Sunday, June 30, 2013

WET DREAM


An angel fell 
from the sky
with a splash
into the ocean 
of my dreams!.

My tides came up
waves hitting
the shores of my mind...

This was a wet dream
sweat and tears and more
she was sinking fast
I dove deep
grabbed her by the hair
held her in my arms
gave her the mouth to mouth.

She coughed holy waters
when she opened her eyes
I heard the silent cries
of a desolate babe
as I felt enamored
with a holy angel.

I woke up soaking wet
drenched in sweat
but had a big smile
on my blushed face
for quite a while.

An angel fell from hell
and I was there to care
this, I woke up to tell
she is mine to keep
I am just about to flip
going back to sleep.




Saturday, June 29, 2013

TRANSMUTATION IN TRANSIT


The grotesque vision of a life's discarded fantasy
alienated from it's cultural roots, yearning to be free
holding on to the body, eyes wide open but can't see
the soul has taken to ether yet the mind won't let it be
paradox in action, clinging to genetic memory tenaciously
psyche striving for change, as the ghost persists imminently
the spirit rising towards yonder but unable to leave permanently
such a state of conveyance to be handled with kid gloves, swiftly.




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TRIBULATIONS OF THE POET


Sticking one's neck out for "freedom of expression"
is a poet's foremost obligation, not just an impression 
merely to say the needed word that is beyond temptation
the poet must be able to speak out loud, no need to shout 
subtly disguised hush hush, a need to beat around the bush
this poet needs no push, the choice to make is to make a voice
why bother to struggle with half ass poetry, that would be a pity.



LET THERE BE LIGHT


Let there be light
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
There is a lack of transparency
which makes the World affairs
dubiously flawed, dark and ugly
whistle blowing is the tendency.

Will the lights ever be turned on
the whole picture clearly visible,
the perception of existing reality
would that even be conceivable?.

The skillful game of deception
is considered brilliant diplomacy
which is an essential ingredient 
in the established political reality.

The power of crude brute authority
will now be diminishing really fast
the game of war is played digitally
on the web, with computers at last.

It is high time for transparency
in all clarity, discern this insanity
the vanity of power over each other
is not going to accomplish harmony.

We need to play the balancing game
once we admit we are all the same
and if we wish to move even further
may it be from evil not mother nature..

Our environment is real, let us be clear
we should serve mother, which is dear
we have had a call, high time we hear
hence, we shall have no reason to fear.






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Friday, June 28, 2013

ABUSE OF THE BELOVED


The possessive, jealous, conditional grip of love
is trumped by the detached, selfless, blessed one
all the asserting, pleading, threatening of the lover
is humbled by a love that only wishes the well being.

Love is in the air, as a matter of breathing and exhaling
it has little to do with craving, possessing, depending
it is all about giving, naturally in sync with receiving
once the balance is there, it is just a matter of being.

The tragedies that transpire in the name of love
all the sacrifice, all the emotional pain is in vain
desire and jealousy, huge players in this domain
they have been known to drive the lover insane,

Love can be superficially pampered to sell product
suitors seduction is regarded as advance of the lover
charm is an indication of love, appearance is a factor
which is often misused by the shrewd to attain power.

In the name of love many crimes are committed
but such tendencies are hardly ever admitted
the license of ownership is legally permitted
with the consent of law tenure is persisted.

For the love of the beloved may love be conceded
integrity of such a feeling needs to be safeguarded
all those false values should eventually be discarded
otherwise the whole notion of love will be abandoned.



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Thursday, June 27, 2013

PLAY & YALP


Should you wish to play a hand
in a post-modern intermedia event
Bad ass 'Dada' conjured as such idea
interactive theater in multi media 

the energy of action poetry and art
innovative cabaret theater is the act.

A potent, psychoactive happening
the word of mouth as a form of art
raw, live, get ready to dive and react
into the abyss of this absurdist kiss.
Such is the bliss of creative freedom
this involves all, not just the whom.

Let us lay the play bottoms up I say
turn it around, utter Yalp, Yalp.. yalp
let us let how silly can we get, and bet
like a naive pet eager to participate
in the dynamics of suchlike suboriginal
primitive-post modern expressionism.

Imagine holding the strings of a puppet
in your hands as you pull the strings
yelp 'wake up puppet, wake up and play!'
the power of the crowd in hysterical urge
awakening the puppet, prompting perform
applause should be accompanied by Yalping.

" CLAP-CLAP, YALP-YALP-clap yalp "

This is a ritual in which we are all
participants as co-players, co-creators
of special linguistic circumstances
whereby art, poetry, music and play
are felt and experienced spontaneously
as an interactive continuous activity.

'Yalp' is a multifaceted balancing act
a working relationship between polarities
of words, images, motion and sounds
of light and heavy, of the mockery of irony
intimacy and alienation playing in contrast
pain and pleasure, the inner and the outer.
let what is inside mingle with the outside.

When those circumstances are created
the theater of absurdity will manifest
a metamorphosis will follow at best
laughter will trigger transformation
the puppet and the human will merge
an uninhabited creature will emerge
The word is, If you want to PLAY
you have to be prepared to YALP.




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PRAYER TO LORD


A prayer to Lord
uttering the word
of the poetic chord
with the urge to sort
all that we could afford
the rest they must deport
hoping to find the support
of whatever we would export.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

COMET ISON


Something is burning
without flames,
somebody must be
playing games.
Ashes turning 
into dust,
invisible dreams
beneath the crust.
Birds are singing
so we must
hear the whispers
of the past,
find new meaning
in ancient trust.
Passion is rising
from the bust
which was once
yearning lust.
Time is burning
here at last,
life is changing
changing fast.
The thing to ask
if we must
is who is it
that we trust?.


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