Imposed by State and by Religion,
On almost All ‘Civilized ‘ Nations,
Humans still are not much better,
By now, All of us should be winged Saints,
But the Truth Is…
None of us ‘Ain’t’
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Who are you?
Such powersOf perception,Of sensitivePerfectionAnd magnetic flow.Meeting you in person,Would be like findingSomething, very essentialAnd the warmest human glow.There is no doubt,You are fascinatingCharmingly clever,And someone, I wouldReally love, to know.
‘Vote along for me,
They’ve lied to us,Since kingdom come.So once again,All will be fooled,And badly schooled,Till Thinking will go numb.
We all need each other,
As a compassionate brother,That holds out His Hand,As we say to one another,‘We do understand’,In harmony and sincerity,In Love, bringing prosperity,To the lonely heart and verity,To the helpless soul, with charity,For one another.In love and compassion we are brothers,Not in a destructive fashion,Are we to kill each other!Will we ever unconditionally love one another?And finally…
Who the dirtier
Or the legacy of both?In any case,Anything for a vote!Puzzles, the naïveAt heart,And does disconcert,Thoroughly, disgustThose that truly,Still believeIn Democracy,Anything for a vote!The intrigues that go onHave been secretly guardedFor they are so dirtyThat even chimney-sweepsAre not prepared to cleanseThe coals from Hell,That all human moralityHas politically,And not politelySo far, so abjectlyAnd disgustinglyDisregarded!
I love how a Poet,
With his pen,Send visions of supernatural feelings,Hurling through the skies,From the outer space of his mind,And then, back into his pen.Images and feelings coincide,With sentiments that flow from inside,So Unpredictable! !Until the moment When,It’s right to give sight,Into his fantasy world of delight,Where painting with his pen,Preceded almost always,By an existential fight,A poem is born,Painted…
I wish I had a Magic Word,
‘Love’ is the closest that I’ve heard,That has that magic sound.
Mean and lean, just with words,
No props,
And at the same time,
Visualize, create feelings,
Touch a nerve,
Never was the reader better served!
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Poets have the right
For a better World,More just, More cheerLess fear,But the problem isThe present PowerThat exists,Would never, everPermit Poets to runThis corrupted Sphere,That they will, eventuallyChoke,And put completely,Out of Gear.
The most Ravishing Rose,
It’s not fair!That such Beauty,Hides in it’s stem,Like does Life,The Daggers of Despair.
Dreamers, Poets
How many dreamsWill you weaveTonight?To help us survive,Life’s lonely fright.
Poetry,
Because it blends feelingsBecause it dries tearsAnd sometimes provokes them,Touches your heart,Holds your handInvisibly,And thru words can,Even, take your SoulTo its promised land.
We were meant
But not all that’s wiseArrivesAnd life separatesForever,Those who can’tMaster their lives.We were meantTo be together,But life’s windsBlew us apartLife no longerWas worth livingWhen the Wind,StoleBoth our hearts,And in later yearsThat followed,Never gave usA new startWindblown lives,The saddest everDo so often fallApart.
Neptune was my father,
Really, do not bother,To figure out this mess.At the ocean, seashore,There were some arrests,All the Thinking People,Got, alcoholic tests.Loons and goons were dancing,High up on the hill,Never really knowing,Why the World stood still.Then there were the Speeches,Endlessly Insane,Telling everybody,‘Thinking’ was in vain,And next time they tried it,They’d get Purple Rain,In an upside-down cell,At the County…