Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
zany zippy zambo
rarely watches Rambo
preferring cartoons
watching Saturn’s moons
persnickety ways
does not waste his days
doing what he wants and only that
brought home five dogs and one straggly cat
zany zippy zambo is the king
of doing only his own thing
he had a wife who ran away
every day for him is full of play
What’s happening is clearly understood.
Apollo has one hand around her waist,
one predator, one quarry, interlaced.
He’s coming up behind her (which is good),
but she’s a tree (two lovers, getting wood!)
She’d rather change her state than be disgraced,
preferring to be chaste than to be chased.
She’s choosing abstinence, above life's blood.
Is love a trauma, to be undergone?
Arousal something ugly, to be faced?
Should Nature’s process be looked down upon?
The carnal act, a tactless lapse of taste?
Or might the thing be ardently embraced?
We, formless fragments, merging in The One?
You'd tell me and I'd feel so good
Together we both understood
Our paths would meet perhaps one day
If-then, maybe, who could say?
Some bumps and dips along the trail
When quiet lips from you prevailed
Such times are when I'd walk alone
Preferring that you set the tone
Yet undeterred I'd still write lines
My heart in words, remembering times
Through odes that here for you I'd post
But only you'd know who's the poet
Her sugar intake was phenomenal,
her blood index astronomical!
She had become a sugar freak,
three meals a day, seven days a week.
Her doctor’s warning she ignored,
his food suggestions had her bored.
Her pancreas, he pointed out,
was low on insulin, or just about.
Predicted she’d have to quit all
sugar or face an early burial.
Laughed it off as a cheap scare tactic
preferring to remain a diabetic.
Said the doctor with a pun perverse:
“As you wish, you’re getting your just desserts.”
So unhurried we do not begin at all,
preferring to remain in tranquil repose,
as divine inspirations in mind snowball,
arising from a fulcrum God alone knows,
we are as we are thus, bliss drenched and complete,
enraptured as polarities meet and greet,
conjuring a verse with no need to rehearse,
since our soul is entwined with the universe.
Rhyme scheme by Robert Frost, words by the author
The thing that makes me human
wants a positive bond.
That lady wisdom would illumine
me, giving me social acumen.
I try not to respond
to one who wants to fight,
preferring peace as in a pond,
and find that giving love is quite
like a magic wand.
I cannot speak of life; I’ve just arrived here,
This matter I pondered for many a year.
When girls first wore trousers, I felt a dismay,
From a bright future, I turned and walked away.
Trousers didn’t sit well with the choices made,
Leading to shameful acts, foundations betrayed.
Do not defy the laws set by the Divine,
No matter how strong you believe you may shine.
The Creator crafted the world in its grace,
Making all things in balance, each finds its place.
With winter and summer, day following night,
He paired male with female, in harmony's light.
Beloved Allah shares all things equally,
Preferring the balance in life’s tapestry.
Only mankind disrupts this delicate thread,
Seeing some as greater, while others are led.
I’ve been listening to your eyes
The way they smile the way they cry
Pulling for miles red heart’s insides
Little crows feet forming thin lines
Telling what tickle’s mahogany mind
Or what pickles in memory’s teal time
You’ve got hearts on a string
Obedient like art got them trained
Glance from you like calling name
Love is a Lion and so we roar
Walking the tightrope high above floor
Fearing only the one we adore
For if you abandoned us
We’d be lost and scandalous
Preferring tough love not lust
Serve us like plates of soul food
For amethyst audience to consume
Each heartbreak an amber art bloom
Will you tire of the balancing act
Do you desire playing with fact
Unconditional love you wear like hat
Even a broken clock can be right
Once a day once a neon night
Is it time to say green goodbye
To a love that is so strong
Despite dilemma life long
Heart holds on to you like a song
Love of a toxic parent is wild
Makes us licorice laugh makes us smile
Makes us mad facing facts despite denial
I'm wishing for a white kitten
or a playful cute little pup
Christmas is glowing and my heart is opening
for a pet with a nice close-up
I'm wishing for a white kitten
or maybe a pet that is black
every ball on my tree will crack
and each treasured curio knickknack
I'm wishing for a white kitten
my whole home they will takeover
will be under my bedcover
and stuff on sills will be knocked over
Christmas is glowing and my heart is opening
for a pet with a nice close-up
I'm wishing for a white kitten
I can hear the kitten purring
and I can feel my heart stirring
truth told a white kitten preferring
He was right at home with 'being himself',
And had 'never a longing' to be anyone else.
To others, it was as if he was in a jail cell,
But from his perspective, all was well.
It seemed, in a cave, forever he would stay,
And there was little he ever wanted to say.
For sure, he was shy, preferring to be alone,
And in a cocoon is where he felt right at home.
In time, nature forced his exit from the shell,
And he was then compelled to show and tell.
A boy named Bobby came along, and Terry changed.
Bobby didn't see Terry as someone acting strange.
Before Bobby, everyone simply stood and stared.
Terry was 14 when Bobby expressed that he cared.
Fortunately, Bobby and Terry became the best of friends.
Friendship was the key that unlocked Terry way back then.
Here now we live in body-mind,
wherein our heart, loving and kind,
cajoles us to slow down life’s pace,
free from feral cravings that bind.
Be this as it may, life’s rat race,
estranges us from love’s embrace,
dimming God’s light that glows within,
since thrust of lust is what we chase.
Eye on desire, we seek to win,
by means fair or foul, that’s our sin
but the joy we seek eludes us,
as we’re deafened by thought flow din.
Such is our life, dark fears nonplus;
like a spoilt child, we fret and fuss
over illusions, the mundane,
refusing to board God’s bliss bus.
We have freedom but are insane,
trauma bonding with desire’s chain,
preferring to remain asleep,
thus prolonging our ego’s rein.
If we’d take a consciousness leap,
we must dare to swim in the deep,
resting in silence, self-aware,
feeling within every bliss beep.
Soul suffocates, give it some air;
meld head with heart and with love pair,
that thus doing nothing at all,
demonic desires we outstare.
Who we are, in stillness recall,
which is living light, standing tall,
recognition that makes us smile,
whence in darkness we’ll never fall.
Parallel lines of attention,
one being urge of the ego,
the other loosening tension,
preferring soulful musings slow,
playoff between chaos and bliss;
in both cases, a deep abyss.
If we feed the demon of lust,
trampling over those who are meek,
soul’s light ebbs due to acts unjust
and our auric field becomes weak
but if our head and heart align,
here and now we become divine.
At the crossroads what do we choose;
ego’s ruse or soul’s blissful muse?
sore throat medicine
eye glasses
left shoe
potted plant
a six-foot tree branch
pieces from someone else’s porch
walnut
stuffing from an Amazon box
things brought into the house
through the doggie door
by our new puppy
who ignores expensive dog chews
preferring to find his own entertainment
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