Maktub!

You are
It is written
If it’s your truth
Nothing is hidden

Without a word
Not even a sound
Even when you think
What you’ve got to say is so profound.

A universe
Into all the stars
A catalogue of languages
Spread long and far

You can argue all you want
You can devise the greatest plan
Calculate prospected obstacles
Draw maps in the sand

Still
You can look
A head
Yet there is nothing you can do
Until you give into
What is already
Said.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday ( A Free Thought, A New Form)

I'm on this journey for what-ever reason,
I have to look around me in places, through years of seasons,
to really dig up what it is that's there,
hoping that my due will come to me with compassion and care.
Granted - sometimes a hint is just enough - what you need - just a glimpse,
A Norma Desmond character, and I her pimp (yet, doted on like her chimp)
I know how that story ends,
yet I'm certain that this version will not offend
It's so cowardly in it's outward glory.
A Porter mistress shows signs of old lonesome times
while the heart bleeds, finding the answers to "why me" whines
sugar coated in Domestic crimes.
She cannot stop herself, from her victim state,
all she needs is a second to turn the page in the book of history telling a story of ole' grainy fate -
long ago - When she was the queen, with mac the knife, the grand ole king.
A big studio executive
A variable that often reads opportune and effective
What has she seen, imagine what she has done
Prancing in her Chanel pumps
Crossing oceans on pan am fun
A flying valet to court her to her destination
A carriage ride of bounty
Unyielding hesitation that rings so true of a saggaterian affliction.
Headstrong in throws of park avenue Ecstasy
Get a grip through it all
put a face on with some plastic gauze
just another
bloody Sunday
ripe with old wears and puckered tears
as the Grammy woes -the old chime and chirp of
vintage vine.
It's Fine.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.

Imaginative Possibilities

Two parallels exist
A duality persists
enabling our truest reality
within
our perception of sin.

Head-games weave
tales in our brain
through roller coaster rides
of the clinically insane.

Nothingness clouds what is
until you pull in
focus
on your own
bliss.

regret not!
waste of space
you created it
you gave it face.

Try again to get it right
like all good works
Art
takes insight.

open up your thoughts
let the universe collide
be oblivious to statistics
to truths
lies.

Restitution -
your broadest
horizon.
The ocean is yours
without pollution.

Imaginative possibilities
await.
Let open
flood gates.