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I've walked your floor

sat beside you in candlelight
looking at photos
scattered across the floor.

you remembering names
and people and prayers
I had long forgotten.

you are the dancer
who glides this loner
through sorrows and the stars,
across the mist of moments
most treasured

where in the stillness between kisses
promises are kept
and the warmth of your hand on my cheek
felt in places to real to touch.

your love asks for nothing
and when you smile your quiet gift to me

tender one, every breath I take is loving you.
<>
"for the vanity of man is as porous as dust...and, in their supreme wisdom, because of this failing, the Gods have decreed, that mankind deserveth no more, no less than his designated allotment of being.
And such it shall be."
writ by
The Marshal Gebbie
June 2023
<>
rise up, rise up,
son up, sun up!
see for yourself a newly birthing day,
the early rays licking the unlocking of a grinning earth's face,
humbling humans and their perpetuity e~mo/notions of eternity.
how are the daily~we, to measure ourselves, versus our ancestry,
by whom shall we~be set forth as examples to our posterity
what tools we fools think, we possess, an etch~a~sketch,
to imprint of who we are,
what we were, and
who we might become, and
be  beauty becoming,
marking our time with ensigns of
words of integers in some giant network
authored, offered, up unashamedly

and even though the sun
does not always greet & meet
the discombobulated human riffraff
every diurnal,
daily identical,
when it shines,
it shines for us all
in an equality of glorious,
it shines upon us all in equality,
it, great equalizer, who restores and
replenishes our colored planets blue green,
a methodology of air, soil and water interactively,
for we are all chemicals, forever effervescent rebirthing

and so it goes.
our cells, are a
rare earth depository,
we plant ourselves
eternally, fed by
foodstuffs of
our ancestors cells,
their brewed ***** dust,
and thus each of us singly
is thus remembered, reconstructed
as are we, both, individually and collectively,
from dust we are, to dust we return, this matériel future prepped


postscript

We Hebrews have a knowingly foolish,
a most beauteous custom, gifted to us by
our forefather Jacob, who when espying a
solitary grave by the road, a nameless marker of
piled-on stones, marking an unknown person last remains,
added one more, add-on to ensure this nameless one yet remembered,
so we too do not pass by without adding a stone, a tiny pebble,
we encumbered, to solidify, perpetuate, renew, ever sustaining,
cannot pass by without adding another rock,
another pebble, that time will surely shift,
but as long we follow this custom,
spiting time's erosive nature and until today,
yet the same, for at a cemetery, every grave,
all marker, ego big, humbled small, topped,
festooned, with small stones, we top them
signaling that this, very spot here, here!
for now, until for ever
shall never
be forgot

<.
and so this peculiar, deteriorating canister places
one more smoothed handy beach pebble, upon
this, his unmarked resting spot
nml
<>
Monday morning
7:10am
an august, August dream day
specified as the 11th day of this
eighth month in one particular
calendric methodology
and as the
17th of Av 5785
in his ancestral calendar
sJews place stones on grave markers as a long-standing tradition symbolizing remembrance and respect for the deceased. It's a way to show that the person hasn't been forgotten and that someone has visited their final resting place. Unlike flowers, which are temporary, stones are seen as enduring, representing the everlasting nature of memory
Historical Roots:
The practice may have roots in ancient times when graves were marked with piles of stones
I’ve got a bee in my bonnet
you’d best step back.
I’ve got a bee in my bonnet
and it won’t take your crap.
I’ve got a bee in my bonnet
it’s tuning up to sing.
I’ve got a bee in my bonnet
and it’s ready to sting.

This bee is sick of it
no value for money,
each bite costs more
but fills less of the tummy.
Every shelf’s a con,
every packet’s a cheat,
cutting corners,
stealing meat from the meat.

What kind of world
puts profit before need?
Where greed is the harvest,
and we’re just the seed.

Look at you
corporate swine.
You’ve turned the good wine sour,
poisoned the bread,
and smiled as we choke
on the lies you’ve fed by the hour.

You wrap it in glossy packaging
that costs more than what’s inside.
You sell us a promise,
but truth? That you hide.

If you could slip in poison
to save a good buck
you’d do it,
grinning,
and push your **** luck.
Then feign surprise
“Oh, we didn’t know!”
while your profits rise
from the puppet show.

It’s like your “medicine” that heals
but maims.
“Take this pill for your headache,” you say,
“but it may cause blindness,
baldness,
or death someday.
Insomnia, itching,
your manhood might quit
but hey, the headache’s gone,
so that’s worth it, isn’t it?”

If the law didn’t chain you,
you’d hide those side effects too
crammed in fine print,
folded so tight
the font itself would fight your sight as it already do.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I’m the bee today.
And I’m here to say
there’s no love in your work,
just poison in the play.

You know the harm,
but keep your mouth shut,
while stockholders
pocket the cut.

It’s daylight robbery
clear as glass to the blind.
Greed in broad daylight,
looting humankind.

So
when do we say, Enough is Enough?
When do we rise from the grind,
and tell you we’re tired of bluff
of bleeding our wages
for trash in a package,
for lies in a label,
for crumbs on a table?

No, Mr. Corporate *****
we’re not your game.
And if you still have a conscience,
you should learn the word shame.
11 August 2025
Bee in My Bonnet – The Sting
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin
How distant do you feel from our ideal life,
and how hard are you willing to go, to get there?
You’ve got to pull a big swing sometimes, to get there, you know?
You’ll flourish in the aftermath.
What I’m carrying is joy.

Notes for an American student in Paris..

Be less intense
tone it down
pullback.

Enough scrappiness, hustle,
and intensity on repeat.

Sure, honesty is sanity,
but give them a better version
some ‘church girl’ energy, maybe.
win ‘em with winsome


Don’t welcome them, immediately, into your tense, inner world.
.
.
Songs for this:
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Nothing Breaks Like a Heart (feat. Miley Cyrus) by Mark Ronson
Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution) by The Bangles
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/08/25:
Winsome : cheerful, pleasant, and appealing.
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