The stream (all workshops)
The sky was set on fire
Its smoke did hide the sun
While here on earth
I stood inside the murky haze
Screaming at the karmic Gods
At the very top of my lungs
I raised my fist above my head
Wondering why was I not dead
Once again, my anger rose
Who can fly upon burnt wings
Not any you might hurt
Or cripple by your selfish games
The smoky sky did finally clear
The sun came shinning through
Whom could I have blamed?
Why make a leap of such great faith alone
When you have a friend there to stand beside?
Another with you should jump in quick stride,
My branches serving as a stepping stone.
This is a jump of great importance, no?
Implying in it a change of magnitude
That may greatly affect your attitude
Toward more than you’d ever wish to know.
Now memories came crowding in
His brother beaten with a belt
Killer; young and helpless
He remembered how he felt
He heard the cries of agony
The whimpers of disgust
Perverted laughs of pleasure
The pain of Uncle's lust
There was nothing he could do
His Uncle big and strong
Morning came and his brother dead
No one there to right the wrong
So long ago, he made a promise
When uncle Michael disappeared
Scum like him would be the victims
Killer's vengence would be feared
Another log tossed on the fire
sending sparks up through the flue
like souls escaping from the pyre
whose heat spirals them from view
And we sit here side by side
on this cold late winter night
in contented silence we abide
hypnotized by dancing light
Whose flames carry me far away
to folks and places back in time
where I can remember every day
which passed like a clock's fleeting chime
absolute
sky
ribbons of blue
how I know
you
Pity the pope
in his pointy pontification.....
The Catholic Church hoarders
of antiquity treasures lay not
yours on fallow fields.
Let not the sperm fly in your face,
with the faces of the unwanted like
the castaways of the filthy rich:
'Let them eat cake once they're born.
I wash my hands .'
There is no birth control for deviant minds if sex
is disallowed personal gratification, if it doesn't create
slaves of worship for the empire.
Camels rarely go through St. Peter's square.
If Billy Maher wrote religious poetry,
I'd be crushed by an audience of laughter.
(The thinker, there, exposed.)
Did that get your attention, darling?
Now take me away from this mundane
field of stars where Rumi throws
his seeds of sperm--words I must taste to remember why
it is the sunlight that grows every shadow.
In your hands I am a soliloquy of prayer.
Recite me. Let me read your lips.
Take me to that forever place
in your heart that is pure, love that can
never be reconciled.
I fight in a smile,
cry in a laugh
I love in sorrow,
care in hatred
I'll hold you up
if I wish you to fall
I'll let you drown
if I wish you to swim
I'll crone I love you
when I can no longer
stand your breathing
I'll scream I hate you
when my heart can't
stand your absence
My head will rest on your chest
when I wish it to stop moving
My words will bring your blood
when I wish you'd hold me
Fire and claw
the devil's dancing out
tonight
under the bushes
low winds howl
the bowels of the earth
have opened wide,
they spew the latent odours
from their guts
and roam secretly
about below the huts of man,
stirring the brew
of fogs legs
and toads slippers
to a pulp
among the rotting fungi
a smile a mile across
as the gape of the earth parts
swallows the woods
Your hand reaching across
the table with a nomad's empty book,
you tried to write poems once
but used too many words. Do
you remember your puppet feet
dangling in mid-sentence? Your
face frozen with false smiles?
What happened to this country, my
oh my?
And why didn't anyone say the truth,
is it now too late?
Was no one listening in the winter
of our silence?
Did Moses not lead us
to the Promised Land?
Was it not here? Is it there?
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