The most superficial of all my troubles-
My backache does prosist.
Throughout all my other ****
That dull pain still exists.

Tucked in every lonley smile
And every insatiable crave
Is that pain, sciatic style
Despite how I behave;

Yet dealing with much more then a backache am I,
Addictions, Predictions, prescriptions, I lye:
Here in my bed in my room in my shame,
harbouring my bodys everworseing pain.

Who cares for her shattered dreams when she is
Brutally ***** on the very first night?
Who cares for her preconception health when,
For him, the only activity is making her pregnant?

Who cares for her repeated abortions
Which results in cervical damage,
Which in turn makes her unable to carry
The weight of a later pregnancy?

Who cares for not to satiate his excessive lust
When she is pregnant, which can cause
Abortion and maternal mortality?

Who cares for prenatal care that can keep
Her unborn baby and herself
Healthy during pregnancy?

Who cares to relieve her excessive work load at home
And her ever expanding stress to provide
High-quality child care for her five or six other children,
From earlier pregnancies?

Who cares for her signs and symptoms of anemia,
Her fatigue, increased heart beat or palpitations
Paleness of inside of eyelids, gums and nail beds
Desire to eat indigestible or peculiar foods?

Who cares for her backache, increasing weight,
Change in her centre of gravity and powerlessness?

Who cares for her malnutrition, poor health,
Lack of education, overwork, mistreatment?

Who cares for her dental hygiene, her broken teeth,
For the baby grows within is another tyrant
Who grabs Calcium, even from her teeth and bones?

Who cares for her cramps and muscle spasm,
Heartburn and indigestion , insomnia?

Who cares for her needs to go to the toilet frequently,
As the growing baby reduces her bladder capacity?

Who cares her inability to get comfortable
When she has neither clean water nor safe sanitation,
And necessary support either from health services?

Who cares not to tense her,
Already she is suffering from all sort of
Tension and high blood pressure?
And her mother-in-law terrifies her again
The consequences if the newborn could be of a girl!
Sad, woman is the greatest enemy of
Another woman, in the most needed times!
If she dies, none is worried...
For he can marry once again!
More dowries, more *** and more kids!

Who cares for her post natal depression ,
As none to take care of the newborn and other kids,
She has to run for office and other workplaces
With heavy *******, pain and bladder infections?

Who cares that every pregnancy weakens her a lot
As she need some time to recover her health...
And on the very day she can spread her legs,
By force, he starts his activities again!
He knows how how to starve the newborn
Just by emptying her *******!

When things are like this,
Every religious clergy flays
The limiting of the family size by birth control!
Christians wish for a Christian world
Muslims dream for a new world under Islam
Hindus, Buddhists, Jews and
Every religious fanatic dreams of the same!
They offer gifts for women for bearing
More and more children
For more children is their cheapest weapon!

When will they dream for a HUMANE WORLD?

Healthy children need healthy mothers.
Healthy mothers need healthy food,
Loving husbands (optional!) and caring society
For true world is made of love!

Why does my back hurt so badly
Every morning?
Is it because all night,
Through my dreams
I am carrying you home?

Or is it because
On waking,
I break a little more each morning,
Crushed by your absence,
Snapping under the weight of guilt?

Soon I will be spineless...like you.

a penny is a penny
and i am a monk hawking birth control pills
without any shame or pride
disguised in flamboyant tinfoil.
i am an extra sensitive *** on my daily street corner
turning into a crumb of hunger
staring down a long alleyway and eating the flowers
that grew up in concrete.
there are shadows of jugglers on the wall
jumping into the sun, and i am a burning lampshade.
henry miller is in a wheelchair now
and i am a walrus with a backache
being forced among the proverb writers,
but i'm no prophet because i've seen the bubbling fire
and the swords on the doorway.
i am a lover with a guilty conscience
and i have too much on my mind.
i stole the bread from the riot squad and
i blow out these words from a keyhole,
pounding my fist on a book
while the mystics get drunk with skinny ******.
i don't go to birthday parties or funerals
instead i'd like to do something worthwhile
but i am your typical flunky, writing eccentric jokes about rich pimps
while my father lies dead on the hill.

my back aches
like my moms always did
from carrying the weight
of choice

i do not have ******* that pull at my muscles like she did
but I have empathy
and responsibility

and my back

it’s where I carry
the weight

If any of the following side effects occur while taking prednisone, check with your doctor immediately:

More common
Aggression
agitation
anxiety
blurred vision
decrease in the amount of *****
dizziness
fast, slow, pounding, or irregular heartbeat or pulse
headache
irritability
mental depression
mood changes
nervousness
noisy, rattling breathing
numbness or tingling in the arms or legs
pounding in the ears
shortness of breath
swelling of the fingers, hands, feet, or lower legs
trouble thinking, speaking, or walking
troubled breathing at rest
weight gain
Incidence not known
Abdominal or stomach cramping or burning (severe)
abdominal or stomach pain
backache
******, black, or tarry stools
cough or hoarseness
darkening of skin
decrease in height
decreased vision
diarrhea
dry mouth
eye pain
eye tearing
****** hair growth in females
fainting
fever or chills
flushed, dry skin
fractures
fruit-like breath odor
full or round face, neck, or trunk
heartburn or indigestion (severe and continuous)
increased hunger
increased thirst
increased urination
loss of appetite
loss of ****** desire or ability
lower back or side pain
menstrual irregularities
muscle pain or tenderness
muscle wasting or weakness
nausea
pain in back, ribs, arms, or legs
painful or difficult urination
skin rash
sleeplessness
sweating
trouble healing
trouble sleeping
unexplained weight loss
unusual tiredness or weakness
vision changes
vomiting
vomiting of material that looks like coffee grounds
Some prednisone side effects may not need any medical attention. As your body gets used to the medicine these side effects may disappear. Your health care professional may be able to help you prevent or reduce these side effects, but do check with them if any of the following side effects continue, or if you are concerned about them:

More common
Increased appetite
Incidence not known
Abnormal fat deposits on the face, neck, and trunk
acne
dry scalp
lightening of normal skin color
red face
reddish purple lines on the arms, face, legs, trunk, or groin
swelling of the stomach area
thinning of the scalp hair

When you have a toothache,
The dentist pulls it.
When you have a stomachache,
The doctor eases it.
When you have a headache,
Medicine soothes it.
When you have a backache,
The chiropractor fixes it.

So why is it...

There is no dentist, or doctor,
There is no medicine or chiropractor,
To heal this heartache?

There's a Route 22 near you.
A licorice asphalt road,
Twisting as opposing currents of time,
With anticipation and apprehension,
From home, to unknowns,
From comfort to expectations.
A rural ribbon of signage,
And milestones.

I traveled mine yesterday,
In an overdue Spring,
From Melrose to Bright's Grove.
I writhe and bend with its winding,
Former times arise like heat waves;
Mirage puddles flood my head,
Always just out of reach.

I recalled hitchhiking through Warwick,
As I backtrack,
And almost stop
For one today on the curve
Where they sell the garden gnomes.
I once looked wryly at them
When waiting across the road.

Sprawling upright over the northern landscape,
Towards the Co-ops of Arkona,
And the beer store in Thedford,
Wind farms thrive like techno giants,
In a mutant Utopian world.

****** Mary's red sign no longer hangs
Outside the white house in Lobo,
Where she could bring you in touch
With your dead.
Poplar Hill's trees no longer snow in the summer,
The water wheels are seized, barns are exposed.
The lofts collapsed.

I had to stop near a culvert, to listen to the sound of run-off,
The melt reflecting the transition under the sun,
Converging at Black Creek, Pulse Creek, or Cow Creek,
Carrying forward to the St. Clair River and Lake Huron,
Then onward and back.

Weathered iron fences enclose pioneer graves;
Settlers who cleared the dense Lambton forests,
And made the first ruts along my way,
With wagonfuls of backache.
I know well how you fared on our Route.

There were no last words
between us-
but you whispered "I love you."
Not acknowledging-
instead feigning prior pains
(acute metaphysical backache or similar;
poignantly posed silence construing that
I'd been wounded),
I told you goodbye.

Of course, it was a train
and a girl scenario-
her off-white handkerchief trailing
out the window, itself
saying an extra goodbye
(saying surrender).
I punched the dirt after,
because love
felt false- especially
coming from me, an unkempt
young actor.

You're a newly colored
kaleidoscopic green,
an old film repainted
(it was still relevant;
strong cast- a beautiful female lead
needing submission, to be tamed).
I am solipsistic graphite smudges
forming a halo
around the ordinary providence
of bold characters
erased from an inelegant diner napkin-
I wrote I love you I wrote I love you I wrote I love you.

A memorized murmur again in my mind,
And once more, it wasn’t at all kind.
I could feel the water in my eyes,
And now, It’s all gone, my disguise.
It’s the same tears that
I felt all those years ago.
In my skull was that retained frozen photo,
A memory, too difficult to remember,
To this thought, I once again surrender.
All this was, was another ticking time bomb,
That was going to blow when I was once again calm.

I can’t escape it,
I’m trying to run away but I’m too unfit,
Right now I’m captured and I’m not sure how to escape,
Maybe I should stay here and just wait,
For something to happen or nothing at all,
At least here there’s no wall,
To what is real and what is fake,
And from all this pretend I get a tremendous backache,
From carrying the weight of trying to seem okay,
Because that fantasy is all an act as if I was on Broadway.

If I stay here,
I’ll do what I feared,
To end my life,
Over some silly strife.
But won’t that mean the memory won’t repeat?
Won’t that mean all my suffering will be a deadbeat?
No longer will I have to feel pain,
That goes around in my stupid old brain.
All I’ll feel is peace,
But who will find me?
That’s the missing puzzle piece.
I don’t want to traumatize another soul,
Because that was never my goal.
I just want the pain to stop,
Not for it to be swapped.

what does your hand reach for
away from the power source?
why do you reach away from that which will heal and help you?
fame in the west
false sense of security and peace in the north
greed fuels the reach for the east
down south you will find heartbreak and misery
don't overextend yourself
give yourself a backache from reaching for a happiness that will never come
instead, turn inward for a moment
reach for the light that is within you
give the richest parts of yourself away
and there you will find true happiness.

One more step,
One more load of clothes,
One more phone call,
One more postponed promise,
One more complaint,
One more box to move,
One more backache unsoothed.
One more favor to ask,
One more day of work,
One more dollar short,
One more throbbing headache,
One more problem faced,
One more solution needed,
One more curse to bear,
One more blessing sought,
One more stolen moment,
One more card to mail,
One more lonely night,
One more day apart, but...
One more day loving you, and
One more day of being loved.

©Michael S. Davis 2013

He picks up the pennies,
everywhere he goes.
Pieces of bigger things:
the fragments of the whole.
There never was a miracle
too small to behold,
and so he kept every one,
and every one made him bowed.
The others all around him,
seemed happy in their role,
but he knew only backache,
toil, and toll.
He carried his burden,
as vast as he, old.
Too large to conceal,
he never let it go.
He slept on coin pillows
the color of mold
and defended his treasure
with a vigor so bold
that ten men together
should endeavor to hold.

One day while counting,
the man, in his home,
heard a noise from the ceiling
that sounded of groan.
He dashed for his pennies,
as groan grew to moan
and was crushed under rains
of money he owed.

Whatever troubles we teachers undertake
We change you to truth from clear fake.
Teachers are doing work hard for your sake
Want you all to be like sweet and quiet lake
Whose water is drunk by all people in quake.
We teachers who work like an object opaque
Who stop harsh and heavy rain at daybreak.
We never care for our brain, body or backache
Whenever we see or feel hurt by your mistake.
What we expect from you is not any fruitcake;
But sincere efforts made by you for your sake.
Though sometimes you were beaten with stake,
It was solely for your own drawbacks to rake
So that I wished to make you well-known Sheik
Whom nobody on this cruel earth can overtake.
So have teacher’s respect for teacher's sake.
Whatever troubles we teachers undertake
We change you to truth from clear fake.

Because when you need a friend all you find are friendly foes
Because when you’re smiles and laughs they’ll search for you
But when you’re sad and in pain they’ll point at you
Or worse they’ll turn their back at your sad old woes

Because your tears are simply warnings signs to keep away
Sadness is contagious , they already feel the temperature rising
“If I come too close I’ll sink, too bad you’re drowning”
Because if you stay alone maybe you’ll try on and swim back to the bay

Its sink or swim, and **** babe, it looks like you’re sinking
Don’t matter you’re carrying the anchor, no one is lifting the weight off your shoulders
You’ve done it yourself, why you gotta keep getting trapped between those boulders?
Why would they risk a backache? When they know you’ll do it alone, they know you’ll keep on trying


And if you don’t, on who’s conscience does that rest?
Not on theirs, no one ever got involved in your tangled mess
It’s on you, but why does it matter, there’s no one left to impress
You’re on your own, and you’re at the bottom, you failed the test.

When you go deep in your silence, there is nothing can break you but the faint sound of your days and when you read my poetry you will know that I am a farmer from the south my father has planted me with our ambergris. Yes, I am a simple farmer from the south around me a small tree, a small river and a small family. My morning is kneaded with my small daughter’s smiles, my evening is colored by my big son’s tales and my night is the glory of the soft hand warmness. When you have a family, at that time, you will see the secrets of twilight, the delicious taste of the backache and the very wide world of a small family in the south. Yes, I have a small family in a small house with a small window, but my eyes can see the beautiful night stars and my heart can touch the charming morning smiles. When you have a family, your smile will have pink lips and your work will wear a crown. Yes, my friend, when you have a family all the days will be valentine and all the times have meaning. Yes, when you have a family, there will be sadness and happiness, crying and laugh, pain and pleasure, but believe me this is the meaning of life.

Wish this icy friend of mine would stay awake
I have draped around me a green patchy snake
But when it wriggles
I get the giggles
but then end up with chronic backache!

that lawn mower
is heavier than it used to be
and tonight i’m paying the price
i see that old age
won’t be the easy transition i expected
i should have known
but i’m a blithe optimist
my trouble will be a diminished capacity
that day by day, takes me by surprise
some days more violently than others
well you gotta live your life
i’ll have to discover my limitations
the hard way

This world is full of some people
who hide away from the truth like cowards
Do not have the guts to accept the reality.

She fell in the clutches of food disorder
because she wanted to be like the flawless instagram model.
He did not cry after the break up
because this world is in love with bad boys.
The mother did not complain about the backache
because this world believes in supermoms.
He didn't open up about liking his neighbour
because his love interest was not according to this world.

Unrealistic expectations are kept
from a person made of blood and flesh.
As they consider themselves to be in an application
where they can add filters and photoshop all the flaws.
But this world...is a flawed one!
Here people are full of imperfections
they laugh at wrong times
they wear same socks for many days
they are not pretty all the time
they are not strong all the time
and they do not smile all the time.
They cry...suffer from anxiety...
they fall...but get up!
Get up everyday to fight their battle.
So please...let us breathe
Let us embrace all our flaws...
because that's how we will fall in love with ourselves.

Smiling For Freedom

Always discussion, contemplation of yin or yang good or bad happy or sad

Backache not great from real or imagined weight, can become light as a feather finding something to tickle our fancy

Troubled by these days and times, brief laugh can slow the grief, little cheer to help fill that gap

Over contemplation of your current situation can become a curse, STOP thinking to see new color or take in what was wacky

Take a walk on down the road lighten the load, watch some goofy geese squawk, offbeat memory to halt a future hemorrhage, new mark on our merry map

Have a place to save the happiness hidden treasure to retrieve at our leisure, like finding rare art in a personal grin gallery

Can we rehearse? will the sadness reverse, participate in rolling on, go with the flow, by golly be jolly not another emotional sap

Hidden tension helps hide apprehension, moment of gladness to release some sadness, whatever it takes to recharge our battery

Shall we continue to ride aboard a ship of fools, or find pleasure in  hidden treasure, renewal from a shiny jewel, sorrow should never become a handicap

Will a grin help us win, take a gamble skip a pre-amble let it go, turn a frown upside down, helps to hold hope in scope for eternity

Try a new angle another way to finagle,  turn off the blues and hear a rumba, cheerful groove for us to behoove, make your toes tap or the hands clap

Do we dare go the extra mile to realize finding freedom of a smile, expression halts regression, mutual benefits from waving at a passerby R.C.

Don't interpret the light's
reach, on the longest
pain of summer.

There was no chaste tree
left for giving you shade
to sit and meditate.

You will not miss
a perfect sleep at dawn with
song birds sailing over your head.

A green snake has
dropped its skin bearing the trail
to copycat the detachment.

The backache returns
to dig out the hot moon
from the dark bushes.

I will sit and wait at the deck
for the cool fireflies to appear.

It happens in the half-state
when the film of your life is
stored on acetate
and every time you're late
for the appointment.

I'm giving it up and not just
for Lent.

Going to hand back the keys to the door and
head back to the place that was there long
before all of this

prior to the headache
the backache
the take
take
ache
wake but I think it's too late
still reeling around and bound up
in the acetate

in the half-state.

could this interlude, have possibly been
an a.i. experiment?
             let's face it,
   i can't remember the last time i played
games, drunk...
    but then i did grow up with playstation UNE
and didn't concern myself much further...
but i was in a waiting line for
the past week or so...
    and i thought that i'd relax...
    well: esp. if it's a multiplayer game -
WAR ROBOTS -
                     and while everyone was
fighting - and the prize was:
to hold the beacons for the majority
of time...
                    so i walked my Galihad to
an empty space...
            and, well: we won...
                i'll say another thing:
                my mother loved Tetris -
which probably translates as Candy Crush
saga these days...
               i don't mind...
               gaming used to be a very Saturday
morning ritual for me...
              i even did homework on Friday
nights, ****!
        - but gaming has changed so much -
for one i don't remember playing
games drunk - with a backache -
soothed by 250mg of Naproxen -
               but then again:
last time i gamed was when i was a school...
     but it started bugging me -
  the 502 & 504 errors -
   so i bid on a gamble:
               is this about filtering automatons?
you know, like entering text akin to:
no grammatical structure?
           i said to myself:
   you've been waiting for about 2 weeks
to finally get that white piece of pixel -
do something that is counter-intuitive...
   so i read about the 502 & 504 errors...
timeouts... ah! wipeout!
         a playstation 1 primer...
   when did i last play games drinking?
    i was already Colonel Kurtz in the game -
because i can't even remember if i ever
played a multiplayer game online
  with other live users
              since... never...
                         back when it was all about
Tenchu and Final Fantasy VII -
and the bedroom's worth of a Saturday morning...
so i was probing the past few days
with generic entries to bypass
  the 502 & 504 timeouts...
turns out "a.i." feeds on content worth
storing... worth on banking:
    a complication, stuttering of tongue...
and why is it that i'm listening
to a live-stream of FAMA radio?
          https://radiofama.com.pl/?
  well... i've stopped being snobbish
about music... pop is: bubblegum and
                        ice-cream scoops -
              the radio concerned?
   after 10pm: minimal adverts -
                  maximum music...
                         i already have a snobbish
music collection...
                         i can listen to it
on a ****** concern -
          but as snobbish as it sounds:
    if you really want to appreciate a radio -
might as well collect some of:
  actually remains other peoples' tastes:
to invoke - wine and candle and a girl
impressed...
               probably 2nd from how
impressive it is with a husband, father,
wife, mother - sitting silent in a room
  with the t.v. off, two candles burning
and each to their trance of:
  give me a chance to recreate with you
by procrastinating...
           and of the monk son?
   he has been silent for two days -
is he making whims?
          to prove a point he took out
the trash, fixed the gabbage bags to
the trash cans...
                            lay in bed,
               smoked only two cigarettes
through the day...
                       abstained from talking -
because smoking is really coupled
with a good conversation...
   plus he always wanted to become a monk...
cries when he hears templar chants
if he's in the right mood...
               but hey,
   the 502 & 504 HTTP conundrum was solved:
the robot needed to understand
a human was working in the medium...
because? the last entries waiting
to be published / saved in draft looked
like the following list (title, followed by text):
     T, T
     L, L
         500, 500
                    Ere, Lot
              Aye, Scot
          Spa, wet
             Lob, 'edder
        Jeer, Fancy...
             now i'm actually fascinated
when a problem can be solved -
   without actually having to contact
a webmaster a 2nd time...
              some weird offshoot of
playing a game while drinking...
               weird: as: ****!

I had a friend named Jake
He sat down by the lake
Beside him was a McDonald milkshake
I went closer to make sure he was awake
For he was just as still as the lake

Then began an earthquake
The earth began to shake
As I turned, after me came Jake
Then stopped the earthquake

"What were you doing, for heaven's sake?"
He replied "Looking for snakes."
"Then what caused the earthquake?"

We went back to the lake,
Only to see the Loch Ness with a backache

We both ran, neither of us spake.

Made it home
Headache, Backache
The boys get to school

All I do is sleep
4 movies to watch
He reads Tokyo Ghoul

I'm not gonna win a Nobel Prize
Black women dancing
Daily dose DC

Black women dancing
Poetry prancing
Whatever will be, will be

               She!

i miss you
even though you're
sitting right next to me.

we both know
it wasn't because
you were cold..

we were born
from the stars
and you from
the sun..
warm. essential. familiar. missed.

i understand now
why the sun
has to go away
during the coldest,
most bitter months..

to teach us how to live
without it while it's away..
and to teach us
not to take it for granted
while it's wrapped in our
loving embrace..

so why would you want to
sit next to the fire?..

i was your alibi,
you slept after 9:30.
you knew i wouldn't say.

and it wasn't him.
it wasn't her.
it wasn't you.
it wasn't anything said.

i could say whatever
i want to cover up
what lay beneath..

sleepy.
exhausted.
backache.
feverish.
food coma.

the list goes on...
all of which would be the truth but...

i'd look away
when you noticed me
staring..

knowing that you
are always the only one
in any room
who sees what lays beneath..

i couldn't let you see..
so i'd look away
as soon as i could
hoping to catch it before you
saw..
i couldn't let you see..
i couldn't let you see . . .

you do so well at hiding it
for others..
but you will never get past me..
they never lie..
they betray you..
they give you away..
every. last. detail. . .

i saw your hurt.
i saw your pain.
i saw everything you
never said
and everything you did..

so close to me
and i couldn't
embrace you. . .
i couldn't give in. . .
i couldn't protect you . . .
and would even you want me to? . . .

we both know.
we just do.
unexplained.
and only between two.

i heard your voice
for the first time in 3 months.

i did my best to memorize
what you look like...

you didn't have to touch me..
you didn't have to touch me. . .
i would have held on longer.
i would have held you tighter.
i would have wrapped both arms around your neck
the way i would with a lover
but instead gave you my one-under-one-over "friend" hug.
i would have squeezed the soft fabric of your hood with one hand
and gently tugged your hair with the other.
i would have pulled you closer.
i would have. . .

never sure of what you want..
never sure of who i am to you now..
never sure of what we are..
never sure of what we will become.
it's all your choice
as unfair as that is..

i can't make you love me
the way i love you.
no amount of scars or tears
will make you see
what i feel..                            

i'm sorry
you asked me things..
i minimized my word count..
figuring you didn't really want
to speak with me..
but felt like you should just because
i was there..
i'm sorry,
i left our interaction
at a minimum..
sure you'd want it there.

if you know me,
you know what
was happening...

i sit there quiet,
but my mind is
loudest.

i sit there smiling and nodding
but my heart
is no longer in one piece.

i sit there feeling
out of control
but i control myself...
you will be collected
i told myself..
you will be yourself. . .

i felt out of place..
yet still myself..
i was true to myself,
i knew i couldn't fake it.

i sit there steady & silently
but i'm noticing
everything. . .

if i had one feeling left,
i'd give it to you..

you're on your last string,
who would you give it to? . . .

you never once complained
about the heat..

you felt the fever
with me..