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Matt Jursin Nov 2009
Backed in.
Upside-down yet right-side-up.
My "Days Off" are never enough.
Backed in. Feelin rough.
Being alone in my quiet place is often tough.

My mind wanders, getting lost.
Missin out on bein about.
Locked up on a cold, cloudy, winter day.
No doubt.
No trust, no love, nothing to clutch...
I hold my blanket and pout.
Loudly.
No friends wander in and out.

Undoubtedly this pen holds no cure for a broken spirit and a broken heart.
I guess this just falls under "Vague Art".
But it's a new start...to an old art.
I should've known this'd be harder than being a martyr.

Underestimating the already underestimated.
It's my time to shine.
Mesmerized by the bright light.
I try not to fight it...this paper, My Shrine.
Im an ugly person with a handsome mind, intertwined with the devine.
My life, MY throw, MY time.
It's never this easy to draw strait lines...-----------------------
DJ Thomas Dec 2010

Bride of the desert
the indomitable town
Solomon’s Kingdom

            
Lost in history, I wander through a city that was fortified by King Solomon, raided by Mark Antony and ruled by Queen Zenobia who made it the capital of an empire, only to be captured herself and paraded through Rome in gold chains.

Civilisation upon civilisation are entombed within Tadmur; in a huge plain of carved stone blocks, massive columns arched in rows or standing alone, a Romanesque theatre, senate and baths, dominated by a great temple whose origin dates back four thousand years.

Due to a clever mistranslation from Arabic by the euro-centric traveller who ‘discovered’ Palmyra, the city also has a modern name.

Here for millennia, a tribe of Bedu have camped within the folds of these desert steppes and blackened Tadmur’s ruins with their camp fires, to trade camels or herd goats and sheep. Walking the divide between city, desert and the more fertile steppes, I search for their surviving descendants and find a black woven goat’s hair tent with its edges raised to capture a cooling breeze.

Hamed and his sons, huge and wary of foreigners, welcome me to sit within on  carpets and then graciously serve dates with innumerable small glasses of tea. I indicate ‘enough’ in the traditional manner by rolling my right hand and the empty glass. Hamed continues to voice his concerns about the lack of feed for their sheep and the prices achieved at market. I readily succumb to several small cups of greenish Arabic coffee, before being allowed to take my leave.

For millennia the wealth of this city was based on tariffs levied on goods flowing out of the desert aboard swaying camel caravans. Today, these once proudly fierce tribal Bedu no longer breed, train or ride camels.

The Bedu greatly prize their reputation and the respect of their peers. Their traditions are the foundation of these small tribal communities and may predate Islam;  a life now undermined by borders, nationalism, government settlement plans, conscription, war, television and tourism.
                                         *+     +     +      +      +

Black torn empty shells
swept by Mount Lebanon’s shade
Cannabis Valley

As I recall a haiku of ‘images’ of  my very first journey to Damascus, from war-torn Beirut through the lushness of the Bekaa;

in the here and now
a dark suit and Mercedes
cross the Euphrates

Defence Minister, Rifaat al-Assad is in town with his fifty thousand strong Defence Companies, complete with tanks, planes and helicopters.  A coup d’état is in progress to assure Rifaat’s succession to the Presidency of his older brother Hafiz al-Assad, now recovering from a heart attack.

Last year, Rifaat massacred some forty thousand Syrian citizens when he ordered the shelling of the city of Hama. Nobody in Damascus will be underestimating him.

All political and military power is in the hands of the al-Assads and key generals, who command the military and police. The majority of whom are of the Alawite minority Muslim faith from the rural districts near Latakia in the North. Before their revolution, governments came and went in weeks.

My friend Elias is allied to Rifaat’s cause, by simply doing business with the son. Now he and his family share the risks and dangers of this coup failing and stand to lose a fortune. Monies paid locally in Syrian pounds for goods delivered to government agencies.

Elias’s connection with Rifaat and Latakia, as well as his confident presence, humour and love of life, still allows us easy access to the Generals’ Club. Sadly, there is to be no table and floorshow, but a closed meeting with two senior Generals, where we learn that Hafiz has recovered enough to take charge and is now locked in discussions with his younger brother.

The decision is therefore made for us. We say our goodbyes and drive to Latakia.

On Sunday Elias meets his brothers, then with his family, we visit his parents small holding and enjoy a meal together. A wonderful fresh mezza that includes my favourite, courgettes stuffed with ground lamb and rice, in a yogurt sauce. Syrian food is amazingly healthy and my cuisine of choice.

It is a cloudless Monday morning, as I, Elias, his wife and children drive into the docks to board an old 46 foot motor cruiser. Huge cases are stowed as I make my inspection, then start the twin diesels and switch on the over-the-horizon radar. Our early departure is critical. We cast off and the Mate steers for the harbour entrance below the cliffs that guard it. As the Mediterranean lifts our bow in greeting, the disembodied voice of the Harbour Master tells us to return as we do not have permission to sail.

Ignoring the order, I increase our speed through the short choppy surf. We are sailing under the Greek Cypriot flag and in an hour I hope to be out of territorial waters.  At 14 knots we are a slow target.

Fifteen nautical miles from the coast of Syria, I leave the mate to follow a bearing for Larnaca. Elias has opened a bottle of Black Label. I quaff a glassful.

Later noticing a noisy vibration and diagnosing a bent prop shaft, I shut down the starboard engine. Our speed is now a steady 8 knots, so I decide on a new heading to discern more quickly the shadow of the Cypriot coastline on the radar screen.

Midway, the mate and Elias begin babbling about a small vessel ahead and four separate armoured boxes encircling it. Ugly Israeli high speed gun boats or worse, Lebanese pirates. Should they board us and find stowed riches, we will be killed.

Leaving the Mate to maintain our course, I go on deck to play the ‘European Owner’.  The vessel they have trapped is long and lean with three tall outboard motors but no crew are in sight.  Leaving them astern, our choice of vessel now fully exonerated, I and Elias throw another whisky ‘down the hatch’.

With us holding the correct bearing, I ask Elias to wake me as soon as we near Cyprus. Feeling utterly exhausted I collapse into a bunk.  

I wake unbidden, to find the Mate steering for the harbour entrance. Shouldering him aside, I spin the wheel to bring the vessel about. Shaking, I ask them why there are minarets on the ‘church’ and did they not notice our being observed from the top of the harbour's hillock, below which a fast patrol boat is anchored?  The Mate sprints to the Greek Cypriot flag and is hugging it to his chest; Elias wisely prays.

I command the wheel as we motor directly away from the port of Famagusta and Turkish held Northern Cyprus. We later change bearing and pass tourist beaches, it is night fall before we moor-up in Larnaca.
                                         +     +     +      +      +


Later that same year I am called to a last urgent meeting in Cyprus with Elias. He calmly tells me that he will be arrested when he rejoins his family, who have returned to Syria. Elias asks me to take full control of his Cypriot Businesses, then returns home and ‘disappears’ with his brothers.
                                         +     +     +      +      +


Since sacking the two Arab General Managers when they tried to get control of the bank accounts, it has taken more than six months to locate the prison holding all the brothers. We obtain the release of all except Elias, who has been tortured.  We then ‘purchase’ him the exclusive use of the Prison Governor's quarters and twenty four hour access for Elias’s family, nurses and doctors.
                                         +     +     +      +      +


Over the last two years, I have honoured my promises and expanded trade as far as Pakistan. Elias is still imprisoned.
                                         *
+     +     +      +      +
haibun of a late twentieth century travelogue
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
Eriko  Feb 2016
a little about me
Eriko Feb 2016
some memories which have created me
I have been homesick lately.

I have lived far and wide
have seen the excursions
foreign to many eyes
my childhood born in the suburbs of Tokyo
rising to the bittersweet aftertaste
of concrete and metal,
everyday learning something new
an endless adventure,
boarding a subway and just to go
then to that of the northernmost island
Hokkaido, where I learned to love
the gentleness of snow
yet fear the brutality of the cold,
spending days and hours
entire weeks on the mountain side
wooden log cabins, wonderful blazing fires
with a snowboard strapped to my leg
oh, how I feel so powerful and graceful
flying down the mountain
carving into the chest deep snow
hear my laughter echo into the air
as I watched the stars glimmer
on the icy peaks,
and in the summer everything turned green
I went kayaking and painted
in the fluttering sweet breeze
then back to the city I found myself
eradicated from my home country
placed in Seoul Korea
my apartment that of 31st
of a 45 story building
riding the subway from and to school
that was nothing of difference with me
the city never truly sleeps
and I don't remember ever closing my eyes
with a longboard underneath my feet
hurling through crowded streets
cars honking in rush hour
the city lights seen for miles and miles
getting lost in alleyways and black markets
craning my neck to see metal scrape the sky
because of such cities, Tokyo and Seoul
I always ventured at night, a nocturnal teenage girl
skirting on the Han River, meeting so many people
being multilingual  but always alone,
never behind the closed end of the door
in Seoul that's where I discovered how to cope alone
in Tokyo I discovered the joy of the unknown
a short excursion in that of Hawaii
tasting the salty seas
riding the crashing waves every morning
watching the sun rise and feeling comfort
in the soft white sands and tall green palm trees
flying down paved roads
and underestimating sunburns
long boards and parks, going swimming in the dark
lush forests and scaling mountains
I had no money but made the best of it
then to the mainland, the big United States
I haven't been here very long, in the midwest
probably will never understand
the southern accent
and the American youth's mindset
only, I haven't been here very long
I have been stuck inside
but I have nothing to hide
it's a different society
a culture which always escapes me
I have been dreaming but remember nothing
just feeling a bit homesick
I don't want to make it sound like the U.S. is bad. No, this was just a big adjustment, a huge shift in lifestyle.
Ruthie  Nov 2010
night sky
Ruthie Nov 2010
isolated thoughts amidst the night

gazing in wonder what an amazing sight

never underestimating the mystery laid out

always respecting the massive power

appreciating the view hour by hour

what should I fear but that which thought it

built and named with perfect ease

always a treasure to you and me
Marco Batista  Jan 2014
Pervert
Marco Batista Jan 2014
Feels like I'm fighting forever with these demons
Underestimating the toll it's having on my body
Can't let complications control me, just confuse
Killing the negativity could resolve this

Make me realize what I'm worth
Excite me with the possibilities

Harass me with profound positivity
Accept my unpredictable atrociousness,
Realize, realistically,  that I can love.
Dance with my emotions, set me free.
Aria of Midnight Nov 2014
Competing,
sabotaging, manipulating,
controlling, demeaning, angering,
underestimating, avenging,
hurting
stops when you
learn to respect
that person.
Mary McCray Apr 2015
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 8, 2015)

Overestimating one’s desirable qualities, and underestimating undesirable qualities, relative to other people. (Also known as “Lake Wobegon effect,” better-than-average effect,” or “superiority bias”).

The case of Cyberface, the idea of you,
selfies with Kardashian and Kayne

settling the score with paparazzi
front of the line, past the line, whisked

your journals and micro-journals
pieces of flesh, phantoms

publicity is the new city
smiling Joker, the Hollywood real,

the need to be the great American novel
“special” on the bib under baby’s puke

the chord of horror at confession:
You Are Average

ruins so fierce it makes your eye twitch
ashes so raw you believe in miracles

more than you believe in yourself
and your lovely, opening ordinary.
Kayne West just settled a suit for assaulting paparazzi. In related news there’s a $20 new version of the Bible replacing every mention of God with Kanye West.
Daniil Kochergin Mar 2021
He underestimates himself,
He only waits for a wonder,
He thinks he’s better off sad,
And afraid to become brighter.
He doesn’t wanna grow up,
So he sinks in his lies
Interfering strive for the top
And stop all of his cries,
He doesn’t even know
Why he is doing that,
Why he’s on his own
And why he is mad.
Here is another day,
Another torment as he thinks,
He need to turn it other way
And he will spread his mighty wings.
He wakes up again,
Cleans himself up,
Turns on Cobain,
Pours tea into his cup–
Everything is as usual.
Life loves him so much,
But her love is unmutual.
Some time and he’s at his work,
It’s only thing loved by him,
But he tells her no word,
So, it’s time to begin.
His boss wanna meet him–
He has no choice
And he left the whole team
To hear his voice
– Good morning, Mr. White,
How is your well-being?
– Good morning, Mr.Fry,
I’m good (that was a kidding)
– That’s why you’re here.
What’s with your mental health?
– I can tell you, but I fear…
– I’ll keep it all to myself.
– Why should I trust you?
– I swear, I’ll be true to my word.
– I’ve fire in my soul that I can’t stew,
Seems like I’m in hell and I’m burnt,
Why? I lost my last friend of suicide,
His dead hurts me more than my mother’s–
She’s never been on my side,
I think I'll be killed by my bothers.
Do you understand me and my feelings?
– You don't know, but I have no parents...
Your worries didn't lost their meanings,
But you have to cool down to gain a balance.
Please, take life easier than you’re doing,
Don't think that you are totally lonely,
Life is a place you infinitely grow in,
Even if you do it unbelievably slowly.
I hope you’ll never forget what I said.
– You’re orphan?… I’m so sorry..
You showed me my worldview is so bad,
Thank you for that, I mustn’t worry
To my awful mood become good.
I understood that I wasn’t right,
To be hapless or blessed– I may choose,
I hate myself 'cause I’m blind.
It’s time to comprehend the truth,
Time to amend my inner-self,
I know, this way will not be smooth,
But I can do this ’til I stop my breath.
– I’m glad to know I am understood.
Your work is looking forward to you.
Now you have to better your mood.
Take care, there is nothing else I can do.
– I can’t thank you enough, I’m off!
Many ideas turned over in his mind,
He revived his personal growth,
His life started to turn into a flight.
Two months later:
He forgot that once he was sad,
He became better
And his past problems are dead,
We really can say that!
Daisy King Aug 2014
A pile of human teeth,
that which does not belong to itself but to the night and the moon
     and the lock and the hook, that which once did belong to itself,
     or to me,
a murmur and little more,
   something you shake in the hope that answers to the questions
     you want or some reasons you've yet to find
     will come falling out,
an inhabitant in a house that becomes a crime scene during their absence and they cannot be an eyewitness,
she who wanders along the beach by the sea,
    in search of shells,
   to listen in for the sound of old echoes,
         the unreal, suspended, irrelevant,
         the night-time fragments leftover after
            daylight gets its teeth in,
       a rule-****** in asymmetrical glasses,
       one of a family of confused clowns, juggling dreams
         that were once in trees, struggling
         and underestimating distance,
a cracked window in November that seems out of place,
    a Tuesday afternoon, and specifically not a Friday sunse
    or Sunday dawning,
a wishful **** belonging in the boneyard,
housing an ocean of unspeakables in
    attic mind,
    greenhouse heart,
    cavern mouth full of sea,
the container of many unspeakables,
    a cup, profoundly sad for being always a touch too empty,
        contained inside a small glass bottle,
         a paperweight.
This poem is comprised of the various things that I have compared myself to in metaphor in poems I have written in the past.
JLB  Jul 2012
Notes
JLB Jul 2012
1) help endures even the worst pumpernickel shortbread *****, but understanding outweighs that of the pessimistic drug lords squatting in **** ridden sandlots.
2) compassion is for the virtuistic harlequins.
3) underestimating the estimatable is the idea, even under a load of unsettling emotions. just hoard them in your fannypack.

4)the *** next door may make your head spin, and the typewriter might make your nails crack. but, beyond all of that, there lies an undisclosed truth. one that neither the walls nor the space bar underneath your thumb will ever know:
    
I am here, and this is now.
Ayaba Babe  Dec 2012
Ecstasy
Ayaba Babe Dec 2012
My hands glide over her body
My body glides in tune with hers.
The urge,
The need, the incredible temptation.
The suddenly surreal sensation.
Hands instinctly find their slippery way down her braziere;
Touching her there
Touching her here.
Carefully caressing her
Beautiful
Flawless twin triple scoops of creamy delicious vanilla ice cream.
Eyes abeam.
I pinch my ******* hard, my teeth longing to wrap themselves around hers.
Insatiable, rationable; moment deferred.
I'd love to stay and devour her, but my way must be made.
Body contact and relations, hormones fail to fade.
Raging.
I make my way with the heat on high.
Blast on full.
Clothes flying against the car wall.
Driving with both hands down my pants
Underestimating chance.
Not even the night can cool me down.

— The End —