After the wetness of the rain,
on open prairies, lush and green;
after the endless waves of sand
in the glare of a desert sun;
after the lashing of the wind
atop the foggy mountain peaks;
after the broad-leaved trees become
deciduous with rose and amber
bathing as the day’s knell is tolled –
this is who I am in the end:
An applicant who has too often failed
to get into the human club
for refusing to be a cannibal;
a global citizen,
a refugee, imprisoned
in his own motherland!
As the rain with a drizzle, unrelenting,
soaks the ground, come to me and drench my thirst!
Leave behind a wet sheen to make my soul,
like a rain soaked street, a giant reflector,
reflecting back some light to fill the scene
and glowing too with the audacity of hope!
Sometime it rains through the night and the dawn
is as dark as the hours that came before
and sometime the day too gets washed away
by a torrential pelting from the clouds!
The raindrops, falling on me as I walk,
where did they start their earthbound falling from?
Is it those dark grey clouds, crying overhead
or a dark figment of my imagination?
For I see no one washed and made fair by the rain
or perhaps it did but we succumbed, yet again!
The ashes and the fire…
My dearest love, my serene memory. I remember us. We loved the midnight hours, locked door and to be 3 am wild and free. The German Winter made us hold tighter and we drove blindly into the magic of love.
You were at the sweetest age, eighteen and brave. I was nineteen and we didn’t know. The strongest fire can fade to ashes. I found you in the Fall, we drank the new wines of Germany and we sang songs of Leonard Cohen’s at the small lake to the rising moon. You were filled with amorous need to feel and touch everything and I was falling in the darkness of your needs and wants.
I remember I whispered to you.
“My midnight dancing angel. I love your barefoot feet moving to the songs playing lowly, I love you so. You are my muse and you…
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Never been to Spain…..
Oldest and saddest man on the block had spread out his world map. He touches the country Spain and he told the clouds. I never been to Spain. I would love the dark-skin ladies and I would drink the Spanish wine till midnight. I would find the sea and dance, bare-ass for the stars. I wouldn’t complain no-more.
I am been living in Michigan for twenty years, so tire of the big cities, the rushing to no-where.
I never been to Alaska, I would love the long Winter, maybe my pen and paper would come alive again. Maybe the empty spaces would rebirth my mind. The tire man is packing-up what he needs. He will sing his songs to the Spanish ladies, he will dance the midnight waltz with a Gypsy beauty near the sea, whispering love words to the kind lady.
When the hot…
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Did we give enough?/Did we bleed?
The loco Monterey Poet shouted to the sea. Did I give enough?/did we bleed? The prettiest girl in Monterey, she laughed at his words. She tossed off her shoes and she joined him. Two almost lovers danced near the sea, for the moon, for the million stars above.
She whispered into his wanting ear. Last year, you promised me everything. You promised to stay with me and we stripped bare and I allowed you into the places where true lovers roam and seek. I remember you wrote upon the skin of my legs with ink and touch. “True love, fools love. Wild love, free love. Untamed love, forever love. We are falling into the fragrant of love, I love the allure of your long legs, the curves of your perfect valleys and peaks. I love the way you share the verses of the ancient…
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