Muse the Bobbie, Learned and Scrolling Mentor
For screening this Curtain to show our Task
Basic Words you exhume; Trust, a favour
Later allow us with some Sticks to bask
It takes much swallow to go back to School
And strip us bare with Her Majesty's Words
This how you Speak - With a Rod and a Fool
But then, who cares? Forgans are for the Birds
Now all it takes to supple your behalf
Modelled by the Mad Agent done and pleased
We empty our Fillers; and bid Avast!
Upon Graduation your Skills we take heed.
Thank you so much again, Mentor availed
Success is Reward; Laziness is Failed.

It seems simple, like all used to be
It might be normal, like everyone's daydream
We would run in endless circles—
In fields of autumn cling, wading ogles—
When this used to be about you and me

The sky was glowing like your cotton cheeks
Marks passionately from kisses of your lips
We would scratch out scars Avast
From every unpainted fence that pass
In moments it was me hoping— will it ever last

As we drift up to that very hill— I envisioned
The grass was as different— different,
Different and effervescent than I ever known
And we'd lay blind feelings, forever in making
But it was you who decided to let it go

We only saw one tree, maybe one dotted line
Not knowing all is going to be— a doleful red
One horizon, everything used to be fine
When time stops you to be—
And someone took you from this arms of mine

Never it was the same or even has it been?
It would even stench fake perfumes
I was pushing to believe on what to be unseen
And where I stood, Died— of barren thirst
My sense, which was all left but never heard

And as I broke from your crimson goodbyes
I thought of every promise— A perfection,
And every commitment— An exaltation
But a solitary torment, only to know I'm trap
Oblivion, still my feeling keeps pulling you back

Wishing I could avast
Everything that happens so fast
Dreaming of ourselves beneath thy clouds
Rolling and laughing between those strouds

I was holding his soft hands
We were lying on the meadowlands
Leaned on my broad shoulders
When he avowed that "I must be stronger".

Days had never been this lovely
All I can hear is our hearts' on melody
However the music went go wrong
His last smile was the last song

Lips became pale as rose
It can't even make a single prose
His eyes slowly close
This is not the future we chose

Wished that I could avast
Everything happened so fast
Wanted to take his last breath
But All I can give is this **wreath for his death

Once in Earnest Doubt did my Faith Suppress,
The First Great Angel accepted my Prayer
Of Random Choice did in Honest Address
Took pleasure in Follow; And found her Fair
And why not from the Bard's State was her Birth
For she the Limestone Guardian of Plum's Prince
Took Seven more Wings; And produced their Worth
Have sung his Growing Concept ever since
You know how leeched I am on your Good Deed,
A Stunning Example I must pursue
Truth avast takes Life's Innocence for keep
Then land on your Incarnate good and true.
Please forgive me. This is all I should know
Now enjoy your Shoot with the Man of the Show.

matt
did you get my reply? i hope you did, i had written approx. 5, and all of them deleted... i hope i allowed myself a justifiable response with this one:

how about solipsism? solipsism is an elevated term for autism, isn't it? me? personally? i love cats, but they have a tendency to become inexhaustive economists of curiosity... i wasn't implying autism as an insult, i was implying a more crude word, synonymous with solipsism, and there is no shame in that to begin with. i like cats, because i own two, and i'm most content, when i can allow myself the time, to allow them the same time, to be left alone. cat, solo... dog + man + tail waggling + throw a ball... i better post this reply before i allow this reply, to become deleted... with all the prior 5 that have been, and me, having to post the alternative, "revision".

i.e. i rather imagine autism to be in need of having an elevated status of being designated by the term: solipsism... how can i make myself elaborate? point being, i don't want to... i too am confined to a strict vocab. fixation for the purpose of expressing language, that mitigates, bypassing, shrapnel wording of: one category fits all, conjunction words, which, i find, I, to be akin to, when categorised as: AND to begin to confine oneself to, the subsequent rigor of nouns.

i hope this doesn't end, or begin as, an apology... by autistic i was imply solipsist, i wasn't implying the retrograde slur of ******... if there's any god, it's in the disinhibited self of the autist, readily plucked, by... no basis for either a selfish, or a selfless act... i'm over-wording this, but... point being... i needed to settle myself in a posit, above the current cultural norm of the troll... which has nothing to do with autism, or as i like to call it: solipsism, diminished to a slur of: automaton...

i hope you can make lite reading of this... i concede, i attempted to make more than necessary, and conciliatory scribbles... if in any way i redeemed myself, i hope you'll concede to entertaining, accepting my apology.

Jules  22h
My only issue was that your poem seemed to make Autism synonymous with stupid or any other derogatory term. However, seeing as that wasn’t how you meant it, I apologize. I’m a bit defensive as my brother has autism

Mateuš Conrad  22h
that's perfectly understandable, given the circumstances, i am hardly surprised... i'm still here if you want to continue past the initial shock-tactic of testing the waters with me, obviously we can change the subject and not stand, metaphorically: with knives pressed against each others' throats... there i was, thinking i'd reply diving into the subject matter for no, necessary clarification / added depth... but it's the least i can appreciate from your cordial response, as to, at least, appreciate a change in the subject matter, so that, both of us, can return to feeding off a sentiment of: being left, less, uncomfortable; which implies that i have to instigate the question to change the subject matter... hmm... speed-dating-esque trivia... movies, paintings, music... literature... ah... kind of blue, miles davis, my english teacher told me, that if anyone in the classroom didn't own this album by the age they were 30... there was something wrong with them... in my then paranoia, i bought the album, and now own it on vinyl... somehow... i find that there's something more wrong with me, owning it, than not owning it.

Jules  22h
Favorite movie- Mamma Mia, favorite painting- amazing piece by a local artist, music- currently obsessed with the Beatles, favorite book- We all fall down. I’m thoroughly impressed about how reasonable you are being given the circumstances, and after reading a few more of your poems, I can tell you are a good person

Mateuš Conrad  21h
oh come on... mamma mia?! and not something akin to west side story?! who's the local artist? i only access to a London base, and, that requires a networking schedule i'm not going to equip myself with; and i'm hardly surprised by how understanding you are of me, and i do wish to pay more compliments to you, but... i feel that that would overstate me taking liberty in me not incurring an over-simplified stance of my own liberty towards you... remember, i'm one person in writing against a blank, and another person to conjure forth a reply... against a canvas, that is a readied flesh of my own flesh, bone of my own bone, i can see the antagonist in the compounded state of, the sacrosanct state of lingo... i can be a ******* against a blank canvas, but, obviously, when i am to begin with a clarity of an addressee, i cannot consider staging a variation of something, inhospitable, as a Kandinsky-variation to suit myself... Jules, you can never become something akin i treat a blank sparring estate i perform in writing without, something you are already established with, concerns equivalent to my own predisposition being unchanllenged / or, rather, undistrubed. the beatles... i'm trying to find something of a vinyl collector's "beginner's luck"... i'm too into prog. rock music... EP album experiences, akin to: king crimson's debut: in the court of the crimson king... serves me right, for not getting into Mahler... or Eric Dolphy jazz... so i turned the blind eye, and moved toward pagan music... wardruna... hedningarna... in extremo... garmarna... faun... heilung... esp. the last... i have never wished to visit the Faroe Islands more, than, after listening to their music.

Jules  21h
Mammia Mia is my favorite almost solely because of the memories attached to it. You certainly are a unique person

Mateuš Conrad  21h
i agree, i'm a sucker for super trouper and money money money, i'm waiting for a Tina Turner musical, to be honest... don't worry, i've looked into some of your comment sections... i cannot alleviate the blatantly bogus comments that are worth nothing more than an immediacy to make antagonism... i can't, i wish i could, but.... it's either this variant of an outlet, or a punching bag... i'm as unique as you find me to be... but when i just see "demands to conform" to an otherwise unnatural behavior... i don't like behaving in a counter-cordial fashion... you understand me? if there's no need to be bogus, why begin to bother being so? i hope we can remain lodged into partial nuances... and continue this discussion, beside tomorrow, i.e. whenever you feel like to preserve it, which, i hope... you will strip away more of your anonymity... but even if that is to not be the case: i thank you for the compliments... but from having inspected the immediate comments... you are a most tender artifact worth double the inspection's curiosity with a shy eye... and until i take myself to rest, and slumber, i can only leave your with these words... i wish the world was more welcoming than i allow you to believe it to be. if you can ever forgive me, i can only hope you can, by bidding me a goodnight, and welcoming me back into the discussion, within the confines of a tomorrow.

Jules  20h
Goodnight, my hopefully future friend. Poetry is definitely one of the best outlets. I definitely understand that aspect of you

Mateuš Conrad  20h
i hope to entertain you here, once more, and all the future that can be shared between the both of us. let me see you tomorrow, and scrap a beginning of a conversation with you, once more toward a focus of a beginning... and see how many minutes this allows us to entertain an amnesia of: beginning with today... how about that? i'll take to sleep, and hope, to grin... i actually re-read what i wrote: and figured... if i was being all-too despotic in securing pedantry... but then... if you took to complimenting me, i have to compliment you: tender soul... scouting the merger of sight and the hybrid coast... tender petal... why not? who is to obstruct me telling you this? lever... beside the said and into what's thought... tender petal... what a Scouser would call pet, i'd call petal... or... heavily implied: stagnant Bismarck stipend... if it be too much to ask... write me more than under the scrutiny of below the already given minus, of the 10 sentences. come at me as a punching bag... just as an experiment... i want to be the new vanguard... experiment with being uninhibited.

Jules  19h
Even the way you talk is extremely poetic. I appreciate how you took the time to try to talk everything out to prevent us from having any bad blood between, and I see know that you didn’t mean any harm from what you said. Thank you for being so kind about it all. I sincerely hope we can pick up this conversation again tomorrow as I feel we are on the road to a promising friendship. I’d be happy to write more per text, but for the sake of experimentation, I’m intrigued to see if you could try to talk in a little less of a formal dialect

Mateuš Conrad  1h
trying to bypass a formal dialect will be hard, as we're too fresh into our patchwork of setting boundaries, rigid as that might sound, and the current climate, to me, you're a slab of marble, not a statue. this sort of friendship, you're talking about, requires us to keep a modest concern for language, which, awfully, is riddled with diatribe excerpts... how we will transcend this, is, well, concerned with both of us to decide... i'm starting to entertain the fact that you have an autistic brother, since i'm learning to be panicy-picky with my language... i too had an ultra-autistic "friend" back in high-school... and i would constantly retrieve a blank-state response from him, i.e. i was looking at less a person, and more: a labyrinth. how i'll transition into a more informal use of language, i'm unsure how that will take place, Jules, we can't exactly share experiences, we can only avast ourselves, on what will pursue its own noumenon characteristics of stated language. at present, we only share a commonality of language, i'm bewildered by stating something informal... i wish i could, but i'm only allowed an "aggrieved" presence to your wish for: informality, slang, holding-hands type of escapism. i think that, with regards to your wishes, we'll have to settle for a sediments' worth of unravelling, like me, you're too trying to escape the puddle's worth of being immediately "concerned" with the comment section... we'll need to find commonality... from yesterday, i can tell you: i had the beatles faze when i was leaving the years attributed to my teens... then i found it really hard to find new music, outside the realm of bands akin to tool, the neo-progressive rock bands... but i see your point, my language is the sort of formal, that stages a lack of intimacy, but this is an ontological-high-jump, given your reply, and emphasis on friendship... you will have to curate me, moving forward, since i will be unable to moderate how, me, interacting with you, will be adequate to have finally said, something informal, by your standards of scrutiny. time, i will first have to see some of your idioms to change my dialect; i'll begin, i'll tell you where this was written from, Romford, Essex, England.

Jules  1h
If we are to move forward as friends, I have to express my feeling on the autism topic. First off, Autism is a spectrum that ranges from high functioning to low functioning. 30% of people with autism are in fact of average or higher intelligence. Some of the most famous scientists including Albert Einstein were in fact autistic. It is not synonymous with simple or stupid in any way, shape, or form. I dislike that you said your friend seemed to be less of a person because he had autism. However, I understand that you’re misconceptions weren’t meant in a malicious way

Mateuš Conrad  51s
so how can i move forward to establish a less informal dialect? i wasn't focusing on the details of the stated condition, i know that i'm handling something as fragile as an egg in terms of what words i employ, and that i might seem astoudning, in having not contra opinions on the matter beneath the impersonal "facade"... but you were asking about how to make our interaction more uninhibited, if we're going to lecture each other about infringing on delicate matters... i wasn't implying the person in question was less of a person, i was implying he was more of a person, by resembling a labyrinth, i didn't take any personhood from him, i simply reattached it to a metaphor, of elevated complexity, of a labyrinth: i was lost in attaining a mutual comprehension of a shared experience with him... what's so bad about that? i only mentioned something in passing, since your's, was the original "concern"... you asked me how we could continue in a less informal manner... this reply will not answer your original "concerns"... what if i were to say: i'm schizophrenic? what then? you'd lecture me on... all of your knowledge on the matter? if we're all going to interrogate each other... thus... then you have a misconception of schizophrenics... akin to john nash... personally, i don't understand how you'd think i'd be primarily focused on something said: intended to be relegated to: in passing... guess what... i'll send this and...

      BLOCK

               i'm basically rummaging
through porcelain...
  i was ****** off one writing
platform for no reason...
   being ****** off from another
is not on my wish list,
from a very, simple,
lack of reciprocated
       feed of understanding;

   oh i know when i see minor *******,
some liking it to micro-aggression...
i chose a fox as my totem,
learning from a 2015 "debacle":
it looks innocent at first,
    but then spirals out of control;
the more i sieve through
this construct known as humanity,
the more i chose to remain
hidden.
   - and for all the worth
of the tabloid press...
   this is where i'll reign, myself
included.

This is the last time I write about ships; the mighty seafarer, clasping in the deep. The last time the esoteric tides capriciously change their erratic minds, left torn between rousing up to fight and solemnly crawling into the shapeless night. I’ll haul, I’ll haul. Outward bound, I’ll haul away from the safety of the buoy, through a thousand spiralling knots, batten aground and set anchor upon the recondite bay. I’ll avast the journeys where the compass takes an unprompted turn, where celestial proves consort to nautical woes, awoke awash amidst the darkened shallows.

This is the last time I go back and fill vast depths, bearing right, then left, across the beating breadth.  This is the last ring of brash audacity resonating in chime with the gull’s hooded pride, the last of the salt and sway commandeering the longitude of each tumultuous ride. I’ll roll, I’ll roll. Hanging on behind, I’ll roll with the salted souls of Nelson and Hook as they furl and collide, hand over fist, drawing the curtains from their chariot’s majestic height. I’ll gybe and set back to sail, quarrel with the rushing sands, and grace every fractured notion that tooth and nail can siege the devil’s rest and forge currents capable of hustling both vessel and man.

This is the last of the gallant endeavours, set adrift from buccaneer’s voyage to a solitary pulse at the end of storm’s tether. This is the last stern embrace of Poseidon’s harrowing howls, the last of the rapturous applause mordant as it rises and swirls, the last time I wrestle away from his scaly hold. This is the last time I change tack and set course into the path of the sound, where finally, the tides settled

I’ll release control of the helm.

I shouldnt resent feelings for arent they me?,
A mistaken representation of my internal sea.

Though the messengers native tongue is without face,
the message is clear "you've fallen from grace".

The sensation avast of our reality,
I relinquish this dependence on sanity.

Please defend me in my cry against man,
And witness my fall into the depths again...

With eager hope, lines are flung from stone quays,
In cerulean depths, lobsters drink crystal *****,
Banners of Mars ripple across lengthening days,
March festivals surrounds the sky with ambrosia.

Tiny dinghies dot the shores of crystal shine,
Jewel glints on serene ripples of the coast,
Velvet gloves of mirth while we wine and dine,
April races into hedonistic delights with a toast.

Gentle showers of rain caress our joyous minds,
Feeling the sweet uplifting scents assail us,
Choirs of birds paint rainbows for the colorblind,
May serenity soothes the birth of young Horus.

Beauteous blooms decorate the healthy fields,
Amidst the hush, come avalanche of avian flocks,
Summer-tide tickles the sickle it wishes to wield,
June love bind resonating halves in holy wedlock.

Spectral symphonies echo with rise of nations,
Waves of sultry heat from pulsating solar veins,
Let the tellurian realm bask in sleepy volition,
July warmth masterfully holds onto summer reins.

The waving forest whisper missives of lasting peace,
Stroll through sylvan woods to reveal new dreams,
The graceful rush of lucent creeks has not ceased,
August reverie rests on the soil of our daydreams.

Falling colors heralds summer's wave of adieu,
Scarlet pillows above billows of restless seas,
The harvest of ripened grains among rich milieu,
September bounty overflows the humble eaves.

Waning sunset unleash dying orange hues,
Above deep carpets of brittle gilded leaves,
Somber silence greets the coming of bad news,
October winds whistle through the lonely caves.

A maple flag shivers in the frigid air,
Upon a parapet far on the distant hill,
Boreal winds herald flares of despair,
November ice upon empty lifeless mills. 

From gloomy blooms above fell sparkling dust,
Asthmatic gales howl by gates of frozen pearls,
'Tween the valley crevice, stellar shine avast!
December frost rimes up the stormy whirls.

Chains of stiff ******* will soon be asunder,
Bolts of aurelian steel pierce the somber veil,
Of numb terraqueous veins arise new wonders,
January snow cradles early blossoms well.

The day's eye blinks awake across the skyline,
Phantom calls from across the sea stuck in time,
Steady upward climb the green grapevine,
February thaw shall meet the thirsty maritime.

I once caught a gaze that you deemed to spare me,
Your eyes were Andromeda, your hands adored me,
I believe you fell for my sardonic wit and charm,
And knowing my heart would do you no harm.
I was lead to your chamber and then,
It was as if I'd entered Heaven.
-
I smelled the rain from outside your window,
The petrichor and your graceful perfume,
Drunk with lust I stepped forward,
Hoping you were ready to be adored.
You stopped me and sat me down
On a cushion, then kissed my crown,
Then you backpaced with a viscious smile,
And danced for me and all the while,
I couldn't resist you, I didn't try,
If I layed you down, I wouldnt let you just lie.
-
Twisting to your intoxicating tune,
I couldn't but stare and watch you move,
Piece by piece, you shed your coverings,
And second by second, plucked at my heartstrings.
You stalked forward, my heartrythm cracked,
Sitting in my lap now, hands on my back,
It was so vivid, so real, so adorabley twisted,
The creatures in us, to feel, to visit.
-
Your scented bodice enticed me still,
Your lips were parted, nostrils flared as well,
Your eyebrows were arched and quite intrigued,
Your eyes showed me everything you wanted to see.
Avast, alas, a glimpse of the past
You move my hands to your chest and as
I grasp gently your hands go down,
They reach for what you need endowed,
Your fingers then trace the ink marks on my chest,
And then lay on my left side to feel beating breast,
Eyes, they're alive, they cast aside,
You then embark upon a wild ride,
My shirt you lift, my belt undone,
You bite my neck for the sake of fun,
I caress your ribs, your perfect skin,
I am the epitome of sin.
-
You turn around and tease me now,
Back arched and leaned against my chest, and how
You move so delicately and with all vehemence,
I want to know your passionate violence.
-
"To bed then my dear",
I hear you say,
"My darling, it would then make my day",
Your hand on my chest, mine around your neck,
You mount atop and in all bedecked,
In sulfurous longing, and hiding a biting lip,
You take me for a sensuous trip.
Arise, dear goddess, I know not this love,
It's new to me and all above,
Every ****** a moan,
And silence from  I,
I try so hard to please,
I love your breath and rolling eyes.
Faster rotations and deeper depths,
And then you seek to give punishment,
To a crawl you stop, slow and so shallow,
You are the siren that shall be hallowed,
Intensity and pleasurable frustrations,
But with a coy smile you spare me lustful aggrevations,
You return so slowly to increased mach,
In ecstasy, my thoughts all to you flock,
Nothing appeals like the words you speak,
Amidst a room so vastly bleak,
In my ear you gently ******,
The thoughts become real with no protest,
My, oh my, the night goes by,
And time lost is gained with you and I,
Never and forever hold no ground here,
I make you quake, I want to hear,
Hear the longings within yourself,
As I unleash all of your hells,
Faster and harder it comes to fruition,
Taking eachother until submission.

Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.

This is the Captain on 'na 1MC,
so crew, listen away.
There's a storm to the west,
and it's headed 'r way.

Avast, avast! Prepare for rough seas!
Lets get 'r vessel ****'ned down
'tisn't time for rest
so up 'n out of 'em racks, now

Get to yer spaces, e'ver they may be
batton da' latches
and secure gear adrift, for lest
'ou be h'rt by swinging hatches

If yer top-side, 'en you must flee
get inside if you can
And if 'ou remain out, then wear yer vest
Man-over board is not in the daily plan

Attention, Attention to the 1MC
This is the Captain spea....*
Joseph! Son, get some rest,
Or I'll throw you out to sea!

'Tis heartbreaking to see you marvel so at children's play.
Do you not remember that you were once a child?
Have you lost the sweet ring-a-ding-dings of fairytale teachings?
Each day you fall further into The Man
And away from Peter Pan, Sara Crewe, Alice, and The Great Baron Munchausen himself.
I have not forgotten the road to where they go.
Begin where you are,
Sitting mundane, in your realm of logic and laws, tasteless office cubicle.
Now close your eyes and count to ten!
One Mississippi, two Mississippi...
When your eyes creak open you'll have to think fast!
You've no weapon against that smelly pirate with his dagger to your throat!
Give a good kick and a hard shove and you'll see the blade has changed hands, AVAST!
One good ****** and you slice through his thieving guts like butter!
Abandon ship! And SPLASH! into a garden surrounded by stone.
All you've to do is turn your head to see the peonies, the morning glories, the honeysuckle dripping in dew.
Now straighten up and grab hold of your bearings; that's it!
What was that?!
It blew by you, fast as lightning and just as bright.
A fairy! It must have been!
You run off after it but your foot catches a mangled root and you
SLAM! Face first into...WHAT IS THAT?!
Bones?! Now scramble to your feet and dash to the opening of the damp cave,
Round the corner and AH! crash into a giant gray ogre! GRRAAAGGHGHH!
Quick! Pick up that femur at your feet and pitch it into his eye! Ha! You big brute!
Duck between his great tree trunk legs and RRRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!
There goes the office phone.
But you're still out of breath and desperate for more.
Silly, don't you know? It's not something I can teach you.
You just have to REMEMBER.

As so it was as we put to sea.
The Dark pirate captain and me.
Aboard a ghost ship decorated with bones and skulls.
I listened to hear creaking and the circling gulls.

Twas a dark and dismal day, with a ghost green sky.
Her main mast atop the Skull and Crossbones did fly.
Holes in her jib and Poseidon’s pitch fork on her main.
Our dark and treacherous ship was the high seas bane.

A purple fog hung over her deck, coiling and twisting.
Up the masts and sails dark spirit existing.
Born out of the ancient timbers and the toil.
Born out of heartbreak and roil.

I was first mate on this ship of the dead.
One and thirty nine hands that bled.
On the ropes and the sails.
On the harpoons and whales tails.

I counted 14 cannons on the decks.
I found more on a midnight check.
She had seven eighteen pounders deck under.
She shuddered and rolled from the thunder.

Listing to port or starboard from a volley.
Recoiling on the oaken dolly’s
No cannon ***** would touch her.
The purple fog protected those that were.

Aimed at her masts and broadside.
Swatting them into the deep I watched wide-eyed.
She deep sixed more ships than any other vessel.
Their captains hung from the stern trestle.

We came upon a man adrift in a whaling vessel.
The captain swung the ship around to nestle.
The small boat’s gunwales were shattered and torn.
Her occupant screaming wide eyed did warn.

“Avast your voyage twas Mermaids I fear!”
His face a ghostly pale and his eyes were queer.
The Captain brought him on board.
And he brought with him a fear that roared.

My Captain held him at the point of his sword.
The man’s eyes became as fire and he roared.
Deafening, it was out of his empty mouth it howled.
And with it the very air was fouled.

And the purple fog recoiled from this man.
Round and round on the decks it ran.
We all backed away from this apparition.
A horror straight away from Mariner’s superstition.

And he collapsed on the deck.
His pulse I did check.
And he did not have one.
I listened for his heart beat and there was none.

Filaments of his former self arose.
And Hung over his dead body close.
“Beware of White Cap Bay.”
“Tis where the Mermaids play.”

Came a watery cold voice upon the night air.
And we all stood there and stared.
His tortured soul wailing into oblivion.
And he passed on by aspiration.

Of these tiny stars that surrounded him.
And his likeness became dim.
And then he was gone.
The purple fog again was redrawn.

There was no body from whence this came.
Upon the deck where he laid, a blue flame.
And no man could extinguish it.
The Captain touched it with his sword, it split.

And became two, and ran off the starboard side.
“It’s gone!” the bosun cried.
We all stood there at the Captain we stared.
For the first time ever saw the Captain scared.

“Who’s afraid of some Mermaids Mates?”
“I like Mermaids more than pieces of eight.”
Our Captain said in a falsetto voice.
He did nothing to make our hearts rejoice.

And so we sailed dead ahead into the night.
And the crew held their fear with all their might.
A red litten gibbous moon to steer by.
The wind through the tattered sails sighed.

There came into view a huge rocky bay.
Bathed in the ethereal moon light lay.
To the starboard stood a huge stone monolith.
Surrounded by a ring of small obelisks.

And in its top there stood a giant mirror.
At first I thought its purpose unclear.
The closer we sailed I finally understood.
Twas a warning beacon if you would.

Harken to its brilliance unto its warning.
Listen unto its mourning.
And green sea foam licked round its base.
And the wind howled in its face.

And there were queer holes and vanes upon its top.
The wind sounded through the holes an octave drop.
Which made a strange, deep reverberation?
And it shook the deck and masts with strange gyration.

We dropped anchor in a quiet nook.
The Captain said “Lads let us look!”
And several of the old salts were superstitious.
And mumblings of spells and things malicious.

Ran through the crew like a runaway current.
For reasons of truth and things that weren’t.
Then the Captain became enraged.
Said he’d use his enchanted sword to engage.

Any man not worth his salt.
He’d be locked in the forecastle vault.
With the purple fog and the demons of the ship.
Forever in death’s grip.

So nary a man stayed aboard.
And we all crossed a small tidal ford.
And found ourselves again on dry land.
Our sea legs making it strange to stand.

We came to the monoliths huge door.
Adorned with strange hieroglyphs it bore.
Testament to some earlier time.
To some odd number prime.

I stepped into a gigantic hall that was lit with no light.
And I saw a most impossible sight.
A giant sapphire ball floating over a deep shaft.
It radiated beams of light from this strange craft.

It danced on the walls like a giant kaleidoscope.
The men were about to abandon all hope.
I saw a huge aperture above the ball.
That opened like an iris above the hall.

One of the men found an elevator of sorts.
And its doors had rows of oval ports.
And our Captain stepped inside.
And so the crew filed in wild-eyed.

We found ourselves walking out of a strange mist.
In a room atop the monolith.
A huge mirror affixed to system of lens of strange hue.
And I saw in polar equatorial it would slew.

And our Captain looked upon it with an uneasy eye.
“Tis a light house Capm,” came a wistful cry.
“Not like anyone I seen.. says I.”
The Captain touched one of its wheels, “Aye,.. aye.”

I saw upon the wall an imprint of a hand.
Surrounded by a solid gold band.
And it shown a deep blue.
Its color the same as the orb’s hue.

And the boson’s mate was about to touch the object.
“Hold fast there mate!” the captain checked.
“We dunno what that’ll do?”
A blue halo around his hand flew.

And it pulled his palm unto the wall.
And he could not remove it at all.
There came from under us a rumbling vibration.
The aperture was opening in measured gyration.

Upon the mirrors there came a column of light.
From the orb below a blue-gold blinding sight.
And its countenance you could not behold.
Through the lens and off the mirror it rolled.

And it beamed out upon the sea.
And the men were afraid and began to plea.
And it swung around on its own.
Like some mechanical drone.

Nothing human touched its controls and levers.
For it moved upon its own endeavors.
One of the men was standing above the rest of us.
The beam swung into him and he became dust.

Neither force nor the Captain could stand the men fast.
They ran for the elevator save the Captain for last.
Once again we were in the great hall.
The huge orb was making a strange call.

Calling the Mermaids of White Cap Bay.
Upon the rolling surf they did play.
There were mermaids too numerous to count.
Their passage we could not possibly surmount.

They all began singing as one.
Their mesmerizing melody begun.
These sirens from leagues of the deep.
Soon had us all at the edge of sleep.

The Captains enchanted sword did resist.
Upon our lips it did kiss.
A sharp blue spark awoke us all.
From the lilting Mermaids call.

One of them beckoned to me.
I could not move and I could not flee.
And she came out of the sea.
And was floating in front of me.

Sea-green eyes and golden hair.
A long slender nose and skin so fair.
High cheekbones swept back did blend.
Into her hair unto the end.

And small gold stars within her eyes did move.
In a fathomless green sea did prove.
Their test upon my soul.
Doing their best to take a toll.

On this sailors lost heart.
She weaves her black art.
And her teeth a row of ivory scimitars.
That sparkled in the light of the stars.

She called me by name.
And the gold stars in her eyes danced in green flames.
Her breath smelled like sea breezes and myrrh.
And it reminded me of better times that were.

Then she touched my face her touch wet and cold.
She drew fire out of me and glowed gold.
Upon the night.
As I beheld this wondrous sight.

And her touch was no longer cold.
The spot she touched me turned to gold.
Then she kissed me and I could not think.
The flames in her eyes danced and winked.

And so I was lost to this siren of the deep.
Then her sea-green eyes began to weep.
Mermaid tears upon my cheeks.
Diamond liquid from her eyes did leak.

All down my face and into my mouth.
Salty and sweet, like some wine from the south.
And I began to see sub-mariner sights.
And I soon forgot my own foolish plight.

“For I cannot stay here with thee.”
“For my life comes to me from within the sea.”
“Fear not for I can change thee if you see.”
And she pulled me into the pounding green sea.

So down we went into this emerald abyss.
And I found myself in some strange bliss.
And I could breathe in the sea.
And I felt a oneness within me.

And she beamed at me with her ivory smile.
And pointed at my legs for a while.
As I looked at my legs I was startled to see.
A large broad fluke attached to me.

I could hear her voice inside my head.
We talk this way underwater instead.
And we swam down to a sunken Galleon.
Its deck littered with gold and a medallion.

She reached down and picked it from the deck.
Submerged in the sea this old Spanish wreck.
I brushed away the barnacles and brine.
Etched into its face within fine lines.

I saw on its face inscribed a name.
A name from long ago clouded in fame.
Ponce De Leon from the Queen of Spain.
Her lost explorer who succeeded no gain.

And I saw all my shipmates swimming towards me.
The Mermaids converted them was easy to see.
The Captain looked odd with a large fluke tail.
And octopus tentacles from his face did flail.

He was still wearing his stupid three cornered hat.
The silliest sight I concluded that.
And my Mermaid swam up to me and took my hand.
“You do not belong here you belong on land.”

So we swam up from the emerald deep.
When we broke surface she began to weep.
“When you get old and turn to gray.”
“Come back to sea and we will play.”

And with that she dove down and swam away.
And I think about this Mermaid to this very day.
And in my hand I still held the medallion.
Taken from the deck of the old Spanish Galleon.

A gift to me from my lady of the sea.
At night the wind brings me her singing plea.
“Return my sailor return to me.”
“Return to your home under the sea.”

Now I’ve grown old and my hair turned gray.
And you doubt this tale from me you say?
And I swear it’s all true.
I’ll swear by my tattoos.

Dave Proffitt 2/7/2012




















.

My eyes are dull
Darkness flows fast and
Steal my heart and
Fly away

Darkness flows fast and
They'll go avast again
Fly away
Just like the hawks

They'll go avast again
Tooting the horns
Just like the hawks
They've found their prey

Tooting the horns
Searching for love
They've found their prey
Bombs away

Tooting the horns
Steal my heart and
They've found their prey
My eyes are dull

The road beyond is
Long, and untraveled.
Empty, barren,
And I step forward.

Cold and damp at my bare feet
But determined to find my way,
I continue.

Every step,
Painstaking.
Every time I stumble,
Heartbreaking.

I keep going.
Rocks and rough ground
My feet begin to bleed.
But I must walk this road.

I reach the end and look back.
Avast mountains and lakes,
There lies the beginning of the road at the horizon.

Miles I've come,
And all too soon I could fall,
But I grasp your hand as you pull me
Over this railing,
And save me from falling again.

For someone who travels, and enriched at that
Placing Terra's Waistline at your own feet
Should you learn the Language by Notes avast
And Shout to your Hosts whenever you meet
I would expect your Lexicon wide-read
And Allowance savour their Expressions
Then, at Home, to your Record's Writ be dead
Sprinkling only your Time-Favoured Seasons
With all those Doors your Blessings have opened
At least with Trine Sentiment you should Thank
Each and every Dress; Their own Design meant
Not just those Laces where you should be frank.
Commonly, they shout and sing with Respect
Then by Flap-Jack's Turn, your Acknowledgment.

The jungles dense down by the fence
with daisies tall as trees,
where butterflies so softly rise
upon the morning breeze.

There's beatles too of green and blue
And ladybugs of red,
plus honey bees with hairy knees
down by the flower bed.

There by the pond beneath a frond 
There sits a mouse of white,
with pirates cap and treasure map
and compass clean and bright.

"Avast!" he cries "the treasure lies
atop mount rockery"
where legends told a land of gold
hides in the shrubbery.

So down at base he spies the face
and slowly starts to climb,
past plastic gnomes with mushroom homes
And bells that softly chime.

With well placed paws and scrabbling claws
he climbed toward the peak,
first left then right and hold on tight
his muscles tired and weak.

The summit found he kissed the ground
and checked the path ahead,
where mossy rocks and hollyhocks
marked out the flower bed.

Amongst the green the temple seen
the legends had not lied,
a few feet more he found the door
and opened it up wide.

The treasure chest lay in a nest
surrounded by eight eggs,
then at his back a shadow black
arose on spindly legs.

"Caw caw" it said it's eyes bright red
"please leave my eggs alone,
the treasure there I'll gladly share"
she spoke in softer tone.

"Nay keep it pray for here today
I've found a better prize,
a brand new friend at journeys end
was such a sweet surprise.

"Now I must go the sun is low
and night now paints the sky,"
"the path ahead is hard" she said
"why walk when you can fly"

So homeward bound he reached the ground
and headed to the shore,
setting afloat his little boat
he waved goodbye once more.

"Time now" he said "to rest my head"
rocked softly by the deep,
upon a bed of cheese and bread
he slowly fell asleep.

Snow, Soft White and Lovely......
The thing of Childhood imagination
Wind Curling it to Drifts and Excitation
Snow Dancing in a Twirling Ballet
Items covered where ever they lay
It covers the grime and Looks so clean
Yet as deadly as a bullet and twice as Mean...
The Halloween blizzard, we got 3 Feet of snow
A Man in his truck that ended up stuck
He chose to walk it to find Some Gas
You soon find when your snow blind
There is no direction or destination to find
Where they found his truck They Searched
Snow Mobiles on the fields  Searched Avast
Not till Easter Snow melt he was found at Last
10 feet from his truck, well they didn't Know
He was Buried under Snow Plow Furrow.....JMF 2/3/15

Light... Pretty Light... Shredding Light...
Turn 'em off... Extinguish... Carry on with your fright...
Light... Slutty Light... Flooding Light...
Banish them... Blow 'em up... Make them vanish from my sight...
Light... Steady Light... Twinkling Light...
You hurt me... Torture me...Take out the black from the White...
Light... Arresting Light... Puzzling Light...
Let me rest... Go to sleep... Let me perform my last rite...
Light... Deceitful Light... Treacherous Light...
Don't stop me... Let me go... Let me fly my own kite...
Light... Blinding Light... Yarning Light...
Leave me alone... Don't come back... If you're done with your bite.
Light... Lovely Light... Stunning Light...
Be honest... Are you pure?... Aren't you from a sinister satellite?
Light... ****** Light... Violent Light...
Embrace me... And my friends... Only if I am not right.
Light... Dear Light... Beloved Light...
Take me along... Let me summon... The darkness that you have to fight.
I know him... He's been my friend... For many a sleepless night.
Avast! Don't sit down... Hold your sword ...  Don't hold your breath too tight.
Light... Brave Light... Obstinate Light...
God's blessed you... With the fastest horse... But yours is not the only Knight!

All are cast upon life's Seas
All have cares and doubt
We can freeze at 0°
Or we can Scream & Shout

The Tempest tears at our proud sails
The waves crash on our decks
The winds wail, our strength can fail
And we can end up wrecks

Caught between two destinies
The Scylla and Charybdis
The devil and the deep blue sea
The malstrom comes to haunt us

But... avast there, mate! It's not your fate!
There asleep upon your lee
Is God so great, He's never late!
And he can calm the sea!

Have you heard? He has awoken!
He's not in the grave!
Tho we are broken, He has spoken!
He's Ruler of the waves!

So do not fear the hurricanes
For as sure as I was born
Tempests wane, in sad refrain
Before the

Maker of the Storm


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/14/2016

A raucous tone of an oldie worm gear
Sound's like a screech that torn ears
Toothed wheel and it revolving spiral, bear
The oodles of blood as the oil of fear.

The products are orderly transmitted diseases
Wrench is limited avast for every pigment of it
And to rely on its asylum, to ceases
are not enough, to cover the dirt or to omit.

Let's stave the stave of reddish fuels!
If life is a wheel and we are its axles,
Our will be done, drawn of our risksha
And let this machine covert chutzpah.

Working of two wheel with sloping square edge,
Is the next wheel with trickery on the ledge.
Our wheel has a will of its spare-part, none Midas touch
But still, this wheel will chase the chaste egg to hutch.

Be the egg of tomorrow, who's snob the chatterbox.
Uproots our machine's cheapskate who's blood are their tax.
Their waste turns to wax from the slave of fox.
It can take away everything outside of our flocks

For the great cascade of events,
Slowly dancing, like a windmill masterpiece,
Dying in front, of a decaying stump,
Like a lump, of ole hay,
Besiege the mighty trumpet stead,
Avast the gather ridden chains,
And carry the wayward Son,
Singing, and dancing,
A merry ye' are,
Always forever to chun'

Neath beau blue skies and wounded sighs,
wind like silk caressed his skin.
Rain like splinters in his eyes
as shadows flit across the scene.
"Vindicta," the shadows mocked and chimed
as cold showers burned his skin.
"Vitriol", he chorused in his mind
where old demons lurked therein.
"Veritas, I have fought my fight..."
he spoke aloud with steadied breath,
".... and by these words I hold contrite
ye demons - lo! - be gone in death."
Avast, the showers softened
while silver linings streaked the skies.
The demons fled, undone by caution-
vindictive hearts in plain disguise.
Their words bore no gravitas
like garbled noise in quick regress
for truth reigns in fair equitas;
for acts, not words, can claim redress.

Upon an island fair and green
Where not a face of white was seen
There lived a tribe of Chami-Tu
Whose numbers counted only few
Idyllic life of love and peace
But all of this was soon to cease.


Upon the Raven out at sea
An English Captain name of Mee
Appended telescope to eye
And watched as nothing drifted by
Till suddenly it came in view
The Island of the Chami-Tu.


So Captain Mee he gave a cry
Avast the craft there’s land ahoy
About the Raven swung her helm
Another one to join the realm
Swift and sharp it cut through waves
Intent to capture many slaves.


The Chami-Tu still unaware
So therefore failing to prepare
For never had they ever seen
The fighting forces of the Queen
Without a fight they all were found
Their hands and feet were tightly bound.


They never before had seen a white
Imagine do, their fear and fright
To Captain Mee this was routine
His crew were hard men, cruel and mean
They whipped each one the Chami-Tu
Just for the want of things to do.


And then they stowed them in the hold
Where all was damp and dark and cold
For many weeks they sailed the sea
Just for the love of Captain Mee
Who took them to a foreign shore
To join the likes of many more
And work in fields of sugar cane
Where all were treated with disdain.


Language changed they would not speak
Were brought a God they did not seek
Their world was different from ours
But we had Gods in Ivory Towers.
What was their crime? They never knew
They’d lived in peace the Chami-Tu
Upon their Island in the sea
Where none had heard of Captain Mee
And none had ever heard of hate
No human being deserved their fate.

The clavicle of my thought
Corroding my innerds as though knowing me
Amputations avast my yearning body
Smother me with remorse
Burn thy soul with your ecombered hands
Take the life which was given to me without my consent
Undeserving to be in such place
The music notes of life
A wide spread torrent
Downpour on those who do not believe
Those who shan't believe
Those
Those are free
Jagged pulse
Viens caked
Flow has softened
Work has stopped

Each hour is routine dreary!
Each tick signals the next tock
Forehead on the table
As if on the chopping block

The mice without their tails!
Are groped by grubby hand
Whilst pen and quill cry in cup
Unused refused and trampled down

But Oh! Beyond the window
But what is that I see?
Perfection in its finery
And she is beckoning for me

Avast! And don’t be sullied  
The dream is not for real!
This boy is in a daydream
Calloused from reality

For occupation is a tid bit boring
But hope is in the people
And love is out beyond four walls
Beyond few more hours to endure

I Think Ziggy’s playing guitar again.
And walking on the wild side.

I fancy a walk it’s a fine spring evening.
And I’ve kept my self busy with half arsed house cleaning.

Who knows what’s round the corner?
What tattered hymns are being hummed from the leopard skin trolley dollies?

Their kneeling for distraught drunken jockeys
Discussions which inevitably create fraught tension.
That which must be defused

Catch a break brother you’re casting successive **** storms.
Throw on the parker and thus to the shelter.

Thirty six and dour and positively *****,
Few dollars in the bank.

Show patience and may receive what I deserve.
I lean and drool, the swagger of Liam Gallagher and clean my shiny Excalibur.

Indulge the kindness of strangers.
The merging of unstable behaviour.
Shake the snow globe and set tasers to stun

I talk to the luscious Lucia. Tell her to skip the small talk and let’s get to marinating the pork
Another dumb quirk, dumb dirt that comes from my cracked beak.
She considerers me flippant and   freakish.

I am truly scrooge macduffed
She returns to her posh rugby fan with blonde locks and a chin that could hold six pints.

I lay this dog to die and meet some more familiar faces.
All the venues are familiar.
Avast the putrid fog of masculine sweat, the desperate air of ****** puns that drag and caress us in the arm pit of jacks sick giant.

None of our jokes make any sense and were ducking and diving into primitive offence.

The next few hours are unacceptable and the horror must have me in chained.

If I could describe the rest Charlie Bronson would light my ***.
Woke up next day lying on the wing of a Heathrow aeroplane.
Without my trousers.

And several tubes in the near regions.
And now it come to this.
Prison showers and a Glaswegian mans kiss.