The Face of History

Today the face of history
has changed.

We have witnessed Dr. King's dream come full circle;
and the world as we have known it -
will never, ever be the same.

Red and yellow, black and white -
America has chosen
Obama, tonight.

God bless America-

11/4/2008

What It's Not

It's not about the schedule-
it's not about the time -

it's not about 'who's done first'
but it is the same old line. . . .

And the same old line has haunted me -
like a shadow in the street
withholding loving actions
that would make my life so sweet.

It's not about who's done more
it's not of casting blame-
when all the cards are tabled
is their truth within this game?

It's not about who's angry
it's not about who's right
it's not even worth the energy
to carry on a fight.

It's not about a time clock
that dictates what you do,
(but )it is about how often
                       that we connect . . . . .as two.

From the Voice of the Virtual Journal: Creation's Finest Hour

Chapter One - The Heartbeat

It began as a miniscule noise, a small persistant throbbing that continued to grow. At first it was more like the swooshing sound of a ball being thrust through a netted hoop, in a game that children play. But the sound grew more distinct; divergent percussion mixed with the steady beat of celluar compose.

This beat, this distinct sound, was the voice of celluar matter. With each passing day, it grew stronger, resonating from a soon-to-be- life. Every thumping sound signified the bountiful talent of untapped resources- a veritable smorgasborad of artistic delight coupled with various modes of expression. Einstein and Picasso, Weisel and Monet: all the world is a blank canvas, a muscial sheet ready to be printed on, a born opportuinity, an unopened gift.

Within this life, safely tucked away in a pocket of time-released interplay of maturity, is an intelligent design unknown to the outside world. At the allotted time, the Lifemaster will reach into his pocket and withdraw a sack of gifts, revealing rare and precious abilities.

From a simple beat of a soon-to-be-life, comes a smorgasboard of options and choices which will navigate the thought process through indecision and uncertainty. Life has walls to scale, moats to cross, and the wage of distant battles. How the wall is scaled, the moat crossed, and the battle fought- is played out- in part, by the embedded genetic code hidden within each life.

She Wore A Mask

She wore a mask today -
You know,
the one she wears when she pretends she doesn't hear you?
Her smile was as fake-
as the porcelain nails on each finger.
Her voice, like the sound of metal on a chalkboard,
made me cringe.
She spewed out obscenities known to her personality;
her cruel gift of sarcasm,wrapped in an angry box,
tied with a bow of bitter laughter,
was most often left for me.

She wore a mask today -
still I recognized her.

There is nothing as transparent
as the thinly veiled disguise . . . .
of narcissistic pride.

When I Look Outside the Window

Hope stands alone dressed in lightly colored array-
captured only by the expectation within the heart.
When properly courted, Hope unfolds herself
allowing the heart to melt,
Causing an eruption in the ordinary =
giving a new sense to the mundane.

Hope dances with delight when the heart gives her a chance;
she takes life cautiously by the hand-
strolling down roads.
A heart whispers secret desires
into Hopes blissful abandon, knowing they are safe there.

When I look outside the window,
i smile inside -
Hope is there . . .

The Slums of Techno

It lies in wait to cover me,this anxiety I feel -
as sweat beads from my fore head,I almost want to keel
over, from stupidity, that techno folks know not,
simple icons -and verbage used
-confuse the ones untaught.

More unanswered questions-
bottled pain reduced to numb,
cannot express myself in terms-
I am reduced to techno-slum.

Posted by Tesi at 8:27 AM 0 comments

There- but for the time to write, Go I

Off into the sunset, the tree studded hill meets the gaze of an early evening. Just beyong the hill, at the peak, one can see the depth and beauty unfolding in natural surroundings. Unmarred by preoccupation and stress that city life can bring, I sit here, on top of the hill, and drink in the intoxicating simplicity of life.

We Were Friends

Distant lives
distant times -
the enemy of state-
distant, oh so distant-
lies the helpless friend of fate . . .

The Courtship of a Silver Pen

Unto you do I pour out my soul- Through my pen flows the condition of one mortal life whose inked pages conduct a time line of hurt, pain, joy, sorrow, birth, death . . . and rebirth.

It is a strange relationship we have, this quill and my life. Yet my pen knows me better than any one person. My pen has shared more moments with me than any best friend. Countless cups of coffee witness the bonding frienship of ink, metal, paper and soul. Fusing together- birthing excruiatingly accounts (at times) of a life seeking for more...

My pen, my quill - an appendage of me.

Navigating Turbulent Waters

These are fast and turbulent times-
days of speed
days of net,
days on end - dead lines unmet.
Discourse given through words so quick,
spitting saliva,
anger burns quick;
mountains of resource -so ready to give,
but verbal accosting-just won't let it live.

Steer through this murkey water-
though the outcome is unsure,
a word that is fitly spoken
will bring a ready cure.

An Offering . . .

It is a simple-untarnished thing -
this, my soul is offering;
born in ink - the heart has spoken
in such a small but sincere token.

I offer you-
to once again,
view the words
so fitly spoken.

Tesi

It is a New Thing

Welcome to this world of fonts,
the melodrama of printed what-nots,
from those who choose to share a token
within a word, that's fitly spoken. . .
I offer just a simple line
Oh to write, is sublime!


Tesi