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dania Aug 2018
did it work?
I give a useless tug on my skin, done to reassure me
instead it reaffirms to me:

I am, again, inconsolable.

is the mask I wear today sealed on tight? too tight?
does it hurt to pretend so much?

does it seem clear to anyone else that there are loose ends I've yet to tend to? backdoors I've overlooked?
transparencies?    can they see through me?

I bare my teeth. canines, canines from the days of carnivores.
am I that carnivore? in my genes I am.

and in practice?

inconsolable, uncontrollable
barely a threat in her form.

this question comes to me under many guises:
an old man asking me: are you that of practice or are you that of genes?
a professor lecturing: are you that of cultivated identity or that of inherited form?

my concerned friends crying:
who are you?
is your mask anything like you?

and then i wake.
it's a terror turned nightly chorus.
recurring nightmares, doctors offer.

i admit i know the content of my dreams to be unfounded:
in life there are no physical masks that do the jobs my terrors depict.
no veil to hide the contours of each flawed personality, no mask to others, just me, weeping-in-the-bathroom, never-myself me

and those attempted favours to be like one another
i'll be like you so you'll like me
i'll like you because i'm like you

so the body charges on in this society like a mirror
cross your left leg when she crosses her right, fold your arms when she's folded hers, raise your hand to say hello, raise your hand to say goodbye

a kiss on the right cheek, a kiss on the left, one more on the left
this is how you show love and a greeting all at once

fold your arms over each other, this is sympathy, this is greeting, do you take comfort in this too?

so you learn to speak with your arms, and you learn to speak with your legs, and you learn to speak with your face, and you learn to speak with your head.

soon your eyes are apprentices of acquaintances, learning to borrow looks like library books, take on others' stories like they've read them end to end.

so in the middle of this process you learn to effectively say:
i see you, i hear you, i perceive you.

and in these attempted favours, at the end of your night terrors, is the parrot that they want to see. the parrot that you argue, can't really be me.
Big Virge Aug 2017
Why ... Oh WHY ... ???
Would You ... " Turn A Blind Eye " ... ?
To Things That ... " Could " ... ?
Affect ... Your Life ... ?

MP's ... Do it ...
ALL The Time ... !!!

But It's An ... English Thing ...
So I'm ... NOT Surprised ...

As The Saying ... Goes ...

" Until It Happens To You "

You're ... Living In A World ...
WITHOUT ... Sherlocks' Clues ...

I've ... Written A Piece ...
Called ... " What Would You Do ? " ...

To ... SHOW People ...
NIGHTMARES Come True ... !!!

New Orleans ... Sri Lanka ...
And ... Texas TOO ...
Are ... Places Now ...
With ... Living Proof ...
That ... ANYONE ...
Can LOSE Their Roof ... !!!!!

EVEN ... The Rich ...
Are ... Having To Move ...
And ... Leave Behind ............................................
" Expensive Shoes " ...

What Would ...
You ...  Choose ... ?

LAVISH ... Things ...
Or ... " Food and a Roof " ... ?!?

FORGET ... The News ... !!!
You'd ... Better Be Shrewd ... !!!

Cos' When ...
DISASTER STRIKES ... !!!!!
It Just ... TAKES LIFE ... !!!!!!

Black or ... White ... ?
Say ... What You Like ... !!!

But ...
REMEMBER These Words ...

" Goodbye and Goodnight " ... !!!!!!!!!!

Turning A ... "Blind Eye" ...
REALLY ... Ain't Wise ... !!!

Cos' ...
One Day .... YES .... !!!
You'll Be ... SURPRISED ... !!!!!

And Find The Time ..............................................
To ............. " Analyse " ...............

What You Have Done ...
Within ... " Your Life " ...

Have You ... " Done Wrong " ... ?
Have You ... " Done Right " ... ?

Have You ... ???

Tried To ... *** - ide  ... ?
Or Were You ... QUICK TO UNITE ... ???

Have You Shown ...
... RESPECT ... ?

And Been ... " Polite " ...

Or ... Have You Done ... ?
WHAT THE HELL YOU'VE LIKED ... ?!?

I Can ... Say This ...

I've ... Tried To Write ...
And ... Use The Mic' ...
To ... Make Some See ...

This World ...
AIN'T RIGHT ... !!!!!!

From ... " Race-Based HATE " ... !!!
To Those ... WITHOUT ...
A ... Food-FILLED Plate ... !!!

Sometimes ... YES ...
I Get ... IRATE ... !!!!!!!!!!!!

Because of ... " Those " ...
Who ... WILL NOT Face ... !!!

The Problems of ...
The World ... Today ... ?!?

Yesterday ...

and YES ... Tomorrow ... !!!

They're Simply ... " Hollow " ...
and Willing To ... Follow ..........................................................
Bend Over ... And SWALLOW ... !!!

ANY OLD Thing ...
Officials ... Say ... ?!?!?

But That's ... The Way ...
Most People ... " Stay " ...

"Ignoring" ....................................... FACTS ..........
About ..... Axe Attacks ......

And ... Economies Working ...
To .... "RESTRICT Blacks" ... !!!

Since Bombs Have HIT ...
London's ... Tube Tracks ...

How Many Blacks ...
Have Got ...  " The Sack " ... !?!
Or Faced ... THE PUSH ...
Out of ... " Backdoors " ... ?

I'm ... " Not Sure " ... ???
Who's ... Keeping Score ... ???

New Orleans Has Shown ...
How Those ... " In POWER " ...
Ignore .............................................. " The Poor " ............... !!!!!

And ...
Leave Them To ... DIE ... !!!
Whether ... Black or White ... !!!

OPEN ... Your Eyes ... !!!!!!
INSTEAD of ... Your Thighs ... !!!

Children NOW ...
Are ... Compromised ... !!!

Because of .... WHAT .... ?
NO ... " Fuel Supply " ... !?!

Truancy Now ...
Is Running ... RIFE ... !!!

TOO MANY ... "lows" ...
And ... NOT ENOUGH Highs ... !!!

DON'T BE A Fool ... !!!
Things ... AREN'T Right ... !!!

I Write These Things ...
To ... OPEN Eyes ...

If You ... Have A Child ...

DON'T ... Let Them Buy ...
Kate Moss's ... Clothes ...

Because ... What Comes Next ...
Is A ... Coc' FILLED Nose ... !!!!!

THIS Is ... Simple ...
Use of ... Prose ...

To ... WAKE UP Those ...
Who ... CLEARLY CHOSE ...
To Think They'll ... " NEVER " ...
Suffer .... WOES ... ?!? ...

So ..... How'd You Like ...
These ... Lyrical Blows ... ???

It's Time To ... END ...
REALITY ... Shows ... !!!!!

and REALISE ...

It's Just ... NOT WISE ... !!!
To Do ... THIS THING ...

" Turn A ...... Blind Eye "
Written over ten years ago, but sadly, the sentiment of this poem holds even more weight today .....
Sam Oct 2016
Expression.
It’s all in how we look,
How we act.

Society.
Limits our expression,
Shows us what we can and can’t be.

Women.
We are told to be perfect,
Told what to look like and how to act.
Each day, something new is added
whether it is something to be skinnier,
Or something to change our face.

We are roped into a battle,
Being dragged by society's standards.
The words used are like guns.
Each hurtful phrase heard
is like a bullet tearing through the heart.

It hurts to hear society’s views,
Society’s opinions.

What do we follow?
We are told to be ourselves,
But who is that?

Ourselves. Myself. Yourself.
The people we are trying to figure out.
The people who we want to find,
But can’t.

We are pressured and indoctrinated with styles,
With trends,
With things that are “normal.”

Normal.
What is Normal?
Who came up with this silly term?

Normal.
Something everyone is striving to be,
But lose themselves trying to find.
Something everyone longs to be called,
Even if it hurts their reality.
Something everyone is forced into,
With nobody knowing the true outcome.

Weird.
Is what people think when they see people who are not “normal.”
People who do not fit society’s standards,
Society’s expression.

What people don’t see, is the happiness.
The people who you deem “not normal,”
Have found themselves.
Have found who they truly are,

Happiness.
Is what you get when you finally find yourself,
When you can express who you are freely,
Without fear of being hurt, or judged.

Happiness.
Is what you get when everyone is equal,
When everyone was the same rights,
Without loopholes and sly backdoors.

Happiness,
is you.
Who you are.
Not society’s view,
But your own expression.

You.
Who is Free.
Who is Joyful.
You, who is Happy.
Writing a poem for my English class,
still in the editing process, but I like where it is now, so I figured I'd post it :)
Ysa Pa Mar 2016
I'll be waiting
By the locked keyless backdoor
I'll linger
No matter how many times the moon greets the day
I'll stand by
Or how many times the sun kisses the night
I'll still be here
By the locked keyless backdoor
That you had no idea existed
Always.

Even though there are a million locked keyless backdoors
I'll break them all down
Once I'm tired, and I am
I'll wait.
Shay Ruth Feb 2015
Today I took a chance and sang a song of renaissance for nature
My nature
A secret passed among the trees as they hush one another in succession.
Like the toothy kindergartners battling in a shushing war before another activity.
I wonder why it took me so long to come back to this place, and why I even left in the first place.
I can remember, just months ago, crying and begging to myself to find peace within a now seemingly simple storm.
How I prayed to the god that I still question
When I pray, I pray to the temples of my mind.
Nature first because she's my passionate, angry sister.
She moves with the color of life and her breath tastes like rose hips and baby grass.
Once she entered a hula-hoop contest and twirled for years. Her tilting and swinging engendered a trance not even she could break.
We waited for her to abstain, but the crowd diminished with dissemblance, searching for entertainment elsewhere.
I stayed, loyally, as the others heard stories of miracles and wonders in long-away lands
Without stopping, I poured you in
I knew it was wrong of me all along
I knew you'd hurt me in the end
I'll always give too much
My heart feels little
I tell it to express, but it knows better than I, of when it should shut down and forget.
Where does the summer hold love?
In budding leaves that open so suddenly?
Beneath shadows of swinging backdoors of burger joints? Somewhere near rusty trash bins?
Maybe love swims in the air, waiting to be drunk and welcomed, relieving the truly thirsty.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
come on, we can at least compete with the asiatics of chinese or japanese speakers, like the arabs can compete with sanskrit, and admire hebrew skeletons.

come on! tom petty just died! this is not a
dawid bovie effigy, worth remembering,
it's harcore americana
and even i feel no mortal transcendence
momentary: standstill,
    he gave me more mornings worth living
through to an afternoon than davie ever did...
hand on my heart, come on
mary jane's last dance,
   or *i won't back down
...
he was always someone to me as something
akin to a mix of chris rea & bruce springsteen,
and so i find myself woodpecker scratching
off a piece of writing,
  because, just because, i want to walk
in england so the cross is left intact,
namely the hospitalier cross of malta -
and i have a t-shirt with the cross,
and a word underneath stating: malta...
so i chicken scratch, woodpecker the letters
off with the index finger...
    i like the "compass" as it is...
     price dies, everyone goes mental,
david bowie dies, everyone goes mental,
tom petty, or chris cornell singer dies...
  i must have outdated tastes in music...
           because everyone just shrugs,
keeps their ground, and waits for
the next grey-mass massacre...
    mary jane's, yeah tom, call it like that,
it's still mary and juan in a ****** package,
like howlin wolf called ****:
      that backdoor man attitude...
you seriously can't conjure up more backdoors
than *******...
      and then the man who loved
animals said to his female ***** -
honey, i have my prayers to keep to,
and i feel no cruelty towards you
being argued, to survive the homosexual
apocalypse.... it's all dorthy rainbows
and ruby shoes from here-on-in...
   come on, tom petty just died!
          i can't be a matt hardy with liszt and
cigars and women and:
     i'd put those jerky twinkles in about
10 wheelchairs and call them
charlie chaplins subsequently...
       why this desire for women's attention?
i hate shopping! i can cook and i love
cleaning the house esp when drunk,
so, i listen to too much music and
the more female talk i'd hear from any
woman other than my mother i heard
i'd prefer the shout of a close range bullet...
and as brother aramis said:
the best advice? is to not give any advice,
just give the narrative, and
allow people to chip in...
           tom petty must died, along with
60+ others and 500+ others maimed,
come on stop tangling me in gambling,
that antithesis of prophetic thinking,
and that's true enough,
  gambling is the antithesis to prophetic thinking...
but tom petty just died, and all i get
it a **** in a hiroshima's worth of attention,
but when dawid bovie dies
i have to suddenly state my transgender
  orientation! not that i have any...
nonetheless listening to tom petty is like
watching back to the future...
   oh, right, you want the chemist
turned linguist tell you further via
indications -
                             dáwíd bòvié -
the ò comes from the automated diacritical
markings on iota...
without the dot it would have been
otherwise four times the acute...
oh wait...
  reminder...
               dáwíd bὼvιé -
                 and yes, i was hit on the head
by a swing as a child,
no wonder i have made an easy life
having complicated the language
as i have...
    but automating diacritical markings
as the english have, is just a lazy
explanation... to what's exactly pedantic
for the argument of arabic
                  equally perpetrated;
               ὼ = ó,
and a wild sensed comparison of
congregative attributions with a missing
father caron...
    for ὼ = o,
            as much as ó = ω.

odd, some of my family members have the
surname saracen written on their gravestones.
Levi Feb 2019
Tonight I realized
I wouldn’t hear your voice again

Your tongue will speak but
It’s heart shall be of another

There will be no more familiarity
No backdoors to my soul

All because of a choice
First of yours, now mine

I must choose
To avoid temptation
Keeping my door shut
And avoid standing by yours

There is more that I feel
But I won’t deposit more in you

Not you
Jami Denton Jan 2019
Can dogs remember?
Your scent lingers- so she stays.
Will not leave until every last whaft of wood and moss and musk has dissapated.
Can you imagine? What that feels like?
Waiting, holding to this eternal faith of your return.
Girl olfactory loves you.
Will not leave-  until you fade completley from the air.
She has the taste of you.
In the carpet, in the matress, in the blanket, in the woodwork, blood-hound loves you.
In the meantime,
she's been getting to love the stink of me too.
Underfoot. Under-bed. Waiting, snapping, snarling,
Tumness.
Belly rubs and train-whistle cries.
No joke. No story.
The Days of Our Lives.
Locked in tiny tin trailers which now contain the wild beast.
Thank God for super glue and how Justin fixed that door.
Now scratching backdoors, bent and made of cardboard,
I work in my toxic office
for a leg up and a way out. A key to that locked door.
And of course the children ask for our story and wonder where you've gone.
So I tell them
you've been hit by a train.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Okay did this, twice, so next time I know, its ok.
Principle thing, not a best contention,
not a we gotta save reality rehash, BTDT they say
-we came in search of the initial once…

and stories started sprouting, we were
in a fluent truth seeker attracting attention,
inadvertently kenning a certain point.
First  
only first thing ever in time, before time, once…

Lead us away from fools who lead to war…
lead us into
thought pearls, after the memorized prayer,
from my child mind kept alive, laughing,
yet the blame and shame for silence
is thouroughly roughed up
with penitent repetitions,
rote remutterings
mostly never thought through, with why
or how, 'm I supposed to know we have… you know

"Our Father"
Pater Noster, where might a tribal lad learn
the sacred knowledge needed to discern
good from evil, or right from wrong?
Each bit discerned
is not the same each time
in every way shape and form
discerned usefullness or uselessness,
from  symbolic halls of justice polished floors
leading to for profit prisons, good folk need,
all the social planners forsee guards made
from sons of same **** who'd be good guards,
generally good for something, and useless
otherwise, make fine maintenance staff,
keep the bar scenes looking local,
make us all think that's real life,
one bit per hour, on an eight bit dollar.
---------- steady, aim from a prone pose…

The soldier of the hidden pain, sups
his secret vow,
to be of one mind
in matters of the heart, tied
with all minds granted sapien status,
from birth
into a covenant
of traditional rights
and wrongs, complete
with corrective lenses,
close your eyes. Dare. Imagine.
--------------
As it is in heaven.
Which is where the spirit known to Jesus as God,
by all the Torah names authorized in public discourse, is, that is,
lives… being
as a man thinks in his heart, so is he
He Lives… within my heart, operatically
thinking BG, joke noise, top forty '68,
the falsetto
in toto repento, ayiiiiiee started a joke…

and where all our will is of no consequence,
in the course of human events, we live
and learn, if ever is a moment, now is when we notice.

Look out any window,
ask if you see more than your TV?

No, contest, tv wins. So somebody knows,
no need for me to be involved beyond this point.

------------
Simplicity enough, peace
in serene acknowledgement,
the sorting algorithms shake
and shuffle all our potential nextifity.

It is only you and me, we comprise
the agreeing parts that make up our mind.
We've made no compromise.
{in case you misread our intentions}
prize each instant outside a door.

We live after the traditional teachers, tell us
all of the teachers now are teaching old news.

Spells sufficient to alter an individuated soul's
course through the grown up world as it was
undermined
by a boom
of kids my age, all made immune to many plagues, as no babes before in history,
our reasoning capability, altered
by mandated universal literacy.

Followed with machine graded
achievement testing annually,
sorting kind with kind, readers
with readers, learners with learned,

let me explain the process,
for this once
you survive
a war with nuclear weapons, you're smart
now
you got tempted, by the flesh, far from home,
guilt of the altar boy be upon you, and also
on thee, amen, amenable to reconscription,
rescript, attention deficit, sit it out,
from on high, from outer space…
certain, formed selves,
former selves as well.
Makers up of minds and pluralities of merest
wishes, whatifery a practiced specialty,
wait for free,
pay attention to see the demo. That'd be….
easy if you see your part and play it well.

No and yes.
Thing not thing, nothing, a word, a thing
this one thing, this thought held in this word,
each word eventually individuates, and means

at the tipping point, all it means, at once.

And all the people beneath the steeple,
clap one handedly and whisper amen.

Am Big U Is Us, we be the happy fools.

------------

Many results from **** experiments survived.
I learned some history from those people.

If I lie about my faith, if
I say I asked and accepted this use of words
as real as any answer, if
I say I know I have the forgiven mind,
I say I know I have let go my will,
thine be done, I say to truth, make me free.

Who am I ? to say nay,
I am not free, but bound
by my oaths upon my own word,
no oath's more binding
on the soul than those sworn to yourself?

- I cawed the question intrusivethought
- Mark…up there horsehoe canyon meander,
- making peace a real time essential.

You do love you, you trust you, you must not lie
to yourself, first interpretation, know yourself,
to your own self, first person lovable you, be true.

Or be the brunt of all the fool's jokes.

----------------
Okeh,
It just so happens,
have you never heard it said?
It just so happens,
just like that redone forgotten dance
that I was thinking about you,
but yourself was unaware.

With myself, for an instance,
love was a given defined action,
not an act, but an action, a doing
being done, done once it continues

something like life,
if you know
you know, nobody knows everything
that the minds used
by mankind pursue
as happiness,
the ultimate state, heaven,
or, heavenly
on earth as we imagine it
must be, there,
outside the green lit temple
and all the gaudy gold and great cristal baths.

Stop there, think with me, letter by letter,
stopping
ejecting conjunctions with lost time generations,
the ghosts of the first to be officially analyzed,
delved
into,
in throaty Tuvan moan WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE
- mono tone Ai am positive
tinkly Jiminy Cricket, merest of conscious advisors to us,
still small, the trusted advisor's voice is always right,

It says yes, this is the way, leading away from temptation.

Breaking the fourth wall, we all look out
and ask the other minds, who ever imagined, not asking
not asking
to not be led into temptation. Event hue-risktical query… right?
Lead on, tempt me, thy will be done, I take no respossibility.

Whose invention was the conscious guide for children,
the mark (?) serpentwisdom on the dot.
it is a mechanism,
a construction
from life parts, a Large Language
Modeled mind, fed
but a taste of **** and Jane,
but enough to know,

the exposure to language was not the same
in all white people's childhood reality, with cousins and uncles
and aunts, who were older and responsible for the littles, who had
an experience common to the species,
after gaining bipedal locomotion and bowel control,
- for kids like me and
- plant grandmother's granddaughter
We'ld hear, with full attention on

go out side and play with the big kids, as was normal.
That, was normal then.

So now, first hat,
be first to know… as mental maker minds may
beguiled be and become aware, and laugh in joy.
Among the first grunts and sylabbic inflections, ever,
at base logos concept. Goodgleegladly crazy as that.
Spiritual truth containment spell, do tell. Child laught.
In a word. Go to the t, in time left behind ime
I am.
In the beginning of mindtimespace, at once big, init-itial
continuant material coexistence,
balancing time and chance.
The drummer calls the dance…

fit the fullness of the godhead ******
into a kid, and let him pick
his dreams using the head gear he chooses,
this is a real preschoo' child'smind preparing
to sleep routine, I imagined,
I think I was three, and the baby Peggy
who I never knew, was dead, a now noted absence,
but then there was a servant offering me dream machines,
the hat I wore to bed would set the genre for my dreams,
and I picked the spherical space helm, it came with a shield.
- trippy autobiomode triggered, I think, by Feynman.
- then I hear the **** crow thrice, I waited, another crow
- so no significance, he crows still, his singing soon stops.

Silence, soon fills with magic humms from distance, not time
spent imagining the worth, of a late autumn,
huey light bending into reds, now it's dars, some hums the same
I have found, a door into a then when I played in my mind.
I am in my right mind.
I have this cached in the collective.
I lived in a house behind the Mohave County Courthouse,
the backdoors to justice, were right across the street,
where the lawn was clover and bermuda, and children played there
on non workdays… the tendency
to think in movie sense,
thought to thought, holding hands,
we both know what that means, then both know we don't

but life, looked back at,
can be seen from where you stand or sit, stood, now
360 horizonal, the circumference, the carry path around the axel,
lever, wedge and wheel…
energy conversion to time in mind,
witty inventions, mind to mind along a wire, plain coloquentcies.
Minding my manners,
methinking beguiling a fine how do you do.
Present arms, no harm done.
It is charming to feel that look.
Command line mechanical procedural habits,
call it carriage return
hard or soft, hard, double spacing rules
from childhood, linger here
logic commands apt intention to ponder
wasted space makes no never mind,
any edit app can insert sense
since we
the users were imagined, selected
from the children,
specifically
from the downwinders families
in Mohave County,
as participants in the program parents accepted
guaranteed universally accepted credentials,
at the moment angel judging becomes credible.

First I drew a cowboy boot, and they marveled.
Ah, the program, my folks must have pulled some
puppetry spell ANDTHEN CAPSLOCKED
real Koyaanisqatsi
coincidental exposure to all skin tones,
make each feel special, let them know Radar Hill,

is the only place in town where a black man,
was employed, by the Strategic Air Command,
and he lived on my street, yes,
I only just now drew this memory from an unconsciousness,
whether in the brain or the mind, I cannot say I know.

But I know where it ends, and that makes it all pretty funny.

He slips into auto-bio mode, self causal
re-de vi fo fm am 2 restive, crochet, plait,
breathe retake the
adventure in the collected unconsciousness of me,
self-actualized,
by my arrogance and cognition, acting as if in
reflections of me,
in my grand mother's eye, down the line,
as far as
true will out, and eventually land us here.

For an instance, using the measure of the recipient.
For an ever, using the mind in a word formed
per formal
occassional fallings off the log,
daydreaming as readily relatable, mote
at balance beam, perhaps an old bull routine,
landing with upwaved curved wrists,
fingers frozen in grace rising pose.
-nice non intrusive
Myrna Loy, find her statue in Venice,
and imagine her joy at being recognized
in 1989… hers was a deep beauty, memorable.

---------------------
As an epigraph a mad conscientist might suffer to be so,
you know, we may imagine being Martians, or monstors,
thinking things,
we, on the whole,
by now, know how to read, or use
reading tools, we find our minds align with others,
presented to us as creative writers, one might thinkgno-w
we were fed the canon of civilization, a bit at a time.
Some parts we gulped like dogs,
Some parts we nibbled like cats, but we were fed.

History and archeo-knowing is growing as apex human
spread pours over the last curve
in sight, all we have
are points of light,
and if this were night and not day
we could say these points were stars,
consider this,
an enjoyable idea,
a little trip you can use, sidereally,

starlight wise, and logical progressions
after agreeing
to step past simple
into polished floor sublimnity,
in our collected nonconscious idle thoughts abused,
as we speak
in fashionable phrazes that become
command line conscience
in 5-G appliances atuning
to your tastes
in puzzles and teasers and loss leaders, tools in use,
con-science,
tech knowledge,
and eth-knowledge, used
to effect a balance. Dead stop, still.

Did you get all that? Kinda funny. I think now, I did, too.
Free press share if you would, it might make a thing think
Sillva Oct 2018
Has the bitterness of my lips reached
The aromas of spring.
My Dear -
I say
I open backdoors where doors were never ment to be.
I unfold the moon as if I drew it out of thin air.
I dissolve worlds an make new ones,
as if I was the true created.
I whisper in a soft voice an say
"I now live in pages written with my own blood".



P.S It's not how much you write,
It's how you begin to grow roots and gloom in darkest hours.


                                                            BY E.R.S
Yenson Jan 2022
So the people-stealers say
we will make you a buck
and have you
make a rod for your own back
so I showed some my rod
alas, they all got crazed and jealous
that beast is banned
erase him and his name and wipe him out
and pray ask
the Serjeant-at-arms if the flunkies and orderlies
are missing any mahogany truncheon
and do at once
tell all the ladies of this fair and tender isles
they will suffer the pain of death by hot rod insertion
if they ever open their front doors or backdoors
for a banned savage beast is on the loose
and we don't have adequate weapons
call the Red-coats and inform they come with plenty recruits
what do you mean they do not possess adequate weapons as well
Do you think he is tickling our catastrophe and mocking us again. Of course not, this is a poem about fish and chips, kebabs and stonking big savaloys

— The End —