i loath that educational poetry that's intended to address you with scold or searching for a higher tier of morality, there are poems like that out there (rudyard kipling e.g.), with educational / instructional overtones in the way they're written, i always wonder though: did the poet remember the idea of solipsism and writing the poem as if to himself, a note to self, rather than for others to peer into the poem and learn something?

that's the thing though,
i'm a child of immigrants...
actually an immigrant
myself... no, wait, let's do
what the higher tiers of society
call it: i'm an expatriate,
a child of expatriates -
and they still talk with an accent,
me? self-taught english
from the age of 8, retained my
mother tongue nonetheless,
speak none of the two tongues with
an accent, unless i want to,
a friend of mine introduced me
to a greek cypriot, lovingly ridiculed
me as posh... and let me tell you,
sounding posh in essex is hard to do,
i admit it would be harder in
scotland or east london, but essex
is still a hefty mountain to climb -
it's like that crass joke i heard in
the edinburgh comedy club i used to
haunt once a week...
a guy stands up and with a mighty grin
announced himself with over-stressed
elocution: 'you might recognise my accent
(i.e. denoting where he came from,
a great conversation starter on these
islands)... it's *educated',
and that really crushed the hazelnut
in his **** -
well if it was a woman telling the same
joke, it would be a crushed hazelnut
between the legs - missionaries
in positions of ardent prayer
and christmas wrapping paper -
because a woman's strength in the leg department
is like the lips of oysters, or any over shellfish
for that matter - insects of the deep blue
(exoskeleton).

when it came to naming things we were so imaginative, hydrochloric acid et. al., so imaginative we forgot to equip everyone with enough vocabulary stash of savings, and we decided to call that savings black hole dyslexia; and yet when it came to naming people, our imagination sort of got lost, we became unimaginative... a ****** million johns in the cauldron of speaking - and half of them entitled with a surname smith.

first came gabriel unto mary,
then gabriel became a mr. wordsworth
or a mr. wordington,
the sacredness of the name
enshrined in very famous books
lost their prowess, their income
decreased in terms of people thinking
about them, only the spaniards
were daring enough to name
their children jesus en masse -
and so it goes, modern era, people
reduced to be called peaches & maltesers,
or some other schmuck pluck name;
and then you do wonder,
esp. when you come to a divination,
the catholic bureaucracy, the tetragrammaton
shambles, first the prime gospels
numbering four, then your first name, your
second name, your confirmation name,
your surname - but indeed them you
come across some oddly personal detailing through
the lens peering at a single word,
on paper, a poem by *adam zagajewski
(always breezy poetry, like a cool wind
on a rocky beach in Cornwall),
rome, open city, and with citation -
matthew keeps asking himself: was i truly
summoned to become human?
i know, a whimsical idea, the 20th century's
"perfect" splendour of being humanely
attentive to what that actually means -
now a time when even medical students stride to
use poetry for an armchair, and a time when
poets as such, poets pure and simple
are turning into better magicians than the old
and the terminally ill - while the critics ask
aesthetic questions of whether song lyrics are
poetry, and why you can't really sing what's
defined as poetry, not with instruments at least,
the verbiage they say, a mountain of luggage
just sitting there - no wonder then, given lyricism
has turned to:
um, yeah, pop a champagne bottle, um yeah,
all my ******* and ma'h hoes, um, yeah,
watch me fly the emirates business class,
um, yeah, put my hand in a kangaroo pouch,
um yeah - say oh! say slow! um, yeah,
heads up in the hood, um, yeah; etc.

Ecologists  only  interested
                    in
Different processes that studies
                    Physical
Changes of forms and gradual
              upward movement
                   of
Living being.
Physical evolution shows upscale
            but what about mind and vital ?
Is there Devolution in faculty
                    of
Mind and vital plane ?
If not,what is the terrorism ?
Are Darwin and Lemarks wrong?
                  or
science is in child state to understand
                  the Life ?

i only started collecting a library, because, would you believe it, my local library was a pauper in rags and tatters; apologies for omitting necessary diacritic marks, the whiskey was ******* on icecubes to a shrivel.*

ernest hemingway, e.m. forster, mary shelley,
aesop, r. l. stevenson, jean-paul sartre,
jack kerouac, sylvia plath, evelyn waugh,
chekhov, cortazar, freud, virginia woolf,
philip k. ****, dostoyevsky, aleksandr solzhenitsyn,
oscar wilde, malcolm x, kafka, nabokov,
bukowski, sacher-masoch, thomas a kempis,
yevgeny zamyatin, alexandre dumas,
will self, j. r. r. tolkien, richard b. bentall,
james joyce, william burroughs, truman capote,
herman hesse, thomas mann, j. d. salinger,
nikos kazantzakis, george orwell,
philip roth, joseph roth, bulgakov, huxley,
marquis de sade, john milton, samuel beckett,
huysmans, michel de montaigne, walter benjamin,
sienkiewicz, rilke, lipton, harold norse,
alfred jarry, miguel de cervantes, von krafft-ebing,
kierkegaard, julian jaynes, bynum porter & shephred,
r. d. laing, c. g. jung, spinoza, hegel, kant, artistotle,
plato, josephus, korner, la rochefoucauld, stendhal,
nietzsche, bertrand russell, irwin edman,
faucault, anwicenna, descartes, voltaire, rousseau,
popper,  heidegger, tatarkiewicz, kolakowski,
seneca, cycero, milan kundera, g. j. warnock,
stefan zweig, the pre-socratics, julian tuwim,
ezra pound, gregory corso, ted hughes,
guiseppe gioacchino belli, dante, peshwari women,
e. e. cummings, ginsberg, will alexander, max jacob,
schwob, william blake, comte de lautreamont,
jack spicer, zbigniew herbert, frank o'hara,
richard brautigan, miroslav holub, al purdy,
tzara, ted berrigan, fady joudah, nikolai leskov,
anna kavan, jean genet, albert camus, gunter grass,
susan hill, katherine dunn, gil scott-heron,
kleist, irvine welsh, clarice lispector, hunter thompson,
machado de assisi, reymont, tolstoy, jim bradbury,
norman davies, shakespeare, balzac, dickens,
jasienica, mary fulbrook, stuart t. miller,
walter la feber, jan wimmer, terry jones & alan ereira,
kenneth clark, edward robinson, heinrich harrer,
gombrowicz, a. krawczuk, andrzej stasiuk, ivan bunin,
joseph heller, goethe, mcmurry, atkins & de paula,
bernard shaw, horace, ovid, virgil, aeschyles,
rumi, omar khayyam, humbert wolfe, e. h. bickersteth,
asnyk, witkacy, mickiewicz, slowacki, lesmian,
lechon, lep szarzynski, victor alexandrov, gogol,
william styron, krasznahorkai, robert graves,
defoe, tim burton, antoine de saint-exupery,
christiane f., salman rushdie, hazlitt, marcus aurelius,
nick hornby, emily bronte, walt whitman,
aryeh kaplan, rolf g. renner, j. p. hodin, tim hilton... etc.

There is tale of  Kavala
which tells of hero true
simple man defyingly hopeful
would row the Aegean blue

Did this alone to save Turks
as Bulgars were encroaching
He knew the Greeks on boats
somewhere were approaching

To Thasos he rowed trough night
darkness of waves o'er sea
Only stars be shimmering guide
Long nautical miles to be free

His muscles wore desperate, weak
yet the fisherman pressed bravely on
for love of his wife and family
He gave word, but his heart was gone

By daylight the sailors returned
Man had found friend in Greek Armada
Just in time troops did arrive
and saved the burning of Kavala

Turks rushed from their homes
to embrace with joy, Greek sailors
Yet one woman knew of a man,
the fisherman who did not fail her

And though he had sadly perished
after his long tortuous journey
his family knew of shimmering star
a hero never more so aptly worthy

I cry in my dreams
For the people I have lost
I knock on their doors
One by one
And take them for a walk

We just have a talk
And I listen
To the things they wanted to say
From a time
They weren't yet gone

They change faces throughout
And I shudder,
And I'm glad
They're finally back

While we sit atop a car
In a green suburb street
The last face is yours
Your smile filled with tears

You stared off
And said:
"You understand, right?"
And smiled,
"I can see,
You understand"

Then I wake up
In reality
And I've got no time
For tears in mine
And I know
They only lived
In the fabrication
Of my mind

The rage is building,
A tower made of kindling
It only needs a spark
For it to rage through the dark
And guide a roaring light
Lightening,
Igniting the darkest corners of the mind

In hindsight
That display of might
A painting, red and black
Preceded darker times
What am I left with in the end?
Another tower,
Built with regret.

And smoldering black,
A hatefull pit
Of fire, not illuminating
Never needing a spark
But endlesly burning
An all consuming flame

I want you to know
I'm sick of the way
I treated you back then
And wanted to ask
How have you been?

I had a dream
Where you were my friend
But you had to learn
How to trust me again

While the dream is fading
Details don't survive
The storyline is missing
But I remember very well
The ocean of turmoil in your eyes
And I remember very well
How you lingered
When I said my goodbyes