the bamboo whispers
“it’s coming”
don’t fear...the calm
the birds whistle tunes of a new song
the melody sounds eerie and familiar
the calm
the ceiling fan hums a relative sound
it’s calm, but not all will be so
it’s wind is a tease
a moment to reminisce
while in the calm
time is still waiting
bamboo whispers
fans hum
the thunder echoes now
it feels left out
it envies the calm
it wants to join
the calm
End of the World. Leave all the bad things behind. We just children playing out adult lives.
I’m leaving behind what don’t make sense,
undue stress
self-destruction
bitterness
regret
senseless violence
Humanity may recompense.
I ain’t got time to waste, get my mind right, get back to school;
the teacher is life and i’m always ‘present.
End of the line, my friend.
We’re all invited to the final dress.
It ain’t sad, I ain’t mad, cause I know it’s time
Let go
Love
my lover with all my heart pieces
my friends deeply
my family
not changing but embracing
usher in the new birth with a clear mind
Here is my open letter to all of you
Get with it!
let love live
open hearts and minds
the tide is in, let your feet get wet
groove to the cosmic tunes/Nature’s swing/turn the dial up on your consciousness,
release the useless
embrace the positive
create, create, create,
the world needs your creative spirit
create a world that is a real dream,
a love song,
a place for feelings and fire and earth and rain,
little birds will sing our happy days
Here they come, crashing up against the noon day sun,
Let the old go into remembrance, and the new be caressed in sweetness,
Here I am
herald of the new world, I sing the praise of Presence
the new world is uncovering
no need to run off
no need to get crazy,
no need to lift guns or clinch fists
let’s release the grip on what we think is real
and
o p e n
o
o
I’m leaving behind what don’t make sense,
undue stress
self-destruction
bitterness
regret
senseless violence
Humanity may recompense.
I ain’t got time to waste, get my mind right, get back to school;
the teacher is life and i’m always ‘present.
End of the line, my friend.
We’re all invited to the final dress.
It ain’t sad, I ain’t mad, cause I know it’s time
Let go
Love
my lover with all my heart pieces
my friends deeply
my family
not changing but embracing
usher in the new birth with a clear mind
Here is my open letter to all of you
Get with it!
let love live
open hearts and minds
the tide is in, let your feet get wet
groove to the cosmic tunes/Nature’s swing/turn the dial up on your consciousness,
release the useless
embrace the positive
create, create, create,
the world needs your creative spirit
create a world that is a real dream,
a love song,
a place for feelings and fire and earth and rain,
little birds will sing our happy days
Here they come, crashing up against the noon day sun,
Let the old go into remembrance, and the new be caressed in sweetness,
Here I am
herald of the new world, I sing the praise of Presence
the new world is uncovering
no need to run off
no need to get crazy,
no need to lift guns or clinch fists
let’s release the grip on what we think is real
and
o p e n
o
o
A Bird in the Heights
This bird in the Heights must fly high to see his hood.
This bird in the Heights must fly really really high to see the outside.
This bird in the Heights must fly and swoop and dive to survive.
This bird in the Heights must fly far away in order to come back some day.
This bird in the Heights must die to make room for another bird to fly.
Birds of a feather stick together till a bird of a different feather comes along and sings a different song and spreads different wings and flies a different way. Then, the birds must question their own ways of being.
This bird in the Heights must fly high to see his hood.
This bird in the Heights must fly really really high to see the outside.
This bird in the Heights must fly and swoop and dive to survive.
This bird in the Heights must fly far away in order to come back some day.
This bird in the Heights must die to make room for another bird to fly.
Birds of a feather stick together till a bird of a different feather comes along and sings a different song and spreads different wings and flies a different way. Then, the birds must question their own ways of being.
-B.A.S.A.
