The stream (all workshops)
Where I am from
there is a man
who roams the streets
doing nothing but drinking
His story a sad one
of a young man
destined for greatness
in the sport of baseball
Fate thrusting him down
a different path
fighting a war
in a far off land
called Vietnam
I do not know
and will never know
what he saw and experienced
But I am sure
it was not for
the weak of heart
Beautiful discussion of God's omniscience,
may I,
ENTER
the reality of the myth of god.
Who is god?
a corrupted form of good,
some guy knew little English
and spelt good as god.
He was thus himself so blessed,
upon his soul all did rest
peace came from within,
if with goodness one did begin
a mutual existence,
with utmost reverence,
co- exist the good god would emerge
from within us naturally.
Then we all shall become
symbols of immortality.
God who?
A man spoke to me on the corner
and asked my to a really great bible meeting.
I replied, enthused
"Does Jesus talk to you too?"
Yes, he said, all the time,
"Oh great I said, when do we start?"
I have the guns and bombs,
we kill the buddhists, muslims and jews
and blow up unholy abortion centers!"
He back-pedalled, dissembling madly and ran,
I was confused, for a moment, then shot him.
'Twas a curious night I sat thinking.
My eyes abstain from blinking.
The night I sat there thinking,
about the quaint and curious shore.
Waves eloquently crashing.
The water seems content with smashing.
The sun obliquely bashing
The daylight it then tore.
For that night I sat there pining.
While my other peers were dining
After their brilliance had stopped shining
While I was thinking about the quaint and curious shore.
Pass me that bloody Sparrow
I will wring words out of him
Let me walk on hot coals to feel the heat
Or walk in the desert to feel thirst.
Why can’t I sleep the hours away
To dream of good things today
I tried to smile but I couldn't win
All that showed was a sardonic grin.
You make me cringe at horrors I see
I couldn't feel sad, or reach out with pity
What the hell do you want of me,
Leave me to languish in my misery.
WOLVES
Who left the front gate open
Who let the wolves back in
Why are they scratching
At my door.
Do they smell my blood
Again.
The devil knows despair
but he will find none here.
My teeth are sharp
and can also rip and tear.
there once was a girl
who liked to watch colours swirl
while dripping paint in a twirl
she would adjust light to compose
the wavelengths of her depicted prose
in shades and hues of an equal dose
to reflect, absorb or replace
when soft bristles tint the white space
her acrylics splash in grace,
the spectrum of her mind
such vivid images to unbind
and esoteric answers she would find
forth from the glass prism
Have faith in yourself ...there is nothing beyond life ...as you are the maker of a destiny ...
you are....
the sun god entity....depending on imagination... time has gifted.. unknowingly to an only entity ...
friend tis only you...
I can't give you pristine white
my dear poet,
you pissed on it
when you had your say
and there's blood on the ice
from head wounds
words you
clubbed to death like baby seals
on the cover of National Geographic.
The morning comes interrupted the night
this unholy war
into the heart.
Only one songbird sings into the darkness.
And that is enough sometimes,
isn't it?
On such a lovely day as this
with closed eyes warmed by the spring sun
although such thought might be remiss
I'm not yet READY to be done
Eye for eye is what they say
so even now I'll owe two more
'cause when the madness struck that day
'twas not my AIM! to kill that whore
That pimp, though, I meant to kill
he deserved my lethal ire
he'd pimped my child against her will
and thus deserves to feel hell's FIRE!!.............
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