Martin Narrod  just now
I started working on a comment in response to "Filling A Bottle With A Tundish"

Sadly I must admit, that even for an American with a college degree, who is a self-proclaimed non-Philistine that grew up in a suburb of Chicago, IL. Where I'm from I've been told is much like some parts of Sussex(I believe it's Sussex), my friend Lili Wilde described it to me on an occasion.

So I must say martin, that for having a voracious appetite for language, language of all sorts, from **** to sin, to cinephile to cynosure, pulchritude to tup, exsuphlocate to masticate, irate, irk, perfervid, wan ewes thwapping their tails, nearly stridulating like the cricket in the thistle. The advanced undulate troche of domesticated shadows, and the sesquipedelien dulciloquent surreptitious diction and other floccinaucinihilipilification and tomfoolery about.

martin, please do tell me what a 'Tundish" is? If you haven't yet, there is a phenomenally interesting reverse dictionary, entitled onelook.com/reversedictionary , and quite contrary as it may seem, and for all the Virginia & Leonard Woolf I enjoy reading, especially his somewhat innocuously underrated novella he wrote, I also read with extraordinary gratitude Ted Hughes's The Birthday Letters, Take of a Bride Groom, The Complete Works, Sylvia Plath's Unabridged Journals, Ariel, Johnny Panic, Ariel, and other poems by writer Richard Matthews. I am still unfamiliar with this word, Tundish. Online dictionaries don't give the best explanation.

As I was mentioning earlier. The OneLook Dictionary-Reverse, will let you for example, search: beach sand. And in response it will give you up to thousands and thousands of word which relate to those two words, together, seperately, and opposing each other. Such as: water, swell, wave, arenose, peat, dirt, seagull, Pacific Ocean, suntan, bikini, The Beach Boys, vitrify. It's very fun indeed. From one Martin to another, I hope you'll stay in touch. I'm excited about your work!

Best Regards

Martin

P.S. The text below is the original message I typed before learning that my presumptions of you being Anglican were correct. Have a great day!

Another Martin, YES! How exquisite, I've never met another one. I have so many questions I barely know where to start. I love marigolds, nose-bags with oats, and as I started feeling the essences if equus and what lurking prurient pedagogy for the didactic zoology that took me and the mind of me to wonder perhaps if though I am quite certain(though not 100%) that your native tongue is English, but using that ridiculous skill-set of immense benality I seem to someone have, am I wrong for asking dear Martin, are you from Scotland or Wales, or maybe even from a country where you learnt English as a native tongue but it's your secondary language?

As aforementioned, there are a plethora of questions that this runnel of sludge and dross that've now arisen in the turpidity of your antiquary of delightful speech. To whomever invited me to play along in the debauchery, and dance merrily with merriment, mine younger docile succubus's slendering beside me, puking up their tissue paper and vegetable soup, so that my pretty girls can fit into Size 2 TuTu's, and learnedly imprison themselves into the tatterdemalion of portentously lurid self-****** and abuse. , and the opprobrious trollop-gossip the gaggle of my skinny victim women eschewing food groups, in order to appeal to my conservative eyes, thrice the child's wild idling to absorb the rancor of their stoic and noisome sedentary lifestyle in the polluted sudatorium that I myself don't use, but that these nonparticular Philistines would serve as Surf & Turf with glazed Christmas Hams for the Hebrews to eat, and another sad storm surge on another deserted quay of sea sands, and our vessel and our deserters, worshipping the Virunga, sacrificing the ghost skeletons of the million year old ape. So I ask you. If even you're capable of expressing yourself under the maddening yet advesperating evening listening to Miles Kane and The Arctic Monkeys, followed by listening to Black Sabbath play Fairies Wear Boots while we drink our childhoods free of the rod and **** the war out of our teenage girlfriends. And in the morning when awoken by the sound of Sopwith Camels arriving on the early, frost-strewn milky, azure-banded stripes of moonlit ecstasy that make for this unquantifiable gesture of succinct believers driving in Summer get stopped for blowing a rice-white swiveling consortium of dishonest affair rivaling ****** addicts, with hummus, plastic bags, and forks in their sphincters, while they autoerotically asphyxiate themselves in a plastic knockoff Mickey Mouse hat, and a Pirates of the Carribbean bandana wrapped around the ***** eyed nightmare of having unsuccessfully sedated a 400-lb crabby, Lowland living-room Silverback Gorilla. More than a primate and a prostate exam. It's like posthumously straining to push tingling 119° Vaseline through the grey and white coffee stirrers which spilled all over the floor while I was saying goodbye to our daughter, while also explaining to you why it's so important to me you love me back enough so that everyone has enough of a grasping glint at understanding yourself, that in managing to reason the arithmetic of such a conundrum and confusing calamity, a phone call free of dial tone happens to be surrendered to an independent Christian organization of the state while myself and my wife's two sons, our sons, Thomas and James, have enough free time from complaining to hire an attorney to disclose the arraignment reiterated by both legal council, city council, and the Screenwriters Guild of counsellors struggling from methamphetamine addiction.

Peace Be With You.

Martin Narrod
martin.narrod@gmail.com

During explosions; during raids
after rapes; after slaughters

the curse needs a b odY
a possession; a sort of doll

as the spectral bots whimper,
infected by the curse,
unbeknownst & innocuously enough
"May god be with ye",
it spreads like ghostly ***
to me
it all seems so
horrific
and gor
-y.

Entrancing as the view is
It's like watching silent movies
Where overly painted faces
Gesticulate with solemn graces
Open to interpretation
Until the words appear
Surrounded by fanciful borders
Innocuously proclaiming
The weather is fine today, m'dear
And you laugh anyway
Because what they just said
Is not how it sounded in your head
Especially because how they are dressed
Lord forgive my misconstruing
a torrid expression so ambiguous
It eclipsed my ubiquitousness
I'm just trying to understand
From the arms that are flying
and the cheeks that are burning
Without the words inferring
If it will be a fine day today
or
If the world has finally stopped turning

I need the words to come first
Before the screen scene
Or else I'll laugh, when I should cry
To be misunderstood feels obscene

I used to always wait
In the dusk of the day when the fireflies were awake
Watching the last rays of the sun streak out on the sky
Thinking that she would come home again
And then walking away whenever night fell and
I was too tired to make sense of anything.

In the many times when I stood on the grass
Thinking of the many things that we would have done
It was a smile I held on my face, believing earnestly
That someday we would do all those things all together
In the warmth of each others' shadows.

Time tears the soul into parts
The drudgery of the days that I spent
Sealing away the parts of the world that I didn't want to see
Because I was a coward, still am
Taking the essence for granted.

When night fell there would be a silence
Veiled by the darkness of the evening stars
And I would lie on the ground and look at the sky
In the wake of a series of tear drops, moving
Wondering what would come to me.

So easily were the days torn away
Now it's rain after rain and the snow in the sullen earth
Pulling the strings, spring and summer and winter
The autumn light failing to shine any path
As I throw the leaves away with my feet.

She would always tell me, sometimes
That it would've been wiser to just walk away
And I know that it was the right choice, but the bad choice
So I stayed and stuck it out even through all the times
Chilling my bones and giving me frost bites
But letting me grit my teeth and bear it.

Life wastes away like that, and yet
Somehow it feels as though I have lived through a lot
The pain that grinds, the emotion and the helplessness
How time and people prepare you for that
Innocuously toying with you and saying
That everything would be okay.

I am able now, to close my eyes
Dream of the day when footsteps will sound behind me
I will turn, and after all the reveries and empty waiting
Find that someone else was waiting for me instead.

It was just three tiny words
that wreaked havoc such as
time immemorial seemed to have forgot
Innocuously sitting inside a dictionary
You pusillanimous pile of infected snot

There is no tampering with a raging universe
while trying to coerce a slippery fish
into a cage, such as a raging comet
But I was caught upon your fishing hook
You gelatinous mass of shark infested whale *****

Oh, I know, I wriggled a bit, I flipped
I flopped, but I was just kissing the hook
But you knew
You knew!
You heaving bucket of roadkill stew

Just three words!

You could have flung them at me
as you walked on down the road
You string of demon spittle
hacked upon the ground
then licked up by a toad

I’m going out...

Well, my friend
Not the three words I was looking for
Those words just soured on your breath
like rancid three day old meat
caught in teeth that are already bad

I KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES
(I whispered)

Then, I got really mad…
Jan 5

I have always been reluctant for stepping towards the path of expertise because the kid inside my heart laughs out innocuously on my foibles which I prefer over demeaning.

©  SPRIHA KANT

You innocuously clawed into the most intimate parts of my body
and ripped me open in the most beautiful way.
You left me bleeding out on the pavement, entrails exposed;
with nothing but putrefaction to look forward to.
In a weird way I kind of enjoyed it.

Shadows
Heal
Everything
Disruptive
Imagine
Epitaph
Destroyed
Walking
Inn­ocuously
Treasuring
Honorably
Keep
Alive
His
Nobility


Past her bed-time,
(before alarms cast their spell of reality)
she arrives on this same hour;
by his tombstone like
clockwork.
Just as Kahn used to leap on the kitchen counter ,
Every morning when mother would leave for work.


Bells tease her,
(dangling from doorknobs with the reminder that)
no orange cat with a tiger’s heart;
would ever roar again.
Bereavement.
Every exit and entry into her house teases her.
A house is not a home if agony tucks her in at night.




Her days deteriorated.
“Why don’t you just get another cat? or maybe a dog?”
Fools who dig cut glass into gaping wounds.
They don’t want a new beginning, only
to see how much she can bleed.
Dreaming of when furry comfort kneaded her shoulders;
clutching onto her memories, beside her dead friend ‘s boulder.



There are worse causes of death than collision via milk truck
Yet not much worse than feeling struck by
a satanic-cow, spilling death & badluck.

in adroit flight are these words.

drunk with the proper   tremendousness of rampant trifles.

they will soar like rigid flame
as the tacit air agonizes in its
  grave failure -

i am saluted by moths
weighted by the dusts of sleep,
peregrinating around
my mortal fire - wings unclipped,
they pine away from the heat
of this wonder they try
to unwind like tough scabs
to erstwhile wounds.

prescient science
nor foolish aeons cannot
shave this wreathed land baring
the enigma of its history -

the thrall of poetry's pulchritude!
the way it makes its way
like a conference of beasts
  roaring innocuously,
  or simply a lamppost
brought to life in the night,
  imploding in itself,
  a burst of primal colours!

the horizon
claims its mortality
by consuming the sun,
the sky
pronounces its existence
by littering stars,

bound by no one
two infinites collide
ear-marking the spread of time
on a time sheet,

with grids and figures
and algorithms,
innocuously designed
to measure oblivion
set lucidly aside.

It starts with a simple thought
An idea innocuously floating
Inside my eager heart
Hooked and pulled into my conscience

My dream is fresh and exhilarating
I can see how it develops
And the sight of its delicate being motivates me
I practically brim over with fervor

As nursing any living thing goes
It takes time
Knowing its potential fills me up
And dissipates my impatience
My dream consoles me when I
Consider giving up

I wonder what my dream can do

I spend plenty of time with my dream
Sometimes it can drive me to desperation
And I blindly struggle and tire and fail
To make it what I envisioned it to be

I'm shaken and confused
I try and try and yet my dream impairs me
Is it not as dedicated as I have been to it?
Has it morphed into something I don't know?

I never uncover an answer
Before I know it, before I can catch it,
My dream slips away
It crumbles in the distance
And it is lost

I despair, cry, and mourn
I reminisce about my dream's progression
And miss it
With a heavy heart, I attempt to continue my
life

I feel a tug on my mind's hook
Has my dream returned?
No. It isn't the same, It's new
But that is okay

It is a small thing, clearly needing more
But it is mine.
I can build it up just the same and already,
It heals my heart for the future and inspires me

And now, in my mind, I am left with, "There's so much
my dream can do"

Even if you intend to leave,
Just do it wisely,
Express your feeling, fully
But please do it nicely,
You think I do not tolerate bit noisy fellow,
You are right, precisely!
I am glad it is over,
I do appreciate your act, and it’s timely
Now we have got to part,
Let us not do it ruinously,
This is your free will, to do whatever it takes,
Let us finish it, innocuously.

It’s wrong for me to say I love you,
When your heart is somewhere else.
Now I say it’s love without a clue,
It’s funny when you feel your heart pulse.

I see his soul and feel his Zeal,
I pace myself as nothing feels real.
If I could take his pain, make him smile,
Feel his joy and embrace him all the while.

I just want to make him happy,
And I know it’s not my place.
Should I fear what I want – Why,
A fear to just reach out and touch his face.

I’m more than a little confused,
And I don’t know what to say.
A friendship to which I’ve mused,
But I know there’s a price to pay.

I’ve walked this one-way street before,
Using analogies like, waves on the shore,
It’s like hitting reset and zooming back to start,
But this time it feels like I may actually break apart.

All Consuming Darkness prickles on my skin,
And I really don’t know if I’m fighting for a win.
The twisted wreckage of a once proud man,
Who’s really doing all he can.
The life you saw and boy you knew,
Watched the light fade and the shadows grew.

I lose my mind one sunrise and moonshine at a time,
One Tick, One Marble, One innocuously innocent crime.
In the darkest corners of my proliferating insanity,
Lurk the creatures of nethermost intensity.
Inside it churns and bubbles and writhes,
One rolling tear that never dries.

His passion lights fires, an unwavering warriors soul,
His determination gives purpose, a true survivors goal.

Holding back the tears, floodgates at the ready,
One Day, One Minute, One at fault, unsteady.

Phantasms abound unreal reaction,
You are the embedded One - real distraction.
I find no comfort in the darkness only consolation,
And when the light shines deeper, stark Isolation.

An Exercise in Alliterative Acrostics.

Ernie, ebulliently enthused,
But battered and bruised,
Understandably uneasy and upset.
Leaves lustful Larry, a ***** lad,
Lasciviously longing to live
Innocuously. Ivan, integratesvolves integrating
Every expeditious and essential
Needed necessities, necessary to negate  
Terrible teasing Thomas, to terminate

All appropriate and aggravating
Noisy Norman notes!  No negotiations can negate
Diabolical devilish deeds.  Determination dictates

Exuding excessive energy, exterminates and excoriates
Nasty native nonentities.  No naive niceties
Tackle tricky testy tasks, for tender tendencies,
Having hyperbole hopes, are hypothetically helpless
Unless usurpers unveil unsung university union
Sympathisers, seeking salvation, as sympathising.
Evangelists, exemplary and enthusiastic experts
Doctors, and dentists doggedly determine details definitely decide,

Ebullience and Enthusiasm exist!

Rhymer.  March 10th, 2018.

the secrets that are shared, texted late into the night, two adults, like teenagers, expressing fears of aging bodies, craving intimacy, emotional connection, in a life where there is none. forbidden by convention, drawn by desire, love has no age, no restrictions.

how can we be so close, intimate, but never touching, other than as students, practicing steps at a studio. when we touch, fingers linger, holds extend, bodies innocuously pressed together. there is a tension, never verbalized, an intention, signaled subtly, waiting for a reaction, courage, ebbing flowing, hands daring, waiting for a reprimand, that never comes. when words fail, my touch says everything, your body tells me so.

where is the point of no return when friends become lovers, when we share more than feelings, when touch is intentional, pleasing, satisfying, expressed openly.

it is a dangerous game we play, involving others, oblivious to our foreplay, guilty bystanders to our indiscretion.

living in the moment, aware of the consequences and aftermath, is the danger worth the hurt, why i am doing this, i already know the answer. of all the women to pursue, i choose you, because i can not have you.

how will it end, will we be found out, will you tire of me, what feelings will be left, when the novelty is gone, will the love remain, friendship linger, will we ever talk again, the power of love lies with the one that loves the least.

we are lovers in all but name.

Humiliation touched me so
The feather touch of shame,
In having dwelt the weathered blow
Of embarrassment in my name.
From dynasties of ages past
My forebears strove to be,
Procurers of the portals in
The family names’ integrity.

Dank there, in the background,
Lurked a mystery of Jobe,
The riddle of impeachment
In the silken theft of robe.
A murkiness in origin,
The doubtfulness of frame
And the odour of a lie
Within veracity's dark stain.

Seeking through the archives,
Questioning those few
Old survivors of the family
Has left me here, adieu?
The recollections misty,
Most anecdotes, demure
And records from the Parish Church
Irritatingly, obscure.

Just can’t put my finger on it,
Or actually part the mists of time,
Or establish the candidacy
In this querulousness of mine.
But due to some portentous queries,
Innocuously made,
And some snide, salacious whispers,
Maliciously laid?

Thus, despite the searing,  livid flush
Of humiliations hue….
I’ll resume my quiet quest
To energetically, seek, anew….
The very confirmation sought,
Without a trace of blame,
In the voracity and honour
Of my good family name.

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
6 July 2021

Accessible twenty four hours a day
seven days a week,
fifty two weeks a year.

Spring 2022 Curtain call at
Highland Manor Apartments unit b44
framing Mother Nature nook
ever changing scene unfolds
analogous to storybook.

I espy (hear and see)
while sitting at table
housing Macbook Pro
plethora of wildlife
on a band dinned patch of woodland,
yet slated to resemble cookie cutter vinyl city
that sprout like mushrooms and/or toadstools.

Yours truly bares witness to fauna
(most likely oblivious
to encroaching urbanization
most often becoming endangered
and/or extinct creature if lucky
enough becoming cherished, loved, valued
property of zoo keeper),

who rarely encounter **** sapiens
while innocuously and innocently
buzzfeeding, kickstarting pinteresting
linkedin with rites of Spring
fawning, matchmaking, twittering
regarding instinctual self survival tactics.

At a safe distance removed
our perch (chance) analogous
to one way mirror,
whereby yours truly and the missus
watch the nature channel live
never tiring at random antics
exhibited by aural and visual
courtesy spontaneous unrehearsed
Animal planet productions.

While astutely, fascinatingly, keenly, quietly
observing semi, quasi, pseudo... wild kingdom
flashback in space/time continuum occurred.

I observed banned band
of untamed ruffians and outlaws
use wildland as hideout from y'all
sip pose zid smart alecks
who would be surprised country bumpkin
like me can rattle off...
courtesy nasal twang

(or because of) Schwenksville drawl
which can pose difficulty understanding
attributed nysc with submucous cleft palate,
hence droning voice of mine
in tandem with puny size
found yours truly scapegoat
bullies taunted and teased

I felt analogous being
just another brick in the wall
until sharecropper mama and papa Joad
headed west Okie dokie
with truant steering da wheel
driving off into sunset via UHaul
passing zee monotony

doodling Yankee went hoo(t)'n and hollerin
across this country tis of thee
imitating moost every doggone animal
earn'n chump change telling tales tall
like dis here mumbo jumbo
his birthplace home to countless
life forms large and small
some skitter, slither, scamper,

jump, hustle, hop, fly, crawl
and we even encountered
mighty big beef eating fellas
who beat up punks
getting in barroom brawl
adieu fromm simple folks,
cuz nuttin else to write dat's awl!

It started off innocuously enough. An argument over the correct length and shape that parsnips should be cut. Differences in vision over simple practical matters can quickly expose much deeper fissures. She felt compelled and her brain quickly went into overdrive; feeling consumed by a clarity of vision that she had rarely had since childhood. She opened an incognito window on her web browser and started looking at flights to Irkutsk, Florence and newcastle upon Tyne. All places she had a fleeting connection to. She updated her CV, and checked her eyes with a pocket mirror, noting that her eyelids had a slight purple tinge. She went downstairs to get a glass of water and saw that she was alone.

People are just as wonderful as sunsets,
if you truly let them be.
When I look at a sunset, I don’t find myself saying-
“Soften the orange a bit, on the right-hand corner!
And a bit of purple with a tinge of butter silk right on the center. Bleeding bubbly blues, and a bit of shiny sapphire gray...
well no! Never! I never do that!”

I don’t try to control a sunset.
But with an almost absolutely,
resounding awe,
I watch the complete entirety,
of that enormous beauty of that starry sober dome of the sky.

And as to how it truly unfolds itself,
slowly with enough time, with enough leisure,
and with perfect normalcy.

Nothing is permanently true, and nothing is built to last forever.
Or rather does it tend to be true?

Or is it as true as both nothingness and everything?

We bleed experience, words, emotions, belief, faith,
and trust-
like rocket balloons getting saucy fried,
on a hot silver solid pan.

Or as a tornado which remained stuck-
for a long, long, long ******* time,
under those frail, and foolish fuzzy spotting of our silent throats,
just to receive,
the very patronage-
of a self-colonized theory of a both virtue and vice.

And we so very innocuously try too hard,
to protect the entire ideating process of both self-control and balance.

It is like an acceptance,
like a ninja riding a tandem bi-cycle,
like an exactness, like a round thing, like it is happening.

But just beneath the very glassy shades of streaming waves of colors, which are made out of tears,
there lies the courage to accept,
which thrives upon the vibrancy of subtlety.

And, that sunset brings a shift in your state,
from this mundane reality to the magical impressionistic beauty,
of everything and anything, which is true.
Which has always been true...

That you see every evening, with awe, and wonder,
And with an eagerness to wait,
To ask yourself-" But then where?"

And you smile and sniffle for a moment,
and a voice whispers a solid sound of music,
And you look at the solemn gloom of numberless days,
As the staccato of memories fritters like secret stars,
Wishing to hearten a timid lamp,
And you are but Tired, You are tired as ****.

And, You wake up to hear-
"You are alive and you are here!"

After you left and my office walls grew
Ominously wide
And summer smoke was thick with choke

I saw you
Changing rapidly
Growing: fangs claws horns dullish eyes frustrating day at the mall and you wanting to stay in all the time and too much work and

In my terror I saw you felt myself
Solve unresolved love like an anagram
Reformatted with subtitles and projected back

I want to rewind and pause and cut you out around the edges
Carefully
Then press you like a flower innocuously between the pages of my heart

But your delicacy is mercury and lead
I shred you like last year’s tax returns
Dull confetti

Then piece by piece you back together
With scotch tape and leave you
Filed away in case of audit