The stream (all workshops)
sun and stars shine
the earth moves
away
and light of day is never seen
when night falls;
the lotus blossom
never opens too early
or too late
there is justice in the world
of nature, its birth cry
a howling when once
four-legged creatures
stood on a hill
and the moon
reflected
the ocean,
dripping from
hands with
opposing thumbs.
the sin of idleness debunked
I just sit
waiting for the moon
a penny for my thoughts is wasted
so save it for those rainy days
now, my mind still joyously plays and displays
its toy trains
but, I am not aboard
on the side line
watching the carriers of
knowlege and speculation
meander down self laid tracks
I nod, and wave,
and sit back to enjoy the show
for what it's worth
being here,
not trying to get someplace,
is worth every penny, nickle, dime and dollar
in the world
I wonder why my human eyes
don't see clouds in three dimensions.
They flit by overhead
on blue canvas,
while the view from planes
evokes mountains, valleys,
and lo,
the very City of God.
But from down here
clouds are little more
than a flat Mona Lisa.
Oh, how I wish I knew
the full person,
but she
just stares and wrily smiles
in one dimension.
Gazing at furry paws
slapping white cord pulls
mesmerizes her.
Wooden tassels clunk together,
waving to and fro,
like a tetherball on a playground pole
spanked by busy children.
He left his kitten,
his curious kitten.
Outside snowflakes
float downward
like pieces of paper
torn from his exit note in her hands
and like bits of cotton
the kitten pulls from her pillow.
He left his kitten,
his curious kitten.
The lowering sun upon my back
I quietly wade through shallows
for fly fishing, I have the knack
this evening as I fish with swallows
Strip the line in even strokes
then pick it up with strong back cast
careful to not snag shore line oaks
the day approaches darkening fast
Now lightly lay the line back down
placing feathered dry fly next to shore
concentration causes a happy frown
my mind on fishing, nothing more
an eagle in flight -
the sky entangles its blue
into an eye
"Hold me I'm tired"
your cigarette hanging loose
the drip of smoke climbing
through your dishevelled hair
I can smell the sweat from
the day on me The tired
odour of this room lost
with its vacancy of happiness
I pull you in and you moan
softly a small sigh
in the kitchen the clock hums
in the bathroom the tub
faucet drips
the television glows
It is not the first time, I heard these words before
Recently, Egypt, after Tunisia, told their chiefs to go
The people are suffering, enough of the misuse. Go
In Libya, the refusal and the outrage, see blood
Flowing to streets of Benghazi, hear the wailing
Yes, I heard these words by and by, where I worked
When some staff stole with pen and paper, not gun
When bankruptcy hit us, see helpless victims cry
And when landlords wanted to increase their rents
See tenants roam till someone says come home
Let Us Now
Let us create poetry,
Of our contemporary times,
We wouldn't like to disown…
Creativity is no slave of mankind
Nor subservient to past unknown…
Let’s create a tree
Called creation
And
Not live alone,
in glorified jubilation
Of times and poets
Since buried
aeons passed.
To current times
We should remain married
And
Leave behind a poetic legacy…
Likewise to be buried.
Flowing with the last Narcissus (original version)
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