Visions/Mtazamo -- June 21, 2011

 

My Dream/ Gerry Bukini (the Anonymous Poet)

My dream, I dream

The beginning

Inception

No theme, no frame

The beginning

With no perception

Paradox

Paralyze my imaginary world

Running on every imaginary hall

Wonderland incisors

Causing my brain seizures

Half sane, half amnesia

Scared of these freaky militia

Or chasing thy geishas

Now dream turns to a new dream

Fantasy

Swimming on cream

Dream and a dream

Dream while dreaming

Dream I want to live in

On mine, yours and thems

Soon it tickles my skin

I’m in a new world

No…old world

Which was meant to be real

Where there are things you can feel

But none of them can heal

Or take me to my mesmerized hill

Like my dream healed

New world

Old world

I feel old

Back to carrying my heavy loads

Take me back to my dream

DEATH OF SAID THE POET/Said Suleiman

In my wet eyes
filled with non-stop tears
in a bloody, horrifying vision
I can see a ghost-like figure
with all his killing tools
facing me with all his might
while I’m laying there helplessly
eager to slaughter me mercilessly
as if I’m butcher’s commodity
to be marketed on Sunday morning

Staring at me, the ghost-like figure
his eyes, the product of fire
blinding my eyes
so that I can’t see the prevailing evils
his voice, an example of thunder
deafening my ears
so that I can’t hear of the cheating-speeches
his blow on my head, a bang of falling tree
destroying my wits
so that I can’t challenge the brutes
his sword, as sharp as lion’s teeth
chopping my tongue
so that I can’t talk of liberation
his strength, as powerful as tsunami blow
controls my arms
so that I can’t write criticisms
his hundreds claws, tear into my throat
terminate my soul
so that I can perish while attempting

But the spirit of the brave
changes the bloody, horrifying vision
into promising and likely-to-change vision
for instead of perishing while attempting
I shall live while succeeding!

I THOUGHT I SAW YOU/Eleanor Griplas

I thought I saw you
It was just a glance
A brief moment in a host of visions
- just a chance
But I thought I saw you

Was it a vision of you?
A trick of the light
Or the light playing tricks
with my mind or my sight.
But I thought I saw you

I want to see you
Maybe even need to
when you want something enough,
can you make it come true?
But I thought I saw you

In my mind’s eye
Is that where you stay
Hiding out in the depths of my head
 in an abstract world that's not far away
but I thought I saw you

You have no now
no future, just a past
Memories stay strong and clear
my visions of you will stay to the last
But i thought I saw you

Does it matter
Do we have to be sure
Should the uncertainty worry me
Between fact and fiction the distinction is poor
But I know I saw you...

And I smiled.

VISIONS OF BEAUTY/Thomas Green

Visions of beauty

Are subjective you see.

Could be a man who truly looks like a lawyer

He could fit the bill, and beautiful be.

Depends on your perspective

The strength of young adulthood in his veins

That look of power in his square jaw

Could be, he should be so vain.

With perfect smile , perfect nose,

perfect lips, perfect skin,

Oh such perfection one knows

 inspires awe,

His lean strong adult body

My case he will certainly win.

From another perspective

The young woman be fair

Her perfect skin and youth project her

As something special without compare.

Her plump lips are all the fashion

She definitely can turn one’s eye.

Would that she were beside me

Her sweet appearance, I  cannot deny.

She be like her soft silken dress

As it slides ever so softly by and by

That silky soft softness

across her youthful toned thighs.

How can one woman so beautiful

Be mine and only mine.

She might could pull the wool

Over my dumb-stricken eyes

Hardly true

Unbelievably true

It could be one, could be two

Now perspective one must choose

My one , not two beautiful visions

Which one should they be?

YOU be the one true vision of beauty

 by my side, we shall always be.        

SOOTHSAYERS SAY…/Thomas Green

The end of days is upon us

The world as we know it must end

Many soothsayers say and repeat thus

Our pitiful end is just around the bend.

They say as they drone from their pulpits

They broadcast on their radio shows

Yes, they write it in the Newspapers

 It must be true! It’s on TV don’t you know.

Charles Manson was about Helter Skelter

Racial strife and cataclysm rattled their minds

For some there was no safe shelter

From drugged-up murderers stalking in time.

Remember that poor group in Uganda

Believed in the Ten Commandments of God

Their leaders trapped them with propaganda

Locked them in a church fire where they did meet God.

Now Jim Jones was a hell of a speaker

To Guyana’s dense jungle they fled

Where they practiced a new social order

Congressman Ryan came, to Jim Jones’s dread

Here drink KOOL AID from this beaker

A concoction of obvious dread

900 or so died a death none more bleaker

Their new world order certainly dead.

Nostradamus  gave us written predictions

Of future visions he decidedly saw

Supposedly a prophecy nonfiction

To be believed as truth without flaw

Interpreters translate his works with conviction

predictions they ultimately redraw

persuading us to believe without contradiction

What they say Nostradamus wrote and saw.

We tend to believe what we read on thin pages

Newsprint columns describe what say sages.

A nonfiction or two

might offer us clues

To what to believe from those long past ages.

Religious books contain truth in abundance

How to and not to proceed with our lives

But with grain of salt I myself will I take them

As pure truth over ages survived.

It could be the today,

It could be tomorrow

What soothsayers say? Don’t matter a bit

They deceive us with their cataclysmic sorrow.

NGAZI MIA: BODY BUILDING AT THE HINDU CREMATORIUM/Amanda Leigh Lichtenstein

One hundred steps up and down

The body burned or built

To meet the demands of the hour

Gods of muscle, Gods of death

Perfecting form, destroying it

All in a day’s breath.

The body muscled, sundrenched

The body fragile, pruned

One hundred steps up and down

Wearing Adidas gear or death gown

Push-uppers pushing up against

The rusted metal rods of death’s bed,

Black coal scattered beneath,

Just steps away from the ocean’s mouth

Open wide, to swallow us whole.

There, among ashes scattered, little boys’ bodies glisten

In shiny wet blankets of ocean wave, heads bobbing,

Eyes wide, screeching with delight. Their friends

Are the crows, perched at death’s cliff, cawing

Like cantors, early evening blues.

Twilight rushes in, their skin

Saturate with living, vitamined

and grinning with the day’s luscious rays.

Hard to imagine this place

Where local boys headstand and cartwheel

Down those one hundred steps,

While others, wrapped in prayer shawls

Go down and never return, souls set free

To reach for farther shores, soul set free

From the desire to be strong.

Hidden in the trees, behind the crematorium’s

Rusted metal gates, Om shanti shanti

One hundred steps up and around

Jogging ocean side and then back up

Through lush green leaves.

Stretching, karate-chopping, leg-lifting

Head-standing, hand-standing, running

Against each wave, or towards it,

Diving, swimming, leaping, splashing

Life in all its forms,

Mastering the form

That will eventual fail us,

Or will we fail our form?

Here it is, life pushing back against death,

The muscled nexus, fire and breath, bone and skin:

Faith as flesh exercising its right

To press against the cracked stone of reality:

That our muscles bloom and atrophy,

Our minds, neurological kitchens,

Flicker on high and simmer low.

Our hearts, not unlike red kites

Tied to their arterial strings,

Just one day let us go,

Carrying us from one life

To the next.