Not cause it's dump
Not cause it's stupid
It pointless and loveless
Blame it on Cupid
It ain't centered
It lacks sentiment
Get what I am saying
Even if it's not want I meant
Theres ah new way of loving
The one you thinkin of and
See what you are saying
And we aren't playing
E'ry one knows it's us
You and I
Love and lust
Ooh be-doo-bee auh ooh!
Let you kiss me when you see me
We can doo- dottil around
You be the serious one
Let me be the clown
Next time we meet
We'll spent precious time
Together
What ever it is
Whatever the weather
Pling told Pling , plung, plung
The strings were tense
And strung
The words were reversed
What came next was
Put first
Love was I am singing
Love the joy this sound
Is bringing!
Ere the poem can claim it’s place,
comes first the devoted reader of my lines;
that trusted someone,
that extra set of eyes,
who walks among the words of rhyme,
who reads aloud the whims I wrote,
the unfinished thought,
the missing phrase,
the quiet inflection lingering
where my instincts failed to go.
When, or where to breathe,
to pause, to rewrite.
How, or when to arrive
where the poem itself
strives to go;
how to be a portal
in the link from you to me,
the calm assurance
my wandering verse will know
when it’s truly
found its end.
Her suffering was her currency as she would trade in sympathies among a band of devils driven wild by their needs to be possessed and to possess in a world seldom fair being built in complications simple heads never seem to ever understand and.
She was Magnificent.
They way she tore me down. Only one other thing had ever hurt me more.
We exchanged I love you’s and went our separate ways.
destiny had been kind to us for a season
Now, overflowing in tears
the nostalgia for something so wondrous and fair nearly kills me
It’s something different that the memories -
the dry uncontrollable ache of loss
which I daily transmute with ritual:
Fresh thyme grown in a pot near my feet,
Infused in oil in a jar
daily performed.
Searching in a new place and time
I play a different song
I finally got it through my head but
just cant break it to my heart.
“Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version”
After rain, the burnt paddock smells of iron.
Rusted wire hums along the boundary,
teaching the grass its old obedience.
All my life, I mistook such lines
for safety.
I do not have to follow.
My mind is a dry, hot wind
stirring the ash;
a frantic moth beating
against the unyielding wire.
It is the sudden clawing of a frightened animal,
the bitter, ancient lure of being right,
the tide that pulls the old hymns from my throat.
I do not have to follow.
Instead, cold rain enters the ash-dark soil.
The run-off clears, stripping the blackened crust
until desire and aversion
loosen their old grip.
A single grey thrush resumes its quiet call,
and what was rigid loosens into breath,
unbound from the boundary I carried within.
I do not have to follow.
I walk away from the rusted wire,
humming no song I was given—
only the rain’s small rhythm
finding its way through me.
Step by gradual step,
finger tips on handrail,
beam on countenance,
I countenance a beam,
day in urban green park,
with bosom shadows,
red blazing sunshine,
that watchful radiance,
mock orange hedge,
that aromatic flourish,
hint from my instinct,
watch each rung,
don’t slip or stumble,
with wistful wallow,
silken counsel I heed,
yet further episodes,
vivid dream intrusion,
a sea of blue asters,
butterfly kaleidoscope,
on nimble nectar quest,
but now I stand astride,
on landing at the top,
casting hazel eyed,
downward glance,
on another golden,
snapshot on earth
For things of beauty
Constantly am I searching,
Despite the bleakness.
What happened to the funny man
that insecure comedian
O, not done, he carries on
transcendent verse, his latest con
Un-certainty..' Events beyond Biblical..
Being prepared for you.' Fire
For for your desire, a black heat though.?
Coming from just where
( you do not know )
It is intense, with the energy; all the energy
Of lives you have sqandered, including the
Ones that collectivly you self-relinquished
Such will your future be.' The delivery in inevitable..The sender is satan, he in indentured to dispense you wages, this is
( the gift that keeps on giving ) guys..' or gals...? I does not really really ( matter! )
View it as 'gender-indifferent?' Though most malevolent he can't help it by the way ' he is typecast by choice..And i beleive he ( means well?) Well for himself
Anyway..' But he can't cut the mustard.'
his gambit is oompletely busted, a busy fool is he, gambling on hostage taking.'
Obstinate to the enth; hell, of all degrees.'
we perform our role as tasked if we’re asked ~
outcomes matter not since ego’s unmasked
Smiled down upon are, here.
The one sunny place.
Meanwhile round about, everywhere
All what blurs for grief.
If so willed meant for whom
If not, friend, ourselves!
Self congratulations deplore.
Yet clap them! If brief.
I left the curtains open for you
Just in case you decide to visit
If you ever decide you want to see how things are going,
I left the curtains open for you.
If you ever want to see how far I’ve come since we last spoke
I left the curtains open for you
The curtains are always open
But the window is locked.
And so is the door
I don’t want you to come back in
I didn’t want you to know you were welcome
The curtains are always open
Even though I doubt you’ll ever pass by the window.
My organs are plagued with a sense of longing
My heart pumps a venom that kills my liver
I am constantly unbalanced
My head is on a swivel too fast to stop;
My stomach is flooded
I am filling slowly from the inside with tears
Assuring there is no more room for you
I am the ailment
You were always the cure.
After spending an hour chasing a dollar, blowing down the street;?
those without need thought that it was wasted time, perhaps.
But while the rich get immediate results while rocking on their feet,
everyone else is busy just fighting over the scraps.
Where South China waters churn heavy and wide,
A widow rose up with the ocean's own tide.
No emperor’s decree could govern her hand,
She ruled forty thousand across sea and land.
Her laws were of iron, her word absolute—
No plunder unshared, and no thief with his loot.
With hundreds of junks bearing canvas of red,
The empires of Europe beheld her with dread.
The Qing and the Portuguese launched their attack,
Yet her fleet in the bay drove the battle-line back.
She outfought the crown and she outmaneuvered the state,
Till they offered her peace at the emperor's gate.
She surrendered her sails, but retained all her gold,
A pirate supreme who grew peaceful and old.
Though dynasties crumbled and admirals fell,
The terror of Canton lives on in the swell.
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