I am warm in here. Out there it’s 20 degrees with a northeasterly wind. I don’t care except that the trees are confused. They can’t decide whether it’s time to wither down & go bare or should they bud. They talk to me and ask me but I say I don’t know. Cause, yo, it’s so crazy out here. You know, crazy for everyone, not just crazy for a sister but crazy for a tree. Al Gore says it’s global warming moving at a faster rate than presupposed before and the naysayers in the crowd out here argue this validity. I don’t know who to believe. Yesterday was 50 degrees. Today it’s snowing violently violet with a strong breeze. I can barely see through the thick curtain of white wet snow relentlessly cascading down outside. 50 degrees yesterday, yo sister, yo brother, yo …
What’s it to you if I dream away my solitude? Write poetry in my spare time. Spare time that used to be 1 minute is now 2. I don’t have time to work a regular gig. I’m too busy writing poetry and have too many other things to do.
In my solitude you haunt me
With dreadful ease
Of days gone by
As I stroll past, I hear the trees say they don’t know what to think but should I care? I return inside where it’s warm from the glow produced by oil & coal from the furnace. I don’t need to know what’s causing this interruption of flow of service on my network. I keep telling others to listen to reason, use all your resources to power the nation. Power the Mojave Desert with miles & miles of solar panels and we’ll all be warmed free for life. There’ll be very little strife I promise. The economy will be trite without these services sold to the hilt, but we’ll all have our lights and warmth. Our services will be free if you’ll only please see what I see and power the Mojave desert with miles and miles of solar panels please please.
I hear cries from everywhere world wide, voices echoed & etched in the wind of tides,
Them that’s got shall get
Them that’s not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
That’s got his own
You are so in love with you I see, but then who wouldn't be?
What is it with all the beautiful artists always taking self-portraits? Good self-esteem I guess?
Let kaleidoscope wings help my spirit soar, I want more, to fly away to exotic faraway shores where no one knows me where I can seek evolution and solutions, maybe even start a revolution.
