I am the Judge, the flower of the law,
Bolstered in, privileged, all men’s awe;
When I am pleased to display my wit
The court is a-cackle with joy of it;
When my liver is slightly out of order
Woe to who crosses me—barrister, warder!
How do I rule the obsequious gang?
The secret is simple—I always hang!
One plant in my legal garden grows:
The mandrake’s shriek is the solace I chose;
And I water my treasure whenever I can
With the blood that drips from a gibbeted man.
Justice? Fiddlesticks! Mercy? Fudge!
I am the Judge!
I am the Judge. I like to dine
Before I charge: then, flushed with wine,
I bully the jury into submission
And rise to the height of judicial ambition.
O how I thrill deliciously
At the wretch in his anguish under me!
I gather my brows in a terrible frown,
The slow beads drop from his forehead down;
I lower my voice, and my eyes I roll:
“The Lord have mercy upon your soul!”
He lifts his hands; but—“Sheriff!” I shout,
And his knees give way as they drag him out.
Into eternity he shall trudge.
I am the Judge!
I am the Judge. A Judge should be
A pattern of humble piety.
A week well spent brings Sabbath content:
To church my steps are piously bent.
When the holy man reads the holy book
I grieve for the god, by gods forsook,
So clumsily crucified: pity rises
He was not a remanet to My assizes!
But when at the door they stand aside
To watch me pass, how I swell with pride
To hear them say, “That’s Him all right!
He hanged another one yesterday night!
The jury cried mercy, he wouldn’t budge,
He is the Judge!”
I am the Judge. When at Michael’s trump
The dead from their mouldering sepulchres jump,
And the Great Judge sits on his jewelled throne
To give each man the crop he has sown,
Up I’ll come with my little lot
Taut in the loop of a hangman’s knot!
I will bring them trooping, trooping in
With my quaint black halter-mark under each chin:
“Sweet Lord! the fruit of my gallows tree;
The images I have made of Thee!”…
Lo, he doffs his robes and his golden crown;
He kneels at my feet in obeisance down—
“Make me your servant, usher, drudge:
You are the Judge!”
I shall be Judge. And O, ’t will be merry
With Space one vast gaol cemetery!
For I’ll choke the choir at their morning hymn
And I’ll stifle the star-eyed seraphim:
I will hang the gods, I will hang the devils,
I’ll throttle the imps in the midst of their revels;
And when remains of all Creation,
But one alive from strangulation,
To my own soul’s throat a garrote I’ll fit
With a long drop into the bottomless Pit:
I’ll leap from the dais exultingly,
And while I smother in agony
Of the whole hushed Universe I will swear
I am the Executioner.

Working in an office with a lot of girls mainly
Suddenly it was that time of year again... Christmas
And the Office party it was looming
As I went toward the pub where we were having our gathering I was feeling nicely laid back and relaxed
Primarily because I'd just been to another pub beforehand and had a few quick scoops/ drinks
Now I was bolstered, all pumped up, I was like a Boxer ready to step into the Ring.

Our pub it was festooned with decorations, lovely colours and glittery things
They were hanging out of the ceiling and stuck on every wall
Above our table a big jovial Santa Claus
Looked down, beaming at us all
As I sat down one of the girls asked rather suspiciously "Where were you?"
Holding up my alibi, a little shopping bag with some items in it
I told her, lying beautifully of course,  that I had to go down the shop to get some things.
As I sat there I noticed the atmosphere was a bit subdued, people weren't talking much
I said to myself, this... this won't do
So I took it on myself to take the lead, I'd be the one to spread some Christmas cheer
So suddenly I blurted out "Wh..Wh..What does Santa say... after drinking a bottle of *** ?
"I don't know" they all said, "what does he say".
I paused a moment for dramatic effect...then I hit them with the punchline...he says "Yo ** **!"
They all looked at me blankly
You don't get it, Yo ** ** and a bottle of *** is the famous pirate song from Treasure Island
Santa's catchphrase is **!**!**!
He drinks the *** and suddenly it's Yo! **!**! (Jeez I thought, I got to explain my own jokes)
Still there not impressed, one shakes her head, another raises her eyes to the heavens, another comments "A silly joke"
But really I don't care, I say to them
I suppose you don't want to hear my Snowman joke then
"O Go on", they say, "get it over with"
It's a bit risque I warned them
What do you call a Snowman... standing outside the window of a Brothel ?
"A hot Frosty", someone said
No! ... The Abominable Snowman.

I say to myself, well at least I tried, I made an effort
I done my bit, now I can sit here quietly for the rest of the evening
Some of the girls have now started to talk amongst themselves
One girl sitting right next to me who I hadn't spoken to in awhile
She suddenly inquires after my wellbeing, she asks"How are you?"
I tell her O! You know me, I'm just... just hanging on in there, yea! just hanging on to the Ledge of Life by my fingertips trying not to look down at all the crocodiles circling below
"Things aren't that bad, are they?" she says a little concerned
I smile and say Well I might be exaggerating there... a little bit
She smiles and offers "You're a real Drama Queen".

Suddenly one of the girls announces that she's done an evening course during the Autumn, she's done Bellydancing of all things
I thought we'll have to get her to give us a demonstration later on (but not before dinner LoL)
This girl then starts asking everyone did they do any courses and what their hobbies were
Finally she comes to me and I say Well I've been making some music on this little keyboard I have, yea! I've been playing...I've been playing around with my *****
(this gets some laughs)
I go on, Actually I've been writing a song
"Writing a Song!" says one of the girls really impressed, "we know you write stories, now you're writing songs, my! you are talented.  What's it about, your song ?"
I tell her it's about a girlfriend whose... well she's a bit of a Goldigger,
Then I smile, I have a great title for it, I call it (I pause for a moment then I say proudly), I call it...Octopus of Love.
"Octopus of Love!!" says one of them dismissively, "what kind of name is that for a song.  There should be a Society for Prevention of Cruelty to songs"
I ignore her and then suddenly launch into a verse of the song

     She said she was a dove
     But she's my Octopus of Love
     A hundred hands in search of one thing
          only
     Yea! My wallet, my Pride and glory.

     When she whispers in my ear
     Her fingertips they tiptoe across my rear
           and into my back pocket  
      O! She's my Octopus of Love
      She"s not at all what I dreamed of.

     When I hold her in my arms
     She sets off all my alarms
     She tells these great big whopping lies
     Man! She's got a finger in all my pies.

    She said she loves me dearly
    Visiting the most expensive shops
    Buying the most expensive gear
    I say, could you not make it more cheaply instead,

  O! She's got me in her grasp
   Her tentacles they hold me fast
   Then she asks what's all the fuss
   And she's so innocent looking
   Man! She's a lovely Octopus.

"I wouldn't be giving up the day job just yet" says one of the girls,
"That's funny" says another
Then someone ups and says "Tell us another one of your little stories",
"A good one, this time!" adds another
"Yea! A good one! We need a good laugh" says another,
I feel a bit slighted by this for some reason, the way they say it, their attitude
It's like their making light of my Art, my labours, my great works
Like their just bits of fluff for their titillation
So suddenly my mood it darkens and my voice it takes on this ominous ring and then I say a little threateningly
"So you want to hear a good one, do you!"
With this I smile and then say menacingly"I'll give you a good one"
Then I look at them slowly one by one
And it's almost like I've gone into this trance state, switched into ghostly mode
A distant remote look comes into my eyes
It's like I'm looking through them into the far distance somewhere...  
And then suddenly I intone real solemn like and with great gravitas
"The Great American Novel!"

"What's that?", asks one of the girls
Now most of the girls are married Moms with kids
They wouldn't have gone to college, they would have gone straight into work after school
So they probably wouldn't have known about English literature and  the Classics and all that high brow kind of stuff
Their only exposure to literature would probably be the so called Chicklit books down their local supermarket,
So I say to them 'You never heard of the Great American Novel'
"No!" says one of the girls, "what is it?"
Well, I start to explain, it's like the Holy Grail for all writers, novel writers anyway
How can I explain...how can I put it... The Great American Novel...
It's like this amazing fantastic legendary mythical beast of such great beauty and magnificence
That roams free and unfettered on the literary plains of a writer's imagination,
Many an author on his death bed admits, "I seen it once, I had it in my sights...had it in my grasp but I let it get away". They then turn their heads away and cry bitter tears of regret...
Or...or it's like... it's like this Great Mountain
that's no one's ever been able to climb
It stands there defiantly, supreme in its isolation, it's peak glistening in the sunlight or shimmering in the moonlight
Unreachable, unattainable... unconquerable
(I'm really on a roll now, I'm waxing lyrical and there's no stopping me)
The Great American Novel...it's like... y'know it's like that old fairytale, what was it called
Was it Snow White. No! Snow White had the dwarves in it
What was the other one?
One of the girls whose always been a bit negative, she suddenly says rather unhelpfully
"It wasn't Pinocchio was it?"
Of course I get her reference, when Pinocchio would tell tall tales his nose would grow longer
Then I point to her and say rather surprisingly "That's it!! Sleeping Beauty!" Remember Sleeping Beauty
The King and Queen have a beautiful baby daughter
At the christening all the good fairies come and bestow Blessings on the child
She'll be the most beautiful
She'll be warm and kind and generous
She'll have a lovely heart
She'll be so wise and so artistic...
Then suddenly who should arrive but the Wicked Fairy
She wasn't even invited to the ceremony and she's really angry
She storms into the Palace right up to the child
Then she says "When this Beauty, this Child grows up she will have an accident"
It's like The Great American Novel is the Beauty, the Child
And it's like she's saying "This Beauty no one shall have, no one shall ever write The Great American Novel"
And of course, when the child grows up she's so wonderful and so amazing
But then she has this accident and falls into this strange deep deep sleep
And everyone in the castle too, they also fall asleep,
And suddenly this big thicket of dense thorns springs up around the castle so no one can enter it
Many a brave young man having heard of the Great Beauty behind the Wall of Thorns
They valiantly try to get to her but are invariably driven back by the thorns
Alas! They fail and gradually the story of the Great Beauty passes into legend.....
That is till one day, a Knight appears, a Knight so noble and pure of heart
The moment the blade of his sword touches the Wall of Thorns
A path opens up right through the thorns leading to the castle
He finds everybody there fast asleep
He climbs the Tower and finds in her chamber this incredible Beauty sleeping
He is so taken with her that he must kiss her on her lips
In that moment her eyes they open and she smiles a radiant smile. And the whole world awakens again, comes alive.

I look around at all the girls, their all a bit spellbound by my story (at least I like to think)
I go on 'It's like I was walking in my mind one evening, seeking some inspiration
And then I just turn a corner and there he is, in all his glorious splendour
Remember your Greek myths, the fabulous white winged horse... Pegasus... this beautiful mythical beast
Just there drinking at a pool right in front of me,
So quietly I sneak up on him and then suddenly I jump up onto his back
He rears up and then spreads his mighty wings
And starts to rise way above the earth
My eyes they are suddenly opened, and I see what I had not seen before....
I look at the girls but then just as before, a strange dark look comes over my face and I say
" I'm really afraid but I think, I think I've done it
I think I've nailed it
Yea! ... I think I've written The Great American Novel.

I go on 'Yknow  whenever a new book comes out the Critics, they all wonder
Will this be the One, will this at last be The Great American Novel
Of course, their always disappointed, the candidates they all fall short
It was a good try but...but not quite
A valiant effort, maybe next time
In the Critics Room one of them will be given my book to read
Slowly as he reads, his eyes will grow wider
And his jaw will start to drop in awe
When he finishes he'll sit there in his chair stunned, almost like he's been shellshocked
Then he'll rise unsteadily  with his finger pointing at the book
He'll be stuttering and stammering
"What's wrong!", people will inquire of him
He'll look at them in a mad crazy way
"My eyes... my eyes they've seen it" he'll say
"Seen what?" they'll ask
"It...it... it's The Great American Novel.
They'll all stand up and gather around the Book
Suddenly someone will grab a pair of binoculars and look up at The Great, the Holy Mountain
And there on the top, on the summit
There'll be a lone figure standing with his little Irish flag
"Truly he is the One", they'll say, "and a feckin' Irishman, wouldn't you know".

"So what's it about then", asks one of the girls interrupting my flow
What!', I say
"The Novel! What's it about"
I look at her and then I smile and say rather mysteriously 'Well, that's another story isn't it'.
"Wait a minute", says the girl whose usually very negative, "so the valiant Knight with the noble heart, that's supposed to be you is it ?
I raise my hands innocently as if to say what can I do
"O! I think I'm going to be sick", she says. Then she continues "Where did you get the time to write a Novel anyway. All the time we thought you were working you were probably just there daydreaming over in the corner".
"It's not very long", I say to her "my story".
"How long is it ?", she asks curiously
"Actually it's only about ten or eleven pages".
"What! Ten or eleven pages!!!", she says jumping on this with exaggerated disgust, "that's not a Novel, it might be a short story but it's certainly not a Novel. For it to be a Novel it has to be several hundred pages long ".
I tell her But 'I didn't need a few hundred pages just ten or eleven was enough, it's all there, the whole thing'.
"But it's not a Novel", she maintains
I answer, it's the spirit of the thing that matters, the Spirit!
She then gathers herself and I can feel an offensive coming
"I don't want to rain on your Parade", she begins, "but One you're not American, Two it's not even a Novel, and Third if it's anything like your song I for one won't be holding my breath".
I look at her a bit crestfallen and then I say
"You really like to burst my balloon don't you" , then I say, "I'm reminded of the classic lines of W.B.Yeats the great Irish poet
And then I declaim theatrically
"And Great Art... beaten down".

Anyway now the spotlight moves away from me, the girls start talking among themselves
"Let's leave him to his delusions", one says and now our meals are starting to arrive, I'm forgotten about for awhile.
For some reason the word "Parade' has stuck in my mind
And the pub has suddenly grown more boisterous, some people are singing and blowing whistles (those paper things that roll out and then roll back in again) their throwing streamers and confetti about
Suddenly I'm reminded of those old ticker tape parades they used to have over in New York when they'd be celebrating something or someone
All the faces looking out the windows of the skyscrapers and all the streamers cascading down, and the cheering crowds
And up on a big Podium there standing, the President himself.
I look up at the wall at Santa Claus smiling back at me
And I say to myself "Hello Mister President"
I can see him welcoming me up onto the podium, then with his hands he quietens the  crowds... and then...then he speaks
"Fellow Americans, we've waited a long time for this day
Many thought I'm sure that it would never come but some...some still dared to believe Yea! That one day a man would appear and that a Book would be born"
(holding up the Book) I give you the Book
It may be a slim volume
But don't let that fool you
Sometimes good things come in small packages...
Yes! I give you the Book,
The Great American Novel!!!
And I give you... the Man (motioning to me)
"He told it like no one else could, he said it like no one else could say it
Let the bells ring out across the land, in every city and town...in celebration"
So sitting there I raised my glass to Santa Claus smiling on the wall
And said quietly and secretly to myself
"Here's to you Mr. President, Merry Christmas!

"Strength in numbers" as the American says
The Great Unity (dàtóng) the Chinese prevails
"I am because we are" the Ubuntu in Africa
We, the Filipinos, we have "Pagkakaisa"

Houses lifted and moved through "bayanihan"
As solidarity bolstered during typhoon Haiyan
By peaceful revolutions, ousted miscreants
For we are but red ants and we bite as one

Rain falls on the windscreen
in shades of grey brown and fogged-up blue,
car become boat in the rain-clogged road
floating away like in a Monet,
into the evening mess.

Frayed nerves, rules break, as dangers lurk.
The wiper slow tells its tale own.
Irrelevant discourse, irreverent songs,
the FM trend for DJ fame.

And we have two 'rivers' in our city,
swelling in refuse, bolstered by the rain;
And we have two beaches in our city,
soak in the surf, if you can ignore the rubble;
And we have many parks in our city
where litter garlands our heroes daily;

The last patch of green, cramped between
rising heights all around, accursed of
dump and construction junk,
steals a dying look at the moon late.

A walk in the woods, by the mist, by late evening.
A stroll, warm, through a field covered in snow.
Nice paintings on my concrete wall.

I'm told, the money plant is good for one's health.
Trees, a luxury for our wealth.

These are all good developments.
Hyper malls round the corner.
Home prices, soaring to Kepler.

Please pour in more investment into my country.
Guaranteed, riches grow in multiplication.
The markets are all about manipulation.

i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field

wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando

she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -

her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s

- lordy, lordy -

she said they bolstered her
fire power


we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.

12/5/14  
:)

the church bells peeled a rhythmic ringing
tinnitus
sending us listeners racing back
into a guilty crime like daze.
the mass begins in twenty painful moments

better rush in the rustle of sunday wear
bible bolstered underarm
front pew glances at the priest
who had a back view glare at late comers.

Mama said the sins of your fathers
will visit if you
miss a mass
canned hellfire will get you
and st peter will tick mark your presence
after communion.

I listened

when I stopped
God became god
and the church bells peeled
the same way

only the new pizzas came
with canned chilli peppers!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
furniture warms.
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night

the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...

would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger

running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.

but quietly  i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those  kisses,  frozen  birds  of  static  bliss  become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...

i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things

DISCLAIMER: READ THE WHOLE THING IT IS MUCH MORE GENIUS TOWARDS THE END



Bypass the circumlocutions of elementary rhetoric and the obvious bulges into the ethereal realm of supersolid supercalendar emigrations of the wednongues of vogue emigrating into a new frontier of boundless awakening that blisters the sore solid metaphors of a crumbled bricolage of articulate history becoming a reiterative gabble of entropy that curdles the blood-boiling hatred of those envious of those that capitalize on the true girth rather than the flaccid otiose etymology of differential physics becoming a denatured figment of prideful imagination on a frolic with desuetude in the normalization of the wernaggles of ewnastique that defile the ridicule of even the most astute aspirations of those that despise history rather than reveling in its subtle ironies that swelter in connotation rather than suborn the cadged bridewells of those that are estranged by the Dousk Remix rather than the Voulez-Vouz Danser populism of true urbacity expanded upon a national stage as an anthem not for profligate saturnalia but rather an ode to the odium of the reckless titanism of titanic intellects clashing with the dudgeons of intermittent eye-rolling irreverence double-dealing a stacked deck of pleckigger on an intellectual stagecraft for bandwagon apostasy that leads to solidarity among tentative allegiance. We barnstorm for a grift in the grimace of an alpenglow winter to lead to the salvation of all people united under the banner of neat nexility rather than long-winded elocution reserved only for notched caliber against the nativist diatribe that serves the subservience of the engineer of the white chattel indoctrinated into turnstiles of professed irreverence for demarches of solidarity that is gainsay for gain rather than pittances for pitfall. Rhetoric should be duly curtailed against the overcomplication of hypertrophy and trimmed into the sweet success not of saccharine fads of foofaraw but engineered resistance that galvanizes albatross intellectualism into a revved engine without purpose that mobilizes because of estranged impotence in the revelry of the subtle rather than the cordial tethers of emergent entelechy of the esemplastic orthobiosis that we should all strive for not just as pioneers of the socially engineered harbingers of a remedial society but also for the trendsetters that communicate with the canvass and the celluloid rather than spelunking dormitage of drifted anomaly perceptible to everyone but heralded as prominent by the rigged ambeer of a toxicity of a plumage of city over state and country over planet. We need to provide the verdure of the verdant forest that survives the conflagrations of rage indoctrinated by systematic attempts at stilted ignorance that is engendered more by Leftism than Right-Wing thinkers because in general when observed in organic settings we notice that the Right-Wing escapes the sloganeered jaundice of limited bounds for otherwise boundless thought and provides more seminal pathways that reconcile normative virtues with entrenched inveterate harbingers of economic success. The faulty deadstocks that propel the retinoise of the anomaly among Leftism to disregard the girouettism of a world that is so piebald with dishonesty that it elects a patronage that seethes with passion but aimless in its curiosity for deeper embedded candor because the popular might count themselves among the aristocratic Left but the truly Promethean belong to a centrist tribe that borrows the ingenuity of spurned but never spurious interpretations of a sputtered history that remarks with revelry  rather than disdains with #CancelCulture irreverence that seeks to deracinate all context for insipid utopianism that is a shared prerogative of the delusional Left against their complaints of Sebastomania among right-wing zealots that are equally invalidated by the frogmarch of a dilettante history curbed in storms of a pure tempest rather than a banal reiteration of novelty phrased with participant intonation rather than blathers of whispered arbitrage ennobled by hypocrisy immune to criticism among those that crusade for economic justice without understanding formal flombricks of the true gnomic riddles of alchemy fundamental to global panoramic pleonasms becoming the aleatory vagary of admonished warning that spars against spartanism. Instead of pilfering from the exorbitant defalcation of immunized partisan bromides against the ratcheted warranty upon defective obsolescence we must coalesce around the imperious ****** of divinity bequeathing the living water of a fully-lived life that qualifies its felicity not by junctures but by an overall harmony that conforms to the finicky demands of an overly polarized complexion of dimpled conformity founded on girouettism that earns more traction than the deasil sundial emergence of brimstone rejection for alabaster limelight we must urge others to ditch the conformist utilitarian usucaption of the usufruct of manipulative sports for domineering talents suborned into inclement straits because of unwitting albatross that replicates into a fission of uniformity encapsulated in the half-assed witticisms of attempted belletrist succeeding only in alienating the noxious fumes of alveolate diminutive reduction rather than expansive detritus that scrapes the wreckage of a turmoil to build masterworks out of broken sculptures themselves indemnified from a categorical judgment by the panoramic oversight of proctored civilized ambition. We need to exhort self-education that hinges upon not a listless acquiescence to a second-exit impulsive barnacle to the urchins of brimstone because of an insipid blather of flapdoons of brittle banality because the hackencrude is an outmoded entity to the vast resources of the sizable capital of the growing power of the intelligentsia over the weakened grasp and wrangle of terminus meeting consuetude weakly enough with pleasantry to appease but ultimately a complete witwanton persiflage of sizzled destruction rather than the savory contemplation of the cotqueans of majesty derided but never derailed by terminal revivals because the generativity of the titanic original might not be a popular indoctrination but the liberated thought of the untethered is ultimately more decisive in world affairs than the synergistic hive of bees building an imperious defense against dynasty built only upon provincial hatred of hidebound illiteracy combustible into the brazen bravado of a reckless intrepid effrontery against civilized chains into the ******* of complicit interconnection rather than dissolved dissolutions that solve global problems more fundamentally rather than driving through avenues of wide pressures gilded with expansive growth but ultimately bereaved by the ultimate succor of the youthful exuberance of captive audiences rather than the wily connivance of genius unbounded. God is obviously a benevolent provider of all bounties and despite the conspiracies that predicate heterodoxy the uniform mannequin of a mascot Democracy ultimately becomes a fickle bandwagon allegiance to relationship rather than a true witness to authentic ******* to a subservient relationship to a creative God synergized with energies that should exceed all galloped windlass into demarche and expose rather than rundles of ridicule interminable because of the permanence of kitsch memorial rather than living sculpture that breathes a swiveled light that beckons preened self-accountable responsibility to a dutiful matriotic duty of optimism rather than a contrarian futility of those that despise the unequal suave crackjaw dementia of the temulentia of derangement among crowds that provide fewer bounties and more deprivations calculated to indenture need rather than motivate want. We must motivate want by fueling ambition rather than quelling dissent in defensive posture because that strategy of antinomian discord is a dead-end street against an inveterate enmity that can never be fully deposed but only opposed with nominal futility raging with violence rather than seething with the motivation to reform because reform is an efficacy mobilized. Novelty of wednongue propriety grown through the heirs of drastic impertinence gilded from the siphon of lavadero hypogeiody blasphemous in bletonism that guards a piebald scrivelo because the sought dementia of an overwrought alacrity is a purpose without a terminus but an ambition soaring through scraped ice cream stratosphere that marvels at the minutiae of the civilized anthill that becomes a beehive of industry when the rationale of moral reform becomes insuperable rather than suborned into effete recursive cycles of pittances of pitfalls obsessively pondered but never solved because the fustilugianation of a forever tampered travesty is the esemplastic rejection of a categorical aim that leans of windlasses of elegance that surpass the levy of hatred and achieve sizable filagersion to squirm above the squawk upon populace rather than the consternation of an urbane but cloistered metropolitan arrogance contravened by the historical emergence of happenstance locales fostering the most well-guarded treasures of bohemian pedigree rather than dimpled resolve faffling on ergasia in bromidrosis rather than cavorting with a skeptical indoctrination by default evaded by those that equate an improbable scenario with a definitive solution to acatalepsy quandary because by reckoning with indeterminacy we grow in historical lineaments and solve global detritus by recycling the rattled brevity of promontory preens of plumage into a recursive ostentation defalcating heavily from sturdy macroeconomic proofs of the trendsetter rather than the trend and therefore grapple with profound personalized disdain rather than cordial harmony. Essentially by the logical positivism of proof we remind ourselves that obviously a chattering blather swims in tentative irony as long as it is a penultimate relativity because the lack of capstone ensures that the relevant treads beneath the mountain of rapprochement in benign endeavors to survive and thrive in definitive conclusion rather than intermediary conclusions of amnesia in jaundice. By the gnomic apothegms that guard the fortress of the demassified we have quantulated that the preposition of continuance is in fact a guarantee of the fickle supremacy of the recent and even more preponderantly the supremacy of expectancy of latent junctures that never manifest becoming a dictatorial rule of driven alacrity of wastrels that should fast from conclusive opinion and rather favor the primordial fabric of the inveterate truths rounded by the conversion of alchemy solidified by calculated canon converging with esoteric apartheid against the simultagnosia of the simpleton drivel of primordial myths bowdlerized from history neither lewd nor depraved but moribund because of the conclusive ****** of a peremptory intermediary certainty predicating a more precise foresight. The lackluster luster of numinous foghorn subliminal graft is a nativist confusion of legionnaire mettle swaddled by the cosseted grasp of interminable boundaries that demarcate linear time even when supersolid filigrees of elemental confusion erratically swerve into oblivion that becomes a forestalled happenstance so hapless that the connivance of alveolate synergies necessarily precludes event from becoming indelible because the tentative judgment wallops the tributary incontinence of the warble of axiolative jaundice materialized by crystalline fabrication neutered by soundbyte sclerotic calculus inveterate in summations of conclusion only because of peremptory weights upon geometric certainties rather than logarithmic dampers of attenuation that spar against spartan priggish epithets upon the flamboyant grit of grisly specter of speculative sepulchral venal vanity. The timberlask cineaste irony of the partisan usucaption of sapwood is a pirated timber of startled alarm becoming a useful or useless cacophony of barnstorm for the deadstock of past cadasters of rigmarole in the docimasy of pretense in impartial circumstance in specialized oratory bounded by a hemmed bailiwick of verdure denatured by the flombricks of subtle persuasion that ignores minority fringes of opinion that occupy that majority that cowcatchers brush aside rather with cruel contemptuous unkempt slippery agenda for drivel that spawns ingeminated redoubled explosions in participle bias rather than conglomerate arraignment of arrayed brooked swamps turgid not with the pettier travesty but the charade of a brokered ceremonial calculation against the wrikpond spurious by degeneration into corruptible complicity that thrives in obscurantism but never obscurity when the omnified owns a capitalized swiftboat of never a temulentia but always an optimism in the curvature of lineaments into the self-educated shepherd of the ultimate autarky rather than insubordination in the scrappy schlep of demographic ripples of swift enrichment at great personal flops in the floppy disk of a Democratic enrichment rather than a parched rectiserial hidebound tome. A quirky time stanched by tomes of patricide against family ingratiated by parrots to anthem but lacking the lettered verve of ignoble but parsed parsecs of finite light captivated into prismatic conscience we launch the demerited ploys of foible into the heralded controversy rather than the unheralded mercenary hands behind dogmatic ripostes livid because of the suave prestidigitation of the sublime mastery of the syncopated irony of mismatch attuned to radical rhythm we become bloated slaves to a rich lineage decried widely in attempts of covert coup raxes of a largesse of continual primipara perversions of courted cotqueans of uxorious justice that by defalcating from tributary orthobiosis in specious conjecture esteemed by rattled martexts aspiring for fraternal solidarity with the ****** esteem masquerading as the auctioned flivver that the merchandise of fluminous optimism cannot be an effusive blanch of blarney bolstered by bumptious bromides of brunt blackmail but rather the artform of subterfuge needs the insidious and invidious traction of creepy Thriller subtlety to garner the vapid traction of immobilized discontent foster to malcontent rarely abridged by even the most polite courtesy of diplomacy because of inherently insatiable demand that it skulks in undetected quarters flexing in the shadowy penumbra of transparent crackjaw enigma becoming an obvious blister or a gabble of raw jaundice sweltering into thermolysis by the eventual convergence rather than the improbable divergence of fissile time beckoning its own flashy revolution while denaturing the very presence of delusion as a herald more of the authenticity of animadversion rather than the sclerotic carapace of ragged asphyxiation in the aplomb whisper entombed forever by milquetoast inefficacy in hypersensitivity rather than a flourished malfeasance of a predatory grip upon seizure among catatonic graves of incontinence braving tribulation for crucibles of the most prosodemic surgeries of the furtive froward recalcitrance of deliberation in ignominy that enables that transmogrified skyscraper of Titanic lies to become a sunken vessel of harbored prestige lost on penultimate dice rather than winning pokerish villiany. Essentially the jeer of Morel Under a Disco is a winning brandished authority to chug the capers of inscrutable difference in blandishment imposture to cavort with an elegant plot twist that enthralls abiding decay to revert into a primordial confidence of livelihood to deter the frogmarch of time into the despairing quagmires of a livid balkanization of a simultagnosia of ageotropic monoideism fomented on fervor that leads to the paralysis of privacy and the expedited furor of moribund depraved proclivity so that the offset of morale and rationale can outfit civilization to brave the tempests of cordial divisions cemented by courtesy in order to safeguard against the yeggs of paranoia seeking ultimately the craven caper of disillusioned subconsciously felt retraction of indelible deeds into evaporated constructs that vanish too quickly to spawn the vigor of a cadged and utilitarian expanse of reiterative generativity that sustains the spanned sapience of primordial alacrity to ensure that brevity in outlook becomes longevity in subsistence because without a logical positivism grounded in unshakable tenets of God the demoralization of the vast majority is ensured and entombed in aimless squalor that leads to sheepish temerity compounded by wistful latency in regretful regression rather than a spandex bluster of a bravado of obesity to weather the persnickety wednongues of perdurable badges of instinctual shame slandered into prima facie denatured transmogrified cultures seeking cosmogony out of ordinary bricolage because the eventful triage of the nimble eludes parochial sight while the vastly capable outfox and outpace with such frenetic verve that they fasten against accident and transcend against heterochrony in ridicule that the unseasonable but seminal sauce flavors better the partially indentured optimism of a curated matriotism better than it serves the obviously interminable cycle of listless demiurges of malcontent that fuel conflagration rather than reformation to their own remorseful peril. Thereby, it is obviously concluded that to micromanage a society you must exert the capacity of a selective magnetism obviously predicated on demassified capacities for oaths of gratitude to endear and endure in the humane heart for the majority that sway few but encounter many that they find proper scruple grounded on axiomatic God to sustain not a lifeless priggish inclination but a bounded felicity that is not a carapace of an indigenous and insidious decadence to the extent pursuits of happiness swelter among the marginalized majority bereaved in powerless squalor slave to temptation not to derelict fascination but to provide aim to aimlessness and predicate their worldviews not on Racial Identity Theory which postulates too many counterintuitive pessimisms that are essentially neutered fustilug predicates of a world that requires such drastic seismic reforms in societal dynamics that the earthquake capable of such a realignment would exceed a 10.5 on the Richter scale which is 32x more powerful than the biggest earthquake in recorded history that would be so catastrophic in its implicit implication of the pretense that the consummation of the theory achieves the traction necessary to jostle every crowd into alignment that the collateral damage would endanger the very integrity and vitality of the Republic itself while exerting a tremendous existential dread of radical permutation that enables many travesties that abnegate the prerogatives of a privileged society in search of a facetiously engineered impossible utopia that could only be achieved by a dictatorial authoritarianism working in concert with benumbed sloganeering to engineer pessimism and malcontent rather than nurture the fair-natured optimism of a society that flourishes because it assumes naturally that the universe conspires in the favor of prosperity. If any hint of casuistry is evident in these postulates I wouldn’t be surprised but for rhetorical sanctity it is necessary for a nation bereaved of national icons not to despise the captive imagination of tyrannical transparency but grow from the liberating and partially liberal parable of a life maximized in limber for romantic enthralled growth that heralds with due consideration the paragons of time with reverence rather than soundbyte enslavement of parochial interminable twinges of a newborn and widely shared collective guilt of a decisively antinomian and pessimistic view on the evolution of human societies beyond catchy kitsch verve nexilities of bravado mutilating thirsts for inclusive mandates that are Boa Constrictors prowling with serpentine vitriol to vastly over-represent extreme fringes to dissuade nuclear families in an overt ploy of depopulation because the truer pathway to liberation is one that feeds the hot hand in the casino and bets that the winners will always win by deregulating their ability to bet large sums because of a transcendent supersolid mastery of time that the march and demarche of a boundless prosperity gouged by the fair demands of egalitarianism enables the card counter to achieve such a decisive advantage that his indentured socially coerced eleemosynary inclination to feed the flock endures throughout all epochs because of the necessary and incumbent scruples of God-fearing men to distribute their winnings won by cheating time to conquer time itself.

Sandy Hook sickness perpetrated the most atrocious act against the innocent an individual forged in the
Darkest tangle finally leads to darkness a soulless depravity that strikes at the source that gave him birth
And then at the childhood that he grew to abhor every household in America experienced burning tears
And anguish loss compounded by knowledge of such brutality against the most tender among us no
Other act has created such sacred honor with such scope and magnitude many are the numbers and
Symbols that are a part of our history 911 seal team six but none carries such violation and redemption
As 26 more pure essential element never can be quarried the figures so absolute they are the resolute
Fixed immortal vision that stands beyond the disbelief that rocked us as a people we are possessed and
Changed by their faces we crossed speechless ground were bound and weighted with the heaviest
Burden until we encountered the bands of angels that surrounded them with our mortal eyes we beheld
Their entrance into glory darkness was refuted and light was all and all love conquered hate and malice
And the storm wrought the intangible indestructible peace that was shed abroad in our hearts as
Atonement and an anthem as no other our innocence knows victory and nothing can long subdue it evil
Is changed from its blackest intentions to loves whitest holding with words and touch a knelling savior
With hugs and hands he wiped away fears and tears he smoothed their hair with such tenderness it was
As if it was our collected hands as a people the emotional swell was a mighty breaking that
Surged and raced may this be our comfort of life that found its true footing in life that would
Never end let this be a comfort to us we were beaten and on the ropes but now we are blessed sacred
Power of 26 holds with stunning immovable grace we are invested and blessed with a new unity as a
People we were led down a path of unmentionable horror and sorrow along the way strains of glory
Began a marvelous refrain we were changed from powerless to a metal of uncommon strength for the
Days ahead will be filled with peril and uncertainty but through the best being brought to a shinning
Drawn from the worst circumstance we see and know with new eyes that were before the regular eyes
That only knew failure now we by the testing of fire are truly come out purified and have tasted and
Now there is a new found glint in our eyes evil has unveiled itself but our lives are telling a new
Existence has Happened and we are profoundly changed and are made ready we march with head held
High bolstered and emblazoned my their memory

Left the stage.
Exited stage left.
Her swan song lifted spirits.
Perfect performance.
Drama filled.
Last breath then she was gone.

Her bolstered tutu puffed up proudly.
Released her wings.
Trumpeters played, then she was gone.
One last gasp, she was done.
To her audience a revelation.
The flowers they threw fell in stems.
Time and time again.
An apparition that still remains.
Daily the stems of falling flowers lay.
When bought forth the janitor comes to clean.
The flowers have gone if you know what I mean.
Another supernatural scene.

Her name headlined all the papers.
Was front page news.
Now just the ballerina who passed on the stage.
Not even a paragraph given.
The headlines for the tabloid's now, are only for the living.
(c) Livvi

I sit alone in this park that I’ve known for so long, and listen to bird’s songs, in the hopes my mind will grow tranquil and clam.
I await words to write, to relieve some strife, seeking merely a sliver of a slice of peace of mind. But time comes to a halt, as ghosts with a waltz, dance through my head causing dread, harboring memories from when I was young.
Still naïve and oblivious of the strenuous afflictions to come.
With thoughts collected, I reminisce these recollections, of when the world was filled with bliss, and wish that life was still like this.
When every day is an adventure to be treasured and joy is never severed, I’m care free because responsibility does not exist, within, my limited vocabulary yet.
Each day is met with set structures from a structured home, where mom and dad, still pretend they’re glad, which means I have no reason to be sad. And so, I still don’t know, what it’s like to feel alone, in a broken failing home.
Normalcy becomes conformity, complacently but blatantly forming a shell of apathy.
Because now dad yells,  and the children’s eyes swell, with tears of fear, my mom’s with sheer, determination to captain this ship, stubbornly sit, amidst, these waves of irritation mixed with infidelity.
I found myself stuck in a storm, totally torn, as my joy is worn consistently down. I clown around to be sound, but a permanent frown, is brazenly embroidered into my broodingly breaking soul.
Time flew by ignored my cries to slow, and so my consciousness consented its blissfulness to turn to bitterness, my brokenness was all that I knew, and soon, it was all I could show.
Although now I’m older, still too often I smolder with rage, and both shoulders have boulders, for chips but I’ll fight fate, abate my hate, to keep my future family safe.
Safe from the games my parents played to hide their shame, of a marriage disparaged by barriers, bolstered with a selfish taint. I will sufficiently and selflessly safeguard my wife from treachery. To not neglectfully or carelessly, lead her into insanity. For bride and seed, I will succeed, to do everything my parents failed to do for me.

Grandparent’s parents friend’s wise neighbors our generation right now and individuals as well are
Seeing and feeling an assault our world war is in domestic and business on a global scale we have such
Help and blessing in those lives and voices many social elements such as front porches are gone
Replaced by rear patois it says private more than it says welcome we can revisit those times and places
Just recall those precious faces right there you have created a calm place the most needed reality of our
Times those powerful forces can walk out and meet the storm yes it will blow threaten and frighten but
Stand or set mull or muse but by all means deeply entertain their collective memory they spoke words
That reached forward to our time they did what you’re doing now they restored brokenness from
Broken People who called to their past and found normal everyday people that cast giant shadows of
Thought Experience and victories that were won in indescribable places of hardship they passed a place
And started to weep deep wounds were exposed and it caused you to look at them with curiosity and as
You did you see the lives and their successes you were bolstered and became proud you need to
Channel that into your life those sweet memories are building materials of love and care they were and
Are guardians with keys and weapons many a hill and upset they faced it is and was their greatest
Concern that they instilled these truths in your life you have to remember the continued stare they gave
You they were trying to see if you were getting it you will serve yourself well to remember those
Priceless times it came in all climes gray days’ sunshine or rain I think the rainy days were best I want to
insert this piece it will help
Secrets Revealed by the Rain
The girl of special quality and beauty set looking out through her rain stained window he was passing by
So he snapped her picture it created a moist foggy connection to the world that is seldom seen
Aloneness reached through the glass a tinged soft sorrow ran greater than the edge of the picture eyes
Were fixed with longing but what only the soul could address that question maybe in miles or in days
That ran back to lost love or maybe it was searching through hope to find a bright future where the man
Of Her dreams was walking in her direction maybe she could see through the rain and it allowed her to
Make a decision that she had wrestled with for many days and on a steamy streaming window she
Found power to release her emotions let spread and dissolve into a different form that would be her
Guide out of limitations a quiet note the perfect cord that underscored what she was leaning toward
Before her world was to cut and dry now with the assistance of a window pane and the beautiful falling
Rain she could ***** in a great arching that encompassed great and small natural points that speak in
Their essential language from what they are and how they relate to one another in the grander scale
Moments of fluid motion instilled in her the gift of wondering and from branches to soft tuffs of grass
To the glory that is all around in the sky and on this sacred land to her was described truth that pierced
The maze of confusion that to her were a fault and an intrusion that is only bridged over water if it is
Only As deep as glass in a simple window but it truly can refigure the world and give right assessment to
To problems that hold you in a tangle of predicaments and it is so funny how they loosen when you
Spread your vision through the width and height of a rainy day window and through a connected
Unseen desire but one that is deeply felt you touch the unseen and wisdom comes on **** frost and
Writes to you a secret message for your eyes only that in detail clears all the doubt and confusion away
And leaves you beaming out on a changed world not unlike yourself that has been changed also and it
All Occurred through the most pleasant frosted glass
Take this stimulation a warm cup of tea you get the idea what is most mutual and beneficial go
With it as your guide you will see the gentle rolling hills smooth country roads that fall away
And you will ask who painted such skies of peace that speak and reach so refreshingly into my
Souls you were given life but at no time were you ever said now go on your own and don’t bother
Me how much you suffer will be determined by how much you Forget Him and all the helps he
Built into your life we are children and we can’t win without our Father and mother earth is our
Mother as He designed it our Founding Fathers the community fathers our earthy father’s that he
Gave call remember him and the riches of life will be known your poverty will vanish your
status will be what children they are can anyone ask for better

I met a girl, one day or night
who taught me how to live
An empty truth, you may observe
I hope you can forgive

She spoke of something more to me,
or so she did perceive
As demons sneer at angel's wings
when tripping on their sleeves

"Where have you been tonight my dear,
I trust you will not lie?
Because lying is a bow my dear,
I trust you cannot tie?"

Lost. I had no argument.
No angle could I find.
No brilliant light bulbs brilliant light.
No swift turn of the mind.

But, amidst my overanxious thoughts,
one detail sharply stood.
Of all my prior misdirections,
this one had to be good.

"I've walked in halls of marbled stone
and well carved wooden walls.
I've talked of nations fighting wars,
and when that they might fall"

"I've conversed the winter weather wild,
heard what spring may bring.
I've bolstered men who'd have fallen down,
sang with women who cannot sing".

"And now you nag nag nag at me,
when all I want is sleep!
Why can't you leave me well alone,
when towards my dreams I creep?"

"Oh! Please do forgive me,
My most almighty Tsar.
But must One sleep with One's head,
still resting on the bar?"

Sprinkles shower backyard fescue

Fighting against dry August air

Still days

Smiles cross aging cheeks

Love’s invasion flows upon

Discontent

Chest rises, bolstered anew

Expands with

Zest

Fieriness slithers away from

Heartbeats no longer on the prowl

Attachment

Cardinal chirps as if

Aware of a simmering fire,

Anticipations

Sprinkles immerse damp grass

Fighting against diminishing daylight

One more hurrah

I can't breathe.
An invisible hand rests on my shoulders
Bearing down with a weight beyond my ken
And keeps my head under water.
At the bottom of a waterfall's pool I sit
Caught in the embrace of the great cataract.
This bed was made of my own choosing
Flinging myself with abandon off the cliff's edge
To enjoy the moments of breathless exhilaration
The beautiful abandon in the weightless fall.
The entry, difficult, but not impossible:
Reaching hands parting the ice-cold waters
So the body can slice through
Like a hot knife into butter.
The first moments, not unbearable:
Tumbled down to the bottom by the churning waters
But bolstered by two lungs bursting with life-giving air.
As time slowly ticks on, second by agonizing second
Pinned by the embrace of the waterfall and losing oxygen
The need to breathe arises.
Pressure builds within the body, as if to compete
With the weight of the waterfall
Growing greater with each passing moment
Threatening to force the breath
The body so desperately desires
As conscious and subconscious lock in furious battle
Over control of the lungs.
The conscious fights on,
Aware that I am still trapped at the bottom.
One voice alone can cut through the turgid waters
A lifeline to cling to and use
To drag myself up, hand over hand
Fighting against the pressure until my head breaks the surface
And I can draw a few gasping breaths
Before the line is severed
And I am pummeled to the bottom once more.
The waiting game resumes
Each time unsure of survival
And each time mustering the will to hold on
Until that precious lifeline appears
Hoping for the day
The line will knife through the water one final time
Anchored securely, no longer doomed to separation
And I can climb forth
Leaving the waterfall's pool
Far behind.

I look out upon the valley,
Where we lived out millions of lives,
All of our hopes and heartaches,
Births and deaths,
In that valley of flowers and dreams.

I met you so many times,
And each of those times I was blessed,
For in the few where we never met,
My heart ended up hollow and blank.

We struggled at times,
And sometimes we even failed,
But always together,
Never alone,
Not once adrift upon a sea of regrets.

You bolstered me in my aspirations,
Gave me courage and strength I knew not,
To conquer the mountains that seemed so insurmountable,
Where angels and demons were hesitant to trod.

Each of your deaths were a knife in my heart,
In those instances where I outlived you,
I broke into a million jagged pieces,
Lost without my guiding star.

But each time I would be able to slowly heal,
Brought back together by your future love.

I know not if we've done this countless times before,
Or if we will be able to have this countless times again,
But regardless of this,
Our lives shall be forever intertwined,
In the Valley of Flowers and Dreams...

Without kneeling, without the sign of the cross
without self-examination
her worn keyboard becomes a confessional.
Lithe fingers tap, tap, tap out
secrets in lines of tasted desires
and opened dark doors.
With a series of deletions and replacements, key by key,
bolstered by the fervor of the moment
tales of her recent transgressions emerge.
Like a cat leaping toward it's victim
her index finger punches the enter key
as details of her indiscretions, come to rest on-line
as obvious as hunters' prey in an open field.  

Cyberspace, like a priest without a collar,
accepts her admissions without the comfort of absolution
still her guilt is released.

I am always leaving now
skittering in place
I am convinced
by my effort

that I am not
now anymore

a kid
closing his eyes
to not be seen

peeking out
**** now

skittering bolstered chemically
closed eyes
opened unseeing

now without me
unfound

i am only lessened
cursed now
remains unleft

Copyright @2018 Dennis Willis

And will you stay here at my side,
And will you hold my hand?
Will you welcome me with solace
As a stranger in this land?
Oh my smile will never waver
But you'll see behind my eyes
There's a truth, not quite forthcoming,
Built in, permanent disguise.

And will you stay the mocking voices
that are screaming in my head
Will you quieten the questioning,
The words long left unsaid?
Will you show me how to show them
how much love I have inside?
Barely scratching at the surface
Strong enough to pierce the pride?

And will you have strength and patience
To excuse this bold façade?
Will you know the shame I cling to
Overcome and over awed?
While senses swim in puzzlement
New colours, sounds and sights,
Smells of life and death pervading
Brand new treasures, endless nights.

And will you exercise discretion
When she comes, as duty states?
Will you offer tea and biscuits
While she sits and Knows Her Place?
She the mother of my children
Will attend to sigh and cry
While years of living in my shadow
sire secret gloating, as I die.

And will you promise there'll be angels
To escort me to my fate?
Will you bother God with praying
Far too little, much to late!
As I watch my self decreasing,
And eternal sleep approach.
And all the hanging-heads assemble,
Witness Death and I elope

And will you try to fill the silence
When the boy sits at my side
Two suits of armour, never yielding
Bolstered by each others pride.
Lips form around apologies
To tell him I was wrong.
My disappointment's disappointment
Left unuttered, my swansong.

And will you promise there'll be choirs,
People weeping there in rows.
Muttered platitudes of comfort,
Midst a hymn that someone chose.
Will you promise there'll be angels
Otherwise then what's the point?
With trumpets, herald my arrival
And my fevered brow anoint.

And will you try to understand me
Will you promise not to judge
I was blinded and misguided
Used a fist and bore a grudge!
I'd exchange it in an instant
For a chance to right some wrongs
Hold my wife and hug my children
All my angels all along.

I say goodbye to you often,
in letters and scribbled clouds, penned and hidden
under the keyboard on your desk.
tucked small and sleepy, as I pack in
your wake.

and just as frequently,
per month,
you greet with
wishful kisses, me teetering
unbalanced, off the escalator,
luggage strap, cold nose, bags dangling.

a myriad collection, sealed with "love you" texts,
taxi chits and spoon wrappers.
is this our way now?
our days, a matrimonial, cross-country conundrum.
a strung together , part time marriage,
intermittently stamped by the vested men,
marked by my travel clock,
wrapped in your worn out coat
and bolstered by the broken bed...

back to our separate hemispheres,
in such a hurry.

Days bolstered by comforts
The time ticks by
Covered by ceiling not sky
DENY DENY
Our ears are plugged
We deflect and justify
Unquestionable choices
“They don’t concern you, only I”
These islands of lives
But rainforests cause storms at sea
Loose lips sink ships, Freudian slips
“Your choices do concern me”
Though I am only human with inherent fallibility
I just want us, to be free.

Your voice,
Ah, it lures and seduces
My resistance is useless
Confused, yes
I come closer
My heart bolstered
Up high on a pedestal
My feelings run
From the space in between
To the space in your dreams
This is sweetly irresistible
Sweetly, I embrace you whole
And we are one

our
hearts in boxes
sealed shut to
keep out the
cold and dust,
to keep the stars at
bay we bolstered the
ports, pinned
ourselves in,
in the low valleys
of the hills, shielded
ourselves from the
glint of seeing
for miles, the universe &
the skies, everything we
are so clear & wise,
we fed ourselves lies
with newspapers,
our skin turned
wrinkled,
crinkled, the
ink stained our
teeth when we began
to speak.

The **** assumes his duty and awakens the creatures of the earth
Golden rays peek out from behind the mountains
Somewhere in the east
The clouds, they do make way
As the sun gracefully and with poise rises to take her place
In her royal abode high up far above all
Early birds and flowers too pay obeisance to the queen of the heavens
The grasses beautifully lined with crystal clear drips of dew
Bask in the pools of the sun’s warmth
Even as night crawlers hide away with the breaking of this new day
Yet still, flying and hoping and trotting creatures alike
Come out joyfully in celebration of a new day
Gentle ripples glide over the waters
Paving way for the inhabitants of the sea to rise to our world of skies
Strings of wheat, bamboo flutes and cymbals of clasping leaves,
The trudging of wildebeests as unto drums
And the cry of elephants as trumpets
Buzzing bees, chirping bugs and tweeting birds in unison
Reel out notes, high and low
Listening intently
Beyond these somewhat shrill sounds
Without a doubt I dare say
I hear a concoction of the most enthralling symphonies
Resonant yet gleaming with charm
Plants and animals dance to these familiar tunes of old
Reptiles and mammals, creepy crawlies too
From the great bears to the ever-shy hares,
Step and tango and waltz all the way
On the lush greenery that spreads across the endless stretch of land
Daffodils and roses, flowers in varying shapes and colors
Join this continuum of dancers
How beautifully do their lithely figures sway as the wind beckons
Far into the horizon, the great arch of colors is formed
And this symbolism of beauty, peace and unity invigorates the innate spirits of Mother Nature
Melody, harmony, unity in diversity
….and for the umpteenth time, I smile to myself
Savoring every moment of this beguiling experience
Yes indeed it was, magnificent in its entire splendor
This was indeed the most breath-taking scenery I had ever seen
“Or wasn’t it?” I wondered to myself
A certain thought flashed through my mind
and ambivalence quickly set in
For some reason, I began to review all that I had seen once more
Slowly but surely, as if in slow motion
Everything came to a halt
The sun’s rays now fiercely lashed out agonizing stings to all in sight
The clouds brimming with anger bolstered up and concealed the presence
Of glorious sun with thick darkness
Thunder rolled, lightning bolts cackled and cracked
The flowers now gave up their ‘robes of many colors’
In exchange for ‘rags’ of brown and yellow
The once rotund and cheery and zesty elements of wildlife
Evolved into famished and bony and feeble mutants
Disconcerted seas and oceans roared, and threatened to unleash coverlet of floods
As a soft chant echoed...”….death…”
The inevitable phantom that left no mortal unvisited
All of life was set into mourning
And in the twinkle of an eye, everything was gone
There I stood despaired and broken at heart

……………“chirp, chirp”….”buzz”
The song of nature in a quick crescendo pulled me
Out of this appalling trance into reality
And so back in the real world, the birds still  sang, and the plants and animals, they still danced
But a new strange reality dawned on me….
Truly all these glories couldn’t be relished forever
For one day even I the spectator, would cease to exist
For from dust were we formed, so also to dust shall we return

Teach them about the backbone your culture has bolstered through the permafrost
Tell them stories of Moby ****
The tale they never took the time to write

Inscribe your language on the ice
Let the global warming melt your dependance
And drown the cities who refuse to believe you
A warning sign of broken promises by the government

An island not aloud on American soil
Your culture is its own nation
The lives here will rise against the sloth in your veins
Inupaiq will build on new waters, ready for the storm

How did you manage to open up my closed-up heart? Did you not notice the big bold red "SOLD" sign bolstered to the door?

Or did you perhaps slip in through one of the windows?

And why did you simply ignore the contents thereof? Did fate lead you to the empty little room at the back? Away from the clutter and noise that my life has stored?

That is my favourite room, you know. My little "getaway". Little did I know that on that day "getting away" meant running straight into your arms.

I resisted at first, of course . . The familiarity of the room was replaced by your presence. . . by the unexpected familiarity of you . . .

And day by day I would return to that haven, and still, you were there, waiting.. until you became such a part of my daily routine that I stopped resisting and started looking forward to my stolen moments of "solitude".

I can hardly remember the days without you in it . . and that room would seem awfully empty and lonely without you.

Please stay!

Charms  present itself as attributes
in cloak and dagger, blood still dripping
with the last **** envious hate, insidious
beasts, burdened by the bronze culture
impervious to the shallow golden calf
shrouded in the sinister guise
of compassion.

Why do the radicals look
up to the sky  praise god for approval
on own inequities
bolstered by the book of prophets
who did not see these acts
as sanctity or sacred.

The contradictions balance
between heaven and hell
even as the world turns to watch
the anguish of beliefs in agony.

Go now seek the desert of doom.
to announce meaningless mantras
for the wisdom of attention.
Burn in the terrible dawn of discovery.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago