Influence having a name
But can Motivation and Aggravation be beat at their own game?
Motivation had a plan to assimilate
Now Aggravation certainly didn’t appreciate
But the terms were substantiate
It’s was valuing what was important between Motivation and Aggravation
But there seemed to be some suppression
Perhaps even some suspicion
Yet neither one wanted to answer with any suggestion
Motivation was determined to win over Aggravation
However, Motivation was more presentation
Aggravation was more condemnation
But they both might need a referee
But let me see
The best thing would be for Motivation and Aggravation to work as a team
Applying their own cognitive into one element
But would that be possible?
They would if Motivation wouldn’t be annoyed
Yet Aggravation wouldn’t think the idea being a ploy
So Motivation and Aggravation decided team up with two voices forming one concept
“Being Effective and Controlling Emotions”
It was a theme constructed by both
They simply called a truce, and agreed one on one in an oath.

I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?

Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?

I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction.

Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself  what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.

Oh, I know not!
I see not, and master not!
Why t'is caprice - t'is tender whim, is unwilling
to unveil my soul, conquering it with
mounds and plates of rapturous
yet canonical attention. How I dread
such falsehood! Strong, strong falsehood!
What an inconsiderate urgency! A matter, matter of the heart -
as mighty as it probably is, of its own accord! How serious
t'is would be! I am suffrage; and akin to its vigour areth my laugh,
and joy - I would be hatred if none cameth to stop my pace;
my frosty haze; and t'is gruesome maze! Yes, I would but be,
in th' length of some furt'er days!
I shalt no more be of t'is delight, and clustered inside my gloom,
pressed to th' walls of dainty loom; from which I shalt never
be comely enough to be granted an escape.
How terrifying t'ose scenes areth, to me! A poet as I am,
unenviable is my littleness, and humility; to t'ose who glare with jealousy
at pangs of my laughter, and childlike demands - as how t'ey always
chastised during t'eir coincidental encounters. But I am blessed!
I am blessed by my words - and t'ese cheerful, yet unending poems -
as unlike t'em I am, ungrateful and vile beings, flocking to th' church
only for th' sake of brand-new dowry, and enforced blessings.
Murderers of peace! Sons and daughters of vice! But I am convinced
t'at virtue shalt forever tower over t'em; and in th' right time t'ey shalt
be pulled off t'eir horses, and unedifying pleasantry. And goodness
shalt t'en win! For truth never bears t'eir unfaithful boasts, just like
it hates t'eir dishonesty; which so insistingly frosts me
with atrocity within 'tis lungs, and so soon as doth it start to cling stronger -
abashed shalt I be! Incarcerated shalt be my front, and dutiful
countenance - in t'at gross conflagration with secular flatness,
hesitations, and worldly doubts, in which yon grotesque salutation, corroborating
'tis assailed countenance, gouty and drained by rightful mockery;
comes but to avenge my love, my wondrous love -
which yesterday was dazzling and dripping fast
but contentiously, like a ripe cherry. Like a small burst of wine
craved by scholarly epicures, t'is feeling but anonymously grips
my lips, trembles my heart, and distracts my limbs;
should I be to think of thee, I shan't but be away
from t'is nauseatedness, of regrets, again! My thee, my thee,
areth thou truly gazing at me from afar? With fascination in thy stares,
wilt thou bestow me such destiny I hath been so desirous of - my dear?
And with thy serene, bulbous eyes - t'at sea of blackness
basked in marred turmoil - ah, a sign but of peace after such fire! - wilt thou
mould thy mind, thy stony mind, like a black-painted rose,
to throw at my being, just one, voluntary glance?
I am but anxious, my love, how I shake all over
with unreturned passion like t'is, my blood is circling
in distorting, yet irrepressible agitation.
How I wish t'at thou could be here, and rendereth me safe, in solely
but thy arms, my love! And shalt thou be my giddy knight - I entreat!
In my unmothered dreams, and t'eir precocious brambles - on t'ose journeys
of loom, doth I fear not, for thou shalt be t'ere to mirthfully comfort me.
And off shalt I fly again, to greet th' thoughtful morning!
But ought I to leaveth my dreams now; for thou canst be here to celebrate
t'is snowy day, and lift me onto triumph! And how I wisheth to cast away
t'is imprisonment, how I longeth for but thee here - just thee, remember t'at,
o but hark to my swift whisper, t'at calls only for thy name, my love!
How aggravated, and corrupted my conscience wilt be -
within th' membranes of my brain; t'eir hardship is severed by thy unpresence.
My love, o my restrained - single love, t'is ode that lights my soul
shalt illuminate thine; and 'tis long words - threads woven along
an abstracted lullaby, and vanquished by silent accusations, from thy, thy mouth!
A well t'at is perilous in its standing - standing like a torch, unruptured
albeit neglected, innocent in 'tis acute forlornness. Poor misery!
Hark, hark, my love - how t'ose dames, irresolute in t'eir volatility, and
charms of miraculous beauty - but tumultous inside, entranced by fear
of losing which, as so graciously raved and ranted all over th' year!
Th' dreary years - which th' above phrase caused me to be well-reminded,
and duly recall how t'eir sickening remorse tossed me around; and decreed
my jests of dread, sickness, and disdain - surges, and waves of animosity
wert but all about me. But how they areth happening again! Amongst th' snow -
running about as t'ey art, t'ose heartless, indignant creatures -
blind to th' tenderness of nature, bland and untouched by its shrieks, and
flickering toil! How I wish to save it, but incapable as I am - a minuscule shadow
of early womanhood t'at I own, I choose to stay distant,
and pray for t'eir impossible atonement, somehow, before t'ey entereth
t'eir silent graves. How t'ose ghosts of malice areth in no way acquainted
with th' woes of th' churchyard, and th' grimness of death - I declare!
How unafraid t'ey are, sacrificing t'is coherent life for such courses
of abomination. Victories upon th' misery of others,
dances to mourning songs, how evil! But I wish for t'eir salvation,
for t'ey art unable to even salve t'eir poor selves. I shalt be fervent
in my generosity, for 'tis th' most rewarding part of humanity;
I shalt be but a faithful servant to my innocuous nature. I adoreth my nature
just the way 'tis, and I shalt build its madly-scarred way back; with tons
of brightness, care, and hearty bliss! Yes, my love, my bliss - which inhabits
th' entire space of my maturity and unmolested passion. Inapprehensible as it is,
I am but to win its grace, and t'erefore thee - just as I hath so ardently dreameth of -
as heretofore, and shalt thou but be saluted and fended for
by my, my sincere and unbinding, affection.

Split Personality

You wanna know what goes on in my head,
if you only knew, you would drop dead.
Anger, depression and suicidal thoughts,
maybe its all those little brain clots.
Conceited, vain and very egotistical,
confused, shocking and very mystical.
I'm eccentric, bizarre, and always unconventional,
my vision is always three dimensional.
I take the path that's less traveled,
things I do leave people baffled.
Even I don't know what I'm doing,
but trust me, I always got something brewing.
I practice in the art of deception,
I'm admired by my depth of perception.
I don't know wrong from right,
I see everything in black and white.
I'm a man you don't wanna meet,
I lie, steal and always cheat.
I'm flirty, ***** and very perverted,
if we're alone, I will leave you deserted.
I'm ****, hot and always aroused,
every girl I have slowly browsed.
I love assault, ****** and ****,
but I only write it for an escape.
Inside my head is torture and pain,
I'm certified and clinically insane.
Sometimes I take my medication,
when I don't, I'm on a permanent vacation.
I'd do anything to become famous,
even **** Donald Trump in his ****.
I've crossed over to the dark side,
to hell, I've already applied.
There is no help for me now,
before I go please give me a bow.
I'll accept a standing ovation,
sick and tired of all the aggravation.
I used to be so nice and kind,
into heaven, I got denied.
Don't pay attention to the things you read,
I entertain you til my fingers bleed.
Ask anybody, I really a great guy,
just like REO Speedwagon, its time for me to fly.

The kind of neighborhood
where you can hear someone  
crack a beer
across the street
Behind, in wide open yards
fireworks and laughter light the sky
fireflies take to the under-story
Meanwhile allergy eyes
have turned the stars
to flying saucers

Crickets celebrate
getting lucky
and I am jealous as hell
At 95 degrees
the air is thick
with mosquitos, those little devils
Have found an ear
for their only-known musical composition

“Aggravation in Monotone”

I keep thinking about how you used
to giggle like that to me
and now you giggle with that skinny boy
and how I got mad because Karl said men are better than women
because women are weaker
and when I got mad you were like "Oh God, don't start that conversation with her,"
like gender equality is a minor aggravation
and my passion was to be silenced
and you don't even look as you passed by
maybe I did it,
maybe it's my fault
but now you're
fine without me
you're fine
fine without
me fine
without me fine
me fine without
without
fine
me
and I'm dying inside.

lovely, these pages I sew
for sadness I know not to tamper with like a joke -
a sick joke that people find amusing.
I do not find that kind of joke, or you to be amusing.

I clasp my hands tightly together, interlocking knuckles
and sit very still while the company is antsy to inspect
me for any weakness.
(I am always assuming everyone is out to judge me so rashly)
I am straining my back and the very moment I slouch,
I will fall into the pit of self-irritability,
yelling at myself because my bones persist on frangibility.
God! am I ever good enough?!
(I am always judging myself so rashly)

I want to buy myself a cottage near a swamp, hoarding
the repugnant slime near my fireplace cozied up reading a book.
you may trespass; I am willing to share this (hell) with you
if you wish to get so close to me.

I do though, (at my best) suffice
lingering around buying myself something nice (you could put it)
when I'm aggravated, I tend not to listen
not even to my own advice.

why is it so hard to see you?
i crumble and i croak
hopeful words dance at the back of my throat
now i’m hopeless
now i’m in a mess
of you or her or him or me
it’s like moving to a new country
and getting the hang of their weird plastic currency
and why the **** is talking to you so hard?
i tumble and i frizzle
a glass smashed into shards
aggravation takes me over because
anxiety takes me over because
suppression takes me over because
i want ******* control over ******* everything
i want to ******* know what i’m ******* doing
what i’m ******* thinking
i tremble and i palpitate
the thirst never sedates
like a lion ******* blood or a needle weaving thread
so much to go around
too much to go around
i’m not sure how to go about
underwater is where i wish i was
underwater, everything is muted
everything is calmer and resentments are diluted
i long to feel less polluted
i long to feel less consumed by
that and this and all the ******* frolicking ****
it pulls and tears and rips in shears
still standing there
i am still standing there
why the **** am i still standing there
here
like a fish suffocating in air
like a statue stands with a smile it can’t wipe off
i sweat under smiles
i want to wipe it off
i want to turn it off
why won’t i just ******* take it off?
why is it so hard to know who you are?
seeing a glimpse of a break down is making me stick around for you
do you still want me to stick around for you?
i crush and i tamper
with anything i can get my hands all over
it really doesn’t matter
what or who or how hard i hit
cause nothing is good enough for this ******* *****

My balance is often complicated by the complex complications of construed situations.
The uncensored limitations, the spiteful aggravation; they think these are indications that I should melt with temptation through my frustration.
But if you felt my vibration, it would send you to the sky, where I am stationed.
I could never be what you want me to be in your dreams,
it seems that the seams to my soul are more than what you see them to be.
You don't see me. I became transparent,
hold me to the light for my transparency
to be clear to read.
Clarity will arrive here when your conscience calls and you appear.
My heart blends in the healing water that has a hallow father.
He is the fire that breeds these things that allow me to bleed and be these words that you see.
My balance is often complicated
but I have never once waited to be rejuvenated.
The light of the moon
illuminated my sight through my doom.
I dance with the stars and i hope we all meet soon,
so that we can bloom
as these words fill up the space
in this 4 cornered room.

-L.G

My dictation program has an accent
It types out the most unreadable things,
When I say something like " my bunion stings",
It types back to me about onion rings.
There have been embarrassing moments
When I was chatting along quite normally.
I found myself feeling very thankful
That I hadn't been chatting formally.

The conversation needn't be special,
Nor use any esoteric phrases.
But some of the crap this program prints
Astounds, stultifies and amazes.
It can't be brushed off as an accent thing;
My speech is quite non-dialectic.
Sometimes it seems that Apple, Inc
Wants to render me apoplectic.

But, the way it is I have no human beings
That I can focus my frustration on
When something that company sells at a store
Turns me into an unwitting pawn.
As it is it's an iPhone and I can't pity it
When I hit "send" too fast and seem an idiot.
It’s possible I am asking far too much
Of the current reach of technology.
Even though our phones seem part of us
They aren’t really part of our anatomy.

O, why but I am like t'is! Hath I, since t'at last sober night,
as th' wan, dull clouds crept nearby, been bequeathing
tragic, credulous insecurity to myself. Like t'at frail moonbeam
disturbed by starless rain! And a turbulent voyage
didst I take, alongst my dreary sleep, into th' grounds
of scythed lands-full of horror, nightmarish leaps,
and dire-some terrors. Why didst I do so! I hath come, to comprehend
not, why t'is turbulence of brave grossness seemeth like nothing else
but perniciously irredeemable, as though I accidentally, or even
consecutively-inflicted it, without the wakeful knowingst
of my brains. Indecipherable! T'is vacant delirium of mockery, and its abysmal hearth
inside-set alight by invisible flames-torches of hell, and gruesome
shrugs of untimely malevolence. Insatiable deployment, indeed! How
miraculous it would be, should I be free from t'is inconvenience
in th' course of some upcoming days, but still, doth I hope so!
Waggish remarks, jests, and playful turns of ancient riddling-
areth but exchanged outside, with airs so snobbish, from t'ose
pampered youngeth dames, blind to t'eir silenced world's grievous
suffering, and laborous perspiration. How unfair t'eir fiendish hearts areth-
once and againeth-sneering at th' pure, stoical beds of t'ose airy rivers,
andth t'eir dim solitude, with t'ose rings of presumptuous laughter!
Spaciousness in its holy sphere, untouched by th' turmoil t'at lingers on it
surface, neither driven away nor shaken by ungratefulness. Toil
improperly apprehended! And insulted as it might become, tenderness
shalt it leave behind, insolence but be crafted along th' insidious rims
of its face. Marvelous in wild ways! Wild, devilish ways! And unwatched
by th' stomping blokes on its visage, shalt it rise, rise like an unforgiving
tidal wave, soulless in its aliveness, blighting and scratching
t'eir shoulders, with blades unmarred-dormant powers t'at ought not
to be ignored by seconds t'at feebly tick away. And t'eir ends
shalt 'ey meet, granted liberally by t'eir
deliberate neglect, and repulsive indulgence.

In th' nothingness of aggravation I am but naturally not a hard-hearted creature,
too of a stony appearance I possess not-intimate and even, t'at should be how
my being is paraphrased mercifully! With t'ose perpetual-and even limitless-
replenishing jewels of ardour, flawed only by harmless faults, I would consider myself treasured
by nature, o t'at precious creature whom hath so adorably vouchsafed t'is
spring-like life to me; warmth can I gratefully feel in t'is winter every day,
in my prayers, studies, and amongst t'ose invigorating fits
of my daily perambulations. How truthful, aye t'is confession is made! As I am
but a pious, sanctified child, ye' in spite of being a humaneth as I am, a snake is bound
to dwell within my *****, asleep in its quiet slumbers, unawakened so long
as I unbetray my redolent virtues.
But last night! How nigh my soul from t'at anxious burst of agitation,
melancholiness so undesired but abruptly avenged my silence. My indulgent
silence! Th' one frame of my unresting mind t'at I so fastidiously preserved!
Hatred encountered my countenance, and bifurcated my ******
dispositions; flew into anger then I-so sudden as gripped my soul was
by paths of hostility sent onto me-overwhelmed by t'is ineloquent treatment,
howled in despair, and agony was all I felt within my cheerless heart-
until everything amounted into a blurry shadow-insignificant as it was,
but th' fraud was still t'ere-stupefying desire, so ardent within th' leaves
of my conscience, to slaughter even th' most innocent skins-
'till no more breath t'ey shalt but gasp for. And triumph shalt I procure,
ascendancy shalt be painted onto my palms, and opulent pride shalt I be
endowed with, so unlike all t'is hateful remorse, and slithering chastisement!
Amongst t'ose seas of disillusionment; whilst frowning in desperation-combusting
all t'ose wretched spirits wert all I wasth but able to think of;
and all I conjectured wert proven worthy of my thoughts. Inevitable! Entrenched
was its root-t'is flourishing tiny devil on my inner self, as it is-'till th' morning but
retreated and vanquished t'is gust of little hell, which had decoyed me
and my lithe genuineness like a trivial shell.

O dear! My flawless prince, hath thou but thoroughly gone from me?
Still, a painting of thy kiss roam silently th' rooms of my heart. Now scanty
as to emptiness, roaring fussily as to loneliness, for thy being unhere!
Distorted hath been now its breaths-adored only by groans
of misery-like caprices t'at laid unwanted, abhorred by t'eir masters-
for t'eir yesterday's pricelessness, and valuable crowns! How ungrateful masters,
my dear! And how t'eir proceedings shalt recall
t'ose pristine shines, yes, my dear, (of my golden gems) t'at areth gone,
with unsounding returns t'at are unexplainable, and too unattainable-
and shalt remain dim be t'eir whereabouts, amongst t'ese winds
of fervent, but sultry days. O, come back, my love, come back to my arms,
and hate me not, for my threads are woven alongst thy charms-
ah, t'ose threads of life, of soulfulness, and unabashed mortality!
Clashes of feelings, emotions, and mutual usurpation
of endless infatuation. Chaste, and unimpure, passion! Yes, yes, my love-
t'at's how we ou't 'a be, next to t' fireside, lulling each ot'er to sleep,
and welcoming t'ose night dreams with hearts so dear, lullabies
so near to our ears, of t'at unwavering breaths of passion, and unchangeable
affection, for th' rest of our lives! Leave me not-once more, but stay hereth
with me, and make me forgive
and forget cheerethfully t'is seditious, thoughtless, but most of all
irresolute conflagration.

I wish you could see what you've put me through.
I can't even remember the last time I was this aggravated...
oh wait, I can, it was also because of you.
First you leave, without even a goodbye.
No way for me to know other than your Facebook status.
Then you leave again, with part of my heart intertwined.
You swore to me you wouldn't be a ******.
Well here we are again.
I was finally getting over it until my phone rang.
3:15 am, I was sick and tired.
You sounded drunk and excited.
My friend and her roommate were sleeping at your place.
Woo hoo, part-ay.
It didn't click in my mind until the morning of what you had said to me.
That your place was too small for me and my friend to come stay.
Oh, I see.
I'm not what you want.
You've made it crystal clear.
But why do I wish you were still here?
I close my eyes and it's flashback on flashback.
We only had a weekend until you left again.
But what I didn't know is that when you left...
I'd be losing a friend.

Goodbye my beloved
my best friend
my cartoon strip
my spicy blend
my confidant'
my story-teller too
my source of bliss
my beautiful you
Goodbye my soulmate
my aggravation
my dewey tears
my joyous elation
my dark devil
my saving knight
my funky mixed salad
my angel in white
Goodbye my jellybean
my every color
my brilliant star
my only stellar
my addictin high
my curvy wurvy road
my far away companion
my emotional garbage load
Goodbye my truck driver
my ever pessimist
my deep sad poet
my christmas list
my squishy hug
my dictionary
my thesarus too
my harry-carry
Goodbye my healing crystal
my happy thought
my **** dreams
my man I have not
my heaven on eath
my hell here too
my disneyland
my passion that grew
Goodbye my mysterious moon
my brick wall
my favorite song
my bounce to the ball
my craziest joke
my sun in winter
my dirtiest thought
my fantasy reader
Goodbye my phone friend
my tug of war
my fleshy goosepimples
my bird that soars
my bright lightening
my roaring thunder
my white rose
my hopes down under
Goodbye my perfect lover
my satin sheet
my carribean vacation
my favorite treat
my majestic mountain
my green thumb
my cycle rider
my last crumb
Goodbye my first spring rain
my catalyst
my curious dreamer
my lemon twist
my catch of the day
my white cloud
my emotional abyss
my cake upside down
Goodbye my only you
my hopeless dream
my love of loves
my everything

Taste buds engraved on my tongue
feel emotions of salty, sweet, bitter entities
the heart instilled in my body
taste flavors of aggravation, happiness, and sorrow.
Bittersweet is not just a combination of flavors,
reserved only for taste buds.
It somehow has explored into the world of the soul,
Because emotions are twisted in a circle,
that only a true oxymoron,
like bittersweet can fulfill it's complication.
Bittersweet has diffused into much more
something that can't be described by other emotions,
but rather than a description of situations,
like a good cry or a good pain.
and don't think I'm completely insane,
but for the longest time bittersweet
has been the epitome of what's left of my sanity.

(I Could Not Knot a Knot.)

My tale is one of tortuous frustration,
when two ropes caused me aggravation,
and my every effort resulted in a situation
that left me in a state of angry indignation!

Oh, what a knotty problem I had got,
when I found I could not knot a needed knot!
Though needing help on how to knot a knot,
no one I knew, knew how to knot my needed knot!

I had two short ropes - which I’d a need to knot,
and which I’d knot together with a special knot,
but it never worked, for the knot did not knot,
and my knot came undone!  I felt such a clot!

Firstly, I took the ropes, which I twisted tight
together, but still the end result, was not right,
for when I tugged, the knot, not only fell apart,
but showed no sign of a knot!  Making a fresh start,

I took one rope, and placed it firmly under
the other.  This was so easy, I did wonder
if my actions should have been reversed,
for it too fell apart!  Oh, how I cursed!

Seems tying knots is not for faint hearts,
for any knot, that’s not knotted, soon parts
when it’s put to the test!  That I’m not a knot
expert, you can tell.  Truly, my forte is not

that of being very good at tying knots,
for I do not understand what knots
need, to keep them from falling apart!
Tying a knot right, right from the start,

is important, and that’s why my knot
was  not reliable, but why I did not
understand.  Yes, I’ve tied many knots.
but they’re knots known as Granny Knots.

Other knots are what folks call a Slip Knot.
Then there’s the Turk’s Head - a special knot,
as is the Cat’s Paw, Clove Hitch,and Bowline.
Truth to tell, - none of these resembles mine!

Then there’s a Timber Hitch, which is a knot
that truly puzzles me, and not an easy knot to knot!
There’s many other knots, that need the greatest skill,
such as the Hangman’s Knot - a knot that’s made to ****!

Whilst the sheepshank?  That’s a tricky one to see!
So many knots, but they’re not knots for me.
Methinks of all the knots, the one true knot for me,
is the “Lover’s Knot”, which I have tied successfully!

Rhymer. April 24th, 2018

Now all the years of continued appreciation and near awe is to be sweet mingled with burning tears
Sugar cane can represent a lot of things to a lot of people and everyone has a different level of
Understanding how much it really means and then you factor in the tender years the Age of Aquarius
The coming of age standing in the sugar cane is one heck of a ride even greater with two wonderful
People in the front driving a 56 two tone Chevy love was new it was all consuming even from the side
View advantage when one projected a certain aura a mystique that was all of charm pure and simple
Fantastic vibes the dark night had a deeper ******* and knowing cumbersome had this distillation it
was one hundred proof it burned all the way charging changing you at deep levels the thing that over
Years was always renewing itself year by year the world has a wonder about it she was and is part of it
And always will be she was the sweet storm that could and did break every so often that would clear out
The heat and aggravation that is part of your summer of youth she always spoke and stood for truth this
Natural part of coming of age was developing in her character the very membrane of sugar cane I would
Think truly she was the finest quality I think they call it private reserve that special one that grew alone
but did all the richest sharing wait not in longing the true vine and stalk bears with preciseness to the
need of the land we have that in abundance life twist and turns seems at times to reel out of control but
Not so the divine hand holds the life steady all the days and then at harvest when they burn the sugar
Cane what unattainable value is found and then only then it pours clearly and vital worth
Unprecedented the gold separated from the dross is now possible for it to dwell and take its position
Among the other Items of true glory this was created over protracted time with love and patience it
Developed right before our eyes and a t times we knew it not but now we know fully well our profit pour
Out the benefit what life transpired thank you savior for sugar cane we are in disbelief of such greatness
in Our midst take care of it as only you can do !

O my sacred,
Shower me with your greatness.
Bring it up to my neck,
And drown me in the lake bed.

O how secret, and so delicate,
Fear in trust involved.
It's not a secret anyways,
If nothing's getting solved.

I love, I trust, I need you,
In fear I live all time.
My words in hope to mean them,
So that you'll say "You're mine"

O my sacred,
Take myself and make it yours.
This day is nothing to you,
Your love fills my empty lake bed.

A love, that's secrets tale,
One month, forever it lasted.
The tale of two, of many,
At each other, love was blasted.

No one way to say it right,
Four ways to say I Love You.
Just take me as I am,
And know that I'm thinking of you.

O my sacred,
Unto you I do trust.
No lake bed full of:

doubt, anger, mistrust, jealousy, regret, pain, hurt, love, hate, lust, health, disease, space, time, pity, indulgence, sorrow, mourning, evil, distress, affliction, trouble, breaks, insignificance, remorse, agony, peril, skeptics, insecurities, uncertainty, question, suspicion, difficulty, dilemma, depression, belief, worry, conviction, cruelty, discredit, hesitation, unhappiness, calamity, travesty, grief, hardship, loss, suffering, weeping, sadness, heartache, lament, excruciation, torture, soreness, discomfort, penalty, torment, torture, harm, malicion, malevolence, prejudice ,detriment, disservice, misfortune, abuse, effort, labor, endeavor, strength, power, energy, operation, mistreat, undermining, blemish, flaw, disservance, misery, injury, exertion, struggle, trial, madness, wrath, rampage, harassment, irritation, exasperation, rage, tantrum, infuriation, mischief, inequality, alienation, aggravation, annoyance, contagion, trauma, damage, insults, violation, wrong, flesh, or ****.

...ANYTHING between us,
Vanquished because I must!

You introduced sorrow
And loneliness
And turned them
Into my playmates

You brought comfort
In every sadness
More than I can
Find in happiness

You made me fall
Terribly in love
With tears
Above love itself

Gene and Jenny Taylor
Had long been man and wife
But a heinous disagreement
Took a hold upon their life
For each bemoaned their tackle
It was Gene who started first
He justified why dangly bits
Were easily the worst

“They tangle in your underwear
And twist themselves about
If I sit down in football shorts
They try to wriggle out
They chafe on nearly everything
They’re difficult to dry
And when it’s hot an humid out
They’re welded to your thigh”

Jenny swiftly countered him
“Well ***** are surely worst
For shaving is laborious
And not all lips are pursed
The periods are painful
With a week of aggravation
And we use three times the toilet roll
And cause deforestation “

But Gene had more to muster
“Well the ***** is a *******
And hiding an *******
Is a skill each man has mastered
They lead us into jeopardy
They always take the ****
And first thing in the morning
They’ve a tendency to miss”

So Jenny said “Vaginas
Are a curse between the thighs
And lady bits look monstrous
To anyone with eyes
They’re prone to thrush and fondling
And embryo gestation
***** are only any good
For use in aviation”

Gene and Jenny caught their breath
The stalemate was called
For genitals, the lips and *****
Or **** and hairy *****
Are vital to our species
More useful than they seem
And you’ll see a marked improvement
When they’re working as a team

¨oh cinderella¨ the prince called out cinderellas name lovingly filling her heart with fear. his call used to make her feel safe and secure. ¨what a fool i was¨she thought.  ¨now im going to die hereº ¨hello my dear¨ the prince sadisticly smiled. ¨hello.¨cinderella rolled her blue eyes coldly. ¨why the aditude cinderella? you know i don't like that. we're not going to get anywhere if you keep pushing me away like this. ¨ the prince raised his eyebrows sympathetically. cinderella shook her head in aggravation ¨dont you get it? i dont want to get anywhere with you. you are everything i hate about this god forsaken world.¨
the prince chuckled ¨it's so adorable when you try to act like you're smar cinderella. do you even know what the word godforsaken means??? he laughed. ¨your lack of wit is so very comical¨ he smiled as he began to walk away. ¨where are you going¨ cinderella called out. ¨into town. now dont you go anywhere.¨ he laughed. ¨i have to find a doctor who will come to the palace re–break your arm and put it in a cast for me.¨
¨break my arm?¨ cinderella jumped. ¨yes my dear it's not going to heal correctly that way now is it? see how difficult you make things cinderella? if you would have just stayed instead of trying to leave me with a broken heart then i wouldn't have had to break your arm and we wouldnt be in this situation. why? why cant you just let me love you?¨ the prince looked at cinderella sympathetocly as he turned away and slowly dissapeared into the darkness of the dungeon. cinderella wept uncontrolably.

A generation,
of aggravation.
No determination,
to save our nation.

Concentrate on one,
care about no one.
And it's just begun,
the era of one.

****** up is man,
and no one gives a ****,
about our ****** up plans,
we'll destroy all of man.

****** up is man,
and no one gives a ****,
about our ****** up plans,
we'll destroy all of man.

We're the gods of war,
our people beg for more.
Enticed by the gore,
our people must see more.

Created guns,
to **** everyone.
Everyone will run,
from our mighty guns.

****** up is man,
and no one gives a ****,
about our ****** up plans,
we'll destroy all of man.

****** up is man,
and no one gives a ****,
about our ****** up plans,
we'll destroy all of man.

Driven by needs,
we created machines.
They took our work,
and kicked us to the curb.

And while this goes on,
we destroy the Amazon.
Thinking we're not wrong,
this era won't last long.

****** up is man,
and no one gives a ****,
about our ****** up plans,
we'll destroy all of man.

****** up is man,
and no one gives a ****,
about our ****** up plans,
we'll destroy all of man.

You can feel...

...abandoned

abandonment

acceptance

adoration

affection

aggravated

aggravation

aggravating

agitated

aggressive

aggressiveness

alert

amazed

ambitious

amused

amusing

anger

angry

animosity

annoyed

anticipation

anxiousness

appreciative

ap­prehensive

ardent

aroused

ashamed

astonished

attraction (******)

attraction (intellectual)

attraction (spiritual)

attraction (general)

attraction (negative)

attraction  (taboo)

attraction (moral)

awed

betrayed

bewildered

bitter

bliss

blue

boastfu­l

bored

breathless

bubbly

calamitous

calm

camaraderie

caut­ious

cheerful

cocky

cold

collected

comfortable

compassionat­e

concerned

confident

confused

contempt

content

courageous
­
cowardly

crafty

cranky

crazy

cruelty

crummy

crushed

curio­us

cynic

dark

dejected

delighted

delirious

denial

detest

­depression

desire

despair

determined

devastated

disappointed

discouraged

dis­gust

disheartened

dismal

dispirited

distracted

distressed

*****

down

dreadful

dreary

eager

ecstatic

emb­arrassed

empathic

emptiness

enchanted

enigmatic

enlightened
­
enraged

enthralled

enthusiastic

envy

euphoric

excited

exha­usted

expectation

exuberance

fascinated

fear

flabbergasted

­fight-or-flight

foolish

frazzled

frustrated

fulfillment

furi­ous

gay

giddy

gleeful

gloomy

goofy

grateful

gratified

gre­edy

grief

grouchy

grudging

guilty

happy

hate

heartbroken

­homesick

hopeful

hopeless

horrified

hostile

humiliated

humored

hurt

hyper

hysterical

indignation

infatuation

infuriated

inner peace

innocent

insanity

insecure

insecure

inspired

interest

intimidated

invidious

irate

irritability

irritate­d

jaded

jealousy

joy

jubilant

kind

lazy

left out

liberated

lively

loathsome

lonely

longing

love

lovesic­k

loyal

lust

mad

mean

melancholic

mellow

mercy

merry

mil­dness

miserable

morbid

mourning

needed

needy

nervous

obsce­ne

obsessed

offended

optimistic

outraged

overwhelmed

pacifi­ed

pain

panicky

paranoia

passion

pathetic

peaceful

perturb­ation

pessimistic

petrified

pity

playful

pleased

pleasure

posses­sive

pride

provoked

proud

puzzled

rage

regretful

relief

r­emorse

resentment

resignation

resolved

sadness

satisfied

sc­ared

Schadenfreude

scorn

selfish

sensual

sensitive

****

sh­ame

sheepish

shocked

shy

sincerity

solemn

somber

sorrow

s­orry

spirited

stressed

strong

submissive

superior

surprised­

sweet

sympathetic

temperamental

tense

terrified

threatened­

thrilled

tired

tranquil

troubled

trust

tormented

uncertai­nty

uneasiness

unhappy

upset

vengeful

vicious

warm

weary

­worn-out

worried

worthless

wrathful

yearning

yawny

zesty

z­eel

"There are monsters on the building," she said in the sad song of a West Texas drawl.  She sounded like she did when she talked in her sleep.  We had paused there to examine the doorway the way people do when they know something frightening and important will happen to them on the other side.  

Somehow the banality of the details seemed at odds with the profundity of the situation:  A hot breeze taunted us with the smell of garbage.  Pigeons did their stupid strut and pecked and **** on the sidewalk.  Manhattan pedestrians slogged past through the May heat wave in a sweaty river of hurried lives, each stranger a subtle hint that perhaps our pain wasn't so profound after all.  My own rivers of perspiration seemed to drive the point home.

Molly had more than once accused me of being attracted to the dramatic, and she was right.  In response to this weakness, this juvenile habit of seeing myself as a hero in the story of my life rather than just another person in the world, the God I still half believed in seemed to be punishing me with mundane aggravation as we prepared to defy him:  crowded subways, humidity that pressed in from all sides, growing stains in my armpits.  Now that we had reached the building the half-believed God added a master stroke of lewdness.  Squatting on the threshold of our destination were a pair of gargoyles [cement artistic tradition combined with superstition] that peered down at us with obscene toothy grins.  

Molly tugged on my damp fingers, and asked again,  "Greg, why are there monster's on the building?" Her eyes seemed both accusatory and desperate for affection, but her voice was sleepy, like she was trying to pretend it was all just a dream.

"I don't know," I said.  "It doesn't matter."

It was true.  It didn't matter accept as a symbol in a story that somewhere deep in my mind I was shamefully conscious I would someday write.  Disgusting but unavoidable for the boy I was at 19, a boy who wanted to be important someday, wanted to be important by being "a writer," and didn't see how he could ever be anything else.  

"Write what you know" they say, but I was just an upper middle class white kid, nothing important had ever happened to me.  This was important.  This was life and death.  Most of me lived it but part of me watched from outside.

We went inside and found the elevator, then the waiting room.  I held her left hand while she filled out the forms with her right.  I told her I loved her, trying to say it like a transcendent spiritual truth that could make all the facts of our situation irrelevant and sweep them off somewhere they didn't matter.  

Then a nurse came and took her away.  

It offended me that despite the life and death business conducted behind the wall, the waiting room looked just like any other.  Maybe worse.  Worn out office furniture in generic shades of brown.  Stacks of magazines that looked like they had been procured second hand from some cleaner pricier office where happier people sit and smile about life while they fill out forms and wait.

I glanced around the room, careful to avoid eye contact.  There were two other men, one white one black, both looking sad and dejected, staring into space, thinking of the women in that other room I just like me I figured, wishing there was something they could do.  

I selected a magazine with half its cover missing.  Celebrities at a party.  Celebrities at the beach.  I put the magazine down.

I should be feeling more than this, I thought, and that thought seemed shameful too.

It was still a question about me.  The pathetic existential question that has always gnawed my television generation:  Why can't I just be real?  The question brought more shame.  Why are you asking these questions?  This inner monologue  ...  they are killing your son in there!  They are ripping him out of the girl you love.  Shut up and just feel!  Or don't feel, and just shut up.  

Searching myself for sadness I found again a numb disgust for being outside myself and looking in.  

I thought of praying but an image came to me of Jesus struggling to carry his cross up a hill.  He was being chased by His Father who took the form of the God of old paintings, a long white beard, muscled body, the eyes of a tyrant. God was leading an angry mob, scaring Jesus up the hill to his death, screaming at Him:  "This is what my son was meant for!  You don't have any other choice!"  It was not the sort of image I hoped prayer would inspire.

Finally I arrived at the thought I was avoiding:  Molly crying on a cold table, machines inside her, everything happening too fast.  I had asked if I could go with her and hold her hand.

"No," the nurse had said with a touch of scorn, like the question was not just dumb, but an insult to women everywhere.  Why would she let the guilty party make things worse?

A few yards away there were doctors working machines inside the womb of the only girl I had ever loved, taking the life of a child I would never know.  But even if I had wanted to stop them, which I didn't, it was too late now.  

It was the first life and death decision either of us would make, and even though I would try to console her with the idea that we had chosen life, our own lives, our own futures, right or wrong, I knew we had also chosen death for our first child. Death always brings sadness, and despite whatever happiness we might still enjoy in the years to come, this sadness would would linger with us, in some form, forever, unless we came together to conceive another child and raise it.  This is not what Jesus told me.  This is what I told him.  He listened but he didn't seem to care.  He had no time for *******.

Molly appeared in the doorway to the back rooms where I had not been allowed to go with her.  I would have liked to go with her back there.  I would have held her hand, made her know that we were doing it together, that I was equally if not more culpable in this death than her, and if that were not possible, and it probably was not, at least I could have held her hand.            

But I was not allowed back there.  She went through it alone with strangers all around her speaking in professionally sensitive tones.
      
I put down the magazine and went to her.  Her face was blotchy, and there was still dampness in her eyes.  She had been crying for awhile and she was crying still.  A nurse's hand was on her shoulder.
      
"She was very brave,"  the nurse said, like Molly was a four year old who had just made it through her first hair cut without squirming.
      
"Will she be okay?"
      
"Yes, but now you need to take her home so she can rest."
      
The nurse disappeared.  I held Molly, and kissed her forehead, and told her how much I loved her and always would.  She did not speak and her body felt lifeless in my arms.  I led her back to the elevator and then out into the Manhattan bustle.  The humid heat had reached its most brutal hour, and I began to sweat immediately as we walked towards the subway.
      
We passed a deli.  I asked if she was hungry and she nodded.  I went inside and used the little money I had to buy a sandwich and two bottles of juice and we found a bench in the shade and sat there to eat.  She ate a little and drank some of her juice and then finally
spoke.
      
"It was a spot."
      
"What?"
      
"It was a spot.  They showed me.  It was a little black spot on a screen."
      
"It's okay, Molly  It's going to be okay," I lied.
      
"It was my little girl, but she was just a spot.  They showed me and then they took her away forever."
      
"I love you.  I love you so much."  It was true and all I could think to say and it didn't help much.
      
I brought her downtown to the financial district where I was staying that Summer in an NYU dorm with a friend from High School.  We were there to take film classes together.  Our parent's had allowed us to spend extra on the best housing, and the dorm we stayed in was actually an apartment on the 14th floor of a building with a doorman across from South Street Seaport.  It had a kitchen, high ceilings, and huge windows with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge, and even a
separate bedroom.  Fortunately Rick had allowed me the private room so he could have the larger one with the view and the television, so there was a place for Molly and I to go behind a locked door and lay down.

We got in the little bed together and curled into a combined fetal position.  I kissed the back of her neck and she took my hand and placed it on her pelvis where I could feel the bandage rustling under her sweatpants.
      
"Can you feel it?"
      
"Everything will be all right," I almost said, but it felt like garbage on the tip of my tongue and I had not yet grown used to lying except to myself.

I hadn't known there would be a bandage.

"Yes.  I can feel it,"  I said.  This, at least, I knew was true.

I lay there with her like that with my hand where our child had
grown for a few weeks and we fell asleep.

When I awoke, the room was gray with dusk, and Molly was snoring peacefully.  I got out of the bed carefully without disturbing her, sat at my desk, and opened my favorite drawer.  There was my small purple glass pipe, and a little baggy stuffed with the high quality marijuana that in my experience, you can only find in New York City, the Pacific Northwest and American Colleges.  I filled the pipe, lit it, and pulled hard, holding it in as long as I could and then coughing intentionally on the exhale for the fullest effect.  I repeated the process until the bag was nearly empty, lit a cigarette, and sat at the desk with my feet up, looking back and forth from the
high rise across the street to the young woman in my bed, contemplating life and love and God and the future.  

In that moment, high as I was on the drug and the city and the relief of having made it through the day, it truly did seem that everything would be all right.

I had taken to writing poetry a few months before, and I found a
piece of paper and began to write another:

God sat in the abortion clinic waiting room
while they killed his only son.
"My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
"I don't know.  It seemed like the right thing to do."
      
I thought I had the beginnings of a very good poem.  I hoped maybe, someday, somehow my poetry might change the way people thought about things.  I was young and stupid and ****** and my mind was about to crack open completely and let forth a torrent of strangeness.

I was very sad.

-2001

fightingcopsnaked.blogspot.com
brickdumbsublime.blog­spot.com

Why can't I disrespect her situation and utilize manipulation!!!? 
****!!! 
(Agitation) 
How can I make her lacerate
Leaving him to ******* 
While her and I gravitate
(Aggravation) 
Am I wrong for trying to captivate? 
To cause a tragedy 
So that I can place her in my cavity 
Count on their delinquency 
So that I can hit the jackpot like treasury 
I must put a result to their destiny 
When I see their pictures 
My jaws quiver 
She needs to be hither 
I'm thinking I should be sly 
And slither 
Or should I be blatant and invite her to dinner?
Right in the face of her mister 

Excuse me ma'am 
Have you ever seen otters afloat the waters? 
When I see it in my studies 
I always get cuddly
I have a California king with only blankets to cover me 
I have no buddy 
I have friends 
But no ones lovely 
Can we hover the lake 
Holding hands so that we won't 
Drift away 
You will be cute as the otters 
I don't know why would I even bother 
No groom; I'm all scruffy 
I look ok alone
But you gone make me look ugly 

Or 

Come here 
Hug me 
Is this your hubby? 
That's why his shoulders is shrugging?
And his face is mugging?
He know if you escape his disgrace and come to my cubby 
He'll be in the hole 
Ain't that right man? (Directed to him)
What's your name? 
Stan? 
Hey how are you doing Stanley 
I'm digging your girl like my last name is Yelnats 
And I'm trying not to disrespect 
But it's testing 
You have the great big book of everything 
And a queen who can be on the cover of King because she's **** 
But look at you 
How'd you do it? 
Here you go take my number down and dial whenever he's around so he can know where you're about to go 
See you later 
Which approach is better? 

I like both 
Should I be smooth or rude? 
I have to make up my mind soon so that I can make my move

I want to find poetry
in media theory
I want to find poetry
in philosophy
psychology
sociology
I want to find poetry
in the bored line of zombies
walking these streets
9 o'clock every ******* morning
I want to find poetry in
the kid scratching himself out of his skin
in the creaking chair beside me...
His voice: muffled with aggravation
and his eyes: red, sad & exhausted
They make it hard
Hard to see the beauty in this place
I want to find poetry in the distance
I want to find poetry in missing you to death
But it all just kind of blurs together
in the hot Philadelphian sun
reflecting off the pavement beneath
my tired feet
It all eventually just gets lost in the gutters
next to cigarette buds and the green glass
debris of old beer bottles all over this city
Nothing really looks like poetry
Anymore
And I'm scared
Scared I'm losing myself
Surrendering my emotions
Or trading them
For some title that says,
"Yeah. She's literate"
Because that's all it really adds up to
Pretty ******* literate
Pretty ******* bored
And definitely boring
I don't wanna be boring
And I don't wanna be bored
Don't let me lose my dreams
Please
Please don't let me go
Go this way