Mino Rock

I AM NOT A ROCK.
I AM NOT A WALL.
I AM NOT CONCRETE.
I AM NOT CEMENT
I AM NOT A CANE
I CAN BREAK, AND HURT. AND TUMBLE.
bRUISE AND CRY AND CRUMBLE....
ISNT IT CLEAR.
THROU THIS GLASS
CANT YOU SEE. 
 ..
.... YOUR ARE HURTING ME


YOU WILL GET YOUR DUE..
AND MY HEARTS SAYS NO, 
HOPEFULLY NO.
THIS PAIN 
NO ONE
SHOULD GO THROUGH
SO BROKEN SO TORN, 
CONFUSED AND AVERTED...


THESE ARE JUST EMOTIONS..
NO MORE CONOTATIONS 
OF BLEAKNESS..
  AND I SAY NO...
BUT NEVER KNOW
HOW LONG HOLDING AWAY EMOTIONS WILL LAST...


IN THE WORDS OF A BROKEN HEART...
I WILL TRY HARDER TO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN,
I SEE YOUR DOING GREAT AT IT...




Copyright ©  Mino Rock 2009 Dec

> Another Female drama I never saw coming to me, 20 years old. And things couldn't be foggier.
A while from now I will be laughing about this, the situation, the person, and myself,  for getting so caught up, on feelings.At least I feel and accept my humanness now. I am not a rock, just me..I am happy,and sad, and in love and in envy, so inconsistant and persistant, no patients at all. raging, in side...waiting for something...... to explode...or stop ticking... who knows... thats all folks go to bed its 1 am and im out. de.

I Am Done.

I am done with this.
All of this
this kiss
this sinister caress.
That used to unravel realms
entities and light years apart from
sanity
rationale
and normality.

As you continue repeatedly
as every time it used to be
New
Adventurous
and Bliss.

Delicious and Irresistible realms
that now are replaced with
bitter poisonous thorns
of stabbing contamination
of infectious  pain.

OH HOW CONTEMPLATING THIS LEASE OF LIFE USED TO DRAIN.

And it is not you
that brings this epiphany,
You are not that awe-inspiring
and special as you emanate.

You are but the tip of this Ice-burg
that has been forever falling
in slow motion.

And this is my notion.
Thoughts that have been tumbling
like the cold killer snow
that have now reached
its temperatures to these
presently broken bones.
Smothering them with frost.

And this all does show
that I already know.

And I am DONE now
with this full audaciousness
and these false graciousness
in your speeches.
Dumb lies and virtues impeaches
my correctly sane mind.
Your clear insanity bring me my own personal sanity.

Yet right now at I walk midnight above me
showering moonlight upon my glistening forehead.
Not looking left or right
Backward or forward.
I feel air
Not cold.
Just air.

I walk,
scattering these words irresponsibly .
They leak from my pen unattainably.
Excruciatingly cold hands,
yet calm and warm from my contentness.

My submission to this decision
that I have internally uttered from the beginning.

Although we have come to the end of the road.
I Belong to me.
You belong to you.
Its unnatural.

This condition of your's,
I am finally immune to.
Have your blessings and curses.
Enjoy your 10 meal courses.

I am done. Be free to share your realm
your purposeless rotating helm.

On my behalf, No jealousy or pity
This is an ever evolving big city.
Find yours.
I have found mine.

Finally.
I'm Done.

Copyright © 2010 Mino Rock

Good night in the morning.

>In the morning
chasing after short moments of talking
whispering at times.
The' I miss you's' yearn for 'the I want and 'need you's'
and intertwine malleably around each other.

Sweet charms embraced the noting of features
random facts
activities
co-incidences.
All to just speak a bit more .......of .....something more
the silence fulfilling in another world.
The other side of this connection.
This mental and physical telephonic connection.


Good night.
Flashes of deep naked words,
wantingly slip through.
Unknowingly.
In the midst of body's lying cocooned
and eyes aging of sleep,
voices smooth and deep.
Temptuous closeness.

My dry sore eye skin creates friction as my heavy eyed lids
D
R                          T
O                   F
P              I
And    L                   . Then with my minute shuffle draws attention to my acheing body

A Message to my dear friend and other's : Clearness is Close.

Struggles of the young,
struggles of the sprung.  
If only you could see,
that life should simply be.  


Don't worry about the events happenings,
of things and people.  
I know you want ,
to run and shout on top of a steeple.  
What's not in your hands,  
doesn't lie in others either.
No one is your keeper.
Stop tormenting yourself; 
with what rain does not fall, doesn't fall 
and doesn't want to fall. 
Your thunder's rage 
for acceptance to his unknowing storm.
Problems, silent agendas, secret thoughts 
all become airborne.  


See this silence and calm, 
as your time
time to be you.  
The rest leave it to fate,
it will save you from resentment and hate.  


Your essence and exquisite poise 
only seen by the close. 
Reserve your sterling being for true loved ones, 
the ones of us that love you back. 


Breathe. Accept.
My dear, clearness is close.




Copyright ©  Mino Rock New Year2010

Casanova . No More.

He sang ' you should let me love you ' Ironically.He continued in his amateur voice 'If i was your man, baby you...never worry about what i do'. how idle, of this compulsive stranger.Who turns out to be not so strange at all, just stupid.The bug eyed camouflaging fly with its last brain cell,falls into a web of his own deceit.Liers will be liers. Cheaters will always be cheaters.Seranades of his last in these end of the woods echo. .
To laugh. To comfort... to out scrunch my eyebrows to that 'i knew it' posture.
Alas it hurt my mini me. the person I see some much of myslef a while back.
And still, with the goose chase, HA! on u loser.
The hunt. The trantrum. The upset. The denail.
The straight up oblivion to the situation.
This hillbilly still seared messages of sarcasm.
When nothing should be said by the wrong. Nothing.
No explaination. No ellaboration. No farce. No self justifying comments.
Just Shut Up and Drive.

Somali poetry .

http://poetrytranslation.org/media/downloads/PTC-podcast-003-Somali-poetry-Gaarriye.mp3

My favourite all time poem. Love It......

                                   “Porphyria’s Love

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
and did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me—she
Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

Summary

“Porphyria’s Lover,” which first appeared in 1836, is one of the earliest and most shocking of Browning’s dramatic monologues. The speaker lives in a cottage in the countryside. His lover, a blooming young woman named Porphyria, comes in out of a storm and proceeds to make a fire and bring cheer to the cottage. She embraces the speaker, offering him her bare shoulder. He tells us that he does not speak to her. Instead, he says, she begins to tell him how she has momentarily overcome societal strictures to be with him. He realizes that she “worship[s]” him at this instant. Realizing that she will eventually give in to society’s pressures, and wanting to preserve the moment, he wraps her hair around her neck and strangles her. He then toys with her corpse, opening the eyes and propping the body up against his side. He sits with her body this way the entire night, the speaker remarking that God has not yet moved to punish him.