Waterforest

Super falldom

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 14:43:00 +0200

This is falldom!

A fortuity year in youth,

Bringing down a career of hope.

Looking forward to days of disregard

Shifting friends to forget the good life

Chasing dreams you never thought existed.

This is super falldom,

A forum for life’s intricate overhaul

Of patterns of ambitions betrothed through time

Of nights of prospecting unknown mind diversions

Of projected advancements in existence

Fabricated from countless social awareness

And hour long essays of excellence written about history

Time makes sense

When there are no special birthdays to observe.

Shedding off a coat of star-lessness.

This is super falldom

Vitality facing its prime dread

The spotlight flashing fast away

The hand of history scrawling furiously the downfall

Of Gera, my superfall.

What life moves this fast to super falldom?

-wf 2009

Broccoli

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 18:01:47 +0200

I know this street
I walked this street,
When they still called it broccoli

By any measure
I felt the strain of its fiber
Riot as night terrors
Whispering to insomniacs
All the years it took old broccoli to break
When shadows hawked along its walk
Creating a community of silhouettes
That replaced each other
In swaying guard,
Day and night

I know this street
I walked this street
When they still called it Broccoli

- wf 2008 -

The lame heart of Gody

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 16:50:00 +0200

I lie in the corner-quiet
For my ma this once
She needs the sleep today
It’s her first in a week.
Though asphyxiation makes me black
I can’t call her
To fit this tube in
The doctor says it no use without India
It’s so sad I have to leave you ma.

Are you coming to accuse me, God?

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Tue, 10 Oct 2006 16:45:00 +0200

It, was
A mere detachment
Or is it safety
I think that is what it has always been.
Now, I have to think of other ways to avoid you
Since Marie prayed
And I can’t stop her smiling throughout her choir place.
I could have joined the choir, you know
But how can it be
This is a continuous embrace of sacrilege
All those souls converged in prayer, me in wild thought
Someone plays a piano someplace out there
That is where I am drawn.
Alright! Job 16:12

this like is

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Thu, 31 Aug 2006 17:25:00 +0200

This like is greatly dis-tended
To include knotting
What I can’t wonder understanding
Is why it should ever come to tie
Bits, thoughts, memories, hates, clichés
In all but one occurrence,
Welcome me to my frantic excite
I am never going to walk away from
Is it mental! Is it a ritual!
Heaving all this bulk like this
Into this snatchy habit
Can it smile ever again, this lip
When the teeth bares thus in place
This like is greatly mis-tended
We certainly cannot walk away this time
This like is past like

the things I want to see

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Thu, 29 Jun 2006 16:05:00 +0200

I have lost my faith
Looking on, thinking about this heist
That fugitive within the spirit of my thought
I can’t hold to this moribund wraith any more
That’s the root of my consciences’ unease
Taking that you have let me be
I like your Sunday muse,
When smart kids run to church
With their parents tagging along labouring to
keep their shoes shine
And later walk home, hungry, hurrying to
eat lunch-
I like my Sunday muse
When I sit on the verandah listening to
Biggie
Worrying about his pride in bed-
Me, worrying about the space that is morrow.

Whatever walks there?

noreply@blogspirit.com () — Wed, 21 Jun 2006 16:35:00 +0200

Almost last

Your fear today can't distract my fear
This one hell I shall despise with pleasure
With the whole world perplexed, wondering
With a whole night of illuminating bliss
Stalled for my review.
With a woman looking out past the window
Crying.
For the memory of ever coming
And
Leaving here untouched.
This is the only realm of perfection
That I get to explain myself with
Aesthetic love, endless heaven
and a hell
U are personally courting.
Why should anyone care,
When I don’t?

The last pixel and the after things

How can I love to be interested in your reality?
When all I see is the aura of sorrowful people
Walking there laden with strange wiry baggage
The devil comes today to sign a pact with this cynic
Whose new vision he got
From the illusion the dog had
Hanging in the wrong space
This lithe feeling is discomforting
When you walk on your toe tips.