Vision

Seeing always fascinated vision,

green trees, grass, shrubs, and
mountains from below looking
up to or from above looking
down to beauty’s scenery with
no reality ; human concepts or
noise in train tracks scooching
with thousands of thousands. It’s
no matter of peace or calm ; just
arrest of mind, held back by a
silent gonging bell ; with no
sound, no human concepts.
I am Happy not Sad

I feel like I am happy

not sad ; like one of those
Sayings , where you would
Wish to be exposed near,
Near here from earth
Or my body, as if my
Soul aches for something,
Yearning for something ;
Instead of sadness, bubbles
Of anger against who knows what ;
But it cannot be anyone because
I cannot hate, only love but
If you think I hate you;
It is a big lie.
I want to do what I want but
I feel like I am happy, not sad.
As if my soul aches for something
Yearning for something;
Instead bubbles
Of anger boils
Within; But
If you think that I hate you ,
It is a big lie.
Dedication

I am a dedication
of this writing,
It is for pleasure and
It is for leisure and,
not for audience or performance.
But like a new-born baby
of course ; I could stand on
a mountain, on a hill, on
a Cloud, and shout out
loud , of joy , of show , out
of Pride.
I am a dedication of this
writing, like a new-born to
mother Earth I commit you to
admonish.
Even in sickness or health
may death
not do us apart.
The Husband

Vision how women live worldy,

How world behandle with women
Like flowers, so looky with beauty
Smoothly, so sweetly. At times gaudy.

When flowers at sight , some arouse,

Some flamingly want to flower,
For ego or show or game or pleasure
Such invidious attempts, some in media
Direct insult, with no heart or soul.

Women treated with greatest violence

‘cause, no strength like wonder-woman
Or partriarchy, so dominant, so persistent.
One is thrust, violated, despoiled, destroyed.
In her room, her space ; killed , so young.

Violet with her beauty and delicacy

Such a flower as watered blossoms,
So lovely when cared for ; aware of
Love, so flares flaming sparks,
Lit in the moonlight
Bright in the sunlight.

Vision how women live worldy,

Gives urge to protect, save them.
I’d be husband to all flowers,
I’d marry them lilies, violets , roses.

Not break, not blame, not shame.

But is it what they want ?
But is it what they need ?
Maybe marriage holds to that
One rose, one lily, one violet.

I’d be husband to women live worldly,

But deeply, women may live without men.
But deeply, women may be without men.
To utter for women is so amiss,
‘cause women may love whom they love.
No man to trust, nor marry for life,
Is better than an education, a business,
A Job. A flower next to an everflowing river
Secure, not owned, not drowned, not blown.

Not so easy then , to keep flowers glowy

Not so easy then, to keep flowers so flare.
But burning anger is for who burns flowers.
But damning anger is for who waters not flowers.
Sing a Song

I used to want to sing a song

One that goes up, down and up
Like a song that goes up, down and up
Like one that goes doo, do do, do doo

I used to want to sing a song.

When you want to sing a song,
A tune in a dream sometimes lingers,
But you keep singing a song in a dream.

When you wake up the song lingers,

Long but short. So the song starts
To fade like a painting, painted on a window
Pane, so it softly washes down. And
You wonder if traces of it may remain
With you.

So I sing a song in a bit,

One that goes up, down and up
One that goes up, down and up,
It soothes the heart, mind and soul.

So I wake up, up and write it down.

As it fades like a painting, painted on a window
So I write it down as it fades away,
She grew wings

She flew with glow

Up high, full of grace
As if from the sun
She came, as if
The light was her
And she was the sun
Itself. It was glorious
And beautiful to see
Her over
There. But down here
Here I was, it was as if
She was never low like me
Or even a little low to me.
Even the simplest worlds
In my mouth which were
Once like honey, like little
Grains of sand. As if the
Hour glass was inverted,
Or broken to pieces.
Felt so much pain inside
Like an empty bottle ,
Or an old rag, tattered
No use.
She grew wings .
She flies up, up
There on shiny cloouds,
In silver-lining.
She flies high, as
If she was not down
With him.
Not down here,
Where wings may
Be clipped.
May it not be done.
Hurts looking up, up
As she flies. Like a
Speck of sand shovelled away,
Taken away. Like nothing
At all.
She grew wings and flew away.
Palm Heart Gift 1

A gift. See the sky, laugh a little.

A heart. Love and honor, cherish a little.
A hand. Hold and hug, write a little.
A palm. Caress the face, greet Kings and Queens.

Palm of Hand holds gift between

Hand to hand, not let go like tweed
Closely woven in together deem,
Not making sense of mend.

Attention from heart gifted hand,

Handing over to the rising trend,
Senseless this gift without working hand
Tears and sorrows do with waste count,

Now sit and write me down

Taking prayer of dawn
Had fallen back again deep down
Gift of hand hold me close
With purpose
Of life that see in vain
Of life that comes with pain.
Palm heart gift 2

That life which comes with pain

As a book written like soft rain
With words persistently flowing thought,
With mind of a new-born brought
As a clothed soul in soft
Body-proves bind in a thick darkness,
But in the hope of lamp in comfort
Body feel that pleasures be freshness,
In the air breathing through eyes,
Life mystery be ; unveiling every
Second of minute built upon hour,
Grounded in the days passes years
Softly takes away innocence !
Quickly mingles be truths in the
Stigmas be beauty defined,
With love as mingles be,
With the heart’s consent.
Palm heart gift 3

Heart’s consent is body’s content

But soul weighs consequence,
Hope, faith and love or hurt before content,
In a balanced-scale named experience
But not all subject to conscience
But he is unbroken mirror that remains.
Although fades with words like dust.
Although on the go life maintains
Knowledge then, is the tool that trains.
And changes mind and motions change,
As the tongue tastes food.
The ear tests words in range.
As the cloud empties rain
The mind unloads knowledge retain.
Palm heart gift 4

The mind unloads knowledge retain

As day begins like other days
The sun wakes, shines its rays
In mind beauty wakes, nature’s breadth
Together glued plan Future’s health,
in goodnesss Heart of world’s hope
So does Sky testify cloud’s envelope,
With Silver-lining ; but mind’s trouble
See no peace, then Heart’s double
see menace, paceless race that
Circles on like rolling wheel. Then
Lay aside that burden weigh, that
So easily glues you, and braise
Eyes of beauty, with mouth of praise.
Palm heart gift 5

Mouth of praise pays thankful day of birth

Moulds and mends year spent in prayer
Fully abounding joy, tightly roundly girth,
With less of shame; yes! Life wealthier
Christ, a world of its own kingdom work,
With pressures setting destiny,
Weekly, daily life spans to work
Only to those whose Future plans drive destiny
Only to those who know not journey’s destiny
Only to those whose love be f ully
Fledged in faith, He grants all things,
Beauty’s beauty delights in him fully.
The Reward.

I truly do not want the reward.

They clap their hands held high
With smiles filling their whole face
As if you would swear if they opened
Their wide mouths their face would fall
Off, “Come up” , “come up” they say.

They cheer elated in complete awe

I could swear they knew I had no
joy on recognition or zeal here.
Like a flat wheel pushed and shoved
just to get where it can. But would
They hear or listen ? Except like a
Piece of meat marinnated looking
All tantalising conjuring all the saliva out.

And yet there would be no recall of memory of that

Cow that bled, and bled from a shot gun or knife
Through the throat. I do not want that reward.
A hero they say ? I saw a hundred page book
Compiled with the utmost
Care, detailing with a precise precision
On who would get the reward and somehow
Money was mentioned. And I would say give me
Money.

Perhaps I would buy bread or cheese to uplift my spirit.

Now like the devil’s advocate I stand once again selling dreams.
Yes, once again with this dog-eat-dog life. Is it a pyramid scheme ? is it ?
I was sold dreams that, indeed, I believed or believe.
Surely, I see giants standing tall lighting up the way with their dreams
Becoming real. And I said, then what ? What do I do with these dreams ?

Let me go sell them to feed me. They feed me , indeed.

Even though I see how much it is loaded over them,
Over me. Screaming inside a deep hallow hall for
Help and getting none. Not seeing the end of
Darkness or the top of the wall.
Whether it is day or night
Who knows ?
Who even cares ?

As a survivor I would scratch and climb

through the vertical wall, hoping perhaps
That I could be heard, maybe some would
Hear. The excitement of it all to finally rear
my head up the wall and hear
Once again or feel the light on the skin. Perhaps
You could scream and hold everybody’s hand and
Beg and plead and say to them, “There are people
Down there screaming and begging and pleading for help!”
They clap hands and say , “well-done you have pulled yourself
Out of the hole, Let them pull their own weight. You better wash up and
dress up, a hero you are to want to go back and pull those down there. But
first receive these awards and we shall clap and appreciate you.
A hero, they say !
And I do not want that reward.
When the day is over

When day the day is over

When the day’s deeds are done ;
A scrumptious meal may be in order
As sweet ; honeyed or mild toothsome ,
As some may mordant caustic
Sharp-cutting prefer.

Or rather family long for

Mother, father, sister, brother
Or fruit of your loins or
Fruit of your womb.

Better end with a note ;

A juicy sweet note from downs
Of dawn lighting nightly ends
Of value like money made for
A better morning ; a
Balanced scale on a
Moaning bell. So helpless
it seemed but so hopeful.
it ends like food of
gods’ delicately delight
and fit for a king.

A relief in that cola, or beer

When the day is over
Would you let it end ?
Or shiver in fear as work holds
Life in clear, Oh dear !
You would that day may begin again.
Hold me down

A hand, write a little.

Apalm, caress a little.
A face, smile a little.
If it isn’t for hand to hold
Or grasp or grab then one
Might smite with it
Might catch with it
Him or her then one
Not fall or fold or fault.

A gift of hand
that holds, that grabs
that scratches, that scratches
and writes a little,
but in hope
not beat, not heat
not break, not slap
Not smite ‘cause
These violet delights
end in violent acts.

I hold, I fold, I form

and my hearty gift
in hearty palm
hold me still
in hearty palm
hold me still
in hand left or right
and write me down
With hearty delights !
Is it worth it digging graves ?

− ‘ive me on hot shot, and keep ‘em ccomin’

− You again here, such a day as this , a time

as this, and it isn’t a Monday and you keep ‘em comin’
Is it the reds or blues ? melodies’ end troubles home ?

− Ah you again , you know my work and yet such aa time

as this , such a day as this, not a blue Monday or a
red Friday and you ask : keep ‘em comin’

− Your work you say ? Diggin graves, knee deep digging ?

if it ‘ve you blues and deals you deep and breaks
you deep, why not then garden so or carpent or lay
a brick ?

− See, fresh smell of dirt, brown dirt, though dead

be green or tree, the smell mixed with rain like morning
dew , and spade, there is a manner when you dig so
deep, and heave an ho, and yeave and ho. more alive
It feels than dead ; everyone need’s ‘em, everyone needs ‘em

− And yet here again, such a day as this, a time

as this, in blue your face and grim anf gloom
so red and cold and you keep ‘em comin !
Is it worth it digging ‘em up ?
Is it worth it digging ‘em graves ?

− Ah, dot and not dot dot

but dot dot dot dot, oh keep ‘em comin’

− And yet again it feels more alive than

dead digging ‘em up.
The other side

Of tomorrow think not,

Though bad beat of heart
flutter like cold breadth
of cooling tea or
flutter like hot air
Of open recess hearth.

Told ‘em to mentin not

or say it or allow it,
Though allow it − A lil’
Opening missing lid or
Corrupt and appropriate
Your friend ; oh me !
Such a touch, a hug
a recess kiss,
a stolen piece !

Of tomorrow think not

Though by side of you,
world became a small bubble
and bundled all else away ;
world became the other side
Of you ; even a small opening
burst the small bubble
And wolrd became the other side
Of you.
Stone Heart

For from true radar

of heart, not close to vision
or envision it possible rather
of fortune tales’ passion
of heart, of blood.

Envision it impossible to see you

Here, to know you hear.
Isn’t tale’s end on time’s end
and mingle’s talk till in miscible
form ? who could siphon liquid sugar ,
make it solid ?

Imagine feeling forever should be,

Knowing it nears an end,
Despite unwilling,
It nears an end.