jobjagtenerste gaa ik met de fiets,en dan gaa ik met de trein,en dan gaa ik met de bus,en dan? om te voet."en warrom?" vraag je?alles zo mag ik werkenmaar een beetje dichterbijonze gezellige thuis.
haar stoutelingsshe asks me how much i love her;i answer, "i love you lots!"she asks me how much i like her,and i answer, "some."
prep-doitsuwith knife in hand,i face the onslaught;woe be unto you,veg'tables!
collabapollooza 3.0as i look back on my life i see the patterns i've created. most, but by no means all,of them have been detrimental to myself and others. the inconsistency of of my consistencies,the consistency of my inconsistencies; my short-sightedness, my abscent-mindedness,the apathy of my empathy...but now and then i catch a glimpse of the changes time, work and prayer are making.in the windowreflection of a catstartles the cat~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Sharp silver bristles...An owl, on her down-swoop,Glares at the the close pines...the mouse, sped by her fear,finds refuge 'neath those boughs.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~when there is no moon above, no light unto my life's path:I am beside myself as a stranger in the crowd -my center has gone and i am pulled into the void.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~we, once again, are living in those proverbial 'interesting times'.not that there is e
if it's sincere, it isn't flattery...the eloquence, the artistry,transcends the mere word 'poetry';i doubt, leonard, this poor bard could out do ya.i smile and cry, i nod and sigh,i lift beseeching hands on highand whisper in the darkness, 'hallelujah...'
not all destinations are final...by fate's appointment we are born as slavesto our perception of the flow of timethrough history's patterns of troughs and waves.if we can awaken from that dread sleep,shed feathers ans fleece (un-be geese and sheep),we shatter the shackles of foolish knavesand we can o'er come that most sublime lie:by death's anointment we're laid in our graves.the mercurial way matter behaves,when understood, is the essence of couthand may be the key that unlocks our cells(the clarion call, the sign that foretells);it just may un-tell that harshest untruth:by fate's appointment we're laid in our graves.
fetish 2.0so tell me, my pet:why do fear and ecstasysmell so much the same?
doors 2.0open(the key turns,unlocking transformation;find rebirth)the door.
sharadigm piftyes it grows colder, but it's not yet cold.not just the season, but the climate shiftsthrough cycles, decades and ages untold.most of time's hands move at scales we can't see,but great and small speak through corollary;my cycles, decades and stages unfold.i see my impairments, i see my gifts;yes i grow older, but i'm not yet old.the world's a mess, though our fortune's not sold;we may still outlive the death of our sun.our final telling needn't be tragic;the highest science seems like it's magic.our race is not over, it's just begun;yes it grows colder, but i'm not yet old.
Wake in VegasIf I could drink you from the sky tonightI would -drink the brown bourbon blacknesswith stars for ice -as the moonlit-salty neon lineseparates the landfrom the lonely battered void.I'll raise a glass to the sky tonightwhile the neon splits and the world crashes throughlike a broken necksee me praying you were here - through tumbleweed canyonsthrough all the static porno wavesthat crowd the space between us,and in swollen spite watch me clean my bony drunken theatreof all your hungry, truant atoms.(time)Fear ebbs - a sober starlight wakes mecold - inside paltry sobsI gather you like kindling from the ground - tossed polaroidsin the windstack you upon your pedestalwith you watching downthrough all this madnessthrough the bleached love/guilt curtainslike an angel.Watch me drink to you in the sky tonightwith me still caught in this thickening landlike a quantum boxed-in slave,like Schroder’s cat, like I might be alivebut I might be dea
Pandora's CrackI breathed in a little dose(s)of caster sugar and cocoa dustbefore I leapedI dove in ear-deepto castrate this soured identity "Who I am"will no longer associate itselfwith the "was" and "had been"of "me"The rust that ran through my shacklecould not wear my ankle bonesnor the wings tucked in betweenI licked off my salt-covered wounds-all that once burned me, cured youThis timeI will be my ownsalve and salvationThis time I aim to amsparkle,swimming throughthe moons of mighty Neptune
Congenial LoveSomething resounds in me,In my silence,You –Forever acquainted:Infinity here and now.It is youWho is in me.Love, closeness,OnenessSince eternity. When I think of you,When I feel yourself as mine,Then I enter another world,Where absolute silence prevails.There, everything is different.Congenial loveIs a gift.It is inexplicable,Unintentional,Unconditional.I feel this perfect silence in meThat seems to be everything.Boundaries blurAnd time and space becomeMeaningless.Congenial loveNeeds no wordsOr thoughts.It is beyondSpace and time.Confidence andCloseness -From the significance ofSafety and certaintySprings inner peace.Congenial loveIs tranquility,Is peace,Is healing,Is everlasting happiness.Spiritual memoryOf you –Given up for lost –Dawns slowly upIn my silence.
seraphs and sinsyou can see thatthis is a give-and-take warzone,but somehow, we made ita give-or-devour domainand i'd tell you you werebeautiful in every languageknown to humankindif i could,but there is no such word in yourbook, only lists forranks of each side:angel or demon,succubus or cambion,creators or destroyers,weakness and strength,the broken and the never-been-brokenthe sad and the exultinggod forbid you ever decidethat keeping mearound was worth the fight'cause if you wanted me,there would havebeen a word for love in thatbat-skin-covered diaryyou never untie from your cloak(funnily enough, there wasnever any mention of my racein that little red book of yours)
The SearchThe Beginningmarked bya handshakeso woefully safebut nowI standon Trinity's EndThe Crossroadsignis fatuilaid on mistamong thosewho are hidingbehind wordsunwrittenThe Roadthe Naysayer's voiceechoes among leavesthe scream ofa resolute crythe whisper ofa barren lieThe Arrivalthe lady of Alland of Onebares before meas last steps fallI hear her silent nameAletheia.~NK
EdenI forgot what it meant toLeave my innocence behindTo let the sin of mankindStain the membrane of my soul.I’ve forgotten that purity and theSplendor of my virginity.But I remember the first timeI broke in halves instead of wholesWhen I burned while the waters ofBaptism evaporated from my skin.I will remember the taste of sandAs the pillars of my kingdom crumbledWhen my drinks were not changed to fine winesAnd my wedding was a wilting flower.I have not forgotten when the menDrew their stones to call me sulliedYet my divinity was to be bargained forThe day they decided they too were lonelyBut I shall not forget my faithThat walked a mile or two in my wake.My name was spoken and IArose like Lazarus and was againAnew while my disease washed awayFor I was left in Eden once more.
seeing signsthese sails are filledwith windsome wordsthe ship, though: stilled.i watch the birdswheel overhead;airborne ogham,meaning unread,is muse's locum.
Please sign up
or login to post a critique.