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Valsa George May 2017
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source

Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.

Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-

All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.

As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves

I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight

As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
Still Crazy Jun 2015
~~~

Happy Father's Day, God in Heaven!
(A Continuing Dialogue)


~~~

wonder if I am the first,
even the last,
to wish a deity,
happiness based on a human construct

but feeling groovy with you,
meaning we ride sums of the same
curves and the lines, grooves,
connecting holes in the palms of
our hands

ya see,
got some familiarity
with
fatherhood...
and all that entails

the balance of imbalance,
it's tough I know,
load-bearing children,
leave ten ton scars,
but don't expect no
tea and sympathy from me

you and I,
we have our beefs,
and by the by,
master of the universe,
nothing has changed between us,
just saying, for the record,
ya know, for our inscribed
bible personal with our own bible argumentative stories privé

a human has no right to offspring,
but off they spring,
when the '**** dam’ springs a leak,
and them kids then spend
their lives.
saying yes and no
in light speedy abundance,
or worse!
ugh

...whatever...

if
they respondez
to whatever you suggest-see

rebels even when
they hug you
around the knees,
all knowing we papis (poppys)
fully, way in advance,
that in their supposed adulthood,
children will curse and bless you with
the equality principle
of self-righteousness and I know everything

Let us think upon it....

somewhere in the world,
it is a sabbath,
your citizen-creations
are beheading and burning
each other, Papa,
in your name,
so Happy Father's Day...

I mean,
really, that must be tough,
so it's perfectly clear
why you created free will,
all parents need a way to
walk away sometimes from
the children's choices

somewhere in the world,
it is a sabbath,
billions sending you a
litany of liturgy, a sweet songbook
in so many languages,
the simultaneous translation machina
must get overheated,
all those human claques submitting
liar loans applications

the backlog must be
eons in length

you see,  I am,
muy simpatico

of fatherhood,
what is my expertise?

a fair question
from one who provided
us the classic excuse,
"that's so not fair"

two sons have I,
a Cain and Abel,
so in this, expertise,
we've trod familiar ground

but this be about us pops,
not about how our embodied creatures,
bent and beautiful,
sending us formalities of video thanks,
should they remember or be bothered

maybe we should institute
greater frequency
of celebratory notifications,
making it easier for all of us
to forget,
lessen the guilt, the ache,
for it's more convenient, easier
to be overlooked,
with familiarity

nah,
I am not a complaint
in human guise,
not much, anyway,
and don't you fret,
I got you
a Father's Day present

as appealing as it is,
atheism in me won't take root,
cause I look forward to giving you
holy hell, next we meet
it's so richly deserved
so maybe I'll repost this in a year,
or maybe, I’l be close enough
to whisper this in your ears,either way, come hell or
high water,
Meus Pater,
you can bet your last bitcoin or
anything you might value,
I'll be bugging you,

(cause I'm
still crazy after all these years,
from standing upright,
on one left foot,
showing the world the poetry
of your world)

so tween us, I wish us
a Happy Father's Day
*best wishes
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/?title=Father's_Day
just one of our prior conversations:

A Personal God - Wailing and Complaining
for my friend, AJB, mother, artist

why
would anyone believe in invisible...
coordinator of billions of trillions
of interactions daily,
the microscopic
the telescopic

at what level
is there intercession
where is the
intervention,
rhymed reasoning of
impoverishing failing-me inadequate comprehension

so here I am
at 4:00 am
wailing and complaining
not so much at life's happenstance,
not even a foolish why me uttered,
talking to invisibility,
demanding culpability
at the very least
an apology

by that act
admitting the fact
that in conversation with parties
invited and drop-ins welcome,
in the silence sewn
in the residence permanent
of my mind's lobe of disquietude

logic forgone,
I am a believer,
no understanding
nor forgiving
at the illogic
of my tragedy
mine,
not so divine,
wailing and complaining

this my diatribe
knowing your silence
is a listening signature,
my complaining and wailing
my curse my blessing,
my transmitting frequency
of a multivariate equation
demanding a solution

too busy mastering the universe?
your data base
endless and unfathomable
file this under
audios of
YouTubes of
complaining and wailing,
hoping you cleanse yourself
with a good long listen
A ringing in my ear
The soft cry of children
My innocence slaughtered
Where did time go

I lay here awake
Aware of the mess
Who dragged me from my bed?
My fists are cut and ******
And the bottle lay empty
Another night out?
Butchered tree in my pocket
There’s more to it than this

An endless road lie yonder
The heat waves friendly
I see you but hear nothing
I don’t wave back

Another left behind
Learning new ways to walk
Have we forgotten how to live?
Worshiping false idols
Media is a speedy vehicle
Inebriated driver behind the wheel
The minds of the masses
A thirst never quenched

I laugh as I know
And wander off the road
I think I found a new place to go
The land of maize
But I’m not lost

I have no place to be
Do you?


-AJT
The new place one finds amidst the chaos of society can either be physical or mental
Eryri Feb 5
My weekly downhill drive past your flat
And your static life in your static flat
Briefly synchronise courtesy of your mirror's angle,
Opening a brief view into your lonely life:
Your brown vintage sofa
With it's vintage orange cushions,
Your formica TV dinner table.
A retro combo,
Reminding me of the set of a 70s sitcom
Minus the laughs.
Yes, it's a terrible thing
That I can't help but gaze
At that speedy reflection
Of your Thursday nights
Above your anachronistic Everything shop;
The shop *** museum that you've curated
For forty years or more.
dandelionfine Nov 2018
i am a sewing project:
fine little scars make lace of my arms.
patches of different patterns
occupy my mind; they're awfully frayed
but unique. they're mine.
i'm pushed and pulled through
some speedy machine
work, sleep, repeat
every puncture of the needle at
the speed of light
i am a constant, ever-changing
patchwork, some
handiwork of a tired old woman somewhere
awfully far away. i think of her when I can’t fall asleep.
I wonder if she thinks of me too.
i am a tapestry.
i cover walls, i do not build them, yet oftentimes i so wish i could.
or had the strength to, at least--but i am mere fabric
i am a sewing project.
Marigolds Fever Oct 2018
Night at the garbage dump
Sparkle starlight night
Leaves room for little delight
Speedy legs
Out for a spin
Adventure begs
Drags the wind
Follow a leader
To a place one longs to linger
A flight that’s eerie
What’s in store
Darkness galore
Only four hilltops more
Up up up
Around the bend
Climb to come back again
Clouds through moonlight
Old concrete pebbled on the side
Glow with strange historic pride
Field grasses slow to bend
Smells you would not befriend
Below dark field
A collective treasure of human endeavor
One would not dream whatsoever
Crunchy soil
A perfect spot for the voile
Sit below the grassy line
Take in the oddity with too much wine
Head on a swivel
Watch your back
Never know what’s lurking to attack
Time is up
Must not leave the cup
Only once a garbage dump  
Watch the stump
Fly down in pitch dark
Not mistaken for the park
Former mans duty
Listen closely
To the beckoning tutti
It sings in rare night beauty
Onoma Apr 7
a deliriously passionate

animal surveys the

barbs of emotion.

tearing into sprints of

freedom, to feel for the cost.

with speedy blank states--

agonies curl into *****,

saying their peace.

an auditorium of razoring

whispers--the sound level

of self-hugs.
"The exploits of Sir Harry Flashman VC as he tries to outwit Michael Collins, assist the notorious Cairo gang, avoid ****** Sunday,charm the Irish ladies, and escape with his skin intact.

A nod to George M Fraser!



Old Harry Flashman stood in Dublin Castle as a monocled spiv eyed him cautiously.' You'll do your duty, sir, by God you will ! or you'll be handed to Collins and his murderous crew of ignorant paddies. His Majesties Government will disown you and abandon you to your fate, if you betray your colours and turn Turk. It will be the gallows for you, as it was for Casement, if a treacherous bone in your miserable hide breaks bread with the enemy. I can reveal to you that one of our agents, Jameson, has just met his maker in Glasnevin Cemetry. Too close to Collins, **** it!, he must have dropped his guard. That won't happen you though, Flashman! You are going undercover, and you'll have an excellent cover story too. Lloyd George wants that despised Irish Organisation infiltrated and destroyed. You will be watched closely by my dear friend Hoppy Hardy. A finer fellow you won't meet. He has kicked some green arses I can tell you, and would we had more of his kind! ****** fine fellow indeed.

I could only stand there, blanching, and my guts turning sour listening to that drivel. I was no spy and those ****** potato eaters were on the warpath! Give them the ****** Country, I thought to myself. Old Harry couldn't give a **** if they flew a Green Flag over Buckingham palace or paraded their colours in Winsor Castle! The Irish had their Irish up and had the Country in a state of terror, and Flashy was to be a go between for King and Country?
I wanted to retch and felt nauseous at the thought. Even as I stood there nodding as my cover was being presented and my arrangement to meet Michael Collins outlined, I could only think of that poor deluded fool Jameson.Lying in the damp soil of Glasnevin Cemetry, of all places!
A bullet in his head and chest for his troubles. Flashman, my boy thinks I, you will shake hands with the Devil and won't be leaving Ireland in a wooden overcoat. Even as that idiotic spiv spoke from his safe leather chair, I was working out my departure plans and Collins could go to Hell. As usual though, it never goes to plan for Old Flashy. I stepped out into a cold November chilled night air as Christ Church cathedral rang its bells. A gun was cocked and an Irish brogue said' Into the side street, nice and easy friend and we'll have a little chat, won't we? My innards churned and I looked for an out but I could see I was well accompanied.

Now Gentlemen, what will we talk about? said I as my mind raced to collect my thoughts. I felt I could brazen it out and was ready to blow my cover if I could save my skin. 'We'll do the talking, friend!' were the last words I heard before I was violently coshed on the head and relieved of my wallet.

***********
When I awoke Hoppy Hardy stood over me and I was safely quartered in the Royal Barracks. My head pulsed with pain and Hardy was rabbiting on. 'Well done Flashman, you held your nerve old son. We had our eye on you all the time old boy! I wanted a taste of your mettle although i didn't expect a blatant attempt on you so soon.Our sources tell me you enjoy a violent engagement with the enemy. Good news for you, the paddy who coshed you is in the next room.'

'We know he's an agent for Collins and you missed all the fun of the shootout when you were unconscious. Come on and have a look at how we run things here'.

As we entered the isolation room, I saw they had given the prisoner a good dose of the discipline stick and the blood trickled from a severe head ****. At least the ******* had a headache to match my own I thought. He was in a bad way and Hoppy gave him an unmerciful boot to the nether regions and let out a scream, which put the fear of God in me immediately. 'Once again you Irish *******! What were you doing breaking curfew with an unauthorised weapon! Who gave you that weapon? This was followed by a stinging slap to the prisoners face. This was pointless in my view as the fellow was clearly incapable of response after the boot he received. It made me think I was in for the same treatment if the Irish boys adopt the same tactics.it was all I could do not to flinch as Hardy unleashed a flurry of blows on the unconscious rebel.

**********

Charlie Dalton was in a rage as he spoke to his brother Emmet. ' One of our lads, Frank Fagan, was taken last night! We were following an English lad, and his bearing was suspicious. A right cocky one parading the streets like a Lord of the manor. We had just coshed him and were about to take him to Crow street when Hoppy Hardy and his thugs made an appearance. We had to shoot it out but Fagan was captured.
Emmet listened and stunned Charlie with his response. 'Fagan's a traitor and has served his purpose for Hardy. Wouldn't surprise me if Hardy kills him with his own hand and dumps him in the Park.
' What are you talking about? Emmet! Would you listen to yourself! How the hell do you make that out ?
' Because I told him ' said a voice and in walked the Big Fellow himself with the bearing of a bull and the shock black hair combed to the side. Michael Collins stood in front of the brothers.
' The Brits are playing silly buggers again and a new agent is in town! I want all our boys to keep a close eye on him and no one harms a hair on his head till we find out more about him. Let's play along with the ruse. I understand his real name is Flashman. The pride of the British Empire. A British Lion is it? We'll make that boy roar when we know more.

******************
Fla­shman was handed a Brandy and Hardy toasted ' Your good health old Boy! and broke into a big guffaw of laughter. Flashman didn't like the black humour and swallowed hard and racked his brains for his next move.

************
The Cairo cafe on Grafton Street was my meeting place with Captain Gunnery who was instructed to walk me around Dublin and introduce me to the City. I could see his nerves were shot and he had the fear of the demented in his eyes.'Welcome to Ireland, sir, he whispered. Watch your back at all cost, trust no one, and treat every approach from any of the natives as a potential threat to your life. 'The Irish are a shrewd lot,as dangerous as a cornered rat.They are also experts at holding a grudge. The mood is treacherous since that failed insurgency in '16.We made a ***** of it executing the ring leaders.The massacre on North King Street is still sour in their mouths.
Cozying up to the Germans after all we did for'em. What did they expect?

I could only nod and wonder if I wasn't already marked for a ticket to the next world. '

'Anyway, we're going hunting now, Gunnery said then, and you and me will be dressing up for the party.'That's right, he whispered with a haunted look in his eyes. 'We're donning the Black and Tan gear and raiding the Mansion House tonight.'

' Are you having a laugh? I blurted and looking every bit as startled as a nun inadvertently walking into the gents. 'We'll be well numbered, said he, and give those green ******* a taste of hardship. I gave him my best manly look ' Do me a favour old boy, walk me to this building, on Dawson Street you say, and let me have a look at the battlefield beforehand eh?

I needn't tell you, dear reader, that I wanted to examine the terrain and take a mental note of my escape routes while I still had my faculties.
Just as we were leaving, a good looking middle aged woman, who I thought was giving me the glad eye, bumped into Gunnery and pulled a gun on him.
No words were uttered as a loud bang floored him immediately and he was on the ground with a gaping hole in his chest. She gave me a look and pointed the gun at my manhood then suddenly redirected it to Gunnery's head and blew it to kingdom come! As cool as you like, out she walked.
I made a run for it and the stupid ***** thought I was trying to get a hold of her. I could se she pulled the gun again and aimed to take a shot at me. ' Sweet Jesus ! I cried and as I made a dive for it, I felt a God Almighty sting in my ****.' You ****** *****! I passed out, as you can imagine with a bullet in your rear flank and still I knew I would be seeing that little ***** again.

***************
A passing patrol of Auxillaries marched down Harcourt Street on their way towards St. Stephens Green. Looking down, from number 6, Michael Collins observed them closely. He knew two of them by sight and smiled to himself.
' Go back to Blighty lads, while ye still can'. Across from him were three members of the Squad; his chosen gunmen for assassinations. Three of his twelve disciples, although he had many more in reserve. **** McKee, looking every bit the revolutionary, with his long leather coat, heavy moustache and proud bearing stood facing the men. He was a Finglas man from North Dublin and Commander of the Dublin Brigade.

' Well ****, said Collins, who took out Gunnery? Who put a gun in that lady's hand?, God bless her! There's not a man here with the nerve to pull off a stunt like that. Find out who the officer was who chased after her and got a bullet in the **** for his troubles.We believe it was Flashman'. A burst of laughter broke out among the men.' Well we may laugh lads, but I believe that gun-woman is an agent for the Brits.Gunnery was a becoming a loose cannon.He couldn't keep his mouth shut.' Didn't we know a raid was imminent on the Mansion House because of him!' 'His own mouth sealed his fate. Let that be a lesson to ye! '

'Now, he said to Liam Tobin, get cracking and find out who that woman is. We could do a girl like that ourselves and if she's still in the Country then I want to meet her.' Yes ****, we'll get the background. I am off to Crow Street now to check our intelligence.

'Intelligence is it ? said **** What about that officer Flashman? Who the hell is he? Why was he with Gunnery. The word is he's no weasel. He took after that Gun-woman quick enough. Flashman, what kind of a name is that? 'The Brits must think we're right gobshites altogether naming an officer Flashman. Let's keep our eye on him closely! He's in the infirmary in Kilmainham. Maybe we can pay him a kindly visit and see he's settling in. Another laugh broke out amongst them.

Right **** said Collins. ' Let me see the list of names we need to eliminate and take out that picture of the Cairo gang. 'Take a good look at lads, we'll be sorting those boys out soon enough. If Lyoyd George wants Ireland that bad then let him see the price he's going to pay! Ireland's not for sale and we won't be tenants in our own ****** Country!

**********

' I was lying comfortable, all things considered, in my hospital bed with the nurses swooning over me. Incredibly that ***** did me a favour. Witnesses reported how I gallantly chased after the assassin without a thought for my safety. Even Hoppy Hardy had called to my bedside and said as much!
'Well done, old chap! Another feather in your cap eh! A pity about the location of the wound though. Don't fret, the official report says wounded while pursuing the enemy.This means you will have to lie low for a month at least. Did Gunnery, the poor *******, mention the Black & Tan uniform to you? He did eh! Jolly Good!

Now Flashman, you are going on vacation to the Rebel County Cork! I knew a chap like you would dive on an opportunity like that. The Irish have formed ' flying columns' and are taking the fight to us in that treacherous City. We'll teach them about ambushes, by Christ, and you Flashman will be right in the thick of it.

I smiled faintly and looked at Hardy with an anguished expression.
'If you don't mind Sir, I'm feeling a bit drained and your news is most welcome. Do you mind If I close my eyes and rest a bit?
' Forgive me Flashman, I've been inconsiderate old chap! You take a rest and have a speedy recovery. You'll need your energy for the Cork campaign!

' **** it already! I thought to myself.I don't need this reckless boys own mentality and nuts like Hardy putting me in the front line. For God's sake, I've never even been to Cork! What did Hardy say? Rebel County!
I felt sick to my stomach and turned over in my bed. I litteraly had a pain in my ****.

Down in Kilmichael, Co. Cork, a young man named Tom Barry was putting his men through their paces.
A nod to George McDonald Fraser creator of the wonderful Flashman books.
Hello Daisies May 13
I just want to tap dance
Twirling skirts
Fast feet

Tip tip tap!

Going fast
It's gonna last
Forever

Fun music
No worries
Bring others with stories

To dance off
It's art
It's beauty

It's not unruly
Outlaw me
I'm so quick and speedy

Let me move my feet
In the summer heat
Flowers blooming so neat!

Let me shake my bottom
In the flowing autumn
I feel like I'm a blossom

Tippitty tippity tap!

It's a smack
To the ground
With joyous sound

Musical notes fly
High in the sky
Giving hope a try

Swirl into the blue dew
It's harmonious
And delicious

My feet tapping
The beat rapping
Everyone's fingers snapping

Except I'm burning out
I'm draining like a cloud
Energy spewing down

My eyes burn
My ears hear no sound
Words leave my mouth

My head's gone south
To the floor
I can't take this no more

The tip tip tapping

It isn't stopping
It's going too fast
I'm burning out

Taptaptaptap
Taptaptaptap

How is this fun
We all need to run
I'm burning in the sun

The heat blisters my skin
This feels like sin
take off that stupid grin

Let me sleep
Please stop dancing
It's not enchanting

It's loud and piercing
Everything is gleaming
My blood is streaming

Please calm down folks
Stop the obnoxious talks
I'm not insane

I just must restrain
From too much tapping
Because my body starts overlapping
Panic and mania
There sleeps in the seeping ounce
of the tree burned to carbon
that made charcoal
a chance for me to take any
and all scraps of paper
I can find in my room
and put them to good use

There sleeps in the back of my mind
fragments of light
and sensations of summer
crystallizing into thought

"I want to hike four trails, around an island." I
say
but the speedy winding and the great illusion of time ticks me down
"I can only hike three"

The fourth I'll sit at its base, with my scrappy notebooks and sketch.
the burned vine will create trees    
      what immaculate a thought
to "good use"
the trunk that we took to shred and make this sheet,
to "good use", too
it'll be the paper under the black soot
when I draw

here sleeps my mind in the dark coal
ever luminous below the incomplete combustion of
hydrocarbons and the explosive nature
of untamed
emotions

"But I want to hike four trails.
Maybe, I'll have to come back"
The date
The train is left
It runs very fast
Who can stop?
I have an appointment
A date with who I loved
I wore the most
New and expensive one
Of my well-made suit
I had troubled
As I lost my tempered
When I remembered her shiny
Smile that was seen
Over her shiny
Lips
I could hardly tie my neck tie
Which I tied before in ease
My hands trembled in fast
What had happened to my tempers?
When I wore my shoes
I suddenly saw my socks
Beside on the carps
What a luck
I became very smart
I walk out in fast
The rain was downed
I still smiled
But a speedy car passed
It distributed the water
Everywhere like storm
I had bad storm
I was downed
I remembered one
Told if you want
To get high rank
You must be patient
And able to ascend the mount
I must be patient
As I remembered her face
Shining with elegance
I went back
I washed up
In fast as I could
I wore another one
The time spent
As the blink of the eye
I tried to stop a car
To transport me so far
The cars were busy
What a bad luck!
Finally I found one
I took it in fast
Argued the driver to run
To get the train before he had gone
The driver drove not fast
I argued him with weak sound
He told he couldn't
As the land filled with water
He hardly controlled the car
I looked to the heaven
The sky was filled with dark
What a bad luck
I prayed to my God?
You know I don't want harm
Please help me my lord!
Finally I was in
The watch moved
Clicked with high sound
I became in puzzle
Which sound was heard
The watch or my heart sound
I stayed on the chair
Beside the window
I wiped it to have a look
To green garden to compare
With her wide eyes
Which looks good
I opened my note
Looked at my watch
Asking my heart
"Why she didn't come?"
The time for the train came
To move up
The moving is like a death
Comes on time without late
Not be stopped even
By the walls
High and strong
Even the doors are closed
But it did know his road
I opened my note book
To look why she is not
Here up till that time
She didn't be late
I adjusted my time
On her time as she did
She looked like have an adjust clock
With her body as I thought
She walked up the ****
On the morning to wake up the sleeping
She walked the birds
To sing harmony songs
She went to her work
On adjust time without late
Why didn't she come?
Here is the time
I wrote and keep on my heart
I reminded it every moment
Here is the respond
Oh! Oh! What luck
I opened the small letter
That it might be sent
But I forgot for my happiness
Or speed, or my thoughts
Who could stop that?
Or could return the time?
To send that letter
To meet my lover
The time is passed
As the train passed
My love was lost
one needs to read everything ,he can get
Zizaloom Sep 2018
What is it we are
When we are not?
When are eyes are firmly closed
Held tight by the pressure of the night
Setting itself on our minds
Making us yawn
And driving us to think  
That it is time to sleep
What are we in the dreams
We never grasp in the lapse
Of Time our minds race
Against the clock to store
What we long for and think of
Throughout the day we see
The light and all the dust
Dancing in a ray
Emanating out of pillows
And couches as soon as our weight clasps
And we fail to catch
And our hands go past
And we do not remember
The gravity of such
A waste of hastily
Floating particules
Just as much as our cerebral activity
Goes on a never ending cycle
The vicious circle
A train that goes round and round and round
Stops on the usual platforms
Embarks all of the familiar faces
Closes it's doors on strange noses
The rails squeak and whirl
Speed up to maximum speed
Speedy Gonzales
And you are out of the dark gloomy woods
The forbidden paths
Where there are no signs
Are rarely taken
For granted
But when the engine has no choice
But to melt with the hollows
It cuts the road in two
And disperse itself in half of you
Your eyes go blank
And you wonder what felt wrong
Strangely clement
Yet you close your them backwards
For you never face these unknown noses too
They might mistake your head for an entire
map of the world
And they might have a clue
About what you might be
Or might be thinking about
Bruce Levine Jul 2018
driftwood floats
to a corner
of the lake
hidden from view
in a cove
shrouded by trees

sailboats glide
on a breeze as
mild as september
over water as
smooth as glass
tinted amber

hidden depths with
spring-filled caverns
limitless
against the
ebbing tide

summer haze and
autumn colors
new day’s glory
turns to
evening shade

flying fish and
water urchins
fishing rods
with baited
hooks

swimmers dive
into pale blue
water
crystal clear
with a hint
of green

fishes ride
in the wake
of rowboats
speedy oars
pulled by
teams of men

gentle times
as the lake
remembers
passing times
that remain
the same
The prophet was waking up
Asking his God to guide the gentiles

He met them with great happy
As they were rich and masters

While he met the poor speedy
The God blamed him for this act

He returned and smiled to the poor
As the guide with the hand of his God

The God told him not blame his act
As the only and only fact

The guidance was the hand of the God
So he did not blame your act

You do your effort
And the rest at your God
the mercy of the prophet was obvious for all people as the sun

— The End —