Well I was five minutes late, mum
Chucked me out the door,

"I have a letter from school mum,

"Been in trouble again, no change there,

I waited for the bus but never turned up

"Great she'll think I missed it on purpose,

I jumped on my bike, ill show her, no phone
Call saying I never turned up. I pedalled like
My lungs were going to burst, The school yard
Was empty  "Crap, "Crap, I ran in thinking
I was Late the doors lock at a certain time only
Opening in case of serious emergencies.

"Sorry I'm late Miss Hoper,
"The Bus never turned u.......,

The class was empty, I heard a noise from the store
Cupboard? I listened and heard moaning

"No way Miss Hoper is getting it on,

Was I early? had the clocks gone back and mum
Forgot? I giggled at the thought of catching her
With her silks around her ankles. Camera at the
Ready, 1, 2, 3.... OK don't be a chicken.
What can they say or do, 1, 2, 3.. I opened
The door clicking away 12mp clear as day.

"Miss Hoper surprise,

Dam Miss you look  "Fugly, not looking
Your best this morning.

"I'd say she was a six as far as teachers go,

Her hair was like a drunk had shaven in the dark,
"What big nails you have,
"What  sharp teeth you have,
"What the hell? how ***** you are this morning,

What was I doing I sounded like I was reading the
Three little pigs. Miss Hoper was the wolf.
I had a voice repeating in my head, but I looked
Beside her and saw the reason for the closed door.
**** Peterson was lying their, reaching out as
If he knew how this was playing out to the end.

She licked her tooth, her lacerated tongue bleed,
No pain more pleasure was on her face as she
Drank upon herself. I stepped back as I knew
That I was within her sights. Her fingers gestured
Across Micks throat and his hand slumped silently
On the ***** cupboard floor, his eyes emptily void.

That voice once again echoed out now screaming
Into my subconscious. This time I listened.

"Run, run, run....,

As she launched upon the area I once was, heading
For the door I glanced her movement. A step behind
As I slammed the door, the walls vibrated upon the
Lockers, as I saw the luck of the keys left in the door.
The teacher launched through the panels as glass, solid
Wood was the only deterrent from her tasting my throat.

I ran through the halls each class room locked, children
Tied to the desks gnawing on themselves in an effort to
Be free. Mr Freedman was hanging their, but fate his time
Continued as he with metal cord he hung and lower parts
Torn asunder he hung their only half a man.

"HELLO, HELLO, ANYONE
"Dam I'm just telling everyone lunch is here,

I instead whisper, their is thought in my madness.

"hello, hello,
"If your not a monster,

I wondered the halls, hearing moan I'd edge towards
I could hear them sniffing as if a scent was lingering
In the air. "Could they smell me? "I'd showered though,
I pressed my cheek against the wall, looking in to
My history class, well they were history all right.
Smouldering remains of god knows what.

"Hello.....,
"Is anyone not crazy,
"What am I thinking of course they'll say no,

Looking for my prom date, is their even going
To be one at this rate? I looked in the girls locker
Room.
"What don't give me that look,
Shelly you in there is whispered, then I sneezed

"O' crap O' crap these halls echo like a church steeple,
"Just ignore that ok,

I see a foot then the faces of cheerleaders, but these
Weren't the girls I knew twisted forms tails protruding
And hair, like they have digressed to a early form,

"No not shelly,
"She was 9 now a 2.0,

She sees me, head tilts then the call, her fingers point.
That voice didn't have to scream, I was gone.
I could hear them, I wasn't looking where I was going
And clothes lined someone.

"What the hell dude,
"You ran in to me,

Your normal,
But your, I saw you dead?

"What you mean dead?
"Down that hall, eyes gouged out,

And with that a shiver like someone had
Just mosh pitted on my grave, I heard them
I went to run, down the hall, but heeded his
Story *"dude hurry up run,

"I cant my ankles all buckled,

A second later I was in the lockers, lucky I'm
Skinny, they were upon him in moments.
Their tales swinging around in the air as though
They were playing with him. Then tails wrapped
Upon him legs, arms, neck they purred and
Claws dug in as if to get a running start.....

Blood, so much blood, I bit on my jacket to cover
My scream, I  was lucky his body tore up in
Such noise that I was unseen. they took of parts
Kept for trophies or munchies who knew?
I ran down the hall, I turned and tripped over
Something? I looked down it was me...

"What the..., what the....,
"How could this be,

Then flashes in my mind, I was here when it
Started, "I turned first, I opened my mouth
And expelled it, I watched others consumed.
I locked the rooms and through a key hole
I gestured it in. watched the madness mutate
Them in to me, "I watched..

But how did I end up here?

"Think, think,

I ran down this hall, and I ran in to me,
What the hell is going on I look, into the
Trophy case, I see something not me?
I look at myself eyes void only darkness
A shell, I enter two digits in. "Empty,
I look back as I see me, but others also.

I realize I'm an echo like these halls, I fade
Into the darkness as I realize it wasn't me.

"Just memories of other mixed in with me.

"I should have played hookie today,

But now I'm empty and its roaming the halls
looking for its next feed...

some people like to say,
'a poem's not a poem until you make it rhyme'
in some respect I guess that's true,
but the most important thing is
getting your thoughts out on every line.

some people like to say,
'you aren't a writer if your work's not published'
but in truth that's not the case,
as long as you enjoy yourself,
you can jot until contented.

some people say
'you can't write about that'
but truthfully there are no boundaries,
just do what comes easy,
let your mind go on journeys.

so when a person tells you you're no good
or enforces you to stop,
let them know you're a jotter,
a scrawler,
a hoper,
a dreamer,
and none of their words let you drop.

The glory of failure.

It’s just **** with sugar on

Jam and cream without the scone.

Because when I’m begging out in the street

And my eyes happen to meet those eyes that look down

To me on the ground, and you put a coin in my cup,

Just remember you’re looking down I’m the one looking up.



And for those who pass by while shedding a tear

Don’t worry yourself none I’ve made enough for my gear

And more than enough for a couple of beers.

I know what you’ll say

You’ll say, I waste life away

Like I’ve wasted this day.

But I’ll say, I made enough to pay for my addiction.

The seduction which leads me to say

That’s the glory of failure.



I saw an advert for a job and this job was paying quite a few bob.

But I wouldn’t have got it…no sugar just ****.

So I didn’t bother trying

I went back to lying on my bed

I went back to getting out of my head.

When all’s done and said I’m just a no hoper

A drug fiendish doper.

That’s the glory of failure.



If I could have a chance, a second chance, a last chance

To get my brain round to thinking

To think I’ll stop drinking.

I could get off the gear, I could get off my rear.

I could send my C.V to employers

Those employers who are known as the unemployment destroyers.

I could have a meaning instead of this leaning I have,

Towards self destruction.

I could get a job on a site become involved in construction.

So many things on the doorstep right here

But really

I much rather prefer getting ****** on the gear.

Oh yes that’s the glory of failure.



I should get myself well move out from this hell

But what the doctors have said is, in six months I’ll be dead

So I’m going to make tracks.

No,not those made by the needle

I’m going to wheedle

My way into a hospice which could be quite nice.

I think that’s the glory of failure



But what the hey I’m a guardian reader

But unlike other guardian readers those centre right bleeders

I’m totally anarchist, often totally tanked up and ******.

But in reading the guardian I just cannot lose

It makes such wonderful padding for the holes in the soles of my shoes.

And I’ve had plenty of dates with several girlfriends of mates

But when they’re looking down there and they see nothing stir.

That may be the glory of failure.



Perhaps when I’m old and I’m ready to die

I might cast my mind back and I might wonder why,

Every time I have failed the boat seems to have just sailed.

But I was never a sailor.

I was just a participant in

The Glory Of Failure.

the cyber bully said sorry to cover up, so does the weird kid


you see there was this man named Robert Delneath who was really bad, and he liked to

pick on vulnerable people, like taking their lunch money to try and prove a point with the

families of the world that he means business, and he has this phoney sorry which always follows

first of all, Robert picked on Harry jacobs by bullying him and making him really sad that

nobody likes him and then he bullied Ben Mather who was really scared of him and said how

about we make a truce, i give you my lunch now and you never hassle me again but Robert

was confused because that is not how it works, you see he said he was the king and deserves everything

and if you don’t give me your lunch, I will punch you, got it, and Ben was really scared and said leave me alone

i am a family person, the only people i like in my life are people who are nice to my family and Robert said **** your

stupid family, ok, you give me your lunch right now, ok and Ben ran away from him but the problems will never go away

cause Robert has friends in high places and track Ben down any tick of the clock and after that he said, Ben, no your not

a family person, I am not leaving you alone till you understand that you are a hooligan, ya know a no hoper like me but Ben

said no, i am not a no hoper, i am one stretch of the canvas a better person than you.

Robert said ok go home, but i will hassle you again, and don’t forget Mather, I never get caught, so you have to co operate

and then there was Mark Kenneth who hardly went out much and his brother was a real adventure lover and because of that

Robert was enrolled himself himself in the same school as Mark, decided to pick on him by taking his lunch, saying you are

a stupid little ******* circus monkey and Mark said my family are really nice to me and they will protect me, but none of that

came out, actually Mark was too scared to say anything and kept looking at Robert and Robert and his mated said what are you looking at, Turk

and picked on him for a long time, you see Mark wanted this man to leave him alone but didn’t have the heart to say anything to him

because Robert tried to tell him to shut up, and Mark was about to say, Nobody tells Mark Kenneth to shut up, but none of that came out

and he remained looking at Robert, making him feel very uncomfortable, but Mark just sat there watching him trying to think that he really thought

Robert was cool and he didn’t want cool people bullying him so instead of saying that either, he said nothing remaining lookling at him

in a queer sort of a way and then when Mark went home he told his parents and the next day Mr Kenneth became the the big man and actually

said, LEAVE MY SON ALONE,  and Robert said i am trying to but he is looking at us in a queer way, we need him to understand that kids are cool

and Mr  kenneth  was worried about his families safety so he got a job offer in Wisconsin and moved there and when he arrived there Mark started going out

and was trying to think about a way to protect himself better because what Robert posted on Face book that there is a queer starer coming to the USA

and what was happening was a hole lot of situations like a kid saying your like us man, i want o fight you, and another group of thugs locked Mark up in the

the store room in his class, and some kids ****** into a fruit box bottle and gave to Mark to drink which really upset Marks father and also some poor kids

kept on ribbing him for money, by throwing his wallet all over the classroom and when he thought his peers were finally going to leave him alone,

then the voices started happening in Marks head, Kidnap kids take a kid and lock him in the cage, which forced a situation with a portable toilet which was

there for the workmen, of the putting together of gas in the street and Mark wanted to lock every kid in this toilet, one by one, and then the kidnap voices

really drove him crazy, but he tried to play basketball and bowling as well as go to see the Green Bay Packers play, yeah this was realy radically awesome

for him but then he went to the Wisconsin local fruit market and ******* a boy to the toilet, and that was where, Mark had to settle down, getting kids back makes you

the bully and Robert must be dead or sitting in his house laughing at the crazy Mark Kenneth and then Mark thought drinking was his solace but he started really fighting

his dad t stick up to him, but it turned out that Mr Kenneth was really scared of his son Mark, he was really scared for his safety because of the way the young dudes

teased him because Mark was staring at them, never wanted to accept his apology because he thought he wanted the teasing to come back, and Mark was mugged outside the

Green Bay Packers football club after watching cake perform, and lost his house keys and his wallet and some ******* bashed him but let him go after Mark was appearing to tough for him

and after all that Robert said I am Robert Delneath world famous cyber bully, I NEVER LOSE, ****** Mark, you see Robert planed the voice in his head, saying he wasn’t a nerdy character

just try and beat us, I have the world at my fingertips, heh heh heh

blowing bubbles on a summer day
laying on the blanket, as scratchy as a lamb
wishing for a lover, a hoper, a dreamer to stay
instead of these sorry *** losers who dont give a ****

Oh, but please spare my head of necessities
of the complexities
that are but trivial and non-existential
to the pursuit of living and thriving,
not in a pool of segregating ridden paper,
but in a bath of mentation and minds wide open.

And please bite your tongue,
when the lick of a serpent dances across your taste buds,
when you wish to deprive me that of a young mind
and youthful stride.

I do not wish to be at one with your negativity,
I wish to flee and sprint from your gloomy, pessimistic stint.
Rather, I invite you to join me in the pursuit of creativity,
to strive to leave your imprint,
of sheer, requited positivity.

But if you will,
without a plee,
I wish to help you swing with me
on practiced words and the fleet from stability,
I wish to take you on a stroll,
through and into the soul,
of nothing less than a dreamer,
of a hoper,
of someone so desperately fleeing
from the necessities of the complexities.

Falling down
Head first,
Beneath the ground.
Dust and dirt
Bring me around
Warmth stinged my bones
Laid my body down
Tired and rusted
Once broken, a new one grows
Disposed, and another shows
Destroyed one will be cured
Meaningless one will assured
Things recurred someday'll quit
One falling down, will rose
The ones who grow
A little while ago
Cried and tired a bit.

google brings strange memories.

my friends talk of the coat hanger
effect. hanging our wares on each others’
shoulders, bearing us all down with the weight.

share it out they say, with friends and family,
loose and flowing, mind your engine does
not pink, we must have finer fuel. not feeling

our true self can be an infliction, the grave digger
reminds us of our years, our sense of humour.


sbm
we stare at icons, hoper for a better price,
i went to the market yesterday.

These past couple of moments have been beautifully ideal,
I feel carefree talking to you, somehow that brings a lot into question, what's fake and what's real?

Maybe it's due to my unchangeable inability to trust.
Do we actually believe someone is being genuine without expecting anything in return from us?

These insecurities, you didn't cause them.
Still in my eyes you're a flawless, tainted gem.

So perfect, your faults make you perfect.
Only for a second do I believe that maybe we're worth it.

But how do you turn a nonbeliever into a dreamer?
A no-faither into a hoper?
The blind into seers?
The mute into preachers?
The immobile into runners?
The numb into healers?

The obvious answer is you can't,
*No ungifted man can.

My heart was aching from writing to you,
A letter that defined my feelings toward you.

As hard as it may seems.
As fragile as your souls it may be.

That shows our inseparability.
Yet all of my sins that you have devoured purging the path of Darkness and Sadnes all the way.
It may be unforgiven because the Devil was once an Angel himself.

Yet he was threw to the darkest, deepest pit of the World.
Is that a desirable and suitable place I shall be?

I sense that rejection is not a failure, getting back together is not a no-hoper.
But still, the root is your truly pure-hearted soul.

All is yours and not mine.

The 'was' in we. The 'had' in us. The togetherness shrinks deeply as my sorrow turns deeply hallow.

Into unexpressed words, rhymed with the loneliest soul in the world.
Undefined by feelings and emotions.

This is the letter, I made for you, my darling.

O wind,thou that art scented with the scents,
Of a thousand fallen leaves and grass,art
The hoper's hope,and carry,in torrents,
The wishes of all,of all that have heart.

Bear my wish! I wish that my soul be gone!
Be gone with thee,there,where no burdens lie,
On the poor flesh,and that I be alone,
So I may,my own meek self falsify!

But if you can't carry my sullied soul,
Take my lips to my love,so I may speak,
And in my gentlest manner,kiss her all.
Or bring me the scent of her rosy cheek!

Be steady,O wind,for on thee I rest,
My hope,that does all my love manifest.

I wish that i could stop dreaming because in the end my friend i wake up screaming. Blind and unseeing i arise, wide eyed with my voice flying from my throat. you all know that i have nightmares, or if u dont you dont care. Scribbles from my pen reveal that to feel one must live and to live one must lie awake at night, free to think with insanity flowing through his veins. Attacking sanity because sanity is a cage that enrages me.  The thinker , the feeler, the hoper, the dreamer. In all sanity one is far from reality. A wise man once said to me "things are not what they seem". The silent are screaming the dreaming are waking, the  fallen are flying, the living are dying, and still we cant see that we are blind to the truth. I was blind to the truth but now death is dead to me.

Pretty,I can't be
Ugly,  I can be
Rich,   I can't be
Poor,   I can be
But      I  know my worth.

Smarter,I can't be
Silly,      I can be
White,   I can't be
Black,    I can be
But        I know my worth

I am No-Hoper
I am Non-Entity
I am Non-Starter
I am A Failurer
I am A Hustler
But I am still Worthwhile.

I am Young
I am Black
I am Gifted
I am African
I am Son of God
And I am still Worthwhile.

Narcan, opioid antagonist…
Doper no-hoper last breath,

sneeze,
live, live on, remain possessed
eh,
hope, secular semper fi,
keep the faith, baby,
old man, laugh, yeah,
-retied liga-mind, refined
spirtual, not religious, possessed
of a mind that makes you up,
dresses you in colors,
jagged acute to apt'use stripes, wheeling
coloring contrasts across the spectrum
RGB -backlit, ultra high resolution, zoom in

dots, right, Ben Day dots
on paper become
colors availing themselves of brain gap closure,
squint and lean
closer to the light,
gnosis bias familiar
details, see, the artist, being art, autopoeisisical
special run, one off, you
ticklewormywordeater, you…
recognostic
hyped Ai guidance
easy reading being, you, mind-eyed
one who can and does, eh, decipher coded
edu- pushing through, pulling on threaded
letters
seeing
form as from a rude pen, using matter red,
and new Levis blue. ****** right, too, right.

- selah, we have a thread, marked thus,
- selah, wait here. Pause, hold this thought
- selah, wish you were here
we as wished were here,

all along the watchtower, jokers,
shooting craps with gamblers, Silverman,
big old pre Greek exchange clan,
ran the final stretch of one last hope roll,
I swear,
I saw him roll seven straight passes
on seven odd points,
and all my winnings were gone, and my wages.

Oy vey, s'okay, watch people drink on TV,
Pray like that is posed to be heaven,
on earth, the pinnacle of success,
single malt whiskey,

ha! That spirit boin bleu, boy, s'tolen you,
too many many many time to be tolen you
another time like doing this whole hell you

made up, for science sake, to know,…

How did the declared eternal worth standards
survive?
How has the balance of power story narration
wobbled on a bejeweled pivot pointing toward,
- eight billion breathing mortals,
- each finger unique, we suppose,
Share the produce,
share the effort to produce,
share a mind atuned to function over form
- The Emperor's New Mind.
- What good is knowing how small one is!
The Last Emperor's chirping cricket,
same message, same frequency,
ready
steady, quotidian duty, uniform clothing allowance,
nothing to do but think,
set the pace,

all day each day, breathe mindful or not, breathe
and be,
**** sapien, mudmadepentaform,
knowing enabled,
born naked and essentially
knowledgeless, no science,
no knowing easy from impossible.
- many magneto electro buzzings
- screeching too high to hear,
Thump.
Aha. Certain instrumental effects.
Clangggging clang, riviting ratatat machine gun,
toys of the current oldest generation's wildest pretendence.
- We all had a machine gun noise,
- and declarative gotcha, y'r dead.
- We learned Washington played war, and lead.
- Even as a boy, boys naturally followed
- the father of our nation, one, under God.
- Exceptional in the most noble classified codes.

Back in the day, in the olden times, let's pretend, make believe

we saw, maybe, five movies in a year, or less, from birth
to age eleven, or so, budding years, slow groaning summers.

Then, we got electricity, that was
1943, we moved to town…
said the old uncle, from some time ago.

Being 2023 curious, having asked what good
could be useful through me, ah, as when we pull
down strongholds,
big orthogonal law abiding piles
of non living stones,
edifying soaring declarations,
embodying the entire order of God.
From whom all blessings flow,
through the leader, who translates art.

Worth is measured at the ticket booth,
the box office keeps tabs.
The audience votes with the reaction
to the bait.
Trolling for nibbles, snakey lick sense, feel,
mmm hmmm inter, between state, pose
relative rest, now, here, interesting, esse.
-Warrior mindset, new tools, new reasons
war after madness sets in,
this is no time for sabers of any sort,
spells and tells, and told means to ends,
secrets held to the death,
seep from the records,
Nixon's karma tapes,
Nancy's stars telling her to say NO.
Dare exposure deemed good parenting.
We pull down
imaginations that have exalted themselves,
Ai, we each have our own art, I insist I am not you.
Line after line, letting go guilty leisure, persist in youness.
- plants are gateways away from synthetics
- dye to distinguish your cloak of no color.

Dare be nada mas, not coo', not hot, just fine,
traditionally, right, how you do in'? Just fine,
perfectly acceptable interaction between strangers,

eyes met, prompting projection, yes, you, I see. So what,
fine grain realizing, how I'm doin', just fine, thanks
for asking
in passing… shine on the serial sadness, a little light,
fills the inbetween, you see.

Beyond the sales tactics
I listen to the voice of the liars
Loud in pitch, high with the verbs
I need to be alone, with my thoughts,
Mind control,

The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us;
but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us.
His attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful.”
― William Peter Blatty,

I want to mastered my own mind,
To deal with the universe and it’s allied:
How can one reason with someone
Who have lost everything?
Own your feelings or the situation owns you: quote
And do remember, it's not advertising; its mind control”

If you are a dreamer come in
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
If you’re a pretender com sit by my fire
For we have some flax golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!”
― Shel Silverstein

If I am a dreamer let me dream
Because you couldn’t dream big
Don’t awake me: let me save my pillow face
Too many ideas, jumping from one to the another idea
Sometimes, it feel like I am holding a snowball in my hands in the middle of July it dripping, it’s melting,

It searching for ten degree weather:
Dream further than beyond your height:

I’m making an honest living
Everything else I’m giving
To keep the world spinning
Yet I feel I’m not winning
As others pass me
Thinking they’re classy
Their weapons blast me
Causing pain everlasting

They’re like crack addicts
With attack tactics
Viciousness attracted
Their violence didactic
They can’t spare the rock
In this paradox
Where they care for stocks
And selling glocks

Farmer
Meets charmer
A disguised harmer
Dressed in social armor
With wealth they flex
For wealth is success
Wealth can undress
****** impressed

Materialism strangles
With salesman angles
The consumer tangled
Becomes helplessly mangled
Looking to turn the tables
I cut my social cables
A cutthroat mentality enabled
Only financially am I stable

A ******
Hunts me
Grunting
Bluntly
About getting his dues
Through cut and bruise
Controlling the news
So I know I’ll lose

The social anxiety
Inside of me
Pirating
The life of me
From the strife I see
Makes acting righteously
Seem like goodnight for me

To avoid being a fool
I play by their rules
By acting cruel
To win this duel
Of fatal competition
That Satan envisioned
For our moral dereliction
From our paper prescription

With no self esteem
I join a selfish team
With a hellish dream
Believing genocide cleans
I’m always conforming
To not be a minority
But a thorn in me
Says I’m *******

I’m perched in the mist
Of being purposeless
So ******* purchases
Drown my worthlessness
When my heart is dying
Yet I must keep producing
I think that I’m trying
Which is quite amusing
After demon fusing
I can’t see I’m losing

I’ve morphed from a hoper
Into an interloper
Who’s splintered poker
Becomes society’s choker

I'm not a winner
I'm not a fighter
I'm not a beliver
I'm not a hoper
I'm not a giver
I'm not a lover
I'm not outgoing
I'm not smart
I'm not pretty
I'm not beautiful
I'm not afraid
I'm not scared
I DON'T BELEIVE PEOPLE THAT TELL ME THIS
BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW RIGHT AWAY THAT
THERE JUST SCARED TO SAY THE REAL THINGS

I held the world in the palm of my hands,
and it crumbled in the melodic breath
of change.
So the world collapsed,
crickets chirped and tumbleweed rolled on by like
strange passerbys I'd come to be familiar with
these awkward interims filled the voids,
and silence became the only noise
that was comfort to me.
I played each silence like a symphony,
conducting each one; a Beethoven masterpiece
Van Gogh would have cut his right ear off in envy
if he'd seen the way I painted my silences
but none of them were starry nights
just pools of darkness I had learnt to swim in,
until I finally realised,
I was becoming a bit more Sysyphean
when I really wanted to be a bit more
Achillean.
And responsibility dawned on me like the sky on Atlas's shoulders,
and flattened the demons I'd sheltered a while
so with each day,
I began to feel a little bolder, stronger
more like a hoper,
a hero with a new name. I no longer needed to paint forlorn silences
but something sweeter
so I painted a hero. Me.
Artfully.

There are moments
In the abyss of life
That you just want
To give up and quit it all

When it feels like
Nothing will ever work
Not for us

These moments come
Sporadically
Without realizing it
They emerge to sink your heart

You feel weak
But you hold on
Because
****** you're a dreamer
You're a hoper

And though it hurts
And although it looks bad

You hold on
Because you hope one day

You'll never have to feel that way again.

The boy has caught me early spring
by the fireside we sojourn
Ain't got no hired limousine
no imagination for the road
The boy caught me singing
harmoniously undercover
Handsome  brown eyes
will reappraise me yet
Like a fiery fire
I'm going down big easily.
Got love to share
and an abundance of hope
Come and see me
like a bird in my tree
at my place

The alleyways of Ann’s arbor – a
reminiscence of myriad trips from
Lisboa to Cascais with stops at
the green lawns of the palace of
a desceased Portuguese nobleman.

Nine trips to the same country –
a welcome yearly journey to a
welcoming country – Portugal –
my gift to him, for his gift of
love to me, obrigado, T.

A bell tower decorating the campus
sky – under the stately protection of
a graduate universe – was home to
languages sought and tended to
reverently in their own building.

Across the diagonal heart of the
sunstruck pagan centerpiece –
libraries and hothouses cast their
shadows on the pedestal of the
flagpole, in its trite austerity.

The halls of the new residence
greeted a swarm of newly coined
experiments – immune from the
15 credits of drills visited on the
typical first-year initiates.

The typical pie chart had three
pieces – logic & language, frosh
seminar and foreign language –
a fourth piece could be elected,
and was, from a vast menu.

It was I, the almost doctoral kid,
who swept up the remnants of
French vocab and grammar for
the required classes needed to
be proficient by college rules.

I, who lamented his freedom, yet
came to classes – more than one –
fettered by guilt, if not burdened
with book-writing and admin tasks
which violated the Ph.D. goal.

That first class was a thrill per
conjugation and realia – nothing
was too much for the college –
and my recollection is of
a no-holds-barred classroom.

Only once before had I broken
a rule that then wasn’t even of
consequence – the post-grades-
turned-in frivolous date with
an ex-student, a male.

Language classes were not graded
in the college – so there was little
to dissuade the profs from an
up-front, public display of college
camaraderie – call it tutorials.

She was the perfect fit – a well-
educated daughter of a diplomatic
family – with manners, looks and
wit – and no apparent frosh
baggage to taint our time.

I think back, those fifty years ago,
of her as an exceptional friend, a
lovely, soft and caring woman –
a female who actually cared what
I thought, and liked my friends.

The recently redecorated college
halls greeted us with grace on this,
the fiftieth anniversary of inception –
I recognized my former colleagues
and students, wrinkles and all.

We said our names to each other –
as if they were fake news or as
if we wanted verification of the
physical existence of the elder
person standing face-to-face.

Then I made a necessary walk –
my walker and I – to the couch
in the lounge area, where I could
not resist asking about him – her
erstwhile boyfriend of the 60s.

Names, dates – more or less –
came to both of us – she knew
more than I about many men
who shared our lives – It was
my turn, then hers to recount.

Our college coterie was not
immune to the unacceptable –
there was Jay’s addiction, George B.’s
penchant for boys, my lunchtime
martinis, and bizarre Anita.

My forty-seven years were a
predictable journey – what else
do non-***** French teachers
do? – she a surprise package,
at least to me, a cause for envy.

These two lives joined only by
memories – the symmetry of
years together, and the unknowns
of years apart – except the names:
Chuck, Tom R., Mark, and Tom W.

The agenda called us back to our
raison d’ être – the need to go to
the next session, event, meal, etc.
We met at Stephen’s limnal space
crossing, and I went to hear music.

There were so many college “sardines”
seated at round tables at the festive,
closing dinner, that our meeting up
was almost accidental – she and I
both trying not to waste a moment.

In the days that followed our abrupt
goodbye, I spent trying to relive this
unique couple that she and I were –
student/teacher? Only briefly –
lay minister/clergyperson?  Yes.

But denominationally different and
worlds apart in miles, would a couple
of onetime friends – forget titles –  
now share their lives in a modest way
or drift apart forever?

We are technocrats, so the business
of staying together rests on electronic
mail – or phone numbers scribbled
on a napkin – hence I shudder at the
loss of a treasure such as she.

I cannot know the outcome – the
marriage of minds is complex,
especially for two aging ones –
but I am a hoper who takes his
clues from above.

A favorite author writes of “ghost
spots” –  staring out from my world
to her world – “Remember the way?”
I look her in the face and say:
“Call me by your name.”  Please.

© Lewis Bosworth 12/2017

He is fearless but not brave.
A servant.  Not a slave.
A hater, not a hoper.
It's true.

Though he shines,  the light's shallow.
A barren lamplight so hollow.
A shadow destined to be shamed
and broken.

Take for instance his great burden.
Is this a cross?  Or a warden
of a state which is true...
Is it really?

But he holds together surely
as his spirit's dying, purely
just to show he can last
a year more.

Yet the taint of his upbringing
causes disease which starts singing
in his lungs and his heart
and his mind's eye.

So when he speaks,  close your please.
When he writes, look away and cease
from believing,  receiving
his lies and revolt

For a rebel has restarted,
fully now he has departed
and to hell with all others
who think he's not bad.

Unsmile that great happy structure.
Please frown, and he will fracture
all your hopes, to your kids
and your future.

And when you feel fully harrowed.
Just see his grave. His tombed barrow.
You will see him in your dreams.
As a shadow.

She was
A loveless lover
A heartless heartbreak
A soulless soulmate
A lossless loss
A dreamless dreamer
A wasteless waster
A hopeless hoper

. coat hanger .
google brings strange memories.
my friends talk of the coat hanger
effect. hanging our wares on each others’
shoulders, bearing us all down with the weight.

share it out they say, with friends and family,
loose and flowing, mind your engine does
not pink, we must have finer fuel. not feeling

our true self can be an infliction, the grave digger
reminds us of our years, our sense of humour.

we stare at icons, hoper for a better price,
i went to the theatr the other day

sbm.

Ask not any favour from thy neighbour
    'Nay' will be the answer-- a no-hoper!

I open my eyes wondering
who I'll meet today;
Will it be the cynic
filled with hate
or the hoper
filled with dream,
Will it be the pragmatic
never on the fence
or the high strung
edgy and tense?
Will it be the extrovert
ready to greet
or the recluse
bound to the sheets,
Will it be the friend
selfless and tender
or the egotistical
aloof and self-centered ?
Will it be the stoic
taking everything in stride
or the one that falls apart
at the touch of a snide,
Will it be the confident
believing and farseeing
or the one thats doubts
the very being ?
I open my eyes wondering
which one of my selves I'll find today.