The stream (all workshops)
I grasp my cow, it's tiny scow
so when we think, despite the sink
you grow your toes, in desperate throes
and try to make a disk of it
If when we turn, without a burn
and tackle every scullery
we skip on vile skullduggery
and that's a daisy's mis-turn
I grab your foot, without a thought
and try to make it relevant
so give up verse, and then traverse
Some broken glass,
and raise an undead revenant
ON EAGLE'S WINGS
Once I was made of steel
my voice was strong , my spirit bold
my visions clear.
I soared blue skies on eagle’s wings
seeking worlds unknown to imagination
my songs were the power of creation—
my death and my resurrection
On this road we've come to crash
did you really think we'd last?
we've still got a chance
and i'm fighting but i'm losing
they said we'd never get this far
now just look at where we are
do you want to prove them right?
it's too confusing
would you do it all again?
are you ready for me yet?
tell me you're not over this
no more than a friend
your arms hold little room to breathe
distant fingers strangle me
of all these answers
none are right
here I come
in rowanberries hair with coffee in the eyes
we play hide and seek
we are children
and more adults than ever
someone asks me
to dress my love for you in words
I am not sure though I do it
every day
and every day I choose you
it would hurt me
to try to resist
before you I am humble,
my eyes in love
with you I am better than ever
you are my inspiration and
I am your autumn girl
Xeno: I was never phobic
Foreigner, Stranger, Guest.
Of your long, inquisitive forays
into yet, another conquest
I was laid open
My heart that hearth of rest
Although my reason hunted you down
I was there, at your bequest.
I will plead for you in the jester's court
although there's nothing I can do.
Abrogate seared scraps of love
or cherish every last inch of you
until DNA traces you
to scarred city, dead next of kin
this door is open -
stay out if you mistrust these words
I'll take Rhiannon's lead and do a limerick
The poet was truly appalling
his peers broke his legs now he's crawling
they ripped out his tongue
and then it was flung,
to the fishes who gave it a mauling
In the not so distant future
from a past not far away
where the "twain" does meet and greet the early dawn;
and the "well at purse" can do no worse
but fetch a castle high;
with his minions outside shivering on the lawn,
hence greet the early vagabond.
Back then the primitive did hail
we've not flagged too far since
obligated and elated either way;
but you tell me if you'd agree
if we'd have half a chance
I once owned a horse we called Fred.
I feared he was slow in the head.
One day, he'd not ride,
so I sliced up his hide,
and proceeded to beat him 'till dead!
i’ve seen where the
side-walks stop,
hindered and depressed
a tear-streak
at the jaw-line.
A horizon
unfolding and
untouched
before us
so we go
and muddy our toes
where new explorers
may one day
yearn to walk.
themselves
this is a perennial
habit,
an obligation to
the wander-struck
starving children,
so they
will find the
answers we’ve hidden
with history
and song.
When the sound of big ekpo drums
Reverberated from the village square
Talking drums conveyed messages
Cracked by trained ears of initiates
The cult ensured a peaceful social order
And guided the steps of men for good
Everywhere became black and dark
Not by threatening rain cloud, nor smoke
But by masquerading guiding spirits
Of our customs and values in the clans
When criminals and evil doers were nailed
From head, pinned to the ground, in disgrace
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