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.
Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee -
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young? -Ah, woeful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was as shapeless as the water
That shaped the Jordan near my home
Was brother to Mnetha's daughter
And sister to the fathering worm.
I who was deaf to spring and summer,
Who knew not sun nor moon by name,
Felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
The leaves are blowing away
Up, up, and away they go.
Swish, swoosh, they go.
Like a dancing ballerina
Up, up and away they go
Way up , in the sky.
The trees standing there,
Their branches all bare.
The wind whistling throughout empty branches,
where are you? do i know you?
have we met? what's your name?
were you the one drinking soju?
were you and i being untame?
i think of you when i see the sky
a gentle reminder of your existence
i want to try, but i don't want to pry
what do i do? make this make sense
Watch the sky stumble.
As the clouds bundle,
Let them all fumble.
For such ignorant blunder.
Just a little rumble.
Jolting a crackle.
And it'll all crumble.
The water pringles-(to tingle persistently or annoyingly).
desert blooms at noon
days of drought in the deep south
when love first ignites
a summer heat wave
quickly melting ice cream cones
the long torrid nights
a profuse early blooming
Clear darts that float on heavy sighs fly from the grey robes that are being rung this morning.
Thunder argues in the sky with no sign of the lightning that abandoned it.
The rain in Texas is nothing like Seattle.
The northwest downpour arrives in an organized fashion to greet the morning commuters.
Even the Sound applaud its return.
Often times it insists to stay the night.
In the south, this stranger is welcomed and given refuge
but is too kind for such hospitality.
I was out one day walking, along the glad sounding shore,
Gathering pretty seashells, and watching the seagulls soar.
To the left were lofty mountains, touching the azure skies,
To the right, sparkling ocean, and ahead the butterflies!
In early afternoon sunshine, I enjoyed the warmth's caress,
And breathed deeply of the salty air, as it was very fresh.
I swung my picnic basket, because I was feeling so joyous,