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Good Dead Poets

Good poets only compose,
To read their creative work,
When they are on their deathbed, alone
When there is none to moan,

No sounds of music
No sensations,
Dead feelings
And
The distant drums beating are heard,
Just to keep one alive,
Then upon the soil of ego
Man does survive
Just to die
He has a feeling
Of still being alive

LIFE'S STAIRCASE

What sense does it make
that as the legs grow weaker
the steps grow steeper?

limping alone

wet sniffles thru smudged rose blush
she finds her face in her hands
blowing smoke from her refry stinks
up the city, stealing sobs and bitcheries
but they still don’t make any mace for stats
and for that
she doesn’t weep
but she cries,
                           cries,
                                       cries.
referring to older allusions
she holds steady to any yesters
so many “i told you so’s” driven home
make you pull like a mule, like a mule, like a mule

S K A T T E R

hold fast this dreaming lush
stand in winters blush
the weight of hour
falling

falling like the dark
this edge of ache
where love waits

there are immaculate
dreams
and visions sharp as claws
there are diaomnd flaws
this need
for soft spoken words
kissed like whispers
warmth and speed

the calamity choas
are ghosts heed
lost like shadows
Skattered
betrothed

the wild
caress
touched deep
and kept

fond this precious
light
shed

My sparrow (haiku)

Golden locks flowing
Sunlight sparkling bright blue eyes
My love is everlong

Saving Smiles

I gave pain an anesthetic sick of seeming pathetic
Cutting misery’s spleen with claws of wolverine
I threw melancholy off the tenth floor balcony

Agony I do ignore as she bleeds on the mahogany floor
Oh, such deeds are chaotic, maybe I’m psychotic
Or maybe I’m saving me with this vivid imagery
My smiles no longer a bastard, in me look what he’s mastered

Tonight, I give my pen to laughter, as she writes this chapter
No more waiting for the sun to rise I can close my eyes

Cat in the Dark

She is like a cat in the dark,
Her eyes twinkle and spark.
She slinks around,
Like a ghost in the town.
And lives amongst the alleys.

She avoids conflict until pursued,
Once angered she won't be subdued.
If you dare chase this kitty,
Man, you have my pitty.
She may seem shy,
but in her eyes.
I see a mysterious side,
life is a tough ride.
for this girl I can tell,
I can read her well.

HOPE OF THE DISPLACED

I know it will be a surprise to you
Receiving this hopeful note of plea
Form our war torn Sierra Leone
It is me, your friend, Mohammed
Consider how I lost my right foot
A price I paid to the rebel war.

You will be blessed to give constantly
Your descendants will prosper unceasingly
To third, fourth and fifth generations
For the assistance you caused to be
To acquire this artificial limb of mine
That drags me along desolated byways

Aspirations (a Mirror/rorriM poem)

hope
transparent and thin
like
leaves too long in the wind
oh
confident desire
which
once sprang eternal (never to expire)
now
with gnarled joints
slowly
crawls
to its knees
Failed Aspirations:
hope
transparent and thin
like
leaves too long in the wind
oh
confident desire
which
once sprang eternal (ever to expire)
now
with gnarled joints
slowly
falls
to its knees

LATIN VERBS

Genitive, dative, ablative, the babble sound of Latin verbs,
their rhythmical grimace, their declension.
Yet the lilt, the sway, the dance of vowels,
that mesmerise the mind, entice, amuse.

The music of mankind, their many vocal songs,
each land their dialect, their form of phrase,
all from the human throat, the mouth, the nose,
each utterance its own expression as air goes in, goes out.

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