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David Lester Young

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Dancing POETS
by David Lester Young

Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by David Lester Young
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           >> View all 2,353

We are born to dream, so we can dance upon our hearts!

Flowing poetry floating along a mindís path,
Levitating words writing among sensual breezes,
Hair rising wings gliding tranquil contemplation,
Verses springing forth blossoming onto highways,
Convertible ride, POETS of Alabama sunshine.

Levity spontaneously combusting over gravity,
Storming stressful shadows left behind to dissolve.
Depression thundering upon decreasing sounds,
Awakening skies of spiritual enlightenment,
Poetry of inner creation, coming alive in s-miles.

One cannot terminate the poetry inside a poet.
It has to seek the independence of the road,
Seeking the horizon of their divine mindset,
Having been blessed upon the faith of fresh air
To walk the path of thorns upon de-termination.

Oh Crossfire of my dreams, float upon Freedom,
Upon the American landscape of free speech.
Where oneís words will never be misunderstood,
For poetry is a full spectrum of diverse emotions,
Exploring the extremes, to moderate into peace.

One has to look into the face of war bleeding.
Poets have to feel the streets starving in needs,
Feeling the pain of losing a loved one to bigotry,
Facing politicians, questioning, demanding truth,
Fighting for every word of their heart breaking.

No poets have to be censored, labeled, scorned,
Treated by some as traitors for not conforming,
Being intimidated into submission for speaking out.
And we call ourselves a Democracy of respect,
When we are segregated, from asking questions.

Oh lord, the pain of secrets that uses mankind
As slaves to their cloned ideological indoctrination,
Puppets of government creative accountants,
Marching to the step of their Supreme Judge,
Dictating laws to the world, as tears feel torture.

The road hugs my sweetheart as she soothes me.
Alone I face the realization that she may be lost
That she will be sold, for a dream to survive reality.
So, I can walk up the mountain, poets must climb,
When the words grow deep within them in reason.

So my pet lover, let us dance together, while we can,
For live is too short to regret the pleasure of living.
Let our spirits ride the heavens of treasures together,
But please watch out for those flashing lights
That may cause me, to get rid of your spirit sooner.

Note: Venting to a poet is a release of reality. Sometimes by writing like this, others fine a release mechanism in themselves, for if we fear about showing our independent emotions then we have lost our Constitution.

I still have the Crossfire but with the cost of gas, insurance, tags, repairs and other costs, I may have to give up a part of a dream, of a man finally getting his convertible ride of pleasure. Come November my retirement funds, will not carry a penalty, and just maybe she will still be with me on the road of trials and tribulations.

With Katrina, we found out how oil companies compassion works. With some corporate politicians and their creative lobbying accounts, we know how corrupt, we have let our leaders become. We need a peopleís party, who has no allegiance to corporate or union influence, but responds to the diverse hearts of all the people of all religions, who claim America. The hell to those extreme conservatives that says America must have their religious Taliban views. We are a country of respect, respecting all of humanity. We do not need those whose allegiance is to a corporate God of greed, they will not get the seal of approval from the people. Politicians must again come back to the streets, not to special pocketbook interests of their five star statuses.

D.Lester 03/21/06 ©
De-Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time.

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Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green 3/21/2006
It is a v e r y scary time, yes! Keep tellin' it, Bro'. Ride

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