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 Aug 2021
Oh God
If there is a God
Oh God if there isn't

Oh God if my heart was broke
Oh God if it wasn’t

Oh God when the weather’s cold
Oh God if it’s hot

Oh God
If you're listening to me
Oh God if your not.
 Apr 2021
Terry O'Leary
Like God amassing gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh,
vain potentates, possessed by pride that riches will confer,
depleted pillaged villages in pagan days of old…
With ******* privileges, their fortunes were foretold.

In feudal times, chaste clerics, cloaked, wrapped rings around the mind
with hymns of magic, mystic myths and figurines enshrined,
while blessing bayonet-like blades that mutilate and maim…
With ******* privileges, believers bore no blame.

In search of caramel colonies, some sailors set their sails
to conquer puppet provinces, for sovereignty prevails,
purloining wicked treasure troves which others claimed their own…
With ******* privileges, such sins sustained the throne.

Well, nowadays the quest proceeds, this time for ebon oil,
so peoples once again are caught within the serpent’s coil
and, pierced by fangs of greed and lust, death yields benign escape…
With ******* privileges, you’re free to rip and ****.

We wave the flags and beat the drums and often kneel to pray
to glorify our victories, bold, that happen far away;
but none salute the severed souls impaled upon a pike…
With ******* privileges, the riffraff look alike.

One day the moguls won’t agree on how to slice the pie;
they’ll spit and spat and, ***-for-tat, atomic barbs will fly -
but when the button’s finally pressed, they too will grace the heap…
With ******* privileges, the hole that’s hewn is deep.
Just a few lines for my mate M.'s amusement and diversion  
; - )
 Nov 2018
When this madness first set in
It only made sense
To search out a good diagnostician
Trustingly sharing my story
With strangers with degrees
Quickly realizing no clinician  
Could fix what's alien me

I search for someone wise and trained
Instead I found myself slowly drowning
In a system of judgmental rain  
My very heart and soul an open subject
Sharing my uncommon delusions
Over and over explaining
My poetic conclusions

Yet those who have never ever lived a rhyme
Are prone to leave the unexplained behind
Who simply label you from a book
Quickly stop reading and give you that look
A book of broken soul’s
They write ya a prescription and send ya home
Traveler Tim
(Honestly don't remember writing this)
 Aug 2018
Wk kortas
There is, one supposes, a certain nobility
In simply carrying on with the whole **** thing,
Though that assumes some epiphany,
Some clawing toward grace, or at least common decency.
He had, in some once upon a time,
Cast his lot with a better class of people, so to speak;
It had not ended well, though,
In line with how such things are resolved,
His fall not a spectacular, tempestuous thing,
But a gradual, veiled affair, not a fiery spectacle
With metaphorical medals cut away, epaulets stripped,
But a shaded silence, a shrouded yet palpable shunning.

And so he is here, in this fading little city
Perched forlornly on the banks of a nondescript little river,
Having taken an apartment above a pair of offices
(One occupied by a seemingly ancient and disinterested lawyer,
The other by an ostensible private investigator)
Which is sufficiently large and reasonably warm
Come the seemingly perpetual winter.
He lives, if not in such a manner
As he was once accustomed to, comfortably enough:
He has his practice, and an adjunct position
At the little cow college down the road in Alfred,
And there are the occasional women,
Sad divorcees marooned in this hill country,
Dewy-eyed undergraduates unable to discern
Suit coats that are a bit shabby and somewhat passe
(There is a haberdasher in Buffalo whose garments
Are in the neighborhood of up-to-*****,
And he could certainly manage a trip
Down to New York for better tailoring,
Though he would be traveling in places and circles
Where he is not remembered fondly.)
Stepping outside, he encounter snowflakes,
Light and unprepossessing,
But he studies the sky anxiously, apprehensively
(One learns that he must pay Nature its due fealty in these climes,
And give into the primal, the instinctual)
For he knows what can transpire
When the wind blows off the big lake out west just so,
Turning innocuous flurries into a malevolent blankness,
Making the landscape inscrutable, alien, utterly terrifying.
**** Diver was the male protagonist in Fitzgerald's final completed novel, Tender Is The Night.  Not unlike his progenitor, his landing was not a particularly soft one
 Jul 2018
Mike Adam
Shattered the

And conjoined

Once more

Universal flow

Of rain

+the strange
Movement of

And nebulae


 Jul 2018
When your mind is shattered
Your eyes are blinded
There is pain everywhere
you go
Don't give up and
Don't give in

When the wheel of fortune
is stuck at 6
No hope remains
Don't give up
Don't give in
Noon will be coming around

When loneliness is
your only friend
it keeps calling you names
Don't give up
Don't give in

There are times
when life is
ablaze with horrors
Don't give up
and Don't give in

Those that survive
are those that find meaning
those that passively
take to their bed
are bound
Don't give up
Don't give in

When the law's
got your name
and no payment can be
you have to go
along with their plans
that have been laid,
Inside, where you hide
Don't give up and
Don't give in.

Time only stops
Don't give up
Don't give in.
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