Mark A. Williams
                            SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018

___________________­

Wow Mark,

Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!

Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.

All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.

(RIP Jimi Carlsen)

Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!

Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.

I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.

I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah  back together.

Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018

maybe the buildings are hollow,
occupied only in facade on the first floor of storefronts

maybe this whole town is a hologram
of neon against puddles
on the pavement.

maybe the citizens are ghosts
floating by
in circles, or squares of city blocks,
around a routine,
or droning through on electric scooters
as if on muted theme park rides
to the next sensory diversion;
to the nearest gastronomical pleasure;
toward the weekend and its next party
celebrating the loss of time,
I see their tired faces

staring out from the glass
of coffeeshop windows
on every block.
I see their piles of beer cans
beside the trash chute.
I hear them singing
on *****-cruises to nowhere

What part of this cycle
that turns days into dust
moves us closer to heaven?

What feast from what new restaurant downtown
will feed our souls?

From which lonely night do we finally emerge
beside the one
whose presence fills
these hollow buildings
to the top-most floors?

Which of the empty lots
between us do we fill
with a conversation
about how this is all a dream,
or how we'll keep each other awake
on a bench
beneath a street lamp before dawn
waiting for the first bus to take us home.

The warmth of the sun settles, hugging the lake.
The dragonfly flies low, hovering above the tranquil water
the light seeping through the paper thin skin,
it hums across the lake, refracting light off its wings,
An array of colors make patterns on the wings,
wearing it like a cloak, a rainbow embedded within.
The colors tilt and shift as the dragonfly gracefully cruises through life,
laying close to the water but letting the air propel it forward,
floating between two different worlds,
it is like a dream where our thoughts are separated from reality,
and are scattered like refracted light for us to assemble.  

Through a screen of our dreams, a world can be seen.
A world of hopes and desires that is dormant within
The light of life just soaks us bare,
our skin turns frail,
under the scorching glare,
the glare of eyes that want you to be,
someone that is accepted by society.


the dragonfly bathes itself in the sun,
the iridescent colors shine on its skin,
flying and floating, he’s determined to win
a predator, determined to get what it wants
nothing blocking its way or paving its path
making the most out of life and never holding back

spread your wings like the dragonfly
that hums its way through life,
dipping its wings in the sun to shine,
breaking free a life of colors,
that we leave locked and forgotten,
behind a reality made of black and white,
the black ink seeping through our minds,
injecting us with ideas of the 'ideal life'
where money and fortune, and status define.
Bathe your mind in the wonders of the world,
soak your heart in life's warmth and glow,
and pave your own path,
with the dreams you sow.

Lone leatherback cruises up from the deep, pausing on the fragile reef

to feast ancient eyes upon the show, a bright parade laid out below

butterfly couples paired for life, graceful angels in black and white stripe

brilliant clowns and their toxic lovers, a plodding gang of giant groupers

puffers bob like comic balloons, humble gobies on every menu

beaked parrotfish grinding the coral down, in the ears a constant sound

cowfish blowing puckered kisses, sea stars catching fishy wishes

white-tipped, hammerhead, tiger sharks, triggerfish mean bite worse than their bark

untamed unicorns too wild to ride, dogfish snapping, biting alongside

coral trout color-shifting fools, attracting ladies in dull-hued schools

**** headed wrasse rumbling through, thick lips mumbling go get a room

sea horses nod in labyrinth caves, razor-toothed eels lying in wait

if tentacled embrace should be your fate, nudibranchs will light the way

to a place of bliss, none of this can exist, without the builders

coral and algae bewildered, the ways of man egotistical

rising ocean temperatures, carbon emissions, and el Niño

victim of abundant greed, say goodbye to the Great Barrier Reef

so massive is this magical place, one can see it from outer space

astronauts witness its demise, ninety-percent barren, bleached bone white.

quite stealthily,
the big fat yellow bootay
cruised
by the very intent,
young brave lad
so carefully
sharpening
his
blades,

oh,
so,
quietly.

oh,
so,
slowly....

a skill she had
perfected these many months
on the run.

and what fun months
they were.

she slid by
oh.
so,
very,
silently,

then a nice
distance away
she turned
her big fat yellow bootay
around.

and.......

it's not the case of irrationality with the usage of pronouns as a way of being assertive away from the existentialist dittoing of the pronouns; even if i utilise the pronoun to be a noun or a verb via dittoing, with the framework of an esp. exemplar "irrationality," i am still, after all, the speaker of the noun and verbs, and the keeper of them; i am not irrational to the extent that i ditto myself outside of other categorisations of words, since dittoing myself within the pronoun category opens the accusation that i use all other words with ambiguity while allowing no moral ambiguity into my actions - but there is a clear morality to the use of words as the worthwhile exchange of meaning, in newtonian sense in the least and foremost not going beyond the dropped stone or insinuation of passerby engagement into games - but clear crisp cut - silk scarf tagged twelve quid was sold on the haggle for ten quid - so that haggling wasn't an ambiguity, but the price of the scarf was! so how many sexualised insinuations have i heard with impromptu to no action?! too many! all of them declassified from furthering action because of too much innuendo and nuance of that famous disguised dialectics lost - known as the death of god. cartesian in existentialist terms, thinking presupposed as the notation via "i." thought no longer as an existential certainty... but because of the dittoing of pronouns... an... ambiguity! well it was originally an ambiguity, but why excess pausing to counter? the english are a nation of shopkeepers... yes... and the french are a bunch of nosy café patrons with rude lovers disguised as bartenders muscle aching to munch the next croissant in drag and feel sexed up gagging.

verum, ego scribere similis rumi*; scribbles and similitude -
worth an afghan worth of eyes in syria for an afghan girl
saying to her loved up something or other:
see it come back, god forbid you hear the calculative laugh
of augustus on the way back, just while europe resigns from involving
the remnant slavs like libyans or syrians or hebrews in the original format
of strength: let the hebrews deal with them
in their own vatican - we need to curb north africans
and the mid-middle-eastern olives
when taking over the northern peoples for economic harvests.
but then the madman laughed without ordinance and impunity -
he laughed augustus' rationalism into the grave of choking chock fudge brussels
with spare tonsils eating nothing but cauliflower and lard -
elsewhere in movie via ghent; or was it in bruges or
was it in brussels starring jean claude van damme?
i call it... writers went mad on excess phonetics never readied
or introduced - except with magritte wearing a diaper
rather than a full james bond when painting.
i heard it was a proper heist to keep the police numbers handy,
i had it all tanned in argumentation for hued brown in the nordic
special; oddly enough no nordic special sailed for a sinking of the vasa
with predestination - airport was nice - we argued then -
we're not a continent of north harmonicas with jokes
between mythological four lead clovers and oak real canada threesomes.
well i was a continent with croatian and scandinavian,
i'm not originally a mc donald continent - although that 'MADE IN CHINA'
helps to resolve all future wars with the silkworm beginning:
rodeo in the haven of horse's burp and fall of the cheap spain due to tourism -
old continental had corrida - new continent has rodeo -
somewhere between the ****** and maidens came oceans elves for a bet on
who could write a horse out from riding into a blunt metal clasp of stirrup eager sounds:
or a twenty aged colt sounding like an eighty year old nail wrinkled with rust hammered.
blunt metal won, horse gasped for air, the ***** was taken home with stitches,
the maiden was taken home with a groom in stitches also, although
stitches of old age prior asked for in her meringue dress to suit: wrinkles;
but hey! there's **** in between! who's the loser, the aviator or the aqua puncture of thought?
but still augustus laughed it off with nero on the waiting list of possible re-encounters;
israel received the southern cicero of the roman empire,
while the rekindled empire got the north-eastern and northern part of
the unexplored without saints travelling elsewhere,
and for that it got implosions, with the schengen approval reminded
to cloister the leftists eager to holiday in syria on unesco cruises in sand and sheep ****
of kept marble - for that cocktail party convo, and next day article in the new yorker;
shame on you for using children to ploy en masse morality of guilt
to later reproduce the hydra with so much racist cribbing
of a seahorse riddling perpetual dynamos
as to imagine the future cot rock-a-baby-jihadi saladin:
the fire is in his own house, runs with a
              flaming matchstick to his "neighbour's house"
to start the fire rather than trying to put the fire out in his own house.
honestly? sounds a bit binary in bangladeshi.

Spring comes little, a little. All April it rains.
The new leaves stick in their fists; new ferns still fiddleheads.
But one day the swifts are back. Face to the sun like a child
You shout, 'The swifts are back!'


Sure enough, bolt nocks bow to carry one sky-scyther
Two hundred miles an hour across fullblown windfields.
Swereee swereee. Another. And another.
It's the cut air falling in shrieks on our chimneys and roofs.


The next day, a fleet of high crosses cruises in ether.
These are the air pilgrims, pilots of air rivers.
But a shift of wing, and they're earth-skimmers, daggers
Skilful in guiding the throw of themselves away from themselves.


Quick flutter, a scimitar upsweep, out of danger of touch, for
Earth is forbidden to them, water's forbidden to them,
All air and fire, little owlish ascetics, they outfly storms,
They rush to the pillars of altitude, the thermal fountains.


Here is a legend of swifts, a parable —
When the Great Raven bent over earth to create the birds,
The swifts were ungrateful. They were small muddy things
Like shoes, with long legs and short wings,


So they took themselves off to the mountains to sulk.
And they stayed there. 'Well,' said the Raven, after years of this,
'I will give you the sky. You can have the whole sky
On condition that you give up rest.'


'Yes, yes,' screamed the swifts, 'We abhor rest.
We detest the filth of growth, the sweat of sleep,
Soft nests in the wet fields, slimehold of worms.
Let us be free, be air!'


So the Raven took their legs and bound them into their bodies.
He bent their wings like boomerangs, honed them like knives.
He streamlined their feathers and stripped them of velvet.
Then he released them, Never to Return


Inscribed on their feet and wings. And so
We have swifts, though in reality, not parables but
Bolts in the world's need: swift
Swifts, not in punishment, not in ecstasy, simply


Sleepers over oceans in the mill of the world's breathing.
The grace to say they live in another firmament.
A way to say the miracle will not occur,
And watch the miracle.

When words are not enough,
and the world won’t get off her back,
she dances the Devils way,
She’s a princess,
wait she’s a queen,
wait she’s an angel,
wait she’s everything,
a Goddess,
the hottest performing artist I’ve ever seen,

and she’s dancing,
dancing is her therapy,

I mean,
I’m not James Brown,
but it’s a man’s world,
even if Rihanna runs this town,

See,
she’s been suppressed all her life,
and I’m not just talking about Rihanna,
I’m talking about every girl that was ever forced to be a wife,
just to survive in this life,

she was touched by her father,
or brother or cousin,
when she was just a little girl,
I know we all wish it wasn’t,
but it is true,
so what’s a girl to do,
when she’s a clean 13 messing with The ***** Dozen,

this isn’t battle of the sexes,
this is war of the worlds,
wants to be a woman but she’s just a girl,
no No Doubt just burnt out nerves taken turns,

she never asked to be born,
with the burden of being beautiful,
but she refuses to conform,
she is attractable irrational and radical,
so when it’s all too much,
the stares and the catcalls,
the aggressive forceful touch,
the nails across her back like a blackboard,
and the moans become just white noise,
she takes it all in,
she forgives the man because he’s just a boy,
he is an angel even if he has fallen,
she takes it all in,
and she uses all of those abuses,
as the fuel with the tools which induces,
an allusive state of truth which,
allows her to move with intuitive smoothness,
and lose herself in the music morphing into what a centrifuge is,
separating fluids transforming what was otherwise useless abuses,
into a truth that cruises and confuses the stupid stooges,

she dances,
in a statement of glorious refusal to submit to their ideals,
she is more than a princess queen angel goddess,
she is fire burning up all preconceived notions of *** appeal,
the real deal,
dancing sweating cleansing her soul and her pores,
moving faster in progression refuting repression,
overcoming an obsession of oppression and knocking down all doors,
she is not a possession,
though she is possessed when,
she’s a dancing expression of how we all feel and more,

no words are enough,
she shows what we all feel,
she reveals what,
was before thinly concealed,

she is the perfect expression,
of imperfect circumstances,
she is poetic stanzas,
she is the paint on the canvas,
there is no question that she is the answer,
and all of this is made clear when she takes it all in,
let’s go of everything and dances…

∆aron L∆ Lux ∆

#strength #metoo #dancer #ballet #blackswan

Little Box talks back
With a new set of teeth
And pink gums
A fake nose and a wax mustache
She disguises her voice
To sound like Groucho
  
•

Little Box opens up
And cries to her psychiatrist
I don’t know why they hate me
I’m such a sweetheart
I volunteer at the zoo
And teach Mandarin
To their bratty children

•

Little Box is not happy to see you
So she closes herself up for months
Years, decades, and two millennia!
She tacks up a sign that says
Nirvana

•

Little Box is undead
She sleeps all day in a coffin
Hands over chest
At night she cruises the mall
For juicy victims

She prefers type A
But AB if she has to
What can you say
Vampires can’t be choosy
She likes your stupid brother

•

Little Box is on the psychiatry couch
Everybody hates me
Nobody loves me
Little Box lies on her side
And spills her guts

•

What’s in Little Box
A perfect orchid
A chocolate-covered strawberry
A new iPhone
With a glittery sleeve
Amber earrings from Pushkin

Keys to a new Porsche
A retro Chanel brooch
A Getty scion’s left ear
A Czar’s *****
Gifts so rare
Please don’t stare

•

What’s in Little Box
Rancid chow mein
A sliver of cold pizza
Last week’s hummus
You’re a starving orphan
From East Brooklyn
And you’ll eat it

•

So you want to **** Little Box
You want to know her secret
She won’t open up
She won’t give it up
And you are genuinely repelled
By her filthy ribbon

•

You want to DO the Little Box
You are a sorry story
You big creep
Why don’t you get off the couch and find
A real girlfriend!

•

Boss Box
White, square, and without a soul!

•

Please don’t analyze Little Box
She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill
Her mother Precious Jade Purse
Has been regifted

You wait on the smooth and shiny floor
of the arrival area with mixed feelings,
you're a groom expecting his bride
to be led to him slowly and unscathed
on the sliding plastic pieces of carousel.

You think about how relieved you are
for making it out of the plane,
how you managed to mumble
an indistinct farewell to
the pretty flight attendants
that filled your in-flight fantasies.

Then you also think about
the last time you came through this airport
and your luggage did not arrive;
how the uncountable footsteps
and phone calls yielded nothing.
That's when little beads of sweat
begin to flock on your brow.

The first few luggage are discharged
through the small opening in the wall,
arriving with subdued fanfare on the carousel.
An all black Samsonite cruises by,
followed closely by a blue Nike sports bag
that puffs out its chest as if in a military parade.

Then a green and white plaid bag drifts by
and you wonder if the owner is from Ghana
or perhaps a proud Nigerian.
The plastic draped Travelpro catches your eye,
half torn to shreds - a good reminder
of the hazards of cargo handling.

Four minutes go by
and you've become a detective
swiftly and skilfully scanning the bags
as they drive by in their solemn procession.
Then you spot that red and black duffel bag
wearing your Mum's purple ribbon

and your eyes instantly light up.
Your cheeks push up in delight
and your lips become glued
in a perpetual clown smile.

As it moves close and you pick it up,
you notice the early rays of light
that have begun to filter in
through the concrete slits in the wall.
Suddenly you realize:
what a great day it is!

I’d have to be really quick
to describe clouds -
a split second’s enough
for them to start being something else.

Their trademark:
they don’t repeat a single
shape, shade, pose, arrangement.

Unburdened by memory of any kind,
they float easily over the facts.

What on earth could they bear witness to?
They scatter whenever something happens.

Compared to clouds,
life rests on solid ground,
practically permanent, almost eternal.

Next to clouds
even a stone seems like a brother,
someone you can trust,
while they’re just distant, flighty cousins.

Let people exist if they want,
and then die, one after another:
clouds simply don't care
what they're up to
down there.

And so their haughty fleet
cruises smoothly over your whole life
and mine, still incomplete.

They aren't obliged to vanish when we're gone.
They don't have to be seen while sailing on.

Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh.

Black gravel and slime
soaked
in sallow streetlight
Rap music wedges through
the crack in a broken hinge
The dishwasher in the kitchen
swears
and drops a hot pan
A rich man in a rich car
cruises by, smothering my darkness
in headlights
highlighting the grime
on the toes of my Chucks
My break is up
But I will just
stay here,
toss my cigarette stub
in the greasy pepper can
and have
another
smoke

Poetry whirls down drains,
cruises down highway lanes..
toll free.

Poetry is a clear potion,
a natural motion.

Poetry is the bird gliding high,
and of course, the sky.

Poetry is thundering elk
through forests and glades,
and the wolves that keep pace.

Poetry is the ****.

Poetry is democracy,
and its unfortunate hypocracy.

Poetry is eternity vanished in an instant.

Poetry is a slaughterhouse,
a vegetable garden.

Poetry is cat and mouse.

Poetry ascends to descend,
breaks to repair,
it's uncommonly rare.

Poetry is the longest minute
and the shortest hour.

Poetry lives when it is dead.
Poetry comes from the body,
thought by the head.

I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Well, that’s what I want to do.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon,
When we are watching something weird
Before the Channel 5 news
Cruises through, like a liner,
And disturbs the World’s Worst Hurricanes.

I want dribble the cream down
To the tops of your knees
And watch each droplet coat,
Like a new skin,
Milky and new and thick.
Then I’ll reach for my tin opener,
Peach slices, neat, from the nearest Co-Operative
Arranged like humps of a lizard
Once believed to exist.

You'll let me, won't you?
You with your hair,
And your nails
And your laugh.
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?

Daddy's drinking the stinky water again, it makes him angry...mommy tiptoes around when it makes him act strangely. She makes me hide in closets but I just wanna play with my dolls, But I think my daddy likes them because it makes a poke in his draws. I think I have a brother I know it my mommy had a baby, but daddy only wanted me so they gave her to this strange lady. I miss my little brother, I wonder if he does too, I wonder if his daddy makes and watches him if he ties his own shoes. I don't think my mommy likes play fighting with daddy sometimes she bleeds and gets bruises, and daddy leaves with his pretty lady friend I think they go on fun cruises. And my daddy comes back and drinks the nasty dark soda, and tells me how much fun we're gonna have when I get a little older. I don't like when my mommy has to go to work sometimes daddy makes me sit on his lap and I have to smell his stinky beard.....And I cry when he touches my girl parts, I hate it and it feels weird.

Jump on the boat and take is real slow
Throw the canvas and splash that oil
Squash the duck feathers and fill the mill
As the harmonica cruises craft the talk real slow

A touch of the knee and the spark shatters
A charter of recklessness heckled in two-tone composition  
Not a monochrome but a  jest of kaleidoscope cores
A fearless horizon of sirens and chaotic applause

A sate of pureness, meekness;widely see this woman words
The worth of how she works, the sweat in her sincerity
Spot the little life that she holds, clutch her lifetime ascensions
The silhouette that shows and fades away,chase her palm

Stroke her freedom, take her high to the clouds and show her
Ask her to sing her sweetest prescribed proscriptions
Be the operator that jerks her stringed rhythmic blues
Shine ohh diamond, Strike ohh as you expand…… touch the sentiment

Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat

Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes

An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan

Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...

**

There were happy times while at Home, where the sun
Licked the rims of our glasses and sent wayward strands of light
Streaking across an almost-empty tabletop,
Save for a slight shifting of sand in the only hourglass
I would ever need to own.

There were sad times too, don't forget
Like whenever the storms intruded on our mid-afternoon slumbers
And sent our dreams flying in a saturated mess of
Unfinished riverboat cruises and superhero simulations;
Underneath it all, though, it became impossible not to try it again.

We're going to return here someday, paying close attention to
A world that had preserved itself for the sake of preservation
A life that had spent its last weekends alone on the edge of the sea
Where everything within it collected and became a mosaic of
Saturated dreams and hourglasses cut in two -
Sand mixing with sand.

No body knows the Trouble I;ve Seen~Except my Aunt Maude and the Mowin machine..  No body knows the garbage I've tossed~Except for that stray dog~who by now Must be lost...  No body knows the Trash I've tripped over~Except for that Yellow Horse that eats all the clover...  No body know the Turmoils and Bruises~Except for those folks who take Long cruises...  No body knows the Tormenting stress~Except for Garden hoses and the guy doing the Bench Press...   No body knows the Aggravation I've got stored~ Except  for a Majesty sitting on His Throne...   No body knows the Deceit that I've been dealt~Except for that guy who always wears the Bright Blue belt...   No body knows that awful dog Grover~Except the Fat Lady who sings ,When's it's all over...   No body knows what Sloppy Joe Means~Except for the people who wear Hand-me-down Jeans...   No body knows what it's like to feel Really  Blue~Except for the people who try to make friends with fast drying Glue...   No body knows where all these Roads might lead ~Except for those who know what it's like to be on your knees...    "NO BODY KNOW THE TROUBLE I'VE SEEN ! !

Monochrome buildings pave the way,
It's another monotonous day at the office.
And so starts my favourite routine
The required daily dose of caffeine
Sickly sweet sugar supplements
Occasional visits to the gents
Where in the tranquility
I can ponder what I'd like to be...

...Living so high the clouds are the sea,
No responsibilities!
I don't have to dress,
The butler can take care of the mess.
Jacuzzis, cruises, friends who I choose,
Admiring reflections in gold plated loos',
But perhaps I digress...

...Back to reality I guess.
If time flies when you're having fun,
Then pressing keyboards all day long
Makes every second crawl a marathon!
But I can multitask a bit.
I can breath and walk and talk and sit
While simultaneously pressing a button
And at the same time doing next to nothing!
But even then I can scavenge my mind,
And if I'm lucky I will find
That little paradise of mine...

...And faster than the eye can see,
I am covered in girls in bikinis
Whilst crashing Lamborghinis
Into modern art reflections,
Of my many types of perfection.
And I'll roll out, unharmed and afar
There's a feast for my eyes like caviar...

And if you find that hard to believe,
My imagination comes for free!
So I understand your private confession
That I must have the perfect profession.

a city old in trades,
in cultivation of the arts
based on industrious commerce
   of its citizens who boast
the world's oldest commercial fair

the city in which
Martin Luther and Melanchthon
led fierce disputes
with delegations of the Pope

where J. S. Bach found stimulus
and time to master
harmony and rhythm
close to perfection,
(and that was shocked listening
to Leibniz's monadologies),

the city of which
Goethe spoke with praise,
that saw Napoleon defeated
on the nearby battlefield
(and built a monument of quite
imposing ugliness one hundred years
after the fact),

this city suffered hard
from two world wars
followed by over forty years
of dreams gone sour of a new society,
until, most recently,
this city once again
became a catalyst of major change.

Yet those who kept their meetings
at St. Niklas' church
and by their stubborn protest
helped to reunite
a country separated by walls for generations -
those you don't see,
walking the streets of Leipzig now.

What strikes the eye
(besides the crumbling blackened ruins
of former glory,
and strip-mined land
just out of town)
is Wall Street's new frontier,
the bustling peddlers of new easy wealth
as they appear on every street downtown,
offering anything from oranges
to shoes and South Pacific cruises.

Ramshackled pre-fabs built on shabby parking lots
already stake the claims of big banks,
business and insurance companies
that promise earnings, safety and security
to eager though bewildered customers.

   "Pecunia non olet" says the poster
   of the postal savings bank,
   and shows a happy pig
   rooting in money.

Old stores, in order to survive,
have started selling
new and shiny goods
to happy new consumers,

only a few resist

and hesitate to walk a mile
for the melange of
fast food, cigarettes and *****
offered at makeshift stands
that seem have come
to symbolize the great new freedom

of the new Wild East.

          * *

(Memories of a Far Away Land)

I miss the mornings when I could listen to the roosters that loudly crowed.
Open the window to the scent of fresh tortillas, from the abarrotes it flowed.

Everyday I would wake engulfed by mountains and their fresh fresh air.
Alonzo's voice carrying loudly, "Empanadas, Empanadas, get them here."

Daily cruises through the streets of Juarez Mexico I often will reminisce,
Ending up in Downtown Centro to buy whatever, it was anyone's guess.

I miss going to the little grocers to buy, mandarins, avocado and mango,
The long waits in line on the Bridges of America trying to cross to El Paso.

Bathing in metal tubs, washing clothes by washboard with your bare hands,
I'll forever keep the precious memories safely in my heart, of a far away land.


                                         Lopez ©reationz 2014

This is what Dale Yeager- CEO "SERAPH -
The Problem Solving Company"
Says, There’s No Crime Here.
What do you think?

This man I want to help is my son’s father; we were many years out of touch with one another due to many reasons well beyond this situation; but it should be noted that this woman, the one in this, has had much to do with why he and I were not with one-other after 1991 and why the two of us are still not together today she’s also the reason he’s been out of touch with most of his family.
It’s in the later part of 2018 I found out about things which has have been going so wrong in his life. I have been in touch with his family but I always kept them off from talking of this man’s life to me; one day I was told of this man’s brake from his wonderfully close bonded family. They have learned recently his health has suddenly been doing quite poorly; one member even said they’re fearing this woman was setting to rid herself of him; I told them I’ve seen the Philly News about their boy, I didn’t think that boy did what was being said about him, not at all, and I’m going to look into it and see what I could find; and, this is what I found.
Within 5 years 6 months 19 days, from the day the words “I do” left this man’s mouth this woman has isolated him from most of his family and all of his friends, she places herself as his wife onto the deed of his house on March 12th.1993 a full 1 yr, 7 months, 16 days before their said wedding date; First thing being first is the actions and timing of the wedding; she tells his family to come on down, on October 28th.1994, for a big Halloween shindig?! Only once his family arrives they were then told one of the guest, a woman, was the mayor of their town and she’s to officiate on this day, it’s going to be their wedding day?! I looked up the Mayor of their town during that time and the mayor there was a man, a man who as of 2019 is still the mayor down there. His family was understandably perturbed, to say the least. not being told beforehand of it being a wedding as some hadn’t gone thinking it was nothing more than a Halloween gathering. This woman has had this man go through a chapter 7 in 18 and ½ months, a chapter 13 in just shy of 2 yrs, 2 months of that and then once again he’s gone right back into a chapter 7 in only 2 years 2 months, 17 days later??? She convinces this man to sign away his house, the home he has had built from blueprints, over to her first husband; her first husband who has by this time already been moved right into the house to live with them; Seven years afterwards this woman gets herself replaced onto the deed as an unmarried woman along with her first husband as an unmarried man who does all this 7 years, 10 months, 23 days to the day he took it away from Joe and without any financial considerations from her what so ever she’s on the deed as a single, unmarried, woman?!
How did a man with near $200,000, Bankable dollars who has had the ability to with straight-up with cash buying land and having his house built and having his very close family with his two brothers and a sister and so many loving friends, many of those held since grammar school, how could a man such as this man go from “I do” to having no body, no family, no friends, being $230,000 into debt and having to sign over the home he had built and having, now, to having to sign it over to her ex-husband all so you could have a roof kept over the heads of those you see as the only family you have left in this world. All of this has been done to this man, to a good man, all within 5 years 6 months 19 days; I also found even more way more deepening financial troubles down the road for him. I also found a fourth bankruptcy court case set in 2014 in Joe’s name for a foreclosure; a case on the house he no-longer even owns and he hasn’t owned one percent of it since May 11th. 1999?! How this could be done, is for the life of me, I do not understand??? At this point in time, this man is well over a half a million dollars in debt?!

In late September of 2019, I mailed him an Acknowledgment of Paternity form with the DNA testing office information to my son’s father so he could have all the test-work done. Then in November, I went down to see him after I had my book published; I gave him a copy; this is the first time I spoken to this man in decades. I wanted to tell him all that I learned about her and find-out what the hell was going on straight from him; but, I couldn’t. When I saw a medical-contraption strapped onto his chest, attached to his heart?! I just told him he needed to come home where he belongs. Joe said to me he had nothing to give to the boy?! I told him, I already knew that but I’ll be here to take care of him in any way he needs.
He said, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t;” I made bad choices.” He tells me, now, he could never leave from where he’s living no matter… his words,” No choice.” He seemed frightened. I couldn’t tell or question him i couldn't say anything further about anything knowing his health was so uncertain.
After his surgery, while he was still in recovery, we were talking on the phone with when he saw them coming down the hall; He said, “My family’s here and he hung-up. Time passed, he was out the hospital, I tried calling him but when I dialed his phone it said the number has been disconnected?!
On February 23, 2020, at 6:33 pm. there was a message I found which was sent on my face-book account it was sent this woman saying, “…happy he will be where he should have many years ago. It’s time he’s yours.”
I waited a while and asked a family member and I was told his phone number hasn’t changed?! Calling from a different phone he picks-up but as he hears my voice the phone went click.

Looking into his so-called wife’s actions, I seen markers of illegal activities far beyond those I thought I would. Beside his home this man’s name was attached to many homes not only in his town but on his block?!  It wasn’t as if he owned all of block 44 of his town nor has the paperwork to these lots make it into a true-file at their County Clerk’s office; one of the most important functions of a County Clerk’s office is the recording of all the legal documents associated with the properties and during the time his name was on his deed 22 files which were claimed filed but had no paperwork to show… whole files were missing from records and this wasn’t happening prior to his arrival to these town nor any time after signing away his house to her first husband?! I had also found this woman and her first husband have been living well beyond their means; they’ve been traveling on multiannual cruises together and they’ve even been paying for others to go traveling with them. The first husband himself is the owner of two rather large sized boats and both of them have been jetting-setting off on many out of town trips together all year long, leaving Joe to stay as the caretaker for her two children; this woman’s first husband is a. retired, Riker’s corrections officer and he’s not a man from a family of financial means?!

I started gathering the names of the others on these filings where Joe’s name appeared, I found they’re all of people living on that 44 block, all of them; and her first husband’s name was also in on this list 2 times, twice, before he was ever signed over onto this house, before and without, any file to show?! His name on 3/2/99 and 5/11/99; she had his house signed over her first husband on that day, Happy Mother’s Day?! Then, I looked up first husband’s name on the property and found a third empty file posted for a SUPERIOR MORTGAGE also being filed on 5/11/99

Those words after his surgery, “My family’s here…” was eating me up inside.

I see all this as well as knowing the idea of his needing to have even more surgery and knowing just what it took for her to get this man in the first place by September 23th. 2020 I was beyond the ability to say nothing anymore until his health was better; I called him up from my landline and told him just what she had tried to do back in 1991; how this female inside a little beige hatchback tried to run over my child and he calls her his family; I let him know just how much it was she who was interfering with our relationship back then; I knew she was right there hearing everything I was telling him, I didn’t give a care about it; But, I didn’t want to let her know everything I have learned about how it is that he’s not owning his house anymore. He told me he’ll be in touch with me… and we ended our call. On October 1,2020  while researching and printing out more information on just how I think this female ,Puttana, did what she did… I came across this new file in his name?! It was for a UCC1!? What? How could he be filing this without holding ownership on this house? I began looking into and watching files on this company; from that day ‘til after I hired Dale Yeager, there has been 23 files from this company for UCC1’s for block 44 alone and only four others within their whole township?! 23 out of 27 and 23 all from on the same block, nothing off about that and one of those names are of a man who’s not even a property owner and has not been one in 21 yrs.?! I did make a much wider search on this company itself but we’re only looking at this Joe’s block here and now. This company began showing files here for this whole town back in 2019 and to date they have filed only 40 files all together in this town and 30 of them are from block 44 and, FYI, only seven files were from before 10/01/2020 Dale Yeager says there is nothing off???
I also began seeing other things as well; I began seeing mortgage flipping going on here, where people were selling and buying their own homes over and over and then they’re paying off those 30 yr. mortgages within 5yrs and many of these even underneath a two years, on a 30 yr. mortgage?! And those people doing this were using the same clearinghouse?! All these are earmarks of money being funneled; this begins just after 1999 and there seems to be a line-up connection to these two’s traveling itinerary. But Dale at the end of his day says there’s nothing there; he wasn’t saying that when I first show these to him.
I hired Dale Yeager CEO of Seraph through bark.com, on April 10th. 2021 It was through an Email titled; It's about Husband-abuse. I gave him all my information and of what it is this investigation was about and I told him I was hiring him to help me to look into Lynn and her first husband; by this point I wasn’t sure if she even ever divorced herself from her first husband and she could have merely tricked everybody in his family as well and it wasn’t just him with that Halloween wedding. I sent Dale two different background checks for each of them; for Lynn, this woman, for,Kevin, her first husband, and for the one who is to believed to be second husband, Joe; … none of these shown marriages or divorcing information. I gave Dale all his family’s information so he could call them all to gather up what information he would need to help Joe; with a long list of everybody’s websites. I hadn’t much to give about the first husband other than his job, where he lived when she was known married to him and the year she married him.  I did have and I gave Dale all of Lynn’s information for where she lived before, It was a complete background back to her grammar school days when she lived on 65th. Street and all her brothers and sister information, I knew her and her family growing up. I was only vague about what I knew on her husband Kevin’s.

When I received Dale’s first report, it was wrong; it was on some man with Joe’s middle name and his last name, it’s not on the first husband’s name at all?! I told Dale the name on this report is wrong and Dale told me that I was wrong??? We argued about this but then Dale says to me it must be an AKA the first husband was using and just push through the questionnaire and it will make sense as the investigation moves along; the second report was on her and even this report had not made any sense to me at all; it was saying that information I know to be positively true was fraudulent; and again Dale tells me I’m not correct and that all his information was checked and was accurate information; his words,”… we have direct access to the records so we can have verified data for you!” I should just get through the questionnaire and it’ll become clear! It was clear to me this man kind of an ***… I grew up knowing about this girl and her family; her parents were friends with my mother and I’ve been inside their house on 65st. as a kid?!  Dale tells me I’m wrong??? And now he’s saying to take info I find and put them into these grid-sheets? It’s busy-work. I asked him again about the first husband’s name not being in the reports. I knew, once I hired an investigator time wouldn’t be on my side because it’ll known fast; I’ve been being monitored ever since my book’s been out and sent Joe those Paternity papers. I had to get the work done fast or they’ll cover their tracks. It’s been eleven days and all I needed most from Dale is of her marital status-proof with these two men everything else of illegal activities I’ve given to Dale in those three full mailers I sent are anywhere near as important?!
I wrote to Dale later that night, I just found out that Lynn and Kevin just returned back from another trip down to Florida, why they or anyone our age would go down there during Spring-Break is anyone’s guess; It worries me to think the kind of danger Joe is in right now... they both have and given Joe Covid; all three have went into hospital?! Joe was sent home as I’ve been told, Lynn maybe back home as of the time I’m writing you this, Dale but as far as for Kevin he was being placed into a room; At least Joe was able to go back home right away with it being a mild case but I would think this will put off his needed surgery for a while. I do hope Kevin makes a full recovery; I’d prefer him in jail than in hell for what the two of them have done to Joe.

On May 8th.6:40pm. Kevin’s dead, he died tonight; this is what I Emailed Dale.
Next morning Dale sends to me, ‘Thank you for this update.’ As cold, as silence itself.
This man is dead and… ‘Thank you for this update.’
I started working harder to gain as much information as I could gather; I fear, now, with Kevin's death Lynn's going to turn all her sights back towards Joe telling him, he's her husband: and, he has a duty to be there for her... by her side.
With Joe not knowing what we’ve been learning about who knows… Now, she's alone, who knows what is going on inside her mind.
I hope we can find and have everything we need very soon.

June 11th. I sent Dale an Email; Hello Dale I'm wondering what's going on with the files I sent you and the work on Kevin? Dale, are you seeing the same as I within those files I sent?  
The same day Dale wrote back…; Theresa; Yes, I am and the data was shared with the team. We are waiting for the financial accounts data. Dale
When next Dale and I spoke it was June 22nd. I sent the third box full of files completely fixed to him.
Email; Hello Dale; I sent you a package you should get it today; Please let me know when you get this; I fixed all the files in a mortgage, discharge, names of party and the block and lot numbers of property’s order. Hope they are useful for you.

Twelve hours later I get an Email; Theresa, I received the package and will review asap. Dale

Next thing I heard from Dale, Mon, Jul 5, 2021 11:15 am; Theresa good morning. Everything we could find and verify is in the last updated report we submitted. The next step is the POA. We will have that to you this week. Dale
This seems off?! The next time from Dale was Tue, Jul 13, 2021 3:00 pm Theresa; attached is the next update please review and email back your answers to our questions. Dale
Now, again Dale sends a report for the wrong person; a person who has my son’s father’s middle name and his last name?! This one also has her first husband’s name on it but Dale said he was sending a POA Report; what happened? At this point I don’t know what to think; I feel as if I’m being placed onto a treadmill?! I don’t have the ability to do this search on Kevin I can’t go any steps further then I already have... I gave Dale everything I could; and I told him this; He says ...Just to do it.
It has been since that night, September 23,2020, I last spoke with Joe; and it’s now been more than 8 months of continuously searching and working on this thing;  and during this I’m finding way more than I ever wanted to know about  what this poor man has had to endure during these past three decades; if only I were a stronger person back then before she got her hooks into him his life would have been so much different than all this...
But as for, Dale Yeager’s actions with this investigation; he has been with complete unprofessionalism, I think he’s a crook.

I thought I was Elizabeth
And you were my Robert Browning
While singing songs to my beauty
The relationship was drowning

I saw you look at women
Just like Oedipus Rex
Though I really did enjoy that
Great viagritized ***

You pitched ideas for taking trips
The best those river cruises
Instead you led me up a creek
A ****-buddy with bruises

That moon, those stars
Once your hand stirred my mind
Forming a constellation
Tracing lips that were blind

My wide smile like a child
Reaching you without fright
Escaped with a flesh wound
Your lair in the night

So casually said,
"Just a tentative tie"
Rocking my senses
Like a stick in the eye

Red eye of the scorpion
Shiny and bright
A user abuser
Sherry was right!

Seated on the edge of the riverbank
Watching raindrops fall across the city light's reflection;
A living Monet of color and fluidity and the sutble refractions of life.
The bridge above me is humming with traffic,
The railyard to my left fills the cold night with the timeless bellowing of midnight trains,
Used syringes lay amongst the driftwood here.
A crudely painted ******* adorns the trail head,
Overgrown with brambles bushes and blackberry vines.
A solitary ****** cruises the shallow dregs of shore
On an endless quest to find her mate,
Painfully unawares of his fate,
Fallen victim to a poacher,
Some careless fool with a greedy and discontented heart.
The tents and tarps of Portland's homeless, the lost and forgotten, line these hillsides;
Their many dreams and hopes lie broken amidst the rubble of this everyday existence.
I sit here often, smoking and thinking, and watching the ever changing lights.
Every now and again I take a picture, gather a stone, or fall asleep to the sound of rain
And the smell of earth and leaves and rushing water.

“What is the most intimate thing
you've ever done?”  she asked,  as she
produced a small kit and withdrew
a syringe, holding it between
her long fingernails.  She turned
up the volume of the music
to intensify the moment.

“You think *** is intimacy?”
“*** is a body function!  I'm
talking about sharing myself
and becoming a part of you,
with the very essence of me
racing through your veins.  Are you scared?”
Metallica screamed in background.

What is the most intimate thing
I've ever done, I asked myself.
If it isn't ***, what is it?
Give flowers, candy, jewelry,
pen a song, write romantic verse?
Achelous's daughter enticed.

'Course I was thinking like a male.
A woman would think of sharing,
beautiful sunsets, long cruises,
romantic dinners, holding hands...
She prepared my entertainment,
like a sacral ritual, and
I imagined Japanese flutes.

Sharing isn't intimacy.
I could've shared by dropping my trou,
but it was doubtful, it would been
appreciated, but no less
than her sharing was to me then.
"It's making someone feel special."
Having said that I slammed the door.

Frolicsome, merry, and shy, very shy was Mr Icy,
Wandering aloof from my fingertips.
Just as though associated with a wicked conspiracy,
Chilling down summer sips!

Engaged in icy combat against my nasty bruises,
He bestows upon me the promise of protection.
A marvel on sizzling cruises,
But a traitor on wintry inception.

Sadly, Mr Icy was ever so fragile and fleeting..
Frenzied near a burning stove,
Vulnerable to cracking and splitting,
Yet somehow exquisite in our treasure trove.

O, Mr Icy!
You now have shown me that not a soul is perfect,
That downs might be pricey,
And then ups shall reflect.

You see in the days of the virus
It is ****** too hard to bare
We are missing a lot of things
Like footy and other sports oh yeah
But one thing we can’t go on
Unless you want to stay on it
Every night and day
Not doing anything but counting
How far we go
Oh yeah don’t take me on a sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
There is no chance to go on a sea cruise
If you do break the rules
You have to stay at sea
You feel like captain cook
Or even ****** well worst yeah
There is no entertainment
Just cooped up in your cabin
And if you go for a walk on the ship
You have to wear a mask
To stop Corona from spreading
Please don’t go on a sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
There is no chance to go on a sea cruise
Why does god do this to us
Cruises can be fun
With fun for all ages and
Lots of great food as well
But now we decided to enjoy
A lovely trip on the waves
But the biggest thrill now is if you
Cut yourself while you shave
They don’t have local tv
So you can’t watch the news
Unless you had internet
But still people break the rules
They leave the boat spread Corona
All over the fucken place
At the moment it isn’t the best thing
Is to go on a great sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
No more getting on a sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Yes it is best not to board a sea cruise just go home and party on
To YouTube music vids
And think about other people
And stay home if you are sick
Don’t go near the ruby princess
Because it is contaminated of Corona
People being told not to leave their cabins so the virus doesn’t spread
Just ****** well keep away from this sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Please keep away from our sea cruise
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Corona oh baby baby
Yes indeed don’t go on a sea cruise
PLEASE

He gets all the pretty babes,
owns all the cool gadgets.
Some say he's a magician,
but I say he's much
more than that.

He's very slick,
so in tune with his spy-side,
he can easily handle
Paris traffic at rush hour,
knows all about
diabolical-power
& how to stop it.

His smooth-ride cruises fast
in turbo overdrive,
buzzes down the road
like a well-tuned beehive.
All the cool tunes play
along with him &
he likes his things
shaken not stirred.
Roulette, no trouble,
he'll burst the bank bubble.
O that sweet little
cherry-blued PPK!
Hey now, pow pow,
he knows the endgame,
how to kick some
cloak-and-dagger ***
up & down the street.

That's why,
I want to be James Bond,
knock the ladies & the thugs
right off their feet!