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The Poem I Waited For All Day

THE POEM I WAITED FOR ALL DAY
THE POEM I WAITED FOR ALL DAY

The Poem I waited for all day
Came only in the evening
Instead of green and gold
Its grey was ready for black.
Life is that way
We wait and wait
For the sudden dawn of beauty
And somewhere else preparing
In another way
The sudden blindness comes.

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The First Line Is Heard From Somewhere Else

The first line is heard from somewhere else
The second line builds on it
And the third and those after
Until another stanza begins
That says in an easier and more focused way
What the first stanza struggled for-

The poem ends when it ends
Not knowing always if it has ended-
For the poem must be rewritten line by line once again
And perhaps too within it it will fail in indecision
As the end often does.

The last line is heard from all the other lines
But sometimes I hear too much
And sometimes not enough
And often I do not know
If it is right
But there are times
When the last line brings all the other lines together
And the end is the one end there should be.

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Be That Way

(stephony smith/bob dipiero)
Every time I turn around
I run into your pride
Sometimes Im not so sure if I wanna
Know that guy, know that guy
cause you got a rock hard head
Stubborn as a mule
Oh, yeah, and by the way, I still love you
Go on and be that way
Slam that door
Make a scene
Yell some more
Come on lets have it out
Have your say
cause with a love this strong
Baby its okay
For you to be that way
Sometimes what you dont say
Can make the deepest cut
And I get my feelings hurt
And I just go nuts, well a little nuts
So try to ignore that girl
Shes just blowin off steam
Oh and I dont know about her
But I hope you say to me
Go on and be that way
Slam that door
Make a scene
Yell some more
Come on lets have it out
Have your say
cause with a love this strong
Baby its okay
For you to be that way
Baby lets get emotional
What do you say we let it all go
Let it go
Go on and be that way
Slam that door
Make a scene
Yell some more
Come on lets have it out
Have your say
cause with a love this strong
Baby its okay
For you to be that way
Be that way, oh yeah

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Hes Funny That Way

Richard a. whiting / neil moret
Never had nothing
No one to care
Thats why I seem to have
More than my share
I ve got a man crazy for me
Hes funny that way
When I hurt his feelings
Once in a while
His only answer is one little smile
Ive got that man crazy for me
Hes funny that way
I can see no other way
And no better plan
End it all and let him go
To some better gal
But Im only human
A coward at best
Im more than certain
Hed follow me west
Though he loves to work
And slave for me everyday
Hed be so much better off
If I went away
But why should I leave him
Hed be unhappy without me I know
Ive got that man crazy for me
Hes funny that way

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02-04-2012 Brother I give you my answer for Black People African Sahara it mesmerizes the wise largest desert it is asked of we What is Africa is to me 3.3 million miles of grea

Brother I give you my answer
for Black People

African Sahara
it mesmerizes the wise
largest desert
it is asked of we
What is Africa is to me
3.3 million miles
of great desert
once a forest
once a great sea
once an empty hole
in space just waiting
to be that it can
birth the blackness
of who my mothers be
3.3 millions
you can not see it all
Trans Saharan trade
is but a child
weather selling slaves
or selling salt
and always
brought and sold
the black man's art, gold
the paintings
was still for the walls
to surround us
a representation of the thing
that be, the God that
rose Africa from the sea
man got his
walking feet
on Africa's soil
Africa Moors
salt caravans
Africa the salt
of the land
what more did Africa
give to man
gold first mimed
found its glow
in the hands of
a black child
oldest gold jewelry
in Queen Zer's tomb
being as old as this
there is nothing
that we can not do

2


Ivory like
polished stones
brought first
first African's sold
temples carved in stone
monuments to the stars
time reconciled first
by black men
our diet first set
by black mothers
with the future
suckling at their breast
women who smoothed
the roughness of their men
who were molded
on the land and without them
man does not exist
can not stand to be a man
these women folk
that founded and ruled
empires that none has of yet
master to control
Africa is the earth's Queen
and she have
no king nor need of one
Timbuktu flows
smooth off the tongue
the beauty
of Africa
is in Djenné
and Kournb
and where was man to
first child born
on Ethiopian's or
Botswana's soil
soil is the key
to who we be
as Native Penon Woman III
is native to America
Axum my Queen
of Sheba
the Axumite Empire
she made her own
Menelik
her son
father
King Solomon
he Menlik
first Emperor
of Ethiopian
he brought
the Arc of
the Covenant
back to Ethiopia
the only one
the Ten Commandment
that God carved in fire and light
the holy writ that guide some
black folks lives
the Egyptian words
the Jewish stones
The ten rules to use, abused
abruptly approve as truth
to writ as if it lives
like life, like Corporation
having life, all rules writ in stone
will someday break down
to dust on the wind
and reform somewhere else
man will never
conduct their lives
as not to covert
another man's wife
how holy is
man made of flesh
how hard the hash
his deeds and words
how come he
to seek control
of God as life
never before told
no true truth
can be known
the Ten Commandments
now the
white man's religion
is touched by
black hands
and these hands
have tilled the land
from which
human did grow


3

African
how large your
second count holds
in continent bold
how second your populous
of the range
of the blacks
from high yellow
to dirty red
to nub and blue-black
the blue-black
that blacks attacks
with adopted words like
niggers and fags
as if words we
must reclaim
brothers know thy self
words are a
deathly game
deathly as Eudy Simelane
is dead in her grave
or our brother name unknown
beaten and
set to fire the hatred
of men flames
it's sins in his rein
to be closer to a God
that money raised
we have no
human scientific limits
when it comes to
inflicting pain
made in the image of God?
Are you fucking mad
what kind of twist
of madness, twined with
love of lost of
another brother's life?
What creature sexually
molest it's own with sensuous delights?
To what God do man belong?
He thinks that his children
are his greatest hope
and not that we are theirs
and so some he starves
some out of life
and who knows
that that one
with dirt tossed
onto it blotted belly
may not have been
the one to make all the difference
of if our souls and form
rise or fall the fall into hell
where surely we are bound
to allow one child
six percent of earth
first man of the human
first Hominidera
ain't we an old soul?
We the first
in our blood
Homo Erectus
first Homo people
first male lust
for male and tight muscles
and women folks
who knew the smell
of the period of the other
and delighted to do so
first male blow
first life, first lfr
and Afri
we starts with an A
Aphrile without cold
Epher of Abraham
so says Leo Africanus
and we Aphròs
Egyptian taken out of
Af-rai-ka not taken toward
the opening of Ka
the energetic double
we not I the Ka
it takes a village
opening the womb
the birth place
no other lands
is older then
the Africa, that just be
oldest to rise
up out of the
one great sea
origin of human species
salt caravans
the salt of the earth
growth first found
its hold in the
first soil of a black land
ivory like polished stones
brought first, first sold
and who is to say
that by the way
Africans did not sailed
to people South America
potatoes and diamonds
oldest inhabitant territory
evidence clear
no bible can
rewrite the truth.


4
African's
Louisiana Voodoo
Haitian Voodoo too
Bondye, Iwa
the forces
of the universe
the reproductive good
the evil health
my father's spirit
haunts me no more
with his absence
the mount
do not mount me
for good or ill
the twin of
contradiction
I claim as my own as Gods
for without it
we know nothing
but this by this
this thing here
sat against this
is it known
the dead
the honor to give
they also heals
my needs to
be like voodoo
to my people
voodoo
pacify the sprints
that guides
their lives
Botswana's
soil holds
the oldest
worshiping on earth
the birth of God
on African soil
in Ngamiland
rituals of worship
the python
70,000 years old
the blacks
knew
true
that there lived
something greater
then me and you
and that we can not own
but live within as one
of the all mighty ALL
Europe only
counts 30,000
babies in the cradle
the Kalahari desert
many know its name
but not the Tsodilo Hills
within our closest friend
of who we be
as flesh of human
the first artiest
the first priest
that rock
that whispers
that mountain
of God
the consciousness of
is an invention of our
what is Africa to me
he asked the question
East St. Louis
to Oakland
African
lives in me
be where
black blood be as thine
the only way
to share the
original blood
is through us
African Sahara
it mesmerizes the wise
largest desert
it is asked of we
What is Africa is to me
3.3 million miles
of great desert
once a forest
once a great sea
once an empty hole
in space just waiting
to be that it can
birth the blackness
of who my mothers be
3.3 millions
you can not see it all
Trans Saharan trade
is but a child
weather selling slaves
or selling salt
and always
brought and sold
the black man's art, gold
the paintings
was still for the walls
to surround us
a representation of the thing
that be, the God that
rose Africa from the sea
man got his
walking feet
on Africa's soil
Africa Moors
salt caravans
Africa the salt
of the land
what more did Africa
give to man
gold first mimed
found its glow
in the hands of
a black child
oldest gold jewelry
in Queen Zer's tomb
being as old as this
there is nothing
that we can not do

2


Ivory like
polished stones
brought first
first African's sold
temples carved in stone
monuments to the stars
time reconciled first
by black men
our diet first set
by black mothers
with the future
suckling at their breast
women who smoothed
the roughness of their men
who were molded
on the land and without them
man does not exist
can not stand to be a man
these women folk
that founded and ruled
empires that none has of yet
master to control
Africa is the earth's Queen
and she have
no king nor need of one
Timbuktu flows
smooth off the tongue
the beauty
of Africa
is in Djenné
and Kournb
and where was man to
first child born
on Ethiopian's or
Botswana's soil
soil is the key
to who we be
as Native Penon Woman III
is native to America
Axum my Queen
of Sheba
the Axumite Empire
she made her own
Menelik
her son
father
King Solomon
he Menlik
first Emperor
of Ethiopian
he brought
the Arc of
the Covenant
back to Ethiopia
the only one
the Ten Commandment
that God carved in fire and light
the holy writ that guide some
black folks lives
the Egyptian words
the Jewish stones
The ten rules to use, abused
abruptly approve as truth
to writ as if it lives
like life, like Corporation
having life, all rules writ in stone
will someday break down
to dust on the wind
and reform somewhere else
man will never
conduct their lives
as not to covert
another man's wife
how holy is
man made of flesh
how hard the hash
his deeds and words
how come he
to seek control
of God as life
never before told
no true truth
can be known
the Ten Commandments
now the
white man's religion
is touched by
black hands
and these hands
have tilled the land
from which
human did grow


3

African
how large your
second count holds
in continent bold
how second your populous
of the range
of the blacks
from high yellow
to dirty red
to nub and blue-black
the blue-black
that blacks attacks
with adopted words like
niggers and fags
as if words we
must reclaim
brothers know thy self
words are a
deathly game
deathly as Eudy Simelane
is dead in her grave
or our brother name unknown
beaten and
set to fire the hatred
of men flames
it's sins in his rein
to be closer to a God
that money raised
we have no
human scientific limits
when it comes to
inflicting pain
made in the image of God?
Are you fucking mad
what kind of twist
of madness, twined with
love of lost of
another brother's life?
What creature sexually
molest it's own with sensuous delights?
To what God do man belong?
He thinks that his children
are his greatest hope
and not that we are theirs
and so some he starves
some out of life
and who knows
that that one
with dirt tossed
onto it blotted belly
may not have been
the one to make all the difference
of if our souls and form
rise or fall the fall into hell
where surely we are bound
to allow one child
six percent of earth
first man of the human
first Hominidera
ain't we an old soul?
We the first
in our blood
Homo Erectus
first Homo people
first male lust
for male and tight muscles
and women folks
who knew the smell
of the period of the other
and delighted to do so
first male blow
first life, first lfr
and Afri
we starts with an A
Aphrile without cold
Epher of Abraham
so says Leo Africanus
and we Aphròs
Egyptian taken out of
Af-rai-ka not taken toward
the opening of Ka
the energetic double
we not I the Ka
it takes a village
opening the womb
the birth place
no other lands
is older then
the Africa, that just be
oldest to rise
up out of the
one great sea
origin of human species
salt caravans
the salt of the earth
growth first found
its hold in the
first soil of a black land
ivory like polished stones
brought first, first sold
and who is to say
that by the way
Africans did not sailed
to people South America
potatoes and diamonds
oldest inhabitant territory
evidence clear
no bible can
rewrite the truth.


4
African's
Louisiana Voodoo
Haitian Voodoo too
Bondye, Iwa
the forces
of the universe
the reproductive good
the evil health
my father's spirit
haunts me no more
with his absence
the mount
do not mount me
for good or ill
the twin of
contradiction
I claim as my own as Gods
for without it
we know nothing
but this by this
this thing here
sat against this
is it known
the dead
the honor to give
they also heals
my needs to
be like voodoo
to my people
voodoo
pacify the sprints
that guides
their lives
Botswana's
soil holds
the oldest
worshiping on earth
the birth of God
on African soil
in Ngamiland
rituals of worship
the python
70,000 years old
the blacks
knew
true
that there lived
something greater
then me and you
and that we can not own
but live within as one
of the all mighty ALL
Europe only
counts 30,000
babies in the cradle
the Kalahari desert
many know its name
but not the Tsodilo Hills
within our closest friend
of who we be
as flesh of human
the first artiest
the first priest
that rock
that whispers
that mountain
of God
the consciousness of
is an invention of our
what is Africa to me
he asked the question
East St. Louis
to Oakland
African
lives in me
be where
black blood be as thine
the only way
to share the
original blood
is through us

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That Way He had.

That way he had with words,
That tone he could produce to
Make you go weak at the knees.
You remember him; the photograph
Did it, brought him to mind. You turn
It over, see the scribbled writing on
The back. A poem he wrote, scribbled
Down. The blue has faded, the ink dried
To a death, yet the written words remain,
The message clear: he loved you, compared
You to some summer’s day, not original,
But moving in its way. Copied out of some
Book, no doubt, Shakespearean sonnet, word
For word, the meaning meant, the message
All set down. You kiss the photograph, cry,
Laugh. What a place to drown; what a place
To depart and break a heart: drunk in a bath.

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For Those Who Choose to Be Connected That Way!

Trying to enforce one's point of view,
In someone else's home...
In their backyard and on their land,
Ultimately achieves unexpected defeat.
For those who believe it is easy to deceive.
Especially if old tactics have proven successful,
In the past!

Today...
Those of higher consciousness are spiritually connected.
In ways understood that deception and use of weapons,
Are as worthless as a car in need of gas to get it started.
Or whatever method today is used that one finds depleted.

It's very much like this in a basic scenerio...
~Arrogance and high expectations,
Is commendable for one attempting to achieve goals set
For oneself.
However...
Danger lurks,
If one perceives another to be so naive
Not to eventually tire of one's deception.
Especially when nothing genuine has been exchanged,
For a show of hospitality that is expressed.
And has been accepted by those understanding this,
For generations.
Someone can expect an eventual rude awakening.~

And that's just a part of human nature.
For those who choose to be connected that way!

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Patrick White

The Birth Of Rain

Drifting on a drab Sunday in Perth among the ashtrays and leftover sublimities of the church bells. My studio window above the rooftops a smear of willow and wet pine undulating gently in the stillness that followed the rain. Wolves on the easel, waiting to pay the rent. May of the fifth year into the twenty-first century, fifty-six, I sit in a blizzard of tobacco crumbs because I'm too poor to buy tailor-mades, coughing at the computer, wiping small drops of water like pygmy tears from the Cyclopean eye of the screen that glows with the same effulgence as the dirty sheet of the sky. The main migrations are over, but maybe these words are rosaries of late-returning birds. Two anthracite, boat-tailed grackles on a branch just beyond the grimy glass and a gust of sparrows chirrup like squeaky alternator-belts, manically elated in the wake of the storm that has just passed. My freedoms are more sober, my resurgencies probably less profound than the gray roses I give birth to here at my desk, waiting for one of these terminal urgencies of insight to sway me like a bell.

Maybe Louise later today with her Cola and cassettes, and her rough, voluptuous, laughing humanity scorning the random acids of the vulgar world that schools her, a muse who doesn't take requests, a generous longing that's been through a lot. So I sublimate the root-fires of my leafless batons into an auto-de-fe of white canes tired of trying to tap their way through a maze of sexual creeds, blind. The result? A novel and dozens of poems apples above the worms. And I keep her cats, Morgan and Rain, mother and kitten almost fully grown. There are no humans Louise loves more.

The kitten was born beside me on the couch at one-thirty in the morning while Louise was in the hospital and I read La Mettrie, d'Holbach, Diderot, d'Alembert, Voltaire, Rousseau and Helvetius, eighteenth century French les philosophes. Two days ago, remembering, she asked me to write a poem to celebrate the birth. And it's two hundred and fifteen years since the French revolution went into convulsions and mothered daggers out of its wounds, and we are neither free, nor equal, nor brothers, and the birth of Rain, by association, is only the smallest of iota subscripts below the voluminous pretext of that slaughter, hardly, if at all, a mote that matters; but in a way she was born while the peasants stormed the Bastille, and time sent corpses and ideas floating facedown on one of its more famous rivers of blood all the way to the embryonic comma of this tender, contrary event. And there was honour in being a witness when Morgan jumped up beside me

and lay her head upon my right arm as a pillow, the great red text
with ivory pages open to the public like the Vatican before me
as the soft, gray satchel of her body shuddered with the natal lightning
of a different storm, the quickening eruptions of a different riddle
than the one that dropped its answer like a blade
on the necks of the cropped carnations as I kept on reading, thinking
to run for a towel before deciding not to disturb her,
that a little blood on the couch wouldn't hurt anything
compared to the streams of gore that caked the pages of my book.

And there was a humility in the act of watching, and a trust,
as if a great secret were demanding something of her
she was willing to go through hell to give. And my heart
laboured with her like a sympathetic strawberry, convinced of a miracle,
and even the colder lizards of my mind were awed
by the conception of the material immortality achieved
by the platitudinous genius of replicating genomes,
and who among temples and havens and research labs
could hold a candle to that, and what have I written, or felt, or thought,
that even comes close? And there wasn't a manger,
but the whole of the vast, star trailing night
crowded in behind the adoration of the angel-winged lamps to observe
genesis in the portent of its light
as Morgan rose like a violent squall
and squatting let slip with a howl of wounded passage
a black, sleek pickle of life wrapped in pink ribbons
tied to the tongue-sized kite of a pink placenta
with nothing left to say
while the French Revolution lay open on the table,
crazed with vertical caesarians. Two minutes more
and the afterbirth was eaten, Rain, because she's rippled, blind
because her eyes were queered by the living room light,
groomed and heading for the tit the way
a baby turtle waddles out of its cosmic egg with the world on its back to the sea,
her three-toed paws not yet the heavy seals of tigers,
and stumped by the impasse of continental plates
between the cushions, her first obstruction, tried, but insurmountable, I
appointed myself a force of nature as good as any
and gave her a boost to the bottle, Morgan,
a cat that seldom purrs, purring like dough
at having the cleat of her nipple kneaded into milk.

Two and a half hours I walked and waited to see if she would live;
window to window, through doors and back again, two and a half hours
to ascertain if the uncertain droplet of her heart
that reflected the hidden glory of the living
pulsed to a martial strain or the beat of a funeral drum,
or better yet, fell like music from the eaves. Everything
was given, as black cherries are given
and fingertips and stars and saffron orchids under eel-skin leaves
and drunken voices in the street proclaiming imperious ecstasies
and names and gods and dragonflies
or the silence coiled in the throats of overgrown wells
like the psalms of sleeping serpents older than the rocks is given.

And what could I do as life divined the outcome, the wyrd
of a beginning innocent as whiskers, but live the history of everything
in the mystery of the moment and wait with the wind and the trees
as others had waited for me to pull the ore from the stone
and crown my own existence? And I thought of the children
of the French nobility, I thought of Lavoisier and Buffon
who loved animals and plants and oxygen,
and fifty thousand pikes forged for the Paris militia, and Goethe
who affirmed the auspicious aspects of the sixteenth Louis' reign,
and the train of death carts that creaked toward the guillotine
with their saloneries of elegant women shaved for death,
and of all those who had been bled for centuries by the lies
of the mitre, the robe, the sword and the crowns of luckier stars,
wasps who laid their eggs upon a living host constrained to entertain
their vicious myth of origins, and it seemed to me in passing
that this simple birth of a common kitten
in the smalltown hours of a bird-freaked morning on the verge of dawn
washed out the blood of millions in their indistinguishable graves
at the first sign of this feline gesture of primogenitive rain.

And born a Leo, flame in the tinder enough, equal to her claws, a gift,
she lived and suckled and slept in the bay of her cloudy mother
as I went off to bed, my nightwatch ended, more enhanced
by a single birthstain on the couch, her watermark,
than the thousand pages of bloodshed that drenched my weary head:
And I dreamed, a marvelous dream, a crazy blue dream
as if Bast, the Egyptian goddess of cats slept at my feet commingling
her visions with mine, images and symbols and the strange arcana
of things released from time and sequence and history
to dance freely with the dead who lived again emphatically
beyond the clamour of their chains and violated thresholds,
and it seemed to me their eyes, their incredible gold-flecked eyes
were slashed by black crescent moons that waxed and waned
like cups and flowers, like tides and the improvised hours of childhood
as if each were the pearl and the lens and the seeing
of a vast ocean of a living liquid light that fed
the umbilical rivers and womb-waters of all it called back from the night
like the words of a wounded song. And slowly as my mind
adjusted to the subtlety of the nurturing glow, I realized
this fathomless reservoir, deeper than any idea, wider
than any feeling, was the watershed of my own frail knowing,
the nacreous mother of all, older than beginnings, creatrix of all,
whole and unbounded in every atom, star, leaf, cell, skull, tear and firefly,
the fountain-mouth of form and time, nights and mornings,
everything the issue of the bell of her being, storms, bones, dreams,
suns and their planets, starfish and leopards, heroes and snails,
the thief in the window, and the burnt salts
of the excruciating murderers who cut out their own tongues
everytime they kill, spiders, fish, wheat and poppies,
and the blackholes that are the engines of other universes,
all the language and the lyric of her substance, the birth of time
in every heartbeat, chaos and cosmos in every pulse that shakes the void,
space, her skin, intelligence, her eyes,
and the wavelengths of her wild hair, the fragrance of ancient nights
that ripened like apricots, everywhere curled into galaxies,
and all, forever, without exception,
the auroral transformation of her vital radiance, and she,
without dimension, the broad canvas and inspiratrix of life.

And in an instant I saw the shadows of the generations,
billions of men, women, and children, maligned and celebrated alike,
the cursed and the blessed, the beautiful, the wise, the athletes
and the cripples, the criminals, the tyrants and the saints,
moving like the sloppy surf of autumn leaves through the darkness,
dry, used-up things, heavier than the sorrows of coal, tears of coal
and the torn pages of banished books
ushered by a wind that seemed the breathing of time itself
toward her lavish shores to drink from their own reflections
and be restored, not saved, because nothing can be lost,
like flowers to the luminous wines of life
that poured into their desiccated creekbeds like rain, like roots,
like trees and the dendritic boughs of space, like bloodstreams
in the hazardous course of tumultuous histories, each, like anyone,
like me, like you, like Louise, Morgan, Rain and Voltaire,
because the whole of the sky, the moon, the stars
are mirrored in every eye, shine in every eye like being itself,
and from every tear, every droplet at the tip of the stargrass,
from every berry of blood that stains its own seeing,
from the tiniest womb of water that falls into life through the night,
Egypt and the Nile, France, kittens, dreams, insight.

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Sometimes It Be That Way

Night with its shattered teeth
Attempts to speak
My pen is present but
Courage left via the sink
And I'm sorry
I snuck up on you
From behind
I'm sorry not all
My love letters did rhyme
And I'm sorry that
Jesus died for my sins
And I swear to God
It won't happen again
And I'm sorry
If it was my swerve that
Tempted you to sway
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
And Romeo was
A very nice man
He said
"Jewel

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I Like It That Way

(robert jason)
Ive got someone in my life
Who loves me wrong or right
And I like it that way
He gives me room to breathe
But hes there for me
And I like it that way
I like it that way
I like the way he says me name
And how hes not afraid
To open up and let his feelings show
Hes exactly what I need
He loves me honestly
One look in his eyes
Tells me all I need to me know
When hes on overtime
I get that little ache inside
And I like it that way
Were as close as two can be
But hes still him and Im still me
And I like it that way
Yeah, I like it that way

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On a Midsummer's Day

Pale Dawn Blushes
As a raven flies
a black speck against
the morning skies
Wonder! at his audacious flight
this last remaining trace of night.

Anxious eyes then
note its span
straining as hard
as ere they can
everyman with his secret fear
will the raven bring it near?

A white Hare runs
breaking cover
a surefire omen
of a jealous lover
each woman feels her heart astir
is he sick for love of her?

Do the flowers bloom
too late or too soon?
Does Midsummer fall
on a full moon?
Do you have a dream to tell -
is all Ill or is all Well?

Did you meet a
Darkhaired Lass
Or trudge behind
a Beggar's Ass?
Did a black cat cross your way
as you came to greet the day?

Note each omen
every one
that marks the season
of the sun
and you'll be blessed with happy days
and long hot nights (in many ways!)

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Loves Funny That Way

Theres no king when love is the thing
We play the same rules
In a heartbeat a wise man can be a fool
Theres no guarantee that love will be
A stranger or friend
A prayer thats answered or a heartache that never ends
Through the darkest hours when all is said and done
It has the power, you go from lonely to the lucky one
(chorus)
Loves funny that way
No matter who you are
Well it can shake your faith
Or it can break your heart
Once in a while the mountains move
We all long for those days
You live, you laugh, you say
Loves funny that way
Not long ago I got to know the lonely side
Just me and my pain and nowhere to hide
It amazes me
How my world turned around
If its meant to be
Thats all that matters to me anyhow
(repeat chorus)
So when you dont understand
Best you leave it in loves hands
Just live, laugh and say
Loves funny that way

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I'll wait for the Second Dawn......

may you came late to my life, as the
ageless moment flew in the past of today

you who lend me to feel the resounding
echo of thy heart, whisper the mocking
birds of my inner heart and calls to listen
in the harbor of celestine shore

come in, lovely wind and hold my
face folding your immense calmness that
i adore, wait until, dawn, of where my
chime call for thee

let the flower bloom in your hair
and lead me to honor your command, the
sprouted glows flower in your way

wind callous me to wake, in the dream
day that i wish and show the real you in
the face of today, my soul greeted for
thee, make a million sea's for the dune
has to say forever free

goodbye dear heart, now the wind blows
as it might be the end of seeing my lovely
hope that i may see

oh! droplets of dew sizzle the falling
flowers of beautiful moment to stay

pick me up dear ……

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For Those Who Brought That to Others

Everyone they can name is blamed,
For the decline of their fantasized existence.
They insist reality be stopped.
The affects of it keeps them seeking shelter.
As if truth is an illusion that offers escape.
The madness unwraps upon mattresses,
Where no sleeping takes place for them.
They find themselves disgraced!
And faces before them frowning...
Are those who have lost their passion,
To keep up false impressions.
It is difficult to have had...
And to see what was possessed,
Gone.
It is like leaving a masquerade ball for some.
And for many...
They just can not seem to leave at all.
It is hard to feel a pity for their sadness.
It is hard to find a sorrow,
For those who brought that to others.
And turned their backs...
Uncaring and feeling no remorse!
But then,
Of course...
God and the Deities do not like ugly deeds!
Not to self pleasure while others are in need.
This pendulum switch is now witnessed!

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Im Not That Way

Hold me... let me dry those tears for you
Be the healer... of your heart he broke in two
I wanna hold you close....
But somethin tells me to wait
Is it too soon to touch,
To reach for the love that you hide away...
Talk to me... tell me with your eyes
What did he do... to make you feel this way inside
Chorus:
Empty words, and promises made
Im not that way
Come to me and dont be afraid
Im not that way
Silence... was meant to be broken
Like waves on the shore
Let your tears wash away these emotions
I cant change the world,
I can change your mind...
Ill always be here, for you until you realize
Empty words, and promises made
Im not that way
Broken trust... a failure in faith
Im not that way
Im not that way
Cause lifes too short for waistin
Waistin precious time
If time is what you need baby
Ill give you all of mine
One day youre gonna look at me
And love is what youll find...
Empty words, and promises made
Im not that way
Come to me
Bring back your faith
Dont be afraid
Im not that way
Im not that way
I want to hold you
I want to hold you close
Let me hear your heart baby

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You're Made That Way

Michael mcdonald / jeffrey baxter / keith knudsen
Who are you
Where you been
How'd you come into my life
I just know once you get started
Girl, i been throwin' my heart in
You're just like walkin' in a danger zone
A chance i just had to take
You're like a drink i needed so bad and found
If no one pulled my head back in time, i would drown
Oh, i get lost in your eyes
I crossed the line for you so long ago
Now i find truth in your lies
You got me cornered with my back to the wall
Takes all i've got just to hold on
Through all the disappointment
Love still remains
Darling, you're made that way
Girl, you're made that way
"you were just a lonely man
Living through your empty plans"
I know you're made that way
I know you're made that way
Say it please
Say you will
Come back and be in my life
Girl, if you just put your heart in it
No one could stop us once we get started
Well, i get tired of living for your applause
And putting my happiness in your hands
Well, i don't know what you're expecting of me
What you want for me to be, i will be
I know you're made that way
I know you're made that way

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She Gets That Way

(roger brown/adam hughes)
If you see her down at a local bar
Showin all the signs of a lonely heart
Dont you be concerned
There aint nothin wrong
Its not her fault
She gets that way when Im gone
If shes on the floor for a dance or two
Dont mean shes lookin for a rendevous
Shell only be in his arms
til the end of the song
Theres no harm done
She gets that way when Im gone
She gets that way but I understand
I know in her heart that Im her only man
And I cant stand to think of her home all alone
So I really dont mind if she paints the town red
What we feel inside doesnt have to be said
Its a matter of trust
And I know our love is strong
Thats why I dont worry none
She gets that way when Im gone
She gets a little restless but I dont mind
cause a woman like her
Surely deserves to have herself a real good time
So I really dont mind if she paints the town red
What we feel inside doesnt have to be said
Its a matter of trust
And I know our love is strong
Thats why I dont worry none
She gets that way when Im gone
No its not her fault
She gets that way when Im gone
No theres no harm done
She gets that way when Im gone

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You Really Wouldn't Want Me That Way

I know I'm far from perfect,too set in my ways for my own good
And there's other things about me you think you'd like to change if you just could
I could let you shape me,mold me like a potter's piece of clay
But you really wouldn't want me that way
It's a crazy world we live in and it keeps on getting tougher all the time
You say you wish I wouldn't let life's troubles weigh so heavy on my mind
When things are wrong I guess that I could smile pretending everything's okay
But you really wouldn't want me that way
I'm just the man I've always been,I don't know how to be nobody else
And a man can only change so much till he becomes a shadow of himself
I never could be happy if I were just your puppet on a string,yes I could change
But you really wouldn't want me that way
Now don't misunderstand me,I want to be a man that makes you proud
I ain't ashamed to show how much I love you every way that I know how
I can make concessions but don't ask me to bend until I break
'Cause you really wouldn't want me that way
Don't ask me tomorrow to become someone I wasn't yesterday
'Cause you really wouldn't want me that way

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A Little Note For You....

you should have known that this poem is written
because the loading of the surfed murder cases sometimes takes that long enough
as though i am waiting for a date that has no hope
to come
as though i am waiting for the final fading of
a beautiful sunset

makes me impatient at time but this is the matrix
of my being
i am here and will always do what is
tasked
what is written

that categorical imperative still works
in my system
despite all my failures and
series of disappointments

and so here i am
composing these line, there are no images,
no seagulls,
nothing about the stars and moon,
you hear nothing about the flow of rivers
or the surging sounds of the swarming bees
whose cells are recently smoked and
finally burned


these seems to nothing that must mean
nothing as significant as a plane crash with 105 passengers all dead
to include a baby

without much meaning really and
nothing serious as sudden deaths as cars slamming a rock
and then fall from a high cliff
and then
explode like the hell that bad and violent movies
always feature

and if you only know,
these are what they always love to watch
and tell on one of their office breaks
when the pressure rises up.

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Does Anyone Know The Colour Of God

God made us different so we could give,
Different perceptions on how we should live,
If he knew it would've caused so much trouble,
He'd have left our planet as a pile of rubble.

He gave us all colours as a lasting gift,
I doubt that he dreamed it would cause such a rift,
But don't blame God for this shady assault,
He gave us all minds, it's entirely our fault.

We really need to focus attention,
As our world enters a dangerous dimension,
That togetherness is what will set the pace,
Not the colour of a persons face.

If the Human Race would just unite,
Then maybe for once we'd all see the light,
That to battle through our stormy weather,
The only way forward is to work together.

Take Lewis Hamilton from formula one,
A world champion second to none,
His Father was black, his mother white,
That never stopped him getting it right.

Another example is the man called Barack,
His mother was white his father black,
This proves beyond doubt what we can achieve,
If we get rid of prejudice and start to believe.

Obama's now president of the United States,
Proud that he walked through those White House gates,
The peoples selection has shown us all,
That regardless of colour we can all stand tall.

If everything we seen was drab and grey,
Would our world look as nice that way,
The flowers and animals on our beautiful planet,
The eagles and ospreys, the sea loving gannet.

Just look at the rainbow way up high,
Those united colours grace a wonderful sky,
The insects the trees all differing shades,
From the Sahara desert to the Everglades.

Regardless of colour you're a Human Being,
None have the right to think We're all seeing,
That one race is strong whilst the other is weak,
The meaning of life proves we're all unique.

If we'd only use our God given skill,
We could unite as one if we had the will,
It's part of our heritage the colour of our skin,
Be proud but united and our battle we'll win.

In essence all Humans are much the same,
As we try to survive in life's great game,
If we could set our differences aside,
The racists and bigots would have nowhere to hide.

Black and White would be no more,
We'd all be welcome at each others door,
The Human Race must now realise,
If we don't work as one our planet dies.

If only the world would follow Gods lead,
The preachers of hate would be forced to concede,
Your colour is beautiful it should not be confined,
It will take every shade to save humankind.

You may be black, brown or red even yellow or white,
Regardless of colour we we all know wrong from right.
If we stopped preaching hatred against one another,
We could actually live as sister and brother.

When you pray to your saviour do you honestly care,
What shade they might be as long as they're there,
This whole concept of colour by humans is flawed,

'' Does Anyone Know The Color Of God ''

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The Story of a Poem (Narrative Poem)

Prepared to ridicule himself, this fool
Is guarded against the jibes
Of those he thinks less inclined to self-criticism.
How then is he to gauge his faults
And turn them into something worthwhile?

How can he define his foolishness
If uncertain as to the extent of his limitations?
How can he begin to accept the advice of others -
'Go jump! ' 'Take a good hard look at yourself! ' 'Grow up! ' -
If he isn't prepared to be objective?

Unprepared to accept objectivity as objective
'I know what I know', he spouts
Ill-mannered, inconsiderate and obstinate.
How is he to assume the more demanding role
Of the one being spoken to?

No words, it seems,
Can convince him of his stupidity.
No words, that is,
Except his own.
Um.... ah.... um.... a poem takes form.

Ironically, loneliness is his theme
Nothing else can say what he wants to say.
Happiest is he, when miserable
Exposing his misery for all the world to see.
No one, it seems, is quite as miserable as he.

He takes care not to say too much
In case,
To make his point
He admits (in the mode of a tragic figure)
That there is nothing to say.

Logically, 'there is nothing to say' explains
His actions
Although failing to describe
What bothers him.
It seems that that can only be other people.

In them, real feelings express themselves
And a challenge presents itself for him to understand them
No matter
It is they not understanding him
That concerns me.

As querulous as it may sound
It is their obsession with 'reality'
That he objects to.
No amount of persuasion can convince them
That his feelings are real.

'Such as absurd notion demands an explanation'
He hears them say, but he is only prepared
To go on dreaming -
Observing others observing him
Observing them.

His sincerity
Isn't expressed in conventional terms.
Unbeknownst to them, he cares
And unknowingly they add to his suffering
As they refuse to acknowledge his feelings.

His suffering -
A product of a trivial pursuit
For universal meanings -
Is compounded by those who think him
Lacking.

***

Lacking in those human qualities
He most desires
He turns to someone, who,
Without her knowing,
Possesses them for him.

Kindly, she admits him -
Herself lacking the assurance
To comprehend the extent of his need.
She feels for him
As one would a child, an innocent, a poet.

His feelings exist in her eyes,
And his failings form
His 'uniqueness' -
A reason
For loving him.

Sufficent reason, in itself,
For him to love her.
Nevertheless he feels
An even greater need
To justify his feelings.

Their differences,
His reliance on her
And, equally,
Hers on him
Need explaining.

As others see it
Their differences contain the germs of disunity,
And in their interdependence, signs of submission.
Again they see things in 'real terms'
Neglecting to take into account the power of the imagination.

She isn't what she appears to be
Her beauty transcends experience
With all pain absorbed in her -
He shares in her happiness
And is privy to her sensitivity.

She instills in him a new faith,
Another reason to write -
A belief in humanity.
This is what he must explain
To those who think him foolish.

But he remains aloof
Barred by a certain quirk in his character -
Whenever he tries to be serious
He gives the impression
Of being insincere.

When he tries to explain his feelings
It's as if he is the one
Who needs to be convinced -
His new found faith seems void
Without someone else to believe it.

Yet people want to listen
And give him the chance he's been looking for -
The chance to prove himself to them.
They're not heartless,
And would rather not judge anyone unfairly.

The truth is, however,
That he is such a fool
That he needs to hear his own words
From someone else's mouth
Before he can believe them.

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