The boy from yesterday
comes here and there
not sure where he is going
or where his path leads to...
I look at the pictures from old times
where his eyes where so different
he never liked what I wrote
while his words were black birds to me...
The fall was hard
the origin of all pain
my arms were open
when I still had them...
what I see now is not the same
I don't know who I am anymore
does he know what he ever wanted?
is he lost in a weird fog?
I know I once loved him dearly
now all is so vague
I walk the streets of my life
searching for the answers I'll never get...
I listen to some music
while I cook my meals
a tear falls to my nose
and wakes me up from the dream...
Such distance between us both,
did it have to be this way?
I remember when we sang the same song
down there in the bay...
If there was a church around
I would go to pray
no to the lord I once met
cuz that one doesn't reply...
I just need the solitude
of an empty space
where the pieces of my broken heart
I can sew together again.
Jessica
This is an age of blood;
an interesting era,
corn and potatoes rot in the fields
or are sold into slavery.
Money walks inside a Viking helmet,
Mars is rising red with anger.
This a time for poetry,
for the old and young
to scribble over burnt stones,
to whisper into hurricanes.
The world spins on
but an axis of madness reigns,
its spin is out of kilter,
drugged by addictive illusions.
Only the wild child
with a charcoal pen
can write down the pain,
can see the fire simmering bright
in the chilling snow.
The path is crazy
it has lost itself in a concrete maze
of insane ideas and frothing words.
It babbles, it has only spears
to shake, as if such weapons' were
as sharp as clear eyes.
The soft neural tentacles of poets
wave in the ash filled air,
gather reasons,
moments to sew together
incautious words
on the edge of a dire dawn.
A pale light feeds them
they report the storming storms
camouflaged as they are
by the in-between;
their small testaments
writ upon scapes of scorched insights
for the readers and trackers
of lost footprints.
light switch in the dark
fright switch
whirr of wings
unallocated
swift hither
pulse race over ice
bat
on the ceiling
fridge top
skitter of featherless wings
timid fear in the air
now clinging to a skillet hook
throw open the screen
wait
blurred flight-pass
out now
thread carefully
sew together a scattered panic
put heartbeats
back into their drum
make coffee
puzzle the moments
Third Row, Second Seat
The empty chair at church has a name.
It changes from time to time,
but remains somewhat if not always,
the same.
My friend "May" and I...
we talked about the lost ones.
Then we traded numbers and addresses.
In case, we too are gone,
too long.
It is not a report or calling,
but a noticed fact.
The chair, we stare,
and compare...
dates,
when we last saw our friend?
The last time we spoke,
friendly words about nothing.
Hugged and prayed together...
with God.
Is she sick or moved?
Is she in trouble?
There is no way to know.
So now,
we sew together,
the loose seams of our net
to save each other,
and be ready to catch,
any that might fall...
any that may find
the map has been misplaced,
the bread crumbs have been eaten,
and the wind has grown still.
I see autumn clearing dead yellow leaves
And I hear the voice of a soft new breeze
Sweetly singing its new fresh tunes
Elating all those sad dry blues
These are the days for our love sake
Needed to pull the emergency brake
To save whatever was at stake
Give life a brighter shake.
These are the days where we confront disparity
Find a good balance between different equality
Rejoin together in a heart reborn
Sew together what has been torn.
These are the days where we stop eating each other
Enslaved by the thirst for money and power
Share together and genuinely appraise
Talents lost in a hopeless maze
Give new voice to mournful echoes
Flourish together as flowery meadows
These are our new ways
These are the new days
29-05-2018
Africa bereft for long
of needles and threads
to sew together costumes
to keep cool, warm, safe
in winter of their own life
and bind brotherhood thing
looked at 19th century fly
observed 20th century fly
and now the 21st century
with its legs off the runway
its wings postured ready
for high altitude flights
may surely bid another bye
as the century flies away
Voices in Silence
You are the choice when I'm alone,
I’m the voice you hear on your own,
for no one else but us can hear,
That which to us is crystal clear.
Special the moments we converse,
be it of thought or memory flash,
always aware though distance be,
Nowhere too far for us to see,
Love be the threads that sew together,
that which is meant to last forever,
Sanctify the days we spent,
treasure the hours time us lent,
Thousand suns still has to rise,
reading the passion in your eyes,
holding your hands for fear of leave
Never this magic ever shall cease .
What Should Be Punishment
Surmise what we should do is analyze
What turned out to be a big surprise
And one more thing I want to mention
Saw a clown at a political convention.
In many countries things like this occur
Often proving so difficult to endure
Man or woman which one will we want
Small as canary or big like an elephant.
Would be nice to see soft, sweet smile
No one we ever saw standing on trial
Who was trustworthy, loyal and vigilant
Had confidence in them wherever they went.
Supposed to have only one leader at a time
More then that is supposed to be a crime
What may have to happen in the future
Big mouth sew together suture after suture.
What is the punishment for trying to be a
leader or president when not currently in
office yet? May get us deep in debt with
no regret, is rich and poor life never met?
Won't want him as my favorite pet who
they did not vet. I am sure you are starting
to get the message.
Bring me a needle,
Bring me some thread.
I'll stitch you a poem
That's never been read.
Each letter and word,
Are the thread that I'll use,
The needle, my pen,
Your devotion my muse.
As needle and thread
Sew together a seam,
My pen and my words,
Will stitch together a theme.
The theme will be love,
The words from my soul,
Stitched with great care
For you to behold.
When the last word is penned,
Like a final snipped thread,
I'll present you this poem,
Just like I said.
2/2012
Entered in Rob Carmack's Screwed !V contest
Mother and Father
as I release this bind,
I walk into individuation
and free myself of time.
I am female and male
wrapped into one.
I sew together duality
and return to the sun.
My light burns through me
and resist I will not.
Please pray with me
as I choose an open heart.
I am now peace.
Something I had forgotten.
My spirit within me
has now risen.
Married to my soul
is my devotion now.
No Thing is able to move
this choice I bestow.
My flame is so vibrant
that all whom pass through it
will warm themselves with nurture
or run with a fevered conflict.
Be in this holy light with me
or choose another path to see.
The threshold is here
and the truth resonates divinely.