The stream (all workshops)
Happiness
Lays comatose
As she waits
To be saved
Bottle numbs the pain
For a couple
hours
mirror shows
reflections
Of a sad face
Words travel
a mind’s
Freeway
anguish seems
festive
Silence and doubt
Play card games
On the porch
Don’t look away
This torn man
Gave his all
To be
The crumpled page
In your journal
Your affection is not in doubt
I see it written all over your face
Of all the good people, you chose me
What can I say? But to thank you
In return I give the best I could
You led me into your troubled soul
The shaman sets to restore hope
And wiped away your silent tears
Since we met, nothing seems to work
People call you all sorts of names
And query everything you do and say
I see their points, but I gave a blind eye
following the sun
I am all bent out of shape
like patterns of light
refracting light shaped
into two more limbs bending
arcs into circles
drops of sky falling
into water, skipping stones
across the music.
An unholy scream punctures the silent landscape
pierces the gun metal grey,
against the cruel winter’s sky.
Darkest before the dawn
as agony abuses the air,
jerking in spasm.
Feathers wrenched from a muscular frame,
a pair of sleek Ravens wings , of vast dimension.
Armageddon’s warning.
Perversion and amorality his clarion call,
Innocence died.
On this ashen night.
Banished from heaven,
discarded upon the sodden earth.
Abandoned since birth.
I've changed
And I can't find my way
Back to the person I used to be
I have fallen out of love with you
What more can I say
I know it's a cliché
But it really isn't you
It's me
I'm lost
And I can't find the path
Back to the life I used to have
(chorus)
My head is confused and I no longer see you
You are just a blurred image lost in the hue
I've drifted away and severed our line
I no longer need you
I no longer want you as mine
I was on my way to school
My father’s friend drove by
Stopped his car, opened the door
And gave me a lift to the school gate
He smiled at me, I beamed back
Encouragingly, gave me a bundle
Money for my pocket and needs
This man is not that handsome to me
His big belly, baggy trousers
And a big bulge on the neck
Makes him resemble Orangutan
From some jungle in a far away land
And married to my mammy’s friend
Ask me, what makes me want it with him
burn it red like a sunset bled on paler skies
burn it orange like a metaphor, a flame in my pocket
no saving grace of snuff out,
this pyre will burn for ages.
burn it yellow like the eyes of a nocturnal predator
burn it blue like the broken hearts, the tears, the empty years
this ragged intake of oxygen
fuels the fire, higher, higher.
we the people
are not represented
by conservative or liberal
Democratic, tea-Party Republican or Libertarian agenda
it is not American as apple
pie to drive a wedge between
rich and poor, killing the middle class
by the ruling class,
fat wallets anonymous
contribute to campaign strategy
and borderline poverty
American TV is bought and sold
and then there's the devil to pay
as long as corporate greed is
aided and abetted by the dualistic party's
conservative mantra:
does it hurt to be
a thorn
on the rose?
I do not know such
things,
sometimes the
sting of words
rains tears in my eyes
and my lips start to bleed...
sun drenched veins on the leaf
surge through apple-buttered skies
words fall to the wayside,
roads we have yet to travel
to roses we have yet to touch.
Heat of summer
wrapped in beach towel humidity
and winds that burn
this sun that blisters
their lives in boxes
and I propped up at the bar
the barmaiden charms
and double black russians
and beer
I pack their lives in neat boxes
and packing tape
as if I could fit into a box so tidy
my corners full
my edges perfect
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