Thursday Riddle (August 28, 2014)

Grab hold of my tail and walk me around, My bearing Plecostomus-like on the ground; The nothing I make shall noisily take Whatever my kisser has found.

Change

Are you done with the peace that you spread By the fires you rain from the sky Till the faces of children once smiling go dead To their mothers who silently cry. Are you done with the justice you seek By the heads and the cams that you roll While the words you recite and the verses you speak Never pass down your throat to your soul. Am I done with the goodness I preach With these words and their meter and rhyme, While I buy all the junk that my wallet can reach With free shipping from amazon prime. We are losers, we all are, but for Any truth in our call to be heard, It is time you and I, every nation at war Let each other just have the last word. It is all just a thought that occurred To a man shallow-minded as I.

Thursday Riddle (August 21, 2014)

Holds numbers and names and so many places, And many a kind of beast and of bird, Uncountable happy-sad voices and faces, And many a word read, spoken or heard.

Thursday Riddle (August 14, 2014)

I’ll take your palms, your knees and toes,My touch is soft, so calm your woes; Exhale your anger, drain your mind, Inhale the languor that you find When I am spread, and spread I’m best To kiss your head at every rest,And hear the conversation sweet, A conversation to repeat.

Form And Function

I’ve thought of this before And I’ll think of it again: What’s the purpose of creation, And of angels, jinn and men? What’s the purpose of the earth As around and round it spins Bearing all its many children And their many, many sins? What’s the purpose of the sky, Of the stars and of the sun? Each is born and wont to die When the time of time is done. As we turn and spin about Through the dawn and afternoon, Just before and after dusk And through the passing of the moon, There are jinn and there are men Spanning every longitude, There are angels flocking by At each and every altitude Such that every breath of time Sends a prayer floating, one That outlives the life of rhyme And outshines the shine of sun. When this planet stops to turn, And the breath of time is spent, All that’s left is is left to burn, And what isn’t can’t repent. So the form and the function Help us out here once again With the purpose of creation, And of angels, jinn and men.

Thursday Riddle (August 7, 2014)

I’ve got no face, possess no head, Have naught for the palms of my hands, My slender legs may walk if led By claps that aim to settle demands For portions of what I may tread.