"She will dance with me,"
He murmured to himself,
"If I bring her a white rose,
Pure as a snowflake,
And sweet as a summer day."

Sitting there in the garden,
His blue eyes fell shut
As the wind ran her fingers
Through his dark hair.
His lips parted in a sigh,
Enjoying the warm afternoon sun
And the thoughts of the one he loves.

"His is the song I've sung
My entire life,"
Chirped the little nightingale,
"Without knowing it,
I have told his story a thousand times
To the moon and the stars
That light the night sky.
I've sung of hope and joy
And True Love and
Happily Ever Afters
To the trees and the flowers
That in this garden grow."

But the young man cried,
"But I have no rose to give her!"
He covered his face with his hands
And cried.
His whole body shook
As the hope for real love,
The kind that many people
Spend their whole lives looking for
In all the wrong places,
Flew away in the wind.
"She'll never realize I am the one for her,
If I cannot find a white rose
And ask her to dance,"
He cried.

The little nightingale's heart was touched
By the young lover.
She cried out her song for him,
For all the lost loves in the world.
He, she determined, was not going to be one of them.
The nightingale decided that
She would find him a rose,
With which he could woo the girl he so loved.

She flew on delicate wings to the rose bush
That grew beside the fountain.
"If you would give me a pure white rose,
I will sing you my sweetest song
All the nights of my life."
But the rose bush answered,
"I have only yellow roses,
Bright as lemons and sunshine,
And sweet as springtime honey.
Ask my brother who climbs the arbor,
He may give you what you desire."

So the sweet nightingale flew to the rose vine
That was tangled on the arbor.
"If you would give me a pure white rose,
I will sing you my sweetest song
All the nights of my life."
But the rose vine replied,
"I have only pink roses,
Pink as a maiden's blush
On the day she weds her beau.
Ask my brother who grows
Under the young man's window.
He may give you what you desire."

So the nightingale flew to the rose bush
That grew under the young man's window.
"If you would give me a pure white rose,
I will sing you my sweetest song
All the nights of my life."
To which the rose bush replied,
"I have only red roses,
Dark and rich as faerie wine,
Red as the blood of your heart,
Sweeter than stolen kisses under the moon.
But I can give you a white rose."
Filled with hope and joy,
The nightingale replied,
"I will give anything for a white rose,
What must I do?"
The rose bush shook its petals sadly.
"The way is too awful.
I cannot tell you."
The nightingale knew the value of love;
She would do anything for the rose.
"There is a way, little bird.
By moonlight you must come close
And press you breast against my thorns.
Love is sharp and you must not be afraid.
You must sing your sweetest song all night,
And press closer to me,
Until my thorn pierces your heart
And all your heart-blood runs out.
It is the only way."

The nightingale thought about this.
"What price would not be paid for love?
How much greater is the love of this young man
Than the life of a little bird?
This I will gladly do,
For true love's sake."

So the nightingale flew across the garden,
Where the lover had not yet dried
The tears from his eyes.
His cheeks were stained
Pink with his sadness,
His eyes shimmered with tears yet unreleased.
She sang to him to be hopeful,
To believe in his love,
And that all will be well.
The blue-eyed young man
Smiled at the nightingale,
For her song was beautiful,
Though he did not understand.

The nightingale flew about the garden,
Enjoying the beauty of life.
She sang to the oak trees and the daffodils,
And they wept that they would not hear her song again.
They were comforted that she would be silenced for love,
For love has no price too great.

The earth ate the last rays of the sun
And the moon shone
Wan and pallid in the night sky.
She, too, was sad to hear only this one last song
From the nightingale.

Then the bird flew to the red rose bush
And pressed her breast against the thorn.
She sang her sweetest song.
It was so beautiful that all the dead lovers of the world
Shuddered in their graves
With the reminder of the love in life,
The wind joined her voice with the nightingale's
And carried her song to the ends of the the earth,
To the darkest caves where Echo returned it,
To the ocean's waves that kept the time,
To the peaceful moors where the grass danced along,
To the sleeping child to give her sweet dreams.

"Closer, closer!"
Urged the rose bush,
"I must taste your heart's blood
Before dawn,
Or the rose will not be done."

So the nightingale pressed closer still to the thorn
As the rose bush spun the most beautiful rose
It had ever spun.
But red! A red red rose it was.
"Closer still!"
Cried the rose bush,
And the nightingale pressed closer until her heart was pricked.
A bolt of pain struck the nightingale
And her song rang out through the garden,
Her melody, sweet with love and anguish,
Reached the ears of the young man.
He sat up in his bed,
And was so moved by the nightingale's song,
He stayed awake to listen.

As the nightingale's heart-blood poured onto the rose,
The reddest rose washed white as a freshly fallen snow,
Her tears mingled with the blood,
For only blood can wash out blood,
And only tears can heal.
And so the red rose became white,
As dewdrops and starlight,
As the nightingale's voice grew faint.
And she fell to the ground as the first breath of dawn
Shone gray on the horizon.

The whole garden heaved a sigh
As the nightingale's song was done.
A chorus of flowers and crickets and wind
Sang their mournful song
For the little nightingale
Who gave her life for love.

When the sun had risen in the sky,
The young man walked out into the garden
And saw the white rose.
Carefully he cut it, admiring its beauty.
He did not notice the nightingale,
Laying dead on the ground.

He gazed at the rose in awe,
And inhaled its damask perfume.
It smelled of starlight and sweet dreams,
Of mothers' lullabies and midnight kisses,
Of laughter and heartache,
Of True Love and tender death.

"This is the rose for my beloved,"
He said to himself,
And he prepared himself for the ball.

That night, when the sun had set again,
He met his fair lady, whom he so dearly loved.
"This rose is for you, so that you will dance with me."
He handed her the rose, the white rose with no thorns.
She took it gently, breathing in its scent.

"Dear boy, I will dance with you tonight."

He took her hand and led her out onto the floor.
They danced and danced
All through the evening,
More than rules of decency allow.
She smiled and laughed and fell in love.

When the evening closed
And it was time to go home,
She held the white rose close to her heart
And breathed in its sweet perfume.
Her heart was happy
And faintly, a nightingale's song
Seemed to whisper in her ear.
She grabbed the young man by the hand,
The man whom she loved.

"I will dance with you all the nights of my life,
If you so desire," she whispered.
"My darling, I desire no more," the young man smiled,
His blue eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

For love is a silly thing.
It is not half so useful as logic,
But it is twice so important.
True Love tells only things
That are the most true.
It tells of joy and comfort,
But also of sacrifice and pain.
And in this age,
Though to be practical is everything,
Love is the most important of all.

Evert night at 2 AM
Different poems are written
Different words are scribbled
Different papers are crumpled
But only one thought she had
Yet, word can't help her convey the feelings
"Empty" has much more than herself
"Sad" is not sadder than she thought
"Broken" is more whole than her
"Hurting" ain't just bleeding just like her
And when words can't take the role
It's the blade that play with her
Every cuts has meaning
Everything is her unreleased feeling

Silence.              
That’s the
First thing you
Can hear. The sil
Ence is just so loud,
So real, so close, so true,
What everyone needs sometimes.
That’s my favourite part of being there,
Underwater. The world passes away, and
You can hear yourself thinking again.
You can just simply: Be. For once.
The feeling of oblivion, the pressure of
Unreleased air, the escaping
Bubbles to the top
Of the pool, ocean, lake,
The clear water with sunlight
Shining through the depths till it
Reaches you, the feeling of
Oneness with the world
Its past, its present
Its uncertain future, the
Feeling that everything will be okay
No matter how hard it seems now. The
Feeling of weightlessness as your hair undulates
Through the clear water, your body buoyant, your mind
Finally clear. The stillness that overtakes your very
Soul as you stay at the bottom, holding on with
All your might, not wanting the moment
To ever pass, knowing it has to even
As you hope you can breathe,
Impossible as it seems. The stillness
Permeating every aspect of your being, from
Your previously weighed down limbs to your dancing
Hair to your stressed mind to your frazzled soul, giving the
Much needed calm from a busy day. Pushing off the
Depths, feeling the sunlight get stronger, the sur
Face grow closer, feeling the nostalgia to your
Second home where you can see clearly,
Even with your eyes shut tight, your
Breath held. Where you are you.
Underwater.

Penned on watermarked cotton paper
Cursive letters script the words
of a surrendering rhythmic rhyme.
The ardent sonata was written
by the light of a Blue Moon’s shine.

The blood red ink bled through
the white wrinkled cotton pages;
musical notes dried by the warmth
of glowing Moon Beams radiance
in the subtle pollination breeze...

The maestro Coyote’s howl cried out!

Instinctively rousing the stillness of the night;
       a feral essence echoed
       through the eerie silence
       of the distant horizon,
bringing helpless lovers to their knees.

The words to the Cabernet Sauvignon
       stained midnight  lullaby,
       were emotions quilled,
       blending an aura accenting
       organic warmth of tones...

       The native maple trees'
flowering canopies of Spring
released a dusty yellow pollen
onto the watermarked cotton sheets.

In a moment of rapturous intimacy,
       an elixir of intoxicating bliss
illumined the achingly euphoric moments.
A natural untamed wildness was exhaled;
       savored ecstasy released
       into a passionate song of love …

That poignant melody forever lingers,
       like hieroglyphics on the walls
of some long lost abandoned cave.

Engraved, etched, brushed and stroked
       onto the brattice canvas
       of a musical Minstrel’s
            melodic montage ...

       Watch the artiste’s fingers
       prancing graceful ballet
       Worn down catgut strings

                                *moan
          
     ­                  weep

              purr**

       crying out lustfully.
     as if it were
    enraptured lovers'
  breathless sighs

  the rhythm’s cadence
whispers a masterpiece
       in an infinite
       harmonious time...

       The tempo’s lines
                Phrasing…

                 ...hush...!

             ♪♫♪ ~ ♫  ♪♪

        Listen to the pictures flow...
Listen to the weeping guitar strings
      of the passionate troubadour
stroking the metaphorical canvas scene.

       The ebb and flow
       of the musical rhythm's throb
arouse the Blue Moon’s hypnotic  allure,
    throwing incandescent shadows
    that dance around Moonbeams.

Joyfully twirling, blissfully embracing
in the blossoming Forget-me-not fields;
            Bluebonnet Lupine
               swirl and tango
       with the moonlit breeze.

       Lilacs fragrant aroma drifts
with spring’s churning romantic haze;
rekindling this fleeting memories recital.
The Minstrel and the Minstrel’s song
         now yearn to be set free ~

      Timbre without reverberation …
The twilight serenade was never penned
  to be hidden from the Nightingale

A romantic moment’s sorrowful lament
to be abandoned like a broken dream;
   fading unnoticed into forevermore ―
      Unsung,  unsaid, unreleased,
                     unrequited
                through eternity…

              The maestro Coyote
       is a wilderness troubadour
       illumined under the gloaming
               full moon’s spell.

                Howling soulfully...
               wailing impulsively ~
              ... crying hopefully
             pleading mournfully
                     lamenting
the Minstrel’s breathless cadenza ...

A bitter sweet musical embryo of love
                 found and lost
                       below
           the full Blue Moon’s
               glistening light…



©  H.  Rivers ... 2012, 2013
           all rights reserved

the early morning silence is good for me

i usually miss out on the sunrise,
but when i don't, i let myself soak in it

my fingers prune under the rays of a sun unreleased

this in-between --
the not quite day, but not quite night --
sets my world in motion

time stands still and life forms inside my window pane

bliss in a 5:30AM lilac sky

the early morning silence is good for me

Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail

Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.

From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips

Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, *******, arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe should and aught

Trembling  fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased

Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail

Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.

From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips

Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, *******, arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe, aught and should

Trembling  fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased

A voice commonly recognized
suddenly began to blend
a speech practiced until finalized
so easily how we did bend

Jealousy was control
given ungranted
eyes that shone a past unreleased
secretes the remains kept until deceased

too much revealed
vulnerable and hastily
trying to re-conceal
a simple discovery unaccepted

seemingly so unmoved
desiring to be removed
still and stable like a stone
but shame in your eyes over shone
the light you shine too bright
to blind those who try to fight
through your low-lit fog
to remind you
even stones, stand strong,
but crack and wash away

With eyes like Neptune
she carved a hole in my soul

Somehow the sun gets lost inside and freezes

Discovering your love
with a mathematical prediction

Hiding true thoughts
to avoid an friction

Weighing on my soul
like a Great Dark Spot

My love for you is like the sun
it's just ten times as hot

I don't know why
i've go to keep it bottled up inside

These unreleased overwhelming
feelings that i hide

But since your gaze has frozen over
my ever burning heart

I'll light a spark on Neptune
it's the only place to start

Look at me baby

I love you

His face looked suddenly swollen, as though unshed tears, finding no outlet through his eyes, flowed beneath his skin wherever it found space. He would not look at me, but away, and yet I knew he was not seeing what he looked at. His blue eyes had darkened, and something had receded into his deepest place, so that when he looked at me finally, I saw the unspoken, unreleased emotion at his center. I felt as though a sabre had passed through me as through softened butter, at his look. There was nothing I could do, then or ever. I might never know that unspoken, unreleased story, and a part of me was relieved, for I felt its terror course through me as he looked at me. How had he stayed alive and sane? The answer was there, in that deep core where he abided in this moment, a courage that was itself so complete a part of who he was that he scarce noticed it. Then, I knew. I knew that no matter what that story was, it did not define him, but he could not forget it, in moments like this one.

His eyelids dropped, a tiny movement that showed me he saw that I knew where the limits lay and I would not disturb them. That I was not then, or ever, going to "fix" him or pursue him into his deepest place. That I would wait for, but never expect, his invitation to follow him there. He adjusted his shoulders then, the way he always did when he began to relax.

I needed to be alone. I felt as though I had emotional jet lag from that supersonic view into the unknown behind his eyes. I wanted to curl into myself and go comatose, so that when I landed I would not feel the bump or feel the nausea of the descent. I turned away and walked to the spring. On my knees, I splashed the icy water over my face and neck, needing the sting of the wet and the cold to ground me in my being. When I turned to look at him, he was gone. I had not heard him leave, but was not surprised. I already thought he was a ghost in a body.

Words unreleased congeal

Within the agonies of conjecture

Tormented by solid sorrows

Sounds that can not be pacified

Plague my presence

In unannounced pronouncements

Who will be summoned?

By this secret voice

A piercing sorrow?

Our the sensuous meaning of tragedy

The grief of eternal exclusion

Meeting you was like an assassination
The moment you spoke
I felt the recoil
Point blank shot between the eyes
In one instant I was alone
Plenty sufficient at self-mutilation
I was content
To wander alone in my own thoughts
My personality cold
Chilled by the ice of the desolation
Of unreleased sorrow

One minute I am still
Content
Meandering hopelessly in my world
Then there was you
Your first word was a slug
Dressed in copper it sank in
Sending shockwaves through the gray matter
I took the hit
My skull accepting the whiplash and allowing me
Some semblance of strength to move

I had no chance to heal before I was hit again
Your touch was electric
A million volts multiplied by the fluid
That is your glowing stare
The sound of my name on your tongue
Becomes a garrote
Taking my breath from my lungs
I can’t speak in your presence

All that I was because to die away
The lonely man who sought shelter
In the desert of loneliness
Blown away
Bleeding out in the back of my mind
All who I thought I was
Gone
In the blink of a muzzle flash


Meeting you was like an assassination
The man I was
Destroyed
Some other man sauntered off that day
Someone I don’t know yet
But am striving to figure out

At the end of the day, it could go either way
much like at the end of this song
Well I write for a while then I sink to a smile
when I think how you draw me along.

Well we came with a story, a beautiful poem,
unheard verses locked deep in our soul
and to way to discover what's locked in a lover
find the key that will fit the keyhole.

Must we all be inspired? Seems like that's how I'm wired
I've got something to share, but it seems
that I still blame myself for what sits on the shelf
unreleased from my closet of dreams.

From rejection to strife, anger cuts like a knife
and it tore at the door to my pride
it was then your sweet voice through the keyhole rejoiced
and released the deadbolt from inside.

So now I can tell you just what's on my mind
I am corny and weird and unkind, sometimes
but I say what I feel 'cause i know what is real
and it sure beats what I left behind.

Thought the answer was finding the right key
for the words and the music to roll
but the Master unlocking life's sweet mystery
is the Love sown in each others soul.

A stone terrain waits

A landscape deserted

Devoid of real

Or imagined explorations

For it turns inward

At a tangent that

Precludes inquiry

It has an articulation

Of slow deliberate movements

Where particularized

Geology has painted it

Cut off and disconnected

By an estrangement of creation

Other existences only serve

To magnify its sense of isolation

Its blank uncaring non-geometric

Dimensions of observable

Unquantifiable location is obscure

And unrealised

Producing an immediate

Initiated sensory experience

Of unreleased silent appraisal

But why does it wait?

What for

Does it anticipate or foresee

Some expected prediction

Of apocalyptic presentiment

Is it recalling color?

Or is it experiencing

The present like floating in a dream

Alas there is no clue

To its tilted yet frozen expectancy

A stone terrain waits

I seen **** in the negative
Told me to loosen up and write all my positives

When I was done
It was gone

You were the world
You were my heart

Build a spaceship together
. . . Takeoff

Who knew time
Would come quick

Take you
****** you

Seems unreal still
My mind everything but still  

You seen potential
I seen more in you

Doubted myself
But never doubted you

A masterpiece
A beautiful piece
Exquisite piece

I need Peace
My wild thoughts
are silent

Silence played its part
In the empty rooms you no longer hold a part of

You told me you had me
Told me not to think so much
You left me to think sooo (****) much
****

I had you
Felt like you never had me
The way you should have had me

I knew mine:
Diamond piece
Beautiful piece
Wild
Exquisite Piece

That it is easily missed until there ain’t no one to treat you
(The way I did)
Its like a song on replay
But I let you listen to my unreleased

Yet you released
As if you didn’t know
The gem I held

II
The gem slipped through the folds
the tab began

Atmosphere held:

Good vibration
Raw Energy

Whereas
Vibes are temporary
While Energy is an everlasting Spark

Never dulls
But sharpens
Darkens
Ignites

Let it burn

Who ever knew that the ⚡️ Spark
Lost all its electricity current

Tell yourself lies to help you survive
Assume let it take over your mind

You build a suit so did I
Landed on the same planet
Different Levels
You can only imagine

Through all this I hope you didn’t forget about
The Spaceship
It became unfunctional
(Throughout time)

Find me intertwined with my favorite tunes and you adding a piece that I never knew existed until now

Let it:

Flow
Break down
Excite you whole
Take over your mind
Get lost in the depths of loving yourself

The beauty in all things
For the reason it goes
Drives me
Experience discomfort
Let it bring out everything from the chaotic
Let the reflection of self remind you that you are Rare
That you can go to the unexpected anywheres
Escape from it and come with: fresh and new
That you may add to your growth that within yourself
You love every given piece seen and unseen
that you learn to rest your mind and seek what's on hold

Why do you feel so weak
asking you that question I know ruptures something inside of you mentally
Control the sound
Mute everything, anything negative that distorts
You in ways you feel bothered
That every second that goes by your heart races the same melody of it all

Let it be exposed
Let the light shine in the darkest places
Let it grow on its own
Let it be natural
Let it be beautiful
Let it hold value
Let it not steal your mind nor time--
Nakedness is everything it's pure and true
I love the essence
I love what makes you wild when it comes from your heart
I love when it's alive and free
I love it when you begin to flow
In ways it has to be said because
The firsts of everything in anything that you do make me love you more
I feel the rush excitement that you get
I feel the volume of your joy elevate 
It's the most high
It's You

Uncomfortable
causing or feeling slight pain or physical discomfort.

Comfort sometimes isn’t healthy or safe

I made myself
Erase any trace
That lead back
To the pieces  that was suppose to piece itself
Without me

In order to find Peace with my mind
So my wild thoughts can become silent
And so my unreleased is released to you

Understand this wasn’t easy
I had to for My sake

So this is my closure

This is 2014 “I want to be Happy“ part II
And Now I’m seeking everlasting joy
That energy not vibe

I want genuine
I want that Gold
I want everything
That I deserve but never got

Give me Loyalty not Love

(For I am)
A masterpiece
Beautiful piece
Diamond Piece
Wild
Exquisite Piece

we taught each other
to enjoy
a lingering kiss
   soft touches
     loving glances
the built-up tension unreleased
    but in secret solitude
       at night
a yearning for fulfilment
   never to be granted
as we moved out of school
and into different lives

I saw her last
only a few years after
  alarmed by news from mutual friends
two days before her death

she did not recognize me
   any more
as I stood terrified
beside her bed
in a secluded section
of the cancer ward

I had arrived too late

my loving stutter
   already out of reach
her blindly searching gaze
passed on through me

it hurt
like nothing else before

I cried my grief out
in long sobbing nights
yet still not long enough
to heal the pain
nestling since then
   quietly
in thinly calloused
wrinkles of my heart

            * *

The cut is yet deep.

Standing in the crowd holding her hopes like a child with a balloon
the rain wet street mirrored on her cheek
she sees only ghosts and memories around her.
Her soul contorts and twists under the weight of her loss
weeping for that which was
and faded dreams lie in litter at her feet.

Shadowy solace hovers impotently
loath to approach lest he be burned in her cold fire.
Her thoughts hang in strands:
"O, fountain blood be my salve
for hollow loneliness is my home"
Unheard, unheeded, unreleased
they echo and play across her mind in metallic tones.

And the cut is yet deep.

Pain sings in her heart
marking her world with it's dissonant pallette.
Bright and brittle, with a lover's hunger
offering a seductive embrace she can no longer resist.
Siezing to it's sharpness and brilliance like a keepsake
she draws it to her willingly
and loves it.

But hers is not the step, the end, the sleep.
"I am queen here" she cries to an unknowing world
"Heed me, for I shine"
and shaking off the woe she turns from the path.
Fierce Nike takes her hand and leads her forward,
onward to a new beginning, a new season, a new hope.
For yes, the cut is yet deep
but cuts will heal with gentle touch
and even scars may fade in the sun.

Got a condition
Under my skin
Ain't going to be solved
With simple addition

These days are short
These hours are long
I'm whispering to myself
In a tune of a song

Here comes Greg the gong
Standing straight as he cracks his knuckles
His face his old, his robes are grey
He tells me, "Your stomach looks like it's about to buckle."

Outside the cafe
We sip on coffee and biscuits
Looking at a world
Caught up in its own mischief

Lies are spread thin
Truth a little thinner
Then, we see something move
Behind the building of the barber
We go to look and later on
Wished we were a little smarter

We saw
A rock painted in blood
An eye inside of a glove
I nod my head and Greg tries to say,
"Death is a caught fish in a stream far away."

The night fell like an anvil
Onto my sagging shoulders
I was never taught the rules
So I can't say I've forgotten them

Caught in a fix of my own creation
Where the truth and the lies mix
"There's nothing in this life that is quick"
I nodded my head at him and paid my tip

Catch the break in the pause
"Smells phosphorous," she smiled.
I've travled a thousand miles
But what I've seen
Never amounted to nothing
After I saw her

She was the cat's purr
And the dog's meow
The air behind
The desert winds frown

I'm torn apart
Left for dead
Waiting for that moment
When one become two
Wishing I'd chosen
The other instead

Can't see a way out
The tunnel's caved in
Dynamite went bad
Only darkness around me now
And I'm struggling to breathe

There was no light
No way away from myself
I tried to recall
Everything I'd ever touched

But all I felt was
Soot in my nose
And rocks in my eyes
And then a phrase came to me,
"It was all a big lie."

I died and became
The whistling kettle
Of an unreleased song
By a well-known singer

A whisper whose sound would be better
If shouted by a heated young lover

There is a night
Without vanity or despair
Where life runs free
Without injustice or duty or care

Find that Night

Seek it
Search for it
And take what you were born for

Find the Night

The crushing weight inside of my chest
Makes thoughts of you harder to digest
Burning tears fill fill my eyes and steals my breath
Filling me with a pain 10 fold worse than death
The tears that fill my eyes refuse to fall
Denying me the releasing relief that comes only after a waterfall
Trapped in a lake of unreleased tears and untold pain
The screaming in my head, my own voice as if I've gone insane
I fear that in this lake of tears I may drown
And that the last sounds I'll ever hear is the deafening silence of nobody else around
Oxygen free to all others to me is refused
Fighting for every breath leaves my soul feeling bruised and abused
Treading water ever rising inside my own personal hell
Silence so loud it echoes with the pain that it has come to foretell
And only you hold the key to my release
"I forgive you" is all I need to achieve a little inner peace

Take me down
The leaves grow upside down
Where the breathe leaves a puff
The drinks soothe me
And my scattering mind is at ease

Down in New Orleans
The ghosts and queens of spirits that fill the shadow
Stand by and you will see: swamplands where the spirits will rise

Listen as the willow weeps its blues on to your shoulder
The humidity sweat drips on your head as a droplet of chaos
The buzzing as a shock in silence of noise to distract the pain

Noise fills the empty caves and hollow trunks hold the empty souls
Behind your head is a dancing spirit
One drinking
Another dancing
Another smoking
Many partying

Many suffering
Unreleased from ties and pain
The pain many are tied to down in New Orleans

They came one hour before the dawn,
Each to himself complete;
Fanatic’s face and stealthy pace
On canvas roughshod feet,
And each one knew what each must do,
His destiny to meet.
  
And some wore masks upon their heads
And on some heads were none;
And some held blades, and some grenades,
And in some hands a gun;
But, common to each one, upon
Their lips an orison.
  
It was not fear induced their prayer
(They were not so devout),
It was but pious callousness
That brought their prayer about;
The arrant beat of their conceit
Permitted of no doubt.
  
That they should seize, with perfect ease,
This symbol of the might
Of that great power in one short hour
Without the need to fight,
Naively and sufficient was
To fill them with delight.
  
But no one had considered that
There was a need to guard
The sanctuary of the house;
Tradition had assured
It would remain inviolate,
Thus were they ill-prepared.
  
And even less could they then guess
Their capture by default
In that bleak hour before the dawn
To dreams would call a halt,
Uncertain whether fear or smiles
Should greet this weird assault.

But never did they speak a word
  Or pause to give a thought
To those whose confined air they shared
And whose respect they sought
Yet unaware of how much fear
Their nervous rage had brought.

The constant weight of dreaded hate,
Much heavier than gold
Held in the throes of daily woes
Lacked shelter from the cold
And bitter blame that hid their shame
Scant comfort for that fold.
  
“If it were in our power alone,
You know we’d set you free,
But we must on that greater power
Bestow our loyalty.
Our faith demands the principle
Of reciprocity.
  
“And you must know our charity
Is running out of time,
And all we ask – a simple task –
That you admit your crime
Against our great and noble State.
Confession is sublime.”

But bit by bit and day by day
Anxiety increased.
The captives could not comprehend
Remaining unreleased.
And lacked the empathy that veiled
The hostile Middle East.

They disagreed between themselves
On what their captors sought.
There were a few who took the view
That they must lend support
To something that exemplified
How steadfastly they fought.

And for their part the captors too
Debated fervently.
Our fathers too believed as you
And lived lives decently
But we have learned by pain and strife
That these things cannot be.

But bit by bit their feelings changed
Quite subtly to and fro.
And what at first they would not face,
Became a need to know
The details of from whence they came
And where they hoped to go.

Is this the land your fathers loved
And toiled so hard to win?
Is this the freedom that they sought,
Those noble fellahin?
Do you not think these deeds disturb
The graves that they sleep in?

Do they not miss their families?
What holds them in such thrall?
Eternal and infinite bliss;
Is that the mighty pill?
Deliverance from worldly sin
And quick release from ill.

Our lives depend on your goodwill
And gaining your acclaim;
To guarantee survival must
Be our final aim.
Though it reflects so grievously
Our everlasting shame.

To find ourselves in bonding mode
Emotion'lly with those
Who seemed to pose the greatest threat
And had the most to lose
Seemed but the test of all the best
That we could then propose

Avoiding trauma and distress,
We need to change our course
As rivers often cannot help
Identify their source
We still believe we can relieve
The brutal use of force

Their cruelty from weakness sprang.
(They thought themselves humane:
Considerate to animals
And sparing children pain.)
But each one knew what each must do
Ere he saw home again.

“Justice for each is what we preach
Though it may terror breed;
That we may own what we have sown:
The produce of our seed.”
(The prejudice of ignorance
May yet fulfil their need.)

What irony their actions bear
As to achieve, they sought
Their violent needs with violent deeds,
And claimed for freedom fought,
Who were themselves to violence slaves.
How dear is freedom bought?
  
“The words we use indeed abuse,
But we have no regrets;
Corruption is the rotting fruit
That decadence begets,
And those who yet will of it eat
Deserve these epithets.”

Our motivation and our aims
Weigh much more heavily
Than simple arguments against
Abuse of family.
And we, with utmost trust, will still
Pursue it mightily.

To find relief in that belief
Their pleading did increase;
That that concern in turn might bring
Enlightenment and peace.
Yet still each knew what each must do
Before there came release.

The moral that this story bears
Will evermore abide . . .  
That death did not discriminate
One from the other side;  
When each one knew what each must do  
And each one did . . . and died.

Wouldn't that be so much fun?
A whole page of nothingness!
Just potential, imagine;
Everybody's happiness!
Untarnished and untainted,
Clean slate for a masterpiece;
Poetry or picture painted,
perfection, yet unreleased!
Blank page does intimidate.
Too much space to fill with verse.
So much pressure to create,
drained of ideas, such a curse.
This blankness does need a genius;
Wasted canvas, so meaningless.

Today shall be a talking day
a walking day
and I shall walk and talk and say things
to myself and maybe others too
and if I do
it may make this day seem okay.

At times the rhymes that stymie me
those unreleased
I will set free to walk and talk along with me
another piece of poetry.

Others look and wonder why this man that mouths words passes by
with spittle dripping from his lips and tips of cigarettes unlit
just waiting for a light to rip into his eyes and slip a match into his hands which make the shuffling of the pack
another cigarette and back to walking
talking
stalking through the rush hour crowds which pass like clouds around my feet
and will I ever find a seat
to sit?
unlit again.
'Hey mister have you got a light and if so might you give some substance to the nicotine'
and I,unseen
the haunted of the haunting dream
lit,unlit and barely time to clean or clear and my oh my oh dear
the heavens open up and fill my begging bowl which in actuality is a Starbucks cup which in the breaking makes a better place to put my shamefaced
unlaced misery.

A cup another cup of steaming tea
sweet,delicious and given to me by a sweeter looking lady who maybe felt a little pity,sadness too
but who am I to know what goes on in the minds of those that throw this sausage dog a bone?

I howl and I can howl and how I bark
but not when I am in the park sat by the swans and ducks and in being somewhat of a lucky man
which I most assuredly feel is what I am
feed the wildlife with stale bread and talk the words that flow in seasons round my head.
I'm sure these birds appreciate my soft spoke words but they don't tell me so, and so I go into another walk and talk
with skateboarders,
talking tall orders as they whizz and skid along the concrete tracks
on which the local councils with their tightened schedules close their eyes and turn their backs.
And back to City
unmade streets
leaking drains and leaking brains that leak through walls and wall street halls and madness ramparts
broken and rebroken hearts
false and even falser starts until it falls apart.
The falling I can understand
another matchstick in my hand and one more cup of tea
I've had enough of lunacy and lunatics
I shall go home to egg and chips
retire and
sat by the fire will watch the flames that flame out names and burn the corners of those pictures that I carry on the inside
another fireside
an ash grey day
a walking,talking time today
tomorrow
who knows?

Well, you see, not everyone has that as an option.
Not everyone can go as they please.
Some people have ties, obligations; they're unreleased.

one—

for a day filled with extremes
happiness to sorrow
sorrow to contentment
and eventually,
exhaustion.

two—

for hidden stories
locked in for years
triggered open by loneliness,
kept in again before dawn

three—

to evaporate unseen tears,
burn out unreleased emotions,
while watching the embers glow
and fall slowly onto moist concrete.

At the end of the day, it could go either way
much like at the end of this song
Well I write for a while then I sink to a smile
when I think how you draw me along.

Well we came with a story, a beautiful poem,
unheard verses locked deep in our soul
and to way to discover what's locked in a lover
find the key that will fit the keyhole.

Must we all be inspired? Seems like that's how I'm wired
I've got something to share, but it seems
that I still blame myself for what sits on the shelf
unreleased from my closet of dreams.

From rejection to strife, anger cuts like a knife
and it tore at the door to my pride
it was then your sweet voice through the keyhole rejoiced
and released the deadbolt from inside.

So now I can tell you just what's on my mind
I am corny and weird and unkind, sometimes
but I say what I feel 'cause i know what is real
and it sure beats what I left behind.

Thought the answer was finding the right key
for the words and the music to roll
but the Master unlocking life's sweet mystery
is the Love sown in each others soul.

When in Rome

No browsing is allowed to the public

50 miles of unreleased documents

The lies of Jehovah witness

Every story of every lost prophet

Curiosity of a Californian

Talk about blessed

Talk about blurred

I lost myself in ancient knowledge

I need to know if aliens exist

Only 24 with a 4 year old kid

Running around like lighting hits

My son will grow into God

Cause i will not let him fall for the nicktoon facade

They told me hip hop is dead

but

This is more like the Zombie apocalypse

Just woke up from a rapped up coffin

War and the churches involvement

Racks on racks full of top secrets plaques

Home of the brave

Home of the raves

What you know about spiritual warfare ?

Plug your ears n blind your eyes

That psychological propaganda will make you lose your mind

Dont pay attention to the predictive program

They want the silence of the lambs

Your not a herd of ham

Your super humans

The time has come to save the planets

Let us stick together like working magnets..

A pen. A quill. A stray piece off chalk
With so much to say
And such a small language
You flow with emotion
Under tree, over sea
By the knuckles you wear
You write letters to me

I thank you,
The poets
People
Of
Emotions,
Tears,
Script

With the letters you mix
Unreleased but related
A bond is created
A bond has created

A call to the poets of the 21st day
A song for the artists to keep on their way

Awe
Is a noted
And frequent emotion
A frequent emotion
For a northern bound notion

So I call to the poets of the 21st age
To never stop spilling your heart on a page

I thought you were watching me all this time
Secretly devoting your minutes to me, dying to know how I felt about you, dying in general
Able to feel the skin physically peel upwards off your nimble fingers, as you try to scrape my name off your phone screen, analyzing every word my shattered mind had exerted through cold plastic keys
I thought your drunk thoughts were always spinning towards untouched feelings for me and unreleased emotions
I thought I was everything to you all because you were everything
to me
But I'm not anything
And this world isn't existent
If it doesn't exist with you

There's power in the name
But the name's been lost for centuries
There's poison in the water
But the water tastes like honey
And we're so thirsty we don't care where we wake up tomorrow
We don't care, the question can hardly hold our attention

And this is a song for your young men to sing when they run out of options
Yeah, when they run out of options

There's the faith you can give or withhold
And then there's the one true faith
There's the revolution you came for
And the one you're eventually going to get
And there's a road that starts right here and leads clear up to Saskatchewan
And I brought a full tank and a '67 Mustang

And this is a song for your young women to whistle
While they're driving at high speeds down the highway

There's wind up in the trees
There's a song on the wind
There's a message in the song
But the message is hopelessly complicated
And the words are written on water
And they disappear before you write them down
But I, I brought the Polaroid

And this the song
And everyone's got sing along
But it hasn't got a chorus
******* it all

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Hey hey, la la la la

A poem can't fail
Writing can't end.
There's always more to tell,
There's writing to amend.
The only poem I think
That can actually sink
Is the one left unfurled.
Unreleased to the world.
Don't leave those thoughts
In your artist's mind.
Such a shame it should rot
When you have the time.
You have a story to be told.
Let the barriers of your mind unfold.

I am enigmatically saturated
in a silhouette
that deluded the eyes
of my innumerous bits

has it
or has it not
bewitched the demons
and turned the scale
from black to white

But I shall implant
the keen arrow
and spill the venom
of X and Y

now I see
a bow in your right hand
rage in your left
that took the arrow
with a tighter grasp

as it creep,
into the deep
into the crimson liquid of mine

how my cries
desperately thrive
how they bloom
in a gown of gloom

yet how they sleep
by those bits, unreleased
against your silhouette
saturated
un deceased