Gratitude is Today

Rocks and stones are the Earth's bones.
Green grass lawns are

the clothing.

Vandals about
Peace is in doubt.

Each day

becomes

forboding.



They close their eyes
to imagine night skies.

For stars are draped in smog.


The speed to which, they leapt from cliffs
And disappeared into the bog.


Made of hate,
Fade of state

Expression is uncertain.

Blood on the pavement, the government's statement

hide behind the curtain


Evolution, revolution

Dissolution

born confusion.



Clarity is exception
Exception is gratitude

Gratitude is today.

Wait for the Hook

In mere moments or seconds of rhymin'
You can spread the thighs of her eyes
and put your mind in.

Signin'
Language of words in action.
Lacked the physical attraction
but crave the interaction.

And so be passive magic.
From rigid to flacid.
Destined for tragedy
With visions of majesty.

And nothing else.

A pause.


"...staring at my hands, waiting for the slickness to surface on the palms. And peer out the window again..."

Feeling burning glances,
Crossed arm stances.

Once enchantress,
now she's danceless.
No kisses or hips to barter
For temporary exchanges

with tentative partners.

What Measure?

The Orpheus of the evening.
In truth, all songs in my head.

Feverish in many minutes, but cooled in the hereafter.

My burden is to burden those that burden the burdened.

Under what measure? What measure is most accurate?

Atop the sidewalk.
You will dwell with regulars, irregulars, incontinence, fear and loathing.
Delve away from rationale and deal with emotion.

I moonwalked aloft the many tragedies that at first were self-concocted.
The shovel was not handed to me to dig a grave.

In my glide,
my slide,
I happened upon it, picked it up and started digging.

When I bottomed out, I decided to dig to my side.

There I found you.
Like a rope you hoisted me from my pit to the wind.

Self-resurrected?

Hardly, I created you to have you save me and create the empirical methodology for such, only to give it all to the rest of the world.

By what measure will you succeed?

Well...by the same measure that possessed me to qualify and quantify the other-worldly decisions I made and continue to make.

Measure.

Measure it all.

Not by the metric of the world.

But your own, where you are in your day.


This day is mine. I am bruised, battered and ever prouder for my wounds...


and of course, this awakening.

...if only Atlantis

Splayed about the open waters
Truant boats afloat
Thought about his long lost daughter
Damsel, distress, castle, moat

Rainfall had been years abound
Within the sun's rays he drowned

Driven by only tides and currents
Wayward direction in hand's of the divine
The swells and rocking, nauseous motion
Late night, early morning, too much wine

Thirsty skin, like a desert town
Salt licked lips, his sweat trickles down

Hallucinations beg for an oasis,
Yet no birds to validate the truth
The mind plays films of heart's desires
Sandwiched by the sky and ocean, blue

Eyes glued upon the horizon,
Waiting for hints of distant islands


and silence


Be it golden,
for what the earth covets lest beholden

Paths in water, lead to woe
For paths in water will sooner close.

"If only boats could never sink
If only brine could be the drink

If only waves rocked to sleep
If only in happiness, could one weep

If only they vanquish darkness and sadness
If only it were you
...if only Atlantis"

Reckoning

All of me is uncertain.

As to...

Who you are.

Who you will be.

And who I am to guide you.

I am half the path.

A piece of the truth.

And left to you.

When I was only young,

And youth had no ego, nor temperament...

nor favour to ask.

I found you knocking on the door.

I know I will answer, but sometimes question why you would be at the door.

At the starting of the week, be it mine or yours. You will awaken to this turbulent flight of life that bears nothing more than dreams, contempt, martyrdom and appetizing tidbits of happiness.

You will be forced to question and qualify what it is you see and feel.

You will be forced to sift through the daily dealings of influence, the largest of which will be an all consuming media...

be it whatever media.

begging you to become it's passive observer.

daring you to not speak when you need to.

telling you to believe what it has made you see.

It will be troublesome. It will be heartbreaking. It will make you wonder what this is all about. Why we're all here and what good is to come of your action or inaction.

To think this will always be alright. To feel it will be just as fine. To be absrobed by it and lost in it...

And then it has become sin.

Immaculate you are not. Yet born of sin, you are neither.

Both leaves from a tree.

Sharing the soak of the storm,

Drying in the light of the sun.

Never apart but in space and time

I dedicate this to you, as I guess my way and leave branches and twigs to blaze my trail

From Daffodils to Dandelions

In but a slow and steady dirge.
Our sweet song of pity and lament.

Gather our hearts in stages and fragments
And pump forth the blood that is coagulated
And stagnant.

Be it time,
For sands, grains of rice and battery fueled arms only measure what eludes us

And how far we imminently remove ourselves from a moment.

If it weren't for the daffodils,
It would be the Dandelion that brings colour to the summer.

And in this summer, not a flower has been planted in this garden.

Her last march down the aisle bore her no matrimony nor communion,
But solemn prayer as her presence waxed and waned
Like the gibbous moons.

What is a tear, if it is not shed?
What is love, if a heart hasn't bled?


If it weren't for the daffodils,
Her coffin would be bare.

And to her grave...
bearing memorial

Stand the dandelions

for her care

These Patient Days of Spring

Lumbering willows

Swaying in windy weather

Yearning for the sun

Bury the swords and awaken the ploughshares.

For the flower bloom, has peeled back its crystal blanket. The one that had laid the grounds barren and left the meek to forage through the frost.

At a glance, it is the transitory trees of the deciduous variety that shed their elegance with Winter's admittance. They are after all the only species to cast away their covering and lay exposed to the cold. Only in the short warm months of our seasons, do we see them draped in their elegant robes.

The season has been humbly awaited.

These patient days of spring.