The Only God

Slumbering through
The ever changing, 
Sudden scapes
Of shapeless climes
And measureless moments,


He sees all, 
Is all,
And directs all at his will.


Transcending life and reality;
The world is but another thought,
Transient before his ticking mind:


The dream is a manifestation
Of his deepest wills 
His darkest fears and fancies.


The dreamer is the only God.

The Tale Of The Ex-Humble Bee

I open my eyes,
And there I see the humble bee
Dream big dreams of flight
Beyond the clouds
And up above the stars.


Who can wake the humble bee?
Who can teach her of her place?


Nurturing thoughts in pompous excess
And long monologues of selfish brooding,
Till then comes the Fortune's spirit
To bless her little self
With the wings of the great eagles.


Who can tame the ex-humble bee?
Who can remind her of her rightful place?


Now she rides the clouds
On currents nine and ney;
Soaring in solitary selfishness,
She looks down far below
On her little colony. And scoffs.


Who can tame the haughty bee?
Who can burst her bubbling pride?


Now she flirts with gods and kings.
She is the humble bee no more.
Pretension has caught her little heart;
She glides like a hawk, struts like a crane
And she dances like a graceful swan.


Who can teach the haughty bee
To be content with her lowly place?


She knows herself no more;
Now beggotten of her own vain thoughts,
She has pledged herself to vanity;
Lone child of a failing dream.


Who should've taught the little bee
Not to stray from her former place?


Sad, alone, she glides over water
And sees a reflection of herself.
She finds a horrid eagle, a swan and a bee;
And frighted by the image of her own spectre,
She casts herself into a watery grave.


No one, but herself, could teach the humble bee
To live and to love her little place.

I Shall Not Forget You

If I were a bird,

I shall never leave my nest.

If I were the sun,

I'll fetch back my rays.

If I were the sea,

I shall take back all my waters.

If I were Time,

I shall wait till you came back.

But I am only a man,

And you, only a memory.

At least, I shall not forget you.

Why Hate Them So?

You will leave behind the murderer, child abductor; vain accuser
Or watch on with unconcern as evil does more evil churn.
Yet you make yourselves the judges of two secret lover's crushes,
You who steal, and lie and kill, or watch with un-inspired will
At evils as they grow by day, and as they take our joys away.
Yet when two have chosen to find some love in unconventional ways
Then, you take your dusty Bible and you preach from night till day:
Vainly hoping, foolishly, that then you'll change for them their ways?
How naive? How uninspiring? Waste of time and senseless chiming!
Had you been more stern and ready, you could then some "evil" spurn,
But no, your time will not be wasted till this cause excites your testes
Into bloody useless fuming of a thing that's here to stay.
Sit my brother, think and pray that God in Heaven mend your ways.
Ask yourself, then, give an answer to the best you claim to know:
If indeed you are no better, why, my brother, hate them so?


There you leave the cheating father; with a child and weeping mother,
There you let a child molester free, the rapist you condone.
On the radio, lying politicians never you bemoan,
But you cry when now you hear your girl desire another's daughter.
Then you curse, and then you swear, and swear and swear, you vain accuser!
Who in Heaven will hear your prayer, when that tongue against blasphemed,
When you thrilled in lustful vengeance while in pain your victim screamed?
Ask yourself, and ask another to the best you claim to know,
If indeed you are no better, why, my brother, hate them so?


Who are you, then, honest preacher; God's own vicar, virgin breaker?
Who must stand against his brother, Word for wit, or nothing better,
Go you to your mistress's chamber; sleazy, sneaking closet adulterer;
Then you wake up, morning after sleeping with your best friend's partner


Off again to preach the word against two faithful same-sex lovers,
Who is better? Gays and lesbians as against a lying preacher?
Who is more an awful person? Who's the weaker? Who's the danger?
Ask your self, and ask another to the best you claim to know,
If indeed you are no more righteous, why, my pastor, hate them so?


Here's a priest, whose life of prayer, punctuated by a secret
Longing for the little helpless children that we do present,
In the shower, in the chamber, nothing worse than living water
Let you fall in fits and gulps and struts and awkward muffled joy:
Shameless since you killed your conscience when you were a little boy.
But now come the homosexual, plain and simple same sex lover
Who without your word, your creed, and ornate sentimental vows
Finds himself a decent partner, with to take the wedding vows,
Both are men, and both are sinful as describes your Word in detail.
Yet you turn around, accusing, roughly treating, harshly judging,
While you wear your rags of sin as golden cloaks and golden lace,
And you call your brother man a disgrace to the human race.
You, your lying, filthy self are worse off than that homosexual-
Man, who's only peace of mind is earthly love and joy perpetual.
He cares not for the humble begging of your Kingdoms residue,
Yet you do not mind your self and as for him, you will accuse.
Ask yourself, and find an answer to the best you claim to know:
If indeed you are no better, why, dear sinner, hate them so?


Oft you battle with intellectual, casting in unfriendly light,
What the hedonist will prefer, and what he strives to with about.
Yet you ignore the widow poor, and do not heed your children's plight.
Day, you wear a veil of virtue, then you go and sin at night,
Even if you do no harm to man or beast or self or God,
Yet, you do not try to stop the evil that persists today.
Go on judging, while the lying leaders you dare not stand to fight-
Go on. Crusades! The call is on, and leave the poor and broken home.
If your conscience does not prick you, then the day will never come,
When you'll ask yourselves the question to the best you claim to know:
If indeed you are no better, why, my brother, hate them so?


If when everytime you falter, God would suddenly reply with thunder,
Breaking bones, and never giving hope that you will soon remember
That he made you, he can take away your every dear possession:
He can take from you his favour, leaving you without his grace,
Should he now judge and forsake you, when you stumble in the race?
Should he burn and should he smite you when you sin just one more time?
Why then do you punish harshly such a personal act of passion?
Why then harshly judge and quickly extinguish them for their unusual crime?
If you will not have the father judge and curse you, you must answer
This here question, I entreat you: Ask yourself and ask another
To the best your creeds and prophet teach, the best you claim to know:
If God will not judge and hate you, why, my brother, hate them so?

Hymn For Hated People

People hate me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little minds to them belong,
They are weak, but I am strong.

Anthem For Aimless Men

Now that's the suff o' tales;
Wenches, and ugly English lads.
An' when tha' story fails,
More booze's got to be had.


Let preacher preach the Word,
The Devil still wu'd  lie;
Knights will play wi' arm an' sword,
But real men drink an' die.

Something Strange

'T was a sunny day in May,
And I was walking down the road
When sudden as a flashing flood,
I stepped into a pool of mud
That sat right in the way.


I gave a slight frustrated howl
For I had worn my white khakis
To see my dearest Anabel
Just round the turn where I fell.
I wore a gloomy scowl.


But funny, I cannot remember where
Or when, or how I came out clean,
In freshly pressed white trunks;
I didn't see anyone to thank,
So I looked on down and stared.

Anabel

'T was hardly a year
Since we had met in youth,
When love's blossom dear
Enlivened, lo! Amused
These keenest senses 'loft
With joy and drunken oft
With ditties for my love.

"Anabel dear, with jewels in your hair,
Come lie with me, my ever dear!"

Fancy-dressed, my lady,
Beauty fair,
With silver bells,
And golden locks about her hair:
She'd call me once,
My name, she'd call again.
I would, for my part
Bleet hers in sweet refrain.

"Anabel dear, with jewels in your hair,
Come lie with me, my ever dear!"

She'd wear a red dress,
Walk the aisle with petti-steps,
Little bells w'd tinkle in her tress,
Together with her measured steps:
Ring-a-ling, Ding-a-ling:
The playful chorus rang
And led my heart to sing a long:

"Anabel dear, with jewels in your hair,
Come lie with me, my ever dear!"