I left
immaculately folded tan chino pants
cuffed and disheveled
atop the department store rack
in the Young Men’s section.

They were too big at the waist,
letting me swim laps in them,
stretching out the front with a thumb and forefinger
looking like a successful weight loss ad.

Atop the rack they sat,
cuffed and disheveled,
amongst immaculately folded
tan chino pants
its kin
and they looked human.

Something about them,
factory made, dime a dozen,
not on sale,
but with the spectral imprint
of spaces and wrinkles where legs had been
amongst all those patient, forlorn folds
gave humanity
to the anomaly.

I hate the dripping dark hollow behind the little wood;
Its tips a cursed maroon with a blood-red heath.
I think I praised and lamented it too soon;
Before seeing its scent; I saw already its stray mystical death.

My crown is torn, outraged by florid winds and scorn;
Like a tangled old roots of the windblown thorn;
I shall feel scanty by my own poetry,
And throw it about, duly, like a static little joke.

I shall let my heart grow dull and illiterate;
I shall not taste joy, no more, in any clear--flowery fate.
I shall seek everything bitter, and not sweet;
Even not pure as the honey of a bee; for it shall be plain.

I shall curve and bend any straightforward light;
I shall harass it, and blind it--as if my ghost’s dead soul is very not here.
Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Perhaps she is astray in my memory still, and not by my side.

I feel relieved so soon as glanced at her beside me;
She owns still that full lips like a perniciously tasty moon;
She is adorable like the flower of heaven itself;
She strikes me again when away, and tosses me about when near.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
Tame me again with thy rain of laugh;
Saint me once more like a fresh young bird;
Come to me now, and return my unheeded love.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
And kissing her forehead takes me back to that day;
A day of myths, a day of agile swans and storms;
An ornate time of hatred; a whirl of bitter fate; a dust of sorrow.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
And again I was alive in this tale, with a burning heart;
On one eve of tears, a mischief, and a wan poetry;
I caught about shadows in which there was no soul of Maud.

I could only see the stones, lying ghastly about the fireplace;
Ah, Maud, are you but still haunting those whimsical moors?
Their strange murmurs but I cannot hear;
But still they consume me, ah, I am scared;
I wish they would be gone soon, I wish you were but here.

These storms were amusing but peculiar;
They are bizarre, but intelligent and stellar;
And calling thy name out but breathes into me strength;
Ah, but should I be here, and bear away thy image alone?

Ah, and thou wert in but nymphic and lilac dream;
And my heart was still not massaged by the tender storm;
For it meant thee, and hungered but for thee only;
And in the midst of love had it longed, and yearned for thee.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Her with her childish eyes and rounded head of bronze,
With her rapturous steps and wild glittering aroma,
With her atrocious jokes, and a wintry secret touch?

But still she was not anywhere about;
She dissolved like one romantic bough of soda;
And within a rough joke, she would be but gone;
And now the storm returned, but I was wholly on my own.  

Ah, and now the striking storm is mounting the earth;
Should I write alone and chill myself by the green hearth?
For I hath nothing to console and lengthen my parched logs;
I shall wait outside and drift about yon wintry bog.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud;
Maud with her heart-shaped face and bare voice aloud;
A voice that soaked my senses and craving throat;
Maud but teased me and left me to that joke.

Where is but Maud, Maud, Maud and Maud;
Maud, the goth princess within my ancient poetry;
Who but remained symmetrical and biblical in her vain torments;
Who but stayed sturdy and silent; amidst her anger, and vain fellows’ arguments.

Listen to me. I am but full of hatred.
I am neither a gentleman nor a well-bred;
I, who is just a son of an infamous parson;
A malleable son; with a bleak aura of a putrid spring.

I, one who crafted ingenious jokes;
But interminable as they always are;
I made Maud sit still as I held my woodwork;
While she perched herself on yon bench, gazing at dispersed starry stars.

Maud the shadow in my pale mirror;
At times she ceased at morns, but retreated at night;
On her brother’s sight she fled in horror;
But on mine her smile turned me bright.

Maud was idle, sparkling, vibrant, and tedious;
Her heart was free and not marred by stupor.
She was the sun on my very bright days;
She made me startled; she always left me curious.

Maud the green of the farm, the red of the moon;
Without her everything would spring not and remain odious;
Everything would be bleak and stayed tedious;
Ah, but still I could not own her, though I was her saviour.

I was a farmer and perhaps still am;
Perhaps that’s why her mother ditched me with shame.
Maud said she had not places like home;
Her house was the mere shallow--and gratuitous throne.

Maud came often down and agitated;
Her mood shadowy, she cried and cried too aggravated;
I caressed her back, and placed my palms on her white knees;
She told me stories whenever no-one else would see.

She wanted not to mount the throne;
She giggled often, at our country escapade;
She loved my cottage, she sweetened my thin grass;
Even those apple trees had then her eyes, which sprayed tough, lonely seas of green.

Maud took to hymn and dear children’s little songs;
She was popular always among the talkative throngs.
She would love to dance and wiggle and turn around;
While village pupils gathered to sing a noble sound.

Ah, but when the mirthless prince arrived;
With white horses and swords of a knight;
Maud was swallowed every morning, all through day and night;
Maud was no more seen by my side.

I thought I was not alive, for dreams were unreal;
If they had been, then they I’d have want’d to ****;
But seeing Maud not gave me fretful chills;
I often woke up tensely, within a midnight’s shrills.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Maud my bumblebee and my delicate little honey.
I kept waiting for her behind the rustic brook;
I fetched my net and fished by my old nook.

Ah, and where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
My eyes were still and my chest could no more speak.
I wearily fancied she had been kidnapped faraway;
She would be jailed in a sore realm, and would no more be back here.

Ah, for had she been lost, then I had lost my ultimate pearl;
For there would no more be magic, there would be no more of her;
No-one would so restore my original spring;
Perhaps there would be no spring at all, and I would suffer in summer.

And I would lose anyway--my lyrical, elusive demon;
For Maud had always been elusive herself.
She wore that evil smile and thin laugh;
As I told her tales of fairies that she loved.

As I am fond of magical poetry and dramas;
Maud too used to read them with genuine personas.
She was my epic fanatical little devil;
She liked tropical cold and a faithful Mephistopheles.

I should be Faust, as she once said;
For had I fair hair, yet a bald head;
She said like Faust, I was cleverly amusing;
But to me, like Mephistopheles--she was unusually entertaining.

She danced before me a beautiful ballet;
She was young and keen to levitate as a ballerina;
She crafted me limericks and such fair lines of sonnets;
She made earth my heaven, and my melodies a twin cantata.

Ah, and where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
I need my butterfly amongst this wheezy curdling cold.
I need my lover to soothe my chained hysteria;
I need to get out of here, and feed my love with her charms.

Ah, but where is Maud, Maud, Maud, is not she here?
I was then screaming in my solitude, could she but not hear?
I could speak not, no more--sore and wounded by this snowstorm;
I crept sick and weak like a dumb old worm.

She was not even heard of upstairs;
While I was dying here as a roaring beetle.
I hath almost lost all my creative flair;
I felt tormented and neglected and nearly feeble.

Ah, but a story like this is not such a fable;
So at that time I did shun sadness and seek a warm ending;
But indeed, to escape fate the poor were perhaps not able;
And the farmer’s son shall never be a king.

And ‘twas the nobles’ right to be idyllic;
To be deemed far then fairly righteous.
My charms were trivial, and so was then my wit;
My prayers were too parted and despaired; no matter how rigorous.

I kept my work along the countryside;
I toiled all night and behind fierce daylight.
I hoped Maud would see me back one day;
But what I found was to my dismay!

Ah, Maud, for she was now engaged;
To that pathetic creature the cursed morn brought about;
And parties arranged, voices too raised;
The union was now what people had in thought.

Onto my shoulders my head kept sinking;
I killed myself nearly, for my irksome defeat in this rivalry;
A rivalry that failed to transgress vital destiny;
A rivalry I could not even bear to think.

But again, this love had always been everything;
And thus Maud’s union would equal my death;
One night I crept out of my bed;
I had in hand a keychain and a net.

The soldier was infused by sound sleep;
And into Maud’s grand chamber I crept;
Everything was pink and quite neatly kept;
But woke I her not--as I heard her breast breath slowly.

She was tremendous still--in beauty;
Maud in her splendour; so young and free.
Ah, she was free but not free, I fathomed;
I looked at her over and over again.

I looked at her violet bed and comfort net;
Ah, my Maud too ****** and temptingly red.
She was too abundant in her young and chaste soul;
Ah, I could not imagine how she would soon be one else’s.

Long did I stand; ‘till morning streamed back again;
Still I remained unmoved; I stared at my darling in vain.
I jumped startled as the door opened;
And showed me the horror of the Queen!

‘Come, ye’ fool’, she voicelessly instructed;
Her face emotionless as these words emanated;
‘And embrace thy very fate’, to the handcuffs me she directed;
‘For daring look into my dame’s immaculately flawless chamber’.

She pointed thereof--a black gun at my chest;
It would soon burst out and tear my vest;
And even fly me straight to death;
So drifted I, without further haste nor breath.

Those poor soldiers imprisoned me there;
A cellar room at the top of filthy stairs;
I stayed awake only for grief and tears;
And most of the time I laid about sleepless and stared.

I grew skinless as my bones squinted;
And laughed at me with their sordid might;
Flies were about me, bending onto my rotten pies;
And slices of meat left out by sniggering guards.

I hit my head on witnessing Maud’s cold marriage;
‘Twas on a Saturday on the castle’s rain-wetted field.
I heaved myself onto the windowsill and saw;
How the couples were blessed and sent thereby back.

I could not see Maud’s face and fleshy cheeks;
But didst I feel her discarded tears;
Marred and defiled her lovely fits;
Though just those innate, and not out there.

I struck the lifeless paint with my bare palms;
Now the walls were tainted; they smelled like my blood.
Time passed and desire for Maud was never killed;
I’th missed her every day, since then, and perhaps always will.

But my love for Maud was never probable;
I was decent, honest, but indeed not preferable;
I was not even preferable by fate, as thou might see;
Fate who is neither truthful; nor frankly urges us to lie.

I often laid hopeless by the moonbeam;
Until night came and eyesight grew more and more vulnerable.
I waited ‘till it was dark and left to day no more gleam;
Then took my journal of Maud’s jests and read her affable poems.

I turned around--and would disgrace my bed still;
I was plain starved but had no desire to be properly fed;
Of a dream of death I grew instantly pertinacious;
And of my future tomb I grew fonder--and yet rapidly curious.

Ah, but my sweet Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
And deliriously she somehow became pregnant;
But remorse said she kept the souls of two;
And fatefully could not make them both perfect!

I indeed plain prayed for Maud’s survival;
I cared not whose sons they might be;
Ah, but the twins were still sinning babies--as I comprehended,
For they were formed not from cells of mine!

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud,
And during those last days she was cautiously ill;
And a drive of cholera had again grown widespread;
But she was not maddened; by it she was not marred.

She was sickened by temper still;
And the prince found dead, she grew more terrifyingly ill;
She had a pure heart, so she flourished not over the beast’s death;
Nonetheless, he remained the father of yon sickly offspring.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud,
I was duly growing perfectly anxious;
She was to give birth--ah, to those little ignoramuses;
And within a little chord in one or days of two--she would do so.

But without a father to care for her notorious sons;
And even I was locked away, and could not do so;
I was terrified, I was horribly undignified;
To learn this stern reality we were so sullenly faced with!

Ah, not now! I could not too believe my ears!
Maud and her children were dead--they’d been stillborn;
Before they left Maud alone to receive her fate;
Her locksmith would not come; he had another due in a nameless town.

By the time he arrived my darling had gone;
Perhaps she was now shimmering in heaven;
Enchanting her children with her enormous spells;
Narrating stories no plain human could ever tell.

Even in heaven my love would perhaps be famous;
Her tenderness would make other angels jealous;
And angered by envy, they would gather and complain to God;
How an earthly soul could be more vivacious than their heavenly were.

Ah, but where is Maud, Maud, Maud;
Maud and her chain of songs that were never to be broken;
Maud and her familiarity with gardens and blue lilies;
Maud and her immaculate pets of birds that still sweetly sing.

Ah, but where is my darling, my darling, my darling;
My eternal ocean, my hustling flowerbed, my immortal;
My poem, my enchanting lyric, my wedding ring;
My novelty, my merited charm, my eternal.

And now she was longing for her grave, as I’d been told;
For I’d been told by the dimmed torches and fuss and mirthless air outside;
By the endless wandering and the prince’s wails and wordless screams.
Ah, my Maud had now migrated from her life--but attained her freedom!

And he was thus unworthy of being in her heaven;
Her heaven where there would be me, her true love;
And thus he would be glad to greet his fires of hell;
He would marry an evil angel there--and make himself again full.

But I’d be with Maud, Maud, Maud and Maud;
I’d be again with my gem, indefatigable little darling;
Whose voice was unsure, whose poems were never known;
But ‘twas enough that they’d been known to me, her secret--ye’ dearest lover.

So took I, that spinning penchant and a circle of strings;
The edges I matched to the chains on my ceilings.
I braced myself for my very own fiery death;
But again, I’d be with Maud and death would no more, aye, be sad.

Thus the above poem was done by my spirit;
But with the same token and awe of genuineness and wit;
I feel tired--I shall close my eyes, and thus enjoy my heaven now;
For my wife and starlings are all waiting for me to-morrow.

It is now nighttime in heaven;
And there is indeed, no place on earth lovelier;
I gaze into my wife with a loving madness;
Her cheeks sweeter still, than any proudest swiftness.

I shall take my vow of marriage tomorrow;
My proud wife sitting in yon angelic chair by my side.
I shall cradle, then, those white little nuptial fairies;
They are Maud’s children’s, but lithe and gracious and bow to me in chaste mercies.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, she is but all mine now;
I am still surprised now, as sitting by this heaven riverside.
One even grander than the one I’d had beside the lake;
Which I often farmed when I had needs to bake.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, she is a ghost but as ever lively;
We are both dead but she boldly remaineth lovely;
I know she is worthier than serene jewels or mundane affairs;
And still she is worthier all the same, than any other terrific palace--or heir.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, and this war is but all over now;
Thus let us dream dead of the exciting tomorrow.
We shall see life and our children grow;
We shall witness delight--and miracles none ever knows.

O how I recall with joy a visit to Jackson, proud capital of Mississippi,
The land of the fearless fatties, the glorious land of the uber-obese,
A paradise enjoying amazingly high blood pressure and diabetes rates,
Thanks to the greed and gluttony of its 'proud-to-be-portly' inhabitants.

How delightful to stroll along its leafy boulevards, admiring the advertising
For junk food shops: "Super-Size Your Deep Crust Giant Pizza for only $1!"
"Real Men love our Emperor Size Cheeseburgers, King Size is for Kids!"
And "Come Try Our All Day Giant Breakfast with Triple French Fries!"

How enchanting to see furniture stores offering discounted extra big sofas,
Builders and carpenters with their cut-price floor-strengthening deals,
Tailors' shops with their displays of buffet pants and elasticated jeans,
Realtors promoting houses with double porches and wide internal doors.

And, O the trailer parks, those truly splendid residential areas,
With their giant size immoveable vehicles with spacious entry portals
To allow the immaculately dressed residents to carry in an armful
Of multi-packs of chocolate iced crème flavour filling Krispy Kremes.

But most wondrous of all, the myriad rival Pentacostal Chapels
With their guaranteed reinforced concrete padded sofa-pews
And their portrayals of plump Jesuses to make the fatties feel at home.
And all those "funeral parlors" with their gaping super-wide caskets.

How I loved the blinking stares of the sleep-deprived bible students
As they staggered out of an architectural wonder of a chapel,
Bleary-eyed after an all-night bible study session, and all eager
For a healthy breakfast of a dozen flash-fried sugar encrusted "donuts".

I was there in this glorious world centre of ever-escalating obesity
With my latest gorgeous lady love (at only 140 pounds and five foot two,
possibly the slimmest woman in the entire Jackson Metropolitan Area)
And we decided to try some good ol' Mississippi fine dining as a treat.

Holey Moley! What a feasts on offer: pan-fried catfish, deep-fried catfish,
Steaks the size of an encyclopaedia and all accompanied by unlimited fries!
Sweet potato and pecan pie with butter, sugar, eggs and extra cream,
And Mississippi Mud Pie with its chocolate crust and sticky chocolate filling!

(The chef de cuisine in our upscale diner told us that Southern cooks
had created this wondrous dessert because its sophicated ingredients
were available cheaply and the recipe required only minimal culinary skill,
and what's more it came with a treble serving of supermarket ice cream!)

We declined the bottomless cup of watery coffee with compulsory sugar
And enquired if we might have a bottle of his finest wine. Quel faux-pas!
The dear fatso was mortified and told us his was a Christian establishment
And strong drink was frowned upon. Did we think he was a degenerate?

That night we lay bloated like beached whales in our tasteful motel room
(its bed reinforced with ferro-concrete to deal with the horrid possibility
that any gargantuan visitors might wish to copulate vigorously);
Oh how we burped and farted, longing for a dose of bicarbonate of soda.

All good things come to an end so, after a nessy session on the toilet
(we filled it thrice), we bade farewell to the desk clerk and sloped off.
"Be sure y'all come back real soon," he declared, patting his fat gut,
"Cuz you both sure do look two real skinny Limeys, ya hear me?."

As we drove out of this elegant city that steamy Southern summer morn
In our rented 4X4 super-strong chassis Land Rover, how we smiled
At the scene outside Walmart where the special offer of the day
Was five pounds of free candies with every single assault rifle sold.

But alas! And alack! Tragedy was not so very far away that day:
Some corpulent teenagers toppled off the sidewalk under my auto's wheels
In their indecent haste to take advantage of the latest McDonald's bargain:
A quart of complimentary Dr Pepper's with a whole oven-fried McTurkey.

Oy! What a horrid mess my fender made of their pudgy, mottled flesh
And how wise we were to speed off before the cops arrived
At least, we avoided being beaten us to a pulp for being leftist libtards
Come to laugh at the dear redneck ways south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

It was in the earlier part of November, 2005 when I was called to the garrison HQ to receive an emergency Red Cross message informing me that my grandfather had passed away. I was in my third year of service as a direct contractor to the Army and my duty station was in Iraq. More specifically, I was at Tallil AFB near the city of An Nasiriyah. I was granted an emergency leave so that I could go back to the US to be with my family so I stowed my gear, packed my duffel and made the long trip home. This was the first time I would make this trip, but I’m getting ahead of myself so let me back up a bit. You see, my grandfather had served in the Second World War, actually both of them had. They were brothers. PFC Eddie Kassab, the one I’m speaking about here, had survived WWII through some pretty tough odds, including being on the third wave of the Normandy invasion at D-Day where thousands had died during the beach head assault. His brother, SFC Joseph Kassab, who married my grandmother, was killed in that war, He was a bombardier and his plane was shot down during the Guadalcanal campaign. It wasn’t until 27 years later that the wreckage of the aircraft and remains were found and recovered. When Joseph died leaving behind his young wife and new born son, Eddie began looking after her, sending home money for her and the boy, my father. They wrote back and forth to eachother after the dissappearance of Joseph and when he returned to the US after the war they courted and were eventually married. Joseph was laid to rest with the rest of his flight crew in Arlington with full military honors. Eddie, who died much later in life, was also afforded a military service there. That was my first time being in Arlington National Cemetery, a place reserved for men and women who had served their country in a military capacity. It is difficult to describe just how immense and powerful that place is, the impact you have on your life just from standing on those grounds is indescribable. If I had to try I would say it’s a mixed feeling of Honor, pride, sorrow, and a profound sense of loneliness. There are row upon row of white marble markers spanning miles of emerald green grass and broad shade trees. The markers themselves are simple, nothing fancy, but the respect they command is beyond contestation. There are also wall vaults for those who were cremated, one of these would become Eddie’s final resting place. The US Army's honor guard performed his service, while a trumpeter played “Taps” and his flag was folded and presented on behalf of a grateful nation to my father who Eddie raised as his own son. In the distance a 21 gun salute was given by seven riflemen firing three shots each. It would be the only time in my life that I saw my father cry. We took the time after Eddie’s service to walk to Joseph’s grave marker as well, passing thousands of other markers and I found myself wondering how many of these people were forgotten by the years. How many of them left behind young children. Were they killed in combat? How many of them were laid to rest with a grave full of unfulfilled dreams? The sacrifices they made weighed heavily upon me. It was a feeling I would carry with me long after I had left that place.
Years had passed and I found myself still working in Iraq for the US Army, I was stationed at Camp Taji this time, on the edge of Sadr City, a real dust bowl. I was in my eighth year of service when I was again called to Garrison HQ, another emergency Red Cross message had come through informing me that my Father had passed away. It was December 29th 2010. For hours afterward it felt as if I had been punched in the gut. I called my Mom as soon as I could to make sure she was ok and to see if there was anything she needed before making arrangements for yet another emergency leave. I again stowed my gear, packed my duffel and headed out. Now, it’s only fair to give you an idea of whom I’m talking about here, my Father, Jan, had been a Navy man and had been stationed on submarines as well as destroyer class ships during the Vietnam War. He signed up for service when he was just 18 years old and when he left the Navy he went directly into the Maitland Fire Department in central Florida and stayed there for many years. Eventually he expanded his training becoming the 80th paramedic in the state as well as a certified rescue diver and instructor. More importantly, he was a great father who raised two boys as a father should and later in life, he was a pretty good drinking buddy. His teachings and advice have helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. It was because of his prior military service that he was also awarded full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. There was a waiting list of about 8 weeks at the time because of the high volume of casualties from the wars in the Middle East so it wasn’t until February of 2011 that he was finally laid to rest. This time it was the US Navy’s honor guard who performed his service. I remember it well; they stood in their dress whites throughout the ceremony in the biting cold as the wind whipped by mercilessly.  The honor and discipline in these men was no less than awe inspiring and through my sadness I couldn’t help but feel an amazing sense of pride for who my father was during his life. We all stood as a trumpeter again played “Taps” to the folding of my Father’s flag which was presented to my Mom on behalf of a grateful nation after a 21 gun salute was ordered in the distance. My Father’s remains were also placed in a wall vault that became his final resting place; his marker being only about 20 feet from Eddie’s marker in the adjacent wall and even though it was freezing that day, we took a little extra time to visit Eddie and Joseph again. Walking the grounds of that place again awakened all the feelings I had felt the first time, probably even more so. Again, I have to tell you that words couldn’t accurately describe how that place makes you feel. The grass had turned brown by now but was still immaculately manicured, and the precision placement of the grave markers was flawless. There were thousands of names that dated all the way back to the American Civil War. I went also with my brother to pay my respects at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It was an impressive mausoleum that is guarded twenty four hours a day by the US Army’s horror guard.  After it was all said and done and we had left Arlington and met as a family, my Mom, my Brother and his family, myself and my family and some close friends to remember him for a while over some food and drinks, and though nobody seemed to really have any appetite we still stayed there for hours. That was the first time in eight years that I had seen my Brother and would be the last time I saw him alive, but that part comes later. Eventually we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, each having a very long way to travel back home and I had to get ready to go back to Iraq, heavy hearted or not.
I had only been back in theater (that means deployment) for a few months when I was reassigned to Al Asad AB as my permanent duty station. It was a place in the middle of nowhere and was originally a Marine base but transferred to Army and Air Force some time in 2010. I had made some good friends there, settled in and finally started coming back to myself when I received a message from my brother’s wife asking me to call her, said it was important. Thinking back on it now, I remember feeling a little angry that she wouldn’t tell me on email. Internet I had in my room, but a phone…well I’m no general and I had already settled in for the night. It was about 21:30 hrs. (9:30 p.m.) on a night in late July so I got dressed and made the quarter mile walk to my office where I could use the phone, cursing under my breath the whole time. It took me about 20 minutes just to find my phone card in my cluttered desk drawer, but when  I finally did amongst more unsavory mutterings I made the call. She answered quickly enough but her voice sounded strained so I calmed down and asked her what was going on, I figured something wasn’t right so she didn’t need me jumping her case on top of it. It was then that she told me my Brother’s body had been found in his home in Whiteville NC. He had been having a hard time with depression since our Father passed as well as marital problems and he had made the decision to take his own life at the age of 36 leaving behind his Wife, Stepson and Daughter who was only 5 at the time. I was blindsided to say the least, no one saw this coming, and he left no real reason as to why so there still is no closure, no understanding. I was angry… no, I was furious! But I’m getting ahead of myself again. She had called me not only to inform me of what had happened, but also to ask if I had Mom’s phone number because she didn’t have it and didn’t know how to get in touch with her to tell her. I told her not to worry about it and that I’d take that on my shoulders and get back to her. It had only been five months since we laid our Father to rest and to say I dreaded making that phone call was a ridiculous understatement. It was easily one of the toughest things I ever had to do, but it had to be done all the same so I dug Mom’s number out of my wallet…and stared at it…I don’t know how long but it felt like a long time. What else could I do? What could I say? It’s not like I had an instruction booklet for delivering bad news and this was as bad as it gets. After a few deep breaths I dialed her number and decided to take the direct approach. She answered the phone and we exchanged hellos, and I asked her what she was doing. She was out shopping with Robbie at the Tractor Supply Co. He was a longtime family friend and all around good guy. I told her that I had some pretty bad news and asked if she could find a place to sit down there, but she told me it was ok to just tell her what happened so I did exactly that. I gave her all the information I had at the time, I didn’t know how to sugar coat it so I didn’t. She took it pretty well up front, not breaking down until later that evening. My Brother, SPC Troy Kassab, had enlisted in the US Army with our Father’s permission when he was only 17 years old. He was a combat medic assigned to Ft. Carson in Colorado before transferring to the 82nd Airborne Division in Ft Brag NC. He deployed to Cuba among other deployments overseas before being attached to a Ranger Unit as their medic and doing other deployments that he never would talk about much. After the army he lived in NC where he worked in restaurants while attending school on the G.I bill and volunteering on the Hickory Rescue Squad as an EMT. He eventually completed school in Winston Salem NC where he got his PA degree in general practice. Troy was a self-educated, brilliant man who wasn’t perfect but who is? He saved lives in the Army, and then continued to do so in the civilian world until his death in July of 2011. He was a husband and a father, a brother and a friend. He was important to us. It was because of his past in the Army that he also was awarded full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. This time the wait was much longer and his funeral wasn’t held until November 15th of 2011. I remember that day and the days leading up to it like it was yesterday. I had ended my deployment in Iraq on November 3rd, making it back to the US on November 6th. From the time of his death I had stayed in contact with Mom and his wife Andi to make sure they were ok and help in any way I could with the affairs and expenses. When I finally did get home I pulled my truck out of storage had it inspected, fueled and ready to go. It was unfortunate, but my wife was in college and had work at the time so she couldn’t come with us so my daughter and I made the long trip from Houston TX to Hickory NC to see Troy’s wife and kids. While I was there I also picked up a close family friend of ours who needed a ride and made the long drive to Arlington VA...again. The US Army’s honor guard met us there to perform his service and again the attention to detail, the respect given to the deceased, and the discipline shown was flawless. There were more friends this time than family in attendance but I was there with Mom, Robbie, my daughter, and some very close family friends, some going all the way back to our childhood. The ceremony was the same, every time the same. I remember thinking I hated the way “Taps” sounded as they folded the flag and I was angry and hurt when I stepped forward to claim my Brother’s remains and walk them to the wall vault that would become his final resting place. I have to say though, that through my grief and anger, I was a little bit pleased to see that he was placed so close to my Father and Grandfather. I left a pair of my own dog tags in his vault, it made me feel better that he wouldn’t be alone in there. I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense now but at the time it did.  I stood over his marker and said a silent prayer before heading out to see Dad, Eddie and Joe’s markers and pay some respects. The grass was that brilliant emerald green again, and the sense that I stood in a place of honor reserved for our nations fallen still struck me through the heart.  After that we just kind of faded away from that place making our way home. Troy’s wife Andi had decided not to come, she was angry, she felt betrayed and abandoned, so on my way home I stopped back in Hickory NC, dropped off Michelle and made the drive to Andi’s house to present her with Troy’s flag as it had been presented to me. I remember hoping that her decision wouldn’t leave her with later regrets, but it was too late to change it now. The drive home was a long one, one that rekindled so many unanswered questions. Three generations of my family laid to rest leaving me as the only surviving male member of my family; something that still weighs upon my heart today.
But this is their story, and though it seems a sad one, that is not its intent. This story was written so that you the reader could understand that there is a place where over a hundred thousand Josephs and Eddies, and Jans and Troys are resting.  Each one of those stone crosses and stars have a face, a name, a history, and they made a sacrifice for you and for me. They were people who gave up their futures so that we could have one. They were people who had dreams, families, and who put all of that aside for what they believed in. They weren’t perfect people, but they deserve to be remembered. If you do nothing else after reading this, at least take the time to think about the freedoms that you have, freedoms that have cost us so much…

As a uniform, he always wore
the grey ironmonger's coat
immaculately pressed and bore
clipped hair neat as well as a
close shave.

Mr. Cornthwaite (all of us
minions called him only Mr.)
was no "Do It 'Cos I Say So" boss
but with patience would teach
and preach retail folklore:

Cooks' staples stored well inside
our mini-market shop advanced
for its 50s' existence; shelf-stacking
to re-arrange for early use-by at the
front; fast-moving lines checked
hourly if not sooner; trusted staff
becoming the Tasting Squad for
new fresh produce being considered
for supply - The Cornflake (never
uttered in his hearing) circulating
to ensure not only that his ever-clear
commands were reflected in full shelves
but also that staff were coping not
rushed or overwhelmed.

The best Warrant Officer cares
just as much commands as
my de-mobbed Warrant Officer
father used to tell me when I asked.

(c) C J Heyworth

Earlier today, painting was the activity that we had planned
I have a support teacher who would always lend a hand
She had left the class to get the paint all mixed
While I stayed behind to get the toys and props all fixed
She came back and bore bowls of red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

Lunchtime I visited a store and neatly displayed on low shelves
Arranged so immaculately as if magically done by elves
Were cases upon cases stitched together with only zips
They almost instantly bent a smile to my lips
Their colours shone brilliant red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

Passed by a shop selling accessories and apparel
Merchandise dangled on wall hooks and some in a jumble
On the adjacent wall something caught my eye
Carried all the neat little tote bags one could ever buy
One peeking from a corner was red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

Walked by a building, so modern-looking and new
Down on one side almost obscured from view
Were these horizontal rows of dancing neon lights
Stopped for a minute just to soak in the sights
Then I realised that they flickered red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

Waited for the bus to get home at my usual bus stop
Whilst waiting, I shifted and from my bag something did drop
Bent over and picked my coin pouch that had fallen out
Looked up only to see another commuter lingering about
On his pack was a sticker which boasted red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

Bus was packed, found a seat in the back row
Sat myself down, I peered briefly out the window
Engine under me, I scanned around to those who were seated
Observed the floor beneath my shoes as it vibrated
My pair of Adidas, oh my, they're red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

Got home, put my bag down and sank into the sofa
Switched on the telly, on was the Food Network's "Barefoot Contessa"
Surfed through the channels, caught a real estate commercial
Promoting prime land in a country not anywhere regional
Splashed on the screen, a flag - red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.

End of the day, it is best that I hit the sack
Allow some rest for my poor aggravated back
But not till I complete the words you're currently reading
I'm thinking, dreaming and furiously typing
How do I end this? Hmm...red, white and blue?
I'm thinking and dreaming...and wishing I'm with you.

I don't normally share my personal life with strangers, but for some reason I never got my chance to do it. She was always the first one to speak of how we met, what things I did for her, and whatever about me she loved.

My sophomore year in High School was coming to an end. It was late February, my friend (Jared) and I was in biology class during the beginning of lunch. We were talking about nerdy things like volunteer at some event after school. Just two young 16-year-old hoping to lend a helping hand, and that’s when she walked into the room radiating like an angel from heaven. Her blonde hair was glowing immaculately, her crystal blue eyes had a shine, her skin looked smooth and soft, but the one thing I noticed most was her white clean teeth with braces. Haha. I fell in love with her smile and laugh as she walk into the room. Her giggly and bubbly attitude caught my attention first. That's when Jared introduced me to Julia. I threw a few jokes in our conversation and held her eyes with mine. Just hoping she notices my undivided attention to her every word. Standing there with her felt like forever...

Times change, she and I came to a realization that we were just two people destined to meet, and help each other make it through our past. We broke up after my third year in college, she went to India and I joined the Marine Corps. Since then, we haven’t spoken to each other a little over four years.

I love you.
For everything,
that you are,
that you were,
and the amazing person you are going to become.

We seem so perfect for each other
but so
distant.
Two missing puzzle pieces
that fit immaculately together,
lost.

We tried so hard to stay connected,
but our edges became worn
and images faded.

So you stripped me
of everything I was.
You took all my colors,
all my strength,
all of my will,
and left me as just
cardboard.
Soggy,
from the tears,
of a shredded heart,
streaming from within.

But over time,
my skin dried
and was stained and crinkled.
Showing a new picture.
A new me.
Stronger.
Happier.
And even more beautiful than before.

I love you.
For everything,
that you are,
that you were,
and the amazing person you are going to become.

It's just that you don't love me...

in that, beyond good and evil, there's on femininity and masculinity; we already know of st. thomas' account about how the masculine needs to made into feminine and vice verse... no wonder such teachings in the undercurrent of our life, that we went beyond this and started doing likewise in the framework of good and evil; but there's hardly a dualism within the four 90º, while the tetragrammaton opens the gates to geometric phoneticism, which does not work in the hebrew depiction of the tetragrammaton, only in latin, because in latin one will not see a vision but reveal, having heard but not seen, and when inserting a thought into an experience: a satanism that said: i'll be satan and change this choir into moving stars and send a telegram to the aliens! should i see man loose all dignity in warring with himself that ended in napoleonic trust for man and man on the battlefield - because what she offered most men can get, and what i was offered only one among the billions, and in history about three, get.

so while some attempts at a sensual proof were not
granted, only one was, through moses,
and obviously through elijah - as sensual proofs
go, the proof of moses had to be fused with
a cognitive remainder, since, given the fact
that the torah was written by the supreme outsider,
the book depicting elijah was written by a true insider,
yet the cognitive realm which these two operated in
is a pure mystery, given the fact that sensually,
the staged rifts were short lived, yet too long lived
cognitively, having to argue, cite and disagree with
moses, who dragged the most sensual distortion
into the cognitive realm.

so as cognitive proof-arguments go, they are simply that,
more cognitive proofs lead to more argumentation,
but little sensuality, such that the paid need for
theological argumentation that leads to no sensual
precipitation enters the realm of holocausts,
whereby idle and vain cognitive proofs have no sensual
******, only more "thinking;" paid thinking.
and when the sensual proof for the non-existence of god
appears, like the holocaust, all those accumulative
"proofs" from the cognitive realm... end up like midgets...
and everyone's awe taken aback, because so much
cognition was left undisturbed, that the senses are prompted
for a disaster! why would i want cognitive argumentation
if i cannot seek and find a sensual guarantee?
where's the sensual ******, if cognitive argumentation
climaxed to the fine tuned 1 + 1 logic is a sensual anticlimax?!

the odd thing is walking the neighbourhood with beer and hand
waiting for the indian heatwave, but as i sooner realised,
this type of drinking is no good - the shelter of the garden
is where i find laughter - on the street making miles
i find anger - and as i noticed a day prior:
beer in hand, cigarette burning the lung forests,
watching a clear night sky, seeing a boeing boast
engine ***** high up to sound like i drone - that
universe forgets i can claim a nighttime hemisphere of sounds
with that boeing, even though the daytime skyblue is blinded
by a dilated pupil,i can feed that massive vacuum
of emptiness and keyhole glitter a mishap and a chance
to study less celestial geometry to endeavour out of this
haven.

prompts a maxim this verse does:
no one around me in my shape or walk -
tall enough to reach the sky, but
dumb like a thirteen day old butterfly, still flirting with the flutter.
***** you were born as the caterpillar old man,
now you're a fever of beauty in colour,
and only for two weeks, or even less if nabokov is about.

well, crescendo!
when simon magus stood with st. peter at nero's throne
the stage was like the two women with solomon about to cut a baby in half.
it was scened within the following framework of details:
st. peter started to sing bon jovi's 'lay your hands on me,'
with alternative lyrics - let me lay my hands on you
with the power of the holy spirit.
nero replied: lay your own hand on yourself, get away from
me you ***** *******, that holy spirit of yours, the one
you said is a personality but really isn't is just another form of:
celestial chaining; magus simon, what about you?
so simon magus came up and said:
i'll whiff you a smokey vision of caligula learning
of philosophy as read by his talking horse *incitatus.

i wish for praise here on originality, but i heard of this one,
the talking horse of caligula by the one and only zbyszek herbert,
and in quick translation the poem reads -

*says caligula:

from all the citizens of rome
i loved only one
incitasus - a horse

when he entered the senate
the unblemished toga of his fur
glistened immaculately among hemmed with purple cowardly
                                                        ­                           murderers.

incitatus was full of virtuous bounties
he never spoke over me or spoke in general
a stoic nature
i think that at night in the stables he read philosophers

i loved him to such an extent that one day i decided to
                                                              ­                   crucify him
but his noble anatomy countered such a feat

he bosomed the position of consul with dignified apathy
he held power to the helm with a cupful of water
spilling none in a drunk waiter's swagger,
meaning he used none of it with the entitlement

it was impossible to make him bow to long lasting bonds of love
with mt second wife caesonia
alas no lineage of future caesars arose - centaurs

that's why rome crumbled

i decided to nominate him a god
but on the ninth day before the calendar days of february
cherea cornelius sabinus and other fools obstructed these godly intentions

with calm he received the message of my death

thrown out from the palace and sentenced to exile

he accepted the burden with dignity

he died heirless
butchered by a thick-skinned butcher from the township of anzio

of the posthumous fates of his meat
taticus is silent with regards to.

Yassou, I say to you in poetry,
To the 'Alive Poets' Society',
Here is one for your fantasies,
Make love with one feather-erotically,
But with a whole chicken, well, like, *****!
Run that past your thoughts, imaginarily,
Making love like that, immaculately,
Definitely one for your fantasies,
Using a whole chicken, well, like, *****!
Yassou, one of the 'Alive Poets' Society'!

I am a caricature of humanity
- a picture of its seething bowels.

I am its sloshing,
quivering, yet wholly earnest intestines
made manifest - I am,
the inside-out freak show
we all crave
dancing before your eyes
oh, and what a feast of eloquent gizzards you witness!

Feast your eyes, my friends!

I am what you wish you weren't
yet know you could be
as you yearn to be as free as me
all your shame and volatile desires
all your sadness and madness
all your dreamful bliss
I profess it daily
in an ode to you, my fathers and mothers,
in an ode of love for absurdity,
I am the cartoon character made free of its stage
the puppet made free of its strings
the loon, made free of his rage,
a benign insanity,
not capable of harming a germ.

Don't pass by
by all means
gawk
it's my pleasure that you do so
breathe my callousness in
shudder at the thought of being so exposed
having all your human nature bleeding there
like my crying eyes
as I tell you of all my past loves
and how I still love them
yes
even the meatloaf
still eating it
that baby towel
still snuggling it
that algebra homework?
Still completing it
and there's a missing grade somewhere
in a dusty book in a warehouse
imagine
how I'd creep in,
decades from now,
hours before my death,
open that tattered grade-book,
pen myself an A+ for my immaculately completed work
- fist pump the air!
Take that Ms. Cramsworth! I may not have beaten algebra,
but I beat you!

Die right there
in that warehouse
amongst all the other freaks.
There's Bigfoot, who slipped accidentally one day, got impaled by a branch, then called 911 - he had no health insurance, that's all she wrote. Bigfoot's just another disenfranchised-American statistic now. Bigfoot's last painful hours were spent taking selfies with holocaust deniers and people fashioning MAGA hats - some with rifles for effect - it was then Bigfoot regretted voting for Trump and only then. You were just rudely-awakened from having sympathy for Bigfoot, weren't you? Poor baby. Save our souls.
Then there are the cryogenically frozen heads of the Illuminati we're all worried about - they're trying to sleep until humanity can make them superhuman bodies.
A flying saucer that was alien in so far that it was actually a time-machine from our distant future that brought people back to warn us of an all-consuming genocidal calamity, but they spoke a language we didn't understand, had genetically surpassed us, and therefore were unrecognizable to our labs, and we took their highly-advanced babbling as acts of war when they tried to **** the Illuminati heads - killed them then, so tragic - ate their gizzards for research. Now we're all doomed to die... Their bodies were lain next to the Illuminati heads. Centuries later, the same couple, now janitors from the freak warehouse, see themselves, find the time-machine-saucer, and start the time-loop again... inadvertently causing the end of humanity because they messed up the timeline.

... and that's exactly why I never did my homework.
Humanity is doomed to die in some distant future caused by the doom-couple and so I refused to put a brick in the wall. I refused because all I was was a...nother brick in the wall and I hated it.

Because as fascinating as I am.
As absurd as I am.
As much of a human marvel as I am.
I don't matter. I matter the least.

And so that's why I had to die in that off-the-books warehouse,
full of priceless and unmentionable artifacts.
They wouldn't ever put me there, but I had to die with the legends.
I had to give my life meaning somehow.
If I can't live a legend, I will die one... by the way the janitors put me in the trash out back anyway.
I end up in an east-Asian landfill somewhere, kicked in the face by barefoot sweatshop kids who just so happened to make the sneakers on my very feet. Isn't that poetic justice? What a send-off!

And so isn't that all a satisfying and cathartic end,
giving closure to the most absurd poem,
with the most random details,
wasn't that fun?

I
Parting from the golden tinge that tears the azimuth
The red orb descends into the vast blue
Infuses a consortium of colors immaculately blend, an interlude
Between the morn, and the night that has to brew

A stillness engulfs the trees, the night dawns
The last rays sieved by the green leaves, swivel through
Escape from the small pockets, shimmering, marking their finale
Afraid from his embrace, light the path in lieu

Amongst the drowned colors of the night, he moves
Trampling the undergrowth, merging into singleton
And though his destination's vague, for others he carves a path
Follows the constant ire, within his heart that burns

And this began years ago, roots unclear
When fingers hadn't yet gained freedom from flesh
And a luring innocence emanated from within
Cuddled in his mother's ***** he rest

From a bedlam of impetuous thoughts arose
A symphony both bitter and sweet
Ridden with memories, some wounds and falls
An overture of edification he knead

Though the day he learnt to tame
In the dark velvet, white jewels they shined
A servitude of the dreams, trapped awaiting emancipation
He set them free, let them touch the open skies

Taught and steered by the ethereal sun
He embarked on a voyage into the unknown
Trying to steer into the path, nebulous that lay
Though comrades there were, he vanguard all alone

II
The patter on the leaves beseech him from the trance
As the faint drizzle makes its way through
The carved lines on his face that hide deep within
Underneath this hardened countenance, a figure unblemished, raw and ****

And then he sees Nature unleash itself
Her eyes gleaming red with rage
Irked by the persevering being that stands before
She vows to vanquish him failing the riddle she lays

"O fellow-being, I am Nature", she cries
"I have seen a myriad of men come this way
But few could pass, who could answer me correctly
Listen carefully O traveller to what I am about to say

Tales speak of a thing within with mysterious origins
Whose workings be elusive and indiscernible
But O my dear friend, it lays carefully hidden and though we can't see
It vivifies the moment, to make the next turn"

As her hair waves in an eccentric swipe
Like Hades from Hell, she tore
"Tell me what it is, for I forbid thee to go further
Answer wisely, so that I know that thy heart is naught but pure"

As he remains mesmerized, feet transfixed to the ground
The courage and valour he has loomed over so many years
Trickles down with the warmth and the cold sweeps in
As the bells ring, the symphony of the impending doom is loud and clear

The very earth beneath him quivers
With a thunder, as an eerie force pulls mountains apart
And these vestiges of time adorn and reflect
The cursed fire that ensues beneath the two halves

The covetous fires leap, advancing towards their prey
As the tumult above marks its arrival
With a crescendo, the storm imposes its anarchy
The clouds do its bidding, the skies they stifle

The exodus of the falling black rain
A blanket covering the sky, sheds out the light
The Satan's canvas anew, the impenetrable darkness pierces
Awaits the strokes that pervades the crimson into the night

As the mountains rise up, blot out the way
The vultures lay sprawled, their eyes, they shine
And these scavengers of death swoop down, sniffing, awaiting the moment
The hunger glistens in the pupils, today, to their appetite they dine

And he stumbles upon a rock and falls
As the storm vivified by the fire creates havoc
He lays exhausted, a numbed mind, though awake
And he witnesses it though the windows of his eyes that lifts his shock

Amongst the carcasses and the carrion strewn on the bloodied ground
Carrying the dead, the little creatures, ants, unaffected they stride
As they move on, compelled by an unfaltering force
Binding them, as they tread these dark knights

And he realises, what be these, these colossal clouds?
Intangible they may seem, it's the air we breathe, remain just misty shrouds
What be the mountains that stand on our lands?
Boulders they may be, remain just mounds of sand

Darkness never ceases unless one open the eyes
Like the wind only carries those who spread their wings
And the destination is never near until taken the first stride
Just as the tide only sails those who hold on to the mast's strings

Dreams shatter and hard blows we receive
Our eyelids close, wet waters they meet
But we look at the lily, from the depths of the murky waters, it rises
Basking, with a smile, the sun it greets

He speaks "Faith be the elusive power that exists within
Emphasises the goal in the turbulent times
Each human capable of it, umarked by religion or creed
Urges the torment laden heart to beat along", as Nature smiles

And with a single wave of her hand, it all vanishes
He stands before the place that his heart for eons has yearned
And the utopia unfolds as his dreams present themselves before him
And his eyes finally give way, to the tears he has for so long shunned

As he stands captivated, ebullient
Savouring each bit of the magnificent sight
The fresh fragrant air fills his nostrils, as he understands
It hasn't been the destination but the voyage he has prized

As a flock of birds chirrup their way through
And the wind toys with his hair, him they beckon
He smiles and with a lasting glimpse
He starts off again, for sleep has yet to come.

Like 5 or 6 ...was i ....doesn't matter
but little,a small one for sure
Sure of that not because i remember seeing myself in mirror
But everyone else was so huge
Their palms big enough to be afraid of
Most of the world was above us
To amaze or annoy us
Can only be reached by our little eyes
Transfixed a little more than now
Ogling , making sense and befitting it in our own world of limited understanding
But few things were there
Seemed Precisely sized up for us
As if Toyed down for me and
those friends-as big as me
Never had to look up above or below
Right in level casting our surprised eyes on each other smiling through the eyes first in approval and acceptance; that tacit truce
As if we've found refuge in each other
in that big world


They made order with us -chaos (filled minds) and confused, wondering mostly
What suddenly happened; what and why I m doing it and
How far (in distance and time) is the home.
My home.
The school became "My" school to in few days

All of us dressed same, loaded with our loaded bags
Fobbed off to school in the morning
In a different world.  Our world
With more of us there
Used to stand in same row at the morning
Prayer/assembly,
height wise.....was it ?
Pushing on toes to peek over each others over those glistening oiled and then combed hairs
stacked primly to stay there for some time

Puffy reddening cheeks due to .... always smiling ....was it ?
A little henkey in left pocket always,
seldom used though
Dressed immaculately in halves
Those action shoes......was it ?
Singing prayer in unison
Eyes closed but stealing glances
Opening an eye,tilting head
And enjoying the moment secretively
Glorifying in the maneaouvre just accomplished
Sometimes yawning and snapping it back to that plumbed, more ***** posture
Thinking that too went unnoticed...Did it?
Standing through all that rut daily
That "aaj ka vichar"(today's quote)twice
A poem also ..... was it?
Finally the "jan gana mana"( national anthem)
Pressing the fists hard sidewards
pulling them down
***** and loud
In oblivion,in spirit
Head shaking in rhythm unknowingly
At every other syllable
And yeah
At last but not the least
That "bharat mata ki jai"(hail India slogan)
Loud and from heart
As if waiting for it all the time
Thrice.....was it ?
Racing to the classroom
in an unannounced competition
and extol the victors briefly.
Legs hanging from those little chairs ....
No, benches ......was it ?
Few already waiting for the teacher
Looking through the wall outside the door
Quietly
Few making the most of it
Sharing some secret laugh,loudly at the end
Showing some prized possession acquired yesterday
Rejoicing the
Silent faces in awe of that thing.
That thing ....seasonal it used to be
tattoo stacks,card stacks -wwf and cricket too
Or a geometry box....was it ?
Nodding approvingly and decidedly to that thing with conviction promising self to get something better if more of that thing only.
Not on their seats
Relying on that good samaritan
Positioned perfectly in front row
to detect the incoming teacher and a loud shussshhhhh......was it ?
Rushing to ones seat
In sonic speeds before teacher enters
Hopping and throwing oneself - thuds!!
That momentary Commotion before the muteness
Head held high,supressing a giggle
Proud of the last act
And together saying...
No, almost singing

Goooooood morningggggggg maeeammmmm
Or sir.....was it ???

Versus - Movement I

I love her
But she is bigger than my endurance

She is the poster child of Discontentment
Whose sorrowfully diseased heart
Must secretly wear inconvenient braces
To hold up her chronically heavy burdens.
She is sad there in the picture
Standing with the forced smile
Beside the unconquerable walls
Of photo opportunities
and no-win situations.
We wallow in the awwwwws
Of her childlike innocence
Draped in tattered dreams
Built somewhere between lack of resolve
And incompetence.

The unreal expectations from her youth
Haunt her like reoccurring nightmares
Coming again to chase her off the cliff
Or tangle her in the struggle
Of powerless punches
From which she awakens
Sweat-drenched
And weeping.

She asks for answers
But only hears questions
Try as she might
She cannot find a positive meal
In Hope's kitchen
If it were administered intravenously
By the arch angel Michael.
She fears good news
Worse than bad news
For everything after a good report
Can only go downhill.

Her monsters are born
In the cauldron
Of pessimism
Anger
And spiritual arsenic
Untainted by reality
Which would only serve
To dilute the strength of her desperation.
Her demons are immortal
Terrifying beyond explanation
Larger than stability
The kind that makes Chuck Norris
Weep in his pillow.

Each and every torment
Is finely crafted
uniquely turned
Without one grain of truth
Immaculately conceived in failure,
Regimented rehearsal,
And late night confections.

I don't know whether to pity her
Encourage her
Scream at her
or
Leave her.
(Don't even think it.
I will not hear the criticism
For saying the thing
You were to afraid to speak out loud.)

I ask her
Why the promise of her life
Must be cruelly beaten
Into crippling impossibilities.
She pauses for inventory
Behind the foggy
Salt showered lashes
Of her imaginary world
And professes,
"I cannot stop it...
I cannot stop thinking."

I love her
But I cannot walk
Through the valley of death
With her.
Nobility with wisdom
does not call
For two souls to die
From empathy.
No, even more than two
For we are not detached.
Legacy has children.
Others always die with you
In the draft of your wake.
Someone must live.
So I shall be the one
In the midst of the hopeless watch
So that my light
Pushes back her darkness
And those that are mine
Will see clearly
The path of overcoming.


Versus- Movement II

I long for sunshine
                                You seek the rain
I turn from the labor
                                You welcome pain
I choose the easy
                                You have to strain
I walk in logic
                               You might be insane

I live for laughter
                                You die to cry
I am the summer
                                You're winter skies
I'm mocha latte
                                You're green tea chai
I want attention
                                You don't know why.

I have few boundaries
                                You follow rules
I think I'm funny
                                You think I'm a fool
I go with the flow
                                You're stuck like a mule
I love the next fad
                                You are old school.

I watch expressions
                                You watch the time
I think on the lovely
                                You dwell on the slime
I trek over problems
                                Yours are a climb
I am the free verse
                                You need to rhyme

I shout my dreams
                                Yours are unspoken
I prize strong words
                                Yours are a token
I'm alive in my spirit
                                You need to be woken
My glass is half full
                                Yours is all broken

I'm the road less traveled
                                Your path is well worn
I grasp for renewal
                                Your doubts are reborn
I hate that I love you
                                You love that I'm torn
I'm lost in my freedom
                                You're found in the scorn

My mind is elsewhere...
and the only person I have on it; is you.
My mind goes back to that night; the way you spoke to me, touched me, looked into me, The way you kissed me...
The intensity and passion between us was so magnetic that even shadows could not bare to lurk.
Obsession, possession, love.
I want it all for myself.
I filtrate your thoughts, you obsess over it, you want to do more than just **** me.
You feel guilt.

Nobody has ever looked at me like that...
The mannerism of it was, was something I have never had or felt before.
I feel his thoughts, pulsating through my every nerve, my desires are not to be obsolete.
Our energies, it's intertwined in a way that I have not with anyone else.
An image, a reflection... Of me.
You are me, and I am you.

I want to feel you again, in person.
I feel you spiritually and it makes me miss you immaculately.
I see you in my dreams, waking thoughts, my soul longs for yours.
I know you feel me, I know you love me, I can feel it.
It's creating a hold of heartache inside of you, you are dared to not even breach because of your priceless ego that stops you from what could make you someone completely different.
You were hurt, and to never trust a woman again was your broken promise you made to yourself.
Yet, you saw something in me when you met me, and decided to run away and treat it for what it was not because of your broken soul that you were not ready to face.
Complacent, stubborn, you already know you are mine, and I already know that I am yours.
I've adapted, but I still think of you.
Profusely, I still remember the gleaming stare in your hazel eyes.

Yet, timing is a matter of precaution...

Ashes pushed in tight
against the pressure of us;
Our loose breath and words.

We are purveyors,
headcutters, jazzists, brawlers,
writers and killers.

We meet here to live.
We scream and bang instruments.
We come here to die.

Cutting our hair and
writing on the walls, dressing
immaculately.

Trying to keep our
chins above our sweat, rising
an inch a minute.

We come here to be
baptized in this river of
sin, made unholy

before the weekday
pulls us out of tantrum, to
mediocrity.

Self satisfied hipster ******
immaculately disheveled
crawl up anarchy patched
and retro fitted
from every bagel shmear
coffee house hell hole.
I hope this whole district gets fire bombed
leaving only the book store
so I can sit here in peace.

A feather,
immaculately white,
with a hint of black at the edge,
incongruently shaped like a sword,
was lying orphaned on the third step,
as I descend.No one noticed it.
Or, what is there so special,
they would have thought.

I stopped to pick it up,
on an instinct, softness prompted,
or perhaps a wish waiting there,
far off in the dark corridor of mind,
a need badly felt,
while rubbing against,
rough edged time;
is it hope of a possible chance
of a caress. With a smile I turn,
serendipity starts its game then,
at that moment one least expected it.

No, I am wrong in saying that,
that moment was indeed ripe,
then only the meaning of the word
gets justified.
                         She was looking at me,
standing on a step, arresting her ascent,
transfixed, looking at the feather too, now and then,
as if it is a quill immersed in liquid magic,
I hold to write, something she would,
spell out, in a moment.
                                    "Tell me" I turn playful,
sensing her mood in that glowing moment,
so rare,we share, that has a hidden significance,
I was certain.

"That's the feather I dreamt last night" she stutters.
We feel the spell of serendipity,
binding our hearts at that moment.
                               0O0

Staring into the distance called to a halt lowly by a ceiling
With beams of clouds I have my essay planned, do the
Right thing when the morning comes, start early and lap lap
Lap it up… I missed a day will I be able to write it okay?
It’s only a draft, final assessment in the genesis of a new
Year as apocalyptic as it gets draped in gray by God’s
Gesturing arm lamp shading… why should I do it? To
Quickly bang it out before the deadline just to get it out
The way… daydream precocious bipedal insect monsters
Before the real thing moons God and his gang of whiskey
Parlour batchelors leaning on leather elbow pads admiring
The craftsmanship of the upholstery… the real thing is more
Absorbing always cutting off as I’m getting somewhere, start
In daytime and realize there’s nowhere to get, that’s the thing
Yelling stop think again, or fill every nook cranny and interstice
With feet free to walk in peace… they are antonyms I could
Never fit in, gaps that long ago gave up

Deserted wide areas of something, opportunity, you must
Agree are not expenses anymore by any imaginative feat
Dancing to deep scar/jungle depravity light reflections…
I can’t remember and don’t want to check over in case I
Get cut off -

Forget that’s true… (Something I literally cannot do)… I was
Enthralling, reading, writing, the {authorised} daydreaming -
Breakfast for dinner - dinner for breakfast - closer to the sun -
My legs have gone weak - I want to numb the static pain Spit-
Ting strangling cosmic debris from the satellite to the T.V…
It’s not that I’m not moving, I am careering just fine to turquoise
Blue sky, the bottom of a valley draped in a green screen sheet
Searching on my homepage for something more than my
Forest floor in the circular sky print of psychedelic white smud-

Ging print in the canopy tickling my mind’s eye giggles awake…
It’s that I’m not being methodical revolutions around a state I aim
To occupy, to occupy less derivatively… It’s not that… what is
This space? Living harmoniously, smiling on the front page of the
Daily Reality, not a youtube metamemetextraction everyone has
Different power to construe as well as they consume.. which, well…

Headlines to all cheer in support immaculately agreeing rather than
Memetic smearing in a forest snearing, no singing, no branches,
Hollow UVescence flood… hot sun burns ignorant eyes that power-
Point-slide nothing retinal light soggy cardboard calippo awkwardly
Bending, quivering like an Einsteinian physician’s space-time ******
You can’t see, squinting hard open town open mouth open source
Open eyes it is morning time morning square morning everyone everywhere
Square skulky shoulders and a brittle skunk twig head, not always there after
Shipping in a rectangular organisation of beds for fallen fruit everyone
Walks by, what is healthy? in society, what is homely what is dull housing
Ex-ice lolly sweet sticky strawb-red syrup marooning, baking to brown
Down backstage curtains poised in windy drapery drapery drapery…
Window hardware still there not to see any of the people, have you
Gone forever? The sun drapes savannah grapes out of place fire-soaked
Memories, temporary tent, arms and legs and back and Earth and one-
They’ve been the same thing begging to be vacuumed to a better outlook
Well away from towns bookmarking forests of knowledge seeming never
Ending turn to plywood, you can’t be in a vacuum better anywhere,
And hope strives away shooting through the replacement plastic funnel
Into a dropping everything…

Cornered - shopped - bussed - stopped - ticketed - one-wayed - one-way-
Systemed - ticketed - inspected - mauled - in the shops - for food -
For clothes - carred and parked in a roundabout way - merged in a
Motorway, by a dense grey matter, a concrete intelligence, one certified
Body of the indefiniteness of everyone's words, their words… our words…
That which is said… what people say… what we think… make a pretend wolf
Beg for a ready salted crisp at the the bar in the pub I leave the sound of
Those who hear everything better, I couldn’t hear a thing over the hoover…

A wild din falls on developing streets, silent and wide, stocky and broken,
Choking on ******* butterflies in my throat and stomach screaming… hold
Tears back while the sad song plays, that burst out of the interlude’s segue
To the beat picking up exactly what you wanted it to… wake up the pride!
I am trapped in a cage! Wake up the tribe! Is it on your webpage?

Where has it gone?

Immaculately organizing every letter of the alphabet in slightly different ways to make what you read today.

My brain is the battery charged with the words I say in different ways,
And until I am depleted,
I am defeated to keep writing the words flowing like a fresh summer's flash flood monsoon,

Hopefully soon I will fall asleep,
So I can put away this curse of a brain that keeps saying things I can't help but see.

existence is
truly divine
thank you for that description
the paths are immaculately
intertwined
so delicately
it makes me smile
and release.
I trust in infinity,
am not bothered by the
concepts
of reality
faithfully excepting tomorrow
morning
with its new life
for all.
yesterday
is far.
yesterday can be a struggle
its your starting place
Do you feel its grip?
cut the cord
concentrate
on existence
it only moves forward
learn to dance
with
divinity
centralize your energy
and speak YOUR song!
write it, draw it, put it to a melody
or mix it with watercolors
and quench your sources thirst
for PositiveMovement
for creation
never forgetting
yesterday
or those that existed
then
but allowing it to stay
there
where it belongs
and sending yourself
prepared
alive
and divine
forward into existence

(Song for the Genteel Salesman Blocking My Path Each Time)

If only you knew.

Beneath blonde, rebonded locks
Curled extroverted lashes
Cemented titanium dioxide
Plastered patient breathless pores

Lips-wine-red
Nose elongated,
Dark strokes  imprudent
Cleopatric windows to
Sadness of soul.

Maverick femininity in
Saccharine swan-like greeting

If only you knew.

Eden was perfect paradise
She who was crafted
Immaculately from your rib

She was your Soulmate
You were Beloved
Protector, keeper,
Nourisher of her being

If only you knew.

You are treasured by Him
Who fashioned you
Out of mud
Breathed life into your nostrils

From nothingness
You were imago dei.

You were anointed shepherd
Of all that lived
Moved; slid.

You were perfect
Majestic  in Truth

You were imago dei

As you should have been
And can still be.

I'm daring to
Glimpse
Perceive
Barely stand on my own feet
What shoes am I going to wear
Is it blue, red, nor green?
Don't feel the heaviness of my feet
But everything fit immaculately to my verity sheet
Ach,
Are these really the colors of my being?
Well...
They say emotions really fades away
I don't know now
Cause I heard the eternal aura whispers coming through my thoughts
Or is it just my own whispering sound?
Oh God
I can't speak
Nor find the root in me
Water me
I must water me
I want to see the flowers of my soul
I want to feel the existence in me
There's a black sky
But only to feed the earth's feet
A dashed black color in me
Coming through every breath I take while I speak

Build this structure block by block
He was intriguing, infinitely appealing,
Building his way to the quiet peace of the top.

Build this city block by block
He was outspokenly subdued, a mystery to grip to
A tower, a steady force, a rock.

Build this utopia block by block
He was terrific, immaculately deific,
Captivating in the only way humans are not.

Build this Elysium block by block
Oh, I think you know him not, I think you may be all talk,
These palace gates will ever remain locked.

Build this friendship block by block
Oh, I think I know him not, oh I know I can't run nor walk,
But I am certain I want to be caught.

That one decision could inspire hope,
I never thought, I never knew; I hadn't the slightest clue,
This is what saved me; how I cope.

I'll build this life block by block
Thank you, I was on the edge, I was through,
Block by simple block until time finally stops.