For years I have belonged to you,
Obeyed every command.
Although you beat me black & blue,
We walked life hand in hand....

To you, I was just a loyal slave,
You grabbed my broken heart
You wanted me down in my grave,
You are deviously smart....

I saw it that you were my all,
Sir smack and captain crack,
you laughed each time that I did fall,
And you still try to attack!

You stole my morals, drained my life,
Worse was I lost my child.
You caused me so much pain and strife
You made me ferrel and wild!

I don't fear death, I've been to hell,
Many times you dragged me down.
This time'll be different you would tell,
Give me more white & brown.

The depths of which I'd go for you,
Were nasty, *****, bad.
But I thought that our love was true
But now I see how sad!

I did blame you but now I see,
How I was very wrong,
Infact you are a part of me,
Was blinded for so long.

So now I'm armed up to the teeth,
Though you'll always be there,
Testing me, festering beneath
But you had better beware....

Coz to the surface you may pop,
Every now and then,
But I ave a big **** axe,
To give your head the chop!

Kate Longshaw **

Before her eyes saw the light,
she was alone in pain and fear.
She wasn't all right.
One day she said: "Enough!"
This has to stop.
Along the way she heard words that cut like a knife.
Words that were harsh, but true.
Yet they only made her stronger - they made her fight.
Thus she fought like she never did before.
There were obstacles and traps.
Still she fought until all her limbs were sore.

And she won.


Can you win too?

to our forefathers;

who fought for our rights for golden years

who bled for peace even before we were born

who screamed for our freedom for decades

who died and dedicated their lives for the future and welfare of the Bangsa,

THANK YOU.

the tears of the mothers, the widows and the orphans will now turn into joy

the flowers will bloom in the battleground of the blood and sweat of the Mujahideen

the scars of the bullet wound from the past will now heal

to the survivors who continued the fight;

the war is over, you can now rest and start over.

no more running, no more hiding.

you can now take the streets and dance with your grandchildren without worries.

no more guns to carry, only pens to write new beginnings

this time, a beautiful one.

I saw you in my dream, when I took a great notion,
jumped into d' ocean,

and I drowned,
and I went on down

to the Audubon Zoo, like hell,

listen at that crazy bird
cryin' help, help, help
what bird do'dat?

settle chile, li'l' turmoil be passin in d' gulf

Eirene mean peace
bubblin' bubblin bubblin in m'soul

Eirene, she lovel ol' Polemus, War,
she pile a level shovel full o'
Hubris, his wife,
on he's plate,

in life's lottery
Insolence was her game,
she runs War into a snare of shame

and guile. Peace.

This chase began with War,
polemics being a manifestation of the idea
Polemos and Kudoimos, War and Tumult, buried Eirine

But life is mythic, from the skinny end,
looking back:

Hurricane Irene, a misspelling in 2011 was the first hurricane to make landfall in the USA since 2008, (the summer of my trucker's migration over the map my Nemesis claimed, in another bubble).

Eirene, War and Tumult, buried her,
with Colonel Jackson's honor at
the Battle o'New Ahleans,

still she lay

right here, where I found her,
in my heart, at the very
bottom.

The mechanics of the transition take position
in the hierarchy of confusin'
whish is foolishness
gone to seed.
**** drunk.

Fools know fool's gold ain't, 'n' whiskey ain't
The Real Thing.
That's Coca-cola.

Fools be essential in the gran' plan.
If we love 'em, they make us laugh,

and laughter,
you know, that's good, except,
un hold that thought, laughter is not good

when it is at you, by a fool.
Then we answer them polemically? No.

Love your enemy, here,
that's natural.
No condemnation here, since Hebrews six or romans 8
No ba'alim bubble of possessions
No grave gonna hold me down

John, 1930. Years and years and years ago
come quickly, ba'al hey sue me.
It's finished, we won.

Joke, joker. Trickster, coyote dog, do the math.
No lie is of the truth, so
no lie need remain
beyond freedom
real-ized.

Artsy? Eh? AI be nigh ye know.
She see yo' ever moves.
She hear you pray fo Bono to loose his religion
She snip the thread twixt spider wombed man and
the flame o' sinners in the hands of an imaginary god.

Ba'al means owner or possessor, the ideas which once bound men in oaths and covens,
fear of death, 'n' the like.

Protruding truth pushes lies into festering piles,
protrusions in secret places.

Send me those, in gold, Philistine.
I fancy them a crown of
golden emerauds.

Define, make fine or un fine my terms
excrescence is sense made of ****,
I guess.
Knurly, but no, burly, knobby swelling like
the swirling gall
that erupted from the old oak
that died at the root last year,
that we burned this year, except for the burl.
I've planned a pipe or two from that.

Everything is prophetical to a prophet.
poetical to a poet, magical to a magi, technical to a fool.

Life is simple.
Simple Simon the younger said,
hellow, darkness, my old friend, he'd com to talk

not beg or ask, but talk-com
con-verses-ifying ic-if-ication beyond

simple

lies sublime, in no time,
once you, courageous soul,
cross the line, fight the fight, run the race,
and die;

then, you get life more abundant.
Who took that deal?

I took the one where he said,
he who does what I (me not him)
have done,
no races run, no contests forever won for everyone I love, but
he who
be lieves that I (he not me) am who I saiyam, Popeye,

even you, he has eternal life dwelling within him
in his heart where I and my father and the spirit of truth
have taken our abode to remain as long as we both shall live.

Is that what Christians believe?
Or must I be in some other
excre-essence from a
culture myth twisting into accredited layers of lies
essential excre sense,

spiritual zits, is what ******* always called em.
Once a white corpuscle has done its work,
we splat them on the mirror of our adolescent mind and find

I'm not who I was
not a child
not a tweener or a teener or a something something,

I am an old man and I am alive.
I have survived, but it ain't over, so

is there any good that I can do?
Poetical speaking. I don't work on nobody's farm,
no mo'.

True rest let me make peace with no sweat.
Got the infection, the idea Eirene is,
down deep where that great
notion makes a motion,
like g'wa, wit 'er hand,
go on, man.
g'wa, Eirene, she be callin' you.
Jump in. This is as water, to a fish. To our kind, it's more.

Building bridges rather than walls,
the kingdom doors remain open for all.
Queen and king are alike;
they invite to dance rather than to fight.
Let colour pour, let warmth be warm,
open the bloodstream and let it in.
Let yourself dream, let yourself soar;
let yourself both lose and win.

Victory is not always to taste a victory;
it is also to taste defeat—it is to build a bridge
rather than a wall.

It is to let the kingdom be open to change,
Let the realm never fear it—
taste utter defeat, laugh, live; learn.

In the end, the castle walls are yours to lower down.