What I seek here is as a writer astutely commented “it was the pure breath of God playing on
Human heart strings” where better to start than an instrument that is played in such fashion
Solely by the wind its name is from ****** the Greek god of the wind my changeup calls for the
Wind of the one true God my line in lost friend not a person but a great black oak that grew on
A California ranch for over a hundred years in a storm it was destroyed the lines read this way
Two divergent seeds the ground did divide one of wooden grain the other flesh and blood
Their branches throughout the community do abide as charming as church bells ringing touching all the
Flesh and blood pertains to the ranch family that was so honored by this majestic guest all those years
That’s what I am speaking of bells are associated with the Aeolian harp because their sound is carried on
The wind crisp and clean without contamination this is written that we might prepare ourselves and
Have the pure spirit blow across our souls and from it have a better year ultimately a better life first in
These examples we will move closer to the Aeolian harp you will see this isn’t just living but its
Excelling in the richest spheres our lives can and must strive for this magnificence we are not
Just here just to expend time and enjoy ourselves we are to be in pursuit of a great and eternal
Reward there are many stratus of life others are in earthy terms more advanced that is only on
Social levels in the spirit we truly are equal each according to their gifts will answer on a same
Plane fair and honest judgment so that alone should birth passion in each one I want to be the
Best I can be not to out show another but to present our selves honorably and show we put in
The same effort as others first know all are not chosen to have such dramatic tunes of the harp
To drift across life’s varied landscape ours still will be unique and the highest tunes possible and
Will resound with glory we ourselves to a degree will be pleasantly surprised truly so it will be
Determined on the closeness we have with His Holy spirit when I first heard the harp was in
Hannibal Missouri I was in this rich place of American story telling the boy hood home of
Samuel Clemens better known as Mark Twain I was on the river frontage road the great
Mississippi was to my right but I wasn’t thinking of Tom Sawyer my thoughts weighed heavy on
My mind I was far away up by Chicago at a church where brother and Sister Willis was pastor
Then back in the present here in Hannibal this was their home town a beautiful blonde eight
Year old was their pride and joy life was full she had a older brother who was ten it was a
Musical joyous life and then dark ominous clouds rolled in one so filled with life small and
Gentle it was one of the cruelest and terrifying cancers sorry even her death was terrifying in
The midst of tears and anguish they prompted the Aeolian harp to play they brought her home
To this historical place that became so much more rich and sacred when they lay her in the
Cemetery it came as a rush it over powered my emotions in my mind I saw her waiting for that
Great call the dead in Christ will rise first and meet him in the clouds of glory then those still are
Living will be caught away with him this young heartbroken father and mother with
Out hesitation or actuation by faith and trust they continued and shortly thereafter they started
And completed a larger church the richness of the harp reached across the lost community
Families in peril confused and lost had their ears and hearts opened by the lives of these
Faithful Parents it’s not just about making heaven but look around you at the great and terrible
Day of Judgment the great white throne and He who sets there once the savoir now the judge
Of the world you have others standing there with you as you look at them you can’t help to
Look Beyond His great light and see out in the darkness the deadly silent crying trembling lost
That no one reached or worse they wouldn’t listen the next story of the harp is about Frank
Bartleman the great man God used to bring modern Pentecost to America through the gate of
Azusa St Los Angels he arrived in Los Angeles with his wife and two young daughters December
22 January his oldest daughter three year old Easter was seized with convulsions and passed
Away he echoed the word from Ester little Queen Ester seemed to have been born for a time such
As this Esther 4:14 “Beside that little coffin with heart bleeding I pledged my life anew for God’s
Work In the presence of death how real eternal issues become of all the music LA has produced
None comes close to the sounds made by the Aeolian harp that day all the days since and all
The Souls whose shouts resounded then and now what joy bells are ringing throughout the
Years you read this the harp cuts thorough every excuse every denial we make when His love is
Calling over pastoral fields over head white clouds azure blue sky a single white dove the son of
Man personally calls to you I love you you’re missing so much following the false and deadly
Trends of this world come let me pull you close your land a waste land of just material things in
My presence unquestioned exception hurts carried for years will be healed only as a father can
Do your guilt will be forever cast away moral purity that your soul cries for will be heaped in
Your life no longer dark shadows that haunt but real true life that satisfies to the uttermost it
Will heal bring new understanding addictions are flimsy bindings that hold only because you
Seek all things that are rooted in disfavor my favor knows no bounds and you will be free I will
Breathe my spirit and you will know the Aeolian harp tunes and breathtaking wonder will swirl
Through your mind heart and spirit Heaven will displace the black strangle hold of this world
Centered anew the rays of the cross and my love breaks every yoke true freedom is yours for
time and eternity

Astutely speaking, we all at some point

Ponder on matters spiritual, the kind
In the realms outside observable phenomena.
Even to some extent, we can’t help
Consulting various spiritual practitioners to
Extrapolate circumstances prevalent in the future.

Otherworldly beauty is not only a matter of
Fascination it’s an obsession too.

Hallowed space in today’s world is
Exceedingly limited, an abundant scarcity
A paucity of meaning attached to it.
Various denominations exist to
Entrench a semblance of piety to counter
A rather stack waywardness.
Neverland, is it real?

Ask me about Gulu,ask me about
the area associated with instability
ask me about one of the farthest towns
I was there,and clad in my red gown
ask me about clouds,I've seen them thick
ask me about whatever, just handpick
Karuma falls, their sprays of violence
savanna,swamps, what an ambiance
it was, how sweet the journey was
so secure a town, forget years of wars
the people,calm unless fray they must
ask me about the cost of living there
some of us couldn't dare bear
Ask me about Gulu town and I'll say
Go and prove,go see for yourself
How a town can be secure for sure
Go and see definitions of distance
go and stop associating it with resistance
ask me about straight roads in Africa, straight as a ruler
only hills and slopes reminding you they're roads
ask me for hell hot sun and the winter cooler
ask me about very volatile beads of tropical rain
and I'll tell you find it in Gulu,rivers of splash drain
ask me about tourist sites and I'll show you the route to take
informing you that the adventure to make
is to the north of the country if you haven't,I have
you might have not realised those are a people with love
ask me about places with trees from shrub to pine
ask me about Gulu and I'll praise it overtime
I saw no skeletons, bullets, no wounds or scars
they are only probably left in hearts or healed
the night sky dotted with patches of pregnant clouds and stars
even nature lives a serene life,the bottle of that history was sealed
Ask me for the reasons Uganda is the pearl
I've seen most,in the west,the East, now north,
for all it's worth
I only need to venture the south to astutely say I've seen them all

by: William A. Marshall


I stepped off the world
today,
off the broken streets
that winter has damaged
and municipal assessments
off the political gluttons
and performative marks
off the know-it-alls
and wild dogs roving around
with their ****
noses in the air
it’s not pretty
they cover what they don’t know
so that they look good
I head back down the dark hallway
to get a more primitive angle
off of privileged confidence
they are vulnerable
basic caretakers pursuing opulent corsages
to free them from their anxious quotas
and ******* rules
telling me how to wipe my ***
and how to use baby wipes
jointly acting like they run things
from their phony utilitarian bus stop
and cutting-edge applications
their personal band plays a cheerful tune
in the background
as they search for a bigger
advantage and more likes
even though we all share the same horror
youth is about mistakes
and making money
and choices with one eye here and now
the other eye on prevalent professions
students and maintenance men
bureaucratic puppets and academics
farmers and auditors
sales greasers and coaches
writers and board members
somewhere they end up there
carrying a liability
and it creates a vibration in my foxhole
but right in here baby
deep down within me
inside my tomb
I transfer to a silent
place away from
rambling rotting fungus
I step off of it
not always methodically
and then back into faults
and louse packs
I can only assume my rock
that sits in my hole immobile
next to the ****** candy wipes
unless I push it up ontic peaks
nonbeing begins to doubt me
and grips part of you so don’t
think that it doesn’t
I cut it with my knife
obliquely
finding unfortunate contagions
and courage down in the vault of silence
it is there or it isn’t
it is what keeps my will interested
far from the ones moving rashly
without it you would leap from bridges
through minefields I remember
a certain detachment
an uneven and sick progression
paperwork and a number with
a D affixed to its file
the ceiling became the nightly norm
this plastic vacuum-packed
wedding gown made of white silk
made weird noises
in the back of my closet
like it was weeping
the kind of dress
only worn once
it smelled like her that closet
retelling me each time
I opened the private door
making fake crinkling sounds
an icon of pure young tenderness
love expense and faith
eventually cooked and burned  
but it is too early
those individuals that gloat in pictures
and dream about their prince
they are busy playing with
their hair and organic shoulder bags
driving around in furnished cars
the uncorrupted ones
constant courses to come and
subsequent interviews
nailed skintight dresses
soon to be colored sweet red
with danger competing
well you had better feel lucky
because when you plunge into
future swamplands
incompetence and repayment
of what to do with it
and how then to
fill up your cup
without spilling it
all over your soul
don’t tell me how
to live my **** life
now is your time
to reason and shake imperfection
interruptions
over and over
those that listen to your intrusiveness
false performances in chic coffee shops
it is not sustainable there
but you play the part to maintain
your chair in the cooperative
you will miss it
neglecting real evil
because you were talking too much
maintaining your image
Bradbury whispers
from the counter,
“You can't make people listen
they have to come round in
their own time wondering
what happened and why
the world blew up around them
it can't last.”
and numbness above nightly cocktails
distracted dub tracks
ultimately attending
hectic personnel meetings
in drenched swamps
spinning with heartless ***** jobs
unconcerned about safe comforts
two things balance them out
people and things
all part of it out there in the world
and they approach like a train
suffering shocks
unemotional images in chambers
some actually never return
from the beatings
but this isn’t the end
this is a commencement
for me
the forecast is water-resistant
they hurry snatching their
body spray and shower gel
on mirrored reflections
that scowl back at them
all alone there
in their glass steeple
family photos
thinking they have nurtured something
more than endless gossip
and ****** strains
much more important now
bent into independence
pausing with the approaching sunrise
as it splashes powerfully
inside their speculations
pride doesn’t care
if you think you are not puffed-up
at all you are
who in the hell are you kidding?
nothing to cling to
essential oilskins and manuscripts
credit problems
and autobiographical *** packed expressions
corner office windows
and diplomas
behind high-back chairs
trying to copy Sunday magazine’s
hottest statement
to fill up their life
a reminder just who the comics are
but it does not register
until that day
when it becomes intolerably vile
beneath wreckage
and burnt ruins
they find his
caring donation
clinched in the saviors grasp
jutting through burning garrisons
there is no truth more senior
than this truth here and now
but they can’t all be imparted
in this culturally planned folklore
I see them
when I am walking away
from the insulated bubble
down the street
like recruits in boot camp
and zealously rich parents
who send their youngsters
with luggage and loans
nearby like idols
salesman explaining things
as they nod like they are approving something
perhaps autonomy
from fathers and mothers
who stand with them astutely contemplating
the whole arrangement
they stare at the marble floor
I observe the run-through
the glittery entertainment
and documented departments
for happy pilgrims
who are insulated
for now

I. the breathing of human nature

her poetry weaves a chimera
through ontario maples,
ghostlike songs intoned in late november breath:
*i don't really want to be a pretty girl... *

whispers of woodsmoke fall from sky
(sky, pink as cochineal, pink as avarice
sky, blue as bruises, as jazz, as tropical waters)
she steps from the fog and ash into the beckoning trees,
seduced by leaves,
an autumn saturnalia of honey, flame, amber,
nectar, pistil, anther.

she is cupola and chalice,
budding fuchsia and iron cherry--
but she writes and breathes
as if something more than a woman
who knows all the names for the ocean
stirs and struts inside her.

II. the statue and sobriquet

piano wires melt into statues,
heat steals rusty bottle caps
and bends them eerily into muses.
butterflies perch astutely on their shoulders,
violet, violent, a mosaic of shredded lilies and shellac,
paris in flames, flowering tea-houses,
the mariana trench, a thicket of morning glory.

nature sculpted this metaphysical tribute to her
for all that she has done, for all that her bent fingernails
and snow-covered lips have given
to inspire solstice and equinox--

in the night-songs of the crickets,
crystal bells and rustic chirps,
she was lauded.


III. declaration

she feels the songs in her eyelashes
and writes of wine and palest bone,
fragments of bashful moon,

roots her fingernails into the tarnished canadian willows
and finds her way through magnolia clouds and sea-spray sky;
after all, she can soar.

The death of a child
Cannot be portrayed into words
But only understood
By the deepest trenches of the heart

The moon hung its head low in the night sky
A perfect circle to personify infinity
Whether it was the message of a spirit
Or a coincidental language of the planets
We will never know

Something tugged on my spine
To turn around, and meet the eyes of a ghost
A mirror, I thought
For it was the ghost that I saw in my eyes
During my personal ice-age

A stranger alone, but
Not as strange as the loneliness
Of the aftermath of death
Do I dare speak?
To harvest hidden emotions of the past?

I spoke meek and astutely
Then stepped out of my skin
To show him my crooked spine
Because rotted bones and knotted arteries
Speak for themselves

He understood that I apprehended
That a grave for one is a grave for two
One for their body, and one for your heart
A weeping embrace in place
Of lost words stolen by mortality

it's in (behind (and flittering)) the palisade of your *******
and empire of crimson beats 10,000 times more magnificent
than any razor of dawn slashing nights enormous throat
the precious pumping of its chambers sweltering majestic pulses
and from the ***** of your love comes galloping your aromatic
flavors. a tongue of passionate lilies bubbling incandescent. and
the habitual crescent of your lips. it,s loved more astutely by no other
save this I. dithering about the delicious hillocks bounding from
your ivory femurs. a blossom in the courtyard of your hips. more caressed
than
          . i

I have heard a perfect moment
   recorded
   in
   beautiful discord.
I have seen lifetimes
   astutely
   distilled
   in a single sentence.

I have heard a summer's day
  in a soul filled chord.
I have described heartbreak as
  a sculptural variation on a fence.

All these moments frozen,
waiting to be owned
by a collector of crystallized humanity.

But to take the beauty of one crystal,
held against the sun,
is to stumble aimlessly to insanity,
as the stitched links in your necklace
come undone.

Chords, discords and lyrical life sentences,
a collection of crystals held up to the sun.
Thoughts, deep thoughts, that meditate before it's late,
A collection of crystals will see you undone.

Without rhythm we can see a perfect moment frozen,
But without rhythm we can't see it chosen.
You'll never find perfection waiting for an explosion.

Timeless perfection comes from perfection of timing,
Two bodies beating 'til the beats are combining,
continue to beat 'til the blood pressure's rising,

And as the beats resonate to a perfect explosion,
All of a sudden it isn't surprising.

"it's been this way from the start/i need some rest/i'll go to sleep at a decent time/when i find something worth waking up for"
- "sleep", flatsound

It seems like I only come here whenever my head is swimming - no, floating - in the ocean of thoughts flooding my brain. And yet, the page always seems so daunting. It's like every single time I know I should come to write my feelings on these lines, my boy rejects the effort before it begins. Some part of me, unsurprisingly, enjoys the suffering induced by denying myself the animal instinct that inevitably overpowers me, and I find myself here in the end even if I know it's only a temporary fix.

Even when I don't write, the words come, and I'm not sure why they scare me or why I suffocate them before they have a chance to live. I think endlessly, often drowning in thoughts, feeling the weight pressing down on my shoulders. When I try to write like this, the thoughts are stilted, stale, unoriginal, yet I continue; we continue, even though our very existence is as unoriginal as these words. We go on and on, repetition coded into our bones. All desiring the same things: love, money, power, ***, to be wanted, to be known. We all want to leave a mark, yet we as a whole tread paths worn so well that the bones of the Earth can be seen peering out from beneath our tired, aching feet.

Even worse, we all have something to say, all want to be heard and remembered. I'm astutely aware that my words, my thoughts, my entire being is a shout that sounds like a whisper. We scream our lungs out, thinking we are trees falling in a forest with no one around, when in truth our words and prayers and heartbeats are all minuscule layers of a complex beat. Rather than the bang, we are the whimper, going out without a second thought.

The year 2015 has ended; I swore I'd end it in another journal, but I'm fickle and flighty and I want to start over. I always forget that each "start over" is code for giving up, letting go, closing the door - on what, I'm never sure, but the past never remains gone or forgotten, and I truly wonder why I continue spinning in familiar circles at times like this. I slept through the celebrations and the change in year. Lately, my energy is lacking, and I have little hope that things will change. Any optimism this soul held has vanished again, it seems. I'm not sure I've hit the lows of my past, but this exhaustion is taking more to come back from. The longer I'm left alone with myself, the more I feel my presence fade to the ghost-like state it appears in - flashes of sincerity, importance, solidity, only to become nothing again as the times change.

I wrote a bit online a few days ago, and one line came out that didn't surprise me, per say, but made sense in a way I wasn't consciously aware of: "Still, I can't help but feel that I'm yearning for some place I can never quite reach..." Maybe this is the exhaustion in my being right now? Though I am more happy than any other emotion, this feeling still presses in on me with a fierceness I didn't expect. I'm neither here nor there, and perhaps it's always been like this. My skin has always itched to fin somewhere I belong, somewhere that is home. I am terrified that this may never happen, terrified at the prospect of never truly feeling satisfied in or with my life. The horror of adulthood and the future looks like a city skyline, dark and foreboding despite the deceiving glimmers of life lighting up the windows.

It all comes to this, I think; I cannot know how things will turn out, if I will be happy, if things can change. A million small fears stem to this one, and I can only hope for some meaning, some lasting reason to exist. There are billions of lives, so what makes mine significant? Though this thought runs the risk of making me sound like the rest of foolish humanity, it's impossible not to feel this way. Do I matter at all? I believe in things like fate, but it's difficult to imagine that I have any effect on the paths Earth and humanity both take.

-a.c.

What do I want?
That's a very interesting
and difficult question...
so deep, & philosophical,

To wish? To crave?
but not to need?
for me at least
I say indeed,
hope you agreed
a requirement,
I think,
you must feel both,
& also to love,
you ...
must be,
should be,
could be?
...a true companion,
my very best friend
my lover,
who I confide in
until the very end,
your loving hands
on whom we can depend
your pretty lips,
my name he will defend,
rely on in our times of stress,
to whom in all,
I can confess
oh, when my life,
is such a mess,
comforting, trusting
emotionally intelligent
softly encouraging,
challenging me
feels like he's...
my destiny
able to reflect on
personal struggles
while accepting ours
such a beautiful mind
thoughtful and so, very, very kind
perceptive and insightful
to love him, delightful
and humorous
quick-witted,
handsome and right
loves me today,
& all through the night
in darkest of hours
& 'neath stormy showers,
astutely observant
sensitive to others
respected by all
especially by Mother,
creative and artistic
& oh so forgiving,
tappin' a foot,
enjoyin' just livin'
poetically rendering
sensual pleasures of life
amidst daily chores
in triumph and strife,
understanding and strong
a love lasting long,
magnetic attraction,
like moth to a flame,
never regret,
this love doesn't blame
in every single way
& every single day,
every molecular cell
in secrets he'll never tell
so beautifully familiar
surging through my veins
every thought inside my brain,
my body filled,
with endless hunger pangs,
my enlarged heart
it gets a start
with eager valves waiting
like a drug
in your hug
in your kiss,
that I miss,
& your lips,
touching me,
with those...
fingertips,
as again ...it skips,
your touch
is so much,
you are more
than before,
& not just enough
a binding agent
lovely & fragrant,
sticky sweet
A tasty treat,
I wait for you,
& love so true,
I want you
I need you
to know love
2 love you,
just one time,
tell me...
cannot be a crime?
a love like this is so divine,
like a beautiful sun coming up,
over the other side of that mountain
an awe inspiring experience
with no interference,
every time I see your face
or when I don't,
my mind retraces,
right there where you are,
& shining like the Northern Star,
you will always be
the same as me,
different from here
and yet still
we are indistinguishable
like a fire
& built from pure desire,
taking us so much higher,
we are one...together,
our love goes on... forever,
a wish fullfilled
a dream come true
we're holding hands,
just me & you
our love is true
& skies are blue,
with me for every tomorrow,
sunlit days & grey skied sorrows,
sit 'neath the fire
my frequent flyer,
when you bury my bones
when you are there at home,
& if you're ever alone,
you'll know me best
& unlike all the rest
like your dark eyed daisy
your lovely baby,
tell my story rich & true
& I will do the same for you,

this to me anyway,
This...Is love.

Cherie Nolan

Sounding steps, furthering steps
Down the cement line
Softly pressing, urgently pressing
Closer into mine

A white sky to paint upon
A smile to mark it
A telling of how long
And their kiss to know they sought it

Keeping words, filtering words
Down the contact line
Keenly holding, genteelly holding
Closer into thine

A hot breeze to bask upon
A laugh to mark it
A calming of how long
And their flesh to know they sought it

Warming hands, conserving hands
Down the comfort line
Wanly moving, astutely moving
Farther away from mine

A soft beam to guide upon
A stare to mark it
A smile is far gone
And her tears to know they sought it

candid and dry to the touch and feel
memories unopened depart from real
her hair smelled of lilacs smoothed to a shine
events with her always astutely sublime

but soon, as in late August the skies start to change
passions and fires begin to rearrange
uncertainty now ruled in a lofty place
where her radiant poise dwelled in permanent grace

seen always as a dancing sultry delight
hot breath in harmony so adept in the night
tenderly she did slide to a pondering past
now lost, her square mouth smile will always last

(In commemoration of August 9, 1945)

The tree will follow Hiroshima
and Nagasaki* winds by its hearts.
“Yes” if
winds wade up and down
“No” if
winds whip across and crosswind.
The tree’s will is in the leaves…
All leaves are hearts by having
ventricles and atriums in their own ways---
even in the cactus and pines---
just watch carefully and listen astutely
to their bristly rustling…
All
leaves sway, sigh, and sometimes, sing
because they are the tree’s hearts:
open to sunshine and rain pour; blight and moonlight----
the true meaning of love!
Here, my love, I’m just a servant of
your branches, bark, and most of all
your lovely and deep roots.



*Nagasaki was the center of Japanese Catholicism by early Jesuit missions

Win a solar powered piston operated system,
triangulate the obvious
astutely placing Northeast
facing us or for
a dollar win a dime and yes
it gets them every time.

If I bleed again, it's just
a little pain to ease the odds of
meeting you again.

I spit out blood and you say good, but
that's not the way it should be.

If I pray before Athena and ask her
has she seenya?
would she answer or just mumble words
I could not understand.

For a pound note win a donkey ride
on Blackpool's golden sands beside
the tower or put it all on the four forty five,
the gamble makes you feel alive,
it gets them every time,
I thrive on it.

dust creeping falling ever slowly
all matter seeking an elemental match,
red phosphorus add ephedrine
all you need to cook a fresh batch,
keep it up kids and you'll vanish
in a crystalline flash.

an act of attrition
propagated with little to
no conviction

arriving astutely, on the
Lower East Side.
walking  blindly, through
streets of poorly written fiction.
the brevity of time crunched, by
gravity triggers a gasping
mumble, missing any
recognizable diction.

hail down a cab,
surprise. it's me,
come to close the space between,
causing static and friction.
it's the last night on Earth, dear,
so toss out all impressions
first

dance in the dying of the light

we may not well will not get another night

dance, drop, then die, in the passing of the faded jaded light

Freedom of speech is a wonderful right--
A right that all Americans cherish.
It's a right that not all countries enjoy,
And one that we wouldn't want to see perish.
 
People have the right to express
Their opinion in public; yes, that is true.
One thing about it is when they speak out,
Their venomous ignorance often comes through.
 
Isn't there a saying about
Thinking before expressing a thought?
Many people ignore that advice;
What's more, those people ignore it a lot.
 
Publicly expressing rancor and bigotry
Might sound appropriate to those who feel
That they have the right to deny other people
Their rights, which they do with great zeal.
 
Extremist ideas and irrational thinking
Are surely part of the human condition.
People whose speech condemns other people
Are on a destructive, hateful mission.
 
A malicious message spoken in public--
A far-out attack or outlandish expression--
Allows us to see the foolishness in
The speaker's illogic and lack of discretion.
 
An astutely aware and compassionate public
Will let malice fall on deaf ears.
And those who employ such invective,
Instead of our anger, deserve our tears.
 
When we hear people spewing inanities
Powered by ignorance and hatred, we should
Consider the source and counter the poison
So it doesn't taint all that is good.

- by Bob B

Accessible twenty four hours a day
seven days a week,
fifty two weeks a year.

Spring 2022 Curtain call at
Highland Manor Apartments unit b44
framing Mother Nature nook
ever changing scene unfolds
analogous to storybook.

I espy (hear and see)
while sitting at table
housing Macbook Pro
plethora of wildlife
on a band dinned patch of woodland,
yet slated to resemble cookie cutter vinyl city
that sprout like mushrooms and/or toadstools.

Yours truly bares witness to fauna
(most likely oblivious
to encroaching urbanization
most often becoming endangered
and/or extinct creature if lucky
enough becoming cherished, loved, valued
property of zoo keeper),

who rarely encounter **** sapiens
while innocuously and innocently
buzzfeeding, kickstarting pinteresting
linkedin with rites of Spring
fawning, matchmaking, twittering
regarding instinctual self survival tactics.

At a safe distance removed
our perch (chance) analogous
to one way mirror,
whereby yours truly and the missus
watch the nature channel live
never tiring at random antics
exhibited by aural and visual
courtesy spontaneous unrehearsed
Animal planet productions.

While astutely, fascinatingly, keenly, quietly
observing semi, quasi, pseudo... wild kingdom
flashback in space/time continuum occurred.

I observed banned band
of untamed ruffians and outlaws
use wildland as hideout from y'all
sip pose zid smart alecks
who would be surprised country bumpkin
like me can rattle off...
courtesy nasal twang

(or because of) Schwenksville drawl
which can pose difficulty understanding
attributed nysc with submucous cleft palate,
hence droning voice of mine
in tandem with puny size
found yours truly scapegoat
bullies taunted and teased

I felt analogous being
just another brick in the wall
until sharecropper mama and papa Joad
headed west Okie dokie
with truant steering da wheel
driving off into sunset via UHaul
passing zee monotony

doodling Yankee went hoo(t)'n and hollerin
across this country tis of thee
imitating moost every doggone animal
earn'n chump change telling tales tall
like dis here mumbo jumbo
his birthplace home to countless
life forms large and small
some skitter, slither, scamper,

jump, hustle, hop, fly, crawl
and we even encountered
mighty big beef eating fellas
who beat up punks
getting in barroom brawl
adieu fromm simple folks,
cuz nuttin else to write dat's awl!

Lock and load,
ready to explode,
racking back my slide,
trigger finger ready to glide.

Shadow government brainwashing schools,
don't want to lead, they want to rule,
keeping us down like the slaves we are,
its seems like we just aren't on par.

They keep us down in the pen,
we the sheeple till the end,
time for some one to step and shepherd,
grow some teeth like a leopard.

Build a rebellion, they cannot put down,
time to get rid of these clowns,
but total power corrupts absolutely,
we need some one to rule astutely.

Rise above the cash and clowns,
take care of cities and the towns,
don't forget the small municipalities,
get the big picture, I mean totality.

Take the sheeple,
back to people,
Constitution and the pursuit of liberty,
not just for them, but for you and me.

Ya Know I Just CANNOT Do It... !!!
Refuse To Now USE IT... !!!

Wordplay and Good Music...
With Spoken Word Movements...

Because I’ve Been STRUCK...
By An Arrow of... " Cupid’s "... !!!

That OPENED My Mind...
To A World FULL of Rhymes...
And Lyrical Coolness... !!!

That Prove That I’m NOT Shallow... !!!
And Am CLEARLY NOT Stupid... !!!!!

So I Just CANNOT Do It... !!!
Choose To Be Foolish...
When It Comes To The DUTY...
of Using Life’s Movie...
To Write Verse That’s GROOVY...

And Suitably MOODY...
Like Charlie Browns' Snoopy... !!!

NO Shaggy or ******....
Just Wordplay That’s JUICY...
And Sweet Like A Smoothie... !!!

Some Say That It’s... “ Gloomy “... !!!

When My Wordplay ASTUTELY...
Touches On... CRUELTY... !!!

Floozies And Cuties....
Who Leave Some Men WOOZY...
When They See Their *****... !!!

So NO I Can’t Do It...
Stop What Is Now FLUID... !!!

My Usage of THOUGHT...
To Create So Much MORE... !!!

Like Keeping The Score....
When It Comes To The War...
That We ALL Now ENDURE... !!!

The War To SURVIVE...
And Live A LONG Life...............................  ......
WITHOUT Too Much Strife... !!!

Cos' Reality BITES...
When You CAN'T Pay The Price... !!!

That Life Now COMMANDS...
In FACT Now... DEMANDS... !!!

When Leaders Decide...
To Make Taxation HIKES...

That They Just SHOULDN’T Do... !!!
Because It’s NOT Cool...
For Them To ABUSE...
The Power They Have...
To Make THEMSELVES CASH... !?!

So That They Can Then DASH... !!!!
To Their LUXURY Pad...
When Their Taxation Plans...
Make People Get MAD...
Just Like Mel Gibsons’ MAX... !!!

STUCK In Those BADLANDS...
Surrounded By GANGS...
Looting And Shooting...
With Mind States Polluted...

Because of... “ Collusions “...
And... Villainous Movements... !!!

So NOPE I Can’t Do It... !!!

Refuse To KEEP Doing...
What It Is That I’m Doing... !!!

In This World of Confusion...
It’s Good To Show PRUDENCE...
And Be A Good Student...
Who Simply REFUSES... !!!!!

To Deal In PURE Looseness... !!!

Because That’s What OOZES...
When You REFUSE Shrewdness.... !!!!

So That’s Why In Conclusion...
I Choose To Make Movements...
That Deal In SOLUTIONS...

To PROBLEMS And Crudeness...
And NEW World POLLUTANTS... !!!
  
Because What Kind of Person... ?!?
... Who's TRULY OBSERVANT...

Could Sit and Watch Humans...
Embrace SO MUCH HUBRIS... !!!!!

CRUDENESS And LEWDNESS...
And Then Act Like...
They’re... TOOTHLESS... !?!

When We're NEEDING IMPROVEMENTS......
To How We’re Now Moving... !!!!!

Well I Would Be ASHAMED...
Which Is Why I MAKE PLAIN...

This Last Comment I Make...
When It Comes To The NUISANCE....
Now Affecting MOST Humans... !!!!!!

BELIEVE When I Say That....

.... “ I Just Cannot Do It ! “....