When I walk alone and by myself
for a day or two or perhaps a minute,
nothing makes sense and everything does,
and I want to write without words
and love myself while hating me, too,
and prove to you the world is ours
or maybe just yours
when all is paved in pain
like some puzzle missing pieces vital.
But only when I walk alone.

When I have to be with you
for an entire day or a few minutes,
it all makes sense and it doesn't
and I want to talk in silence
and be your friend and maybe more
and prove virility while wrestling the lions
or just by simply holding you
when the tears fall from your eyes
like the blood from one thousand wounds
but only when I have to be with you.

I was not codding
dear old Boss
when I gave you the tip,
you'll hear about
Saucy Jacky's
work tomorrow
double event this time
number one squealed a bit
couldn't finish straight off.

ha not the time to get ears for police.

thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again.

Jack the Ripper
______
View the actual document here: http://www.casebook.org/images/coddingc.jpg

The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 2nd
______
With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/index.html

maybe you may or may not see me
if you think you see me anywhere,
i may soon no longer be around,
but i may be gone into the softly air;
and in the subtle shadows,
of the flutter of the coloured leaves,
you may or may not see me,
floating in the billowed branches breeze.

maybe you may or may not see me,
this insight i shall never know,
for my life, i feel now dims to darkness,
trembling like a tiny, weakened flaming glow;
and within these dwindling hours here,
you may see me, or this may not be so,
for i am not sure if i was really there,
but, i know that shortly i must go...
__

soon me:
http://beautyineverything.com/4974900160

the first thing i do
when i wake up
in the morning
is cry

the last thing i do
when i go to bed
at night
is cry

there are times
i do not count
anymore
during those times
in between
i cry

now i cry
and i no longer
no why
because there's
no reason
to cry
when there's
no
reason

she
is what she is meant to be,
she is the sensuality
of her femininity,
she
seeks beauty in all
she sees,
her essence is complex simplicity,
she
is contradictory,
she is all
that's satisfactory,
in her days
and in her dreams,
she
is lovely,
loving me,
she
is everything,
woman,
perfectly
a precious, priceless,
part of
me
that is
she.
_
Femininity
http://beautyineverything.com/4618419981

"io sol uno."
-Dante, Purgatorio

There I was,
the comic-tragic star of my own motion-picture,
bold beneath the springtime Italian sun hung high
--a heavenly fixture,
illuminating the gold-leaf enframed frescoes in
kaleidoscopes of colours,
baking dry the pigeon droppings upon the flagstones
they smothered,
where I, in all my self-serving recreation,
posed proudly in a costume of my own creation,
an operatic villain clad in a billowy blouse of black,
the Campanile Tower like a sentinel behind my back,
as movie cameras panned and zoomed,
paparazzi photographers capturing me
and freezing me,
in all my wicked, medieval glory,
floating and gloating in the dank aroma of the Venetian seas,
"I'm the shining star!
--Look at me, look at me!"*
-the super-special star I always knew I'd be,
a painted parody,
a harlequin of displaced passions
for all to laugh at and see,
before slipping silently
into the ornate basilica,
dim and dark as night,
thanking Mother Mary (for nothing) as I sparked
a votive candle's light,
not really sure or caring
where my life would lead,
just as long as the Azure Queen
shed Her Grace on me,
     me,
             me,

...until I fell
and fell
to the mockery of a home
I made in Hell,
hard and forever and fast,
the only fool left alone in my solo cast,
adrift with no direction,
****** and lost,
me and my frivolous theatre,
squandered an an extravagant cost.

___
"io sol uno" means, "I, myself, alone."

This poem is a true-life story.

__
See the Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy:
http://www.carfree.com/design/pix/sqlg110venice_piazza-san-marco.jpg

touch my hand,
touch my hand,
all day long (or
perhaps all night)
let me smell your sweet
perfume,
and i will not request
the taste of your
lips,
lady, oh, those lips
touch my hand...

with no one to talk to
and
no plan as to where i should go,
i fall into a listless,
waking slumber
and
feel covered up in cold.

Is this not what it's all about?
Waiting in the wings,
stretching, turning, churning,
anxious and adrenal,
living for the dream,
wishing for the dream,
being
the dream,
dancing on beams,
beneath the streams
of lights and fans,
arrayed like a bird
in tulle, crinoline, silk, satin and linen
white plumage,
acting only on command,
the music soft and flowing
their frail, slender figures
take to air,
arms and legs,
torsos tender,
slender necks,
wisps of downy hair,
melding colours,
sights and sounds,
the stage a pedestal of fate,
their beauty
captured
in gilded cages
for all to watch and see,
recaptured yet again,
by the artist on the easel'd window
of his canvas,
a maestro of sorts,
tapping his baton-brush,
coating the blankness with sweet
inspiration,
like angels heavenly
brought to earth,
serenaded by strings,
life from the blankness begins,
covers the void,
bejewels the mind's eye
and beckons the ballet
rehearsal to begin,
yet shall in oil paint now
and for all time
never cease to be...

"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see."
Edgar Degas

____
Inspired by the painting by Impressionist artist Edgar Degas,
The Rehearsal.
--to view the painting:
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/degas/ballet/degas.rehearsal.jpg

Hold your breath and close your eyes,
wish and dream with me, then sigh,
take my hands to your smiling face,
feel my loving fingers trace,
the very essence of your being,
those softly kisses worth repeating,
that from now on and ever after this,
we shall live our lives in loving bliss.

he fell asleep
and he woke up in a dream
nothing at all
seemed the way it seemed
he reached out for the bedroom door
falling upside-down upon the floor

he crawled and clawed along the ceiling tiles
cried with laughing inverted saddened smiles
then his breath drew quick
his fingers lost their grip
and falling he fell
awaking dead from the trip
beyond the door

now he dreams no dreams
no more

Indian summer has now arrived,
riding high on its blue-saddled sky,
of mixed coloured clouds of bold tie-dye,
bright, ripe days and crispy-clear nights,
reaching the ****** of the season's delight.

September soon will enter the room,
leaves will tremble at their impending doom,
lovers shall stroll down lanes two-by-two,
sharing softly whispers of "I love you."

this is all that's left
of me,
now plucked and wilting,
all alone,
dwindling silent agony.

me-
http://beautyineverything.com/4514571668

The Tao is infinite, eternal.
Why is it eternal?
It was never born;
thus it can never die.
Why is it infinite?
It has no desires for itself;
thus it is present for all beings.

The Master stays behind;
that is why she is ahead.
She is detached from all things;
that is why she is one with them.
Because she has let go of herself,
she is perfectly fulfilled.
_
"Lao Tzu is believed to have been a Chinese philosopher (a person who seeks to answer questions about humans and their place in the universe) and the accepted author of the  Tao te ching,  the main text of Taoist thought. He is considered the father of Chinese Taoism (a philosophy that advocates living a simple life).

Read more: Lao Tzu Biography - life, name, death, school, book, old, information, born, time http://www.notablebiographies.com/Ki-Lo/Lao-Tzu.html

i remember too many things
i should not,
things best left behind,
memories since best forgot.

i remember the things it seems,
things left in the wake,
of all my failed, unrealistic dreams,
all in all to forsake,
now I stand here alone without any schemes,
i now live in the lies i alone make.

i remember too many things,
and now i lay here in shame,
of neglected love and misfortune's slings.

i am the saddest man on earth.
my rock is mud,
my life has lost its worth.

i know i saw you weeping in the rain,
you flagged a ***** yellow taxi,
climbed in the back and sped away.

i know i saw you weeping in the rain,
in one sad eye and out the other,
and i never even knew your name.

___

visual imagery:
http://beautyineverything.com/4954403808

and waiting and everything
in everyway, and everyday,
and everynight, waiting
seems
like a movie playing on an IMAX screen
and I'm the character in every scene,
and it all looks so plastic, oddly idyllic,
a situation drastic, I live in,
feeling like a dream,
nothing seems solid, no gravity,
just me
alone but with people doing their rounds,
the only thing missing
are the clowns.
that like to juggle in your dreams,
but the scream,
are not monsters or ghosts,
just real live old people,
dying in streams,
and every minute taking me away,
and leaving no trace
just me erased,
for all intents and
purposes.,
lonely, awaiting and cursed.

_
can't wait for it to be over soon

A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
X
Y
and
...Z.

Now I know my A-B-C's,
...could you kindly
*******!

Love,
d

"On October 16th George Lusk, the president of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, received a three-inch-square cardboard box in his mail. Inside was half a human kidney preserved in wine, along with the following letter. Medical reports carried out by Dr. Openshaw found the kidney to be very similar to the one removed from Catherine Eddowes, though his findings were inconclusive either way. The letter read as follows:"

From hell.
Mr Lusk,
Sor
I send you half the Kidne
I took from one woman
and prasarved it for you
tother piece
I fried and ate
it was very nise.

I may send you
the ****** knif
that took it out
if you only wate a whil longer

signed
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk
_______
View the actual document here: http://www.casebook.org/images/lusksmall.jpg
The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 3rd
________
With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/index.html

In the sky tonight hangs a perfect Half-Moon,
when I looked up above, I thought about you,
in your paint-stained clothes and all your artwork, too,
memories of our friendship flourished and bloomed.

With your hands so hearty and your talents unbound,
I saw close up how you artistry astounds,
I remembered our fights, disagreements and tears,
but we always remained close friends over the years.

I sure miss our talks about art over wine,
snacking on crackers and cheese every time,
yet the thing I treasure most about you, my friend,
is the respect and love that will never end.
___

See Nolan's toilet here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Duchamp-new-contemporary-art.html

See Nolan in his paint-stained clothes here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Graffiti-MSK-nolan-painting.html

See all the amazing artwork of Nolan Haan here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/
__
The "Half-Moon Inn" is the historic building/art gallery I lived in that Nolan had restored with the help of his partner-at-arms, Mitchell.

Read my blog story for all the exciting details and breath-taking photos of The Half Moon Inn and it's lush, tropical gardens!
http://dee-light-full.blogspot.com/

The scene:
http://beautyineverything.com/5064159807

Here, in the meadow,
we as children,
(even me)
romp and frolic,
in happy dreams.

Care free, here,
all of us together,
jumping and playing
in the wildflowers,
weeds and sprigs of heather.

Ethereally, I ponder,
(the only way i can)
these sweetest of wishes,
these most daring of dreams,
here inside my heart of good-bye kisses.

It's all that's left,
(of me, you see)
just such brief snapshots,
of sweet wishes lost,
and daring dreams soon to be
forgot...

The Tao is like a well:
used but never used up.
It is like the eternal void:
filled with infinite possibilities.

It is hidden but always present.
I don't know who gave birth to it.
It is older than God.
__
"Lao Tzu is believed to have been a Chinese philosopher (a person who seeks to answer questions about humans and their place in the universe) and the accepted author of the  Tao te ching,  the main text of Taoist thought. He is considered the father of Chinese Taoism (a philosophy that advocates living a simple life).

Read more: Lao Tzu Biography - life, name, death, school, book, old, information, born, time http://www.notablebiographies.com/Ki-Lo/Lao-Tzu.html

Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-tao-2-when-people-see-some-things-as-beautiful/r/#ixzz11xNle0lV

the hardest part about
writing a poem about you
is that the words tend to
get into the way
of what i really want to
say to
you

The tao that can be told
is not the eternal Tao
The name that can be named
is not the eternal Name.

The unnamable is the eternally real.
Naming is the origin
of all particular things.

Free from desire, you realize the mystery.
Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations.

Yet mystery and manifestations
arise from the same source.
This source is called darkness.

Darkness within darkness.
The gateway to all understanding.

____
"Lao Tzu is believed to have been a Chinese philosopher (a person who seeks to answer questions about humans and their place in the universe) and the accepted author of the  Tao te ching,  the main text of Taoist thought. He is considered the father of Chinese Taoism (a philosophy that advocates living a simple life).

Read more: Lao Tzu Biography - life, name, death, school, book, old, information, born, time http://www.notablebiographies.com/Ki-Lo/Lao-Tzu.html

A bubble.

Form without void,
the time before time,
absolute inertia,
total resolution,
perfect harmony,
the bubble forming,
expanding,
like an explosion,
displacing,
creating,
The Birthing
of galaxies and stars,
planets in formation,
the universe
unfolding,
meteors crashing
into the atmosphere primitive,
amino acids
forming,
evolving inorganic
to organic,
microbes becoming
multi-cellular
--the race is on,
to and from
fishes,
amphibians,
reptiles,
birds,
animals,
primates
                  man,
consciousness and self-consciousness,
born and dying,
nothing meaning everything
time
and time again.

Awareness began,
both
with a bang
and a newborn baby's
cry.

The sisters:
http://beautyineverything.com/2185290505

There will be no rest tonight for you and me,
for soon we shall meet the Sisters three.

T'was on this very night back in 1969,
three sisters lived in this house of mine,
happy, healthy as such their youth would be,
until on a dark chilly night came great misery.

From beyond the closet door had there dwell,
a phantom beast from the rank depths of Hell,
how came it summoned, no one yet knows,
but, with a silent lurch and bellow it then arose.

The siblings stared with terror and disbelief,
whilst the creature tore away their linen sheets,
fell upon them in a monstrous screaming rage,
tore them limb from limb with its claws like blades.

The horror though had not yet reached an end,
for it tore their flesh and hung their hearts in offend
upon it's black ragged cloak-sleeve as a trophy grim,
then ****** and drew at their soul-sparks with a grin,
for to take their lives was not enough to sin in hate,
but it was to enslave their spirits, the goal to activate.

And now, where we together lay in wait,
here come the sisters three to date,
and with our implements of revision,
we shall attempt our exorcism.

Hark! Now from beyond our chamber door,
the sounds of the undead wail and roar,
and as they near the entrance-way,
we shall stand steady, fearless and not as prey.

(What will happen to our exorcists?--Anyone care to complete the saga?)

Rang 45 minutes ago for pain reliever.
nurse just came i and told me:
"Sorry, pharmacy says we're out."

and then walked away.

Yay, me.

When people see some things as beautiful,
other things become ugly.
When people see some things as good,
other things become bad.

Being and non-being create each other.
Difficult and easy support each other.
Long and short define each other.
High and low depend on each other.
Before and after follow each other.

Therefore the Master
acts without doing anything
and teaches without saying anything.
Things arise and she lets them come;
things disappear and she lets them go.
She has but doesn't possess,
acts but doesn't expect.
When her work is done, she forgets it.
That is why it lasts forever.
__
"Lao Tzu is believed to have been a Chinese philosopher (a person who seeks to answer questions about humans and their place in the universe) and the accepted author of the  Tao te ching,  the main text of Taoist thought. He is considered the father of Chinese Taoism (a philosophy that advocates living a simple life).

Read more: Lao Tzu Biography - life, name, death, school, book, old, information, born, time http://www.notablebiographies.com/Ki-Lo/Lao-Tzu.html

Although the actual authenticity of this poem's authorship is questionable, Jack The Ripper was credited with sending various taunts in verse to the police during his killing spree. The following poem is especially creative and chilling...very akin to the style and sound of The Ripper's literary exchange with the authorities.
______

(Transcription)

Eight little ******, with no hope of heaven,
Gladstone may save one, then there'll be seven.
Seven little ****** beggin for a shilling,
One stays in Henage Court, then there's a killing.
Six little ******, glad to be alive,
One sidles up to Jack, then there are five.
Four and ***** rhyme aright,
So do three and me,
I'll set the town alight
Ere there are two.
Two little ******, shivering with fright,
Seek a cosy doorway in the middle of the night.
Jack's knife flashes, then there's but one,
And the last one's the ripest for Jack's idea of fun.

__

The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. EPILOGUE. "for Jack's idea of fun."

__


With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/ripperletters/

on the certain special
ways of every single, bright new
day, i who with only
love left here for
you, something special certain, something
new and always here inside
me, my soul now sings from ear to
ear, i feel you holding on so
dear, to every certain special
kiss, our bodies mesh, i hear you
hiss as my mouth makes way
along your perfect, precious body's
song, where choirs anthem lull to
hush, our minds soar swiftly in the
rush of this our union 'neath the stars and
moon, where dancers dance where i feel you
swoon, yet i steady you in my
embrace, kiss, kiss pressing to your
face my lips across your glow-red
cheeks, where trails of tears begin to
streak, wrapped up in the embrace of a
need, your thighs, your sighs, you stoop to
feed upon my life with raging
fire, consumed by lust and love's
desire, trading shares of pounding
heat, when we as lovers, soul mates
meet, making two of what was
one, loving, laughing in the
sun, i plunge inside you with the
waves, your mossy sea-scent hunger
craves, crashing, foamy, bursting
sparks, erupting in the blue-black
dark, screaming out with dire
ecstasy, drives us to our buckling
knees, where leading to the breaking
day, the embers fade
but do not go
away...

On the streets of heat and movement
lie the evidence of pain,
she walks, he talks, the children run
throughout the burning rain.

I can smell the smoke of lifelessness
along the living death,
we talk, they walk, the sirens wail
today may rob our breath.

In the rooms of waste and apathy,
sit silent the insane,
she writes, he writes, the samll hand ticks
the hours fast away...

Where sparkles flash,
angels are known to dance,
in an ebony-pitch glistening diamond
Royal rose;
I dream the dreams so fleeting,
awakening, wondering,
when the day slides slowly from the
Sanctuary of Sleep's Sweet Kingdom,
where those eyes
flashed their finest Wine-
song forever in a glance that makes me
sigh,
makes me wish for Willow-weeps
beneath the crystalline tears of my breathless
yearning
left laying lonesome on my pillow.

Your eyes are like that.

Just gimme a call,
we'll do coffee
at that shop in the mall.

I have lotsa time,
minutes to spare,
my cellular plan is fine,
not that you really care.

Just gimme a ringie,
I downloaded a tone,
we can have some coffee-
beats sitting around all alone.

___
Coffee and cell:
http://beautyineverything.com/5063911283

falling with you to catch me,
i am Icarus.

wings of wax.

the man in the air of your dreams...

Like a lollipop,
LICK ME.
Like a lemon,
**** ME.
Like a balloon,
*******.
Like a banana...

the way we wish
it was
the way
it ought to be
but
fate has set us
on a course
of would haves
should have
been.

and for a moment
and for more than
moments
it all and everything
stopped
cold
dead in the tracks
of a memory
fleeting
whirling in the sounds
the echoes
and the sounds
of a warped
scream
or a song
or a laughing laugher
against the buffet
of the mind's wind
and the colour-rush
and the grainy
screen of inner views
gone
going, going
gone
forever
(in the blink of a mind's
eye)
going
gone
time escaped
and replaced
again
away it goes
and memory
bleeds
dry and sere
never returning burning
bridges
disappear and reappear
until the ashes
turn back into
coal.

(HORROR & FANTASY FICTION)

On a dark, damp night beside a country campfire,
tales of The Timberman are shared near the mire,
of Sadie's Swamp, where not so long ago,
The Timberman came and the death toll rose.

No one knows from whence The Timberman came,
but that it was on an October night in the rain,
with hate in his heart and a love of fear,
a taste for fresh flesh and a thirst for tears.

He comes brandishing an axe of the sharpest steel,
fells trees in his wake whilst seeking out his meals;
then stalking his way through the brush without stopping,
he seeks out his victims for his fatal chopping.

The Timberman's axe would arise and then fall,
shattering bone, splashing blood, flaying flesh and all,
hacking and striking to the shriek of their screams,
reveling in the flow of their blood-gore in streams.

Then, alas! -before the chase would begin,
there'd be nary a sound nor sight of him,
just the ****** remains of his brutal hunt:
hacked human bodies and scarred tree trunks.

You sit now
                        stranded,
moored to nothing,
          going nowhere,
your bilges dry,
your engines shut
down
and
         up
inside the salt-rusted
skin, pocked with rot,
where once you
sliced across
the water's top,
a vessel full
of
life,
bow and stern,
prop and anchor,
never
           ever
in your mindless
dreams believing
you would stop,
and
        no one
would even care-
no sailors,
no cargo,
no sunrises,
sunsets,
waves and beasts of the
                                               deep
to sound their fare-thee-wells,
no more those chimed
                 8 bells,
you,
now stopped,
docked
and
        alas,
forgot.
_
Derelict:
http://beautyineverything.com/5096209757

Satin-textured shamrock flower,
whose eyes chrome the seas
of the faded cushioned theatre seats,
with their sparkling, piercing power--
You,
saunter sprightly up and down,
lyrical laughter over-bounds,
in quick-timing
to the taste
of your Irish school-girl ways.

We take time enough to see,
those livid, lush-red cheeks,
(ripe, rose-blushed every time
as you savour sweet the wine)
that sanctifies
your softly senses,
sans pretenses,
whereon your wings of
wonder float and fly.

Scented, tactile spirit-showers,
all the joy we need,
as the stage-light's haunting beam,
Sheers the magic of this hour--
You,
lightly lift us off the ground,
set us oh, so softly down
upon those rhyming wisps of air
that caress your auburn hair.

Now, I, a poor poet,
upon this paper
play
pleasing poetics of your praise,
whilst the ink upon these lines,
dries far faster than the tears
falling
from my wistful, yearning eyes
in exaltation of
your Wings of Wonder Ways.

you are, you sing, a (rock) star,
but you are so much, much more,
you are, you are, who you are,
and who you are is someone adored,
by those who come to see you,
on the stage beneath the lights,
dancing, and laughing, really true,
sharing your all throughout the night!

For you are much more than a rock star,
you are YOU, bright, shining you,
with so many who love you for who you are,
you sing, you dance, you glimmer, yes, indeed you do!


-inspired by this video of Vera Wylde performing "So What" by Pink:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFIn84SLnY8&feature;=player_embedded

…don’t look at me
for I am afraid to smile
at that dancing gleam of life
washing over your everything eyes
while the wind brings the songs that
my empty heart sings
of feelings
long thought forgotten.

...and for with mine own
and simple hands,
i would pick for you
every tulip on the sod,
lay them at your feet
and beg my tears to stop...

i see your eyes
bright sparkle-flecks,
an illumination
a light
that would
ignite
the wee-small hour
plight
when my body
ached
my every sleeping hour
was a quake
of scattered
dreams
and memory schemes,
mixed up
and lost
in the tangle of an ache
that for some
amazing reason
could
only be soothed
by
you.

ummm, that's the poem.
what it says.

I wear a shamrock on my arm,
high up near my freckled shoulder,
it's been there since 1984,
from those days when I was bolder.

It's not so very fancy, my dear,
but it means so much to me,
for it takes me back to my Auld Eire,
that land I love of emerald green.
__

The sea is the land's edge also..."*
--T. S. Eliot

It's a sand-castle in morning tide
slowly constructed
for the first time; and the horizon
sea-blue, distinctly separated from sky-blue
with a razor fine-line
liquid running steadily
into time.

I saw a small boy, ankle deep
in steaming sand
building illusional dreams of
Kings and Queens and Knights
because he can
do anything he wants,
while dolphins dive and dance
in the sunrise crystal morning
with his tiny, growing hands...

And when the seagulls circle by,
above hearty, browning palm trees,
eating as they please,
the kiss of water hits the shore
invoking a magnificent mystery music
just before

I
realize as certain memories arise,
that beyond this circumstance
lies connectedness,
an ******, wavering consequence,
leaving me to forsake
alone
ness:

When I wander along this temporal shore,
flying, sometimes falling
through these storms:
like the sea I am in many ways
so sometimes slowly dying
without pain,
and in a certain collectiveness, she reaches
forth her foamy hand,
blistering my cheeks in colours crimson, sweet,
erasing that child's castle
in the sand.

hey, you
i love you
so
smile...

Dark:
http://beautyineverything.com/5059332377

Dark, her name is
Dark.
She
is bourne of the
pitch-black darkness,
the darkest parts
of the shadows,
the starkest parts of the heart,
is Dark.

She is here now, is Dark,
and now the horror will start.