IMAGINATION

You know the mind is a beautiful thing, right? Well, I think it is. If you think something is impossible, try entering this world of absolute possibility. 

I have lived a thousand years
In all but a days thought
And circled the world’s breadth
With a step into the mind

I close my eyes to see the sights
My eyes cannot see
And places before my whole can reach
My mind bares all to me

In imagination all is free
To be whatever it may be
In imagination may I see
The world as it’s ought to be

I have thought a thing or two
Of birds in endless flight
And pondered my way to choose
That above no end is in sight

That above beyond all illusion
The large is merely cut
To fit within a world
That sits and hold a mind

In imagine all is real
And made my minds surreal
In imagination may I reveal
All wonders of the world.

Love Expanded

Paul's brilliant inspired piece on the workings of love in the book of 1Corinthians is among some of the most quoted on the subject. These “workings of love” as I like to call it, sums up perfectly what love is all about. Here’s an expanded version from me.

Love is patient - And leaves you not a patient
Love is kind - Observes the wise mind
Love is not jealous - But remains zealous
Love is not conceited - Neither feels unseated
Love is not proud - Shows off not in the crowd
Love is not ill-mannered - Call it well-mannered
Love is not selfish - Not adding to every skirmish
Love is not irritable - Certainly not certifiable
Love records no wrong - Forever remaining strong
Love is not evil - And no friend of the devil
Love is the truth - Bears quite good fruit
Love never gives up - But rather looks up
       And its faith, hope and patience
                      Never fails
                   Love is eternal

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Nature’s Rhyme

Ever had one of those days when the sun is high up in the sky and the second hand of the clock seems to think slower than ever? Well it was on one such days that I thought I’d pass the time with some funny writing. Enjoy. 

Roses, violets, thistles in my palm,
Peaceful ocean waves all so calm.
Tulips, lilies, orchids in my sight,
Beautiful blue skies morning and night.
Hollies, daisies, carnations in my stride,
Gentle little lovelies to up my pride.
Rushes, ferns, green here and there,
Warm noon sunlight glittering in my hair.

Apples, grapes, peaches in my mouth,
Baskets full of them all going south.
Melons, pears, cherries on the rack,
One more bite and I’m gonna crack.
Bananas, oranges, plums for the plump,
Perfect side dishes to ease the slump.
Lemons, figs, mangoes for my amigos,
Ronaldo, Rooney, none of them Latinos.

Cats, bats, rats at my heels,
Hairy, furry, mammals dancing on wheels.
Dogs, crocs, whoever’s the boss,
There’s still no beating Nina or Ross.
Roaches, geckos, creepy crawling weirdoes,
Find me a stick and bust the minnows.
Falcons, vultures, birds of prey,
Coming in colours of black and grey.

Hip-hop, R&B, not much R&D,
Out of tune music playing concurrently.
Hip-life, Highlife, CDs in the shop,
Dead and gone generations telling us to stop.
Country, Gospel, music so simple,
Leaves you maudlin and smiling with a dimple.
Classic, Jazz, Pop and Blues,
Grab a chair and enjoy the reviews.

Technorati Tags: nature,environment

The Porter’s Naiveté

This is a poem I wrote from watching the 7 0’clock news and an editorial on the life of a street porter, a girl barely twenty years old and the story of her daily toil. I thought I’d get into her head. 

From morn to dawn across the fawn,
The life for her is known unrest.
Her burden, a pan, it fetes her head-
A mass of stuff from woman impressed.
She follows behind with steps detailed,
Her eyes a scorn of what is fond.
A line of sweat trails down her face,
And wets her lips of dry and naught.
She wipes her brow, the back of her palm;
Her palm, a coarse unravelled brawn.
Inside of her the little one kicks,
A sudden chill runs down her spine.
For what she fears and feels deceived,
What life to give the one conceived?

Today is what was not ago
A life impressed of naught for long
A life back home, her mind recalls
Devoid of aim or gain of fame.

Back home the hope is fog and mist,
Pallid and stale and told untold.
Back home the life it bores and breeds,
The wish of one to stall the fail.
And hearts and minds of those who wait,
Cannot be made to starve the want.
For what is life without a prize-
Without the hope of looking right?
What tale is told of mundane lives-
If not the tale of scorched out files?
The thought wails down upon the minds,
Whose lives they wish to make amends.
And when the time for flight is right,
The space of life and land is vast.

The grass looks green on the other side
Not till you find no joy nor pride
The Earth goes round in endless bounds
Until whose hope defeat surrounds.

The south she thought she found back then,
A haven for hordes of those from north.
A place incessant with sights and sounds,
Where dreams come true and hopes abound.
The streets amassed with cars not carts,
Of various kinds her lips did part.
The buildings rose high into the sky,
So beautiful, God, it made her cry.
The south, the city that bore the names,
Of big talk towns and men of fame.
And so she prayed her hope this time,
To stay in want for a bright new way.
For then indeed her heart looked forth,
To making her gains and heading back north.

But now she fears the city is trouble
Enough to make a young girl stumble
Her unborn one has burst her bubble
The walls around begin to crumble.