My father's long fingers smooth
over the aged scratchy pleats.
The Kilt is magnificent. It has the
fleeting beauty that only a well
kept antique has, that warm
firelight glow of the past.
It has a few scuffs and holes,
but the somber reds and greens of
clan Mackintoish have settled into
the cloth and darkened pleasantly.
The kilt is always the most important detail,
it has passed from grandfather down,
and it looks as handsome now
as in the sepia photographs on our shelves.
The dirks black ornate hilt rests
heavily against his hip, and the
belt is cinched tightly to hold it up.
you can practically hear bagpipes
My grandfather's dark green cotton socks
sit near the top of my father's calf
and he leans over to adjust the frills.
And as his tan wrinkled brow furrows
in concentration, and his admittedly
attractive white whiskers scrape
across his collar, and the image
nears completion, the drum beats louder.
Reaching up from the ancient past
and grasping the future in tradition,
the ghosts of ancestors enter his poise,
and he suddenly appears less like
my father and takes on the swagger
of a cocky fisherman, of pirate.
He is swinging swords
and playing pipes, and cobbling, and
setting stones upright in ancient
forgotten ritual, and tossing cabers.
I know looking at him now,
what my own ghosts will be
when my time comes.

Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****...

Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.

Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?

IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.

I wish thee vessel of thine blood n’ name*

Thou needs not worry of thy soul
Alas I am Young n’ heed none so dull

Shun my repertoire, superstitious square
Your margins seek to limit souls everywhere  

I wish thee, vessel of thine blood n’ name
A prosperous experience in which must be tame

For the world is wild, quiet, and strange
Alas never, for thou sake, let it be lame

I wish thee, vessel of thine blood n’ name
To respect thy labors n’ sweat in which I came

Stride for honest glory, never superficial fame
For such a falsie way is just a child’s gain

I beseech you, dare not fill my glass with shame
Live inspiring ahead, cease not to aim

The Proud chime of hearing thou blood’s name
Soon you and I shall reunite as one as the same

Come!
Distant Brother or Sister
Let’s dance n’ rest from God’s funny melodic game

No one even asks what I'm doing these days,
and it's obvious they don't care.
I want to wash my hands of these people;
I come from a family of fist fighters,
and forgiveness is like a cardinal sin.
****, even I'm still bitter about the ****.
Even I still get upset at the thoughts.
My lover wraps her arms around me
and I radiate this ******* into her.
Every time.
Sleeping next to me
is dirtier than sleeping
in any grave.
This dirt farmer can't wash his hands or his mind,
he isn't a fist fighter or a loud talker,
he won't let the easy things slide,
and even six feet into this hole,
this dirt farmer is still digging.

It was belongs to Rajmao.
She used come with her group of assistant,
Walk around on the bank in the morning.

Some time,
Sit on the bank and
observed the water.

When it is sand still,
She said, ‘ it is not a good sign, nature is dynamic and changing’,
When the big tortoise came over the bank and sit,
She said, ‘ god send him to observed us’,
When fishes run and jump in the water,
She said, ‘they remind us joy of struggle, continuity for future’!

She used to offer a pair of Betelnut leaf with a Betelnut  to the water and
Pray, make everyone gracious, prudent and human to served for betterment of all.
Then she goes into the water and
deep into it , twice or thrice
to washed away all the pompous sticks on her heart and soul,
acquire lots of endurance and audacity to taking care for all.

That was a time,
When Rajmao came,
Everything elated by her touch and care,
Grasses grows with vigour,
Lotus in the water smiles with esteem,
Grasshopper dances around her with adore,
Standing Bamboo spread up their umbrella
To protect her from Sunshine with admiration and worship!

When she came
Everything was invigorated and stimulating!
Now only water is there
Full with stains of our time
and it is step forward for turn down!