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One Day To Wince

Would the dirty cloud hang there,

A little longer if I left?

And do you think that it can grow,

That the excerpts that escape the mass,

Making their way to other shores,

To talk about the debauched show,

Could also follow me,

Into my suitcase?

When I leave,

Will I think about the limpid air at home in China?

How many homes I have now!

The one that beams from afar, always,

Away from me or in costume,

Decked out in the finery,

I could never stand.

Anyway,

The cloud!

Do I love it?

Will I miss it?

Does death speak to me more than life?

My heart seems to clamber for some clutter,

Emotional and the extraneous things,

That would make me angry,

In the moment, scream.

My voice,

A whisper in a locked room,

Hopping against the walls,

And in that moment,

Brandishing vicious tiny limbs,

No man could ever fear.

 

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Passion

You drowned me in a story yesterday,

About ancestors who danced with the fire,

Leaping around their legs,

Funnelling from the midpoint,

At their chest.

Old men, to me,

The way you tell it,

Talking about grandfathers and great grandfathers,

These men who will forever have been,

Younger than me.

The ones who licked their tongues,

On waxen leaves,

And fed the orange stumps with new life,

Or otherwise,

With the weight of history.

You, On Another World

What is it like stepping off the edge of the world?

How does it feel to dip your toes in untouched waters?

What about the stories and the fables that we’ve heard, 

Or the things that we have talked sbout for a year?

What is a disagreement disagreed artificially?

Will I measure my life by stories and by diary entrys?

I hope not. 

Will I measure my life by how I measured up to you, 

And your ideas about me? 

Will I strive to prove you right as you always are?

Will I strive to avoid being the blot upon your memory?

Yes, I will. 

Oceanising My Mind

Woke up with a tie-died mind, 

Stepped off the edge, 

And felt invigorated all the way from bed to floor, 

Ran my hand through my hair, 

Slipped a couple bands around my wrist, 

For safety and stability

Throughout this wicked day,

This day in which will transpire

Something. 

While I horse around in the bathroom, 

Singing through my teeth

And toothbrush and toothpaste, 

About your feeling, 

The feeling of knowing you, 

Or being within your orb, 

The wonderland you inhabit, 

Like a rabbit’s burrow, 

Or a genie’s lamp,

Saturated inside by the sap

From Elysian Fields, 

By starlit discussions on natural beauty,

By smog gathering over the tumult

Of a city at peace with its changeable mass, 

And the moveable feast of wines,

Of fruit, 

Of fleeing salad concoctions, 

And water that is in essence, 

Life. 

Life, 

Like the only life that I want anymore, 

The life within your orb.  

Hue

​Little birds I haven’t seen for

The longest time, 

Squabble at the periphery, 

Of this peaceful little square of life, 

Retained, and reinvigorated, 

Over and over again.

The history is dwarfed, 

In the context of the nature, 

In the confines of the greenery, 

And falling slates, 

Peeling paint, 

Who else could live here but something free, 

Like a bird, 

The bird, 

The thing I long to be.

Political Rant #1

I am going to write a brief aside for a moment, something other than poetry for just a small moment. This is something I never do but I have a strong feeling of disgust and I have to make it plain before I explode. I don’t profess to be an expert on these kinds of things nor have I done a whole pile of research. I am sure that it is important to have a certain level of expertise and knowledge about a political situation if you are to fight to change it, but it is just as important to speak from feeling and to speak on what you think the world must be feeling. How else can we empathize on a global scale, if not through feeling and a certain level of presumption, though this presumption is done in this case in good taste, I hope. 

I will try to maintain an objective point of view, and I will try to be somewhat positive, and not wholly negative about this situation. If that does not seem to be evident while you read this, try to see the positives in my feeling for globalism and worldwide community and peaceful diplomatic reasoning. 

Donald Trump. 

What a surprise, huh?

How many words have been spilt in the past year because of Donald Trump? 

How much venom and hate has crept into the hearts of millions of Americans, and concerned onlookers around the world, because this man presumes to know best, and presumes to conduct his presidential affairs in a manner wholly unlike those who came before him. 

Donald Trump has an idea. He is the President of the United States, and The President of the United States, when he speaks, people listen. 

His idea is to ban immigrants from nine predominantly Muslim countries for 120 days so that he can evaluate whether these countries are the source of terrorism within the borders of the country over which he presides. 

His idea is to alienate around 200 million people, or approximately 3% of the world’s population, and to bar residents, refugees and others who seek a better life in a safer country, from entering the US. 

What is particularly galling about this action, is his decision to include Iraq amongst the phalanx. Wasn’t it just over ten years ago the US Army rushed into Iraq in an effort to spare the World of the threat of Strongman Saddam Hussein, who had grown too big for his boots, and too brave for the tastes of The US Presidency of the time. 

I feel that the injustice of the original act, invading Iraq, is now compounded by another slap in the face. Supposedly done in an effort to allow the Iraqis a chance to self govern and to instal democratic measures in their country, and essentially to allow Iraqis to strive for a better life, we now see that Iraq has become one centre for the promulgation of extremist Islamic ideology and combative terrorism. 

Why did this occur?

One particularly enlightened theory is that the extremist ideology comes as a reaction to invasion, to long standing invasion and corruption within a country crying out for strength of power and strength of ideals, and an end to death, an end to occupation by forces come from beyond their borders. 

And now…

And now, here comes Donald Trump, who is happy to allow Russia to fight on behalf of Assad, another Strongman, in Syria, and who is happy to turn his back on policies that were destructive, with another destructive rationale. 

Who is at fault for tensions in the Middle East?

Many people, many countries, many Empires. The blame goes back for hundreds of years. It is a long list of blame. 

Blame does not ultimately fall upon one head. It should not fall upon one head only. The effort, and the work to construct a new will and a new direction comes not from the negation of the past. It does not come from alienation and ignorance of history. 

History is a wise teacher. History speaks in riddles and it takes effort and study to understand the whims of history.

 Donald Trump’s executive order barring 3% of the worlds population from entering the US is lazy and it is negative and destructive by way of being wholly unconstructive. 

Anticipation, Always…

Licking sand, 

And eating grains, 

These granules, 

Are so everyday. 

I just want to chow down on you, 

Dip my teeth into substance again, 

Living off the land is great, 

But the vistas that begin so powerful, 

Fade faster than you. 

When I touch you, 

When I taste you, 

Then the smog of everyday, 

Will fall like rain from the sky, 

‘Pon us and everything we can see. 

Paradise Lost

I had a vision, 

That felt like more than a shadow, 

I’m sure it had dimensions, 

Larger than what it came to be. 

Once we made cement, 

And sat the poor thing within the wet rubble, 

Sat back and stared in sycophancy, 

For a dream that felt so real for you and me, 

Turning on the pavement, 

Even as the cement turned to stone, 

Turning like a drug addict, 

Absolutely, 

Possessed by this one. 

And when the moment came to grasp, 

And pull at the then immovable thing, 

We slipped upon the weight of permanacy, 

The sorry thing that is reality, 

And fell into a chasm, 

Of plundered dreams, 

Obsessive things, 

Calling wildly and in vein, 

For someone to help us out.