dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines

Paris in the springtime.
Dark winter in the land of fall.
Of guns and bombs.
Machines that ****, at will.
Whose will it is?
Is what we finding ourselves asking?
As human beings.
We implore the end to evil deeds.
Evils preceding war.
God bless the lost,
God bless the lonely.
If only he would.
Paris must survive.
Joie d'vivre.
(c)LIVVI

By: Cedric McClester

Sadly Paris is
Feeling the ravages
Of those heartless savages
Whose numerous miscarriages
Of jihad on the average is
A total mischaracterization
Of what they claim is the Muslim nation
And frankly speaking I’m losing patience

This I hope you understand
There’s no justification in the Qu’ran
For what they do to their fellow man
As if it’s part of Allah’s Plan
Show me the sunnah if you can
That allows aggression in any land
Things have gotten out of hand
If everything you do is banned

You can spread your hate
But I have to state
There’ll never be a califate
That’s solely built on one man’s hate
It will crash and burn under its own weight
And heaven help those who participate
For them I fear it’s much too late
And that’s not open to debate

Paris is crying, naturally
Because of the carnage don’t you see
But they’ll continue to be free
And enjoy the support of humanity
We all must ask how could this be
While sealing the fate and destiny
Of those miscreants who **** with glee
And have the significance of a flea







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015.  All rights reserved.

annihilations
annihilations
annihilations

Paris, Paris, Paris, GIANT SURVIVOR!!!!