I was a young mother
had just put the baby to bed
laid down on a couch exhausted
my eyes closed
I regressed to another lifetime. I was dressed like a flapper
maybe the 1930’s, I knew I was in Chicago
I was running in heels, my feet hurt
if the car chasing me caught me I was dead
Someone yelled and jumped out of the car
I turned down an alley without an opening
They caught me and threw me down
I felt the knife cut my throat
and the blood drip
Why is this human body
enshrouded in so much shame
Who decided we must cover up
and play this crazy game
It seems to be the greatest hang up
entrenched deeply in our psyche
Do we each have physicality different from the rest?
apart from gender difference seems we're all alike
The saddest of it all is what I term
the Hollywood commercial sex sale image
Suspenders, stockings, g-strings, bras
designed to show a bit of cleavage
There was a man so shy, when he was partly naked
one day I really scared my Dad, I almost saw his bum
From that day on I often wondered
was he ever completely naked, in front of my Mum
Some days ago my wife forgot to wish me all the best
for my seventy seventh commemorative hoot
I tried succinctly to remind her
by sitting in the sun, in just my birthday suit
If I could choose a place to be, when I am reincarnated
A first nation naked man in Arnhem land would be highly celebrated
Footnote: Arnhem land a sacred reserve for the original inhabitants , the Dreamtime
People, in the Northern, Australia
“ Reincarnated Angelic Soul “
This Soul is a Quadrillion Years Old,
It’s Not Like That Of A Younger Soul.
Facts Is That I Leave My Mark Every Where,
If You Ever Have My Loyalty, Respect and Heart
I Wouldn’t Let Go Of Them.
Because I Can Strip It All Away,
Just The Same As Giving It.
It is Your Choice Whether You Decide,
To Be Left Behind As A Lesson Or Progress As A Blessing!
" I Am Gabriel, It Is Time For Revival "
Written By: Kendall “Gabriel” Aaron Conrad
December 25, 2024
12:01 a.m.
she was purple and black with silver streaks of anger
we saw her rising above the crowd and felt her wrath
a cantankerous balloon, she is, she cannot be satisfied
This was stated by more than one person
I could not help but wonder if it was my Aunt Ann reincarnated
She was the grouchiest, meanest being I have ever met
And I have met several grumps and rumps in my day
I watched the balloon rise above the crowd
As she traveled over the woods, the timbers turned black
the crowd began to cheer, for we were all lighter now
optimism and joy returned the minute she lifted up over the trees
I want to return next time as a clock
with a regular tick tock, and possibly a chime
I want to be mounted on the wall of an entertaining family
to view them unobserved, a voyeur collecting information
which I can put into poems and stories in my next life
as a poet
no one understands the spectacular life of nature
we can be awed and inspired, but we cannot relate
for if we were ever mountains or trees, we have forgotten
some might have been rocks, they are stubborn and immobile
Maybe heaven is in the mountains, or in the clouds above them
that could explain the overwhelming feelings they give us
If I am ever reincarnated into nature, I want to be a mountain
one that dreams her entire day away, for people will feel that.
When I get reincarnated
I want to be born into the Tutsi tribe.
Their average height is six feet.
And please God, could I be six foot six?
Some dream of palaces full of silver and gold
In the future of their afterlife, something to behold
Others dream of heaven, and pearly white gates
Passing the judgement, and receiving their fate
But all that I wish is to live as a star
Forever unbothered, my worries so far
Burning with bright blue beautiful light
My siblings the constellation that you see at night
A thin flicker of hope,
A subtle glance cast.
Momentary blindness,
A vision from the past.
A stout heart tested,
A memory so clear.
The face of an angel,
From a bygone year.
A gasping of breath,
A time to reflect.
Karma so electric,
Two souls reconnect.
Instant recognition,
And no words to say.
Lovers hand in hand,
As if were yesterday.
To come and go
and not be afraid of the light.
Again I'm a child and my secrets
I have chosen can you love me?
Death will come this I know
slowly I grow you remember.
The bottles were colored when first I arrived.
Hairy eyes hiding tremors pass.
I agonize once again arsenic moons.
A man makes his bed yet a child and his maid.
Starched white shirts in the closet I hide
from the church.
Mary wept but the nuns make me weep even more.
Loneliness is a face never seen.
I drink it all as a child what they allow.
Buds and bells heaven is not full of metaphors
I can change but I won't.
When I write best this way unlike you.
Your will I don't want just my cat.
Coming back here your heart once mine was too heavy.
Wide and straight the road.
Narrow paths for dark horses the moon the clouds
they pass by me lost without you my bed wetter.
God help me I can once again hear loud sucking noises
soft whimpers and quite cries for a price.
Mummy the bottle on the floor it is empty.
She comes in a double glass, blood red dress.
I did not write this because of the hairy eye hiding.
But children and their secret lips confessed.
James McLain Thursday, August 11, 2011
Makes me smile when you say
sweet nothings with your eyes
the way you hold my hand
sweeps my cares away
and breaks all doubt of who loves me most
or is this a dream?
How can I remember
your tangerine touch
before it actually occurs?
Because my soul beckons yours prior to birth
in a saucy siren-like thunder
As liquid lightening your soul answers
burning passion in my consciousness
charisma karma carrying
my heart like a torch
for all to see like a teal tattoo
for all to feel as fuchsia fire
Dandelion dimples on my mind are memories
wrinkles of past waves of future
like curve of my lips
we go full circle in time
which we travel within prayers for guidance
to and fro to live and die
to be born and find
each other in a new way
a new day and another life
or was that just a dream
what you stranger I crave
do to me.
A stifling calm hung over the enlivened eve,
Across the gulf of years and time,
Ambitions and aspirations shivered into solids and dust,
I must have existed here before now.
It's hard to cry, complain and die soon,
I'm familiar with the earthly pain and joy,
Doubts didn't beset my lonely and daring soul,
Amid the direful calamities of existence.
But if the truth be told,
I wish to be reincarnated in the air you breath,
So as to always be with you
Until your dying day.
But now the truth is sold,
I'm now like a thorn in the flesh,
With words entwining you in thraldom,
Because I've murdered the fear of death,
Since my only fear is coming back reincarnated.
The blue tulip has died- -
Jaunty jealousy
a blue murder mystery
something has dried up?
It’s not done this way
after the burial done
coming back as a flower?
10/21/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
SEDOKA POEM TYPE
Reincarnated, I will come back as a mustached and bearded Italian organ grinder,
I will live in Rome, Italy and play my home-made barrel organ in the streets,
My pet spider monkey, Shark, will happily grab up silver coins, as a reminder.
And we will make the beautifully-dressed Roma gypsies jump and laugh and squeak.
I will grind out the best songs, and Ellen will discover us and want to put us on TV.
Shark and I will be flown to America, where we will be applauded and approved.
We will play romantic music for everyone, and be as obnoxious as we can be.
We will be a hit with no one on that plane, people who are boring, and not easily moved.
We will be offered millions of dollars, to leave our wonderful streets of Rome.
But we will make our escape, not caring about the fame or the money,
For spider monkeys and organ grinders know the beauty of being in their home,
And we have a cozy nest, with our llamas and our elephant, named Honey.
FIDEL Castro! the Diablo of Life succumbs to Death
Castro! the devil’s advocate
orchestrated hooligans.
Kept a destructive quest.
Turned a civil nation chaotic.
Death, destruction, and demoralizing tactics
Fell tears through the land.
Millions of cries hit the skies over Cuba.
This a cry that would never stop.
Endless shouts for mercy keeps climbing to God .
The terrifying Diablo lassoed hate into the children
and grew generations that altered this beautiful land.
This a man with demonic eyes.
He squeeze the air out of their lungs,
Without chains they were in chains.
burnt the innocence,
strangles those who oppose,
and drilled fear in the land.
Castro the Diablo of lives even in death.
© Al. Juman The "said" Poet 11/27/2016
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