The stream (all workshops)
Her eyes
never allowed
boredom
upon her heart.
Each light, or shadow
held a secret treasure,
a passionate perspective
awaiting to be unlocked
and displayed.
When she shared
her vision
my humbled glance
gathered in
so splendid a moment
I paused in awe.
Left handed
Ten percent of people are left handed.
Seventeen percent of people in jail are left handed
Twenty three percent of left handers
Are more intelligent than average.
There doesn’t seem to be any race or gender relation
So
Nya nya
Phhteww blurt
We are better than you!
Fart in your general direction,
Take strike action,
Remove the majority!
And possibly every other majority,
Is equally lesser.
I strongly suggest
you consider every "minority"
Worker and his salaries
Long withheld by employer
Like plant without water
Withers and dies
i opened my windows this morning
the sounds of the city droning in my ears
the beehive is collapsing
and everyone is still going about their business
as if nothing has changed
and nothing else matters
you get used, and you even get comfortable
in your misery because it happens to be 'yours'
oh, city of desperate angels, my Cleveland
when did you sell your naked soul for a few borrowed
coins of half-truths, for a few dollars more?
The reaper is not always grim
nor does he carry a razor scythe
may not even be a him
can well be a mother, wife
A young Florida mother will suffice
a retired football hero
a vagrant with a rusty knife
a surgeon with a clinic
Or
a smiling
blond haired
Norwegian
with a plan
and a gun
streams of current binding
like slick seaweed
rooted drowned deep
sluice shores
the washed up
silt choked
treasure
glistening and still
immured
and lapped with waves
tasted sweet with bitter
salt
the briny tangle
splayed out with all
the bits of shells
brightly
A pot of stew for you to chew
includes a boot to kick ur a^^
Not enough knives, for ur demise
And a hand full of nails,
to impale ur behind
Getting into my head
Was not ingenious
Playing games for ur sick aim
Only stirred my beast within
Unleashed my wrath from the abyss
Now this pot of stew I'm brewing
Is just for you
A brilliant idea I figure
would be to include you !!!!!!!!
into the pot of stew
That's stewing just for you
i want to write love poems and
tell you stories of why the Edelweiss
yodel, how your tongue speaks fluently
in my mouth, but it was raining in my dream
there is no famine in Somalia
and Palestine is no longer occupied,
I want to spread the word that love has been found
in the shadow-world of man,
the alien has landed
and lives with both feet on the ground
Looking back at the long path
From where I came, my footprints
Left on the obscured sand of time
Imprints of soles and satellite toes
Diminishing into dotted remoteness
Disappearing on the winding path
Difficult to remember though
The people and things I first saw
The initial whimpering gasp for air
That allowed the soul to manifest
A baby, like everyone else, helpless
With guilt of sin for being born here
All is still and summer green
(far too hot for most to stir)
Wild life is hidden by leaves' screen
Insect calls are a quiet purr.
In midst of season all still grows
fawns, squirrel kits and even plants.
The living forest rests, it knows,
that soon will come the harvest dance.
Anticipation slowly builds
as August quietly rolls around.
Crops putting on their final yield
sustenance from warm dry ground.
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