Blog Archives
The colony
My faith was tested by the colony
The cross bore into my chest like multiple sessions of ECGS
I thought I had forgotten what it was to feel like an honest me!
The strength of survival of the fittest
Compelled hope to flee
Or save me
My choice
Brainwashed for a profit
A racquet
Insidious to true inequality
I’m here
I’m an insurgent
Indulgently
Indignant to all the two faced flags
Denying
denoting
Independent thought
For the books to be written
of/
Off
philosophy
Clouded the dogma that corrupts those who believe in their infallibility
Water – a drop
A drop.
A drop.
A drop
Do not judge me
For my sapling survival
a birth of a scape goat to inscribe the words of a free spirit
With no country
I claim as my own
I am who I choose as my identity
Borderless
No government
No political movement can discriminate against my spirit
For I denounce those who cannot see the truth
In front of them
even when they kneel
Before nature
The only divine death
With nothing to face.
Sincerely,
The unknown scripture of abandonment sans fear
Mo by
How many times can a man kill
With the swell of pride in his heart
The ocean stained with the sins
Of his foibles and ills?
A death wish
Mammoth moments sunken by the greed of this lot
Moby dick stood afloat
Whilst man’s morals were lost.
To the rise of egos
The wan of humanity.
The flag ships raised
A toast to a humans descent into insanity.
Without affirmative action these are mere words of profanity
Scorpion poetry
I drank a lot today
It read back to me like it was poetry
I woke up yesterday
Tomorrow
Some other day
And the words hung over me like a scorpion waiting for a punch line to pass onto it’s ancestors
A bloody Mary
Dog of the hair
These words aren’t poetics until
I glare at that question
Maybe another time?
Today
Walked out my front door
First time in 5 days, I turned right for a change of scenery chucking out the rubbish – the highlight of this today
Beneath my feet the concrete was still grey
My demeanour resembled the bland council houses unimaginative choice of decorating on the cheap -resembles a prison … whatever . No , I’m done rhyming today.
What prompts these feathered words typed and on display – a bird not in flight
Wings tinged with blue a sorrowful sight to see no fight
Eyes bright with dew dawn light.
Eyes screetching victoriously: I found the worm special of the day!
How do I say , justify , describe the way my heart swooned the wrong way. I looked up at the sky thankful for the first time in many for it’s consistant rays.
A distraction , a rouse – I knew it was dead . I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t move him onto a more dignified path. I was afraid he’d come back to life.
Circled around him in a hesitantly callous way
How dare he interrupt a quiet walk-the first in almost a week from sunday?
Did I imagine it semi flutter whilst I walked past him with my bin liner full of litter ?
I profess to love watching those with wings -airborn soaring . I’m envious in away. A speculating visual painting adorned with glittered hues , proof that life moves in every way.
I confess I have a phobia of dead birds. Past memories of one I wasn’t able to save in my childhood
Direction moved me to walk the other way from a lifeless soul left to rot on a staircase.
I’m ashamed.
If I told you
If I told you about the sun hiding behind those dense clouds
Would you listen to the birds
No judgement obscuring your heart echoed all kindess reverberating sans sound?
If I told you I’m hopeful your frown would disappear once those beatific rays raise a trumpet of graciousness from the maelstrom without the heartbeat of sound?
No hyperbole would I wish on your demeanour
No drama I wish to demand to demand
Upon you, the courageous.
My loves
My nature -condensates
A lady of the lake I’m bound by multiple men burned my ambitious stakes.
Causing this reality to vaporise
No slumber can awake.
I rise
I rise without the tidal waves of mayan traditions
Perhaps I forsook
I live on a continent my own maker allowed me to sew piece by piece
Grains of sand did my ancestors drown making moulds of bodies with clay.
I wish you to know my character.
I wish you to know my elements like demeter-
a mother never begets her daughter.
Never left to the scriptures of men
Untold
Untaunted
Untainted
Neither ink forsaken
Neither word twisted by those history writers who forsake them.
their integrity .
My nature is conceived
Nor pre ordained by these seasonal flakes
These words are my own.
My love !
Don’t desert all we have accumulated of late.
Deity
A smudge, a mark on those dissident souls who dared enrage the olypiums with a cry for mercy.
Crimes captured in , mud clay, paint , words, thoughts , emotions – indulged passions strewn over Bacchus shrine.
A brief Collison
The Thunder bolts,
The snow blizzards,
The rain
bows, illuminating deities with human mannerisms scowling stares
A Compelling spectacle – a free fall for all denied access to an Olympian banquet
Persephone lingers loftily draped in a seed sewn solemn shawl
This sabbatical reunion reveals her true fabric fertile & willing to share.
Soiled sapian of sand doomed to a prom thesis saloon for the forgotten , the abandoned
a gumboot dance off -The patron muse of Genocide –
Our namesakes never forgotten.
Latin ized, hubri sized, hibridized, sacrificed, sodomized.
Sacrificial slaughterhouse our ancestors offered up our mothers, sons and daughters
Faith a wake for piles upon piles of ignorance a holocaust of corpses cremated on the pyres of unknown sires
Faith adrift the bells and whistles promised to those lovers lost to the after life
Her Grace.
partly concealed
partly revealed
The dichotomy of lace.
propaganda tree
Random reflections.
We shouldn’t be afraid to reach our full potential in life and blossom. Yet we do. Are we so scared of decay and rot and to be forgotten?
Seems that way.
We must not fight what and whom we were born to be.
Why do I have to pick the one tree that I love, over all the other ones, that is only with us briefly?
A blossom tree
I wanted to get married under one. There is something so ethereal about them when I see them at the height of their beauty.
Falling petals.
The moment they seem most exquisite is when they are closer to death than life.
I see the beauty in death.
I see the beauty in life.
I researched what the Blossom tree has been used for as a symbol.
In Japan, in world war 2,
It became the symbol of patriotism to the Japanese people.
They too see how fleeting life is. All the more to live it with great deep breaths and with as much gusto and energy as one can.
LIVE!
What does piss me off is the propaganda the government spread around beliefs of the blossom tree.
As poetic as it sounds: It is said that people were encouraged to believe that when the souls of warriors died, they came back as blossom flowers.
A lovely notion but this is on a par with Roman rhetoric. It is a manipulation and I hate seeing the words – Nature and manipulation standing together.
But can the two exist without the other?
I think, let flowers live and be what they are.
Let us humans live and be what we are.
Humans with a heightened awareness of the fragility of life,
are the ones that put the humane inhumaneness.
We don’t need to be any other but ourselves to stand out and be beautiful.
Look how magnificent we look when we coexist with nature.
Appreciate what we have today.
Our beauty in all its manifestations from the second we shine never leaves us -not even in physical death.
Yes.
It does transform.
Transformation is not a bad thing.
Revel in each one.
I
Always closer to death but rocking the Wabi-Sabi philosophy.
“Wabi-sabi reminds us that we are all transient beings on this planet—that our bodies, as well as the material world around us, are in the process of returning to dust.
Nature’s cycles of growth, decay, and erosion are embodied in frayed edges, rust, liver spots. Through wabi-sabi, we learn to embrace both the glory and the melancholy found in these marks of passing time.”
http://www.utne.com/mind-and-body/wabi-sabi.aspx
Beautiful because I am withered.
The fabric of Daisy
Daisy wake up
Trends need not dictate this an essential need
Shake off slumbers veil
Success is never found in a blind fools dream
Daisy wake up
Or walk down that outdated well trodden path –
adorned with familiar perilous pain
an old haunt languishing in rags of ruin
Impart a funfair of heartache its sole profit -all yours to gain.
Never to find the seeds of hope
Never to nurture the growth of a place to call home
Never to venture into pastures only future horizons can show
Daisy wake up
Watch the ceiling of creativity dissolve
Watch the truth of your words stagnate in a river polluted by moments spent
On outdated memories
over bloated corpses floating upwards willing you to give them a second glance.
Daisy wake up
Are you willing to drown against the current of change
Are you willing to obscure your voice to clouds of doubt
whitewash all your words as a some garment crafted but in vain
My soul
Don’t you love it when a quote inspires you to write a few words to illuminate your own meaning to it?
My quote inspired by EE Cummings . See bottom quote. Have a fab weekend!
