Words Words Words

Barbara Hilal

Space Song

A basket of stars
the center missing

Eerie apparition
Black on black

detained ancestor
at my fingertip

gelid no thing
genetic haunt

poised on an incline
barely audible mumbling

transfixed in fear
inclusion of ardor

with embellished longing
astral clouds stretch forth

Elite stars gather to threaten
selected from the vastness

indented in the space
I pull away

to be projected
like the sling of an arrow

from their history
to the future

Life from life
immortal theme pervades

Infinitely I make my way
as I move

         Manbirth

      bass sounds
          echoes
           of
         roars
transportable ghosts
         clawing
        through
    fibred darkness

Horned creatures
        eyes,
    boring tools
    bulls-roar
multiple echoes
glimpse of torches

      earth birth
     tribal magic
      boyman
      manboy

suckle new breast

    WARRIOR

The Drug Dealer

Giving Hands or death-filled paws?
Mammoth mouth and hunger- bone jaws..
Holding in his hand your map...your destination
A life of drug filled hell and desperation

Sending skinny dirty children, to fetch the stuff
Sticky little hand holding bills, yes, that's enough
Having eaten sweets for almost every meal
Their parents wander in and out, sober just to steal

Skinny little kids that grope in garbage, searching there
A dirty piece of pizza, and there's candy in their hair
With eyes that see what shouldn't be seen by young and trusting eyes
Who'll grow by this rule, and think it is cool to live on crime and lies

The Dealer, his gold chains screaming his fame
Hunger pain and loneliness are given for his name
Death filled paws, children grinding in his jaws,
Hiding in back alleys, living back-street laws

Seize him , stop him now, stop this desecration
Holding in his hands your fate. your destination

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