Timing you is a chore
and a ticking way
It won't make my pay
Caging me is a bore
and a freaking fray
It won't pay ya day
Make the hay, as they say
when I stay
Make the move, as they pray
when I stray
For, if you wait a day
though I be hail
you may pay the grail
though I be frail.
Give of yourself, this day
like hell - not of hell
Give by the trucks, this day
like hell - not in hell
Look this our way
not far away
Look that their way
so far away...
Act!
Who knows the way
Pact!
Who knows the day
Tact!
Though it be tight
And react!
Though it may tail.
As we go, if we go
where heals the world
As we come, when we come
where ends our world
Is this a globe or globet
Pray!
Is it a line or linear
Pray!
As we dine, if we dine
who has the tray
As we drink, when we drink
who keeps the gourd
Pray, I say no more.
There is so much need and endless calls for urgent action tonight. Or there shall be no dawn for many....Thus, no noon for us all. As we wake up each passing day, wherever we sleep, the calls get more strident for the needs grow needier. It is a world of endless strifes and striving. All round.
Out there in Indonesia, we mourn. Out there in Afghanistan, we mourn. Out there in Iraq, we mourn. Will the world know peace again? We ask. Can't the world wage peace again? We seek.
Pray this day. For we deeply mourn a frail, and failing, world!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Earthquakes On Trail
Quakes take no lines
They quash, slash, dash
And they crush
Quakes fake no lines
They scar, tar, mar
And they trash
Quake in lives
as in towns
Quakes by night
as in flight
No height be safe
no depth be cave
We're game, damn our fame
We're tame, damn our name
And the sham be shame
damn the day
Tears won't hold
all be told
Fears won't hold
all be fold
As we see, we reel
As we scream, we feel
Tales won't end
though we tend
Gales won't end
though we bend
As we feel and reel
damn the day
This piece is for our peoples in Indonesia, Pakistan, Japan, Iran, India and others. Words must fail us in times like this. Yet we must find the words to give voice to all our ringing and wringing pain today. It drenches the world, anew.
These souls which just left us in such wrenching pain must waste not in vain. We must find the will and overdue willingness to act for all. Apart from the technology, we must act and rely on the world's geography to save our demography. Even with speed.
Is it time to map the planet for safe zones, and mandatory relocation - no matter the costs???
I plead.
They quash, slash, dash
And they crush
Quakes fake no lines
They scar, tar, mar
And they trash
Quake in lives
as in towns
Quakes by night
as in flight
No height be safe
no depth be cave
We're game, damn our fame
We're tame, damn our name
And the sham be shame
damn the day
Tears won't hold
all be told
Fears won't hold
all be fold
As we see, we reel
As we scream, we feel
Tales won't end
though we tend
Gales won't end
though we bend
As we feel and reel
damn the day
This piece is for our peoples in Indonesia, Pakistan, Japan, Iran, India and others. Words must fail us in times like this. Yet we must find the words to give voice to all our ringing and wringing pain today. It drenches the world, anew.
These souls which just left us in such wrenching pain must waste not in vain. We must find the will and overdue willingness to act for all. Apart from the technology, we must act and rely on the world's geography to save our demography. Even with speed.
Is it time to map the planet for safe zones, and mandatory relocation - no matter the costs???
I plead.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Tides, Sides and Strides
On my mind:
From books and records and films
On my mind
From tapes and drawings and maps
On my mind
From robes and carvings and beads
I think of the past
as the footprints of time
I ask of my mind
new ways of building my day
On my mind:
From news and views and queues
On my mind
From love and lights and life
On my mind
From clothes and creams and clones
I think of today
as the emblem of time
I ask of my mind
tough strands that settle the past
On my mind:
From roads and rivers and rites
On my mind
From meals and meetings and mines
On my mind
From takes and trials and tips
I think of beyond
as the icing of now-cake
I ask of my mind
how time will write our stay
On my mind is a song
In my heart is a joy
On our day we may say
For our stay we will pay
Where now the key
what now the catch
Slender and tender
tinder and blind
Fair, fast and just
From rakers to raiders to writers
we count our past
From foods to films and kids
we cost our now
To construct the morrow
which key, what call
To remain with creation
be a matter of minds
not the altar of kinds
And, as a bind, no matter:
Time be the writer, patchment
and ink....in all matter
I rest my mind.
Is there a worry in your soul? Take heart, it will be well. Are you like me, dazzled by the days of our genius and puzzled how to play in it? Take heart, the thrill will last.
There is plenty on most minds...you be not alone. I found this truism out long ago. An elderly friend confirmed to me same thing as well. If your mind roams and raves and ruminates, you are simply real. If not, dear thinker, you must truly worry.
The key is not your hands. It is our collective. It gives its call to the colour, and its colours to our calls. The cycle is the circle. And that is the ultimate call to genius: Nature, and our place in it. If we live, then we mind.
From books and records and films
On my mind
From tapes and drawings and maps
On my mind
From robes and carvings and beads
I think of the past
as the footprints of time
I ask of my mind
new ways of building my day
On my mind:
From news and views and queues
On my mind
From love and lights and life
On my mind
From clothes and creams and clones
I think of today
as the emblem of time
I ask of my mind
tough strands that settle the past
On my mind:
From roads and rivers and rites
On my mind
From meals and meetings and mines
On my mind
From takes and trials and tips
I think of beyond
as the icing of now-cake
I ask of my mind
how time will write our stay
On my mind is a song
In my heart is a joy
On our day we may say
For our stay we will pay
Where now the key
what now the catch
Slender and tender
tinder and blind
Fair, fast and just
From rakers to raiders to writers
we count our past
From foods to films and kids
we cost our now
To construct the morrow
which key, what call
To remain with creation
be a matter of minds
not the altar of kinds
And, as a bind, no matter:
Time be the writer, patchment
and ink....in all matter
I rest my mind.
Is there a worry in your soul? Take heart, it will be well. Are you like me, dazzled by the days of our genius and puzzled how to play in it? Take heart, the thrill will last.
There is plenty on most minds...you be not alone. I found this truism out long ago. An elderly friend confirmed to me same thing as well. If your mind roams and raves and ruminates, you are simply real. If not, dear thinker, you must truly worry.
The key is not your hands. It is our collective. It gives its call to the colour, and its colours to our calls. The cycle is the circle. And that is the ultimate call to genius: Nature, and our place in it. If we live, then we mind.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Cave-Sense On Hills
Words be their bricks
and mortar
They won't buy your tricks
Hints be their bread
and butter
They won't buy your drinks
Ringing and binding
in spins and loops
this tribe make your days
of concern
meld with your nights
of worry
And hail your flights:
So you wonder why
you worry...
Until you find the message
in the messy material
or that hurting honey
Then, you ponder why
you worry
Poets!
Them tribe of yore
blending Sage
with Modern Age
Poets!
Strange guage
on Ancient Stage
Damn their ranks.
What can a humble beneficiary of the tribe say! In this business, we are all poetic, if not kindly admitting to be poets. But the Bards owe us, owe self, owe a 'morrow. Must they chant or choke? Who knows what be right!? Not me, I plead. But bet that poets will pound the lanes of our very Planet for aeons. No losing them!
Once they be balanced, and fair, I be game. So may us ALL. And the world has been forgiving. In this era, ICT will make a bigger way for poetry, a better say for poets. Brighter day for ALL.
Oh, may poets still be damned....for they be pain, and pleasure!
and mortar
They won't buy your tricks
Hints be their bread
and butter
They won't buy your drinks
Ringing and binding
in spins and loops
this tribe make your days
of concern
meld with your nights
of worry
And hail your flights:
So you wonder why
you worry...
Until you find the message
in the messy material
or that hurting honey
Then, you ponder why
you worry
Poets!
Them tribe of yore
blending Sage
with Modern Age
Poets!
Strange guage
on Ancient Stage
Damn their ranks.
What can a humble beneficiary of the tribe say! In this business, we are all poetic, if not kindly admitting to be poets. But the Bards owe us, owe self, owe a 'morrow. Must they chant or choke? Who knows what be right!? Not me, I plead. But bet that poets will pound the lanes of our very Planet for aeons. No losing them!
Once they be balanced, and fair, I be game. So may us ALL. And the world has been forgiving. In this era, ICT will make a bigger way for poetry, a better say for poets. Brighter day for ALL.
Oh, may poets still be damned....for they be pain, and pleasure!
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Accountant
Counting counts
But tell the strings
and their pullers:
It hurts
You're watched what you
spend
You're lashed what you
earn
You be tossed in-between
Greatest harm?
The hurt of retrospect.
Wow! Just dare a world without them figure-crunchers! Can we, should you? Hey, seek ye company elsewhere. The guys figure that out yonks ago, and kept everyone - thus, everything - on the quest. Come off it, don't we seek and yearn for money?!
Now, our world is tied to them figures: credit, debit, hire purchase, banking, ratings, lottery, stocks, etc. Managers must watch it. Boards are bashed or bannered by it. And nations reel under its lure, its influence: figuring out the FIGURES.
From politicians to priests, from researchers to revellers, we now take polls or posters serious when they tie figures in: posperity or penury, not so much posterity! The now mentality.
So, figures get priority. They're earned or deferred or cooked or conjured! What a time to be leader or looter, manager or damager! As for values, they claim value-added. Not that value, if you see what I count - your grandmother's preachments!
Bless Accountants. And Accounting.
But tell the strings
and their pullers:
It hurts
You're watched what you
spend
You're lashed what you
earn
You be tossed in-between
Greatest harm?
The hurt of retrospect.
Wow! Just dare a world without them figure-crunchers! Can we, should you? Hey, seek ye company elsewhere. The guys figure that out yonks ago, and kept everyone - thus, everything - on the quest. Come off it, don't we seek and yearn for money?!
Now, our world is tied to them figures: credit, debit, hire purchase, banking, ratings, lottery, stocks, etc. Managers must watch it. Boards are bashed or bannered by it. And nations reel under its lure, its influence: figuring out the FIGURES.
From politicians to priests, from researchers to revellers, we now take polls or posters serious when they tie figures in: posperity or penury, not so much posterity! The now mentality.
So, figures get priority. They're earned or deferred or cooked or conjured! What a time to be leader or looter, manager or damager! As for values, they claim value-added. Not that value, if you see what I count - your grandmother's preachments!
Bless Accountants. And Accounting.
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