The stream (all workshops)
“Have a good day!” I smiled
as we ended our conversation.
I’d never met her before today,
but there's something
about talking to a stranger
that fills my day with wonderment.
It’s always easy
to talk to a familiar.
but to a stranger…
There’s so much to learn.
I have so many questions
and so little time.
For a split second,
the sonder is present.
STANDING FIRM the Mountain of chalk
stood protruding from his body were craggy
collective faces gawping judging, questioning
your purpose, looking down The White God
Spoke with a stentorian earth shattering voice
"WHAT ARE YOU RUNNING FROM" ? YOU THINK
SCRAMBLING, ASCENDING ME WILL GET AWAY
FROM YOUR LITTLE PROBLEM? "GO TO THE
STREAM OF SLIDING MIRRORS EAST OF HERE"
Ask me about.
Ask me.
Ask again.
I am just a little to late.
Life and the happy end.
Don't
Give Up.
I asked You once, I'd love to ask again.
In between the sun and moon.
Stands our chance.
And the truth is. It's never too late
An act of bravery
Is painting with every colour that is in your soul
Splashing life on your canvas
Honouring emotions
With no thought of what others will think of your creation
Not TRYING to make it meaningful
Modern, pretty
Commercially viable
ACCEPTABLE
Just bursting out into the greater you
With total trust
Leaving on a train
capture the last
word of good bye
in a farewell tears
far away from home
come to a foreign land
known as a stranger
with unfamiliar name
In a lonesome place
where emotion resides
to convey a message
without a form of word
with a language barrier
filled with a sense of lost
in the hope of search
for a place that hold
dearly to the heart like
home resonate the
sound of joy
that bring hope to lift up
the spirit of love
There is her-
and there is me.
“other me” is probably the best term.
She’s me, but not quite.
She has an air, a sort of “otherness”
about her. “Otherness” that
I pull out of the air and promptly press
into my cheeks like powder.
“Otherness” I tap out of the day
like sticky sap from a maple.
“Otherness” that softly paves the way
to distinguish her from me.
The divide is subtle, and divine.
An upward tilt of the chin,
a softer touch, and wittier lines.
Behind closed doors, while I sleep,
Jughead was a billy goat
tied to the end of an old hemp rope.
munching on clover
and all kinds of stuff,
but something got caught
way down In his throat!
They put him into a truck
and rushed him off to the vet.
To see whether they
could extract the tin can.
That so easily he had injested,
to their dismay
old jughead had swallowed it whole.
The best solution
was to free the pollution
by farming him out
to a nanny goat.
Where in due time it might pass
Babysitting my nephew,
Michael, peacefully asleep
in his room in his crib,
strange noises, monitor beeps.
I, suddenly alerted,
put down a favorite book,
I'm yards away from his door
Michael screams, I run to look!
Michael standing in his crib
frantic screaming, eyes so red.
Sweeping into his bedroom
To pluck Michael from his bed!
Tightly grasping my shoulders
sobbing stops, stares straight behind.
Turning to confront what’s there
red-eyed demon... Flash, I'm blind!
Sometimes I wish I was a hyena
Running free through the woods
And laughing my head off every night
At the absurdity of all of this
God, how wonderful would it be
To drink from the streams and lie in the grass
To feel the breeze in my hair at night and howl
Under a million stars
But somehow I know this is all fantasy
Not the being a hyena part
But the part about freedom
For in this world
Not even the hyenas are free
On the box written in red
Do not open, that's what it said
A plain brown package, what's inside
We are dying to know, what can it hide
An animal is too big for a box this size
Maybe a present, a nice surprise
A forgotten birthday, a gift belated
Just waiting to be opened still we hesitated
A mystery delivery with no sender and no name
If it blows up a building who will take the blame
The suspense is killing, the room went black
Inside a small voice said : "help I'm Jack"
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