Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.

Congressional stuck at the bend
Now when and how long will this Government shutdown end?
Eyes of America wondering when
Immigration being the top discussion
But it seems immigration has became more of a percussion
Republicans want their way
The Democrats are saying not on this day
This is where we all need to pray
Some Government services will seem to stop
Protestors in force making their voices with a mock
It will be a moment being a long wait
A mourning being a fate
The thought for Heaven’s sake
Being wise in knowing no need to apologize
But when it comes to our President it becomes a definition of realize
What was Washington, DC thinking?
No plan with a strategy
The nation is placed on still with reality
Government shutdown bound
Listen no sound
Now how long will this Government shutdown last?
There’s an uncertainty with no vote to cast
House of Representatives think on the situation fast
The nation has many questions to ask
Remember Election time when you lose your seats
The nation will remember in who bowed to defeat
A President who decided to retreat
The nation being stuck in between at beat
House of Representatives what is it you seek?
A nation suffers
Will the nation ever recover?
Capitol Hill being the bill
But the nation is wondering still
A shutdown with no movement bound.

The government shutdown drags on and on.
The president remains fixated
On building his wall on the southern border--
His arguments all fabricated.

His speech--sounding like Stephen Miller--
Interrupted prime-time TV.
In efforts to shore up his base and win
More support, he made his plea.

A litany of Stephen Miller
Scare stories does not move
An audience who's on to their tactics--
Who sees what they're trying to prove--

That we have a humanitarian
Crisis here. No mistaking.
However, the crisis happens to be
A crisis of the president's making!

Using false statistics, the president
Tried to establish his flimsy case.
The con artist hoped to convince
Others beyond his regular base.

Once he said that he would be
Responsible for the shutdown, but that's
Immaterial now, for he
Is blaming the "evil" Democrats.

The Democrats are all for border
Security, to Trump's surprise.
But he is so obsessed with his "wall,"
That he can't see beyond his lies.

To hold the government hostage has been
Trump's tactic to get his way.
What we've seen in the past few weeks
Is a childish tantrum on display.

Hopefully, more people of conscience
Will cut and run from the president's side--
Tired of manufactured crises,
And tired of being taken for a ride.

-by Bob B (1-9-19)

Sometimes, I am in love with myself.
I force them to witness my love for my melanin
because they would love for me to hate my melanin.
I know that I am seen, but I want to be heard, 
The first amendment allows me to speak, but they refused to hear a word-
that comes from my mouth.
My lips stereotyped as too black.
My diction too proper to act like this,
yet my slang is too ghetto to act like that...
Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to be white.
I hate being stared at when I speak in Spanish.
I never know if it's in disgust or in comfort, 
because the sound of the double "r" rolling off of my tongue
sounds like the ricochet of the bullets they fire from their guns.
Since they no longer can enslave us like animals, they slaughter us
because, "if I can't have you no one can."
I refuse to be put down.
I refuse to shutdown.
My brown skin threatens,
and you all should be afraid.
Because I will banish your negativity with my Latin American flow,
speaking in Spanish with the Bachata tempo filling my veins.
My Ebonics is iconic, 
and I refuse to be put in a box when the world is a sphere.

I... am more... than this.

Nilaliman ko ang hawak ko sa bulsa, wala na nga pala 'kong pera.
Mabilis akong naglakad patungo sa bughaw na sasakyan ko. 'Di ko ininda ang pabugso-bugsong ulan at bulong ng mahapding hangin. Bumubulwak ang tubig mula sa kanal at magiting na dinadaan ang palusong na kalsada papunta sa gusali.

Nilaliman ko ang hawak ko sa bulsa, at natuklasang wala ang susi ng kotse.

Matagal-tagal na rin akong nag-aaral sa lumang gusali ng Biology sa UP. Pangatlong taon ko na. Sa wakas, magtatapos din ako.
At saka mag-aaral ng medisina.
Unang girlfriend ko si Kaye, at napakahaba ng aming kwento. Nagkakilala kami noong bakasyon sa pagitan ng aking ikalawa at ikatlong taon sa mataas na paaralan. Hindi siya ang una kong babaeng nagustuhan.
Pero siya ang una kong minahal.
Nagsimula ang lahat sa aming pagiging magkaibigan, at nang lumaon, nahulog ako para sa kanya.
Alam kong mali yun, kasi may gusto siyang iba at may napupusuan din ako noon.

Pero binago niya ang lahat. Naging matalik kaming magkaibigan, hanggang sa ayun, nagkaaminan.
Walang nag-akalang magiging kami.
Nilaliman kong muli ang hawak sa bulsa. At saka pumanhik sa gusali, papunta sa aking silid.
Natagpuan ang susi ng kotse, sira, putol, puro gasgas at tila nabagsakan ng mabigat na bagay.
Badtrip, sabi ko.
Magko-commute ba na naman ako?
'Di nagtagal, nakaisip ako ng paraan.
Pinapunta ko si Kaye, total, may kotse naman siya.
Dumating si Kaye sa silid nang may malaking ngiti, isang ngiting tagumpay sa volleyball.
Bakas pa sa kanyang mga braso ang bakat ng tama ng bola ng volleyball. Namumula, pagod na pagod.

'Yun ang huling alaala ko.

Sabi ng doktor, nag-shutdown daw ang utak ko buhat ng matinding pagod, at nagkaroon ako ng amnesia.
Ayon sa kalendaryong iniabot sa'kin, humigit-kumulang 30 taong gulang na ako.
Wala akong ibang maalala kundi ang alala sa gusali ng Biochemistry.

Nilaliman ko ang hawak sa bulsa. Hinimas ko nang todo ang lalagyan, hinipo ang bawat sulok ng aking bulsa. Nakapa ko ang isang pirasong papel.

Dear Lorry,
Mahal kita.
Pero may mahal na 'kong iba.

Yun lang? Yun lang ba? Tapos na?
May nagawa ba 'kong masama?
Tiningnan ko ang aking mga braso.
Bakas pa rito ang mga bakat ng kutsilyo, namumula, puro peklat.
Sabi ng doktor, may suicidal tendencies daw ako. Aba pakialam niya!

Pumasok si Kaye sa aking kuwarto sa ospital. Hawak niya ang braso ng isang lalaki.

Doon ko lang napansin ang kuwarto ng aking tinutuluyan.
Puno ng sulat ang mga pader. Puno rin ng mga nagsasanay na nars at doktor, at pilit na iniintindi ang reklamo ng mga pasyenteng nakadungaw sa nakaidlip nilang kalawakan.

Hindi ko na kaya.
Ganoon na lang ba ang halaga ko kay Kaye, na ganun niya ako papalitan?

Kinuha ko ang bolpeng nakatengga sa mesang malapit sakin. 'Di ko na pinansin ang kirot ng IV at mga kung anu-ano pang nakasuksok na gamot saking sumusubok na pagalingin ang mas lalong sumasakit, kumikirot na kalagayan.
Isang 'di magamot na sakit ng damdamin, isang kirot na bumubulwak mula sa kanal na pinagdadaluyan ng aking pagmamahal.

Pagmamahal para sa babaeng nakita kong hawak ang braso ng isang lalaking 'di man lang ipinakilala sakin para man lang mapawi ang uhaw ko para mapasaya si Kaye.

Tinutok ko ang bolpen sa aking sarili.
Pinagsasaksak ko ang sar-

-closer-
i want to hear your THOUGHTS
-unfiltered-
as your stomach turns to KNOTS
-grit-
your teeth until your jaw ACHES
-spill-
all your secrets when your brain BRAKES
-tears-
holding back but gather SHAMEFULLY
-regret-
those thick strong walls fell so PAINFULLY
-weights-
off your shoulders and now on your HEART
-pieces-
stolen from you like valuable ART
-emotions-
replacing the air you start to DROWN
-overwhelmed-
your body has begun to SHUTDOWN

10 sacrificial exhales
9 regret scented fingertips
8 matriarchal castigations
7 breathes corrupted
6 bummed ember tips
5 second hand coughs
4 derisive stares
3 relapses
2 lungs
1 heart

Parasitic paradise with death in hand
A gift to me,
self receiving
Toxicity imbalanced
*This is worse than bleeding

The time has come to hit the road,and
make some tracks
in shutdown mode.

It's easy to be put upon when you're just one and have no heart to fight,right or wrong it's so long chaps
we've had our laughs and there's no more to come.
I have spun new shoes to fit these feet and now I'm heading off to greet what's in the next face that I meet, I fear the milk of human kindness has run dry,its teats are shy,my lips are parched.

You'll find me underneath the arch that runs beneath the viaduct,****** or not,shutdown's what I do and one day you might do it too,'til then when Big Ben strikes the hour at nine and I dine alone chilled to the bone and when you find me,be kind because I carry a weighty load which make more tracks in the shutdown mode.

(think Mexican Hat Dance:)

How tall? How tall? How tall?
Will Donald Trump build the wall?
The wall! The wall! The wall!
Will Mexico pay for it at all?
How high? How high? How high?
How high will they have to jump
To clear the wall and prove to us all
That they’ve pacified Donald Trump
(bump, bump)
To clear the wall and prove to us all
That they’ve pacified Donald Trump?

When you’re talking about immigration,
Whether merit based or chain migration,
According to Trump proclamation,
“Illegals, jump over the wall”!!
(NOT AT ALL!!)

How tall? How tall? How tall?
Can Donald Trump build the wall
When not a single Democrat
Is willing to fund it at all?
How long? How long? How long?
How long do we have to wait
To end this shutdown?
When they sit their butts down
To end this gridlock stalemate!!
Consider the workers who are not getting paid;
That is the part we most hate!!

To achieve our homeland protection,
Not just winning the 2020 election,
The Pelosi and Schumer connection
Should grant funding to give Trump OUR wall!!
Give Pelosi and Schumer
A kick in the bloomers
If they continue to stall!!

Written 1/15/19 by Marcus Well
(day 25 of the US Government Partial Shutdown)

(Who the hell is Marcus Well?  Those that know, please don’t tell)

Dear Poet Friends, I had posted Part One of the Story of Jazz Music in Verse few months back on this Site. Today I am posting Part Two of this Story in continuation. Even if you had not read part one of this true story, this one will still be an interesting portion to read especially for all lovers of music, and for knowing about America's rich cultural heritage. I love smooth & cool jazz mainly, not the hard & acid kind! Kindly do read the ‘Foot Notes’ at the end to know how the word ‘Jass’ became ‘Jazz’ way back in History. Hope to bring out a book later with photographs. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.


STORY OF JAZZ MUSIC  IN VERSE PART – II

    NEW ORLEANS : THE CRADLE OF JAZZ
BACKGROUND:
Straddling the mighty bend of the River Mississippi,
Which nicknames it as the ‘Crescent City’;
Founded in the year 1718, as a part of French Louisiana
colony.
New Orleans* gets its name from Phillippe II, Duc d’ Orleans,
the Regent of France;
A city well known for its music, and fondness for dance!
The city remained as a French Colony until 1763,
When it got transferred to Spain as a Spanish Colony.
But in 1800, those Spanish through a secret pact,
To France had once again ceded the colony back!
Finally in the year 1803, the historic ‘Louisiana Purchase’
had taken place, -
When Napoleon First of France sold New Orleans and the
entire Louisiana State,
To President Thomas Jefferson of the United States!
(See Notes below)

THE CONGO SQUARE:
The French New Orleans was a rather liberal place,
Where slaves were permitted to congregate,
To worship and for trading in a market place, on
Sabbath Days, their day of rest.
They had chosen a grassy place at the edge of the
old city ,
Where they danced and sang to tom-tom beats,
Located north of the French Quarters across the
Rampart Street;
Which came to be known as the Congo Square,
Where you could hear clapping of hands and
stomping of feet!
There through folk songs, music, and varying dance
forms, -
The slaves maintained their native African musical
traditions all along!
African music which remained suppressed in the
Protestant colonies of the British,
Had found a freedom of expression in the Congo Square
by the natives, -
Through their Bamboula, Calanda, and Congo dance forms
to the drum beats of their native music.
The Wolof and Bambara people from Senegal River of West
Africa, -
With their melodious singing and stringed instruments,
Became the forerunners of ‘Blues’ and the string banjo.
And during the Spanish Era slaves from the Central African
forest culture of Congo, -
Who with their hand-drummed poly-rhythmic beats,  
Made people from Havana to Harlem to rise up and dance
on their feet!   * (see notes below)

CULTURAL MIX:
After the Louisiana Purchase, English-speaking Anglo and
African-Americans flooded that State.
Due to cultural friction with the Creoles, the new-comers
settled ‘Uptown’,
Creating an American sector separate from older Creole
‘Downtown’.
This black American influx ‘Uptown’ brought in the elements
of the blues, spirituals, and rural dances into New Orleans’
musical scene.
These African cultural expressions had gradually diversified,
into Mardi Gras tradition and the ‘Second Line’. ^^ (notes below)
And finally blossomed into New Orleans’ jazz and blues;
As New Orleans became a cauldron of a rich cultural milieu!

THE CREOLES:
The Creoles were not immigrants but were home-bred.
They were the bi-racial children of their French masters
and their African women slaves!
Creole subculture was centred in New Orleans after the
Louisiana Purchase of 1803,
When the Creoles rose to the highest rung of society!
They lived on the east of Canal Street in the French
Sector of the city.   @ (see notes below)
Many Creole musicians were formally trained in Paris.
Played in opera houses there, and later led Brass Bands
in New Orleans.
Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Oliver, and Sidney Bechet were
famous Creoles,
About whom I shall write as this Story unfolds.
In sharp contrast on the west of Canal Street lived the
***** musicians;
But they lacked the economic advantages the Creoles
already had!
They were schooled in the Blues, Work songs, and Gospel
music .
And played by the ear with improvisation as their unique
characteristic,
As most of them were uneducated and could not read.
Now in 1894, when Jim Crow’s racial segregation laws
came into force,       # (see notes below)
The Creoles were forced to move west of Canal Street to
live with the Negroes!
This racial mingling lighted a ‘musical spark’ creating a
lightening flash, -
Igniting the flames of a ‘new music’ which was later came
to be known as JAZZ !

CONTRIBUTION OF STORYVILLE :
In the waning years of the 19th Century, when Las Vegas
was just a farming community,
The actual ‘sin city’ lay 1,700 miles East, in the heart of
New Orleans!
By Alderman Story’s Ordinance of 1897,  a 20-block area
had got legalised and confined, -
To the French Quarters on the North Eastern side called
‘Storyville’,   - a name which was acquired after him.
This red light area resounded with a new seductive music
‘jassing up’ one and all;
Which played in its bordellos, saloons, and dance halls!
The best of bordellos hired a House Pianist who greeted
guests and was also a musical organizer;
Whom the girls addressed respectfully as ‘The Professor’!
Jelly Roll Morton++, Tony Jackson author of  ‘Pretty Baby’,
and Frank ‘Dude’ Amacher, -
Were all well known Storyville’s  ‘Professors’!
Early jazz men who played in Storyville’s Orchestras and Bands
now form a part of Jazz Legend;
Like ‘King’ Oliver, Buddy Bolden, Kid Orley, Bunk Johnson,
and Sydney Bechet.    ++ (see notes below)
Louis Armstrong who was born in New Orleans, as a boy had
supplied coal to the ‘cribs’ of Storyville!   ^ (see notes)
He had also played in the bar for $1.25 a night,
Surely the contribution of Storyville to Jazz cannot be denied!
But when America joined the First World War in 1917,
A Naval Order was issued to close down Storyville!   % (notes)
Since waging war was more important than making love,
this Order had said;
And from the port of New Orleans the US Warships had
set sail!
Here I pause my friends to take a break, will continue
the Story of Jazz in part three, at a later date.
                                               -Raj Nandy, New Delhi
FOOT NOTES :-
NEW ORLEANS one of the oldest cosmopolitan city of Louisiana,
the 18th State of US , & a  major port city.
LOUISIANA was sold by France for $15 million, which was later
realised to be a great achievement of President Jefferson.
*Many African strands of Folk music and dance had merged at the
Congo Square!
^^ ‘SECOND LINE MUSIC’ = Bands playing during Funerals & Marches evoked voluntary crowd participation, with songs & dances as appropriate forming a ‘Second Line’ from behind.
@ =THOSE LIBERAL FRENCH MASTERS OFFERED THE CREOLES THE BEST OF EDUCATION WITH ACCESS TO WHITE SOCIETY!
#’JIM CROW’= between 1892&1895, blacks gained political prominence in Southern States. In 1896 LAND-RICH WHITES DISENFRANCHISED THE BLACK COMPLETELY! A 25 YRS LONG HATRED &RACIAL SEGREGATION BEGAN. TENNESSEE LED BY PASSING ‘JIM CROW LAW’. IN 1896, THE SUPREME COURT UPHELD THIS LAW WITH ITS ‘’SEPARATE BUT EQUAL’’ STATUS FOR THE BLACKS ! THUS SEGREGATION BECAME A NATIONAL INSTITUTION. THIS SEGREGATION DIVIDED THE BLACK & WHITE MUSICIANS ALSO.
+ BIRTH OF JAZZ WAS A SLOW AND EVOLVING PROCESS, WITH BLUES AND RAGTIME AS ITS PRECURSORS . “JAZZ WAS QUINTESSENCE OF AFRO-AMERICAN MUSIC BORN ON EUROPEAN INSTRUMENTS.”  See my ‘Part One’ for definitions.
++ JELLY ‘Roll’ Morton (1885-1941): At 17 yrs played piano in the brothels, applying swinging syncopation to a variety of music; a great Transitional Figure- between Ragtime & Jazz Piano-style.  ++ BUDDY BOLDEN (1877-1931): His cornet improvised by adding ‘Blues’ to Ragtime in Orleans; which between the years 1900 & 1907 transformed into  Jazz! BUNK JOHNSON (1879-1849): pioneering jazz trumpeter, inspired Louis Armstrong; lost all teeth & played with his dentures! KING OLIVER(1885-1938): Cornet player & bandleader, mentor& teacher of Louis Armstrong; pioneered use of ‘mute’ in music. KID ORY(1886-1973): a pioneering Trombonist, he developed the ‘tailgate style’ playing rhythmic lines underneath the trumpet & the cornet, propagating early Jazz !
SYDNEY BECHET (1897-1959): pioneered the use of SAX; a composer & a soloist, he inspired Louis Armstrong. His pioneering style got his name in the Down Beat Jazz Hall of Fame!
Louis Armstrong(1890-1971): was a trumpeter, singer and a great
improviser. Also as the First International Soloist took New Orleans music to the World!
% = After  America joined WW-I in 1917,  a Naval Order was issued to shutdown Storyville in order to check the spread of VD amongst sailors.
^ ’cribs”= cheap residential buildings where prostitutes rented rooms.
# "JASS" = originally an Africa-American slang meaning ‘***’ ! Born in the brothels of Storyville (New Orleans)  & the Jasmine perfumes used by the girls there; one visiting them was  said to be 'jassed-up' . Mischievous boys rubbed out the letter ‘J’ from posters outside announcing  "Live Jass Shows'', making it to read as ‘'Live *** Shows'’! So finally ‘ss’ of ‘jass’ got replaced by 'zz' of JAZZ .
DURING THE 1940s  STORYVILLE  WAS RAISED TO THE GROUND TO MAKE WAY FOR ‘IBERVILLE FEDERAL HOUSING PROJECT’ .
  * ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR : RAJ NANDY