The stream (all workshops)
Transform seeds into a plantation
spread upon the wings of the earth
a real heaven,
where these spread
to become gold
in the markets to be sold
the greenery vast
outspread
is like an angelic beauty behold,
the eye is the judge of all things scenic
long distant grasses grow
as the sun does beckon
to see
it metamorphose
as the chlorophyll turns
from green to gold
human lives to creation are sold
as they turn seeds into fodder
in the markets
to be exchanged for gold
Move your feet in dance.
Trip the light fantastical.
Laugh not when it falls.
There it sits upon on the shelf
battered and worn
once it held the thoughts and ideas
of an intelligent man
Proudly cocked over one eye
hiding the secrets
of it's owner
Given as a gift from his children
That once held him dear
what had changed ,over the years
Only the gray fedora knows
the pain,hurt and fears
it will never show
Thoughts are gone
ideas have died
and it sits within
a grave dark and cold
much like it's owner
thirty three years ago
Jub, Jube, Jubilee
Good old britania she ruled the waves,
as her children worked or died in rags.
Sailors brought back all types of goods,
to fill or feed good old money bags.
The soldiers or sailors of the crown,
were always shown to be loyally brave.
But one couldn’t say no to her brutality,
you served or died, as a murdering knave..
Once on board they’d loot the world,
good sense to show more than willing.
Those lions that were led by lambs,
surely earned her royal mint shilling.
Hold up!
Wait there
See the people
stop and stare
standing frozen
hand in pot
cleverly guising
his shifty plot
slowly moving
trying to leave
surely he see's it
the bread in your sleeve.
Critique you did
Insight
inspiration
desperation
perspiration
admiration
then comes
excitation
and
composition
thereafter
recitation
and
now
do read this
composition
an
exploration
and
extemporation
Why? by RW
-
Where could all these black winds take me
They catch my wings and blow
Some times the sun sends secrets sweetly
at other times the razors show
-
though I steer I never fight it
the winds know what I need for now
at times sore racing thoughts ignite it
or else the stagnant breezes flow
-
the squall directs me to an abyss
slows to let me be a feast
to carrion crows and demon’s kiss
the mind rends from the wailing beast
-
This writing is a dangerous game
a promise
made together
a vow for eternity
with the one
you call destiny
not knowing
what the years may bring
where life may lead you both
or how it will end
but his words
made you fall
to your knees
tears in your eyes
and a broken heart
he was your better half
bitter through time
leaving you bruised
and bleeding
his mistress
his last breath
your destiny
the finale
was unexpected
While Wesley went to Washington
we huddled in the corner
muddled by the former need to escape
those hollow halls of who we are
and write, right to the end, bent over blazoned quills,
infectious iridescence, over and beyond the order
of this fine corner.
mince courage
liquid sheer
here is the roundel rib
the bulb shard light
fingering the dark
jackals and jeckyl
lurching and the wall
the wall hurts
the window is full
full of tears
the fuel of fear
licking bruises
the scream
is long
as long as the
hall is lonely
and in the garage
sweet perfume of
exhaust
and purring cylinders
swirl
coma
collage
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