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We are just ghosts
enslaved by time
slipping through
the portals of seconds
squeezing through cracks,
freedom is the illusion
reality lies in delusions
as the soul is raped
by the mind ...
as to why Darkness is black...
bruised, she is - that's why
co-ordination being something she
definitely seems to lack
every evening she gracefully approaches, then
falls
gowned in jewels and shiny clouds of
homespun gossamer silk
inelegance seems something unconnected, but she's
jinxed to slip, evey time, on the Way of Milk -
kismet – her fate to
leave bruises to add depth and
meld with colours of the apex of
night’s bewitching cloak
open is the heart of the poor lovely Lady Nyx
do remind me
Sparoe /ion
when the doors are about to close
I shall then enter
through your open door
and open a pandora's door
(OKAY NO METAPHOR THEN BOX..)
beware lots of bees will be there
keep your door secure
and locked
or have a fire near by
ere the bees stick to yours
doors friends
what else ?
happens
behind closed doors....
you, irish girl, i will never see you again
but of course i remembered you then.
brown hair and light eyes,
you should know that i never remember
the color of people’s eyes.
you are tall and beautiful and spelled my sister’s name
and swayed my entire body with that breathtaking voice
an enchantress, i was bound,
my heart fluttered.
you shouldn’t have had to change your name
because they couldn’t say it
because they don’t know that it means “bright.”
I set myself to write a sonnet now
a style which gives me headaches, starts and fits
and turns my thinning hair more scant and gray
I might as well try growing perky tits
Bare brow now furrows on my old head
to join the other wrinkles living there
and eyes now squint with queasy sense of dread
this page remains, yet, pristine white and bare
I think and count and count and think some more
I pick up a Webster's worn and torn
my temple throbs just like it has before
in darkness on this rainy winter morn
the world took a lot
the stars
heaven
earth
the sun
the moon
it was close
the atmosphere
the words
lies
love
trust
reality
it came to be the best
humans made it
call it man made
the satellite
the food
the cars
mostly by men
the world came in with it
all the glory
at a certain time
love was lust
feelings
hate
fate
anger
stranger
afraid to be us
take the world down
to a better place
Are the wealthy truly free?
They live in luxury
envied by many
in their arrogance forgetting
that Man are all equals in the eyes of God
They mingle amongst themselves
parading and boasting their material wealth
while outside, people suffer
from the grip of poverty and disease
Their pride in their gold and silver misplaced
by their inability to be more humane.
Their smiles and laughter hollow
lacking in sincerity, they don't know
what ails the restlessness inside.
The winds have left us, here in a lull,
that makes the native ghosts audible
in their groans
There is an office, aloof somewhere
shaking hands, with barely
tactile strength to hold the promised pen
Less sway, in the hurricane corridor of power,
they decide today-
which manipulated, manicured monsters
Will tend to our flocking fears,
which charcoal suit, the colour of burnt gum
will leave us in the paling townships
happy fall
my long walk
across
rail yard bridge
uptown
somewhere
headed
the cars on the
tracks as small
as the ones
passing
large and
swift on
the blacktop
crisp air cool
with its sheen
white birds
cutting the sky
white clouds
so clean
Step from the
buildingside
with style
dyed dark
cropped hair
with your best
drop dead
little voice
asking for
a smoke
RESURRECTION
Sixteen millimeter memories
smiles frozen in time
ghosts in slow motion
reliving a moment of mortality.
false resurrections
tricks of the mind
suspension of disbelief.
keeping the dead alive