Reality Raised

Dreams are expectations thrown away with christmas paper,
expectations are hopes that we are given by the life shaper
The life shaper is never to be seen in his working gowns,
shapers get seduced by money to seduce the working clowns.
The man in the pink tee shirt talks a lot, maybe he is nervous,
a woman in a hat starts to scream, unhappy with the service.
all the fine bags, coats, can’t help themselves they’re dripping,
poor people on the march to work, puddles and potholes skipping.

It is common to hear
Amongst the people here
Such unspeakable words
‘My mother is a witch’
They go ahead to say
Things hard to believe
Accept it or not
I know what I am saying

Instances are drawn
To affirm and to confirm
The mother stands guilty
As accused by wagging tongues

Days before our second baby
My mother saw something
That was in a dream
A baby in bathing water
With its face downward
Thereafter, we had a still born

between the hate
between the love
like the dissolved
temporary hearts
melting
in the swallow

these snows
late catching
the grey ghosts
oblique pain wrapped
like a thin chilled
cheater coat

we can be together
as the day falls to night
on old sheets
as a scratched disc
crawls about
thirty three and some
revolutions
we can go around
while snowflakes scratch
the cracked walls

Throughout the arid desert lands
sandstorms howl their pent up fury
and beat against the tyrants' strongholds
with ever increasing force

Through the swirling chaotic haze
it is impossible to see
exactly what is happening
as long as whirlwinds hold sway

Soon this storm, like all others
will fade into the past
But for now we can only guess
what has been destroyed
and the land's lay
in the aftermath

Felt by someone so distant
Australia to California,
Must be like silken threads
Stretched across the oceans
Like invisible ones
Carrying a deep lamentation
A love of passion in a communion,
Unknown to any

The loss as was so obvious
Perhaps to whom it mattered
There was no indication.

Take glory in the fact
That you can weave such lovely poetry
Ah!
How I wish
I could also

What were they looking for?
When they built at Babel
Wanted that which was illusive
Common aim in many languages
Turned out a confusing exploit
Thus standing in shallow places
They looked up the towers
Today is not different
Like the days of Babel
Corporate men in suits
Some sit on the podium
Boasting to have been chosen
And ordained in bonded faith
Talking of restricted liberty
Lacking the extended height
Of a free-thinking world

I dreamed of words
bound in white kerchiefs,
signs waving in the shadowed valley of death.

Along a road I often follow
just about one month ago
a field was plowed which once was fallow
and seed beds were planted in a row.

Now, I thought it kind of queer
for planting season was far past
to see seed set this time of year
what type crop could grow so fast?

A few weeks passed with scattered rain
then green poked out of every mound
which got me wondering again
what was sprouting from this ground?

SEASONS : WINTER

sunlight colors fade to dull
passing through a prism darkly
on my window sill
then shatter into pale
like ghosts dancing on the wall
faces hidden in black lace veils

the day lingers gray and cold
and the sky strikes electric
on the wings of a Winter storm.

the world stands to a still
in Nature's mourning.
I long for a Summer's light to soothe
my broken body and battered soul
but my heart has grown into a Winter'a day
no Summer sun can warm.

Spring cometh too soon
As maidens and lads
Cast their warm love to each other,
As a flat pebble skims the waters,
When thrown with utmost grace.

I speaketh in kindly light
For those that have shed
Many a ground out teeth
Where even bread
Becomes too hard
To eat

Giveth to me
a drop of warm
Sweetened milk,
That floweth
The land of abundance
And
I’ll sup with you
To traverse with the joy
And
Beautiful love you portray
On this ordained summers eve.