School of thought…

These words are numbing,

But they still keep coming,

Steel in my blood still rusting,

It is stained with mind,

With optimum lines,

Being transformed,

Into a school of thought.

Where people levitate,

When their minds meditate,

On these predicates,

Lines on a poem,

Activating some reality,

In a maternity,

Pregnant with thought,

Words, whose worth can’t be bought,

We are ink – credible,

We write legible,

Not Da Vinci code,

Deciphering parables,

But we are the parables,

Minds so inconceivable,

realize the impossible,

view from a conical,

point to the logical,

life of the prodigal,

son of the literal,

rhyme of the liberal,

mind of this critical,

kind of the eternal,

rise from the internal,

souls on a journal,

poem with a verbal,

sign of reversal,

thoughts in conversion,

drawing from a passion,

off a school of thought.



Bless this herb,

That has made this lab,

In my mind of experiments,

Can collect my intelligence.

Compose in this residence,

Space with some sentiments,

a Poem with the evidence,

of life beyond the evident,

grasp of the present tense,

until when its provident,

to remind what is prominent,

truth and some common sense.

Are the light of a school of thought.



So I bring in this capacity,

Life without apology,

Thought in an algorithm,

Velocity with rhythm,

Tenacity in prism,

Diffract this reason,

Then you might season,

Like a leaf on a tall tree,

Imagine being free,

From fear of anything,

From tear by menacing,

Obstacles in the system we,

Are bread and born to be,

Puppets and marionettes,

Classified by the net,

Profit margin of the rest,

Cream on a crest,

Of a man’s daily bread,

Until instead,

We have nothing read,

To us from the dead,

To learn from them,

Undo our mistakes,

Rise the stakes,

Make this a better place,

And show a little face,

When we surface,

Our own schools of thought.

Infest

In as many things as we are wont to admit; I suppose I bear some of my own confessions that would readily lead admissions. Recently, I have become engaged in an arduous task to decipher my surroundings. I read into human behavior like a philosopher in thick framed glasses, and I even manage an unsatisfactory groan when I do not receive as much response as I might have considered electable.
Yet, even in the mundane and overly done, I suppose something’s are nowadays quite uncommon. In a way, there are things that won’t escape me or my scrutiny. For in thought, I pay due all interest and unceremoniously move on to other things. I have become callous with words; every time I want to label something, tag it and call it mine as soon as I discover it.
This must be how the colonizers might have felt, treading in sacred and inhabited grounds just to give and appendage names and titles on their robes and whips. Somewhat I assume is such the fashion of my mental upheaval. I want to colonize the next and coming of things, people and the ideal. Reality may prove to copy the pattern into the habit of the surrounding, that I may see myself in the sequence of common and rapid reflection.
Am all over the place for now... I might manage to clear up the rendition a little later. Right now, it might as well unwind and tangle anyone!

U.V. Light…

Postings from my journal,
drawing from a monologue,
A soul in monotone…
just feeling,
defeated by culture,
under whelmed by structures,
of a generational nature,
still trying to nurture,
a moral texture,
an incompatible creature,
from incorruptible scriptures,
a poetic play of pictures,
events an’ potent fixtures,
of potential,
with literary credentials,
A. B. C. initials…
Autonomous…
Beautiful…
Conscience…
A nerve conference,
A word with context,
An’ no complex,
Intentions behind this text,
Except,
shed some light,
On this black lightness,
Book,
Chapter and verse,
On a referendum fuss,
By a political class,
REFER’D – EN –DUM
with clauses an’ gum,
chewing ‘yes’ an’ ‘nah’
an’ I watch them go,
mess our table manners
with taboo banners,
by KABOOM!! planners,
on a freedom park,
lost in the dark,
losing life,
to a white darkness…
a light madness…
under U.V. Light.

Are we lacking chlorophyll?
labeled with green coloring,
To be bombarded so,
Are we vegetables?
to be bloodied with war,
on a dry soil bed,
with fragments of led.
how many must go dead?
Shall we count to ten?
What then,
If all men,
Turn against each other,
for a political clamor,
for the fame an’ glamor,
an’ forget all honor,
lose all savor,
for humanity.
of sanity.
an' what's reality?
we have faculties of elimination,
as well of appropriation.
These lines we divide with,
Between people,
Onto self,
Onto wealth…
So only a few can get,
for only a few can let,
class,
rank,
in society…
lose its grip on life’s propriety,
so there’s a continuity,
to rig that mind of piety,
to rip that heart of poetry,
to deface fluency,
create new dependency,
on all good things,
that were once free…
like me...
under U.V. Light!

Single’s Ballad…

Single’s Ballad…

Apple pieces soaked in cocktails,
and a short suspense after,
torn papers, crumpled up….
as I summarize –
to have the solutions seen,
in a personal tale.
Yet,
looking for what to write…
what to draw…
Pencil chewings from a sharpener,
a lady traced on paper,
recalling beauty,
a chocolate silhouette,
in shades of residue,
with a fainting light,
now in black an’ white
from my mind,
as I reminisce,
that colorful spiral of life,
flickering candle,
daring the dark,
a talent to improve on humanity,
for even starring acts,
leave the stage,
hence ooze a remarkable hue,
like a bright yellow sun,
in nude!

To avoid blushing,
Overcome the triumph of lust,
On life,
Unveiling an’ revealing,
the true identity,
a life symbol,
from the tangle of dress
an appearances….
To be introduced to,
that intensely schemed,
mark of intelligence,
that necessary symptom,
to create beautiful things.
It is like dust,
Cake dust found on the mouth,
Flakes from a cloud,
It is a snow fall,
A slow fall,
Lettings those eyes that look,
Keep that bold proof,
an’ sparkle!
So I can sing of the stars I see…
learn guitar,
stain the strings with red,
a musical D.N.A…
a single’s ballad.

I Am a Little Planet...

It is like losing my vocabulary,
Losing an integral part of me,
Which I know glows ever more dim.
It is silently thinning away,
Letting reality blunt and un-marvel it,
So I pick up an eager routine behind closed doors,
A disinterest to decipher people and their ways,
Stooping as low as stereo typing,
Color marking and cramming.
The death of color runs in my eyes,
As life undo’s and un-intends…
itself on my conscience.
Is this where they clip my wings?
Pluck every liberal follicle on my head,
Tame the span of my flight,
Riddle me with volcanic ash?
My mind’s a maze
for the wanton and care free…
following a channeling voice over speaker phone,
might as well be dead and gone.
But an occasional butterfly,
Disrupts this enslavement,
Ever so delicate and imposing,
My presence here is likewise felt,
For I am a little Planet!

The tyres caress with the gravel,
the old men play guitars,
our girls dance with the rain drops,
the boys are going to war!
they are gone to conquer our world,
Having dreams for dreams,
with little details coming amiss,
in their translation to this world.
but press on they must do,
write their letters an' close with glue,
to leave their ladies with some clue,
that the heart still feels so blue,
from the teasing scurry of heels,
lips...tips...and imaginings,
the readiness an' mask of skin,
praise their ripe and vigorous form,
with cliche an' modern norms,
from a little lonely planet!

Little ant lines can impress,
for nature holds more order than chess,
even poet lines hold no less,
free thinking so compressed,
to enable mental plug-in,
freeing minds from collapsing,
under vague and impish thoughts...
Poetry is like a home,
with strange an' visible influence,
like space, time an' matter...
it reveals what works in this world,
we are made of proud influences,
n' time has never walked by,
some have made conversation,
aging with words so gracefully.
like you, poetry has a pulse...
and now it will have to wane,
emptying into an ocean,
space;
that room for invention,
sums up my narration,
from me an' my nation,
I am a little Planet...

ink-festation

Black ink blotting on paper,
the sages are brewing vapor...
onto paper for the educator,
A post script for the narrator,
To spell the doings of investigators,
those who pride through ruins...
collapsing castles in this fluid...
of black residue,
forming points into an avenue,
Questioning clouds while the sky is blue...
We need it to be clear,
Our thoughts and what we hold dear,
We need to be here,
To learn our minds and be near...
to everything that has become clear.

It is an ink-festation,
signing letters and shining leather,
giving birth to thoughtful process,
The flow of wordily progress,
The joys of the gushing torrent,
as the pulsing vein,
like ink, paints and scribbles,
brings life in ripples,
like soft dimples on people...
contesting authority,
over the grain and grass,
of a growing conscience...
an educated guess,
a clumsy feeling is suggest,
by the wave and wind of bold,
letters coming into fold,
joining man and his world,
blood with the sap,
ash with the dust,
breathing and touching life..
yes its tangible,
like a laugh it ripples through...

An ink-festation,
a disease spread consciously..
an addiction to the poetry,
A position savored quietly,
A picture captured directly,
speak truth fluently,
like spreading an epidemic!
the equipments of the academic,
a solitary verse,
to an eloquent mass,
the birth of a generation,
with wills of penetration,
to wink and guise,
The height of their amplitude,
a steady chase of a heart beat,
waking, wanting and asking,
who spread this epidemic?
Am up with an ink-festation!