Dead Eskimo Rising

(for William Scott Home)

The yellow horizon grooves
in serrated ice light corks;
a milk crest tide meets
in an ivory ellipsis of broach
with shaped lobster crabs
arms crawling toward a
finely spun shadow pillars.

An eskimo’s face disperses
in a technicolor lake, that queue
of changing channels

Above the green ice fire
sounding a bullhorn
Crusting blank quarters
in his eyes, pausing
to stare in midriff.

The shadows
girate,
with earthless
rhapsody
I'm wanting to
step off,
without fear
hope flowers.

The white cloak
kills expectation
of the womb,
a cruel wind
whips spinifex
into a frenzy
of dusty plumes.

The pearly shine
once gazed on
In awe and
wonderment,
now a reminder
at no time
did looking up
fix the fence

PENULTIMATE WALK

I was feeling
my chest was too tight
was it like my last night

Went off the air
rested

Now I return
having tasted
a new imagery
a fresh vision

No one can go
neither could Buddha
or any Lord for that matter
unless the spark does extinguish
or does finally banish
and then
ultimately lightening
does one arrest

those who consider themselves
as immortal
this is just a glimpse
of what could
or would happen

My heart knows what I need;
It whispers your name,
Like a sweet melody.
It dances passed my ear drum,
Like music, a bliss, endless pleasure.
My heart knows what I want;
You skin wrapped around my bones,
Enveloping me.

tonight you can heed to the bat of ill repute
sincerely takes a good campaign you reek a jellow smile,
prefer a baked potato of the Mexico....
you can hear the owl with the mask in vibrant act
sorrow in the days that have gone before us;
waiting..freedom in the tear jack page
awake to act your age

you can hear me as far as the surface toil
of through angel hair pardon the honest claim
to sit outside by tyhe pizza man
shout between the garage will sneak

A musician dribbles notes like basketballs
Swishing shots
Into the hoops of our hearts

An architect determines angles
With angel’s wings
Making of the protractor
A divine art

A painter makes of nothing
A world of feeling
Picking colors and assigning
Splendid strokes

But a teacher with a knack for
Apprenticeship
Is the real captain of our hopes

Do not be afraid my love,
the shifting of the wind
is not a sign of impatience.
------Distorted voices you hear
------are harmless as a breeze.

Let not fear be the tempest
that scatters your heart
to forlorn, desolate shores.
------I'll let nothing attack you,
------I shall always be near.

Give no attention to directions
that the freezing winds blow,
or how they might drive one on
------in the soft chambers of my heart,
------I shall always keep you warm.

Dust me darling
now shall dust it all off
dust off my cap
have just come after a long walk
breathless right now can't talk

deep down my throat
all know
is dampened dust
from the sandy windy sea shore

how long will sneezing last
none can say
any how the dying dusk
shall sweep me away

it's a long way from the desert
where I stay
sandy dust and mellowing dusk
is our share
all night and all day
am I expected any more to say
today
.

It rains,
But not the kind of rain I like,
I'd have liked
If it had been organic rain of cats and dogs.

But it isn't, not that showery rain,
The kind that waters the sward,
That gives the heartbeat of a swamp a kick,
Neither the kind that stumps on rooftops,
Nor rattles the ground with its beatings.

Rather the kind that breaks the air like frail looking ice,
Dries the eyes of their sweet juices,
With vengeful pain swells the ears,
With its weight grinds to a pulp the mind of the mind.

BEST COMMENT BY A WORLD'S BESTEST POET'

Life is a circle created by accident,
but its our journey, and our trajectory
that gives it real meaning and value.

The joy is what we do with our lives
and what we believe our purpose is supposed to be.

This poem*
is a wonderful tribute of the existential liberation.

What you have written
is a true affirmation
for life!
Phenomenal Poem!

*BIRTH AND DEATH''
BY LOVEDLY
Thanks all NEO'S

BIRTH AND DEATH BY ME