Fleeting Summer; Imperfect Balance (and other related metaphors)

~ nomisyar ~ Leave a comment

Faint whisper of a cool breeze
blows past dragonflies
Onto my dripping neck.

What was lost
now returns,
Slowly and surely-
Just on time.

Through this cycle-
Through this circle,
We are given opportunity:
Opportunity to create something new
within our ringed prison
of reality.

What will you do
with this time?
This perfect time between
Summer and Autumn?
This time between moments?
This time that only exists once-
except when it comes back.

Take this time
And swallow it.

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Then let it swallow you.

It is yours
You belong to it.

Cleave unto
and from.
And build a sandcastle
For the coming storm.

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Forest

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Filled with trees
and shadow,
myth and
dark rumor
of what was
and what might be
lurking behind, and between.

Get lost
if you dare,
in that roiling
morass
of
Possibility.

Or,
run back to the village,
and be comforted
and fattened by love ones-

The forest will be there,

Waiting.

RESOLVE

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Keep on

Truckin’

Keep on

Keeping on

If at first you don’t succeed…

Bla-Bla-Bla

 

 

Why?

Why bother?

For whom?

For what?

 

When is enough

Enough?

 

When do you wait for joy to alight onto your forehead?

When do you stop chasing it with a match up your ass?

 

why the persistence?
why the stubbornness?

Resolve?
No.

 

Resolve-

love.

 

Keep at it kid,
SHE’s still conspiring
to get you
what you need.

Bum

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Don’t look at me,
For I am better than you.

Don’t catch me looking at you,
For you are nothing.

You have no courage.
You have no history.
You are an empty silhouette
Of nothingness.
And fear.
And stupidity.
And hate.
And greed.
And sloth.

Of ignorance
And hypocrisy.

Of false delusions
and dreams deferred.

I am the bum,
So don’t look at me you cowardly prick.
I know who I am.
So tell me,
Who the fuck are you?

Fucking Jesus

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Eyes ajar,
Yet souls are shut.
Sweat glistened bodies
reaching towards
infinite disappointment.

Looking so far
To see inside.
A sexy two way mirror,
observing
you
observing.

Suddenly,
The voyeur is gone,
replaced
by the warrior.

Gripping
Pressing
Grinding
Pushing

There is nothing to see
There is nothing to feel
There is…

Fucking Jesus!

Wow!

Jesus!

Fuck!

now breathe.

Welcome Home (A Poem From Mtoto George)

~ nomisyar ~ Leave a comment

The smell of dirt.
heavy, dry, rich dirt,
rich with the history of civilizations-
before there were
civilizations.
Rich with life, and
Ripe with sorrow.

Nights darker than blue,
before  the blues sang
to remember.

Welcome Home Brother!

come here and feel!

go there and smell!

come and be,
who you are….
who you really are.
who everyone really is
or was,
before they forgot.
before we forgot.

Welcome home brother.