The stream (all workshops)
start at the barren windstroked lust
feel the passion twitching beneath
the ring fingers
the broken glass scar on the right palm
down along the rideway of ribs
the soft dune flats between
rib and hipbone
that rises thrusting and curling
down the length of leg
down to the articulated ankle
and dirt smudged toes
past the sullen metal of
the anklet
Even the dead deserve love
From those who held them dear
We bless the day they were born
And celebrate lives, well lived
Though it seems, what we do
Matters not to them anymore
The eyes that saw the departed
The ears that heard them sing
Corporal body, the visible link
Rot in lonely silent graves
Yet connected, soul to soul
It is hard not to matter anymore
as the sky fits the earth
you fill my begging bowl
you plunder my depths
with your naked embrace,
the warmth of a thousand suns
swirls under your
fingers,
you touch me honestly,
your arms enfold me like
tender mercy
your passion anoints me,
one armed, I can not fight back.
Watching, spying
behind the trunk of an Oak tree
clouds pass over its canopy
casting shadows
in the forest where I hide
I know you can’t see me
but I see everything
I hear everything
every labored breath
every footfall on the path
Offering promises
of sanctuary and forgiveness
your voice stabs the quiet
stops the birds
they know where to find me
but you are too enraged to see
your chrome is tarnished
our histories dripped
dark rain ran
tracing tactile love
with our blade sharp
resistance
tasting the brutal
krush of lust
in timid laceration
give me a bruise of nouns
and let this cartage dream
shatter
decks of cards
the value of passions
kiss me my queen
let the gate rule
squeal open
Love Is...
love is a mongrel mutt
that strips the meat from the bone
a rainy monsoon season that
leaves your garden unsown
love is a bastard child
a scandal of reputation defamed
born in a moment of lust,
an embarrassment unclaimed
Love is that bittersweet feeling
that empty cavernous ache
that fills your entire being
with memories of a fatal mistake
do not cast away the night
just yet
i need time
to dip into the wellspring of my being
but the sun is already high above my shoulder
bearing down its urgency of light,
i can not resolve this splendor
and not trip over my shadow,
lingering
there is a pantera negra roaming
in the alley with a nightingale
in her mouth
and a mockingbird is watching
a murder of crows circle the remains
of a tribe of vultures
Some people say, ‘Life is war’
It could as well be the travails
Through thick forest of errors
Degenerated men created our wars
And damned the consequences
The restless child who says
The mother should not sleep
And cries all night for breast milk
The child too will not see sleep
Damn it, you don’t know my pains
For others, life is like a rat race
They steal from public coffers
Stash the loot in foreign banks
Crazy baldheads and fat belly
Damn all forms of corruption
IN THIS WAR
There is no honor in this war
no valor. No medals to be won.
and if we fight we fight from fear
courage is the mask we wear.
we struggle when all dignity is gone
and hold on scratching earth
kicking and screaming all the way
before we let go hurled into some oblivion
There's spaces in between the atoms
which make up our familiar world
take care when you consider them
lest into their recesses you be hurled
These chinks, too tiny to be seen
hold realities best left alone
populated by strange denizens
made of something not quite flesh and bone
When the walls between grow weak
and those looking, chance to see
a glimpse of other universes, near
they convey strange tales to you and me
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.