through the swarming roar,
hands moving like waves,
hypnotic in the face of danger!
taking the goodness,
with thankful eyes seeing;
from that which stings and clings….
presenting to the world as a gift.
walking like water….
…seeking the shore!

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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that i cannot write,
the raw and simple beauty
my words cannot define….
the fire too hot, too close,
singeing the corners
of my heart.
the pulsing of life itself,
that began before,
and will last beyond….
you are the touch of life,
that i follow madly,
pen and brush in hand!

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you dont have to bring anything,
to do anything, to be anything….
other than who you are…
dont worry about where we’re going,
or when we’re going to return…
just grab a coat, and come on!
it’s good to be alive!
we can talk about everything,
anything, ot nothing at all!
just walking side by side,
breathing the very breath of life!
let’s go walking!
i’m waiting just outside
….your door!

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fallen multicolored leaves,
turning, crumbling, dissolving…
rainbows of flesh,
returning to the source,
feeding new beginnings!
joy!
breathing, touching,
listening with the heart!
the chance and the gift,
another day, another moment!
joy!
someone to talk to,
someone who cares!
who sees you just like you are,
and still loves you!
joy!
the prayers of bare limbs,
reaching out and upward,
with gratitude for what has been,
and the promise of what comes!
joy!
deep, unfathomable, unchained,
and electric pulsing….
joy!

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rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains….
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing….
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed…
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living….
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain….
the testimony of each feeling….
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!

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all too easy to overlook.
moments of laughter shared,
soft conversations about nothing,
that were about everything!
meals cooked together and shared,
long walks on autumn evenings….
watching old movies and in the hero
finding the same path, the same journey,
the same mistakes, the same triumphs.
cutting wood and building a fire;
making love, and the moments after shared.
harsh words, and then forgiveness,
as easy as turning the page….
this book we’ve written together,
another chapter, another day!

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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his hand was shaking…
i looked into his eyes
as he reached for the till.
i could see the faces of
his woman, and his children….
could feel the hungry murmur
of their waiting in the darkness.
could smell his fear,
maybe even my own….
could hear the siren
of the coming blue…
cold desperation….
the hands on the clock,
stopped!

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from the housing projects,
and the trailer parks…
month to month,
till the checks run out…
food stamp cards,
small items stolen and pawned,
trading pills, or meth for
day to day…
the walking poor,
a multi-colored sea,
lapping at the shore of prosperity
like a bastard dog….
salvation army dressed,
often mission fed,
preyed on by the holy
bent on their salvation!
unemployment lines,
struggling for GED’s….
going to school just long enough,
to use the grants to survive!
joined by the elderly,
foreclosed, and beaten.
in chairs, on canes….
not enough for their med’s,
not enough money to eat…
and now the factory ghosts,
their lives sold out;
their calloused hands idle,
dangerous with anger….
walking the streets,
staring in the windows
still open…..
with bricks in their minds,
small caliber handguns in their thoughts…
the walking poor….
beating a path
…to the capital!

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you dont care cause you dont feel.
blackened faces, disappear without traces,
while you take what you can steal.
fallen dictators, well armed haters,
you propped up and took down.
call it democracy, i call it hypocrisy!
you’ve lost what cant be found!
why’s the truth so hard to find?
feels like the blind leading the blind.
just give us shelter, and peace of mind,
give us tomorrow, redeem the time!

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standing on the edge.
cant feed family, drug war society,
push you off the ledge.
Jesus in an SUV, religion without dignity,
while the hungry fall like sheep.
the working poor, just class whores,
bodies piled in a heap!
why’s the truth so hard to find?
feels like the blind leading the blind.
just give us shelter and peace of mind….
give us today, redeem the time!

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the many stand up to the few.
equal compensation, strong dedication,
demanding what they’re due!
human rights, the depths and heights,
hunger drives the soul to battle..
tired of chains, working for change,
putting faces on the cattle!
the first day of forever begins now.
tear it down, it doesnt matter how.
tired of lying lips and sacred cows….
the mind only buys what the heart allows!

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people too scared to pray.
bodies burning, the earth stops turning,
cant go, but you cant stay!
terror threats, oil war debts,
children born into slavery.
political balm, the last chill calm,
the turning point of history!
the first day of forever begins now.
tear it down, it doesnt matter how.
tired of lying lips and sacred cows….
the mind only buys what the heart allows!

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even the violent pray for peace.
broken plans, empty hands,
burning flags and stormy seas….
wont buy the lie, it’s live or die,
waiting for the clock to strike.
drunk with loss, done paid the cost,
too many fingers in the dike.
the first day of forever begins now.
tear it down, it doesnt matter how!
tired of lying lips and sacred cows….
the mind only buys what the heart allows!

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know that it’s falling?
does the green leaf know
that autumn comes?
does the unborn child
know his mother’s face?
does the murderer know
his victim is himself?
does the cloud know
that the rain is needed?
does the day know
it was born at night?
does the peacemaker know
that the bullets are his?
does the liar know
that the truth has won?
does the lover know
tis only a moment?
does the moment know
that it holds eternity?
and do the hungry, sick,
and the homeless know…..
do they really know
that they are human?

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expose themselves to the outrage,
and the ugly edge of indifference…
without a thought
for their own well being,
risk it all to bring about change.
not bound by the morality
of the fearful self-indulgent,
they open the wound
of their own failures and mistakes….
and so find the strength
to become fully human….
and so renew the bond
between man and man!

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the act of opening,
like a rosebud,
like a mother,
opening the door…
like a child
opening a present,
like a woman
opening to a man….
opening…
all the hidden chambers,
every door to every
secret kingdom of the soul…..
opening the box that holds
your secret thoughts, desires….
opening…
the door of the cage,
letting the winged breath fly….
opening….
your heart to itself,
and to all hearts beating….
opening….
the vault of conceptions,
the entrance to the tomb
of past lives and memories….
opening…
your hands to the world
as if it were your neighbor,
and you, it’s home!

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…or get dragged! ‘
negative emotions,
….self oriented wants,
……any and all prejudices,
jealousy,
…anger based in ignorance,
…….ignorance itself,
false pride,
…false morality,
…..false judgement,
the need to own
….anything, or anyone,
……distorted images of the self……
that which you let drag you….
…….. owns you!

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walking in clouds of dust.
open sores on the face
of the human condition….
yet we sit transfixed,
….with marble dumb stares,
numbed by the drug
…that fills the hollow
with ‘i cant do anything about it! ‘

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with your hand
…on my longing…
from some distant sphere.
pulsing, throbbing, hoping,
till
…my
….heart
……broke,
and fell
….like
……morning
……..dew,
on your eyelids,
..still drunk with sleep!

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…are shallow graves,
for the children, unnamed,
and unborn….
how many of my thoughts
…are their tombstones,
standing, testifying
in the sun….
how many of my words
…are their epitaphs,
written with the greed
that feeds the self?
how many of my days
….at the expense of theirs,
and how can i not know,
or care?

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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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…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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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..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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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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……..inside out,
and found my neighbor’s soul,
and
…my
….enemy’s
…nee d!

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looking down
to the beating heart
held in hands so gentle….
loving, molding, preparing
him for the pathway
to his personal cross….
Madonna tears,
falling warm and wet,
down the face that maps
the destinies of those that suffer….
tears that have names,
known by no other….
nailed one by one till death relieves.
Madonna hope,
wrapped in flesh and longing,
head bowed down,
as if to pray!

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Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves
And strew them where Pauline may pass.
She will not turn aside? Alas!
Let them lie. Suppose they die?
The chance was they might take her eye.
II.
How many a month I strove to suit
These stubborn fingers to the lute!
To-day I venture all I know.
She will not hear my music? So!
Break the string; fold music’s wing:
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!
III.
My whole life long I learned to love.
This hour my utmost art I prove
And speak my passion—heaven or hell?
She will not give me heaven? ‘Tis well!
Lose who may—I still can say,
Those who win heaven, blest are they!

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Through many a gate, o’er many a stile,
That now had gotten by this wile,
Her dear Pigwiggen kissing;
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any hare,
When he had sought each place with care,
And found his queen was missing.
By grisly Pluto he doth swear,
He rent his clothes, and tore his hair,
And as he runneth here and there,
An acorn-cup he greeteth;
Which soon he taketh by the stalk,
About his head he lets it walk,
Nor doth he any creature balk,
But lays on all he meeteth.
The Tuscan poet doth advance
The frantic Paladine of France,
And those more ancient do enhance
Alcides in his fury,
And others Ajax Telamon:
But to this time there hath been none
So bedlam as our Oberon,
Of which I dare assure you.
And first encount’ring with a wasp,
He in his arms the fly doth clasp,
As tho’ his breath he forth would grasp,
Him for Pigwiggen taking:
‘Where is my wife, thou rogue?’ quoth he,
‘Pigwiggen, she is come to thee,
Restore her, or thou di’st by me.’
Whereat the poor wasp quaking,
Cries, ‘Oberon, great Fairy King,
Content thee, I am no such thing;
I am a wasp, behold my sting!’
At which the fairy started;
When soon away the wasp doth go,
Poor wretch was never frighted so,
He thought his wings were much too slow,
O’erjoy’d they so were parted.
He next upon a glow-worm light,
(You must suppose it now was night)
Which, for her hinder part was bright,
He took to be a devil,
And furiously doth her assail
For carrying fire in her tail;
He thrash’d her rough coat with his flail,
The mad king fear’d no evil.
‘Oh!’ quoth the glow-worm ‘hold thy hand,
Thou puissant King of Fairy-land,
Thy mighty strokes who may withstand?
Hold, or of life despair I.’
Together then herself doth roll,
And tumbling down into a hole,
She seem’d as black as any coal,
Which vext away the fairy.
From thence he ran into a hive,
Amongst the bees he letteth drive,
And down their combs begins to rive,
All likely to have spoiled:
Which with their wax his face besmear’d,
And with their honey daub’d his beard;
It would have made a man afear’d,
To see how he was moiled.
A new adventure him betides:
He met an ant, which he bestrides,
And post thereon away he rides,
Which with his haste doth stumble,
And came full over on her snout,
Her heels so threw the dirt about,
For she by no means could get out,
But over him doth tumble.
And being in this piteous case,
And all beslurried head and face,
On runs he in this wildgoose chase;
As here and there he rambles,
Half-blind, against a mole-hill hit,
And for a mountain taking it,
For all he was out of his wit,
Yet to the top he scrambles.
And being gotten to the top,
Yet there himself he could not stop,
But down on th’ other side doth chop,
And to the foot came rumbling:
So that the grubs therein that bred,
Hearing such turmoil overhead,
Thought surely they had all been dead,
So fearful was the jumbling.
And falling down into a lake,
Which him up to the neck doth take,
His fury it doth somewhat slake,
He calleth for a ferry:
Where you may some recovery note,
What was his club he made his boat,
And in his oaken cup doth float,
As safe as in a wherry.
Men talk of the adventures strange
Of Don Quishott, and of their change,
Through which he armed oft did range,
Of Sancha Pancha’s travel:
But should a man tell every thing,
Done by this frantic fairy king,
And them in lofty numbers sing,
It well his wits might gravel.

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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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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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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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Where takes place birth and death
New opening for world order
A beautiful scene with simple offer
Why females are beautiful?
Mild, kind and successful
Who can mistreat them for no reasons?
They are beautiful souls
You impress upon entire universe
It is not hear and say
It is simple fact
But we have failed to act
Can any soul match with kindness?
Can any one drag the smile on face?
Despite so much of apparent cruelty
That not even dreamt by an almighty
How many stages you have provided?
As sister and mother always aided
Nurtured child to see lovely world
Enjoy self and wee what has been told
If ever choice is thrust
I shall trust
Girl first
And boy last

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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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Men i mit Hjerte Digter-Flammen brændte;
Den drev mig modigt frem i Verdens-Vrimlen,
Skjøndt kun jeg eied’ Den og Gud i Himlen.
*
Til Danmarks Konge ledte de min Fod,
Jeg følte kun, jeg hos en Fader stod,
Der gav mit Hjerte Mod, min Tanke Vinger. –
Og Faderhjertet trygt min Sang jeg bringer;
Jeg seer ei Thronen, hvor jeg knæler ned,
Men i Dit Øie: Fader-Kjærlighed.

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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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are hungry this morning?
how many children
without a home?
how many children
with only one parent?
how many children
…..with none?
how many children
faced with no future?
how many children
thrown to the side?
how many children….
and how many know?

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i am thankful for every step,
for every thing i’ve felt,
everything i’ve touched,
every taste, every smell,
every living being i’ve walked with,
for every bowl of food,
for the blanket i sleep under,
for the chance to live
for one eternal moment….
for the chance to give,
without asking back, or why!

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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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Does
As
Curse
Against good and
Natural affairs.
▐ ▐
Force
Does
Best
That
Is against ill,
Evil affairs.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
About
RARe Stanza:
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
6 Lines Poem ─
Syllables Meter: 1-1-1-1-4-4
Rhyme Scheme: aabbca; ababca; aaaaba.
RARe Stanza refers Right Angle Reza Stanza.
Geometric Theoretical Explanation of ‘RARe Stanza’
The 1st 4 (1-1-1-1) lines stand on the last 2 (4-4) lines,
At the joining point, line No.4 and 5 there the 90º angle is generated;
The 90º angle is known as Right Angle in Geometry.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 31 May, 2018

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Damn
Lives
Earn
All and every
From points to coins.
▐ ▐
Crime
Earns
Damn
Sins
To damage life
Just ins and outs.
About
RARe Stanza:
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
6 Lines Poem ─
Syllables Meter: 1-1-1-1-4-4
Rhyme Scheme: aabbca; ababca; aaaaba.
RARe Stanza refers Right Angle Reza Stanza.
Geometric Theoretical Explanation of ‘RARe Stanza’
The 1st 4 (1-1-1-1)lines stand on the last 2 (4-4)lines,
At the joining point, line No.4 and 5 there the 90º angle is generated;
The 90º angle is known as Right Angle in Geometry.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 1 June,2018

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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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Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprang to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure
Was the poor spray’s, which the flying feet hung to,—
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!
II.
This is a heart the Queen leant on,
Thrilled in a minute erratic,
Ere the true bosom she bent on,
Meet for love’s regal dalmatic.
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic
Was the poor heart’s, ere the wanderer went on—
Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!
* 1 A vestment used by ecclesiastics, and formerly
* by senators and persons of high rank.

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His name, they said, was Pleasure,
And near him stood, glorious beyond measure
Four Ladies who possess all empery
In earth and air and sea,
Nothing that lives from their award is free.
Their names will I declare to thee,
Love, Hope, Desire, and Fear,
And they the regents are
Of the four elements that frame the heart,
And each diversely exercised her art
By force or circumstance or sleight
To prove her dreadful might
Upon that poor domain.
Desire presented her [false] glass, and then
The spirit dwelling there
Was spellbound to embrace what seemed so fair
Within that magic mirror,
And dazed by that bright error,
It would have scorned the [shafts] of the avenger
And death, and penitence, and danger,
Had not then silent Fear
Touched with her palsying spear,
So that as if a frozen torrent
The blood was curdled in its current;
It dared not speak, even in look or motion,
But chained within itself its proud devotion.
Between Desire and Fear thou wert
A wretched thing, poor heart!
Sad was his life who bore thee in his breast,
Wild bird for that weak nest.
Till Love even from fierce Desire it bought,
And from the very wound of tender thought
Drew solace, and the pity of sweet eyes
Gave strength to bear those gentle agonies,
Surmount the loss, the terror, and the sorrow.
Then Hope approached, she who can borrow
For poor to-day, from rich tomorrow,
And Fear withdrew, as night when day
Descends upon the orient ray,
And after long and vain endurance
The poor heart woke to her assurance.
—At one birth these four were born
With the world’s forgotten morn,
And from Pleasure still they hold
All it circles, as of old.
When, as summer lures the swallow,
Pleasure lures the heart to follow–
O weak heart of little wit!
The fair hand that wounded it,
Seeking, like a panting hare,
Refuge in the lynx’s lair,
Love, Desire, Hope, and Fear,
Ever will be near.

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terrain
with the unmistakable track:
grass, written asunder. The stones, white,
with the shadows of grassblades:
Do not read any more – look!
Do not look any more – go!
Go, your hour
has no sisters, you are –
are at home. A wheel, slow,
rolls out of itself, the spokes
climb,
climb on a blackish field, the night
needs no stars, nowhere
does anyone ask after you.
*
Nowhere
does anyone ask after you –
The place where they lay, it has
a name – it has
none. They did not lie there. Something
lay between them. They
did not see through it.
Did not see, no,
spoke of
words. None
awoke,
sleep
came over them.
*
Came, came. Nowhere
anyone asks –
It is I, I,
I lay between you, I was
open, was
audible, ticked at you, your breathing
obeyed, it is
I still, but then
you are asleep.
*
It is I still –
years,
years, years, a finger
feels down and up, feels
around:
seams, palpable, here
it is split wide open, here
it grew together again – who
covered it up?
*
Covered it
up – who?
Came, came.
Came a word, came,
came through the night,
wanted to shine, wanted to shine.
Ash.
Ash, ash.
Night.
Night-and-night. – Go
to the eye, the moist one.
*
Go
to the eye,
the moist one –
Gales.
Gales, from the beginning of time,
whirl of particles, the other,
you
know it, though, we
read it in the book, was
opinion.
Was, was
opinion. How
did we touch
each other – each other with
these
hands?
There was written too, that.
Where? We
put a silence over it,
stilled with poison, great,
a
green
silence, a sepal, an
idea of vegetation attached to it –
green, yes,
attached, yes,
under a crafty
sky.
Of, yes,
vegetation.
Yes.
Gales, whirl of part-
icles, there was
time left, time
to try it out with the stone – it
was hospitable, it
did not cut in. How
lucky we were:
Grainy,
grainy and stringy. Stalky,
dense:
grapy and radiant; kidneyish,
flattish and
lumpy; loose, tang-
led -; he, it
did not cut in, it
spoke,
willingly spoke to dry eyes, before closing them.
Spoke, spoke.
Was, was.
We
would not let go, stood
in the midst, a
porous edifice, and
it came.
Came at us, came
through us, patched
invisibly, patched
away at the last membrane
and
the world, a millicrystal,
shot up, shot up.
*
Shot up, shot up.
Then –
Nights, demixed. Circles,
green or blue, scarlet
squares: the
world puts its inmost reserves
into the game with the new
hours. – Circles,
red or black, bright
squares, no
flight shadow,
no
measuring table, no
smoke soul ascends or joins in.
*
Ascends and
joins in –
At owl’s flight, near
the petrified scabs,
near
our fled hands, in
the latest rejection,
above
the rifle-range near
the buried wall:
visible, once
more: the
grooves, the
choirs, at that time, the
psalms. Ho, ho-
sannah.
So
there are temples yet. A
star
probably still has light.
Nothing,
nothing is lost.
Ho-
sannah.
At owl’s flight, here,
the conversations, day-grey,
of the water-level traces.
*
(–day-grey,
of
the water-level traces –
Driven into the
terrain
with
the unmistakable
track:
Grass,
grass,
written asunder.)

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Are quite opposite to the truth
History shows the direct evidences
From time immemorial to present;
||
Falsehood and truth cannot bear each other
They keep themselves far
Inwardly fully from one to other
Again, falsehood is always aggressive to truth;
|||
The rational are always for the truth
Quarrel between them the left side holder irrational,
These irrational are for falsehood forever
The path of truth they cannot bear;
||||
In earth falsehood and its followers may be favored
Beyond earth they are ever cursed,
But for some evil causes they do not believe it
As their belief is just earth centered.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │18 June,2018

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Drinking (2)
And eating (3)
Are basic needs for animals
To survive life primarily.
▐ ▐
For human
Need more than
The basic three needs
Are wearing, housing, treating
And learning all educations.
▐ ▐ ▐
So human
Are not like
Other animals
It is an important side
Of human being civilized.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 09/29/2017

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For all of us, homeless
The man who went away
I wish to see him, anyway;
▌▌
I have not seen him
As I was not around he was born
In life once I wish to see him
That may be even in dream.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 11/7/2016

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In fair
Well color;
▌▌
Color
In unfair
Evil color.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 7 November,2017

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Speech
Tell
Nice;
Humanity
Comes above all.
▐▐
Now
Do,
You
Too
What you said, dreamt
Get at morrow.
About
RARe Stanza:
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
6 Lines Poem ─
Syllables Meter: 1-1-1-1-4-4
Rhyme Scheme: aabbca; ababca; aaaaba.
RARe Stanza refers Right Angle Reza Stanza.
Geometric Theoretical Explanation of ‘RARe Stanza’
The 1st 4 (1-1-1-1) lines stand on the last 2 (4-4) lines,
At the joining point, line No. 4 and 5 there the 90º angle is generated;
The 90º angle is known as Right Angle in Geometry.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 5 June, 2018

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

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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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across distant plains.
the sky ripped with color
as is time itself turned.
the thunder of a leaf
that clung for too long…
falling as if suspended
by breath…. the silent stare,
then turn to the door;
stepping away, as if to fly.
nothing left behind….
not even remorse…
what’s done is done,
he takes his final bow!
leaving the sounds of living
for the dead to discern.

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do you love your neighbor?
do you hurt when he hurts?
do you feel need when he needs?
do you care enough to be involved?
do you believe all people are equal?
do you love yourself?
do you love God?

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walking in awareness,
breathing in awareness,
giving in awareness,
touching in awareness,
listening in awareness,
doing in awareness,
speaking in awareness,
living in awareness….
awareness,
……now!

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…act the truth,
stand up, and shout!
make your life a real life!
do something that really lasts.
small things, big things,
in all things be true…
to your heart, to your mind….
to what you know
…you’re supposed to do!
never settle, and never mettle
in things that have no value.
validate your time by living,
your living by giving,
do what you’re given to do!
speak the truth!

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walking down the street,
and offered to pray for him….
he turned and said:
‘dont pray for me unless
you have something i can eat…
maybe a cup of coffee…
and if you havent got anywhere
for me to sleep… maybe,
just a blanket, or a coat…’
he thought a minute, and spoke again:
‘i tell you what, forget all that….
i dont want you to give me anything…
except a chance to work, and earn my way! ‘
they were speechless…
he turned and walked away!

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there’s more than we allow.
beneath the grain, born in the pain,
the reality of now.
Jesus saves, yet we dig the graves,
for the poor and downtrodden.
not much loss, they pay the cost,
the beaten and forgotten!
my religion is compassion.
swords to plowshares slowly fashioned.
you can be what you imagine….
unconditional, true passion!

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close your eyes dont touch.
give them rice, roaches and lice,
just dont give them much.
truth too strong, sell your song,
keep them marching to the beat.
riot squads, in the name of god,
kill freedom in the streets.
the wheels of justice keep on turning.
you keep spending more than you’re earning.
people keep dying, bodies are burning….
feed the beast, the world keeps turning.

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they’re people too!
often more so than we are,
with a deeper reverence
………..for life,
and a deeper understanding
…of the sacredness
………..of the mundane!
give them back
…their rights to life!

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fighting for preordained sections of land,
oil and mineral rights….
we dont own the earth,
…………….and never will!
you cannot convert other peoples
to your capitalistic form of Christianity
with a sword and vengeance….
ask the Native Americans
…..how they feel about this!
you cannot bring about justice,
when your judicial system is oiled
with money and color…
when you have more people in prison
than any other country!
you cannot convince anyone to do
the right thing when everything you do
is based on selfish greed….
doing the right thing means being human,
being human is something we’ve forgotten!
you cannot bring about change,
unless you’re willing to change yourselves…
all good things begin within….
we are what we choose to be,
not what we pretend to be!

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our depressed children…
why dont we try liberating them
with a constant diet of family love,
both father and mother!
with open minded listening,
and the assurance that
we accept them for who they are…
and by living our lives in an
involved and compassionate way,
every step, every day…
thereby insuring they
have a real future!

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the priests of rhetoric
masturbate in hidden rooms,
by the bodies of young boys,
the price paid without doubt.
the neon screen blares,
cancer has a new name…
dressed in pride and patriotism.
street vendors passing laws,
feed the monkies!
the truth is
it’s all a lie!
they drink martinis behind smoked glass,
sell the souls of the poor
to pay the rent!
leaving black scars on the faces
of children who were never born…
in a world already bought….
bought and sold for nickels and dimes!

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the caw of the crow,
the growl of the bear,
the scree of the hawk….
the stamp of the deer,
the language of whales,
the whisper of the trees,
the silent affirming mountains….
the song of the rivers,
the chant of the grasses….
all raised in the court of living…
voices crying out against injustice,
against the works of the humans
that would destroy their home!
the true democracy has voted…
and we’re out!

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whether you’re Christian,
Buddhist, Hindu, Moslem,
or atheist by choice…
we are all born human!
with the potential to be…
fully human!
we have choices everyday….
what we do with our time,
our will, our feelings, our actions…
determines what we really are…
it doesnt matter so much about labels…
what matters is what’s inside!

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but a door….
your heart opens
with your tears,
with your words.
not an ending,
but a different journey,
so much the same.
not a time for sadness,
but a time for awe….
standing ‘neath the wings
of flight….
as the gifts of loving,
remembered,
fall like rain….
death. a cool drink of water
for lips parched and swollen….
death, the shadowy stranger
that feels like a lover….
new fallen snow
on earth preparing for spring!
death, the turning of the wheel,
the birth of a holy child,
the prayer our spirit prays!

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everybody talkin’ about change.
change your look,
change your luck,
change your politics,
change your religion…
change the country,
change the world….
change the day!
change your underwear!
loose change, pocket change,
winds of change, march for change….
but all real change begins within…
let’s work on that,
and then everything else
will change in turn!

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i am nothing,
nothing but the breeze
walking through the trees.
nothing but the caw of the crow,
the echo of the mountains’ silence.
nothing but the empty bowl
held by the hungry child.
nothing but the dark face,
the white hands,
spoken in different languages.
nothing but the blood,
of the family killed by the bombs.
nothing but the lonely terror
of the suicide just before dawn.
nothing but the footprints
the lonely traveller follows
on the way back home…..
nothing but the leaf
turned from green to red to brown.
nothing but the memories
of love calling back to you.
nothing but a prayer,
an offered hand, an unknown friend,
a tear, a smile….
the dance of the living,
a small fire on the darkest night!

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Armagadden, not the end,
not soldiers wearing masks,
not the plague, not nuclear disaster….
not prisons, not persecution,
not being labeled or hated.
not losing it all,
not guns, not drugs, nor
one world order…..
but i do fear….
not living all that i can live,
not giving all that i can give,
not matching beliefs with action,
not seeing all people as people,
not doing what i know is right….
not standing when i should stand,
not saying what i should say….
not writing the words i’m given….

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burning flesh amid cries,
student protestors shot down….
flags smolder, stink like freedom
whored out for change….
and now again,
the great planes fly,
dropping death and liberation
o’er ghostlike oil fields…
too many questions….
lined up like cattle,
and shot…..
in the name of homeland security,
in the name of profit and loss…
their profit, … our loss!

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gnarled and bent old limbs,
cursed with fears inbred….
where black folks hung for being black,
and later, white folks for standing beside…
‘holy’ hatreds spat, crackling in the fires;
acts too horrid for the light of day,
and the lonesome cry of the night,
testifying against….
now the hanging tree takes different forms…
poverty, crack cocaine, trailer tub meth…
young girls put out on the street,
by pistol carrying punks
in big wheeled cars….
schooled by the prisons,
and left to die;
no hope, no jobs, no chance,
driven by those fears
while the ghosts of hatred dance!

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‘human impaired’!
they
…just
…..dont
…….se e
………color!

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we walk hand in hand through the fire.
through the streets of hell unashamed
we who are written by desire.
with prayers for the wounded,
for the bodies left beside the road.
with a hand for the children
bowed beneath a heavy load.
speaking truth without deception,
living by the code of the heart.
knowing there is no difference
in the shadows between light and dark
risking it all for a stranger,
might be your long lost brother.
standing for what we feel
standing for one another.
and the souls of the weary weep….
in the ground where the beaten sleep.
knowing the life given’s all we keep…..
fallen angels, fugitives, and black sheep.

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16 penny nails
…hammered in the
…….outhouse wall,
the rope,
…still tied in a knot…
…..the still warm bodies
……quivering, in shallow graves.
the children of the man
….who pushed the button,
……who made the choice….
the Mexican immigrant
….who washes the car
…….of the oil field supervisor,
….whose family lives
……in a broke down bus…
the ground up pills
…the boy snorts up his nose,
….while his momma prays;
and his daddy beats a young girl
…in a whorehouse across town.
the old man’s vomit stained shirt
…as he lies in the floor,
…..wondering if anyone
…….will ever find him.
the young protester’s bloody face,
….standing for the mug shot;
……his father’s company
……..just closed another plant!

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coal mine Christmas
late October stare…
sleeping in an abandoned boxcar
down by the tracks…
small pine branch fire,
eyes scour the road;
coffee, a few boiled potatoes,
a smoke as the sun goes down….
a returning vet….
with no place to go!
oil wars, bombs light the sky,
dead bodies walk in his dreams…
disillusioned, disembodied,
homeless, in America!

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staying down by the tracks.
do what you have to do,
forget what you thought you knew…
and you better watch your back.
raised up right, followed the light,
stood for what you believed.
off to war and back again,
medals made of lies and tin,
gave much more than you received.
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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…is my body,
then
..may
….my
……spirit
………fly
………..away!
if the cost of freedom
….is my identity,
then
…may
…..you
……see
……..yourself
………..in
………. ….me!
if the cost of freedom
….is my time,
then
…forever
…..is
…….m y
………gift!

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poets walkin’ outside the law,
spewing bloodstained words,
painting the picture they see,
they feel, they live…
talkin’ truth in the age
of propaganda…
holding the raw, beating hearts
of those in need…
with trembling hands,
and jaws set firm….
standing in the face of the roar,
fighting against all odds.
outlaw poetry?
hell no! outlaw ignorance!

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driven by the wind,
to where, i dont care…
believing,
with no reason to believe,
against the turning odds…
getting back up,
slower each time,
in spite of time and the aches
of a long weary road….
going….
just keep on going,
with eyes that see,
and ears that hear….
giving…..
at the risk of losing,
more than i can bear to lose,
all that i can do….
longing….
for rebirth and bloom,
and the small joys lived
in the eyes behind the hands
of those i’ve helped up….
living…
as if it were a gift,
bestowed on me,
to be passed along!

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 7, 2010

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