Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still burn
thine absence half a decade spent in vain
to break the bonds that tie, that fett’ring chain
that holds me from embracing thee, thyself in turn.
Thine all enchanting smile, piercing eyes–
thy flailing arms, the limbs, with rhythmic stroke –
responses soundless to the silent words I spoke
to thee before from thee Fate forced me from thy cries.
I watched thee grow through temp’rate times of yore –
remembering the gall’ry of my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still ache
thy presence all too far in distant land
where careless arms push thee with calloused hand
away from mine where once I swore thee none could take.
Thine eyes with tears I shared I shed alone
so thou might never feel the agony
the anguish, loss of my identity,
thy father, thee my offspring, daughter, dearest one.
I watched thee grow through chilling times, and more –
remembering thy portrait in my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
Oh, gentle child, how doth my soul yet yearn
those many hours oft upon my breast
thy head thou laid safe harbor for thy rest,
thy questions, mind alert, thy hungering to learn.
Thy voice I hear through dreams and zephyr breeze,
thou lark by morn by eve the nightingale,
as Dawn and Dusk, Aurora without fail,
thou hast my heart and soul kept warm with ease.
I watch thee grow, and will, forever more –
remembering thy sculpture in my mind.
‘Tis all I have.
Until we are as one renewed
some future date somewhere awaits
when thou her servant dare to flee
that which with thee so long accrued
where here I love and there she hates
that wily witch who bindeth thee.
Break loose those prison bars that bind
thy tired wings that flap in vain –
Renew thy pledge at length to find
thy youthful freedom once again.
Then shalt thy flags fly high aloft
while eagles scream thy freedom song,
while robins chirp with redbreast, soft –
all a capella – pure and long.
Then both our souls shall share their peace,
a father and his daughter, found
to spend their lives on borrowed lease
to live and die on hallowed ground.
Thus, take, Tai-Ana, this, my prayer
that fathers and their children hear
of this solemnity
that children here and everywhere
ne’er shed a sad though soulful tear
for all eternity.
It is such great unity
That appears amongst the beauty
Of the bright light display?
Such colour, such energy within celebration,
Such a vivid canvas of man-made creation
That sparks with flair and passion;
To fall into the fog
Like all dying illusions.
Yet it is what it does for us:
Where we are drawn from our furnishings
That we clean in intervals,
Closing outside to a regular schedule,
Remaining well lit and sheltered
Resting our minds so dimly upon the
Soft and empty cushions
And hugging at the blind comfort
We are drawn from this facade
By another in itself.
Which brings us out like a beacon
Part Devil, half Eden
To then fade away
Like all illusions,
Leaving us quiet,
Revealing deepened images.
Exposed to chill
Peace climbs through our bones.
Let us stand together,
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.
Till we once more return home…
What they've done to Gary is just plain scary. Global elites shut him up.Of their wicked ways, be wary. It is all in all,everything that they do,to try and scare me, to try and scare you. If they get their way,we'll all be shakin' in our shoes. If they can make us fear enough,they think they'll never lose. For fear is their currency of delight,presses working over-time, ever in the night. Where their dark secrets lurk,hiding from the light. With it they purchase hearts and minds, ultimately souls as their grand prize, To offer up to lucifer, in a scheme of grand demise. So take heart my friend and fear naught,but the Lord. This is wisdom's beginning, God's word, shield and sword. Of this one thing be ever so aware, that those who hold God's spirit, they can not scare or make them slaves to the prince of the power of the air. We, who stand with Gary, will remain strong and bold. Always doing what is right, not necessarily what we are told. It is our one path to victory and bringing freedom home. Home, where our love dwells. Home. Dear, sweet home.
" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
The Christian Irish loudly sang,
taking their chant to all Ireland...
and that made Milchu very sick!
In his veins ran pure blood of Roman nobility;
at that brutal era, Druidism was Ireland's religion,
and he, the follower of Christ, felt much contention...
but armed with determination Patrick fought it fiercely!
" Hail to courageous Patrick!"
As a saint he never accepted defeat;
he was bread and water for the weak...
endless fear for the High Priest!
" Pagans, you shall not worship neither the Sun
nor idols, Christ is your true Lord! "
He preached in all villages ignoring any frown
from that warrior waving his sword!
Would he had never been captured
and sold into slavery, all Ireland wouldn't have known liberty;
his task was to tend sheep as David,
but choose to give his entire soul to God to wipe out idolatry!
" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
Every man, woman and child shouted without being afraid;
they knew that God had sent this holy and kind man to them
to teach prayers of fervent faith!
There was a day when hollow teeth and streams,
The marrow, blood and trains of thought,
Of night black dreams,
Ran their course and floods did wrought,
And changed the shores of all that seems.
Nothing will be as it was just before,
The vision has spoken,
One small token,
Of a future fill’d with crooked faces to the core.
The moment’s now to know,
The summer’s bizarre snow,
For it will always be,
Like it never was ever not.
There is no way to feel sorry,
Fate’s folding hands has always caught,
The visions men find in their nets,
And women standing by who stare.
On what have they possibly staked their bets?
Now to be for sure the dream continued,
To arouse small town vows,
And erase semantic hows,
By tracing the origins of all that is rude
To the holy water of saints
And those who believe in chromosome paints.
The light was parted to let in the crude,
Let this truth be shown,
And forever known,
There can be nothing wrong when the rude,
Sing their song
Wave their arms with strange attitude
Spill their milk,
Sit on tables,
Dine in stables,
They belong with their ilk
Don’t touch these families with your wooden mood!
The dream abated,
Grammar’s laws took to drum again
The awful games you hated
Once more began to make their stain.
Whosoever chooses to inhale
Not the air but the clouds
Must always run from mobs and crowds.
And make their own fairy tale.
One can not cook warmth from passover wood,
Nor, should you ever forget,
Make love by doing what you should.
Yak is everywhere
Not cursing or rude in the ends
Yak is a street artist
Yak:first of all you have excellence and simplicity in Logo
You make me smile
Your work is constant and consistent
You frenetically protests against
agreeing or not
those three letters always make me glad
Closed to You certainly are pal artists
But the genius in Yak her/his/'s simplicity
is not bout agreeing
Yak might be a scream demanding me/we are artists of Democracy if hired the worked will be paid in the amount of Talent
An enormous label name
Imagine: Yak clothes, Street, Casual, non-casual, jewels, watches
Yak unlimited supply
Yak boundaries are all crossed
the next step
We Deserve Yak
I was thinking about making a T-shirt with,
But that's not fare some are my fights but the label is not mine
Yak deserve recognition beyond
I wonder sometimes about the identity of Yak or Yak's
I see ex-students on Yak
I see colleagues on Yak
I show Yak around
Some like some dislike
People that are to consensual are not generally in my favourites list
And that's a reason for Democracy major virtues and severe imperfections
And in dictatorship even the camouflaged kind Yak is needed
Yak is probably not Bunksy
Yak for me create a trend
The sign of Thor's hammer *
Simple 1Y 2a 3k
The sympathetic logo makes people smile
At least for a single time You,
and also You and You
You all have smiled about the word,
You in some way are protest signatories
But look at the Logo
Gud signi teg
* Etymology 2 Old Norse signa a) Wiktyonary
Part II of The Poem, Immortal, A tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou, is posted below:
And her voice passed through me, and kissed me with a trace of grace…
And then… the voice of Maya echoed once more… again:
“I have others to see Now… you have somewhere to be Now:
An appointment with your life, so precious and rare, awaits.
Make haste, my child, make haste.”
And I ran after her voice, out onto my doorstep…
To behold the night heavens so wide and awake…
Aglow with their newest host - I stood and watched her circumnavigate,
All of the spheres that the toil of her years - and her joy - had built there.
And I could feel her voice in the gentle wind blowing…
The voice of Maya, saying to me… saying to you…
“You, child, You… oh Yes, child -Yes… Now, child - NOW”.
And NOW… she is Immortal.