Marvelously Mentored

In mind
I guide my wheelchair
forward through the valley of death
and fear rises as if lachrymal dew
But I take heart knowing
there is a private way,
a fusion of mind=body,
my tao

Out of this valley
the way is paved
with slippery tempting templates,
Sirens songs,
a lyrical playlist cunningly self collected,  
but I remain mindfully resolute
caped in electric blanket and birthday suit
my 3D hero is me, Marvelously mentored,
sans copyright.

I don't get it
I don’t Get It 
Mr. Speaker
I admit I don’t get it

How does prayer
Stop gun violence?
Prayer did not work in Texas.

26 people were murdered
 while praying.

God if he exists
Obviously does not care
About the poor people
Who died in his church
Because a mad man

Got a gun
And no they were not praying
To be delivered from death
No one deserves to die like this

So my prayer to you
Is simply this

Get off your rear end
Rally the country
And do something

About gun violence

That’s a prayer
I hope works

Dear Speaker Ryan
I want to tell you something

The dead don’t want your prayers
The dead don’t care that you pray for them
They are dead after all

And you and your so-called Christians
Are to blame
You refuse to do anything
Anything at all

to stop the carnage
In our streets

The U.S. is flooded with guns
And more are sold every day
Millions of people don’t have health coverage
Millions are barely surviving

And your answer
Our dear great compassionate Speaker
Your answer 
Is Prayer works
Government action does not
You act as if the gun violence
Plaguing our country

Was like the weather
Beyond our control
So here’s my prayer for you

And your colleagues
When you die
I pray that God
Will send you

And your friends
Straight to hell
Where Satan and his demons
Will use you for target practice

That’s my prayer to you
And as you know
Prayer works
 
Mr. President
You are wrong once again

You said that the tragic events 
in Texas
And Las Vegas were not “gun situations”

But rather were mental health problems
And that in Texas
if there had been no gun controls
Perhaps fewer people would have died

Mr. President

I know you a smart man

The smartest man in the world


According to you
So please contemplate this fact

According to the latest findings

It is a gun situation

In fact, the reason the U.S.

Has so many gun deaths 

Is because we have so many guns

45% of the worlds guns in fact
And 33 percent of the world’s shooters

Are Americans killing other Americans
And most of them 

the majority of them

Are White men killing other people
Not Islamic terrorists


Most are in fact

Self-proclaimed Christians
So Mr. President

When will you come to your senses
And do what 90 percent of the public wants


Enact nation wide effective gun controls?
And tell the NRA
 
they can take their blood money elsewhere

When Mr. President

When will you act

When will you take charge
And become a President of the people
Instead of the President of the NRA?
 Like (0)  0   


← Previous1 2 345…75Next →
Virginia Beach Massacre Never Again
Virgina Beach 


In a night of horrific scumbagery violence

Rarely seen in this jaded age of ours

Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific scumbagery violence
I
In just a few short minutes


Nothing more than that
 
In just a few moments

All 12 victims were murdered
By a disgruntled employee


Every one he knew was shot

And killed for no reason
Caused by the demons

His soul was so infected

Murderous demonic voices

All in his head

Screaming **** them all 
**** them all


Screaming none stop violence in his head

All the time
Causing him to start shooting 
everyone he saw


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were

Everyone must die 
screamed the demonic voices in his head
No one can be left alive


Everyone must die

Virtually all must die 
in his internal video game

Everyone must die


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were
Again just another day

Gone horribly wrong


All across America
In
every town

No where is safe anymore
Virgina Beach massacre

Virgina Beach massacre

Just another
Average night in America

An Active Shooter
scumbagery violence

Rarely seen

in this jaded wild world
Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific
scumbagery
In just a less than 30 short minutes

Nothing more than
In just a few short 30 moments

All the victims
were murdered while at their daily 
work
wrong place wrong time

act of a demotic deranged madman
voices screaming ****
The voices scream
death to all humans


All must be killed
The voices scream over and over
All must die now

Just another night in America
Land of the Brave
Home of the free
More Guns for Everyone in the World

The NRA has decided

That the best solution to global problem

Of rampant violence and crime everywhere
Is for the rest of the world


To become like the U.S.

Where anyone can buy a gun

As an armed society is a polite society’

And so the President i
s about to announce

A global campaign against gun control restrictions


As these restrictions
are an undue burden

On the rights of the US arms manufactures
To sell their guns 
everywhere in the world


As everyone wants what we have to sell

The best weapons in the world
Instead of trying to limit the damage


That unrestricted gun sales

Have done to the U.S.
Our President, our great leader

Wants to sell more guns

Everywhere in the world

And there are eager buyers

Lining up around the world

Eager to buy the best guns

The world has ever seen

We want to export

The gun madness

That has infected our society


Leaving behind so many dead bodies
The dead were not consulted

For they remain dead


They do not vote
They have no voice
For the guns silenced them

For good
 just as the guns intended

Just doing their gun thing after all

Humanity has evolved
From stones to arrows
To guns
T o nuclear, biological weapons

And the U.S.
 While proclaiming itself
A champion of Human Rights

Remains nothing 
but a country 
Of gun runners
 Merchants of death
And destruction
NRA Please Stop Talking

Another day
Another mass shooting

Another incident
of domestic terrorism


another gun man
killing people
because just because
 he can
and he wants to **** people

The NRA 
And their stooges

Come out

Flood the airways
With their noxious
Poisonous weasel words


The NRA says
Mass shootings

Are like the weather

You can’t control them
You can’t predict them

And you can’t prevent them

Just have to accept

It is all god’s will

Guns don’t **** people
IF guns were outlawed

Only outlaws
 would have guns

Only solution 
Is more guns

For everyone

An armed society
they say 
Is a polite society


Support for gun control
I is
socialist/communist/fascist/anti-Am  erican/anti-Christian nonsense
The beginning of tyranny


If only the Jews had guns

The holocaust would not have happened

Jesus would want us all
 
to be armed 
with machine guns
To protect us against the evil doers

It is the Christian thing to do


To blow away evil doers
With heavy arms


In America
Land of the free

Home of the brave
We can’t do anything


At all
About the mass carnage

Unleashed by madmen with guns

Who walk among us

Searching for their next victims
Any restriction of the right


To bear arms

Is tyranny at its worst
The nanny state run amuck

Talking about gun control

After a tragic event
Is

just not the appropriate time

We only need prayers

and meaningless thoughts

Universal background checks

Too onerous
Registering guns

Too burdensome

Researching gun violence

waste of tax payer money
banning military style assault weapons
r

Restricts my right 
to blow 
away

Bambi the deer
with a M16

the NRA will keep talking

talking and talking

preventing anything

from being done

and we will have another

Mass shooting event

Before the day is out

So my plead

This day
To the NRA
A
and their stoogies

Talk is cheap

Your comments
Are not helping

If you can’t

Be a part of the solution
Just stop talking

Please stop talking


And let the rest
Of us  figure out

How to stop

The madness in the streets
And stop the carnage


So NRA

Please
 just
 stop
 talking
 Now

military assault weapons 
are locked up

yet in America

the land of the free

home of the brave
 
everyone and his cousin

must have their gun

guns for everyone

cries the NRA

that’s the solution

The president
a 
and his supporters

deny the obvious
guns **** people
That’s all they do


it is a gun thing

you would not understand
Guns just do
what guns gonna do
**** people

Mr. President

You can take your words

your empty platitudes
Your empty promises
Your prayers 

straight to hell

and back

where with any luck

Satan will use you

as target practice
Chief of Staff You are Absurd

the President’s chief of staff
said the other day

it was absurd

to suggest that the president’s words

had anything to do

with recent mass shootings

yet is it absurd

to see the lengths

to which the President’s supporters
will twist and turn

spinning awa
y
the inconvenient truth
President Trump 
is a racist bigot con man

who some how
 conned his way

to become President
he call immigrants criminals, vermin, animals

invaders infesting the country
the El Paseo shooter 

said that he went to the border

to shoot the invaders

and said
 that he was a big Trump fan
it is not absurd
 to connect these two huge dots
The President’s words
 
have real world consequences

Yes Mr. Trump is a racist pig
a
and his supporters
 are being absurd

to suggest otherwise

 
36
 Jake Aller


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[ edit ]
Jake Aller
239 followers     893 following     333 
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https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com

John (Jake) Cosmos Aller

Novelist, Poet, Foreign Service Officer 

Tel: 703-436-1402
Email: authorjakecosmosaller@gmail.com

John (“Jake” ) Cosmos Aller is a novelist, poet and former Foreign Service officer having served 27 years with the U.S. State Department in ten countries - Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada,  Korea, India, St Kitts, St Lucia,  St Vincent, Spain and Thailand. and traveled to 45 countries during his career.  Jake has been an aspiring novelist for several years and has completed two novels, (Giant **** Spiders, and the Great Divorce) and is pursuing publication.  He has been writing poetry all his life and has published his poetry in electronic poetry forums, including All Poetry, Moon Café and Duane’s Poetree. (under the name Jake Lee).  He is looking forward to transitioning to his third career – full-time novelist and poet after completing his second career as a Foreign Service officer, and his first career as an educator overseas for six years upon completion of his Peace Corps service in South Korea. 



He served in a wide variety of positions running from Consular management, Fraud investigation and managing the consular overseas computer support desk, to economic and political reporting positions, international labor diplomacy, commercial diplomacy - promoting American business overseas- international organization diplomacy serving as the deputy permanent representative to the Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific, to management positions including program management, evaluation and contracting management, and environmental and science diplomacy including promoting renewable energy solutions.  He taught courses at the Foreign Service Institute and overseas in Bangladesh, India, Nepal and Kathmandu on consular fraud and consular Systems issues.

Senior program evaluator overseeing the implementation of the Department's evaluation program enabling the Department to develop a robust program evaluation system.
Coordinated training program training over 200 people in three years
Launched community of practice (CoP) web page (word press) with over 300 participants, greatly expanding the ability of State program evaluators to conduct program evaluations.  
Conducted meta-evaluation of completed foreign assistance evaluations insuring that the Department’s evaluations provided critical program improvement data.

Deputy Political Economic chief, - Bridgetown, Barbados 

Served as the deputy political economic chief covering political, economic, labor , environment and science and commercial diplomacy efforts in the Eastern Caribbean. 
Received labor officer of the year award for work in setting up regional training programs in occupational safety issues, and meeting with labor leaders in all seven countries greatly expanding our labor diplomacy outreach; 
Initiated two American Chambers of Commerce organizations, 
Conducted fund raising in support of  Embassy’s July fourth celebrations, the first time held in multiple countries, raising $100,000 over a three year period; 
Conducted training programs in all seven countries demonstrating to hundreds of locals on how to access U.S. Government  export financing programs . 
. 
CA/FPP Deputy Training Team Coordinator – Washington, DC,
Taught consular fraud prevention courses at the Foreign Service Institute, and in Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Pakistan, greatly increasing knowledge and skills in fraud detection. 
Launched Lexus Nexus public record database access for consular officers worldwide, therefore dramatically improving consular fraud prevention efforts, 
Initiated first interagency Fraud Working Group coordinating fraud efforts among Departments of Homeland Security, State, and Labor.  
Received Cash Award.
Deputy Consular Chief, - Mumbai, India
Oversaw American citizen services, immigration visas in fifth largest operation in the world and fraud prevention programs greatly improving management of each.  
Supervised and mentored 15 junior officers and 50 local staff resulting in each unit receiving group cash awards. 
Received two cash Meritorious Honor awards for my work helping American citizens facing crises including helping American citizens whose family members died in India, or were arrested. 
Organized task force that dealt with aftermath of worst earthquake in 50 years.  

Read more →
8 stories • 1 lists • 1 lists • 5 groups

My Poems (224)AutorankLinks
I don't get it
I don’t Get It
 

Mr. Speaker

I admit I don’t get it

How does praye

Stop gun violence?

Prayer did not work in Texas.

26 people were murdered
 while praying.
God if he exists

Obviously does not care

About the poor people

Who died in his church

Because a mad man

Got a gun
And no they were not praying

To be delivered from death

No one deserves to die like this

So my prayer to you

Is simply this
Get off your rear end

Rally the country
And do something


About gun violence
That’s a prayer
I hope works
© 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
Read more →
 Like (0)  0   

Dear Speaker Ryan

Dear Speaker Ryan
I want to tell you something

The dead don’t want your prayers

The dead don’t care that you pray for them

They are dead after all


And you and your so-called Christians

Are to blame

You refuse to do anything

Anything at all
to stop the carnage
In our streets

The U.S. is flooded with guns

And more are sold every day
Millions of people don’t have health coverage

Millions are barely surviving
And your answer


Our dear great compassionate Speaker
Your answer
 
Is Prayer works

Government action does not

You act as if the gun violence

Plaguing our country

Was like the weather

Beyond our control

So here’s my prayer for you

And your colleagues
When you die

I pray that God

Will send you
And your friends

Straight to hell
Where Satan and his demons

Will use you for target practice

That’s my prayer to you

And as you know
Prayer works
 
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
Read more →
 Like (0)  0   

It’s a Gun Situation, Mr. President

Mr. President
You are wrong once again

You said that the tragic events 
in Texas
And Las Vegas were not “gun situations”

But rather were mental health problems
And that in Texas
if there had been no gun controls
Perhaps fewer people would have died

Mr. President

I know you a smart man

The smartest man in the world


According to you
So please contemplate this fact

According to the latest findings

It is a gun situation

In fact, the reason the U.S.

Has so many gun deaths 

Is because we have so many guns

45% of the worlds guns in fact
And 33 percent of the world’s shooters

Are Americans killing other Americans
And most of them 

the majority of them

Are White men killing other people
Not Islamic terrorists


Most are in fact

Self-proclaimed Christians
So Mr. President

When will you come to your senses
And do what 90 percent of the public wants


Enact nation wide effective gun controls?
And tell the NRA
 
they can take their blood money elsewhere

When Mr. President

When will you act

When will you take charge
And become a President of the people
Instead of the President of the NRA?
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   


← Previous1 2 345…75Next →
Virginia Beach Massacre Never Again
Virgina Beach 


In a night of horrific scumbagery violence

Rarely seen in this jaded age of ours

Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific scumbagery violence
I
In just a few short minutes


Nothing more than that
 
In just a few moments

All 12 victims were murdered
By a disgruntled employee


Every one he knew was shot

And killed for no reason
Caused by the demons

His soul was so infected

Murderous demonic voices

All in his head

Screaming **** them all 
**** them all


Screaming none stop violence in his head

All the time
Causing him to start shooting 
everyone he saw


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were

Everyone must die 
screamed the demonic voices in his head
No one can be left alive


Everyone must die

Virtually all must die 
in his internal video game

Everyone must die


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were
Again just another day

Gone horribly wrong


All across America
In
every town

No where is safe anymore
Virgina Beach massacre

Virgina Beach massacre

Just another
Average night in America

An Active Shooter
scumbagery violence

Rarely seen

in this jaded wild world
Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific
scumbagery
In just a less than 30 short minutes

Nothing more than
In just a few short 30 moments

All the victims

were murdered while at their daily 
work
wrong place wrong time
act of a demotic deranged madman

voices screaming ****
The voices scream
death to all humans


All must be killed
The voices scream over and over

All must die now

Just another night in America
Land of the Free

Home of the free
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   

More Guns for Everyone

More Guns for Everyone in the World

The NRA has decided

That the best solution to global problem

Of rampant violence and crime everywhere
Is for the rest of the world


To become like the U.S.

Where anyone can buy a gun

As an armed society is a polite society’

And so the President i
s about to announce

A global campaign against gun control restrictions


As these restrictions
are an undue burden

On the rights of the US arms manufactures
To sell their guns 
everywhere in the world


As everyone wants what we have to sell

The best weapons in the world
Instead of trying to limit the damage


That unrestricted gun sales

Have done to the U.S.
Our President, our great leader

Wants to sell more guns

Everywhere in the world

And there are eager buyers

Lining up around the world

Eager to buy the best guns

The world has ever seen

We want to export

The gun madness

That has infected our society


Leaving behind so many dead bodies
The dead were not consulted

For they remain dead


They do not vote
T
hey have no voice
For the guns silenced 
them
For good
 just as the guns intended


Just doing their gun thing after all
Humanity has evolved

From stones to arrows

To guns
T o nuclear, biological weapons

And the U.S.
 While proclaiming itself

A champion of Human Rights
Remains nothing 

but a country
 
Of gun runners
 Merchants of death

And destruction
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   

NRA Quit Talking

NRA Please Stop Talking

Another day
Another mass shooting

Another incident
of domestic terrorism


another gun man
killing people
because just because
 he can
and he wants to **** people

The NRA 
And their stooges

Come out

Flood the airways
With their noxious
Poisonous weasel words


The NRA says
Mass shootings

Are like the weather

You can’t control them
You can’t predict them

And you can’t prevent them

Just have to accept

It is all god’s will

Guns don’t **** people
IF guns were outlawed

Only outlaws
 would have guns

Only solution 
Is more guns

For everyone

An armed society
they say 
Is a polite society


Support for gun control
I is
socialist/communist/fascist/anti-Am  erican/anti-Christian nonsense
The beginning of tyranny


If only the Jews had guns

The holocaust would not have happened

Jesus would want us all
 
to be armed 
with machine guns
To protect us against the evil doers

It is the Christian thing to do


To blow away evil doers
With heavy arms


In America
Land of the free

Home of the brave
We can’t do anything


At all
About the mass carnage

Unleashed by madmen with guns

Who walk among us

Searching for their next victims
Any restriction of the right


To bear arms

Is tyranny at its worst
The nanny state run amuck

Talking about gun control

After a tragic event
Is

just not the appropriate time

We only need prayers

and meaningless thoughts

Universal background checks

Too onerous
Registering guns

Too burdensome

Researching gun violence

waste of tax payer money
banning military style assault weapons
r

Restricts my right 
to blow 
away

Bambi the deer
with a M16

the NRA will keep talking

talking and talking

preventing anything

from being done

and we will have another

Mass shooting event

Before the day is out

So my plead

This day
To the NRA
A
and their stoogies

Talk is cheap

Your comments
Are not helping

If you can’t

Be a part of the solution
Just stop talking

Please stop talking


And let the rest
Of us  figure out

How to stop

The madness in the streets
And stop the carnage


So NRA

Please
 just
 stop
 talking
 Now
another gun stop © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   


← Previous12 3 456…75Next →
guns **** People
Guns **** people
g
Guns do **** people
it is not mental illness

it is not video games
it is not a million other things

it is simply this
a gun is a weapon

a weapon designed to **** people

That is what guns do
guns don’t care

they do as they are told
If you pull the trigger
t
They will **** the victim

that is what guns do

that is why 
in a civilized society

military assault weapons 
are locked up

yet in America

the land of the free

home of the brave
 
everyone and his cousin

must have their gun

guns for everyone

cries the NRA

that’s the solution

The president
a 
and his supporters

deny the obvious
guns **** people
That’s all they do


it is a gun thing

you would not understand
Guns just do
what guns gonna do
**** people

Mr. President

You can take your words

your empty platitudes
Your empty promises
Your prayers 

straight to hell

and back

where with any luck

Satan will use you

as target practice
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   

Chief of Staff You are Absurd

the President’s chief of staff
said the other day

it was absurd

to suggest that the president’s words

had anything to do

with recent mass shootings

yet is it absurd

to see the lengths

to which the President’s supporters
will twist and turn

spinning awa
y
the inconvenient truth
President Trump 
is a racist bigot con man

who some how
 conned his way

to become President
he call immigrants criminals, vermin, animals

invaders infesting the country
the El Paseo shooter 

said that he went to the border

to shoot the invaders

and said
 that he was a big Trump fan
it is not absurd
 to connect these two huge dots
The President’s words
 
have real world consequences

Yes Mr. Trump is a racist pig
a
and his supporters
 are being absurd

to suggest otherwise
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (1)  1   

Mr. President Words Matter

Mr. President Words Matter

Mr President

Words matter

your words matter

your words of hate

your words of division
your words 
calling fellow human beings 
****, vermin,

invaders, animals 
matter

they matter a lot

and is it little wonder

that people listen 

to the hate you sprew forth

and some deranged people

take action 
on your call 
for action
against the invaders 

on the border


they march to the border

to **** the invaders
your words matter

Mr. President


and your false words
of regret
fool no one

the damage has been done

the hate has been spread

just as you intended

and you 
have the gall 

to call yourself
A Christian
you are the anti-Christ

you are not a Christian

so please quite pretending

to be what you are not

please man up

accept your responsibility

set things right

apologize

the dead though

don’t need your prayers

they need action

they need leadership

and you are the president

so please start acting

like you give a ****

and if you do so

perhaps 
you will find

people will follow you
but please
 quite the words 
of hate


the words that hurt
and quit calling immigrants
 invaders 
and vermin
 

they are human beings

they are deserving of respect
this I ask of you 
In Jesus’s name
even though I am not a Christian
another day, another shooting

Another Day Another Shooting
another day in paradise
just another day in Americal
Land of the free
Home of the brave

and gunshots,
lots of gunshots
more guns for all
cries the NRA

yes another day
another gun battle
another white man
who just wants to ****

the President sends his condolences
Thanks the law enforcement 
for an incredible job well done
It was horrible

Hate has no place
in our country
and we will take of it 

and do what ever we can do
condolences 
nothing but false words
empty words 

lots of things to do
it is mental illness problem

but he fails to mention
the words gun at al
not at all
and tomorrow and tomorrow

but he at least finally 
said 
hate has no role in country
nothing but prime BS
in my humble opinion

he did not mention 
white supremacy
his rhetoric had nothing
nothing to do 
about this at all

and so tomorrow
I will turn on the TV
and we see
nothing at all

and the dead
will remain dead
the guns will fire again

nothing will be done
welcome to America
land of the free
home of the brave

I have no sense of pride
when I wake up each morning
to get ready for school.
I do not wish to be here;
not because
I just don’t want to go to school
like most kids,
It’s because I myself
and so many others
have felt what it feels
to be victims here inside these schools.

When you're a victim
you face a fear of similar acts
repeating again,
it's like waking up
and expecting someone to punch you
and knowing you can avoid it.
school is like the punch,
and we show up each day,
waiting for the punch
to strike us down,

we could avoid it
by not showing up,
but we have to show up,
so there's no way out
of the fear.
When you're a victim
of verbal abuse
you never know when it's going to strike,

when someone speaks to you
you're left on edge all the time,
when it happens due to
staff and students
nothing seems safe anymore.
You lose your trust,
you lose your friends
you lose your freedom of safety.

Sadly, most of the time
when someone becomes a victim
of verbal abuse,
the teachers causes it to occur
for two reason;
the first,
because they allow it to happen
and second
the worst
they do it themselves
to the students.

In the classroom
you're there to learn.
No wonder students
have picked-up it's allowed
to put down someone
for being different in any way.
If we learn from our teachers,
and they have taught their students
it's okay to put others down,
how do you blame the students then?

How can you blame students
for learning how to harass a kid
if a teacher single handedly
gave them permission?
When they were being mentored in
the act of putting down,  
instead of raising someone
who was a little weaker up?

How can you undo the damage
put onto the victims
who no longer want to walk into school
but still do each and everyday
because
they have to?
How can you deny a kid
their right to sit in guidance
instead of go to that class
when they are being mistreated
and harassed?

How can you Punish these kids
with detentions
when they have been through worse punishment
than you have the power to give out
with a yellow slip?
When they all say
“it's my word against an adults”
when I’ve heard
the same cries and tears
poor out of girls and boys
who hate it here
because they feel their voices
are unheard,

there issue has never been handled right.
“I reported the teacher
and it's like nothing happened
and only made my time
in that class worse”
“They told me I can't
report the teacher
and I have to report
the students,
How do I report
almost all my class?
someone or probably everyone
will give me a problem
when they get back?”
How do you honestly solve that?

You can’t fix the damage that has been done.
The faculty here
has put students
against students
while they sit back for their amusement,
its sickening
that we allow schools
to partake into such crimes,
To allow Faculty
to insult individual students,
based on their biased opinions
on their Ethnicity,
Religion,
Gender,
and Disabilities.
This is considered a Hate Crime.

Schools Supporting Hate Crimes
and doing absolutely nothing
but skating around the issue
as if that will stop
the appalling act
from happening.
Fooling Around,
to Teasing,
to Playful Jokes,
to Hurtful Ones,
To Insulting Ones considering to be bullying,
Than lead to the start of Harassment,
and Verbal abuse of an individual,
That Can From there,
only move forward
unless the victim is removed
from the environment,
to becoming a Hate Crime.

How Sweetingly Rare to see this Advise,
The Westfold Bard who shares this Ancient Art
But Performed it Better to his Concise
And took Definition for his Good Part
I just knew you now. So what of belate
As Mentored Dolphins with Water's Tie befriend
I found this Artist; This Cornerstone Great
And Hope your Elder's Tongue will never end
You, Sir, confirmed my Efforts; This I Bow
And hand you the Medal I sought to seek
I am no Patron; Neither plan so now
Only the Purest Abe in Honest meek.
Now please Sing on, and Live to Peak Content
I write my Sighs; But these Praises I meant.

MANILA, Philippines - The public knows me as the Father of Philippine Franchising but what is hidden from the public eye is that I am a father of five sons and a daughter. This fact became very real to me again recently when my youngest son, Sam Gregory, got married.

Like I said, I have five sons and all of them are achievers and successful in their respective fields. My eldest son, Sam Benedict, for example, has a master’s degree from Kellogg and works for a top American company. My fourth son, Sam Christopher, on the other hand, got his master’s degree from Oxford and used to work for a top British conglomerate.

When my other sons got married, I was happy and proud as I could be; but when Greg got married I have to admit that there was a certain tug in my heart realizing that my little Sam was finally leaving the nest. I am not the sentimental type, but I guess every parent has a special place in his heart for his youngest.

But don’t get me wrong, Greg is no pushover. Being physically small, he did have his share of bullying when he was in school. But Greg knows how to deal with his problems. He befriended a number of his bigger classmates and that solved his problem in a snap. He may be small but he has a big heart.

Greg is idealistic and principled. He usually volunteers for civic and charitable activities and contributes to fund drives for disaster victims. My wife and I have accepted the fact that every time there is a typhoon, we can expect our cupboards to be cleared of canned goods and our cabinets purged of old clothes, which Greg would donate.

He follows traffic rules and regulations even when there’s nobody watching and even if following is not convenient for him. He saves energy. He recycles. He even convinced me and my wife not to use narra wood flooring in our retirement home.

Being a careful planner, he is the most prepared among our family for the “Big One.” But what I find most admirable is that he keeps two emergency kits in his car in case he finds himself in a situation where he might need to help others.

Greg is also romantic, creative and dedicated. When he was studying in Beijing, he would organize a virtual date with Charmaine Haw (who would eventually become Mrs. Sam Gregory Lim), who was in Manila. They would watch the same movie on the web and Greg would order movie snacks, which he would send to Charmaine’s house. The couple would also have virtual dinner dates where Greg would order similar meal courses, which would be delivered to Charmaine’s house and then they would chat via Skype while having dinner.

When the time came for Greg to buy his engagement and wedding rings, he refused to let us — his parents — help him. He used his own money despite being the one among his brothers who could least afford it, being the least salaried employee among them. He did this as a symbol of his love and commitment to Charm.

But when the wedding came I insisted that it should be a grand wedding.

To guarantee a great party, we made sure to have great food, a great place and great companions. Being an avid sci-fi fan, Greg already had an idea of a unique garden wedding. He wanted to transform the New Grand Ballroom of the Marriott Hotel into the forests of Avatar. To do this, the wedding stylist had to import a collection of trees, hanging plants, shrubs, flowers and other plants. The images projected on the giant 15-meter panoramic LED screen added to the reality of the scenery. It was a unique and original “garden setting” and was certainly a sight to behold and remember.

For the food, Greg was at his meticulous best to make sure that the evening’s feast was memorable. The dinner opened with a mouth-watering appetizer, lemon-spiced pan-seared scallop with tomato cucumber timbale in creamy ginger soya sauce followed by Manhattan clam chowder with cornbread dumpling. For the main course, we had the beef tenderloin prepared by the master chef of Cru Steakhouse of Manila Marriott Hotel, sea bass with roasted shallots, dauphin potatoes in perigourdine and mustard herb sauce.

The espresso-infused tiramisu and the white chocolate cheesecake with mango salsa served with piping-hot coffee completed the culinary feast.

With 800 guests, I would have to admit that we did splurge a little. But we also wanted the wedding reception to be an opportunity to thank the people who have been a part of our family. These are our relatives, friends and associates who have inspired, mentored and helped mold my children to be what they are today.

To my youngest son, Greg, and my new daughter, Charmaine — quoting from the Vulcan salute of the Star Trek saga (of which Greg is a big fan) — may you both live long and prosper!

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

http://www.marieaustralia.com

ALMOST 500 aspiring fashion designers competed to represent Malaysia in the grand finale of this year’s AirAsia Runway Designer Search 2016.

The online submissions were narrowed down to 25 contestants, where a panel of judges chose their top 10 from that pool.

These top 10 contestants aged between 18 and 28 years old were judged based on their creativity, originality, theme and presentation.

From there, the top three lucky ones will represent Malaysia in the grand finale, which will also see contestants from five other Asian countries including Singapore, Indonesia and the Philippines.

“We have so many potential designers this year and it is very exciting to see their designs come to life on the runway,” said Kuala Lumpur Fashion Week Ready to Wear (KLFW RTW) founder Andrew Tan.

He said there was no one winner when it came to fashion as everyone had their own kind of creativity, which is why he is happy to send three finalists from Malaysia to compete in the grand finale.

“We are proud to have three designers representing our country.

“This year’s theme of Asean inspiration is where they can draw their inspiration from any Asean country, not just Malaysia,” he said.

He advised aspiring designers to not miss this opportunity to shine at one of the country’s biggest fashion events.

This can also be their platform to make their dreams come true as their designs will be showcased at the Kuala Lumpur Fashion Week and sold on Fashion Valet.

Joining Tan on the judging panel was AirAsia Berhad chief executive officer Aireen Omar who sees this as an event to capture Malaysia’s best talent in the fashion industry.

“We decided to make this contest a regional one to not only create more excitement but elevate the contest to a higher level,” she said.

Last year, the runway designer search was limited to Malaysian contestants.

She said making the contest regional was in line with AirAsia, which was all about networks and connectivity.

“It is also in sync with our Asean theme, where contestants draw inspiration from their travels to other countries,” she said.

In August, the top three contestants from each country will compete at the grand finale in Kuala Lumpur.

The winner will walk away with the title “Air Asia’s Most Promising Young Designer 2016” and prizes worth at least RM350,000 including a confirmed show segment to showcase the full collection on (KLFW RTW).

In addition, the winner will be mentored by the KLFW RTW team, RM25,000 to produce a capsule collection on Fashion Valet and RM150,000 AirAsia BIG Points to fly.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

The current political mood in Kenya is sombre and tense given the manner in which the former prime minster Raila Odinga is pushing for mass action destined to be held on 7th July of this year; 2014.He has labeled this day as saba saba day, in memory of former democratic struggles that were held on a similar date in the past by the then leaders like Martin shikuku, Masinde Muliro, Charlese Rubia and Keneth Matiba, just but to mention a few. The spirit of this political move has been inculcated into Odinga motivation during his holiday trip in America in the past three months. And the entire globalectics is eked on Raila’s personal advantages that Kenya and America has had soared relations because of Kenya’s substantial business dealings with China.
Tenseness of political feelings that are overtly observed in sombre moods of some Kenyans is based on the fresh memories of similar political behavior displayed by the same Raila Odinga in a few years before post election violence that erupted after 2007 elections. By inference,   Raila has nothing very critical that he wants to solve for Kenyans but he is only   aiming at execution of a very simple Machiavellian logic; He wants to use the mass actions to provoke international sympathy for himself as at the same time he anchors himself for the next presidential race which is barely three years to come.
It is a fact that there are some teething problems of political policy in Kenya. Like inferiority of the judiciary, biasness of the electoral institutions, insecurity, joblessness and tribalism as well as political cronyinsm.But these are usual features of politics in a developing country. They are the same things that Raila Odinga and Carol Omondi used as tools of maintaining power when the former was the prime minster and the later his aide de camp.
Effective solution to any  failures in public policy or even dysfunction in the public institution  is  usually what President Uhuru Kenyatta suggested; gentle dialogue by political representatives over a cup of tea, a class of wine , a tumbler of water or even a bottle of tusker not necessary raucous and  Arab spring like violent politicking at Kasarani grounds or Uhuru park. Raila only wants to misuse the poor masses in Kenya, the masses that are already infiltrated with deep sense of tribalism, to pile pressure on the incumbent government for his future political advantages that will go with presidential bidding. This is not reasonable.
Raila Odinga has a unique political psychology. Let me term it extra-masculinity. He has always portrayed a political signal that when he is not in power then there is no democracy in kenya.He is like Coriolanus and John Falstaff of Shakespeare. Thus by premise Raila Odinga suffers from a weakness in political thinking which can logically be branded political falstaffity. This is so when we subjectively analyze his public political behavior  in relation to Moi, Wamalwa, and Kibaki. And is still so when we soberly recognize some institutional success president Uhuru Kenya has registered during his two years as a president of Kenya. Uhuru has scored hundred percent on devolution, availability and open governance. He has already displayed promising efforts when it comes to infrastructural investiments.This is a kind the president that needs to be mentored through genuine support and criticism other than mudslinging him in every public rally  attended by masses on heat of ethnic political consciousness.
My present and tangible reason for this position is that already businessmen of kikuyu and kalenjin origin who of-course belong to Uhuru Kenyatta’s bandwagon are  now not travelling to kisumu, similarly Luos belonging  to Raila’s camp are not free in Eldoret town and Naivasha. Obviously business activities will also close on saba saba day of July 7th and as a matter of fact some people will suscetain mayhem, looted or even loose their lives. All these will happen because Raila Odinga has not seen a more reasonable way of carrying out national dialogue.


(Alexander k Opicho
Eldoret, Kenya).

My ribcage shatters apart to expose 
Splintering fragments of brittle bone
I scrape them up into a pile 
Offer them to you with a smile
Carving into this sordid heart of mine
With ink spilled from the grip of your fingertips
It spells the words I've never heard
Uttered from the sinister curls of your lips
And the lusting lick of your desire across my death bed of wilted roses
I feel your hunger devouring what's left of mine to give
Your kisses I repress with my tongue
But I'll give in until you're done 
I'll beg for more down on knees with prayers 
when our course has had its run into the immolation of the sun
We'll end our affairs and leave it unrepaired 
dwelling in the darkness that we've built upstairs
I fall into your black tracing scars upon your attack
I feel the bones break in your back
When we collapse our arms around ourselves
Holding tight into a mendacious night
seething with tumultuous roars 
Our bellies hungrily ache for each others' taste
We satiate ourselves until the early whisper of dawn 
Leaving our scars in scraps of flesh and song
The bite of your bitterness sings along

So tattered I leave beside you
So shattered I break inside you 
So torn to be reborn without you

We mourn the morning of our scorn
Pressing it into the palms of our hands
Pushing deeper this belly ache of rotten thoughts and perceptions
Those secret discretions buried clear in our deceptions and flatlined intentions
We have lived this life we give with smoldered chances rendered
Not a moment to spare for the tired or mentored
Guided by the guilty jilted mistakes of our indiscretions
Our hands are bathed in the blood of our love 
It takes every ounce of me not to give in to reminiscing of missing what we're dismissing
We're lost searching with no profound calling to take hold of our hands and lead us into the light
just speechless apparitions given into desperations of heartache and failure 
seeking a savior to release this pressure building inside the beating of our entwined hearts

I was unfortunate to have never meet you
I feel as if I knew you your so smooth

You took America's music
To another dimensional mystical

You sang with your heart, body,and soul
We as fans felt you when you was so amphibole

Your so perfect,flawless,and had an incredible gift
I could look at your pictures endlessly get my drift

Your music is heard
Every day in my heart,mind and soul for the world

Your Heart and soul
Was made of gold

You inspired so many people you mentored so many artists
You are the brightest

You was and still are loved
We as fans miss and love you wishing we could have made love to you

We all fell in love
Just like a beautiful dove

When you left us we all cried and continue to mourn
So *******

You will never be forgotten you will always be remembered
you are branded in our soul that's confirmed

When I lay quietly I can hear you singing with the angels
I surly can't wait to meet you in heaven to take you in like a sponge

Prince your the one and only
You will always live in my heart never to be lonely

Crossroads are a particular

kind of place where mythology

and actuality combine,

mix and dance with your shadow.



Limitlessness has a name

and social security number

in your restlessness

and your ambitiousness.



I've performed in cafes and on street corners,

In bookshops and depots,

woods and public restrooms

with the junkyard profits

desperately clutching to my clothes,

refusing my money

but begging for my love.



But now I am at the crossroads.



The smoke from my soul

comes in, forces me to turn around,

turn around turn around,

and see the faces,

so many different faces,

all those who have

loved me,

mocked me,

befriended me,

mentored,

hated,

changed

maimed

spit in my eye

called me what they thought I was.



So many faces.

So many eyes full of dreams and ire.



How many would I come to know again?



Who would become fortune tellers

blues-men

teachers

cops preachers

mathematicians builders destroyers

soldiers of fortune

businessmen liars or junkyard prophets?



Who will become like smoke in the fog,

slightly hazy lost-boys

off to never-never land,

never to be seen or heard from

except for the cries that whisper

the time?



So many faces.



What will I be to them?

A companion

friend

liar

hater

lover

brother

sideshow

an I knew him when

a face that looks at their back

at the crossroads,

a wisp of smoke?



I turn again,

turn turn,

a cymbal shot

pushes me forward,

left and right,

but I can never go back behind.



Johanna whispers

Even salvation must get old.



I know she must be correct,

at least as far as I can turn my head.



The right is barred,

the left is guarded by the beasts,

the faces hum a dirge or a lullaby,

I straighten my jacket,

pack my self into a slip bag,

and blow away with the smoke.

You said you would keep me close
closer than the priest is to the alter
But you pushed me away
With every promise broken
Every postponed appointment
You mentored me to walk away
And at every lessons' end
My heart cracked and bled petrol
Which burned my love to produce soot
That darkened my veins cause my heart pumped hatred
I became a blacksmith used every hurt to forge an iron heart
So cry not for me
Cause tears cant make a dead heart love

#hurt #walkingaway #tears # heartbreak

Certain, Fresh Lad, your Craft's Promise apply
Matter subtract from the Plym's pheromones late
Your own Best Soul; Youth enhance and reply
The Tanned One's Lights; And Career concentrate
One Message sent from your Parents abroad
Which mentored by your Tweeting Aunt confirm
Clip fast your Arms; And Feet embrace the Board
Kick the Meerkat's fears and your Lion burn
So when these Sweeties witness your Best Art,
That same Pastel you carry everyday
Is in you - not There - complete on your Part
And may these Blessings always come your way.
Being your own Boss, your Goal's smile conquer
Burn those Judges; And douse them with Water.

mother was a saint
father her punching bag
sisters were all called *****
when they came home
and failed the ***** check my mother
gave them, mother did nothing wrong
she ruled with brick hard pork chops
and circles of us kids
screaming , a belt in her hand,
who stole my chocolate bar?
No wonder dad had other things to do,
referee in basketball and hockey
an ump in baseball,
a head linesman in football
a devoted Boy Scout mentor,
he mentored so many young men,
but was not there for me.
I grew up not knowing how to tie a knot or survive,
I was lucky mom favored me.
I guess because in that circle of five kids,
me being the youngest , before school age,
to stop the terror I said I had stolen that candy bar.
She was a smart saint, asked me what kind was it?
I failed and was dismissed from the circle of terror.
I went to my room the rest of my days at home
trying to balance the sanity from the insane and withdrew.
I bounced ***** off the wall. Made up fantasy baseball players.
Had all their statistics scribbled in notebooks  
year after year, always my name was there and I was better than Babe Ruth. Somehow , I was smart enough to get the hell out of there.
I got out earlier with mescaline mushrooms *** lsd Quaaludes
alcohol young girls. But, I got out fully when I left to join the Air Force.
I look back and state all this for the purpose of saying it was
all my fault, not mom's or dad's, mine. I was weak.
It took me years and years to figure it out get strong find my voice
consider  my mom as a saint again
and my dad as a martyr!

Two strange souls; in life's book we entered,
From bits of the present, we picked each other.
Pain, sorrow, joy, our love have mentored,
So, whatever we do, we'll do it together.

We'll live. We'll learn. We'll know.
We'll tangle. We'll argue. We'll fight.
We'll walk. We'll run. We'll fall,
For together, well have might.

Through thick. Through thin.
Whether blessed. Whether cursed.
Though we lose. Though we win,
One; through the best and worst.

We'll stare death in the eyes.
We'll close shut, pain's doors.
We'll grow old. We'll grow wise;
You as mine and I as yours.

Trials. Hurt. Hardships, we'll stand.
In reality-paved tracks, we'll stroll.
We'll be strong in each other's hand;
Together we'll be. One, we'll grow.

We'll see the world, and curve our own.
We'll trek through calm and stormy weather.
We'll fear not, the things unknown;
Cuz all that matters is, we're together.

Keep Smiling

You entered my life
When I was centered in strife
So you mentored me right
And invented the light

You were okay with my flaws
You were okay with my sappiness
You introduced me to God
You introduced me to happiness

You’re the shepherd
I’m the *****
Who’s ways were tempered
In the holy sector

You gave me a prize
By making things clearer
So I can look in my eyes
When I look in the mirror

You have given a gift
Of a life lift
Paradigm shift
Removing spit
Where I sit

Your inner peace
And inner beauty
Are within reach
And flow through me

So this foal hobbles
Behind its role model
Drinking the whole bottle
To match your bold throttle

The day rolls over as the winds blow in
sullen in the sky from a grey dark moon
darkness in the air yet still in the eve
moon is my enemy this fullness maddened dream

This dredge to awaken another blackened morn
yellow in my sunshine din dry these tears nor gorn  
This life brings another day bore out the grin
forgotten pleasures given in to sin  

A sigh from a future that mentored the past
into the middle as cold from the glass
drink to the bottom forget all the gloom
Dark moon is still waiting my madness consume

My face in the picture you don't understand
the darkness of madness hidden command
smile to the flash that reddens these eyes
out comes the devil you've seen his disguise

Relish the day when the moon hides its shadow
break out the party and dance to the fiddle
sing to the stars that bless you a twinkle
open your arms to the world
be the riddle

I walked back via the perimeter road
to clear my head. It's a tough day
when a coworker has died.
I didn't know him well, but he always greeted me by name
and had a smile on his face, even when he was mad.

His friends told me today that was because he knew
someone was about to hear from him;
we all chuckled about that as we processed our loss.
Eight weeks ago, he was healthy but for a stomach ache.

"Cancer, stage 4," and he knew then it would soon be over.
He declined treatment; took care of business for his wife,
and with his Maker. Conversed with his friends,
settled matters for his adult children, and prepared for the end.

A stroke immobilized him Sunday, and Death claimed him Wednesday. We found out later his expectant grandson was born before J died. Small blessings in times such as this.
We all agreed today that in the mercy of Providence,
neither J nor his dear wife had to bear a lengthy illness.

But his friends will miss him--those he mentored, most of all.
"There'll be some long walks in the woods," one said,
as they come to grips with their grief, "as we remember this good man, and say farewell to Joel."

He will be missed, by colleague and inmate alike.
A man of good character like Joel is hard to find.

I wear my hair curly,
tight spirals that lay on my neck.

I wear my makeup dark, intimidating,
keeps the mystery that I’m so terrifying with a sweet glaze,
like honey.

But I don’t dissolve well and I came from poison.

I like my drinks colds, tingly, intoxicating.
It was the way my father handled his problems.
The way I handled mine,
I like my death cold, perspirating with teases that the next shot can be my last if I let it. I never really let it, I just allowed it to crawl in bed with me and sing me to sleep.

I’m attempting to romanticize a habit that dragged me a couple miles away from sanity, left me to dry up in the arid desert, surrounded by merciless voices.

I want to pour glitter on an addiction that gave me paranoia that I would rot in my bed, tied down by the idea that I can only be loved if I am bare.
Open, hands sprawled and not folded in prayer, because when I confessed beneath the altar, I leaked toxins that I swam in.

Wet dreams became a phrase that shook my ribcage, the grim reaper was the boyfriend in my head that mentored the shadows with a sweet malibu fantasy.  
Keep playing the same song, and I soon memorized each lyric.

I like my drinks on demand, I like them rolled in fury, drenched in sorrows, a control less kind of romance that undressed me every night, alone.

Control yourself, it whispered to me, you still need some for tomorrow.
I need to escape, covered in glitter and malibu kisses.

-C.M. Aldecoa

Dreams drowned.. The dreams that were drowned in alcahol , tears of the sounds unheard drowned in the vision not mentored. Dreams that were drowned in sees that lost sight of the rainy days to come and impragnate their fishes to species that don't want riches but to enriche the un'nourished dry drowned dreams.

I was seeking a reaction that never came
Often because you left me bleeding at the veins
Your only excuse left a stain
Resented you deeply but i was the one to blame
Somehow i always showered you in gold
You pointed me the fool as you stepped on my toes
I never said anything just followed your flow
I was only a guest in your playful show
A puppet to distraction as i mentored your madness
Closing my mind in disaster
I called up the plug I gave him my order
Pulled over told him it's for my disorder
An addiction to darkness
Creeping toxin slowly taking away my sickness
Puff and inhale let her bliss consume you
I roll up a new one better yet I made two
Double the antidote to cure  the traffic escaping our hearts
To bad i never wrote what was at stake going this far
I chased your for miles overlooking the signs
Ignoring the newspaper to read between the lines.

The Colors of purple, blue, green, and violet appear as the sun lowers in the distant horizon.
A big ball of energy and of light..... The Earth Spins
The sun exposes itself, to other parts of this beautiful planet, in which to warm them.
The moon is seen "simply" as "Magically "
appearing in the background.
"It must be my turn, once again, to shine and to  light the night-time Earth." (The Moon says to himself).
The grounds cool.....
People return from work to be with their loved ones.
They relax with one another to enjoy some much needed free time and such "simpler moments of splendor."

I am starting to wish to be like the sun.
Staying light to those I meet and traveling to warm, others, who come across my way.
Enjoying the same moments as They have learned to enjoy.
I used to be like the moon.
I used to wait for great things to happen.
Shining, only in one direction at one person and even moments,short livex..... wishing to enjoy or see them for any true extended periods..
Only limited times and "safe feeling-spirts."
I had never been warm, energetic, nor "light-filled"
As the darkness made me "The man in the moon..."
A smile on my face...No open eyes nor senses.
Staying my own distance...
in which  to protect my heart from damages.
It was me who needed to have the sun remind me of such..As I have been sunburned.
however,
the light and heat (of the friendly rays) warmed me up and gave me a more adequate light....
in which for my eyes to see.
Now, I feel more like him, "Mr. Sun."
I wish to keep warm, bright, moving, energy-filled and free.
Fueling the world around me, with more energy, and keeping the joy , of such, in my heart to stay.
Open eyed, more wiser, clearer minded, and a now happier soul..
A greater form of the one
(who was once unwilling to change to a brighter and  a "newer" me..)
A brighter person,now,  for the world to discover.....
I shall remain mentored an inspired by "Mr.Sun."
Like hum, as the night sets in,unafraid.....
As I rise and I set.

..........  I believe that killing has perhaps always been in my blood. Once out the womb I was forever drawn to the fascination of death. As a kid I'd tend to **** bugs, which turned into birds and other rodents around my yard. My mom thought it was disgusting but could never get me to stop. On the other hand, my dad figured it was just a boy thing and it was good that i enjoyed being outdoors.
      My father was always an outdoors type himself. He enjoyed taking me fishing on the weekends. As well as the gun range to practice my shot for when hunting season rolled around. Now that was heaven on earth to me. I'd never miss any shot i took and my dad was glad to be carrying a legacy down to me.
      It still haunts me to this day that my parents were murdered in my own home. Why wasn't I there to save them? Why couldn't it had been me? So many questions and very little answers. There was only one answer I could ever think of.. Revenge.
       Asking around only made the people suspicious of me. Being an 18 year old kid trying to solve my parents ****** seemed stupid at the time. So i joined the military to learn all the aspects of war. ******* the enemy, traitors, even fellow soldiers left for dead. If i ever had a soul it was gone by now.
   Returning back to my home town was nostalgic. Twenty years older and I had one mission on my mind. My old house was sold in auction to a bank but based on the gruesome murders nobody had yet to occupy it. Perfect chance for me to scope out for clues. Any evidence I could find that could help in the search would be worth it.
     Lucky for me, nothing was touched in that house since that day. Felt off that it wasn't cleaned up and labeled for sale. The realtors had visited the house and left nothing disturbed. Was the bank covering something up?
        It was easy for me to find blood that had never been cleaned up but testing old blood was rather tough. Fingerprints were numerously left by the detectives, my family, the realtors and me. After a few weeks of searching over and over i came across a dusty old bandana. Why it was never in the hands of the cops , puzzled me.
     A few hours later i had found a partial fingerprint from the corner of the coffee table. I picked it up with a piece of tape and put it away. Something about  finding those two things together after weeks of nothing sounded rather fishy. I figured i'd give it to my old friend in the force but I wondered if he was someone I could still trust.  Could it have been a setup to throw me off my vendetta?

     Over the phone I had asked my old buddy from the force to meet me at the Moonlight Diner. From there I had asked if he could return an old favor. I was able to get his troubled son a job at the base and that shaped him up pretty quick.
         " Hey Dan, long time no see, how's it been?"
         " Hell of a lifetime ago, thought you forgot about me."
         " Nah, i'd never. I just got into town and been getting stuff together y'know how it is."
          " Excuses," he says and points to the table to sit.
Our waitress than approaches us with menus and asks us about our drinks.
          " Mm, some sweet tea would be lovely, you Dan?"
          " Sweet tea? Hell nah my diabetes would wake up and **** me. I'll just have a coffee. Black."
  He readjusts his hat and looks back at me.
         " So, what caused you to want to meet up this late at night?"
         " Well, i'm here to call in that favor you owe me."
         " Favor? ****, well what is it?"
          " Well, I've been looking into my parents ******..," and i stare at him awhile to see if he budges. " and anyways i'm pretty sure i found some evidence."
          " Evidence? You must be a **** fool, now you know its been decades since that happened. You need to learn to let that go. I understand it's still tough after all these years but the only thing you're going to find is dead rats and a bunch of dust in that place."
         " This bandana wasn't here a few weeks ago when I searched. Isn't that fishy? And look, I found this fingerprint. Maybe if you can test this on the low we can find a match."
       " The military done got into your head didn't it? You think I can just run evidence like nothing? Even if it was real, someone would catch me."
        " Look, it could probably be nothing. For my own sake Dan, this is all I got to go on."
        " I can't just reopen a case because you are feeling desperate."
        " You don't have to reopen it. I just want some tests , that's all. If nothing comes up I will personally back off and you won't hear about it again."
  He looks at me with discomfort. Shuffles around a bit, and after a long pause opens his mouth.
       Sigh. " I guess I can try and tell  the nerd geeks to take a look. I know they'll keep things hush hush if I offer them some food. Those suckers never stop eating. Got **** endless pits."
      " That's all I ask," and I hand him the plastic bag and the fingerprint entrapped in tape. " Please, guard these with your life."
       " I will," he says. He stands up and grabs a few bucks out of his wallet, tips his hat off to me and walks off.

        Daniel Castillo. Been a cop as long as I was in the military. He was friends with my father but back than he was just a young rookie learning the ropes. Originally, he was from Amarillo ,Texas. Born and raised a southern cowboy he ended up coming to college here in Colorado and ended up working the force straight after.
         He took me in for awhile after my parents died but once i left to the military, i became out of reach. Still, a phone call away, he was the only one I trusted at that god forsaken time. Even had offered for me to join the force once I got out but the law never seemed to agree with me.
         At the time, I was renting out this worn down apartment. It was just temporary so I wasn't worried about living expenses. Not everyone knew I was due back in town so it helped that i remained quiet. I had all my leads scattered over the counter, newspaper articles, names of suspects and police reports.
    Eventually I set them all up on the wall, some with yarn leaking to certain leads.Still, unanswered questions kept me up all night binging on coffee or energy drinks. Reading and re reading until i'd end up passing out. Until, one day I saw a glint of light shining through the curtains and conveniently landed onto a name.
       Charlie Rivers. Female. It had appeared to me that her name was Charlotte not Charlie. Why had i missed this before? Had I driven myself to overthink and overlook simple matters? And if this person was female, why was her prints discovered at my house?
      Pulling out my laptop i searched for a Charlotte Rivers here in town. There were three. One deceased, and one was literally born yesterday. The last one was a 26 year old girl who worked for none other than the famous Glass Industries. My parents never partook in that company so what was she doing at my house?
     I clicked on her name and seemed she was an assistant to none other than Alexander Glass. Clicking on his name gave me his profile.

        ' Alexander Yuri Glass. 35 years of age.
          CEO of Glass Industries.
          Mentored by Professor Luka Glass & Rose Glass.
          New York Times mentions how "innovative and forward thinking", this company is. Ascending to a billion dollars in a matter of 5 years, Alex is the youngest CEO to do so within his own company. Originally transcending from Germany, he set his sights on tackling USA and has done remarkably well.'

        Hmm, seemed he was quite the entrepreneur. Or he just got lucky when his parents handed down the company. Perfect spoiled brat came to make money living off US soil. How lovely. I assumed I'd try to get in more in touch with this Charlie girl so i searched more in depth and found her social profiles.
Seemed her favorite hangout was a local cafe about 15 miles north, so I set my sights on making that my second home.
      My approach was to appear romantically interested in her. It seems she was unmarried and had no trace of a boyfriend ( or girlfriend), so this was my one shot. Looking myself in the mirror i saw a train wreck of a hot mess staring back at me. She might end up thinking i'm homeless, i thought to myself. After a quick shave and haircut, I set out in a fitted suit and headed to town.
     Steuben's Diner was a retro style diner, seemed like an easy appeal. Although, I had come to the realization that i may have been overdressed in a suit. The setting was more casual style, crowded with families and young couples.  Quickly I settled down at the bar and ordered a club soda.
       I stayed doing this every day of the week coming around happy hour and sometimes even staying till closing. Even the waiters came to see me as a regular. After the third week, I had begun to give up putting my things away and turned to see her walking through the entrance.
     So eloquently beautiful. Luxurious blonde hair tucked behind her ear, reached down her back. She had pale skin and a small body frame, didn't look a day over 25. She sat at the corner of the cafe, opened a book , and later her waitress came back with some type of alcoholic drink. Casual drinker.
       I sat and watched for what seems like hours but merely 30 mins. had passed. Figuring out an approach was one thing , getting her to stay interested in the conversation was another. My waitress saw me staring at her.
" You should buy her a drink, and your in luck.. I know what she ordered."
I give her the nod to go ahead and try to adjust myself to seem more approachable.
       I see the waitress point at me and smile. I wonder if she's working me up. She then turns around and raises her glass at me and smiles.
      " If you don't talk to her you're going to regret it," the waitress said to me and left.

Dear H-----,

Everything then
is now, too,

memory
is plural.

In law school
I mentored you

& let you ******
me after I broke

up with the art
deco girl who

kept turning the
blade in my side as

if it were a key.  
It was a scandal -

I felt my name
crawling lip to lip,

caught library looks,
but didn't care.

Your sister taught me
the moon game

at your kitchen table
& then spread my blood

with her song.
Do you remember it?

When I drank
my acetylene pain,

you were so quick
to forgive. It left

an impression.
We came home late,

laughing so hard
we were *******,  

with the moon
tangled in the ivy.

But I was still hanging
from the blade of

the art deco girl,
& it wasn't fair to you,

dying like that.
And then when

my grandmother
died, I needed you

but it was too much
& you fled. It was the end.

You moved, and married.
I let the art deco girl

saw me apart
a few more times.

But I never forgot
how alive we were,

or the strange sound
of the lullaby I wrote you.

Inside me lays the seed of life, my own life. Buried away beneath the darkness of the soils weight. Awaiting to blossom, awaiting it's nourishment, and for its protection. But the skill of the gardener must be taught, mentored, in order for that seed to have an enriched fate.

Many gardens are beautiful and admired for its ritches, for the seeds have grown tall and are full of life and colour. But for the gardens who's carer doesn't take note of the weeds underneath.., They will slowly diminish those flowers, until you are left with just weeds and none other.

All that was beautiful has now vanished beyond sight. And all that is left is shame, guilt, and a garden of black. The gardener blames himself, for surely... He should have known better? But he was never taught the skills of a master gardener. It's not his fault for that.

He slowly pulls the weeds, one by one, day by day. Restoring his soils foundation and laying his new seeds as he works. It takes him months, years even to restore his gardens former glory. But armed with the knowledge and tools for fight those relentless weeds, he is able to defend his beautiful garden, and becomes the master gardener, and the writer of his own success story.

Patches on his elbows
He lumbered along
He no longer smoked his pipe
He still wore tweed
He'd often sit on the bench where he courted Mary back in the day
When they were young and so in love
With merriment they played

She died too young, kids still in their teens
He remained a professor of the classics
A student of dreams
Much like the one he once lived and knew
That life was not fair he knew to be true

A miracle happened, the skies opened up
When he needed it most, she showed up
A graduate student he once mentored
Now an assistant professor,
He was on her mind
She knew not to come on to him during graduate time
When she was his student, that was fine
She would wait, as she did
For she loved him and his mind
And now it was right, now is the time

First was coffee, then a dinner date
For the first time they kissed
They could not wait
Now they're holding hands
Both making the same wish
That this will work out
It's all so new
It's sure looking good
Stay tuned.

Embracing tonight
I feel lonely and pensive
I heard from my girl
But my home is so empty
Seems like a lot less
Than three years ago
Entered
Found purpose and cause
In the people I’ve mentored
A living,
A being,
A place to belong
A community
Hidden
Was here all along
And still part of it
Just at a distance
Transition
To next chapters
Elsewhere
Adventures unwritten

It’s eating prey
Time of day
Enter fray
Rent or stay
Gents who play
Bent the game
Their dented brain
Centered pain
And mentored shame
As inventors of rain

A mad goon
Raccoon
Attack looms
I’ll crack too
From flak flumes
Under black moons
That lack hues
To track clues
So I stack blues
To attract feuds
With a knack to lose
Looking back to you
I see a path to choose
With a wrathful queue
Remembering old news
Stomping a bold shoe
The way the cold do
Using a honed broom
To get me to fold soon
And grab the gold spoon
From your sold room
That holds doom

A habit teacher
Rabid creature’s
Static bleeder
Rapid feature
Fed me ether
Yet no relief for
My silent grief core
That starts to seethe more
After I have seen the door
To your seasoned store
Closed for sure

A saline
Daydream
Grays beams
Of light streams
So my plight seems
Like a night scene
But my fright means
That my sight’s been
Judged rightly

I’m decomposing
Juxtaposing
My lust with posing
For the trust I’m hosing
Of dust deposing
Varmint nosing

Lost and found
In the ground
Safe and sound
Except for hounds
Who’s sharpened crowns
Lie in darkened frowns
As they roam the town
That exists underground
They belong in the pound
So I can peacefully drown

Through the desolate Dasht-e-Lut desert. Brisehal's huge shadowy structure moved him when he clothed himself to the whole of the Middle East, even disobeying his parents; beings unpopulated from places of contemplation that were emerging from their great mountain of the enchanted desert. The lemurs were overflowing, wandering alone as if wanting to hold on to the last sparks of politics that remained for them to surrender in their own unencumbered exile. Brisehal was a canine-headed mountain similar to Anubis, but millions of times the size upward and hydrochloric, like the prospect of parishioners entering the garden-kingdom of Heaven on their laps. Before shaking the day with the movement of his trembling footsteps, Brisehal spent two years moving day and night on the surface that became attractive to Solari's lux. Brisehal in this fifth codex was liquefied in the black layer of the wind tunnels that were by Dash-e-Lut, until the sensory layer of Dasht-e-Kavir, being attracted by the tunnel of the cave 308 meters high in Intra geological Patmos, all the sculptures and images of the cusps were made near 103 meters of initial altitude in this vertical subway, in connection with parallels that were retracted in cubic tons, drilling the dolonines or geological depressions in the extensive Lut, for a giant born from the laments and lacerations of Vernarth, when he was mentored by arrows in the middle of the Gaugamela field, even moving Maceo. When the sinkholes moved noisily, smaller mountain ranges were conceived deduced with the greater effect of their rotating nerves.

They were immense thunderings that even scrubbed even the nimbus spheroids reddened by Dasht-e-Kavir's clamor. He turned from left to right, pretending to exile the Lut Desert, tubed from his pro-generation by two bundles of high-density optical or fibral rope that he energized, and that could cohabit with Vernarth disabled in his odyssey of the Horcondising (Paradise of the lineage of Vernarth to Gaugamela).
Canto de Brisehal: “the veil that shelters indifference, has been knotted in the hatched abdomen of the earth, and of the doline that protected me from the folio that exchanges what has or will happen. The feat of all those who suffer from standing and lying down, have three routine abortions in their relative white pregnancy, which made me nest in love for my lord Vernarth. The Eritrean Sibyl, neither in Greek nor in Latin, has to circumvent the breviaries of the Pontiff Maximus who speaks while he sleeps, of aniline nights where no one perishes awake. "

Sibylline for the Saudi, from the vortex the gulfs that hide are directed,
from where they are reborn as choirs of Aeschylus, behind the springs of Agamemnon, where Clytemnestra opens the plains that make the

Shamal runs through its dry mood dew, but wet with Eritrean sap, it is an affront in subtropical springs that dry up tears from the sturdy fallen body, in tears that will not be heard by the tenacious hemp...

Al-Haffar, pierced in arrows on his thighs, arms, and pectoral, where the star opens, shining for those who die for it in the first sheet-lightning of the Thorayya night,

with violent hugs to receive who from a codex, receives the fifth bowl, for the violent winds of fishermen who ditched themselves from the wind into fine dust, and from the cleft hands of Aldebaran, peepholes of bilges of ogres that are born hellish to die as, pious in the arms of the Eritrean Sibyls, and in prologues of Brisehal with so many meters of wingspan, notwithstanding that no rye in a greater degree, which has to be ceremonial to them at the expense of a revived Libyan Sibyl.

You sparked matches and set my heart aflame.

You crawled your way into my dreams and carved yourself into my soul.

You did these small things that pulled me in.

Like when we would dance in the small kitchen light late at night to our own beat.

Or when we would just sit there in silence your eyes staring into the deepest parts of my soul.

And now as we lay under the night sky, you hold my hand in yours.

We listen to the music nature has provided for us as I fall, slowly more deeply in love with you.

You turn and look into my eyes telling me the stories within the stars.

You told me about the wise centaur who mentored Heracles the son of Zeus and how they were the intellectuals of ancient Roman mythology

As I lay there listening, you told me I reminded you of a siren.

You told me how my voice dragged you in.

and even though you knew you would fall, you still let yourself be enthralled by me.

You have entangled yourself into my life, becoming apart of me.

I knew my heart would belong to you.