Wall Street…
…Main Street
….the banks
……the government buildings
…the courts!
….the whole damned country!
and re-occupy
…our own bodies,
demand the rights
..of human beings
…..being human!

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Is what it?
‘(!) …That? ‘
The title of this poem is ‘exclamation’
What did you expect?
A sharp or sudden utterance?
A vehement expression of protest or complaint?
I’m seeking something
That is oozing with profuse profundity.
And reeking with profligaticity…
As well as being profluent!
‘OH?
I too am seeking something.’
Cool. What is that?
‘Somewhere where I can ‘throwuppity’
Your ‘obnoxiousismonosis.’
Those are not ‘words’.
‘Yeah…
But they were vehemently expressed weren’t they? ‘

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..Buddha nature,
….evolving,
returning….
uncarved blocks,
waiting for the Woodcarver’s
…deft hands,
cutting away imperfections,
weaknesses in the grain….
returning to cosmos,
…an ant working,
a mountain slowly
changing shape over time….
evolving,
..from ashe
….back to fire/
to the moment before
….it
…..was
…….lit!
to the moment before that!
the Woodcarver’s hands so familiar…
…as if ours!
and the journey undertook
by no one else!
returning…
…evolving…
back to the uncarved block…
for there are no imperfections,
, , , grain lost in grain,
the stars reappear!

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eyes looking up with love,
too young, too true
to their hearts to lie….
too free to hold back,
too full of life to doubt….
too near to the darkness
to fear the light….
too close to the magic
not to believe….
love untouched, undefined…
…the teachers
…….we all pray for!

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kneeling before the fire,
exchanging spit
with the shadows.
surrounded by ghosts,
familiar, and real.
laying aside all else,
reaching deep within,
kicking the ashes
from my boots.
flesh unto flesh….
daring to live…..

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dont lie,
even cracked
with time.
dont make excuses,
nor try to please,
the truth’s the truth.
deemed good or bad,
a human collage,
light and darkness,
right and wrong.
the hidden thoughts
deny the right to judge,
and bring us back….
to the mirrors!

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Her name
A pet cat;
I named it her
She is not like other cat.
▌▌
She behaves
In separate
Not like other cats;
But she well knows
She is pet cat Tom.
▌▌▌
She is
Much emotional
Tempered as well;
Her owner knows her
She also knows the owner.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 14 December,2017

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hand on the pump…
words get in the way,
when two hearts talk!
naked emotion,
and something more distant
than the remnants of fire.
stray leaves blown
by desire and whim;
the cut too deep,
the limb silently falls.
footprints scream,
with only the trees,
to witness, to testify….
too naked to lie!

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gut wrenching,
slap in the face….
America’s indifferent hunger
swallows it’s own poor,
drowning in their jobless stupor….
take, take, take!
now nothing left
but the crumbs of greed,
falling from the chins
of the unsuspecting;
who blindly followed,
in the name of God,
wearing patriotic boots….
souls made of the flesh
colored by forgotten need!
(inspired by Terence Craddock)

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waiting for the water
to free…
only shadows stand between
this world and that,
fear has no name
other than we allow.
stripping away
the last vestige of clothing,
dance naked in the presence
of that which abides….
dance naked with gratitude
for that which endures!

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things young men never
even see, running headlong
in their quest for battle….
so busy trying to change the world,
trying to mold the world,
trying to make a name,
trying to make a difference….
that they forget to swallow!
and yet when time comes and goes,
it’s not the big battles,
not the victories and defeats….
but the small things…
rare moments stolen, and lived…
simple breaths, taken and shared,
when just for an instant,
you could see, you could feel,
both how tiny and how big….
and the taste of awe lingered,
written in the heart of your tongue…
hidden away for the time
when only memory remains!

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our own national parks
used as collateral
on loans from China!
water rights to the Great Lakes,
and other bodies of water here…
sold to China!
our jobs, Joe blue collar working
families…. sold to China!
our oil profiteer wars,
financed by China!
sleeping with the country
with the worst human rights record,
dancing with the devil!
and now, our own police forces
committing acts of violence
and oppression against Americans!
against American people protesting,
standing up for freedom and equality!
standing against the profiteers!
reacting the same way,
and with the same types of oppression,
as China!
our rights,
…our freedom,
……our dignity.
even our rights to work and survive….
sold to….
…..and even worse,
………..sold by!

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…validate your life!
you are the only thing
that cannot be bought and sold
….against your will!
dont settle for someone else’s thoughts.
dont allow yourself to be owned!
dont allow your self to be controlled.
your mind is the door to infinity.
your heart holds the key.
think!

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to accept the lie
anymore!
i know, beyond a doubt,
that all people are equal,
regardless of color, gender,
religion, financial status, or
political beliefs!
i refuse to believe
that i am all right,
when someone else
is hungry, homeless, or hurting.
i refuse to believe
that i am not responsible,
for i am most responsible
when i turn away!
i refuse to believe
that one person’s success
can come at the expense of another!
i refuse to settle!
i choose life, and life means living…
involved!

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too long too often
held down, beat down,
treated like second class,
no class, throw aways…
no voice, no choice,
emotional garbage….
mankind should bow
it’s head in shame….
beauty, intelligence,
heart reasoning….
human beings with will,
equal in every way,
human beings with rights….
man! forget not
from where you came!

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gotta eat, sleep, need somewhere
to stay, need a job…
just want to be treated like people,
equal in every way….
and my Hispanic neighbors,
hard working, working together,
(we could learn from that!)
taking care of families…
human beings with human needs,
just like us….
Asians, Native Americans…
all just the same….
all of us just people….
want to be treated that way!
folks are just folks!

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fall
..like
….rain
on
..a
….tin
……roof
too often lost in the shuffle.
an open heart
receives
…and
…..turns
…….the
………bowl
………..over
spilling kindness onto
…the face of need!

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sweat…
…dripping
……from
……..the
…. ……forehead
of the old man cutting wood
for the single mother of three….
tears
…falling
….from< br>……the
…….eyes
of the young woman holding
the orphaned child close….
the sky lit up with ‘enemy fire’….
the open hand
that
…does
…..not
…… .ask
………questions!

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pitch it where it’s dark.
dumpster diving for your food,
thrown out by the rich and rude,
who have artificial hearts.
doing day work, dont shirk,
sell your soul for nickels and dimes.
gotta be Goodwill or cheap thrills,
hopped up on stolen pills,
gonna end up doing time….
the horns blow, patriots rise.
somewhere another innocent dies.
stars and stripes in the land of lies….
freedom bows her head and cries!

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that he’d been walking forever…
the night was brisk and cool….
a half moon, and a few stars.
every step he took he let go
of something else….
all the things he’d thought he needed….
all the things that got in the way!
pride, hurt, anger, need, and
all the images he had of what should be…..
he walked up to the door, and knocked….
she opened the door just a crack…
‘what do you want? ‘
‘i just want to hold you,
to feel you close…
to smell your smell,
to taste your taste….
to listen to you breathe
in the darkness…
to hold you while you sleep….
that’s all i want,
and the world can go to hell! ‘
she opened the door,
…and let him in!

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in the slow pot…
morning hangs,
duct tape lives
in the balance….
eyes wide open,
looking both ways…
grab a smoke,
and a shovel….
join in!
wiping last night’s love
from the corner of the eyes,
or maybe just memory,
and an empty chair….
long autumn day
on the path to deliverence….
rice and beans,
in a duct tape world!

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of fighting tooth and nail
just trying to survive.
of standing up
and getting knocked down,
again and again….
of feeding one of the hungry
and turning to an empty pot.
of doing the right thing,
and being accused of the wrong.
of staying true to convictions,
and losing it all….
of helping someone up,
finding i dont have enough hands.
of taking the time to care,
finding it’s not enough…..
giving all that i’ve got,
and it’s still not enough…..
of sleeping alone,
or not sleeping at all;
something’s gonna change…..
soon!

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Symbolic verse welcomes.
1+1=2,2+2=4,4+4=8,8+8=16
*+*= **. **+**=****,8*+8*=?
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+ ∞
∞+∞+∞+∞+∞+∞+∞+∞+∞+∞+∞ =?
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•=?
♣+♣+♣+♣+♣+♣+♣+♣+♣+♣+?
☺ ☺☺ ☺☺☺ ☺☺☺☺ ☺☺☺☺☺☺
♥+♥=♥♥ ↓ ♥♥ → ♥
Dear poets and visitors,
Writing symbolic poem is difficult,
Still we feel and express thoughts,
Your immense feeling we feel,
A symbolic verse is amazing.
© Kumarmani Mahakul,23 November 2018. All rights reserved.
Form: Symbolic Verse

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begins with
a hammer and a saw,
16 penny nails,
the sun at your back,
and a willing tree!
wiping the dirt
and the fear from
a small child’s face,
with bare hands,
calloused and rough,
tender as the petals
of the long rose opening
in front of an empty house….
picking up the stray dog
hit by a passing car,
going too fast to stop,
or to care….
load him in your truck,
and off to the vet….
who trades you his time
for a bushel of beans,
and help building his porch….
real poetry written
on outhouse walls!

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free to be hungry!
free to be homeless!
free to be underpaid!
or worse, free to be unemployed.
free to be sick without care!
free to be the object of racial prejudice.
free to be oppressed by the ‘haves’!
free to be subjugated to unholy wars!
free to be lied to!
free to be used!
free to be American!
free!
‘freedom’s just another word
for nothing left to lose! ‘
kris kristofferson

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gnarled hands,
missing fingers,
backs bent with time….
standing in front of
an abandoned service station,
down by the tracks
where the train dont run….
talking about the years,
talking about the work….
or not talking at all.
postcards from a time
when living was real!

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As I have felt since, hand in hand,
We sat down on the grass, to stray
In spirit better through the land,
This morn of Rome and May?
II.
For me, I touched a thought, I know,
Has tantalized me many times,
(Like turns of thread the spiders throw
Mocking across our path) for rhymes
To catch at and let go.
III.
Help me to hold it! First it left
The yellowing fennel, run to seed
There, branching from the brickwork’s cleft,
Some old tomb’s ruin: yonder weed
Took up the floating wet,
IV.
Where one small orange cup amassed
Five beetles,—blind and green they grope
Among the honey-meal: and last,
Everywhere on the grassy slope
I traced it. Hold it fast!
V.
The champaign with its endless fleece
Of feathery grasses everywhere!
Silence and passion, joy and peace,
An everlasting wash of air—
Rome’s ghost since her decease.
VI.
Such life here, through such lengths of hours,
Such miracles performed in play,
Such primal naked forms of flowers,
Such letting nature have her way
While heaven looks from its towers!
VII.
How say you? Let us, O my dove,
Let us be unashamed of soul,
As earth lies bare to heaven above!
How is it under our control
To love or not to love?
VIII.
I would that you were all to me,
You that are just so much, no more.
Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free!
Where does the fault lie? What the core
O’ the wound, since wound must be?
IX.
I would I could adopt your will,
See with your eyes, and set my heart
Beating by yours, and drink my fill
At your soul’s springs,—your part my part
In life, for good and ill.
X.
No. I yearn upward, touch you close,
Then stand away. I kiss your cheek,
Catch your soul’s warmth,—I pluck the rose
And love it more than tongue can speak—
Then the good minute goes.
XI.
Already how am I so far
Out of that minute? Must I go
Still like the thistle-ball, no bar,
Onward, whenever light winds blow,
Fixed by no friendly star?
XII.
Just when I seemed about to learn!
Where is the thread now? Off again!
The old trick! Only I discern—
Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn.
* 1 Herb with yellow flowers and seeds supposed
* to be medicinal.

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your knives, your flags.
get out of your tanks,
your planes, get off
of your carriers.
stop the bombs,
the rhetoric, the patriotic march….
unball your fists, open your hands.
proclaim this a new day….
the first day of forever…
when humanity decided
to become human again!

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When the cock does loudly crow
I see your nice brow;
* ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ᵯ®
▌▌
The day quickly breaks
Some rays from the dare sun come
Through the window pane;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ᵯ®
▌▌▌
I see your bold face
Full of lively, confidence
Then the sun rises.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ᵯ®
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 18 December,2017

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danger electric, intoxicating,
walking on the edge,
flapping your arms
…as if you could fly!
the first kiss, the first warm bodied
lover naked in your arms,
the first taste of flesh….
the first whisper of secrets exchanged,
the first tear of parting.
the first battle fought, the first time
knocked down, struggling to your feet,
the first taste of blood,
the first questions why,
the first resolve to endure!
the first bareback ride,
the first motorcycle too fast,
the first spinning out of control….
the first laugh to hide your fear,
the first brush with mortality!
oh, that first taste of wildness,
that never leaves your mouth!
(inspired by a poem written by Shadow Girl)

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by the different terms
we use to describe people
who love someone
of their own gender….
whether it be ‘gay people’,
‘lesbians’, ‘homosexuals’…
or whatever!
why dont we just
call them people!
and treat them as such!
problem solved!

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Are matter
You show to me;
Such I show to you
We all one another.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * ᵯ®
▌▌
So
Well show
Well receive;
Chaos and dispute dismiss
Stay blessed and close.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * ᵯ®
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 18 December,2017

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i just never stop praying….
every thought, every action,
every desire, every mistake,
every footstep taken…
whether forward or backward,
a human prayer,
……….conscious,
…………..or unconscious,
to the God of both light and shadow!

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in a God that you’re afraid of?
that judges harshly, prefers
one group of people over another?
that you have to pretend for?
that you have to deny your humanity for?
that you have to hide from?
tell me why!
my God smells like rain,
thunders, with flashes of lightning.
whispers like the wind
blowing through the leaves.
runs like the river over the cliff.
caws with the crows, howls with the wolves,
mates with the deer, falls like darkness
on the tired and weary…
wipes dirt and excrement from the body
of the malnutrated child….
takes the gun from the hand
of the man bent with rage….
holds the broken and dying
in arms always open…
gives a hand to the fallen,
loves beyond reason,
without condition, without stop!

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my personal
fallout shelter….
when i grow weary
of the world’s assault!
and, baby,
i need you now!

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lay down your gun…
you have a chance to make a difference….
make the right choice!
lower your hand, soften your voice,
let go of your anger…
you have a chance to make a difference…
make the right choice!
put down your checkbook, close the register,
do something you really feel….
you have a chance to make a difference….
make the right choice!
throw out your pill bottle and your pipe,
stand up and face life….
you have a chance to make a difference…
make the right choice!
turn off your tv and your computer,
get involved with someone in need….
you have a chance to make a difference….
make the right choice!
lay down your judgements and your pride,
see people as just people….
you have a chance to make a difference….
make the right choice!

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A relic to the present cast,
Left on the ever-changing strand
Of shifting and unstable sand,
Which wastes beneath the steady chime
And beating of the waves of Time!
Who from its bed of primal rock
First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block?
Whose hand, of curious skill untaught,
Thy rude and savage outline wrought?
The waters of my native stream
Are glancing in the sun’s warm beam;
From sail-urged keel and flashing oar
The circles widen to its shore;
And cultured field and peopled town
Slope to its willowed margin down.
Yet, while this morning breeze is bringing
The home-life sound of school-bells ringing,
And rolling wheel, and rapid jar
Of the fire-winged and steedless car,
And voices from the wayside near
Come quick and blended on my ear,–
A spell is in this old gray stone,
My thoughts are with the Past alone!
A change! — The steepled town no more
Stretches along the sail-thronged shore;
Like palace-domes in sunset’s cloud,
Fade sun-gilt spire and mansion proud:
Spectrally rising where they stood,
I see the old, primeval wood;
Dark, shadow-like, on either hand
I see its solemn waste expand;
It climbs the green and cultured hill,
It arches o’er the valley’s rill,
And leans from cliff and crag to throw
Its wild arms o’er the stream below.
Unchanged, alone, the same bright river
Flows on, as it will flow forever!
I listen, and I hear the low
Soft ripple where its water go;
I hear behind the panther’s cry,
The wild-bird’s scream goes thrilling by,
And shyly on the river’s brink
The deer is stooping down to drink.
But hard! — from wood and rock flung back,
What sound come up the Merrimac?
What sea-worn barks are those which throw
The light spray from each rushing prow?
Have they not in the North Sea’s blast
Bowed to the waves the straining mast?
Their frozen sails the low, pale sun
Of Thulë’s night has shone upon;
Flapped by the sea-wind’s gusty sweep
Round icy drift, and headland steep.
Wild Jutland’s wives and Lochlin’s daughters
Have watched them fading o’er the waters,
Lessening through driving mist and spray,
Like white-winged sea-birds on their way!
Onward they glide, — and now I view
Their iron-armed and stalwart crew;
Joy glistens in each wild blue eye,
Turned to green earth and summer sky.
Each broad, seamed breast has cast aside
Its cumbering vest of shaggy hide;
Bared to the sun and soft warm air,
Streams back the Northmen’s yellow hair.
I see the gleam of axe and spear,
A sound of smitten shields I hear,
Keeping a harsh and fitting time
To Saga’s chant, and Runic rhyme;
Such lays as Zetland’s Scald has sung,
His gray and naked isles among;
Or mutter low at midnight hour
Round Odin’s mossy stone of power.
The wolf beneath the Arctic moon
Has answered to that startling rune;
The Gael has heard its stormy swell,
The light Frank knows its summons well;
Iona’s sable-stoled Culdee
Has heard it sounding o’er the sea,
And swept, with hoary beard and hair,
His altar’s foot in trembling prayer!
‘T is past, — the ‘wildering vision dies
In darkness on my dreaming eyes!
The forest vanishes in air,
Hill-slope and vale lie starkly bare;
I hear the common tread of men,
And hum of work-day life again;
The mystic relic seems alone
A broken mass of common stone;
And if it be the chiselled limb
Of Berserker or idol grim,
A fragment of Valhalla’s Thor,
The stormy Viking’s god of War,
Or Praga of the Runic lay,
Or love-awakening Siona,
I know not, — for no graven line,
Nor Druid mark, nor Runic sign,
Is left me here, by which to trace
Its name, or origin, or place.
Yet, for this vision of the Past,
This glance upon its darkness cast,
My spirit bows in gratitude
Before the Giver of all good,
Who fashioned so the human mind,
That, from the waste of Time behind,
A simple stone, or mound of earth,
Can summon the departed forth;
Quicken the Past to life again,
The Present lose in what hath been,
And in their primal freshness show
The buried forms of long ago.
As if a portion of that Thought
By which the Eternal will is wrought,
Whose impulse fills anew with breath
The frozen solitude of Death,
To mortal mind were sometimes lent,
To mortal musing sometimes sent,
To whisper — even when it seems
But Memory’s fantasy of dreams —
Through the mind’s waste of woe and sin,
Of an immortal origin!
.

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with ancient cathedral voices,
but only to those who listen!
babies speak…
with first cry at light,
only mothers’ ears hear!
bombs speak…
but never of freedom,
oppression’s lies, loud and brash!
hunger speaks…
distinct human faces,
lost to the indifferent roar!
lonliness speaks…
lost in self losing color,
black and white emptiness!
God speaks…
but no one listens;
lost in those clouds,
slowly drifting away!

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glaring white in the morning sun…
with open graves before them,
and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost….
the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,
dollar bills blown by the wind…
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,
and not by name….
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped
by time!

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with hammers ablaze,
the wall that stood between
today and tomorrow….
crumbling down to dust,
hatreds and prejudices,
greed and apathy,
pride and ego…..
the wall that divided
humanity from the human,
the hungry from a meal,
the slave from his freedom….
the homeless from shelter,
the sick from the cure…
the child from his family,
and hope from despair….
tearing down the wall,
with hammers ablaze….
eyes set on the goal!

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standing in line…
waiting for a bowl of food,
a blanket, a kind word…
people…
standing in line….
credit cards ready,
faces twisted with hatred, , , ,
which line are you in?

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Earth forsaking maid?
What shall I your true love tell
When life’s spectre’s laid?
‘Tell him that, our side the grave,
Maid may not believe
Life should be so sad to have,
That’s so sad to leave!’
What shall I your true love tell
When I come to him?
What shall I your true love tell
Eyes growing dim?
‘Tell him this, when you shall part
From a maiden pined;
That I see him with my heart,
Now my eyes are blind.’
What shall I your true love tell
Speaking while is scant?
What shall I your true love tell
Death’s white postulant?
‘Tell him love, with speech at strife,
For last utterance saith:
`I who loved with all my life,
Loved with all my death.”
*

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my feet are red….
my eyes are green,
my hair turned grey.
my soul is Asian,
my spirit Native American….
my hard working dedication,
……..Hispanic…..
my people come from Ireland,
and some from Africa….
anywhere where the persecuted,
…. cut and fled!
working in the fields,
the factories, and even the mines….
cutting wood, milking cows,
working for the man.
i am human!
and i’m damn tired
of being used!

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mankind’s fear
lashing out at
the heart of mankind….
small minded thoughts
governing universal infinity….
the failure to feed
a hungry man’s hunger,
bringing about the need
to kill him!
the blindness that keeps
us from seeing ourselves
in each other…..
the arrogant greed of the few,
the inhumane answer….
war…..
never brings the intended result….
war…..
the profit machine,
trading lives for control!
war!
the wrong choice,
failure, and loss!
war!

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of all the things
that stand between
me and myself!
of all the fears
that stand between
me and you!
of the weight of all
that i have done,
replace it with the freedom
of all that i’ve given….
take away the wants
that have impeded my desire…
give me back the purity
that doesnt have to be defined….
allow me questions
that need not be answered….
allow me to walk
following my own footsteps….
strip me bare…
so i can find my way home!

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sheds the skin,
comes out of the shell….
leaves the firelit cave,
for the darkness,
and shadows’ whisper
among the trees….
takes the kiss of wind
over the door well latched….
jumps from the ledge
never knowing how deep
or how cold the water below!
walks the forbidden mile,
fights the battle already lost,
with the conviction of desire….
brushes the nipple with fingers
piano key walking…..
almost kissing with fingertips
well worn and sure….
blows on the rain wet ember
believing in fire….
brushes the hair from your face,
watching, as you sleep!

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And profane Greek to raise the building up
Of Helen’s house against the Ismaelite,
King of Thogarma, and his habergeons
Brimstony, blue and fiery; and the force
Of King A baddon, and the beast of Cittim;
Which Rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos,
And A ben Ezra do interpret Rome.

-THE ALCHEMIST.
I
The mind has shown itself at times
Too much the baked and labeled dough
Divided by accepted multitudes.
Across the stacked partitions of the day-
Across the memoranda, baseball scores,
The stenographic smiles and stock quotations
Smutty wings flash out equivocations.
The mind is brushed by sparrow wings;
Numbers, rebuffed by asphalt, crowd
The margins of the day, accent the curbs,
Convoying divers dawns on every’ corner
To druggist, barber and tobacconist,
Until the graduate opacities of evening
Take them away as suddenly to somewhere
Virginal perhaps, less fragmentary, cool.
There is the world dimensional for
those untwisted by the love of things
irreconcilable…
And yet, suppose some evening I forgot
The fare and transfer, yet got by that way
Without recall,-lost yet poised in traffic.
Then I might find your eyes across an aisle,
Still flickering with those prefigurations-
Prodigal, yet uncontested now,
Half-riant before the jerky window frame.
There is some way, I think, to touch
Those hands of yours that count the nights
Stippled with pink and green advertisements.
And now, before its arteries turn dark
I would have you meet this bartered blood.
Imminent in his dream, none better knows
The white wafer cheek of love, or offers words
Lightly as moonlight on the eaves meets snow.
Reflective conversion of all things
At your deep blush, when ecstasies thread
The limbs and belly, when rainbows spread
Impinging on the throat and sides
Inevitable, the body of the world
Weeps in inventive dust for the hiatus
That winks above it’, bluet in your breasts.
The earth may glide diaphanous to death;
But if I lift my arms it is to bend
To you who turned away once, Helen, knowing
The press of troubled hands, too alternate
With steel and soil to hold you endlessly.
I meet you, therefore, in that eventual flame
You found in final chains, no captive then
Beyond their million brittle, bloodshot eyes;
White, through white cities passed on to assume
That world which comes to each of us alone.
Accept a lone eye riveted to your plane,
Bent axle of devotion along companion ways
That beat, continuous, to hourless days-
0ne inconspicuous, glowing orb of praise.
II
Brazen hypnotics glitter here;
Glee shifts from foot to foot,
Magnetic to their tremulo.
This crashing opera bouffe,
Blest excursion! this ricochet
From roof to roof-
Know, Olympians, we are breathless
While nigger cupids scour the stars!
A thousand light shrugs balance us
Through snarling hails of melody.
White shadows slip across the floor
Splayed like cards from a loose hand;
Rhythmic ellipses lead into canters
Until somewhere a rooster banters.
Greet naively-yet intrepidly
New soothings, new amazements
That cornets introduce at every turn-
And you may fall downstairs with me
With perfect grace and equanimity.
Or, plaintively scud past shores
Where, by strange harmonic laws
All relatives, serene and cool,
Sit rocked in patent armchairs.
0, I have known metallic paradises
Where cuckoos clucked to finches
Above the deft catastrophes of drums.
While titters hailed the groans of death
Beneath gyrating awnings I have seen
The incunabula of the divine grotesque.
This music has a reassuring way,
The siren of the ‘ springs of guilty song-
Let us take her on the incandescent wax
Striated with nuances nervosities
That we are heir to: she is still so young,
She cannot frown upon her as she smiles,
Dipping here in this cultivated storm
Among slim skaters of the gardened skies.
III
Capped arbiter of beauty in this street
That narrows -darkly into motor dawn,
You, here beside m/e, delicate ambassador
Of intricate slain numbers that arise
In whispers, naked of steel;
religious gunman!
Who faithfully, yourself, will fall too soon,
And in other ways than as the wind settles
On the sixteen thrifty bridges of the city:
Let us unbind our throats of fear and pity.
We even,
Who drove speediest destruction
In corymbulous formations of mechanics,-
Who hurried the hill breezes, spouting malice
Plangent over meadows, and looked down
On rifts of torn and empty houses
Like old women with teeth unjubilant
That waited faintly, briefly and in vain:
We know, eternal gunman, our flesh remembers
The tensile boughs, the nimble blue plateaus,
The mounted, yielding cities of the air!
That saddled sky that shook down vertical
Repeated play of fire-no hypogeum
Of wave or rock was good against one hour.
We did not ask for that, but have survived,
And will persist to speak again before
All stubble streets that have not curved
To memory, or known the ominous lifted arm
That lowers down the arc of Helen’s brow
To saturate with blessing and dismay.
A goose, tobacco and cologne-
Three winged and gold-shod prophecies of heaven,
The lavish heart shall always have to leaven
And spread with bells and voices, and atone
The abating shadows of our conscript dust.
Anchises’ navel, dripping of the sea,-
The hands Erasmus dipped in gleaming tides,
Gathered the voltage of blown blood and vine;
Delve upward for the new and scattered wine,
0 brother-thief of time, that we recall.
Laugh out the meager penance of their days
Who dare not share with us the breath released,
The substance drilled and spent beyond repair
For golden, or the shadow of gold hair.
Distinctly praise the years, whose volatile
Blamed bleeding hands extend and thresh the height
The imagination spans beyond despair,
Outpacing bargain, vocable and prayer.

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