You are that lost continent,
I the tempestuous sea,
Wanting to wash up on your fabled shore,
Caress your endless sandy beaches,
Splash up, rush ceaselessly,
Against your rocky ramparts.
You are that mythical far off land,
That country I can only dream of.
I am the wanting sea,
Honouring the mystical moon,
Only able to dream about your source,
A tide of love that ebbs and flows,
Shaping your formidable coastline,
Carving its way across your perfect nature,
Rafting your marvelous sparkling rivers,
Perpetually dashing through your rapids and canyons,
Spilling o'er your lush green valleys, 
Frothing through your towering forests,
Where your sacred springs like crystal,
Surging into the very deepest part,
Of my endless passionate ocean.

Siddhartha laying with beautiful Kamala,
Courtesan teaching him carnal knowledge,
Kamala imprisoned a lovely rare song bird,
A feathered rarity locked-up in a gilded cage,
Siddhartha prior to seeking enlightenment,
Before beginning his final earthly pilgrimage,
Contemplating life on the bank of a sacred river,
Siddhartha dreaming one fateful night,
Lying next to Kamala's perfect body, seductive beauty,
Siddhartha envisioned Kamala's rare beautiful song bird.
Dreaming still, waking in his dream at golden sunrise,
Not hearing that usual welcoming morning trill,
Siddhartha wondered why that  wondrous precious bird,
Was not singing,
Its usual morning songs,
Of happiness and joy,
No chorus or trill or captivating hymn. 
Siddhartha, roused from his comfortable bed,
Dreaming still, finding that tiny golden bird,
Lying dead and still on the bottom of that golden cage.
Siddhartha extended his open hand,
Reaching into that small golden prison,
Clutching the small dead bird,
All that glorious colour still intact,
Holding that feathered beauty,
Now quite stiff and cold.
Siddhartha tossed that small innocent corpse,
Thrown out an airy window,
That unfortunate dead creature,
Falling like a mindless stone,
Plummeting to the unyielding earth below.
Suddenly realizing his disrespect,
Such careless action,
So uncaring he was in that moment.
Engulfed by sorrow for what he had done,
That poor little song bird's dead body,
Siddhartha felt overwhelmed,
God's creature, now lifeless and dead.
What we humans have done,
Reaching thoughtlessly,
Into every golden cage,
Taking hold of what was beautiful,
So glorious and good,
Things so wonderful and pure.
Unceremoniously chucking the divine,
Those gifts so freely given,
Life pitched out every open window,
Plummeting like useless discarded nothings,
Down to the sorry ground,
Onto scrap piles and dung heaps,
Such selfishness and arrogance,
Casting goodness and purity,
Good life itself,
Into stinking rubbish bins,
Buried in toxic waste piles.
Mother Earth once providing us with everything,
Countless travesties and sins, 
So apathetically committed.
Good God forgive us!
 Yet we shall surely not be forgiven,
So the burning bush must leave us,
Abandoned and buried,
While earth's pitiful oceans burn,
Radioactive, polluted beyond recognition,
As the tainted ebbing tide weeps for Eden,
While worthless grief grips,
Our corrupt mourning souls,
And grim death envelopes,
Our remorseful world.

Gravity arrested my being, pulling me down to mother earth,
Aching to breathe again I was prodded from another past life tomb,
Desiring life I was pulled to this tortured earthly plane via birth,
Longing for life I was pushed from my mother's strangled womb,
Yearning to see again I opened my eyes with such marvelous new sight,
Marveling at creation I heard birds singing entrancing sweet trills,
Each step I take I see universe acquiescing to God's perfect light,
Ecstatic I sipped pure water, tasted delicious fruit, such fabulous thrills,
God blesses me every day now with each flawless welcome morn,
Creation mystifies me each night with a miraculous moon and red Mars,
Like Siddhartha I have watched myself die only to be reborn,
Again and again, as the milky way spirals its way past heavenly stars,
So novae flourish in all the galaxies, wending their way to certain glory,
In the blink of an eye one last lifetime, soon we must be gone forever,
In a dream humankind shall perish from this envious fragile story,
Only shadows can remain in this imaginative land of never ever,
Until perfect God snuffs out all his righteous impeccable light,
When heaven finally sings one finishing hymn, so divinely right,
And angels recite one last prayer, surrendering in God's omnipotent sight.

Standing stark naked, riveted in that New York palace,
Waiting for an intrepid sea to bleed, even miraculously part,
Multitudes of rats running round in circles, searching for solace,
Oh servitude tome! This rat filled home, all that blissful wordy art!

So now more blood spilled recklessly on some angry street,
Scores of rustled cattle herded to that relentless slaughter,
Cold bolts fired mercilessly into battered skulls, procuring tainted meat,
Feeding all the rats and brats and other political cats, all that fast food fodder.

Subterranean travelers rumbling in the jungle, where fat cats quake and shake,
Speeding blind into tunnels, funneled into moldering tenements, below tow'ring dunes,
Battered stones and red sticks mark territorial boundaries, signs camel train travelers make,
Ochre hand prints bark that line, graffiti signs cave walls, antiquity marring palace ruins.

Hooded spectres haunting, taunting travelers, both awake and recklessly asleep,
Myth narrated as fireside legend, wide-eyed spectators huddling in that glowing muddle,
Living streambeds wending ways to untamed waterholes, many secrets they silently keep,
Under starry skies nomad mothers wrapping love 'round children, til they coo and cuddle.

Marveling in cryptic valleys and barren mountains, tossed on a warring frothing sea,
Arriving in tempest zones, tempted as old castle cities toil preparing for a final feast,
Hungry on that variegated journey, sights yet unseen becoming those verily seen you see,
Migrating across arteries on dark moonless nights, terror becomes a haunting hunting beast.

Waking on cold night roads, icy paralysis mortifying all those pliant pilgrims traveling,
Pairs of red glowing eyes, grinning shadows stand deathly still beside each traveler's bed,
Terror gripping one from restless slumber, nipped and petrified by demons hovering,
Ghastly noises murmured, ashen silence seeping hues of pale in that horrific frightful dread.

Entranced by morbid silence, nary an angel or light nor right seen on that dream screen,
Shadows grasp sleepers, constricting rasping throats, no gasping or screams to be heard,
Fear grips a traveler's mind and soul, a lumbering vise locked tight in that ghostly scene,
Fate beckons deliverance beyond the gates of hell, those demon shadows surely feared.

Reams of horrid nightmares drag harried souls from heaven,  plunging mortals into perdition,
Bludgeoned in a fitful sleep, sentient vampires grinning ere they suck oozing tainted blood,
Ripping the heart out of every life, vile Old Hag vies with hysterical gruesome submission,
Fording the boiling River Styx, rage grows under a burning sky, sense a coming morbid flood.

Waking again those travelers in paradise continue, past vineyards and greening meadows,
O'er rivers sculpting unversed landscape, o'er rugged mountains, walking lush valleys,
Through eastern hills, a doubtful trek continues, past quaint farms and scented hedgerows,
Voyagers with calloused bleeding feet roam, stumbling bent and spent in avenues and alleys.

Those survivors that rise when perilous day breaks, tormented by the blinding hateful sun,
Adding poison with mourning, vitamin C and D rallying once the mistral wind arrives,
Trekking further into some dark unknown, harassed by waves of ecstasy, just for fun,
Gather empty shells on lonely beaches, wading angry seas, splashed by acid dips and dives.

Once the dragon has eaten every broken heart, once life is tied to a post and burned alive,
Time strikes a different clue, seconds in that rue tick by like minutes, hours then days,
Dreams morph into selfless acts of barbarism, strafing wicked hordes as they strive and dive,
Epiphany takes the sordid lead, tickling days into fruit salad garnished by God's burning rays.

Ecstasy never looked so damn good, dreaming all those humps and bumps and demon bites,
Squirming with all that pain, hot pokers jabbed into blinking eyes, stabbing torrid minds,
Besieged by gale and squall razing placid countryside, all cold on these dangerous nights,
Evading slumbering guards and dark angels, past ancient pits, all minced in that final grind.

Serfdom ticking from night terrors into day dreams, prayer just won't do as balm or salve,
All these bleeding wounds and scars, bits torn from the biggest picture littering the wayside,
One to another there are no good things, more doubts and mystery are all we finally have,
Digging into my own fresh grave, sifting for grave diggers lost coins, suddenly death arrived.

Subterranea wells up, goblins and ghouls dwell far below those burning gates of hell,
Original travelers beating skin drums with sticks and bones, throat singing to praise the dead,
Origins far below that tidal wash, askew as oblivion erases marks across that sacred dell,
Seeming and teeming from both sides now, swilling that toxic mix which swells one's dread.

Still all wail, building higher prison walls, rank cells committing all to fettered life,
Beyond New York palaces, post mesmerizing terrors, past those plagues and torments,
One's hopes and dreams cast away, drowning in torrential swells, gutted by that chisel knife,
Restitution hurled into extinction as harlots dance naked, instigating fomented comments.

Love is the last thing we think of in this entrancing dance,
Comparing survival with traveling, ranked by a succubus in a gargoyle bed,
Parched lips crack and bleed when pure rain is only come by chance,
Babbling as another nightmare terrorizes, just more cursed bullets in a severed head.

All those palace henchmen, armed and armoured against a peasant blight,
Travelers march with raised fists, trudging bravely towards earth's flat destiny,
Surrounded by plight, severing digits at each knuckle, heads smashed in every fight,
Streaming into each fray, excuses fall by the rocky wayside, so much angry testimony.

Now there is no singing under the polluted sky, no memories left to fuel dying night fires,
Goodness is dead, all purity finally corrupt by contempt, all things kings and captains bent,
Infernos have razed the land, those trekking on their quest, sickened by quicksand mires,
Thus all the haunted become tainted, faint souls which New York palaces shameless rent.

At last I'm in a cold blue polluted room on a stark polluted day,
Searching for my errant soul in a quagmire of polluted black muck,
Wond'ring why God haunts me in my dreams yet refuses to stay,
Ecstasy makes me shiver, quivering as the dying earth is now out of luck.

So in these end times, mass extinction, thou shalt not sow nor reap,
Birds and cattle and fish dead, all soil and water poisoned beyond good,
God knows we humans failed Eden and Heaven, like yesterday we cannot keep,
Verily Mother Earth is dying now, why didn't souls care as spirit forever should?

Cry

All that black,
where the white wants to be seen,
where the light and vision tries to break in,
or venture out,
when its boxed and locked up,
morally exhausted,
when fingers so broken,
they can't lift that blinding veil,
refuse to pry open that box,
no matter how hard we pray,
or try and try and try,
while all that blackness,
steals away all the white,
and all we really want to do,
is cry and cry and cry.

Uncaring Sky

I wake from nightmares,
Grab pen and paper,
Scribbling those horrid memories,
All that pain, all that painful,
All that suffering and torment,
Marring so many broken pages,
Ink spattered between morbid lines.
Laying down again,
Such a lonely gauntlet I've run,
Watching busy spiders spin webs,
Beautifying the uncaring sky.

Mother Earth wept today,
While Robins sang spring tears away,
Behold! Swift clouds, drifting o'er an icy crest,
As Sister Moon cups her swelling breast.

Restless vagabond, wand'ring lost,
Caged below a barren sky, appears embossed,
Protest sweet dreams with some torrid verse,
Attendant, page thy idle King, ere thou fondly curse.

Deft Horace cleave this coming month at Ides,
Ere justice burn the tree of life with its serpent tides,
In remote regions, where nothing evades corruption,
That talking snake with its poison, its sly invention.

There is a sacred spring, deep in the barren desert,
Where God cries out for the faithful to congregate,
A sacred spring hidden deep in an ancient forest,
Where perfect light entrances wisdom into a sacred fate.

There is a sacred spring welling up in our souls, a living gulf,
Seeking a river to the moon, to the stars, to heaven itself,
Beyond the edge of forever, where a mighty dragon lives,
Where roaring lions lie down with the lamb, such power gives.

Oh intrepid Lilliputian Nuthatch!
Ascending sturdy trees in hopes to catch,
Juicy vagrant insects, where e'er you go,
Such a splendid bird, hastily flitting to and fro!

Atmospheric March, changing seasons portend,
Cousin Titmouse comes verily, a substance to wend,
Migration stations north and south, beyond the heart,
Slipping past errant danger, doing their nomad part.

Stripped to the bone, which modern has done,
All that ancient custom and ceremony gone,
All our flight feathers torn out from the very root,
So corporate profiteers successfully silenced moot.

How much water has been uncaringly poisoned?
How much good soil has been treacherously ruined?
How many worms and birds are drunk and dead?
How many family farms, now despoiled with all that dread?

Pure water and the lack of it, so much hurt,
All that intense diverse desert, lack of good dirt,
Scrutinizing and speculating, such a varied sum,
Nervous in our midst about what may and may not come.

Wonderment about what went down, again that sacred tree,
Across the sands of time, across that vast roiling boiling sea,
Across the face of the laughing moon, so spiritually grand,
Stars falling into the blazing sun, like drifting desert sand.

Galaxies wandering across the universe, like lost children,
Uncertainty about whether it will rain upon some warbling Wren,
So much angst about hurricanes, whether life will be blown away,
Many questions, if the tide will ebb or flow, whether good life will stay?

As night draws its uncertain curtain, before the coming dawn,
As the sun dries drops of reflective dew, from off the desert lawn,
From off all the fragrant blooms, neighbours to struggling herbs and shrubs,
In this changing season and atmosphere, birds search for juicy fat grubs.

Where the restless world cavorts with untold disaster,
Where wells and springs dry up, searching for a water master,
Disappearing once again, that unforgiving desert with its curs,
Heroes and explorers strive blindly, so invention, so abundant cures.

Before lying down in the freezing cold, harbouring their sorry goals,
Numerous failures and waterfalls tumble, stealing their ragged souls,
Dragging them away in shackles, contrite through the moil and muck,
Across virgin territory towards virgin home, where life is thus unstuck.

Further into weeping  jungles, across arid deserts, souls are lured,
Where only helpless screams and cries shall e'er be heard,
Until all is finally calm with all those faithful, left bravely standing,
Beyond those unfortunates left behind, kneeling and cowering.

With all our trembling hands and voices raised in thousands,
With all our mystified eyes riveted on those unblinking heavens,
Meeting all that treachery and gloom promised with that stature,
Washing o'er the failing earth, in all its grief and all its vivid nature.

While God sits high upon his golden celestial throne,
Pointing down with his angry vision and roiling tone,
God's deliberate finger grazing this wounded earth he's seen,
Knowing once upon a time all was perfect, once everything serene.