The stream (all workshops)
Snow hadn’t fallen overnight, but a heavy frost had covered the ground
and in the morning, a little boy ran downstairs in his dressing gown.
He could see the tree lights, as he skipped his way down the hall
it was Christmas day, many years ago; Father Christmas had made his call.
And there under the Christmas tree, was a rather large cardboard box
full of carefully wrapped presents of toys, sweets and new football socks.
A fact of life,
A guy exists only,
Because girls do
They take his tension away
In many more, than one way
Her smile makes him feel invited,
Her glances make one feel attractive
And whatever they do,
As you smack your lips,
it stands, awaiting your rescue.
That’s why all guys
To gals say, I love you.
She strokes her hair
and indicates, shall do
Whatever you want to
i.
Coffee kisses in the morning,
goodbyes at the front door
you on your way humming the
working-man's song
me herding the see-no-evil
monkey off my back
into poem.
ii.
We are political animals
being led to the slaughter
listening to what will never be heard
outside the twilight zone of conclusions,
blind faith
just can't see, too deaf
and dumb to walk
through another door
marked "Reality".
iii.
He's feeling stress from theft
they stole his money, writing checks, unsigned
bank honoring, electronically authorizing, locally
while he cruised the seven seas
Feeing frustrated from waiting
bank won't refund his pay
police won't investigate, prosecute
reasoning it's a scam, frauding self for Christmas cash
On this deep December day
with all leaves now gone away
like hummingbirds, just memories,
forgotten on the sharp chill breeze
the naked limbs are set to sway.
The cold has firmly taken hold
and brought to heel decay and mold
while stilling pools with frozen glaze
where cattails quiver on cold days
when northern winds grow bold.
Even daylight has retreated
as if darkness is now greeted
while the world drifts off to sleep
here within this woodland keep,
another cycle soon completed.
down where winter charms
have grown fond of dusk honeys
the silver warmth draws
coy smiles
heavens wings are dusted
with the rising stars
and lonely looks
from forest stand
so quiet and nocturnal
raise hairs on slender arms
and red rose mouths
as warm as falling stars
There is meaning to this simple inspiration,
Unimportant I suppose,
Yet it inundates the world,
Can there be so much color in so little space?
There is huge risk in inspiration,
And Yet I implore you think otherwise,
There is no invention without risk,
And can there be invention without innovation?
Then the world will stand here,
And the world shall continue to think,
Yet inspiration will continue to strive,
There will be countless error in inspiration.
Please look to the description of this form below before reading it.
The strength of ideology as known
lay in the fact all men shall seek a god.
A doctrine merely amplifies the tone
and makes a cult of anything so odd
as that which queerly contradicts one’s own,
for all else is to one’s belief a fraud.
I went to the market
To buy half a kobo of salt
My husband poured it away
Hard earned salt spilled on the floor
I opened my mouth to talk
My spouse nearly beat me to death
Iyo-yo-yo yo, hear the woman cry
I ask my wife to draw closer
Come and give me a child
She turned and stepped aside
I dipped my legs in a stream
The stream turned to an ocean
My travails are many, so many
Iyo-yo-yo yo, hear the man cry
Forged by God,
yet perfect words i cannot find.
Only human,
fallen by a demons battle-cry.
Is this the norm for us normal,
Awaiting, looking for the wings
that in heart allow us to fly?
Icy mornings and dark sunsets,
the shadows always tainting.
Within the depths of hollow,
The soul always maintaining.
Forged by greatness,
this is our sadness,
yet for each day it is our strenth.
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