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BLARING LOUDSPEAKERS

Only if authority had I,  stop immediately I would, the use of these blaring loudspeakers

Why do people torture us; what do they honestly want, these pollution seekers?

Banned these loudspeakers should be right away, and exceptionally used in an emergency

To announce a storm, floods or similar situation, only during some crisis or in emergency

Against the use of these loudspeakers, maybe start someone should, an insurgency.

Stop should, though doubtful it is; to help solve this problem it won't; our indifferent Buerocracy

Innocent little Infants deaf can turn, or can startle and cry, when suddenly a loudspeaker does blare

Our poor pets n strays, our dogs, birds and animals others, it startles and can them scare.

Horrid voices, hoarse n dreadful screech and scream often through these loudspeakers;

So hear blasting music forcefully we have to, from these hoarse, off tuned screechers

Elders who are partially deaf; severe problems, in traffic can face; occur can fatal accidents

Sight one can umpteen such awful examples; and many more similar incidents.

Nature's laws if we constantly defy, consequences drastic we will have to definitely face

Why don't leaders, authorities, politicians, Buerocrats care for animals n this human race

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Glades and Creeks.

One day in a journey far far away,  the forest was speaking to a lone wanderer.
"I am quite the clean forest, am I not?." The forest whispered soothingly.
"Mmhm." Spoke the wanderer, passive by such an interjection.
"Of course. Thousands of forests have wilted and died under the hand of man. I remain lush and brimming to the birch with life."
"Where is my way out of here?" The wanderer asked, becoming quite needy at the thought of having to spend the night in that dung-infested greenhouse.

The forests name was Evergreen. Allot of forests were named Evergreen. This forest had just been sold cheaply to a large logging firm who would come and tear the ugly trees down. The proprietors of that sale was a tribe of Indians. The specific agent who devised and contracted the sale was named Nahiko. An Indian tribesmen who, like his ancestors could speak to the forest.

Indians were what Europeans called people from India and natives of America. Allot of Indians in America were killed for being Indian. When an Indian boy came of age, they would be thrown into a jungle and starve until they saw an animal spirit. This was probably prelude to eating said spirit animal while thanking it for helping him live on.

"I, Evergreen implore you to stay within my womb of plant and fauna."
"Hm." replied the wanderer. Not wanting to argue.
The wanderer took a seat beside a flowing creek on a rock. The creek lead up to waterfall, which in turn lead through a river that spanned for miles. The river did not speak as it was an extension of the forest, Evergreen. Down the creek was the old homes of the Indian tribe.
"Have you ever saved someone else?" The wanderer asked.
"My yes, of course. Everyone who is to enter without water or food is rescued by my charming animals! And luxurious streams. I am quite hospitable you see. There was a tribe who lived within me, they were by name called the Perchil tribe. But they had to leave for more. Hmph. As if anything up in that ****** town is worth more then me."

Further up the river, away from the forest was a town named "Milan". It was named after a kingdom of the same name in Italy. People in Milan spoke German. This was odd given Milan lay in south America, but not unusual given its history of being a port to German slave traders who came from a German colony called "Tanganyika" in Africa. The town was named Milan because the Germans wanted to appear more Italian. This desire was apparent in their most famous dishes "schnitzel Pizza" and "Pasta Salsiccia". Pasta Salsiccia was pasta in a sausage casing often served with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes.

Perchil was also a member of that Indian tribe. He was Nahiko's brother and had a family of his own. Perchil was born in Evergreen and educated in Milan. He had been fighting with Nahiko over the terms of sale of the forest. Nahiko had wanted to preserve the land of old tribe. Perchil was already drawing up plans to sell it to an oil foundry. Their land happened to be on top of a great oil reserve. That means allot of animals lived and died on that land millions or thousands of years ago. There body would dissolve into a black gooey liquid used to fuel heavy machinery. This machinery is used by logging firms to cut down not exclusively, forests named Evergreen.

The wanderer, feeling awkward asked. "So, you'd rather not want to be destroyed?"
"Oh, I am a forest and I do maintain a will of my own and wants. But I cannot rather things should be anything other than what they are. The world is a destructive place. It is disrespectful of its former home and ancestry. I know this. I have tried however, to ward off the workmen by scaring them with my animals. In the end I shall become a town or a shopping mall."
In 3 years time, the deed to "Evergreen plains, Milan" would be sold and used to build a shopping mall named aptly "Evergreen Mall". And the forests voice would be spoke out of loudspeakers, but in the form of either a pre-recorded message or announcement about a lost child. Nahiko and Perchil would be married in Evergreen Mall. Nahiko three times.

"Oh woe is me, I lament my lost brothers and sister forests who are no longer beaming and prideful of their enormous trees and crested riverbanks."
"Maybe they should have defended themselves better." The wanderer spoke, trying unsuccessfully to show concern.
"Well, I for one will never give up fighting the man!"
"Good for you." The wanderer then ate his lunch.

Three days from now, the forest would stop speaking to anyone who arrived within its borders and see the lone wanderer again. But this time, he would be protected by four glass windows inside a piece of machinery powered by black gooey liquid called a "harvester" which lifted up wood and cut it into easily transportable pieces.

"Do you, believe in god wanderer?" The forest asked, to strike up some conversation.
"I do believe in god. He's the reason I get up in the morning and assists me in supporting my family."
"I don't. I don't think I believe in god, wanderer. If he exists, how could he let something so beautiful as I and my brother and sister forests be turned into shopping malls and townships like Milan."
The evergreen forest had seen the name "Milan" as a city nearby on a poster which flew into the twig of its tree. The poster was now lying on smooth ground weighted down by a root, as so the forest can read it over and over again. The poster advertised Pasta Salsiccia at a local restaurant in Milan. It had appetizing pictures of Pizza with crumbed steak on it and Pasta filled Sausages.
"God once flooded the earth, destroying all forests and people for their misgivings. Maybe you misgave and people are your divine punishment."
The forest grew silent and whispered soft hymns of wind against the leaves and overgrown shrubbery.

The edge of the creek, where the wanderer sat on a rock had a hard sand that stretched out a few meters disappeared into the dirt. It was unusual to see a small bed of sand without any other visible placements of sand. The wanderer had been dumping it there, with permission from the forest so he could form a base to store his harvester. The forest did not know of the sands purpose, she thought it looked pretty.
"If I were god, the world would be nothing but forests!" Evergreen stated. The gentle words turning a harsher coarse crackling of branches.
"The world seems to be nothing but people right now. Maybe gods a man."
"Unlikely! If god was a man, he would certainly love forests enough to never cut them down."
"Hm." The wanderer was dissatisfied with this explanation, but didn't want to argue.

"Would you **** anyone who came into your forest, just to prove a point?" The wanderer asked, waiting pensively.
"Oh no, as I said. I cannot change what already is and certainly would not bloom the effort to try. Besides. I also know about those people and their weapons. When it comes to human beings, no matter how hard I fight they will always win. How they ever came to develop boom guns and ratatatat chainsaws I have no idea. If they came from my forest, people would certainly have never developed tools so cruel and menacing. But, I suppose Eden had her way for you. Even if it was, at the cost of all our kind."
"Yeah. No matter forest or person, people always win. I'll always be below some rich powerful man too." The wanderer felt melancholy for feeling unimportant. The forest felt the same melancholy for her life and the world.

Suddenly and finally, a noise came from the wanderers pants. He then picked out his phone, clicked it and took it to his ear. After two hours, the wanderer walked east and out of Evergreen forest. He visited her three days later in his noisy harvester. made to cut wood. He parked on his sand bed. The wanderer left his harvester and locked the door without a word. Evergreen forest was properly harvested of its trees in 3 years time. Never uttering a word or complaint. The painted marking on the harvester she saw everyday however, was her last thought as she disappeared. The word painted onto the door of the harvester, its operator. "Perchil."
I wrote this a while ago, it's my first short story. Tell me if you like it. And maybe, beseech me. Whatever. I dunno. BE GENTLE!!!
michelle reicks Aug 2013
lately I have come dangerously close to contacting you
so i will write this,
in hopes that you will not read it.
I simply need to write to you,
because i feel as though my heart is imploding on itself.

so first thing is first.
I miss you.
I miss you every day.
At first, I had this feeling of missing a relationship.
I had soft memories of you,
memories of making love with someone that cared
memories of your body next to mine
but lately,
the memories have become clear and crisp
i no longer miss being in a relationship
I just miss you.
I have put those feelings through a strainer and kept the ones that make the most sense.
so now, i can't stop thinking about you.
everything reminds me of you.
I made asparagus for my parents the other day.
it made me think of you.
I drank some Mike's the other day.
Made me think of you.
I swear that every time I go into the hallway of my building, Chicago is playing on the loudspeakers.
It only reminds me of you.
And then there is everyone I ever cared about from Mankato.
Everyone reminds me of you.
And when I say "reminds", I mean that they all bring back vivid memories of us.
Of times that we were really happy.
And I miss us being happy.

I want to call you.
I want to hear your voice.
I want some sort of reassurance that you are out there.

But I know I can't.
And even if I did,
nothing good would come of it.
I would tell you that I miss you.
I would cry.
I would tell you that I love you.
I would cry harder.
And I would be secretly happy if you said that you were miserable in Texas.
I want you to be miserable without me
because I am miserable here without you.

I have progressed past the point where I normally would rebound
into someone else's arms.
I am strong.

And yet,

I feel so ******* weak



Anyway,
I've been doing okay.
I've been trying really hard to get out and meet people so I'm not lonely all the time.
I've made some new friends here in the cities.
I wish you could meet them.
I wish I could meet your friends in Texas.

I am turning 21 soon.
Really soon, actually.
Everyone keeps asking me what I want for my birthday.

I don't really know what to tell them
because there's only one thing
I want
but it's the one thing I can't have

just  a phone call.
just one call.

just to say "hi"
how are you
how is texas
i miss you
did you read my poem
thank you, yes i had a good birthday.
it would have been better with you here.
i wrote you another song
i got another job
i'm transferring schools
how is your family
how does your brother like college

i miss you
i wish you were here
i love you
yeah
talk to you later


I'm sorry for writing all this down.
I think I need some sort of closure that I still am not getting.
I am still holding onto some sort of hope

Hope for what? I'm not quite sure.
Mostly that you still care about me
and that you miss me as much as I miss you

because I've never had to "get over" anyone before
and everyone told me how hard it would be

but I didn't think I would wake up every morning and burst into tears
I didn't think that letting go
would take this long

I am, however, so happy that I am still single
REALLY single.

not dating anyone
not interested in anyone.

I wonder if you are too.
and if you are,
if it's because you miss me.

or if you just haven't found anyone that you like yet.

I realized pretty ******* quick
that you set my bar really high.
and it will be really hard for someone to meet all the standards you helped me create for myself.

my family is doing okay.
I got rear-ended a couple of weeks ago.
so we got a new car.
It's a white two-door honda.
i can't believe how sad it makes me,
because it looks so much like your car.
my dad hasn't been doing very well.
sometimes i feel like he doesn't want me around.
i feel like he wants me to just move out and get an apartment,
but i'm not able to right now. not financially.
but i feel a lot of self-shame
because i "moved back home".
my mom has started crocheting.
so she has made like 6 different hats, and a bag for me.
both of my parents have kind of laid off of me, in terms of religion.
They kinda let me do my own thing and have stopped trying to convert me.
Has your situation with your folks gotten any better?

Did you hear about the passing of gay marriage in minnesota?
of course you have.
august 1st was such a day of celebration.
I wish i could have taken you down to the courthouse in the capital to watch all the weddings happen.
it would have been so much fun.

i guess i'll wrap this letter up.
I know it's probably silly to write it because you said you would stop checking this website.
but, if you're anything like me, you check it anyway.
sometimes i un-block you on facebook just to look at your pictures.
you are still just as handsome as ever.
and once a week, at LEAST,
I check your university's website to see if they have a "staff profile" of you up yet.

So far no luck.

In the past two months,
I have let myself make a lot of mistakes.

But on the other hand,
nothing has changed how I feel about you.

I miss you and I care about you.



Don't take this the wrong way
but I love you.

don't call me.
I need to keep on keeping on.
I just needed to get this all off of my chest

maybe tonight
i'll be able to fall asleep without keeping myself awake crying.

-michelle
Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets.  In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little **** in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.

                                        December 1965
Tawanda Mulalu  Aug 2015
Hermes.
Tawanda Mulalu Aug 2015
I would have rather been Orpheus,
travelling to various hells for you
and singing songs to save you
even though you couldn't save yourself:
stop looking back. The flames aren't worth it.
Let my eyes burn brighter than the abyss.
Just whatever you do don't turn your face
away Eurydice. Hades will have his Persephone
and you are not her.

It's better this way I guess. I would have looked
back at you and watched you crumble into
a shadowy pillar of salt as did the wife of Lot
when she looked back at *****. I am faithless,
which is why I cannot sing like Orpheus. I am faithless,
which is why I would have watched you melt into
a shadowy memory of the underworld even if I could.

Instead, I was a messenger of these strange myths.

Wings on my feet, I raced against the multitudinous
skylines of the worlds I do not inhabit, skipped across
volumes and volumes of rows and columns of planets and
stars written by dead old men and women. They spoke presently
of the voluminous presence their absence had created, and did so
without having known of the secrets of this absence when
they wrote about their respective presents. Presents conferred
to winged-feet wishful thinkers who spiral uncontrollably with their mouths
to sudden and dangerous depths: Every serious reader remembers
the time they stopped whispering controversies and started shouting them
without knowing that they were shouting them: Ideas are messy things
that don't need loudspeakers: Decibels violently shudder themselves out
of being the moment you mention to your mother that God
might not exist and Camus said so: Existence itself implodes outwards
like how plants produce seeds that make themselves when novels
start at their ends which are really their beginnings: Children
**** their mothers through birth: Boys with wings on their feet
take the library too seriously.

This is
          how
and
          where
I flew towards you without a chariot

and found you in your various hells, one book at a time,
and why I would have rather have been Orpheus
because at least then I could have sang you songs
before you ended up retreating back into your various
selves. It could have been my fault then for looking back.

It could have been,
   could have been,
   could have been
you that was Orpheus. You who looked back.
You being the reason that I crumbled into a pillar of
shadow and salt because, as did Lot's wife, I looked back.

We both did, and watched the whole world invert itself
on its axis, then turn and twist and shift itself
into superimposed images and shapes and dreams
that changed you from muse to poet and
dream to dreamer
and Eurydice to Orpheus
and to Lot then his wife
and to this: which you always were.

              Those wings on your feet: When
the librarians changed the positions of the bookshelves-
and therefore our imaginations: our movements
and stanzas and scenes and days and nights-
               Those wings on your feet: When
that happened they must have stopped fluttering
for a second. I tried flying again and fell.

I haven't been much of a messenger since.
Mess, mess and more mess I guess.
Shawn  Oct 2011
circus
Shawn Oct 2011
i never pegged you for someone
swept up by razzle dazzle,
infatuated with muscle men,
acrobats, and stars.
your view on animal rights,
seemingly discarded,
for an elephant's tricks,
the lion tamer's whip,
the tent apparently blocking out
harsh judging light.

i viewed you as critical,
skeptical of spectacle,
squinting unsure,
behind those black wayfarers,
the image constructed in my mind,
supported by that vintage dress,
the style of your hair,
the music you listened to
on the car ride over,
how can you be satisfied
with this carnival fare?

frivolous displays favoured
over subtle gestures,
superficial appearances favoured
over chemistry,
hollow showman dialogue
echoing over loudspeakers
favoured over a conversation,

perhaps i'm a hypocrite,
your attributes simply skewed,
by my being swept up in the
razzle dazzle spectacle
of you.

(i'll be in the hall of mirrors)
shaqila  Apr 2014
Always Monday
shaqila Apr 2014
It’s always Monday here with the hustle and bustle of the boisterous marketplace,
Negotiations carried out over loudspeakers and hailers,
It’s never without a fight.
It’s always Monday here with the cries of half-dead swans and suffocating dolphins,
Collateral damage is a word used loosely,
Now that the main guy is here.

Last night was a good night, befitting a Sunday’s catch,
Rest is only for the lost and lonely on a lovely Sunday night.
They brought them in, lined up in rows of ten,
Nothing on but a white singlet and pretty underpants.
They cowered in fright and tried to huddle,
The whips flew as freely as the flies that came to meddle.

It was not long till your turn came
Pretty as a rosebud
One man claimed
Smooth as a rose’s petal
Another one gleamed.

It was all too real for you and you fell dead, in silence
It’s always Monday here, someone said,
She was so pretty...
As they carried you on their back
to dump you in the truck
to throw away the body
just outside the city.

It’s always Monday here, said the man shaking his head,
as he went to the playground to fish
for another haul of fresh blood and good meat!

It’s always Monday here...
Someone said...
© shaqila
4172014
Justin S Wampler Jun 2015
She danced away
in the falling rain
of one dollar bills,
under the clouds
of swirling blue
cigarette smoke.

Strobe lightning
blinded the crowd
in seductive pulses,
as the loudspeakers
thundered booming
bass into their ears.
sugar plumb  Jan 2013
My War.
sugar plumb Jan 2013
We had dreams
about the crystal sun
the juniper wind, apple
blossoms and glowing evenings
comfort and quietude
We had dreams
lollipops and no one crying
no pain-and love if not
everlasting
solid and smiling every day
We had dreams
about great ships sailing
wind filling all speed ahead
never becalmed, no one dead,
no rotting bodies on the deck
no witness to inexplicable agony
We had dreams
garlands from gardens
nobody had to tend
ice cream cones piling
sidewalks high
shade for the asking
from every uncomfortable
ray of sun
water enough for everything
lawns and trees
flowers and livestock
children running in sprinklers
water for the taking
every day
We had dreams
soft conversations in
the lamplight, hands to hold
slim and strong whenever
we needed, voices filled
with understanding and strength
for every fear
and every tear dried
by gentle caring touch
We had dreams
that did not include random bullets
sudden death and no clouds
exploding to rain death
on helpless heads
We dreamed we would never be helpless
we had dreams
we bought on time
amortization forever
and no one would ever
have to pay the bills
We had dreams
someone would always save us
mother always did
even when she didn’t want to
even when we made her mad
even when we broke her china
and her heart
We had dreams
laughing and crying
talking into loud speakers
shouting our claims
and never thought how
to make them come true
We had dreams
of glory and taking
down every flag from every
highest hill
and no one would ever be found
face down in two inches of water
drowned on ***** and disaster
We had dreams
that did not include spit
on the sidewalk, in the gutters,
but only clean skies
and apple pie, organically sweet
every day
and endlessly billowing
wheat, and sailing ships
and all the pure water
we could drink for free
and play in
We had dreams
that we could demand pain away consequences
and guilt and the necessary play
of our dreams that mothers would
if we dreamed hard enough
and played hard enough
and the nasty old piper
never called for his fee
We had dreams
and when they didn’t come true
we had curses
We cursed the lollipops
we cursed the ice cream
we cursed the wheat
the cornucopia
the great sailing ships
and the sea
the mother
the sidewalks
the highest hills
and the trickling ditch
we cursed the livestock
and the stereos
the loudspeakers and the glory
and we cursed crying and apple pie
we cursed suffering and anguish
the pipers who demanded to be paid
the ones who paid and complained
about the mess we made
we cursed fine china plates
filled with hard-earned harvests
we cursed love and freedom
we cursed crystal sun
and shade.
rolanda  Dec 2013
loony bin
rolanda Dec 2013
iron bars on windows
cheapest radiowave loud from loudspeakers
in smoking room
spreading
nonstop most tasteless songs
shouts, giggling and whispers and cries
mixed in the air
swallowing ugly pills under severe control of ugly sanitarian
pills from which you become weak, weary and zombies-like
to not commit suicide is not allowed
to keep glass bottles
no laptop allowed
10 minutes walk a day
and this only with attendance of
medical personal
stupid graffities on the walls of toilets and
smoking room
scarying
anything about punishment of ******* god
surely made not by patients
but belong to „estimated inventary“
the most horror procedure
is doctor visit at every morn
for so-called conversation
you, even not obsessed with suicide
would wish to hang yourself
from unability to cut doc' s throat
so spoke Antonin Artaud
who spent 9years in closed insane asylum in France
while Ezra Pound spent over 12 years in Washington D.C. Mental ward
me spent „only“ 6 months
but i pretty sure that this joy is worse than
be locked in jail
where you at least know what a ******* crime you supposed to commit
me unemployed dadaist was locked by catching by police spraying graffity
in Berlin, which called „FREE PIDGIN!“
reason enough to being diagnosed and
poisoned by legal drugs

we live indeed in society where freedom of speech rules
haha
it was modest trial to tell literally of the darkest terror: loony bin
anastasiad Oct 2016
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