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Boy George

I try to exist in a world where there is freedom of opinion, where you're allowed to make jokes. I don't want to live in some PC world where no-one's allowed to say anything.

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I am not able to say anything further, as I am gone once and for all

I came to life
With a gentle electrical shock
And a mild tremor
When an egg from my mother’s ovary
Was invaded by my father’s sperm
Thousands of sperms around
Showed respect and withdrew from the race
Allowing me to enjoy buoyancy
In the pool of uterus liquid

I moved slowly onto the wall
Where I settled and started getting nurtured
Through the umbilical chord from my mother
I grew from a cell to mass of flush

It was a great stay in comfort
With watery cushion all around
Most of my organs in their miniature form
Nothing to disturb
Except for those tight embraces
With an emotional outbreak
“Thank you, you are bearing my child”

“Our first child, should be a boy”
A whisper shared in private
Between my parents
I am yet to know as to
Whether I am a boy or girl

“We do not conduct tests
To know the sex (it should have been gender)
Of the fetus” declared a voice
But continued
“As a special case we will in your case”

Every thing was normal for sometime
Suddenly I felt the impact of
Adrenaline that got pumped
Into me through my mother’s blood
I was in discomfort
For long and adrenaline level
Did not come down to my comfortable level

“It is a female.
We need to medically terminate the pregnancy”
Was what I heard in the same voice
That glorified my mother sometime ago
For having borne me
Oh, this is the reason for adrenaline
Now I understood

My discomfort showed no sign of
Abating, in fact, it was growing
Probably my mother being
Emotionally down

Suddenly pierced a sharp knife
And penetrated the tranquil
Watery heaven to cut
The link between me and my mother
And I am out in the glaring light
As a starkly naked flesh of no specific shape
On a kidney tray in a
Irritatingly smelling room

All my comfort gone
And now I was gasping for life
I know I will soon be dead
But I cannot stop wondering
How do these people know not
That I also possess the reactor
Which their mothers have or had
And which housed them for nine months
Shaped them and gifted them
To this world in their full shape

What wrong did I do
To be punished with termination

O God, if at all you can give wisdom
Bless them with that
So that the entire human race
Is not terminated

I am not able to say anything further
As I am gone once and for all

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Say Anything

Sawameki dake ga
kokoro o sashite
kikoenai mune no toiki
toki o wasurete motome samayou
takanaru omoi nurashite
Run away from reality
I've been crying in the dream
Koritsuita toki ni furuete
yugande mieni kioku kasaneru
kanashimi ga kieru made
* You say anything
kizutsuke au kotoba demo
say anything
tachikirenai kokoro ni
You say anything
Just tell me all your sweet lies
say anything
enji kirenai kokoro ni
If I can't go back to where I have been
yume no naka ni dake ikite
owaranai ame ni nureru
nagareru namida o
hakujitsuyume ni somete
You say anything
wathever you like to say to me
say anything
you leave me out of my eyes
you say anything
all I can hear is voice from dream
say anything
you can dry my every tear
Akari no kieta
on the stage
hitori mitsumete
t?ritsugita
hibi ni dakareru
kowashite kure nani mo ka mo
kazatta ai mo
toki no suna ni kieru made
Repeat *
Close your eyes and
I'll kill you in the rain
kirei ni koroshi aeba
z?ka no bara ni umoreta
shijin no namida wa
kioku ni nagarasete
Time may change my life
but my heart remains the same to you
time may change your heart
my love for you never changes
You say anything
kitzutsuke au kotoba demo
say anything
tachikirenai kokoro ni
You say anything.....
say anything.......
Now you've gone away
Where can I go from here?
Say anything....
say anything......
I believed
if time passes,
everything turns into beauty
If the rain stop, tears clean
the scars of memory away.
Everything starts wearing fresh colours.
Every sound beginds playing
a heartful melody.
Jealousy embellishes
a page of epic.
Desire is embraced in a dream
But my mind is still in chaos and...

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Say Anything

Sawameki dake ga
kokoro o sashite
kikoenai mune no toiki
toki o wasurete motome samayou
takanaru omoi nurashite
Run away from reality
I've been crying in the dream
Koritsuita toki ni furuete
yugande mieni kioku kasaneru
kanashimi ga kieru made
* You say anything
kizutsuke au kotoba demo
say anything
tachikirenai kokoro ni
You say anything
Just tell me all your sweet lies
say anything
enji kirenai kokoro ni
If I can't go back to where I have been
yume no naka ni dake ikite
owaranai ame ni nureru
nagareru namida o
hakujitsuyume ni somete
You say anything
wathever you like to say to me
say anything
you leave me out of my eyes
you say anything
all I can hear is voice from dream
say anything
you can dry my every tear
Akari no kieta
on the stage
hitori mitsumete
t?ritsugita
hibi ni dakareru
kowashite kure nani mo ka mo
kazatta ai mo
toki no suna ni kieru made
Repeat *
Close your eyes and
I'll kill you in the rain
kirei ni koroshi aeba
z?ka no bara ni umoreta
shijin no namida wa
kioku ni nagarasete
Time may change my life
but my heart remains the same to you
time may change your heart
my love for you never changes
You say anything
kitzutsuke au kotoba demo
say anything
tachikirenai kokoro ni
You say anything.....
say anything.......
Now you've gone away
Where can I go from here?
Say anything....
say anything......
I believed
if time passes,
everything turns into beauty
If the rain stop, tears clean
the scars of memory away.
Everything starts wearing fresh colours.
Every sound beginds playing
a heartful melody.
Jealousy embellishes
a page of epic.
Desire is embraced in a dream
But my mind is still in chaos and...

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You Broke Me So Badly That I Don't Want To Live Now

death;
remorse;
solution;
pathways;
heartless;
lifeless;
yet I pray for you,
being God bless.
you broke me so badly
that I don't want to live now
life has become a burden
for me; for you
life is a party; every night
catch the pray'that innocent one
I wanted to live
with you forever,
but you gave me a shock

tears;
loneliness;
heart broke;
I too;
only one thing I want
from this world;
please;
somebody;
give me
poison...

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Say Anything

Say anything, save everything
If we say nothing this love will die
Give me just one word, you can scream or whisper
If you want to stay with me, tell me why
Say anything
It's not the words aren't there but they'd only fail my emotions
Just want to feel this way without chaining you down to some old clich
You want water in my hands and we stand waist deep in the ocean
It's bigger than the sea, it won't let me
Say just anything, because I feel everything
I'd rather say nothing than the same old lines
I think I give you more, something there's no words for
You don't have to hear me to feel me trying
To say anything
Baby I know you try but sometimes I still want to hear it
Even when the waters calm but lately it's just when there's something wrong
Why can't we splash around and hold on to that playful spirit
Oh like we used to do and won't you
Say anything, save everything
If we say nothing this love will die
Give me just one word, you can scream or whisper
If you want to stay with me tell me why
Say anything
This love is true
Even if you
Call it by a different name
And it's still the same, so we'll
Say anything, feel everything
I want to be with you so this love can fly
We'll hang on every word and we'll scream, we'll whisper
This moment is waiting for you and I
Say anything
Say anything..

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Say anything

Say anything
Before I numb those things
When no one could dare moving
I’ll be the one who cut the string

If you want to lie
Take your time to sway
If you want to pray
Make it right before it strayed

Say anything
And it could be nothing
Only misunderstanding
And a part of failed living

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Where does one begin with you?

Where does one begin with you?
O Lord, you have no opening line
It's so hard to get you started.

Everything I tried went wrong.
You've used up all my faculties.

What I just said vanished in the sky
And I've fallen on the ground again.

Says Tuka my mind is stunned:
I can't find a word to say.

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In The Place Where No One Else Is

In the place where no one else is
I sit alone-
The sun shines on my notebook
I write these lines
So peacefully
So happily-

The morning sun is stronger
Warming me restfully-

I don't have to do this morning
Anything I do not want to do-

These lines flow easily
As if writing and being in inner peace
Were one and the same gift always.

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Where No One Stands Alone

(words & music by mosie lister)
Once I stood in the night
With my head bowed low
In the darkness as black as could be
And my heart felt alone and I cried oh lord
Dont hide your face from me
Like a king I may live in a palace so tall
With great riches to call my own
But I dont know a thing
In this whole wide world
Thats worse than being alone
Hold my hand all the way, every hour every day
Come here to the great unknown
Take my hand, let me stand
Where no one stands alone
Take my hand, let me stand
Where no one stands alone

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I Refuse To Say Anything About It

I am 'not' going to say anything,
About 'anyone' and their insecurities.
It is pointless to keep harping upon them,
When those who have them are clearly possessive.

And who am I to mention who is insecure?
You know what I'm saying?
Who gave me the right to perceive,
Those with insecurities feed upon them.
With a seeking of others,
To defend their weaknesses.

And that is one of the reasons,
I refuse to say anything about it.
I'm sure people with insecurities,
Know they've got them.

'Well,
I am glad you didn't bring it up for discussion.'

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Hard Times/ Grief Does Not Say Anything

I am tired.
So very tired
of making it all fit.

I suppose it’s called
grief.

It wears you down,
into a rounded rock
in a dull dumb landscape,
where once was
an exhilarating mountain range,
lush and forested.

Everything, or something like it,
has happened before -
and why bother anyway?

Just to walk away
from the flowers, grass, the seagulls and people,
the tiptoeing, fence-walking cat
in front of that hazy tall-trunked forest
across the grey wide river
as it meets the Tasman tides.

A lovely break at Port Waikato!
with the heat, noise, active flea or two,
and mosquitoes at night -
but most of all
with grief,
my companion with no name,
because grief does not
say anything.

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All I Ask For

i know you care,
and i take it out on you,
but, what can i do?
when i feel my world in two?
anger and frustration,
yeah they becoming my friends,
if you only knew what i been through,
yeah, maybe you can understand,
why i am the way i am,
nothing is making since,
people want to run my life,
i know i'm not doing the best job,
shouldn't i have a say?
yeah i don't want to live,
i get that part,
you putting up one hell of a fight,
what the hell do i do?
when i can't take the pain of getting better,
that will just open up a can of worms,
something i'm just not ready for,
i know you care,
we got that covered,
but, if all you going to do is control me,
or to try and keep me safe,
it not going to work,
i have a mind to think for myself,
right now it just out of order,
just let me be who i am,
don't get over protected,
even though i know you feel you have to,
keep me close with love,
let me go with trust,
i may be the little girl who needs saving,
just be there when my world falling apart,
let me know i can talk to you about anything,
i hate feeling alone,
it's a lonely place,
just be the person you once were,
before you knew my deep dark secerts.
Copyright © 2009
5-15-09

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Patrick White

Cosmologist With Tweezers

Palace after palace of blood I feed my idiot heart
to the fish and the cannibal stars
from a barge of funeral swans sullen as books.
I told myself not to look for this death when I dropped it
the day I was born, to leave it lie in the violent grass,
a key to a door that doesn’t exist yet,
an insect crushed between the pages of the sky
that reads like the failing eyes of an ancient astronomer
compiling an expanded preface
to an encyclopedic suicide note. O I can say anything
when the mirror is having an affair
with the moon’s oceanic face.
I can put lipstick on the corpse of a rose
and die for the whole cemetery like a callous messiah
sick of being resurrected at the take-out window.
My love forsaken, a beggar reaching into a serpent’s nest
for an egg that longs to be turned
like the handle to a door
that might be a way out, I consult
the crazy wisdom of the crows,
and a sage of the black night
to find my way back to a grave
that has not forgotten the taste of the dream
that was blood and wine and light.
This is a shabby afterlife, an unworthy war of mistakes,
where the orchids are raped on their wedding nights
and a peace treaty is chalk on the sidewalk
around a murdered mailman.
It would be a lie to say I wasn’t wounded,
it would be a falsehood to say I was.
This pain is the blundering apprentice of a mystic knife.
This agony is stupid and futile and vain, this sorrow
a brothel of homesick nuns.
I give my tears the address
of a man I know in Boston, a bibliophile
who might take them in as a first edition
of a bride who was published posthumously.
I give my heart like a fire-alarm to two women
waiting by the bus.
My skull begs for campaign funds
to run as an alternative planet
to the one I’m walking on,
but the terrorist behind the door
with his redressals and reforms, his ancient future
strapped to his waist like a broken promise
has already ruined my vote
by killing off the candidate.
I confess to a puppet government
with the decrescent sickle of the moon at my jugular vein
that I have always been, even in eclipse,
an avid fan of significant absurdities.
They accuse me of consorting with swans
and I give up smoking
in front of a firing squad.
The sun comes up like an afterthought, an iron rose
or a bullet hole through the troubled forehead of dawn.
Is there no end to the wonders of God?
cries a highschool prophet on a diving board
while his seeing-eye dog runs off
with a shoeful of massacred dice.
And this is the meaning of life,
and this is the meaning of life,
chants the scorned heart
pulling stitches out of a scar,
a cosmologist with tweezers
who bleeds to death
every time he opens his mouth to heal.

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Patrick White

It Isn't That I'm Looking

It isn't that I'm looking for eagles in a barnyard
or a phoenix in a match-head
when I observe
by the number of wrecks on the rocks
how few lighthouses there are these days
among so many flashlights.

What can the hair say about the horn
or the feather teach the wind
or quicksand preach
for the edification of the cornerstone?

And must I put a healthy leg
at the service of a broken crutch
to limp along with the mob
at the end of a dying culture
that insists that all roads end
in a cult of cripples?

If I'm walking alone to the stars
on a pilgrimage of one
finding my way in the going,
my heart aligned like the needle of a compass
to a darkness brighter than the light,
and the only map the clarity of my eyes,
why should those
who weep in their ashes like rain,
trying to put glasses on a fly,
who have never dipped
the thorn of the moon
in the night of their blood
and written a love poem
to a skull in a desert,
care if I want to roam
in the hills and valleys of myself
like some homeless shepherd of the wind
taking the stone of the earth for a pillow to dream on
in the high grasslands
where the stars walk
whispering eternal intimacies like black swans
barging the ores of a vacant throne
through my bloodstream,
as all along the shores of my flowing
ancient flowers wake mysteriously
like candles in an eclipse?

If I take the sky for the walls of my house
and leave the rest
like an autumn of junkmail
looking for a door and a last known address,
if I choose not to contrive a world
to accommodate my absence
in the available dimension of the future,
wiping my shadows and ghosts
like mirrors off at the threshold,
even letting go of the door
to enter empty-handed
as the applause
for an understudy of the dawn
that never got over its stage-fright
in the abyss of an abandoned theater,
happy to let the river pan itself for gold,
not laying a claim to anything,
making sure the gate-latch
clamps down like a dog on a bone
when I close it up
like a straitjacket in its own thoughts,
not stringing my spinal court to a wishbone
or the warped neck
of an obvious guitar,
but taking my voice with me
like a wounded bird in my hands,
a star struck from a stone,
moonlight in an empty boat,
the taste of silence
in the mouth of a mask,
my name a rainmark
on the eyelid of a dusty bell
I've left to the dream it keeps returning to;
why should it matter to anyone
who lies to the bleeding door
that is wounded by their entrance
everytime they say it's just me
as if a pillar answered?

I can't find anything
less than everything to call a self
and there are no mirrors
in an abyss more naked than the sky
to consult like the oracular flights of words
that litter the windowsill of this seeing
like flies that spent themselves,
flints on an empty lighter,
wicks on a glass candle,
consuming the ferocity
of their lives against the illusion of the world outside
they brain themselves against again and again
like small meteors
doused like torches in the eye
of the upper atmosphere
just above the open window.

When everything is absurd as this,
and even the tuning forks of the rain
are an era off in their pitch,
and music is merely
the coming and going of ants
in an abandoned syrinx,
and the drum of the heart alone
isn't enough to start a band,
and the only melody
is a road the wind blew away
like a hair off the shoulder of the night,
and everyone's trying
to unmarrow the moon like a fortune-cookie,
and every snowflake in the furnace
of this dark fire
thinks it dies like a galaxy
when it's only an inflection of tears,
am I not free to walk in harmony
with the savage senselessness of it all,
without hanging a bell of advice over my head
like the only corpse
on an island full of gravediggers
who can't get out of the holes they've dug
to bury me in?

I don't want to live waiting for yesterday
like the light of a star
that's already gone,
or dream like a seed of constellations to come
like a roll of the dice,
or watch the surplus of your smile
rotting on the docks of a famine.

And don't think these harvests I leave you
like a trail of breadcrumbs and dead flies
out of this wilderness of thought
are any more than stars
caught in the throat of the labyrinth
that follows itself like a snake with its tail in its mouth,
trying to find a way out of itself
by eating its own head.

And by some chance
if you ever make it out this far,
I've mailed back
the same map of fireflies
with its legend of smoke,
three lifetimes a lightyear,
you once handed me to find you
and marked every place I'm not
with a black hole.

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Jackop Zuma, South Africa, The World's Greatest News Ladies And Gentlemen Stop Anything Hear Is Your Invitation

JACKOP ZUMA JACOP ZUMA
South Africa is about to become a tolerable nation
South Africa is about to be born anew
Can you imagine a tolerable state?
The Deputy President of South Africa
They said you are the rapist
But the man kept silent
The man nodded silent
The court proved you to be not guilty.
They first started by saying you fraud the state money.
Now and then you brought the weapons illegal from abroad
But the man kept silent
The case was closed and it is then again open.
The court will then again close it
It will close it again because there is no fossil evidence that you were any fraudster.
Yes we as the Proudly South African agree
We agree that you are innocent
Today I am making the History
This is the History that will remain to be red by the millions of future generations
In Africa there once lived a man
A man that was proud of his party and his party
People were confused so that they donnot see him in the eyes of the presidency
But sothat they see him in the eyes of fraudsters and rapist and we donnot know what still to come
The state president excluded you but you did not quit the party
The people loved you even more than before
It was Mshiniwami Mshiniwami almost every where
Ladies and Gentlemen: that is the song which was sung by South African leaders as oppose to oppression anti-free trade barriers
You can make your own party which can make you stand as the South African president
But you have never thought of that nonsense
This is because you know what is like to be a South African
Unlike other weakest South African leaders you have not yet forget where we come from
You have not yet forget how has South Africans fought for this freedom of our country
You understand the effort of his presidency Steve Biko whom his life was lost through the struggle for our liberation struggle
Yes you do understand the effort of his PRESIDENCY DOCTOR NELSON MANDELA
I wonder how joyful Cris Hhani might have been
If he can see your tolerance and diplomacy in this Nation Spear
Perhaps there is only one man in the millionth whose leadership is more or less as yours
That was Elijah
A man who was singing and clapping the hands in the fire wagon
The fire is the parliament
And the world is the fire wagon
This is our three wheeled wagon
It name is Rainbow Nation
The Front wheel is ANC which is the ruling party in South Africa
The two hind wheels is ANC youth league and the COSADTU
Ladies and Gentlemen: there are two drivers operating this car
But the fire will decide which one is to be burned off
Because the forward moving countries like a forward moving country cannot be driven by the two drivers
But I see the glory burning inside Jackop Zuma
This is a glory that was planted millions feet underground
And this is why it is difficult to lose
My question to the Deputy President is:
How did you know that South Africa cannot live in segregation baby
How did you realize that every spirit needs you?
Shame to those who have been moving up and down like the parrots trying to divide our rainbow country
Shame to those who were going up and down from state to states corrupting your name in the media
Zuma is removed from the parliament, they said! ! !
But if I were the opposition party leader or the one who want to steal your glory I could have done the same thing
It is the time for South Africans to choose whether South Africa is Fascist State or Democratic State
High and low people are saying that Jacop Zuma was living in the Forests
He needed to see this country out of oppression and anti-free trade beerier
Forf those parrots who are using Jacop Zuma’s name
Can they tell America, Japan or Asia what they have did.
Africa South Africa I am afraid
Hear are the Worlds greatest news
The ANC presidency elections have come
ANC Youth League is the ones who have the strong vote to decide our future leader
Gone are the days when NXAMALALA was taken for granted
Gone are the days when the South Africa diplomatic deputy precedent was isolated
Gone are the days when our African National Congress was oppressed by the invisible racists
Dear my beautiful racists
It was nice having with you
Your time is over
We dont know where you will go
Because your lies seemed to disgust the God
Maybe you have got your haven in the Dogs haven
because you divided our party such that we have forgot our origin
You corrupted the name of the Rainbow Country
You are talking of the Black Coconuts
Intead of Bhambatha Kamancinza
Instead of June 16 of the 1976
Person who hates our party we donnot know your history in liberation struggling
Ladies and Gentlemen: the vote is counts
Mr South Africa
Jackop Zuma
We shall watch you
We shall watch you when you walk tall
Time folds away
This are the fires
Troubles are little wonders
Please wait just for a moment
Because your glory is found elsewhere
You have a glory oversees
You have a glory in the televisions
The Worlds Day View has come
You are the South African President
I am listening outside
There is something happening
The children are climbing the walls
The cars are flying like the aero planes
This is because the aeroplanes have come to crash
Your temptations drivers will be beggars
Today I am inviting the Africa, Europe, Asia Australia and USA
To come and see the Worlds biggest news
Which are going to take place from the 13th of September 2007
Come and look when the tables are turned up side down this are the tragedies of the Mineral resource conflicts
These are the World Cup conflicts
Viva ANC VIVA
Via South Africa Viva
Viva Jackop Zuma Viva
After the tables have turned upside down the world will start to understand the meaning of the song Mshiniwam, Mshiniwam
South Afcrica is Jackop ZUMA
What a wonderful car with three wheels: ANC Youth League, COSADTU and SACP
And two drivers: Thabo Mbheki and JACKOP ZUMA
Welcome to South Africa
Welcome to Limpompo
Siyaya e –Limpompo siyaya
We are going to elect our proudly ANC president
Jackop Zuma
Local is Lekker

BY MAPHUMULO MTHOKOZISI NTOKOZO
UNIVERSITY OF KWAZULU NATAL (SOUTH AFRICA)
(17-11-2007) – (20-11-2020)

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Patrick White

If Only There Were One Word I Could Say

If only there were one word I could say
that could reach out and touch your sorrow,
a cool kiss of moonlight on the eyelid of a widowed rose.
If there were a way to make it better,
to wake you up from the pain you are living,
a dream of rain on a kinder windowpane in the morning.
If I could mend what was broken
beyond feeling and thought and goodness
how could I not feel the piercings of the wounded voodoo doll
victimized by her own mortality
as I am by my own
and pull the pins out of her butterflies
as readily as I would pull the quills out of a dog's nose?
Accustomed to grief, accustomed to hearing
someone crying in the backyard of the house next door,
at three in the morning, accustomed to observing
the angry solitude of the skate-boarder
always out alone on the abandoned street
as if that were his lonely girlfriend,
trying to figure out why the embittered old woman
never smiles back, or a child will sometimes look at you
as if it were a vicious heart attack
that wanted you to feel as paralysed as it does.
Accustomed to the skin that grows over our eyes
like mother-of-pearl cataracts
so we can fake something beautiful of our indifference
because how much helplessness in the face of pain
and complicit suffering can one person take
before they go mad walking in a world of nettles
with no skin on, no atmosphere to burn
the meteoritic slag of incoming
astronomical catastrophes off before they hit ground zero?
Accustomed to the agony of enduring innocence
inspiring the genius of the malignant
to greater atrocities than anyone's even aware of,
accustomed to the shock of depravity
leaving a more indelible impression upon my blood
than the acts of the heroes who show up
in desolate dangerous places with tents and oxygen
to stay longer than the news, whose life
isn't half a sin of omission, and the other half
constrained by a straitjacket for their own good?
If there were a way to imagine pain away
as easily as we imagine it into being,
and have the work of one be the healing of the other,
before sitting here in silence as my only bedside manner
before the dying and the dead
painting death masks for the living
that might make them feel like children in disguise again,
I'd greet them at the happy gates of hell
like some spiritual good guess of an earthly intuition
that a liberated imagination isn't just
the placebo of another culpable superstition,
but a way to reverse the curse we've laid upon ourselves
like a sacred syllable of innocence
said backwards in the mirror
without slandering our own human divinity
by denouncing our delusion at the expense of the real.
It's been well said that the mind is an artist,
able to paint the worlds, and I would add,
for the slow and thorough like me,
it's also a carpenter, able to build them
and that's how you understand the world
from the ground up as if everything had to be on the level,
or the healing herb of a nurse, the first
to arrive like spring with a white flower on her head.
Or a lumbering bell of wisdom and seasoned sorrow
sees the world as a tortoise that's been asked to dance
at its own funeral as if there were no more weddings to celebrate.
The same eye by which you see it
is not the floodgate between imagination and reality
as if one were the shipwreck of the other,
as if the mountain were separate from the avalanche,
but the way you'll live to be it after awhile.
A tear can no more be distinguished from the rain
than the light can be from flowers,
than eternity can be from time
or you from the mysterious powers of mind
that are living through you
in a creative turmoil of absolute freedom
that isn't second-guessing what kind of universe
you want to live in, if you were to live in it alone.
If the stones to you are merely dead languages
that have had their say, having said nothing
for millions of years, if you can't see
your home constellations
gleaming in the starmud all over your feet,
whose skull, other than yours, rolled the bones
and came up snake-eyes in your vision of life
as ritually unluckier than death, if not yours, you, who else?
If there were one mondo, shibboleth, mantra, or blessing
I could say that would show you
just as a mirage is a near relative of water,
the dream of what the desert's longing for,
the memory of what it used to know,
so delusion is just as much a friend of reality
as the left hand is to the right hand of the wheelwright.
Nor pain the enemy of joy, nor winter, spring.
No more than the silence of the dead is hostile
to those who would sing, nor the helplessness of who you were
a hurtle in the way of the sufficiency you've become.
Out of its dark abundance the inconceivable illuminates the flower
as well as the star, the mind, the heart, the tree, the rock, the river,
and the candles cry along with the abandoned lover
as once they lit up like fireflies in an ecstasy of insight
that made them wholly, solely, hopelessly the other
in a union of one revealed by the bonds of separation.
If only I could speak one improbable word of truth
that might absolve you of seeking irresolute resolutions
for the empty grails and fables of pain
you left like the skulls of milestones
and wounded roadsigns along the way.
It wouldn't matter at all to me
whether your chains were iron or gold,
or you were snared by the crescent thorns
of the birdnets and dreamcatchers
that slipped like fireflies between the lines
like insights into time and space
that couldn't be grasped until
it was well understood and forgotten
the life isn't solid, it's real.
If only there were one word I could say
one sound, sign, star, dropp of water
I could offer you in the goblet of a flower
that only blooms an hour in the morning
like the tear of a distant ocean of time,
that would lay a kiss upon your heavy eyelids,
or that stone of a forehead you've dreamed upon
so long now like the pillow of a sleeping mountain
that circles it like a cloud that refuses
to believe it hasn't already risen from the dead
and leaves an unsigned loveletter from a shy star
just like you who are learning to shine underwater
as if there were no end of the message or the messenger.

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Patrick White

Some People Go Looking For Happiness

Some people go looking for happiness.
Some prefer power or beauty wealth and fame.
Some crave intensity.
Some seek peace.
Some search for food and shelter.
Some want to die with a good name.
Everybody takes their lead from the way they came.
And everyone says they're looking for love
though no one knows what it looks like.
They try to fit their thoughts to their words
like skin they can touch
that doesn't scar like the moon
or shed like a petal too delicate for the senses
but most just end up trying
to mummify the mindstream
by laying thousands of years of starmaps
down on troubled waters
like autumn leaves
that don't know where they're going.
Eventually everything's swept away
in the undertow of a dark ocean
that only smells sweet from a distance.
And longing shifts like infra-red into the blackness.
And bones on the moon are the only signs
that life once perished here.
Orphic skulls whose jaws dropped
like gates before their own gaping prophecies.
Time flows like a non-existent future into us
and it fills us with a hunger
for everything we've lost
or feel somehow was always missing.
One of the cardinal features of the emptiness
we are conceived again and again out of
is there's nothing behind its face
you can fix like an identity to space.
For fourteen billion years
the universe has been nothing
but one long beginning without end
making everything up as it goes along
out of nothing
like a man whistling down a long road
far from home
late at night
to let anything that might be listening in the darkness
know he's there
so nothing can take him by surprise.
And every step he takes
he steps across a threshold like a star
just coming into being
whose light goes off in all directions
looking for blind water it can turn into eyes.
Bosons hadrons leptons neutrinos wimps and quarks
the deeper you look into the matter
the more you realize
out to the furthest galaxy and beyond
seeing is being
and being is all fireflies.
And every one of them
is true north of nowhere.
Some people follow their own beginnings
like laws into the future
hoping to become someone else
that doesn't recognize them anymore
for who they were.
The peduncle's lost in the ensuing phylum.
Their future's rich
but their past is always poor.
The planet doesn't spin on its axis for them.
It's hinged like a door
that only opens one way
though it's a two-faced god
that begins them like last year.
But the leaves of autumn
aren't the laundered money of spring
because if our fulfilment
weren't already behind us
we wouldn't be here
trying to true the last to the first
of an unfinished multiverse
like the best to the worst
as if red were the past of blue.
Stop thinking birth is the past of death
or spring is the future of winter
as if they weren't the same breath
and one breath of life weren't enough
to keep the fireflies glowing in your ashes for eternity
and everywhere you look
you will flower like a vine
that divines its way to the wine
by ripening the grapes of gratitude.
You will understand
for all that you have grasped
and brought to fruition
your most exalted aspiration
is a heap of dead branches in the spring
burning like leaves of fire
still reaching out for the sun
and you will hear the mind-mirror whisper to itself
like the wind on far off waters
Narcissus is drowning in his own reflection
like the flashback of a life he left unlived
but everything is immersed in me
like a mind
like a sea in a fish that ran aground
on the uncharted landfalls of its own teaching.
And the wine will flower in your mouth like a grail
that's given up preaching
and finally found its own voice
like a bird returning to a tree at nightfall
to call out in its solitude
to the stars as they appear
we are here we are here we are here
where we belong
at peace with everything we're missing
everything we long for
everything we are and are becoming
that overtakes us like music from within
transforming the silence into song
the water into wine
small beings into a big space
looking into the passing face
of everything's that's mortal about us
with our eyes fixed upon the divine
not to see it in any one place
but with the presence of mind
to be wholly and impurely not that not this
without anywhere a trace of ultimacy
in this world that we take for a sign
we are here we are here we are here
and things are as they are
not as they must be.
Nothing got here legally.
What's the expanding universe
if not a refugee in its own country
somehow exiled from itself for reasons
only it can express?
Citizen Universe
show me your papers
your paintings your poems
show me how you dance on your own
show me how you put your children to sleep
show me how you bar an F chord
show me what you weep for
what you delight in
what you esteem
what you despise
what you ignore
what darkness of yours
feeds that inferno of stars above you
burning its constellations like passports
that aren't going anywhere
show me the black mirror
that says you don't belong here
like some misplaced night of the full moon
not marked on any calendar
show me the law of being human
that says this little piggy has one
and this little piggy has none
show me where it's written
the guest shall turn strangers away
from his host's generosity
like a dog at the door
that bares its teeth at the table
show me the home-made honey
of your wisdom
show me the dead lamps
of the apocalyptic fireflies
that designed your chaotic cosmology
by plagiarizing the light
to prove the stars
don't reserve
a space in the universe
for any insight of yours.
Nothing got here legally.
No one followed a coyote or a law
to cross the border
into this insurgency of being
no one checked the colour of your eyes
or profiled the light
to see if they were fit for seeing.
You don't need a constitution
to verify your liberty.
Well before you were born
you were free and ever shall be
to belong here as we all do
to pursue what makes us
sad mad bad or happy
the way we all got here
the way we all get through
the way we're all alone here together
with one another as we are with you
as we are with her and him and me
as we are with everything
as we are with ourselves
when we don't know who we're becoming
when we don't know the stranger on the bridge
watching the water flow
that's waiting to greet us on the other side
in the only way the unblighted heart of reality
we're all looking for
like blood on a grail-quest for our humanity
accepts the darkness that seeks us out
like a miraculous elixir of insight
so the kingdom won't fail
so the garden doesn't ask us
for a green card to know and grow
in the only way we truly belong here
in the only way we know how to be
so the lifeboat we're all in
like the same boundless mind
is always as full
as it is empty
so no one gets left out at sea
like a wave that couldn't be saved
and no one gets in
who doesn't know how to swim
the way we all got here
and continue to be
all these thresholds of the sea
that steps across us
even as we move like waves
breaking discipline with our own continuum
creatively.
Just to be here.
Just to crawl up on the shore of a new medium
like a refugee planting flowers
we brought from home
hoping we'll still be here
to watch them bloom.

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Where No One Works!

hauling scrap metal,
junk...
old washers, dryers,

old beat up cars,
rusted down high octane
roads going nowhere.....

metallic flowers,
dying and dead,
never to bloom again...

hauling junk...
trading metal for milk,
bread, and potatoes...

in the land where no one works!

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A World Ending Upon One's Death...

they all remember
their dead,

they make landmarks
of places
they've been to

they make journals
to keep forever
what happened
when they were still alive

they take pictures
preserve them
frame them and hang them in the walls of their
libraries
and living rooms

old faces, beautiful bodies
in their dresses
of their own times
and suits and
shoes,

in truth
no one likes to remember

the world ends
when one dies somehow

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One More Thing to Say

When it comes to you my words seem
to never end, for it seems that I always
have one more thing to say.

One more thing to say
about your beautiful face.

One more thing to say
about how much
I long to feel the warmth of
your embrace.

One more thing to say
about your words that
make me laugh.

One thing to say about
how finding you I have
found my better half.

when it comes to you
me saying my words never
end is true.

I have one more thing
to say.....
I love you.

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