This remembrance somehow still makest me guilty;
in every minute of it I feelest tangled, I feelest unfree.
I loathest this less genial side of captivity,
but still, 'tis ironically within my heart, and my torpid soul;
ah, I am afraid that it shall somehow becomest foul,
and I wantest very much, to endear my soul to liberty,
but so long as I hath consciously loved thee,
My confidence remaineth always too bold-
But I promisest that this shall becomest my last sonata,
Should thou ever findest, that thou desirest it to be;
whilst my incomplete song shall be our last cantata.
Ah, this series shall but never end,
Should I approachest and befriendest it,
but to confess, more I thinkest of it, the more my heart is pained;
No coldness shall it feelest, nor any beat of which, shall remaineth.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still restricted, and left within thee,
And amongst this dear spring's shuffling leaves, still blooms,
And shall bloomest forever with benevolence,
and even greater benevolence, as spring fliest and leavest
Just like thy sweet temper, and ever ostentatious laughter,
Thy voice and words, that are no longer here for me,
But still as clear, and authentic like a piece of gospel music, to me.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My pleasurable toils, and consummation still liest in thee-
as forever seemest that I shall trust thee, and thee only,
For the brief moment we had was but grand-and pleasant,
All the way more enigmatic, though frail, and exuberant
than I couldst perhaps rememberest,
But as I rememberest them, I shall also rememberest thee,
For those short nights are always fond and stellar to my memory,
As thou pronounced me lovely-and called myself thy lady,
As thou lingered about and placed thy sheepish fingers on my knee.
Ah, thee, whose heart is so kind and ever gently considerate,
From the moment thou stared at me I knew thou wert my unbinding fate.
And thy scent-o, thy manly scent, too calming but at times, poisonous;
Was more than any treasures I'd once withheld in my hand.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My enormity liest in thee, and so doth every pore
of my irrevocable, consolable sense;
Thou awakened my pride, thou livened up my tense,
Thou disturbed my mind, thou stole my conscience.
And with thy touch I was burning with bashfulness,
meanwhile my mind couldst stop not
ringing within me, unspeakable thoughts.
Ah, thee, thou made me shriek, thou slapped me awake;
And thou steered me away from any cruel dreams, and lies
these variegated worlds ought to make.
But still I hatest myself now, for leaving all of which unspoken,
Though plenty of time I had, whilst walking with thee, by the red ferns;
And every now and then, their branches ******* terrific sounds-
But not loud; benign and soft as heartfelt murmurs in our hearts.
And those dead leaves were just dead,
Over and under the gusty tears they had shed,
And their surfaces had been closed,
But as we stormed busily with laughter, along their dead roots,
All came back to life, and polished liveliness, and guiltless temperance.
Ah, thy image is still in my mind-for it is my ill mind's antidote,
With all the haste and loveliness and ardour as thou but ever hath,
Thou art loved, by me and my soul, more than I love myself and the earth,
Thou art more handsome even, than the juicy unearthed hearth yonder.
Ah thee, my very own lover and drowsy merriment at times,
Thou who keepest fading and growing-
and fading and growing over my head,
Thy image hauntest my sleep and drivest all of me crazy,
For justice is not justice, and death is not
death, as long as I am not with thee,
And I shall accept not-death as it is,
for I shall die never without thee,
For I am in thy love, as thine in mine,
And dreams shall no longer matterest,
when thy joys are mine-and fiercely mine,
I am blinded by urgent insecurity,
That occurest and tauntest and shadowest me
like a panoramic little ghost,
Massively shall it address me,
Painstakingly and, in the name of justice, ingloriously,
And shall them address my past and destroy me,
For I hath carelessly let thee fade from my life,
And enslavest and burdenest my very own history,
For in which now there is no longer thy name,
ike how mine not in thine.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Still thou art gentle as summer daffodils,
Thy image slanderest me, and its fangs couldst ****.
Thou owneth that sharpness that threatens me,
Corruptest and stiflest me, without any single stress,
And charming but evil like thy thirsty flesh.
Ah, still, I wishest to be good, and be not a temptress,
though all my love stories be bad, and
endest me and shuttest up in a dire mess.
I feelest empty, and for evermore t'is emptiness
shall proudly tormentest and torturest me,
Stenching me out like I am a little devil,
Who knowest but nothing of love nor goodwill,
I needst thee to make everything better, and shinier,
In my future life, as later-in my advanced years,
As death is getting near, for more and greater
shall my soul hath accordingly stayed here.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Thou art my summer butterfly and beetle,
I shall cloakest thee with sweet honey and sun,
And engulfest thee safely and warmly
under the angry sickly moon.
I am thankful for thee still, for thou hath changed me,
For thou made me see, and opened my flawed eyes
Thou enabled me to witness the real world;
But everything is still, at times, beyond my fancy,
For they keepest moving and stayest never still,
Sometimes I am, like I used to be, astonished
at the gust of things, and the way they grossly turned
Their malice made my heart wrenched, and my stomach churned
What I seest oftentimes weariest my *****, and disruptest my glee
And still I shall convincest myself, that I but needst thee with me,
Thee to for evermore be my all-day guide and candlelight,
Thee who art so understanding, and everything lovable, to my sight.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
If thou wert a needle then I'd be thy thread,
If thy rain wert dry then I'd makest it wet.
But needst not thou worry about my rain;
For 'tis all enduring and canst bear
even the greatest, most cynical pain.
Ah, and thus I'd be thy umbrella,
Thou, whose abode in my heart
is more superfluous, and graceful-
than my random, fictitious nirvana;
Oh, thee, thou art my lost grace,
And everyone who is not thee-
I keepest calling them by thy name,
How crazy-ah, I am, just like now I am, about thee!
Ah, thou art my air, my sigh, and my comfortable relief,
And in my poetry thou art worth all my sonnets, my charm,
and forever inadequate, affection!
And only in thy eyes I find my dear, effectual temptations,
As under the hungered moonlight by the infuriated sea,
Who standeth strenuously by the peering strand of couples,
Thou evokest within me dangerous eves, and morns of madness,
Thou makest me find my irked melody, and vexed sonnet,
Thou made, even briefly-my latent days gracious,
Thou made me feelest glad and undistant and precious.
Thou art a saint, thou art a saint, though thy being a human
intervenest thee and prohibitest thee from being so;
ah, and whoever thinkest so is worthy of my regrets,
and the worst tactfulness of my weary wrath;
For thou art far precious, more than any trace
of silverness, or even true goldness,
Thou art my holiest source of joy,
and most healing pond of tears;
Thou art my wealth, ****** trust,
and my only sober redemption;
thou art my conscience, pride, and lost self;
Thou art indeed, my eternally irredeemable satisfaction.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I adorest thee only-my prince, my hero, my pristine knight;
Ah, thee, thou art perfect to my belief and my sight,
Thou who art deserving of all my breath and my poetry;
Thou who understandest what kindness is, and desires are,
Thou who made me seest farther but not too far.
Thou who art an angel to me-a fair, fair angel,
Thou who art beguiling as tasteful tides
among the sea-my courteous summer sea,
Thou who art even more human than
our fellow living souls themselves;
Sometimes I think thou art courage itself-
as thou art even braver than it, the latter, is!
Thou art the sole ripe fruit of my soul,
And my poetic imagination, and due thought;
Thou art the naked notes of my sonata,
And the naughty lyrics of my sonnet,
Thou art everything to nothingness,
As how nothingness deemest thee everything;
Thou makest them shy, and dutifully-
and outstandingly, changest their minds;
Thou art a handsome one to everything,
Just as how everything respectest, and adore thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
By whose presence I was delighted, as well my breath-dignified,
Ah, my love, now helpest me define what love itself is;
For I assumest it is more than fits of hysteria, and sweet kisses
Look, now, and dream that if death is not really death
Than what is it aside from unseen rays of breath?
For love is, I thinkest, more handsome than it doth lookest,
For in love flowest blood, and sacrifice, and fate that hearts adorest
But desiccated and mocked as it is, by its very own lovers
That its sweetness hath now turned dark, and far bitter;
Full of hesitations engulfed in the best ways they could muster;
O, my love, like the round-leafed dandellions outside,
I shall glancest and swimest and delvest into thy soul;
I shall bearest and detainest and imprisonest thee in my mind,
But verily shall I care for thee,
ah, and thus I shall become thy everything!
Let me, once more, become obstinate-but delirious in thy arms;
let me my very prince-oh, my very, very own prince!
Doth thou knowest not that I am misguided,
and awfully derogated, without thee!
Ah, thee! My very, very own thee!
Comest back to me, o my sweet,
And let me be painted in thy charms,
o thee, whom I hath so tearfully,
and blushingly missed, ever since!

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I loveth thee adorably, and am fond of thee admirably,
so frequent not outside when all is dark and yon sky is red,
For I hatest justification, and its possibly hidden wrath;
I hatest judging what is to happen when our hearts hath met,
but how canst I ever knowest-when thou choosest to remaineth mute?
Then tearest my heart, and keepest my mouth shut
O thee, should this discomfort ever happenest again;
Please instead slayest me, slaughterest me, and consumest me-
And lastly let me wander around the earth as a ghost.
Let me be all ghastly, deadly, and but penniless;
Let me be breathless, poor, imbecile, and lost-
For in utter death there is only poverty,
And poverty ever after-as no delicacy nor taste,
But I shall still dreamest as though my deadness is not death,
for I am alone; for I am all cursed, without thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully cherished,
To thee whom I endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still left within thee,
Just how weepest shall the leafless autumn tree,
Waiting for its lost offspring to return,
and be liberated from its pious mourns;
And as I hearest their shaky, infantile chorus,
I shall but picturest thee again, thus;
Thy cordial left palm entwined in my hand,
Strolling with me about the leafy garden.
A joyed maiden having found her dream man,
a loving man swamped deeply with his love, for his loyal maiden.

Are you aware,
did you know,
have you been told
you've got killer voice,
leaving me no choice
but preemptive action...
Let's ensure mutual destruction
of clothes;
my thoughts
made those illegal
in a secret meeting;
that security council
in my head...
while the heart was busy beating,
doing its own thing...
Captives in my cells
twisted and bled out
their escape plans...
Excuse me, got sidetracked,
what's your name again?
I'm twenty-three
but only if you switch the digits.
For a high-functioning whatever,
I must say I'm admirably sane
but you pull the wrong lever,
and the lyrics spill with the melody
breaking the levee.
So what do you do for a living?
That's adorable.
How are we still sitting
and talking here?
You thought I'd be taller;
I was expecting you'd run off screaming.
Let's drink to that, the small victories!
Time will tell what's next
if only we listen,
instead of reading more text,
unless we're OK with missing out.
God, my thoughts do talk loud!
When did your face get so near?
Lips go "clink", and eyes go "Cheers!"

I ended up in the hospital again
I was in a pretty nasty car accident
I was in the hospital for a little while
quite a few bones of mine suffered a dent

they forced me in for about a week
I couldn't wait to leave
however a nurse was transferred onto my floor,
she looked so good, I couldn't believe
myself, I wanted to stay in bed
heart monitor and all
and needles leaving my bed

she did get job admirably, bringing Me food
doing her rounds every single shift she was on
I casually threw a couple of little lines at her, playfully, you know, to give her a smile or two as the day wore on

Well on the last day I was in
the lovely nurse walked into the room
"this isn't your shift?" I said, somewhat surprised
that's when I noticed her hand slide up her thighs...

She walked to the door and locked us inside
I saw a sense of burning lust in her eyes
she walked back to my bed and kissed me long and took away the pain
my God, she was so wet my leg felt as if it was caught in the rain

So I asked "Is this my going away present?"
She replied "Yes my patient, for taking your shots you've earned it"

Green glass
but it's French
which makes it
verre vert.
The French should like that.
They appreciate
their jeux de mots.

Not a statue
of a man
but it could be.
Not a piece of art at all
except
I have made it so
by saying it is one.

Its qualities
are visual
and tactile at once
the material heavy
(over a kilo)
not so much transparent
as translucent
the colour
from under the sea
the surface curved
smooth
glossy
the shape functional
admirably suited for its purpose
its name
embossed on the back
(or the front?)
giving a clue.

L' ÉLECTRO VERRE
redundant insulator
from an overhead power cable
found object
(objet trouvé)
from the garden
of friends
in the Alpes-Maritimes.

This souvenir
potential paperweight
ornament
sculpture
is more than all of these.

Souvenir after all
is French for memory.

[Fanfare, obviously]

This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.

Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.

Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).

So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.

She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.

And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.

Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.

But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.

Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.

But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.

The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter design from the 1930s. Some 14,000 Hurricane and Sea Hurricane fighters and fighter-bombers were built by the end of 1944。 August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane's shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain. RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses. Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated. The Hurricane underwent many modifications during its life, resulting in many major variants, including the Mk IA, with interchangeable wings housing eight 7.7mm (0.303in) guns;the Mk IIC, with a Merlin ** engine; the Mk IID, a tankbuster with two 40mm anti-tank guns plus two 7.7mm guns. During the war, Hurricanes were sold to Egypt, Finland, India, the Irish， Persia, Turkey and the USSR Air Corps.More in http://www.rangorango.com/124-series-c-1_5.html

I almost had my first kiss once.
Almost.
It was on a cold December night and thick pure snowflakes were falling.
Falling to be caught on my golden hair, or in his, slightly darker.
I stepped back into the shelter of my front porch
but not into my warm house, oh no. I was a prisoner.
Locked out and befriended by the cold winter.
But it was fine, because I was with him, but not perfect because we were both alone.
He, shooting hoops and me, waiting patiently and admirably.
So admirably.
In my eyes, everything he did was wonderful and exciting.
Worry filled me n the fact that something was off and something was on his mind.
Was it me? couldn't be. Maybe.
The frozen basketball rolled smoothly, almost practiced, off his hand.
and in his stiff voice he mouthed the need to come inside.
I shouldn't have left. I should have stayed and waited only 30 seconds... 45 seconds...a minute longer.
But, like most people, I fear the airiness of awkwardness
and the moments that you stand before a person and draw a blank and have not a word to say.
I feared it and I turned my back.
It could have been perfect. It would have been perfect.
had I just opened my eyes and seen, because I didn't see.
Looking back now, I see.
My first kiss was close.
So close.
So painfully close it taunts me.
It taunts me when I'm siting alone, pondering.
When I'm alone with him and we talk about things.
When my friend bring up their magical first kisses.
When I remember the fact that I still love him, after all these years.
When his hand lightly touches mine or accidentally brushes my back and I realize, it could've been so much more.
But mostly, it taunts me on cold winter nights
when the heavy white snow is lightly falling, catching in my golden hair or landing on his, slightly darker.

The guy picked a flower in the garden
He took it carefully into his nose
Inhaled, it deeply and smiled
I wish I was the flower

The photographer kneeled before the flower bed
Take a snap and another after another
He looks at the photos admirably
Adoring its colors, glorifying its beauty
I wish I was the flower

A lover bought a dozen of flowers
He caresses the bouquet carefully
Caring like it was a delicate glass
I wish I was the flower

Flowers in the vase
Day after day after days
The flowers turned old and ugly
The next thing I knew
Flowers were in the bin along with other waste

That's when I knew... I am the flower

Won't you shotgun blast me to the face?
Though do tell, don't I make you celestial?
-It's my specialty,
Spectacularly, I see you dancing in the clouds
Spectrally resembling and unsettling
An unfurling semblance of reality

Breathe in me, Goddess of my dreamscape
Eclipsing my fate and alleviating waking life
Admirably divine,
A collision of concupiscent melodies
As we perennially intertwine among stars

You.
You are 10,000 miles away
and yet, I still want to run  my hands through your
wet, dark brown hair.
I want to press myself against your warm body
and live in the steam and smell of a hot shower.
I want to breathe in your kiss and taste the shampoo
that slowly dripped  from your wet mop and fell on your lips.
Find a cheap motel room and dream there.
Dream the things you live and live the things you dream.
In that dimly lit, musky, hotel room that I'm dreaming of right now,
where we can forget the world.
I want to forget Clint Eastwood and September and the snow.
I can't remember the color of your eyes
because you kiss with eyes closed
and it's been an awful while since I've opened them.
I wish.
I want to watch you drive down California highways--
sunglasses on and my bare feet hanging out the window, my nailpolish sparkling in
the California sun.  
I want to make you laugh, and watch  your perfect eyebrows crinkle with
your nose when you admirably look at me.
I want to take pieces of paper and write my heart on them
then put them in a memory box
and throw them all out the window.
I want to go to the airport and find you standing
all alone,
looking lost .
Then pull over in a car and make the night alive.
Listen to the stars laughing and lose myself inside of you.
I want the games.
Challenging and, well, you know.
I want the way you make me feel.
Like I'm about to burst out of my skin
at any moment
because of passion.
I want. I want. I want.
You.
Find a dark place deep into the night and settle down
for a couple hours and let our minds shut
down for once.
No devil truck or eyeless lips or hand guns to decide our fate.
and just slip away into each other's bodies,
and become submerged in each other's kiss.

The Show


I awake circa two AM to observe an Earth under siege.
Fearsome blasts of lighting lightening unceasing,
illuminate a sky that is divided into two; a grey white
boundary-less blob of cloud, bolt pricked in a steady
but random pattern for at the least the hour since I was
awakened and a blackened horizon lining defining the land of men.

I debate my choice of word; at some point I slip from the bed to
relieve myself for such is the age of burden I currently occupy;
but my fingers disobey wanting to write relive myself,
to assure myself, that I am, will be, a surviving witness to an awesome and terrifying spectacle, noting the appropriate dueling nature of “awesomeness” for it brings a joyous awe and a paralyzing fear with equal measure, but without any trace of forcible distributive equity.

The lightening is fulsome; sometimes well hid above in a
single whiteness that is the very definition of singularity,
without cue, but within, Z shape bolts of comic book proportionality.

Here’s the rub! All this demonstration is done in a complete,
comforter (!) of silence. The house periodically rumbles its
machinery, whether in fear, or because it must mechanically
do so in the same manner we breathe, or simply to alert me
that I frail human, am at the mercy of the skymaster above,
and the manmade array of pipes, compressors, big apparatuses pinstalled in the earth below to serve until they don’t, and then
we must service them.

The silence is amazing for it is total and domineering and absent thunder. The Show occurs in the largest venue available, the Bay,
but the well behaved audience makes no sound, not a whit,
no coughing, sneezing puncturing or punctuating (reader’s choice) the eerie quiet of a speechless world that cannot speak, as if its larynx was removed, but it’s eye were restored to the age of 20/20.

Well over an hour, closer to two, the demonstration is concluded
and we return to the supine, neutrally, even emotionless, for the gamut and gauntlet we have survived dry and in safety has
concluded and the thick picture window did its job admirably.

Wait Now, a pockmark of bursts in the absence of all light, the now blackness has replaced everything, except for a momentary pinprick of of cloud framed orange hue, a shell exploding far across the bay.

S. sleeps relatively unperturbed, until she does not; for a long minute she rattles the ship, kicking tantrum violently both legs, until the covers are disarrayed, only to fall back into a deep blue colored stage of sleep, and pulling the covers onto the custom fitted aperture neath the chin.

This secondary, receding lightening demonstration that has been taking place; as if a heavenly Lincoln~Stephens oratorical battle occurs over the nearby Atlantic of  nonstop proportion, leaving my my mind to dwell on this topic:

Resolved: This man, that pens this missive about sky missiles is a good writer, or even reasonably ok.

I am representing both sides (duh). and skip to the judges decision without further ado, for brevity is a skill I am profoundly lacking and appreciate, and the eloquence of the debaters is acutely not bad, as prideful acumen is the standard.

Sorry. Split decision, 3 -2, he is merely an ok writer.

Now past 4 AM, glance outside but once more, and there a slow slewing of dawn light emerging like springtime buds, the trees on the lawn are faintly distinguishable, outlined against a normalized, post-storm night sky full of debris EXCEPT in the not-faraway-enough-distance, a few straggler lighting bolts are yet appearing to remind me the night is indeed always awesome and full of terror, just like a good poem.

4:22 AM Jul 5 2023

sometimes i can't trust myself not
to buckle under the weight of
your near enough's and almost
words you can't quite force out from
between my teeth. like the accusatory
cutlery your eyes never fail to
reflect this would look better with
the lights off and between sheets but
then again i always have had trouble
with the twin tormentors dark
and sleeping. sometimes i feel as
though red is the only colour i know
and you insist on inhabiting it you have
ruined sunsets and arsenal and jelly
for me. like i was not made to walk
through fire just as well as ocean i have
merely forgotten the way spoon fed
on ashes and bad pennies glinting
off the electrics i refuse to give you
my spectrum. sometimes my
ribcage admirably lives up to its
name and i find myself choking
on thoughts i'd sworn not to
inhale. like non newtonian fluid
i have inherited your sudden cusps
and contradictions lit up momentarily
only to be put out when i am around you  
i find myself craving cigarettes.

yeah, they cut out my third ****** from my shoulder blade and i turned into a bond girl; oh god, you're not one of those bulletproof people confused about love like a nurse confused by a disease? you are? oh god help me... you'll go far! straight to daddy's pocket purse and saturday night... you'll throw stilettos at chandeliers and expect a catwalk blackout... god forbid that should happen with everyone biting their toenails.*

between us we share the bathroom
and the bedroom,
we sit on the stilt framing see-through of it admirably
airy and welcoming stars:
wishing for foxes and women respectively,
all you can hear is a meow... meow... meow...
meow meow... moo... µ... meow... meow interchange
between these two rooms in the garden air,
it’s like a fetish orchestra giving ‘prior to sleep’ crescendos,
and it makes sense to write a forgivable poem
of this least content, content with the least as me writing it;
well d'uh, of course i had to write it,
i wasn't going to stage a boxing match with stella artois
losing care for words and taking care of action,
i was going to mediate the page like a kite being passed
on with paddington bear's secret inscriptions to get from
london to sydney; i hope it worked.
the drunkard? oh... he's either silent, crying, laughing,
or simply reading.

(This poem posted in tribute to the life &memory; of Robin Williams...Rest in Peace)

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
(Edwin Arlington Robinson)

We endeavor to construct boxes and file folders
This life being ****** complex
And messy to boot, so we approximate sanity
By filling compartments and writing thumbnail biographies,
And even though she packed the costume admirably
(Already forty, mind you, but nowhere near gone to fat)
Julie Newmar had already filled both outfit and niche
(And never mind Halle Berry’s turn,
Different raiment for a different time, after all,
And one suspects the next iteration of said slinky supervillainess
Will wear nothing more than feline-shaped ****** rings),
Not to mention she’d already entered our collective consciousness
With a frothy Noel novelty (unsubstantial, inconsequential
In and of its ownself, perhaps, but then one considers
The version foisted off on the populace by that woman
Who appropriated the moniker of the Blessed ******,
All phoned-in faux Betty Boop, and one reconsiders)
So this was who she was, the book closed and sealed
(English only, never mind the other three tongues she spoke
Plus three more she proficiently purred in.)
They say when she died, she did not go gently, as it were,
But screamed and yowled for all she was still worth,
And maybe it was the cancer, certainly enough to do the job itself,
But perhaps it was the notion
That her era of innuendo and intimation was all done,
That she was transitioning to the static, to becoming a legacy,
A permanence that was stalking her,
Murderous, insatiable, inexorable.

The Seventh Floor
By Otuogbodor, Okeibunor

He just saw her downstairs seated
She saw him pass by but noticed him
He went up to the seventh floor
She breathes the air of freshness
Freshness from home, freshness to school
His mounts of the stairs mounts hope
She sat solitary savouring that air of hope
The university,the hope shaper
The dream comber, ivory tower,
A monumental hope to mount.
One hour past, from that height
He looked down he saw her
She looked up she saw him
Eyes  locked in seconds
Hearts lost to hope
He held his heart lost
She looks her hope not sure
He dare called she dare answered?
Clutching her bags she mounts the stairs
The university stairs to mount in years to come
He stood there on trembling feet waiting
She climbs on and up,on n up
Up the height their  hope clingy
He is up there she mounts up to him
At the seventh floor to  meet  him
As she makes it up all eyes on her trail;
Noticeably slim model of freshness
Admirably everyone to behold
She climbed up to him
Before him she stood
His call she dare answered.
Transfixed! He took her bag
Willingly  she gave him
The floor quakes! The feelings of not just two
The feelings of an age quakes
The hope of many quakes too
The seventh floor quakes!
The waiting room quakes
She enters with of all but him!
He Leads  her to a chair
Her tired Legs grateful.
A sachet of water he gave her
Her thirsty soul appreciative.
He loved her immediately!
She sips the water genuinely thirsty
And She saw the eyes!
His eyes  beholding her.
Her nerve quakes the water pours
Pouring on her chest her white shirt dampen
The chest thumping reveals her Breast
A beautifully moulded set of young Breast
Breast shaped by only the Almighty!
Breast only can be possessed by a Goddess.
Adorable set of gem like diamond points at him.
He looks on. All in the room looks on.
He breathes hard like he just climbed the stairs.
In shock he brought  out a brownish white handkerchief
Dampen  the  chest staining the wet area
She felt his hand. He touched her soul.
The seventh floor quakes the more
Quaking the very foundation of hearts in the room.
He looked her in the eyes , kissed her forehead
She quakes inside of her
His very soul sincerely stared
Her very innocence quakes.
He mutters this lines;
    ‘Be mine sweet Angel’
Her soul heard the lines from a distance
Transporting further the very quake
Whose after shock will last for years.
He was in his third year fed for himself
She was in her first year in daddy’s shadow.
Tortious was the climb
Broadlynarrow was the road
Choice was  a task
Trust…! a life bet
Two hearts-dice juggled
The quake was seconds still
Single mindedness was the decision
The mindful was n is the after shock.
Her friends bemoaned her
His friends fearful cheered him
Her mother cautiously careful
His mother hands off n up in prayer
Her father tearing n threatening.
Thundering his nerve to the brims
She remained obstinate n focused
He remained supportive n sacrificial
Sacrifices of an umbrella in the rain
She appreciated him. He protected her.
He provided the hanger for her  grip
She stretched her arms like the pumpkin tongue grips
The vow of  protections as a service  after graduation.
A service not to a fatherland but for truth
Truth of two souls in opposite divide.
The protection from unspoken facts
Facts only known to one n whispered to the other.
The bet on Trust not Love?
And four year stroll  past
For time crept in to birth a newness.
A new birth n a new day of destiny berthed
As fortune of two set sail
And another two stuck on the hyacinth.
She mounts the podium
He watched from afar in tears of joy
She was the best in the pac
He made it happened
Her mother esthetic n jubilant
Egoistic  father puffy with pride
The pac applauds success n true work
She worked for it. He saw to it.
A synergy of trust for result seem unattainable
Impossibility made possible
Success he desired but archived in her.
She is rewarded for excellence
He is rewarded for steadfastness
Her mother is rewarded for unspoken fear from shame
His mother is rewarded for daily travails in prayer
Her father is rewarded for money spent on trivialities.
The reward of one pervades a whole lot
Avalanches of rewards open n secrets.
UnOpen secret between father n daughter
Shared secret between him n her.
She collects her award admits ululations inside of her
He feels n knows her pain admits the atmosphere
Her mother is carried away like the gele she is wearing
Her father boastful in an atmospheric  blindness for his money's efforts
Her hearts inner workings is detached from the day's euphoria
He standing at the distance transmutes her experiences
Experiences of a father who knew only his desires
Desires bought n explored from every available mode.
The university was a safe heaven for her
He provided the guard and guidance she lacked at home
Her encounter of him n the journey to the seventh floor
Shaped her to today n assured her of tomorrow
True  love stands like strong pilar  
He longed n gave love he wanted n  never had
She believe n trust for him save the climb
She is a daughter her father only knew  in the dark
He is a friend who is a true father n never had one.
Drives n ponderings of the hearts
The podium is for gallery elicit joyousness
Joyous celebrations into the night.
The night comes with  it's sounds
Darkness comes with it's secretes
Tides n storms in dark hearts alleyway
Lighten flashes schemes it's way in the dark tides of time
The heart thunders in ‘tick ****’ motion of time
Tale  trail to time
Quest of two in timescape alley
Time: a healer n a judge?
Time n space bridged reward
A collusion of hatred n love rewarded.
The reward of time is unquantifiable  
And timeless is its weight.
The weight of love prompted a search
A search for his father
A search for her true father
A father who constantly seek n desires  daughter’s nakedness?
A mother whose silence at the face of such shame?
Truth bound by time  rebounds in space
Complicit of two self lying marriage between man n woman
Rebounds in  two young honest lovers
The happiness of youthful individual being sacrificed?
The weight of a DNA is  love for him and her
And hate for father n mother .
Her mother was shameless n still is
His father was irresponsible n still is.
The early light dispels darkness
Darkness of the heart under a fretsaw
Patterning  in style  actions of the dark
Every secret did have open reward
She was n is her mother from a man she refused her knowing
He was his father Who absconded 33 years ago
Hiding in the arms of another woman bewitched?
Likes begets  likes in a mate of two deluded snakes
Living in the dark holes of there night
Orchestrating symphonies of lies n lies
And now likes dogs leak their  poisonous venom.
At dawn light gains its penetrations
Penetrating the very marrow of truth….!
As Morning dawns with it's dews
A climb to the seventh floor was the dew.
And light melts away this dew
Shining in the life of two young fellows
Who loved from their souls.

Limbo

Black hole quasar pulsar star meridians oblique oracle messages from beyond the lost between the bureau of the forgotten
Dreams images disjointed some admirably projected on the screen of the mind they tell you a mystery where is the key
Like being in a library books everywhere any subject any topic whatever your taste or fancy but without retrieval how rotten
Space fascinates holds men enthralled the searching of the cosmos the whole of life it has consumed the overly curious

What I’m talking about is if you could take a meteor shower put it in a black velvet bag capture true magic hold for your disposal
Take droplets of rain speak to them and they would obey your voice become for one hour that which you desire most from life
Find the passage to the center of the mountain a gapping cave where a true oracle is beheld divine utterance her real espousal
You take knowledge long hidden disperse it among the most troubled and confused and aura breaks and arches those of need

Life’s dilemmas and contrasts these intangible twisted knotted fields of gloom you touch bows unknown understanding blooms
Course contrary buffeted by unpleasant wind oh to know how to rescind make rays of hope grow in resplendent rows
The common coal fired and pressured over millennia does purist light ignite the mind soul and heart in excitement it consumes
Striation found in the cold glacier this natural marking take from it learn the soul has divine grooves that only play spiritual tunes

This might sound farfetched but one day it will be the norm for Gods family the unexpected the unbelievable your daily life
Now we are in neutral or the drive is mostly in the natural like you build the best house then someone sticks up an eye sore
There is the contrast the conflict your spiritual house shines then your enemy self wrecks and devalues ruination rife
The spirit oracle revealed that the devil wants you as a trophy in a case how nice God wants you but he wants you as family

a bit over a year of efforts, I
admirably

return your stubborn affections, directing romantic intentions towards you.

with your heart

Exalted in the remembrance of your existence, I

sigh towards the heavens,
the hells,
the Earth with her mountainous regions and varied terrains,

the sky and her innumerable
galaxies and novas should come hither and listen to the treasure of a lover. I

sigh

the miracle

of your name,

as though it were the answer to every question that has ever mattered.

I weep as the layers of my heart tighten at the sound of your sorrow, it constricts and feels to twist and rob me of senses and oxygen.

please smile and gift that treasured breath of air into my lungs.

should I now mention, that
for some inexplicable reason,

I love you?

Find comfort in my voice.
Feel free to unravel tears of the hardships endured in this life's trials, upon my shoulder

as I do my best to gently recover the fallen shards of every loss you've suffered, with my tender hands and your sharpened memories we'd find a way to salvage the most of these losses.

let me adorn your scar filled soul with a balm of my own making.

let me bring you
a sea of solace to delve into.

Would an infinite caress of kisses, a tsunami of age old yearnings and present desires satisfy your crave for love?

Would I need another person to fill the shoes you decorate the doorstep of my heart with?

With the place mat adorned with an intricately designed Persian rug which display a blooming garden of both our favourite flowers in a way that'd perfect the unusual combination of my tropical forests and your poetic love of romantic flora.

A sight, regardless of how many times seen encases the onlooker in a feeling of love and comfort.

It will say,

" Welcome home my love "

And there will be song birds in the trees,
there will be wind dancing with leaves,

On the eve of summer I will snuggle myself near you, to muster the courage to read you the poetry I'd written all before we'd made it known to those who mattered that we belonged to the other.

Friendly reminder that,

I love you.

And the answer to needing anyone aside from you?

The answer is no.

No one can amount to the endless stream of shooting stars you give me to wish upon, and for you to make a reality.

No one else,
can say my name with such reverence,

that to any who didn't know about us,

my name alone seemed to be one of the most holy and savored of things?

To whisper on a night of troubled sleep as your fingers weave their way to mine, interlocking and silently promise to never let go of this.

This overflowing love..

Why wouldn't I want to keep it?

Visitors land in Athens engulfed with a feeling of great excitement in the air,
Renowned for its rich history, it is as if Greece is waiting to lay it's soul bare,
The cab driver's effusive welcome is prelude to a magical experience in the offing,
As he regales you with the city's historic landmarks, seemingly without stopping

Made of limestone rock, the Acropolis means "high city" as it is atop a hill,
Visible from almost everywhere within the city, it is Athen's sentinel still,
Dedicated to goddess Athena, it originally showcased buildings colored lavishly,
Transformed later into a city of temples, after destruction by the Persians savagely

For inhabitants, it was a place of refuge in times of invasion due to it's location,
Women barricading themselves in the fortress in mute protest was just a distraction,
Depriving their always-at-war spouses of worldly pleasures was a way of having the last word,
Such acts of frustration were so successful, that it is practiced even in today's world

The star attraction of Acropolis is the Parthenon that stands out in majestic splendor,
The resplendent marble structure being the epicenter of religious life is no small wonder,
Columns leaning slightly inward give the illusion of true straight lines and a lifting effect,
Remaining in use for a thousand odd years despite ravages of time, shows it was bereft of defects

Awe-inspiring Parthenon is a tribute to the innovative imagination of the talented Greeks,
It was geometry at its best sans extensive calculations, inspired by passionate geeks,
To make a line look straight, it had to be tapered or curved - a tenet of site mechanics,
Fitted together like the world's heaviest jigsaw puzzle, the massive columns seem titanic

Scenes of mythical battles can be seen in sculpted marble metopes in the Parthenon,
Tribal human Lapiths combating savage half-man, half-horse Centaurs are depicted spot-on,
Stage-wise motions of horsemen getting ready for a cavalcade are convincingly conveyed,
Goddess Athena's birth from the head of her father Zeus has been beautifully portrayed

The Erechtheion sits on the most sacred site where Poseidon and Athena contested,
Athena's olive tree growth trumping Poseidon's spring gush is a fact to be digested,
As Patron of the city, Athens took it's name from the victorious Athena,
Erechtheion is still considered the real religious temple in the present-day arena

The theater of Herod Atticus below the Acropolis built by the Romans is a majestic marvel,
Chunks of aesthetically designed arched structures are fodder for the mind to unravel,
In use even today for concerts, ballets and cultural performances during the night,
It's breathtaking view from the elevated Acropolis is a photographer's delight

The rock of Areopagos that is below the Acropolis, is a picturesque location,
Panoramic views of the Plaka, Monastiraki and Athens, leave little to imagination,
Climbing the slippery steps, the vaunted locale is ideal for a glorious sunset view,
Watching the city lights at night is a great way to wrap up the day without much ado

From the northeast corner of the Acropolis, one can see Athens city stretching out endlessly below,
Viewing Plaka's ceramic-tiled rooftops, Hadrians Arch and Lysikratous street makes one want to bellow,
The giant Temple of Olympian Zeus ruins and Olympic stadium can be seen nestled in pine covered hill,
As a visually stunning island of green in a sea of concrete, the view admirably fits the bill

It is with a cocktail of emotions that one meanders back to Athens city at the end of the day,
Topped with awe at the sheer brilliance of the minds of Romans and Greeks in their heyday,
Generations will be on the learning curve while gleaning facts from the rich history,
The multifarious reasons for the Acropolis being so popular can never be a mystery

A Dead Tree
So stark not a spark is left abuse thoroughly viewed a large branch splintered and busted is evidence of
Deaths spasm the aura deepens at ground level the finery of your life now bold and black is the
Silhouette you reach sky ward still but with reduced arms that are empty and they have no feeling
Just a resting place for a solitary bird the gloom covers you the battle lost the cost was high you paid to
Play among the hues that tantalize the enrichment of life fuses all together the wind plays upon your
Hard skin the vestiges of time preyed on you and you made no complaint you were given a choice a piece
Of land to cover and occupy you did it admirably each day you stood your ground you took you’re part
In Representing the good earth you had abundance of worth the winged stole away in the folds of your
Mighty presence the woodland creatures made their nest high in your crown a flourishing honor you
Bade to the Forrest serine you reduced the cold hardness that would have been if you hadn’t taken your
Stand bared the elements helped make small changes a cleaner more perfect nature drew from your
Roots and then the winds of change brought a fading to your very existence colorless was a hard one
To except when always that was your best feature green that sprang out from the base hard tone it was a
Singing image came to full range nothing can hold a candle to thy head so high the sky plays about
Wondrous it made us think how much you must know with such a princely view rarity personified
Looking over the earth as it renews itself a spectacle how rich and blessed when the rains wash your
Face with joy you stretch and creak then the thunder fills the air the wonder rolls evenly throughout this
Wild domain the lighting puts on its show thrilling with the hint of danger your loss still evident from the
Time it personally blinded you left its flaming calling card you lost a sizeable portion of your mature
Branch you understand power in the base meaning of the word then like all living things it was the
Sign of the end you felt the weight of sagging that was unknown before you had luxury of a slow demise
Still you bore the glory of many years you fulfilled your destiny of a monarch thanks for standing so long
And the grace you shared made us all indulge in the finery so richly you have expressed

Italy's Capri admirably fits the bill as an enchanted island,
Nestled in the Bay of Naples, it's apt to call it wonderland,
It is famous as a coastal resort and a celebrated beauty spot,
Little wonder of it being touristy and a location often sought

The isle is seriously beautiful, sans any blemish in its splendor,
So little room for any shortcoming, chances of which are slender,
Breathtaking views from any angle makes Capri appear so scenic,
Futile to draw comparison to any other isle that is so panoramic

Capri is known as the isle of the sirens in Greek mythology,
It has very little to do though with any aspect of theology,
Long considered a preserve of celebrities and the super-rich,
The small precipitous island is a must-visit travel agent's sales pitch

Accessible only by ferry or hydrofoil from Naples and its surrounds,
The idyllic isle with sheer cliffs and dazzling seascapes visually astounds,
Steep cliffs rise majestically from an almost impossibly blue sea,
That the isle has that tangible deluxe feel, is for all to see

The island has a mythical charm with its jaw-dropping natural beauty,
Stunning landscapes from rocky caves to the horizon's edge lend to the popularity,
Shimmering sea views, secluded grottos lure visitors in droves to be on board,
Amazing cuisine, world-class shopping are bells and whistles; lest you get bored

Blue Grotto is an oceanic cave at the water's edge with an opening to the sea,
Optical effects created by sunlight bouncing on the cave walls, is a sight to see,
Water lit turquoise hues from below, by the sun, creates a magical atmosphere,
Shimmering cobalt-blue light images beckons us to a virtual optical stratosphere

Through the water on the floor of the cave, Roman remains are clearly visible,
Supposedly used as a bathing place by Emperor Tiberius, a reason nigh plausible,
This lagoon was probably a Roman villa with statues decorating the whole floor,
Other entrances to the grotto were created to improve irrigation, per Greek folklore

Capri's standout are three rocky peaks emerging from the azure blue water,
Called the Faraglioni, the limestone stacks are discernible to any spotter,
Formed by erosion, separated by water thro' collapse of solid land mass,
Emerging as steep rocks rising out of the sea, surprisingly not as a morass

La Piazzetta, aka chiazza, is a bustling diminutive square in the heart of Capri,
Table settings of the handful of cafes are meant for one to be carefree,
The colorful clock tower chimes every quarter hour throughout the day,
With thronging crowds at all times, little surprise why the place holds sway

Post ferry drop-off at Marina Grande, a road trip from Capri to Anacapri is a must,
Brace yourselves for a 3-km. stretch of hairpin bends en route in the mini bus,
On the slopes of Mount Solaro and at a higher elevation than Capri,
The more authentic side of the island and less crowded, is Anacapri

Piazza Vittoria in Anacapri town is the bustling bus stop square where one alights,
Sauntering thro' colorful bougainvillea, geranium festooned lanes is sheer delight,
Behold a mix of Neapolitan tailor shops, artisan shoemakers and souvenir shops,
Enjoy the aerial whiff of the town's lemon groves pervading everywhere, nonstop

Museum of Villa San Michele is a building articulating at various levels,
Ancient artifacts, Roman paving, marble columns are sights that revel,
An elevated garden with granite Sphinx and Greek tomb is a perfect setting,
For a sweeping view of the Bay of Naples below, that looks so enchanting

Continuing downhill, the Church of Santa Sofia is the pride of the town,
The adjoining Piazza Armando Diaz bustling with activity is a place of its own,
Locals chatting and reading newspapers presents such a wonderful sight,
Seated on hand painted majolica benches, as if conveying life is so bright

A visit to Capri is incomplete without tasting the famed Caprese salad,
The taste is so exquisite that one tends to break into a ballad,
Tomatoes, milky mozzarella, aromatic basil leaves are the sole ingredients,
A drizzle of sharply flavored olive oil does little to serve as an impediment

Restaurants abound the lanes with crowds' incessant chatter,
Panino Caprese being made in a jiffy is no laughing matter,
So popular is the salad that it can be found on every menu,
Strolling along past excited visitors, makes for the perfect milieu

It is with a heavy heart that you ferry back to mainland at the trip's end,
While enjoying the panoramic stunning views again, as if there's no end,
It is not without reason that Capri's famed "cliff beauty" is so majestic,
The only describable feeling of the experience is that it is "ecstatic"!

She told me you worked at space camp now.
That must be fun, right?
I can see you sprinting through
In a bright blue flight suit
A kid attached to every ligament
You breathless, with an enormous grin.
You'd mention being overweight
And I would hit you playfully across the arm
Deny it like Peter denied Christ
Three times.

She told me you met a new girl.
Showed me a picture too.
She has dainty red curls.
I guess you meant it;
You do have a thing for red heads.

They say you met her at the Lego station
In Books A Million.
I can envision you stumbling upon her
Smashing a Death Star into an Ebon Hawk
And you would admirably gawk
At this childlike beauty.
Next thing you know
You would be prancing away
With a little piece of paper in your pocket
And a confident smirk on your face.

~

A sixteen year old girl can only conceive
Ideological fantasies
But a nineteen year old boy kept them company
Beneath the pillow of her dreams.

Though the first to stir from Make-Believe
Is cursed as the first one to leave.

Even as a child
I stared desperately at the darkened ceiling
Their snores and sighs my only lullabies.
And I would witness the misty dew
Clear the horizon at the gale's morning song.

I covered my tracks as I left
Yet I swear I heard your heart wrench
In your stupor.

~

The cursor blinks incessantly
On the blank page of a perfectionist
The only words satisfying
Are born not from my lips
But of an Irish mother-
Or perhaps a lover-
Long ago:

*May the road rise up to lead you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God keep you in the palm of His hand.

Suddenly my friends vanish
We entered a cave as one
Finding rest,I must
Slumbering
Gone adrift in humanity admirably
Shifting to reflection
Deepen inside a mindless cave
Humankind is misplaced
Unsolvable solutions boggling
Needing my friends
What pace I do next?
Settling in dreams and reality
A picture of antiquity
Falling to a new opening
Which cannot be reach
Please somebody, please somebody!
Are you there?
Before I become extinct

Girl, those beautiful eyes
Really mesmerize me
So pretty as can be
Along with your loving personality
They hold the window to your soul
Those eyes are simply captivating
Filled with heart and grace
And admirably breathtaking

Look at this fool.
This babbling fool that stands
over me.

A garden full of burning flowers
visible through his eyes,
but not through ear to ear.

The things that run from his mouth-
which I do not blame them from doing-
**** my brain cells.

He thinks I care.
All I want the former fool.
He who taught me all I know.

The walking book cover,
dictionary, Britannica.
The ultimate thesaurus, movie star.

Bob the Rabbit.
It's in its cage.
Say hi to Bob.

I admire you.
The temperature.
The west and east egg.

All I desire is again
to sit and look up and admirably
watch words spill out of his mouth.

Not these dead song birds
flying out of  his.
Not this spineless man walking

on his tongue.
Not, Not,
Not him.

In the distance, a foghorn yells, "No one cares!"
but he is Hellen Keller's doppelganger.
I am slowly going brain dead......

black.

Oh the kiddos outta there
whoever again dare to call me names that end it with a Girl or a Mademoiselle

You at most reflect an image of me to fit to the level of your potency
same as to a ridicule of your fantasy
weeping and spitting big turfs of
-at most admirably-
musical words
as your age allows you to be

an equivalence that functions still
OH THE WOW in most efficiency
only whenever the rhythmic pumping ejects seedlings
to swim up the rat-race
from your reptilian starship  
parked at sacred ocean’s depths
crossing a few inches behind thyn abdomen
towards your jellyfish brain

and that’s shorter than TIME
oh the poor whining with BIG Holy One
hidden in the oaths of your monstrous
zombie-town

so now listen in PURE Attention to me (if you can)  

It’s True my first kiss was at age twenty three
HAHAHA and yet not even a romantic one
at most an obligatory
who knows maybe a task
from the higher self
probably to teach me
or the physical body -

YES and the last one at age forty
that tried to **** all the ****** futility outta me
the rest and the in between remains dark and edgy and thorny

who cares when it does not bother me
what business does relate to you oh my Sexuality
or the inherited ****’ beauty
but that makes not less of me when
I am now almost 43  
my coal black hair made of Sea Breeze
grows the beauty of my aging color
to the creamy WHITE topping of delicious wisdom cookies
baked by my peaceful wishing
the joy of my child innocence remains
to fire Passion and Desire
which I reserve
to one/ single poem only
who made me realize the truth of me recently  
that I  haven’t yet dated … a Monsieur
who dares to call me a Madame
with whom I can fully be Me and grow towards a maturity.

Sweet pea soap
consoled purple and green bruises
on wrists and ribs
like dark wine on a white tablecloth
        Stuck.

She sunk deeper
into the bath
let them disappear
she became unblemished
untouched
spared.

She breathed in.

She breathed out.

Reached for soap
and ring caught skin
recoiled her arm jerkily
like a broken jack-in-the-box.

One Vermilion Pearl
tumbled down
and she felt bruises grow jealous.
They pounded on that obstinate wall
grumbling to get out
while this single drop broke
         Free.

And she had done that.
Her.
Not him.
Lucy felt power.
The drop rolled down her wrist and into the grimy water.
Others followed.
The water darkened.

Lucy pulled the drain plug.
Again.
Stared admirably
at the ******, crimson ring
in her quivering hand.

So beautiful
even through the gore.
It slipped silently down the drain
With blood and sweet pea soap and mascara and bath water and tears.
And for the first time

Lucy slept sound.

You have the personality of a sun
The demeanor of an ocean soothing and calm or powerful and commanding but always deep and full of Mystery
The patience of a mountain with the will of a great Redwoods roots, determined and selflessly for the sole purpose of providing shade for a loved one
The idiosyncrasies of weather multiple and variations and Beauty each indicating a specific season of mood
The presence of a bright full moon throned in a starless night and the wonderment of a butterfly Landing in a child's hand...

What I mean to say is that you are all lady, and if they say chivalry is dead then you revive it even in the most ill-mannered of men
if it does not then they are but animals

You see, you draw out not as a practice but is an instinct without having said a word from the innermost core of your soul, to the aura that surrounds you 20 feet in your circumference
You demand respect, boldly but with cadence and Grace
You need no rescuer, no salvation Nor Redemption from anyone but it will not stop me from attempting to be all of that for you just to add honor in my life
And you have been through hardship,,, but it has refined you like steel to Fire and most admirably is that you retained your elegant optimism through it all......
And yes you are all lady. And I?

I am that sunflower soaking up your raise
I am that ancient tribe Gathering from your abundance with great gratitude and respect
I am that life raft floating at your mercy and will
I am that climber learning as I ascend
I am that soil from which you can Pierce
I am that meteorologists, a keen Observer and I have made it my science to recognize your art

I am that howling wolf beckoning for you at night and when I'm with you
I'm that child with an open hand

Lower
Lower
Lower
It never stops
It never ceases
It always keeps pulling you down
There is no escape
No break, however brief
Admirably persistent
In its desire to take
All that you know and love
And turn it into all you knew and *loved.

Dear Moonface,

can I have a room at your place?
somewhere high in the magic faraway tree
would suit me
admirably

And dear Mr Saucepan man
I know that you're deaf but I can shout
to help you out.

It will give me a thrill if you say that you will..
..rent me a room.
I hope to hear from you soon.

Regards.
.from your friend waiting at the worlds end.

John.

Making it? What is the meaning?
I am meant to make it just because people around me say I need to and that is the reason
So I keep on trying all through the seasons
Doing it for all these people that I should be pleasing

Making it?
So someone can start breaking in taking it?
So I can so admirably say I'm raking it?
Well I don't give a ** i'm not gonna be making it,
So if this is what it is then i will know forsaken it!

I will cast it away, because i'm here for the better days
I'm here for making it in different ways
I'm on a different chapter reading a different page
Time is a measurement of age

Age is time, so if I don't make it then let it be my crime
I am here to be content and search for happiness, not to slave for a dime
I will climb and i'll climb till i find and find, till i break through the grime
And break into my prime

I am in the pursuit of happiness
And I don't no if i'll ever capture this
But i'll latch to this
And close the hatch on it

We just stood and watched, too scared to speak
too stupid to care.
         Life clings admirably
         to be ****** all encompassing
         elements
         Whither in warm.
The center is here
real but shapeless
the one strange world
branched beauty.
I think they're conspiring
         against me.



© 2013

I met a busboy and once he really ***** twill
of this winding expressway
with a bourgeois vex in this supper quest
why a Turk described them admirably
a shrew whirled in a shrill of the night
still could skirt his papa's pants
in a romance of tennis
to further kind with a match
only with a foul drama again
and put it in court

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.


ሪቻርድ ኮሪ

ሪቻርድ ኮሪ
ቁልቁል ወደ ከተማ ሲወርድ፣
ሆነን በእግረኛው መንገድ
እናየው ነበር::
ከጫማው ሶል እስከራሱ፣
ተክለሰውነቱ፣ ቀጭን ጌታ እንደንጉሱ፣
ሁሌ ድንቅ አለጫጭ አለባበሱ!

ብንደምረውም ከኛው ጎራ
‹‹እንደምን አደራችሁ!›› ሲል
የቃል አወጣጥ ስልቱ፣
አቤት ማስደሰቱ፣
ድንቅ አረማመዱ አክሂያዱ!
በጣም ሃብታም--ከሃብታምም ሃብታም፣
የንጉሱም ሃብት ከሱ አይጠጋም--
አስፈላጊውን ትምህርተ ሁሉ የቀሰመ
በእውቀቱ ያስደመመ፡፡
በአዘቦት፣ሁሉም ሃሴት የተሟላለት
‹‹ምነው በሱ ቦታ በሆንን!›› ብለን
የሱን እጣ ሽተን
እናም በለት ስራችን ተጠምደን
ብሩህ ተስፋ ሰንቀን
ስጋ ተነፍገን ዳቦን እረገምን!
ሪቻርድ ኮሪ
አንድ ጸጥ ያለ ምሽት
ገብቶ ቤቱ አኖረ ጥይት
በራሱ ጭንቅላት!//

I'm in the nation's capital
And it feels like the centre of the universe
Everyone drinks their coffee and ingores
each other, the cold nipping at the
skin exposed slightly beneath their sweaters
Is that where it all happens?
Do the things they decide there affect me?
The buildings' windows are transparent
WANTED signs, and I look up at them
somewhat admirably
I don't know whether I love or hate
this country
It is either great or evil, and the extremes
polarise further with my continuing to see
people people people people
They crowd the centre of the universe

-c.j.