The stream (all workshops)
Pennies, nickels and some quarters,
Held in cans by little hoarders,
Who are yelling,
As they’re selling
Some refreshment on their street;
To each neighbor,
With some labor,
And to everyone they meet.
Signs are raised with youthful passion -
Held in angled, crooked fashion,
While they’re jumping,
And they’re bumping -
Causing drinks to slosh in place;
Which they wipe up,
And they swipe up
In a flash like it’s a race.
Began at sunset
on Friday, Sept. 15,
and ends at sunset
on Sunday, Sept. 17.
If we can
see the what the future wears
Before it ripens in our hands,
Will we think to live this way or
Otherwise.
If we could see beyond the thick veil
Of myopia roughly eating vision away
Into the place of dementia, establishing craze.
If there's no myopia, will our space be an utopia?
Myopia, the feast that weakens the sight,
Changing the wheels of everyone's dream,
No long eyeshot, no near goals,
Blurry visions, scared knowledge
When are we going to be free from Myopia?
It rained in me
The tears of pain
At an opened door that answers all pains
With a heart of hope
I begged to see the healer whose hands were magic
I moved to the desk to present my card as cold as charity
My frail fingers were shaking when I scrabbled my pockets
With the usual doom and gloom
I pleaded with the man on the desk to check his book
He turned his charming eyes and smirked
You need a new card, he said
And the healer watched from afar as I groaned in pain
Passing
Exiting life
Moving to a new place
Where sin no longer controls us
Dying
Licking my dry lips
Daydreaming,of
When my heart will give out
I was standing in a corner
draining the vein, you see
When out from the wall, stepping slowly
came a man of pure ebony
Plain and black and not there, but he was...
I saw him you see, was I dead?
His eyes were a blank, didn't see me
but the emptiness filled me with dread
The man sleeping under the plastic
moaned low, and Reaper touched lightly
He lost the race, another day of life
The man gasped just once, so slightly...
trumped hill re: by a bill yon votes
and bridged tradition (Abe Lee) linkedin
to present president; biden his time
trying to build back better
suspended crumbling infrastructure
hallmark of United States
transportation superhighways
tied railed planks
successfully spanned across country.
Walking with my hips swaying
Towards you then
touching your chest to feel
the beat of your heart
inhaling your scent as I lean
into you, can’t be apart
gently pressed up against
your body, not too fast
needing to make each
and every second last
with profound passion
that is unhesitating
submissive or teasing
you got me debating
with sensual tenderness
our lips then meet
my body melts into yours
as if admitting defeat
fingertips stroke your neck,
and caress your chest
I remember turtle fishing with my grandfather
when I was a kid. We went around the lake in his boat,
checking the huge and fearsome hooks he used.
He pulled one up with the bait gone, the hook bent almost straight.
Later on, that very hot, Midwest summer day, he couldn’t seem to understand
why my brother and I didn’t want to go swimming there.
I recall thinking it best to let my imagination keep me safe
from the horrible jaws that no doubt lurked there,
just underneath the deep blue surface of that awful lake.
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