Writer’s Water-cycle

The words of writers never know the way

to help encapsulate new dreams and fix

their way; Adrift the shores of yesterday,

dreams seethe and rise as thoughts and language mix .

In time, they’ll flow and ebb like falling snow

upon the crags and clefts of yesteryear.

When snow is warmed, like thoughts the wordsmiths sow,

streams form with fresh-made life, so clean and clear.

Yet brooks are parched till snow will come once more

just like ideas stop from inkwells dried.

Or let freshwater truths mix at the shore

of stagnant seas or salty oceans wide;

They’ll soon evaporate into a thought-filled sky,

precipitate, and fall like flakes, in short supply.

Black Widow Whore

The web she wove was wet today with tears.

The flies of dreams were caught with threads of fears.

Black Widow spins the truth within the lie

to make sure all that's loved will surely die.

She wasn't always such a roguish miss.

She once still had a humble heart to give

but something dreadful changed the way she thinks

and helped her rob young men their will to live.

Some say it was a handsome, foolish boy,

who dug a trap to steal her loving zeal.

She took the bait and with his heartless shove,

he dulled her own propensity to feel.

So now she hunts for boys to be her prey.

Vile bait, which hungry men still cannot miss,

her smile a sand trap to the thirsty john

whose lips on hers for solace try to kiss.

Come buy your love for just one night and see

just how much fun this Black Widow can be.

She’ll kiss you mad and give your lusts a try

And drain you dry just like a web caught fly

Cidade de Deus

The children are cheering, in 'la Cidade de Deus',

at robbin' 'hoods -- acting as Robin Hood.

Once soccer in the streets, now seduced into stealing;

Not fishers like fathers, only food for fishes.

With crime in the city, get cash or a corpse.

The gangs of the gutter, using guns on each other.

Let free the fire -- on faces of brothers

Police keep the peace -- putting arms on the streets.

A photo of the leader, on whom flies now feast

Criminals and casualties -- a catastrophic cycle

The children are crying, in 'la Cidade de Deus'.

Haiku

Surface, crisp and clear,
my deceptively deep pond-
Waters, dark and dire.