m~i~n~e
her hand in mine
awakens my senses
her head on my shoulder
brings down my defenses
her fingers in mine
pluck the strings of my heart
the smile on her lips
a unique work of art
she spins dewdrops into morning rain
as they slide down her skin onto mine
she sets the sun and the phoenix aflame
and admires how bright they do shine
she is the moon in the sky of my night
casting her light through the trees
she is the stars that glow just out of sight
forgotten to all but me
her lips on mine
her eyes on me
the sound of her voice
the blush on her cheeks
cuz she spins dewdrops into morning rain
as they slide down her skin onto mine
she sets the sun and the phoenix aflame
and admires how bright they do shine
and she's all mine
While Walking
Never really thought about a “favorite” flower before, but:
I like the smell of honeysuckle when it hits you unexpected like, when you are just walking, your mind adrift, and the scent seeks you from out of the blue.
I like a magnolia, 40’ tall and covered in giant, white blooms. Reminds me of home.
I like the heartiness of a dandelion. Little SOB never gives up til you get his roots.
I like the azaleas when I watch The Masters, and the cherry blossoms in DC, the peach blossoms in Atlanta, and a ’Nawlins fuscia.
I like the clematis Pooky-Bear planted on the back fence.
But mostly I like the smell of a honeysuckle when I am walking.
DAYLIGHT OF TENSION
It is time
When sun ceased to appear
When trees have all clasped their fingers
Flowers withered
As no one moves in muscles
It is time
Travesty is my garment
For Fruitful mothers to yowl
The Staff of authorities to charade
With superfluity of chaos amongst humanoid
It is time
The sound of terror
The anger of the ghosts
The blood of the innocent
Will mingle for vengeance
It is time
Floods of corpse in the homes
Dead bodies on your streets
No animal to bury each other
It is time
When the rivers will dry
The oceans will walk into your homes
Expecting flood as your next visitor
Oh!, mother
Why mother earth?
Why allow your children perish;
Like a passing wind?
The drum of peace have flown
The beauty of the land is now adorned in bared soil
Not even a sweet scent flowers for our bees
Your children drink dust for water
Our exaltation is now a rag
Shame has covered up our nakedness
Our pocket of coins
Our Parle of vegetation
Our ornamented city squares
Have all lost the attractive sight of the tourists
O yes! I see
My soul is up for reprisal
My body bleeds
My hands of grace
Are filled with destructions
It is time
Harness your ways
Sons and daughters of the earth
Then you shall live
Else
Your names will be scribed as sorry#
I write to ignite frightened minds and remind them of the might they might be inclined to find inside the confines of life interwined with divine vibes and sublime rhymes propeling lives to rise and thrive. I write because words are magic and sentences are spells, and the thought of underutilizing ourselves is tragic so I feel frantic to go savage and ring some chilling bells. I write because letters are elements, words are molecules, and paragraphs are the means to create worlds forming books upon shelves. I write because I can.
Understand?