my soul lost its memory
in blood a voice without ears
kneaded in the bread of Al Badar
plowed into the graves of 10,000 chickens
it is nothing to not exist
it is not Palestine
fathers have no hands here
mothers no eyes to hold tears
the mask covers the faces
in this nigger nobody dream
bound without hands to the earth
spilled out like a toxic red crayon
the liquid spills of incendiary skin
perhaps bits of cloth, a finger
is left to point the way to the holy city

IN A QUIET PLACE

I took the words that tell
my thoughts and fears
locked them with a key
in a quiet place
where no one
will see them
again.

I’ve opened up my heart
bore my soul
to set my spirit free
from the demons
that are hunting me
down.

but the world can be
a cruel and unforgiving
place for some…
for most.

foreground in silence
a breathless day
while the sun rises a mile away

a new jacket speaks
the leather voice
tiny passions in cold air

camera full of black and whites
your letters written
nothing trite

and how it is we concur
our addiction to this
blur
the strangers in the glass
ask seeking
why all the leaving
I move more towards

then against

hungry for everything
we shall not have
sated for nothing
that is all ours

The sense of time erodes our fascination
with our bodies, sooner or later,
didn't it?
Was it yesterday, that lightning bug in a bell jar,
glowing now? Not now.
Did we play Shakespeare well in the parts
so designated, did we choose one over the other,
hate ourselves and each other because we missed
our cues?

Of Poetry!

Well to my semi dwarfed mind
without knowing the nuances
of concoction of poetry,
save verbal criticism
I feel the power of sharing
what one knows
or deems to know,
with ones brethren

she comes off as so bold
but if you watch shes scared
shes delicate. shes hurt. shes ............................fragile

like the way a roses thorn
can be so piercing but
the petals are so brittle. the....................................girls

laugh at her. she is different
she is strange. yet she is
beautiful . how does she.........................................get

herself wrapped around my mind how
does she completely lure me in to make
me feel entirely helpless. i can see the..............hurt

Restless is the storm fed ocean
Where she has left a bounty
There upon the shore

But seagulls will not venture
Knowing where the danger lies
If the truth be pure and simple
They'll be no need for alibis

The wind is high and wild
fires sweep the land
as I stare out my window
My coffee cup in hand
A wry smile upon my face
for I now understand

The story is from times of old
over and over it has been told
and oh, by the way
my coffee's gone cold

The rage within the poet and critique
rages without volition
no speed
it divulges of its own
in both .

The poet is at liberty to seek comfort
Yes solace or pity
and
massage ones ego
so be it ,
as an original creator of a verse
or one who only generates a curse .

come what may
poets must never be disturbed
as other's minds
may be by birth worse .

SPEAKING IN TONGUES

Silence has its own voice
whispers behind rhyme and verse
a truth deeper still
beyond what words convey.

the mind cannot understand
what it cannot measure
the heart cannot reason
the tragedy of its ending.
the soul is afraid to speak
yet must share and tell another
in silent voice
its hopes and fears.

Night feels all
sleepless beneath
a dream kept company

womens voices soft
murmur in my head
the funeral and the
gathered

outside the cars gleamed
polished and waxed
a hearse waited large
as a horse team
full of chrome

half visions in the night
haze
wound with sorrows
bound with fears
those of yesteryear
brought back to life

unlike precious time
that jumped
stretched and existance
was questioned
weaving like vines
like the heat