My visions.. In my words.

March 21, 2017

Bitter medicine

Filed under: Poetry — SR @ 4:38 am

On this bank I stand
bitter medicine in one hand
a little sugar in the other
The river rushes by
On the other bank she waits
my child, my joy
Drink up says the boatman
‘Tis the price of passage
The river’s deep and wide
might as well be the sea
Why me? I ask
Have I not been a good son?
This is it, he says
all you have is desire
and a choice
It is raining now and
the river’s in a spate,
Why me? I ask
Don’t I deserve to be a father?
This is it, he says
all you have is faith
and a choice
The river’s hungry
the boat battered
What if? I ask
Am I ready to drown?
This is all there is, he says
this moment
and it is now gone
All you have is one moment
to make your dream
come true



March 18, 2017

Living between the moments

Filed under: Poetry — SR @ 5:29 pm

My head is heavy and bowed
The light is merciless so
I turn down the brightness
And wallow in the dark; A loner
Sitting in a corner
Of my room
‘Tis calm and uncomfortable
A steady breeze from the standing fan and
Two walls keep me company
I write to save my life
From its mad ambition to live on
Night falls and I wonder
I am nothing
I am something
I am this, I am that and the other
Tomorrow’s hope
Yesterday a memory
Today’s everything

Rage is
An orange chair
With white legs
Waiting, handy
To be flung at
her dissenting voice
Love buckles under
Her own weight
Sayonara, Ego said
My work here is done

The yellow night light stared
At an empty bed
In an empty room
In an empty house
The village stared
at empty tombstones
In the winter of life
Faith took the young
Ego more
War took them all
It is peaceful
In zombie country

Behind that white door
Said the bee
Is my hive; let me through
Right, just a sec said the bear
I’ll escort you
The hunter waiting
shot the bear and said
you’re unwelcome
He burned the hive and said
I’ll take the honey and the hide
Sorry mates, concrete jungle and all that
Earth quaked and trembled
Air turned sour
Buildings fell
Sorry mate, said she
Climate Change and all that

To write is
To catch life when she isn’t
Looking good and
Hiding a secret
In her bosom
And wrinkles on her ass
And call her a beautiful thing
She just might let you live
another day

So what if I am black
Said the Coffee table
You don’t like stains anyway
wiping either


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