CIRCLE

We who to this earth
are born
last as long
as it is by our nature
deemed
and from our beginnings strong
and bold
the seed in us grows too quickly old.
each day we begin to fade
and must leave behind
that which in us has died
and having gleaned what is left
we start all over again

Street Soldier Young….

You didn’t have to die young soldier,
at the hands of those black hearted fools.
Would you have lived until you were older,
if our leaders learned to play by the rules.

They preach about prosperity and peace,
while starting wars all over our lands.
They’d rather have our power increase,
than look after the poor in our hands.

Does that idiot Duncan Smith even care,
ripping through our poor like a storm.
will he worry where to eat, what to wear,
no he’ll always have a buddy to keep warm.

see nature through my eyes
and
as I sit at my window sill …..
pitter patters fall raindrops still ….
now the thunder comes roaring from far ….
thunder god is annoyed so far ….
then comes, another splash of lightening …
preceding, another thunderous volley….
flowers in the wind still dance about ….
in summer like spring, rains are welcome no doubt ….

but then it’s getting dark and cold ….
ere the sunrise hopefully tomorrow we are told
the flowers will in the wind blow …..
that will be a lovely show….

Stray twins
astray
askance

paint dreamskins vanillin

late frieght calls down on the
nickel line
cresote and creekwater

restless like a trance
you shiver and stir
a newborn dream
crawling

down the history
ambrosia
up calf ridden inkwork
and hip frame

a whorl of navel
a shadowed breast

wind like the Jin Jin
blows
Ju Ju arrival
and your nest hair
spills
aflame
like a sunken dusk
a treasure glean

(in reference to ÇAÇÔ, Man of the Morning Star)

The strength of ideology as known
rests with the knowledge men shall seek a god.
A doctrine merely amplifies the tone
and makes a cult of anything so odd
as that which queerly contradicts one’s own,
for all else is to one’s belief a fraud.

Going down the river
The flow swaying with my rhythm
Forever young was the river
Sometimes I fought the current
Other times I let it take me
Diving into insanity
Gasping for reality
I feel myself going under
Inhaling water
Pray for me Jude
I don't want to drown just yet
The river has baptized me in fear
Stealing my breath
Then giving it back
Scrambling for air
Holding the edge
I am not lost yet
God hold my hand
Don't let me go under
Waters once so warm

there is absolutely no purpose to life
BUT
we have to make our lives purposeful
in order to fill up the vast void
between birth and death

some die very young and priests say
god loved then so took them away

some suffer all lifelong and wish to die
the priesty guy now says
god is punishing them that's why
they don't die

some have skipped the death queue
and crossed to over 100
then priests say god wanted them to stay
so that for the sake of ailing humanity
they longer do pray

He twirls and whips through the trees,
A gentle breeze or a cough and a sneeze.
My hair is teased as he calls my name,
“I am the wind and I’m glad you came.”

I cannot see him, but I start to speak,
“Oh wind, carry me to mountain’s peak.”
“No, dear child, your skin is too thin,
You’ll be dead by tomorrow, I promise I’ll win.”

All that wishing,
Never doing.

All that frustration,
Keeps on brewing.

And the tea of laziness
Is never sipped.

~Is Inaction Too An Action?~

This home is not a home
It's nothing more than a box
Where the left behind go
Painful memories bounce from wall to wall
Echoing in their mind,
Wounding the soul

One by one the pictures fall down
Unconditional trust destroyed by betrayal
Shattered like broken glass across a laminated floor

Things will never be the same
You can't take back hate
Too much time
Without an apology

Another heart dies
As a life's destroyed
A casualty of what should have been
But never could be