The stream (all workshops)
What do you want of me?
I have years to pull on
Not for all my life,
did I sit in comfort without strife
I have felt the hunger
Hunger for food
For many other things
That at the time things were severe
Yet here I am after many years
Her voice was a honeysuckle wind.
I remember the immediate addiction,
knowing how short our time might be,
but when we woke, we were old,
she said "Good morning"
and I felt the fresh smell of spring.
Pen and paper elude me tonight,
I sit in front of a thousand
lights in the night sky,
send a wish to the sandman
banish her demons and sleep tight.
The torn and tossed paper heart,
like you I find a smile upon a gaze.
Like you in that moment the world falls away
and again sandman I scream your name,
upon your journeys... do not see us apart
Forever and a day
the fighting end.
it is here the demons tourment
seeking perfect words,
I will walk away
the worst feeling is knowing what the poem is about.
when you are watching it unravel, just to be relayed in a swirl of pixels
the room seems a little darker
a good, long sleep sounds a little nicer
wait for it all to pass and then wake up years later,
just to see that nothing has changed.
see the hope is,
when you sleep -
or rather just close your eyes for a second -
it's not really happening.
it is not as bad as it seems.
Cinderella would dance like a vagrant
dark nay drawn blank
thick as the ice against a bank
i remember colors heavy and droll
and that wind light with cirrus like
winters collar neath a hood
soft stoll
decoratorhipship
decorum factum
while a river of purpose
spreads like a stain
on the ancient stretch
an open world
seeping translucent
speed
a happiness
indifference
you and i were
once upon
its time
a scene of a crime
collusion
like a starburst
blare
We all dance in the nude almost …show all our assets almost …the drum beats almost… in synchronicity …. we show everything almost …people watch us intently almost… we dance almost … in our bikinis ….then someone pranks and loosens the threads...as we hold on to the bikinis … then let them drop almost… we enjoy dancing …as men rub along their hard ons ….we continue to dance …then pair off to another land …all of our own …each one with another one ….we pair..we pair..we pair… as the music continues to play …we dose on and make belief …we two each other dare to relieve….
GRIEF
What words are worth the telling
when they have been told before.
there are no eyes to see
beyond what they want to see
more than they want to know..
What is this thing called “grief”
that makes us suffer so
what heart embraces another
lost to its own humanity.
What words of consolation
where there are none.
Each of us dances in circles
like planets around the sun
never touching
never knowing the other one.
Who is the muddy patch
that outlived night
and storm,
that grew wild flowers
to deck its trampled head?
It is their habit, I have learned,
some people come
to steal the roses ere they bloom.
They sing a little while,
then dance among
the fallen leaves,
only to be gone by morning,
without goodbyes
and promises of return,
leaving footprints in the earth.
I would've electrified the air,
sparkled it with rust and lemons.
Ah, but there is not time for that!
Only time
for
aggravating
and troublesome demands
flooding like
paper chairs
in the water.
I would have dreamt of more solutions.
Left them littered like dandruff
on the pinnacle of creation.
Ah, but there is not time for that!
There's never time for impossibilities.
Too many
concrete diaper's
demanding to
be filled.
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