deep and grainy,
weathered and beaten.
the trunk of an old tree,
where birds hide their nests,
and squirrels meet to plot
the downfall of man.
hollowed and sketched,
with dignity unspoken,
the scars of love and wars,
where insects breed and whisper.
and time itself,
bows in awe and respect,
for the tree that knows
itself to be a tree!
Similar Posts
the guilty and the innocents
never knowing names,sometimes reading faces,often not!and that which is donein the name of glory,by the light of greed,is justified in the ‘holy courts’where lives are bought and soldby the takers…is there a God?in Whose name the murderinghand moves swiftly…the price of blood, the wailing beatof hearts without identity.the march of those that conquerand devour without…
forgive me, i erred,
in the wind…. but twasonly one breath of infinity!i thought i saw Godin the starving child’s eyes,but twas only one heartbeatof compassion!i thought i heard Godin the cries of the dyingon the battlefields of greed…but twas human despair!i thought i found Goddown in the homeless shelter,but twas only the facesof my brothers and sisters!so i…
i am sick of your justice…
sick of your bursts of gunfire,and your bombs without conscience.sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,trading flesh for nickels and dime.sick of your powder and your pills,sick of the rape of the young girlbeneath your flag!i am sick of your nuclear bibles,sick of your buying and trading.i am sick of the pound of your…
the sound of gunfire
rhyming…the cries of dying children,the cries of a dying earth,the cry of humanity seachingfor itself!
a poet is only an ear,
becomes less,when he has a name,even less a title.the best lay downtheir pens andpick up shovels,turning the earth instillness, season by season.open the windowsand doors to the heart,and sweep out the trash.leaving gifts for the soul,the tiny droppings of birds,that just took flight…a small mound of ashes,a tiny wisp of smoke!the imprint of a kisson…
would you then love me?
i roam the earth with passion.i have no home.i carry the voicesof hunger and need.are you then the rain?falling on the good and the evil.giving without asking,touching deep without guilt.dialogue, and encounter,we rock the darkness.leaving the trace of our madness,in branches blown asunder…and small puddles of water,in the cracks in the pavement…that children will wake…