Revolution

the categorization of life lets us know our station
so we cannot fail to grasp just where we are
the nametags thrust upon us show degrees of separation
and we see that some among us have come far

but I am more than just a name,
a string of letters just the same
as many others in this vast humanity
and when you try to box and file me
in a cabinet of others
I must scream out ‘individuality.’

I am a person, not ‘a human of caucasian extraction’
and there sure is more to me than meets the eye.
You must surely understand my very evident frustration
for you’re clearly not a ‘simply average guy’.

why don’t we start a revolution
overthrow the institution
show the world what we are fighting for and why?
put down your weapons of destruction
and let’s build a brighter future
where tomorrow’s child can dream to reach the sky.

Advertisements

Chanson de guerre

Les gens qui font la guerre
chez-eux ou bien à l’étrangère
n’ont jamais ni jamais comprises
ce qu’ils font à la belle patrie.

Les hommes vont mourir sans mûrir
les femmes seront laissées toute seules
enfants n’auront plus aucun père
et les enseignants assez de guerres.

Mails ils font la guerre chantant
pour gagner leur montant
ils font la guerre criant de joie.
Et leurs mères et leurs sœurs
et leurs filles et toutes celles
n’auront rien plus à faire que pleurer.

Mes enfants de la patrie
entendez comment je vous supplie!
N’avez plus rien à faire de combattre
Vous vous heurtez le mur de la belle cimetière.

Mes enfants, chers enfants de notre avenir,
Je vous avise contre la guerre de nos guerres.
Car tout le monde sait deja comment on tue
Et on n’aura plus rien pour quoi vivre dessous.

Plato’s model

The likely days and nights that pass
reflecting in my mind’s cool glass
the happiness I would enjoy
with him I choose to be my boy
my twin, my heart, my other soul,
once split-apart, now makes me whole
but walking through the world I know
has brought me little but sorrow.
The one I recognized as such,
who made me laugh and pleased me much
did leave me sad and quite forlorn,
and crying even, when withdrawn
my source of love now quite unknown
chose once again to be alone.
Then did I find thee, gentle friend
who knowing I had reached wits’ end
did comfort me, and let me grow
before forcing your heart to show.
Thus all was done in goodly time
with pleasant passings, sweetened vine
now riper, richer, more mature
in this, as some, less can be more.
So I have found my split-apart,
saved grace, built home, and mended heart.

Window to the soul

My mystery turns on the strength of my lashes
– but gaze in my eyes and you’ll see such strange flashes
of wisdom and truth – all that mankind may seek.
Try to tell me what’s there and these eyes make you weep.
I shall never divulge what is hidden in depths
that one might yet term ‘limpid’, another ‘quite vexed’,
for I, one large conundrum, can seem to some men
while opinions differ – what I think of them.
But you’re itching to take a quick peek ‘neath my brows
I can tell.  Don’t be shy, but step up – try to browse.
My thoughts are my own, and quite safe from your view
as what you’ll find reflected is dreamt up by you.

It’s more than a feeling

Magic we find in the strangest of places
sometimes ’tis lacking in belt and in braces
and costs not a sou, but is worth more than gold
for the memories last to the time we are old.
The shyest of all find they grow to a hero
when they hear the call of the sweetheart they seek.
The poor and the humble, the lackey, the zero,
when lover’s in trouble, become less than meek.
And these battles we fight, with the heart not the head
do not rob us of life, but they feed it instead
so we nourish the flame that we carry about
and our torch is a beacon, our song is a shout.
Do not mock at the magical daze you may see
when we walk hand in hand down the street, you and me,
for what some view as weakness, makes me brave and strong,
and do you really dare cry all mankind is wrong?

J-Epic

Jennifer made such a pact with her John,
swore that their love would live on and anon
together they’d dwell, in some cottage on high
but little she knew that her pact was a lie.

For John had another, a charming young gel,
with whom, as it happened, he too’d vowed to dwell:
Poor sweet Josephine was barely out of school
but well-versed in the art of turning men to fools.

She’d wrapped John around like a bandage on thumb.
Jenny could do nothing, but feel rather glum,
as of this attachment, her John had stayed mum;
so being a bright girl, she chose to have fun.

Jen went to a party, dressed all in her best.
The music was loud, and so were all the guests.
Such boisterous antics you never did see
as what passed for dancing at Jenny’s party.

Now Jo was frustrated, she’d heard of this soiree,
but John wouldn’t take her, she swore he’d be sorry.
As she raved and she ranted, dear John got an inkling
that Jo wasn’t quite the sweet flow’r he’d been thinking.

So John took a leaf from a book known to all
womankind whose minds turn as from summer to fall,
and he called up his Jenny, but got quite a fright
when a deep voice responded – and after midnight!

Now Jake was a boxer – quite muscled and mean.
He looked fierce, but treated our Jen like a queen.
He revelled in taking her out on the town,
and showing her off in her best evening gown.

It happened one night that the foursome did meet
and awkwardly stood for a while in the street,
while Jo sized up Jenny, and John stared at Jake,
until Jake whispered low – now that runt I could take!

Just give me the word, Jenny dear, and ’tis done.
This fool should have kept you as his number one,
but he preferred flat-chested chit over there –
the one still in pigtails, who waxes her hair.

But Jenny said shush with a smile and a laugh.
What’s done is now done, no need for a bloodbath.
He’s seen what he’s missing – and for the last time.
Now let us move on – weren’t we going to dine?

The couple swept off in their silks and their furs,
and John saw his Jen finally had got hers.
He turned to see Jo with her face turning pink
clearly about to let fly with some stink.

But instead of attempting to stem her mid-flow,
John just gave a sigh as he turned round to go,
and Jo stood astounded to see that her fit
was being ignored by dear John – what a git!

So put out was our young miss by male restraint
that she flagged down a taxi and left John to paint
the town red on his own, for she cared not a bit
that her leaving was dumping him right in the shit.

For Jo’s mother had taught her, while still in the cot,
that while young, there’d be more fish to catch with a yacht.
So Jo set to fishing, and this with a will,
and John was left high, dry, and feeling quite ill.

Lacking in punctuation

When I may wander mid the clouds
that form when I think far too loud
disturbing thus my reverie
I see such sights no man should see.
Not dusty clouds to cobwebs wed
but glittering smoke, which once thin-spread
reveals to me the shining towers
of cities, beautiful, which house
the fairy nations that there dwell
quite ignorant of heaven or hell
who smile their days and dance their nights,
delight in causing strangers frights,
but best of all, enjoy such life
without the care or daily strife
one sends to plague us here on Earth
and make us doubt our very worth –
for hopelessness and sad despair
are products such as one grows here
and harvests gleefully – cuts down
rejoicing in our every frown
until our chins have reached the floor
– we no more see as once before
but bow our heads in misery
for what we are, we may not be.

Lâche

La douleur de son existence compris,
Il n’a jamais plus souffert,
En choisissant ne pas considérer
Combien peut coûter un amant.
Comme toi sa lâcheté serait
La chose que lui a tout sauvée
Et tous les deux vous cachez bien
Vos cœurs en peur d’aimer.

Je veux vivre ce douleur qui porte
Aussi que tant de joie.
Savoir aimer nous donne du force
Plutôt que désespoir.
S’il me faudrait d’attendre tous les
Ans pour entendre ton pas,
Je le ferai aussitôt pourque
Je me portait tant de grace.

Prière

Mon père, qui m’a donné de vie
Je vous demande plus rien
Mais la possibilité de le vivre
Sans interruption, sans me plaindre.
Je manquerai des choses –
La détresse, la douleur –
Ce sont des dons particuliers
– gardez-les pour toujours
Et je garderai ma joie
Ma félicité, mes sourires
Contre ceux qui me voudront
Faire pleurer – gardez mes larmes
Pour vous.
Tout va déjà si bien
Je n’ai pas d’envie de changements.