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The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

Gaza,
an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
conscience;
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.


Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
embargoed
in the black
obfuscation
of religious
partisanship
while timely
assistance
to aid the
distressed
lie netted in
blockades of
realpolitik
affinities.

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament
heroes.

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
intransigence
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
coexistence
of a Two State
Solution.

The pointless attacks
invite massive
disproportionate
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s
agony.

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
affirmation
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
  Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
  Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.
  Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared
For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set,
As far removed from God and light of Heaven
As from the centre thrice to th’ utmost pole.
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side,
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub. To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—
  “If thou beest he—but O how fallen! how changed
From him who, in the happy realms of light
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine
Myriads, though bright!—if he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined
In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest
From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder; and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change,
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contentions brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits armed,
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power
Who, from the terror of this arm, so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed;
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of Gods,
And this empyreal sybstance, cannot fail;
Since, through experience of this great event,
In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.”
  So spake th’ apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer:—
  “O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers
That led th’ embattled Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endangered Heaven’s perpetual King,
And put to proof his high supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,
Too well I see and rue the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat,
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heavenly Essences
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,
Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o’erpowered such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service as his thralls
By right of war, whate’er his business be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy Deep?
What can it the avail though yet we feel
Strength undiminished, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?”
  Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-Fiend replied:—
“Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure—
To do aught good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight,
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom we resist. If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counsels from their destined aim.
But see! the angry Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,
Shot after us in storm, o’erblown hath laid
The fiery surge that from the precipice
Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder,
Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.
Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn
Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves;
There rest, if any rest can harbour there;
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own loss how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not, what resolution from despair.”
  Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate,
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large,
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th’ ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,
Deeming some island, oft, as ****** tell,
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind,
Moors by his side under the lee, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.
So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay,
Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence
Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enraged might see
How all his malice served but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn
On Man by him seduced, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured.
  Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames
Driven backward ***** their pointing spires, and,rolled
In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land
He lights—if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,
And such appeared in hue as when the force
Of subterranean wind transprots a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible
And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a singed bottom all involved
With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate;
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood
As gods, and by their own recovered strength,
Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
  “Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,”
Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat
That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor—one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th’ associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonished on th’ oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion, or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?”
  So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub
Thus answered:—”Leader of those armies bright
Which, but th’ Omnipotent, none could have foiled!
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers—heard so oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults
Their surest signal—they will soon resume
New courage and revive, though now they lie
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!”
  He scare had ceased when the superior Fiend
Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,
Behind him cast. The broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
His spear—to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand—
He walked with, to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marl, not like those steps
On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called
His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades
High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed
Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrew
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,
While with perfidious hatred they pursued
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld
From the safe shore their floating carcases
And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown,
Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,
Under amazement of their hideous change.
He called so loud that all the hollow deep
Of Hell resounded:—”Princes, Potentates,
Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,
If such astonishment as this can seize
Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place
After the toil of battle to repose
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon
His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern
Th’ advantage, and, descending, tread us down
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”
  They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung
Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch
On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread,
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil plight
In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel;
Yet to their General’s voice they soon obeyed
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day,
Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile;
So numberless were those bad Angels seen
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,
‘Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, as a signal given, th’ uplifted spear
Of their great Sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain:
A multitude like which the populous North
Poured never from her frozen ***** to pass
Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South, and spread
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.
Forthwith, form every squadron and each band,
The heads and leaders thither haste where stood
Their great Commander—godlike Shapes, and Forms
Excelling human; princely Dignities;
And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones,
Though on their names in Heavenly records now
Be no memorial, blotted out and rased
By their rebellion from the Books of Life.
Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve
Got them new names, till, wandering o’er the earth,
Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,
By falsities and lies the greatest part
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake
God their Creator, and th’ invisible
Glory of him that made them to transform
Oft to the image of a brute, adorned
With gay religions full of pomp and gold,
And devils to adore for deities:
Then were they known to men by various names,
And various idols through the heathen world.
  Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,
Roused fr
"The surest way to corrupt a Youth
is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem
those who think alike, rather than those who think differently."
-Nietzche
"It is the mark of an educated Mind
to be able to entertain a thought
without agreeing with it."
-Aristotle
it is said that
a prophet finds no honor
in his own country

hard truths
boldly spoken
are received as a
wretched cacophony
threatening to melt
the caked wax
blocking the closed
intolerant ears of
intransigence

Madiba
once found no
personhood
in his homeland

his people driven
from their land
by Voortrekkers

snortling Boers
gobbling the land
uprooting native
people from villages
they had occupied
since the dawn
of time

spilling Zulu blood
into roiling rivers
of conquest

meeting peaceful
petitions of the
aggrieved with
Sharpsville bullets
splattering
the blood of
innocents onto
hardscrabble roads

redressing crimes
against the victims
by corralling them into
denuded Bantustans
where rivers do not
flow, grass never grows,
game cannot graze;
only the dust doth blow

riddling the captives
with torments of
Transvaal Apartheid,
mocking the speakers
of mother tongues with
the fained eloquence
of bastardized Afrikaans

the dominion of the
oppressors, sanctioned
and affirmed by exiling
a people from their land,
outlawing their language,
dividing the nations into
a fallacy of separate
destinies where a forgetful
history blessed with amnesia
will anoint the conquerors
with the spoils of abundance
stolen from the vanquished

Madiba spoke of these things
and was awarded a prison
cell for twenty seven years

but the hostages of
a conquerors justice
remained destined
to be freed by the arrival
of an accepted truth
set free by the very words
prophetically spoken

prisons cannot contain truth
steel bars cannot imprison
the idea of divine justice

it slips through the smallest openings
like a wafting fragrance of the first day of spring

it saws away at the rust strewn steel bars
like the surest movement of a master carpenter’s arm

it melts the thickest links of iron chains
in the fiery forges that burn in the hearts
of all freedom loving people

the truth of justice
is born and takes flight
on the wings of history
covering the globes
cardinal ordinates

nesting in the most
humble villages
and mean estates
on God’s good earth

truth and reconciliation
can never be separated
planted together to grow
healthy nations and
communities of
trust and restoration

Madiba, you always
found honor with
the salt of the earth
the children of light
who seek to dispel
the darkness of
acrimony and
*******

we continue to
walk your way
guided by your
prophetic visions
we take the first steps
asking liberators to join
with oppressors, pairing
in a magnanimous walk
along wholesome pathways
perceiving the buena vistas
of reconciled communities
firmly established
on foundations
of peace, equality
and justice for all citizens

I caught a fleeting glimpse of Madiba
as he rolled by in the Canyon of Heros
showered under a June blizzard of confetti
and a resounding acclimation of love.

I was a plebe inhabiting a lower floor
Broadway office, yet my station blessedly
brought me closer to Madiba.  As he passed
I was moved by his miraculous smile and felt
the colossal reverberations of his waving arm
triumphantly hailing the sweet freedom of
liberation all hostages of feigned justice
exude in the vindication of divine justice
enraptured in the joy of affirmed truth.

Dearest Madiba
we are enriched
and blessed for
the time you walked
among us.  

You fought
the good fight
my brother.

Rest easy
for we shall resume
the climb to
the next mountaintop.

Well done Madiba
Godspeed

Rolihlahla “Nelson” Mandela
7/18/18 - 12/5/13

Ladysmith Black Mombazo
How Long

Oakland
12/6/13
jbm
These are the kind of thoughts that I feel like I need to swallow
because they're on a level of pathetic that I can't even admit to myself.
It's that level of pathetic that really makes a person naked.

The deep dark corners of a person.
It's the trigger of the first tear.
And it all boils down to you.

Your simple acknowledgment of self scares me.
Your self-awareness kills me because
it brings you closer to realizing
that you can do better than me.

*And then what do I do
with this epic love I feel for you?
Because one loves you, Helen Grey,
  Is that a reason you should pout
  And like a March wind veer about
And frown and say your shrewish say?
Don't strain the cord until it snaps,
  Don't split the sound heart with your wedge,
  Don't cut your fingers with the edge
Of your keen wit: you may perhaps.

Because you're handsome, Helen Grey,
  Is that a reason to be proud?
  Your eyes are bold, your laugh is loud,
Your steps go mincing on their way:
But so you miss that modest charm
  Which is the surest charm of all;
  Take heed; you yet may trip and fall,
And no man care to stretch his arm.

Stoop from your cold height, Helen Grey,
  Come down and take a lowlier place;
  Come down to fill it now with grace;
Come down you must perforce some day:
For years cannot be kept at bay,
  And fading years will make you old;
  Then in their turn will men seem cold,
When you yourself are nipped and grey.
I.
Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!
They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
Without some stir of heart, some malady;
They could not sit at meals but feel how well
It soothed each to be the other by;
They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
But to each other dream, and nightly weep.

II.
With every morn their love grew tenderer,
With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
And his continual voice was pleasanter
To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.

III.
He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eyes;
And from her chamber-window he would catch
Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turn'd to the same skies;
And with sick longing all the night outwear,
To hear her morning-step upon the stair.

IV.
A whole long month of May in this sad plight
Made their cheeks paler by the break of June:
"To morrow will I bow to my delight,
"To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon."--
"O may I never see another night,
"Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune."--
So spake they to their pillows; but, alas,
Honeyless days and days did he let pass;

V.
Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
Fell sick within the rose's just domain,
Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
By every lull to cool her infant's pain:
"How ill she is," said he, "I may not speak,
"And yet I will, and tell my love all plain:
"If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
"And at the least 'twill startle off her cares."

VI.
So said he one fair morning, and all day
His heart beat awfully against his side;
And to his heart he inwardly did pray
For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
Stifled his voice, and puls'd resolve away--
Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride,
Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!

VII.
So once more he had wak'd and anguished
A dreary night of love and misery,
If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed
To every symbol on his forehead high;
She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly,
"Lorenzo!"--here she ceas'd her timid quest,
But in her tone and look he read the rest.

VIII.
"O Isabella, I can half perceive
"That I may speak my grief into thine ear;
"If thou didst ever any thing believe,
"Believe how I love thee, believe how near
"My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve
"Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear
"Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live
"Another night, and not my passion shrive.

IX.
"Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold,
"Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime,
"And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
"In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time."
So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme:
Great bliss was with them, and great happiness
Grew, like a ***** flower in June's caress.

X.
Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
Only to meet again more close, and share
The inward fragrance of each other's heart.
She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart;
He with light steps went up a western hill,
And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill.

XI.
All close they met again, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,
Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
Ah! better had it been for ever so,
Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.

XII.
Were they unhappy then?--It cannot be--
Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
Too much of pity after they are dead,
Too many doleful stories do we see,
Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse
Over the pathless waves towards him bows.

XIII.
But, for the general award of love,
The little sweet doth **** much bitterness;
Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
And Isabella's was a great distress,
Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less--
Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

XIV.
With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,
Enriched from ancestral merchandize,
And for them many a weary hand did swelt
In torched mines and noisy factories,
And many once proud-quiver'd ***** did melt
In blood from stinging whip;--with hollow eyes
Many all day in dazzling river stood,
To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood.

XV.
For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
And went all naked to the hungry shark;
For them his ears gush'd blood; for them in death
The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
Lay full of darts; for them alone did seethe
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel,
That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel.

XVI.
Why were they proud? Because their marble founts
Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears?--
Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts
Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?--
Why were they proud? Because red-lin'd accounts
Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?--
Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of Glory were they proud?

XVII.
Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
In hungry pride and gainful cowardice,
As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies,
The hawks of ship-mast forests--the untired
And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies--
Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray-away,--
Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.

XVIII.
How was it these same ledger-men could spy
Fair Isabella in her downy nest?
How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye
A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest
Into their vision covetous and sly!
How could these money-bags see east and west?--
Yet so they did--and every dealer fair
Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.

XIX.
O eloquent and famed Boccaccio!
Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,
For venturing syllables that ill beseem
The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.

**.
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet;
There is no other crime, no mad assail
To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet:
But it is done--succeed the verse or fail--
To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet;
To stead thee as a verse in English tongue,
An echo of thee in the north-wind sung.

XXI.
These brethren having found by many signs
What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
And how she lov'd him too, each unconfines
His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad
That he, the servant of their trade designs,
Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad,
When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees
To some high noble and his olive-trees.

XXII.
And many a jealous conference had they,
And many times they bit their lips alone,
Before they fix'd upon a surest way
To make the youngster for his crime atone;
And at the last, these men of cruel clay
Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone;
For they resolved in some forest dim
To **** Lorenzo, and there bury him.

XXIII.
So on a pleasant morning, as he leant
Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade
Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent
Their footing through the dews; and to him said,
"You seem there in the quiet of content,
"Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade
"Calm speculation; but if you are wise,
"Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.

XXIV.
"To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount
"To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;
"Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count
"His dewy rosary on the eglantine."
Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,
Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine;
And went in haste, to get in readiness,
With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress.

XXV.
And as he to the court-yard pass'd along,
Each third step did he pause, and listen'd oft
If he could hear his lady's matin-song,
Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;
And as he thus over his passion hung,
He heard a laugh full musical aloft;
When, looking up, he saw her features bright
Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight.

XXVI.
"Love, Isabel!" said he, "I was in pain
"Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow:
"Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain
"I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow
"Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain
"Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.
"Good bye! I'll soon be back."--"Good bye!" said she:--
And as he went she chanted merrily.

XXVII.
So the two brothers and their ******'d man
Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream
Gurgles through straiten'd banks, and still doth fan
Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream
Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan
The brothers' faces in the ford did seem,
Lorenzo's flush with love.--They pass'd the water
Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.

XXVIII.
There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
There in that forest did his great love cease;
Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
It aches in loneliness--is ill at peace
As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did tease
Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
Each richer by his being a murderer.

XXIX.
They told their sister how, with sudden speed,
Lorenzo had ta'en ship for foreign lands,
Because of some great urgency and need
In their affairs, requiring trusty hands.
Poor Girl! put on thy stifling widow's ****,
And 'scape at once from Hope's accursed bands;
To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,
And the next day will be a day of sorrow.

***.
She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
Sorely she wept until the night came on,
And then, instead of love, O misery!
She brooded o'er the luxury alone:
His image in the dusk she seem'd to see,
And to the silence made a gentle moan,
Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
And on her couch low murmuring, "Where? O where?"

XXXI.
But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long
Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
Upon the time with feverish unrest--
Not long--for soon into her heart a throng
Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
And sorrow for her love in travels rude.

XXXII.
In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
The breath of Winter comes from far away,
And the sick west continually bereaves
Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
Of death among the bushes and the leaves,
To make all bare before he dares to stray
From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel
By gradual decay from beauty fell,

XXXIII.
Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
She ask'd her brothers, with an eye all pale,
Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale
Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale;
And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud,
To see their sister in her snowy shroud.

XXXIV.
And she had died in drowsy ignorance,
But for a thing more deadly dark than all;
It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,
Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall
For some few gasping moments; like a lance,
Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall
With cruel pierce, and bringing him again
Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.

XXXV.
It was a vision.--In the drowsy gloom,
The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot
Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot
Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
Had made a miry channel for his tears.

XXXVI.
Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake;
For there was striving, in its piteous tongue,
To speak as when on earth it was awake,
And Isabella on its music hung:
Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake,
As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung;
And through it moan'd a ghostly under-song,
Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among.

XXXVII.
Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof
From the poor girl by magic of their light,
The while it did unthread the horrid woof
Of the late darken'd time,--the murderous spite
Of pride and avarice,--the dark pine roof
In the forest,--and the sodden turfed dell,
Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.

XXXVIII.
Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet!
"Red whortle-berries droop above my head,
"And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet;
"Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed
"Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
"Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
"Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
"And it shall comfort me within the tomb.

XXXIX.
"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!
"Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
"Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
"While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
"And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
"And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,
"Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
"And thou art distant in Humanity.

XL.
"I know what was, I feel full well what is,
"And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
"Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss,
"That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
"A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
"To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
"Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
"A greater love through all my essence steal."

XLI.
The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"--dissolv'd, and left
The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,
Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft,
And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil:
It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache,
And in the dawn she started up awake;

XLII.
"Ha! ha!" said she, "I knew not this hard life,
"I thought the worst was simple misery;
"I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife
"Portion'd us--happy days, or else to die;
"But there is crime--a brother's ****** knife!
"Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my infancy:
"I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes,
"And greet thee morn and even in the skies."

XLIII.
When the full morning came, she had devised
How she might secret to the forest hie;
How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,
And sing to it one latest lullaby;
How her short absence might be unsurmised,
While she the inmost of the dream would try.
Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse,
And went into that dismal forest-hearse.

XLIV.
See, as they creep along the river side,
How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,
And, after looking round the champaign wide,
Shows her a knife.--"What feverous hectic flame
"Burns in thee, child?--What good can thee betide,
"That thou should'st smile again?"--The evening came,
And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed;
The flint was there, the berries at his head.

XLV.
Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard,
And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,
To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole;
Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,
And filling it once more with human soul?
Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.

XLVI.
She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though
One glance did fully all its secrets tell;
Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know
Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;
Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,
Like to a native lily of the dell:
Then with her knife, all sudden, she began
To dig more fervently than misers can.

XLVII.
Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon
Her silk had play'd in purple phantasies,
She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone,
And put it in her *****, where it dries
And freezes utterly unto the bone
Those dainties made to still an infant's cries:
Then 'gan she work again; nor stay'd her care,
But to throw back at times her vei
the surest thing
in the world is love
freely given and freely received
but it sure feels like hell
getting there

love like grace is a free gift
I don't have to
earn it or demand it
I just have to let it be
Love that frees and not controls.  Love that allows me to be a channel of a Divine Love, where I freely give without expecting anything in return.
Why are you stretching around?
Like a crazy creature, stretching
And erecting at every bossom’s sight
Don’t you know this to be vile?
Behavior so uncouth and basest
That all men on earth dislike,

Leave me alone master, leave me alone
Show me a happy man without a ****,
I will show you the sorriest point on earth,
Which woman burst not with ecstasy?
On taste of my nature, which woman?

Shut up you sly creature
And manage you mandibles,
You always stretch and stretch
As if you want to lacerate my muscles,
Don’t you know that you put me in risk?
*** is all over and you stretch like crazy,

Leave me alone and let me stretch,
Don’t fear disease and risks,
For *** is now impotent
***** blood is now natured
Above any nonsensical vice
Like *** and his brothers,

Stop stretching or I chop you off
I don’t want any burden of next kid
I am not in any pocket fitness,
For one more mouth and one more ****,

You are a foolish coward
You fear even your success,
Who told you kids are a burden
And parenting a curse?
Beautiful liars taught you these,
Can’t you see china and Islamic State?
Declaring their muscles and mighty,
For no other reason but children
Surest quivers needed in your arch,

For sure don’t stretch, calm down
And stay balmy or I tear you off my torso
Where will I get land in this world?
To contain the useless proceeds
Of your raucous *****?

I am tired of cautioning you
Or I dare you and dare you again
That perhaps I am on the wrong body
Those who are few need land,
But those who are populous need not,
For their victuals come from tertiary means,

I am finally tired of your rudeness,
If you stretch again I will be irate,
As it will be uncouth act of mannerlessness,
For you surely know that my wife is aged
She shares not in your school anymore
If you stretch again know then that you’re vile,

Look again at your thoughtlessness
Who told you that I am condemned forever?
To be feeding on old women, harridans and *****?
I no longer want them on my ****** menu
Feed me on the young wenches in a polygamous fit,
For the elders like you and many others on earth,
will only renew their  old sinews
By merely feeding on the French chicken,

Then you persist in one line like the possessed
Are you possessed by the ****** devil?
I don’t have any ****** energy for your business,
You only put me into a desire for what I cannot eat,
Leave me alone by quitting your vicious *******,

Fear not at all for how you will eat,
You fail to enjoy because of your ego,
You focus on the finish line alone,
Remember  the process in coition,
Tighten you **** to delay *******
And here you will cogitate with gusto,

Negroes! Negros! All over the world,
Again you want me to make more Negros,
Be aware that your melanin is an eyesore
The world looks at you but in pain,
Suppliers of blinkers cannot quench,
The thirst for these wares,
With which the world can put on,
To ward off the pains in the look
At the skin of the *****,

Fear not Negros don’t create themselves,
They come from the supremo of deities
All creation is beautiful in wisdom’s eyes
Whoever that hates creation hates the self
No other act can then match the wickedness.
Poet do you recall when during days long done                      
Once when very young
You placed my scented kerchief beside
The small cross I always carried
On the wind we heard the clank of marching men
And the Tinkling of Bells
To my touch your armor was hot
Dust rose in great clouds and could be seen for miles
Unlike others your horse, fat from spring grass
Pranced and chaffed at the bit
So eager to leave, like you my Noble One
I rose to the promise of a kiss
But her lips were assaulted by your sweat and tears
You were violent
and that kiss
broke the strings and voice of my song
Now I no longer sing  
The Crusades are over the round table is empty   Women only sometimes dream of Gallant men                              
Weaving their fantasies through their poems and books
Funny thing though, the quest is very much alive and true
Recognized, known only to a few
And when meeting sometimes during that short passing
You can still hear Poet
The Tinkling of Bells
Enchantress speak to me and I will listen
Spin for me those golden words, so long departed, dark ages past
When truth was lost and light stopped burning
When reality was the sword and true love didn't matter
Birds were the only thing left singing and Camelot someones crazy dreaming
Stone tears, tolling of bells ringing in my ears
Left alone so many years and yet the vision
Is not lost nor the tears
What Cost?
Enchantress my heart was true what did I do?
Fingers falling on the frozen ground
His hair blood red, the face a frown, yet he's still allowed to see
He saw a door the light was shining as he sighed
As he moved alive into his dying
Deeds long spent flashed before his eyes of a lady in waiting
His lady of golden locks and of perfumed kerchief
His poet, spinner of words and song
Thoughts of two hearts beating yet as one
So far away he could not come
In a golden haze with divine grace the Goddess allows to see
To know at last a vision, no mercy, no innocent victim
A ribbon of moonlight covered the trees
He knelt by her alter
a knight on his knees
Pedals of roses crushed all around he remembers,  a promise broken
Of how he'd lost hope
A knowingness of what his life was and could have been
Again I remind you that truth had died, the Goddess she rested deep in slumber
Waiting the circle to complete
The knight knew then the Mothers name was nursed at her breast
And yet with no remorse betrayed her to follow the Quest
From his sword blood flowed in self righteous rage
And throughout all the land he cried, "the goddess is dead she died !"
Then as the vision fades with a jolt of pain so complete
He realises his true love, his  lady in waiting has died
Back on the frozen ground snow began to fall
He remembers how he'd hidden a locket deep in his pocket
Inside a trendle of golden hair plus an emrald so green
From the Isle of his dreams and the young maiden he'd left there

Still alive, alive with his dying to the goddess he screams
The locket still clenched tight in his hand
Now I know its heresy that men live only one life
One god one Christ guilt rides high a burden carried so long
Past all around, everyone can share, sin not someone else s duty to take away
Its our own responsibility, no innocence in the game we play
we write our own script
Earth a school house testing ground, We're actors in a play
Poet do you recall when during days long done
once when very young
Love is an open door listen to the whispering s of women
like we did before
The day the Goddess went to sleep all men died,
forgot how to embrace the Mother
Avalon lives I'll give you a clue there's nothing to do
,  you hold the key
It takes courage to be what you are. We've come so far, so many lifetimes
Traveling around passing each other on the wheel
Listen oh listen, can you hear the Tinkling of Bells

So my sweet Avalon
you who have the power to awaken in your dreams
Sing a new song you say
A tale not told, let the path create itself be bold
Now in this new day new age hearts are beginning to open
Twin Flames  together
Standing in their places of power
letting love in so it may flower
Following their own footsteps
not afraid of the fire
As a rule great power comes with dependence on each others fuel
Each receives a part of the other, that's
the golden rule
If you make Avalon your quest
I'll give you a clue
The magic of imagination is the surest tool
Use it wisely remember
that for every one who knocks the door will not open
Only Twin Flames hold the key
Love in it's purest form, the Token





www.thetinklingofbells.com
Ericaa Sep 2012
What we have is a young love
a Love cultivated in the purest of forms in the surest stages of childhood where everything we did was concrete fact that we are living because we did not have to think to live.
Born into a life of doubts and poverty so poor that free public education cost us and we didn't know the importance of learning why we were there and what was being taught was for own good and not to punish us for being bad kids.
For being in love with our childhood.
Our society was one of judgment.
We were judged as people as children as kids who were too poor to be cool. But not too poor to make a joke and laugh and make friends who were as poor as us.
You were as poor as me. And here we are now as young souls watering our young love our pure love.
You are the surest thing in my life the solid foundation to my infatuation is your spirit your art that is taking all my parts and putting them together like a puzzle a recipe of a sacred dish that is granted by your every wish.
With you I can't speak only seek a better way of showing you that your scent makes my head sway and all my thoughts are blurred by the slur in your voice by the way you say I love you.
Plaridel

Plainclothes this Saturday under the brusque heat – trees burlesque from shedding,
ripping orchestra of motorcycle: this one – too blatant to perform, to shrunken to
notice. What if I never reach you?

1.1 Crossing

There is an unrelenting transaction of birds in the surest sky in the surest day.
I can hear the rumbling of thunder behind its natal. If when found, discard.
It is easier this way unless inclinations are definite: the trance is to come,
shorthanded. Consider this day your being spared from.

2. Toll

I remember the identical traverse. It was when I was unsure of my birth. My father
had recounted and numbered how many slopes and trundles along the way when homeward
is turbulent, angled at such pace which could have given me another face. I have always
found it impressive that a person can wait for too long and waste away in hours that seek
no relevance when the daily is diminished.

3. Balintawak

You said that behind the marketplace is a dense crowd scouring for loose change. You wanted to supply them all with your adequacy that was rife and deft for sure in the turn of your hand almost a finger-exercise: that is your skillset. It will rain soon but the heat refuses to decline. You thought of the cumbersome bodies washed away by flood, and how at times, you remember them being randomly stacked at your doorstep, eroded by some wave.

3.1 EDSA

Space we have no need for want under a terminal day fully etched like unwanted visage making you remember something that was your flagrant disregard when asked about how
your day went, about a miscarriage of justifications, at work when facing absurd hours wishing to break away from that was our common bond – the long and dreaded silence because it made us always question what are we doing? Who are you? What for? Knowing for sure when to being but to end, indeterminate.

4. Familiar curve underneath a vandalized lamppost

In the console you pressing, discarding gravity at some point, managing to draw your way into and submitting to not knowing how to get out of, sealing an immediate sepulcher. We borrowed minutes, ran like fugitives when asked. An external shadow an intrusion so we had to cease for a moment but in the depth of our silence, somehow continued.

5. Entry to your home

Perfumed your garage was with autumn, or vegetation you said was your aunt’s prized possession. That it was my fault I did not turn you off as a switch is meant to be killed from the moment of discovery to dislimn the image and leave everything to study as specimen is meant to be dissected.

6. To go backwards*

         The only way home to where you were and I, scattered
A B Perales Jan 2014
There's Midnight Ravens
along the telephone
wire.
******* suckers
with deep dark
eyes that
see death
before it comes.
These hosts
of the end
pay me no mind
as I pass beneath
their roost.
They rudely go
about their
Raven buisness,
yelling and
******* their way
into the morning.

An unrelenting
bark drums
on from
behind
a white painted
fence.
An insane sound
like an alarm that
no one will turn
off.

I step over a small
cities worth of
ants who are
scrambling
around a crack
in the
sidewalk
clogged with
more frantic
ants.
The great flood
has arrived
in the form of
a timed sprinkler.
And all of
the soldiers
have abandoned
the Queen.

It's early morning
The air has
yet to be
choked out
by the
diesel fuel
and needless
emissions that will
soon began to
smother the
city
.
The faint smell
of fresh fish
makes its way
up the city
blocks from
the waterfront
below.

Old Italian and
Slavic women
stand outside
in their
long day time
night gowns
smoking cigarettes
while watering
the concrete.

I enter the
alley way ,
the smell of
***** diapers,
cheap
laundry detergent
and too
many children
surround an
apartment complex.

As I passed I came
upon the Black Princess
of these streets.
The wisest and
surest of them all
crosses my path.
Her tail held high
and strong,
striding care free,
she looks at me
with her
emerald eyes
and yawns.
She stops near a row
of trashcans that
are lined
up looking like
a modern
day monolith.

She laps at her
paw with slow,
long, lazy
licks as I
pass.
She again fixes me
with those marble green
eyes and lets me
know without
saying a word.
That the alley cat kills
for fun.
Ignores all Gods
by choice
and laughs
at our attempts
to tame it.
There are teeth in my ears

Chewing and swallowing

Grinding when I’m sleeping

To digest everything I hear



There’s a tongue in my eyes

I lick at you from across the room

It all tastes like your smile

Your hand, your hair, your thighs



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



You were a child when I saw you last

When you thought you were alone with him

If the water under the bridge is passed

Then why can’t you seem to find ways to sink or swim

He’s just a ******* just waiting to happen

You’re a coupon kitten stranded out on a limb

It’s the surest sign that you need to be alone at last

But I just can’t sit by and let allegory do you in

You were a child when I saw you last

And you will be a child when I see you again



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



There are nails in your boredom

Rusting and creaking

Holding fast while you’re awake

Pay your dues as long as you can afford them



There are coffins in your mind

You keep your dead thoughts lying there

They are all pale like your smile

Your hands, your hair, and your thighs



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



You were a child when I saw you last

When you thought you were alone with him

If the water under the bridge is passed

Then why can’t you seem to find ways to sink or swim

He’s just a ******* just waiting to happen

You’re a coupon kitten stranded out on a limb

It’s the surest sign that you need to be alone at last

But I just can’t sit by and let allegory do you in

You were a child when I saw you last

And you will be a child when I see you again



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them
There’s a woman like a dewdrop, she ’s so purer than the purest;
And her noble heart ’s the noblest, yes, and her sure faith’s the surest:
And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on depth of lustre
Hid i’ the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the wild-grape cluster,
Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck’s rose-misted marble:
Then her voice’s music … call it the well’s bubbling, the bird’s warble!

And this woman says, ‘My days were sunless and my nights were moonless,
Parch’d the pleasant April herbage, and the lark’s heart’s outbreak tuneless,
If you loved me not!’ And I who (ah, for words of flame!) adore her,
Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably before her—
I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes me,
And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as hers she makes me!
Maddy Géniale Aug 2014
the forestry rocking,
the love of esquire beats down,
I take to surest heights.
Of that I have confound.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Within adobe walls
The mission San Antonio no not the Alamo this one takes its name from the San Antonio river that flows
Nearby in the central California coast a shallow river that has slab bridges that lie in the water so you
Just drive across the river while the water flows under your car hopefully founded by the padre father
Sierra his grave lies outside the mission’s great wooden arched church door just feet away stands an olive
Tree Planted in the same proximate time frame 1776 this is just one of the missions that makes a
String of pearls along the El Camino or the king’s highway to my taste the best one aesthetically pleasing
Architecturally nearly perfect long arch path ways in front and it squares the inner grand court yard that
Prominently displays a water fountain its flowing water conditions the whole of your being by sight and
Sound to gently enter a contemplative state the abundance of flowers spreads your soul outward in
Tender volumes the tall round pine trees adds depth to the grounds linear flow then checked by
Horizontal walls then crowned by the extreme downward sweep of the tile roofs that gleam they over
Reach but in perfection and in the distance the mountains showcase the mission in a nestled glorious
State and so there is no mistake a great cross has been placed between two peaks look outward look
Upward you are in a place made for the purpose of holy attentive action that ends in natural gratitude
To Place far away is the reality of personal homes that fill every street on the front entry is emblazoned
These letters W. M. No it doesn’t mean welcome master it means wealth materialism rules here the
Savoir of the world keenly observes the signs as he passes house by house he knows what his word says
Increased in goods they have need of nothing but it goes on to say being rich they have become poor
Blind and naked a perfect love that would if received lead you into divine protection and perfection all
The filthy habits that bind you would be broken your family would be as purified gold a testament the
Surest answer in a world that is disingenuous at its core material possessions alone will leave you with
An outward fullness but an inner emptiness go back to the original blue print no not that disgusting one
The edges burned by fire carried out of the pit that has man and woman described as susceptible to ***
Drugs alcohol the list goes on but you’re looking for the pure architecturally sound blue print in its details
You are a beautifully designed temple a woman of virtue and wholesome character who builds her family
And Community at the weakest points her life adds holy mortar the man can be led down many false
Paths Under the title of ******* pride atrocious behavior toward women this flows to the son and also
Will Wreck a daughters life in twisted ways that only an analyst can resolve into todays scary crazy world
We need men and women of God to correct our course and prepare us for a new world not a new world
Order but the new world of heaven
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Features of Measureless Endurance
Some have stood and looked on the face of the Nile others have stood at the base of Everest it’s hard to
Turn away your gaze you try to place it in your mind it jumps the bounds starts to build in tremendous
Colossal extravagant realms these alone can bare the load or cross the everglades see the meaningful
Mixed with the extreme confusion and at some point the secret turning envelops you and you except
What you can and digest the rest but there is a greater reality there are times in ordinary days you
March to extreme distances troubles exhaust either you are looking through eyes filled with tears
They ache and are weary your rescue comes unannounced from the most unrecognized source
Something that little thought is given the face in the mirror we look then forget give it little thought but
Others when wasted times befall them they look as if they are hungering for the sun after a long
Troubled night of darkness in the hidden recesses vagueness intangible non graspable bodiless
Memories materialize then fade when the aching heart would have your hands reach forth and hold
They give them the telling of deep longings that surge and crash against the walls of your soul
Speechless inability chokes the words that want to flow are ****** by powerful forces and into this
Torment one thing emerges as a soft glowing light saying in effect the darkness can’t hurt you I am
Here you are at a loss for all things dear then eyes that have seen you through some of the hardest
times and ears that have listened when all others turned a deaf ear to your cry then the mouth begins
to speak your knees grow weak overwhelmed you know times you thought were lost forever all foreign
distant lands you were walking fade and give way to the surest and most agreeable time a hand slips
into yours they never even know the blessing and comfort that is provided by that ole familiar soulful
knowing face that you never give a second thought and yet here its volumes cover hidden wounds that
are barely understood but the beaming glow takes you in tow carries you beyond treacherous reefs you
find you are being drawn down the island shore to a safe place that you can go inland you will find you
are a stranger but the face of your friend is well known by all and you will be accepted loved and cared for so the next
trouble breaks across your tiny boat look not at the waves but the strength etched in the friendly
feature of the one wisdom created for you alone in this you can master any storm know the soothing
mist the grandeur of sunset peace burst through every ray giving way for you to say thank you father you
have your way in the storm and you have anchored my heart in a sure place an altogether loving face
annvelope Oct 2014
I was afraid to walk down the street,
There was once,
Thither is a deep hole in the pavement.

I fall,
I come in.
I am a hopeless case.

My animation was a frantic running from silence.
Quietness is the surest sign
that I've died,
About tomorrow nothing is known.
Hal Loyd Denton Oct 2012
Some have stood and looked on the face of the Nile others have stood at the base of Everest it’s hard to
Turn away your gaze you try to place it in your mind it jumps the bounds starts to build in tremendous
Colossal extravagant realms these alone can bare the load or cross the everglades see the meaningful
Mixed with the extreme confusion and at some point the secret turning envelops you and you except
What you can and digest the rest but there is a greater reality there are times in ordinary days you
March to extreme distances troubles exhaust either you are looking through eyes filled with tears
They ache and are weary your rescue comes unannounced from the most unrecognized source
Something that little thought is given the face in the mirror we look then forget give it little thought but
Others when wasted times befall them they look as if they are hungering for the sun after a long
Troubled night of darkness in the hidden recesses vagueness intangible non graspable bodiless
Memories materialize then fade when the aching heart would have your hands reach forth and hold
They give them the telling of deep longings that surge and crash against the walls of your soul
Speechless inability chokes the words that want to flow are ****** by powerful forces and into this
Torment one thing emerges as a soft glowing light saying in effect the darkness can’t hurt you I am
Here you are at a loss for all things dear then eyes that have seen you through some of the hardest
times and ears that have listened when all others turned a deaf ear to your cry then the mouth begins
to speak your knees grow weak overwhelmed you know times you thought were lost forever all foreign
distant lands you were walking fade and give way to the surest and most agreeable time a hand slips
into yours they never even know the blessing and comfort that is provided by that ole familiar soulful
knowing face that you never give a second thought and yet here its volumes cover hidden wounds that
are barely understood but the beaming glow takes you in tow carries you beyond treacherous reefs you
find you are being drawn down the island shore to a safe place that you can go inland you will find you
are a stranger but the face of your friend is well known by all and you will be accepted loved and cared for so the next
trouble breaks across your tiny boat look not at the waves but the strength etched in the friendly
feature of the one wisdom created for you alone in this you can master any storm know the soothing
mist the grandeur of sunset peace burst through every ray giving way for you to say thank you father you
have your way in the storm and you have anchored my heart in a sure place an altogether loving face
Constance; it proved delayed again, true. The battle scars of all you are remain echoed in the hue; the blues, the reds, ricocheted off your head as energy goes missing and Diaspora winds up dead.  I saw your silhouette on wanted poster, defaced with time and vandalized past words you could even recognize; your fugitive legend lives on just like a Johnny Cash song.  

I remember the dual in town square, the fight between memory and the noose left on a chair.  The regrets defect to recollect – a photograph I hold, the flash, still bold, doesn’t mind what it is told as the radiance completes and pleasantries are sold.  The countdown between the gun and the ground reverberates off windows and feels more than it sounds - I remember silly things like the way skies alive with blue are the surest bet to the memory of you.

The dance we sing relates everything; the time, the place, the soft lines of her face – the lust and love as shadows drop above.

I’ve never loved anyone in the way I love everyone.  I feel the warmth within my empty pocket, a pocket that weaves tales as eyes set sail.  A piece of dust rising from the ash as memories defy impact; alone again or, since no one can tell me, I reinvent myself so I can say that it is what I’m told.  I am the flashing of an instance that re-presents the equation; in symmetry, in manner, in form.  

Lies alive become a vague, anarchic form of truth.  This is the truth I live; a broadened form of self destruction, a manic repercussion from an emotions own eruption.  It’s hardly worth discussion, but memory has suffered a concussion and the only words worth trusting aren’t true.  It’s me and you.  You and me, or so I see as you see it doesn’t depend on symmetry.  If only I could vocalize calligraphy, or politely excuse my entropy but the main part that’s bugging me is the only air I can not breathe.

So now I live a vacated tomorrow; an equal sign divided and subtracted to its sorrow.  A life of lies, a life alive - I refuse to accept truth and instead wind up living when I should be dead.  I go missing with a beacon on my head.  

It’s in the shadow of truth that my mind feels abused; I know the words but have forgotten their use.  It’s the fear of reality that lies are the truth and all the echoing sounds that remind me of you. As though I’d actually gotten away, my fists raised high in victory, a chorus of rain began to follow me.  Thunder lauded the sky as though begging an encore and the hair on my neck began to dance – a thought I believed that could not be left to chance.  The electric disruption, a faint form of percussion, clapped louder than the bolts as all of the volts caressed the dreams of circuitry and the form faded from memory.

This is how I learned to breathe – or learned to fly or learned to jump through a needle’s eye.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2013
Some have stood and looked on the face of the Nile others have stood at the base of Everest it’s hard to
Turn away your gaze you try to place it in your mind it jumps the bounds starts to build in tremendous
Colossal extravagant realms these alone can bare the load or cross the everglades see the meaningful
Mixed with the extreme confusion and at some point the secret turning envelops you and you except
What you can and digest the rest but there is a greater reality there are times in ordinary days you
March to extreme distances troubles exhaust either you are looking through eyes filled with tears
They ache and are weary your rescue comes unannounced from the most unrecognized source
Something that little thought is given the face in the mirror we look then forget give it little thought but
Others when wasted times befall them they look as if they are hungering for the sun after a long
Troubled night of darkness in the hidden recesses vagueness intangible non graspable bodiless
Memories materialize then fade when the aching heart would have your hands reach forth and hold
They give them the telling of deep longings that surge and crash against the walls of your soul
Speechless inability chokes the words that want to flow are ****** by powerful forces and into this
Torment one thing emerges as a soft glowing light saying in effect the darkness can’t hurt you I am
Here you are at a loss for all things dear then eyes that have seen you through some of the hardest
times and ears that have listened when all others turned a deaf ear to your cry then the mouth begins
to speak your knees grow weak overwhelmed you know times you thought were lost forever all foreign
distant lands you were walking fade and give way to the surest and most agreeable time a hand slips
into yours they never even know the blessing and comfort that is provided by that ole familiar soulful
knowing face that you never give a second thought and yet here its volumes cover hidden wounds that
are barely understood but the beaming glow takes you in tow carries you beyond treacherous reefs you
find you are being drawn down the island shore to a safe place that you can go inland you will find you
are a stranger but the face of your friend is well known by all and you will be accepted loved and cared for so the next
trouble breaks across your tiny boat look not at the waves but the strength etched in the friendly
feature of the one wisdom created for you alone in this you can master any storm know the soothing
mist the grandeur of sunset peace burst through every ray giving way for you to say thank you father you
have your way in the storm and you have anchored my heart in a sure place an altogether loving face
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2012
Some have stood and looked on the face of the Nile others have stood at the base of Everest it’s hard to
Turn away your gaze you try to place it in your mind it jumps the bounds starts to build in tremendous
Colossal extravagant realms these alone can bare the load or cross the everglades see the meaningful
Mixed with the extreme confusion and at some point the secret turning envelops you and you except
What you can and digest the rest but there is a greater reality there are times in ordinary days you
March to extreme distances troubles exhaust either you are looking through eyes filled with tears
They ache and are weary your rescue comes unannounced from the most unrecognized source
Something that little thought is given the face in the mirror we look then forget give it little thought but
Others when wasted times befall them they look as if they are hungering for the sun after a long
Troubled night of darkness in the hidden recesses vagueness intangible non graspable bodiless
Memories materialize then fade when the aching heart would have your hands reach forth and hold
They give them the telling of deep longings that surge and crash against the walls of your soul
Speechless inability chokes the words that want to flow are ****** by powerful forces and into this
Torment one thing emerges as a soft glowing light saying in effect the darkness can’t hurt you I am
Here you are at a loss for all things dear then eyes that have seen you through some of the hardest
times and ears that have listened when all others turned a deaf ear to your cry then the mouth begins
to speak your knees grow weak overwhelmed you know times you thought were lost forever all foreign
distant lands you were walking fade and give way to the surest and most agreeable time a hand slips
into yours they never even know the blessing and comfort that is provided by that ole familiar soulful
knowing face that you never give a second thought and yet here its volumes cover hidden wounds that
are barely understood but the beaming glow takes you in tow carries you beyond treacherous reefs you
find you are being drawn down the island shore to a safe place that you can go inland you will find you
are a stranger but the face of your friend is well known by all and you will be accepted loved and cared for so the next
trouble breaks across your tiny boat look not at the waves but the strength etched in the friendly
feature of the one wisdom created for you alone in this you can master any storm know the soothing
mist the grandeur of sunset peace burst through every ray giving way for you to say thank you father you
have your way in the storm and you have anchored my heart in a sure place an altogether loving face





--------------------------------------------------------------­------------------
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2012
Death Knows Not a Stranger

This is the sheild Jesus gave me to protect Addy
but it will fit you if you have suffered loss


Dear Addy you will never read these words hurting one this is the war of darkness and its pall
That is a great slab it is made from turgid raw material the awful density the core of a quagmire

We are far in distance and time from Pacific Grove High School for you and Kathleen for me
Army life where we are is of no consequence death hunts its prey we were unaware then the

Deep black waves pushed against all visible light instantly we were in great depths disfigurement it
Obliterates all that was sharp and clear with warring powers it reduced our postulations to

Nonexistence we were assured they were built on bedrock Bethlehem steel stone quarried from
Surest granite the front to our fortress showcase was of impeccable marble how awed spectators

Were our security unquestioned and then the hand of death with ease dissolved our house as it were
Paper the beam the central support gave way in the night outward storm not the cause but inner

Cisterns wore thin and cracked the spirit no longer could be held and contained though it was made
Of thoughts mined from deep interests that was the stalwart reserves of economy and wisdom that

Form the primary pillars of a successful life these are hard won but are required when time limitations
Have been reached and must be forfeited so as if a secret war was fought and lost we stand in utter

Disbelief and can’t grasp the magnitude of our loss we fall against walls of splendor in these courts
Where so much was shared with the departed joy edged with laughter hung as sheer silk with

Designs of beauty that can only be from sharing at deep levels they seemed rigid because they
Were in essence the combined strength of our two souls what could move them cut them asunder

What enemy could surmount such habitations of love that a sister can have for another only the darkest
Blackened heart could invade but this intruder is hated by God himself but within the very folds of

His tragic existence there is seen and heard the fluttering of the whitest dove in her wings springtime
Of the soul is announced against the harsh back drop of a coffin fresh turned earth and marble stone

That bears her name on this wise alone immortality is birthed all that was loved is now indescribable
To human tongue our eyes were made for earthy climes only by the eyes of faith can you see

The shimmering bright new creation that left a life of limitation to be a jewel crusted in His royal
Crown by this be comforted hurting one
Seán Mac Falls May 2016
( Sonnet)*

How can my lips survive,
The wait of beamed kisses,
From your green, fey eyes,
Pinned, blind by the sun?
O like scarlet dipping into
Seas, your lips are setting
All the skies aflame in dusk
From them, my poor body
Suffering to explore yours,
Heavenly eyes, unearthly,
Bodies ****** lips to dream,
Merest, only dream. Pray
Tell me surest, sweetest lie,
How can my lips survive?
topaz oreilly Nov 2013
Before the decade spat us out,
on our bicycles we had options,
the electric blaze truly sped by
with the years
and Dad's knew their sons interests
lay in Rock, where musicians in de rigueur denims
sign posted the alpha roost
and we all had dreams of blondes,
their beacons crafting
secrets and desires about growing up.
This was the surest way
to catch an education for life
Hollow Jun 2014
I hated high school
And the image of popularity
What a waste of dear time
Pretending to be perfect
It takes far too long

I would rather be flawed
Dangerous
Unpredictable
Rugged and ****

I never liked the 'perfect girl'
I liked the girl with the cigarette and leather jacket
And the shorter hair
Who looked at me and winked
And agreed to skip school for coffee and ***
Who cares if we just met?

I admire the free girls
But unfortunately, common parents
Will scream when they hear
Their daughter likes gauges
Or tongue piercings
Because magazines will make you believe
You have to be pink and tiny to be ****

Poor brainwashed mothers and fathers
They expect
Expressive reform
And a staunch to true personality

Sacrificing yourself for the pleasure of others
Is the surest way to confirm your existence
As nothing more than a name and face
Imprisoned under false authoritative rule
Why not escape from this place
Where beauty is structured
Fold
Into yourself
Where beauty is a matter of expression
Justin Aptaker Jun 2019
the stars are lying
between layers of ether and projected purpose
burdened with grandiose plans to toy with the dust bunnies that blow
everywhere like tumbleweeds
in a western flick just before final showdown
the outcome depends on an angry Matryoshka doll of endless ecosystems

remember that perfect silence fell on our history like a shadow, guillotine-sharp
cutting out any tongue that would retell the fable of Hiroshima
reborn, She was immaculately misconceived as the unwanted child of a firefly
and a street sweeper
while in correlation a pin crashed to the floor of a factory somewhere
in the boondocks of Babylon

i mention this in riddles, not to mislead, but hoping to preserve my own
slimy muscle tucked safely in its bacteria-laden skull, where it burns white and blue
to taste, and somehow amoeba all things sensual into itself
sweet water, salt and iron

for no reason i riddle on alone
as plain discourse will not prove to be any more terrible for me in a day
my tongue, the unstable centerpiece of all things volatile
will prove to be its own undoing, not needing a blade to mute it
its white glow will one day implode to expand in an instant of recklessness
which vaporizes tongue before skull
to at once spray my organic-wet thoughts through every quantum nook of the known universe
and parallel, to finally satisfy my undiscerning palate with the rich, heavy taste
of every decomposing delicacy that truth grows in

the gods are afraid
of what we might become if we could lay hold of their winged heels
or learn to outrun their surest arrows and fastest dogs
if we were to stop dangling mouth-first by their ******* threads
as if our very existence was the carrot

the ascendant, sun of morning reduced to earth
he looks up with such longing, where his trusty dog still sits and stays
not returning his gaze, but having every appearance of doing so
the black paper sky splashed with white ink, folded in half, and unfolded again
we stare on and on
and project all of our unconscious into something meaningless
and create our story

a freudian chuckle rumbles in every thunderclap, while we lie
on riverbeds like cold sofas, pondering our lives and our futures, while we feed
every kind of fish and scavenger--a mock eucharist which moves molecules
as above so below to the universal singularity
in the redundant shape of a figure eight

self-emaciation, a violent circumcision that cleanses like soap
discarding the fat which no machine needs for survival
like Howard Hughes i scrub until every bone is bare and bloodstained
empty, i step into the holy of holies afraid that i must die again
forgetting everything, i begin to slide
Written by Justin Aptaker ca. 2006
Samuel Oct 2010
Bravery is not a small feat.

To stand tall and announce to the world your hidden
          it takes formidable inner strength.
The very idea of taking it to the open
          haunts and frightens you.

To what end?

If we succumb to the temptations of silence
Jump toward the Siren song
          we are finished.

Why are we here if not for chance?
          for chances are, chances are everything.
Why do we persist if not for triumph?
          risks are the surest paths to reward.

If then, chance and change are gates to paradise, why
Do we shy away?

fear.

Unjustified, unnecessary, indescribable
          fear.

Demolish it, and in the ashes of what was once a god-forsaken
          wasteland
You will discover
    
          hope.
Sam Dickinson 2010
Amanda Apr 2014
"Hold my hand
Her quiet eyes widened,

and a little question mark
peek-a-boos
at
the edges of her lashes.

?"

His fingertips laced into hers.
Nail against nail.
Wrist to wrist.

There, I can almost feel your heart beat.

It is the surest thing
next to
gravity
in this
s t a r r y
universe,
sweet-heart.
Hey you!
Oh yes, I am talking to you Mr/Miss.
How's your sunday going?
x
I would absolutely love to read The Secret Lives of People In love by Simon Van Booy.
Sigh.
What is the book you would like to have in your hands right now?
Dein Xceriis Nov 2012
Miss you winter, your fall against my earth
The skin I wear, against her body
Your white blanket, a shield of purity
From winter’s breadth, that fresh surest

Missed the winter, where I was young
Felt your sorrow, it stilled my tongue
Now that you're gone, I feel so cold
My body frozen, the ice so clear

To sleep the idle body, where nature sleeps
to drift the absence, to drift obscene
Still remain, shapes in darkness, Shapes of memory
to sleep in idle, the idle body

From soft whispers, comes a gentle breeze
your winds of wisdom, I can't redeem
Those frozen hands, that strip me clean
her ageless journey, is the best of me

I sit alone, in winters mirror
on the edge, in silent tears
like shattered glass, those fragments dear
That winter year, she held me here
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Mine caru
Tis her name
Mine caru
A burning brightly flame
Mine caru
Sexiest appeal
Caru means amour in welsh language
Mine amour' so true
She's mine caru
Bastion to mine moral fiber
Yen of tenderness
Ardor to mine acquire
Inclination of ourn embryo
Eggs birthed as twins
Lost into ourn own conscious
Soulmates
Best friends
Though many knoweth not of that
Me and mi amour' surest do
Maby we canst teach thou
A love story far and true
Maby we canst reach thou
For the ones
With no king nor queen!!!

But
Tis ourn own story
This is the amare we bring!!
Amethyst Fyre Apr 2017
As a start, you should always project the opposite of what you're actually going to do. If you're going to cut yourself, smile! People will tell you you're the happiest girl they know. If you're going to starve yourself, have desserts. You'll have your mom telling you to stop eating so much. The great thing about people is that, once they see you a certain way, almost nothing will change that.

You can't get lazy though. Always take care of the evidence. I don't mean hide it, because hidden things can still be found. If you need to hide evidence, you've already been too careless. Taking care of the evidence is part of the plan. You can cut your arms, but only in winter, when its normal to wear long sleeves. Switch to your inner thighs for summer, and take care the swimsuits you choose. You'll have to eat dinner with the family, but you can throw away most of your lunch during the school day without anyone noticing.

IF, and I do mean if, someone asks questions, don't panic. Trust that your precautions have protected you. The only thing panic can do is make you defensive and getting defensive is the surest way to get caught. Surprise is better. "Really? Me lose weight? I don't think so. I hadn't noticed it."

The fewer words you say the better. You don't want them hearing something in your voice. Keep your focus on whatever you were doing before, extra points if its your phone. Sometimes all you need is a disinterested shrug for the whole conversation to go away.

IF you get someone who is unusually persistent, still don't panic. Turn to half-truths instead. They sound plausible, and people eat them up. "Oh I would never do anything bad to lose weight. I guess I might've lost a little because we're in season right now." If you're feeling a little irony, thank them for their concern. It'll make them feel good about themselves and the whole thing in general. I doubt you'll ever hear another question from them again.

Just remember this: there is a trade off for everything you do. You have chosen, in order to get away with whatever you're doing, to live the life of a liar. You have sacrificed your innocence, your fun and your conscience to control the truth. The life of a liar is no easy way to live.
*Do you regret it?
I don't condone the use of these tips to harm anyone, except apparently myself

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