commodious cave
room after room after room
culture disappeared
hundreds of theories
anthropology studies
merely guesswork
Your sigh indicates as though you are tired, sad, and worn out,
Yet, how lovely is your song, dear breeze, how melodious!
Flowing, with scent, from a source unknown to an unknown route,
You make paradise this world vast wide and commodious...!
An amalgamation of Piano, guitar, and flute,
Your silent song, like the gushing of waterfall burbles,
In-depth music of saxophone, violin, harp, and lute,
Blends and mingles and dribbles with medicinal herbals...!
Bathing in ponds and rivers and lakes and oceans and seas,
How immaculate is your breath that gives us existence;
Kissing, on your way, the little animals, birds, and bees,
How divinely you have blessed each one with persistence...!
How caressing is your gentle, tender, and soft air stream!
To flow with you and merge with the universe is my dream...!!!
Rose gold love cups in a versatile nostrum
Cosmic waves pearl wind vault is strange,
Ephemeral vapors are rising by the podium
Cinnabar meteors devolved from damage.
Cosmic waves pearl wind vault is strange
Delirium tremens yield self-raggedness,
Cinnabar meteors devolved from damage
Smack dab in mid of commodious cosmos.
Delirium tremens yield self-raggedness
A moon-themed warmth glimmering quartz
Smack dab in mid of commodious cosmos,
Her own heart bestows her weather reports.
A moon-themed warmth glimmering quartz
Orphic blue sky echoes in the rose quartz lake,
Her own heart bestows her weather reports
Venus' loving glow shinily in the aeonian sake.
Orphic blue sky echoes in the rose quartz lake
Ephemeral vapors are rising by the podium
Venus' loving glow shinily in the aeonian sake,
Rose gold love cups in a versatile nostrum.
Written: May 07, 2022
His hair is alive,
serpents writhing, a man Medusa of the tropics,
as if he wore the demons
of colonialism and injustice on his head,
unforgetting,
a dung-brown-and-black hologram of
the ganja-fueled reveries inside,
the broken record of fight and redemption in his ears
masked by an ancient face, all taut leather,
placid with a sheen of absorbed light.
Bloodshot eyes, not insomniac,
but from the weight of things that, once seen,
cannot be unseen,
scleras color-coding history,
the blood of dead slaves on white.
Yet the heat-chilled island calls a daily truce.
In the shade of the commodious palm tree,
the bleach of sun cordoned by a shower of shadows,
even the gluttony of Babylon
and the promise of Zion can share a siesta.
Looking out to the silvering sea beyond the beach,
exchanging a patois-scented greeting
with two passing brethren whose hair hang like roots,
he puts fire to a fat, white-jacketed spliff,
herb smoke curling up,
rising,
rising,
a slow exodus up into the dusty fronds above,
hung with the fruits
of a tender mantra as,
ever,
the spirit of Marley
sings.
The colorant of dawn, the cardinal sees,
intoning its hues with, “pretty...pretty...pretty.”
As I covet red feathers, in the teaberry tree,
the sunlit chickadee harmonizes, “hey sweetie.”
The woodpecker like a heckler is pining for laughs -
pounding, drumming the marionette for gaffs.
A tufted titmouse tweets, “peter...peter...peter.”
The goldfinch dines on dandelion seeds, lilting sweeter.
Outfitted with winsome wildlife, comfortable and commodious,
my small bit of forest resonates with songbirds, melodious.
Rusted iron bowl,
Grayed and blackened,
One day I picked that up from barn,
It was commodious enough,
For about three or little more pounds,
With it I went inside,
And slumped on a chair beside,
My sick tired and lonesome frame,
Simply got framed,
A mirror glared at me,
Within it ran the reels of my real,
My failures,rejections,betrayals,
Defeats and sadness,
I was the lone viewer,
Everybody had deserted,
With each passing frame,
My depression got aflame,
Cold depression,
Was soon burning me full,
I was in this crevice for years,
And unable to pull,
Today it was unbearable,
I made an effort to pick up the cutlass,
And with no effort,
I dumped it in my stomach cavity,
I made a large cut,
And began pulling out my guts,
They refused,
I thought they were refuse,
I cut them loose,
I felt no pain,
Because much severe ones I had already gained,
My cavity was empty,
On table top lay heap of my guts,
My palms were soiled and bloody,
Slowly I began to collect the heap,
And put them in iron bowl,
I wrote on bowl side a bloody fingered SUICIDE,
And last uttered that I do not have enough guts,
Before I slumped dead.
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