"A SQUEAL IN THE WIND"
Maragaret Ann Waddicor 4th March 2012.

Far out on a limb,
the old rotting limb of a forgotten past,
peppered with sounds and syllables
of sentiments passé in modern minds,
a washed-up-on-the-beach-flotssam
of forgotten dreams,

woven into the sands of the day,
their time too passing every nanosecond,
all soon to be gathered up
and plunged into the deep of the ocean,
watered down to a whispering squeal in the wind,
and never heard of again.

I was actually in heaven
for five minutes
lost in memory
some one had forecast
i'd come back
so I did...
yes it was a real rebirth
but i shall call it an awakening
only I was in the hills
under a machine
ripped apart
and
then the tree
held it
till I was apart

wash the sins
remove the clots of history
caught between us
like a shadow borne
an orphan of love
that rocks the doors
adorns the chairs
our restless dreamfire
shoal with sleeping
bottom shorn ideals
awake

the soul of sadness
sobbing in the light
of sighing streetlamp
lonliness

hushed like a wind
that huddles against
the chest needing
comfort
needing love

puta de ruas
Minais Gerais
sombra sem lua
movendo-se em vôo
o é que faiz?

quem saberá noite
traição
da sua mordida,
puta de ruas
Minais Gerais

Whore of streets
Minais Gerais
moonless night
shadow moving
in flight

who will know
tonight
the sting
of your treacherous
bite.
Whore of streets
Minais Gerais

Minais Gerais a province north of Rio

pretty as the moonlight,
she gave me saturn's rings,
she shines just like the stars at night,
and other shiny things.

a roller coaster's waiting
and the floor's covered in sand,
somehow she finds meaning
in what noone can understand.

i think we might be crazy,
it must be both, you see,
because you MUST be crazy
if you can put up with me!

a little bit of nonsense
and a magic mustard seed,
throw in a few rainbows
and that is all i need.

Suspend one from the highest point of Kilima
vine down into it's rich soil
righteously rooted is the jazz and jinn that possesses em
one to search the ends of creation
just to hear how sweet it is . . .
to lend ones ear to perfection
the thick rods of bamboo flip to a hit
fresh skins over the magnificence of the Conga drums
slap, slap . . . open tone, tone
stellar horns of elephants tusks
blowing to the rumbling beat
of running buffalo feet
sweeping rites off victoria falls

If I walk slowly now, they catch up with me
I squirm and face the horizon
Trying to avoid
The mildew and mould of the ancient thing
Any whiff of it, a vague and present torture in slow motion

all you've got
is what burns you
alive making .......................................................life
a blur as it goes up in smoke.
the flames wrap around the stars
your breathing .................................................feeds
the luminious
glow....................................................................a
rhythm of your beating
heart keeps the sparks .................................dancing.
eyes have never seen
such a ...............................................................fire.

Dancers

Didêram

It has been told that when The Host
began the task before it set,
it was Samwiel, of all foremost,
who fain aspired to beget
the shape of things to come and order all. 5

The tribulations they endured
o’er eons would exact their toll.
Dissension left at last uncured,
The Angels each regret the whole,
but vigorous were they until The Fall. 10