And then went down to the ship,
Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly sea, and
We set up mast and sail on that swart ship,
Bore sheep aboard her, and our bodies also
Heavy with weeping, and winds from sternward
Bore us onward with bellying canvas,
Crice’s this craft, the trim-coifed goddess.
Then sat we amidships, wind jamming the tiller,
Thus with stretched sail, we went over sea till day’s end.
Sun to his slumber, shadows o’er all the ocean,
Came we then to the bounds of deepest water,
To the Kimmerian lands, and peopled cities
Covered with close-webbed mist, unpierced ever
With glitter of sun-rays
Nor with stars stretched, nor looking back from heaven
Swartest night stretched over wreteched men there.
The ocean flowing backward, came we then to the place
Aforesaid by Circe.
Here did they rites, Perimedes and Eurylochus,
And drawing sword from my hip
I dug the ell-square pitkin;
Poured we libations unto each the dead,
First mead and then sweet wine, water mixed with white flour
Then prayed I many a prayer to the sickly death’s-heads;
As set in Ithaca, sterile bulls of the best
For sacrifice, heaping the pyre with goods,
A sheep to Tiresias only, black and a bell-sheep.
Dark blood flowed in the fosse,
Souls out of Erebus, cadaverous dead, of brides
Of youths and of the old who had borne much;
Souls stained with recent tears, girls tender,
Men many, mauled with bronze lance heads,
Battle spoil, bearing yet dreory arms,
These many crowded about me; with shouting,
Pallor upon me, cried to my men for more beasts;
Slaughtered the herds, sheep slain of bronze;
Poured ointment, cried to the gods,
To Pluto the strong, and praised Proserpine;
Unsheathed the narrow sword,
I sat to keep off the impetuous impotent dead,
Till I should hear Tiresias.
But first Elpenor came, our friend Elpenor,
Unburied, cast on the wide earth,
Limbs that we left in the house of Circe,
Unwept, unwrapped in the sepulchre, since toils urged other.
Pitiful spirit. And I cried in hurried speech:
“Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast?
“Cam’st thou afoot, outstripping ******?”
        And he in heavy speech:
“Ill fate and abundant wine. I slept in Crice’s ingle.
“Going down the long ladder unguarded,
“I fell against the buttress,
“Shattered the nape-nerve, the soul sought Avernus.
“But thou, O King, I bid remember me, unwept, unburied,
“Heap up mine arms, be tomb by sea-bord, and inscribed:
“A man of no fortune, and with a name to come.
“And set my oar up, that I swung mid fellows.”

And Anticlea came, whom I beat off, and then Tiresias Theban,
Holding his golden wand, knew me, and spoke first:
“A second time? why? man of ill star,
“Facing the sunless dead and this joyless region?
“Stand from the fosse, leave me my ****** bever
“For soothsay.”
        And I stepped back,
And he strong with the blood, said then: “Odysseus
“Shalt return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas,
“Lose all companions.” Then Anticlea came.
Lie quiet Divus. I mean, that is Andreas Divus,
In officina Wecheli, 1538, out of Homer.
And he sailed, by Sirens and thence outwards and away
And unto Crice.
        Venerandam,
In the Cretan’s phrase, with the golden crown, Aphrodite,
Cypri munimenta sortita est, mirthful, oricalchi, with golden
Girdle and breat bands, thou with dark eyelids
Bearing the golden bough of Argicidia. So that:

A wild-bear chace, didst never see?
    Then hast thou lived in vain.
Thy richest bump of glorious glee,
    Lies desert in thy brain.

When first my father settled here,
    ’Twas then the frontier line:
The panther’s scream, filled night with fear
    And bears preyed on the swine.

But woe for Bruin’s short lived fun,
    When rose the squealing cry;
Now man and horse, with dog and gun,
    For vengeance, at him fly.

A sound of danger strikes his ear;
    He gives the breeze a *****;
Away he bounds, with little fear,
    And seeks the tangled rough.

On press his foes, and reach the ground,
    Where’s left his half munched meal;
The dogs, in circles, scent around,
    And find his fresh made trail.

With instant cry, away they dash,
    And men as fast pursue;
O’er logs they leap, through water splash,
    And shout the brisk halloo.

Now to elude the eager pack,
    Bear shuns the open ground;
Through matted vines, he shapes his track
    And runs it, round and round.

The tall fleet cur, with deep-mouthed voice,
    Now speeds him, as the wind;
While half-grown pup, and short-legged ****,
    Are yelping far behind.

And fresh recruits are dropping in
    To join the merry corps:
With yelp and yell,—a mingled din—
    The woods are in a roar.

And round, and round the chace now goes,
    The world’s alive with fun;
Nick Carter’s horse, his rider throws,
    And more, Hill drops his gun.

Now sorely pressed, bear glances back,
    And lolls his tired tongue;
When as, to force him from his track,
    An ambush on him sprung.

Across the glade he sweeps for flight,
    And fully is in view.
The dogs, new-fired, by the sight,
    Their cry, and speed, renew.

The foremost ones, now reach his rear,
    He turns, they dash away;
And circling now, the wrathful bear,
    They have him full at bay.

At top of speed, the horse-men come,
    All screaming in a row,
“Whoop! Take him Tiger. Seize him Drum.”
    Bang,—bang—the rifles go.

And furious now, the dogs he tears,
    And crushes in his ire,
Wheels right and left, and upward rears,
    With eyes of burning fire.

But leaden death is at his heart,
    Vain all the strength he plies.
And, spouting blood from every part,
    He reels, and sinks, and dies.

And now a dinsome clamor rose,
    ’Bout who should have his skin;
Who first draws blood, each hunter knows,
    This prize must always win.

But who did this, and how to trace
    What’s true from what’s a lie,
Like lawyers, in a ****** case
    They stoutly argufy.

Aforesaid ****, of blustering mood,
    Behind, and quite forgot,
Just now emerging from the wood,
    Arrives upon the spot.

With grinning teeth, and up-turned hair—
    Brim full of ***** and wrath,
He growls, and seizes on dead bear,
    And shakes for life and death.

And swells as if his skin would tear,
    And growls and shakes again;
And swears, as plain as dog can swear,
    That he has won the skin.

Conceited whelp! we laugh at thee—
    Nor mind, that now a few
Of pompous, two-legged dogs there be,
    Conceited quite as you.

I seldom indulge in letter writing
Because I consider it
To be a cold and illusory
Means of communication.
I will only send someone a letter
If I'm certain it's going to serve
A definite functional purpose,
Such as that which I'm
Scrupulously concocting at present
Indisputably does.
It's not that I incline
Towards excessive premeditation;
Its rather that I have to subject
My thoughts and emotions
To quasi-military discipline,
As pandemonium is the sole alternative.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.
                                                              
Deliberation, in my case,
Is a means to an end,
But scarcely by any means,
An end in itself.
This letter possesses not one,
But two, designs.
On one hand, its aim is edification.
Besides that, I plan to include it
In the literary project upon which
I'm presently engaged,
With your permission of course.
Contrary to what you have suspected
In the past,
I never intend to trivialise intimacy
By distilling it into art.
On the contrary, I seek
To apotheosise the same.
                                                              
You see...I lack the necessary
Emotional vitality to do justice
To people and events
That are precious to me;
I am forced, therefore,
To at a later date call
On emotive reserves
Contained within my unconscious
In order to transform
The aforesaid into literary monuments.
You once said that my feelings
Had been interred under six feet
Of lifeless abstractions;
As true as this might be,
The abstractions in question
Come from without
Rather than within me:
                                                              
My youthful spontaneity
Many mistrustfully identified
With self-satisfied inconsiderateness
(A standard case of fallacious reasoning),
And I was consequently
The frequent victim
Of somewhat draconic cerebrations.
I tremble now
In the face of hyperconsciousness.
I've manufactured a mentality,
Riddled with deliberation,
Cankerous with irony;
Still, in its fragility,
Not to say, artificiality,
It can, with supreme facility,
Be wrenched aside to expose
The touch-paper tenderness within.
                                                              
With characteristic extremism,
I've taken ratiocination
To its very limits,
But I've acquainted myself with,
Nay, embraced my antagonist
Only in order to more effectively throttle him.
Being a survivor of the protracted passage
Through the morass of nihilism,
Found deep within
"the hell of my inner being,"
I am more than qualified to say this:
There is no way out
Of the prison of ceaseless sophistry.
There are many things I have left to say,
But I shall only have begun to exist in earnest
When these are far behind me,
In fact, so far as to be all but imperceptible.
                                                              
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.
Everything I ever dreaded being, I've become
Everything I ever desired to be, I've become.
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.  
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.

My wife is gone and our baby is crying
Oh,lord, what shall I do ?
The fields lay fallow and
the hounds they  lay dying

All my sorrows split open anew
Sweet Angeline, I never seen a vision the likes of you
But now you are gone and I must carry on
To avenge you with plots on the brew
She was taken away by old  Simon Legree

Now my Angie is buried and the child that she carried
Remains with,shining with vigor
Why were you left behind when  her body was consigned to a ditch drain
is more  than I can figure

Now I've wailed my woes up and down the town
Not one good man will take him down
Though I sing his name nine times inside this song
I seen no reparations for his wrongs

So I studied up a plan to see him suffer
For the worst he done to me, I'd  show him rougher
I hoped with him to parlay
I crept down to Legrees place
The moon looked wicked full and livid
The frost lay on the barley
The wind made 'me away so the stalks bid play a tune both bright and vivid

The wind slashed me cruel with claws like a ghoul
Till my cheeks burned hot and red
To the servants door I knew well from before
I prowled like a thief and slipped in
My jaw tight-clenched
My guts were soon wrenched
By the stench of his black den of sin

I pressed firm to the wall and soon found the hall had opened up to Legrees great  chamber
The hearth lowly burned and  my heart made a great turn
See,ol' Simon had come there to slumber

Then I  trod without noise
Though I'd fumbled my poise
To a hatch in the floor of the room
I left the wrench to snore,in his chair
In his  lair, and sank deeper into the gloom
I closed the trap above my head
And,being a good Christian, said a prayer to quell my fear
The match I held between my teeth
I struck against my stubbled cheek
The spark shot up and gradually
I saw where I had fell
The hole was like a charnel hell house
Except that some were living among those poor unhappy girls
Those seven desperate, starving women
Four of them were breathing still
One was pregnant, one was deaf
The other two so near to death
They hardly held the strength to move clear


A sickening smell right out of hell
Exploded In my skull
It was human filth, and tears and guilt
I saw that death was so close
I realized that hell ain't a place
but a mindless, gnawing fear
I knew then that hell's where Simon
Legree ought to dwell
So I said, right then and there

Sisters, there will be deliverance
Tonight, there will be retribution
The man who has done you violence
Will here taste christ's  absolution
Now gather round, here's my solution :

I loosened their  bonds and their gags
And till dawn gathered the things for a purpose

I was terribly pleased once the steps had been greased and found we had rope to surplus

Next ,I Tommy flask of roosters blood and my mask
For I knew my turn at last, with my turn to unmask the devil atlas
Then I asked my friends to paint my skin with a ruby taint
Then bark and bray like demons at their revels
Our howl's were like a breeze bourne plague
An ungodly din,to make the ceiling sag
Like someone cooking crickets in a funnel

I can proudly tell you,sir
It weren't long before something stirred
And the door flew up,and a head peered in the tunnel

"LISTEN  up ,you bitchs!"
he roared " I need your yowling like grit in my eye!"

I noticed then he had eyes like mud
He went still for a spell and my heart gave an echoing thud

Then he hooted loud and slapped his thigh
"Master ",he said,
I said "yeah  "?
He said, "mister devil "
I said ,"I like your style "
He grinned "I ain't seen you in quite a while
He shouted to his slaves for a barrel of wine
Then stepped on the gangway and chattered on  in his head
For a long godawful minute I thought the ******* was dead
But before long he sat up and shook his porcine head

" I have a taste for mortal wine ",said I " My drink is for fine blood and burning turpentine "

"Now drop on your  knees and prove that you are loyal
There's no rest for the wicked, and the slacker reaps no spoils"

I had him fetch a drum pitch instead
"Tie this rope around your ankle
Make sure it's your left" I instructed
"Can't say I understand", he  instructed  " It ain't yours to ponder.
Now rest your worry wits and do as I  command you"!

And he did

" Now, will you kindly dangle from that aforesaid left ankle?"
And I saw his skin, and it was pale as a  lady's powder
I strung him up like a side of pork
Then I approached the young lady with a brush dripping pitch
I'm real glad she me here
For the first time in so many years Simon Legree felt the clutch of fear

When I saw to it that his skin was as dark as his heart,I lit another match a d he reared up with a start

"Do you ever recall speaking these words: (I asked him)
"******* never bruise . They're skin already black  enough. Their backs are lazy and their skin is tough. You can beat 'em all you want and they'd never show it"?

Simon Legree let out a low,ugly  growl. He wriggled, and he whimpered and he shook. " Thats right?you can beat 'em all you want and they'd never show it"?
"Some fool said the meek'll inherit. Though you wouldn't know it."
Then I set him ablaze. And sent the sucker down to hell. His screams were like a symphony, if art could aspire to torture. The women licked their lips and flashed their eyes and the swelter of the beat down on me tell I felt just like a forger.

An ear- rending, soul-bending shriek went up and he  went slack and still I bowed like a good blacksmith and tears wet my face. The spectacle was better than I'd hoped

And Simon Legree went down to the devil.
Down,Down, Down, Down.
With Simon Legree.
Did you ever hear about the bounds in the well of hell
Down to the devil.

You could say that Legrees is my life's great bane. But you know, it just wouldn't tear it. So pick yourself off that cold hard ground ,'cause some of us weren't made to grit and bear it!'

I hate him every bit you do.That back-breaking buzzard with eyes like a ferret!. If love will lead us blind and such. Known that I hate him yet as much. itch.My servants of help,will blacked  you, she's a good  faithful witch

O how sanguine your author was, that
After so many bitter heartbreaks
On the rocky road to Love
(sweet Nirvana shared with a special kindred soul),
This would be the Big One,
The dawning of my joyous future,
A future to be enjoyed in togetherness
With the he-man of my dreams,
A charming full-kilted Highland laddie.

I smiled in innocent anticipation
Of what might transpire
As I waited to meet my bonnie Angus
That lovely Scots summer evening
In the beauteous Pass o' Killicrankie -
His selection of such an inconvenient,
Yet spectacularly gorgeous spot,
Reflected what I had come to appreciate
Of his romantic nature, thus boding well
For our first physical encounter.

Although we had not hitherto met
In the full flesh, so to speak,
I felt I knew the dear laddie well,
Having exchanged increasingly amorous emails
On an exclusive dating website
http://brokenhearts-renewed-by-love.co.uk
And the semi-draped digital photo
Made my heart go pit-a-pit-a-pat
And made my knickers drenched,
To put it mildly, dear reader.

And so I waited, heart in my mouth,
By the bridge o'er the Pass o' Killicrankie,
That warm evening last year
And the birds sang a gentle little song:
Tweet-tweet-tweety-tweet
They chirrupped, somewhat unoriginally,
And how my heart was gladdened
By their artless warbling, och aye,
But I knew not what tragedy lay
Just around the proverbial corner.

And then I saw him coming down the path,
Limping gently (I recalled he had mentioned
early on in our electronic correspondence
that one leg was slightly shorter than the other
thanks to an incident involving a rabid Rottweiler)
And, O dear Lord, he was indeed a fine specimen,
Truly a very tasty number indeed
(although at least ten inches shorter
than I had fondly imagined theretofore),
And I knew my prayers had been answered
(yet perhaps not one hundred percent ideally).

We embraced shyly as he rested his shrunken limb
On a conveniently sited large round stone,
As we stood by the bridge looking out o'er
The spectacular Pass o' Killicrankie,
With its tumbling burn in the mighty ravine far below,
And he reached up on tippie-toe
So as to bring his lips up my mine
In order to seal our love, to plight our troth;
Och how my poor wee heart pounded
Like a steam-hammer at full throttle.

But Fate, cruel Fate intervened brutally
And Angus's surgical boot slipped on the aforesaid stone;
Then he fell against the ill-maintained fence
Which inevitably snapped asunder
And my bonnie lad toppled over into the terrible depths
Of the famous Pass o' Killiecrankie,
His arms flailing like semaphore.
O, but I shall ne'er forget his doomed shrieks
As he bounced gaily o'er the granite rocks,
Landing with a fatal plop in the rippling stream
As it ran urgently in the crannies at the bottom
Of the legendary Pass o' Killicrankie.

There's aye a silver lining to this tale
As poor Angus's man-bag still lay on the path
And I quick perusal therein
Suggested I could go for a tasty supper
At the nearest hostelry and have plenty left over
To subscribe to a more explicit dating website
(perhaps one where only the physically perfect
would be allowed to register)
In the hope of better luck next time round;
But the memory of his dying gurgles
In the icy waters of the babbling brook
Coursing through the Pass o' Killiecrankie
Will live with me for all eternity
(well, a week or two at a rough guess anyway).

I'm not in figedty and in perplex manner
whenever thine populace aren't in sync
onto bridging in the gaps
  that's not so befitting--
well-intentioned unique individuals
and somehow finding uniformity,
ways to connect, naturally,
--lies into thinking, sweetly,
of the welfare o' others firstly.

whilst entitled to do as
he pleases with himself
so far as it in no wise,
interferes with one's
rights to live at peace
with himself, otherwise!
in haste o' the modern-day- pressures,
is such a waste
in the Truest deepest sense,
we ought not missed eternal ideals
o' t'is' life's difficulties,
whoso, nonconformist,
mine earthly near at hand.
as we all set ourselves to bite a bit
o ' that and apiece
o' life's lion-shares
alongside pie in sky-
biting the hand that feeds us,
[ so to speak...]
for an average joe,
Suchlike give much thought....
Unbeknownst, waiting and longing
As yet benighted throughout the mooning
darknest and cloudest dilemmas
ALAS, lest alone, coincides
with dread o' e'ery dusk
smothering haziness
in love -when-it melts...
AS nightfall subsides
up the ole buttermilk sky- full o' star's twinkling - sighing and tearing apart..
unyielding enough unto my innermost
along with the falseness o' being trick
partly because o' being majestic
practically - realistic
In life's perpetual wisdom I so carry by far. .
Thereby,  we, but learned the storms o' life:
how anyone conducts-as-antagonistics?.
Pessimistics
Agnostics
solely wound up to grievous lull,
and wish to conquer undesirable
tendencies and kiss o ' death!
UPPERMOSTLY, vastly regained,
moreover, abreast-again
Oh my good gosh, it's therapuetic!
HENCEFORTH unto
picking
myself up after I have
been knocked - down-
TO KEEP on when e'erything seems to be against all odds o' the "blame game"...
back into nothing which spells boundlessly..
so can I right away pick up the pieces?

and overcome these unsettling uncertainties
o ' living life from day in and day out.
truth o ' the matter of - fact- of thine ingratitude world!
People in general get entangled
with busy-nest-web
amidst foreboding fretfulness
that unravels fleeting worries
about to and fro-
uproaring ebbs of tides
o ' the seafaring winds - blowing..
just as it is happening nowadays
up to cold-hearted - shoulders
moment full o' melancholies
thus thou,  one don't reach out
nor canst not care out and about
but just be on their own self
DOOMED himself ungrateful spirit!
seen as egotistical maniacs
contrary to my beliefs
and my faithfulness..
LET alone -Thee bestows
unceasingly triumphs
just because it's okay
not to be okay
to say the least
It's un-manly
and play- decoy
YET LIFE,
moves forward under
DIVINE CONVOY!
INASMUCH,  manipulative PLOY
to mind one's beauty
or disguise chaste morals
for the uttering dews to
injure or harm a'other
in turn to get "square even-steven"
SOWITH holds true with beguilement
think for a moment,
I'll meet that person
halfway between the lines
with patience and its silver linings. .
hasty words that slows any anger
whereforth, oblivion takes over scar!
that's luring to a smiling brood...
Imperfections are what we are made of,
Hey, the noblest prettiest
yeah, at bay with silence
I LOOK within....
First off, God on my side. ..
For He heareth at my bedside..

Within thine foundation
o ' thine goodness
Sure that ne'er fails. .
Hopefully, get rid o' the evil!
While I was dancing with the devil!
So does thereby,
wilst ever bubble up
if thou languish
to each its own rights
to dig his own heels..
and the outright layer of its color, creed,
and value from stern course o ' self-discipline,
such and such a rearrangement o' character
whom stands to live a sane contemplative state o' the mind..
launching anew,
better on higher-end
level o' spiritual
aspirations;
glamouring stance
Bestowing light to others
Sharing - LOVE for others
shouldn't be in rash,
indecisiveness,
rather, intellectually
with good reasonings,
good judgements
passed thine genial compliments,
WHEREIN, thou soled- loving-heart dwells
insofar as mere,
happy-ness-charms,
Mine thy lonesomeness
-the-soul-into - satisfying
at ease the love I deserve
hankering and longingly-
Even tho' forever-waiting
in its stillness-
I'd bewriting it down
and speak my mind
in any shape form,
aforesaid
and done
bewailing free verses,  
thus,
soul-lonest-mine swells
A LA MODE
Essentially,
at my Fervent HAVEN!

If Lord Jesus Christ is said to sit on the right hand side of God the Father in Heaven then who sits on the left side?

When Jesus was born it is recorded in the Gospels that He was visited by three wise men who came to see and honor Him by following a star from the east. Did they actually follow an external star and light in the sky or were they able to see and follow the promptings of the Inner Light of intuition, insight and illumination of those who are Enlightened which is also called and known as The Star of the East and can be seen within the darkness of closed eyes and sometimes with opened eyes?

Did Jesus tell Judas to betray Him as he was sensed to be wavering in his resolution to do so because Jesus had to fulfill the mission entrusted to Him by the Holy Spirit and of which it was prophesied about in the earlier scriptures? The Gospel of John states that Jesus confronted Judas at the last supper, telling him, "What you are about to do, do quickly."

Did Jesus command His foremost disciple Peter to deny Him three times as He could see that that was what it would take to save Peter's life and for him to live on and be the Rock upon which He would build His Church as Jesus had foretold of him when He had asked Peter Whom did he think that He was and the answer that Peter gave was the one that most pleased Jesus?

What did Jesus do and where did he go between the time of 12 and 30 years of age? As it is recorded in the Gospel by St Luke about Him being left behind unknowingly by His parents (how could this have happened?) and was found three days later in Jerusalem talking to the doctors in the Temple asking and answering questions at the age of 12 and then not being heard of again until the age of 30 when He is recorded to be seeking baptism by John the Baptist just before being led into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. Here also there seems to be an unanswered question over the recounting of Jesus's ordeal in the desert which is told by the Gospel writers to have lasted 40 days and 40 nights and which happened before He called any of His disciples to start following Him. How could they have known what actually transpired during that time, and how much of it is based on the truth, unless it was Jesus Himself who told them about it later on or, was it the work of the “Holy Spirit” about which it is said that it's “He Who makes known or reveals all things”.
Also, did Jesus return the visit of the Three Wise Men who came to see him at the time of His birth and who perhaps held the key to that Divine Knowledge and Wisdom which Jesus had to master in order for Him to fulfill His mission on earth? Eighteen years is a long time to have missing out of one's life particularly that of one Who is regarded to be the Savior of the World.
Did Jesus gain or attain, during those eighteen years mentioned above, that perfect Self mastery of the body, mind and spirit which was required for Him to have the ability and Divine Knowledge to perform miracles and to undergo and survive the ordeal of the Crucifixion and to then apparently be found to have come back to life in the story of the Resurrection after being proclaimed dead by the authorities at the time and was then buried where He would be recorded to go on and perform perhaps the greatest miracle of all?
In the discipline and higher practices of Yoga there is a state called 'Nirvikalpa Samadhi' which is also known as the 'breathless' and more specifically as the 'I am God' state whereby one who has mastered it can voluntarily leave the physical body at will and not be conscious of it at all, as would normally be the case when awake, but can still retain a connection with it which may explain the apparent death and resurrection of Lord Jesus Christ who is known to have been a Master Yogi when we compare His achievements with those that have been documented and can be attained by one who has mastered the science and art of Yoga.

It is also thought and even recorded that Jesus descended down to hell after He apparently 'died' on the cross due to the Crucifixion because of all our sins which He incurred as a down payment to God the Father so He could form what has come to be known as the New Covenant to save all those who believe in Him. While certain aspects of this view have merit and are true, it seems to go against what Jesus Himself is recorded to have said in the Gospels to one of the other condemned prisoners at the time before He 'died' on the cross when that prisoner asked Jesus to please remember him when he would go up into His Kingdom and Jesus having compassion replied to him saying: “Today shalt thou be with me in paradise” which is a far cry and contradiction to what is thought to have happened.

In the forty days following the Resurrection it is recorded that Jesus spent the time with His disciples before the Ascension teaching and telling them many things even so far as to remove any doubts they may have had regarding what happened to Him and to painfully declare that He had to leave and go to prepare a place for them in Heaven with the Father. Did Jesus actually ascend up to heaven or did He project an image of Himself in the sky as a farewell greeting before going away and heading off yonder with one or two of His disciples? It's very plausible that it would have been too dangerous for Him and His disciples if He had of stayed around, as it is recorded in some of the apocryphal texts where it's written that He traveled to the east and in particular India where it's also said that He died a normal death and was buried somewhere in what is now known as Kashmir.
There's also a story in The Book Of Mormon in which it is recorded that Jesus visited two Jewish lost tribes that had been exiled from the Holy Land a couple of centuries before due to their warring nature against each other, as a blessing of peace and to fulfill a promise and prophesy made and written about in the earlier scriptures, after all the drama unfolded there (His trial and crucifixion etc).

'To be born again' is a well known phrase in Christianity and is said to be a baptism by the Holy Spirit of someone who has become a follower of Lord Jesus Christ and involves the descent of Divine Grace. It would seem that not all followers of Jesus Christ receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit and are truly 'Born Again' but only those who ardently seek and follow in His footsteps and live by His example as set out in the Gospels with the instructions and words given therein. Only those who spend time in prayer, on a daily basis more or less, following the promptings of the 'Holy Spirit' and go about doing good, rendering service to others in need, to the best of their ability avoiding the temptations and pitfalls of the 'Flesh' in the form of lust, greed, anger, pride and jealousy and also living in accordance within the laws of the Ten Commandments. It is these people who experience the words of Lord Jesus Christ in the New Testament to come alive in them and go on to know the 'real mysteries of faith'. Each one receives what they're capable of holding which is in a spirit of humility and meekness; that is to do the Will of God the Father by obeying those aforesaid promptings of the Holy Spirit and by keeping the words of Lord Jesus Christ always in their heart.

There are many followers and believers of Lord Jesus Christ who have been adamantly saying and preaching that He will come again physically in a “Second Coming” and this has been going on for the past two thousand years or so since the stories of the “Resurrection” and in particular after His “Ascension”. Could it be that they are somehow mistaken and that it is just all based on dogma? However, in spite of any doubts or misgivings in this regard, it would be truly great to be around at such a time were it to happen hence the power of belief in it. This is also really something that can and does happen in a personal and individual way as described above in the previous paragraph.
In consideration of all the horrific events that happened during the past 20th century it would indeed be evident or even obvious that it should have been at some time back then. Instead there are many people left wondering as to what it would really take for God or someone like God to manifest Himself as an Incarnation of the Christ or Messiah etc, wielding Divine power, knowledge and authority, to save humanity and thereby in fact the whole world. If God is God being all powerful, all knowing, all loving, all compassionate, omnipresent, infinite and eternally creative etc, who's to say that He would need to come back down again amidst mankind in the same form as that of one of His previous incarnations at such a crucial time? Would it not be a display of favoritism on God's part to do so and for all we know would only lead to greater conflict and more religious war than has already been the case in the past and in some ways still going on today?
-------------------------------------------
Note:
See also YouTube video: Jesus in India, Tibet and Persia - An Account Missing from The Bible largely based in parts on the book 'The Unknown Life of Jesus Christ' by Nicolas Notovitch.

well,
this is awkward!
my thought as i stand, balanced,
one leg in my knickers,
the other bent
flamingo-esqe
halfway through the other leg hole.
other than this,
-nekid-
facing the full length glass sliding door,
that in turn
faces the newly stripped
of garden house next door.

to be more exact that faces what the new owners,
must have chosen as their bedroom.
how have i come to this decision.
well as i hop and jiggle about,
the aforesaid neighbor stands frozen,
in his window,
hands on the towel in his hair,
the full frontal rest of him bare in all his glory,
bronzed and pale
bits, swinging in the breeze,
thin, hair less.

we have caught each other in undress.
awkward!!!!
as i said.
but manners hold sway,
i give a cheery wave,
as i hop and jiggle away.

One of the most beautiful of all Barry Hodges' "Memories" poems, and one in which a sad death occurs

O how sanguine your author was, that
After so many bitter heartbreaks
On the rocky road to Love
(sweet Nirvana shared with a special kindred soul),
This would be the Big One,
The dawning of my joyous future,
A future to be enjoyed in togetherness
With the woman of my dreams,
A charming full-breasted Highland lassie.

I smiled in innocent anticipation
Of what might transpire
As I waited to meet my wee Aileen
That lovely Scots summer evening
In the bonnie Pass o' Killicrankie -
Her selection of such an inconvenient,
Yet spectacularly gorgeous spot,
Reflected what I had come to appreciate
Of her romantic nature, thus boding well
For our first physical encounter.

Although we had not hitherto met
In the full flesh, so to speak,
I felt I knew the dear girl well,
Having exchanged increasingly amorous emails
On an exclusive dating website
http://brokenhearts-renewed-by-hotspunk.co.uk*
And the semi-draped digital photo
Made my heart go pit-a-pit-a-pat
And made my sporran twitch,
To put it mildly, dear reader.

And so I waited, bouquet in hand,
By the bridge o'er the Pass o' Killicrankie,
That warm evening last year
And the birds sang a gentle little song:
Tweet-tweet-tweety-tweet
They chirrupped, somewhat unoriginally,
And how my heart was gladdened
By their artless warbling, och aye,
But I knew not what tragedy lay
Just around the proverbial corner.

And then I saw her coming down the path,
Limping gently (I recalled she had mentioned
early on in our electronic correspondence
that one leg was slightly shorter than the other
thanks to an incident involving a rabid Rottweiler)
And, O dear Lord, she was indeed a beauty,
Truly a very tasty number indeed
(although at least ten inches shorter
than I had fondly imagined theretofore),
And I knew my prayers had been answered
(yet perhaps not one hundred percent ideally).

We embraced shyly as she rested her lesser limb
On a conveniently sited large round stone,
As we stood by the bridge looking out o'er
The spectacular Pass o' Killicrankie,
With its tumbling burn in the mighty ravine far below,
And she reached up on tippie-toe
So as to bring her lips up my mine
In order to seal our love, to plight our troth;
Och how my poor wee heart pounded
Like a steam-hammer at full throttle.

But Fate, cruel Fate intervened brutally
And her surgical boot slipped on the aforesaid stone;
Then she fell against the ill-maintained fence
Which inevitably snapped asunder
And my Aileen toppled over into the terrible depths
Of the famous Pass o' Killiecrankie,
Her arms flailing like semaphore.
O, but I shall ne'er forget her doomed shrieks
As she bounced over the granite rocks,
Landing with a fatal plop in the rippling stream
As it ran urgently in the crannies at the bottom
Of the legendary Pass o' Killicrankie.

There's aye a silver lining to this tale
As poor Aileen's handbag still lay on the path
And I quick perusal therein
Suggested I could go for a tasty supper
At the nearest hostelry and have plenty left over
To subscribe to a more explicit dating website
(perhaps one where only the physically perfect
would be allowed to register)
In the hope of better luck next time round;
But the memory of her dying gurgles
In the icy waters of the babbling brook
Coursing through the Pass o' Killiecrankie
Will live with me for all eternity
(well, a week or two at a rough guess anyway).

Iron man with his chessmen
Reinvent heretics for God's sake
Rational excuse aforesaid

Iron man with his chessmen
Wild flowers dancing to salute them
Drinking the blood after the game

Let me cherish thee this time
Never bartered you with victorious rime
Let me consecrate individuals with my light
You are your own conducting mind

the land here is so beautiful one can forgive all kinds of bad behavior.*

see rabbit knock into a pail, then knock it again, so it is upright.  

see the later mother believe ghost and for that in the thirst of ghost.

see angel, being seen, pained by a bell that aforesaid rings.

see the hand of god once thought to sweep, sleep.

see slow the jeopardy of dog ticks.  see bullets in a wall  

or track them their holes; some in a line and some stepped out.

see a film, the south in it.  your lips with your teeth.

It was a
frustrating day
and I admit
I lost my head.

Yes, it's true.

I have searched
everywhere
and can't find it
anywhere.

Of course, I
must get another
for a
headless life
is just
too dreary.

So if you have
a spare and
would like to
give the
aforesaid head,
contact me.

I'll keep it
under my hat.

  ~mce

Fascination in obscure
words or sensations
in my deep states,
seemingly insecure or even uncomfortable concepts to some
yet holding a great enigmatic eloquence
in elegance
when looked at through
a different prism of the crystal.
I could even say that my
Deep Stateness
is of the copper-dark
radiating scarlet paired
with lilac,
inky blue
and grey mist
at the Lighthouse Keeper’s shift
when all stories come alive
and what’s seemingly real
turns feeble.
An example word of such would be: “Incalescent”
or
“Evanescent”.
It holds that feeling
independently
from its cognitively
given definition.

Astrality, to me,
if you’d like to ask as a help
for placing it,
may be most probably
the aforesaid
Deep Stateness married
with the presence of My Lover, otherworldly consciences
without words
(as if I were some astral being
embodied
and aware of its misbelonging
to this world
and my moderated
female body)
and my Fernweh
for my Home.
It’s also that Phronemophiling,
like a thing greater
than getting high on drugs.
It is also my endearment
at my antics
or getting Philosophy
in me and what I read
as lovely,
playing naked on guitar
at night alone in silent dark
with trust in my eyes without glasses, looking at stars bravely
without this handicap device
and lonely daring the world
to tell me
I cannot see them without it
on,
using the strong reverberating
of my voice so pulsing out loud
with sureness and passion,
or fascinating at my tears
for more than two days
whilst in commotion
after reading deeply
“The Dead Poets Society”.

Surely you must have felt it
one way or another some time.

Man the way people boast, can't miss it, it's on TV radio plus they post coast to coast. We love poking out our chests boasting, I'm the best to hell with the rest. Laughing like it's a big joke when we rag on folk, a very heavy yoke.

I remember life being more clear when people would lend an ear or this I would hear. May I be of assistance, what do you need, what's been allowed to supersede, that Monster Greed. Now we all have an emptiness that need to be filled, we try pills, thrills and even ill will, going down hill.

Then get ****** when in life we remiss, some fall into the abyss, trying to reach that state of bliss and all they can foresee is misery, even with a college degree, misery do love company.

So we make up contest, trying to reach some sort of success, nonetheless we digress, trying to find who's the best. Although we do have our super powers, we're taught never to cower, you're a beautiful flower but things do go sour, living in Ivory towers.

Now if you want to boast about who's foremost, check out this bloke who wasn't blowing smoke whenever he spoke, the man was no joke. The man was shrewd, He fed the multitude, never rude nor would He delude, minds and bodies, He renewed

A healer of the sick, a peacenik without the politics. Never a squatter He's called The Potter, the Man even walked on water. He's the real deal in which you can always appeal, if there are storms in your life He can make 'em kneel, Peace Be Still.

And hears the kicker, more potent than liquor, quicker than any city slicker. You see, it had been aforesaid so He knew what was ahead and He could have fled, instead, He was nailed to the cross where he bled, Then was raised from the dead.

So for all those who think they're hard, check out The King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Where you shall stand in total awe with the rest, every knee shall bow, every tongue shall confess. Now who's the best.

If you want to boast about who's utmost then we can all give a toast from coast to coast to The Lord of Hosts and receive. The Holy Ghost.

Engulfing dew from misty cold
Snoring on frosty haystacks
A dense carpet swirling around
Of crafty creatures and hags from hell
Fresh rainy aroma in delight
Inescapable , unhindered through nostrils
Neither railways' wheels of time
Nor bickering souls tarnishing demeanour
Mounds of besmeared rocks
Severe yet silent
But since joyous moments last momentarily
An ant from the core bites me harshly
I step into droughts of aforesaid enlightenment
As I close doors into confinement..

Irises Witnessing 

I don't necessarily believe in moira, 

as the Greeks laid it out, doubting... 

although, I do have faith in everyone 

having a mighty purpose, promising 

everything is balancing on a tightrope 

of betterment, yet some choose doom 

allowing their wings to crumble under 

the weight of the weary world's gloom 

instead the air is an aerial playground,

but they're perpetually shot down, aim

irises witnessing those colorful heavens,

stillness, takes deep the time, aforesaid

James Kenneth Blaylock

1-4-18

“It can be a very spontaneous state,
In restraining the inner spirit of angst,
A plethora of pain held within,
Parallels of a withering acumen,

Once in a wonderful sense of serenity,
Or was it a birth of total disavowal,
One cannot feel the venture aforesaid,
Comeuppance breath within my soul,

Need I succumb to such relentlessness?
As the inner souls foment impertinently,
Shall I reconcile to the assuage afore me,
As my soul unleashes it’s invigorating remedial,

As my spiritual guidance formulates camaraderie,
Now proficient anodyne of once a dreaded angst,
Shall I now attain that of a once absent love?
Whether this shall be for naught it is affirmed,
A reticence of my spiritual soul has been ameliorated”
By Andrew Guzaldo ©  11/26/2019  #174

The date of the celebration
(the second day of February) coincides
with medieval feast of Candlemas,
and its pre-Christian predecessor,
Imbolc, a day also rich in folklore.

An old Scottish prophecy foretells
sunny weather on Candlemas
means a long winter.

The tradition is recounted in this poem:
As the light grows longer
The cold grows stronger
If Candlemas be fair and bright
Winter will have another flight
If Candlemas be cloud and snow
Winter will be gone and not come again
A farmer should on Candlemas day
Have half his corn and half his hay
On Candlemas day if thorns hang a drop
You can be sure of a good pea crop.

Punxsutawney Phil is the focal point
of oldest and largest annual
Groundhog Day celebration,
held in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania,
every year since 1886.

Members of Phil’s “Inner Circle”
claim he is now 137 years old,
(rumor circulates this one groundhog lived
to make weather prognostications
since 1886, sustained by drinks
of "groundhog punch"
or "elixir of life" administered
at annual Groundhog
Picnic in the fall),
hence thanks to said magical
life-extending serum
they feed him each year—
and his predictions
one hundred percent accurate.

Coincides with astronomy's
first cross-quarter day,
marking the midpoint between
winter solstice and
spring (vernal) equinox,
which will occur at 5:24 PM on
in Northern Hemisphere
Eastern Standard Time
Monday, March 20, 2023

Small consolation old man winter
spans fewest days
of all four seasons,
especially when

A powerful nor'easter
will develop in western Atlantic
beginning late Friday,
(February third two thousand
and twenty three)
bringing heavy snow,
strong winds and
coastal flooding to parts
of the East Coast,
but there remains
a larger than usual amount
of uncertainty in forecast
for this storm.

Yours truly remembers
when spry Jack (****) Frost
(just yea high -
both arms stretched to sky)
came early, left late and bossed
zealous vernal equinox
rattling barenaked lady branches
obviously inapropos
to budding friendship.

Now (courtesy global warming/ climate change)
mother nature experiences feeling strange
within valleys and atop many mountain range,
wherein goods traded away on stock exchange.

Fortunate concerning yours truly
versus daring to brave
inclement treacherous weather
getting stranded in the process
(possibly becoming gratefully dead)
risking life and limb venturing forth

amidst near whiteout conditions
creating debacle perilous and grave
shoveling snow lest he get buried
he can remain holed up
(in tandem with the missus)
snug as a bug in his mancave.

While nestled inside warm abode for awhile
(at least until temperature upwards doth dial
safely ensconced against elements (of style),
I stopped at metaphoric woods edge
trekking until... for no rhyme nor reason
the poetic metered equivalent,
viz another mile
then stopped for coffee break

burst of energy gave me cause to smile
fording imponderable stream of consciousness
impossible (airy) mission to dodge regarding
aforesaid daunting task to craft worthwhile
poetic endeavor to entertain anonymous readers
gleaning how one bard (with his shaky spear)
evokes fiction being snowbound
as if cast adrift within Siberian exile.

Straightaway I continue writing askew
aware how literary trademark modality
characteristic of one hapless wordsmith
unwittingly indelibly embedded
analous to mine Caucasian
versus swarthy melanin hue

man automatically confers eligibility granting
innumerable known mighty opportunities
(privileged skin color - how unfair)
bigoted prejudices shade those
either hashtagged as black,
naturally copper toned gentile and/or Jew.

the warning words website not secure
nearly left writer of these words **** poor.

usually linkedin with ******* websites
lest ye find yourself in the maws of hackers.

generalization utilized to communicate actual
online experience that occurred Wednesday
(August 24th, 2022), while i unwittingly in
the shower lathering up my hair, which inter
lude of relaxation interrupted when the missus
shouted out serious message identification.

yours truly paid steep price courtesy the wife
who ventured forth into seedy webbed world
she zealously, nonchalantly, blithely ventured
into steamy underbelly of fetid depraved beast.

to unlock access to Macbook Pro i grudgingly,
depressingly, angrily forked over five hundred
ninety eight dollars and ninety nine cents pronto
courtesy PayPal to purported vendor/merchant
named Support Desk, which supposed technician
asked me to relinquish control of said laptop in
order to troubleshoot alarming situation regard
ding motley crew jump/kick starting getting my
precious data specifically and most importantly
including banking information allowing, enabling

and providing nasty and brutish cyberpunks to
siphon every last cent painstakingly acquired by
slew of empathetic professional psychological
helpmates (such as george adams, jean dole, elba
dorley, gabe pinkski, paul sacks), who vouchsafed
crippling anxiety afflicted me, which agreed upon
diagnosis schizoid personality disorder qualified
yours truly to receive social security disability, a
dog send to allow, enable, and provide unearned
income to help meet basic costs of livingsocial.

fortunately i did not need to establish gofundme
site, cuz wise mind within mine noggin suspected
unsavory shenanigans after speaking (with con-
siderable agitation) over the telephone with deux
(not good) fellas compounded by language barrier,
who brazenly wrested remote control of aforesaid
computer (courtesy ramping up fear factor) wrought
by unforgiving hackers would wantonly wreak havoc
with mein kampf destroying financial security nsync

ruining OpenOffice poetry and prose documents, and
even though worst case scenario avoided thus far, an
uneasy feeling grips every fiber of mine corporeal,
emotional, and spiritual being, cuz instinctive sixth
sense came to the rescue and touché Matthew Harris
for filing a claim with Citizens bank after above stated
dollar figure posted nipping in bud potential fraudulent
cyber scheme, which one aging long haired pencil
necked geek naive nattering nerdy nabob of negativism
nearly got hoodwinked.

The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once nonagricultural,
pastoral, rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home while
veritably sequestered, quarantined, positioned...
sprawled atop spaciously shingled roof
countless years (B)efore (C)ovid-19
scanning distant horizon
for unsuspecting barenaked lady,
perhaps said goo goo doll sunbathing

catching rays while maybe listening
courtesy iPod to WXPN
one among several favorite stations of mine
one hotmail (male) buzzfeeding
avast fancy feast
home sweet home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
deceased parents then at their prime
both transplanted Brooklyn
Borough citified folks,
hankered to escape urban jungle
quickly acclimated livingsocial in the country.

Aforesaid domain didst span,
once assumed, encompassed, incorporated
one hundred plus acre wooded estate
(analogous to fictional land inhabited
by Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends)
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man.

Soon after aforementioned builder/realtor
bought expansive land
blueprints soon drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity.

Impossible mission to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition

analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
hired brawny hands to maximize
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
which prospective homeowner
doth figuratively hammer away.

Their choices limited indeed
maybe there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
just the same sporting lawn
anticipating family with young children
ready to play kiddy game
such as: Ring-a-ring-a-rosies
A pocketful of posies
A tissue, a tissue

We all fall down
The king has sent his daughter
To fetch a pail of water
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The robin on the steeple
Is singing to the people
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The wedding bells are ringing
The boys and girls are singing
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down.

hovers over 100 seconds to midnight
as of January 2022,
which apocalyptic prognostication
established by the Bulletin
of Atomic Scientists
maintained since 1947,
the clock quantifies a metaphor
for threats to humanity
from unchecked scientific
and technological advances.

Very thin sliver of time remains
before zero hour realized,
but countless heroic measures attainable
prior to Doomsday Clock striking midnight
(witnessing global annihilation unleashed
courtesy malevolent forces
wrought by egregious
ingenious narcissistic mankind),
whereby civilization inextricably linkedin
ominous quaking storied unsettling webbed
wide world harbingers  
vitiated by weapons of mass destruction

loom ever closer unless
**** sapiens can unite,
whereby at least one obscure Yiddish word
Ongematert (tired out,
albeit psychologically wracked)
will render nuclear stockpile superfluous
(the idealist trumpets long live
The Naked Ape a 1967 book
by English zoologist
and ethologist Desmond Morris  
chronicling humans as species)
proving supremacy of virtue

versus nipping in bud everyone
wishing their kith and kin  
final fare thee well upon
debacle potentially fateful genocide
describing, horrifying, liberating Gaia
of peopled pestilential maelstrom,
(hence purchase front row tickets now)
visible clear across thee solar system,
which could theoretically occur tonight
before betokening apocalyptic sight
'course one must go about
her/his business – right?

Rhetorical question troubles
existential nihilist (me)
how to shrug off monstrous plight
(ghastly hellacious towering
mushroom cloud infernos)
analogous to punishment allotted Atlas
re: to hold up earth
on his shoulders for all eternity
at last count oblate spheroid
weighing a whopping 13 thousand,

170 billion trillion pounds,
or 13,170,000,000,000,000,000,000,000
impossible mission quite
challenging, where one
brother grimm ponders plight,
when with instantaneously "****"
jump/kick starts irrevocable dissolution
of fledgling acquaintanceships
and long established friendships
within eye blink

(think snapped fingers) outright
regardless, whether...
perchance we ever
cross paths long daze
journey into night,
and met under virtual reality moonlight
ah... methinks the mere awareness
of poetess transient existence
metaphorically found modest, mercurial
mellow male within limelight

oy vey admittedly one
rusty Ongepatshket knight
fumbling in the dark with
his unreliable sputtering jacklight
hooping aforesaid gal, whose eyes alight
upon mine genuine words doth newt
**** sitter me laughable, nor impolite,
yet accept hard virtual reality to highlight
and/or _ underscore delight
full dame online - each of us,

an infinitesimal jot of granulite
within vast cosmos given finite
minuscule time to excite
our senses trending utmost delight
during brief unique
deoxynucleic chromosomal copyright
til death do us part,
whether natural demise
doomed to huge sinister clouds
speeding, spelling, spewing radioactive blight.

Uneasiness far greater
to confront atomic augury
than pernicious penury
which ceases within eyeblink
certainly far more serious than perjury,
(which yours truly never guilty),
nevertheless afflicting me
with psychological injury.

Personal finances pitted
me deep in hock
into red zone, yes
quite a shock,
to absorb - now finds yours
truly poorest oldest
curmudgeon goofy "kid"
in sexagenarian body
on the senior citizen chopping block
within Lake Woebegone
hard space and rock
as inevitable doom
each second - coming inevitably
approaches closer tick tock.

Found yours truly
a grateful dead head
convenient scapegoat dejure
Norristown police officers
fingerprinted me for
casual postal employment
linked to vicious brutal crime
someone else who shared
identical name and fingerprints as mine
the latter of corpse far fetched
stole social security

I ream member –
being held ransom
bound and gagged
if paperback writer
wrote story resultant account
would total about 300 newpages
printed August 16th, 2019.
    
Despite never committing
major criminal offense
routine dactylogram
pointed ****** finger of guilt
at me, and an all expense trip
paid to high security prison.

I initially thought ruse
as cruel prank (Ritz large),
and utter nonsense
good humor quickly melted away
nsync with sense and sensibility
after getting roughly manhandled
courtesy dense sumo size wrestlers
(think Andre the giant)
humongous state troopers.

They spoke staccato rapid
fire automatic gunfire tongue
with unfamiliar accents,
and kept no holds barred
steely iron tense grip
upon this skinny, shy, scared...
long haired pencil necked geek.

Said uniformed, nasty mean looking,
heavily muscled, pierced, tattooed...
armed to the dagger oh type teeth
gendarmes escorted, forced, shoved...

These foo fighters,
not friendly village people,
nor Mister Fred Roger type gents
violently tossed yours truly...
carelessly knocked out
any remaining toothless cents
from out my noggin.

Slam dunked me
into back seat bullet proof
partitioned cheaply tricked
paddy wagon went these lovely bones.

Events of my life passed
before myopic mind's third eye blind.

These hooligans counted as nothing
but hoodlums from Bedlam.

A "FAKE" outlaw film
of unreel projections,
unspooled, and untethered
within fifty shades of fist size gray matter.

Surreal elegance definitely
case of mistaken rather stolen identity
perpetrator(s) data mined
under my uber outsize honker
mine outside Semitic schnozzle
created double blind spot.
    
Yea twas while aye became entranced,
mesmerized, yoked (albeit visually)
courtesy aromatic exotic incense
held this hybrid piqued bishop,
chain mailed (gratis
United States postal service)
good knight captive,
where agents provocateurs
kickstarted, out maneuvered,
and pinned yours truly with engulfed  
par excellence for the course.

Aforesaid mean drama
played out across mine
mien anxiety riddled body electric.

Analogous to once upon time
life size chess board,
I felt marshalled
(tuckered out nonetheless)
like life size pawn
gambled as live pièce de résistance.

signaled one hundred seconds to midnight

A couple years ago
similarly titled poem I did write,
yet looms as harbinger unless
**** sapiens can unite
one non Yiddish speaking
Ongematert wishing ye
fare thee well tonight
before betokening apocalyptic sight
'course one must go about
her/his business - right?

Rhetorical question - yet
impossible mission quite
challenging, where one
brother grimm ponders plight
Cosmofunnel favorite fan
Katina Borgersen "****"
our acquaintanceship dissolved
(think - snapped fingers) outright
regardless, whether...
perchance we ever
cross paths long daze

journey into night
met under virtual reality moonlight
ah... the mere awareness
of her existence
metaphorically found modest, mercurial
mellow male within limelight
oy vey admittedly one
rusty Ongepatshket knight
fumbling in the dark with
his unreliable sputtering jacklight
hooping aforesaid gal whose eyes alight

upon mine genuine words doth newt
**** sitter me laughable, nor impolite,
yet accept hard reality to highlight
and/or _ underscore delight
full dame online - each of us,
an infinitesimal jot of granulite
within vast cosmos given finite
minuscule time to excite
our senses trending utmost delight
during brief unique
deoxynucleic chromosomal copyright

til death do us part,
whether natural demise
or... huge mushroom
clouds radioactive blight
unimaginable nightmarish scenario
impossible mission to close third eye blind
webbed global haunting spectacle
mortal creatures linkedin to ill fate
including yours truly,
a generic, garden variety
hermetically sealed cell bit anchorite.

Uneasiness far greater
to confront atomic augury
than pernicious penury
which ceases within eyeblink
far more serious than perjury
nonetheless afflicting me
with psychological injury.

Personal finances pitted
me deep in hock
into red room zone,
shining thru the mist
story, yes I experience
quite a shell shock,
to absorb inconvenient truth
great swaths of Gaia
analogous to dead zone,

nevertheless, now finds yours
truly poorest, oldest, and nerdiest
curmudgeon goofy "kid"
on the chopping block
within Lake Wobegon
hard space and third rock
from sun as inevitable doom
inches closer as each second elapses  
insync with inaudible tick tock.

Coincides with astronomy's cross-quarter day,
marking the midpoint between
winter solstice and spring equinox,
which will occur at 5:37 AM on
in Northern Hemisphere
Saturday, March 20.

Small consolation old man winter
spans fewest days
of all four seasons,
especially when massive nor'easter
predicted today January 31st, 2021
including within neck of woods
named Perkiomen Valley Pennsylvania.

Yours truly remembers
when spry Jack (****) Frost
(just yea high -
both arms stretched to sky)
came early, left late and bossed
vernal equinox
rattling barenaked branches
obviously inapropos
to budding friendship.

Now (courtesy global warming/ climate change)
mother nature experiences feeling strange
within valleys and atop many mountain range,
wherein goods traded away on stock exchange.

Fortunate concerning yours truly
versus daring to brave
inclement weather
getting stranded in the process
(possibly becoming gratefully dead)
risking life and limb venturing forth

amidst near whiteout conditions
creating debacle perilous and grave
shoveling snow lest he get buried
he can remain holed up
(in tandem with the missus)
snug as a bug in his mancave.

While nestled inside warm abode for awhile
(at least until temperature upwards doth dial
safely ensconced against elements (of style),
I stopped at metaphoric woods edge
trekking until... for no rhyme nor reason
the poetic metered equivalent,
viz another mile
then stopped for coffee break

burst of energy gave me cause to smile
fording imponderable stream of consciousness
impossible (airy) mission to dodge regarding
aforesaid daunting task to craft worthwhile
poetic endeavor to entertain anonymous readers
gleaning how one bard (with his shaky spear)
evokes fiction being snowbound
as if cast adrift within Siberian exile.

Straightaway I continue writing askew
aware how literary trademark modality
characteristic of Matthew
unwittingly indelibly embedded
analous to mine Caucasian
versus swarthy melanin hue

man automatically confers eligibility granting
innumerable known mighty opportunities
(privileged skin color - how unfair)
bigoted prejudices shade those,
either hashtagged as black, brown
naturally copper toned gentile and/or Jew.

irksomely chafe and dig
(analogous to a bit size backhoe -
contracted courtesy local builders
Gambone Brothers) inside lip
on left side front of mouth
not surprisingly creating
quasi irritated sore welt
(as if I got smacked in the face

from out of the blue)
achingly painful dilemma
particularly whenever I bite and chew food,
which compromised mastication
seriously prompted eating soft
(goo goo gaga baby) with no pablum,
or yours truly switching
to a liquified diet of worms.

Aforementioned minor
physical oral ailment
reminiscent when yours truly
donned, sported, and touted braces
(on two separate occasions)
to double necessary rites of passage
since yours truly
glutton for punishment
while segueing from adolescence
into young adulthood

gifted with moderate sized overbite,
yet not full fledged
buck teeth the first go around,
where metal brackets
and/or little pins pierced, jabbed,
gouged, et cetera
into tender gummy flesh
generally unpleasant nasty encounter
super tramping as
cheaply tricked out human pin cushion
****** well right.

Methinks of the hours of veritable torture
spent seated in orthodontic chair,
where initial appointment
found me situated with maw opened
for stretches of time
that would be dwarfed
by subsequent pluperfect future hours
getting a numb bony ***
while veritably held hostage
courtesy the vise grips of dental technician.

I can never forget
experiencing preliminary step
into requisite initiation
getting an eventual smile
worth a million bucks
firstly to create gap (wide enough
to drive a mack truck thru),
which spacers essentially
little rubber squares
(at most an inch long)
to allow, enable
and provided leverage buyout
paid for by a pretty penny
prior to getting metal bands
bonded and insured to pearly whites.

Adjustment to being fitted
for dentures didst overly bite
recounted, recircled, and recapitulated
analogous when jaws underwent restructuring
where aforesaid maxillofacial territory
felt subjected to miniature
jackhammer and dynamite
forthwith adumbrated as memory takes flight
re-envisioning maximum headroom
affecting yours truly experiencing whiplash

as countless hands practically reached
into me ******* plunging
dentistry implements and gloved fingers
into buccal cavity
from soaring wuthering height
nearly choking yours truly
expediting at expense of mine cavum oris
carrying out veritable
fishing and hunting expedition
courtesy overhead jacklight

figuratively yanking tooth
and nail mustering might
allowing, enabling and providing opportunity
for tomorrow's dental practitioners
essentially dental students namely neophyte
took stab at a subjected human Guinea Pig -
as relegated to scientific experimentation
I tried to be agreeable and polite
at the mercy of said novitiate quite right,
now crafting epistle as a toothless troglodyte.

     Never during the story of my life asper present moment, whereby this body electric then witnessed LVIII celebrations of a womb dar full in utero gestation, and subsequent exit per birth canal in one direction ejected like some **** the torpedo or other lobbing hand grenade, or discharging any other type of ballistic military ordnance and after twice undergoing beautification of ma smile; first enduring gagging on quick hardening cement as benchmark impressions, spacers, thence soon followed by wearing braces.
     Membership to this adolescent rite of passage entailed requisite name calling as the victim remained mum imposed incommunicado what with wires that jabbed, pricked, and stuck every square inch of gums teasing the tillerman tongue felt furrowed plow as soft tissue became abundantly blistered chafed, and diced raw.
     Numerous teeth extractions later (which did smarted my wisdom), the drill mongering requisition team (incorporating a rooted right bitewing conspiracy), said prisoner interrogation attained the pinnacle of pain per practiced collaboration between vaunted, sainted long in the tooth professionally smocked specialists.
     These accredited, certified, and licensed torturers frenziedly insouciantly cackled with hair rising, maniacal, spine tingling pleasure while intermittently interrogating strait jacketed anesthetized subjected patient.
     Thee prisoner of Zenda implanted with gag reflex additionally besieged to a battery of expensive costly abuse.
     Such quaint ratified regular rigmarole included suctioning lips til dry as sawdust in preparation for (not to be mist witnessing open mouthed wide world) recalcitrant subject handily restrained as he/she barely weathered unpalatable quintessentially royally smitten to the nerve.
     This electric kool acid test basically pitched the heavily sedated sorely saddled seated subject into a novel threshold of oral suffering.
     The confederated legion of amalgam hated plaque attackers banded teeth forcing a tectonic shift of pearly whites to relocate closing gaps, where uber an crowdsource rank and file groupon identity guard did lyft suspected gumption, hence a healthy dose of x-rays served up to nip in the bud involving any tongue in cheek intervention, when perfectly viable molars thinned i.e. uprooted courtesy of orthodontic gang.
     Now incremental movement could be undertaken pursuant impressing well-brushed aides de camp.
     Thus temporarily crowns vis a vis provisional proviso practitioners of the villainous periodontal disease (qua gingivitis) stitching cavity where exposed synapses earned the chair rushed survivor of fiendish, ghoulish, and insidious enamel (tartar) scraping chieftains earning kudos sans at successfully foiling dental caries, plus serving as grandee enamel polisher.
   All that excruciating agony iterated above, now finds me shaking this mangy hirsute, (albeit thinning) head in consternation, frustration and induction, whereby microbial demons exercised, foisted and galvanized necessity to suffer.
     Interestingly enough, these choppers, dentures, false dentate much more pleasing that the real bone marrow wrought teeth courtesy of many a fraternal gauntlet hugger mugger.
     Maxillofacial surgery and wisdom teeth extraction plus abiding by the codas, edicts and general indemnity keeping American Dental Association in lockstep with noblesse oblige purveyors who tout regular dental hygiene.
     This new fangled cusp cutting prosthetic revolution per anatomical equipage that allows, enables and provides the means to return to masticating brought protracted hermetically sealed dissimulation within the noggin of this more tell male, who confesses to be a non student within the hierarchy of a bricks and mortar storied (perhaps ivy coated) institution of higher learning on account of rampant mental debility hashtagged diagnosis of Schizoid Personality Disorder cobbles, hobnails, and mangles any ability to function within the formal classroom. Case in point comprises the twelve years of veritable enslavement while barely getting promoted from one grade to the next.
     Even though handed a high school diploma XL (pipelined) traipsing orbitz ago around the sun, this contemplative, furtive, and intuitive lvii chap experienced horrendous difficulty ******* mine faux pas figurative heals up until the recent present. The acquiescence to relinquish the prospect to batten down anxiety and panic strewn hatches turned the tide, and found me giving up the good fight.
     A congenital biochemical mutation (I cannot expound on the minutiae of amino acid, enzymes, polymer, et cetera) that wrought havoc viz zit head upon thyself when in the throes of adolescence, despite thine late mum purportedly experiencing NO complication with me birth as a full term healthy baby boy.

No don (except me)
doth trumpet within the aborted
barren reach of freedoms within expansive realm,
I annexed courtesy manifest destiny,
which peoples now inhabiting said jurisdiction
circumscribed by following coordinates -
Latitude: 40° 16' 22.20" N
Longitude: -75° 29' 29.39" W
and for better or worse

must abide by decrees
promulgation declared today May 21st, 2024,
whence Poet of Perkiomen Valley
issues proclamation,
regarding any living person
paying blind obedience
lest posse comitatus act enforced
otherwise Herr Harris
will bring to fore active duty personnel

to "execute the laws";
however, there be disagreement
over whether this language
may apply to troops used
in an advisory, support, disaster response,
or other homeland defense role,
as opposed to domestic law enforcement
to challenge aforesaid claims
which forthwith ownership of said territory

foremost allows, enables and provides
yours truly to enact legislation,
and especially restitution of comstock act
predicated upon due diligence
guaranteeing appropriation
of all and every rights affecting
master and slave
linkedin with said domain.

Welcome to the dictatorship
(er rather presidency)
of Putin diehard adherent.

Matter of fact, a favorite author of mine
crafted the following words of inspiration,
which evocation will help shed figurative light
on caricatures of terror reign as forty fifth president
targeted by political cartoonists,
but struggled to come up with an image that sticks.

In october 2016, Vanity Fair
made a video of four of its cartoonists—
Edward Sorel, Steve Brodner,
Philip Burke, and Robert Risko—
drawing Donald Trump.

They clearly enjoyed themselves,
exploring every aspect of his physique:
 his “girth,” the fact that
“there’s so much of him” (Burke);
the hair that “essentially closely a beret
flipped forward on his head” (Risko);
the eyes that show “greed, disdain” (Burke);
the “marvelously rat like” nose (Brodner);
the mouth a “sphincter muscle” (Risko);
the “******” look (Sorel);
the ****** features that resemble
“**** holes in the snow” (Brodner).

And now? How have artists and cartoonists
dealt with Trump since he became president?
We’ve seen cartoons of the orange
potus smooching Vladimir Putin
and groping the Statue of Liberty.
We’ve seen him drawn (by Barry Blitt
in The New Yorker) as a fat-assed golfer
driving ***** into the White House.
We’ve seen him caricatured (by Pat Oliphant

for The Nib) as a preening SS officer
being heiled by Steve Bannon.
We’ve seen him portrayed
(by Signe Wilkinson of the Philadelphia
Daily News) linking arms
with a Confederate and a ****.
We’ve seen him depicted
(by Mike Luckovich
of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution)

as Jabba the Hutt, holding Lady Liberty in chains.
We’ve seen him represented (by Matt Wuerker
in Politico) as a kook in a straitjacket.
We’ve seen him rendered
(by Ann Telnaes of The Washington Post)
as a red-faced fathead sitting
on the toilet while he plots
to pull out of the Paris climate accord.

Putin (also fell prey
to his fair share of cartoonists)
not only as Vlad the Impaler reincarnate
(a notion in mind of at least one writer),
but also various and sundry other manifestations.

The self styled ruthless ****
classified as a voivode
(prince) of Wallachia
(part of modern Romania).

Surrounded by enemies
that included the Hungarians,
the Ottomans, his younger brother,
and Walachian nobility,
Vlad employed extremely
cruel gruesome measures
to inspire fear in those
who opposed him.

He earned his nickname
by impaling his enemies on stakes.

No argument Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin
equals and invariably
will outrank Vlad the Impaler
the second son of Vlad Dracul
who became ruler of Wallachia in 1436.

Impossible mission to comprehend
propensity exhibiting characteristics
linkedin as impish, hellish, ghoulish... fiend
whereby pathological pretensions
besotted (punch drunk with delight)
to incinerate, eradicate, annihilate,
essentially to deplorably,
heinously, loathingly... interblend
all manner of atrocious, deleterious,
insidious, opprobrious, vicious... lend
ding his own vainglorious
trademark to offend
**** sapiens who strive toward
repairing ruptures versus to rend
usurpation of life, liberty
and continuity of civilization to upend.

Worst nightmare scenario
unfolding before our collective eyes
Ukraine suffers blitzkrieg
Russian soldiers devastatingly
carpet bomb major metropolitan areas
civilian population suffers
major loss of innocent lives
linkedin with accompanied
psychological fallout, especially affecting
babies, children and youth.

All commands issued by autocratic monster
probably housed within secure bunker,
meanwhile countless thousands
or millions of battle fatigued people hunker
among ruins gingerly negotiating
their way thru rubble analogous to spelunker.

Though yours truly removed (think physically),
where chaos and pandemonium
run amuck and terror unruly,
overt rampant upheaval plagues
long established generations of Slavic peoples,
this commonplace American
experiences vicarious grief,
when tragedy viewed online
and/or television heart wrenching images
also evoke anger being
linkedin to most abominable, horrible,
reprehensible, creatures
that roamed the terrestrial firm
since time immemorial.

Major war crimes against humanity
necessitate urgent punishment,
if in fact such a global entity exists
to condemn and convict the incontestable tyrant,
yet never in the annals of twenty first century
geopolitical webbed zeitgeist
did self anointed sovereign
access nuclear weapons
to obliterate fellow Earthlings.