KALEIDESCOPE EYES

A DARK CLIMB A few missing pieces, three blind eyes, pink butterflies and a lonely guitar. My psychedelic lies flow down black and white swirls checker board squares. black on black blind in life blind in death who will save save me from Frozen with fear gray clouds won't burst won't sting. Black clouds with their long lit streaks. Where is the man who parted the waters, the large belly, the long beard, Where is the one whose image is me who will save save me from Wounded hands refuse to speak e-people die no sins mine or yours. Women bleeding lilies no time twisted clocks. Razor blades on their tongues. Strum a lonely shape strings bite play. Tips break skin and bone show too many fret less strokes who will save save me from me. Armand Hamouth

NOTE FOR NOTE

JUST THE MUSIC I will sing you a song without using my voice Not a note will I draw no scale to look at Listen because in two lines I’ll start by choice Now the music, I’ve laid the welcome mat An iris purple and green A squirrel from winter lean Oceans Lakes Rivers and Seas Doors and gates without keys A warm yellow sun that doesn’t harm A happy family working their farm A wanted warming kiss on the lips A dance with steps and dips An ice cream well held and enjoyed in a child’s hand Parents and children listening to the same band An awe inspiring experience with the outdoors That lion at a great art film the one that roars That was just the music you listened to I‘ll work on adding the lyrics too Words that compliment my tune By the next phase of the moon Armand Hamouth

THE BEAUTY

OF PROSTITUTION In the shine of the night and the dark of the light In the game they easily call life A slice of or the cut of a knife Where we all sit like a lonely moon And listen to the cry of the loon Enough, spread your ah silky wings It's not like we're exchanging rings Let us make fun of the world and together laugh We won't worry and I'll pay you time and a half let us pretend this is not a game that we play I'll pay you more let's be in love just for today I know my dove This is not love if you won't play let us not lay now it is the time to bend after all that is your end Armand Hamouth

AKA

MY DAUGHTERS FROM HEART TO PAPER UNEDITED For every tear you shed from hurt physical or emotional For every tear you shed from shame rightly or wrongly My loves my heart sheds a beat I never knew love Until I knew you I love you both from my tippie toes to the peak of my silver threads Don't hurt my dears But when you do I will hold you tight Encase your fears Minimize the pain And when my heart bleeds or slightly feels a crack It's because my daughters your lives before mine. Armand Hamouth

TRANSFUSIONS BY THE PINT

THE PEN, THE KEYS, THE MICROPHONE i think they expected blood when they first cut him with their razor sharp piano wires wrong ink not blood cells flowed poems and stories plays, essays and jokes his ideas her thoughts spilled unto the streets covered the concrete the pavement too each and every dash of white that mark the roads a verse became first one and then another lined up in a chaotic disciplined structured straight double line the yellow lines bucked fought like wild stallions but eventually she won and he corralled them into simple thoughts they came looking for death they found us we don’t bleed i warned them they are morally blind deaf dumb they dare to raise a foil the pen is and always will be mightier than the sword the moral i fear you can not delete satisfy pay off over feed a taste for meat humans came upon the earth violent the species behave like vampire left to their own devices one day we would be down to one and the winner is we all know how that story ends we will not let it happen pens in hand we will write swirl curl punctuate underline we will strike the keyboard like drums of peace or even speak through a microphone thing we will win by any peaceful means a ruthless peace be afraid be very afraid we are armed olive branches words of love poignant full circle ideas we are armed with the word one En Guard Armand Hamouth

THERE IS NO POINT TO THIS

A WASTELAND Coffee Grinds Moldy bread Lemon rinds Salad shred Images float A daydream Flying boat Heavy cream Not worth A dime Or birth This rhyme Needles pins Spine play Garbage bins Left yesterday Armand Hamouth

To Be Honest...

AFFAIRS OF THE HEART Her smile thawed my winter bulb. Her voice led me, out of a massive depression! She dissolved the cobwebs that had saturated my brain. She grew paper whites, healed my seized up bones added a spring in my walk. Nevertheless, here the story takes a twist. In the process, my fears were never dismissed. Love is not always kind Scared I left her behind, built a bigger maze hid in its haze. I wonder if she thinks of me The woman I no longer see. Just Numb a ship come and gone ho-hum, I'll pass on the baton. end of the story no guts no glory Armand Hamouth

A THORN BY

LOVE Love is the distinct fragrance of her beneath the perfume she wears the space between you and the ground not just the petals of the rose but the thorns that wonderful bite draws your boiling hot blood the hug nature returns when you are together a tight focused view her lips on a succulent fruit the liquid smile that follows it is being enrobed in each others warmth the laughter harmonized in the music of your real Love is everything and nothing it engages you in the wealth of doing nothing together and that is everything Armand Hamouth

Drama Queen

A KISS IN BLACK AND WHITE A movie kiss No ones man you can’t indulge enjoy the cuffing of lips your tears identify you give you up shackle your wrists confess to your folly be careful of the man with the white suit blood shows well against pure light his stains yell loudly when a couple kiss in a movie I cry it’s the romance It draws my tears even a simple one in black and white I always cry Armand Hamouth

WOMEN

Woman She can see for miles beyond her view I saw her pick light from the midnight sky She is a sister A healer A scientist A leader A singer She is a wife A musician A poet A grandmother A philosopher She is a friend An Inventor A Politician An Astronaut A visionary She is the Gate of life Your mother A nurturer A protector She is the Gate of Heaven Your nurse A hand An Angel She isn’t rare I see her everywhere She is Simply woman Armand Hamouth

CAROL

LETTERS MOVE ME “C” cool breeze beckons me calm voice over thunder “A", me “R” rolling sweeps, an emerald isle returns, held dear “O” what I feel “L”, live, love, laugh lots, recently certain letters complete me unravel, a puzzle lived finally, the missing peace Armand Hamouth

A SINGLE TEAR

A POEM WRITTEN IN PROSE I do not draw well, but I can fake it and I’m a great doodler Regardless I decided to draw love for a friend in peril for a friend in need. Nothing common like hearts, clouds, angels, or cupid she is more special than that. I wasn't looking for just a representation of love, a picture of flowers and candles and chocolates the situation called for more . Nor did I want it to be what love might mean with nature at the forefront with oceans and mountains Or beyond nature stars and moons or even galaxies. Affection and even sex is a marvelous part of love but it is not love. There would be no hugs, embraces, kisses or hands holding. I wanted it to be love not about love. I wanted it to be unique at least to me something new something fresh. I practiced and drew it repeatedly and finally, I was satisfied. I drew a tear a single tear that contained my sorrow my fear my shock that contained our laughter our joy our zeal and if you looked carefully if you looked through the tear, you could see it there clear as day my LOVE on the other side of my tear. Armand Hamouth

A PIECE

PART AND PARCEL Components of an unfinished opus Fragments Of memory Shards Of time Pieces Of truth Parts Of concrete Slivers Of work Bits Of writing Parcels Of potential Shreds Of dignity Segments Of reality Parts Of choice Slices Of blindness Chunks Of good Patches Of evil Defined by morsels of devoured crumbs. Armand Hamouth

IT'S YOUR WORLD

CAUTION TO THE WIND Let us shatter the ills of time Never be chained by numbers Let our passion evolve beyond restrains Never succumb to the padlocks of logic We can seed the vacuums of space Leave the boundaries of ‘common sense’ We can live a wild romp of infinite joy Leave the constraints of physical walkways Make random sounds in harmony Knit your flesh to mine as one singular explosive weave Make and sew in new fabrics into the skin of our planet Crochet dreams and reality as our new existence Be our intensity Breathe in, our unique ways Do our love Walk in our defiance Social acceptance? Tables and chairs? Hell no! Happy to buck the trend Live in a world of our own making! Armand Hamouth

A TOUCH OF STEEL

DRUNK WITH EXPOSURE Without a knock I Slide in on a kind invitation My touch barely focused I taste Tantalized hunt, pure and unarmed lungs with wind in breast Merge feed on the divine I bite the dirt and lick the lake touch with eyes an endless glare I swagger away a jubilation all too real Drunk with exposure. Armand Hamouth

ON CONSCIOUSNESS

A Rude Awakening She was pushing To evict me She owned My dwellings But what of my rights The whore spread her legs Solicited an accomplice I was defenseless An unprovoked attack Before long Exposed Pulling In cahoots with the bitch My fate was sealed They had won Banished My peaceful existence stolen The noise was deafening It was on that day I started to die. Armand Hamouth

SHE DIDN'T

WHEN THE FIRE BURNS OUT my heart she didn’t break it not really it's not made of glass or harden it as if it were concrete she didn’t tear it out of my chest make me cry or bleed she didn’t even try my reality just mine that's fine true a lonely cell rings flat i'm sorry she's not here anymore. Armand Hamouth

SIGNED, UNDELIVERED, I'M GONE!

You Had Me At Goodbye! Took down the 'For Sale' sign Threw in the white flag Embalmed it like a stiff in a fridge Sealed it with a musical lick Packaged it with airplane black box wrap I hid it it’s sitting with Hoffa Finished Over Took its last bow Curtains Closed I wrapped it in wire Barbed! This heart of mine. Armand Hamouth

HEAT

Just another day In the now of our discontent we wade through a garden of weeds. We speak, even curse, at the sky as if it had ears. We the children of our own making. Imagination leads us as we fight for our 'insanity'! Inmates remain collected, collected in their own contradictions. In the cool temperaments of The Institution, they rake us into piles of burning leaves. They seek to dine on the ‘mad’ feast on a dinner of the masses. Having sodomized Mother Earth they gather the corrupt. Forces assemble iron bars in hand, forged in the heat of the moment. Just another day bodies destroyed without a thought. With no one left to draw upon the world is but a catastrophe waiting to happen. Still ruled by the elected and no leaders in site fear rules. What?, when the devil sees he is fighting his own demons. Where are the wings of gold, or at the very least The Meek? Armand Hamouth

PART THREE?

Bones Rattle Part one: And even as this spills unto the page I smell the trouble we are in friends We might have reached the point of no return We endure our ways to merely exist these days The majority cares less and less or not at all Carry the weight all by ourselves? Might as well file our nails! Part two: Restricted by our humanity Dismiss genders A Leather Bound Fable We are all brothers A hotel room drawer Let them eat cake Crosses Flavor is not the issue Excuses Diverse your tastes Murder! Death comes too soon The reaper Doesn’t seek skins Doesn’t want Bodies Dressed human flesh Drenched multitudes of fragrances Dominates our day to day Ends! Armand Hamouth

RING OF EARTH

A CHANGE OF WORLDS Piercing of bone, ring of earth, necklace of vine, now the moon rises every morning. A chest filled with words, images, a poets bloom. Artist’s colors, nuclear! Falls African atoms split waters. Putty, Molded. An abyss. A trance, a state of frenzy. a blanket of dark. A blade, a breast bone a heart shaped hell. Gods with boundless, strength. Innocence worn like jewelry! A collage of exquisiteness, of creatures, of multitudes, of bold backgrounds, Collections of vision, neatly cataloged neatly saved, within the womb Of Mother Nature Our Planet and all its delicacies now saved in the journal of Father Time. As the clock ticks and the embryo develops a new day approaches. The end and The beginning, One, And fade, And Armand Hamouth

THE SCENT OF BETRAYAL

SORRY? So I see you look my way, did you have something to say? I have heard all the whispers so would you care to speak face to face? You know your words have spurs I've noticed you use them like mace. We have seen the evil you hide In the cover of the night. The thoughtless few with which you ride I have no desire to fight. I’ll soak in the rays of gentleness. Lay in the comfort of kindness. Always get my full nights sleep, as you sow so shall you reap. So I see you look my way did you have something to say? Armand Hamouth

MY WORLD

HER Her Simply, my world. Her Nectar of juice playing trickling, cooling, Seared flesh! , Her smears, flavors, rings, pierces, Cool lips! Her bite touch lick taste Flexed abs! She is The bloom that through concrete grows, the promise it whispers. A concert inside a single note of music, the crystal clear sound of passion. A fleeting second, a brief moment, cherished with no regrets In my own molded universe Carol is time. HER Simply, my world. Armand Hamouth

MONOTONE

HIGHWAYS IN THE CLOUDS In every sound of the crickets at night In the humidity that floats the air So is the sweat on my brow So is the music of my want Dreams hidden in the vast wasteland of the desert Prick like the cactus plants that inhabit it. A butterfly in a child’s net. My life hums in a monotone of nothingness. My heart cries the voyage of my own tears. Speak their words, as they splatter, and evaporate on the blazing hot concrete. Destined to abuse and lose my abilities, I live in a hell of my own making, Save the images, I create on the highways of the clouds of my solitude. Armand Hamouth

ARMS THAT HOLD

I'LL FIND YOU when you’re thirsty or hungry for a meal when a table for one seems scary or one menu doesn't feel right I’ll be on the next flight when you have worries and life stresses you out when friends don’t understand and you chomp at the bit I’ll be your ear ‘no bout adout it’ if you’ve lost a memento or worse your self worth if your eyes see a mirror’s lies or worse just points out an unlike I’ll fix your psyche whether it’s now even if it’s later whether it’s a second even if it's forever I'll be present just older. if you’re ever lonely and desire a man if you want arms that hold and lips to lock on too I'm here waiting for you! Armand Hamouth

TRITE

THE FRENZY OF MY FANCY I was lulled into a trance, on roofs the rain would dance me in a state of frenzy, inanity was my fancy. Even the words I would mutter like a hot knife through butter. A collage of creatures, with distinct features life small and large all on the same barge. A million bold backgrounds a million unidentified sounds. Visions become words I write still it all feels so trite. My belief strengthens I thank the heavens. A fleeting second, gladly beckoned. A brief moment barely a fragment. Always cherish, still I flourish. Never regret, once we met. Armand Hamouth

GHOST

CELLULOID There is a ghost in my blog, hovers in the background, inspires me! If you squint your eyes you can see him hiding. Shades of purple on purple. That is not really a tear below his eye it is a scar, filled with joy and sorrow. That is life, contrast! That is who he is only slightly visible but he is contrast! He is waiting for his release. Maybe, one day soon his creative voice will be heard again. Maybe, one day soon he will leave the shadows, SPEAK! From a wooden riser where his talents lay direct the traffic on a stage. For the players, for the writer, for the designers, for the total. Dialogue off the pages, simply telling the story dressed for the occasion orchestrated to the written notes dancing to the sound of the music. As conceived As intended To bring to life To celebrate To engage To move And more. There is a ghost in my blog, hovers in the background. Can you see him? Do you feel him? Can you hear him? Do you fear him? Please don’t, he is only me. Armand Hamouth

HERE IT IS

WHAT ABOUT IT Have you ever played with it? Even if just a bit. Or thrown it. Because you were in a snit. Did you ever eat it? Then throw out the pit. Or caught it. In your mitt. Would you yell at it? In a momentary fit. Or might you with it? Have a comfortable sit. If your with it. You’re sure to be a hit. When annoyed by it. Is it your teeth you grit? When you didn’t get it. Where you called a half-wit? Have you ever flown it? I mean sat in the cockpit. Have you assembled it? From a bought kit. And when you want it Do you go ahead and commit. Have you stayed with it? While you had to housesit. Did you rub or hide it? Under your armpit. Or somehow lost it. And have to admit. It was you misplaced it. Who then was mad and backbit? Took off with it. Like a bandit. Have you stood on it? Held on to the bowsprit. And while you were on it Did you catch a net of brit? Or were you on it? With a friendly Brit. Did you really decide to do it? Because you two were close-knit. Have done with it. Because it’s unfit. Well what about it? Are you the culprit? That’s the thing about it. You just submit. I mean to it. Like it’s backlit. I still mean it. Like it’s sunlit. Still speaking of it As if purposely moonlit. I know very well of it It passed me in a flit. What is it? Made me omit. That sometimes it. Can be an outfit. Or that at some other times it. Can be nothing more than a zit. Did you ever showcase it? Had it floodlit. Or did Nature feature it Was it also starlit? Did beauty surround it? Would it a King befit? And who paid for it? Did you pick up the chit? Have you ever done it? Did you to love submit? When you come down to it. It is just a tidbit. I have often succeeded in buying it. I usually did with my available credit. And if I couldn’t use it. Would they think me a dimwit? When I have eaten it. I sometimes did emit. Not a big it. More like a flit. When I stayed out in it. I ended up being frostbit. That’s the thing about it. Sometimes you need to pinch-hit. And if it. Involves a slit. Well then it. Would be twilit. That’s how I like it. When the time is legit. With who is it? Not a half-wit. My mom did it. Yes she would knit. Also my friend sprayed it. Afraid it was a nit. Use a banana with it. To make a split. To talk into it. Only to transmit. To send it. Your honed wit. To do it. Never quit. Perform it. In a skit. And receive it. An unwanted writ. What about it. Are you unfit? Chewed on it. Only to spit. Or write it. In Sanskrit. When it comes right down to it You do know I would be remit If I did not say this about it It can be, oops, yes a tit And that’s it! Armand Hamouth

INTERNET TROLLS

ON DEALING WITH TROLLS insects their annoying buzzing and those blood bites involuntary donors leave an itch their constant hovering attracted to the lights let me interrupt with a well placed SWAT! GONE, just like that insects Armand Hamouth