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We want a system that will improve consistency and steadiness in the quality of government.

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I Want A Mom That Will Last Forever

I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom to make it all better
I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom who love me whatever
I want a mom to take my hand
and make me feel like a holiday
A mom to tuck me in at night
and chase the mosters away
I want a mom to read me stories
and sing a lullaby
And if I have a bad dream, to hold me when I cry
Oh, I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom to make it all better
I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom that will love me whatever, forever
And when she says to me that she'll always be there
To watch and protect me, I don't have to be scared
O, and when she says I will always love you,
I want need to worry cause i'll know that it's true
I want a mom when I get lonely, to take the time to play
A mom who can be a friend and find a rainbow when it gray
I want a mom to read me stories and sing a lullaby
And if I find a bad dream, to hold me when I cry
Chorus (repeat twice)
I want a mom
I want a mom
I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom
I want a mom
I want a mom that will last forever
I want a mom
I want a mom that will last forever

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When We Ask For Nothing More...

it is not that we all have what we
want in life,
that will be pride and
arrogance
it is just that
we no longer look upon ourselves
but in the world
like meteors merely passing by
and looking forward
to its uncertain destination
but not anxious anymore
as to what
happens next.

the world becomes a distant
piece of blue marble.

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Prologue 2

it will be sandstorm
that will gather
animal and human
from the east to the west

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This Is Like Heaven To Me

Heaven is where we walk the streets made of gold,
And secrets of our hearts will be told.
The further we go the heavenly sunset we behold
Thinking of heaven where angles are ordained of God
Around the throne eternity is bound,
Wound in celestial mantle our old prayers are found.

Where you will never age, and see sunrise in the dark,
Waiting for the star and the dewy morning light,
Appearing so bright the night is soon forgotten.
Heaven wakes the stations in the entire kingdom,
A new enchantment waiting to be discovered,
A secret world lies between heaven and earth.

Walking daytime if you are immortal full of life,
On earth life is hell; our lives are like empty shell.
We carry misery from early birth to the deep earth,
Belief keeps us looking for heaven in the clouds,
In hope of humane rapture that will give peace.

And take in the dim view; to a place that is new
Where teenagers can dress like linen lilies.
Hiding a sermon you cannot walk to church with,
The sign makes the heart free from the pain of fear.
And the sky above them are laden with smoke,
Dreams which could be paradise move uneasy,
The next day life is different when they awake.

This is like heaven to me with love and dreams,
I will wait patiently until my destiny come.
They see the blue skies above and watch the smoke
Move gently through the clouds away from the crowd,
Gathering storm brings the rain that will quickly fall,
One of Gods messenger touches the Glover grass.
And soon the dark shadows past into the night,
Be reborn in the harvest of heavenly paradise.


On the street where I live there is a ladder to climb
Tall hedges and scented foliage blind the golden sun,
That sweet savor with leaves fluttering in the wind,
Turned the pages as they move below the window pane,
They seemed too changed and turn a different color.

And the heart looses gain and falls apart with pain,
The realm of this world tries to take control,
Angels tells a different story running from heaven.
My mind does not exist among the clouds
When the rain falls, blessings feel like I am forgiven

African violet sometimes your eyes are wet,
But the showers needs to fall on barren hearts,
Places we have been and the things we regret.

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I Want To Know That You Will Munch

If it is going to be from me stated,
Not a syllable connected...
Has been chosen in haste.
I do not intend to waste time.
Neither yours or mine.
Throwing anything together,
To satisfy a taste.

I don't want you just to nibble.
I want to know that you will munch.

If I find there is something important to say,
And I regard you as an important receiver?
I am not going to select anything quickly,
To pick and appease what I believe,
Will be acceptable to your taste.
I am not that kind of chef.
To deliver less than my best
If what I say is important enough to say to you,
That importance I show to you I wish to keep.
I want you to expect each time a feast from me.

And if that is not believed...
I have no other way to convince.
Other than to ignore you.
And I perceive you have been already,
Accustomed to that.
Or you wouldn't be so offended,
By the closeness of my approach.
Or my willingness to remain attached.

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Like dream that will end

Like dream that definitely will end
Though now we laugh and shimmer with light
Someday going to wake up and realize it is just a dream
But it is still a beautiful dream
When anxiety and doubt can not haunt
The shining steps we walk together
Because it is the dream that is going to end
We want to hold that happiness tight
Though realize it all like golden sands
Those slowly fall from our fingers
Though what is left then only regret and bitterness
Like dream that someday should end

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Will I Ever Write The Poem That Will Take You Away Into Another Higher World Within Yourself?

WILL I EVER WRITE THE POEM THAT WILL TAKE YOU AWAY INTO ANOTHER HIGHER WORLD WITHIN YOURSELF?

Will I ever write the poem that will take you away
Into another higher world within yourself?
That will move you into feeling the beauty of life
The long deep beauty that lifts the soul beyond itself
That makes you want to live and live more and more?

Will I ever write the poem that makes the music you are
Go beyond any feeling you have ever known
In ecstasy at your life for whatever it is in its own inner song?

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I will write a poem that will say the truth

This poem I will write and it will tell the truth
The candid truth, the whole candid truth and nothing
But the miserable truth
And this will hurt you and all of you who consider me a friend
The words are carefully chosen and the
Lines screened with so much introspection
This poem will tell you who you really are
No holds bar, no second thoughts
No consideration at all that you may hate me
I, who want, always to be loved and be popular
I am tired of lying and telling what is not in my mind,
I will now write the truth about you and the whole world,
This poem will hurt you and this world
And the whole world will be angry about me writing this poem,
This poem will bring you into harsh awakenings
And this will surely shake you and hurt you and you will never
Talk to me again and you will wish me ill and you will curse the day that I was born.
This poem will make you hate me forever but for one thing
I still have no courage to show it to you, perhaps later when I am
All ready to be despised, hated and finally discarded from your minds.

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Patrick White

Dangerous To Love Things That Perish

for Louise and Morgan

Dangerous to love things that perish
but cowardly not to.
You weren't just a cat.
You were Morgan.
You were
as when I first saw you as a kitten
cupped in Louise's hands
a cloud
a whiff of incense
smoke
a breath
a gust of stars
someone in love had breathed out.
And we loved you.
And now you're dead.
And there are two more people in the world
who can't stop weeping.
Because there is no now
in the suddenness of death
and it's colder in our hearts than it is outside
because your absence
like your body
doesn't have a temperature anymore.
And there's a dagger of darkness
that's thrust through everything
as if God were an assassin
in some kind of video killing game
that put black holes to shame.
Or is it just the impersonality of life
that it seems to derive a cheap thrill
from killing the things it creates
without knowing their names?
Morgan.
Got it.
Morgan the Cat.
A work of genius.
And you'd be a whole lot wiser than you are
not to forget it
because she was a goddess in her own rite.
She was the auroral shapeshifter
that was born a kitten
but grew up to be more than a human
because we always wished
we had more of her characteristics
than the ones we had as a superior species
and we worshipped her
and paid her the attentive kind of tribute
that was and is the natural due of her magical virtues.
And Morgan though it's doubtful you can hear us now
where you can breathe easy out in the open
like the cool breeze you always were
among the wildflowers that look like stars
and copulate with Orion
the only cat who ever loved you back
as much as you like
without any one throwing cold water on it
because humans have learned to live like prophylactics
we want you to know somehow in some mysterious way
our species hasn't discovered yet
how much you did to improve our innocence
by watching you live your life
as if you were born
knowing how to live
and didn't have to work at it as we do.
You were tenderness with claws.
A female buddha with the eyes of a warrior
that were the envy of the moon.
A boddhicatva who didn't answer to anyone
if you can forgive a bad pun
but showed us the way in
to the feline felicity of a paradise
that was as open as space to everyone.
You were the embodiment
of an affection and gentleness
that lingered like smoke in the air
above the cat's eye flame of a candle
that God just blew out.
And the stars mourn as we do so deeply
even the darkness is panicked
that it will be turned inside out
like an absolute certainty from an absolute doubt.
There's a blackhole in the heart of the light
that can't be eclipsed by insight
and the reality of you in your flesh and your fur
no longer sitting by us on the floor
listening in with your eyes closed
as if even when you were sleeping
your ears were always awake
is a wound so deep
a rip in the sky so irreparable
that nothing that pours out of it by way
of tears and stars
thoughts or feelings
though blood pour from our eyes
could ever be worthy of it.
Thank-you for the love
that always fell into our laps like you.
Like an unexpected reward
for just being us.
Thank-you for teaching us
how to love you unconditionally
and knowing like a quiet healer
just when to apply your presence
like a soothing herb
to the hurts and fevers that afflicted us.
Sad and alone in the dead zone of an unanswerable room
you'd rub your tiny skull
with its walnut sized brain
against my leg
and I'd realize
that it was you not me
with my three and a half pounds of neocortical starmud
for all the lightyears I've been searching
that had found the philosopher's stone
the moment you opened your eyes as a kitten
and you could work miraculous transformations
with the slightest touch of affection
or the nudge of a small wet nose.
When even God and Lucifer couldn't move me
if they were to try and change my mood
you could
as easily as Morgana la Fay moved Merlin
with her felicity for emotional alchemy.
So many times when all I thought I could do
to save the situation
was let go
you flowed like water around my legs.
Sometimes it takes a river
to remind the bridge
what it stands for
and keep its spirits up.
Sometimes the thread of life
passes through the eye of a needle
like light
in the form of a cat
and the rip in the sky
where all the stars were pouring out
is patched up
with a single act of seeing
when a cat looks at you a moment
and then closes its eyes in contentment
like the new moon in the old moon's arms.
You were Louise's child.
You followed her around like a third eye
that could see into the future
like the front door you sat beside for aeons like a sphinx
waiting for her to come home
with the blue bag of salmon-flavoured cat treats.
I never saw you as her shadow.
You were more
a mirror with a mind of your own
that could look deeply into her spirit
and see your own reflection.
You were her affable familiar.
Her talismanic charm
against the obscenity of human lovelessness.
Her emergency exit.
Her fire alarm.
You were the whiff of smoke that woke her up.
If she were the long hard art
of learning how to be mastered by love.
You were the discipline
waiting on the other side of the door
that made her trudge to the store in the snow
to be sure you got your treats.
And when she returned
you'd study everything going on in the room
as if you were looking at it all for the first time
but the more I looked at you looking at us
the more I realized
you weren't the student
you were a school
that compassionately exempted fools like us.
And now sweet one
what is it
that you want us to learn
from your perpetual absence?
As you once sweetened our lives
are you now trying
to sweeten death?
Are you trying to teach us how to see in the darkness?
To let go of our grief
as if that weren't the only thing we had left to hold on to?
The silence in the house is a lot lonelier
for the lack of your whisper
to confide in
like a secret you kept to yourself
when no one else was home.
The birds and the windows keep waiting
for you to jump up at them any moment now
but it's beginning to dawn on them you can't anymore
and it isn't just the rain
that's making the glass cry.
Who's going to stare at the plaster for hours
like Bodhidharma meditating in his cave
listening to the baby squirrels
learning to crawl through the walls
now that you're not sitting there
tense as an archer
and as attentive as a Zen master?
You had a C-spot under your neck
close to your jugular
that could make you purr
when anyone pampered it like Cleopatra.
Now who's going to know how
wherever you are
to make you stretch your claws out
like crescents of the moon
and make the green honey of your eyes
ripen into gold?
There's a darkness in the heart of grief
that burns like a black fire
all these tears can't seem to put out.
It's a measure of the love you inspired in us
that we'd rather let the pain of missing you
consume us in the flames
of remembering
some tender eccentricity of your cathood
even in the midst of trying to let life
get on with us without you
than ever let death make you a stranger to us.
You were Bast the Egyptian cat goddess among us in the flesh.
We learned to read your eyes like a Druidic Ogham
like phases of the moon as it waxed and waned.
One glance and I knew what you wanted.
You were a rose with retractable thorns
and we'd watch you for hours
wondering what you were dreaming
under your twitching eyelids.
And the tenderness that people are afraid
to expose to each other
because they haven't learned to walk through life skinless
we showed to you
without feeling that even the slightest gesture of it
was ever wasted
or unreturned
or that the spirit didn't recognize its own
whether it was embodied by a cat or a human.
Morgan
you're among the stars now
like a gust of light on the road of ghosts
like a hurricane that found rest in the eye of it own turbulence
like a cat-muse among these words
that can feel you watching them like birds
from your perch in the cosmic window
at the foot of the bed in Louise's room.
Morgan
though there's this black hole
your absence has left in the middle of everything
it's not an exit.
It's an entrance.
It's the way you taught us
how to diminish the darkness
by growing bigger eyes
to get the most light out of it
even when we think
as we do now
that there's nothing left
in this starless night
that could shine.
That the winds of time
have swept the last of the blossoms away
like phases of the moon
and even our tears
are the one-way tides
of the heart-numbing farewells
the whole of our lives seem.
Did we have the dream
or did the dream have us
or is it only the nightmares
that wake up screaming out in their sleep somewhere
where the pillows are wet
and the mothers come running
to reassure them
that what they thought they saw in the dark
was not real?
It was just another human
summoning some lost joy from the past
like the ghost of a watershed
that keeps recalling things
as if it were alone at night in a dark museum.
But an abyss isn't just an abyss.
It's also a fountain.
Everything reveals its emptiness
in the fullness of life
like the depth of the valley
is revealed by the height of the mountain.
The sweet brief life of the blossom
is the bright vacancy
rooted in the dark abundance
of the indelibility of the way we change.
To be here once
should be enough
to prove to anyone
that they've been here forever.
Life leaves signs
that anyone can follow back to themselves
like leaves on the mindstreams of their flowing.
They had to let go of the tree like maps
to know which way they're going.
It's the same with humans and cats.
Life breathes on the ashes of the starstreams
and everything starts glowing
like the eyes of a cat in the dark.
Morgan
it hurts not to see you
mesmerized by the turning water in the toilet-bowl
or sleeping in the bottom of the tub
or the end of my bed
or across the top of the easy chair
like a strategic adornment
keeping one ear open
to everything that was going on around you?
It hurts to wonder
what Louise is going to use for an alarm clock now
that you're not there
to lick her eyelids awake in the morning
and where are the candles
where are the plants
that could ever take your place in the windowsill
watching for her to come home
as if you were one of the streetlamps?
Sometimes it's hard to know
which hurts worse.
Never to have known love
or realize at times like this
how vast and excruciating the abyss is
how sad and foregone
the sad effusions of sorrow
the begrudging smiles of acceptance
that feel like the scars of an assassin
who doesn't know who to get even with
when even the least atom of something we've truly loved
like the cosmic beginning of everything
in large and small
in the petty and profound alike
in the mystical and the earthbound
in what is different and what is not
in the star and the candle and the phoenix and the firefly
in Louise and her cat
is extinguished.
Morgan yes
you've left a hole in the light
as big as the universe
and all the stars are pouring out of it
as if the light could cry
for the passing of your radiance
but Morgan
no more than the pupil of an eye
blocks the light from getting in
does the hurt of your death
qualify the dangerous rapture
of having loved you in this life
as well as we knew how to love anything.
Sweetness.
Gentleness.
We're all on the same journey
though sometimes we change bodies
like forms and shoes along the way
or walk barefoot awhile on stars
along the Road of Ghosts
talking to shoeless angels
about how mysterious it is
that every step of the way
where we come from
is where we're going
and it's not the destination
but the journey itself
that enshrines what is most sacred about life.
Not the arrival.
Not the fulfilment.
Not the completion.
Not the consummation that exhausts us wholly
and leaves us beseeching heaven
or pleading with emptiness
for a clarification of death
like the air we breathe out
leaves us longing for breath.
Our beginnings go on forever without end
and Morgan like you
if we wind up chasing our tails around
it's only because of the great delight we take
in knowing nothing's ever over
and everything is looping
like a snake with its tail in its mouth
or the horizontal eight of eternity
that keeps falling over
like a Bodhidarma doll
and righting itself like spectacles
worn by someone lying down
whose eyes go vertical
whenever they're dreaming.
It's not the farewell of the guest
but the welcome of the host
that we treasure most.
It's not the finding
but the seeking
that's the jewel of our quest.
That's why you stuck your nose into everything
and learned to see with your ears
and hear with your eyes
the wings of the stars and fireflies
that hovered just outside your window
when what was always wild about you
answered the Zen savagery of the night
like an austere summons to life.
Morgan you're gone
but there's no imperative
in why you had to go.
No harsh god.
No assassin cloaked in light.
No doors close
our senses and our hearts
to the earthly delights of loving you.
No gates open
like a cats' eyes
that will not see us return like insight
to the faces of the living creatures
we live to behold in our own features
and touch most gently

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The Only One That Will Be Resented

If the reality of truth is kept from someone,
And eventually they are confronted with it.
The only one that will be resented,
Is the one who came...
To offer a solution to their delusions.
That's the one that will be defamed.

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It Is Time That Will Be Judge

theme unpatriotic
seems over used
in some countries

in free New Zealand
people still demand
freedom of speech

though not in pubs
where alcohol tempers
can swiftly end such

debates religion politics
get in trouble hot heads
it is time that will be judge

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In Ways To Them That Will Stun

A sacrificing done,
Need not be sacrificial.
That which is knowingly sacrificed,
To those with that done as an experience...
Who someday will receive those benefits.

And to them it will become beneficial,
In ways to them that will stun!
In ways those and others knowing...
A sacrificing did has been done,
With a denying of themselves consumption.

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No More Of That Will I Do

When I speak,
I expect you to listen.
And that courtesy,
Is extended from me.

We would then begin,
To develop an understanding.
Respect for one another...
Should then flourish and grow.

But...
You do not listen.
Prepared you are to debate.
And that is why,
You have no comprehension today.

And you expect me to wait,
For you to excuse yourself...
With explanations.
I did that and no more of 'that' will I do.

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One Can Wait Forever/ For the Ideal Poem That Will Never Come

One can wait forever for the ideal poem
That will never come-

Or relent,

And write down the lines
That come as they come
Irrelevant, incidental, momentary
As one's own feeling of oneself is.

Like the breeze of these instants,
Like the shadows of the leaves
As they trace their motions
On the sun- touched ground,

Like all which is passing
Without any real evidence of its moment's remembrance
As dying as oneself is
Forever.

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Whoso that will for gracë sue

Whoso that will for gracë sue
His intent must needs be true,
And lovë her in heart and deed,
Else it were pity that he should speed.
Many one saith that love is ill,
But those be they which can no skill.

Or else because they may not obtain,
They would that other should it disdain.
But love is a thing given by God,
In that therefore can be none odd;
But perfect indeed and between two,
Wherefore then should we it eschew?

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What Women Want

Hello, my name is "Dr." Rebecca Pinson.
I am here today to tell you what women want.
For the most part, women want a man that will
actually love them for who they are!
It is hard to find men that will truly do that.
Next, women need money.
As a result, the loving man must have
no problem handing over his money!
Women act as though they hate this, but after
it is over, they really love this.
Women love children.
Well, that is all we have time for today,
good night and good bye for now.

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Things That Will Be

learning not to trust
for things that will be
something to hope for
they will not always
last for a lifetime

the seed you bury
the worm sometimes eats it
the bud you mark
remains tight and falls

this you must know
as early as you are born
see the light
of everyday blunders

for sometimes when
you close a door
it does not mean
that the window opens

oh well, it is not easy to learn
realities damned
dreams broken
selves bursting
a world in your eyes
annihilating

but of course you may start anew
be positive you once say
light a candle in the room
let no one burn.

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Consistency And Patience

if i were to draw you
a symbol of consistency and
patience
i will have the turtle
with moss on its house and
on its feet
some mud

i draw you too the silence
embedded in its eyes

i will show you how slowness sometimes
can be considered
wisdom

how sometimes it surrenders to nature
how it hides in its house
when cruelty begins to rule

and how at the end the impossible happens
it survives and wins and then goes back to the river
and swims away

and then it becomes a myth
a story and then you make it more intriguing
and that is where the rabbit enters into the scene

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Flames That Will Burn no More

I sit and wonder where the good love goes
once the flames diminish all is said passions
finished.Where does the spirit of past lovers
lay.Well-maybe brushing the floor in some quiet
sea.Well-maybe pounding tired earth where it
does not rain.Well-maybe wheeling behind bars
not seen by the unaided eye.Well-maybe unhappily
settled in their burial working to dig free.
Well-maybe only on breeze the summer heat and
wing.Well-maybe locked in a heart's chamber of
and blood and still water.Well-maybe bound to
transient state like in memories.The flames
that burned will burn no more.

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There is no ice that will never melt

There is no ice that will never melt
Slowly, gradually
Though freeze to sleep forever
Or not be moved by emotion
Slowly, gradually
It’s not needed fire arms
It’s not needed the right law
Only time
Slowly, gradually
The cold drips in my hands
Like a burning candle
Like a bleeding body
Gone into puddle

There is no ice that will never melt
Slowly, gradually
Will it be a thin hope
Or silent word
Slowly, gradually
It’s not needed genius mind
It’s not needed global warning
Only time
Slowly, gradually
The crystal vanishes in my hands
Like a crying stone
Like a dying swan
Gone into water

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