The stream (all workshops)
I have a heart
One who’s slow to beat
And doesn’t quite match the standard tune
But a heart nonetheless
And a soul to fill
Both emanating just enough warmth
To flinch at the touch
I have a heart
And enough love within
To place a hand
And feel a pulse
Only moving away
When the words are taken with trust
To know its understood
That I have a heart
And its enough to love all who have touched it
Distracted by his true love’s beauty,
he'd overlooked his father’s duty
towards his sons and dreamy daughters,
and while he wrote upon the waters
(his romance rhymes of youthful, yearning
because his heart, with love, was burning)
resentment rose, like lava flowing:
volcanic voices, carping, crowing.
Like sirens, screeching, screaming, sounding,
upon his ageing head came pounding.
Apocalyptic hoof-beats banging,
the death-knell of cold comfort clanging.
Catch Not The
Beggar’s Eye
So many people passing by.
Not a word just a sigh.
Catch not the beggar’s eye.
Dare us to pause and question why.
But for the hand of fate.
It could be you or me.
Catch not the beggar’s eye.
As we pass by
A coin tossed.
Nothing lost for you or me.
Catch not the beggar’s eye.
As we keep on passing by.
©
when I heard
Miss Piggy laugh,
on those days
I would be OK
between the
oceans of pain
we had paddled
to meet
plastic bags of magic
hang from fishing poles
wheeled in by flying nuns
with blessings
of water and love,
we divined ways to forget,
the moments in minutes
when agony pushes through
to shave another piece off
our shared sheer will,
and eating the pieces
were the demons
we all harbor,
unwilling jailers
of repeat offenders
spot our roll-call
I am a 'little flower sprout', Watered-down with love, Sunned with joy, Aired with peace.
I am in this circle of life.
Some have tried to trample on me,
Some have tried to burn me and some, to uproot me...
My seedling ages are behind me but never forgotten. On to the next,
I have a dream...
That one day I'll nurture a magnificent garden,
Till my comforter comes for me, I am, About to bloom,
A little sprout,
A little sprout,
My name is favour.
This is because I am highly favoured.
Another Day
4 A. M. and my pillow buzzes
Slap it for another 10 minutes.
4:10 A. M. and my pillow buzzes
Slap it again and the fog lifts a bit.
I move my left leg to get up.
(Oh my god! What a mistake!)
The whole leg explodes in pain.
Slowly and carefully,
Waiting for the next explosion,
I sit on the edge of the bed.
Reach to turn off the alarm.
(Ouch! My low back twinges!)
Slowly stand, reaching for the wall
To help straighten my back,
As it complains profusely.
Enough is enough
Face to face
I can't stand looking at you
Or living in this place
Such a shame
Built on lies you told
Not a grain of truth
Had you sold
A choice to make that's mine
Do I put the gun
To your head
And pretend all is fine
Whose suffering do I end
Yours or mine
Karma smells like retribution
But nothing is fine
O, the fearless rose
Shall thou not feel inferior
When life comes to you in a sake of crisis
Stand tall and high to seek courage
With its protection
Of sharp pitch thorn
And a radiant smile
O, the fearless rose
The true beauty of all
Exude her exquisite look
Despite that life is not perfect and flawless
There is always a battle of the storm to fight
Shall thou not feel deny
This is what life has to go through
I don’t know if she understands
the music she makes for me like I do.
Even though I can feel it plainly
simply when she breathes.
I listen to it over and over.
A melody so beautiful
it makes me feel sorry
for the shortcomings
of the best blueberry pie.
Sleep was erratic
for those of my kind
escaping psychosis
and the turbulent mind
taking a path
down long endless hallways
the street of dreams
and its infinite byways
searching for something
there in the night
hoping to finish
this worrisome flight!
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