Yes, its the year twenty eighteen and not Nineteen forty-four

but comrades and friends, hear me out for I know not what to do

Do be kind and laugh you not, or raise your eyes or snigger like fools

the problem is, like Duke Philip, Mark Philips, Snowdon and Mike Tindall

I have known a Royal Princess for years and really like her very much



She is so sweet and nice, ever gentle, warm, kind and thoughtful

smart and clever, fun and playful yet regal and charismatic

and it is said, pardon moi, she has the sweetest honey ***, to boot

I know she fancies me too, for her intense eyes and actions tells me so

we talked, we joked, drink and laugh and share little tender touches



She lives in a grand little apartment and drive a lovely old car

well read, witty and engaging, she's fun and very good company

She,s impressively intelligent with a wide grasp of social issues and life

very versatile, she can turn her hand to anything and does things well

above all, she's a people's person, always sensitive to the needs of others



Alas, that was then, for now in months, we no longer see or speak

for I am a coward, right through and thorough and not very bright

You see I am, though no longer said, a commoner born and bred

and to me and my kith and kin, its always has been 'us and them'

And from birth, our tradition states, never the twain shall meet, so there!



For if I show my real feelings to my Princess and be real, nice and warm

I shall, by my lot be accused of being impressed by 'them snotty lot'

If I show I really care and want to be close and spend time with her

my lot will mock me to high heavens and call me a toady brown-noser

They will scream, crawler, fawner, he's just a flunkey and a groveller



Again, if with her I am real and natural as with all I know in my circle

they will say I am an arduous social-climber, being what he's not

And to boot, were I to be true to myself and have who I really want

I will be ******, shunned and labelled, a big 'Gold-digger,' true

Look at him, betraying his roots and all for shinning lucre from them



So being the coward, under-confident, paranoid, insipid under-achiever

traits, you all know and have, inherited from birth along with you all from our class

So what else to do, but drive my kind, real and genuine Princess away from me

I had to behave rude and shabbily to show I had no regard for 'them Royals' ones

I shouted and scorned to indicate I have no respect for any 'regal' whatever



Its all show with us, so I put on a good show and reported back to my lot

oh, I farted in the Princess' face and took the **** as we spoke, hahaha

Oh, I stood over the Princess and shouted and raved in public, hahaha

oh, I ignored her calls and never text or call her back, hahaha hahahaha

Oh, do you know, I shouted and slammed the phone down on her, twice, haha...haha



Wow, did I win bragging rights or what, I did not betray my roots, I tell you

I walk amongst my lot now with pride, and I can see they are all impressed

Some idiot said, hey! isn't the Princess just another human like you

did she treat you like that, are you not intelligent enough to see past labels

Have you ever heard, 'Do unto others as you want them do unto you'



Alone by myself, I feel ashamed, I think about her and wished I'd behaved differently

but what could I do, what's the right and correct thing to do in this situation

I am weak, I always need others, not confident enough to stand up for myself

Though educated, I am not intelligent enough to be self-assured, fair and measured

And all my insecurities means I need others attention, kinship and approvals



I love 'showing off', I think most of us do it to make up for our inferiority complexes

Nothing beats being able to say, I disrespected those toffee-nosed ones

Though my Princess was very down to earth and never haughty, she is still one of them

But I have to be a working class hero or be shunned and given grief by my lot

After all, I am not Royal and made of sterner stuff. we are not born and bred that way

Hahaha.....hahaha....hahaha........yeah, I'm the man! Who's your daddy, people?



Copyright LaurenceA. 14th June, All rights reserved.

"You're so beautiful,"
says
Mr. You-Deserve-Better.
His friend,
Joe I-Can-Be-Different,
nods in agreement.
I'm just Miss Single-20-Something
searching for companionship
finding nothing
but the company
of every one-track-minder
in the Greater Portland Area.
I've been promised the moon,
stars,
a few planets here
or there.
Receiving just grunted approvals
from two-pump chumps
with over-active sweat glands.
So excuse the skepticism
clouding my judgement
as I roll all man kind
into one conclusion:
You all bark like dogs.
If he acts like one,
and smells like one,
I'd say Bingo
is his
name-o.
Just save it.
This Jenny has been around the block.
Your flowers will die.
Your chocolates will go to my hips.
For now,
your name is Mud,
and you can call me Miss Independent.

Do not lance your hair

Just to satisfy those men in suits,

Or your woman, sat there with that expectant gaze

Reserved for only you.



Let your image be cultivated

Through the culture of the downstroke.

The lazy thick steel on the neck of the guitar

That shudders at your touch

And responds with the readiness of one thousand ******

Cooing their broken sounded and false approvals.



I see your fingers fumble across the chipped mahogany

And I recall on the benefit of all men

The first and forgotten lovers,

Buried beneath years of clumsy ***

And vicious disregard.



And from the shadows in the archives of your grey matter

You remember every wince of self-doubt,

Etched across the faces of your women

That you never cared to notice in the dizzy ecstasy

Of your youthful wantonness

And the hardness of your ****.



So age will bite at your features,

And you will squint in the wind,

Cowering at the cold that clings to your bones.

At some age you will cut your hair

And iron your shirt.

Nurse your whiskey

And find yourself in receipt of all those women

Still tangled in the hotel sheets

In the back lodgings of your mind

And everything they did to shape you.



And you pick up that old acoustic

And play the tune of one thousands odes.

I can still recall the familiar smell of burning candles that ignited the hot air like a ceremonial perfume. But the presence of soft music, dim lights, and my Mothers unwavering smile all distracted me from what I was to truly encounter that day. That morning my Mother managed to push back most of my stubborn curls away from my face dressing me in an elegant but modest white dress. She explained to me that this was a defining point in my life and I was to look my best for it. It was the day I would walk down the church aisle with many other girls in front of church members to pledge an oath of abstinence prior to marriage. At fourteen years old I stood before my mother, before the congregation, and before God to make a promise not to share my sexuality hardly before reaching an age to explore it myself. This was called: A True Love Waits Ceremony. As I walked inside the entrance crossing between pillars I quickly noticed the Church walls decorated in hues of pinks and reds alongside matching drapes trimmed with frill to better represent the month of Valentines the month of love. In the act of taking my first few steps toward the podium I passed rows and rows of chairs where my fellow church members sat. There were some I knew and some I didn’t but they all gave their nods of approvals to me just the same. Participating in this ceremony was not only suggested but encouraged. As a symbol of my promise I was given a piece of jewelry which as a young girl I could not help but be excited to wear together with others. I was given what is called a purity ring yes given, not asked. During the time I was walking past the audience I felt the sweat of my mother’s palm as she held my hand or was that mine? Our eyes met and she gave a light squeeze of reassurance. When we finally reached the front steps of the great sanctuary each child turned around to face their parents to recite our vows together as one. While my Parents stared back at me proudly I repeated the words just as rehearsed, just like the others, and just as expected of me. It was not until years later that I would ever think about this moment again. This moment between moments where something unknowingly happens to you. Something honest but deceptive. Because no one asked me at fourteen if I understood what *** was only that I need not involve myself in it. Ironically my Sunday school teachers told me I was ready to make this lifelong commitment to abstain from *** just not old enough to engage in it. They instructed me this was my responsibility to hold myself at this standard of dressing and acting appropriately to help men not fall short of their sins. That my body a body not yet fully developed could inspired men of an impure nature a nature of which must be controlled. And since the vast majority of deacons, ministers, pastors, and church officials were men the only other *** to be considered as the primary focus for desire was women and consequently me. However when your fourteen years old no one tells you this. What’s more frightening is that some people do not see the error in it either. When you grow up in a religious sect it’s not necessarily discouraged to question what you’re told but rather that starting as early as childhood there is just so much indoctrination being imbedded for there to be any room left to give birth to independent thought. All I can draw from these events now as an adult is that humanity is flawed and sometimes completely inaccurate. When taking this into account it can only make since that when people get together to form a system, the system too will be flawed and yes sometimes wrong too. So when you grow up Baptist remind yourself not to confuse your faith in God with your faith in humanity. People try to be honest like God but the deception is that we are impossibly flawed and can never hope to be anything like him and that is the honest deception.

he should be called Jesus Lucifer
rather than Jesus Christ,
i mean, the illumination is unreal -
there are so many faults,
and redemption does come,
you're given a name by your parents,
then you're given a church name
at your baptism, then you're entrusted
with making a choice:
given your first and second name,
and your surname: 3 down, 1 to go...
and if the new testament wasn't
a revelation as a profanity of
the tetragrammaton, then the
Christian bureaucracy added to that
does prove to be a concern of abuse,
they said Idle        Joe Samuel Philip Esquire
was the same as      Y       H         W        H -
i'm only stressing these four letters,
because, when i approach them, they respond,
with that joke i'll hear coming from science:
the roving stars will be hailed as comets!
well, revisions of comets, Dobermans
(enlarged Dachshund, which in Polish
is read jamnik, curiously not Deutschehund): tails cut off.
honestly, in him our sole salvation,
i've seen so much **** in this world
i'd gladly do a Homer and earn blindness...
but the profanity of the tetragrammaton
goes beyond the four gospels,
it's enshrined in the first name,
the middle name, the confirmation name,
and the surname -
that's a desecration if i've ever seen one,
i didn't imagine it would be this
crucial as to follow falling brick
with falling brick when it came to spelling
out something a carrier pigeon would have
carried: so, honestly?
i think the a - z was born from a priori
sustenance was not enough, nothing makes it clear
why we would enshrine Chinese whispers
for empirical reasons, when they were from -
well, optically we invited transcendence
of our eyes, we basically put our eyes into our
mouths and asked our tongues to
raise a choirous rebellion against the ears.
               - now she wishes to be the gladly budding
flower... now she wishes she was more
home approving than: a house built on sand...
i've seen feminism turn into a sordid affair,
associating itself with many cares of bachelors
in the field of study...
this ain't picking broccoli mind you,
this isn't peeling onions,
ever wonder why you keep hearing a train
or the gallop of horses in the night?
i love that game children have: hide & seek,
which later translates into negation & denial of adults...
because that's how i will exactly deal with you people...
candy floss choo choo... you're
not in the invested in percentage...
but he clearly is, Jesus Lucifer,
he's so ******* illuminating you get bargain sales
in the calculator department... as describing him shows,
given the Church and first and second and
confirmation name and surname... a profanity
of the tetragrammaton, more harm done in that than
desecrating Roman temples in Syria...
you basically broke the bank
and said: Swiss investments following this
are budding with hefty approvals -
but it really doesn't matter... i'm used to jokes,
i can walk into a supermarket,
by my usual litre of whiskey and a beer,
and hear the cashier talk with another customer and joke
and laugh... i don't mind, i like entertainment,
they speak of the sacred chalice...
well, they joke about a sacred chalice...
in my mind i just have an imprint of Christopher Columbus;
his contemporaries aren't exactly laughing now...
they're tourists... camping out 1 mile outside of Las Vegas;
so yeah, ha ha, he he.

Pay checks and movie stubs
amongst reciepts and wrappers
buried beneath fields of dust bunnies
and clouds of unused smoke
is that all there is?
Graded approvals and first take judgements
within statement making garments
dependant upon conditions and factors
and one can't forget limits
is that all there is?
Genuinely fake smiles and unpiercing sharp eyes
around the time of no boundaries
next to missed alarm clock rings
and ever so important transit missions
is that all there is?
Talk back and rumor mills
spin webs of classes missing caste systems
yet gaining entry into future endeavours
so clever these days of ours
is that all there is?
Awkward congregations and a sense of forced happiness
paired with seemingly healthy attractions
combine to create an enviroment in which only the parasites can dwell
is that all there is?

I'm a person that always feels alone & unwanted, a general feeling that's never gone... The desires to be important & not just the doormat.... Not to only be remembered when you need something, the nerve to call yourself my friend is amusing...

Being the nice guy with the world walking all over you when your working hard all for you, approvals mean most to me mistake number one but I hope for my sake this all just passes

The story of my life is a bad joke and I'm the punchline, the pun to this joke is that I've accepted it, if you hear me loud enough now through my silence, your heart has ears better than the ones attached to your head those ones just have you mislead....

Vent what feel not what you think your heart speaks louder than your mind and if you don't mind I'd rather listen to the beat of your heart than the thump of your mind...

Be it rye, barley, berries: whichever my glass carries
- will keep me content- if only for a brief moment.
These fermented cherries do cause the little fairies
- to speak, very, kindly to me, far as my eyes can see.
Could it be: thee- yeast has suddenly caused a cease
- in sanity- for me? Or is it that I've, simply, released
- my need for other people's nods and approvals?
Have I, merely, stopped caring what fellow pupils
- see and/or feel when they look or think t'ward me?