rick_green's profile

Vast formless light condenses, takes a fall; Is born into this labyrinthine tomb. The soul, a timeless oneness knowing all, Begins forgetting life before the womb. So senile months lead on to helpless years. The gaudy play of matter fills our eyes; We take for true the puppet-king of tears, Bewildered by his infinite disguise. No matter how we trim our candles’ wick The glow shines less & less into the night. We tremble at the clock’s incessant tick And long for guidance from a stronger light...

“A woman ought to know her place, and do Just like her man would have her do. If I Had my way, she’d only speak when spoke to. No looking daggers either, but a sigh Of fawning gratitude would be alright. Hold on. I’ll do it later Ma!” He screams, And slams his postered door, resumes. “At night She’d have to be a perfect whore, bring dreams To life, enact my every twisted whim.” We hear the cane approaching in the hall; His mom comes in. “You’d better mind me, Slim! You’re pushing thirty, cros...

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Reflect, you bookish ones, on what you seek In words. In this word: truth. A simple sound, Five letters put together, it’s not Greek To you or me. But search the wide world ‘round— In conversations, books, in lecture halls And seminars—you’ll never yet digest Those letters, nor surmount the outer walls To gaze upon the garden they suggest. The princely Dane's philosophy is right, For strange and true experiences lurk There in the wings, preparing, out of sight. To rend the veil of words is al...

In youth, I idolized Hakeem the Dream Olajuwon, Nigeria’s favorite son (Or so I guessed). He grew up a handball Player in steamy Lagos. The city park Resounded with his puissant smashes, banked Off walls. He ruled as if a king at court (Or so the legend runs). A scout, to court This gentle giant, speaks about undreamed- Of wealth. To a youth without his own bank Account it seems a joke. He’s a good son Though, and signs the papers, then bids the park, Family & friends, and also handball (It h...