The stream (all workshops)
Tending the Garden
In the articulation of snowflakes
the sun is never shamed;
compelled, the moon makes no excuses for her brilliant
display of turning towards and away,
her silver ballgown, slivers of reflection on
the open sea
Walk up to the mall.
Many of us are waiting there.
Scan along the many stalls
And choose us by the label.
If you find a fancy one
Upon a flimsy whim,
Take care to keep another spare
In case you're done too soon.
Walk about and show us off
And call us pretty names.
Wipe a tear, and then some phlegm,
For that's all the value in us.
the D is a soft T
the B is a soft P
the G a soft K
the J even softer
Z a soft S
V a soft F
H a soft W
(o, yes it is!)
making L, M and N
a triplet set of purity
R and X have
personalities all their own,
the vowels, of course,
are the stars of the show
(but sometimes Y
scabs for E,
don't tell him i said)
these tools educated
our art to
communicate
letting us
simple monkeys
reach out.
simply maddening
is this thumping…
this stomping
grinding thunder
in my knees...
wearied as they
are too used
bottles and canned
pills promising
lack-lustre
aspirations and fancies
rich and brilliant.
this passenger seat
this cold blueness
this hole
a true blue-collar
ache
I am unworthy to talk of faith
When it comes to religious feats
I know we can not all be wrong
God is who we say He is, though
I wonder who we say He really is
From whom He is, and who He is not
I look at the sacred places of adulation
To see holy empires and kingdoms
Unlike the glorious days of Olympians
Of gods pleading to be left alone
From the extractions of idolatry
That has gripped our belief systems
On the eternal journey of mankind
From what we think is pure and true
Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty -- the unhidden heart --
The playful maziness of art
In Old Alberto's daughter;
But when within thy wave she looks - -
Which glistens then, and trembles - -
Why then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in my heart,as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies - -
The heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul - searching eyes.
Geezer's Rewrite:
DAY’S END
The minutes are heavy and long
and I begin to fall into those dark places
where there is no dreaming.
the wars go on.
and am losing to inevitability.
my spirit is beginning to break .
my walls are crashing down.
my soul if that is what I feel
kneels to disbelief.
my reason seeks the bliss of madness.
my heart clings to illusion
there is no peace.
I struggle to find a way
but the minutes are heavy and long
and nothing of me will be left
at the end of today
tear wet and lust gleaming
hearts souls
collision course
crash into rooms
waiting
inscence filled
and candle fueled
the shower hot water
still running
like a midnight trail
Terazzio to carpeted lair
let me taste their thirst
the maiden pale flesh
and saturate the dark
reaching walls with
your yearning cries
Unhappy girl come to lay
your head upon me cry and
let this melancholic music
soothe unending why's
Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie
Your demands will be the death of me
I’ve done my best now let me rest
You’ve drained my body physically
You’ve worn me out I’ve had enough
I can’t keep on performing
Lets take a break, relax, unwind
Continue in the morning
Okay, come on, let’s do it
We’ve had our little tiff
I’ve had myself a rest, and
Now I’m getting rather stiff
So get up to the bedroom
We’ll continue with this caper
But you can do the pasting, and
I will hang the paper
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
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