternity
Oh the possibilities

My everything
And my humility

Locked in a single thought

In anxiety
Gone quietly

My hands before me

Steady

Always ready
Blanket me
In blank

Make me
Or break me

Take me

To forever

Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Streetlights glowing,
Like bedcovers laying,
Over the harbour waters inky as
Freshly-spilled car-crash blood,
Reflecting deep as a thought can penetrate.

A parade of gunfire
Startles silent rage into the frightened round-up locals
Eyes cowering and arms raised like scarecrow’s overhanging,
While in a side-alley doorway
A soldier anxiously caresses
A girl who he will never speak to again
The tequila-resembling sun standing watch
Their sole clandestine companion.

A child is given relieving news,
Having arrived not without frustrated effort
That she no longer has to follow the same life-stifling routine.
Her doctor, after the dizzying business of congratulating her parents,
Looks out his window without witnessing their departure
Until his eyes are cast back to dispersion
Appreciating fresh rain turn a week’s snowfall
Into puddles upon the ground.

The mind resists the heart’s attempt to repress,
We resist our own borders admitting a consistency of strain
Memory indulging in a fleeting spectacle of sin,
The Sickly exterior of the heart’s delight.

Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Moments throughout our lives repeated in the stock footage of the
mind,washing thoughts matted out of stark exposure
seeding out  a negative frame.

There was talk of exploring
                         empty lots
                 until the sun came up
And laying dotted lines
                         on empty maps until
                  We found ourselves new homes
With softer beds and warmer sheets

Make it as far as frozen streets--
       decide to paint it black
                         when
             We've run out of red
          Our hands are getting chapped
                         and

We've been running ourselves dry
Out here beneath polished winter skies
Then right before
          our hazy, crossed out eyes
Come falling
           snowflakes from the clear
Think they must be the
           first five of the year
And lately, I swear all we get 'round here
Are busted plans and second tries

The chips are falling
    so let's cash our winnings
out and sup on underpinnings found
as tacit answers start to drift

As tacit answers start to drift
     the question's seeding up
     the frozen ground

And rougher textures make for traction
       so I'll get a grip and count
out snowburnt seconds
     'til we find the map to another
      point of black.

Let the self seeding crocus mia beguile,
burying our heads in Sunday papers
taking the coloured supplements
to heart,
whilst in the shade forgetting others suffering,
again we turn inwards,
dreaming of strawberries and clotted cream
and strolling to the local ligne roset,
these middle class values
ostensibly vouched by the world
yet no longer made in our image.

I taste sweet nectar
each night I sleep without you
clawing at the fabric of my dreams
seeding my subconscious with self-doubt

Mr Resentment and Mrs Regret
my erstwhile lovers
one, cajoling and seductive
the other, spooning and insistent
together, sleep-deprived and unsated
we made for a corrupt ménage à trois

I taste sweet nectar
every night I spend with you
my new bedfellow
Ms Forgiveness

Love is a flower open to the sun,
Hate is a cavern, a hole, craven,
Black, empty, a dank drowning,
Under light.  Love is one season,

Hate is transitory. Love is eternal,
Of vast nebulas, to outer reaches
In galaxy are nurseries with stars
Being born, light, alive with light.

Love is the lasting of conquerors,
The first line, defense, existence,
Love takes all in one communion,
Breaking the dark as the morning
Sun.  Love is conundrum, love IS.

Hate is a construct, the blotched
That bleeds where life is seeding,
Rot better to cut, spoil unneeded,
Hate will come to nothing, for life
Is love, love is all and everything.