the banks of the river

the banks of the river were here

before you and I

before the courtship and the romance

before the anger and the jealousy

before it became mother of nations

or place of solitude

before anything needed the shade

of the old oak

before blood was spilt

and wars were won

before we lay in the grass

among the dandelions

and the banks of the river will be here

after us

with not so much as a footprint

in the mud

Shades of Blue

Down the street is a crescent moon.

A purple dawn approaches.

The sirens wail in the distance

while the birds sing close by.

I lay down

to relax.

And the sheets turn damp

with our love.

Yet I'm still not sure,

If you're here,

ever have been

or ever will be.

Easter Sunday

Staring out at the Thames

flowing with Pale Ale

the sky dips to orange

And the birds

swoop, float and idle

on air

Unaware of the

financial difficulty

relationship drama

and the rock and roll

the rest of us deal with

everyday

floral underground

I saw a girl in the Metro

waiting for the 10 towards Austerlitz

she wore headphones and floral skirt

a bouquet of roses

stuck out of the trash can

she saw the flowers

and moved closer

she picked the petals, one at a time

she tossed them into the air

and they floated to the floor

she dropped them onto the tracks

a curious smile on her face

mice crawled and nibbled

at the velvety edges

the train came

its arrival softened

by the blood red roses

we boarded the train

she picked up a crumpled newspaper

and read the news of the day

but I don't think she cared

summers gone

The CozmikGangsta has been grindin'. Hard. The summer rush has been hot and fast. Time entered some sort of strange dimension where evenings linger, seeming timeless yet end all too soon.

Our hero has been robotic in a sense, at times defying his natural rhythms in pursuit of something greater, perhaps intangible. While filling your head and heart with floaty love poems, he's been on some real ninja shit, running missions, rendezvous and international conversations through the breaking dawn.

Things may be taking shape in a distant land as the battle between the rooted and the rootless rages on. While new alliances have been made, how long can our hero blast through the galaxy? Until his sword dulls, photon blasts run out and hyper-speed won't engage. Though weary at times, our hero's tactics seem to be working

Back with more Word soon.

Check out what the Crew has been up to: Lila - II

Pretty Girl in the Train Station

you wear their blue uniform

but you're not one of them

no, you smile deeply

you giggle innocently

you're happy to see me when I arrive

the way you bat your eyes tells me so

you open doors

point me in the right direction

I like the train station

when you're there

we are on the same team

me and you

us against the world

against bureaucracy

against tyranny

fighting for everything

that's right and beautiful

I see the way you whisper

to your friends

when I turn my back

you can tell me

no secrets

I want to get lost

so you can give me direction

an exploration

I had just left Old Town

to walk up a great forested hill

when the rain came

I ducked into an ancient library

but the deluge lasted 

the length of a cigarette

so I left the stacks of wisdom

and the grey overhead gave way 

to electric blue 

through the canopy 

and beyond the waterfalls

past an ancient warrior ground

I saw a sign that said Magical Cavern

so naturally I followed it

at the top of the hill

was a gathering of folk

but they knew nothing of the cave

they began to talk

and suddenly with my arrival 

were questioning everything

they thought they knew

there was a soft righteous sound 

and A Whiter Shade of Pale 

drifted down the hill

but it was the Michael Bolton version

and the Magic Cave was a gift shop

so I descended