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Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
Sitting here in class I am today, minding my business as they would say. I’m listening to the teacher teach but hearing only things left beyond my reach. Another whole day in this **** school so I can come out each night 'more-of-a-fool,' and would it behoove them all to know, I ain’t no dummy, no 'coffee-Joe'?

  …but then I’d have to get the chance, the opportunity provided to advance and the equal treatment they all receive that somehow has been lost on me. Why do I even come here? Why does my Mom insist on this? They don’t call on me, care about me, acknowledge me, it’s ridiculous. At lunch each day I gotta use my fists and even my own kind acts wicked, cause for the rest of them fighting is all that exists.

  Exists; having objective reality or being.

  I exist alright; exist if you call this a life, defined by ******, **** and monkey, or related to some stupid-actin’ ****** or some dumb brawler or that dude good at running but never ever seen as intelligent and cunning. The girls ignore me, teachers too, white guys hate me, what did I do? What did I ever do to them? I’m just like you, I just want some friends, want the chance in life to succeed, man shut up about being freed that **** happened a hundred and fifty ******* years ago, I’m just as sick of hearing about it as you are 'Bro.'

  They say I have rights, they say that it’s fair, they say there’s a chance for me everywhere, but everywhere I look that’s not what I see, I’m put-down and degraded cons-tant-ly, told that I should join the team, or passed over in conversations about some thing. Forced to be friends with thugs that hate but to them at least I can relate, for just like me they was excluded or marginalized when told that they are deluded; they’ll never make it anyway, never achieve their dreams, never have their say so why even bother when no one cares how you feel, when your dreams in life won’t ever be real, when you end up in the streets and all you got left is to steal, when its still,

“Go back to Africa ******!”

...they say with zeal and the vitriol an violence comport surreal, Helen didn’t hold this secret to reveal nor does rap, truthfully, with these problems deal? Cocooned by stares and ****-sure glares, because your own sports brothers hate your *** and make you just wanna ditch that class, so here I ended up on the streets, hangin' round on my crew’s beats, acting tough, street-cred and clout and there your 'momma-an-sister' out n’ about, while here I am a fresh drop-out and can you guess what?

Here we come to take her purse, I clock your mom’s mouth and shove down your sister but ***** you boy I could’ve done much worse, she could’ve lost her life and come home in a hearse!

  Is this the ****** ya’ll wanted to see? All filled up inside with hatred, cause I was told that I would never make it, from day one got no attention, spent half of high school in afternoon detention, training me for my future as a prison convict yet another sign our society is depraved and sick. Given no chance or help or just some praise, no moments to shine and no Happy Days, he’s just a gang-banger, a **** they say? My actions may be worse than your words assail, and well, that may be me and I may be in jail but here’s something from my Grand Momma, a little encouragement goes a long way to change this drama...

You see me on the street you better ******* run cause you already know what’s in my jacket son and my hoodie will be up so you can’t see my face since I already know what you think of my race.
I guess these are rhyming stories really. I grew up poor in rough neighborhoods and majority-minority schools. This piece is a tribute to tribulations of poor African Americans which I know all too well having grown up in their neighborhoods.
A man built a
stone wall in
a place which
was not his to                              
reside. It was
torn down ‘til
he killed the
other person,

  Therefore a council, the ‘Council of the Commons,’ was called to order. It was from this foundation that early man found truth in matters through debate. It was a way of reckoning with problems and resolving disputes and contained three members; a king, a judge and their god -who came before the shrill cries and lamentations that day to hear the case of the stonemason. It was gathered at the temple of the god.

Lugal; “In what is good and what is just, I imagine a verdict that treats the people as wholesome; is just.”

Dekōōd; “For you believe, as all rulers do, that justice leaves are but for the few, the man who acts can never do, a thing unjust for his reward is due, but in this you err, unlike in battle, for people humanely; cannot be treated as cattle.”

Dinĝir; “And what of me? What my concern? What offering more, than blood-on-earth; in turn?”

Lugal; “We are not here in glory nor in battle but save for the prayers of these people; our chattel.”

Dekōōd; “I am not here for you, nor here for thus, nor daimones due, I am the judge, and adjudicate, I must! No matter solemn, or ill or gravely hearted, to sufferers who mourn, a dearly departed. If laws were broken, so have I been called, as one of three who judges, judges all, and so be it, until a time, that such a thing as rule, has ceased to rhyme, and man has ended, for all time!”

Dinĝir; “Very well, very well indeed, their incense is pleasing, their temple cleaned, their prayers heard, devices expected and meat and porridge and genuflective, these subjects are a thrill to me, go forward council, you two of three. I shall not make my move as much, until you humans, consider such, but once you pass a judgment on, this humble man of stone and brawn, just say the verdict and I will act, as Dekōōd has judged him, for his attack.”

Lugal; “Quiet now! Hush all, be quiet, lest I consider, your shrills, a riot, and put you down, for I decree, over all that you know, and all that you see, a final arbiter, of the law, I am your King; the king of all!”

Dekōōd; “And I your judge, your voice of reason, who discerns the meanings, the acts and treasons and takes the place of him that died and points thy finger and convicts those that lied!”

Dinĝir; “Mmmpfh, crunch, gargle, ummped, mmmpfh…pig! …and it’s roasted well…mmmpfh, smack.”

Dekōōd; “Come before me, bring that stonemason, and the family come forward, come quickly, quickly hasten, and the accusers tell, your tale of woe, and I’ll assign his character, if it is low.”


“I am wife, was wife to he, the man a farmer, and husband to me,
These here, his children, all eight of thee, and that land there, was given to us, you see,


By that great king, Oh Lugal, it is I, and he was a lieutenant, in the wars of honor, on your side,

Which beget you your kingdom, thus you granted these lands to him, whom did, his duty,

And that monster, the mason, his wall upon them doth rent away, -their beauty,

After our reproach, he did slay my hus-band, his blood now spilt, and washed upon, our land.”

Dekōōd; “Come before me now stonemason, show me your face, over there, yes, that’s your place, stand at that podium and tell us now, give us your case, but remember how well you plead, shall determine, your fates."

“I may have built my wall as such, plans offset by hills that roll but I did nothing wrong except to error,

I did not commit this claimed terror, her husband attacked me before we could reason and that was it.”

Dekōōd; “You call that eloquence? Well then, eye for an eye, tear this man apart, until he has died, and as he lie dying, Diĝir, it’s your turn, devour your portion, for the rest, we shall burn!”

Lugal; “For I am Basileos!”
Dekōōd; “For I am Basilicas!”
Dinĝir; “For I am Basiliskus!”

“The king, a judge, your god; the three,

…and this, as such, is our, decree!”
Sumerian; Lugal means King, Dekood means Judge, Digir means God.
(Descendant of the Eight Small Furies)

Cold frigged and wet but not icy and not yet. Two laborers at docks
find camaraderie in talks, tho’ their neighbors bustle by as they unload shipping stocks,  

For the kinsfolk miss a nothing a light mist of breath when huffing.  
The women like to pout as the crassy men do shout, shine on awhile whistling, Inn-keepers at shops coo their bristling and Old Wicca ones seen hissing from low, low talk in whisperings,

Although the morning bright the seas are high and not retreating, weather cool and fleeting, the peoples sounds a blend of bleating, as wily sheep would gather to speak about a matter for it is not the people’s spoke of that draws faint sorts of blather.

On this day...rains are much to rather, feigning raspy talons cloaked in chatter and from stores to shores to boat, seas, lakes, lochs, bridges over moat, not as to say they gloat, or ramble to invoke which fear of and from it stoke the gossip on one surly bloke…

For on this day everyone is talking in this seaside town in Eire. A hero undone by gossip but none can be called a liar. For about whom and what of -a man of such great fire.

Celebrity renown, born and raised but not settled down. Within its boundaries a-proper but of such character to copper, to change tasty meat to fat and bone, awe in disposition down to tone, mind boggling this gent whose life god gave as a gift of own.

In a perplexity of fright, brought tragedy each night and none could get away, from the obvious decay, due brutal awful fray, to make a beast from a shining dove, what the hell was God thinking of?

The crisper ears do so hear though not quite enough to whet, the imaginings to happenings they speak about just yet.  So hastily move spies, as I tell you of the sighs, the indignity and pride, swallowed with a town’s growing angry tide,

Upon this night so they see a man, creep who once the pride of Dan, loved more above all here in Tan, his birthplace this old briny-land but lately fondness on the wan, oh here he comes to close in again, to wane and wax vaudevillian, end up by dark a plain villain, as his face turns a shade of vermilion, electric ghost of Kirlian, eclectic host of deviling and calculated mind disheveling,

Pumped of mead or whiskey arguments are risky. Against his manner and girth, intoxicated nature -or mental worth. Sheer size attests his power, muck and mirth to fallen valor, the change is said to wow us, proven brute against all prowess, as such preferred and fight and such to nightly fright,

Béarthr is this man of once, of promises found to be just fronts, hanging around a town's high perch…though seen at the bar as sulk and lurch, or testy to some called a sailor who know not the fear of old dear Balor?

Sullen rent asunder, quick to wit when buntered, try with fists this skunkard; you brought low as a punter, hail to hell with such a drunkard! To stand and watch in awe, as blood and cracks and calls with cries and screams at falls, at doors torn from building halls, no end or stop to pause, sheer terror fighting brawls with fists he lays the laws, a violent testament to theater,

The burly beast named Béarthr!

Eight levels down to hell with him, each evening a town made grim but not tonight and nevermore, a double barrel out missing door, a silence from frosty place our cavern and dead beast felled on floor of tavern!  

If you find yourself frisky one night and driving through our Tan. If you’ve got salt are brisk for fight and hold your weight in sand…
…then make your way to such a place, renowned for such a meter,

You’ll find a name above the door;

O’ Ochtar beag the Béarthr!
Old English-style rhyme. Béarthr is Gallic and pronounced, "Be-ate-tor."
Walking out 'upon-the-grass,'
found myself a-lone.
Roses, trees, the walking paths,
a second sort of home.

How did,
how did I...
How did I get this way?

People in the park at night,
find themselves a-lone.
People in the park at night,
wandering, -no home.
Silhouetted moving shades,
invisible by day.
People in the park at night,
-not people now they say.
and they,
they are...
-just wandering away,
-wandering away.


Laying up against the Oak,
Father I am home.
Open skies, see stars amass,
I am not a-lone?
Why was this my destined path?

How did I get this way?

People in the park at night,
they are not a-lone.
People in the park at night,
WAN-DER-ING BUT HOME.
Silhouetted moving shades,
invisible by day.
People in the park at night,
-not people now they say!
PEOPLE IN THE PARK AT NIGHT,
lost along the way.
SLEEPING IN THE PARK TO-NIGHT,
crumbling; they fray.


Lord why?
why are things...
why are things...
Why are things this way?

Falling from this life at last,
found I'm not alone?
Jesus came to see me pass,
said

"Nev-ver were you a-lone."

People in the park at night,
see themselves a-lone.
People in the park to-night,
not wandering but home...


Never are they alone.

— The End —