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jake aller Mar 2019
World According to Cosmos Updates March 3, 2019

Note: I am taking a two week trip to Vietnam and will update my blog when I return with my reflections on my trip, updated publications etc.

Cosmic Dreams and Nightmares

I don't dream dreams.  I dream movies complete with action, music, food, smells everything.  In this one I had a vision of  a possible future. it was so vivid, almost as if I were watching the hearing take place.

Three stories

Dream Girl (true story)
General Zod (flash fiction
Sam Adams Vs. the Social Cleansing Board
Six Poems
Morphing Images from Hellish Nightmare
Endless Movie
Worlds within Worlds Lost in Hell
Rafting to Hell
Satanic Torture
Micro Stories

Don’t Go Jogging in the Middle of the Night
Don’t touch this button!
Don’t open the door
Don’t go to the theater tonight stay home with me
Don’t go to Dallas I have a bad feeling about the trip


Dream Girl
Cheating Death 100 Times
Guardian Angel
Medical Mystery
SLA Hit List

Dream Girl – A true Story – reprinted from Dreams and the Unexplainable
You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

Author Unknown

The dreams started when I was a senior at Berkeley High School in 1974. About a month before I graduated, I fell asleep in a physics class after lunch and had the first dream:

A beautiful Asian woman was standing next to me, talking in a strange language. She was stunning—the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was in her early twenties, with long black hair, and piercing black eyes. She had the look of royalty. She looked at me and then disappeared, beamed out of my dream like in Star Trek. I fell out of my chair screaming, “Who are you?” She did not answer.

About a month went by, and then I started having the dream repeatedly. Always the same pattern.

Early morning, she would stand next to me talking. I would ask who she was, and she would disappear. She was the most beautiful, alluring woman I had ever seen.

I was struck speechless every time I had the dream.

I had the dream every month during the eight years during which I went to college and served in the Peace Corps. In fact, when I joined the Peace Corps, I had to decide whether to go Korea or Thailand. The night before I had to submit my decision, I had the dream again and it made me sure that she was in Korea waiting for me.

After the Peace Corps, I still hadn’t met my dream woman. I got a job working for the U.S. Army as an instructor and stayed in Korea. I kept having the dream, until I had the very last one:
She was standing next to me, speaking to me in Korean, but I finally understood her. She said, “Don’t worry, we will be together soon.”

Why was that the last time I had the dream? Because the very next night, the girl in my dream got off the bus in front of me. She went on to the base with an acquaintance of mine, a fellow teacher, and they went to see a movie. I saw her and found the courage to speak with her.

We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet that weekend.

The next night, she was waiting for me as I entered the Army base to teach a class. She told me she was a college senior and she had something to tell me. I signed her on to the base and left her at the library to study while I taught, and then we went out for coffee after class. She told me she was madly in love with me, and that I was the man for her. I told her not to worry as I felt the same.

That weekend, we met Saturday and Sunday and hung out all day. On Sunday night, I proposed to her. It was only three days after we had met, but for me it felt like we had met eight years ago. I had been waiting all my life for her to walk out of my dreams and into my life, and here she was.

Her mother did not want her to marry a foreigner. One day, about a month after we met, she invited me to meet her parents. I brought a bottle of Jack Daniels for her father and drank the entire bottle with him. He approved of me, but her mother still had reservations. After a Buddhist priest told her my future wife and I were a perfect astrological combination, she agreed, and we planned our wedding.

The wedding was a media sensation in South Korea. My wife explained it to me years later. At the time, I was overwhelmed just by the fact that we were getting married and I didn’t fully understand how unusual this was. My wife was of the old royal clan, distant relatives to the former kings of Korea. In the clan’s history, only two people had ever married foreigners: my wife, and Rhee Syngman, who was the first President of South Korea. My father, who was a former Undersecretary of Labor, came out for the wedding, which fueled even more media interest. Our marriage defied the stereotypical Korean-foreign marriage where the women married some hapless GI just to escape poverty and immigrate to the U.S. We were the first foreign/Korean couple to get married at a Korean Army base. Over 1,000 people came to the wedding, and my father was interviewed on the morning news programs.

This all happened thirty-seven years ago, (45 years since the first dream) and I am still married to the girl in my dreams. Now in my dreams she watches over me when we are apart.

General Zod Conquers the World
SETI and the search for extraterrestrial life goes on overdrive when scientists report what appears to be radio and television broadcasts from a planet eight light years from earth, the same planet as the Vulcans came from in the Star Trek universe.  The programs show a world where dinosaur-like creatures are running the world and there appears to be a civil war.  Over the next six months, the world is transfixed watching the alien broadcasts which are translated in English via a supercomputer program.  In the broadcast, a nuclear war has occurred. The surviving party regains absolute control and announces the formation of the Galactic Empire.  General Zod is the First Emperor.  They have discovered Earth as well. The aliens launch a crash project to develop interstellar travel so they can come to earth and conquer the earth.

The revelations that there is an external threat to the planet causes the United Nations to get together with the help of the United States and Russia another space powers, they put together Space defense International organization and also invigorates efforts to make the UN a real Planetary government including finally conquering climate change.

But it was too late. General Zod’s son arrives to take over the earth. He makes a broadcast saying that they were liberating Earth in the name of the Galactic Empire and that resistance would be futile.

They land at the White House and when President Trump comes out to greet them,

General Zod cuts off his head, and then cuts off the heads of all the staffers as they come out White House. After an hour of unimaginable horrors, including mass rapes, blowing up the Pentagon and the CIA,  General Zod announces that he had taken over the world.

Life will continue as before as long as people behave and follow the rules they would be fine Resistance to the new empire will be met with instant death.  Life in the Empire is not a democracy. They would not tolerate Freedom of speech, and Freedom of Press, and Freedom of Assembly And the freedom to oppose the State. The state is everything.  As long as humans remember that they would be just fine. They took over the United States because it was the biggest country in the world. And that his forces will take over the rest of the world but in the next couple weeks. If people on earth accept the new order, their safety would be guaranteed. Companies would be taken over by Galactic Empire companies, and everybody would have to learn Galactic standard. Within one year older languages will be banned.

Sam Adams Vs. the Social Cleansing Board

the summons
Sam Adams was worried. He could not sleep. He got up at 4 am and wrote in his journal and tried to cope with the dread that was overwhelming him. He had received the summons yesterday that he was to report to the social cleansing board for a review on whether he would allow to continue to be on the automatic permit list or would be referred for final status determination. Sam was a retired Federal worker trying to live on dwindling savings.

Sam had Alzheimer’s and was rapidly depleting his life’s savings. Two years before he had been released from prison, one of millions of ex political prisoners. His crime? Authoring anti-government poems just before the beginning of the Christian States of America, right after the second civil war. Unfortunately for him and his millions of ex-prisoners, his side lost the war. He wanted to flee to the United Provinces and settle down in California but lacked money to move. And getting a job at his age, with Alzheimer’s and his political rating was proving difficult at best.

All of which added up to a 90 percent probability his last days were approaching.

Under the new rules imposed by the Christian republican party in the newly established Christian states, all citizens over the age of 18 were on the permitted list if they met all of the following criteria. He tried to think why he was being referred to the board. Perhaps it was because of the recent crackdown on social deviancy. Millions of homosexuals, transgenered people, atheists, drug users, alcoholics, and non-religious people had been rounded up and eliminated according to the rumors. Perhaps someone had fingered him as a possible deviant. He fit the stereotype, no children, known drug user, known alcohol user, suspect politically, atheist and now Alzheimer’s patient. And he was not racially pure having some black blood, some Asian blood and some Jewish blood. And he had married across the racial divide which was now illegal.

The story was that if you flipped and named names you would sometimes be spared for now, and if your info was correct, you could be rewarded. Of course, those whom you flipped were not too fortunate. That was probably the story or someone could have heard that he was an ex political prisoner, or simply that he had Alzheimer’s’.

He had no children. And he was a secret atheist and had been involved with the dissent movement and had spent five years as a political prisoner at the start of the Christian Revolution. He was determined to make a stand and denounce the whole rotten system before the board although that would probably seal his fate.

As an Alzheimer’s patient he could no longer work. His wife had died the year before while he was in prison after she had been deported to her native Korea. She left him some assets but he had little idea how to manage his finances and he was behind in his rent and had received an eviction notice which had probably triggered the visit by the social cleansing staff who recommend a final status determination. But it was just as likely he was on the list because someone flipped on him.

He also did not make it last time when they came for him at midnight. Always at midnight the story goes.

The soldiers came took him away from his wife and locked him up for two years. They deported his wife whom he heard had died shortly afterwards. He spend two years at hard labor in the dessert near Las Vegas and was released into Las Vegas.

Las Vegas was a different town now that the casinos had left town. All that was left were back office operations, and underground ***** and *** operations and underground casinos. It was a hot bed of political dissent and there was an underground railroad to California, which was not part of the Christian states. Sam had been preparing to leave which was a crime and perhaps that is why he was on the list.

The hearing would be at 10 am. He was meeting his lawyer at the hearing board but his lawyer was not too optimistic.
the Permit Criteria
The basic criteria for being on the permit list were:

For Males

Age 18 to age 70
White race
Married to a white woman with children
Must be either working, in school full time, serving in military duty, or working in prison if convicted of a crime.

Homelessness was not allowed. If unemployed and or homeless, would be referred to social cleansing department unless one had a relative who was willing to take care of your needs.

Since there were no pensions or social security anymore and no government provided health care, one must have sufficient assets through one’s work, or savings or through one’s relatives to provide for one ‘s needs. If not you would be sent to the social cleansing board for final status determination.

For Females

Same basic rules applied but if one were married, and had children one would be on the permitted list, if children are older, if spouse’s income is sufficient one would be on the list.
If single or divorced, and homeless one would also be subject to social cleansing unless one’s relatives would willing to sponsor you. Since there were no pensions or social security anymore and no government provided health care, one must have sufficient assets through one’s work, or savings or through one’s relatives to provide for one ‘s needs. If not you would be sent to the social cleansing board for final status determination.

For Aged People

Additional requirements for the age you were expected to take care of your basic needs through employment and savings and the help of relatives. If you were evicted for non-payment of rent, or judged to not have sufficient assets left to sustain your basic needs including medical care, you would be referred for final status determination.

For all people additional requirements applied.

****** deviancy, drug use, alcohol use, gambling, *** outside of marriage, homosexuality would result in immediate referral to the social cleansing board as all were banned conduct that could result in final termination.   Being a member of a prohibited religious class could also be grounds for referral as would a pattern of not attending Christian services. Finally, if one had been arrested for political crimes one would be marked forever.
<h2>Sam's Rating</h2>
One had a government social rating. Sam knew that his rating was a D meaning that the government would be watching him all the time, and it would be difficult to get a job. Only the A’s and B’s were guaranteed to be on the permit list.

To be a A you had be to a true believer, had to be white, had to attend church on a regular basis, and had to be employed naturally.

To be a B same thing but you could be a B if you were a minority, or had engaged in alcohol or drug use under the old rules.

C meant that there was something wrong with your background, you were an atheist, you were a minority etc.

D mean that you were a serious threat to the regime.

E meant that you would be terminated.

F met you were terminated as it met Failure to survive, and family members of F were also labeled F as they were usually terminated at the same time.

Being associated with banned political movements, including reading banned materials could also lead one to being referred to the social cleansing board as all were grounds for either termination or criminal prosecution if under the age of 70.

The board has three choices - granted temporary status extension, referral for termination, or referral to criminal prosecution.

The termination would be carried out quickly. There would be an optional funeral at your Church, then the execution through the method of your choice - firing squad, beheading, electric chair, or gas. The default was gas where you were put in a room with up to ten other people and put to sleep.

Afterwards your body would be cremated in an electricity generating plant with the ashes turned into fertilizer products. There were no burials allowed unless one was rich enough and connected enough to request a burial exception. Most people did not qualify.
the Hearing
The hearing started. The presiding Judge, Judge Miller was a stern face white man in his 70’s and a true believer. He was sent to Las Vegas to clean it up as Las Vegas was the wild west, a hot bed of dissent, illegal drug use, illegal prostitution and illegal casinos. It was also near several political prisons so many ex cons lived there.

The Judge was the chairman of the Nevada state committee that did not exist and was a senior official in the Federal committee that did not exist that brought together government, business and church leaders to coordinate government policies and that secretly ran the Christian States of America.

Probably a score of A thought Sam.

The judge announced that he had reviewed Sam’s file and was shocked that Sam had escaped final termination. He said that the previous board had erred in simply sending him to prison. He should have been eradicated as a social evil, as a cancer that needs to be removed from the pure body politics. Sam and his ilk sickened him. Sam was a free thinker, an atheist, a mix race mongrel, married to a non-white and was therefore guilty of crimes against the white race which was a crime. The Judge was determined to see justice done.

He asked Sam a series of questions. Sam’s answers sealed his fate.

Sam, what is your occupation?

None for now.

You realize that under the law you must be working, in service, in school or in prison?

I can’t find a job due to my age, my Alzheimer’s; and my political record.

That’s irrelevant. You are just a lousy atheist *******. You deserve no sympathy. And have none from me.

Are you white?

No, I am mixed race, part native, part Asian, part black.

I see you were married to a non-white and had no children. Good for you we would not want to see more mongrel children. Such children should be eliminated at birth in my opinion and will be starting next month when we begin enforcing the racial purity laws.

What was your crime? Let’s see reading prohibited writings, keeping a journal, publishing an anti-government blog, authoring anti-government poems and stories. You served two years at hard labor?

Yes

Do you still write?

Yes, everyday but I no longer publish on line.

Good. No one would want to read that trash anyway.

Do you go to church?

No

Do you believe in God?

No, I do not believe in an imaginary man in the sky.

One more anti-religious statement from you will result in an immediate ruling of termination.

Do you drink?

If I can find it yes

Do you gamble

Yes, when I can

Do you support the Christian Republican Party and the Christian States of America?

No, I do not.

Okay, I have enough for a ruling. Sam Adams, you are hereby sentence to termination. Tomorrow morning at 7 am you will be turned into electricity and fertilizer. Take him away.

Next please.

At midnight there was a knock at the door. A black man appeared and said he was a friend and he was being smuggled to California. Sam rejoiced and went with his new friend and reached SF in the morning, escaping death for the 23rd time in his life.

the End

Poetic Nightmares

Morphing Images from a Hellish Nightmare
Note: From a real nightmare End Note

I am in a room
Drinking at a party
And smoking ****

Watching people all around me

Change into hideous creatures
Monsters from the deepest depths of hell

Everyone in the room
Has been transformed except me

The Chief of them all
Wears a Trumpian mask

Complete with orange hair

Half human half pig

His deputy
Wears the face of Putin
But his body
Half human, half horse: if

The other creatures wear masks
Many of them wear
Green Pepe the alt-right
Symbolic frog masks

And have T-shirts
Bearing alt right slogans
And **** symbols

And as they prance about
They chant alt. Right slogans
And neo-**** chants

Jews will not Replace us

And the rest of these creatures
Are hideous ugly beasts
With only a vestige of humanity left

And these monsters are engaged
In all sorts of foul evil deeds
****** violence death

All around
And non-stop
violent drug-fueled ******

As these creatures
Half human half monsters
Half male, half female creatures

Snort coke, *******, speed
Smoke **** and drink ***** shots
Scotch, bourbon and beer

The Trumpian Pig leads the charge
Starts engaging in ****** with Putin
Who chases after people

Cutting off their heads with his sword
They turn on to their fellow creatures
****** and killing each other
and eating their fellow creatures

All night long

Then they attack me
Screaming

Jews will not replace us
And I wake up
Screaming

As the sun comes up
Just another nightmare


The Endless Movie

Watching the TV coverage
Of the great government shut down
Of 2018-2019

I am reminded of a movie
As I fall asleep
Listening to the TV

Blather on and on
About what it all means

Mr. Natural pops up
And screams

"It don’t mean s….

“Dude, the endless movie
Is about to begin”!

A middle-aged white man
Down on his proverbial luck
Just been fired

Replaced by a foreign worker
Or a robot

Or just fired
Because he was no longer
Deemed useful
To the masters of the universe

If he was lucky
He'd  be given a watch
And an IOU worthless pension

And the man wanders into a restaurant
Pulls out a gun

Eats his breakfast
After the official breakfast hour

Puts on a Pepe the green frog mask
Drops acid, Snorts speed
Drinks a shot of *****
And coffee smokes a joint

Snorts ******* for good measure
and smokes a cigarette

And walks outside
steals a bus at gun point
Filled with passengers

He tells them
They are hostages

And he puts on his vest
With the dead man switch
Next to the bomb

He announces
Via tweet

He is going to take the bus
To the proverbial *** of gold

Hidden deep in a cave
And when he got there

He would release the hostages
And disappear into the mine
And never be found again

And as the bus careens around the mountain
At 100 miles an hour
The dude sprouts out

Conspiracy after conspiracy theory
About Obama the Muslim communist

secret gay working with George Soros
the Jewish money people
in league with the shapeshifting lizards

and Mueller is one of them
they are all after him
because he knows the deal

And the passengers are transfixed
Half hoping, he would make it
Half hoping, he would be blown away

And as the bus careens out of control
With the wheels falling off

And the cliff looming ahead
You realize we are all doomed


Worlds Within Worlds Lost in Inner Space
A man woke up one day
Lost in inner space
Went so far down
The proverbial rabbit hole

That he did not know
Where he was
Nor what time it was
Nor when it was

As he stared out
At a bewildering world
A world lost in inner space
Deep down in his dreams

Filled with nightmarishly real
Monsters, demons and ghostly apparitions
He saw them and began running
Running running running

With the hell hounds behind him
Leading him to the edge
of the pits of hell itself

abandon all hope
ye who enter here
the sign read
above the entrance to the pit

and there was a devil standing there
armed with a clipboard
and a computer spreadsheet
Satan was the ultimate bureaucrat

Name barked the devil
Date of Birth ?
Date of Death?
Don’t know? That won’t do at all
Hmm

Car accident due to drunk driving
And you killed a child
Bad on you

But here in hell
The punishment fits the crime
And the devil laughed
Joined in by the hell hounds
And other nightmare creatures

A bell ran out
In the purple crystalline sky
And slowly the worlds receded
And he found himself alive

In his room
And vowed
That today
Was the day

He would quit drinking
Quit taking drugs
And quit chasing strange woman
And having wild libertine ***

He picked up the phone
It was Satan’s aid
Be careful what you vow
We are listening

If you fulfil your vows
You might find yourself
Escaping life in Hell
It is up to you to choose

And the man got dressed
Went to work
Thinking deep thoughts

And drove off a cliff
And back down the endless
Worlds within worlds

Satanic Torture

I find myself
In a dark room
Strapped to a bed

The light turns on
The large TV comes on

A smiling image
Of Satan fills the TV
He is dressed
In a conservative business suit

Looks like he came
Out of a corporate
board meeting

surrounded by demonic aides
who constantly shove papers
at him

He looks up from his lap top
And smiles
A deadly so insincere smile

His voice booms out

Welcome to Hell
My satanic slaves

I am Satan
Your new master

Each of you
Has been sentenced
To an eternity of torture

And the punishment
Must fit the crime

So, for you
Mr. Jake Cosmos Aller
Failed aspiring poet
And novelist

Your torture
Is to be strapped
To that bed

Unable to move
As you are filled
With the need
To **** and ****

But you cannot move
And your skin
Is crawling with bugs

And itchy
as Hell so to speak
and you are so sleepy

but you cannot sleep

the TV will play
endless repeats

Of some of the worst TV
and movie shows
ever produced

Starting with my favorite
A Series of Unfortunate Events

Featuring your favor annoying little girl
Carmetta! Singing for you forever
As you are the ultimate cake sniffer

Welcome to Hell


Rafting Towards Hell
I woke up
To find myself
Rafting down a river

I looked up
At the cliffs
Towering above
the roaring torrent

and see the dark demons
of my terrible nightmares
chasing the boat
firing flaming arrows

and I see werewolves
goblins, ghosts and monsters
running along the river bed
screaming obscenities

as they chase me
to my doom

and I see the waterfall ahead
and see my pending doom

as I rush over the edge
of reason



Micro Stories
53 word stories regarding unheeded warnings
Don’t Go Jogging in the Middle of the Night
It all started with a jog in the middle of the night. Despite my wife’s warning don’t go jogging in the middle of the night.  Broke me heal in a million pieces, 14 operations ensured, mutant MDR Staff almost killed me, almost lost the leg. . should have listened to her warning.

Don’t touch this button!
Don’t touch this button the former President said.  I said, what this button? And that led to the launching of nuclear weapons, going to defon three, and world war 3 with millions of people dead end of civilization moment. Should not have touched the red button.
Don’t open the door
When you find yourself running for your life chased by demons from hell and backed into a corner in a burning house filled with flames and are about to die in a million horrible ways you remembered that they warned you not to open door number three in this crazy reality TV show.
Don’t go to the theater tonight stay home with me
Mary Todd Lincoln had a vicious headache and was not in the mood to go out.  The President though ignored her wishes and told her that he had to go to the theater that night to show the world everything was okay now the war was ending.  Should have listened to her.
Don’t go to Dallas I have a bad feeling about the trip
Jackie was known for her moods and her premonitions. Something the President found both amusing an annoying. She told him that she a vision of death waiting for him in Dallas that day.  The President dismissed her foolishness as he put it and went to Dallas to meet his fate.
true love story.
In 1974 I had the first dream. While sleeping in a boring class, I saw a beautiful Asian woman standing at me speaking a foreign language. I fell out of chair yelling who are you?   I began having the same dream month after month for eight years.  One day I realized she was in Korea so I went there in the Peace Corps to meet her. In 1982 I had the last dream.  She said don’t worry we meet soon. That night she walked off a bus, out of the dream and into my life.  We’ve been married 37 years.
Cheating Death 22 Times
Also, a true story.
I have cheated death 22 times in my life.  I was born a preemie, almost died at birth, and had all the childhood illness at once.  In 1979 I came down with Typhoid  fever in Korea in the Peace Corps.  In 1991 almost got hit by a train. In 1996-1997 had 14 operations due to a mutant drug resistant staph infection, almost died several times.  In 1997 I had an acute stomach ailment that almost killed me, due to excessive antibiotic usage, if I had waited 30 minutes more would have been dead.  And had dengue in 2010.
Guardian Angel Saves My Life
Another true story
In 1990, I was teaching ESL in Korea.  My wife and I drove to the East Coast of Korea for a weekend away. She was in the US Army then.  As we drove towards Sorak mountain, I was filled with the need to get off the road right then. I had a premonition of doom, so did my wife. We got off to drive around another park returned a few minutes later and saw a 25 car pileup. We would have been dead if we had not listened to that inner voice telling us get off now.

Medical Mystery
Another true story
Back in 1996, when I was in the hospital fighting a mutant staph infection after a disastrous jogging accident that led to 14 operations, the internal medicine doctor said that there was something else going on. He finally discovered that I had a rare parasite, a tape worm of sorts that remained inert, its only becomes active if you take steroids then it blows up like a basketball killing you instantly. Six months later I had to take steroids due to frozen shoulder syndrome, and if I had not gotten rid of it, I would have died a medical mystery.

SLA Hit List
True story

Back in 1974 my father was a local politician in Berkeley, California who was on the SLA’***** list as “an enemy of the people, a fascist insect that needed to be killed”.  His crime?  As President of the community college district, he began requiring IDS for students and staff to combat campus crime at the local community colleges.  We had 24/7 police coverage for a while. One morning I saluted my father, “good morning fascist insect”.  My father, being of Germanic stock did not like the joke as jokes are alien to the German DNA.


the End
based on dreams and nightmares
tonight we gather
to mark a
commencement day

four decades on
from a late June
afternoon

exchanging
embraces and
bon voyage wishes

departing a grand
chandeliered Rivoli
embarcadero

bound
to glorious
destinations

our bold sails
welling with
youthful
exuberance
in pursuit of
dreams
and intrepid
endeavors

our life
journeys
are blessed
with rich
abundance,
the grace of
challenge and
the gift of days

this evening
as we reconnect
to share the joys
and wisdom gleaned
from well lived lives
we will also celebrate
in multicolored splendor
the lives of classmates
who have commenced
journeys to other
destinations

though their
earthly sojourn
is complete
passed friends
remain alive
in our memory

surely the spirits
of the beloved
will walk this
room tonight

forever young
their quiet presence
will gently touch
tender hearts

they’ll appear
as they once looked
on their finest day

and as we relive
the bits of our lives
we shared with
one another

we may feel
the grasp of a
warm hand
as we once did
during that
snowy evening
west end walk

we’ll dance with them again
around Tamblyn Field bonfires
gyrating in a shared
ecstatic ebullience

we’ll applaud most likely
to succeed lives
most beautiful smiles
and crack up
to the hilarity of
class clown jokes

we’ll taste the kiss
of an after dark
Lincoln Park
rendezvous

groove to the
rock steady
beat of a
bad company tune  

we’ll submerge again
in a Yellow Submarine
to embark on an epic
Greenwich Village
journey

we’ll roll down
the shore on old
Thunder Road
windows open
hair blowin
radio blastin

we’ll taste the sweet sip
of Cherry Cokes
and Root Beer floats
at Roadrunners

chasing lost love salty tears
spilled over ***** upperclass home boys
and the soft blush sentiment of a
first French kiss

wouldn't it be nice
to swoon to the
fantasy and
winsome yearnings
of favorite
summer songs

filling our head’s
with mind
blowing collages
starring
team mates
drama club
second takes
heady chess club
checkmates

we’ll marvel at the disruption of
premillennial breakthrough science projects
created by pocket protected slide ruling
entrepreneurial math wizards

we'll recall droll gossip
by drab hall lockers
dim gym showers
awkward dances
Yippie people power

patriotic assemblies
cool sharp dressers
right on brother
Que Pasa lil sista

rock and roll album covers
Simon and Garfunkel poetics
Go Go Boots kickin
FM radio psychedelics

Midnight Confessions
emphatically blared
from the cafeteria jukebox
Civil Rights, Earth Day
and righteous
anti war activism

tribes of hoods, Ra’s,
jocks, artistes and tie dye hippies
everything is groovy
lets get a sandwich at Ernie’s

first carnal explorations
Moody Blue Tuesday trysts
man could she speak German
boy do I dig her dress

we did hard time together
at split session detention centers
ate chocolate chip cookies
cracked up to Mr. Thomas’s
Ides of March tragedy

took first tokes and
sips of Boones Farm
we partied hard
and did no harm

admired academic brainiacs
and the civic commitment
of student govie reps
shut down the gubmint
was never a threat 

basketball rumbles
Bulldog football
**** Ludwig soccer teams
nimble cheerleaders

leggy majorettes
kick *** marching band fanfares
compelling masquer presentments
Park Avenue wayfarers

they were
crew mates
on The Soul Boat
rode shotgun
to Midnight Rambler
Doobie Concerts

cruised hard in
the Root Hog
Rat Raced Louie
in tiny white Pintos

we booked
many a mile
with our lost
friends

on the road to
this evening

authoring
volumes of
fabled odysseys
and fantastic
recollections

their stories
are our stories
telling our stories
keeps them alive

some may say
gone too soon
but the measure of
a well lived life
is not counted
in days, nor
accomplishments

but how one has loved
and how much one was loved

quietly there
always with us
forever to be
a wholesome
part of us

as the brothers
from Cooley High
would say

lets tip a sip
for the brothers
and sisters who
ain’t here….

God bless
Godspeed
enjoy the evening
vaya con dios mis amigos

Music Selection:
Pat Metheny
Mas Alla


RHS 74
Class Reunion
Elks Club
Rutherford
11/29/14
They're
doing it again.

They're gonna stuff
the corpse of
Hugo Chavez and
put it on display
in a glass case.

Why?

They did it to Lenin.

For 80 years he lay
on a bed of flowers
in a glass topped coffin
lazin away the days
in the Kremlin Wall
before they locked
him away behind
closed glasnost doors.

For those eighty years
Lenin's comrades
paraded his
corpse around
like an extended
Weekend at Bernie's;
raising old Ilyich
to mouth every
dictatorial diatribe
uttered by the
deathly stale
bread breath
of Stalin and all
the petty knockoffs
that followed him.

V.I. did a lot of
talking for a
dead man, serving
the dictatorship
of the proletariat
with valor and
distinction.

They did it
to Mao,
reminding all
happy Chinese Proles
that great peoples
revolutions must
dutifully mind
the unerring
instruction of
the secular deity;
resting assured
that progress is an
historical
dialectical
inevitability
proceeding apace
until classlessness
is realized in every
Hunan rice paddy,
Shanghai noodle
factory, Mongol
Steppe Village
and Buddhist
Tibetan Temple
in the glorious
workers paradise.

As of this writing Mao
hasn't been heard from
since the
Gang of Four
walked the last
Capitalist Roader plank.

Lady Mao
indignant to the end,
coolly quipping final zingers
from the Third Edition
of the Little Red Book as
last death sentence breaths
escaped her charcoal stained
great leaping forward
lungs.  
  
As always
Deng Xiaoping
got the final
laugh, counting
heavenly
Renmibis;

his yuan
piling up faster
then the number
of displaced
peasants
clogging the
streets of
The People's
Republic
new and improved
discount cities
beggin for jobs
at a toxic
iPod
factory.

Crafty
Deng  bought
the copy rights to
Mao's Quotations
his profit driven
start-up
fills
fortune cookies
with the
Chairman's
wise maxims
eagerly consumed
by the country's
burgeoning
class of
happy
lunch time
capitalists.

By the
waters of the Nile
they stuffed dead
pharaohs with
with onions,
spices and
frankincense
and buried em
in billion dollar
pyramids.

When a pharaoh  
crossed the River
Styx the expense
was justified
because of his
station in life.

The undertaking
also served as a
shovel ready
infrastructure
improvement
initiative for
idling slaves.

The humongous
public works project
didn't do much
for the economy back then
because the wages of
slaves don't go too far;
but through the
expanse of
expired millennia
the strange fruit of
chattel workers
is a proven boon
for the tourist trade in the
Valley of the Kings.

Its a bit unfortunate
that enterprising
grave robbers daring
the risk of the mummies curse
and imperialist archaeological
pillagers wouldn't let the
league of buried
Pharaoh's -like
young King Tut-
just
RIP.

..and then
there's the case of
Sweet Jesus...

Half of America
believes him to be
Chairman Emeritus
of the GOP,
authoring a gospel
of righteousness
in the party platform,
sprinkling holy water
on the hardest edges of
free market capitalism.

Though
his body was
lifted to heaven
on Ascension Day
Jesus
remains
the main course
at the festive Eucharist
every Sunday morning.  

Pious padres
transubstantiate
sacrosanct wafers
say its the Lords Table
but they act more
like its their own.  

Wrapped
in riddles
within sacred
paradoxes
exclusionary
catholic churches
refuse spiritually
starved pilgrim's
slices of happy meals
if they ain't down
with their
righteous
creed.

I recall
Jesus feeding 5,000
soul staved people with
seven loaves and five fishes
and had enough left overs
to feed every famished
woman and child
in Biafra;

don't remember Jesus
checking membership cards
before filling their bellies
with wholesomeness;

but the
pietistic pastors
parsing out
the holy loaves
remain quick to draw
heinous crucifixes
believing in the
holy justice of  
their crossianity
to ecstatically
bludgeon a
fallen heathen...

some Muslim
fundamentalists
do the same thing

a Hidden Imam
been walking
the earth since
the death of
The Prophet
Muhammad
(PBUH)

the ubiquitous
Mahdi is around
somewhere
and when he shows
his face he'll team
with Isa
enabling the Shia's
to tell the Sunni's
I told you so
and demand
that they
stop
murdering
fellow
Muslims

I just want to
tell my brothers
and sisters in
Venezuela
that they are the body
and soul, the heart, hands
and mind of the nation

the body is theirs
the body can't be
without them.
el corpus es usted

what ever happened
from dust you have come
to dust you shall return?

and now as a
Caracas glazier
cuts a glass box
for Chavez

i say
i think its a bad idea.
it never goes well for the dead ones

and as for the living
when myth becomes history
the potentates of politics
and the priests of power
become ghoulish tyrants
that devour the lives of
the living


ERRATUM
+++

As Marx observed in the  
18th Bremaire of Louis Bonaparte

"The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living...
he goes on to say, "history repeats itself, first as tragedy then as farce"...

I hope my Venezuelan brothers and sisters avoid the tragedy and don't fall victim to farce...

Final thoughts from Jesus:

"Wherever there is a carcass,
there the vultures will gather.
Let the dead bury the dead"

Smash the icons!
Hugo deserves his heavenly rest
he wouldn't want it any other way.

Hugo Chavez
(28 July 1954 – 5 March 2013)
Godspeed Beloved


Joan Baez & Mercedes Sosa "Gracias A La Vida"

jbm
Oakland
3/8/13
CharlesC Feb 2013
a morning conversation
with surprising anecdotes
of unique explorations..
reported confrontations
by science practitioners'
sudden dates with death..
now authoring testimonies
of their dimensional truth..
much comfort growing
from  ample recordings of
bright tunnel experience..
let us now inquire
are these flashing NDE's
consciousness leaps..?
might they point
to death's vital role..
at last finding
real self-awareness..
life in this moment..?

asking then..
is not each breath
our moment experience
of near death...?
See Dr. Eban Alexander
Proof of Heaven
ERR Apr 2012
The transparent roof covered her from sudden precipitation
Ice pellets pelting the ground around as she waited for the bus
The shufflers and grumblers huddled in the booth for cover share
Riddled with cold holes from liquid *******
Look at them, she thought
Untold stories in a crowd
Grey figures among the concrete and the puddles
Blank pages thickening unread novels
Returning home to stagnant plots and forgettable characters
On the auto she scanned the library for research-relevant titles
A fairy tale cuddled publicly, all lips and hands and smiles
An anthology with stained sections and shredded, well-worn binding
Scribbled frantically to transfer himself to more unpublished page
Give up, she wanted to scream
Paper dies and no one reads
No longer did she believe in hidden literary gems
Far too many friends had rushed their tales
Conclusions writ in sharpie slop
Conclude she had in pencil but the writing hand would never stop
Not for cramps of authoring nor material that she lacked
Not until the cover closed
From which there was no flipping back
Perhaps I am an article, she thought
Meant to be short and skimmed
A brief point to be made and greater issue slapped within

She wondered something dreadful then, a tremor in her bones
She never understood the other chapters, stories, poems
Reflecting in her epilogue, would she even know her own?
My pen was never full
I am illiterate
René Mutumé Jan 2014
(and I don’t know why we are mongrels in our heart,
but hell… Lets ask em-

Roman nose.
Broken.
pug shaped unheard of thought ******* away cos
its been awoken by high rising spirit,
but call it anything, call it the breaking of your phone
that’s replaced by another when you feel a chorus stretching
into your ***** gut when they speak, just calling…

blown away from thalidomide arms of private growths
death from long ago neither feminine nor masculine
posture of slumped morning brighter than split stare
of obliterated ***** hit gently hard and lit
my heart knows: my sheets are a poor excuse
for where the room suffers our corporeal rage
in our calming conversation

within country stare of effortless green, some:
knowingness, perceives madness from outside
its woven hands so accepted in the city as it cries,
and walks together; shed upon from all parts of its locking voice
a union within the falling parts, of islandeque love
when rising to hard abyss pardoned when nurtured,
fate, a toothless, small, finishing chew

smothered out from car fume; Buddha can’t speak anymore
birds can’t speak anymore, even the locksmiths have words
without need; i stop in a graffieted place, my veins happy
to just sense: home: proto – home, before…

with whom there is a consensus in the lewdness, rabid as 6pm
is; opened by wild cooked silk until it is made, and
ready, I’m shattered, my bloodiness has no body, none,
worth me jacking it all in, or talking, about new governments,
ours-

explosives walking through arcs of dimmed light
intoxicants highlighted in fading windows, brimming and walled open
beneath my feet, i would run, i would strip
open, the exhausted car parts
yelling, but the impermanence, of us, is the grey ebb
and flow, of engines colouring, this city, impassable
by our actions- full of Bachiacic choice, stopped at the
gate dead, when anything wants to speak inside our home,
apart from your voice, and mine

and i did not know, that cities were so moveable and
pleasurable, and that madness is always correct when animals cling
in agreement; Karma of infinite silence between them when needed-
rebearing low glance into imploding music
down past eye, oesophagus, stomach gently reseeding
hands of movement, dust spokes of haphazard drivers
like the proof in the wetness of the most lifelike dreams that
humanise the raven infancy of the winters blood

insight baked by the sun’s finally accepted sea
in clay, where we must adore what we create from our hands,
and adore the cinders of its coldness as things that can
be anything with any touch; the holograms choice in emotion
the: ‘I’:

only a background chorus
of floating crickets when we whisper, torture moons losing there grip amongst
the unsolid shapes, passing, us, as we walk through,
universal… ‘axioms’, summiting, to a peak, near the soul, when raw, but never there;
we must speak about ‘all or nothing’, in a different way, instead
as the pattern is completed by: ‘immersion’, two servants of the
womb, a judge, and a convict, and the jury broke and sprinkled
across the horizon where we walked like my grandfathers ashes

we don’t gibe, the rest, if we get there
we won’t look across the heard and pick out the
leprositic ways that are outside of our own, there is no
pride, there is no ‘knowledge’ of pride, there’s only
a proto-home, there’s unsaid gasp of what we shall eat
from the flawless flow of the weeks hard work, where we asked for no
prairie, hell, we didn’t even ask for a ticket flattened into a card
that’ll pay for it all
but hell, that’s ok

it’s a while till pay day,
but hey, i’m happier than a slave being paid in the rip-tide of several
monks and maidens authoring where i’m sold
in awesome gloom- one finds themselves a violin
even if they can’t play, even if, they have no limbs
most times, those too
go, or jitter when you don’t want them too in the middle
of the gala
i have already trusted them to you, however;
so, i’m sold, and happy.

As our grave has no flowers yet.

And we are the flowers upon that grave.

And we are the owl howling.

At that grave.

And we are the grave eaters.

And the only.

Animals.

Who can stop them.
Colm Feb 2019
Are you seeing this?
This is why the home.
Because sometimes you have to be a part of someone else's story in order to be able to write your own.
Home life
twenty years later
marking two decades
I pause to think about
life’s trajectories

I know exactly
where I was
who I was with
what I was doing

I can’t say the same
with any assurance
about the location of
my current disposition

twenty years ago today
I was manning my
FT Info post
on the 18th floor
of WTC too
bashing away
on a clunky laptop
authoring a proposal
for an urgent sales call
at Lehman Brothers

when the blast went off
the concussive ******
rose through the building
like a undulating express train

i felt it enter my feet
bubbled up my legs
tangoed my coccyx
off its seat
shook my heart
clamored my arms
jumbled my brains

"*** was that!"
the lights blinked
then came back on
Patty said
“this is serious”
I said “yeah,,,
I’m busy....
go check it out”

the sirens sounded
but we still had power
i beavered away on my
LB solution

Patty came back
and the PA system
announced a mandatory
evacuation of the building
i put the finishing
touches on my
smart LB pitch
hit print and
off I went

in the hall
smoke was
leaking from
the elevator doors
wisps tickled the
ceiling
the lights
dimmed again
only emergency
illumination
lit the shivering
building

the stair wells
were clogged
with 104 floors of
workers slogging
downward

i was running
late for my
appointment
with big deal
destiny

i cut and dashed
my way downward
into the spiraling
morass

slicing past
the slow moving
old folks, nudging
recklessly inhibited
handicappers

i was running late
i was conscious of
expending time
as i flashed
by screamers
and hysterical
ladies twisting
ankles on bent
high heels
flopping
down the narrow
dim lit stairwell

i was out in
a flash

i emerged on the promenade
of the intercontinental hotel
a mass of shattered
glass sparkled in the
court below

a curious man
rousted from
his hotel
workout
stood next to
me in perspiration
tainted tees
shorts and
sneaks
flakes of
snow
drizzled down
onto his hairpiece
he said something
about the Pentagon
and concluded with
“this was bad'
and slipped away into
a squall of flurries
i took him
for CIA

my investigation
concluded
i had to make time
to be on time
i jogged
through the
swelling mass
of gagging trundlers

their face, running
noses and drooling
mouths splashed
in black paint soot

i was late
but i was making
good time
as i pushed up
Greenwich Street
a parade
of fire trucks
honked and blared
a salute to my
diligent march

arriving at my
destination
building security
whisked me away
"buildings closed
didn't you hear
the WTC was
bombed”

my analog
phone binged
“jimmy, where
are you?
are you alright?
the WTC was bombed?
why didn’t you call?
I’m so worried.”

My wife was tearing.

“I got an important
sales call. I’m doing
deals.  

I’m on my way...

Should i bring home
some Chinese from
Top Dik?”

Music Selection:
Clash: Rock The Casbah

jbm
2/26/13
Oakland
Joshua Vincens Oct 2012
Light & Dark, Dramatically So Vast!
Serene and Chaotic, Creates lasting Beats!
Omnipotent Open Sea, Time is Mast!
Current Dimensions Thrice, Soon More Sheets!

Due Time Align up All, Boarding the Plane!
All Events Become Forgotten, No Matter!
Leaders Do Distract to Miss it a ****** Shame!
Speed of Light, Energy shall Universally Scatter!

Material Ether Now In Vibrations, To Come Will Wave Intense!
Liers, Authoring Mayhem and Divisions, True is Love and Light!
Gaze to the Heavens While War Incisions, Shall Be a Sight Immense!
Soon be Such Astronomical Situations:Make Your Mind, Demise or Might?!?


-Joshua Vincens
The astronomy references here-in refer to the Astronomical Events of 12/21/2012. It is in regards to the very rare planetary alignment with the same plane in space as the galactic center (not the solar systems planets lining up like illustrations in text books)-which the Sun is inline with consistently. This has been experimentally tested and proven to implement a change of all energies resonance(vibrations of frequency). This change, or increase, for already substantial frequencies, will result in the particles of energy becoming wave matter; as compared to present vibrational matter.

If you are interested in discussing this poem/topics stated above please, message or email me.
mori walts May 2016
you are authentic
you are authoring truth
you are your story
but you're telling it, too

it is clear to me
you have work to do
but please,
write me in
when that chapter
is through
lullaby to soothe thoughts while closing doors because the house was built for specific shapes . author ; authorship ; authority
I don't think I'll write about how your hair flows in the wind
And how I worship it like the flag of my country

I'm not going to write about how your dark eyes fill me with vigor
And how they turn my dark soul white

I'm not authoring a poem about your voice
Filling the air with the sweet notes from Apollo's lyre

I'm not going to pen down anything about your sweet smile
The smile that can end wars and famine

I won't write you for Valentine's
I might reconsider it though
Onoma Aug 2015
There's a being seated
at the window...the breaking
ends of perception mothering
their pearl.
Its prayerful poise electrifies
the passing light of day...
hideous and beautiful
blending blindly.
Purple with majesty, as a distant
mountaintop crammed through
the eye of a needle...pointedly
soul through the driftings of its
original score.
Unlit senses that can't place
their miraculous conveyance...
entering and exiting the same window
simultaneously.
Aware that it's aware...there are troubles
in paradise of only supreme Authoring,
as latent creation forthwith heartbreak.
Pounding its very chest...with oceanic
spanning--faces upon faces of The Deep,
Diane Arbus photoing a featureless form.
Lady Narnia May 2016
Key after key, letters clamor onto my screen
In valiant effort to create that never before seen
Braces and brackets, colons semi or not
It's taking some time, patience and thought

A picture, painted by ten thousand letters
Divinely presented with wonderful CSS headers
And more, this picture will be able to do
For its features will be far from few

Talk to another, quickly and fast
Chat in groups, to make relationships last
Co-authoring easier with dynamic group editing...?
Assuming it all works, I'm still hoping and betting!

Wave after wave, this beach will come together
I'll be darned if I have to say never
The sun will rise, and so too a poet
Where they'll certainly smile, I just know it!

This digital sea by which I float,
a long voyage that awaits this boat
One where I will design the pristine shore
Bringing poet passengers, more and more
mike dm Jul 2014
Hips calligraphic lithe alive
Serifs flare up immortal coil

Her mouth speaks to me
Between my legs
A language draped in ebony curtain
Unknown and inscrutable

Rising up
Mounting me

Her fingers splayed on my chest
enter me
Five pens
Now digging
Pecks taut
Flecks of red burst
Tattooed unspeakables writ

Her stare penetrates mine
Authoring my little demise
Jerry Bolton Jan 2015
not content
to wander down to the park
with other old men
sit on the invariably gnarled benches
swap stories
from whatever past
they think they can remember
mostly all fabrications
and of course
they talk about me
shaking their heads and whisper
he thinks he’s a poet
they all have a subdued hearty laugh
because a real laugh
might cause some to choke up
it’s the emphysema
don’t you know
the thing is
old men’s gossip turns me off
while they think
I sit in The Hovel
and brood
I am constantly busy
writing
I have my poems
they help to sustain me
I just finished co-authoring a novel
"Magical"
I live in worlds they have
no notion of
true, they get to see more nature
than do I
but I get to see the world
through my dreams
I turn into the written word

©January 20, 2015 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Elin Saari has lived with terror no woman should ever have to endure. Devlin Grimm, the man she fell hard for turned out to be so cruel to her she began to silently call him Satan. The years spent with Satan were so severe she truly felt she had no mind of her own. Still, something inside of her made her make the break and she filed for divorce. Satan upped the ante and she had to run to get away from him. Wherever she went he would find her and harass her. She was at her wits end when something profound happened. Through the magic of a strange necklace she began to receive messages, until desperately she tried to summon whoever was trying to contact her. Touch Starlin' walked into her life and explained who he was and how closely connected they were. Touch took charge of trying to rid Satan – the name she had started calling him was closer to the truth that she could have ever known. Satan follows them wherever they go and Elin begins to doubt Touch's Powers.

PASTE INTO YOUR BROWSER . . .

http://www.lulu.com/shop/jerry-bolton/magical/paperback/product-21981708.html
david mitchell Aug 2019
it can be hard to assess necessity in a cesspit,
calculating and scouring different ways to find respite.

it can be hard to commit time against the heart.

finding access to hiatus just to breathe,
it's never been easy to be lazarus.

unsure of consequence, skirting bereavement,
reborn doesn't necessarily imply previous demise,
what's almost new cannot be considered unwhole,
nor can it be trusted as a reprise.

it's an artful venture to learn the cadence of presence,
not an effort or a movement, but something of a lucid sweven,
something nestled in the stitching of the seventh heaven.

autonomously authoring my perception,
desecularizing my intense intent and conception.

understand that the brain is a somatosensory mech pilot,
no shame, no rhythm, just an absently-go-lucky organism,
chasing imaginary crystalline butterflies into the background,
thriving in the quietness, malaprop to say forever semper-vivus.

i consume my need to separate ideas as fuel for philomathematics,
pioneering new tactics, new habits, through acts of active practice,
emphatically denouncing the topical, the maladroit, the labels,
let me sing my own mantra,
humming to the hymn of my own humble tantra.
ratiocination has led me down a path of discovery, not of self or of matter or of morals explicitly, but all there is to find.
forever in awe of it all. be humble, be whole.
Elizabeth Feb 2015
If only I'd found love in something that never loved before.

The stars, shimmering off moonlit rivers, would sing for us,
Walking hand in hand, beside you.
Authoring the pages of our laughter,
You would covet words never spoken from your searching eyes, your reaching fingers.
Songs and poetry would flow from the ballpoint fingers we interlace.

But this love is naught found in reality,
Only found in death.
The textbook mind with unmistakable power,
The chapped lips continually trembling.
The beast locking doorknobs and car handles,
The creature shaping children's nightmares.
In death, where nothing exists but itself,
His sweeping arms would blanket the civilian he desires,
No arguments,
Death receives his utmost wishes entirely
always.

Death would cradle his lover in passion.
Death's infatuation would match no other man in the entirety of human existence.
Death would linger with each wisp of life escaping his lovers body,
Sipping them through his curled tongue like tobacco smoke.
Death would never lose his lover,
Death would find his lover in eternity and reincarnate her into flesh again,
The most bloodless cycle of all.

If only I'd found love in something that never loved before.
But this love is naught found in reality,
Only found in death,
The most bloodless cycle of all.
Inspired by "Meet Joe Black"
1

   flumine stretches to the small of her back
as the    clock  slowly    runs off from
         twilight    to   midnight

     perfect time   for    assault   but  undeclared

say   when   tugging of   hair  to expose
     the jugular --  that is   where you plunge
           the  message

          when  biting   the   lip   becomes
        predatory,  when sweat    is   the telling
           trace  putting  the  clandestine, ******

        or  easily   when   hold   becomes   grip
     else it was just   estrangement    face to face
           in the   dark,  cannot  remember   features
              only   textures --  walled up message tongued    in   all   fours as if  a crucifix or idle
           penitence

2

        whoever  was   steering   was   just
    teaching  how    to   hate,   treats as   open and
        easy target,   mapping  out   what   to sequester
           and   authoring   silence    as    acquiescence.

     first trust  is   given  and   is thrusting deeper
   in   hollow   grievance. we have   no   use  for  it
        and so    we    take   it as   the first  step
            out   of   the door  keeping  love unharmed
     only  to be   taken   in  unmindful of   its implosion.

3

       we  then  have   damage   portrayals  as   if
   we   have   a   long divide,  or  a grueling  history,
       hit from our   blinded  sides.  

     a  man   from  another  country   could have  taken    you   from   this  juncture,
        but  he    is   somewhere lugging objects
 he   has   no use   for in   a haul  that was meant to
             drift  him away   from  sheer possibility

   and so   we   remain   here, a promise that things  will  start to exact  relevance, until  then
          we    remain, waiting for    our   smoke to
  dissipate when the last   fizz   of   fire   is sounded.

4

    you   do   to   me   what   i do   to   you
        as  if  polarities   are  clear   reversals
   and   then   back  again   with hope

       so i  drink   from   your   mouth   what i have
given   as   your   body   depletes,   your   fingers
      crenelate as   you     rebuild   your   stronghold,

          my   emptiness a  catchbasin  of  all the
   rain   growing   inside  you,  your  body  swollen,
       ready to burst  and   after   that
           perhaps,      forgive.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
Aware, as I am a ware,
not all minds find time to rest
while being read to,
while holding power to pause the reader and

look up a fact the reader mentions as being known
to all, but
me, I did not know, for

until some, not so long ago, time, agone away
holdon- until now,

I lacked the leisure to listen, no time,
for I was busy learning to
use the next necessary
technology, with glee,
to some geekish degree.
..-. - .-

Find The Answer
that is the message first heard, is it not?
Do you know what must come next?

Hell, yes. Yes, I know. We know, say every baby
*******, being
shaped in secret by wizards who do peep,
and ping, one thing to another,

IOT FTA we are here.

Is the evil fruit parasitic? We may find the answer,
if, ifity, see this ifity we imagine there
is
an answer to find, and we live in times like none
ever, up to now.
We have answers to quests, maps, keys in riddles,
laws in minds mastered in disciples of once
known occurrences
while crossing the ocean of current opinion.

- minded to put her away
- brrring the meter to the poem o leave
- me ****** imp
- I've lived this the long way, one day at a time
- rimes at the rim of ality re all lies in me,
- fall through the null net
- true/false, re/no/si
¿ No se?

Symbols only readers see.
Magi once prepared the spells with images
of things called common,
Bullhead was somehow alpha…

at this point silence, and the  sixty cycle humms of my home
step up as chorus,
while the narrator makes changes to the scene.

This is 2020, whenever you are. Our quests have become
ionic, after r poets got the point
and pierced the code of common sense, y'feel me?

Méiyǒu huǎngyán?

2020, like as not a lot closer to Babel than Eve,
on the angelic one way spiral of properly teleo-mered
DNA.

Mere, as a word, is a map and a clue in my realm.
****** is as well, truth be told,
sayings and figures of speech get old, apoptosis ceases to
pop.
Like bubble wrap.

Listen. We are served by art, or we are the artificer
serving you art.
We, as a we, not me'n'you and the others, but we,
the people who hold certain truths
self-evidently, as in
evidently, we have the power to be true to our own selves.

But our owned-ed-ed-u-cated self, owes its soul to the
companion store, for we all must ever eat the same
bread brot pan pita our parents ait,

just outside the garden,
near gobekli tepi, maybe, worth a look,
but later, if anybody knows, AI knows already.

I can wait, let's get through today. whats the selah code
for today lets keep on this No Lie theme, in Chineze


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

Did I wish or pray or merely hope

some good
could come from me
discerning, filtering rocks from beans at an

early
age, life is always living

memes are living memories of
things others
learned.
shucking corn and finding worms, but not
evil canker worms that ate every thing,
just the kind that chickens like
for treats on shuckin' days
in the olden days.

Today. 2020 tech, ancient mental time travel
app approaching
act if ative ity ooomph ala

we good


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

The song was One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus,
That's All I'm Asking From You.

Careful what you ask for,
as we commonly hear conservative mouths mutter,
by rote,
sleep-learned response to faith preparing to leap.

Giant steps feel just like falling, but yes,
you may,
if mother nature were asked, she would have said.

There is always a  place to put your foot, says the
spritely reminder from Sycamore Canyon,
running rock to rock, in the spring.

One Day, today, I was thinking I have all the time
in the world.
I can say that and believe I am not lying, for
reason,

reason is tricky stuff, like sweaty dynamite, in
the hands of kids with hammers intending
to nail freedom to the mofa wall.

Everything looks like a nail.

Ages of reason have gone chaotic,
due to war being given reason by law and
law given credence by users of wisdom, trying
to gain authority by authoring peace
where no peace appeared possible.

Hmmmm, sixty cycles 2020 constancy, in America,
aha,
how appropriational can one app be, y'azme, mine's as
appropriate as any,

point to point conversion, all things being equal,
push comes to pull, not destroy,
idiot. id thing, idea, jot
tittle
tattle tale
child, old gaseous entity stinking in memorable words.

Incensed, he cried, I am the prayers of all the saints,
ohsit I think
ang or watt

hat'gosh-roted - my word, have aw e- unrolled a whole new
dimension.

-- message for today, when you read this it is written,
that is all… empty of meaning until filled by your reading,
really… no bad mocuss curse of doubt…

we emerge into life in living vessels, empty save the
basic ideas an ant has, avoid discomfort by seeking comfort,
time is not a factor, but luck seems to be,
then screaming and kicking
seems to work,
work, that’s a concept… work it out, why

why,
grunt, why, ahh, that

fertilizer, I am here to convert raw living matter constituents
into some substance needed by mother,
her,
she who feeds me, she who has a name, mmmm ahhh,
it will come to me
this knack I notice used
noises that calm and comfort. oh good com encompass me
swallow me whole,

I have all the time in the world - this is twentytwenty the year
and I am in one of those days.
Sad, for an enjoyable art effect kanji characters can't be displayed or saved here. I am enjoying the thinking needed to print them with a mush-point bamboo flair pen, as a child, as an old man I have AI
EK Jan 2019
I cough when I lie,
it's like the idea of deceiving you is sickening.

I don't make eye contact when I exaggerate,
I don't want to be able to tell if you see through the story I'm spinning.

I want so desperately for you to see me and love me for who I am, not for whatever picture of myself I paint.

I feel like I see you, the real you, when you focus on something or someone else and forget to compose yourself for me.

I wish I could just say "I see you, and you're beautiful".

I crave authenticity, yet keep authoring falsity.
I'm never really able to confess my feelings, it's a problem, lol.
Brujo Alligatore Feb 2016
Jumbled mix
miracles
mirages
echoes
and self delusion

Who is authoring the other delusions
And who the non-delusion
(if non-delusion exists)
?
another multiple account holder
has made Cello Poetry his
abode
where he's posting under many
a different authoring
code

he was initially known as
Brando
Build
then he added a few more
to his prospering
guild

the syndication now hosts
Slick Shaz, Fruity Rot and
Tuppence
which is quite an extensive
confluence

what title will he choose
next
his whole charade has got
right out of
context
Mc Emmanuel Zohn Oct 2018
I was born in Africa
A sweet but bitter home
Crafted out in beauty and splendor.

A place by nature
Dash in wealth and bliss
Yet, it's ruined by monumental penury.

A place that has fallen into the rut of laziness,
Having fertile acres and hectares
Yet, starvation knows its name -
billowing: "Africa, Africa"
Oh, what a pity!

Africa is where
I was born

A continent that has its glorious hope
Held by the uncertain hand of fate
Authoring for it a very sad story.

A continent full of heads
That are conquered by the West
Heads that are void of positive thoughts for their continent.

Africa, Africa, Africa

Oh, it is a landmass that's venerable
Virtually every border in it
Is opened to deadly sicknesses
like ears unclosed to good news.

Africa is tagged
"POVERTY-STRICKEN CONTINENT"
But this is the place I was born.

Here, we hail thieves
Here, impunity thrives
Here, we celebrate deceivers
Here, the complexion of our skins reflects the color of our minds.

Black, black, black

Here, we don't think positively
Here, ignorance befriends our minds
And so, our minds are used against us
As the greatest weapons of our oppressors.

Ah, but this is the place
I was born: Africa!
M Sep 2023
the ill-tempered autumn wind does little to sway an evergreen

whose timber column rings thus of doggedness unseen.

there may have been moments when leaves would wither here and there,

but its blanket of foliage has fought to keep its verdant hue--

whether caught in snow or shaken by pelting rain,

whether trampled undue by the trudging of time

or battered somehow by a certain bane...

the fact is, he's been here for so long:

he's taken after the colors of her writing pens

like mixed laundry bleeding its red unto a wash of white linens--

alas, sometimes I find myself lying beneath the boardwalk

drowning in her songs and sifting through a gallery of her smiles.

this has been the most meaningful three quarters of any year

i have had the privilege of co-authoring with someone so dear.
happy 9 monthss
Andrew Guzaldo c Dec 2019
“I avowal I won't protest sumptuous one,
Dark and uncanny way is where I long to be,
Here is where I would never be weary,
As she beamed her eyes with starlet green,

As I kissed her lips hundreds of times,
The top of her head to below forbidden line,
Shrinking sinews was procured flames of ardor,
As it trembled in subsequent delectation,

Authoring this a threnody of our beloved feelings,
Knowledge fact that you are a milquetoast woman,  
I a gregarious person to be around that of others,  
You will be enamored in ardor and pain no more,

Through the dun forest the poignancy that hinders,
When dawn arrives it wipes my impeded piquancy,
Onomatopoeia of words into echoes of stars in night,
With all my analogies thrown to the night my dear,
Once again may I be inebriated in the essence of my love,
By Andrew Guzaldo ©  12/30/2019  #177
By Andrew Guzaldo ©  12/30/2019  Poem#177  #HelloPoetry
James Floss Apr 2018
Brave men bonding
While mending
And tending
To truth-telling

Tears welling
Laughter bubbling
Working, cooking, eating
Together

Beyond story
This work we do
In the crucible circle
Authoring integrity
Wendy Feb 2021
Human's-no longer drawing any breaths,
udders upon cows to give people fresh dairy, procedure done by milkers whom no-longer existing.

Men and woman, no longer a thing.
Adversity it is, I wish to be truant from my own conceptions.

No future to tend to, no reason to reminisce in all of the things I found to give me bliss.
Inimical I am, to no one but myself.
Timid here, timid there,
It's not my fault,
yield a shield, it's time to fight,
too-late your all dead, yes it sounds morbid, but 'tis just a close-future phenomenon.

Just to close off on this horrid, page turner, try not to end all of this world wonder,
while writing this I am the last, last of my kind, last of this world you may have worshiped full-time.

Last woman on earth is over-and-out, don't have a doubt about this written guidance.

You can choose which time this was written, past or present may be full-filled, just take my advice don't hope for hills-of-happiness, instead hope for peace, and harmonalize you're life while you still can.

Coming from someone authoring this piece of written "advice" this may be gibberish, but life itself doesn't make sense but you somehow know what it means.
poetryaccident Jun 2019
This is a work for the tome
it’s publication now foretold
in distant days beyond the now
holding scratchings frowned upon

collection made of muttered thoughts
each alone is not enough
to count as authoring to the ones
those arbiters of writer's charm

depending on a word count
this measure slams stanza’s breadth
crafted for a wry intent
now ****** against the yardstick

critics rally to critique
still I’ll pen another poem
the muse demands a sacrifice
a book waiting in future time.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190618.
The poem “A Book Waiting” is about the less glamorous world of poetry writing.  It holds this place in comparison to vaunted novel.
~ In the early 1950's, the army set up motorized blowers on top of residential high-rises in low-income, mostly black St. Louis neighborhoods, including areas where as much as 70% of the residents were children under 12. The government told residents that it was experimenting with a smokescreen to protect the city from Russian attacks, but it was actually pumping the air full of hundreds of pounds of finely powdered zinc cadmium sulfide. The government admits that there was a second ingredient in the chemical powder, but whether or not that ingredient was radioactive remains classified. Of course it does.

In Iraq, the U.S. military has littered the environment with thousands of tons of munitions made from depleted uranium, a toxic and radioactive nuclear waste product. As a result, more than half of babies born in Fallujah from 2007 - 2010 were born with birth defects. Some of these defects have never been seen before outside of textbooks with photos of babies born near nuclear tests in the Pacific. Cancer and infant mortality have also seen a dramatic rise in Iraq. According to Christopher Busby, the Scientific Secretary of the European Committee on Radiation Risk, "These are weapons which have absolutely destroyed the genetic integrity of the population of Iraq." After authoring two of four reports published in 2012 on the health crisis in Iraq, Busby described Fallujah as having, "the highest rate of genetic damage in any population ever studied."

****** is a sticky and highly flammable gel which has been used as a weapon of terror by the U.S. military. In 1980, the UN declared the use of ****** on swaths of civilian population a war crime. That's exactly what the U.S. military did in World War II, dropping enough ****** in one bombing raid on Tokyo to burn 100,000 people to death, injure a million more, and leave a million without homes in the single deadliest air raid of World War II.
which prime mate affectionately called buttock blaster
alimentary explosion ofttimes causes global disaster
upon such gaseous debacle run for your life ever faster!

Yours truly (humorously dry husband)
can definitively attest,
she (thee missus) nixed, ordained,
inured, espoused blessed
discrete frolicsome liaisons regarding
shenanigans Mister Phil Ander
deviously, knowingly, and stealthily wrested.

***** deed done dirt cheap
trick discovered visa vis
super tramping bleep
mother 62311518 claimed,
he drove while sound asleep.

Risque somnambulant tryst
viz escapade constituting naked ape
morphed into nightmare,
when noose hung around nape
verboten fruit heed vape.

Gamesome cocksure attitude
severely irked first born
of his hereditary brood
pricked temptation concerning wedded dude
frenetic altercation begot feud
miscreant dalliance whipsawed and hewed
antics buzz-feeding carnal groove

portrayed (by "mother") as indecent and lewd
spelling downfall impossible mission daughters
envisioned their impeccable father ****
obviously he elicited false pretensions being a *****
no moral compass shamefacedly *******
licentious transgression abominable however viewed.

The motto carpe diem liberally
translated carte blanche
get thee (yours truly)
to a nunnery sporting about
envisioned foreplay gallivanting without doubt
cavalier attitude hashtagged

yours truly as one preeminent lout
gathering rosebuds while ye may
rather than pout
adapting what me worry playbook page
linkedin to Alfred E. Neuman mad scout
infidelity Casanova wannabe doth tout
plenty of fish aside from American trout.

The aforementioned merely signifies fantastical zeal
sisters of mercy appeasing cogitating human
emulating generic garden variety common wheel
ordinary goodfella well spoken
giving his exemplary poetic spiel

reeling off inane prurient fantasy newsreel
no rhyme nor reason expressing salacious he'll
be coming round the mountain
to quench ****** thirst,
where celibacy finds mine flesh to ail.

Metaphorical libidinal longings I elevate
vis a vis authoring, crafting, entertaining...
juvenile scribblings dat ain't so great
analogous to ****** satisfaction,
employing English language
métier write engenders
yours truly to salivate

subsequently to the electronic
circular filing cabinet
readers moost likely relegate
regarding hormonal secretions I sublimate
thru writing prevaricated risqué tête-à-tête
hooping syllabification harmonious
synchronization doth undulate.
“****** butter was made by mixing two parts of lard with one part of molasses This ****** butter was what we had to use on our bread; and we did well if we didn't have to spread it deuced thin. The bread was so hard that it needed greasing; and this was all we had to grease it with – we had no gravy.” ~ Speaking Lives, Authoring Texts: Three African American Women's Oral Slave Narratives edited by DoVeanna S. Fulton Minor, Reginald H. Pitts
B E Cults Nov 2020
eyes wide and watery
in front of the data flow;
effigies
effigies
effigies.
days just grow into decades now.
let me leave.
let me leave.
let me leave.
the night sky i've been authoring is glaring back.

it ******* better be.

— The End —