THE POETRY COLLECTION 2003
#03
A GRASP FOR THE SOCIAL PROMISE
Memory is a category to never fall into,
If it happened all would roll and die from rue.
Forgotten and pushed aside while alive,
Is like suffering a sting allergy in the caverns of a beehive.
I need what’s promised - a busy week tailed with purple days,
Ambition-filled sweet saccharine perfume haze,
With a nice room by an open glade,
Where eyes can laugh in a sunny full-hearted way.
I can’t go on inside this crap trap,
Living life like I’m the luck tap,
Who just needs to smile to have all brought to me –
It’s not how modern life works and I know I’m not that pretty.
I don’t want strife - I just want life,
And I know if I keep moving right,
I’ll grasp it one night not too far up the road,
As long as I don’t get stuck in the pores of the poisonous toad.
October 22, 2002
ACCESS TO THE SUNSHINE DOOR
I’m going to have to,
Re-tie the ribbon in the sports shoe,
In order to continue on with the run –
Cause I just have to find my orb of sun.
Cold wind gales against my dusted face,
Stones are thrown at me upon its haunting breath.
My eyes close onto the door two metres up ahead,
I know I have to reach it or cower back to bed.
I take a breath and bend,
Ram my body through the stark gap,
And reach out with my trembling hand,
Towards the door that reads anew;
Nightmares of blood baths sting my mind –
But my will is not going to change.
I’ve seen my future up ahead,
And so I walk along my chosen path to complete the last leg.
Knowledge becomes like a prickly pear – I know I’m almost there,
As I suck in my breath and hold on,
Keep mind sane, grounded, and clear,
To escape my backs’ drab decrepit pier;
My crest warms with it’s secret and buzzes bloom into seed -
I know you’ve got all I need -
I’m almost overcome now I’m so close,
To the shooting of the gun as I finger what my life needs most.
I practice the emotion as I fire blanks,
Absorb my mind with imitation tanks,
Cause I dream of only the desire to reach your grassy banks,
Within breath and warmed with fire, a knowing queen to top your empire.
I don’t know how the end will work out at all,
There lay hidden trials and tests in this secret chest.
All I do know that deep within this prize pit,
You have my heart locked within it.
December 24, 2002
ALL THAT MATTERS TO ME
He’s the only one who makes me feel like I belong,
He’s the only one who strums my song,
Without lyrics and never gets it wrong.
It’s impossible, impossible,
For me to separate the truth from me -
Nothing really matters but being with he.
He makes me feel completely complete.
Division is impossible, impossible,
When it’s real love never to deplete.
Nothing else matters,
Against this the world is a dump of praline peat -
My awe-filled sensation I cannot defeat.
With him life is a shimmering rainbow to always keep -
My wing works on his understanding,
And it is all that matters to me as I take graceful landing;
December 24, 2002
APPLE
The wash girl watched over her apple,
Was often kneeling by his side,
Gazing with adoration,
Waiting patiently for his souls’ seed to be freed,
So they could join and enter heavens gates together,
And stay in eachother’s arms forever.
October 08, 2006
BACK IN THE COUNTRY
Love sprouts in these types of afternoons,
Where everything is so quiet, and lull,
And peace, and tranquility,
Are the consuming perfumes;
Excited breaths can’t wait,
To be in the country again –
In a full bodied home,
Away from the smog, and jamming cars,
And the cities’ steaming narcissism, racism, and sexism jars.
Where you can think and breathe,
Be a person once more,
As you relax by your green grassed shore,
And come to believe in life once more,
Stop your suicidal social starving,
As you and your unit becomes a dot which stands for all you believe in.
December 31, 2002
CHOICES AND DESIGNS
Kevin and Ivonne,
Sat at a poker table,
Playing 21.
He quickly dealt the cards,
And revealed the numbers -
She looked at them hard.
“You know;” said Kevin in a homogeneous tone,
“In life there are choices and designs.”
Ivonne stopped her thinking,
And looked at Kevin blankly blinking,
He smiled widely and continued on.
‘Choices are miniscule things,
You make every day –
Like, “will I eat cereal or eggs?”
‘Will I drive the car or walk on legs?”
“Will I take the path to the right or the left?” –
Or in this case,
“Will I dare for a card or two?
Or will I stay on fifteen,
And hope the dealer doesn’t outdo;”
Kevin swiped a hand over the deck,
To enhance his chosen subject.
Ivonne listened attentively,
Eyes glistened with wonder,
As she tossed what the moral might be.
“Now designs,” said Kevin,
As he lent back on his seat,
“Designs are important things predestines to be,
Written in the stars,
Light years before its happening.”
His chair tipped a little too much,
And Kevin quickly lean forward to weigh the chair down,
So he didn’t foolishly tumble and damage his crown,
While talking about choices and designs;
Kevin lent forward and swept up her hands,
Rubbed them slightly until the pale skin warms.
“Now you and me,” He said as he smiled widely,
“We are meant to be;
You weren’t meant for any other but me.
You were born to be my baby –
I’ve always been the one to take you home,
Where we’ll live the perfect life together,
Never again misunderstood – never again alone.”
Ivonne smiled and kept her lips closed,
To ensure she didn’t spill the fact that she chose this fate,
Just as she chose their date,
And the motion that she didn’t want to be dropped to her cardboard home,
When they sat on the bank of the river alone.
Eyes glowed as breath held in words tight –
His of unbridled love,
Hers of declarations that his words were sweet tripe;
She knew he had to believe he was right,
That they were bound tight in the rainbow,
That every light they passed had the bright green glow,
In order to not loose what she had gained as his life opened her window.
December 27, 2002
EXCHANGING VIEWS
Have you ever noticed?
It’s the fear,
Of changing and letting go –
Moving away from what you know –
That people have the hardest time with.
But when they do exchange views,
They find they’re no longer trudging through thick snow,
Rather they’re sledding along its surface,
As they learn to re-wax minds changing face.
A child hides in the person,
Scares the mind as body is pushed into alien rooms,
Where lay instruments never seen.
Scary to the eyes -
Like a horrible dream,
Completely nightmarish in scene;
The firelight of thought never would have merged to suspect,
That life involved so many such things.
Distraught tearing through at each separate movement,
Brandishes the person and the hiding child.
Have you ever noticed?
It’s the fear,
Of changing and letting go –
Moving away from what you know –
That people have the hardest time with.
But when they do change,