the rotten bananas remain on the hook,
browning and sagging,
dispensing a putrid odor into the room
of spoiled sweetness.

the small patches of burnt yellow
become overtaken with dark brown,
like a disease, spreading faster and faster

the tough, impenatrable skin slowly
decays into a soft, mushy clump
that although, is penetrable, is undesirable.

the grasps of my **** as the holder of time to the scales, as if it was my *******: desired inclined of all women of latter time as it's extension of the scaled respective independent selfish ******* as length in time as metered to overtaking body erradicating speed as colloidial motion distressed dementia slowing of all intensity asto contrast of haste of carried love as given of best length as best muscle wide ribbed real phenomenah constituted factuality enters the member of divided all penetrable imaginable intensity of the attitude assertive attentive of the yearn-craved-of all the famish as if actual shared intoaslike reality factual forlorned of the ****** engagement as the cunninlingus hunger of your taste lipped to each attention assertive command of the tongue to sense of even ambrosial scent as if dripping from tongue as licking of even like the contact of the mouth encumbers soul erogenous eroticmentality of the attitude inasif heat intensified feelings of desire attentive controlled of lust as this finality driven to of the seen as actuality of time as desire and as to it's **** as if normalcy actual constant submissively yields to the haste in time as both too and including of all bodies to greet my being as this sexuality superior with my body and **** englistened measured as twisted entertwined range of aim of all bodies to lust of thisity whatness of all to mynest time in relativity of all to feel me as my body pushes up and down ******* eager motion arched to back dig palm ******* as to the ensimultitide  momentum as all here chosen existent pristine envinciation of as invincibility is sacrificed for as if ****** to ****** pain  pain without ******* in all of every real time experience enverbatim and seen enwombed married by what just written;

raised after 1994 post-apartheid
i was thought ultimate freedom is a birth right
more so to the previously dis-advanced
i had freedom, i thought
till i met the big un-penetrable white wall
the descendants from apartheid
racism covered by nice words, teaching and helping
meaning we govern you, you are incapable of self govern
a wall that claims land for a 'superior race'
claims entitlement as payment for teaching and helping

a wall that destroys the human soul
drives the light from eyes
dries young people's bones
a wall that butchers equal to the inquisition
salt, cayenne, lemon rubbed into emotional wounds

"a stolen ox is eaten and forgotten,
but stolen land remains in the eye"
martin Luther king wrote the dream speech 1963
that dream is still just that, a dream
words on paper
hope in the eyes of non-whites
but no closer to reality
the white wall holds

raised after 1994 post-apartheid
i was thought ultimate freedom is a birth right
more so to the previously dis-advanced
i had freedom, i thought
till i met the big un-penetrable white wall
the descendants from apartheid
racism covered by nice words, teaching and helping
meaning we govern you, you are incapable of self govern
a wall that claims land for a 'superior race'
claims entitlement as payment for teaching and helping

a wall that destroys the human soul
drives the light from eyes
dries young people's bones
a wall that butchers equal to the inquisition
salt, cayenne, lemon rubbed into emotional wounds

"a stolen ox is eaten and forgotten,
but stolen land remains in the eye"
martin Luther king wrote the dream speech 1963
that dream is still just that, a dream
words on paper
hope in the eyes of non-whites
but no closer to reality
the white wall holds

Gorse burnt
bird skeleton
laying beneath
stark, white, crumbly
just calcium
a proto-fossil
that lacks the hardness
derived from
aeons encased
in mud
becoming stone
but this one
will never be
its future is dust
mingled with sand

Close by lies
a golf ball
a wayward one
that strayed
from links
to dune
to deform
in the blaze
become blackend
and split
the skin peeled back
opened to reveal
the tight-wound
elastic strands
fused together
yet penetrable
with persistent
small fingers
and unravelled
in exploration
to be left
in an untidy
forgotten pile
once the sac
at the core
is retrieved
within which
thick white paint
to sqeeze forth
and daub
on wall or fence
or kerbstone

This was the day after
fire had torn
through a thicket of gorse
that I and one or two
others had found ablaze
burning red and yellow and orange
hissing and spitting in protest
radiating heat in aromatic miasma
impressing all senses together
and knowing our civic duty
had run breathless
two streets inland
to fire red telephone box
to dial three nines
and deliver the news and wait
for fire red fire engine
to thunder by with shrilling bell
then to follow on, running back
to observe and to claim
with pride our part
in the resolution of danger
only to face accusation
that we must be responsible
for starting the conflagration
our shock and earnest denials
not entirely convincing
even when we protested that
had we been the culprits
then reporting the matter
would be the last consideration
instead, we were told
we'd clearly done the deed
so we could call out the brigade
and though nothing in the end
came of it, I was left convinced
that adult thought patterns
left much to be desired
and were far too convoluted
too suspicious, too impenetrable
to be ever worth adopting

That episode taught me
the magnificence of gorse ablaze
that discoveries were to be
made in the aftermath
that doing the right thing
wasn't always to be advised
that overly suspicious
too officious firemen
were fishing for payback
that if I were to be judged
guilty of the offence
when I was innocent of it
then I had a credit awaiting
in the bank of misdemeanor
so in due course
I made my withdrawal
and lit the gorse
in assembly at school
we were told we should
not hide our light
under a bushel
but I, not knowing
what a bushel was
lit mine under a bush
I did it only once
and though I had a brief
flirtation with Fraid
Her power scared me too much
no great damage was done
no human life lost
or placed in danger
save possibly mine

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 19/10/13

Preoccupation with making something permanent
A feeling of expectation
incorporation of a certain situation
or habitation into life, for good
It makes me freak out.
Desire,
for a certain thing to happen
fear of that something actually happening
Or that it's something that might be permanent.
Worry,
the attempt to find certainty
the desire to control things.
Control you, controlling me
I'm afraid you'll find my black
It will come back again.
It's like an arc weld done incorrectly
Eventually it will start to bleed
And fall apart.
But I dreamt about welding and you welding me
into something permanent
something desirable
something non-penetrable.
You had me molded against the truck and...
I don't know who you are, but you put your fire in me
So deeply it burns.
A fire that firefighters can't dissolve
Doctors can't resolve.
You're in me,
and I love you.

It is starting again.

The busy people around me are too preoccupied to notice it,
Too engrossed in their own little worlds
to give even an iota of attention to its wondrous arrival.
My fast, disorganized thoughts abruptly come to a shocking halt.

Their own little worlds.

Little.

I am taken aback by that single word that stood out
From all of the effusive words inside my nearly bursting mind.

Little.

I dared to describe their worlds little.

Little.

I dared to speak as if what was about to come
Is larger and vaster in terms of size.

Little.

I dared to speak as if it was immensely greater
And more powerful compared to theirs.

Little.

I dared to spit the insult out of my mouth,
But I will not take it back.

It is starting. The time has come once again.

It was once tinier than a speck
But it is now overshadowing everything that its power can take.

Its underestimated power is surprisingly getting stronger.

It is fast approaching and now it has become unstoppable.

They are starting to utter curses and bluster profanities,
Obviously abhorring the unexpected turning of the tables.
In contrast, I feel inexplicably elated.

They are now terrified,
Their uncaring eyes instantly bulging wide
Upon witnessing the boisterous display of its power.
Despite their fears, I feel valiant, certainly brave.

They are beginning to scurry off in haste
To seek for safety and security as they all dashed
To find a confined place, away from the approaching force.
On the contrary, I feel safe out in the open.

They want to escape the settling darkness,
Longing vehemently to see a ray of light
Amidst the perilous surroundings.
On the other hand, I feel comfort and belongingness.

As they all hid themselves away from the inescapable reality
And decided to lock their useless doors and penetrable windows,
I stood still on this copious ground.
I remained stationary as the authentic rubber beneath my old sneakers
Strengthened its affinity with the asphalt ground.

I closed my eyes,
Not to depict a paradigm of disembodying my entire self from reality,
But rather to show how willing I am to accept what was enveloping me.

The monochrome darkness that it possesses was like a vast mirror
Reflecting all the hidden woes and sorrows inside my beating heart.
Then I realized that we did not just resemble each other.
We had become one.

While I disabled my sense of sight for a moment,
Shortly forgot the purpose of my sense of touch,
Ignored completely my sense of smell and my sense of taste,
The one remaining became prominent.

A clamorous sound filled my ears.
It was a deafening scream from the fearsome entity.
The sound banged my eardrums wildly but it did not hurt.
The horrifying sound resonated through my body,
Awakening every dozing part of my being
And eventually giving life to my dying soul.

The loud voice covered the unoccupied land,
Walked through every existing path
And vociferously shouted out its untold sufferings.
During that event, we were still one.
The ear-splitting shriek belonged to us.
The heart aching sound of sheer pain belonged to me.

I felt its blowing frustrations against my lithe body
And it seem like it was trying to knock me down on the hard ground.
Eventually, I realized that I was badly mistaken.

The powerful energy was embracing my tainted personality,
Giving me the pure comfort that I longed to receive.
This formidable entity was vaingloriously above all
But it crouched down to solace a pathetic being
Slumped deep on the filthy ground.
It horrified everybody
But it exerted an effort to put on its caring facade to console me.

I was nothing compared to it and I am about to prove it.
My weakness was about to show as it pooled beneath my lids.
Never did I try to stop it from rolling down my dull cheeks.
It was a bold statement.
I was not worthy of such greatness, nor will I ever be.

It was your usual way of displaying your immense power.
It was my ignominious way of showing how frail and helpless I am.
I cannot fathom how two different things
Could perfectly blend with each other.
I can never fathom how it was possible
But I will forever be grateful
For such a peculiar yet wonderful event happened.
I slowly lifted my head up with my eyes closed shut
And enjoyed the indescribable feeling
As I got soaked down to the core by its liquefied power.

Suddenly, its lengthy cane reached for the cold ground harshly.
I cannot help but flinch in both surprise and fear.
My eyes darted open in order to see what was bound to come.
The unusual-looking cane met the ground once again
With an indignant hit and it was more brutal compared to the first.

Its cane looked immaculate and divine.
It was eye-blindingly bright and such a beautiful sight.
I realized that it was not just a cane angrily meeting the ground.
They were rays of hope intended only for me.

Time passed ever so slowly,
As I stood alone at its overwhelming presence.
Never was I acquainted to anyone, but in this case, anything like this.
It made me feel important.
It made me realize that I am worthy of being comforted,
Being accepted fully as I am and being loved.

I thought it was everlasting.
I assumed its glorious might was never-ending.
The unimaginable power that it made me feel
Was something I have never acquired before.
Everything seemed real to me.

Now it was fading.

The people are slowly unleashing themselves
From their respective refuges while I still stood there,
Hoping for this force to regain its unfathomable power.

I was being selfish.

I begged for it to stay as it is.
I was about to get down on my bruised knees.

I hungered for the power.
I needed the power.
It was my intangible talisman.

The great force was slowly fading.
I felt a new kind of pain as it gradually departed from me.

I wanted more of the unconditional comfort that it made me feel.
I need more of the unworldly love and care that it wholeheartedly gave me.

My pleading was put to waste.
It started to disappear faster.

I cannot do anything to bring it back.
Now it was gone.

I was completely lost.

I am back to being weak and worthless
But there was an evident change in me.

I have become more pathetic in the eyes of many.

I cannot bear their unfair criticisms and overly biased judgment.

I wanted to dissolve.

On the other hand, moving on seemed accepted by society
As a sophisticated decision in comparison to the other.

I took at step,
Moving myself away at a distance so infinitesimal.

I took another and found a menial amount of strength within me,
Instructing me to continue.

No one seems to notice my horrible state.

That was a good thing.

I continued to walk.
My feet became steadier with each step I took
And I began to cover a longer distance.

As I walked, thoughts began to saunter inside my mind.

I will never forget the magnificent sensation that I felt for a short while.
I have to face the agonizing truth that it was gone.

It was nothing compared to paradise.
It was so much more than words could possibly express.

I felt utter remorse at its departure
But something tells me that it will be back for me.

It will soon come back and we will become one again.






I will be waiting until it rains again.

It is harshness, beautiful girl..
but far from being  a cruelty.
I'm trying to find the words  because
you deserve to have the chance,  to choose

   based on the truth of what is  truly loving
    and what is not.

In your need for access to raw,
core survival,  
the machine has put its hooks  in to you  
deep, beautiful girl.

And my only access--  to get through
the machine's intricate gearwork
is unfortunately,  during the time

   when you are struggling most,
   within the greatest of calamities--

But it is at that time.. 
when the highly mechanized machine's,  gearwork
is most penetrable.

So naturally it is at that time,  
   when an intervention
   would  seem, so cruel..


Ah, babe..
I'm not afraid of my love for you
actually killing you..
There is something deep inside your spirit

   that somehow tells you--

That even in the midst of the chaos..
And within even that  which so often
feels  as being cruel..

this might indeed, actually be Love--
The real thing.

But at that level.. who on Earth  could actually
trust that it actually,  could be?
And your well perceived,  perception of cruelty
comes from the fact is it must  seem to you--

That every time you truly open up
your heart to me..   I seem to blast you,
         and knock you to the ground..
when you feel  you need me, most.
I'm still looking for words
to describe it, beautiful girl--

   But it has to do with something..
   somewhere,
   in the Realms of love--

And the things that take it in
And the things that thwart it.

There are not yet human words,
here on Earth, to describe it..

But one day,  my so very beautiful..
I know that one day,  there will.

.of all days, but esp. a day such as this,
so little must happen,
  but at the same time so much can happen,
and it did, later in the day i watched
the magic at wimbledon: cori "coco" gauff
went into the 4th round -
     clinging on to reply with 2 match
points against her...
    coming back in a tie break in the 2nd
set, winning the 3rd 7 - 5...
    and... as ever, of all the grand slams in
tennis... wimbledon is always packed...
fancy seeing a full crowd at either the u.s.
open or roland garose...
   which makes for ****** viewing...
you really do need the crowd there,
the commentary doesn't really matter when
the crowd is there: the crowd and subsequently
the atmosphere... which is a delight
for t.v. viewing...
       but prior?
               the unadulterated pleasure from
physical labour... notably gardening in this example...
mawing the lawn...
  and then cutting down my grape vine:
poor ****** died somehow...
  many a good bottles of wine it did provide...
i'll miss making my own wine...
              but more importantly...
a rekindled sensation i once associated with
physical labour...
   after the work was done...
to sit, smoke a cigarette, have 3 sips of coffee...
and just feel a full-embodiment
without any necessities of thinking,
of the mind,
    to have invested so much much in the body
and so little in the mind...
   physical labour has to be the most
gratifying aspect of life:
    i'm jealous of the men in trades where
physical labour is required...
   how they can block thinking,
while perfecting their physical deeds...
an act of physical labour eventually outstrips
any gratification from that mollusc
    slouch into intellectualism:
esp. if there is no worthy opponent and you're
performing "intellectual" deeds solo...
what permeates from physical of labour
is a clarity of mind,
   esp. in the realm of horticulture...
       but i remember it was the same after
an honest day's work on a construction site...
there is no superior feeling:
not even during or after ***...
                           the body disavows the mind,
it disallows any bothersome minor existential
crisis to enter the foray of man's immediate
circumstance...
    almost all "intellectual" excursions can be
so ****... unsatisfying -
                   it would appear that physical
labour is more rewarding than any
intellectual "labour"...
                         since after the work is done...
both the body and the mind rest...
     unlike the opposite:
         where the body is perhaps at rest,
but the mind continues its "perverted"
                         distaste for a sense of completeness
and its furthered inability to sway
away from prodding abstracts or concrete
observations;
shame about the grape vine...
     making your own wine is probably
the most rewarding part of life -
   well... it was for me.

what made the Freudian question more penetrable is
what made it obvious - asking the same question
whether a housewife needed a kettle
was like asking a bricklayer for trowel -
only the rich payed for the meaning
of dreams... ****... the poor were just given
the fact that, we do, actually dream -
unless it's some over-worldliness or
exacting the unconsciousness of the heart
keeping rhythm to the brain's break from
thinking in the cranium cinema -
ah yes, hierarchy; hierarchy hierarchy hierarchy,
no Saddam Hussein then to bother?
ah ****, there was. too bad, make more mistakes,
that'll be a fine excuse for being human,
given the fact that when waiters make mistakes
we turn blue with rage and call for a happy meal -
i don't know what women want,
and to be honest, i don't care -
if a house is an extension of a woman i already know
the perks of wants presupposed -
man wants sea, Norse, man wants desert, Arab -
there's nothing worth noting for him to
simply settle down and watch television or
become a gamer - there are dinosaurs about with
that theory - beware.
Big Benjamin will be hushed for a year -
just recently renamed Tower E -
but what's that? glory be to Darwin in the highest?
championing Darwinism to simply speak
a valid point will make art suffer -
it's not longer Charles II with a cravat but
fur - plus it's impossible to start from there,
better to start from a deviation like from ****** into
wholehearted matrimony - choose a negative and
improve on it, why bother a positive chimp variation?
what progress comes from that? Gorillas aren't exactly
harassed by felines in the thick jungle, or if they are,
no more than Africa-Americans in their own cars
without guns but with gun permits - which means that
Americans are more likely to own gun permits than
passports, forget the fables of ***** Dancing and
the hopes of a Roman Holiday... it's Iowa-time right now...
gonna get smaller by the day -
existence via the bungalow - and a society where there's
a friction concerning not-having-read-philosophy
and having-read-philosophy, but it won't change for either
faction, both will be diagnosed as mad for the sake of
leisure activities continuing and pharma selling.
Denmark will flourish and Iceland and
what Darwinist scientists should have concentrated on:
shorter time-frame, evolution of Scandinavians -
what the Chinese already done and the Blue Indians tilting
the earth's gravity east with their 'made in China' #madeinchina...
but in a country that regards reading Kierkegaard
as allocating the diagnosis of schizophrenia...
you beg to differ and turn dialectics into warring -
this is England 2016 - by god man, don't read
books! read seagulls regurgitating chip-mush via
the media! don't you read books in England! don't!
i warn you! and remember that the internet doesn't
exist for journalists, esp. those writing opinion pieces!
it's not reality for them (the content) - a computer is
real, but anything on it isn't - thank you very much
for the social aspect of the internet coupled with
globalisation and the non-existent village or neighbour -
thank you... it's just a defence mechanism,
the internet is without authority - the printed press
has authority looming over it - the best time to write
a load of ******* not bothersome about money.

p.s. i hate the argument from the perspective
of exercise... i see exercise as pointless...
working, doing something, goal orientation
within the confines of one organism to another,
losing weight is such a vain goal /
purpose to execrise and all that scientific jargon
about releasing your... this receptor,
that receptor, this chemical that chemica...
*******...
     mawing the lawn and cutting a grape vine...
exercise... but more importantly:
a very organic end goal.

I thought it was a mission...
A mission to your heart, your soul... Your ugly mind.
One that confuses and abuses what it is that was honest and genuine love that I carried for years and years only for you to help shed my tears and have them travel down the path in which they have gone before..

Down..

No more, NO!
Let me go. Keep my sweater and let it warm your cold, shiverish spew that you so soldemly spit when you share your venomous words.
You burned me..helped show and discerned me.
You allowed yourself to grab me like a rebound and then drop me...without there being any sound. No smack! No crash...just a silent shatter in which I'm still picking up the pieces of our fallen glasses...healing all the small cuts and closing my eyes in which I still hear your voice, see your whispers..."I love you"
(I laugh) (you lie)
Months and months later...I realized that I over exhausted my efforts in my tries.
I wanted to heal an already broken heart, dismantled mind
You wanted to drink your pain away and waste just a few more hours of our precious time.
Until that one time...no protection
No safety to what was penetrable in the lust of what was mistaken to be love... Transformed into hate. Into a whirlwind of fear. Into a reflection in which you and I stare... And months later... Now see nothing.
I cowered down to my knees and will never let you do that again, will never let you back into my soul...will never consider you a true and real friend.
Since you dissect only the what it is you need... In which it is your empty heart you feed, while your ignorance slowly bleeds...out. Black blood and darkness...an Angels dark kiss
In the mist she awaits...to hunt on yet, another hopeless mind.

Infatuation creates a shadow that makes us blind.

You were different, miss
You were insane, miss
You were an inspiration, miss
You were easy, miss
Simple, miss
You were...love, miss
Or was it hate, miss?
You were trapped freedom, miss
A dark dream, miss
A shallow bliss, miss

But I say goodbye, miss

Because the truth is, miss

You won't be,

*Missed.