Waar ik slaap, deinen auto's
isomorf met de zee.
Onder een betonnen deken, kust
en sust het stoplicht me tot rust.
Maar ergens tussen hier en nergens,
aan het eind van dode paden,
op jouw land en onder jouw genade,
werd mijn kortsluiting geblust
fifteen dragons in flight, gliding through the atmosphere.
each with their own abilities,
each with their own color, and size,
each with their own nature,
with their own destiny...
Mother Nature.Mother Nature.
She is the world’s most notorious serial killer.
No other can be more creative or spontaneous.
Obscuring her weaknesses as her strengths,
Eradicating masses reducing flesh to ashes.
She turns all novels of life into a vengeful thriller.
The effects of her actions are simultaneous.
Her native reach is beyond any man’s length.
The fact is while we worry about taxes,
She could strike again at any given time.
After generations of countless preparations.
We still cannot calculate her complex design.
As she alters her variation to suit any situation.
Some pledge their allegiance to her,
Others doubt whether she exists.
Regardless of the feelings you have towards her.
It is still her terrain to retain, tangle and twist.
With minimal effort she controls the deserts, the concrete and the seas.
She is capable of making grand buildings tumble to their knees.
With ease she can encourage the streets to flourish with disease.
And afterwards create ever green trees with hom
Winter WonderlandSnow blankets the fields that once were green
This Winter Wonderland which can be seen
Creating starkness in a shade of white
We gaze in awe upon this sight
Snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground
Floating softly without a sound
Placing shapes upon this earth
Filling hearts with Winter's mirth
All wrapped in garb to keep us cosy
Of joyous laughter and cheeks so rosy
We make snow-angels in the snow
Such sheer delight with eyes aglow
Snowballs flying through the air
As children play without a care
Shrieks of glee flow on the breeze
Another memory our hearts will seize
And when the day is finally done
We say far
Dew DropDew Drop
Parted without any goodbyes…
falling from the highs
fresh and beautiful!
Just falling freely, with no rule….
All those eyes watching,
see a bright smile, and sing,
"wonderful, delightful, how free!"
The real truth can anyone see?
As it dropped off the leaf,
all eyes gone and solitaire engulfed it's belief
of someone to understand,
that there's a frown behind that smile
None stretched their hand, let it dissolve in the sand
the dew drop's worth just lasted a while…
nobody to understand the story
of the one that lost it's melody,
waiting to be freed from melancholy:
The song of the one, who's lonely…
Wolfen SoulI have never wanted to howl,
So badly as I do now.
I can feel the tightening in my chest,
My maw raising toward the sky,
Flattening my ears,
And singing to the moon
To my brothers and sisters,
To my soul that lives out in the forest.
All of it.
I want to drink in the air,
As it swirls around me,
I want to growl, play and bark,
At my pack who live around me.
I just want to be freed,
Of this retched life.
I want to wag my tail
And feel the soil between my paws.
Most of all, I want to howl,
I want to sing my soul for all to hear.
I just want to be free,
To be free in the wild.
Yet I am forced to hold back the feeling.
The tears welling up in my eyes,
Slowly fall down my muzzle.
I dont know if Im happy or sad,
But now I can feel myself calming down.
The feeling has been released for now,
But until it happens again, I will howl for you,
And the life that awaits in the deep green forests,
Of my heart and soul.
*flattens ears and howls*
The MaskCast not aside this time of winter gloom.
Though its frozen fingers grasp tightly upon
the very essence of our existence.
Looming deadly at the last gasps of autumns hold,
it takes over as a thief in the night and camps deeply
in the bitter bare forests of the playgrounds of our youth.
Branching forth its icy tentacles deep into our very souls
we succumb to the numbing chill of its gripping stranglehold.
It can suck the life out of our lungs as we struggle to breathe,
blasting us relentlessly with a wind so fierce our conscience
falls victim to it's frozen spree.
It can gently coat our minds in a beautiful blanket of fresh fallen snow,
only to rip away the joy with an Arctic blast of cold.
For to wish away the winter would rob us of the young,
slumbering peacefully in the wombs of the givers of life.
The omnipresent facade of the illusion of winter death,
hides the beautiful truth inside the fragile cocoon upon the branch.
Without the darkest season and the short cold nights it brings.
Wise Old SageWise old sage how many years have you seen?
How many birds have come to rest in your branches?
How many a sunrise have you watched in your existance?
How many nights have you glimpsed a falling star?
How many scars give witness to lovers who have met here
Hoping to leave their mark upon the world?
Great old sage how many births have you stood here?
How many generations have lain in your towering shadow?
How many children have hidden amongst your plentiful leaves?
How many a swing has been hung upon your powerful limbs?
How many fragments of rope bear witness to the laughter
Of the youth that dare climb upon your bough?
Dear old sage how many storms have you weathered?
How many times have you braved the force of winds?
How many snowfalls have you braced yourself against?
How many times have you blossomed once again?
How many springs have you had to start anew
Stretching your glorius branches towards the sun?
And now old sage you have withered and broken.
Your roots have run dry and your
Nothing Can Compare........
Tendrils of color dot the landscape
giving a feeling of technicolor delight
Blooms of outrageous beauty line the fields in
rows like toy soldiers
Their stems so ramrod straight and proud
The earth in which nature flourishes
A shade of dark ochre and as rich as treacle
Trees so tall and grown with the hardship of many years
Etched with furrowed wrinkles
in the bark that covers their solid trunks
The coat of many colors made of leaves that
drip off every branch in dancing unison and
moving with the singing breeze that flows through
every space and time
A sight to behold is this land of ours
Nothing can compare
to how simple and true life can be
Humming sounds of insects and the rustling of distant shadows
engulfing the last rays of light that sends nature to its rest
Flowers close their weary buds and wrap leaves
around themselves like a cloak of soft woolly down
Blades of grass lay down in the gust of the night wind
fighting against the ulti
just pretend i am a mantell me five things
that give you crows feet
at the x-extends of your facial
that would be
when I feel a poem coming on.
me? it can’t be
my chemistry innuendos
and travel-worthy shows of poetic
justice. in transit, we are
shifting and stretching
our insecure binding
to hybridized vengeance
(twenty of them)
read with me the stories
of those at disturbance
with god? I’d have you
stuck in a parking lot,
enjoying an addiction, fearful
of being broadcast
in theory, of course.
my curls will not tire
of your hinted accent. my
complaints will not lessen
in your infinite kindness;
you are no more a stranger to me
than my own skin. your youth is carved
in each thunderstorm i wish i had seen;
all i require is wooden floorboards
and the slightest glimpse
the sweetness you taste last of nights
and early mornings
is a permanent bookmark
is a wishful glitch.
are my steroid-strength
ambrosia; a fi