She was smoking
At the Capitol
I saw her picture
In the telephone [booth]
Smoke was flying
In the air
You should have seen her
She was there
It was a rock show
And it was bold
Just like a rock show
At the Capitol
Smoking weasels
Rocking on
She had me teasing
She put it on
  
Rock show at the Capitol
That was where to go-go-go
Get your girl and spend your dough
There's a rock show at the Capitol
  
She was smoking
In the men's room
At the Capitol
She was btchn'
She blew my mind
Then she blew me away
  
And you wouldn't believe
They tore that building down
I can't even find that town, now!
But, believe it
There was magic in the air
I can't believe it
Seems like yesterday
You wouldn't believe it
The way they wailed away
Bouncing and shaking their bones
And they were dancing
Singing and clapping and dancing
And dancing away
  
She was steaming
I licked her ear
It was awesome
Screaming in the air
Everywhere
The gang was there
Kicking, Puffing
And banging there
She left smoking
At the Capitol

Is Gigi Hadid a gee, hottie?

~~
She rolls down the western edge
The bucolic Spiral path
Coincides with the horizon
Gray foot print
Slowly mingles with dark
As the Bats of evening find back to home

Gentle Breeze to dangle
Purple haze of Four O'clock
The Crossroads, Wait behind
Where to start, or what end is!
Poetry continuing as the falls of pain

Afternoon's Lyrics said good bye
Today's bright Star does not rise
What they chase during the run out!
Why come back again
Along with the known way!

Moonlit falls on the ways of Standing hill
Beyond the horizon
Dark fading, while
Lost love fusions with her colors
Across the Monsoon, Autumn, Winter
Finally the Spring is on the way
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Felt gospels, locally hand-stitched, hang from the necks
Of the white stone columns. Seven in total.
Wandering eyes have read them all a hundred times.
Each one belongs to a name and number.
The mass assemble on the ground floor.
The circle tiers are near-empty,
They keep their coats on.
I wonder if they are closer to G-d.
The bald island only visible to them,
The vicar’s pure white hair.
Pews are formidable with adults, Sunday best,
A silence dark with giggles, the stained glass
Shone a rainbow of torture, ******,
And I did not know what we were all there for.

Christ hung beneath a turquoise sun, kaleidoscopic agony
Etched on his straight white face. You could play a tune
On his ribs. The vicar stood bored at the platform;
glory in monotone.

Finally, we rose to song.

The adults stood tall, autogenic. I became lost in corn stalks,
Wind of reverence, spirit, mass delusion.
Everyone seems to sway. Some close their eyes. A few
Hold a hand to the sky. A grown man is dancing in the main aisle.
He is making a mockery of himself
And the adults do not stop him. Do not scald him
Or tell him to keep quiet.
The grown man seems to notice no one.
I wonder if he is the closest to G-d.

Water near-boils in black pipes, the wind outside
Seems to find its way to my chest. I choke myself.
Leave our scarves on the burning metal.
No instrumentation! Menace. I mime the words.
Cut my eye teeth climbing garage roofs,
Stole a turnip from Mr. Sutton’s patch -
The air is too holy here. Hypnotic. I cannot breathe.
A football shirt. A pair of jeans. The singing stops.
Prayer begins. The vicar drones, we answer back.
Repeat after me, repeat after me. He is talking
About next week, the order of service,
His out-of-hours devotion, our spiritual homework.
Dismissed, the mass push angrily to the doors.
Quick to their cars,
We always stayed behind. Slow, slow.

My parents led me to the pulpit. The vicar was smiling,
My name was on his list. I wondered if I was getting
The eighth felt gospel..
“You are to be confirmed.”
“Okay.”
I did not know what confirmed meant.
I did not know what submergence was.
The vicar took my hands. I puzzled at his dog collar,
His snap-necklace. My parents stood in the periphery,
The cheap seats; a happy occupation,
A successful operation.

I was to be new again.

“...and let the Holy Spirit pass through Edward,
And help to guide him through inevitable trials.”

My arms were shaking like a tuning peg.
I was a filament, quivering, giving myself away,
Flashbulb memories of disgrace. He must know.
“That’s the spirit of the Lord inside of you,
That’s why you are shaking.
It is working brilliantly.”
The vicar put his palm to my forehead.
Pores magnified, barbs descended from his nostrils,
His overgrown eyebrows. His holiness. His age.
He did not smile with his eyes.

I was handed back to my parents.
They looked pleased with themselves. Did I pass the test?
I looked up.
The ceiling was impassable.
There had been no breakthrough.

Drove past the hospital. Asleep in the passenger seat.
Surgery on my soul. Clean, clean.
There was static on the radio.
The shaking had stopped.

It's 2:02
And once again I have
No idea what to do
The ground has once again
Started to shake
And the vision of my
Blood stained eyes
Are the first thing
That signals the start of
My demise.
The hallucinations
Are clouding
I feel the perspiration.
I feel my chest cave
And my wings tear
As I get dizzy
The air gets warm and I see everything blackout..

His fingers tap dance on the wooden table
As thoughts scramble within his mind.
His eyes are fixed to the bare wall, perchance,
A divine message will be transcribed.
Misfortune has pestered him for quite a while,
Out of all people it is he who must weep.
He demands an explanation to the misery
That deprives him of most wanted sleep.
But behold, a silver quill takes form before him
And hovers to the bare wall across the room.
With swift strokes it writes with moonlight ink
One ambiguous four-letter word: SOON…
The man almost falls from his chair, all color
Flushed from his weathered face.
What’s the meaning of this sorcery?
What is this “SOON” that awaits?
Will my troubles finally leave me?
Will there be no more sleepless nights?
Or will I soon meet my maker
Who will compensate for my bitter, bitter life?
Shouts interrupt his inquiry followed by
The sound of shattered glass.
The man looks out the window to investigate,
Indeed there's a raging riot amid dense tear gas.
The smell of smoke meet his nostrils, and he
Realized his humble home has caught on fire!
This cannot be! The man exclaimed to the heavens,
Just when there’s hope, the flames climb higher!
He fled from his home, his last possession now a pile
Of ashes, the memories inside consumed and forgotten.
Watching in horror as chaos envelops him, the man’s
Knees buckle, laying on the ground defeated and broken.
Are you okay? asks a little girl, her hand on his shoulder.
The man turns to the silver haired girl and is taken aback
By her angelic visage, which instantly melts his anguish,
Filling the void with the peace and hope he lacked.
His eyelids become heavy and falls into a deep slumber.
He awoke in a hospital bed a few days later,
Greeted by the doctor and a company of lawyers.
Sir, we found something very peculiar among the ashes
Of your home, a chest abound with silver coins and a note.
The man took the note which had one word in moonlight ink,
A word so alien to the man, the word was: BELIEVE

In a chilled morning of Christmas Eve,
Among the bells and carols there was a groan.
Disgusted by smiles, revolted by fun,
If grouchy were a person, it’d be Mr. Stone.
An accountant for three decades,
Joy was drained from his now frigid heart.
He’d take a stroll every day at sunrise,
Numbering the days until his soul departs.
Senseless ruckus, remarked Mr. Stone,
As he walked along the crowded London street,
A season without reason, only mindless
Splurging, incurring debt and wealth deplete.
Hey there sir, want some candy canes?
Asked a little boy, they’re only one crown.
Mr. Stone leaned in with pursed lips,
Too expensive, boy, you ought to settle down.
Sorry sir, it’s just I have nothing to eat.  
Would you be so kind and lend me a hand?
Hmmm… I’d rather not, I despise sweets,
I’m more in the mood for something bland.
With that Mr. Stone continued his walk,
Traversing through an abandoned back alley.
It was dark and musty, infested with rats,
The perfect place for all his woes to tally.
However, a baby’s cry caught his attention
Which was coming from a dumpster nearby.
Mr. Stone approached the source of the cry,
And behold a baby wrapped in rags there lied.
Oh my, how can this be? Who’d do such a thing?
He took the baby into his arms covered in filth,
Astounded by her mesmerizing emerald eyes
And skin with a hue like that of creamy milk.
The baby hushed the second he held her
And gazed upon the eyes of Mr. Stone.
He felt his mind invaded and thoughts probed,
An electrifying sensation bone by bone.  
Suddenly he found himself at his childhood home,
Sitting at the dinner table with his mother.
You’re going to eat your vegetables, William,
If only you’d be more like your older brother.
He was then whisked to his school yard,
Pushed around by his ruthless peers.
You’re so weird and ugly, William Stone,
You deserve a nice clout to your ears.
Boom.
Now he’s in a field of snow and naked trees.
William, come make snow angels with me,
Said a girl with mesmerizing emerald eyes.
I’m coming Eve, he answered gleefully.
They laughed and played until sunset.
William, promise me we’ll always be together.
Of course, he assured her, together forever.
He closed his eyes, and he was standing beside
A casket, Eve resting in a bed of white roses.
I thought we’d be together forever.
Her parting was unbearable and corrosive.
Mr. Stone now stood with the baby girl,
Tears rolling down his reddened cheeks.
I thought we’d be together forever.
I’ve found you, Eve. You’re mine to keep.

I wandered around my grandparents'
Home and saw the forbidden door ajar.
Although locked, they told me to steer
Clear, one step in was one step too far.
The room was gloomy, draped in webs,
With a single painting on the wall,
Lighted by a flickering bulb, imploring
Me to flee from the painting’s call.
She looks at me with longing eyes,
The girl in the painting on the wall.
Alive she seems on her swing, legs
Dangling, holding a torn ragged doll.
She’s not alone, children frolic around
Her beside the lake and wild grass.
Yet she swings gazing intently at my
Soul, willing me to touch the frame glass.
My hands obey and reach for her world
And I find myself pulled inside.
I stood before the girl. Hey friend,
I’m Sally, she said, and smiled wide.  
We swam in the lake, played tag, and
Enjoyed a picnic, but the sun never sank.
Minutes rolled to hours and hours, days.
Indeed, time was merely a divine prank.
What’s your name? I would ask the other
Children, but none of them knew.
I’d ask where they came from,
But mumbles they’d only spew.
Sally I must go home! Please help me!
Don’t you like it here? We are friends.
Friends don’t leave, you understand?
Those who come, their stay never ends.
Her smile then twists to a fiendish grin
Revealing jagged, rotten yellow fangs.
Sally giveth, Sally taketh away, Sally
Stole my heart today, the children sang.
Wherever I ran, I’d end up at the same place,
Sally on her swing beneath the oak tree.
She then waved at the glassy blue sky.
My grandparents looked down upon us
With wicked smiles and laughing eyes.
You’ve been a naughty boy, Paul.
Now you’re in the painting on the wall.

My Mom called me a clever girl
It felt like a slap in the face
She said, “My sister did that, too,
Wrote silly poems and crocheted lace”

Since Alpha, her older sister
Had a bad rheumatic heart
Too weak to help with the farm work
She cooked a little for her part

While Mom, the Swedish farm girl
With a rope tied around her waist
Up at four to reach the barn
Six feet of snow was every place

She had to milk the cows then
It was bone-freezing cold
Her older brother Forrest
Plowed the fields at twelve years old

Their father died and left them
To run the family dairy farm
Soon after Alpha passed on, too
Depression inflicted more harm

That year was 1931
Ancient history one might say
Grandmother never recovered
Her depression years there to stay

Cokato, Minnesota
Who could blame my mom for running
Her mother could not forgive her
Til she installed indoor plumbing

She had run away to Oakland
A California nursing school
Her mother called her *******
And disowning her was cruel

But she was the lone survivor
In her family of five
So she nursed her future husband
After World War II arrived

They married and moved to Boston
The Yankee soldier and farm girl
It was 1950’s suburbs
To my father it was rural

Theirs was such a raucous union
Like a constant fire alarm
That when I could I moved down South
My dream came true-I bought a farm

How history repeats itself
And leaves its own impression
Alpha was reborn as me
But treated for depression

I think I'll be a music man
Travel across the land
Sing to all the losers
Give them a helping hand
  
I'll be a *** with money
But a rich man with my song
Thumbing across the country
Living all life long
  
I'll play the cities like L. A.
For a day or week
Then when I am tired
I'll move to Boulder Creek
  
My legs may be quite tired
My eyes can barely see
But, no one can tell me I'm chained
My mind will always be free

There once was a girl called Goldilocks
Who lived in a forest filled with phlox
She did not to have a soul to play with
And in the forest she would often drift

She once became lost, the lonely, little girl
The one with the head full of golden curls
Panicked and scared, she came upon a house
But it appeared that everyone there was out

She helped herself to the food, cold and hot
She tried the chairs until one hit the spot
Too tired to try to make her way back
She hit the sheets to take a nap

Very picky was this lost, lonely tot
Some porridge was too cold, some too hot
Beds too soft or too hard to sleep tight
Only one she found that felt just right

Mama, Papa, and Baby Bear were soon back on arrival
After a long day of fishing for their survival
What? Who had their nose in each of their bowls?
Gone was one porridge that to the brim was full

And who had sat in and broke one of the chairs?
It looked like a human by some strands of golden hair!
Hunters? Oh, no! Could they be on the prowl?
The bears sniffed around and started to growl

Baby Bear was the first to see
The little girl catching some Z's
"Oh, cool!" exclaimed little Baby Bear
"Can we keep her? Can she stay here?"

They all came upon Goldilocks all snug in bed
Papa Bear was now furious and began to see red
"And you call us animals!" he yelled loudly at her
"Who gives you the right?! Where are your manners?!"

Goldilocks woke up with an ear piercing shriek
Facing three hairy bears, she could not speak
Out the house she ran, far enough to see her home near
And that was the last that Goldilocks saw of those bears!

"She was just a scared, little girl", Mama Bear said to her spouse
"We could have stopped her and let her stay in our house!"
Papa Bear, disagreeing with her foolish trust,  swore
"**** it! I told you the last one out locks the door!!!"

"You begin feeding them...they are so clever
You'll never get rid of them. They stick around forever!"
Mama Bear refused to fight, for Papa Bear refused to bend
And that is all there is to the story. THE END!