The stream (all workshops)
God has wit
and a sense of humour;
He made politicians
first.
To keep the devils
laughing silly
so He could make
the world in peace.
Then He invented
the feminist movement
when he formed Eve
from a spare rib.
And just to add
a dirty bit to
an already awkward set up,
He left them naked
in a garden patch
with a fruit
and a talking snake.
What a lie
that I can own the moon,
The untruth
Which makes me think
I can hold the sun
It is selfishness
To believe
that someone feels
As I do
Or expect that love
Will return
Just as light arrives
On a brand new day
Seeing the green grass
Grow to only whither
As winters wind
Begins to blow,
The heart felt chilling
Bitter cold
Which steal away
Springs green glow
And our eyes shall see some things
Manifestations of magnificent beings
Riding in immortal splendor down on the sun’s rays
To show off their glitters like our mortal ways
It shall be then that we shall see these odd breeds
With their sacred beads and godly creeds
Finally step on these withered weeds
To play hide and seek with us in Armageddon
Perhaps, again on the ancient plains of Esdraelon
You were on the tip of my tongue
but I had nothing more to say,
and so it is
that poetry is by far the easiest
thing to swallow.
if you think I'm your friend, your lover,
your enemy or your Beloved
you're half-right
only as far as your thinking goes
so here goes a quick assessment
of the blessed rite of passage,
down, down where nobody knows
how far the truth goes
that never has been said
and left you for dead,
alive and kicking into that gaping mouth
that holds the void, opening,
Today the daises rot. Her hair, so fine
it seeps through head and heart. The fungus, root,
affliction hard of bones and fingers. Brittle
hate of daughters, sons. Come! Take my hope!
No-more is it I need, my dreams lay shattered, broke
beneath a mild tide: like glass trying to
reflect a hollow ghost. Now claim my words
surrender every pen, my tiny triumphs,
heard by none. And still no-one will be beside
my bed tonight. Alone among my useless dreams,
I tire, feign sleep and scream to gods who don’t
i. The Other Shoe Drops
The silence
before
the river weeps
Can you hear
the wandering minstrel of truth,
like clean wafts
of remembered seas
crossing the senses
with a warm January breeze?
Snow covers
the landscape of climate change
Hearts are thawing.
ii. Civilizations Fall
The emerald forest
does not argue with the prairie wind,
telling it which way to turn.
A warm thin line
setting the insistent horizon gives
way to both the darkness and the light,
Two toilets guard a driveway's start
and both of them filled up with dirt
so odd they gave me a mild start
And then I grinned so wide it hurt
on seeing flowers start to sprout
Then I nearly wet my pants
When Susan took time to explain
what I beheld were"potted" plants
I laughed so hard it hurt my brain!
and now I guess that I'll sign out
serious poem from serious poet lmao........stan
I had a conversation the other day
About a part of my life best forgotten
My father spoke to me and I listened attentively
The sweaty palms dry to the sound of his calm voice
Is he being sincere or saving a man filled with fear
He told me how I silenced doctors, and specialists
How I overcame their predictions by leaps and bounds
Born high and mighty, a Troy
Now but a broken toy
With no one left to cry
No matter how hard the try
From hero to zero
He has but become a Broken Hero.
I opened your liquid dawn with my ring finger
drips plumed from bigger steam puffs;
I licked your crema, listened
to the ripped plush whispers
but there was nobody there, thus
I was left with a leaf’s wine:
you left
every French pressed forest murmur
here’s Kintaro bowing to your kimono
here’s an obi, wandering
the fields of the carcass savannah
countless rice paddies, falling,
gently,
into an ocean of your mouth –
the texture of bean grinds
like my stubble on your supple lips.
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