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you don’t remember the war do you?



no, my mother told me.



she said that they visited port sunlight,

soap works, not the lady

lever gallery.



she  remembered vividly being presented with a

small trifle dessert fitted into a paper case with

pleatings round the edge.



i would have prefered soap.



someone else remarked that her friend had a bad

left leg, which is not required whilst playing golf.



an extra ordinary morning.



i dislike trifle, i always have.



sbm.
is it crazier that i talk to myself
or that i listen
or that the message gets lost
between source and destination
i have my eyes wide
twenty twenty vision
a blind man
in a black cave
crawling toward the precipice
of all of his previous bad decisions
corner pocket
 Jun 2017 mikecccc
Bob B
C. B. was a son of a B!
Did anybody really like him?
Most of the people he encountered
Usually found more reasons to strike him.

In school the kids called him a bully.
Bully he was, and bully he did.
He derived inordinate pleasure
Tormenting any vulnerable kid.

His schoolyard behavior was no better
Than his disruptive behavior in class.
In fact, most teachers would call him
An incorrigible pain in the ***.

In high school he was just as aggressive.
His reputation was firmly upheld.
Holding a freshman's head in the toilet
Finally got the bully expelled.

How he earned money. Well, that was
A real mystery--through and through.
Not surprisingly his motto
Was "***** them before they ***** you."

What his girlfriend saw in him
Was truly anybody's guess.
Aware of his fractious personality,
The woman married him nevertheless.

People made bets on how long the couple
Could last in a stormy marriage from hell.
After the wife had had enough,
She packed up the kids and said farewell.

C. B. remained estranged
From both of his kids for the rest of his life.
Some woman out there was very lucky
For he never found another wife.

Money. That was all that mattered.
People? Employees? They were dispensable.
His dog was even afraid of him
And sensed that he was reprehensible.

He bought a number of businesses.
How they lasted was a surprise.
Frankly, most people suspected
Secret Mexican Mafia ties.

One day C. B.'s lifeless body
Was found in his driveway. The coroner said
A heart attack was the cause;
But some suspected foul play instead.

A gravestone reads: "Here lies C. B.
When life was hard, he would persist.
Survived by two loving children,
The doting father will be missed."

Whoever wrote that epitaph?
You wonder: what did he or she owe him?
The author of those unfounded words
Obviously didn't know him.

Oddly the deaths of louses and scoundrels
Are so hard to identify,
For based on gravestones and the obits,
It seems that only good people die.

- by Bob B (6-27-17)
 Jun 2017 mikecccc
Gidgette
I keep my wish list
Upon my wrist
But they don't care for that

I keep my dreams
In makeup creams
They said to try that

They said live a fake life
Be a good little wife
I left, and died my hair black

I walk looking down
In vintage whisky I drown
And I'm ok with that

They said to "fake a smile"
Wear My pain with style
I'm no good at that

I try and cover my wish list
Written in scars upon my wrist
With the dreams, silent screams
Makeup creams
I'm not ok with that....
I miss you all. Please forgive my boldness here. Sometimes, I just have to SCREAM. The only way I know how. Much love to you all.
 Jun 2017 mikecccc
Traveler
SILENCE
 Jun 2017 mikecccc
Traveler
Giants in the land
A hint of the blood
Of an Englishman
Footprints on
The battle grounds
Death and destruction
Make another round
An eye for a blind eye
No one gets out alive
News at four
And more at five
How can our
Morals survive
Feeding a war machine
With innocent
Lives
Our silence
Lights up the night!


.....
Traveler Tim
I crawl into bed, naked,
Leaving no excuse to leave.
My body melts into the sheets,
Every limb relaxing,
Every part of me letting go,
Except for my mind.
It races and demands my attention,
Like a child incessantly tugging at my sleeve.
I turn over and pull the blanket up.
Warmth envelopes my fears,
Engulfes my cares.
Still, my stubborn brain carries on.
I fight back with vivid fantasies of closing my heavy eyes.
A fight that I win, at least for tonight.
Goodnight body, goodnight mind.
Tomorrow is another day.
One, who can point a finger at One's Self,
shall find sources of many problems,
and many plausible genuine solutions,
quicker and more often than any who cannot.
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