We all bleed the same.

We bleed again and again,

No matter the cause, however in vain,

No matter the price, no matter the blame.

It runs crimson when kissed with oxygen's lips,

A love letter opened, tempted with death,

Brothers to prize or brothers despised,

The look in their eyes which light has left.

It runs through these veins, these paths of ruin,

In mothers beloved and mothers too soon,

And in sons of the gutter and sons of the crown,

In cities of grandeur or your little town.

The blush of the child so plain and so bold,

The price of a crime that never grows old,

In fathers who fled and fathers who toiled,

By warmth of love which favours the spoiled.

Our sisters, our daughters, ancient or fresh,

The ones who we cherish more than the rest,

Scarlet with fever or emblazoned tattoo,

For roses are painted in just such a hue.

Contrary to this, with words or with fear,

The surge of blood which pulses the ear,

Is shed and torn from young, from old,

But held so closely as our own.

This world is confusing

For adults like me

And my kid sister can’t comprehend.

The hatred and the racism

The murders and the patriotism

And the sadness that always extends.

She looks at me,

Swimming for advice

And I know just what to exclaim.

I take a confident breathe

My arms outstretched:

“We all still bleed just the same.”

And she stares at me

With those unsure eyes

Trying to adjust her confusion

“Yes,” she whispered,

“But did we have to go through all this

To get towards that conclusion?”

Drowning in sea's sadness

But I come up for air-

I grasp a gift

Of melancholy

For I am sorrow's heir

Pull of weeping waters

Is more than I can bear

I cry in life's cruel currents

Weighed down by my heart's care

- DeRicki.

late november lays sorrow upturned.

the afternoon sun,

the colour of cigarette burn,

glints around its rising

as though stuck.

quiet streets leave neighbors

bound together by their poor.

like dust bowls,

the people are falling to the floor,

tired and darkeyed 

from the night before.

I can't even look

Into your eyes.

I can't imagine

Your lips on mine

Even as our bodies

Are pressed together,

Skin against skin.

I can't see the love

I wish was there,

Only the lust

I can feel in your

Fleeting touch.

I can't go on loving

When it is so very

Unrequited.

The sound

the sight

the soft play

of light

the rubiat

and all that

the bowl 

of night

the raven's

dance

the last

chance

the stars

the sea

the shush

the rush

of wave

on shore

and me

and my

delight

ever more

ever more. 

A rusted cycle by the Yellow Wall,

Creating a metaphor for us all,

The dusty gravel road to walk,

The black gate to lean on and talk,

A Paradise lost somewhere back in time

My childhood home where I learnt to rhyme.

A green lawn with dew kissed grass,

A perched room almost made of glass,

Colourful poppies spread by the side,

A terrace to enjoy the winter sunlight.

 A Paradise lost somewhere back in time

My childhood home where I learnt to rhyme.

A mango orchard serving as a backyard,

Plucking fruits, over the sleeping guard,

A forest of pine, spread in the heart,

Best friends holding hands, never to part.

A Paradise lost somewhere back in time

My childhood home where I learnt to rhyme.

Dahlias, petunias, marigolds & wild roses,

Pomegranates, Lime and Touch me Not closes,

Gourds & Greens, Chillies & Thyme

Mountains to view and the air divine.

A Paradise lost somewhere back in time

My childhood home where I learnt to rhyme.

Silver laughter spills

From a tambourine electric sky

Tinsel dustings shake

From downy clouds

As a storm rubs by

Cloud brushes sun

Like a tired 

Ruffled cat

Sun wanes for a moment

And rain beats 

Pat. Pat. Pat. 

She was the wind and i was the trees

i was wild, She was free

She was destined to roam

i was to be home

Her wandering took her far away

i was here to stay

She was the nomad, i was the spy

i loved Her, but she never knew why

Why was she wary?

She was the extra to my ordinary.