Poor is my country-maybe
Lacks technology! Could be
But I've identity

I'm not a boor "barbarian"
"nor a mad man in the sand"
but rather a wounded human.

I've always fought for freedom
though seldom I have it
I shall yet fight for it .

I'll fight against tyranny
and the meanest poverty
and I'll eventually win

One day the world shall know
the greenest Spring ever grown
in the Arab world.

Inspired by Stan's Spring?

we are all damp
locked in the rains
of our own doubts

christening of the breaking
as each reaches the sweet spot

energy fire is smouldering in
the dark ovid pupil search
the white halo backlit
rush

each word like a flash
drinking formula
of faith

so daring slumped against
the brickwork
rising
the muse of windows
climbing
curtians and flower pots

television angels draped
in dreamy nod

We stood behind you
in overthrowing dictators
on your way to freedom
and self government
your revolutions

Then injected prescious treasure
to help keep you afloat
money we could ill afford
then you went to polls to vote

We hoped that your new govrnment
though run by radicals
would at least act responsibly
hope empty as the desert wind

I guess some day perhaps we'll learn
the lessons of Iran
barbarians when given liberty
turn into mad men in the sand

A light blanket of your arms
my love,
you inside my far away;

the sun shadows roaming
across the sky
into September,
the wild geese
and I.

we are at the bridge
in a balancing act

between Dionysus
and Apollo -
primitive apes and
civilized human beings

attempting to harmonize
instinctual wholeness
immediacy
primal joy

and
self-controlled
sober
scientific rationale

really
a very unstable condition
.

you deliberate well
and
express any poets’ desire
to achieve immortality
for eternity
as you alone feel
that you are born to steal
the show
that all mankind does propose
and
you alone
are the only one
to show that you
singularly
at least
on
Neopoet

glow

congrats friend
all the same, to you
hope Jess replaces me now
with you...

From open graves the spirits roam,
this one night of the year,
To wander up and down the streets,
and in our hearts strike fear.

They scratch upon the window pane,
and pound upon the door,
With wailing voices screaming out,
for entry they implore.

And peering out from back of drape,
the terror of the eve,
Seen scurrying across my lawn,
these spirits as they grieve.

REFLECTIONS

As night threw shadows on day
Narcisse made his way
under pale moonlight
to mirrored waters clear
where he wondered
at the nature unknown
of his own image
reflected

This strange fascination
stole his years
and took his soul
into waters still and deep
to seek what we all seek
not in Self
but in another's reflection

ambition my friend you haven’t a bit,
he spake to me….
as I was morphed…

see what I have…
a chauffeured car
Porsche,
lights on roof and a flag
I have two houses
one for my silent stay alone
the other when I need company
I have tonnes of dollars
have you any?
I play bridge
golf
watch cricket
what do you do?
I’m lucky I have all
but a wife
what about that can one do
and that’s all about what you have
so make do
create a life of ambition friend,
I advise you.

Shock anguish and deep dismay
on that bright September day.
Barbarians come to our gate:
false Islamists coerced by hate.

Twin towers turned into twin plumes,
thousands sent to fiery dooms.
people falling from the sky;
desperate choices, how to die?

Did you think that we would yield?
In Penn's Woods a cratered field
gave first hint of what was awakened,
complacency was then forsaken.