The stream (all workshops)
IT SEEMS THAT SOME OR MOST PEOPLE ARE KIND OF LOST MINDS BODIES AND SOULS.
A GENERALIZED ANXIETY' DIS SATISFACTION ' MOST INDIGENOUS PEOPLE ACTUALLY MORE SATISFIED LIKE AMERICAN INDIANS, BUT SOME OF THEM LOOSE THEM SELVES
WITH THINGS OF NATURE ESPECIALLY SNOW CAPPED MOUNTAINS; DESERT ; OCEAN
THEY SOMETIMES FORGET THEYRE WORK. HUNTING FISHING TAKING CARE OF THEIR
FAMILIES SOME OR MOST AMERICANS AND CANADIANS WISH THEY WERE IN EUROPE
CANT DEAL WITH THE HUGE SPACES
Come all things that will
I, powerless to halt
The guiltless hands of time
Forgetting all my faults
Forever they reside
Within my mental state
May I erase them too
Wipe them from the slate
Likewise dry the tears
Which fell upon the ground
Not a single drop did fill
The empty bottles all around
Two hearts that beat as one.
Come together under the fire of the sun.
One of them night the other day, in the mist of life somehow lost their way.
Both souls fighting in this world alone, only to realize they were never on their own.
The hurt they have endured will only for a little while last, until one day they must leave all that in the past
They both hold on when no one else is on their side. Into the moonlight that is their only guide.
Scary skeletons satisfy their sweet tooths,
With the plings and plongs of hard candy
Playing on ribs like xylophones.
Wicked witches wander wide
With spells to find the
Tricks and treats the night may hide.
Vicious vampires vibrantly gallivant
From one door to another collecting
Sweet treats in lieu of tricks.
Wild werewolves whiff wonderous
Scents of cinnamon, candy and confections
Amidst the dim, dark orange lights.
Death, you're a terrible thief! You have stealthily stolen and zoomed off to unknown destination.
What has Elizabeth Maranan Cahimbing done to you?
You're so wicked! Your nefarious act is so brutal.
Now she has abruptly passed on, what are your gains? You proud to demonstrate a silly power to maim and kill yet, you can't destroy her poetic creations.
Since you whipped her off have you taken her poetic pen to write?
Have you taken her administrative positions?
Some poets fly atop trees tops
like birds which say
they live above all heritage
many poets take you beyond their own imagination
thinking they alone own all human minds creations
In nebulae we lie in wait
In time we wade through oceans
Vast seas of plasma glow
Now growing do surround us
I drink elixir from your cup
A million twinkling, fledgling stars
I fill your vessel now with mine
Stellar light combines with ours
I watched you fall
so gracefully,
like yellow sighs
among the trees,
red silent notes
in harmony,
orange vestiges
of summer's memory -
and as you fell
near to the ground,
your final rest,
your journey bound,
I gazed up to
your empty trees
to witness them bow,
most reverently.
***
Grief never seems to care
about the currency I have,
be it pictures, memories, guilt or sorrow
It’s always been willing to work
with the materials at hand,
and accepts any and all
in payment for its’ services
Another day. Nothing written.
I stare at a stark white sheet of A4 paper.
The stark white sheet of A4 paper stares back at me.
My hand, disembodied, holds an immobile pencil, hovering over the paper.
Looking like an Escher drawing.
I continue to stare. To stare, To star. If only.
“Avoid the pitfalls”, my blessed English Teacher, Mrs Pettyfer
at Pittsville High School admonished. “First -
avoid the cliches”.
Whereto then Horatio? Forward to Archetypes?
Bring me your Jung – your collective memories.
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