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By Christian Mowarin
poetry playbook4
an oxygen paperback
July 2010
Christian Mowarin
Open your dream in sleep
And you will find gold patterns
Shilver in pure imagination
You will see bright lights
Run faster in your heart
You can win a race to freedom
Your mind is your rotring
Rotate with it always..
For my mother, clara
Save�afrika�now
Listen�to�herOpen�her�windowsLaugh�her�sorrows�offMake�her�a�butterflyRead�her�a�bookPaint�her�a�bright�color
Connect�with�herHug�her�really�closeDust�the�speckle�off�her�tanPut�her�in�every�drivewayDrop�her�a�noteShow�her�a�new�world
Dream�with�herChange�her�handwritingTell�her�to�look�againStart�a�life�with�her�nowTell�her�Its�not�over
Smile�with�herPlay�her�a�new�songGive�her�poverty�a�large�kickBuy�her�a�red�roseMake�your�inspiration�hers�Make�her�your�best�friend
Dance�of�terror
I�watch�the�light�as�the�evil�passesFumes�swell�by�a�dark�black�colorLife�flash�convincingly�before�my�eyesMade�serious�by�a�cutting�edgeHurricane�and�deathlike�blowMy�feelings�begin�to�takeA�wild�life�of�its�own
My�heart�turns�drained�yellowAs�the�dainty�sword�strike�magentaCrossed�by�slain�courageNever�before�practiced�by�barbarismNot�even�our�war�raged�civilizationMy�soul�begins�to�corrugateThe�sound�drowning�my�heartbeat
Lord�i�hate�the�trajectory�terrorBut�it�wont�just�leave�me�aloneThe�mad�story�told�now�and�nextThe�dead�lies�dead�and�stay�deadPrecious�time�means�the�world�to�usOur�birthday�begins�not�to�be�our�death�dayLord�save�us�from�this�death�in�melancholy�street
Ageless�chant
Its�native�contour�line�passes�underneath�our�feetEvil�like�the�one�which�it�radiatesEveryone's�nightmare�for�which�its�drawnWill�it�ever�eats�us�or�leave�us�to�be
Sometimes�a�little�sticky�with�worn-out�sapSometimes�when�long�time�drawn�stay�putThe�witch�doctors�line�art�amidst�overgrown�weedOnly�he�knows�where�to�step�to�save�the�gods�wrath
Toothless�and�ageless�he�chants�most�nightsNigh�along�his�badly�dotted�circle�with�leg�akimboBlack�magic�for�a�black�prize�for�a�nightSeldom�truncated�by�knight�knives�in�the�wind
The�ogene�too�robust�in�its�clangy�clan�cryGoing�far�into�the�stills�and�monuments�of�the�nightShivers�and�shrills�torment�us�still�asWe�made�our�tired�journey�to�sleep�land
They�say�the�chant�scares�the�drought�and�breaksThe�flu�from�the�mosquitoes,�pinches�iba�from�little�onesHis�withered�fingers�claws�tuberculosis�from�old�geckosOnly�to�sometimes�resurface�in�another
kaleidoscopeMind
Open�your�eyes�in�blacknessAnd�you�will�see�vision�in�motionShake�in�stillnessYou�will�hear�a�rustle
Whisper�in�your�mindAnd�you�will�create�an�audienceYour�mind�is�your�playgroundPlay�with�it�always
Open�your�dream�in�sleepAnd�you�will�find�gold�patternsShilver�in�pure�imaginationYou�will�see�bright�images
Run�faster�in�your�heartYou�can�win�a�race�to�freedomYour�mind�is�your�rotringRotate�with�it�always.
Paradise�slavelandscape
The�setting�sun�slowlyGlide�past�as�the�rays�moveThe�shadows�in�my�roomIt's�mappings�corrugates�my�finger'sFurrow�as�it's�violet�rayPunch�holes�in�my�reflectionWhat�is�this�paradise�slave�landscape?
Been�aging�there�a�whileNear�the�open�yet�closed�shuttersDying�slowly�since�the�dayWhy�do�i�have�to�remain�unattended?What�is�it�this�fabulous�land�has�turned?What�is�this�paradise�slave�landscape?
Could�it�be�day�have�cast�An�irrevocable�spell�on�my�genre?Pulmonary�thongs�piecing�throughHopes�and�beams�who's�now�upturnedBold�hearts�in�burnt�dimensions?What�is�this�paradise�slave�landscape?
This�genocide
In�the�backyard�of�my�mindI�see�an�open�landscapeA�landscape�and�a�lampshadeThe�wind�has�stopped�cursingMy�mind�window�now�open
I�see�an�open�gravelandWith�all�the�blackskinned�bodiesLying�flatfaced�down�and�legs�bentOn�top�of�the�rectangular�sand�dunesI�could�see�as�fresh�as�yesterdayThis�genocide�of�spotted�dotmatrix
What�are�they�doing�nowBeckoning�to�me�in�their�tired�sleepIs�this�an�open�or�broken�invitationIs�this�a�die-up�call�orJust�a�theatre�of�death�playFor�my�own�mind�and�kind
This�genocide2
Lord�this�things�that�i�see�and�feelThis�spreadsheet�of�murderOur�mothers�wont�like�itIt�will�take�away�their�heart�orIs�it�mayfair�hallucinations?
Am�looking�at�you�nowAm�convinced�you�just�made�The�whole�saga�upIts�a�novelty�dreamSet�in�a�semi�urban�mindscape
You�know�you�must�wake�up�nowYou�have�to�go�to�workThere's�a�jazz�band�coming�lateI�mean�'you�cant�be�serious'Its�one�of�your�picture�galleries
In�the�wake�of�a�third�dimensionA�moment�in�timeA�moment�not�to�beIs�it?I'll�just�close�the�windowI'll�be�just�fine.
What�have�theydone�to�us?
What�have�they�done�to�us?These�merchants�of�human�bloodDemons�of�practical�politicsWhat�sad�tributriesThey�have�entrenched�in�usThat�leaves�no�path�to�freedomland
Every�act�unites�their�wicked�hiveA�clear�show�of�bad�photographyOf�a�shapeless�and�derailed�dreamAn�entanglement�we�must�wadeThrough�like�mutilated�zombies
What�have�they�done�to�you?This�neo-slavery�proclamationsmaggot�like�political�and�economic�plotsAll�our�once�beautiful�petalsFallen�like�slain�heroesWithered�to�the�naked�skeleton
Everystage,�a�cinematography�of�deathA�passion�we�carry�like�shacklesAnd�wounded�scales�permanently�gluedAn�abomination�we�must�wearThrough�all�facet�of�this�lost�land
A�hole�in�the�heart
Have�you�everFeel�a�black�holeHeavy�in�your�heartSo�deep�it�plunges�The�inner�chambersOf�your�consiousnessSo�wide�it�stretchesMiles�and�miles�in�theTexture�of�your�mind�walls�
Have�you�ever�Touch�an�emptinessDeep�in�your�heartSo�perilous��it�spawns�theCave�walls�of�your�imaginationsSo�open�it�wages�warWith�your�naked�soulEver�and�ever�in�yourCracked�model�of�your�future�life
Have�you�ever�Seen�a�lie�so�laid�downDeep�in�your�selfSo�woven�it�twistsYour�marooned�instinctsSo�told�it�maketh�truthWith�your�auraAll�in�all�in�your�Spelled�Devotion�of�real
By Christian Mowarin
an oxygen paperback
July 2010
all rights reserved @2013