When you feel askew
wait and perform a review
to succeed anew.

Do we not have same head?
Same soul, heart, mind, and body
Do we not feel as you feel?
Do we not feel same pain as you feel?
When your woman is behold by another man

Do we not have same blood?
Running through our veins
Do we not feel the same agony?
When a woman watched her man
With another woman

How in pale I wonder,
These beloved trees,
Once dressed in green glamour and glitz
flapping majestically its apparel
a seasonal blessing of nature
why not ask the birds its prominence
an abode of leisure and fresh air.

when will thou recuperate from this disgrace?
this nudity of time,
oh, a brutal rape of shame
the birds longed for you again
I'll tell them when you return.

November oh no...

I yearn for that deific wisdom
that would bring me total freedom.
Freedom from obscurity
into a life of utmost clarity.

A hallowed wisdom to veer me from a doomed path.
Guide me through,to the threshold of truth.
Adorn me with a worthy dexterity,
to attain my desired superiority.

If sageness has no stipulated age,
then now i want to be a sage.
Divine wisdom is supreme .
I want to fetch from its stream.

You were once my all,
My happiness, my love, my heart,
I knew this during our fall,
In the last tender moments of our depart

What I would give to hold you again,
To have another feel of those sweet gentle lips,
Your warmth that transcended through rain,
To touch your silky curly locks at their tips.

In your absence, the world has lost its shine,
The future holds no other description but bleak,
Now that I've lost all in the world that was mine
Cheerful songs fail to escape a bird's beak.

The largest oven is the South on an August afternoon.
Blinding light from reflects off the singed grass and parched ground,
Heating every surface to 350℉ for 30 minutes,
Making a cobbler of the world.
They say in Texas you can cook an egg on the sidewalk.
The coil of the sun radiates penetrating heat
Roasting the flesh and cooking the brains of laborers in the fields.
No relief from the humid convection that bakes dust and dirt to your sweat-steamed skin.
Permanent head-in-the-oven breathing searing air,

Stainless lovers

This poem was composed
after reading a poet's version
of self love
and
a state of idealism.

I do hope
it does justice
to the poetic love
one of idealism...

Stainless Love

I have no doubt
that you were sleeping
as those words rolled out
neither the sun had set,
nor were you dreaming.

I won't find the real God in this place
with woodcuts and paintings,
and crumbling marble.
I won't find Him
in the Egyptian, nor Greek galleries either.

And this should come
as no surprise,
since I never found Him
in a church or temple, for that matter.

I don't know
if that is what
makes the depression drip so thickly from me.

Escaping into the steam
and red clay of the rooibos leaves, traveling
To a place beyond life's troubled horizon
Where the fog begins to clear.

After three sips
I have new ears. The cinnamon
Has silenced my echoes of worry
Ricocheting off walls

of old thoughts. The hands of Chai
clean up the dirt of yesterday's spillage.
My head sinks into the chamomile pillow
and drifts off to a lavender sleep.