January thaw,
the sun is shining now that
snow-filled clouds have disappeared.
The telephone rings,
but again it is not you
calling to see I’m still here.
Do you still live there
where mountaintops touch blue sky,
with valleys full of flowers?
City streets are filled
with rambunctiousness and noise,
your laughter is far away.
The letter I sent
has been returned, now unknown
as if you faded away.
Long ago you smiled
as you read the poetry
written for you, my lost muse.
A far off land I would love to see,
where the land is unique and free.
Green valleys to waterfalls to a pretty blue sea,
soft warm sand beneath my feet fills me with glee.
I could learn about a new culture and to waterski,
while dancing traditional dance under the huge tree.
My dream destination must wait for me,
but I can dream away, will you agree?
Yes, dream all about my heavenly trip is my plea,
I can smell the colorful flowers, food and tea.
My far off place is called Tahiti to see a bee.
he never learnt to fight back
he never learnt to give up as well
he climbed the mountains
with a weight on his back
he jumped from the mountains
and into the valley
but still survived
living a life
with no place to die
i recall the last words
he died fighting bravely in the war
a child born under dark clouds
you were never the problem
i hope you rest in peace
i hope sun shine bright in next life
so go descend for the heavens
and may i never lift my pen again
to write atrocities committed
on the name of love
he is always mad at his own child
for the stones that come his way
but his child will forever be grateful
for what he has done for him
he is always mad at his own child
the one he raised under his roof
to make him into a man, only to
crush him under his own trauma
now grown into an adult
he wishes to run away to a place
where land stretches upwards into hills and peaks
and there are valleys to jump into
We've traveled many roads, some steep and long,
kept steadfast on our walk, forever so strong.
Through our ups and downs, we traveled this road,
for all those times we carried life’s heavy load.
Valleys and peaks may have always been there,
with courage we walked, not always with despair.
Below those peaks, shines a river glowing bright,
streaming through the valleys, flowing in sunlight.
Life is not always about our valleys and peaks,
for these roads we travel, it is peace we seek.
We've picked ourselves up, and carried our load,
for in seeking this peace, there's no end to our road.
All things great and small
He made them all
God made them all
Those lives that are secure
Like a heart that is so pure
He made them all
God made them all
For salvation for the least
He gives them all a great peace
He made them all
God made them all
When you're in the valleys low
And you don't know where to go
He made us all
God made us all
dry thirsty valleys
sheltered by high dreams around
~empty rivers through~
grey sorrows slide down
the big warm naked mountains
~stormy above us~
hopes paint a rainbow
~pouring raindrops from heaven~
quenched mouths for a while
A new day of change, the process is near,
Valleys rise to meet the sky so clear,
Mountains are made low, in humbling grace,
Paths once blocked, now are cleared space.
Where once we couldn’t go, now access find,
Yesterday’s hard places, now bloom in mind,
Sparking heart’s desires, like flames anew,
Breaking barriers, breaking through.
Walk to the beat of your own soul’s drum,
The trumpet within us breaks forth the hum,
Sing the victory songs, bold and true,
For El Shaddai dwells inside of you.
Those highs and lows
Peaks and valleys
Appear to be arising..
It is the script which
Seems as a script
Or seems not..these
"Seemings" are
Simply not two..
Rendering the scripts
Filled with the
Freedom of what is
Unknowable...
Through the valleys of shadow where longing enthrones its reign,
I have come to you, in search of the elixir of forgetfulness' gain,
Heart healer, mend my suffering with a phoneme's mend,
Banish the storm of feelings, that prison of mourning without end.
At your altar of blood and crystal, I have taken my vow,
Please offer me a mystical potion, or a talisman time does not allow,
To freeze my feelings, to heal my wounds profound,
With your alchemy, unbind my heart from this silent tune's bound.
Caressed by the weeping moon and the wind that whispers the night's secret core,
My heart prays for a transmutation, a transformation to soar,
Change my blood with ambrosia, cleanse my memory so sore,
To forget the amorous dance of the stars, and the dawn's grieving lore.
Beneath your alchemical shield, with all your divine tools,
Remove me from the obsession of love, and encase my soul in crystal's pools,
So that never again shall I feel those wandering butterflies' cruel schools,
And thus, with an immune heart, may I renew like a phoenix, reborn from pain's ashes, abides by no rules.
As some traditional leaders
joining some politicians
their people finding
screaming in deep valleys
On the trolleys
and no one to uplifting
them quickly.
How do I start this story,
Let’s begin with an optimistic reader,
Who happens to be my brother,
I got to tell you I really revere him
He says when you’re on top of the hill,
You never acknowledge the valley,
Let alone thank it for existing,
Yet without it your hill wouldn’t be real,
Your hill would be nill.
And so,
I want to thank you money,
For not being around for as long as I’d want you to be,
And you white supremacy,
For making me question my value as a human being,
You too Mrs. Patriarchy,
Though I wish you’d raise your children differently,
I can’t forget my African country,
For being divided in levels of poverty,
May you all be blessed abundantly,
For being the valleys in our journey
In parts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire
there are still pit-valleys,
where industry and nature collide,
marry, and have their natural born children.
The earth once gouged, raped and laid desolate,
is landscaped by those who once despoiled.
Time plays its part, plants its seeds,
it up-roots high piled slagheaps,
softens broken mountains of concrete.
I have walked these valleys,
in some I had to stumble over the fractured bones
of abandoned and rusting machinery;
the fire scorched detritus of coal mines.
I have also strolled through resurrected Eden's,
vales recreated out of the unspeakable
into the bright eloquence of beauty.
The hands of men
and the wings of gardening angels
have covered-up all self-made wounds,
have put to bed the deeply trammeled.
The Lord of daisies and daffodils
strolls unmolested once more,
through the worst and the best
that good intentions can do.
I move as my soul moves...
I sway with the tides,
and drift along the shores...
I soar over valleys with the wind,
and run wild through natural habitats...
Anything to not live in stagnation if I can...
Freedom is my calling...
Patience my jest.
Come as you can
Before I am gone again...
Mountains of my life
never forgotten.
Rivers of my veins
flowing through my memories.
Green Swiss valleys,
far from my sight,
but always close to my heart.
My Alps where I was born,
bring to me the fresh air
to breath again.
I remember those summer days,
with my feet
into the shore waters
of the Rhine river,
or the long walks across
the charming countryside.
Oh, bohemian Basel...!
my birthplace.
Oh, my lovely Switzerland...!
you will always be my first steps,
my unforgettable dream,
a treasure in my mind...!
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