The Farmers Market

Lets meet on San Antonio Street
purchasing groceries from what the Farmers Market brings

This local nexus of a network of residences
sings tremendously the individuality of Texas

Take a look at the soaps, kombucha, and necklaces
Walking sticks, tamales, and a breakfast of champions

Red Bud Roaster coffee is ready as poetry
Peach preserves courtesy of Mr Caskey
Plants from C & J Martindale nursery,

Walking, talking, and browsing
a perfect venue to observe our curbs surroundings
a bake sale for the school of Montessori
Katy’s vintage clothing shines extraordinarily
like  a jewel sequin in her sowing

The real small businesses that are growing
takes hard work from the self
as well as help from a community
connecting our wealth routinely

Old stories start fresh beginnings
Saturday morning tabling
generational, Multicultural
Actual people to engage conversations
relatable lives of trials and tribulations
paying tribute to a vendors original presentation
its a present gift of splendorous vocation
in the center of town
he found the members of participation
money amongst neighbors
instead of the usual concentration of larger corporations

The little guy’s fight is right around the corner
A poem for the San Marcos Farmers Market owners

Thanks and congratulations
on what you have made
and what your are making

It is something worth celebrating

You are beauty

Ok, so you know your beautiful
but it’s because of something unusual
It’s the casual, sly, coy
way you move the waves of your own musical
Mixed with a stiff, fixed poise
if concerning every variable
making it unbearable
unforgettable

a parable of a song sung
one could wish you were wearable
where, when you walk in the room
the occupancy of vacant stares
declares a booming ring

your are beautiful
as the first flower of spring
but beyond the appearances of anything
due to your curiosity and thirst
for that which brings joy
also brought pain and hurt

Stay intrinsic to the worth
given at birth
it grows to be what you know
activities go flowing like ripples over a river
Working for something other than nickels and rhymes
finding generosity a giver of blessings

Time is measureless
and another dimension of understanding
Ever since,
the letters of a most benevolent spirit
friended our planet for a landing visit

Testimonies through oratory has been our story
handed down through generations
of our bigger family
Your beauty is the reason for the season of poetry

Eventually, We would even out the routes of a destiny
sand the edges
plan messages and pledges
communities are made of communication unity
writers, listeners, reciters, readers of many different cities
connect thought in energy
like electricity we got to tell you at this spot
your free
and
you are beauty

What I have just written- by Bahauddin (father of Rumi)

It is because human beings have it in them to receive grace and taste the wine of eternity, because they can recognize hypocrisy and cleanse themselves of that and the other impulses that are destructive to love, that eventually they weary of form, these created appearances, and long for the source itself.

Such a person sees nothing to fear in the world, nor is he concerned with receiving rewards or avoiding any punishment in the here or the hereafter. He has no judgment either way on anything. His only nourishment is the presence of the Friend, feeling and remembering that closeness. When he or she dies, the organs quit their natural functions, and the real self fills with love and dies out of humanness to live in God.

My prayer is that what I have just written become true for me. Let Lover and beloved live here in the same place, in my heart. As I write these sentences, I feel like I am seeing the Friend. This writing enters me like a bride wearing jewels filled with the light of passion and kindness.

-Bahauddin – The father of Rumi
The Drowned Book– by Coleman Barks and John Moyne

Joy

Write new passages of life whenever there is a void
teach children to make their own toys
make noise

Joy
let me see you dance
He romanced her by being a listener
She made flower patterns
and paintings of alien landings over the Grand Canyon

Madame, Monsieur
the cure to your ills is simple and pure
Smile and enjoy this moment right here

Now as it has passed, we can grasp another
rhyme lovers of time discovered a gap

to walk hovering above lines on rugs and mats

talking to the birds, bees, and bats
most don’t like the roaches, bugs and gnats
but we know they are part of a bigger pact

to be exact, the habitat is where it’s at
Life in many forms and formats
before institutions and bureaucrats had hats
perhaps before language was used to adapt
gestures are sure signs of our leading tracks

The pleasure of measuring the last time we wrapped together
acts of chapters
the plaques have been taken back down for dinner

I hope your hungry, Suppers ready

mental epiphanies that wake up the body
can be injected directly through poetry
The factory is increasing production and productivity

-made a machine to turn your dreams into energy
cleaned the dojo with a flow of spontaneity
chalk graffiti
friends and family’s
different cities and societies
farmedee Farsi
barâbari /equality

 برابر

Pain

In Iran,
there is over 50% inflation on currency
because of the country I live in currently

Sanctions like they used against Saddam
killed millions,
more than guns and bombs
If you think I am wrong
look at the history of Vietnam

I worship the Torah, Bible, and Koran
but more of the older poets that are gone
before the British drew lines for Iraq and Iran
They are still pronouncing the names of country’s they invade wrong

I am an old blues song
written by Ferdowsi, Hafez, and Rumi
Omar Kayyan and the Sufis
written by anonymous bloggers of poetry
to find my rhymes look towards infinity
in the Divine
a sword shines as were cooking in the kitchen of a mind
listening to the bind holding you to your shrine

No stranger to holy wars
The Islamic Revolution originally was about the poor
Now he see’s religion sold at the store
I am hardcore like 10 years of war
(https://palaceofrhymes.com/2013/03/20/hardcore-is-ten-years-of-war/)

My occupation is for
99 percent
to get my freestyles demonstration

not just a hobby

Rhyming is not just a hobby
We at the poetry factory take it very seriously

He emceed one time
at a shrine that altered many minds
Fearlessly
Redefining the state of what’s great
signed, fill in your hero ___________
fate says you already have their characteristics within you

Different venues
but always the same character and values
Wait till she makes the news
Only make steak when you
can hear the grass feed cows Moo

Baking an upside down cake
so his attitude would not frown but smile
the smell awakened this child

Who asked for a story from some books in a pile
looking on from the kitchen tiles
They sat together,
taking turns telling parts to each other

The child learned the word love, and lover
outside the home
are shotgun shells and explosions next to stones
Mines and barbwire also have names that the child has known

Upon discovering the word love, and lover
there together in the kitchen after supper
The boy cried tears of joy and laughter
thinking of story’s roaming chapters

His mother muttered a few words to his father
about acquiring a pen and some paper
by next weekend
he found his best friend
in sounding his own stories
beginning to end

There is much cooking to do

Come on in
we were just beginning
to turn off the lights and light the incense
burning with a fiery grin

Long days and longs nights
little sleep
when life is thinking of a flight

strong wings
even when wrong he learns things
She’s a duchess from the Philippines

Mad money making factory machines
haven’t been cleaned
and left a mess
Riots from India to Bangladesh

Iraq smells and tastes fresh death of flesh
ethnically targeted killings
would leave any pro military interventionist
unwilling
to Question our occupation of 10 years
now mercenaries are their biggest fear

How can we stop extreme violence here and over there?
John’s first rhyme that is not rhetorical

The word for hello means peace in the middle east
Shalom, Salam سلام
Studying Farsi from Iran like Muslims reading the Koran

There is much cooking to do
and it is past the break of dawn
Still the kitchen calls and sings its song
chop, chop, chop
slicing skills have diced a meal of our crops

Before work, making pecan cookies
because even cooks get hungry