The stream (all workshops)
Wasteland
torrid streams of tears
changing
into vaporous steam
falling on the desert
of his heart
her begging and pleading
disregarded
as even now
with no oasis in sight
she is discarded
and breaking
on the never ending
sand dunes
of his indifferent
consideration
hers is a slow
death by starvation
in the icy-hot
shadow-less lands
of the loveless
arid desert of his soul
variation 2:
the sun turned leaves to gold
but you were sleeping
and the world is growing cold
the muse is weeping
there are no words to rhyme
when your muse will not climb
out of bed and into your head
to write your poem sublime.
version 1
did you see the sun turn leaves to gold 6:00 a.m.
or are you still sleeping your best sleep, my friend?
I couldn't sleep much last night, this time of the year the days
are already half-passed all I kept thinking about were poems that weigh
omg!
i wonder what the people of California
do?
how do Floridians live with
both cougars
and alligators?
how do Indians put up
with all those tigers and cobras?
and the bears in Alaska, Oh, my!
but leave it to my state
next thing will probably be
to put up a reward
and shoot it on sight,
take pictures of the carnage
and say "No telling how many lives
will have been saved.",
Bass pounds through my chest
a drug free buzz,
I become more like myself
with every depression of the keys,
crazy darkness.
The rhythm radiates assaulting my senses
waves of sound crashing,
lyrics on the attack , vocal warriors
a transfusion of overwhelming power,
releasing me.
Crave that hormone rush,
long for the blood coursing through the veins.
pumping in the ears,
volume way up,
vibrating the rafters.
If the destination is not reached - let the journey be engaging.
LMD
I am permanent
in my impermanence
changeless
in my change
immortal
in my mortality
intransient
in my transience
What do I cling to
to steady
my rocking boat
where is my anchor
Is there anything
in me
that can watch the change
imbibe it
experience it
embrace it
and remain unchanged
by it
There reside many that live
In cold, dark, and dampness
Beneath the earth
Thus the eerie crawlers of the land
There’s a final domicile
Of countless departed
Asleep in amity
Thus the precious ones pending life
Hell is not to fear
A shared grave of folks
Where all are laid
Before the resurrection
Ah! A hot day on the beach
and all the sights that we might see.
With a cold drink within easy reach
( a soda, beer, or sweet iced tea)
Man, aren't those some kind of breasts!
Not the ones in halter top
but the saggy ones on hairy chest.
When he runs, see how they flop.
And that area 'neath the belly button
which all teenagers dream about
his hangs there like a leg of mutton
or lower lip of a full pout.
I was born
as an angel
as a free soul
then who cuffed my wings
and raped my soul?
Every relation betrayed
every relation sold
a part of me
a part of my soul
was I so difficult to hold?
Soul of mine
tries its best
to ease my pain
but silly forgets
the blazing heart
I ask me
I ask myself
is existence such a curse
or being such a pain
poor! With What words could it define?
in the night's frenzy
entertaining huddled shadows of doubt
sits the recluse of fear, hunched
over in a dark and heavy shawl
the nightingale sings her sweetest song
and the night-blooming jasmine perfumes
the courtyard with melancholy sublime
a preying mantis sits on my shoulder
whispering secrets I can not tell lest you
awaken from your dream and see me for
what I am--
a will-o-the-wisp, a waif weeping, a willow
dancing with the hunger
that is the blood of life,
my cup is empty,
room
walls that run
the dust and pitted realms
cascade surreality
why are there no photos
Everywhere
sitting casting our notions
like nickles in a fountain
sitting in the rain
and wondering
this symphony of great
heaviness dancing
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