The stream (all workshops)
Oh, bad, boy, oh, bad boy
What are you going to do?
When the cop is coming after you?
For better to act right
Not to play around
To curse and behave maliciously
Or else you serve
your time for crime
during a crisis
to be locked up
at the back
of a cop’s seat
in tears of horror
going for a long ride
to put behind the bar
in a misery state of mind
to defend your case
at your own expense
with every penny that you’ve saved
for the attorney’s cost
to bring you out
I know you don't love me anymore
I know that our love isn't in store
And while I think of you as a friend
You're nothing but my right-hand man
I see you now as just another guy I know
I'd take a bullet for you, I'm not for show
I finally don't care you are with another
You weren't meant as more than a brother
The great sky
will sweep above us
reuniting our brief time
of what we have been
with what we will always be:
mud and ivy
oak and leopard
cloud and fire ant
rose and lava
ocean and hornet
cypress and fossil
canyon and hummingbird
wind and orca
oil and stone
dust and dandelion
eagle and chestnut
bone and mountain
lightening and riverbed
wood and air
tsunami and poppy field.
We are
knitted
elements of
chaos and balance.
Thanks to a loving heart that beat for me,
I stand unfettered now, by love set free.
The girl I owe this debt to I can’t pay,
for she belongs to yonder yesterday.
From deep inside my long-forgotten past,
where paths were paved with thorns and pain was vast,
she shed her love, like leaves, in springtime’s youth,
a stream that flowed with kindness, love and truth.
Apathy grows in a democracy,
A nation's dissatisfaction with its state.
Where our leaders no longer listen,
And our people are left to debate.
Our voices so often unheard,
Our votes no longer count.
The ideals of democracy
Seem far away and out of mount.
We thought democracy would bring us freedom,
But instead it's brought us strife.
Where our voices are no longer heard
And our country is full of strife.
I think I hate myself.
day in and day out,
Thinking only about slicing through
my skull like eggshell.
The only way to rid of this hurt,
is to bury my brain and heart,
Six feet under the dirt.
Both organs, only bleed
for you right?
How I despise when you're not in my sight,
Late hours into the night,
where I worry and worry,
Sometimes,
when I think of you,
it feels like I'm clawing at a horrible scab.
A blue bonneted bandicoot with a sea calf
(amortized in blank verse)
scuttles amongst major malapropisms,
An object lesson of despair for students of the Classics.
In the Month of Hershwan in a study far from that place,
A Hebrew scholar paints calligraphy on a cloisonne
Clock. He expatiates Wallhalla – a Last Supper for his spectacle.
Adored by femme fatale (and others) for its chanced rarity,
They hunt for the preciosa, unbeknown that the bells are tolling.
Friend
A buddy since life’sfirst day
Walking, talking, laughing out loud
Actions once taken for granted
Brother
Gatekeeper of the underworld,
whose body hides under a cloak,
introduce yourself as you get hurled,
Lying in wait for your next victim to croak,
even though it might not be their time,
No mercy for those cast in molten mercury,
souls drenched in primordial slime every being always spoken to accusatorly.
No painkiller can bring relief,
No psychologist expresses belief,
Though it's in the back of my mind,
An enemy stabbing from behind,
No justice for this unfair crime,
No compensation for the time,
Lost to sleepless nights,
Fear of bright lights,
Tears at upsetting sights,
Those feelings of unrest,
I’m not at my best,
Yet being put to the test,
By this invisible threat,
Whose anguish I cannot forget,
With every return, I face regret,
Having me in disbelief,
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