STRUGGLE

                                                                    STRUGGLE


there is a struggle going on
in some distant land
a place where good and evil
take the final stand
the evil fight for their cause
with their dark forces
but the raven has the power
of the last flight

as the horns surface
from below hell
will they crush the good?
only the future will know
or will the raven triumph evil?
before taking up in flight
will light break through the dark?
you decide

HAVANA RUMBA

                                                                HAVANA RUMBA


amongst the crumbling infrastructure
funky street murals and psychedelic art
where dazzling has replaced the dismal
interlocking drum patterns,  rhythmic chants
powerful enough to awaken the spirit of Orishas

moving to the pyrotechnic explosion
of music and poetry
enticing like hurricane Sandy

magic steps transformed by the spirits of Sunday rum
in Hamel's Alley
a surreal experience of raw creativity
celebrating Afro-Cuban culture
he dances barefoot unnoticed
moments of being


      Callejon de Hamel (Hamel's Alley) in Havana..every Sunday afternoon

Miss Lonely

                                                            MISS LONELY

Today Miss Lonely comes to me,
wearing a silk blouse, lorgnettes and buttons,
and a rose in the waves of her flounces.
Today the mutable miss is friendship
and slowly strokes my heart
with her thin petal of frost.
So, today, I politely ask you to walk with me
through the garden to the flowery courtyard
of that rose the parents planted.
Today dreams are like mold on the side of the wall,
painting the chasm of love,
melancholic, faint, dim sky.

She moves towards me, she moves ever so slowly.
She moves in a bright dance, the stage.
I give over my respect and now I soar.
Hawk, it shakes the boat slow like the net,
in the soft wind, child of the blue.

Yes, melancholy, mute lover,
yesterday's faithful lover.
Yes, melancholy, blessed lover,
your enjoyment always takes me.
Yes, melancholy, woman of existence,
lips which come back like the tide.
Yes, melancholy, flower of my mouth,
speak who can love me.

Today Miss Lonely comes to me,
wearing a silk blouse, lorgnettes and buttons,
and a rose in the waves of her flounces.
Today the mutable miss is friendship
and slowly strokes my heart
with her thin petal of frost.
So, today,
yes, melancholy, lady of existence,
lips which come back like the tide.
Yes, melancholy, flower of my life,
tell me who can love me.

CANDY KISSES

                                                                   CANDY KISSES

full moon. dark sky.
french window open wide:
other barriers between us
endless, invisible.
on a threshold
as the window closes upon the night,
dreaming, striped lips, moonlight.
candy kisses.

SACRIFICE

                                               SACRIFICE

once beyond time in the darkness of night
lives a beauty and a beast,

to both; see beauty,
to both; see beast,

there lie many evil spirits;
between their hearts,

their thoughts shake from secrets;
of  untold silent emotion,

they see each other as their own love,
but lovers are free and tied to none,

within the silence, a soft voice shouts,
"I am your mirror but beware,
a reflection is a false belief."

an emphatic echo deep below the tree sighs,
"I am your soul, I hope for your growth,
in your sorrow I melt; in your love I lie.

within your heart; mine will beat,
in your feelings, lies my touch,
I am only a deception of your memory,
grasp on to nothing, give your soul freedom,

because I can't be either with or without;
the nature of life,

looking over you; resembling your shadow;
beyond the light of the stars and sun ,
in darkness when the moon hides behind clouds,
always there only as far as I can go."

the storms cry again, breathing silence,
until only a barrier of air remains,

the spirits perform gypsy dances,
to the  rhythmic wind;
of a sacrifice; oblivious to all.


  a poem written for Poetry Jam...prompt, Sacrifices
                                WWP...........prompt, how a fairy tale begins
                                                             

SEALED

                                                                       SEALED

Her lips, envelope points.
Sealed corners.  Emotions
folded tightly.  Softly she smiles;
yesterday hides behind her lips.

Slender tapered fingers; tugging
and holding.  Arms harmonizing with
motion, waltzing past hot air.
Vapour surrounds her in hot shadows.

Jazz music.  Lipstick;  drawing her
darkness into sin, breathing, wanting
forgiveness.  Her words wave like
lips drying.  Hair hangs
smoldering in heat.  Showers fire cold
bodies.  A saxophone plays her song.

HOMELESS MAN

                                                           HOMELESS MAN

yes
the homeless man always arrives
with his tools
to loosen the hatreds
and tighten the loves.
always
the old man arrives,
always eager
with a smile  on his face
ready to fix the broken.

always,
separating bottles from here,
garbage from there,
working hard.
always he goes
this old man
changing dirt into gold.

always
he arrives in the back lane
where the power
that shines the light is found.
and always there
he does his work
the fixer of dreams.

yes
the homeless man always arrives
up to the person,
up the people,
up to the sky.
always
the old man arrives
and from that time
silence ends
and singing begins.