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 Feb 2017 S E L
JR Rhine
I broke up with God
at our favorite eatery
in our favorite booth.

We settled into familiar creases
and asked for the usual.

My eyes lazily staring at fingers
stirring the straw around the ice cubes,
God cautiously spoke up:

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.” (Thinking about the dormant phone
concealing behind the lock screen
the open Facebook tab
lingering over the relationship status section.)

They silently mused over the laconic reply,
til the waitress showed up with the food.

“Thank you!” God blurted with agonizing alacrity.

I received the sustenance lifelessly
and aimlessly poked at the burgers and fries.

The waitress eyed me with vague inquisition,
popping a bubble in the gum between
big teeth, refilled my water
and pirouetted hastily.

We ate in ostensible harmony,
the silence gripping like a chokehold,
the visible anxiety and subdued resolve
settling like a stifling blanket
over the child waking
from a nightmare—

Til we couldn’t breathe,
and I ripped back the covers
and looked into the eyes
of my tormentor.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

God, taken aback by the curt statement,
dropped their burger with shaking hands,
silently begging with wetting eyes
a greater explanation.

So I elaborated:

“It’s not you, it’s me.

For your immaculate conception
was created by human hands,

your adages rendered obsolete
by human words,

your purpose and plan for us
distorted by human nature—

I cannot hate myself any longer.

I cannot pretend to know you at all.

Who my mother and father say you are
is not who my friends think you are,
nor my teachers, my pastor,
the president, Stephen Hawking,
Muhammed, the KKK, Buddha,
the Westboro Baptist Church,
Walt Whitman, Derek Zanetti,
******,
and Billy Graham.

I am told you care who I bring into bed (and when),
and what movies I watch,
and what music I listen to—

I have not heard what you say about
child soldiers, the use of mosquitos,
or the increased destruction of the earth
which you proudly proclaimed your creation,
or the poverty and disease and famine
which has ridden so many of your children—”

God interjected,
“But you’re chosen!”

I snorted,

“You say I’m chosen
to spend eternity with you—
why me?

Why’d you pick me among
thousands, millions, billions?

I’ve been told I’m ‘chosen’
since birth
by others like me—

those with fair complexion,
blue eyes,
blonde hair,
a firm overt ****** attraction towards women,
and a great big house
with immaculate white fences
delineating their Jericho.

I’ve already fabricated eternity
here among the other ‘chosen’
and there is a world of suffering
right outside the fence
and I see them
through the window of my bedroom
every day.

Am I chosen,
if I don’t vote Republican

Am I chosen
if I am Pro-Choice

Am I chosen
if I cohabitate with my girlfriend

Am I chosen
if I never have kids

Am I chosen
if I say ‘Happy Holidays’

Am I chosen
if I don’t want public prayer in schools

Am I chosen
if I don’t want a Christian nation

Am I chosen
if I don’t repost you on my wall
or retweet your adages?

I’m tired
being the ubermensch,
for it has not brought me
happiness
and I blame you.

I will not ignore
the cries of the suffering
believing it is I
who is destined to live
in bliss.

I will not buy
Joel Osteen’s autobiography(ies).

I will not tithe
you my money
for a megachurch
when another homeless shelter
closes down.

I will not tell a woman
what to do with her body,
or a man
that he is a man
if they say they are not.

I am neither Jew nor Gentile,
and I will stand with
my brothers and sisters
of Faith and Faithlessness,

Gay and Straight,
Black and White,

and apart from these extremes
free from absolutes
the ambiguous, amorphous
nature of Humankind
which I praise.

There is much pain and suffering
in this world,
potentially preventable,
but hardly can I believe
it’s part of your plan
to save
me.

I will not be saved
if we are not
all saved—

not one will burn
for my divinity.

The gates will be open to all—
and perhaps you believe that too,
but I’ve gotten you all wrong
and that cannot change,
as long as there is
mortality, and
corruption, and
power, and
lust, and
greed.”

God whined, growing bellicose,

“It is through me that you will find eternity,
I am the one true god!
I am the God of your fallen ancestors,
it is because you have fallen short
that you need me!”

I replied, growing in confidence,

“We have all fallen short,
yes,
but we are also magnificent.

We have evolved,
we have created,
we have adapted,
we have survived.

We have built empires,
and we have destroyed them.

We have cured diseases,
and we have created them.

We have done much in your name.
We’ve done good,
and we’ve done evil—

And unfortunately it’s all about
who you ask.

Your name is a burden on the oppressed
and a weapon of the oppressor.

You are abusive, God.

You tell me you are jealous.

You tell me apart from you I will suffer for an eternity.

I’m scared to die, yet want to die,
because of you.

You have made life a waiting room
that is now my purgatory. It is

Hell On Earth.

So you see,
it’s not you,
it’s me—
a mere mortal
who has tried to put a face
to eternity
and it has left me
empty.

And also,
it’s me,
for I have learned to love me,
as I have expelled your self-loathing imbibition,
and the deleterious zeal
I have proclaimed
through ceaseless
trepidation
and self-flagellation—

I have learned to love me
by realizing I am not inherently evil,
that my body is not evil,
that my mind is not evil,
and, ultimately, that
there is no good
and there is no evil.

My body is beautiful,
my mind is beautiful,
this world is beautiful,
and we are destroying it
waiting for you to claim
us.

I leave you
in hopes to see you
again one day,

and perhaps you will look
different than I have
perceived or imagined,

and in fact
I certainly hope so.”

Just then the waitress strolled back up
with a servile smile:
“Dessert?”

“No, thank you,”
I smiled politely.

And with that,
I paid the check,
and took a to-go box—

walked out into the evening rain
to my car,
put on a secular song
that meant something real to me
and drove off
into the night—

feeling for the first time
free
and alive.
 Sep 2016 S E L
Phillip Knight
The lighter breath of air
Sends shivers through the spine of weeping willows
As dragonflies flirt with kindle crackle
I sit somewhere under the arch of Orion
Surveying all that is mine
Blink one, on
Blink one, off.
It is lonely in the dark
Yet, here in the solitary freedom
I freely think of her
So I may be lonely;
Though I am not alone

There is a civilised glow to the horizon
As I shrink with the Jetstream of those little lights
Blink one on, blink one off
Blink two on, blink two off
I am my own trail of smoke
En route from the burning tip of a slowly decaying cigarette
How the paper wrap burns under a heavy breath
Conceding to my need of escape
Dancing in rings around the wisp of haunted words and subtle strings

I find hope in the sky that looks upon us both
Lowering clouding allowing me inside its gentle comfort
Carrying me north,
With the distant sound of memories converging as a guidance runway,
Blink one on, Blink one off
Blink two on, Blink two off

Home, within sleep, within the air
You draw breath and take me in
The seagulls are silent in honour of your first sleep
As life assimilates dream
The brain picks into memory
Extracting the clouds, leaving stars
The belt of the archer as secret camouflage of the world around.
We are dandelions, free from anchors
Sailing through the tips of reeds and listening to their silent hum in the breeze
We sail on swan back and climb interconnecting necks
They shadow a symbol of love upon the rippling stream

in moment of lift
Together into air
Over bramble and bush, teasing with the bark of trees,
Escaping greedy fingers that wish to pull us apart
Balance on branches and rest
Somewhere in the sky.

There we stay
Between the moon beams and starlight twinkle
Sleeping softly together in the arms of an archer
Blink one on, Blink two on
Here we fail to fade
Our own pollen rejuvenating us into a million lifetimes
Forever starting and ending with each other
We are the centre of calm
Sleeping softly together
Under the same sky
Above the same earth
In the blink of an eye
Blink one, blink two
You and I
 Aug 2016 S E L
Butch Decatoria
To the classic cliche'
which says to
"walk a mile in someone else's shoes"
for empathy to understand

should the mouth mean nothing

rather we are already
understood
what was between an open hand
and what is good...?

(this can only be something
from nothing, i witness you)

Yet I could never presume to know someone
other than myself, even tho'
I am who I am,
discovering
The more I like
who it is - I am
Now
          when I am
As I am.
Even then.
So...

Why walk alone?
(a mile for who?)

I would rather walk alongside you

Bridge the distance between us
along the way gain trust
                         "Hey, I dig your shoes"
politely mean what you say
                         "Please and Thank you's"
Besides,
I meant to go
in this direction, any way...

&
Of course,
You are as welcome in your steps
moving forward

And if I am welcome as your guest
I will be moved
to have known reward
all the miles with you.

Still, I must confess, I just can not
presume to
know all or nothing
          
All about that, there
you...
But what I do know now
getting to know you more
somehow

When there is no wall
or hate between us
no fear or threats of war

I will wish you peace

At the end
tales of shooting stars

thru' sickness in our wealth,
the pleasant truths are moot

with you
I am more comfortable

walking in my own shoes...
beside
the one who is true
Forever
And Always
on my mind...


@@@

Cliche' you are welcome to stay
and have some rest
since cliche's your name and it means "tired"
I should know I walked
alongside you - little bird on a wire...


I'll have the pleasure
of such company, deign in, but
truth be fair,
weathers we have suffered
still together, mon ami
do declare - the weight of your baggage
because we band as brothers (drafted)
Of other mothers
Milk nostalgia...

I will prepare and always
bother
to care ...
all for the other.

Stay and walk
                  with me...*
Beside
The lonely waters...
08282016 edit: 10182016
It was with ice cold winds
that blew across their cheeks
that their bodies found the warmth in each other
to ignore the painful prickles
of goose bumps they felt
not knowing if it was because of the crispy air
or the touch of warmth
their hands imprinted on each other...

it was a night filled with hope, and stars and laughter
dark , yet filled with light...
on the trampoline in my backyard...
that was where it happened...

I was trying my way with the boy
that sat across from me...
they made it easy because they left us...
there on that trampoline they were lost somewhere deep in each others eyes
as I struggled to  maintain sane , alone, with that boy

I was growing jealous of their blossoming love
how fast did it grow to reach the height,
the height my heart has been struggling to achieve in years...
but I was happy... for them
they were happy...
they were...

then as if the cosmos played a little prank
on my little friends heart...
like the tower of babel...
their love reached the height where it crumbled,
and fell apart...
and those who built it was left
strangers,
nothing but mere foreigners...
one was headed to sunny Florida,
he was okay...
the other one... my friend,
was headed to Linfen
without a way of communicating his pain
his loss
his ... love

today we sit and converse about the hope that may still remain
the revenge we may still take on the ruthless foreigner from Florida
and the other boy on the trampoline...
hoping that maybe...
if they ever decide to build a love of their own...
it will be corrupted by the pain they have caused,
from their pasts.

and we hope
Linfen – a city with no sunlight

The inhabitants of the Chinese industrial city of Linfen lead a dreadful life. This city is so covered with dust that it is always dark. The sun can not get through the thick layer of dust which creates 50 million of carbon a year. However, like in the case of Port Moresby, people live there because there have no other place to find a proper job. But each one of them hopes that in one moment they will manage to jump out from the darkness and start a normal life somewhere else.
Pictures on the Cave Wall





I look for the humility and pride I want in doubt

When I can only look there.

I close my eyes. Help me pray like a man. Not like a fool.

Accept my doubt and my self-conscious blessings and



My rote mumbled grace. Give me a chance.
I know  I can be good.

Plato saw shadows on the cave wall. They said something somewhere else is pure.
I saw bright painted animals. I will go with the hunters and their dogs.

I want a fire and food and love and

I want to hear the love story again,
Or the friend story:



I’m 17, back in the boys’ bathroom at high school, punching and kicking

Andrew Fane, who hit Colleen so hard and often.  I didn’t know.

She was my friend.

For months I didn’t know. How stupid. He humiliated Colleen, she crawled,

She was my friend and that is more than a saint for me.


  
She was  my friend and this is more than a saint for me and for many like me.
Save me from the coarse things all men are offered.


I will do the right thing.

Help me guess the right thing.

​Paul Anthony Hutchinson
pahutchinson@icloud.com
www.pahutchinson.com
Copyright­ Paul Anthony Hutchinson
 Feb 2016 S E L
a wildfire
/
 Feb 2016 S E L
a wildfire
/
i have loved you in silence.
laying my hands on you in a quiet place.
my fingers tracing over your wrists.

maybe this is who i am.
never filled up. never whole.
 Jan 2015 S E L
irinia
"De mi-ai face tu inima punte, sa te intampin mereu."*

here, distracted by seagulls
I have dreams interrupted by gravity
you are painting the moon in my hair
I would like to open my eyes
to say something
but I am already taken to you in all languages
between the lines only empty spaces
I still haven't figured it out
why you split the page in two
don't want to hear the dying time
you are painting my red red heart
naked
I want to kiss your fingers,
your tired shoulders
in solid mornings
the way you stepped/screamed/exploded inside
my skin your umbrella against the void
they cannot convince me of anything
the night cannot erase
the freedom of light
in Turner's eye

somewhere beyond the hip of night
I'm waiting for something by the sea
but what it is
it's a mystery carried by seagulls
so far away
that far away
from me
 Dec 2014 S E L
Kevin Eli
Somniloquy
 Dec 2014 S E L
Kevin Eli
I've been talking in my sleep
Counting numbers, using sheep

My thoughts unwound
A soft and whispered sound
Tell me what or where I found
This yell which shook the ground

I've been talking in my sleep
Explain to me these things I speak

At the bottom of a well
Leaning on a window sill
Rowing a small boat in a swell
Lord, show them my heaven and hell

I've been talking in my sleep
Tell me what I said to you from underneath
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