It seems like everybody around me has forgotten,
they're stuck on a thought again,
saying alot and whining more.
Preying on their own self-doubts,
they have so much,
yet see so little.
Can't they see that 64 inch TV,
or feel the beating of the jets in their hot tub ?
They measure their lives too much,
they have fallen into the "Great American Dream Sham"
as my friend "Chad Williams Lowther" would say !
Its a ruse,
so they can make changes in their lives which they normally wouldn't do,
because they lack the strength and insight,
so they get stuck in their minds.
and the damn kids are really suffering,
cause they don't have the latest video gizmo box.
Thoughtless over-reactions of self- abuse,
much like an addict who is never satisfied.
"The Great American Dream Sham" sucked them in,
macroni and cheese,
saturday morning cartoons and matinees.
All replaced by todays goals and desires,
which are masquerading as tired souls trying to find solice,
stuck in "the Great American Dream Sham"
and now saying all there is to say,
Hail, Hail to me
and all who are free,
all who go their own way
and all who see though it !
She packed her bags one day
Left me in the dark
Running away, what a lark
I stare at the walls; life seems so bleak and stark
I wrote her love letters
Only a thousand or two
The poor old postman
Carrying them all back to my door
Return to sender was the obvious score
So I took my pen and wrote a few more
Before dousing my desires
In the illusions of folklore
Where out of the forest
On a mist filled dawn
Returned my princess
Singing our song
Alas I walk along lonely forest paths
I dream and ponder of what might have been
I look up to the heavens and demand, what was my sin?
That I am alone, surrounded in deathly silence
A second hand man
For a second hand rose
A soul was broken to make room
For dusty halls and labyrinths.
A gossamer, nylon bed-sheet shroud
Enwraps the remnants of that mind.
And no excuses can be made;
This disease does not justify that one.
I do not sleep deeply, I do not wake easily,
I dream of cities built on sand,
Next to the swelling sea.
Oh, they should have lasted.
Why should they fall?
I dream of timber horses,
Brought between those city walls.
We should have known; we should have known better.
But, I am not an honest mystic;
Beware what you ask of me.
I will show truths within the liar's tapestry.
But, you will not believe; no, you cannot believe.
I howled for my motherland
When the mutiny began.
I heard the cry of treason; heard the cry and ran.
I saw blood be spilled,
Some of it my own, then
Felt the rest boil, that this could happen in my home.
I saw the battle through, until the very end,
Then wished the traitors pardoned,
Because they were my friends.
I cannot tell the difference
Between the sleeping and the dead,
So, I will dole out blankets, and keep the kettle on.
The streets are cracked and dirty,
And they all appear the same:
Shattered glass and roofing tacks
Where I place my bare and weary feet.
I don't want to go on.
But, I must rebuild; I must rebuild.
I have no grass to lay,
The trees and flowers will not grow,
So, I shall use nothing, but mortar, brick, and stone.
It's not the same; it is not the same,
But, I shall call it home.
Soft creeps the splendid dream tides of the night
The burning embers of heavens breath descends upon my dreams
Dreams of you, my love tonight
Sparkling wishes, amulet stars, a kiss goodnight.
Heart withstanding aches I dare retrace,
I am accompanied by a newfound face, an explorer’s vision
Tears of joy sprout from their jeweled wings,
Flying toward the smiling moon,
I welcome dreams…tonight, I welcome you
Where whispers trail the sleeping waters.... my love goodnight
Unending sails, hearts submerged in love's delight
Tonight I dream of you
On the rosy fields of memoirs sweet
Soft, tender breezes remind me of your crescent touch..
I curl into the swaying waters, cradled by our memory
Where once you smiled in afterthought, and I in golden reverie
Would beauty among these gentle scenes kindly draw you in?
So maybe we can share the graces of light that lives within
Soft moonlit roses, dripping in night-shined dew,
Yes, even as they close, tonight I dream of you.
Take my hand, don’t let me leave this land
For it thrives on our love’s horizon,
Draw your words upon my life, and let night take its stand
But before I sleep, my love tonight. Oh let me seal it with a kiss.
That in beauty's dream my light would float in your love's eternity.
A thousand saddest days may come, and a thousand darkest dreams
But I'll chase them all for you my love, just to have you in my dreams.
These eyes closed tightly with the rosebuds ,
Shall open before clouds, dark and awry
And in the ground, my love for you shall yet still bloom,
Fed by the healing rain, and your steady love refrain
When tonight I dream of you
-A special collaboration with poet Mustapha Mohammad-
I never knew following dreams could be this lonely,
But up on the hill, looking back, thank God I'm not the old me.
If the tears will fall, let them be;
I believe this is God's plan, follow your dreams.
I want to dream
Like flying across the sky
Finding out greater heights
Seeing others view of reality
And be one with the sky.
I want to dream
Swimming underneath the ocean
Searching water creatures
Fishes, clamps, and corals
Discern what their importance’s are
In our existence and health.
I want to dream
Walking underneath the ground
Exploring things that make us
Wealthy and abundant
Seeing the sources of gold, diamond
And any mineral alike.
I want to dream all my life
To enjoy everything
With my dream Self
As I always know
It’s another form of my reality.
Glitters spread all over
Seeking reflections amidst
Long lost better half
Reunite even afar
Sharing out fragments
Standing still staring
Beyond space and time searching
A spark that mislead
Now after decades
Attracting as one fellow
When moments unfold.
Dimly lit, I sit
in a Mexican kitchen
near the Tropic of Cancer.
A TV is tuned
to inane noises;
dogs at my feet,
oranges in a bowl
on a table:
a specific place and time.
And I am dreaming --
dreaming of Louisiana
in twilight hours --
dreaming of short winter days and
summer's green, bright mornings.
Country time, mostly empty,
was quiet, seldom interrupted
by human utterance;
but my busy brain
was full of fantasy
The world was new, was big,
was yet to be explored;
possibilities seemed endless.
Oak and cypress,
willows, pines -- and magnolias --
were all around, and cane fields
stretched for miles.
The bayous that had always been there
were there still.
Change was slow in coming
and childhood lasted long.
I dream now of Louisiana:
poignant vignettes... dreamy glimpses...
and all those slowly fading
of the past...
Within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright
shadows twist obsidian trees torment,
the cypress writhe in blood moon’s bright delight.
The hunter hides his nascent lust for might
and so the doe flees by man’s bow unbent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight,
bedevil not the finer soul, repent,
the destined deed, must feed, man’s plight.
With deadly skill, fletched shaft sheers frosty night.
The horned hart does fall in wonderment,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright.
And torment flows in drops of crimson sight,
distorting right and light with man’s intent.
The cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight
Into the holy water blood rings light
for life is all and death is but dissent,
within the forest’s dream of night’s true fright,
the cypress writhes in blood moon’s bright delight.
I told my Hubby I needed a fountain to help the words to flow.
It seems in the shower my creative juices, really know how to go.
My Hubby says it’s because I become relaxed, in body and in mind.
That releases everything to flow with ease and in record time.
But then he stated it might also be: the water pounding on my head.
It’s beating me senseless to release the flow and to open it up, instead.
This may be true with a hard head like mine, sometimes it needs a touch.
But I think a fountain would be way more fun, and not hurt near so much.
And what would be more beautiful, than water as it’s simply cascading around.
My lovely birds could have a drink, as my barriers come tumbling down.
My Trolls could frolick and play all day in water as the sun comes beating down.
My dogs would jump to catch the droplets as they fall upon its crown.
And all I need is to get a basket to collect my wandering thoughts.
Truly nothing could be more worthwhile, no matter what the cost.
Droplets falling thru my thoughts would become a rainbow for my mind.
With a prism throwing forth-countless words, to arrange within record time.
I wish! I wish! Oh, how I wish! To bring forth this dream of so much renown.
So many words bubbling to the surface, before they’d come tumbling down.
They’d fill my mind, and fill my soul… before touching each other’s soul.
My fountain would finally be complete, as cascading words did achieve this goal.
Now I truly know, I’ll have no fountain, or any great renown.
Still I am grateful, for the few, who’ve read the words, which I have written down.
Written by Carol Eastman
Written in honor of Black History Month-February 2010-
I have a dream……
That there will be no more labels of “Black” or “White”
That people will come home to their families and relax at night
I have a dream……
That no one will second guess, because of my skin color, my character
That I will never in my life hear the words, “Nigger” or “Cracker"
I have a dream……
That should I marry a black woman it will be totally acceptable in society
That people of all races would not be judged by their tastes in variety
I have a dream…….
That if I have a bi-racial child he or she will be accepted by their peers
That they’ll be given an equal chance to pursue their choice of careers
I have a dream…….
That more leaders, like Dr. Martin Luther King will be raised
That the tragedy of his death would be erased
I have a dream…….
That all races will stand hand-in-hand, until the “Twelfth of Never”
That people in the world would become color- blind, forever
I have a dream……
But….this is more than a dream to me
I pray that I may awake and find these things have become reality!!!
Imagine that you had something,
Imagine that you had.
Not knowing it would come to be,
But then you might be glad.
Yet now you think what it would do,
Yet now you wouldn't know.
Until you do you never know,
Of how you'd need to grow.
But when a dream does come by,
But when a dream might be.
You need to see what might be true,
And find reality.
Down in Haiti
Far from the dream
Way on back
From the vacation scene
Lives the people
Trapped in a life
Toil and strife
From worm infested,
Starving little bellies
What would Golden
Flower think of today
The country she loved
Destroyed in such a way
(Missionary from Haiti came to visit our church yesterday. With his visit and
talk, I see solutions to problems in an instant. Something to treat the water
before the people use it, reforestation, wells in places that need them, and
proper out door facilities for areas that don't have them. Money, work, and
time is needed to carry these projects out .)
Do you ever wonder
Why some times relationships go asunder?
What were the short comings and/or the blunder?
What caused that awesome storm to lose its thunder?
Do you ever wonder?
Did you ever dream
A dream so big, It became a theme?
A dream so rich, it reigned supreme?
A dream so proud, it bolstered your self-esteem?
Did you ever dream?
Do you ever think
In the chain of your life, what is the missing link?
How quickly that life can change in just an eyes blink?
That something big and wonderful was on the brink?
Do you ever think?
Did you ever share?
Expressed the hopes and fears you hide in there.
Speak of your imperfections and flaws, did you dare?
Feel so confused, that you could only find the answers in prayer.
Did you ever really share?
Did you ever win?
Such as the marathon from fat to thin.
Or the sport of discovering who you really are within.
The war on quitting bad habits, you begin.
Tell me, did you ever win?
Did you ever tell?
Tell that special someone, you were proud when they would excel.
Tell that you loved them no matter what, even if they fell.
That what’s important is inside, that the outside is just a shell.
Did you ever tell?
Do you ever speak?
Express the dreams and wishes that you seek.
Tell someone you thought they were special and unique.
That you were awed by their mystique.
Well, Did you ever speak?
Did you ever explore?
Move out of your comfort zone and tread on a distant shore.
Look for answers not from others, but deep within your core.
To realize that beyond what you can see, you know there is more.
I wonder, did you ever explore?
Did you ever partake?
Really experience life and not just fake.
Get in touch with and allow all your senses to wake.
To permit any and all emotions, to rumble and quake.
I ask you, did you ever partake?
Did you ever shine?
Do you share a memory with others that hinges on divine?
Can you still feel the passion that a special friendship can define?
I seek this for my future; I will plan and create my own design.
Here is my question, did you ever shine?
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
My nightmare is so tangible...so vividly I dream,
The dream, it feels so true to me...reality it seems.
Exhaust and smoke are all I breathe...the air is full of smog...
The job I do is thankless toil, but I work it like a dog.
There's mercury in the fish I eat...there're toxins in my food...
And drugs, they are a constant scourge...myriads for every mood.
Bipolar is my government...a house divided 'tis...
And corporations drive both sides...in the pockets of "Big Biz".
The icecaps, they are melting...the sea is rising, too.
Pandas, condors, polar bears -- empty cages at the zoo.
My money ne'er seems quite enough...I'm always out of cash...
My freedom fled when I wed my bride...(live I under the lash).
"Entertainment"? Reality TV...maybe some vampire shows...
Or idjits becoming household names for being beachfront "ho's".
People clamor "climate change" from the seats of S.U.V.'s,
And bitter news on the honey front...what's killing all the bees?
Politicians spending more...we go deeper in the red.
Opinions dressed as "news" abound...is journalism dead?
Cell phones are ubiquitous...conversation's endangered now...
And "Kardashians" are famous girls..but who knows why or how?
How strange my twisted psyche is t'make real what must be fake...
Now'f only I could find some way to get myself to wake.
Written on November 27th, 2012
By Daniel Beus (Rebel Sun)
Do you believe in the things that you've always known,
Can you understand the things you've been shown.
Is it the visions you see that make you believe,
Or is the feelings you get when you've been deceived.
The pain you feel a never ending ache ,
Tearing your heart and soul from you every day.
Time ticks slowly pounding away at you,
Throbbing heart breaking and there's nothing you can do,
Must I settle for these lost and broken dreams,
Because it has all the signs that what it seems.
How much should a man endure to find his way,
It cant possibly be like this hard for me every day.
There is nothing so frustrating as being so confused,
Especially when you've discovered that you've been used.
I will get through this lonely phase I have no doubts,
But I'm sure there will come a day I'll figure it all out.
Cautiously I walk the path that's been laid before me,
In faith I will continue for I know he will let me see.
Life will be thrown at you in so many different ways,
I will be prepared for these things for the rest of my days.
Broken dreams will be the learning tree for me to grow ,
Living my life with Joy Happiness is what I'll always Know.
Only light can penetrate the
that resides in the default state
I descend from beta to delta
binaural beats; instantly caught
between frequencies beyond
I absorb amplitudes of acoustic
and I learn to just be earth
Since I am the earth
and because I am of
the one that is the source of its
I've owned the power of
I realize now that I AM because
HE is since I am from that, a
Created in the image of a
and a feeling from the
I tune in to this vibration from
pulse that manipulates
Immersed between 4 and 7
brainwaves halt to a conscious
All chakras are aligned shining
and now my consciousness
begins to reap!
and light begins to penetrate
the harmonious beams
that were already there
constant and always there
is now flooded with sound
that force brainwaves to submit
of omnipresent sound that
and always will be connected to
the Source from which I came
so I extend exponentially
physical time and space
I long to embrace the intensity
of gamma rays
I give way to the coded sounds
that resonate from the inner
and continue to connect
through the binaural beats that
remind me of before
Always familiar but ignored
until found by gaining
knowledge of self
I listen with the intent to excel
while reaping an abundance of
benefits and rewards
It's already yours
Just reach out and grab it
as long as intention and ego is
the universe will correspond
it will deliver a life to you divine
Just listen to the sounds that
were there from before
They will guide to to the
vibration from the core
and it will guide you to connect
directly with the source
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
I do not know?
The Beach of Promises
Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,
strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.
Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,
walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.
Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,
lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,
my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,
wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.
I don't have the words
To say how I feel
And language won't do
To describe what is real
God give me a voice
So that I can explain
I need a song, with
A compelling refrain
Waiting.. For words that soar
Longing.. For so much more
Praying.. That God might see
Needing.. You to be with me
I need you
I need you
I need you
I do not know?
written 10th Aug 2013
I am God's child, first and forever
I am known by many different titles, a daughter
I am a wife
I am a mother
I am a grandmother
I am a poet
I am by several ways, known as a sister
I am an acquaintance
I am a loyal friend
I am a stranger
I am a cousin
I am an Auntie
I am a niece
But who is this person, they all call "Denise?"
She is a child to God
She is a niece
She is a cousin
She is a stranger
She is a loyal friend
She is an acquaintance
She is known to many, a sister
She is a poet
She is a grandmother
She is a mother
She is a wife
She is known as a daughter to many
She is everything, she'd ever dreamed her life to be....
She is happier than she ever imagined possible
SHE IS "DENISE"
Contemporary and vast in imagination is the girl lost in her own world.
Concealed between the paragraphs and ink typed pages of the book.
Remain cross-legged, as if in meditation, toes tickled by grass.
Here the battle of yin and yang, good and evil, is not waged but in balance.
Falling from the tree to rest in her lap is the red apple.
Just like the plot of a book; within and eating it's way to the outside is the worm.
Weaving in and out of the core, consuming the plot, is the worm.
Pulling the reader through the red shiny skin into its world.
Hours could fly by hidden and protected by the apple.
The letters purge into a blur and no longer seen is the book.
Hero, villain, and romance achieve their balance.
Feet sprout roots into the grass.
Becoming immobile with the soft cushion; short bladed grass.
Breaking through one skin and into another goes the worm.
Coursing through the bloodstream, distorting balance.
Eyelids fall as if to be curtains closing out the remaining world.
The key to the gates lay open; the book.
Perched on left knee baring one hole; the apple.
Slipping through the tendrils of a dream riding aboard an apple.
Wings flapping on either side, improvised as grass.
The landing pad looms in front; an open book.
Waving a light for a signal and a hand for hello the worm.
Created solely by the subconscious is this world.
Hitting the pages stumbling from the stem with lost balance.
Skin melting red spilling into the pages; colorless becomes the apple.
Brandishing a pencil, he begins to build a new world.
Kneeling in the grass,
Coloring in the apple purple is the worm.
Dancing in circles around and upon the open book.
When finished, he nods slowly and closes the book.
The scales return to their balance.
Burrowing deep into the apple goes the worm.
Once purple and now red again is the apple.
The roots from feet recede from the grass.
Opening eyes back into the already created world.
Reaching complacency within the world of a book.
The grass, a support for balance.
Leaving the door ajar of the purple apple, waving a sad goodbye to the worm.
A photographer dreamed
Of a telephoto lens
Capturing light waves
From beginning to end.
Since time unleashed
When the Big Bang leaped
And particles began life’s history
In swirling clouds he wondered how
He might picture a piece of the mystery.
Through polished glass converging past
Planets, stars and seas
Of swirling waves that danced and swayed
No less than windswept trees.
As he focused his dream glass
Where present meets past
And depth of field is wide;
Where the image is clear and light streaks steer,
Far away from the photographer’s eye.
With shutter speed set like a fast speed jet
Blazing through the blue-white wispy above
Turning his wings on the bird that sings
And a girl who once stole his love.
Racing through time while continuing to climb
Higher through the prism of light
His finger feathers the button below
Capturing the moment in flight.
Lingering there in pure mid-air
Like a magic carpet in the wind;
Until jolted by the sun on its morning run
While still dreaming of that telephoto lens.
Maybe today, perhaps tomorrow,
He’ll capture the illusive the beast;
The athlete who strives for the best inside
Or the homeless sleeping in the streets.
He’ll stop small birds he’s seen and heard
With their colorful feathers, breast and crown;
And children playing in autumn leaves
Scattered on the ground.
Weddings and rings, flowers in spring,
Butterflies, wistful and bright;
Pollinating bees and hives in the trees
Or a harvest moon late at night.
Meadows and mountains, free flowing fountains
Ancient temples in faraway places;
Fireworks up high on the 4th of July
Olympics and fast car races.
But now fully awakened he knows he’s mistaken
About the focal length in his dream glass;
Lens lust is a photographer’s must
But this too, he knows, must pass.
Like water flowing in the river
And wind passing through thin air;
The world he sees through his own eyes
Is a wonder beyond compare.
My dream, I live it
in a paper
coated with crème caramel.
I frolic in words
of my shadow
with the seas, the skies and the lands
and tread the dunes
of time, touching all the things around me;
then settle down over a midnight coffee
in the silence of night.
Oh, I do attend the Sunday mass
but don’t know why I always find myself
skipping the communion--
perhaps, to end the raging war
‘tween the “I” and “Me” in my thoughts
for them not to walk alone.
At a moment in my life long, long ago —
I had a dream of an ethereal existence,
Transcending the very mortal bounds of existence.
What a sublime notion worthy of thought;
To be an “Entity” beyond our mortal existence.
My thoughts are there, each and every day;
Moving outside of “Everydayness.”
What a moment to behold while looking
In the vortex of life: past, present, future.
Who will be my Sage? my Guide?
Questions pervade my Soul, my Being.
When I awaken will I remember or
Continue living as a one-dimensional person?
My dream world should be my reality.
My real world should be not—or is this so?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 28, 2014) (Free Verse poetic format)
It's not a lesson to be taught
Or a skill to be acquired
It's the nudge to move forward
Open when the time is right
It's the spirit inside
God leading on the way
On the journey to discover
He is all you need
It's the courage to let go
Say yes instead of no
Reveal what you've been holding back
As Jesus takes the wheel
It's the realization that it doesn't matter
What others think of you
God leads you where you're meant to be
Just allow you to be you
It's the standing up to fear
Proclaiming "fear's not gonna win!"
The battle has been fought too long
Time to let the stalemate end
It's the inspiration you've been holding
For others and for yourself
The light we've been dimming
Rather than shining on His behalf
It's the spontaneity in the decision
To follow His call all the way
Discovering peace in being you
Wide open as the perfect creation you are
The world out there is brutal
But there's a Holy Man holding out His Hand
His bravery now is all we have
But His bravery of love is all we need
May God bless you!
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
The Noose is tightening.
The 5’s and 10’s yanked from our hands and aching backs
Are spent on band-aids:
A last stand effort to plug the holes in our hearts
When the price of drowning is only getting higher
So we turn to tiny acts of thievery
Taxes prettied up, cashiers uncorrected,
Stealing at the edges because we’re backed into corners,
Glittering with promises corners
Dripping with possibility,
With Island resort wallpaper
Sold in bulk at Wal-Mart for
Profit: A trail of crumbs called America-
Which has curdled our souls and we love it!
And hate it and gossip about it and think obsessively about it and then
We find the most expensive friends our looks can afford,
Shopping for substance (50% off)
Staring through the eye of a screen
Light speed in pursuit of heaven on earth (Ignore the plastic)-
We die of ADHD.
Never having had the chance to smell the genetically modified roses.
Never having had the chance to see through this kingdom of ideas
As we served out our sentence to life in cubicle.
in the basket of the mind,
like easter eggs on sunday grass,
pastel hands for slowing time.
A misty- trusting face,
just beyond the frosted glass
a spirit mare with feiry mane
that licked the heart with lips aflame
your naive face...into the frosted glass of
Good times coddled a lavender star
within a blackened space,
in place of friendly smiles without names...
they taught you the art of
forging then forgetting scars
with a silly smile,
turned a room of bitter spirits into angels
and blueberry wine...
slowly sliced their lives away.
The golden armed drummer drums the songs of dream,
ice cream trucks and noon church bells
flow into the soul like rose petals on the wind...
strumming songs of love and hatred
like streams of bile and gilded rosary...
Everything is gone now,
the flesh-the bone the bitter laughs
the metal of youth churned into the thinning cloth of age.
Things meant to live and breathe,
will give the soul to the silversmith,
who forges life into shimmering dreams.