it is dependent upon how and whose eyes are being used;
the power and faith involved in vision clarity,
to being blind, or just having astigmatism,
the prognosis and corrective treatment,
necessary for the ocular adjustment,
as to what form seeing God,
can, and may be defined,
and by whom.
Butterfly as a whisper comes around
for a little child happiness is found,
he sees a colorful art of life.
She stays near the child
not afraid of being burnt
by the desire.
Is it a candle or a child?
Secondly, she will be burned.
Firstly, she will be admired.
She makes him feel the magic
and then she wants to fly away.
A child can’t wait
that hours become days
and butterfly returns again.
He will love only for today!
Once she will fly away,
the beauty in his eyes will be lost.
Soon he will learn that
beautiful creatures can’t be admired
when they stay under chains.
Oriada Dajko
Genre-Kids, nature
Later by 200 years or more
I heard the bold robber’s call,
beneath my daughter’s window
as if no time had passed at all.
“I seek ‘ee out at midnight,
in moonlight shining clear,
no Devil from Hell will stop me,
damned, but how else to show I care.”
At that I stepped out of the shadows,
tried to look the ghost in the eye,
alas I smelt fresh blood, then heard,
my God, his deep anguished sigh.
Above my head shone the stars,
twinkling, giving out a little light,
and the pale moon did its best,
as on that first fateful night.
The rogue tossed me the leather reins,
I quivered as he landed on the ground,
his face and chest shot to pieces. Lord?
Was his blood that dripping sound?
Then the ghostly Highwayman stared,
a rattle, a hacking cough first he gave,
as loud came one crazy laugh,
that still haunts me from his grave.
I froze as I heard a strange sound,
deep from the stables, that awful creak.
But the clever spirit found a jug of ale,
so he drank with no need to speak.
Then a nod, his head fixed on the moor,
toward the grim drama of the night,
as I heard the sound of steady marching,
of Dead red-coats into the pale moonlight.
King George’s men all swaggering,
muskets sloped as grim as any grave
They marched to the Inn door to enter,
Blind or dead? No look at me they gave.
From the Inn came surreal music, voices
and poor Bess at a window, candle in hand,
trying to warn her endangered lover.
I thought now wasn’t that kinda grand?
I stood still like a statue, moved not one step,
made no noise at all or even tried to speak.
But come the tiny crack of first dawn light,
my legs filled with terror, I felt so very weak.
No landlord stays long in this cursed Inn place,
but me, as I’ve worked out all that before.
It’s because at night gallops the Highwayman,
as red-faced soldiers march across the moor.
Another rhythm of another time will see his
timeless face astride his phantom steed,
bringing to his beloved lover a bag of gold,
the coins forever tucked up his sleeve indeed.
The end
Got up from the Woolworth’s lunch counter, messy with condiments;
Used prints to create a dashiki
Marched all over the southern land, sight-saw strange fruit;
created jazz
Mixed in my education, like a Benetton ad;
uplifted my community
Wore black boots, with black caps, called myself a Panther;
hypnotised a world with Black Power
Unleashed my abundant hair, called myself Beautiful;
introduced a ‘fro
Police stomped my face, sent shepards called German after me;
mainstreamed Rap
Threw my fist in the air like an Olympian, receiving gold;
started profiling
Remembering that dream hasn’t been easy, changing a klan cherished history;
Rap got gangsta’
Beaten even when one couldn’t breathe, now black lives matter;
Confused as to whether we are beginning anew, causes we forgot to remember?
Come inside the waiting room
Young girls aggregate
Some come early, some on time
Now all of them are late
Apprehensive women showing
Carry their victims inside
Arms fold, legs double cross
Over facts of life they cannot hide
Inside each womb a being sleeps
Not to ever learn of waking
Inside each woman conscience creeps
Around whose life it is their taking
Away in the waiting room
A face turns inside out
Indecision, guilt, remorse,
Are what they turn about
Time, limping slowly around this room
Calls out names of mothers not to be
Killing time as well
They await their turns impatiently
A cascade of ill-appropriate pop tunes
Falls from the reception radio
Soul awakes! I’ve changed my mind
And turn around to go
Through the blistening trees
Cold like the agents against the sea
Cadavered by the blistening secrete endevering soul
Dropped like substitute cases submerged
Like dominos crumbling , falling , allured
In a cemetery of what I call mine
trapped with a humane invisibility
Repetitive pain to be labeled endangered
When the light shines through the window
To burn the essence of my message
As to feel the blood on my veins
You are a deep cutthroat inerasiable wound
With clenched bloody knuckles
Into an escape of a faint scattered soul
A tale of another songbird unheard
@MCAlysce
To stand when all around you fall,
To be, when and wherever the call,
To fight when all the rest have failed,
Against the storm, alone you sailed.
When it’s not perfect but still you stand,
Alone like a rock in the shifting sand,
Especially when you have the weaker card,
Because it’s tough, because it’s hard.
Despite outrageous misfortunes guile,
You stand firm with a sardonic smile,
Knowing that your race is run,
And all around you excuses spun.
Of why this task was a fool’s errand sure,
No hope, no way, no how, yet you endure,
Strength comes from within or, so they say,
By those to effort, lip service pay.
Strength, hope and courage come from above,
As do kindness, compassion and love,
It takes all these things to stand your ground,
When all around you to the exits pound.
To hold your head up high,
When the storm clouds fill the sky,
When alone in the dark and cold,
You stand up straight you stand there bold.
These things, are what maketh man,
To show compassion when you can,
To act in kindness to the weak,
In God, your glory for to seek.
When all around you doubt and scorn,
When your patience is tattered, and worn,
When at you, the world would deride,
Tis God that stands alone at your side.
So, courage is not the act of standing all strong,
And courage is not beating the weak to come along,
Courage is not the strongest stand,
Courage is taking Gods open hand.
Courage means to serve and to guide,
To lead the meek, the boastful to chide,
Courage means the path to blaze and light,
When all around you have no sight.
But think not, that this is a new or impossible task,
For courage is not found at the bottom of an alcohol flask,
An example of courage both faithful and true,
Just look to what the Christ did for you.
Losing REM on the TV, coffee table plus toast
All day telephones ringing, bells and drums
In one, out the other, cyber cabled contacts with
Southern Aztec eagles flying on runways built for
Aliens seen before the carrot behind the donkey.
Across Abbey Road painted images of
Hits and runs over pedantic types
Who have never been satisfied with the proof.
Micro-cosmic lights being darkened
By flashing red and white endless seas
of rippling waves never ceasing to crash.
Erasing lighthouse messages going nowhere
In circles, Schopenhauer reads Kant reads
“Denial of the nothing,” is all that exists
Are born again images of handicapped
Persons not winning, but losing confronted with
Climbing the greasy pole, and always slipping back,
never progressing beyond the oblivious search
for paths lost, past X-filed Ink injected
Eyeballs crawling inwards, outwards pulsating
Movement is ice cold ready to burn left over
East winds blowing west causing Californian
Eruptions of subtle proportions, enticing
Thought controlled alcoholics on immoral
Park benches at 8 o clock, timeless, endless
Cans thrown in over filled trash bins, an overspill
Of mindless thoughts from unshaven
Blades of fresh mown grass in shapes and
Angles casting shadows, black and white
Subterranean Homesick Blues.
Dylan’s verses cause a catalyst
Idea of Stalin, Hitler leftovers banging their
Heads on Jerusalem walls beyond the supernatural
Rebounding off barbed wire fences, over and
Out of misunderstanding the Creation, Exodus.
Or reactions to answers without questions.
Closed door exits into black holes that cause
Teardrops to drop on a sandy oasis of Gulf like
Waves create repetitive, borderless frontiers
Adopted by, Warhol called it “Art for Art’s sake,”
Finding limitations of intellect within books
Preaching lager lout behaviour of the
Right to right, left radical beliefs rotating
Between the Spectrum crossed
Only be decisions, dictated by emotions.
On the Street Car called Destiny twixt
A church and Pie and Mash shop.
Reliance on the mobile phone to order sanity
Or a Kentucky Fried Chicken at McDonalds
Where Hitler ordered Burger and Chips before
His troops decided to go east, not west
Preferring Chekhov to Dylan Thomas
Then he gassed 12 million Jews.
Within walls that ears and eyes
That tell the story of God’s children
Leading us back to anthropological ancestors.
Painting pictures sold for millions at Christies,
Or was it Harrods Egyptian Pharaohs, British
Imperial history, where queens lost their heads
As Henry sung the National Anthem praising
Our heritage, as long as it’s ours, not theirs
In incommunicado at Wembley, whistles and boo’s
Muddy Waters singing the Blues, beyond the
Final frontier in cyberspace forever.
Beam me up Scotty, on my knees
In the direction of Allah beyond the sun.
Outer limits, a distant dimension
Giving proof of Aliens, but denying Millet’s
The Miller, only seen in Vincent van Gogh.
Visited by a spaceship, which landed on
Runways designed by our ancestors, and
Engraved in the sands of time that drip slowly
Through the egg-times cavity, reaching
Stonehenge, the end of the beginning
To Druid visions of Velvet Underground
The walked on the wild side with
Heidegger, Freud, and the rest go
Into your minds, and the Niagara Falls
No return, no end, just a spinning ball
Ultimately it is very; OFF THE WALL!
we experience visions within dreams
nothing is what it seems
life is but a delusion
as we work our way to a conclusion
as we walk this lonely path
through life’s debris and aftermath
we rely on medicine and strange therapy
this would seem to be our destiny
our struggle in all is hopeless
our lives are so atrocious
we strive for recognition
but need regular visits, to a physician
aches and pains we endure
life just seems so obscure
why is it all not easy
do we have to endure, that which is sleazy?
beyond the lies and deceit
life can be quite neat
we just have to be resolute
in navigating our convoluted route
we will get there eventually
our dreams, growing exponentially
where will it all end?
I suppose that will depend
I expect it to be unreal
like the end of a satisfying meal
A triumph, not a humiliating defeat
the end, so delightfully sweet
Mike Maynard
your salt water hugs have drowned me and given me wings above the waves.
being the lightest, you’ve left me in shadows of sanity and the stone white light of clarity.
you tried to murder me. you tried to make me see.
your double edged serpent tongue lied to me and brought me closer to my truths.
i tried to leave you many times and found myself on busy street corners insane dancing.
my synaptic gap kisses burned and became fatal without you.
i loved to hate your control.
and, i thank you for balancing and threatening me to live.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 