Our land, pitched
Between two extremes
Manifest multiplicities of woes
From abject poverty and squalor
A far divide from the few rich
To politics and religion
Forbid I mention names
Lest wanton violence
Destruction of lives
Threaten our existence
Eroded middle class
Clash of identities
Suffer terrible losses
In class and culture
A nation tossed about
Like water in a canoe

Upon a barren shore he sits
Longing to be free
From there he sees little bits
Transparent to you and me

A lonely howl of frustration
Is all he has to give
Why, in all of "tarnation"
Won't they let him live?

Time and space mean everything
Never get close enough
Not as close as spaghetti-string
Goshdog, It sure is rough!

There is a land, a paradise of love
He smells it, and howls long notes
If there are Goshdogs up above
He'd have her silken little coat

Predator Stalking your prey
hint of a grin creeping out,
from the corners of your mouth.
You are a sinner and I am the sin

Licking lips in anticipation 
closing in by increments
Circling me then backing away
Establishing your territory.

Pressing against me
Your gender is apparent
Your breathe upon my neck.
Sweet heart failure, 

I offer my self up 
to your tender mercy,
Yours to do with 
What you will.

Dear beautiful upright flower,
your perfume sweet,
your elegance,
your grace,
your handsome face,
a mother reflected in the eyes.

A life,
a dreamed existence
bloomed
and blazed with fiery colours,

sunrises have been seen,
the brighter sides of life,
now dwindling,
in the autumn of my birth,

not crying,
as my heart is full of mirth.

For now the time has come,
and I succumb,
to sorrows in my stem,
my leaf,
my flower looses turgor;