Joy is Nested in the Comfort of Being with Yourself
Archive for July, 2011
Cheek to cheek
Jul 15th
They pressing that lovely skin,
Till it leaves marks on the windscreen.
Of a car driving rich and fast,
Our people’s dreams were things of the past.
We were preached to live a life of service,
Enough to make my dear love all nervous.
The men say this is the direction we want,
Bomb squad bullcr*p as our bloodstores fall off the punt.
We are all babies looking for milk,
Instead they leech our youth to build their silk.
Of the faces that got glued to a bottom,
A loud spankin is what they shoulda gotten.
Wake up and smell the air,
The weighted coin is all but fair!
But we can change all them blokes,
Introduce them to what I call the ’surf’ stoke.
Take the pill and choose to chill,
Life can be a pleasantly passing thrill.
Gun-shy
Jul 15th
The morning in the world of grey,
The hustling for their monthly pay.
Stumbling across the slated walk.
They queued as a crowd of yawns,
Weary of their duties to new borns.
The engines whistled past as I heard,
Their identical melodies drift afar.
The buses roared in their lanes of blood,
The surrounding cars created their metallic flood.
I crossed the river upon a bank created by changing lights,
And saw the blue and red flashing past my sights.
Only to stop a lady in the blood lane,
A ticket and the words like “don’t ever do that again!”
The drones passed about deaf to the sounds,
As I took flight by way of the soaring bird.
The clouds splatted my vision here and there,
I heard the screams below of a domestic pair.
Down past nimbus 4 a man lay broken on the floor,
His wallet was full till stranger balaklava tipped him poor.
Where were the blue and red flashes who enforced the law?
If only society could see what this bird had saw (soar)…
The lights stood dim with sockets unplugged,
Justice wanes thin with a society of thugs.
So they hold their badges high and proud,
Stamping on the whisperers, deafened to the loud.
More >Blinding ‘toot’ ‘toot’
Jul 14th
I chose to stand upon the arid lands
Staring at the pair of rusty rods.
That extended to the distant horizon..
Night had now settled in this cold solemn,
Far from any place called home.
No company save for the chirping of trees.
My cheeks hit the concrete as I sighed a mist.
The cold night dragging the surface of my skin,
Yearning to tuck itself to warmth again.
Lady wind swivelled about my hair,
The moon beamed on me with his white stare.
As I drifted like a boat to sea,
A glimpse to my left broke my haze free.
Arrows of light shot their charging streams,
I was lunatically trying to dodge them rainbow beams?
And as the chugga chugga shook the floor,
My ride had come when my time was poor!
There were 9 carriages of pure beauty in sum,
In excitement I jumped off my lazy bum!
Shook my noggin and stared upon its wheels,
My chin hit my knees as I awed at its steel!
A material with a rainbow lust,
Enough for any waiter to kick up a fuss!
The steam bellowed at me a huggable cloud,
Whilst its captain stood at its face looking proud.
There was no ticket to get a seat,
Getting onboard could be said an awkward feat.
For passage was granted in the action of letting More >
Heart Culture
Jul 12th
The heart was born a Garden of Eden.
The longing for this most Lushious state,
Seeking nothing more than Love as fate.
Collaged by Flowers and Plants of the most sensitive breeds,
Rich air, water, soil and sun are its needs.
Its Beauty is as fragile as a Bubble of Glass,
With Warmth of fullness and depth of Brass.
But a misguided tap and a wrong footed step,
Could create a stabbing pain to one’s Chest.
The journey about this delicate garden,
Creaks with the crackling of fallen leaves,
A breath too heavy a storm to its trees.
The hovering cloud too fat would bring a chill,
And a light too glaring, an unsettling thrill.
Upon a hill stands its crystal shrine,
Who could omnisciently reach its wine?
A substance aged well over time…
The journey to the heart of heart,
Where every tip toe seems miles apart.
Calling a roamer with a balance so fine,
Who could float about it like a dandelion…
Standing on Throats
Jul 11th
Them pirates got us by the neck,
Walking over it like a wooden deck.
The feeling of a foot on an apple,
The voice of man is now a crushed felafel.
The men who say we should pay this and that,
Whilst sitting on a table eating and getting fat.
His secretary a lady who loves the curves,
Wearing the devil’s glasses and carrying a red purse.
First they say that 55 is Old,
But hey with good health they raise that a fold.
So now a few men and women in the race,
End up finishing 10 years later…last place!
But wait of course that isn’t all there is,
Manipulation is a most addictive Biz.
The bills that give the people light and heat,
Are as stressful as sleeping to a metronome beat!
Then the water that makes most our earth,
Is costed as if the supply a skinny girth.
Whilst they toil about in their papers of problems,
They spin about in this bottomless pit.
The solution? Let’s tax them for their Carbon bits!
Bah and all and all the do gooders say,
We must support it for being “Green” is the way.
Then again I see their house out back,
A barbecue ain’t cutting that dead cow any slack!
The fire on my fingertips draws this passion,
The world needs style not more More >
Heat of revolution
Jul 11th
The time has come to raise some heat,
Gather the courage to create a feat.
Of the battles 4 that are to come,
A most meaningful 7 in sum.
The beacons lit of golden light,
Hearts to hearts we choose to fight!
Each and every star born a man,
Engulfed in golden flames they can..
Sweep through the lands as fast as wind,
To cleanse it of the 1000 sins.
With every concrete junk that was sold,
Our energies will birth trees ten fold.
Of routes that tear apart the chains of slaves,
We continue to create crystal paves.
Powered for the love of man,
Compassion will blanket all the lands.
A Fire of Light and Love,
A Freedom of the soaring Doves.
Rainbows will pollute the skys of earth,
As Lady Terra undergoes her rebirth.
Then the falling water will ease her flames,
And a Garden of Eden born again.
Silent bark
Jul 10th
Today the ocean clawed,
As the curls came tumbling I heard a roar.
Lady wind came from the west,
The foam slithered about the crest.
She held the wavefront a handsome tact,
Foam was scattered outback.
In sunshine I stood and felt the warmth on skin,
Till my heart jolted at the presence of my kin.
A most precious little cute dog,
Cleared my chest of any fog.
So I knelt beside in solemn grace,
And we shared a very sweet embrace.
Of eyes so innocent and pure,
Would wipe away a new warrior’s fear.
And in the midst of the blistering cold,
Fused a timeless bond so bold.
Conditional Sex
Jul 8th
The book of a name we shall not say
Sex for fun is a sin and pay!
Of course this is all one sick man’s joke,
To continue a hidden agenda amongst slave folk.
The charred man in silver chains,
Killing for food now blood-stained.
Our lovely ladies of local-land skills,
Forced to labour till the heat turns chills.
The saddest part wrenching my heart,
Tis that these people’s lives will shortly depart.
Not a second to breathe in a sun-shine day,
Nor a moment for their children to play.
Without the warmth of intellectual nutrition,
They are starved of any educational tuition.
Not given governance over the mind’s tool,
There is no one to challenge the “in power” fools!
But wait alas I may be wrong,
They are given the tune called the “bible song”.
A snakey priest stands proud to shed perception,
That before god there is no need for contraception!
Then high above in a protected place,
The menacing laughter of the coward’s face!
A man proud of what he has done,
Who would replace the slaves if they would breed no sons?
His priests encourage sex amongst all things,
The less the rubber the more slaves they bring.
A factory of innocent hearts.
The blood markings left on the poor men who bled,
Dear all please know it is tears I shed.
If I see More >
Evening of my time
Jul 8th
The doors creaked to the restless wind,
The leaves rustling to the moon,
Whose light shone through windows inn.
The green clovers stretched their arms along the path,
Creating roads for which shadow vehicles may pass.
The time was slowing, a drying tap.
As the gaps’tween droplets lengthened with breath.
The feel, like waiting for a winter’s train.
The clouds that flew from the talkative crowd,
A dusty, distant echo…echo…echo
Within dark of night glew a flint,
A drop from a bleeding orange.
The soil beneath gently crackled and popped.
And a layer below called the lands,
Hummed a deep tune of welcoming hands.
The fingers of grass reached with delight,
To accept the eyes of life losing sight.
The point between life and death,
A paper falling to a most pleasant rest.
Weightless as the ink to this piece,
The twinkling of the hanging stars,
I departed this presence for my home afar.
Hiding
Jul 8th
The stuff they hide by feeding lies,
In our blindness we use them eyes.
Day by day living with the visual tools,
Given to us to make us fools.
What they don’t know is the existence of others,
That unveil reality through blowing false covers.
The third pair that hides between the brows,
and the heart that sits behind white bars.
So close the external two and enter within the breath,
Quiet the mind and let time do the rest.
Sit abit in this discomforting state,
A few new sensors will come to your plate.
Hear the thumping and beating of heart,
Feel the tremor that travels from miles apart.
Taste the sweetness filling your chest,
For what it says is truth at its very best!