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G Rog Rogers Sep 2017
Who am I
but what I am?

Not quite just
a simple inquiry.
So please reply
distinctly specific
while abandoning logic

Yet please most
definitely clearly.

When am I
but where I am?

A notorious
questioning query.
Quietly sneering,
laughing, awaiting
the one obvious
reasonable answer.

Why am I?

Put surely, not simply.

Only to be?

A rhyming riddle
playing a crescendo
cadence of rebellious
Rock 'n Jazz
and Reggae rhythms?

Yes and still no
but much, doubtlessly,
even much more.

A man is to live!

Truly, inescapably,
always, yet certainly,
only nothing

but far beyond
day to day.


-R.

(06)
-TX
©2017
Star BG May 2017
In the name of love I take a step,
scribing a song from heart that radiates.
They pulsate with every moment,
swirling to seed its truth in a mind.

In the name of words I shall write,
putting paper to pen to find rhythms.
They spiral in scripted form
opening to awaken those who gather.

In the name of love, I open eyes
dancing to celebrate the gift of life.
They echo bridging the gap,
to awaken all inside peace and oneness.

StarBG © 2017
inspired by Eudora
Star BG May 2017
Mother of Divine Earth vibrates,
speaking in rhythms, in flowing river,
inside dandelions roar with wind.

She calls for man to awaken,
to touch her essence, her magic, her magi-sty.
inside the ticking clock.

Mother echoes in heartbeats precious.  
Speaks in rhythms with curiosity.
Why has it taken so long for man to care?    

She gives loving offering the rustling river,
grass that tickles, birds that sing
The animals, wind babbling brook
all know she's a precious home.

She offers her etheric hand for man
to join the party to dance
on a sacred home, a living history of love.

StarBG © 2017
Time to be care-taking in changing times as Mother does call.
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
She was crawling inside her little world, hoping to hide
Her world and her emotions would turn on a dime
She tried again time after time
Hoping to find away across the widening divide
Over the knife sharp rocks of her life, she couldn't climb
It was her scars that cry, she was nothing more than a mime
Being thrown again into the abyss, it was all war crimes
Now she just laid there given up, nothing rhymes

— The End —