Today the face of history
has changed.
We have witnessed Dr. King's dream come full circle;
and the world as we have known it -
will never, ever be the same.
Red and yellow, black and white -
America has chosen
Obama, tonight.
God bless America-
11/4/2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
She Wore A Mask
She wore a mask today -
You know,
the one she wears when she pretends she doesn't hear you?
Her smile was as fake-
as the porcelain nails on each finger.
Her voice, like the sound of metal on a chalkboard,
made me cringe.
She spewed out obscenities known to her personality;
her cruel gift of sarcasm,wrapped in an angry box,
tied with a bow of bitter laughter,
was most often left for me.
She wore a mask today -
still I recognized her.
There is nothing as transparent
as the thinly veiled disguise . . . .
of narcissistic pride.
You know,
the one she wears when she pretends she doesn't hear you?
Her smile was as fake-
as the porcelain nails on each finger.
Her voice, like the sound of metal on a chalkboard,
made me cringe.
She spewed out obscenities known to her personality;
her cruel gift of sarcasm,wrapped in an angry box,
tied with a bow of bitter laughter,
was most often left for me.
She wore a mask today -
still I recognized her.
There is nothing as transparent
as the thinly veiled disguise . . . .
of narcissistic pride.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
When I Look Outside the Window
Hope stands alone dressed in lightly colored array-
captured only by the expectation within the heart.
When properly courted, Hope unfolds herself
allowing the heart to melt,
Causing an eruption in the ordinary =
giving a new sense to the mundane.
Hope dances with delight when the heart gives her a chance;
she takes life cautiously by the hand-
strolling down roads.
A heart whispers secret desires
into Hopes blissful abandon, knowing they are safe there.
When I look outside the window,
i smile inside -
Hope is there . . .
captured only by the expectation within the heart.
When properly courted, Hope unfolds herself
allowing the heart to melt,
Causing an eruption in the ordinary =
giving a new sense to the mundane.
Hope dances with delight when the heart gives her a chance;
she takes life cautiously by the hand-
strolling down roads.
A heart whispers secret desires
into Hopes blissful abandon, knowing they are safe there.
When I look outside the window,
i smile inside -
Hope is there . . .
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The Slums of Techno
It lies in wait to cover me,this anxiety I feel -
as sweat beads from my fore head,I almost want to keel
over, from stupidity, that techno folks know not,
simple icons -and verbage used
-confuse the ones untaught.
More unanswered questions-
bottled pain reduced to numb,
cannot express myself in terms-
I am reduced to techno-slum.
Posted by Tesi at 8:27 AM 0 comments
as sweat beads from my fore head,I almost want to keel
over, from stupidity, that techno folks know not,
simple icons -and verbage used
-confuse the ones untaught.
More unanswered questions-
bottled pain reduced to numb,
cannot express myself in terms-
I am reduced to techno-slum.
Posted by Tesi at 8:27 AM 0 comments
Saturday, May 24, 2008
There- but for the time to write, Go I
Off into the sunset, the tree studded hill meets the gaze of an early evening. Just beyong the hill, at the peak, one can see the depth and beauty unfolding in natural surroundings. Unmarred by preoccupation and stress that city life can bring, I sit here, on top of the hill, and drink in the intoxicating simplicity of life.
We Were Friends
Distant lives
distant times -
the enemy of state-
distant, oh so distant-
lies the helpless friend of fate . . .
distant times -
the enemy of state-
distant, oh so distant-
lies the helpless friend of fate . . .
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Courtship of a Silver Pen
Unto you do I pour out my soul- Through my pen flows the condition of one mortal life whose inked pages conduct a time line of hurt, pain, joy, sorrow, birth, death . . . and rebirth.
It is a strange relationship we have, this quill and my life. Yet my pen knows me better than any one person. My pen has shared more moments with me than any best friend. Countless cups of coffee witness the bonding frienship of ink, metal, paper and soul. Fusing together- birthing excruiatingly accounts (at times) of a life seeking for more...
My pen, my quill - an appendage of me.
It is a strange relationship we have, this quill and my life. Yet my pen knows me better than any one person. My pen has shared more moments with me than any best friend. Countless cups of coffee witness the bonding frienship of ink, metal, paper and soul. Fusing together- birthing excruiatingly accounts (at times) of a life seeking for more...
My pen, my quill - an appendage of me.
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