Just hanging around stuck in the background where Echo and the Bunnymen sing sad songs,they're not funny men and I'm not one too.
Going to take my Queen and fulfill a dream,dine in style at Mile End,wend my way down to Nandos,pay for chicken,sticking less to the plan because I'm only a man I travel to Hackney where the wild men of Shoreditch come out to attack me with rolled up newspapers,their capers amuse me until I blink twice, and I see, that my Queens seen it all and goes off in a huff,
Puffs of smoke are no joke when you're born as a bloke because the magic don't last,blast it nearly passed it,the turn off for middle age,junction twenty six on the revolving glass mirrored stage,but I made it and now I'm back in the sun waiting for my Queen to come,my apology accepted along with the promise of a day trip to Poundland,stand and deliver while we shiver our timbers and limber up for the party on interstate four,
sore from the laughter we take a bath shortly after because we like to stay clean,my Queen thinks I'm dirty and men go that way after thirty but I'm not so sure.
I have pure intentions and clean underwear,does she care? I think so but it's so hard to know what she's thinking,she tastes of melons when I'm drinking her in.
In this flotilla where the will of the one doesn't win,we all stick together, whether it's a good thing or not,
but I've got a plan and because I'm only a man it's a good one and so I carry on and she carries me,I meet her mum and she marries me..sounding obscene,I mean I married my Queen,not her mum.
It's all in the spaghetti which I'm sure that SHY YETI'S BEST OF BRITISH - PART 1 doesn't cover,so it won't keep me warm but no harm in me looking through this facebook and cooking a dish,should I wish, for some it's back to interstate four,where the cops will be waiting with a ticket to the potteries and a fine for the finder of the stopped timex watch winder.
where was I
in Mile end?
going to spend but stay lean as I talk with my Queen,
and so it goes on.
My dear, if you were to cut me open,
to tear away my measly skin,
you would not find
the contents of an ordinary human being.
You would not find veins
or internal organs,
especially not a human heart.
Instead, you would find a battlefield, with freshly made bomb craters
and you would find discarded bullets,
fashioned from spiteful words,
that were perhaps destined for use on my worst enemies
but were instead aimed at myself.
You would find the remains of a daisy field
with the left over petals
looking vaguely like feathers
that fell from doves
or perhaps even angels.
You would find memories of a tiny village
once colourful and lively
but swept away by multiple hurricanes,
that took all happiness and innocence along with them.
Blood would not pour
from my lifeless body,
but dark cigarette smoke would seep from the wounds,
and if you closely investigated,
you would find that the fumes were made up of
microscopic black moths
that had all my lies and promises
carefully written all over their feeble wings
For I am not a human being, but simply a worn out shell of one.
I'll read words reminiscent of expressions,
You'll feel tears flowing down the page,
The deepest pain, hidden inside
Will work on out along with joy and light.
You'll be surprised for the worst, then for the best,
And you'll feel a relieving sense of rest
When you read the hurt and the fear
And they're burned on paper, not in a heartbeat.
Just try-- tears for ink,
Letting loose instead of denying,
A little truth, you don't even have to be with me.
Love and faith alone won't save you--
Sometimes in life, just try to
כשאקרא את המילים הן יזכירו מבטים,
תרגיש את הדמעות שזולגות על הדפים
הכאב הנסתר ,העמוק שבפנים
יתבטא יחד עם האור, שמחת החיים.
תופתע לרעה ואז לטובה
ולפתע תרגיש תחושת הקלה
כשתקרא את תחושות הכאב והפחד
כשעל נייר ולא לב שרופות הן בלהט.
;דיו במקום דמעות-- רק תנסה,
הכחשה תיהפך להרפיה,
קצת אמת, אפילו כשאני ואתה לא ביחד.
אהבה ואמונה לא יושיעו לבד--
לפעמים בחיים צריך קצת
through a trying work hour in the night-time rush,
groped by strangers with dark eyes
the color of neglect and whiskey.
Men with knives under their sleeves,
calling you back and back again,
refills for their poison and pretzels for the table,
don't be a prude, darling.
I only want to feel those hands trembling
All you ever knew were the bruises and the burns.
Gliding closer and closer to
your face, your hands,
inching towards the skin that gleams, exposed
and invokes the shame you feel from
fetid breath on your neck, these
animals with moldering livers.
but another round for the men in the grease and grime.
Green bottles and a smile that said
'I like the taste of your weakness,
You like the abuse.'
My Father was my example. I have a lot of my father's traits. He was a man of few words but his actions of caring carried much weight. Growing up on a farm in Western Nebraska, it seemed that it was a place where sandburs knew no bounds. They were everywhere. My father wore bib overhauls that had big pockets in the back. When I was little, the pockets were just right to fit my feet. When we came to a sandbur patch, he would pick me up and carried me over the sandbur patches. When I was tired after being with him on the farm and hot from the scorching summer heat, he cared for me.
My heavenly Father is my teacher through prayer, his word written and spoken and through the lives of others like my Mother and Father and many others.
Jesus is our example. Growing up and even today, the 4 words that keep me going in the right direction are: What Would Jesus Do. There is no better example to follow.
As a father, I try to follow the example of my heavenly Father. There are times I fail miserably and must ask for forgiveness from my family. My heavenly father never fails me. He carries me through the sandbur patches of life. He loves me unconditionally. Some day I will set foot on the heavenly shore as He carries me over the last of life's sandbur patches on my final journey of life.
Even though I have never heard my earthly father say, "I love you son", I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved me. When I would say to him, 'love ya Dad" his reply was always "uhuh". I can't hear my heavenly father audibly say "I love you" but I know from all He does for me His love for me is beyond words. His love transcends the audible and speaks directly to my heart.
I tried hard to not bring shame on my mother and father.
It’s that awkward time between 5 and 6 pm where his eyes are the colour of mocha brown stained novel pages and finger tips callused and crinkled with years of practicing and gripping too tight on a black biro pen.
He turns the corner of the street and we make a narrow escape to the highway where careful mothers have their children strapped to seats wailing with voices so shrill yet so untouched and pure..
And I turn and I look out the window and plaster on a sad look like I’ve been copy pasted out of a sad music video about boys and breakups and lost loves, reminiscent of the paraphernalia of stories and soaps and television shows my mother used to watch.
Slowly I turn and I feel a tap on my shoulder blades and he asks me if I’m ok but secretly I’m wishing and hoping that there’s more to life than this god forsaken city but I still say I’m fine anyway.
"The city looks really nice this time of day" he says and I just don’t see it because everything around me is illuminated in fake fluorescence and wired in with the hands of a man who’s just lost his wife and swears his depression is just a phase.
"Squint and you’ll see it" he insists but I can’t because the world is in monochrome and the concrete of the buildings are the tombstones of chivalry and manners, filled to the brim with office workers hunched over stacks of papers and lists.
He turns left at the third intersection and laughs at a man squabbling drunk cursing the world on the side of the road and I hope he doesn't know that it was what I'd do if he let me grab the bottle of Jack from the trunk.
"Goodnight and godspeed," he laughs and I say "fuck off" in exchange for a hug and so another day passes in the presence of car windows and rolling cityscapes.
She looked at me with cold, black eyes,
Through spec's two inches thick
And asked what I did for Summer,
And I knew it was a trick.
Teachers do that to the kids
Who have to go to class.
So, when she asked again, I said,
"No thanks. I think I'll pass."
"Pass what?" She asked, her eyes like slits
As dark as eyes can be.
"What did you do all summer long?
Just sit at home and watch TV"
"But you're such an intelligent boy,
You should have read a book or two.
I'd have hoped you would have gone somewhere,
Like perhaps the city zoo."
"Or played softball in the local park
With the other kids in town.
It's so sad to see someone just sit at home
When there's so much to do around."
I chewed my lip and looked around.
Was I the only one
Who thought this was one of the
Dumbest things we've ever done?
I shook my head and said,
"I'm really not supposed to tell.
My Uncle Nibb stopped on by
On his way to St. Carmel.
"He was on a secret mission,
For Chef Utterbutterbanks.
And we had the best time ever.
And I forgot to tell him thanks."
But she did not believe me.
She did not believe me one small bit.
She folded her arms and tapped her shoe
And said "We'd love to hear about it..."
Yeah, it was a trap. A big one too!
The biggest trap of all.
She looked at me with her thin, black eyes,
And I felt one half inch tall.
"Come on. Come on. Out with it, boy!
We do not have all day.
Your Uncle came and got you.
What did you do while you were away?"
"First we..." was what came out first.
And my Teacher was not pleased.
Because after that the words
Just seemed to flow with super ease.
I said, "First we went to Switzerland,
Where we tobogganed down a hill.
We ate pizza on the Matterhorn,
And stayed there all day, until
Eleven hundred Police showed up
And we had to get away!
But Uncle Nibb knew what to do,
I watched him good that day.
He has a friend from Portugal
Who owns a zeppelin.
And he picked us up in one quick swoop.
And we flew away, and then...
We went swimming in the Amazon.
We played tennis with a Gnome.
And I'd have had much more to show you
If they had let me bring him home.
When we went to Istanbul
I had my fortune read.
You'd have really been quite impressed
With what the Gypsy said.
In China we had ice cream rice,
Which is better than you'd think.
Though I couldn't find the ice cream,
And all the rice was pink.
We finally got to Paris
At about the noonish hour
And tossed brand new copper pennies
From something called the Eiffel Tower.
We watched the sunset set in India,
Where we saw the Taj Mahal.
It was the biggest mahal I've ever seen,
Almost three billion taj's tall!"
My Teacher shook her head at this.
She was not very happy.
I'd have to think up something fast,
And it better be snappy.
"But I'm just guessing, you know,
Because I've seen it in the books.
But those pictures that they show you
Are nothing like it really looks!"
"We joined a caravan in Egypt
Where we traveled through the night,
And Uncle Nibb explained the mystery
Of nearly every star in sight."
"And when we finally reached St. Carmel,
We were tuckered out a spell.
Uncle Nibb picked up the spices
That Chef Utterbutterbanks knew so well."
"He brought us home last Tuesday
And we slept till Wednesday night.
It was the funnest time I've ever had.
Even Dad says it was all right."
My Teacher scowled a triple scowl,
And shook her boney head.
"I am going to speak with your parents!"
Were the last words to me she said.
I was sent home very early.
My Teacher said I'd told a fib.
"She didn't believe a word I said."
I told my Uncle Nibb.
My Uncle Nibb just grinned, then laughed.
He was gone most of the day.
When he got back he punched my arm
And said, "Go on out and play."
When I went back to school the next day
My Teacher was very nice.
She told the class there really is
Such a thing as Ice Cream Rice.
She also said that everything
That I told to them was true.
Except the part about the Gnome,
But that was okay too.
Then she asked me about Istanbul
Where I had my fortune read,
She was rather curious
With what the Gypsy said.
I shrugged that shrug I always shrug,
Kicked my heels hard at the floor.
"She said my future shined a shine
She'd never seen before."
"She named adventures that would seek me out,
Described the wonders I would see.
She just went on and on about
Those things she saw for me."
And my Teacher seemed quite satisfied,
She grinned a grin that opened wide,
And beamed just like a skittle pin,
About this tale I'd knew I'd never ever
Ever tell again.
Copyright © 2001 Richard D. Remler
"Life is uncharted territory. It reveals its
story one moment at a time."
-Leo F. Buscaglia