Trying
to retrieve
the things
you threw off
the boat
before they
sink
and with them
my legacy
They drift
in the
saturation
of what never
should have
been said
and never
should have
been thought
I
fall into
the dark
water
where our
past
spawns in anger
treading
in desperation
Hoping
for a
last reprieve
still floating
on the
surface
of what
never really was
— and never will be again
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
Every sin laid upon me, left its stone.
Each dream denied, buried deep, is a stone.
Unkept promises haunt, their weight cold stones.
I walk, hunched by forgotten oaths, their stones.
Suffered wounds unseen, each bruise casts a stone.
Given pain returned sharper, molds its stone.
The choirs refused my ears each hymn, a stone.
Heaven closed; its silence bequeaths me stones.
Mud clings to my steps, the ground spawns stones.
The self is prison, walled in jagged stones.
Under skies, burdened breath, life begged for stones.
I build ruin. To endure is to move these stones.
Darker, which only spawns
A more depraved eye
In today's world, as woman vie
With girls for scared looks
With hands as trembly
Hands as tight pulled on
At their own leash-hold's extension
As sharp-toothed what sooks!
“Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours
– waiting for rebirth” - Quote by Constance La France
Chilled whispers of freezing north wind
waltz with ballerina snowflakes.
Cold decay spawns in congealed nights with frost,
bare tree boughs bend with snow.
Fallen leaves have lost golden glow,
in winter’s gloomy grip they wilt.
Doting butterflies have vanished since long,
for the flowers are gone.
Surely, spring returns with splendor,
hued spectrum relights smoky sky.
Resurrected morning crowned by dew pearls
shines with sequins of spring.
Glowing sun melts away the snow,
jade veneer new adorns cracked ground.
Satin leaves sprout in barren trees with buds,
live in tinged crescendo.
Flowers bloom in faded garden,
breeze ripples with their mellow scent,
bringing butterflies to color burst scene,
revived nature’s fresco.
Spontaneous Combustions
Spawns heinous Corruptions
Spontaneous Corruptions
Spawns heinous Assumptions
Spontaneous Assumptions
Spawns heinous Presumptions
Spontaneous Presumptions
Spawns heinous Combustions
Some people say revenge is sweet,
but its true source is from beneath.
The cycle of violence it spawns,
new horrors breed as each day dawns.
When wrong is done, justice demands,
wrongdoers, for trial must stand.
After the facts are exposed,
a just sentence must be imposed.
An eye for an eye was first meant
Ongoing blood feuds to prevent.
“Don’t take revenge,” is what God says
“Vengeance is mine, I will repay.”
When you are wronged, don’t start a fight,
because two wrongs never make a right.
Vow to repay evil with good
Follow God’s way, live as you should.
One day soon, when sin its course has run
God will judge all for what they have done.
When all wrongs are brought into view,
each one will receive their just due.
The Earth spawns Man.
Man spawns Descendants.
Descendants rape the Earth.
The Earth stops providing.
Descendants start dying.
The Earth continues spinning,
And forgets we were ever here!
America is divided between lovers and haters;
Those that love her and those that hate Trump.
But the thing about both love and hate
Is it often says more about the one doing it
Than the one receiving it.
Trump gets called a racist, sexist, anti-Semite
While having a long history of close and supportive
Personal and profession relationships
With people who are minorities, women and Jews,
Which is more than many of his detractors can claim.
It’s a classic example of projection
And when you call it out
Then you see exactly what gaslighting is
The flaming gases
Just pouring from the mouths of hell.
But hell is always only half the equation.
What the world needs now
To counter the fear that spawns the hate
Is love sweet love
No, not just for some, but for everyone…
(8/16/25)
They tell us we’re the future
yet 63% of us stand under twenty-five,
hungry for more than empty promises.
They say unemployment is only 6.8%
but when each job vacancy spawns nineteen hopeful faces,
those numbers shatter.
It’s not our fault alone
we’re taught to pass, not to prepare,
and leaders build bridges to nowhere.
change the system,
rebuild classrooms with real tools,
forge curricula in tune with today’s world,
craft jobs that don’t evaporate at sunset.
We memorize theories dusted in chalk,
while the real world races in code and startups
our syllabi stuck in yesterday’s headlines,
outdated lessons that never teach how to build,
to pitch, to innovate, to adapt.
change the system,
write modules on digital skills and green tech,
teach us negotiation, problem-solving, resilience,
so our knowledge finally walks hand in hand with reality.
Because when the system bends to our needs,
those cracks become the light we’ve been waiting for.
A silent storm is brewing within my chest
A benumbing chill sets my soul aflame
A warm welcome sets alarm bell ringing,
In the realm of hush at the dawn of dusk
do you hear the swooshing
of the waves on the sandy shore?
Do you hear the shush of the wind
as it sweeps low and hisses like
the slithering snake winding through
a graveyard in the dead of darkness?
This fear that reverberates
like the rolling thunder
with each thump of my heart—
Do you hear its deafening echoes
in the quiet of night?
A forlorn sullen moon
with its eerie silvery glow
spawns what a frightful folklore?
Beneath a disdain firmament
with its myriad peering eyes
and in this ever engulfing shadows,
Where would one find a sliver of hope?
The deception of religion
The inefficacy of prayers
The malice in man and
his galore of gods…
Why does my soul head straight
towards an all-consuming flame
like a moth from a self-imposed cocoon?
2015 and years thereafter
The year of two thousand and fifteen,
has not been a good year for world peace.
Brotherhood of Man. I despair of our
lack of empathy with children killed by
Well-meaning
Bombs dropped by nations
Those who look for peace through violence.
I recall from history books a king named
Croesus, everything he touched turned into
gold, and he died amidst plenty.
State-sponsored violence spawns terror and
And newer versions of ISIS will not go away,
And we cannot understand that there will be
no peace before the whole world is a ruin if
We do not come to our senses and stop feeding
terror`s voracious appetite.
Night is pending.
Not even the most anxious
can avoid time.
Day after day I dread the
the death of nothing
that the night spawns.
The TV becomes my
best friend~
a window of light
in the abyss.
Old TV shows
are brighter than
the new.
Tonight I choose
The Andy Griffith Show.
I put my earphones in,
and turn the volume down
(on the off chance
sleep embraces me)
and I embrace my fate.
I watch.
It's strange.
I feel a peculiar force
tugging at the corners
of my mouth.
The opposite of gravity.
A sensation that pulls
upward.
I had forgotten the feeling.
I laugh inside,
but for a different reason
than my body is currently
reacting to.
It seems even the most
sleep-deprived,
fear stricken
low in life
sickos
can't keep themselves
from smiling at
the infamous
Don Knotts
Recognising this form is dust,
an urn shaped from Mother Earth’s crust,
enlivened by the touch of God,
we feel each heartbeat as love’s thrust.
To get to the source, heart is thawed,
that thus by giving love our nod,
in stillness we get to the source,
gentling touch, as conscience does prod.
As life then charters its own course,
soul ascends without use of force,
revealing that life’s but a dream,
where we repay debts through remorse.
Ego spawns desires, then thoughts stream,
pursuing which, we let off steam
but come what may, we’re doomed to fail,
because things are not what they seem.
The code of love is penned in braille,
that even the blind may set sail,
going way beyond time and space,
where dark fears no longer assail.
One with oneness, invoking grace,
steps towards heaven we retrace,
by our soul’s choice to vaporise,
that lower mind we thus deface.
Wonderstruck each morn at sunrise,
witnessing each breath in surprise,
clear light dawns, even as we yawn,
whence transformed as light, ego dies.
Weaning away feral instincts treasured
Soul’s eye is now mindful and touch gentle
The pilgrim’s progress is by mind measured
With scent of love lost in labours mental
The vibrant void records every heartbeat
Our desire to sing and dance in the rain
Rise of bliss heat when polarities meet
Restrained by thought, which once boon is now bane
Epiphany dawns when nonchalance yawns
Recognising life’s play as but a dream
Divine magnetism love pheromones spawns
We’re then both the sun ray and the moonbeam
Watch illusions appear and disappear ~
Why nurture fear when there is no one here
The maker of the earth and skies
often used objects of small size
to teach His audience and explain
the deep truths that His Words contain.
One day He used a little child
to teach His students to be mild.
To occupy His kingdom grand
like children they must hold His hand.
The little ants storing supplies
can teach us all how to be wise.
With none to direct or compel
how orderly these creatures dwell.
The mustard seed, though very small
of garden plants they are most tall.
So, like a seed, God’s kingdom grows
exactly how? Only God knows.
A grain of sand tween mantle and shell
spawns pearls that for small fortunes sell.
Faith like a tiny mustard seed
can move mounts that our paths impede.
Small ideas, in curious minds,
have spawned inventions of all kinds.
A tiny thought, sown reaps an act,
that our destiny can impact.
A small act of kindness, heaven knows,
how far that simple action goes.
Only eternity will tell
how many souls it saved from hell.
So, do not despise tiny things
cherish the blessings each one brings.
By doing so the joy you’ll know
upon your countenance will show.
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