I drank my words from the cup of evil lately not holy water
Like many I sit in my dungeon of doom on earth trying not to my addictions faultier
I'm sitting knee deep in the shitted down reservation sewer street water
Im looking for wisdom daily with sinners with calls that I shouldn't be trying to call her
I know I be looking for a life filled with silver and gold when I know Im living in copper
I know I got a crazy coming my way so I best get on trying to stop her
I remember the first time I was in love with lust when I first saw her
I know without the water in my life I would scream silent as I would quietly holler
I know I been like a bunny moving around in life that sometimes people call me a hopper
I know I been kicking it in the field so much that people tell me I should start playing soccer
I should be more of an actor of actions and less more of a talkitive talker
I know I got what I got so I will be a poet that will never ever faulteir
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
She’s out there chasing a cricket
Through bush, through shrub & through thicket
Together they hop
But when she gets it, she just wants to lick it!
A cat whose vet took his eye
Just cannot quite understand why
His eye’s been enucleated,
3-D vision reduciated,
So now, he keeps an eye out for an eye
Ya gotta keep limericks loose
Think green eggs, or perhaps Dr. Seuss
They’re structured, it’s true,
But they’re also a zoo
Whose tenants are all on the loose!
I frolic in fountains of words
Overflowing with serious absurds
Each poem I write
Wakes up and takes flight
Joining angels and faeries and birds
You ask that we write a good limerick
How to do so, I haven’t a glimmerick
So I struggle and frown
Teaching poems to clown
So a smile on your lips will be shimmerick
A cat with a mouth full of mouse
Brought her feast right into my house
She played with her food
Who was not in the mood
To be a banquet of mouse in the house
The nightmares that shadow my sleep
Stampede the proverbial sheep
Right out of my mind
When I try to unwind
I find my appointment with sleep hard to keep
In her search for original truth
She met people unsavory and couth
She knitted and purled
But only unfurled
Yarns told by new age and old youth
Cat, suddenly pink,
Drinks her water from out of the sink
She looks so absurd
Since she’s been de-furred
I really don’t know what to think!
If one and one is two and two is four,
And there’s only two ways to go through a door,
Then, is earth up or down?
And, where is down town?
These are questions we need to explore!
A was that is an is
Tried to mind my biz
But I sent it packing,
Its presence was lacking
And I don’t have time for such shiz!
A couple who lived in Los Lunas
Loved the wide desert sky’s crystal blueness
They’d stare at the air,
Over here, over there
And rejoice at the feeling of newness
A cat with a very fat gut
Found it easier to walk on his butt
He’d drag it around
Across carpet and ground
And use it to slam the doors shut
Said the Missus to her dear Mr. Otter,
“There’s something I think that you oughta
Do before we get old
To protect us from cold –
You oughta make the hot water hotter!”
The ghosts who live up in my attic
Make noises that sound much like static
I’ve tried to send them away,
But they’re here to stay,
Those staticky ghosts in my attic
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my drums, know my heart beat
My sorrow is not metered in iambic lines
Life does not speak that way
So artificial this enumeration of joy
So false this constant rise and fall of tone
I fish the tides
Sometimes the water rises above the rock
And stay a long, long time
Like a dream that won't give up
Sometimes the water recedes far out
Lingering at the bar
Waiting for the moon to show her breast
Watching silently like a star
For one ear Nana Oba to divorce me
From this culture that is my hell.
I am Africa, I am man
My fingers running fast on antelope skin
Cross the bata light and sweet like a caress
Like rainfall on the Serengeti
Like bird call for Nana Oshun's memory
So when I put my hands around your waist
Sliding my finger over the contours of our embrace
Searching for lake Nakuru under your dress
Down from the Kilmanjaro of your breast
And whisper my feelings in your ears
In cross-rhythms, kora and mbira playing
Hot like khamsin, passionate like the yamo
Sucking on your tongue for life
Seeking the umbilical water for my pain
What care for anapestic sentiments
Trochaic promises, dactylic stories
I need you in all the wonder of your loveliness
In all the moods that living tell
In our orbiting exodus of earth and hell
No time now for phony precisions
I speak as I am, as I feel emotions
Dancing on my finger tips
Dancing on the velvet smooth of drums
Ladling at your Nakura, lapping at your lips
All tribal, my body hums
For the stolen glory of my history
For the cinder of theories
That make me victim twice in my misery
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my prophecy, I will succeed!
Kerplunk sound of stone dropping down into water Kersplash is man falling overboard a
boat. Whoosh is the wind or someone moving or something moving fast leaving wind behind.
Plop is messy. POP may be too many noises to describe them all. Bang a pistol shot. Boom
thunder or explosives. Crack the lightening bolts or wood breaking SNAP the fingers snap
the buttons closed snap them suspenders once SLAP is too composed. Creak the door open
slowly it comes then stops Creak the door shut on my nerves oh the thrill and excitement in
the Creak that comes. Whap is seldom penned they use wham or whack instead of whap the
hapless foe whap him with the silly stick then let my people go fish; there is a blurble gurgle
noise for fish out of water dry fish seldom heard or used the need not there in movies seen.
Calls whistles barks too many on the listing port to add them whistles hear them barks just
way too many calls from port of call to answer all the calls. Crunch is seldom heard but
candy bars or fresh apples turned on the stem to view. Whale thar she blows kind of splishy
constant throes just like running water hot or cold in a falls away zone the waterfalls away.
Bath water …
Maybe too hot to feel
I'm feeling alone and cold inside. Little time to relax to reflect on some thoughts and several things in my life. My eyes rolled to the back of my head like…, I just can’t believe this.
Several attempts to cry but....
It's not pride. I've tried not to hide but found that I can survive time. I'm too wet to write. Not fighting the flow
The need for expressing my feelings are needed I’ve pleaded with myself looking into a mirror Reciting lines after lines looking and listening to what could be my own poetic Passion.
My voice, my thoughts raw; Cuts deep for the personal gain for something I’m in search for.
Stitches soak in wet as my hand drips excess water and blood, like my mind with words I’m thinking the pain can’t get any worst.
Crossing out thoughts like the tattoo on my arm baring witness to my personal pain. Forever tattooed cross for my personal reminder like my stitches will be the reminder of another time. The past can’t last forever. Timeless thoughts. I’m Scared.
The pain, mine I'm the blame.
I'm not ashamed.
It's the man I have to tame inside
Several mistakes cover my body, leaving scars for stories to be told or for the unknown record of my life. Like testifying to living proof. My mistakes I can’t tell.
I'm still learning.
Feelings desire’s that I won't let control or bury me in misery.
I refuse to look away
Or walk away from my pain because each stitch tells 13 stories like the souls of men and women they are different and defines their personal pain.
My scares are my personal and emotional team working together influencing a chemical balance or at times unbalance thoughts dancing to a hardcore jazz sound. A mixture, variety of thoughts.
Bath water cold
My thoughts are now different, time taught me this lesson it can't stopped or locked away like the dreams of my mind.
No stop watch or maybe I’m just lost in time.
Vivid imagination spins,
when one creates
a fine literary work...
life would never be happier.
When one creates,
ideas keep on flowing...
life would never be happier
with thoughts swifter than light.
Ideas keep on flowing
like water from a waterfall
with thoughts swifter than light
I am glad to reach my home.
Like water from a waterfall
that's pure and refreshing
I am glad to reach my home
without worry, sadness or doubt.
That's pure and refreshing
as I drink it with great delight...
without worry, sadness or doubt,
to satisfy my unquenchable thirst.
I'm still writing my first Pantoum,
seeing shadows advancing...
without worry, sadness or doubt,
I pay more attention to form than rhyme.
Perched on the power line, owls stare at me
and wonder what I am doing at such hour
by this bright lamp...as
vivid imagination spins.
Never am eye ever counting my self worth in the amounts and measures of this
world the many blankets that eye have like an old Indian man this would lead me
into madness and depression far too quickly then is my want the things afforded
me is gold and silver lines my pockets but the stuffins that eye have and all the
riches of this world yes even MONEY is not GOD and HE has Glory when eye
gather and even when eye find eye just say thank you JESUS even in my mind
The way is narrow the way is hard the way is easy the way is love.
The shoes upon my feet are not wearing out they keep there size and shape for
many months now. NO one is perfect and things are not forever but the one who
blesses us can make a shiny piece of leather
Last seemingly forever if it is on the sandel of his desert feet.
The Holy Son Of GOD the JESUS of the Nazarene landscaping the Jesus of the
CROSS is HE who is my blessing. A good Christian man must examine himself
to see if he is in the HUMAN race the thing to please remember is to have the
attitude inside the forewithall to hide thyself from pride and foolish attitude of self
decay and sometimes leaving water here and there is the hope of someone
else’s day. A drink left out where poor one may soon find it may not seem like
much in the Grand scheme of things but we must soon get started giving and the
good deed comes in living and just having FAITH and leaving just a cup just ONE
CUP of cold water in the place the poor man dwells eye can say with out reserve
with out much thinking looking back eye have been that very thirsty eye have
needed water finding none and eye was thirsty did ewe give me drink did ewe
give me some. Eye left a cup of water for the poor man to drink and GOD has
overflowed my wellness and eye am not now ever sick. This is my biomyopic.