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Robert Frost

Hell is a half-filled auditorium.

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Sel, sel, has half-filled hell.

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House of Dreams

The house was ready to move right in
When Jane and John were wed,
A wall in the lounge was a TV screen
And another, over their bed,
It was fitted with every gadget
That could open, close or sing,
‘We want it to be the most modern house, '
Said Jane, ‘with everything! '

The washing machine was silent as
It whisked around their clothes,
They ate right out of the dishwasher,
Why stack them, keep it closed,
The carpets muffled their every step
They had a luxurious pile,
‘It's just like walking on clouds, ' said John,
As they wandered round for a while.

The lights were hidden in ceilings
Casting a faint, enchanted glow,
And speakers whispered their music
Following round, wherever they'd go,
They had ipods and pads and things
And touch screens all about,
‘It certainly is the house of dreams
So why would we want to go out? '

John would follow his wife around
The room with his loving eyes,
While Jane would gaze at the garden
Through the shades, with heaving sighs,
‘There's so much love in our little house,
I feel it's almost a dream, '
Said Jane, who stayed in her nightie:
‘Why get dressed, the clothes are clean! '

The oven there in the kitchen had
Six burners, worked on gas,
But Jane never got to turn it on,
‘We have to make it last! '
They sent for take-out, burgers, fries,
For a treat they'd eat Chinese,
‘And that is the beauty of this house,
We can do whatever we please! '

John had installed a system that
Was called ‘The House of Love',
It whispered insidious messages
From the speakers up above,
‘Oh Jane, you are so beautiful, '
It would whisper in the shower,
Told John: ‘you're such a lucky man,
To be let in your lady's bower.'

A speaker out in the mailbox said:
‘Hello there, Mister Man,
I see that you have some letters there,
Just place them in the can.
Or maybe you'd like to take them up
And slide them under the door,
They're busy now, in making love,
We'd be thankful, Man, I'm sure! '

When visitors rang the bell, they'd hear
The sound of a drawn out sigh,
‘John and Jane aren't in today,
But they'll phone you, by and by! '
Both friends and family ceased to call,
Got on with their mundane lives,
‘That pair have nothing they want to share, '
Said the husbands, to their wives.

A year went by in a flash, the bliss
Was almost too much to bear,
‘Why don't you move, ' said Jane one day,
You're still in that same old chair! '
‘You're getting fat, ' said John to Jane,
As he looked at her burgeoning thighs,
Maybe we ought to go out one day,
Go out for some exercise! '

They sat and stared at the oak front door,
They sat and stared for a week,
‘Maybe you're right, we should go out,
If only to take a peek.'
John turned the knob on the door, and pulled
But he found that it wouldn't budge,
‘The wood has swelled, Oh, Merry Hell, '
He swore, ‘we'll wait for a nudge! '

They hoped when a visitor came to call
They would push from the other side,
But no-one called, they'd given up,
Stayed home with their dented pride,
And tempers frayed in the house of love
As the voices whispered on:
‘Oh Jane, you have such beautiful thighs,
Now why did you say that, John? '

The take-out came through a window
Far too small to be climbed on through,
For Jane had the hips of an elephant,
And John had the belly of two,
The Pizza boy was a slender lad
And he'd nudge and he'd nudge in vain,
But the door stayed fast ‘til the very last
Until the firemen came!

The voice said, ‘Hi there, Mister Man,
I can see you're coming on through…'
The firemen called on the local police,
‘See here! Now what do we do? '
For Jane lay drowned in a half filled tub
While John had sat down, and choked,
‘You shouldn't have said that, John, ' it said,
The knife was still stuck in his throat!

13 September 2012

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John Bunyan

From Mount Gerizzim

esides what I said of the Four Last Things,
And of the weal and woe that from them springs;

An after-word still runneth in my mind,
Which I shall here expose unto that wind

That may it blow into that very hand
That needs it. Also that it may be scann'd

With greatest soberness, shall be my prayer,
As well as diligence and godly care;

So to present it unto public view,
That only truth and peace may thence ensue.

My talk shall be of that amazing love
Of God we read of; which, that it may prove,

By its engaging arguments to save
Thee, I shall lay out that poor help I have

Thee to entice; that thou wouldst dearly fall
In love with thy salvation, and with all

That doth thereto concur, that thou mayst be
As blessed as the Blessed can make thee,

Not only here but in the world to come,
In bliss, which, I pray God, may be thy home.

But first, I would advise thee to bethink
Thyself, how sin hath laid thee at the brink

Of hell, where thou art lulled fast asleep
In Satan's arms, who also will thee keep

As senseless and secure as e'er he may,
Lest thou shouldst wake, and see't, and run away

Unto that Jesus, whom the Father sent
Into the world, for this cause and intent,

That such as thou, from such a thrall as this
Might'st be released, and made heir of bliss.

Now that thou may'st awake, the danger fly,
And so escape the death that others die,

Come, let me set my trumpet to thine ear,
Be willing all my message for to hear:

'Tis for thy life, O do it not refuse;
Wo unto them good counsel do abuse.

Thou art at present in that very case,
Which argues thou art destitute of grace:

For he that lies where sin hath laid him, lies
Under the curse, graceless, and so he dies

In body and in soul, within that range,
If God his heart in mercy doth not change

Before he goes the way of all the earth,
Before he lose his spirit and his breath.

Repentance there is none within the grave,
Nor Christ, nor grace, nor mercies for to save

Thee from the vengeance due unto thy sin,
If now thou dost not truly close with him.

Thou art like him that sleepeth in the sea
On broken boards, which, without guide or stay,

Are driven whither winds and water will;
While greedy beasts do wait to have their fill

By feeding on his carcass, when he shall
Turn overboard, and without mercy fall

Into the jaws of such as make a prey
Of those whom justice drowneth in the sea.

Thou art like him that snoring still doth lie
Upon the bed of vain security,

Whilst all about him into burning flame
By fire is turned; yea, and while the frame

And building where he lies consuming is,
And while himself these burnings cannot miss.

Thou art like one that hangeth by a thread
Over the mouth of hell, as one half-dead;

And O, how soon this thread may broken be,
Or cut by death, is yet unknown to thee!

But sure it is, if all the weight of sin,
And all that Satan, too, hath doing been,

Or yet can do, can break this crazy thread,
'Twill not be long before, among the dead,

Thou tumble do, as linked fast in chains,
With them to wait in fear for future pains.

What shall I say? Wilt thou not yet awake?
Nor yet of thy poor soul some pity take?

Among the lions it hood-winked lies;
O, that the Lord would open once thine eyes

That thou might'st see it, then I dare say thou,
As half-bereft of wits, wouldst cry out, How

Shall I escape? Lord help, O! help with speed,
Reach down thy hand from heav'n, for help I need,

To save me from the lions, for I fear
This soul of mine they will in pieces tear.

Come, then, and let us both expostulate
The case betwixt us, till we animate

And kindle in our hearts that burning love
To Christ, to grace, to life, that we may move

Swifter than eagles to this blessed prey;
Then shall it be well with us in that day

The trump shall sound, the dead made rise, and stand,
Then to receive, for breach of God's command,

Such thunder-claps as these, Depart from me
Into hell-fire, you that the wicked be,

Prepared for the devil, and for those
That with him and his angels rather chose

To live in filthy sin and wickedness,
Whose fruit is everlasting bitterness.

We both are yet on this side of the grave,
We also gospel-privileges have;

The word, and time to pray; God give us hearts,
That, like the wise man, we may act our parts,

To get the pearl of price; then we shall be
Like godly Mary, Peter, Paul, and we

Like Jacob, too, the blessing shall obtain;
While Esau rides a-hunting for the gain

Of worldly pelf, which will him not avail
When death or judgment shall him sore assail.

Now, to encourage us for to begin,
Let us believe the kingdom we may win,

And be possess'd thereof, if we the way
Shall hit into, and then let nothing stay

Or hinder us; the crown is at the end,
Let's run and strive, and fly, and let's contend

With greatest courage it for to obtain;
'Tis life, and peace, and everlasting gain.

The gate of life, the new and living way,
The promise holdeth open all the day,

Which thou by Jacob's ladder must ascend,
Where angels always wait, and do attend

As ministers, to minister for those
That do with God, and Christ, and glory close.

If guilt of sin still lieth at our door,
Us to discourage, let us set before

Our eyes a bleeding Jesus, who did die
The death, and let's believe the reason why

He did it, was that we might ever be
From death and sin, from hell and wrath set free.

Yea, let's remember for that very end
It was his blessed Father did him send;

That he the law of God might here fulfil,
That so the mystery of his blessed will

Might be revealed in the blessedness
Of those that fly to Christ for righteousness.

Now let us argue with ourselves, then, thus
That Jesus Christ our Lord came to save us,

By bearing of our sins upon his back,
By hanging on the cross as on a rack,

While justice cut him off on every side,
While smiles Divine themselves from him did hide,

While earth did quake, and rocks in pieces rent,
And while the sun, as veiled, did lament

To see the innocent and harmless die
So sore a death, so full of misery.

Yea, let us turn again, and say, All this
He did and suffered for love of his.

He brought in everlasting righteousness,
That he might cover all our nakedness;

He wept and wash'd his face with brinish tears
That we might saved be from hellish fears;

Blood was his sweat, too, in his agony,
That we might live in joyful ecstasy;

He apprehended was and led away,
That grace to us-ward never might decay.

With swords, and bills, and outrage in the night,
That to the peace of heav'n we might have right.

Condemned he was between two thieves to die,
That we might ever in his bosom lie;

Scourged with whips his precious body were,
That we lashes of conscience might not fear;

His head was crowned with thorns, that we might be
Crowned with glory and felicity;

He hanged was upon a cursed tree,
That we delivered from death might be;

His Father from him hides his smiles and face,
That we might have them in the heavenly place;

He cry'd, My God, why hast forsaken me?
That we forsaken of him might not be.

Into his side was thrust a bloody spear,
That we the sting of death might never fear;

He went into the grave after all this,
That we might up to heav'n go, and have bliss.

Yea, rise again he did out of the earth,
And shook off from him all the chains of death;

Then at his chariot wheels he captive led
His foes, and trod upon the serpent's head;

Riding in triumph to his Father's throne,
There to possess the kingdom as his own.

What say'st thou, wilt not yet unto him come?
His arms are open, in his heart is room

To lay thee; be not then discouraged,
Although thy sins be many, great, and red;

Unto thee righteousness he will impute,
And with the kisses of his mouth salute

Thy drooping soul, and will it so uphold,
As that thy shaking conscience shall be bold

To come to mercy's seat with great access,
There to expostulate with that justice

That burns like fiery flames against all those
That do not with this blessed Jesus close;

Which unto thee will do no harm, but good,
Because thou hast reliance on that blood

That justice saith hath given him content,
For all that do unfeignedly repent

Their ill-spent life, and roll upon free grace,
That they within that bosom might have place,

That open is to such, where they shall lie
In ease, and gladness, and felicity,

World without end, according to that state
I have, nay, better than I, can relate.

If thou shalt still object, thou yet art vile,
And hast a heart that will not reconcile

Unto the holy law, but will rebel,
Hark yet to what I shall thee farther tell.

Two things are yet behind that help thee will,
If God should put into thy mind that skill,

So to improve them as becometh those
That would with mercy and forgiveness close.

First, then, let this sink down into thy heart,
That Christ is not a Saviour in part,

But every way so fully he is made
That all of those that underneath his shade

And wing would sit, and shroud their weary soul,
That even Moses dare it not control,

But justify it, approve of 't, and conclude
No man nor angel must himself intrude

With such doctrine that may oppose the same,
On pain of blaspheming that holy name,

Which God himself hath given unto men,
To stay, to trust, to lean themselves on, when

They feel themselves assaulted, and made fear
Their sin will not let them in life appear.

For as God made him perfect righteousness,
That he his love might to the height express,

And us present complete before the throne;
Sanctification, too, of his own

He hath prepared, in which do we stand,
Complete in holiness, at his right hand.

Now this sanctification is not
That holiness which is in us, but that

Which in the person of this Jesus is,
And can inherently be only his.

But is imputed to us for our good.
As is his active righteousness and blood;

Which is the cause, though we infirm are found,
That mercy and forgiveness doth abound

To us-ward, and that why we are not shent[1]
And empty, and away rebuked sent,

Because that all we do imperfect is.
Bless God, then, for this holiness of his,

And learn to look by faith on that alone,
When thou seest thou hast nothing of thine own;

Yea, when thy heart most willing is to do
What God by his good word doth call thee to;

And when thou find'st most holiness within,
And greatest power over every sin,

Yet then to Jesus look, and thou shalt see
In him sanctification for thee,

Far more complete than all that thou canst find
In the most upright heart and willing mind,

That ever man or angels did possess,
When most filled with inherent righteousness.

Besides, if thou forgettest here to live,
And Satan get thee once into his sieve,

He will so hide thy wheat, and show thy brun[2]
That thou wilt quickly cry, I am undone.

Alas, thy goodliest attainments here,
Though like the fairest blossoms they appear,

How quickly will they lour and decay,
And be as if they all were fled away,

When once the east-wind of temptations beat
Upon thee, with their dry and blasting heat!

Rich men will not account their treasure lies
In crack'd groats and four-pence half-pennies,[3]

But in those bags they have within their chests,
In staple goods, which shall within their breasts

Have place accordingly, because they see
Their substance lieth here. But if that be

But shaken, then they quickly fear, and cry,
Alas, 'tis not this small and odd money,

We carry in our pockets for to spend,
Will make us rich, or much will stand our friend.

If famine or if want do us assail,
How quickly will these little pieces fail!

If thou be wise, consider what I say
And look for all in Christ, where no decay

Is like to be; then though thy present frame
Be much in up-and-down, yet he the same

Abideth, yea, and still at God's right hand,
As thy most perfect holiness will stand.

It is, I say, not like to that in thee,
Now high, then low, now out, then in, but he

Most perfect is, when thou art at the worst
The same, the very same; I said at first,

This helpeth much when thou art buffeted,
And when thy graces lie in thee as dead;

Then to believe they are all perfect still
In Christ thy head, who hath that blessed skill,

Yet to present thee by what is in him
Unto his Father, one that hath no sin.

Yea, this will fill thy mouth with argument
Against the tempter, when he shall present

Before thee all thy weakness, and shall hide
From thee thy graces, that thou mayst abide

Under the fretting fumes of unbelief,
Which never yielded Christian man relief.

Nor help thyself thou mayst against him thus:
O Satan, though my heart indeed be worse

Than 'twas a while ago, yet I perceive
Thou shalt me not of happiness bereave,

Nor yet of holiness; for by the Word
I find that Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord,

Is made sanctification for me
In his own person, where all graces be,

As water in the fountain; and that I,
By means of that, have yet a sanctity,

Both personal and perfect every way;
And that is Christ himself, as Paul doth say.

Now, though my crazy pitcher oft doth leak,
By means of which my graces are so weak,

And so much spent, that one I cannot find
Able to stay or help my feeble mind;

Yet then I look to Jesus, and see all
In him that wanting is in me, and shall

Again take courage, and believe he will
Present me upright in his person, till

He humble me for all my foolishness,
And then again fill me with holiness.

Now, if thou lovest inward sanctity,
As all the saints do most unfeignedly,

Then add, to what I have already said,
Faith in the promise; and be not afraid

To urge it often at the throne of grace,
And to expect it in its time and place.

Then he that true is, and that cannot lie,
Will give it unto thee, that thou thereby

Mayst serve with faith, with fear, in truth and love,
That God that did at first thy spirit move

To ask it to his praise, that he might be
Thy God, and that he might delight in thee.

If I should here particulars relate,
Methinks it could not but much animate

Thy heart, though very listless to inquire
How thou mayst that enjoy, which all desire

That love themselves and future happiness;
But O, I cannot fully it express:

The promise is so open and so free,
In all respects, to those that humble be,

That want they cannot what for them is good;
But there 'tis, and confirmed is with blood,

A certain sign, all those enjoy it may,
That see they want it, and sincerely pray

To God the Father, in that Jesus' name
Who bled on purpose to confirm the same.

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Brief And Concise

yes, the poem,
that poem, nice.

a red carnation
fresh from the garden
alone
in the glass vase
half-filled with
crystal clear
water

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0318 Five

Five fingers touching
in the warmth of night;
five toes walking you
when your back feels tight;
five senses yearning
in the half-filled bed;
five times memory
both alive and dead.

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When natures angry...(Tsunami)

With a half filled stomach,
There futures bleak and helpless they are,
Is this less than a war?

With thousands dead,
Dead bodies piles up, as you see that far,
Is this less than a war?

Buildings reduced to rubble,
and like boat floats our car,
Is this less than a war?

mother holding her child,
and child searchin' for her father,
Is this less than a war?

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Brought To The Place

Brought to the place
Where no solitude hurts
The moment outpoured
Into the heart
Loneliness fed by each forgotten
Long living art
Like a glass magnified
In each particle of dust
Like a lady beyond the twilight
Like a man walking through the sunflowers
Like a child turning towards the sun
Like a cup half filled
Half betrayed in emptiness
Like a magic wand stirring the water
Into the ripples of light

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Broken Glass

broken glass,
autumn chill,
the spoon tarnished...

with time.
an old lid turned up,
half filled, half empty,

wearing a spider's web,
and time earned rust.
a dog barks, a truck

goes by....
an old mattress
on the bed...

a baby's born
in a rundown trailer,
an old woman dies

alone in her chair.
life turns, the hands
of the clock sharp....

cut the fingers
at the touch....
the untamed heart,

on the unknown path,
fallen leaves left
by the door!

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Byzantine Ghetto

Abject poverty
Roofless homes
Three-walled square
Partiality of bread
There is hunger

Half-filled glass
Filthy water
Rancid air
Black smokes
There is pollution

Naked children
Strapless baskets
Untimely deaths
Drought everywhere
There is scarcity

Restricted democrats
Cruel brotherhood
Selfish charity
Fabricated education
There is apathy

There is no cycle
There is no change
There is no beginning
There is no end
This wicked existence


(written on August 10,2011 Singapore)

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Stoned

It was a mid night knock.
A cloud laden sky
had sent a message.

The moon was trembling
like a collateral pain
in the blue.

I had not slept the night,
if I could bleed.
A toddler had drowned head-on

in a half-filled bucket
and some rodents had sheared
away the toes and ears of a sick child.

You give me hurts, for glassy eyes.
The claws on my neck,
I can hardly breathe.

The severed paws and intact canines
of a skull morph into a roaring beast.
There is no water in my eyes.

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Song without a voice

A saddest song within me idly pursed
Is lodged in lyrical melancholy.
A muted voice attempts to sing a verse
But only soundless words escape from me.
Its somber composition might as well
Be blank without a pleasing melody.
The lyrics are lost as sinners in Hell.
The couplet verses filled with self-pity.
An aria within my doleful soul;
A piece that never will be heard by ears.
A single opus creation, surreal
And limited, saddening with no tears.
A song without a voice to sing its sad
Refrain, enough to drive me raving mad.

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My Sadness, My Depression

Sadness and depression swallows me up; brings me into its clutches, and I go willingly.
They have been my friends for so long.
I feel, I want, to cry, but no tears fall, perhaps because I have dried up for the time being.
I have cried so much, for so many days and times.
Will I ever find myself happiness,100% all the time?
Or is it going to continue this way?
Half of my life filled with some small measurement of happiness, and the other half filled with constant tears, sadness, and depression?
I want to have a normal life.
The only tears I want to shed are the tears of joy, but I fear that will never be.
What has my life become?
What have I become?

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Aubrurn Dawn

I believe, I had not arrived
when you were arbitrating
between naked steel and the truth.
Violence were you. I was watching
the burning pyres in a row. Small hands
were collecting the ashes,
casting glances on the falcons.

Why reincarnation of the reaper again and again
arching the helpless life in terror?
Half-filled cups of tears are spilled
on the marbled smoke.
We made the truce with slaughter
in moonlight pitying the survivors in sun.
The face watching from the window disappears.

An auburn dawn wakes with swollen eyes.
I might find a lost child of the empty womb –
wandering in wilderness of three dimensional sorrow.
O mother! somewhere the roots are waiting!

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Physics Class

He enters the wooden door
Blue polo, that familiar scent
Quite ready and calmly standing
With some white powdery thing

I open my half-filled notebook
And I uncover my old calculator
Grabbed my pen from my pocket
With my brain as my only asset

Another problem from the book
Now we're solvin in our seats
Computin speed and velocity
Fillin our brains with atrocity

Focus, analyze and think
Just one miss and you're ruined
Small mistakes, slash half a point
Quizzes and exams, bloodstained

Is it just another terror?
Or do i see a great mentor
Giving us harsh problems
Trying to complicate theorems

Yet every challenge i call it fun
Its not all about academic run
But it's obtaining knowledge
He's a great man I'll always acknowledge

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I Am.... (Your Lover)

i am the broken branch,
blown by the wind.
the key left in the door,
of the empty house.
i am the creek spilled over,
the frog on the bank.
the pot stained by time,
half filled with water.
the young woman giving birth,
and the nurse by her side.
the box of canned goods,
left on the porch.
i am the body naked,
sleeping on the silent bed.
the son killed in the war,
the picture on the wall.
i am the softness of the moth,
long left the body.
i am the kiss of lovers,
at the risk of loss.
i am the body of words,
sent without hope or destination.
i am the hand you thought wind,
blowing the hair from your face.
i am try inspite of,
i am hunger expressed.
the tongue round your heart,
the tear that comes unannounced!
i am the face of the lonely,
and the feet of the pilgrim.
i am your lover,
clothed in rain and mud!

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Dumb, Stubborn and Young

When the printed money ends.
Will you love me like back then?
Often spending every dime we had.

When the heat this Winter cools.
And my toes are cold to touch.
Will your love for me be half filled...
Gladly in an empty cup?

Can we still do the boogey like we ate peanuts.
Sipping on one glass of powdered juice?

Can we still do the boogey with the shells...
From licked cream puffs?
Each rubbing on our loose caboose.

Oh remember when we weren't bling stung!
Oooohhh remember when we were so dumb...
Stubborn and young!

'Sounds like the names of my lawyers.
Trying to convince me,
The money I have invested with them...
Will help restore the economy.'

Oh remember when we weren't bling stung!
Oooohhh remember when we were so dumb...
Stubborn and young?

And to those days we should say...
Goodbye and...so long!
Since we are now held captive...
By those who love the wrong!

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They Call This America, Dont They?

the cum stained prayers
written on tenement walls,
where brown eyed girls, head held high...
wear poverty's drench,
backs strong and straight,
amid the pale cries of babies birthing.
roaches scatter, bare feet skim the floors,
empty cupboards whispering moan.
food stamp dreams, two days away,
they call this America, dont they?

the trailer wrecked, paper thin walls,
duct taped tile by molded tubs.
the broke down truck, the mailbox spills,
unemployed and out of time.
box fans on stolen power,
dirt faced children, starving dogs.
an American flag, a worn out Bible...
they call this America, dont they?

the old couple melting, tiny apartment,
before a black and white tv.
half filled pills, empty Alpo cans,
yellow tinged pictures on the table.
a phone that didnt ring,
before it couldnt ring...
the sound of bones grinding to dust!
dont make much noise,
who gives a damn?
they call this America, dont they?

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Not Fitting In Despite All Those Years

sometimes you envy
the monk in maroon peacefully
crossing the street
somewhere in Ho Chi Minh

or even an earthen bowl half-filled with water
with a jasmine flower floating
upon a very still world

you like to take the brush and some water colors
to paint all these

but it is a little crowded world you have there
there is simply no time for wasting
it's a fast paced lifestyle

the lifelessness of the to and fro
the unstoppable flow
trying to accomplish almost everything
without meaning.

somewhere in a dream
you wish you were the monk
or even
the jasmine

and then you hit your chest with your fist
convincing yourself that at a certain hour
you can be so foolish
still not fitting in despite all those years

'how can you be a beautiful jasmine in a concrete wall?
how can you be the monk in maroon in a public market full of
swindlers and screaming spice vendors? '

amidst the mess, in the middle of the crowd
how can you be a dream?

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You Keep Your Lips and What's Behind Them Zipped

You keep your lips and what's behind them zipped.
No explanation do you give for this.
But then you expect understanding given for it.
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!

You do a tantrum dance and go into your fits.
You spit words of venom with a delivered hiss.
And then you wish somebody to bring to you gifts.
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!

What makes you think you are deserving of it?
You're not even using those you've been blessed with.
You curse the Earth and spit on it,
When you should give it a kiss!
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!
And you're bottled up...
With a half filled cup.

You keep your lips and what's behind them zipped.
No explanation do you give for this.
With your jaws tight together like a big hypocrite.
And you're bottled up.
You're bottled up!
And you're bottled up...
With a half filled cup.
You're bottled up!
You are bottled up.
With guts sucked in and ready to explode,
On a moment's noticed!

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Chill Out

'Hey, man! ' the Polar Bear began,
'Chill out! Lie down a spell...
The Universe has got a plan,
A secret it can tell...
So take your time, pin back your ears
And listen now with me...
Yeah... Cast away your morbid fears,
The years of misery...'

'Hey, man! ' the Polar Bear went on,
'Why don't you lose that frown?
Yeah, worry is the Devil's con!
Why look the sad old clown?
Life's good sometimes, it makes us smile,
Life's OK now and then...
Wrinkles don't suit that great profile!
Like me, count up to ten...'

'Hey, man! ' the Polar Bear summed up,
'Get comfy! Sheesh, relax!
Yeah! Be glad with a half-filled cup!
Let others break their backs...'
So I laid down and went to sleep...
Next to the Polar Bear...
Till I heard the alarm clock 'BEEP! '
'Cos sadly, life's not fair!


Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Chill Out'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com

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