I beseech the sun to
undress the stars,
to pull the velvet off the
night
and let the dark spill into
morning.
Let light be reckless, let it
wander
over rooftops, over quiet
kitchens,
over the places I hold my
breath.
Strip the sky of its secrets,
sun.
Lay bare the constellations I
named for hope,
the ones I traced with
shaking fingers
when sleep wouldn't come.
Let them be naked and
ordinary-
not myths, not wishes, not
promises.
Just points of fire,
Just truth without the ache
of distance.
And of the stars blush in the
daylight,
let it be for me.
Let them remember how I
prayed to them,
how I begged the dark to
keep them safe,
how I finally learned to ask
the sun
to set them free.
So shine.
I undress the night.
Show me what's left
when I stop looking up
and start living in the light.
For my PaPa, Whom I love very much.
I hold your heavy, calloused hand,
The one that shaped a thousand beams,
That built a life on solid land
And held together young men's dreams.
You're quiet now, your hammer still,
The stubborn strength at last at rest.
You fought the world with quiet will,
And gave us every day your best.
I smell the ghost of pine and cedar,
I see the dust upon your boots,
The faithful man, the steady leader,
Who gave this family sturdy roots.
At Tipton, you showed broken boys
How rough-cut timber learns to stand.
You built through patience, not through noise,
And led them with a craftsman's hand.
It's okay now to drop the rule,
To lay the heavy apron down.
You've finished every task and tool,
And earned your quiet, golden crown.
The Master Builder waits for you,
His workbench ready in the light.
Go find your Jewel, sweet and true—
Go rest, Papa. I Love You!
Goodnight.
Fragrant rose lined the sidewalks of time, filtering a special aroma in the street; the wind is spreading the fragrance around to a special place where destiny is bound. The sun is shining in my face spilling sweat all over the place; the pores are opened wide secreting a unique substance from inside. Look around and you will see the temperature climbing up the sycamore tree, the passion is in the sun so when you get the chance get up and run. Words are not cheap and you must get the energy out of the sea. If you want to do business with me, you have to arrange a trip to the galaxy. The race is on to the moon and China will see you soon, if they get there before you do, the earth will turn into a dust bowl of doom. You have to get there before the twenty thirty year and synchronize with the tales of the atmosphere. The sun in the East will make you weep; the sun in the East will send fire in the street, the energy is very strong, so you have to filter all the different songs, and make them one. The sun in the east is disrupting my heartbeat.
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the rain, the sun
Shines on ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Fly into the garden, ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ indeed.
¦¦¦ the days have been ¦¦¦ dull,
Oh, so ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ dark ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ "Mr. Sun
Has forgotten ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Dew upon the ¦¦¦¦ lawn,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the garden beds;
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ from all the leaves
¦¦¦ the little primrose heads.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ violets ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
With ¦¦¦¦¦ parasols of green
Take a ¦¦¦¦¦¦ peek ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
They're the bluest ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ a bird
Singing ¦¦¦¦¦ a little ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ burst of happy song
Bubbles in his ¦¦¦¦¦¦ throat.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the ¦¦¦¦¦ sun!
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ must sing,
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ for the birds, the flowers,
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ for everything."
(Blackout of A Fine Day by Katherine Mansfield)
I remember little of my childhood.
Or perhaps I remember too much, but all of it in fragments.
Marabá Paulista would wake up before God lit the sun.
First came the smell of packed lunches being prepared—mingling scents
that slipped uninvited through the cracks in the houses' weathered wood.
Then, the diesel fumes and the red dust.
Old trucks, like monsters, rumbled through the streets,
swallowing up the adults and vanishing down the dirt road.
During the day, the town belonged to the children and the elderly.
We thought that was freedom.
At dusk, the trucks returned,
spitting out bodies that were barely alive;
my parents would arrive—worn out, stooped, and weary.
As a boy, I didn't yet know
how to put a name to it.
Today I know:
the trucks didn't just carry workers.
They carried away pieces of childhood.
The sun affects so much of what we see
it pierces into these places so dark
without the sun, it remains hidden
it's been like that ever since the ark
These dark corners hidden away
we seem to miss that hidey-hole
except when that bright beam penetrates
it brings out what otherwise would have stole
Now your body also has dark places
that when the sun shines, it bright rays
it brings a rich glow upon your face
shows up God's hidden hand done with clay
The obvious darkness is in the night
out there, only the stars and the moon
brings light to the night out there
makes one wish for a bright high noon
There's an invisible darkness in our souls
which is worse than any other kind
for it will bring an eternal death
which only God's Son can everlastingly shine
sun
yellow
dazzling
bursting blazing
illuminating
blanket of warmth
glittery
glowing
bright
in the darkened woods
behind iced capped mountain peaks
in the oceans depths
at fingers reach
sun plays catch me on road
driving down highway
It feels good
to
discover
new poems
which is
exactly why
distracting me
will usually
always
result in
my distance
though I still
always wish
fellow writers
inner peace
and serenity
and all
the very best
as they try
to explore
their hearts
and minds
with
the power
of
their
words.
Sailing the seas on a lyrical sloop,
visiting pensmen in a metrical loop
with alternating laughs and sighs,
I smile and realize
the sun never sets on PoetrySoup.
In every time zone, in every land,
shining on each seashore's sand,
a seashell or a nautilus
sings to amuse or slaughter us,
from a poet, awake, pen in hand.
There are worlds far, where a life is won.
Where love is a law, and free as the sun.
People are like streams, going with the flow.
They talk with their eyes, like a picture show.
They search land and sea, for that secret lost.
And for mere baubles, pay sorrows dear cost.
They look at their lives, wonder what it means.
Then all they can guess, it's more than it seems.
Even when great men, try and guide their plight.
They make advancements, yet still fear the night.
War planes overhead, make them think of war.
Soon they're wondering, just what is life for?
Then come memories, and a gentle sigh.
Once more lifting eyes, to search the night sky.
With the sun on your face
And a shade in your smile
Won’t you come to my place
Have a rest for a while
Tell me your latest news
Through the sun and the rain
We’ve got nothing to lose
Almost nothing to gain
With the sun on your face
Like it was on that day
Come again to my place
Say whatever you may
I will listen in awe
I will kiss that sweet air
You will say goodnight love
I shall always take care..
E = MC9² I'm High Above
Liberated I'm in the Oort, Great The Light Force I Triumph
Travail Within, We Crusaders Of The Sun
Be On The Run, Fly High We Become
When will the sky sing to the abandoned arcs of my sonnets?
They remain subtle, yet soul-stolen by the sea of stone,
Could those storms stitch the sublime shimmer sinking through,
Silent yet sudden, secretly sensational,
I’ll play the rays you lusciously left longing for this momentum,
Breathing brassy beams barely breakable by the blades of the blaze,
Teach me the tunes of your truth,
Call me into your chaos with my delusions,
Kiss me when the sun sleeps,
Wear me as the moon dreams,
Hold the crying clouds over the vengeance of our vulnerabilities,
The furious fall is further than we dare speak of,
Let your bones bear the crown I seek to bestow,
For the bolted iron ornaments house the hologram of my ebony emerald enchantments.
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