With your even fixed waxy smile
I'm beguiled by your looks
as you wear the latest looks
as you read the latest books
as you wear the latest fashion
in vogue

Dressed to ****,
you will soon be the center of attraction
Poised ever so
in perfect balance
you stand among the  up most glitter

A plaster of Paris soul,
you feel nothing, you see nothing,
hear nothing, know nothing

You will soon be ready for your public
Your show draws nearer
And finally you step onto
a mindless flashing disco floor
with the rest of the "MANIKINS"

Everyone Has a Story… Here’s Five.


Part I: Cousin

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

I was on the island,
At the very top,
Looking down from our mountain,
It was night time,
And the lights shined clearly,
Little holes from the bottom of heaven were penetrating the world,
As they did so I peered on,
Never truly understand what heaven was,
This was my element,
The curiosity which was placed in me,
Since the birth of my being,
Has never been one for being quenched,
Even if my parents tried to beat it out of me,
After a time they kind of hit a fork in the road and decided to go right,
But at the last second I side stepped and ran my behind to the left,
Because the right side isn't always the right way to go,
I felt that their minds died some time ago,
But I was a kid, in the hoods of Puerto Rico,
Only visiting, never witnessing,
The day to day realities,
That came from living so rapidly.

I met my cousin for the second time the days before that night,
He took me under his wing almost immediately and I was happy to follow,
He was a tall man, tattooed from head to toe,
I thought the second I laid eyes on him, that this was my role model
As a lover of Hip-Hop I thought this was how everyone should look,
He would cuss, and spit, and drink, and have several women on deck,
While rolling a couple of joints,
This was the MAN!

However, this view didn't last for very long,
Because on that night,
I witnessed the devil for the first time,
I crawled from beneath my covers,
That my mother had so carefully put into place,
As a safeguard against the realities of the world,
That would come true in my childish fantasies of the boogie man,
The only bad I knew was what was told to me by the news,
People falling left and right cause of wars and other endless fights,
But in my mind they could be brought back to life by the Dragon *****,
Unfortunately Goku wasn't here this night,
I snuck through the house silently,
As the noise would be drowned out by the singing of coquis,
My bare feet hit the humid pavement following the rush down the stairs,
I only wanted to see my view,
The view of heavens holes peering through the vast and dark sky,
It was located at the edge of a cliff that looked over a ravine and then the wilderness,
At the precise moment I stopped to realize my will,
My dream was disrupted by a voice,
Followed by a sound that sliced through my mind and deflated my childish intuition,
A sound that penetrates my adult mind and echoes in the silence to this day,
Muffled screams echoed out after I heard the gunshots ring,
Beneath the sounds of the forests singing,
My heart was pounding slowly,
I was strangely calm rather than panicky and fearful,
Not that I was a brave child, but I remained curious,
Until I saw the blood…
It was then that I saw the dimly lit lamp beneath the moon light,
Resulting in the two bodies casting elongated shadows against the dank Earth,
Followed by a larger body standing over them,
One body was completely still,
While the other one was rocking back and forth,
The terror that took me was shear and raw,
The only other time that I had witnessed such a fear,
Was through the appearance in a pig’s eye,
As my grandfather drove a machete through its heart,
I heard the second shot ring out,
In the same amount of time that it took me to blink,
The other man had been murdered just the same,
And before I knew it the gun was pointed at me,
I stared back and started shaking,
This had to be pure fiction,
But no, this was reality,
I turned to run, but stopped when I realized who it was,
Looking up at me as he exited the thicket and the shadows,
Was my cousin, my role model,
He cocked his head up and looked at me with concern,
But said nothing,
As I ran home breathlessly,
Under the holes into heaven,
That had been put there by bullets,
My childhood was finished…

And I'd never see him again.


Part II: Brother

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

As a child,
I thoroughly enjoyed,
Playing around outside,
I enjoyed getting into play fights,
I loved feeling like I could overwhelm any opponent, but I couldn't.
My brother was way stronger than me,
He had the height advantage,
And best believe he had the weight advantage,
But still, I thought I could manage,
It never really crossed my mind that my brother was a bit off,
To me he was a big kid,
A quiet companion,
My best friend,
My heart.

That was more than enough,
Until one day I went too far,
See my brother had one toy that he loved,
It was string; he'd tear up clothes to make string,
He'd cry up storms at department stores if he didn't get his string,
He'd hit my mother and punch my father if he didn't get string,
I just always thought the exception was me,
I was his play mate, he smiled at me,
Something quite rare for my big brother to do as a result of his condition,
And the medication he was taking,
You see when a child has autism they kind of want to do their own thing,
They want to be on their own,
Enjoying whatever it is they enjoy doing on their time,
But I had a child's mind and a child's ego,
His toys were mine too,
Share with me,
Play with me,
Look at me,
ME, ME, ME!
So he punched me right across the face,
I went flying into a sliding paneled glass door and began crying,
When my mother entered the room,
She asked what was going on and tried to calm me down,
I wouldn't listen so she told me shut up before the neighbors called police,
And we were both taken away,
Being that my mother was a single parent, I believed her,
With that being the case, I closed my eyes and didn't look at my arm,
Nor the blood slowly dripping down it onto my fingertips,
Down to the floor below,
I didn't play much anymore after that,
I was too childish to blame myself,
So the fault was his.

The fault would end up being mine,
As this action being a culmination of things done by my brother,
Led my father and my mother to do what I thought was unthinkable,
They chose to let him go,
Giving him to a group home,
My young mind couldn't even begin to comprehend the pain they felt,
But to me all I could see was two adults giving up on their son,
I saw love and hope dissipate right in front of my eyes,
He was playing with his string in the back seat of the car,
While I sat beside him just watching him,
Saving every movement of his,
And his joy into my memory banks,
To be left to gather dust; because the pain was too much to harness,
But with respect I chose to re-open the chest,
And hold my brother in my arms once again,
Before he was ripped away from me,
And given away to the monstrous people,
That wouldn't let him hug his mother nor me,
I didn't care if this is what was needed to be,
I was losing my brother!
My blood!
My playmate!
My best friend!
My only friend!
My HEART!
It didn't matter that he hit me,
It don't matter if he hit my mother or father,
Because the beating my heart was taking was too much,
For my slim frame and still developing body to handle,
As such my growth was stunted and I gained heart problems,
On top of the asthma,
Autism meant nothing to me,
He was everything!

But it ended with me sleeping alone,
At home he was gone.


Part III: Father

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

I never felt much towards you,
I was taught to love my mother solely,
As she was the one always there to heal my bumps and bruises,
The only memories I have of you from my childhood,
Are of you feeding me God awful food and teaching me to ride a bike,
But I forgot how to ride a bike,
And I could cook what you cooked on my own,
Burnt hotdogs, and pasta, and cereal never really fazed me,
Every other memory is a blur,
Your love was like a line or two painted upon a Mona Lisa of love,
That I had gathered from the various sources of inspiration in my life,
I could always gain appreciation for them,
But not for you.


As I entered my adult years,
You tried to make up for it,
I knew you had pent up guilt inside from not seeing me,
Yet you bought presents and rose up the seeds of another tree,
Seeds that I don't blame,
I only wanted to smell the same flowers that you gave them,
So you were trying to give them to me while I could still smell them,
But that sense was long gone along with my sense of sight,
Literally my vision was fading, but my mind was expanding,
As I was witnessing the world around me quite clearly, and the soul within me,
Just wouldn't release me, from the overwhelming feeling of needing you,
A father figure I could depend on,
A monument for what a man should be, and truly believe in,
As it comes to issues of morality, love, and loyalty,
Up until this point you had only taught me resentment,
Resentment leading to hate,
But I wanted to honor you in place,
So I hide the parts of me that you don't care to see,
I hide my relationships,
I hide my true feelings,
I hide my poetry,
Because if you found those things,
I would no longer be free,
And I refuse to submerge my soul into slavery,
Just for you to feel like you rose up the brightest son,
When truly the darkness is where I was brought up and where I belong,
Moonlight is the only thing I can touch with my pen,
As I compose the paintings residing in my head,
Of wordsmiths and demons battling,
Because words are my angels,
And they have always been there in every instance,
Whenever I've needed a piece of wisdom,
Or a calming presence that would come from the essence,
And recollections of stories of glory,
Stories that helped me forget you,
I love you, and hope our relationship can bloom,
But I no longer wish to speak on you.


Part IV: Mother

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

I was taught to feel love towards you,
And it still remains as strong as ever,
From when I was a child,
Your sacrifice made my life exactly what it is,
Exactly what I needed it to be in order to grow and explore my soul,
To reach for my dreams,
You have always given to me,
Even on your last two cents,
Both would be for me,
You were my mother goose,
Even if I seemed like a young rooster,
Because we were always so different,
You always wanted to mold me into your vision of me,
While you instilled in me many things which cling tightly to me,
You've made someone completely different from what you expected,
I hold different views and truths that are separate from you,
Which is fine, but for a time it would keep me from being who I desired to be,
Because you could never cut the umbilical cord.

In fact, it was wrapped around my neck,
The death of me was coming slowly,
Due to the inhibitions of my creativity,
You loved that I would write, but you hated what I was writing,
Hip-Hop, home to me, was looked at as purgatory,
You couldn't see why I would want to listen to these stories,
Stories of struggling and hustling and juggling jobs, drugs, women, and friendships,
These ships were all sailing gallantly through my mind; the wordplay was so sublime,
And the fact that the words blended with their worlds were so unkind,
Appealed to me, but you were blind,
This changed my perspective,
However what really taught me to be a man,
Was when you began pushing opposing women out of my life,
I would be deep in love, buy-a-ring love,
But one thing would be enough to trigger a string of insults,
And a manikin-like regard for the person of whom I adored,
This was too much for me, you were systematically ending my dreams,
I thank you for your love and for everything that you continue to do for me,
But the cataclysm that was forming in this poets mind,
Was becoming too much to bridge,
If this feeling was to be ongoing,
So as a desperate act of love and care,
I left you behind,
But the love is forever there,
I'm a man because of you,
Your heart will forever reside with me on my journey,
You’ve no need to be frightened,
I’ve got you, I’ve got us,
My senses have been heightened.


Part V: Lover

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

We met after a string of accidents,
Accidents that nearly cost me my life,
These were love losses, blood losses,
Things I’d never thought I could recover from,
The experiences had me going numb,
Until you found me… or did I find you?
It's hard to tell it just seemed like we were two lost souls,
Looking to quell our young hunger for the opposite ***,
Each and every day was spent together,
First on the stoop in front of your sister’s house,
The place where I first kissed your mouth,
Second on the park benches,
This is where hours flourished from minutes,
Third was along the streets of the world,
You were my diamonds and my pearls,
Indestructible and irreplaceable,
Once you met the paper you were there forever,
With that ink blood that flows through your veins,
A fellow poet whose love would stain my mental,
Instrumental in gifting my simple world with a new understanding,
It wasn’t how I imagined, but God laughs at notions of planning,
I finally found out what it meant to be in love,
I never had two people show me what it was,
Honestly the many descriptions of hate,
Is what would be seen at the gate of my consciousness,
As such, I believed this same fate would await me,
It was once the singular feeling with which I could relate,
But the euphoric hands you laid on me,
Made me lose an awake thought process,
As I was in a lake filled with your waters,
That would flow to rivers,
Followed by seas of your loving,
Seas consummating your body,
As I laid on the beach,
Believing it to be a dream.

But it wasn't, and it shouldn’t have ended,
In reality, love has ways of being reprimanded,
I was so lucid, and the picture was candid,
It was the simplest of pleasures that I'd ever been handed,
I learned right away the right things to do,
To flow from my heart and work my way into you,
To take care of my lips,
A rough kiss can't ******,
Nor find proper pleasure,
Along a woman's surface,
You’d allow me to peruse your mind,
Sending shivers up your spine,
As I embarked on my conquest,
Explorations of lustful aspirations,
Symbolizing and synthesizing,
Each and every stroke,
Representing a new letter,
In the alphabet of love,
Allowing our tale to unwind,
To combine the breathlessness of our exploits,
With our hearts desire for choice,
Which declined to lend voice,
To the greater work to be done,
The acquisition of newer positions,
Are symptoms of the journey,
Keep going, never surrender,
Be tender and conquer,
Mental foreplay is stronger,
Than any physical touch.

Love of a poet both bold and stoic,
Is a simplistic view of unfolded vibes and rhythms from the inside,
This could never subside to anything less than genuine spirit of heart and signs,
Among the winds, trees, stars, because you are the art,
You are Moses parting the red sea of my subconscious,
You are the dark sphere which encircles me,
You are the light that penetrates me,
You are harmonic melodies and sweet remedies,
You are rude symmetries and cool symphonies,
You are a lesson learned and an angel untouched,
With exception of me,
Hushed whispers or high pitched screams,
Mean nothing, without the mind following the body to finality,
The fluidity of our ****** motion,
Is a reflection of our mental state,
I seek not to pass through you,
I seek to become one with you.

That's how I feel about poetry,
That's also how I feel about ***,
That's how I feel about you,
You showed me the way,
You are my soul mate,
One with the words I write,
And the memories that I seek the convey,
You are the sun pouring through with the rain,
You are my miracle, one year my junior,
Fifty years older under the skin,
Deep within, your soul, my solar,
Not an eclipse, but a shimmering glow,
Always for my love and never for show.

I fall in love with people's honesty.
Their smile.
Funny jokes.
Tears.
Scars.
Passions.
Eyes.
Dreams.
Their spirit.

Word to Marley Soul.

Five steps in my growth,
Five indispensable cogs of my sou

I’ve become  invisible
Maybe it’s a virus and I’ve just got a touch,
The automatic shop door didn’t open so I’m left in a lurch,
Even when  I stood on the spot once blessed by the church.
Then the shop attendant missed me in the queue,
A car nearly knocked me on the footpath too.
Clearly I’m unseen.

As this progresses will my eyelids become translucent?
With my eyes shut how will I sleep?
Maybe I should wear dark glasses and not take a peek.
If I wear clothes will it be funny?
I will definitely get a job as a shop window dummy.
Is that what happens in the invisible limbos,
We become manikins in shop windows,  
Watching the world looking at them,
What we the invisible will be able to tell.

From my shop window I imagine at half past eight,
The people hang out or just walk past straight.
Starting with the kids skipping school,
Uniform tucked in schoolbag to fool,
Shopping bag used for energy joule,
Inhaling glue this hallucinatory fuel.
Each step these children take,
One step closer to heartbreak.

Then the anxious wife meeting her lover.  
Leaving behind her domestic bliss,
Sealed this morning with a husband’s watery kiss.
Waiting awkwardly in her Totoro dress,
One button behind and a zip does the rest .
Trying hard to be invisible too
This could all end in her being blue.

The rushing shop manager dressed in a suit.
Cuffs worn thin, pens in a group,
Red, blue and black,
A tick for success or none for the lack.
Mumbling along the company mantra,
“Think outside the box” there’s as good fella.
The only box he has ever known,
Are the imaginary boundaries in which he has grown.


A dog and his master trundle along.
He has been dead for years as he moves on,
Wearing a shroud of a used up life,
The dog squats down beside the tree of life.
Observing this stool in the daylight,
He compares to the Hematochezia he did last night.

A husband contemplating murdering his wife,
As the news of her lover has just come to light.  
He looks at the manikin with some delight,
Seduced by its empty invisible soul,  
Only to discover he owns that hole.

Then evening descends the lights are all up,
When work is all over it’s off to the pub.
Not for the invisible manikin though,
Who stays in the window dressed in a bride’s trousseau.
An invisible exhibitionist this poor sod,
So when you walk past it's polite to nod.
Now I’ll take two Aspirin and a cup of coco
And hope to God this invisibility will go go.

High upon the hallowed hill,
games of war played out for greed and gain.
Bombs away, both foreign and domestic;
this is the end of all.

The hands of hate pulling the strings so tight,
watch as the puppet sings, dancing around the caucus;
this is the end.

Thread so bare you cannot see
that they're controlling you and me.
Open your eyes; behold,
this is the end.

Sever the rope, it's dragging us all to hell.

It's not pretty . . .
the longer we go without speaking the more like a doll you are
to me
a dimming figure in my mind
that I take out of a box
for pain
or entertainment
The truth
I remember only when I feel like being free
And I put my manikins away
Yours still draws or boils blood
when I lift its plastic hands
Your real hands harmlessly work far away
Do you have a manikin of me?
A face you remember to haunt you
plastic hands you lift to scratch or stroke your face?

Sitting in sweet repose
Contemplating the weighty woes
That sit heavy on the brain
Listening as rain traverses the window pane
How lonely the raindrops sound
As the wind whips them around

Cold filters through the glass skin
And a shiver forms within
Can’t see the stars tonight
And there is no sliver of moonlight
Storm clouds have blackened the night sky
Then lightning strikes, a flash of firefly

Heart beats with the thunder boom
And another flash lights the room
A laugh gives thanks to be alive
I feel the sense of me revive
As I step into the water deluged air
The static crackles across my hair

Dancing with abandoned joy
I become natures favourite toy
A puppet playing to natures strings
As the thunder drum booms and lightning sings
Feeling the power of life coursing within
Happiness fills this living human manikin

It was well said of him,
“The clothes bespoke the man”.
Yes, he stumbled in the mud.
Yes, his reputation soon was stuck within the stinking sludge
and, granted, it was all of his own making.
But surely you remember how he'd been so impressive.
Once I said, “You're spotless as a manikin”
and shared a hearty laugh with him.
Be we also had some serious conversations,
discussing what he meant by “loveliness”.

That was all before the storm that hit us
with the force of filth from continents and generations.
It reminded us, again:
not every love is innocent;
the finest gentlemen are capable of
(some say inclined to) monstrous crimes.
After, no one spoke of him.
He tried to hide behind his usual accoutrements:
the matching tie and handkerchief;
silk shirts;
his feathered hat and crimson mackintosh;
the smell of musk.


But he was tainted, spotted once the news was out.
As the headlines had it:
“Gilded Lily Withers – Roots Exposed”;
“If clothes have made this man, they're now irreparably torn.”
“Patent leather ******* now well scuffed.”
God knows what his publishers had to put upon his jacket
to sell off the remainders.

Yet even from the darkness of his prison,
he seemed to think he could rely upon
the persuasiveness of beautiful adornments
- “Always envied; often copied; never matched” (his line) -
trusting it would make him seem attractive once again, even clean.

He died the 23rd of May, 2007.
They say that night he'd tied his shirt a special way,
with a feminine flamboyance,
but it failed to impress as he intended.
In some dark hall (we don't know how) they caught him,
stripped him to the bare essentials,
leaving him undressed and cut, an ochre ugliness.
What were his final thoughts,
when all that he had left was soiled and bleeding?
What we he really needing?

Still, I'm glad I knew him,
Still call him friend, and miss him.

It was well said of him,
“The clothes bespoke the man”.
Yes, he stumbled in the mud.
Yes, his reputation soon was stuck within the stinking sludge
and, granted, it was all of his own making.
But surely you remember how he'd been so impressive.
Once I said, “You're spotless as a manikin”
and shared a hearty laugh with him.
Be we also had some serious conversations,
discussing what he meant by “loveliness”.

That was all before the storm that hit us
with the force of filth from continents and generations.
It reminded us, again:
not every love is innocent;
the finest gentlemen are capable of
(some say inclined to) monstrous crimes.
After, no one spoke of him.
He tried to hide behind his usual accoutrements:
the matching tie and handkerchief;
silk shirts;
his feathered hat and crimson mackintosh;
the smell of musk.


But he was tainted, spotted once the news was out.
As the headlines had it:
“Gilded Lily Withers – Roots Exposed”;
“If clothes have made this man, they're now irreparably torn.”
“Patent leather ******* now well scuffed.”
God knows what his publishers had to put upon his jacket
to sell off the remainders.

Yet even from the darkness of his prison,
he seemed to think he could rely upon
the persuasiveness of beautiful adornments
- “Always envied; often copied; never matched” (his line) -
trusting it would make him seem attractive once again, even clean.

He died the 23rd of May, 2007.
They say that night he'd tied his shirt a special way,
with a feminine flamboyance,
but it failed to impress as he intended.
In some dark hall (we don't know how) they caught him,
stripped him to the bare essentials,
leaving him undressed and cut, an ochre ugliness.
What were his final thoughts,
when all that he had left was soiled and bleeding?
What we he really needing?

Still, I'm glad I knew him,
Still call him friend, and miss him.

She seemed to be like a delicate portrait
   which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned, lying face down on the cold winter floor
   An elegant portrait once painted
In resplendent hues of indigo blue
Her eyes told a story of bittersweet
   magenta colored sorrows bathed in tears
that etched themselves throughout
   The frail intricately, woven canvas of her soul

Over time thoughtless hands had subtly
   Contrived to manipulate the beauty
Of her painted portrait into a resemblance
   Likened to that of a cold, chiseled statue
Carelessly molded by calloused fingers
   Lancinating the fragile fragments
Of her spirit leaving her heart
   With etiolated worn fabric - called her life

She dreamed of Icarus soaring down
    on silvery wings of steel shrouded
in cobalt and lavender clouds
    with outstretched, feathery fingers
lifting her up to dance a Stravinsky ballet
    As it was meant to be - not how it was

She was a beautiful, fragile butterfly
    bruised by a world much too harsh
for her diminished spirit
    leaving her unable to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
    making it difficult for her to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
    It left her struggling to stay afloat
In the springs melting snow

Life had bruised her tender skin
   Gnawing away like insatiable insects
On her delicate pink frescoed soul
   Leaving her feeling
Like a fabricated manikin on display
   For all to pose her as they may

Muddied soil was the blood that coursed
  through her veins, holding her tethered heart
in fleshy, mounds of chocolate brown earth
  It held her helpless in its hold
clogged by the silt which descended down
  Into spaces of her soul…
Like murky strings of yellow tattered maize
  Leaving their ragged tassels tangled
Throughout her life flowing veins
  Choking off the blood she needed
To nourish her hungry heart

Mighty winds toppled her willowy limber tree
  Snapping the delicate boughs
Of her outstretched arms
  As they pulled at the tender fleshy bark of her skin

She stood cold and alone
  In the icy winter night wrapped
Only in her wounded, naked flesh
  With open, bleeding wounds
Under the icy blue mist of the winter moon
Her heart and soul painfully revealed...
   In shades of indigo blue

3,650 days since the first time ive heard her name you think within that time frame i would know everything about her

but here's something i just noticed she's 5'4 but walks like she 4'5

its a walk with no purpose other than to get away from here

she has eyes that could light up the sky but they never leave the ground

all because 1 boy ruined her perception of beauty

it would explain why she shrugged off every compliment i gave

i tried my hardes to convicne her she was beautiful but she was convinced she was anything but

I am gonna give it one last try so you can see yourself through my eyes

just listen

theres a girl with fine hair the color of the suns glimmering rays just before sunset

with eyes so captivating that if you were handed a map , you would throw it away cuz theres no other place youd rather be lost

A smile that would make a ****** drop his spoon becuase he realized he's missing out on a greater high

lips that probably taste so sweet it makes sugar taste bitter

a body that curves in all the right places it makes a model seem like a manikin

but shes more than just eye candy

she has such a big heart because she does so much for everyone else and expects nothing in return

she has such a sense of humor that she'll laugh at a joke from a child or from a man with his mind in the gutter

she makes me believe God IS TRULY SELFLESS becuase i wouldve kept an angel like her in Heaven

So maybe youre right youre anything but beautiful because beautiful is such an original word to describe such a unique person like you

You're stunning

You're miraculous

You're drop dead goregeous

You're courageous

You're charismatic

You're Pulchritudinous , i didnt even know what the hell that meant until i realized it defined you

I wanna see you walk like you do after you just proved me wrong not like your 5'4 but like your 6'5

and after readign this you better call rehab because all i want is to see your smile

and you better realize that youve been looking in a mirror of lies , holding on to what you shouldve let go and that you finally realize what youre truly worth .. to me .... and everyone else around you

Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
          stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
          a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
         of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
         taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
         the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
         piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
         mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
         like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.  
         We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.

J. Sandy

Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
          stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
          a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
         of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
         taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
         the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
         piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
         mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
         like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.  
         We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.

J. Sandy

A Heart that Parts away from the chambers,That pump lies thru the veins with pain.A love that was crucified and died, sacrificed, and does behind a disguise.A mask.
That mask the past scars, the torn skin, truth ripped from the flesh left hollow and echos sorrow,
Faint in the distance, youth in the mirror,
Not in the eyes,tired of lies , eyes cry seeing human bein their nature.
Soo cruel  the pool of liquor im bathin my pours soakin the reality to of depression wastin every ounce of time blazin to relieve the stress of being puzzled in a maze,
Forsaken and disturbed to see the same face awaken shaking like the floor of order.
The door of opportunity leads to another border.
Truth itself holds no water,Takin so much in becoming a mental horder,
nothing new but the struggle, and only lived a quater.
When is there change ? im in need of aspoiler,or vent.
Like im exhaust, im exhausted from many losses, im lost and losed many calls from God.
Stop stallin God hear my repent im callin, so answer.
Thats all im askin ,
im tired of being bent, broke from bein spent,
sick of the cancer, sick of abuse.
I want peace of mind, can hell call a truce? living on the edge, Im hangin, danglin , souless  as a manikin, lost in the sky walkin,
High like aniken.
Im havin epiphanies, deliberately givin up my own liberty,
honestly my  honesty is now nothing no one acknowledge my poverty. My truth was rich, outta this world cosmically possibly the realist to ever grace reason modestly.

BY: Emmanuel jv Hernandez
1/16/14

the face of a manikin
walks the city street

the face of a street
window shops

I have three cents
and hope they buy me a bed

A smile is the most revealing human ****** expression I've ever witnessed. Its a habit of nature, so it always tells a good story.

The widest smiles often tell a different story with the eyes. Their smiles are long, and sometimes you can watch their eyes slowly creep with them, as if between the two a connecting valve is slowly opening. The side of their mouths grow high like an ******* with a euphoria dripping down the dimples. Eventually I can't tell if those happy-looking eyes are seeing anything anymore; that smile is preparing to close the eye lids, preparing for a flight to somewhere else. Soon enough they'll shut off completely. Are you dreaming now?

That smile's to be written often and never for yourself. You could write 'confirmation', 'dinner party', 'family photo', a myriad of others on that blank piece of paper. When used, the mouth flexes its guns as long as it can while the eyes freeze in place like a dear in headlights. It's a puppet manikin dancing The Ritual of Memories, to be seen again but never remembered in quite the same way. The iron curtain to be raised once the light enters our lenses. Was it a good one?

Sometimes her smile speaks more than a single story, dependent on which one she hopes to wear that day. Yesterday a faint smile tried to dam all the fluid behind her eyes, a couple of holes channeling salt along her face. I thought she had gone crazy. Today her Cheshire smile bars the prison room of her mouth. Any moment longer and her tongue's time will be up and it'll be the heat on the block again. I can see it in her eyes when she imagines herself moving people and objects like a comedic psychic, her lips creeping to one side. Is he wearing a bulletproof vest?

I've seen him smile with his mouth half open, teeth parted. A blind Beholder awakens in between, squinting lightly behind the shadows of those teeth. It's a faint expression, resembling an opposite of what floods the man's vision. Discovery is spearing a beast in the deepest trench of his heart, spraying its blood out from the man's eyes in a triumph. I'm just as stunned as he is; where will he go with all that victory?

A smile is so near to the essence of the human spirit. To create a smile in ourselves is to be happy, which we seek deeply. But to what end? When our smiles are masted forever, where do we as humans go? What is our next plan of action?

Wondering this to myself, I looked over the side of my coffee table and saw you smiling lightly, a glimmer in your eyes as you read a book I didn't recognize. It made me smile.

Fortify this amazonian square,
Wherein Baldheads are anguished,
No other place can compare!!!

Amorosity, dont leaveth me to far gone,
Showeth me love,
Showeth me loving kindness,
Showeth me thine grain,
Showeth me thy fineness!!!

Fruition cometh suddenly,
Stunningly the air's wind stays chill,
Deadlock exhibitions of fan fare latitude!!!

A blade chapter of northern affair's,
How changeable is her manikin smile!!

Defilement she hath seen,
Derider,
Non abider,
Doesn't fit thy circuit scene!!!

What a dream to all whoso sleep,
Guard thy soul,
Her mind is gold,
Youll whimper as she weeps!!!

Flourisher,

Nourisher of nutriential push,
Snappish,
Pacifist,
Lover of pre schooled books!!!!

Sorceries own  solvent!!!!

Dissolvent of surmise talk!!!

Your a new age Delilah thou fresh smelling pedal thou!!!!

follow the music score
this is the real thing
not a manikin
this is a man
the real thing

Hold up your jar of light
the one I bought you
open the lid
let the sunlight out

with a prayer
a wish
a goodwill

Countless days since the first time ive heard her name you think within that time frame I would know everything about her

but here's something I just noticed she's 5'4 but walks like she 4'5

Its a walk with no purpose other than to get away from here

She has eyes that could light up the sky but they never leave the ground

All because one boy ruined her perception of beauty

It would explain why she shrugged off every compliment I gave

i tried my hardes to convicne her she was beautiful but she was convinced she was anything but

I am gonna give it one last try so you can see yourself through my eyes

Just listen

There's a girl with dark hair the color of the darkness surrounding stars just after midnight

With eyes so captivating that if you were handed a map , you would throw it away because there's no other place you'd rather be lost

A smile that would make a ****** drop his spoon becuase he realized he's missing out on a greater high

Lips that taste so sweet it makes sugar taste bitter

A body that curves in all the right places it makes a model seem like a manikin

But shes more than just eye candy

She has such a big heart because she does so much for everyone else and expects nothing in return

She has such a sense of humor that she'll laugh at a joke from a child or from a man with his mind in the gutter

She makes me believe God is truly selfless becuase I would've kept an angel like her in Heaven

So maybe you're right you're anything but beautiful because beautiful is such an original word to describe such a unique person like you

You're stunning

You're miraculous

You're drop dead goregeous

You're courageous

You're charismatic

You're Pulchritudinous , I didnt even know what the hell that meant until I realized it defined you

I wanna see you walk like you do after you just proved me wrong not like your 5'4 but like your 6'5

And after reading this you'd better kiss me because all I want is to see your smile

And you'd better realize that you've been looking in a mirror of lies , holding on to what you should've let go and that you finally realize what you're truly worth .. to me .... and everyone else around you.

Soundlessly I creep
Into your head
Tiptoe around
Your secrets and dread
I knock upon
Your door of lies
Turn the ****
To peek inside
A humorless laugh
Escapes my lips
How had I known
The secrets you kept
I slam the door
Let my anger rage
Knowing it’d cause
An aching migraine
But it can’t compare
To the hate I feel
Just a manikin of clothes
For you to peel
I’m done with you
And you’re hurtful tricks
You are nothing to me
You *******

Model cutout of a still photograph
***** with pointed *******
Attacking at my ***** hairs
like ergot on rye
almost robotic
her stare descending
  
As the sun from the horizon beams
brightness upon the displayed man-
nequin and I grow from manikin to
MAMMOTH
  
We've kissed before, with her soft velvet
body hair playing my brain like a
Kennebuc County bluegrass musician picks at his banjo
Caressing me.  Attacking me.  Devouring me.
Devoiding me of anyone else
  
The galaxy moves constant.  Mankind
can not slow it down.  There's a
crash-course in friendship.  The
Least important word is "I".  The
most important word is "we".  Yes.
I remain.  Nailed

the wings of mind have failed
there is nothing left
a husk a manikin
a doll with glass eyes

the numbers were in and it didn't look pretty
you people surrender your minds so easily
they dumb you down and you know it
they dumb you down and you let them
but it wasn’t exactly coercion either
basically the truth is we have many souls
most of them severe critics to be evaded
where they came from nobody knows
at the dawn of time a single drop of blood
fell on Mother Nature's pouting lips
then and there she was hooked forever
on the prodigality of infinite misuse
a million wasted ***** is no way to live
each one a potential productive manikin
random selection had done its worse
evil had survived the millennia just fine
well what any breathing human knows
is they can always do better next time
the point here is to insure a next time
it appeared that the world had been flushed
down the great stinking ***** pipe again
the old school mutates into the new school
goodbye old school
you have tried to become a national holiday
that no one feels the necessity to celebrate
needless to say the faculty weren't listening
and caroused down the lane into the woods
but it was too late for regret anyhow
the old school had initiated him
into the Clan of the Goat Poet
he sees where his next thought comes from
everything filled with clues is a clue itself
blindness is the human condition
idiocy is the subhuman condition
infantilism is the transhuman condition
anthropomorphism is the...somebody stop him
needless to say he dabbled in the grotesque
on a need to know basis so it was OK
I agree a cheap eruption of demagoguery
but you can't be free by hiding in a mirror
also I've been getting complaints
about vestigial blandness lately
my lawyers ****** & Bludgeon
had counseled caution in all things
so I lapsed into a 5 year walking coma
nothing to do but leave on the right note
with a casual wave and a simple **** it
in case you were wondering
everything is the way it is
so it would be believable

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon

Where the air is rarefied
you will catch me peeking
holding my breath lest
I give myself away, again
and I be your manikin.

She stands outside the shop
Contra Natura,
On Rua Dos Correeiros.
I just happen to see while watching the Brazil match,
The fans in yellow rushing to the square...Park do Comerico

Leaning against the green tiled facade,
Cigarette in her left hand.
Dressed in faded grey jeans,
Black jumper, ***** sneakers,
She is beautiful.

The shop display holds a blindfolded manikin,
Dog collar and lead.
See through plastic underpants,
He looks happy.

She draws on her gauloises
Looks to her left.
And with a look of distain,
Dismisses that reality.

In her annual review,
Her boss Mr Costa has demanded,
That she sells more whips,
Beautifully she looks at him with same dismissal.



In her garret on Rua Da Madalena,
She reads Fernando Pessoa.
Cigarette in the left hand,
A glass of Douro red to her right,
Leg draped over a worn armchair.

This is her real life,
A world devoid of the Slavery of work.
Life and Slavery,
Two ships passing unknown,
Unrecognised,uncommunicative.

Her soul is an orchestra,
I can't decern the instruments.
Harps, piano, drums don't know,
I can only see the music.

When you aggravate the cold vision
What does it mirror?
A pleasant take starring at you and you.
Manikin was never an option you want it large
Be you and you alone in your own way.

Sleeping on pavement―
looking at the stars.

I try to reconstruct―
the manikin, you had
flung away like―
an antique plaque.

We were supposed to
talk as equals in this
moment of truth.

Was that not― the
trading in flesh, when you
ask the stonecutter to make
a shrine of an unknown god?

What was your grand
design O love?
Touch my face, I am
burning like a coal.

In a massive blast I
will break into myriad of seeds.

I know most people can feel their heart beating. Mine seems to always be screaming. ******, I ******* hate formalities, especially since it’s actually a comfortable way of making people adapt to me. Quit practicing ways to manipulate and make you plain. Gold chains on me, but that and all these gold rings don’t mean a thing. It’s a game homie. I gotta keep a brain on me. My mind races to different places to put back what’s sacred in replace of the hatred created in this matrix, so taste this food for thought. The longer I live, the more I’m complacent. It’s not like I’m complaining but this life **** is draining. Feels like I missed out on life training. Now I’m stranded tryna keep up with the others playing, but I’m a bench warmer to your Lebron levels of slaying. I’m blaming myself, sick and tired of hearing everyone’s intents of fame and wealth. What about your mental health? Isn’t it worth that Gucci belt? Do your eyes even see or have you ever felt true love itself? I’m talking about the love for yourself, somebody help. My life isn’t a script. I can’t plan ****, everything that’s happened, couldn’t have been destined. I’m reckless, so ain’t no way I’ll get blessings. Don’t follow me. One dollar can be the ticket you’re missing to godly things, and I’ll probably just be watching while you leave and remain here on my feet in a place that’s home for me. So if heaven is where they’ll be, then I’ll dance with a manikin since that’s just the will in me. A legend, and this **** isn’t really a message, this is more like a confession. End session

Suspend me from a hook
to dangle
face down
for
I am ashamed,
no longer able to
stand on my
own

Looking on to listen,
offer nothing to support
except my
dust,
in place of hollowed
bone

This trail of breadcrumbs
has lead me astray,
lost,
from myself
wandering thru the deep woods
every creature, a threat
every song, a howl
Soil too coarse to walk upon
A reservoir of dehydration

Thirsty, hungry, tired
stank of regret
Tangled in vines like wire, sharp as tacks, stifling as fear

I've played against your game,
tried to hide
my hide
up inside
the manikin
your bullet created
entrapped, secured and stuffed
full of your filthy thoughts
NOW,
pose her in a life like position,
trophy mount her
Display her as you wish
She's no longer mine...

i control this manikin in the mirror
i am outside this body,
it is simply just a home
i am the striking whiteness in a glare
the order of the pretties flowers,
the floating feeling one has as you hover on water,
my deepest thoughts, my entirety of being: really nothing at all.
declare anything to be and it shall be but maybe everything isn’t anything to begin with

Sic semper tyrannis ad mortem
("Thus always I bring death to tyrants").

Ever since early forerunners
of twenty first century
mankind (sprinted
across trackless expanse extant
upon planet Earth),
modern **** Sapiens essentially
won out as coterie precursors
sans predominant
present day team of rivals.

The zigzag line,
whence our arboreal ancestors
skedaddled their way
toward capital one delineation
of diehard deadheads
******* disaster, and acquiring
dubious distinction
decreeing domain of oblate spheroid
as prime real estate,
(when Prometheus fire privy to proto
humans), the imperceptible
figurative ink did not dry
before hairy hooligans
edged out other prehensile primates.

Enfant Terrible employed
as an analogy for punctuated
equilibrium witnessing
boom rang amidst feral creatures
unpredictably crowing
with nirvana seeking
foo fighting fecundity
(inadvertently in sync
with Feng Shui)
to launch scrappy
posse of measly mensch
kinsmen/women into the realm.

This phenomena countless
thousands of years since
inception of brutal, nasty
and short present day troglodytes.
With the aid
of an imaginary crystal ball,
the seeds of White Lily got borne
via Aery windy gusts jet setting
most “advanced” pygmy beasts
as animalistic bellwether
per future adventure,
whence many anthropological
opposable thumbed volumes
yet written till present
deadly crossroads
announced ruthless Reichstag.

Credos, codas, diktats
governing infantile Messerschmitt
Sol Invictus yet unnamed role
as most dangerous living
beings known to exist
unwittingly usurped grandiose
nom de plume as Master
predicating their survival on
brawn and brains
to public enemy number one
to all other life forms.

As the fittest (at least
when accident found tendency
to crowdsource),
the mob mentality already evident as
hyena cackles quickly garnered
rubric of might equals
right), thus grabbing
by force of strong arms (fingers
clutching deadly lances)
top prize as sovereign
dictators of the Proletariat).

Over the course of millennia,
they became de
facto dominant species.

The evolutionary descendents
metamorphosed into bipedal hominids
of recent mankind did not monkey
around when competing in the Human Race.

They elbowed, jostled,
and ousted competitors eventually
to ascend inexorably their way
to top tier of totalitarianism.

Great indomitable naked apes
of early simian evolution,
would not settle for any role
except top banana in
hierarchical schema
of biota extant throughout nascent
dawn of civilization.

Violence with whatever
material at hand vanquished any
threat to world wide webbed *******
sans existence at dawn of civilization.

Closer to late morning
and high noon tall tale ushered
vanity viz venal, vicious,
vocal Tarzans, 10,000 Maniacs,
and voodoo worshippers
blitzed like banshees.

Literal face saving
each manikin for himself
(gnome hatter
whether blood pact swore)
bludgeoned, hoodwinked,
and whipped warriors wary warlocks
fought tooth nail to death.

One instant found a bald
(ah that explains receding heir line)
bandied legged ******* macho tree
swinging sportsman
brazenly boasting bona fide.

Well guess what ma friend?

That sure-footed
geico hunter met ****** death
on an empty stomach
without the aid
of fast food restaurants.

His purported blood brothers abandoned him
(at dropped née hurled clump of offal)
as dependent and reliable brethren.

No such thing
as gentlemen’s agreement ruled ******
terra firmae.

Amidst warren of primates,
a promise quickly broached
instantaneously after pledging allegiance
to a pseudo fraternity.

the numbers were in and it didn't look pretty
you people surrender your minds so easily
they dumb you down and you know it
they dumb you down and you let them
but it wasn’t exactly coercion either
basically the truth is we have many souls
most of them severe critics to be evaded
where they came from nobody knows
at the dawn of time a single drop of blood
fell on Mother Nature's pouting lips
then and there she was hooked forever
on the prodigality of infinite missuse
a million wasted ***** is no way to live
each one a potential productive manikin
random selection had done its worse
evil had survived the millennia just fine
well what any breathing human knows
is they can always do better next time
the point here is to insure a next time
it appeared that the world had been flushed
down the great stinking ***** pipe again
the old school mutates into the new school
goodbye old school
you have tried to become a national holiday
that no one feels the necessity to celebrate
needless to say the faculty weren't listening
and caroused down the lane into the woods
but it was too late for regret anyhow
the old school had initiated him
into the Clan of the Goat Poet
he sees where his next thought comes from
everything filled with clues is a clue itself
blindness is the human condition
idiocy is the subhuman condition
infantilism is the transhuman condition
anthropomorphism is the...somebody stop him
needless to say he dabbled in the grotesque
on a need to know basis so it was OK
I agree a cheap eruption of demagoguery
but you can't be free by hiding in a mirror
also I've been getting complaints
about vestigial blandness lately
my lawyers ****** & Bludgeon
had counseled caution in all things
so I lapsed into a 5 year walking coma
nothing to do but leave on the right note
with a casual wave and a simple **** it
in case you were wondering
everything is the way it is
so it would be believable

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon