When will the day bring its pleasure?
  When will the night bring its rest?
Reaper and gleaner and thresher
  Peer toward the east and the west:--
  The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.

Meteors flash forth and expire,
  Northern lights kindle and pale;
These are the days of desire,
  Of eyes looking upward that fail;
  Vanishing days as a finishing tale.

Bows down the crop in its glory
  Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold;
The millet is ripened and hoary,
  The wheat ears are ripened to gold:--
  Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?

The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth
  Who knoweth the first and the last:
The Sower Who patiently soweth,
  He scanneth the present and past:
  He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."

Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers
  The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown:
On threshers and gleaners and reapers,
  O Lord of the harvest, look down;
  Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!

"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers,
  The Lord of the first and the last:
"O My toilers, My weary, My weepers,
  What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast.
  Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."

I Am Waiting**

I am waiting for my case to come up  
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting  
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier  
and I am waiting  
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming  
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona  
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored  
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find  
the right channel  
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth  
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed  
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered  
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did  
to Tom Sawyer  
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting  
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again  
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn  
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting  
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

I tried to be cordial with inactivity
washing it with weeping juice like a pardoned effigy
but the diamonds of determination were so wrapped in mind debris
that I threw away a fortune in potential

The smiles of the platitudes are louder than their laughs
An appeasing of their attitudes I warrant with the gaffes
of an undertaker's underling bestowing upon epitaphs
another deadened and deprived credential

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in a rusty *** of empathy

The dentist rubbed his fingers when he saw my gritted teeth
No sermon on the mount from me, more a mumble on the heath
My incisor is a tack that would support a giant's wreath
Thorns of novocaine will numb my Christmas wish

For the sake of universal order I will freeze a yawn
Mostly harmless said a hitchhiker of Earth so I can spawn
a batch of clones to live on hold where all the battle lines are drawn
I'll zip up and in the universal order I'll languish

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every satellite a telecast of fault, a sour recipe
for sleeping juice to boil over in Big Dipper's empathy

Where's a pound of flesh when needed? I've grown tired of these ribs
On the grill of soggy marrow, hungry haunts will have first dibs
Call on William Blake to send the weepers to their cribs
Wishful thinking I'll preserve beneath the floorboards

With a hand in nothing new and an incisor in the usual
intestine chains surround my motivation's hot pursual
Don't read too much into my implied acceptance of a dual
with a messenger of fact's implicit hoards

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in an empty *** of sympathy

Sound the bugle for my bed is made, I'm rested for detention
Solitaire I'll play in my confinement for the crime of sought attention
I revolted the philosophers in plugging my intention
I would not concede that lab rats had it worse

The satellites are full and bright, the shadows walk on lakes tonight
I'll dream of sleep but eyes will play me in my bedroom's voided sight
Lay with me and sigh and the elastic laws of nature might
halt the quivering continuum of fate's forsaken course

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every channel plays the same old cooking show's ensoured recipe
Compromise a minor seasoning in liver-flavoured empathy

04 15 14

The Grim Reaper reaches deeper,
Over-eager to catch a keeper,
Create another ever-sleeper,
At the expense of ever-weepers.

Playing heart-string harps, his hand extends,
Lost in searching, he transcends
O'er prayers and pleas. He descends:
The catalyst of anguished ends.

A terminator of life's coda,
Enternally, he fills his quota.

I find myself begging for fights so I can add it to the excuse pile


I find myself laughing inside when you’re  ****** or picking a fight


I find myself grinning when you grumble



I find myself daydreaming of days where I get to do what makes me happy





I find myself.

And in
this
moment
I find
you.

there is
a magician
in your
eyes
that performs
for
me.

and as
your hair
brushes
across
your face,

time
stands
still.

so all
of the
universe

takes
notice
as you
pass.

and the
colors
that are
you ,

bleed
through
me.

knowing
their
way to
heart.

and under
this Capricorn
sky

I confide
to nomad
stars.

and every one
and everything
that is
in the
universe
or ever
was,

and like a
child,

I whisper

your name
up into
the night.

finder"s
keepers...

loser's
weepers.

and I
will

never
give
you

back.

outrageously funny
the matters of the heart
makes clowns of us
when we play the part

the cast keeps changing
with the part

from stalkers to streakers
charmers to weepers
lovers to cheaters
playboys to loners

the cast keep changing
with the part

walking out of the theatre
of dead spectators
i think i played
each part

the cast was nothing
but only my past
and my heart
it plays no more parts

You will always hold a piece of me.
A piece I will never get back.
Voyage upon voyage unsuccessful to retrieve this missing piece of me.
But no matter if I find it or not, this piece will never become me.
It will never fit in the jigsaw that is my life.
Edges worn down and torn from too much use,
Unrecognizable after all of the abuse.
Longing to fit where it once did effortlessly.
I was in place, everything was fine,
But somehow you managed to contort just one piece out of line.
A piece that you took without even asking,
But a piece I will find even if it's the last thing I do.
Because that piece never belonged to you,
Finders keepers losers weepers, it was still stolen.
Never fully made yours yet you claimed it as your own

I stand here silently,
watching them take you away
in a box of metal.
Professional mourners weep
like banshees in a bog.
Strangers, family, and friends alike
All stand,
Allowing ourselves one final moment
before you've been made into ash
to let memory wash over us.

You were the mad one.
The only person I knew who could
eat more than fifteen hot dogs in one sitting
and still have room for lunch, dinner, and dessert.
You always said that you would be the first to go,
that death would take the best of us first.

The men come out to to your family
handing over your ashes.
The weepers leave,
the friends disperse,
the family begins on their way home.

Five years later,
the anniversary of your death.
I stand at your body-less marker.
As I move to turn away
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I turn around confused
and gasp surprised.
You're more than just
ashes in an urn,
hidden in a closet.

You are the one who mourns,
your death unaccepted by those closest to you.
You ask me to say the words
that no one else had the strength to.
Good Luck.
With that, you are again
Ashes.

The sky is exploding

sending shards of shrapnel

down to Earth

Orbs of cold and wet

that burst on impact

and soak their target in tears

Pieces of shrapnel

skitter across the road

on legs made of fragility

Cold  and wet

Teardrops of the sky

Who is it that cries?

Who do they cry for?

Do they see the shadows

that many on Earth have become?

Do they weep because

we are devoured by darker times?

Are the tears,

clear and cold,

pulled by the untimely arrival

of death to a young soul's side?

Do these weepers,

these beings who hide in the sky,

also suffer from

the dark diseases of life,

The mind-numbing drinks

And crazy-making smoke

And blood-hungry metal?

Why does no one weep for them

the way they weep for us?

.. Have ?
I hear the world say they have so many things, yet we don’t have so much.
The world has a whole lot of nothing. And people have a whole lot of ignorance.
The only things you actually really have are your hands and whatever lasts ‘till infinity & beyond.
Hold on.
Your hands to learn & mold, because the only things infinite are what you really have.
It’s about the control.
I’m waiting on time.
I used to say i have love, but that wasn’t true. Think Twice.
It’s a different type actually..
Some persons have thoughts, some persons have words.
Real persons have actions, same persons have urge.
My person has guts. My person writes the verge..
Every human has a conscience.
That doesn’t mean every human is conscious.
Every world has a maker, individually.
As a whole, Earth can’t do that, feelings are not a liberty.
The most important thing we have is communication.
The voice one has is key for living.
The craziest is our emotions,
apart from the mind.
Having to do our best to understand & keep what we find.
Losers are weepers.
Failure is something we don’t have, but some people can’t get by.
Aware we can fight, but we don’t know it.
Don’t only move when the music is on.
Dew what a mountain does.
You’re unconscious because your dreams are who you really are; you’re just not living them.
Have *****..
‘Cause i once said Have gun, Will ****.
Insecurity has us, because the security in us has no confidence.
Fear i know you have, but let’s let free the brave in us.
The Only Things Infinite;
Let’s not let ‘em be strange to us.
Power i try to have over me and all things me.
I just have to gain power over my human.
Rhythm i have and the flow of life in my step.
.. With worldly temptations, i’ve had it !

My faith will not be tainted & tinted.

Deep is the importance of a swinging minute, when progress should be made towards the only things infinite.

We saw we lacked fulfillment of desires,
goals our mind hardwires into our existence.
We made a pact called resistance,
made a promise that appalled assistance
we don't need anymore.

Morally grey, black and white were never
meant to stay, we were supposed to sever
ourselves from past whining, unable to withstand
declining, weepers, lonesome sleepers,
armed with their hand.

We're not back, admitted, we are only just beginning,
we recognized the lack, the start of our winning.

Goodbye

There he stood, upon that ledge.
Barely a step, from the edge.

Looking down, upon far away ground.
There was no movement, and no sound.

Tears streamed down from that lonely face.
He stood no glory, nor no grace.

'Its all gone, why can't they see?
There's nothing left to take from me.'

'Nothing more I can give,
I've lost the fight, my will to live.'

One more step, one deep sigh.
He closed his eyes, and ceased to cry.

With his last words he whispered to,
Any one that he once knew.

'Good bye, and please don't cry for me.
Sure I'm gone, now you might see.

I couldn't take it anymore,
For all this hurt, there is no cure.

The pain it burned and killed my heart.
You all hated me from the start.

I only wish, the one that mattered,
Would have seen, instead that shattered.

He didn't even realize,
That I loved him; that I tried.

Goodbye, all, its time to die.'
And with that he plunged, from the sky.

His last words, with his last breath,
His last movement, what a mess.

The tears that shed, upon his grave.
The flowers that, weepers gave.

If only they would have showed,
How much they love it, that he glowed.

If only they would have seen,
The sadness that stole his dream.

And the one whose love he didn't know,
Echoed through his heart also,

Wept upon his grave that day,
Then followed him, the same way.

Is it possible to know another
to become as one
or is that something poets, lovers,
and fools say
to excuse their own
folly
And, really, would we
want that kind of intimacy
and, if so,
how long
I have seen
the loss of love
the failures
the crash
the weepers
the drunks
for we are all here now

Far outside
My window,
Through illuminated orange
And tinted black trees,
Rests a park
Bigger than Central.

Housing breathless shadows,
Muskrat tears, and foreign appetites
For postcards, children frolic
Near the spitting fountain of diamonds.

Dust gathers on the homeless,
The dirt junkies, the **** weepers,
The Safeway aisle lurkers.
I nod as they tell me to run faster
Toward an end we both know not where.
My eyes blink and slide down to hide my fear.

There's not enough money
In the world
To change a person.
They'll never forgive themselves.

Spreading their skin on the pavement
Like hot asphalt on a ***-marked street.
There's not enough money in the world
To keep me from being me, I, or you.

Though, on Sundays, when the streets are
Open to the public and the sun shines down,
There is a serene, binding communal air.
I see my brothers and my sisters,
My mothers and fathers.

What is worn is to be judged.
What is said is thought to be understood.
What is given is accepted, perhaps kept or not.
What is experienced, is remembered
For just one day or many to come.

I walk through the park,
Attuned to the bending of trees branches.
I see all there is,
Everything that mankind has to give.
I taste soft, cold air,
And the burning of my lungs in Winter.

Bent, stretched lines of light
Escape in between the pine,
Over the shoulders and heads
Of young women and old men.
I take the last  bus South,
Knowing no one will be there
To meet me.

What was man made is questionable.
I tense when pretenses become acceptable,
Sliding under the table like a giant
Slug.

There I sit, there we sit, there you sit,
Underneath the great invisible moon,
Envious of invisible angels.
Once I hear the crack of leather against wood,
I'm gone; out of sight, of the fight, out of the mind.

Too bad breaths of fresh air
Come only once in a while.

Too long for the toad to jump home
When the wife is pregnant and alone.

Too sad to look the day in the eye
After the next is already knocking on the door.

Too in love to think of anything else
But death.

My park, our park, this park,
Never changes colors - it never ages.
The waters run, the pavements
Smooth, and the wind always free;
Money becomes discolored tree bark
In the face and eyes of mother nature.

What have we built for ourselves this time?
There is so little to say and yet
So much to talk about.
I can't wait for the great silence
Where everything will be equal and one.

Under the ground, beneath the leaves,
A fire is burning for this place: a whining hiss,
a rattling muffler, a scared daughter,
a drought so dry it steals laughter.

I close the door and peer out my window.
Am I in hiding, and if so, from who?
I close the blinds and turn off the lights.
My ceiling is painted off white beige and
There I stage my final bow before curtains.

Oh man I can seeith the beauty in thy things thou calleth ugly,
Oh man I would and will uplift that statuetic queen thou calleth beast!!

Oh man I will learn to feast with her with candles and incense to aroma ourn scents,
Oh man thou canst buyeth her, she's not a slave for thine own rent!!!!

Oh man you throw her in the trash, and I am a trash digger,
Yet what thou doth not know is that thou threw out the gift!!

And kept thy bubble rap!!!!!!!

Haha, blind looker!!!!
Keepers, keepers,
Losers, weepers,
If only hence I'd find such a treat!!

Oh man, thou mayeth shackle her in reigns,blindfold her in vain,
I shall break her loose, and her noose once worn shall be on thy head!!

Oh man, thou hath sliced her by tongue,
Gaveth her false hopes, and no fun,
I'm her plane to fly her out!!!

Oh man,
One of doubt?
Crazy thou sayeth?

that I am eh good friend!!!!

Yet who's the crazy one selling thy gold for worldly deception!!

How's this inscription?????

I've been lost and left out
Fell down dead now
In droughts dry heat
The floor makes my feet bleed
No silence just screaming
But no death
Just the beginning
What is the meaning?
Wandering the vast isles
Many shreaks within the many miles
Piles of flesh still lust for the rush
Some getup and make a living by selling drugs
Dug themselves deeper while passing by the weepers
Whom chatter teeth clatter
Nothing sadder
Holding matter
In the palms of my hands
As people fry
Poems in my dome
As people try to get out the abyss
The snake hiss echoes through absent dark crypt
Infernos fueled by the flesh
Crimson fire spew as sin holds that soul within
What is it that matters?
Love?Laughter?Disasters?
Or a mad hatter in hells plains
awaiting the Holy gains.
Change.
Is a coming, and even through the valley of pain, flames abdominal lust and shame I keep my Faith for Holy awaits.
Yahweh is great amen forever with the Lord
I'm safe.

finders keepers



loosers weepers

Finders keepers,
Losers weepers.
You're the prey
And I'm the seeker.

Hunt you down,
Leave you in pieces,
Hold me back
I really need this!

Strange but true. This morning, I could hear my cat and dog fighting downstairs as cats and dogs do, only this time, the words were clear and loud / maybe I'm a pet whisperer.

Dog:  You don't give a **** anyone but yourself! Why did you have to gobble up my food?
Cat: Don't be such a ***** and stop whining! Finders keepers, losers weepers!
Dog: You're such a diva, you think you're a prima ballerina!
Cat: Shut up you try-hard! Fool!
Dog: At least, she can count on me.
Cat: Count on you? For what? To guard the house? Get real! You'd be bought off with a nice piece of steak like anyone else!
Dog: I'd never let her down, don't bluff, don't double-cross.
Cat: That's why you're an idiot! I don't jump through hoops without dead-certain gravy. I lounge around in a sunny warm spot and purr my way to grub.
Dog: That's for sure. The trouble is, you're useless!
Cat: Who gives a rat's ***? I'm no groveler or lick-***!
Dog: Yeah, you're a chancer. You pounce when it suits.
Cat: That's how I like it, life's dandy! Anyway, I think she admires that about me, wishes, she could be more like me, definitely not like you!
Dog: Maybe. But she'll always be more like me than you.
Cat: Sad but true!

I could hear the catflap open, the dog's paws on the hall floor. Got up, stayed in my PJs and spent the day sitting in the sun.