Humans are quite a deciduous lot.
It's our nature, but not Mother's motif.
We fall from grace without faith and belief
when fleshly flaws make us stumble, besot.
Tousled emotions are tied in a knot
as though weatherbeaten, love ends in grief.
Reddened eyes, the shade of a cast-off leaf
from tears spilled and splattered like an ink blot.
We fall in and out of love. It's a chance
taken, like planting trees for greenery.
Then, we watch deciduous leaves perish,
borne on blustery winds in one last dance.
Windswept limbs despoil Winter's scenery.
Love and lush foliage, we should cherish.
What are these words that rage with hate and war
That scream with bullets’ searing, lethal roar
That slash with livid flames the midnight sky
And with a tongue that lubricates the lie
Despoil the words of men worth living for –
What bloody god, or gods, in truth exist
That suffer men with words for this, for this –
What prophet false with rabid tongue betrays
The son of peace the son of man portrays
By choosing words of fury, words of fist
And worshipping the power they enlist –
A choice of words some men cannot resist –
O friend! O foe! Why still these words of war
That make the living word worth killing for –
The language of love is wordless.
See that simple yellow and white daisy
in the green meadow?
Go uproot it,
snatch it from its perfect setting
that place Perfection made for it.
Now it is in your hand,
it is still lovely,
but something is missing,
something is wrong.
it was never meant to be manhandled,
even with appreciation or love,
that kind of love is possessive,
selfish, mistaken.
You must seek to understand it,
describe it, know it.
You must investigate, and dissect
its beauty
and so you begin to pull is apart.
petal by petal
you despoil it,
until the flower no longer exists
as a whole vision,
as a perfection of form.
It is only parts now, it is only words,
words for love,
and not love itself.
Here comes an opportunity to make our tension seep
But for those who have made their stomach and future cheap
I weep some buckets of tears in my silence camp
Over the ignorance that may likely despoil the effort to revamp
The solution to our menaces has shown itself easy
What the old school of thinking has made uneasy
The range of concepts the umbrella couldn't cover
And the debris field of collapse their brooms swept under cover
I weep some buckets of tears in my silence camp
Cos the youths that should follow suit to newvamp
Are playing dumb with their contrary disposition
Cos they've forgotten the history of their oppression
Opportunity comes in a mine of information
It's taken with a hardline of concentration
Opportunity doesn't come every year
Like the election that is coming next year
So, let the drones that follow these old schools for their lust
Know that this is an opportunity that mustn't be lost
How do we tell those in the rural community
That the most capable hand is not determined by popularity?
Unholy heretic
your relics despoil
Augustine in tears
—embracing the shame
(Dreamsleep: August, 2022)
Today was not so bad,
Yesterday, pure horror;
Tomorrow, I cannot predict,
Yet in terror I live;
A touch so much I dread,
For suspicion is my daily bread;
Every word a leery undertone,
Every smile with hidden intent;
That such evil so very well hid,
Is the crux of the matter within;
Today the child you cheer to see,
Might tomorrow be wickedly despoiled;
Their trust so shamefully they do exploit,
The hurt of the child so well disguised;
For shame will none in truth reveal,
The truly vile deeds in secret are done;
A wish to live with nary a worry,
Truly, only if wishes were horses.
So today I beg your child do keep,
That tomorrow you'll have no cause to weep;
Today find time to teach and train,
That tomorrow you'll have no painful regrets;
For in plain view vile people abound,
To steal the sweet innocence of such a child;
To rape, and hurt, and trick and threaten,
for towards the child is their malevolent intent.
War mars the face of Man,
Pitied, unpitied. Though
This be known to all men,
We realists connive.
Thrice-prancing priests in March
Have made red their faces,
Have conspired to despoil
Anew summer’s increase,
Overmuch not caring
For those about to dye
Crimson Plutonic plains,
To expire in the dark.
War, Mars, the face of Man?
Sneaking into the enemy camp,
the guards all fast asleep
Crawling past the sorrow and pain,
old promises to keep
Deep within the saboteurs grasp,
for one last time, alone
Burrowing into uncertainties lair
—to despoil the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Wisdom à la Sophie
----------------------
Behind calm mind can come a fear,
So conquer it, and sprightly.
A fear must not despoil your year.
Quick, quell it. Live your life quite lightly.
1/2/2019
"Fear is a slinking cat I find beneath the lilacs of my mind."
- Sophie Tunnell
The ham was golden brown
With glazed sugar upon it
The Turkey was there to
A breast for you and a thigh for me
The yams just came out of the oven
I need a mixed drink
Father is in watching TV
With his feet up in his chair
The boy’s are all running around
Acting like fools
The apple pie is done crisp and golden brown
I need a mixed drink
The settings are on the table all candles lit
Grandmother is having a fit
Her teeth went down the garbage despoil
JOHNNY DON’T FLICK THAT SWITCH
I need a double mix drink
A prosy prose for deity to mourn,
As the hunger stricken wobbles the ground.
Oh! the old retinues that feed besides our ribs.
Come again with their unbearable tax payers,
While the labourers' stomach rumble!
The ignorant chieftains stare from above,
While the Kwashiorkor kids parade the streets!
Farmers clank their basket and hoe,
For nothing to bring homewards when the farms never yield.
As the hard labour tastes no fruit,
Wife and daughter, are forever famished.
The sailor that despoil us,
Snatch the bouquet of our feast.
As we wallow in our hollow labour?
Leaving us despondent at the edge of the farm,
Oh! We are made for you to drain,
When the basket of yam fully stored in there yard.
The old retinues release starvation from its dungeon,
As hunger flay around street, whipping!.
The rise of commodities in the Bazar,
A loaf is bought at high price.
And the grain is untouchable!
This is a prosy prose for deity to mourn,
How housewives turn to modern beggars,
While the toddlers sleep with void bellies and empty jars!
War mars the face of man.
Though this be known to all men
we realists connive.
Thrice-prancing priests in March
have made red their faces,
have conspired anew to despoil
summer's increase,
overmuch not caring
for those about to dye
crimson Plutonic plains,
to expire in the dark.
War, Mars, the face of Man?
I try to be good
I work and play
to cause disarray
I fume and let it all mushroom
I engage in wanton acts of guile
I act not as the contrary child
I do it all but not for a smile
To kill a ghost:
First it must be dead
That troublesome bother
That worm of irritation
That sore of discontent
That bane of the fair game
That argumentative refrain
To live with so much hate
To suffer with immeasurable pain
To want to be set free
To distance all from troublesome calamity
The earth will not be despoil
For long
Rise up before the troika dance of sun and moon
Enter the psyche of those who sent you away
Pretend its all fair play
Harass and bother everyday
No words can slay
No mantras can tame
Humanity will be reduced to a soulful shame
Now the sore has turned to a boil
Now the spectre is your turmoil
Cause of demise now haunts the mind
Enter the ghost of what should be left behind
"I could a tale unfold
Whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul"
When these words Shakespeare wrote
Little did he think how hard they smote
The hearts of men drowning in toil
Amid gross carnage innocence to despoil
The drumbeat of bombs to bring Mosul down
The speeding bullet of a car in Westminster's town
Heartache and agony in this world abound
With life's thorns so many are crowned
It is no wonder that so many weep depressed
And pray to their God for eternal rest
Sneaking into the enemy camp,
the guards now fast asleep
Crawling past the sorrow and pain,
old promises to keep
Now inside the enemy camp,
for one last time, alone
Burrowing into uncertainties lair,
—to despoil the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
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