The stream (all workshops)
Lent has always been a time to think
A time to give up food and drink
A time to think and read
About our God and about our creed
To take a look deep inside
To find ways to improve our stride
It is also a time to share
The love and words we can spare
Lent is a path for us to seek
A way to change the way we speak
A time to fast and pray
For life and a better day
Rag cloth and ashes are no longer here
The thoughts they evoke are very clear
The paranoid feeling of someone
controlling my every step
"You're in a computer game"!
a voice came from the outside
world explaining to me it's not real.
How do you know if you're real ?.
A holographic simulation
that changes your perception
everything you see is Vibrating
slowly so what you touch with
your hand, is solid and others
less? Wait how can I know this?
Where do you go?
I want to know;
if the same you
comes back each time?
Lost forever, time after time,
the minutes, days or weeks.
You don't remember being somewhere else.
How does one get back from here?
Listen close for clues,
to find your way alone.
No one notices how lost we really are,
French horns in "our music"
Like children
fighting in hell
battle of bad mouth
action call for name-picking
Anger boil temper
fist of hand in a display
a frown on the face
rumor spread all over
Bring to a disaster
with quarrel comes
to a fighting war
create conflicts and chaotic
A revisit with thought
of reflecting understanding
bring love and respect
that ties the bond together
When silver streaks storm the sky,
and gray smoke fills their homeland,
I wonder what children are told
to help them understand.
When parents try to save children's lives
while terrorized on their homeland,
I wonder what children are told
to help them understand.
When there is no bread, no water,
no nourishment in their homeland,
I wonder what children are told
to help them understand.
it’s funny how suddenly spring comes,
and I don’t hear your voice whistling my name in the winds,
and my favorite songs don’t remind me of you in the slightest.
It’s funny how this time last year, I was madly, deeply in love,
and now? I could not be in love with you if I tried,
for how can you love someone you don’t even know?
Did you cut your hair? How are your classes?
I will not ask, but that doesn’t mean I’m not secretly curious.
Still, please do not tell me; when I don’t hear you in the wind I hear songbirds instead.
In the evening we walk backwards
To nowhere in particular
Collecting shoe stories.
Avenues and alleys blind
Old haunts that no one wants
They remain like a stalker.
Shoes of patent leather pounded
Pavements blister bloody red
Small rocks our shoes collected.
Full of painful pebbles
Tripping and stumbling,
Treading and re-treading.
Regretful and remembering,
Walk right back to the beginning.
Walking backwards all evening
Collecting the Shoe stories.
When the entire mug awash
with floating leavings
by golly by gosh,
sipping said herbal brew
analogous challenge
to eat spaghetti squash
with one chopstick.
Earlier yesterday February twenty fourth
two thousand twenty four
found yours truly (me)
blithely consuming delicious
La COLOMBE DOUBLE LATTE
cold iced latte, complete
with a frothy layer
of milk and a touch of sugar.
Lower gastrointestinal war civil
immediately declared
because yours truly beleaguered
by lactose intolerance.
Daddy are monsters real?
My daughter asks with pleading eyes.
which melt my heart of carbon steel
as desert sun begins to rise.
There was a time I'd have said no
But age has taught me the hard facts.
Should I tell her what I know
Monsters are made by their acts.
How can one say they don't dwell
everywhere that Hamas roams.
Monsters sent to us from hell
to destroy our hopes and homes.
"Where are we going?" his young daughter asked.
"To cheer up some of my friends," he replied.
"They seem to be a lot of work for you," she offered with concern.
"Yes," he said, “You’re right. The very best kind of work."
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