Monday, June 5, 2017

"in the name of the farmer.....

......the oxen and the whole field filled with grains grown as its ability dictates. means there's a path. let the animal prove its able. no use to cane or alter what's stable without graves as decals. never seen a wild cemetery. nor do these creatures ponder until they are senile. creators free to feel dirt mold plants according to the journey water takes to be tapped. self-contained, these beings strut partly because it is they a tree loves. not those in a hurry to give the heart logic. it is akin putting a period where a comma's got it. stopping an animal living life full to give it a piece of what's primarily halved. your thoughts. or anything anyone's throat sees. words. uniform sound constructed. however, an ox doesn't need an opinion to confirm its initials. just food. not word. it already has its hide. beautiful, bound instructions. freedom of silence. only displaying it's journey with spine. and not with counting down. simply a kiss, chew, a bite of its ground. this then leaves those reading at a distance as far as leaves are to their breading. roots. but an ox keeps touch of what it surrounds. no thoughts of bounds. endless measures of it's existence in the absence of? what is write. daily, a double conscious jeopardizes the game of life. unlike the ox, most time is ate though all are stuck in a hungry state of wanting what at first failed. considered bait. a clever contraption allowing one to become oblivious of their gait. stepping to the written command keeps none walking. talking is the only spate that maintains these pathless landscapes. no direction. freedom of speak has most saying but afraid to place faith in their own mouths. saying it without their chest. Hart's shouts. an ox needs not be written for to plow.'

mitishamba ~ a wild word
'the green animal'

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

God, the lonely ONE

i don't know you God, but as i write this, you do.

'so She sat there. alone. thoughts. adorn. surroundings so beautiful that She decided to keep a record of things. a store. a dire need for space. what for? She just couldn't understand where to lay all of what the earth bore. bare existence yet full to the brim. fully filled but empty of a seal. endless. nothing trim. rather, disorder. a concortion lacking nothing but a theme. even in wind She found a rhythm. a scheme. ventured outside Herself to hear what was within. faced Her desires, the sight of what went beyond eat. food. taking all pleasures in. aquisition, though it required the first sin. a bite that made time the bullet of magic. as constant as earth's spins. She stepped out and saw in, but all She could do is speak. say of outcomes. upcoming highs and pits. She is the first to contact life as it hills. pronounced bellies telling of pregnancies succumbed with ease. so who's the lead?! ergo, the word, the written word is Eve's.'

mitishamba ~ She talks too much, in writing
'follow my green'

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

I am.....

"......not afraid. fear aught not be my directive. nor my derivative. certainty a guide. certainly i traverse this course as though on a glide. rough patches be damned, i walk levitating through problems making my art a sight unseen. serta or dream, where i lay these thoughts has the comforts of a thorny mattress. the plight of sleepless knights. enough to cause madness. a seasoned soldier with an untrained eye suffers in his attempt to locate meaning, given this address. certain in my strides as a scribe. patterns partain parts that partake in making i whole. fear emptying my soul. a word of art. not your regular joe, but a jewel. between the lines, joules. heat. passages read hot. so each day i fear naught.'

'i is green'