On the other side

On the other side
a people dance
a woman cries
a child dreams
a man sings
On the other side
the sun is hot
the moon is blue
the grass is high
the water clear
On the other side
songs are written
histories passed
skin darkens
hearts swell
On the other side
its not much different
than here

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I spit it

I spit it
trip it
wrap it in words
to be heard.
my lyrical
revolution
singular
evolution
of voices
inside my head
begging for life,
instead dead
at accusation
peaceful confrontation
boards
blogs
twitter
140 character
assassinations.

I spit it
kick it
paper thru rhyme
laid out in lines
horizons
of thought
spewed out
not taught
to teach not preach
my intentions
my rage against
this political
and theological
cage
they place me in.

I spit it
kiss it
make love
and try not to miss it.
feelings rising
boisterous and chaotic
like Poe on acid
and Walton choking
on plastic,
mixing my disease
with your political relief
or so you would have it.
Segregate
deviate
separate and distort

my retort?

I spit it
piss it
try to enlist it.
the blood in me
White, Irish, Italian
and Cherokee.
I bleed to see my oppressor
a fine imitated successor
squirm.
first black
then gender base
denying life, liberty
and pursuit of…
but wait
it’s all still hate!

I spit it
hit it
slam my words
against walls
like grenades
exploding
in succession,
I take out my pen
and orchestrate
against oppression.
radically
poetically
in common words
Like Thomas Paine,
Just try to be heard.

and it’s
not that I don’t understand
your position
your egotistical
maniacal transitions
from what you know
to who you blow.
I get your opposition
to me
whilst you drink
wine forcefully
with hostility
and define my reality

But this is not chosen freely.
I have to be
me

so,
I spit it
seize it
with opportunity
knocking
I breathe it,
trying not to
hyperventilate
on the tsunami
of anger
in an effort
to not regurgitate
the same message
of equality,
but it is
the only thing
I see,
different between
you and me,
In this land
of the
supposedly free.

So I spit it
trip it
wrap it up in words
to be heard
my lyrical
revolution
singular evolution of
voices inside my head
begging for life
and
avoiding death.

Lovers melody

As spring welcomes the bee
with flower strewn
blankets of grass,
the sky swells up with joy
to meet the ocean’s kisses,
love drifts down in
dew silk drawn tears
and the wind
laughs quietly
in joyous melodies,
where lovers arms dance
to the rush of oak
limbs climbing
to heaven.
Two souls
in search of the other;
you,
slipping into
my heart.

Thoughts on Free

Tasks
masks
and
momentary peace
made out of
bartering lords
for weapons
and sections of
genetic purity
searching
with wolfish grins
to sin
more divinely
in the presence
of the holy
dollar sign
and then
there is me
searching for
balance
in a world
too unsure
and not
afraid
enough
of their own actions
subject
to searches
unconstitutional
but necessary
to be free
lies
fries
and a medium coke,
please.
caught on tape
at every corner
going unnoticed
the eyes
of zealots
with pink umbrellas
and cheap cologne
standing like a 1930s
private eye film
under the lamp
in the rain
watch everything.
Is anyone listening?
can you not hear
the cries of shadow
in the night
under covers
lovers
trying to hide
their affections
for fear of
someone else’s
god
sending warriors
in the guise
of old women
mothers
children and
men
to shame
maim
and cast into hell
their dreams.
What makes these aggressors
any different from
The megalomaniac leaders
In near and faraway places
Shotgunning
Innocent faces
Zooming out from
Life
Bringing death
With a price
For oil
Soil
And cash crops
Slinking upward
Into the mouths
And minds of
Corporations
And nations
Too high up to
Notice
You or me.
To them
we
Are fodder
Fire
And filth
We are insignificant
and truth be told
we ARE the cancer
bringing change
to this disease
called presidential free-dumb.
So when the tasks
And masks and momentary peace loving
dollar sign grubbing lords of our age
Step out on to the stage.
Say no to what they are selling
Take back what they are spelling
Out as the only truth
And actually be
free

((reposted from nowhiteclouds))

The Music Box

Japanese Music Box by George Winston 
(read to George Winston's Japanese Music Box)

The wind moves through the trees; dancing blades of grass.

The petals sing like
tears up
on .
.     my .
.            face.

ohthecherryblossomsfall
the blossoms fall
fall .
.      like .
.              snow.

The sun slips through her arms; holding dark shadow.

The petals sting like
tears up
on .
.     my .
.           face.

ohthecherryblossomsfall
the blossoms fall
fall .
.       like .
.              snow.

The moon winds up through time; kissing paler skin.

The petals lay like
tears up
on .
.      my .
.             face.

ohthecherryblossomsfall
the blossoms fall
fall .
.       like .
.              snow.

The earth embraces stone; languishing in death

The petals lay like
many mournful tears up
on .
.      my .
.             face.

ohthecherryblossomsfall
the blossoms fall
fall .
.       like .
.              snow.

The river comforts soul;  bidding life to rest

The petals swirl, play and then lay
like tears up
on .
.      my .
.             face.

ohthecherryblossomsfall
the blossoms fall
fall .
.       like .
.              snow.

Vicarious Visions

Vicious
Vicarious
Visions
Vehemently viewed
through the color
of rose stained
glass windows
on Church Street
where dinner
is served to the poor
and homeless on sunday
after a bout of
motivational-ly fearful
words spill out
like rice
cakes on the floor
hard to munch
hard to swallow
and then there
are those
who are not poor
not hungry
just regularly
requesting rights
routinely written
given and protected
by the representatives
at the front of the
scene
try not to get mean
and trample on the values
we have yet to possess
in all of the contests
they
behind rose windows
do so uphold
with their noses
in the air
looking down

How I wish for a stone
to rattle
against the windows
rose
and ‘righteous’
((reposted from older blog nowhiteclouds))

It’s that simple

Placid
acid
slithers beneath my skin
burning every notion
of civil dialogue
with this demagogue;
inciting
biting
and inviting
demons imagined
impassioned
with rage
to take stage
and gloat
from pulpits
vote.
or drink
don’t think
his cup of morali-tea
simmered in 2000
seasons
giving reasons
stoning solution
civil execution
of rights.
Now the acrid motion
of emotion
melts past indecision
fists grip
feet shift
the horizon changes hue
from me to you
blue
into red
into orange
solutions
bringing out our
revolutions
to engage
confront
confound
into the ground
our feet pressed down
and running
free
equality
negating tyranny
by a malicious majority
to be you
to be me…

It’s that simple

Blind Reason

Motivated by sympathy
orchestrated by fear
out of reach
like pealing a peach
the media holds hands
with the devil.
Let me get my shovel
for all the shit
smothering and damp
thrown out into the world
by clamoring salmon
claiming
discrimination is written
and so it should be
as we see
not as it was intended
or was it?
Translation
misinterpretation
regurgitation
mix into a glass of
almost got it
and left behind
on a bus to nowhere
on a bridge to anywhere
get me out of here!
There is
to much blind
reason

to the negation
segregation
manipulation
taxation with
no representation
exclusivity
not you
only me
mentality.
Why not seek civility?
Be you and be me
not us against them
count your friends
1 to 10
million waging a war
fighting for more
democracy…
It’s crazy, when freedom
should ring
it only fizzles
in rain drops and drizzle
for the haves.
Was it not womens voices
standing in traffic violations
beaten and thown in chains
that brought out the bell
with determination?
Why can’t we,
see
like them
honor our dead
and lay out our cause
at the feet
of invisible motorcades
and escapades of political
meanderings
so the blindness
can be removed
and you and I be moved
to peaceful affections.

… with intent.

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