My heart knows a mystery old as life:

I have to save myself.
I have to save myself.
I have to save myself.


I know this much, my place
if I survive:

A life where hope outshines fears.
A life where hope outshines fears.
A life where hope outshines fears.


I tiptoe out of the room.
as if you were looking at me-

I have to save myself.
I have to save myself.
I have to save myself.

I leave you, my muse.
My excuse? I tore my own soul-
pushed the syringe.

Howling for help.
Howling for help.
Howling for help.

I have to save myself,
save myself,
save myself.




Note-This is a cento. Major thanks to Gautami Tripathy, Lissa, Mariacristina, Lirone, and Jilly Poet. If you would like to read more centos or like to learn how to write your own then visit Patchwork Poetry.

you are
fingers stroking keys,
stroking
stroking hope into me
you are.

you are
sun on the horizon,
liquid for the soul
you are.

you are
prayers caressing my ears,
caressing
caressing away fears
you are.

you are
phenomenal fuel
that drives this dream,
gifting wisdom and belief
you are.

you are
angels driving demons,
driving
driving away demons called
disbelief.

oh yes, you are....oh yes, you are,
you are.


Note- this poem is a thank you to all the people who read this blog and anyone who has ever left a comment. It was written in honor of Blogger Reader Appreciation Day

revolution.
revolution

human reaching out to human
lighting up store fronts and street vendors

revolution.
revolution

we were spinning hard and fast
and we cursed both god and man


revolution.
revolution.

the sound of voices sprang up with excitement
changing the colors of the city


revolution.
revolution.

crowds smothered the sidewalks
covering the hemisphere
as we walked the streets
tearing through barbed wire


revolution.
revolution.

everything suddenly moved in lighting speed
those bellowing beasts:
dream maker and dream

revolution.
revolution.


just starting a revolution.
just starting a revolution.



Thanks to paisley,mariacristina,lirone,
lissa who donated the lines above for me to use in this poem.


And major thanks to Patchwork Poetry for making this cento possible.

His Little Girl

translucent memories
quiver
when I hear you speak

little earthquakes and
rivers
form inside my head

bringing down like buildings
falling
till I’m drowning but not dead

hear me mourning, morning I will be
calling
on my God to chase away the

translucent memories