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A crown around a cloudy brow makes sleep to seep away.

A deeply sleeping king may bring a crowd too proud to pray.

The mass will pass a classy lass in deeply cheap array,

To will their fill of chilly thrill against their brazed display.

Who knew these two unruly fools, whose wit seems not to fit,

For where they go or what they know, matters not a whit.

One's job's to rob the ruly mob and take away their pay.

One alibis and slyly tries to trade their pay for play.

Once duressed or duly blessed by either of these two,

Your pockets torn or truly worn by fingers passing through.

To lose our truths in booths with sleuths, the life we spent is bent.

They bind our mind and then we find we don't know where it went.

When all is said it's those in bed who slice our life so thin.

We share and care, though unaware of regal, vicely din.

The king has wed the whore in bed and fleeces us with ease.

Why do we work when only a dirk will rid us of their disease.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was inspired by Poe who liked painting pictures with words. I "painted" this one around 1984. The meaning has to do with the government represented by the king and the people represented by the femme fatale.

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I want to realize myself,

I want to actualize myself,

I want to maximize myself,

Reaching my potentialities.

My soul yearns for mastery

To be what I want to be,

To achieve my goal in life,

And reach the top of my destiny.

Great searching in my soul,

My spirit panting and searching,

Searching for the ladder,

The steps of self-actualization,

The crescendo of greatness,

The zenith of mastery,

Yes, to the top I come,

Far above mediocrity,

Beyond the reach of  failure,

The dream of the brave,

The goal of the wise,

Set in the above,

Fixed in the below

That’s where I want to be.

Great searching in my soul,

For peace and tranquility,

The serendipity of paradise,

The galaxy of milk and honey,

Where the soul is settle.

I once tried the ladder of wealth,

And the scaffold of opulence,

Sweet at the beginning,

Until the ladder cracked,

The got pains, fear and insecurity,

My soul been tormented.

Also tried the ladder of drugs,

Making marijuana my shepherd,

Which made me lie down in brown weeds,

It started TO destroy my soul,

Then I realized the realization I sought,

Isn’t in pot or coke.

Then I tried the ladder of sex,

Giving and taking pleasure,

Satisfied in the euphoria of orgasm,

Sucking and been sucked,

Feeling and been felt,

Doing and been done,

Riding in the wings of sensuality,

Flying to the utopia of actualization,

But that was 10 million miles away from Graceland.

What is the ladder, if not sex?

What is the scaffold, if not drug, money or power?

What is the ladder, tell me if you know.

The way to the mastery of life,

The path to self-realization,

The gate to life actualization,

The place of Nirvana

I may no know it all,

But all I’ve tried led to fiasco,

Then, one thing is left,

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إذا جِئْتُ رَاحُوا

وإذْ يَصْطَفِي بَعْضَ وَقْتيْ الغِيَابُ

يُقِيْمُوْنَ لي حَفْلَةً مِنْ غَضَبْ

وقَافِلَةً مِنْ غُبَارٍ

وبَوْحَ حَطبْ


وأَدْخُلُ في تمتَمَاتِ الجمُوْعْ

أُلوِّنُ أصْوَاتهُمْ كيْ أرَى لوْنَ ما في الضّلوْعْ

أُضِيءُ المَسَارَاتِ كي يَهْربوْا صَوْبَ

حُلْمِي الذي تَقْتَفِيْهِ الشّمُوْعْ

ولكنّهَمْ يحْرِقُوْنَ العيُوْنَ التي تَقْتَفِيْ

والسّؤَالَ الذي يخْتَفِي

والصّبَاحَاتِ إذْ تحْتَفِي



(الرياض، 1995)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

April 4th., 1995

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yet a beautiful sight

Gently by the pond,

a gaze silently upon still.

A stone descends,

ripples form.


his reflection is obscured.

He visualises not,

yet a beautiful sight.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The title of the poem is metaphorical;not equivalent of pretty. An experience which is at once beautiful and yet numbing.

View professor's Full Portfolio

gypsy girl .... 10 April 05


in a musty old theatre performing your heart out

getting paid half of what you should be

smoky bars, shady deals

lady of burlesque

tearing, ripping - heart.

impatient, irrepressible.

--sing out!

April will always be a Gyspy month.

it's just in the air

to be inside

cold & dark

Orpheum Circuit

falling and falling.


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In double vision

Admissive multitude

Test pattern Androids

Money well spent


In mass productive lack


And void

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Going Out

We met over watermelons

and found ourselves together

all the time.

I saw signs all over,

flutes and trombones

from I, Claudius,

your instrument

with mine.

The weeks went by,

homework came and want,

togas and no togas;

soon it was

the last day.

They left us alone:

I with my cereal

and words, you always

with your watermelon.

I never found the words

until later, when you

and the watermelons were gone.

We spoke many times,

but not with signs, and

never with watermelon

or cereal.

Perhaps that was how

it ended, too.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A memory from years ago... hopefully it makes sense even without a fleshed-out version of the passing details.

View radanax's Full Portfolio

The Soul Die Not

It is the seed of life,

The Product of the spirit,

And the content of the body,

This is the soul, and it dies not.

Its origin is mysterious,

Its existence a wonder,

And its destiny, mystical

It's the soul, and it dies not.

The goes beyond life,

Pulling along only what's immortal,

'Cos that's all that is vital,

That's the soul, it dies not.

Could move, or even fly unhindered,

Beyond the speed of light and sound,

penetrating unchatted regions,

'Cos its the soul, and it dies not.

So strong, like a spiritual force,

Its in intelligent, moral and emotional

Therefore, responsible and accountable,

It's the soul, it dies not.

View makezela's Full Portfolio


Why am I so miserable at this instant, this hour?

Why do I feel so weak, without power?

Why does nothing excite me the way it did?

Why do I feel like I have nothing to give?

Why are people and feelings so complex?

Why is the modern world driven by sex?

Why do we harbor so many insecurities?

Why do we accept too many impurities?

Why do we settle for the bad, the worse?

Why do we settle for the spoild, the perverse?

Why do we surrender our own high standards?

Why do we forget the strength of words?

Why is it so easy to say something?

Why is it so difficult to refuse everything?

Why do we contradict words with actions?

Why do we seek neverending satisfactions?

Why do we laugh at the needy?

Why do we become rotten and greedy?

Why do I, why do we, simply exist?

Why is a question that will always persist.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

some things we'll never know why.

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