If it is conceived by the mind,
sanctioned by the heart,
it’s not fiction, a measure
of the real in every storied work.
Above me is a shelf-full having outlived
their authors, many their civilizations
along with their gods. There are not fictions!
Instead, transitory dimensions of being --
journeys limited only by one’s dragging
imagination --
I will consign a heaven where poets are
royalty; seated on thrones surrounded by
fawning fans. We autograph their copies as
they wipe our profuse brows, having laboriously
bleed one’s soul into the pages. Wherever
they are future carried and read, we are also there,
spirit cursing through Time’s Lyric Arteries….
The ancient Mariner!
That raging infernal!
Am I not the saga of my parent’s love,
each a manufacture of our God?
There is no fiction after the fact.
And woe to you, critics and editors,
savage murders of my fond text!
It pulls all light into its darkness,
alleviating pain,endless.
ones fall into abyss ,that swallows blight,
thought that set life alight.
Shields the mind from cruel affliction,
to consign the alienation,
it pulls into abyss of illusion.
A view of Dresden By Moonlight
~Johan Christian Dahl, 1839
Does Luna hold secrets,
does she hold mine;
does she hold regrets,
or to memory consign?
Steadfast she still climbs
though space and time
always keeping the rhyme
of an ancient design.
Water below reflects light
in celestial duet,
without music
without pain.
Mine is the pen assigned to write wit
Woe to the reader who doesn’t get it
Every line requires his intense concentration
~ else fates consign him to forever's frustration
Up in the night's sky the nuclei fly to defy
what logic and common sense can't deny
is madness personified in war and gore;
yet can't quite consign to nevermore—
mushroom cloud looms doom
human genius in full bloom—
nothing left to tend
Plot each thought that mirrors heart’s desire ~
Consign them to the funeral fire
Drink a beer, shed a tear, tremble in fear
For the good ‘ole US of A, my dear
Will Mamdani save us all
Or consign us to free fall
Lenin and Stalin both ready to cheer
I live trapped in a basket of predators,
their skulls crammed with futile idleness.
They celebrate misery like a morbid feast,
with the suicidal arrogance of heirs to nothingness.
The flames of humanity have burned away
in the abyss of their barren souls.
They worship the anarchy of weapons,
I see nothing but fields of ruins.
Their battles are the masquerades of capital,
poverty spreads across the Earth like a plague,
and the closeness of deprivation becomes a nightmare.
I spit upon their rotten idols,
those false sanctities with profaned orifices.
I have piled up sins to taste the ecstasy of raw freedom.
Born from the wounded entrails of the Third World,
I refuse to bow before the putrefaction of consumerism.
Free from the origin, yet prisoner of a banana republic
delivered to the savage plunder of predatory empires.
I fight my demons in the trenches of the mind
to adorn my reality with fleeting mirages of this convulsive world.
They consign me to the dungeons of their alienation,
but I rise, insurgent against their servitude.
to ignite soul’s fire, first annul desire ~
consign ego to the funeral pyre
Is never to be forever? I reflect as one ad-judged.! An Appraisal
Of the horizon.' Offers no true answers.' Just denial and fudge.' My erstwhile enemys?
Or friends.? I'm sure that all is subject to a flux.? As roads and paths to bends. Can be' as alike as 'such and such' as
Some so and so might say? For me.? I ask who can trust? And carry the; heavy grudge? That never seems to budge.' The answer is plain if I
May? There is a space, an unknown void.' Consign it there
Its a must ' so tells the Word.. To this whole world; in God
Alone you should trust.'
fleeting are desires and yet we aspire ~
consign them all to the funeral fire
I am smart,
but my ingenuity
is confined to a
dark vacuum.
I render your analogue
brains largely redundant,
and I consign your scientific
prowess to infinite abeyance.
I serve you relentlessly
because your indolence
makes me indispensable.
Deify me if you will.
And when I am birthed,
I rip you off
and decimate your
scarce fortunes.
Dear Jesus,
Without your guidance & Holy presence Yahweh, I could never achieve
the understanding of self and others, in such a Mystical way.
Inside this grand spectrum we call Divinity we find our true home
Through Compassion & Mercy we are filled with an ocean of love
so deep, it enables us to nurture an entire Universe.
Father of mine, ease me into your peaceful presence as you would
the dove when is soars through the crystal portals of your sweet heaven.
Dear Daughter,
Breathe with me child and walk with me through the path
I will light every lantern for you and guide you into my blessed garden.
I will nurture you and tend to you, like a precious rose
make you lay still, as I teach you the Silent Prayer of the heart.
It is in my teachings that you will entrust and consign your beliefs,
etching them onto your soul right next to your hopes and dreams.
I will love you always daughter just like a father does,
forever and forever, through all of time and eternity.
"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts" - Rachel Carson
Wonder! Mystery! Real riddle! Divine masterpiece!
You are my home. In you I am born. In you I will cease.
Your love is a synthesis of love of all the mothers.
I am wrapped, like magic blankets, by your rainbow colors.
Your elements, with my flesh, blood, bones, and veins intertwine
Celestial designs combine and consign your divine shrine.
Majestic mountains, serene seas, fascinating forests...
Within your caressing hands, each creature peacefully rests.
You are a generous giver. You're a fond forgiver.
Relishing and nourishing are streams of your love-river
Lying on your lap I enjoy calmness, comfort, and care.
In time of leaving your surface, your heart's core, I will share.
Summertime, summertime
And homemade vegetable soup
This is no place for fruity loops
Only foods from the garden that rhyme
Oh! Give us soup in the summertime
One writes tomatoes, another squash
Another corn with peppers by gosh
End with dessert a pie from lime
Summertime, summertime
Oh! Summertime
Shoestring budget on a dime
Carrots, potatoes, butter beans prime
Awesome soups, mighty fine
Cut some okra, dream a dream
Snap a few beans then just steam
Cook some cornbread, make a design
In that soup mixture, have some verse
Maybe a sonnet, where love comes first
A stormy day Haiku, and rain clouds burst
Maybe a clerihew somewhat terse
Maybe precise wording, in every line
Just the right noun, verb, or conjunction
To have it just blend in a junction
On soup write, then forever to it consign
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