Thursday Riddle (August 28, 2014)

Grab hold of my tail and walk me around,
My bearing Plecostomus-like on the ground;
The nothing I make shall noisily take
Whatever my kisser has found.

Change

Are you done with the peace that you spread

By the fires you rain from the sky

Till the faces of children once smiling go dead

To their mothers who silently cry.

Are you done with the justice you seek

By the heads and the cams that you roll

While the words you recite and the verses you speak

Never pass down your throat to your soul.

Am I done with the goodness I preach

With these words and their meter and rhyme,

While I buy all the junk that my wallet can reach

With free shipping from amazon prime.

We are losers, we all are, but for

Any truth in our call to be heard,

It is time you and I, every nation at war

Let each other just have the last word.

It is all just a thought that occurred
To a man shallow-minded as I.

Thursday Riddle (August 21, 2014)

Holds numbers and names and so many places,
And many a kind of beast and of bird,
Uncountable happy-sad voices and faces,
And many a word read, spoken or heard.

Thursday Riddle (August 14, 2014)

I'll take your palms, your knees and toes,
My touch is soft, so calm your woes;
Exhale your anger, drain your mind,
Inhale the languor that you find

When I am spread, and spread I'm best
To kiss your head at every rest,
And hear the conversation sweet,
A conversation to repeat.

Form And Function

I've thought of this before
And I'll think of it again:
What's the purpose of creation,
And of angels, jinn and men?

What's the purpose of the earth
As around and round it spins
Bearing all its many children
And their many, many sins?

What's the purpose of the sky,
Of the stars and of the sun?
Each is born and wont to die
When the time of time is done.

As we turn and spin about
Through the dawn and afternoon,
Just before and after dusk
And through the passing of the moon,

There are jinn and there are men
Spanning every longitude,
There are angels flocking by
At each and every altitude

Such that every breath of time
Sends a prayer floating, one
That outlives the life of rhyme
And outshines the shine of sun.

When this planet stops to turn,
And the breath of time is spent,
All that's left is is left to burn,
And what isn't can't repent.

So the form and the function
Help us out here once again
With the purpose of creation,
And of angels, jinn and men.

Thursday Riddle (August 7, 2014)

I've got no face, possess no head,

Have naught for the palms of my hands,

My slender legs may walk if led

By claps that aim to settle demands

For portions of what I may tread.