I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
On the idle hill of summer,
Sleepy with the flow of streams,
Far I hear the steady drummer
Drumming like a noise in dreams.
Far and near and low and louder
On the roads of earth go by,
Dear to friends and food for powder,
Soldiers marching, all to die.
And one of the elders of the city said, "Speak to us of Good and Evil."
And he answered:
Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?
Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts, it drinks even of dead waters.
Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n,
That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n:
I offer you my forests and my street-cries
With hands of double-patience under the clock,
The antiseptic arguments and lies
Uttered before the flood, the submerged rock.
The sack of meal pierced by the handsome fencer,
The flowers dying for a great adventure.
I offer you the mysterious parable,
The mount of reason, the hero's glassy hymn,
The disquieting uproar of the obvious
Food, oh glorious food!
A feast for our senses, so good.
The aroma wafts in the air,
Filling our bellies with care.
A bounty of flavors to explore,
Satisfying our cravings more and more.
From sweet to savory, spicy to mild,
There's a taste for every palate styled.
summer's golden hot
auntie's made cool lemonade
front porch nostalgia
flowers all the day
in mauve orange and yellow
playing in the yard
lemon meringue pie
and sunflowers are nodding
A lively church bazaar is on the avenue today,
In the house of the Lord, happy children play,
So much is going on, there is so much to see,
Like many hues flowing, in the house of memory.
Hot lunches and baked goods are here for sale,
Like myriad summer days, vivid blossoms prevail,
Old and young enjoy the raffles and the games,
As sunset going down, its vibrant smile retains.
A silken drop nectar refined,
Delicious, smooth, it’s taste sublime,
Worshipped and revered in times of old,
Bacchus it’s God, his hand-maidens bold.
The Romans swilled, the Greeks imbibed,
The British drank, the French prescribed.
The Church just called it Christ’s own blood,
Believers flowed as if by flood.
Out of love and sometimes bleak
do they create me to existence.
Together with my colleague,
Who's lying there in a distance.
The ear-splitting sound of pottery
Cutlery all over the place.
And I – I was sat upon the corner.
So I wouldn’t escape, just in case.