The stream (all workshops)
At last
one less false prophet
.....murderer
........terrorist
........... mad man
Sent to join Hitler
on shared date of death
did any really doubt Assoma's fate?
.his only trial
...................by muzzle's blast
....................guilty
..............by self admission
A single leaf on a tree
Braves snow and wind
My strength
Before it falls
We said goodbye
without speaking.
Stark silences saturated
by thwarted longing, intolerable feelings
Now past colourful secrets bleed -
Into a created canvas
of new meaning
A still-life of love lost,
A portraiture of forever leavings...
Bjr 2 May, 2011
.
I sit alone
a private pew, if you will
at my less than sanctified
kitchen table
a bottle of 80 proof
a glass
ash tray, cigarettes
and a pistol
another round
of solitaire
half hearted
half drunk
half assed any way you look at it
grumblin' at the radio
dj don't know
shit
just lost another game
shuffle and deal 'em out again
an entire evening without a win
kind'a integral to the theme I guess
a loser losing some more
I fell away
An empty vessel, a jar of clay
We were a submarine
Lost in the ocean, blocked by a screen
I can’t relate my heart to paper and words
We were intrinsic
Memories we created as we walked through our futures
We were so happy then
Look at us now
Apart, stranded, lost in the flood of the common day
We were washed away
And into the vacuum of space our souls hide
We couldn’t breath
We couldn’t breath
Yesterday the fields of winter oats
were nodding new heads to the wind
but today they're cut and lay like thatch
upon a roof that has no end
And it will sit another day
beneath the spring sun bright and warm
to dry and cure to shade of mint
in this far field of this old farm
After that will come the rake
to arrange it into neat windrows
all marching in a single file
the fragrance wafts where the wind blows
i
parallels in paths
worn smooth by duty,
to meet on the edge
of life's cliff
our destiny
ii
there is one
who holds this heart,
in the palm of his hands
he juggles more than words
iii
oh for the nights,
a symphony of bones
and skin entwined as one
where there is no start or end
.
jewish boys have weak jaws
in the likeness of their god
alone on a cross
avoided sunlight
enhances pale skin
and i see them
set aside from us
and i don't feel unclean
she feeds me dinner
the leftovers of
what was not kosher
and i wonder
how clean were
five loaves of bread
the fish and the five thousand?
or was that thought of
once a priest found a way to make it so
My dearest friend
how fares my butterfly
his wings so weak
in constant fear
of coming storms
his mind a muddle
with the puzzles
of his thoughts
awake concern in friends
to pick up arms
and join the battle
they helplessly stand by
and sigh
as illness overwhelms
and takes the helm
we compensate
and tales relate
to dissipate his qualms
Our century
Spark ignites oil,
we have explosion.
Imagine! John said,
I do, and see a black
septic boil,
we will get, erosion.
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