Some fools are born, conditioned by fate,
And they, like all, still procreate.
All useful knowledge flees their minds,
As selfish life fulfills these swines.
And while they swing and cheat for joys,
The watchful eyes of their little boys
Do take a look at what they see,
And what they see is “A bigger me.”
Their little girls, in company of dolls,
On occasion, foresee what befalls
Upon them, too, as they soon explore,
An impending battle of love and war.
But then, there exists that little kid,
Whose sex and gender shall remain amid
A cloud of irrelevance and mystery:
Their wisdom calls most urgently.
As this kid sees a life unravel
Along Lacanian stages of travel,
Concerned are they with the fuss and mess,
Which most adults do not confess
To what they cause and what they bring,
Most taken in by their offspring;
And as one parent lacks all the care,
The other lives a life unfair.
In times of chaos and audacious cuss,
Dear vengeful killer, Oedipus,
Consumes all facets of the mind
Of the little kid who must confine
All pain, and hatred, and all rage,
Enough to place one in a cage,
And leave one there to squirm and rot,
Like a lobster boiling in a pot,
And free the bird whose wings to fly
Have been broken off, now left to die,
In part, by diabolical norms
That invade a home in all shapes and forms.
But, the kid looks up at the two,
Then whispers quietly, “I’m neither of you;
Not the blinded one, who feels must reign;
Nor the obliged one, too tied to pain."
Nor does the kid ever dare to be
A product passed politically:
Ingrained in mind, in heart, and soul
A subordinate being in a bowl,
That turns, and turns, and turns, and turns
While greedy capitalists more they yearn.
Within this cycle is little choice,
Hetero-normatively sans a screaming voice,
For a true language for some not made;
Virile chest-pounds place a shade
Upon the stronger ones deprived
Appraisal for their stronger minds.
The kid, all this, can’t take to be,
As what they see they wish not to see.
In this unbalanced Yin and Yang,
The kid’s perception hits a bang:
“The power lies within the one
Who mostly governs with a gun;
And how can a human hurt their double,
When love and passion are lesser trouble?"
A fitting sex the kid can't choose,
As in every win, each sex does lose.
But slowly, as they come to be,
The kid, society directs to see,
That to just one sex they must belong,
As 'genitalia proves feelings wrong.'
This funny theory most credits Freud.
By collective viewpoints the kid’s annoyed:
'No good is said, no good is done',
For those who are all, but yet are none.
Great gender points makes Butler de Judith,
While her female likes are out to proveth
That she is wrong within her stance
‘Only female unity will give rise to chance'
To an inclusion of the female word,
And one that’s First, not Second or Third.
The opposite, still out to bend
The rules and laws, all to pretend
That the other sex does not exist
Because swollen egos must persist
In rule, in art, in build, and biz:
'Fields where opposites lack all wiz.'
The kid, in this silly world of theirs,
Looks at all the foolish heirs
Who bounce and shoot this gendered ball,
While the kid stands back and laughs at all.
By Sakaray Skylee
Tiny Little Droplets
Like a rain of Fire
Today you remind me
How cruel life has been
I deeply thank you
Tiny Little Droplets
Flows to a stream
Tonight you will reach
The end of your line
Then I bid you farewell
Tiny Little Droplets
Sublimes through the sky
Tomorrow I shall see
You shall be there no more
I will surely be missing you
All manner of people can be found in train stations, there character betrayed by attire to the more observational at least. The hard pressed city worker, walking ever walking, phone at hand, ever scanning emails and ensuring accessibility always, to control is too maintain is too succeed. Those who's steps seemingly shorter and more though out, are either here on some grand tour or some exotic soire as if silently noting surroundings, as the pass beneath the ornate decorations of their location. There care free folly the main indicator of intentions.From time to time a transport police officer shall pass, stern faced, seemingly compelled by some unknown mission others stand stationary a deterrent to would be criminals. From time to time the most beautiful facet of humanity is likely to appear, in the adoring stares of young lovers. It's this or the hold and don't let go grip, young lovers and train stations have long associated (In my mind at least) the point of departure is a grey area. Where displays of public affection normally reserved for movies and poems, reach the realm of social acceptability. Long deep kisses and well thought out speeches describing the grievances of an ever bleeding heart. There is one group I have failed to mention, who in there own way are entirely distinct from any of groups fore mentioned. They are the watchers, found normally at some quite looking coffee shop across the street, however this is not to imply they can not be any of the above. All of the above mix intermittently with interesting results, I shall for as long as I live never forget the passionate embrace of an on duty police officer and his wife. His eyes bright with surprise, at ease staring upon the one he so adores. I leave the station and head toward the embankment,
All manner of people pass me on their way to unknown offices, some holding hands and staring deeply. The rumble of unseen locomotive reassures me now of course I'm drawing closer, the winter winds once faint now felt as the once green leaves now all manner of colour are pulled by unseen gusts. This city must surely be the greatest in the world, from the industrial chimneys distant to the rolling ocean. Dockers smoke cigarettes and exchange raucous tales whilst foreign sailors stare intently. I always try my hardest to listen to as much as I could manage of these half spoken speeches. Im rewarded instantly with an image far more detailed and planned than anything the most creative minds could conceive. The wild waves create orators, there thoughts distilled be evenings spent alone. I've always found myself drawn to transient people, I feel like I've spend forever dreaming of someplace else Greenland Egypt Canada, you name the place and I've seen it in my dreams at least. It took me a while longer than I care to admit to truly get a feel for the place, at first like some timid child I avoided it. From the age of thirteen I've been locked in a battle with wanderlust, my urge to leave it all is simply overwhelming. In all my darkest fantasies, I leave this place at some point on some old ocean liner to arrive at unknown port. Too share a meal with mountain air as my ashtray overflows. I warm myself with images of ancient explorers sailing distant oceans, guided by starlight. Some people just elude me. I'd call myself stubborn but certain people melt me, I the eternal romantic a victim of my own high hopes. I'd often find myself alone, staring across the river and wondering. I always sit upon the same old bench carved with all manner of messages declarations of undying love, names, dates all carved into immortality. The steady movement of approaching footsteps is eternal, beyond the customs house solitary North Star shines, as if admiring its provincial estate. An unknown entity now serving as a subtle voice of reason in the darkness, occasionally couples pass, as if to cement my my longing. The starlight illuminates breaking waves, as boats sway easy tied up to subtle quayside. Ever reminded of my obligations I should really leave and go to sleep. However the pull of the darkness is tangible, that was something! oh something! Suddenly a gentle calm smothers all thought, as lights glimmer distant. Light! Oh brother light, I the eternal castaway home bound at last. My expectations were entwined with food and wine, and the comfort of my own bed.
The ravens feasting on our corpses
Shall find in hands entwined
A love like holocaust, divine cost
A grace that licked our lips
Like poisoned apple, dipped
The bitter sweet taste
Of a killers loving grace
The last kind touch
Of the rapists face
The songs raised of this
Will bleed ears, swollen piss
And they shall know
We are eternal
In our suffering
Winter, now, from the upper pole
Turns back his face to see no one escapes
While whistling low to minions cold
To curtain lands beneath his icy cape.
Summer's fled now, with her mentor
Autumn in a crisping coat of brown...
Fled southward to the vernal center;
Little sister Spring cannot be found.
Unsettling old white-bearded man
Blowing icicles and snow
Driving tender and aging feminine
Before his storming blows.
Yet for all his windy work, how well we know
Now gloaming sisters shall return,
For Spring shall ever end the snow;
Warm Summer's glow and Autumn's burn
Return, return, return, return.
The raw sunlight pounding on my neck
Throbbing air, painfully cloudy
Wooden lips that rip my tongue
Hands that grain pieces of deception
Clattering roots, with pounding bones
Polluted words giving me blisters in my head
A blind stillness, captured me
Portions of creations, harboring hate
Callous and raw fists fluttering
Eyes trembling into my skull
With a sadness that I shall not have at all
adorned with glory,
come hither to thee,
and tell thee your story.
Tell of thy love,
of which thou art born.
Lest I shalt die,
and be as unborn.
Speak unto me,
dictate thy needs,
and I shall join thou
and join in thy creeds.
God's mighty knight,
guide me by day,
and protect me by night.
God appointed Gabriel to represent his calling upon Mary.
Then God anointed Mary to carry out his earthly blessing.
The news given to her was good news.
An amazement that shocked her into disbelief.
But Mary was devoted.
God blessed Zachariah spouse Elizabeth with news.
From Gabriel, who spoke to Mary.
One was shocked since she hadn't been with a man.
The other amazed since she was up in age.
Except God works wonders.
Both founded favor with the Lord.
For with God nothing is impossible.
If he states, it shall be.
Then it shall be.
Remember God works wonders.
The Son of the Most Highest.
Came to be known as Jesus.
The other came to be known, as John.
Both with a purpose.
Both with a cause.
Except, one with a higher calling.
Yes, God has work wonders concerning us.
With his appointments.
With his anointing.
God has worked blessings upon us.
Be forever grateful.
Be forever thankful.
In the beginning was the One, or was it None? One and the same and a part of the game. I saw past the Veil one day, through a blaze of infernal eternity that reflected every part of me, and it was beautiful, horrible, terrible to see but sublime to be at one time in a rhyme that couldn't quite catch, I snatched it back from the brink of abyssal void, a ploy to endeavour the ever changing rearranging pieces of mynd whych catch the triple meanings only seeming to be something other than real.
I know the code. Knock the pattern and enter.
...into the Center which is all and everywhere, I cannot share that which has no explanation in this limited expression of labels and words, it's absurd to think one could find or place infinity within a word. A definition is a limitation, a simple observation of that which has passed, a method of communication and nothing more.
Vibrate the word, then, and let the power seep through the intonation. That which has gone before shall come again, and paradox notwithstanding the opposite shall be true.
fear nor doubt
the eyes of