The soul collectivity

Pieces of us and our organic chemistry
The mouth to kiss, the same that breathes
The physical world gripped by vibration
The way a soul moves when tranquil or uneasy

Who can measure the size of a soul
Or even relate it´s collectivity?
Swimming as spiritual fish in a schoal
just lightbulbs powered by god´s electricity?

Let your will to wonder manifest
as your will to pray and play
The many colours of existence as a test
Curious eyes to the light of day

The soul´s collectivity
Energies that shift briefly
Experiences light and heavy
inside the shape of the human body

How the spirit moves

His body tilted to the side
as he gave an example
I could see his spirit the one hitching a ride
The supernatural patch of light

The spirit moved the ambient provoked the halo
 Angelic glow glued to the personality lively on show
The sway of the light hit his conviction
Encouraging hoards of spirits to give us protection

The balanced aura reflecting a settled soul
This turbulent piece of me that twists and rolls
And as the preacher breathed the sermon onto spirit hands
Gracefully his voice was carried to human fear and demand

Dusk and society

Streetlamps turn on as we prepare to live at night
Failing to outshine the sun or mirror the moon
We compete ceaselessly for the late afternoon
Day retires to dog-walks, rush-hour and early date-swoon

It's night and day's art in saying glare gives way to gloom
Dinner time clank and oven mitt fit, dining rooms bright
Closing time imitating the dwindling daylight, as it removes it's loom
Youth refuses to put away wheels, unpredictability's might.

Last-minute shoppers accelerate, plastic bags clenched tight
Beaches become lonely plains dim empty sand dunes
Even the suburban birds reduce their song and flight
As the sky slowly turns a darker blue

Busy cafe

Some just search for a brasserie
Wooden floors and chairs lit up by summer's glee
Plates and mugs and aprons wafting of modern food and coffee
Laughing glasses and pseudo class fitters park bums

Waiters drift past
Norah jones' wet and sneaky humm
Polished cheeks and kitchen trash-talk nasty
The murmur rises and falls like wind taking leaves

People invent heaven
Just so they can leave

The children of conflict

Our infancy still reflecting from our eyes but we don't see
Little obsessions that formed when we were toddlers
Have been hardened into the surface of our personalities
Shaping our pleasantness and our need for conflict we squabblers

Little kids we are, knocking about tongues in mouths
like loose opinions floating in rooms
Like anticipation in the soon
Just meaningless fleas in the tines of broken brooms

Children we are, all in god's scoop
Doing the 2nd or 3rd rotation of reincarnation's steep loop
Youth tickles the mind even as age assumes
Children we are till our day of doom

Queensize bed on the pavement

Mendigo hobo the street curb's your pillow
No walls or windows, exhaust fume wind blows
Under the bridge where everybody talks but noone knows
Daylight glare open nighttime gates closed.

Queensize bed all marked with carbon
stained with body fluids a smell that befuddles
Quirky hangovered hobos share their last drops
Slap happy till the buzz stops

Dazed eyes monitor the streeet vendors passing by
Hobos wobble and lean as they follow junkyard style
The local mob disperse as spiritual crocadiles
At the centre of despair the helpless sleep in bile.

Teach

Stand and deliver
Sign with body language
sound it out
teach

Demonstrate
connect the dots in the class
Listen and correct
teach

Appeal and symbolize