Striking fists ready to rumble & take defense
spiking soup with ginger makes more sense
beets ruby & golden broth brews perka pink
defeats all hatred, unlike you, lento is my ink
Brain waves flow against pessimistic energies
flames grave slow sink in my ocean’s synergies
[sigh] I’m not like you, I embrace what’s different
I let your unordinary mind unfold, until it isn’t
Future fakes are everywhere, they are contacting us from afar.
Future fakes want our all, our life, our money, our names, and more.
Future fakes, are tricky, they can steal your life, your money, your name, maybe even steal your face with a mask.
Fakes are people, that are working night and day, to steal your everything and make you sad.
Fakes are haters, haters of truth, of life, of all the things that are right.
Fakes are working to destroy, to make your life a living hell, like a storm that brews, they work and work to create a storm that will be like hell.
Fakes are everywhere, they try to make you a slave, to harm you and make you live a life of shame.
Fakes are people who like chaos they use their time and energy to make a mess, they like to divide, to spread hate, to cause fear, and make you never sleep.
Fakes are about so beware, and take care, be slow to trust, and move like a mouse, slow and cautious all through your life.
We ask God today to remove all the evil, the fakes, the ones that want to harm us, to let them go and live their way, far and far away from all of us.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
The brand of Sunday coffee
I used to drink from
brewed darkened exquisite flavor
from sugar and diffusing steam
of addiction, pride, deception, idolatry, lust,
suicide, guilt, impatience, hypocrisy,
selfishness, resentment, anger, profane language
envy, greed, fear, disobedience,
unbelief and unforgiveness
although this brand of coffee
brought comfort to my system
for only a few mornings
but instead it still brought
the intensity of misery and discomfort
into the basin of my soul
This new brand of Sunday coffee
I now drink from
brews crystalline exquisite flavor
from sugar, cream, syrup and ice
of peace, patience, love, joy
wisdom, faith, healing, discernment
and eternal life to my system
prepared by our spiritual barista
with a slice of coconut tart
that will endlessly
quench my intensity for righteousness
into the basin of my soul
Amid droning incantations
Products of arcane summations
Upon a scrying pool of mist
A sorcerous enchantment hissed
Magic brews and ancient spells
A portal forms to where it dwells
A red drops rides a glimmering blade
Summoning forth the witching shade
In answer to some secret burning
A effort born of frantic yearning
A heavy price for a boon required
A balanced scale for all desired
In darkness born, in darkness relayed
Only of darkness is such knowledge made
long retail lines sting
impatience brews within them
anger serves no one
storm brews in the south
frantic palm tree sways with fright
helpless in the rain
Favorites cause envy
rumors, lies and hate spread.
Nothing said or done can change minds
blind fury, savage rage brews and overflows
So vicious are the attacks that those themselves
will deny who they are and try to blend in.
Death is the only solution
to eliminate and exterminate
Breed and born to hate those Chosen.
You will die to kill them
sacrifice your children for your cause
Never peace, never acceptance, never surrender
To destroy them is to achieve Paradise
while you exist in the chains of Hell
It's emotional not rational
You think you hate them
but deep inside you understand
you only hate yourself.
Today ruined by yesterday
tomorrows never come.
Live in shadows
fear the Sun
Hate seeps into evil
Never shame
never guilt
never peace...
only death.
When the Chosen Ones are all gone
will there be anything left of you?
Life is but a singular happy dream.
God crafted with light and steam.
A marvelous imposing fantasy
For me alone to transverse and see
A joyous adventurous masquerade
Where celebrants pass in a parade
It fits like the most comfortable shoes
As if it was composed by Mother Goose.
But fearing God will find us out.
We erase every vestige of doubt.
Cause God knows how to infuse.
In a huge bowl fantastic brews
The key elements He stirs with care.
To invent a life with ease and flare
And then He spins like a tapestry
The fabric of life in all its majesty
So, through it we chase daily success
Donned in a cloak of sublime behest.
Daily we chase our fantasy morn to morn
And thank God for that day we were born.
Alarm loud enough to wake the dead.
Need to wake to join the living again
Sluggishly climbing out of my bed to embrace the tasks of today
Feet hitting the cold floor, the chill forcing me to be attentive.
Shuffling across the cold floor to the kitchen, my morning coffee calling to me just like a siren's song.
Yawning, I blink the sleep away for another day.
Watching the machine
Coffee slowly brews with a steady, drip…drip…drip.
Patiently waiting, I get my favorite mug
Sugar and cream awaiting the boiling hot coffee, just enough cream to turn black to an autumn caramel.
I pour the steaming coffee into my mug and relish in the smell of the bold fresh coffee with its hint of nuttiness.
First thing in the morning, it’s like water after a walk in the desert.
Closing my eyes, I take it in;
Steam tumbling off, I lift the mug to my lips. With a slight blow, I take the first sip.
The sip tastes like perfection, almost making a moan slip past my lips.
Sitting in silence, I drain every last drop of my coffee as if it will be my last.
But who’s to say this should be my last.
Meet Midnight the sorcerer's cat
Magical brews and potions are his specialty
Finetuning his spells and curses
Her house is hidden deep inside
where most will never go
Beyond where little children play
and wild strawberries grow
It’s camouflaged with plants and vines
she uses in her spells
A pentagram adorns her door
with silver antique bells
The people say the witch’s brews
all have some magic powers
She makes them with the plants she grows
and oils from special flowers
Some of this and some of that
the mystery remains
Her tangled web of secret plants
grow stronger when it rains
The people from the nearby town
all purchase her home brews
For health and love and longer life
which ever they might choose
At first newcomers don’t believe
her potions really work
And drink a few to get along
but always with a smirk
And then one day they ask a friend
to take them to the gate
So they can get a bottle too
Because they’re feeling great
An anvil hangs above my head
Life trudges on in silent dread
Watching waiting for the drop
Another day it doesn’t stop
In restless flux I float unknowing
Another dawn the coffee’s flowing
Aroma thick thoughts start to stall
Waking slowly but no rest at all
An anvil swings with quiet might
Still no relief no end in sight
Same routine a looping thread
Each thought heavy in my head
Coffee brews the mind delays
Trapped inside a familiar haze
Is this just a bad day’s theme
A nightmare stretched from a dream
Or is it simply will reprised
Endurance cloaked in thin disguise
Water gushes
from the purifier
Cold mug
chills my hands
Coffee brews
in the pot
Coffee scent
fills the air
The synthetic poison
that courses through my veins
churns the bowel of the earth
and sent a tremor through my heart.
What kind of remedy this is?
It heals one part,
But devastates the other,
What kind of potion man brews?
I see the flower buds
bursting forth on one branch
leaving the adjacent portion barren,
It heals and harms
It yields and resists...
It resuscitates the body
but kills the spirit.
A crow struts into a bar,
it's a crow, not a native American.
There's a hot wind blowing through town
Texas Rangers are drinking on the job.
A young beauty is busy
capturing boys' hearts
on her I Pad.
A land Line rings loudly
from a backroom -
no one has the skill to reply to the call.
The sleek jet-black bird
commences to dance
on the dusty wooden floor,
neck back and cawing loudly.
A picture of Clint Eastwood
looks down from an adobe wall,
he is 150 years old now
but he is still the rightful President.
Some crusty old-timer
throws a ten-dolor bill on the counter.
Soon the crow is drinking
and occasionally playing the fool.
Outside, a mule bray's,
crow flaps up and leaves
for the past.
Hollywood is still slowly arriving.
Native Americans have been on strike
for a hundred years.
The Crow Nation brews its own beer
and rez cops take their share
and don't care.
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