The stream (all workshops)
When
we compose poetry
just think of others as fools ,,
who know not a wink
of what you want to convey,
in the darkness
as you wink at a beautiful gal,
you alone know what you'd do
but then twill be only you...
the world would continue to remain
dumbfounded
and
this the only one ,
you'd be who knew..
I know of things yielded by "pride"
in fact, I've seen first hand
I'm sharing my own observations
so, you may better understand.
We've seen the dissapointments
where consequences were so mean;
but I've spied quite the opposite
'twas the damnedest thing I've ever seen!
He made it up to this desert
quite a ways from down by the beach;
believing he'd find happiness,
but it was always just out of reach.
Precipice
Frantic
on the verge
of the ultimate
precipice
imprudently looking down
as a toe dangles
to take the last step
into the yawning maw
of insanity's plunge
decision's brink
to stay holding
to safety's line
clinging to life
out on an emotional limb
fighting for a breath
of enlightenment
to make sense
of the mysterious puzzle
growing ever larger
with complicated
life...
I saw, it saw, we saw each other in the dark,
the lark had gone to rest, the stars came out,
the park was clothed in mist, the mist of winter's dress,
its breath the breath of owls or eagles in their nests,
that rips the air with talons of disguise,
we close our eyes and blast the fog away,
to stand revealed as apparitions,
forced to birth from skies of stormy clouds,
you stood there naked only clad with hair,
that swayed about your form caressing it,
Ozone has been shot
sky weeps
lay a hand,even you can feel earth's quaking
science says its just a flesh wound
nothing eternal.
But look and you will see our bite marks on mother nature's nipples
Ingrates we are!
Our effects are two fold;boomerang and ripples.
Ozone has been shot
night is mourning
Our need for a fag sent billows of smoke into the unborn yet in its 1st trimester
Our gay and bi-laws were bye laws to sanity.
Because we seeked friendship for tweety and slyvester
in summer
I miss you dear Persephone
although you're not long gone I know
but summer's heat is killing me
I miss you dear Persephone
down here in the Antipodes
we swelter, feeling great sorrow
I miss you dear Persephone
although you're not long gone I know
in autumn
I've always wanted to be known
as the girl who was always laughing.
Someone carefree and whimsical.
A voice that can make you float to the clouds
and lay there next to her
not worrying of how much time has passed
and spending forever
telling stories and dancing through the sky
because nothing else mattered.
The little songbird does not enter
sunrise with fear
having slept through the night
with his ancestral doubt.
He is not troubled by who listens
and if there are others of his kind
to join in perfect harmony.
He just sings and sings as if daylight itself
depended on his song.
And the song meets the ear
the ear hears the heart
and the heart hears the pauses
in the smallest of
ceremonies,
a vibrancy of unconditional grace,
tugging
the tuning fork of the sattvic mind.
He came from the place
where the mulga scrub
can dress his garden grand,
Where rivers full of bracken dust
Sleep in this ravaged land
Where shade is sparse and precious held
By the bush men far out west,
And waters sort like gold below
In the land he thought was blessed,
He didn’t want to leave his wife
twelve years of arrant dry,
The swirling dust the song it sang
words hopeless in the sky,
Why don't you wash your weary thoughts,
and brush out your heavy woes and pains.
Wipe out those tears in eyes,
and sweep everyday's miseries away.
Bleach all the stained ,
and the spotted hatreds in your heart
clean it all and say:
Hey..
"Everything is gonna be OKAY."
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