Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you
I’m given, I’m taken, I’m seldom forsaken,
I can be forgotten, cause pain when I’m lost,
I’m mostly defended whatever the cost,
And often encountered engraved or embossed.
It’s a sunny bright morning, climbing hotter into higher degrees,
Strike me to start me,
To end, just depart me,
You need at least two
To carry me through.
—————————————————-
It rises and falls like the snarl of a beast
Whose breath lingers hot on my ear,
A savage determined to render me feast?
The thought of it fills me with fear;
Then even as sorely I pity my plight,
I hear now a whistle, the coos of a child,
Then what sounds like rustle of leaves in the night,
Now guttural calls of the wild.
But when I can bear it no more,
I wake my beloved, who barely does rise
When all of the din dissipates with a roar
And leaves me to wonder if all of this madness
Is noises my brain did devise.
Heera Beta comes to town
Donning gold and purple gown.
Ganda Peeda bares it all
Till the morning robin call.
Rani Beti wears her flowers
Smiling up at morning showers.
Achha Baccha always seen
Dressed in hues of every green.
—————————————–
In a moment it is past,
Yet is present, don’t you see?
For as long as time may last,
Every moment it shall be.
The finest time to humbly turn
To Him unto whom all return.
Solve the one, resolve the other,
And then combine them both together,
Describing a product of ruinous weather.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
You hammer a nail in my face,
But I do not bleed when you do,
You taint me with words of disgrace,
But I do not heed words of you,
You may go no further beyond where I stand
Except through a portal proportioned and grand,
Although such a portal would often be bland.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Two parts of HAND one part of FOX;
A space in the hand won’t kill the effects,
But you can to free what is held by the locks.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Tread with care: it’s the Internet.
You best beware of the sin in it.
You know how they call this thing the world wide web,
Eyes on your wallet and your every step
As you stroll through the streets of this crowded bazaar,
Take care who you meet, don’t you ramble too far,
Know the longer that you ramble, less the roses more the bramble;
E’en the roses aren’t safe in this party of dead,
Smell them LONG enough, and they will mess with your head,
Just walk right on keeping straight to your way
Past the shops by the hundreds, watching well what you say;
This bazaar will remember everything that you do,
Everything that you say, and everything said to you.
So, tread with care: it’s the Internet.
You best beware of the sin in it.
Last night was the unveiling of the 2014 Chaining Project conducted by the Highland Park Poetry Chain Gang. I was at the event held at Madame Zuzu’s Tea shop and Art Studio in Highland Park.
Although true and faithful I ever remain,
My colors I change again and again;
Berate me and hate me and slight, even spite me,
Think twice fore you fight me: a battle with time;
Your failure to sight me: unfortunate crime.
I seldom inspire a word,
The purest of heart my service employs
To make a sweet calm to descend;
But when we are parted, the innocent noise
Brings all of the sweetness to end;
A part of me sounds like it burns and destroys,
Yet all of me is a good friend
To mother and father and brother and sister,
Who on me can come to depend.
