The stream (all workshops)
Blind Choices
my vision is clouded over,
a misty veil obscures my sight.
I frantically attempt to focus,
straining with all my might.
Wanting to be unruffled,
feelings get in the way.
Common sense is stifled
as heavily it does weigh.
Doubt rears its ugly head again,
dare I to believe,
in all that has been sacrificed
and all we could achieve?
Formidable is the gossip
destruction set free.
This time I will ignore it,
and treat it as debris
Sometimes it takes a leap of faith
Death by uselessness.
What do you do?
Reproduce?
You'll be forgotten in three generations.
Write poetry?
Oh please, you'll be forgotten in five minutes.
Let's face it,
you are soon gone and forgotten.
Immortality is a farce.
Reproduction is most often perpetrated
by the inept and morons,
a reversal of natural selection.
Who said human life is sancrosanct?
Who said that?
Some religious freak.
Some fruits eaten raw are better than fresh
your poetry is like raw mangoes
sweeter than sweet,
hard but finally soft
the breeze takes my heart away
every time I go to the sea,
I always feel so happy
with my spouse and me
at times,
I love to see other folks in bikinis
then my eyes open,
when they all smile at me
my torso is beyond imagination
round and round
some in my looks wish
I’d happiness have found
the breeze and the beach
are my signs of love
and
On the point of nothing
I breathe
Supping from un-adultrated energy
Feeding upon your pulse
Wicked is your knowledge
Subtle your yearning
Bleeding sapphires,
becoming diamonds
Renting my emotions as wire
Becoming one with your eyes
Wishing your scent upon my lips
Tasting your sweetness in my soul
Longing for your touch upon my skin
Dislocated, torn from our togetherness
Longing for our return
To our time
Our kind
I hold you in my psyche
I will never drop you
from my talons
Lied to my husband, said I was going to pick daisies
Really I was going to train daisy my new apprentice
That girl is the only one who understands I’m crazy
I must admit this girl is good
I pick the victims
She lures them to the most secluded spot in the wood
As she lures them to a spot that’s remote
I lurk behind them waiting for my chance
My chance to slit the poor fellow’s throat
Then like a present daisy wraps the severed head
To send to his widow
So she will know her husband is dead
THE LION’S MEAL
You broke my pride
stole my dignity
wounded me
to near dying’s agony.
And like a jackal
when the lion
has had its fill
you came in
for the rest of the kill
training wheels on bicycles
training bras
training horses
dogs
and children
training citizens to keep
the fear near après September 11
throw prejudice into the money pit
make it yellow if it doesn't fit
cowardice for the pacifist
paltry poetry lines for the disenfranchised
Of days of old, the harpers sing,
of Melegrond, their fallen king.
The time the Calotans were wronged,
and gathered they; a sullen throng.
Naught would lift their great sadness:
as one, they wept in brokenness.
In sullen quiet, silenced, stood
as Nature likened to their mood.
unable
to perceive my own light
whilst in the glow of infinity
I separate my essence into the darkness -
call upon that which I am not -
exist within
illusion-and-a-score of appearance
so I can experience self
and I purposely forget who I am
as it profits me not to know
but, in the stillness of reserve
deathly calm and mute
where quiescence holds solitude
and soundless hush
would resound
with cacophonic clarity
I hear my absence
.
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