All our country's taxpayers are becoming enraged
Bailing out companies which have been mismanaged
Countless millions have been forked out
Dollar amounts which are exceptionally stout
Ever the taxpayer is called upon to cough up
Filling the always depleted company's cup
Giving generously has got to cease pretty soon
Helping them is a cost that's gone well beyond the moon
Injecting our hard earned is too much
Just let them stand on their own crutch
Kick those CEO's into a reality check fashion
Let them not receive anymore of our kind ration
Money has been misspent by our former government
Never ending the out flow it's time for some abatement
Offer not another cent to those ailing companies
Propping them stresses the taxpayer's arteries
Questions must be asked about those per unit costs
Regularly increasing and so high are their imposts
Shores abroad can produce goods for lesser amounts
They run a more efficient book of accounts
Under a burgeoning payout us taxpayers are gripped
Vast savings we'd make if they were nipped
We've been supporting the big end of town for years
X marks the spot where we've been left in arrears
Yonder the companies can take their travails
Zilch is what they'll be receiving from our taxpayer bails

A storm is raging on the frothy sea
Mountainous waves toss the vessel all around
The ravaging gales impale with a deafening blow
Raucous sheets of salty spray
soak and pelter             to and fro

A bucket bails the raged sloop
She moans and groans as she’s flung about
A sailor sails ― A sailor endlessly bails
Engulfed alone in the perfect storm

Two oars are manned on the stormy seas
The halyard torn and ripped from mast
To row and bail is an impossible feat
It’s hard to tell when you've sprung a fateful leak

The captain mans the forlorn skiff
There'll be No white flag of surrender flown ;
   " I will go down with my ship! "
  A furious soul             laments life’s toil
As violent waves crash the gunnels hold

He screamed out loud,    
         " My time has come ! "
                  " My ship is sinking!!! "
" Her broken pieces ne'er to be found ..."

The rampart boat, well fortified yet built to fail
Plummets from hills of oceans pitifully tall

Cracks are leaking where the lurid light gets in
But so does the briny water, will drowning soon begin?
Lost hope floats the helpless, fearless one man crew
His soul now guides the ether voyage ―


A vessel drifts lifeless on the empty calming sea
Nothing but it can be seen for miles of skies
The free board is deep the salty water high
Two apathetic oars lay silent, is a lost soul inside?


                     ©  Harlon Rivers

As one who's born in England
There is something I don't know
Exactly what is "cricket" ?
Please tell me so I'll go

Both teams dress in white
The bowler doesn't bowl
He doesn't bend his arm to throw
I don't understand the goal

The ball goes out it scores six runs
But it must go in the air
The ball rolls out it scores four more
Is this really fair?

The games can last for days and days
But what confuses me
Is that every game at four o'clock
The players stop for tea

A game is called a test
But is every test a game
some may last for just one day
The length is not the same

There's a throw they call a googly
I know what that means
I got hit there playing hockey
It ***** your breath so you can't scream

There's wickets and there's bails
mid slips, and those silly stumps
I'm sure that if it confuses me
What does it do to umps?

The biggest question that I have
Besides, what's a sticky wicket?
Is of all the players on the field
Which one of them's the cricket?

There's a lot of *****
in a cricket match,
don't fancy catching them.
There's a lot of bats and
batsmen,
and batsmen bat the *****.
An umpire calls the shots but
he don't bowl the ***** and
a wicket keeper keeps no wickets
but he looks after bails
which are not ***** but
if the bails fall
the batsmen do too,
are you
following this?
A no ball is still a ball
and no ***** are still *****
which is all *****
if you ask me.

Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest

‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence

Kindness is not like that –

Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption

Kindness defies convention

Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day

Kindness doesn’t delay

Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts

Kindness confronts

Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms

Kindness transforms

Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms

Kindness is not 'nice'  
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight

Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental

Kindness is not 'nice'.

Kindness is loving awe-ful.

.well, among all the other phobia contenders? the funny ones, even i sometimes succumb to an arachnophobia, the reflex reaction to an extremely large domestic spider... a slight ****, no rhetorical base... like: what the ****?! the simple beauty of an irrational fear, since a phobia is an irrational fear... but... islamophobia? what the **** is irrational about that? no one seems to talk about islamophilia - unless of course in the convert community of ginger ninjas from the York-shire, or some other Rotherham *******...

...and if you were to talk to any Urdu speaking
Pakistani?
    he'd tell you: i hate the Wahhabi movement...
perhaps in Saudi Arabia it is mainstream -
but outside of Saudi Arabia?
            just plain old hypocrisy - banning music,
but still singing an adhan...
          why not murmur the call to prayer
like a bunch of ******* Catholics at that point
in the mass, where the congregation almost
sounds satanic, murmuring the credo -
   the i believe in...
blah blah... go to a Polish Catholic mass...
   and wait for the moment when they start
their satanic murmuring of the credo -
          i just don't remember if it's after
    the body & blood transfiguration -
hmm... poetry in motion, hanging on a thread
of metaphor...
         but irrational fears are funny...
         it's not even: not all the spiders...
well, a baby spider is like a baby muslim....
       "just" some, some...
             whatever, tell that to the Manchester
matriarchs who lost their granddaughters...
         claustrophobia is a funny fear,
      agoraphobia, yet another,
      and the list goes on...
              it's funny not from the perspective
of mocking the individual,
      but the fear per se...
                         and if I really were islamophobic?
would i trust a Turkish barber to shave
a part of my neck, while he molded my beard
for the Istanbul look?
                      don't think so...
    but... concerning the Turks... esp. because
of their talented, absolutely top game
barbers...
                               the year is 1683...
and Louis XIV and Emperor Leopold are
playing courtesan chess over Spain
   and Portugal...
                  in comes the Ottoman empire,
and besieges Vienna...
         who bails out the Holy Roman Empire?
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth -
with Jan III Sobieski at its head...
                   see... Poles have had many ruff
& tumble encounters with the Turks,
   after all, the Turks owned much of southern
Europe...
          now take that, and move this into
the current year...
     they're Muslims... but... WE SHARE
A COMMONALITY... A HISTORY...
   AN UNDERTAKING OF / FROM THE PAST,
translated into the current year,
   and subsequently the future...
              i already said once upon a time...
is it really "islamophobia" if i'd rather favor
Turks and the ****'ite?
           forget whether Islam is a religion of
"peace"... they're not perfect,
   did the ******* Sunnis forget that their religion,
like all others, is schismatic?
       there's your ******* perfect -
but you have to give them credit,
   on account that... well...
   Muhammad didn't keep his word to Ali...
and that the schism happened so fast...
     not at least 1000 years it took for
the East-West schism of 1054...
          bam-wham thank you Ahmed...
plus... if you look at it... no ****'ite terrorist...
only the ******* Sunnis...
            the Turks imploded on themselves...
that's why the grandmothers of Poland
prefer the imported Turkish tele novellas
over the Mexican ones...
          so... if you want to avoid the bumper sticker
of Islamophobe...
              (a) what is irrational about it,
        when it's not a quirky, irrational fear?
  (b) find yourself a Turkish barber.

Love Affair

When love fails,
and lover bails.
***** is gone,
just move on.
Plenty of fish in the sea,
doesn't require a college degree.
Date her sister,
date her friend,
this is what I recommend.
She lied and she cheated,
on your phone, number got deleted.
Let her love your dad and brother,
just sleep with her slutty mother.
Now she stalks your every move,
this is something, you don't approve.
The restraining order has no affect,
your thoughts, you must now collect.
For some reason, you get back together,
missing all that lace, handcuffs and leather.
Things are now better than ever,
a new chapter, you two enter.
You have made this a family affair,
you let them watch, they love to stare.
A little gross, but oh well,
just another way, to end up in hell.

if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart.

a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission.

he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking.

his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back.

any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled.

he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts.

his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.

"Y'got city hands, Mr. Hooper."

I felt his coarse hands grip mine, too;
I lived through Mr. Hooper vicariously
as I looked down at open palms
spread to the heavens,
illuminated in the flashy brilliance of the glare.

I saw wrinkled, calloused eyes peer into mine;
I stood on that rickety old dock
in my fitted and worn wool cap,
faded denim shirt matching pants
and dingy white tennis shoes.

"Y'got city hands, Mr. Hooper."

My ego crestfallen as well,
pride in my intelligence proven in the Academia
withering, as the gritty gap-toothed
leery-eyed barnacle of a sailor
peered inquisitively into my soul.

He saw the smooth hands--
ah, but the callouses engraved deep between joints
on my fingers; a musician!

His eyes grilled, "In bourgeois leisure,
smiling meekly dwelling within milquetoast afternoon hours,
or,
from downtown haunts sweating jazz in the midnight hour,
dancing screaming cursing moaning lovingly?"
My eyes cast down again.

But I know not of the city as my abode!
I know the ****** and the farmer
more than any contributor to painted landscapes, nay;
they are my acquaintances, neighbors, cousins, brothers, and sisters!

For I have lived on the water;
I have eyed the vessels
commandeered by the gritty, grubby,
greased captains of my soul,

as I float buoyed in their wake,
eager to catch a semblance of the waters
that trail before them.

I live treading their wake,
eyes open and pencil in hand.

And lo;
I found sanctuary in the vast fields of the rustic farmer!

For I ate breakfast of the freshly-slaughtered calf;
I drank its mother's milk,
eggs fresh from the poultry den--
I squawked along with the mother hens.

I took in the bucolic smell of the country
atop the rugged tractor,
eyeing squinting
grimacing like a smile in the sun
burning burning down upon stiff backs
and leather necks--

I, the leaves of grass scattered
in the wake of the farmer,
I, the bails of hay furled tightly
sitting patiently in the once golden meadow,

I watched the tractors and their commandeers
disappear in the bombinate horizon;
the sound of insects ushering in the night sky

like unrolling the starry-eyed carpet
before the hazy late afternoon moon.

I watched, I lived,
waiting coiled in their wakes
eyes wide open and paper clenched in hand.

I lifted my eyes to once again
hear his curt admonition:

"Y'got city hands, Mr. Rhine."

I was driving down an old road this morning, one hand clenched to the handle of a porcelain coffee cup, one hand clenched to the wheel; digging my nails into the rubber. I've always hated driving, it was always a better place to be sitting in the passenger seat, your hand enfolded in mine. Im rolling through stop signs hoping maybe a car will hit their brakes a moment too late. Each road line painted a bright yellow, the kind that reminded me of a sun we used to watch rise off the balcony of our house. I didn't want to think about it too much, it would of brought me back to a better time and place than now but they always told me to keep my eyes on the road. It was easy to do until I passed by this field of yellow daisies, the kind that were printed on the spring sheets we'd wrap ourselves in on the mornings that rain kissed the roof. The kind that decorated the church on the day that I made a promise on forever. A forever that should of lasted longer than sickness can control.
The golden sun grazed it's rays over the old barn where we once sat in hay bails and counted constellations. The rays were blinding, but so was the memory that lit up with them. The yellow dress your mother wore on the day we lay you down 6 feet too deep. The day a rock became your welcome mat. The day I couldn't find the right way to say goodbye.
I was driving this morning. I'm laying in a hospital bed now. I'm sorry that the yellow lights of that truck drew me in. Somehow I saw you smiling at me through them. As I lay on the pavement in pools of red, the yellow lines of the road by my side, heartbeat coming down till all I can hear is the softness of your voice; I finally felt like maybe this is the only way home.

I stumbled into the train station, buzzed with integrity.
Apprehension strikes like a clock at midnight.
My math teacher never liked my hair. I never liked her husband.
I can still feel you in my presence, shining on me like the sun, even on my darkest days.
My childhood was a sad one, filled with corn harvests and bails of hay for food. Oh, cruel classmates.
Your smile burns me as if I were swimming in boiling water.
I never met my mother but I knew from experience that she hated pineapple and the scent of my hair.
We sit next to each other in class, but we know we want more. To feel as free as two birds in the sky.
My ex-boyfriend's husband told me I was too short to be a dancer but I persevered and became an employee at Subway.
Engulf me in your arms, like fire consumes a building.
My father's rabbit chewed a hole in my cardigan and I angrily cried daily for a day.
Take my hand tonight, we could run so far.

Rage is endless sometimes relentless and senseless. Rage in some sense is without essence or presence. Let’s assume rage confides and hides!
It lies abundant and dormant. Its silence consumes like violence! Some rage is just another caged page. Some an outrage that bails, hails and prevails. This is what I propose I suppose! Don’t allow it too boil or soil. Don’t follow, it’s hollow and shallow. It’s corrupt! Found profound as it rebounds and erupts! It’s bigger bound to trigger! Embrace this negative trace with inner-grace. With a grin, win this
race within positive face...

you know one thing i hated as a kid, is not being included, because every kid

wants to be included, i love life, i love to PARTY, i love being normaL I hate nothing

nothing at all, you see i had this friend named patrick back in those days, and he

never yelled at me, i hear him  yelling at me  in my head, but that is the cosmos, you

see i tried to be like him, because he helped me more than anyone else, took me to jimmy barnes

concerts, and i liked him, and he took me to nye parties, and we certainly partied all night

even when i crashed over his house, cause i didn’t want to show dad how ****** i was, pat

never yelled like a *****, but i turned out to be a ***** in the end, because i had too much

creative energy i had to get rid of, and i was a ****, until i started seeing carers, they have all

helped me by making me understand that he ain’t my daddy, but i still wanted to see him

but i have to realise, we are adults now, and we have to grow up, when i am watching chris rock

i am hearing nonsense voices of my mates hating black people but i learnt from the messiah that

black people are good comedians and good athletes, there is a lot of knowledge in black people

more so than in white people, blacks are struggling day in and day out, while us whites get it easy

and i am saying patrick was the nicest white person i have ever met after meeting a few aussies at

the cricket, i liked patrick back then because he helped me understand a bit about my family, to whom

i used to get cranky with, well, mainly he was showing me what my family was doing with them, ya know

the other kids, anyway, i have no ideas what patrick is doing now, but i hope he is working in a top high class job

because i am an artist, and writer and youtube entertainer, when i go to bed, i ain’t like canary bird, and i ain’t

a koomarri man, i just fall asleep on the bed with the radio on to keep me company, and when i yell at my voices

i am basically saying, i AM THE BIG PARTY PERSON, I PROVIDE PARTIES FOR ALL, i have moved out now

so come on DUDES, because going out is fun, patrick taught me that, my head is saying, he didn’t wanna do that

because i don’t like yelling at people, i prefer if i yell, i yell at the cosmos, because bailey from the show NEIGHBOURS

‘when he yelled, he looked like a CRAZY person, making the man say ‘YOU’RE CRAZY BAILS’ and that man who said

that told bailey he was crazy, reminded me of patrick, in the way of saying, patrick was a very nice person, he didn’t have to yell

if i meet patrick again, i will explain i am an artist and writer and youtube ****** and then i will tell patrick, i have always liked the computer

it’s just that i like going out having fun too, i have been thrown out of houses or flats, but patrick never did, so that makes him

number 1, out of school chums who i mucked with at school, and i like the joke by chris rock, men can’t go backwards sexually while

women can’t go backwards in lifestyle, i know we said imagine what lylle would do, here, imagine what lyle would, there, imagine

what lyle would in any place, yeah mate yeah, i am cool, i remember playing heavy metal music loud with patrick, as well and playing

basketball as well,  now patrick, whether he liked christmas or not, he still put his xmas tree up, i can tell you one thing though, i am

a buddhist who loves christian holidays, and i had fun teasing the old army men, who fought and died for this country, you see

this year is the 100 th year of gallipoli, and it’s an oldie thing to tease with music now, because young army codgers are in it

to be there for their country, patrick is a heavy metal ******, mainly liking jimmy barnes and me, as cronus put dad in barnesy’s family

as his little granddaughter betty, so dad, the old army codger from way back can learn the nice parts of jimmy barnes

i remembered patrick singing when your love is gone, and i liked him singing it, but i was looking at his legs, i was CRAZY

because i shouldn’t look at people’s legs, i am not gay, i am a man with problems, i have changed from all that nonsense of my minds past

i am now the new and improved brian allan, but i realise that patrick might not like me saying this, but he helped me, by not getting cranky AT me

i just want to make peace with my good mate, opatrick, because, he might have been ******* with my criime

and because of that crime, and because he was nice, when i saw he was cranky, i left him to head down the mall to be big bad brian

and the best way to get a guy over to a girl’s house, is put a ***  on the stove and you will have every man breaking down your door

you see, i was hearing crazy teasing in my head, and patrick’s voice was saying, is he trying to be like mr allan, i thought he was trying

to be like us, tease him, fight him, bully him around, and patrick still doesn’t know that channel 9’s karl stefanovic reminded me of patrick’s cool kid

to my mind but i have to tread to carefully there because patrick might have been trying to be like craig from kingswood country, he might hate

karl stefanovic, it’s just he reminded me of patrick, what is wrong with visions, pat might hate karl stefanovic, well his cool kid does anyway

and my cool kid is ***** hogan and sam marshall, patrick is a young dude figure

Light hearted when I am with him
Devastated when we are apart,
I am a dreamer; he is a lay backer,
Without a genuine heart, our love is
like a unnatural clip from noughts&crosses
hate destroy lives, love can bring it back together
However, what is left of my Love for him dies each day:

We are apart, because it is impossible to settle this kind of love
We never dance; we never kiss on the dance floor
Our rhythm never entwined, he had no rhythm,
So I never experience a kiss on the dance floor,

Feelings alters when replace by loneliness
Love bails,
when a marriage fails,
wishing and hoping that our love would
be enough to hold them
Unlike a poor man's flowers picked fresh from the fields..
Without adversity
Free for plucking, never got a chance to blossoms
my love for him was marginal:
However, nothing but  deep respect for him
a part of me will always have to choose,
so, I choose to be happy , I choose loneliness
before, confusing pity for love..

a true friend will be there when a girl dumps you
or make fun of you for being insecure
regardless of what you do friends accept and forgive you
you make mistakes so dont be too *******
those who do the same
eventually true friends have your back
and the fake ones disappear
no girl is worth a friend no friend is worth losing
when you have been friends for year
you both my be on different levels
but the most important word is respect
if you dont have it how do friends co exsist
trust one another through bad and good a true friend
never bails but true friends prevail

The first figure differs from the first reimbursing the pursing urge to splurge then comes second emended he is represented as father material the one who doesn’t poor your cereal areal in unreal he bails on real events when you want to vent to the competent he must have felt that wasn’t meant for a figurative roll can’t patrol what he doesn’t know how to watch you grow, why he is placed in second base when have home run is the one you are her son.

The day fades away
Black and grey
And black and grey
Until all that is left
Is cerebral thoughts
Bouncing against the shattered window pane
Which shows the way
To everything we are too scared to know
The sacred truths of our flaws
Too beautifully ugly to be recognized
Too perfectly imperfect to fit the leftover jigsaw pieces
Jesus pieces ring with fibs of green backs
And crack was distributed to poor neighborhoods
So a lot of the time a welfare check or food stamp
Ends up more like "my bad"
And no news crews roll through
Unless the person who died
Shares my skin color
White guilt making me feel less stable
In my bitchings and moanings
Like my bad feelings couldn't possibly land heavy
Like haymakers
Growing up we used to jump from hay bails
Landing in loose straw
Running away from farmers and their
Combine harvesters
Now I run from life
Too afraid to jump from the ground floor
Into the clouds
Life is hard
Living it the way you want is harder

The Wealthy must pay their fair share
Here in the “Golden State”
Fifty three percent or so
Here by the golden Gate.
They will likely move to Utah
where the skiing’s just as great.
We rule by Proposition,
It’s Democratic and it’s fair!
But when we have to pay for Pensions
It seems the money isn’t there.

California pays its workforce
with Golden I.O.U’s.
We hope Obama bails us out
Before they all come due.
Our growing Mexican population
plans for la Reconquista.
They smile as each old ****** dies
They mutter “Hasta La vista”
Governor Moonbeam’s back in charge,
The Terminator’s gone
Pelosi’s back in Washington
What could possibly go wrong?

The birds chirp, it’s six o’clock in the morning
It’s the seventeenth summer of my life and still counting
The sun has risen for a brand new day
The night flew by and the clouds gave way

The windows and doors are being opened for the sun to enter everyone’s home
Even the rose chases the sun and bails out of its dome
Every kitchen is filled with the smell of pancakes, bacons, and sunny side-ups
Everyone is reading the morning paper while drinking coffees from their cups

Everyone else is starting a sunny brand new day
As for me, I haven’t got a single slumber come my way
I’d been up all night tossing and turning trying to get some sleep
I drank my milk, read a book yet I’m too excited to write this poem that on dreamland I lost the trip

Government bails out wall-street
The world holds its breath and waits
Mortgage owners fear the worse
Corporate Greed the ultimate link
Automakers lobby in private jets
American workers losing their jobs
The trickle down effect takes time
Those who suffer now feel robbed
Whats is the world coming too
Only the insiders are protected

My blue tavern house in old Giverny,
with yellow bright daisies as a welcome.
We've swam on the wheat banks,
diving in absinthe and dealing in apathy.
Kissing the swirling midnight skies in secrecy.

Dark blue cascades the midnight hills,
I've spent another night in the open fields  -
looking at hay bails like an old friend, and worst enemy.
I've met your sharp eyes at noon and known better,
with your white shirts, stained socks, and slick smiles.

I remember you told me of the women stealing jam,
east of La Seine near Clackaloze,
You said she reminded you of me,
good until gone, broken undeniably
and the way I say I could do it all quietly -
paint the shining night sky with ease and one brush.
But if I was what you wanted, I wouldn't be,
too stubborn, too jealous, and too mad, honestly.

So I may as well write you what I am - underneath.

Mind over matter
Your mind focused
on the latter
as you tried to climb to the top
with no perception for disaster

They call it high risk options;
sheer prayers for returns.
But all the bits of your brain
didn't care about who burned

Can't slap cuffs on an entity
So I guess it's lesson learned
in their equity
though one finds that the fines
can still burn

Every willing ear
mixed with the
right tone of trust

Acknowledgement in gold
soon traded away to dust

If the brain believes
its body should live forever,
then where's the fear
of a burn when confronted with an ember

so they never think a spark
can elevate higher
ignorance is fuel,
greed sets this structure fire

Man the troops!
The sky is falling!
The city's set ablaze
and the sirens are calling!

We're supposed to save the people,
but the people pay first
save the buildings with
these bails of water
even if the people thirst

New body, same mind.
It's done so many times
one comes to think its rehearsed
The ticket price is high,
the play leaves the people
feeling cursed.

Love is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
Nice is cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest

‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss it
lest it attract your notice
lest it presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence

Love is not like that –

Love pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption

Love defies convention

Love carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Love perseveres all the love-long day

Love doesn’t delay

Love is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts

Love confronts
Courage is her currency, kindness her language
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms

Love transforms

Love weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Love pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms

Love perfumes

Love is not 'nice'  
Love isn’t in this for the likes
Love bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Love never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight

Love is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
Love is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level
monumental

So, don’t be nice
and I’ll say it twice
nice is a vice that will never suffice
And let me end by being more precise
follow Christ’s advice:
love one another
every day and every night
with all of your might
and do it in a way
that pushes
way
past
‘nice’.

Love is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest

‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence

Love is not like that – 

Love pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption 

Love defies convention

Love carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Love perseveres all the love-long day

Love doesn’t delay

Love is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts

Love confronts

Courage is her currency, kindness her language
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms

Love transforms 

Love weakens all defences
and challenges all camouflaged pretences
Love pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms

Love perfumes

Love is not 'nice'  
Love isn’t in this for the likes
Love bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Love never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight

Love is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This love is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level
monumental

So as the wise man known for his proverb-ials
might have said:

Rob and Polly

Don’t be nice
and I’ll say it twice
nice is a vice that will never suffice

So heed this scriptural advice
[Proverbs 3 - expanded version]

Let love and faithfulness never leave you
bind them both to you (whatever the price to you)

Sustain one another with mutual collaboration
and on a God-given foundation build up a reputation
for a love that,
okay, as the good book says
might be a poor reflection of perfection
but for now - what you two have become
is a fairly close representation
of Christ’s love for his bride, his church
and that should never be besmirched

so let God’s love rise to meet you
at each and every unwinding curve
because it is nothing less
than what both of you
undoubtably
deserve.

Let me end by being more precise
follow Christ’s advice:
love one another
every day and every night
forsaking all others
with all of your might
and do it in a way
that pushes
way
past
‘nice’.

Words you've thrown
My soul has a busted view
Breaking this window with your jagged stones.
Picking up the pieces
In a rush to beat the ticking of the clock
Minutes measure the moments as each
Pile of material must be put in stock.
Measuring the value in each item
Such my scale weighs very carefully
As not to miss a diamond in a mound of
Hay.
Sifting through the bails
Is worth my hard work
As life needs less weight of worry
As the winds pushes with a boat to sail.
Life's seas of wonder we travel
as friends are my crew
Aboard
My life boat to A brighter world
A destination of well discovered gravel.

first you find a boy that has a book that you really want to read
convince him to let you borrow it
once you have it, hopefully he will ask you all about the book
and ask you if you're in love with the main male character yet
he will also tell you to look up different songs and artists
(you love this and love that someone finally has the same interests and views as you)
you keep in mind that he just broke up with his girlfriend of (almost) 2 years and you have to know that he probably won't want to date you
(but you slowly fall for him anyway)
he begins to explain how he doesn't have enough data on his phone to constantly DM you, so you get his number
too excited, nervous, anxious and happy you text him immediately, as if the conversation never stopped
you cry over the book
you call each other names from the book and do their "okay? okay" thing a million and 2 times a day
you talk to him 25/8
you're falling in love with this adorable human being and you can't stop
you see him at school every day but god if you even think about trying to say one word to him your heart races and your stomach flips and you can't muster the confidence to do it
you give back the book and say that it made you cry
like a *****
but he gives you another one that he's been talking about
and another
and another
and he tells you about his favorite movie in the world
Like Crazy
and you love him.
like crazy.
and you quote the poem that Anna read to Jacob
and he says "I'm in love with you"
and then summer comes around
and you guys talk
literally every day
and he gets a job
and you don't talk as much
and he starts talking to his ex again
because he actually loves her
and your birthday comes around
and this is when you have your first conversation with him in person
and you want to run up to him and kiss him when you see him
but you know you can't
your heart races when you see him smile and you just get lost in his words
he leaves and you regret not kissing him
(you didn't even hug him or walk him out or say thank you for coming)
you still talk a lot
he still loves his ex
you two are now best friends
school
you have your license and a job now (SWEET)
and you tell him
and he wants to know if he can have a ride to school
of course you say yes
you want to kiss him every morning and every evening before and after school
you love him
a lot
but he still loves his ex
and you guys start to hang out a lot
(sometimes even 3 or 4 days a week)
and you think that you'd get tired of someone
but honestly you would look forward to seeing him every day
and the days you didn't see him
you looked forward to seeing him even more
and he's at your house one day
and says he wants a girlfriend
you want to say (jokingly) "what about me?"
but you know you can't.
so you suggest one of the prettiest girls in school.
and of course he says okay.
and you set them up
and you tell her to give him a chance
and you get them to go on a date
and you think this will help you get over him but you just can't
you can't get his words out of your head
you constantly replay all the things you told each other over the summer
you constantly remind yourself that you love him but you will never be with him
second semester at school
at your job a new kid comes in
he's adorable
you start to like him instantly
you forget all about the other boy when you're with him
and then you find out that the boy from work likes you too
so you kiss him
and he says he wants to go on a date with you
but then he bails on you
and you're upset
you're hurt
once again
and you don't really talk to the boy you fell in love with that much
you two were best friends
you barely talk or hang out now
it kills you to see him and his girlfriend together
but you just want him happy
you find out that he too,
wrote a poem about you and him
and you find out that he loves you
and you find out that one day he does see you two dating
and now
all you do
is wait

Working in a field collecting bails of dried grass. Toiling for my daily bread. I watched as others lay around in the shade, onward I walked eating dust and dried grass. Under the July sun, I burned and wanted for more. I longed to be free from my labors and to be at ease as others were, but my task master would not relent upon me. Trying to teach me a lesson, that it took many years to learn, I now see the truth in hard work that was my fate. While others were not expected to labor, my father demanded accountability. Under the July sun, I was tempered by a fire, that made me able to enjoy the fruits of hard work in latter years.

i dont always have the courage for myself
but i find it when it comes to those who walk in fear
i may not be tall or strong but i know
how to stand up for whats right
you make want to do right by your side
when i stand up everyone bails and trues to hide
you make the rules you break the rules
they dont matter as long as you stay true to yourself and heart

She smells the way my mothers hair smelled when I was a child; back when playing in my mother's hair brought me peace. She smells like the play house I made out of pine needles and hay bails. She feels like rain falling onto the deck my father fished from every evening. She sounds like his foot steps coming up behind me. When she holds my waist, her arms feel like the chains of the swing-set he built between the two pine trees in my back yard (firm and incapable of letting me fall). She tastes like blackberry and muscadine wine and jam and pie. She feels like sticky skin after hours of picking them from the woods behind the old shed. She reminds me of the beginning of fall and blooming lemons trees. She even smells like citrus. She's everything that's ever made me whole. She's what brings me peace. She reminds me what home is supposed to be. She's given me back everything I've loved and lost. She's everything to me and this is why.

It's a Thursday, I awake and think of you,
wondering if you're feeling better or
if you're still feeling vanquished.
My fingers automatically reach for my phone
and I text you, wishing you a good morning.
And as I wait for a response,
I wonder if your heart is beating as quickly,
failing your desire to remain calm, cool and collected,
just as mine is.
And as we play the roles we have played
for the past while,
I hope that you are smiling just as I am.
I hope that you are thinking of a way to see me again.
And finally, I hope that my face takes up your mind,
just as yours has invaded my own.

And then my heart bails out, it shifts and beats
to a different rhythm.
I think of him instead,
of his touch, his nonchalant words, the way he makes me
breathe faster.
It wasn't like the last time, he hasn't dropped me off of the
side of the earth.
He has been attentive, almost attached.
And I want to hope that it is because he feels something more,
but I don't want to hope for anything (anymore).
It is a different feeling, a different desire.
I want to help him, focus his attention on being happy.
But I realize, I want to be happy too,
and I think I can only get that from being with you.

I’ve dreaded this imploding moment
my entire life unknowingly,
if there was a way to avoid it; I have blown it,
growing pains should end when you stop growing.

I’ve got speckle scars on my palms
they’re always kissing my fingernails,
there’s only one thing I’ve found that calms,
but the road collapses or the guide always bails.
“This is your brain”, but the egg doesn’t crack,
no sizzling grease rain, no white burning black.

It’s the things that feel the best that also cause the pain,
as you can only enjoy the sunshine when you’ve had a spout of rain.
Just like you can’t have a fire without an initial spark,
and you can’t bathe in the light unless you’re drowning in the dark.

But what if I’m tired of obvious consequence,
Hell, I’m tired of everything these ******’ days,
where self medicating was once used in past tense,
I think it’s time for me to revert to my old ways.

So fill a rig until it’s completely full,
and shoot me up with some false hope,
it correlates your method of push over pull,
but it’s still not as good as actual dope.
And let me rail a line of pure nirvana and bliss,
if you’re the one to cut it atleast you gave it to me technically,
if something was never there, how can it be something you miss?
I’ll keep feeding the habit until I can no longer breathe.

Destiny lost when fate found a wall of defy
to change it I would sell all of my remaining soul,
and I think I now know the reason why,
a bandaid won’t ever cover a bullet hole.

I live in the dark, it is not my friend just a bails bondsman bringing me back from the anguish. In the dark no one knows you and you see no faces. You don't see the looks of disgust or the tears of disappointment. The dark is silent as it cloaks the whole room w it's dreadful embrace. Don't fight the dark because when the time comes it will be the confidante from the world you know. When the dark is near it'll never leave and you won't even notice the ones you love walk away. I live in the dark, but it is not my friend.

Those were the days
before I knew about money
and before a relationship
seemed so **** appealing
those were the days
when we still had play time
twice a day in the school yard
and played guns with our fingers
bang bang you're dead
those were the days
when we were chased off of the farm
for climbing the bails of hay
angry farmers in tractors
those were the days
when my mother wanted me to come home
she would yell out of the front window
and I could hear
all the way from the church wall
those were the days
when summer holidays
meant the ice cream man
and making dens in the woods
those were the days
when my dad yelled at us
for writing obscenities
on the walls of my tree house
those were the days
when we would race up the tops of trees
not knowing how we would get down
those were the days
now just fond memories

“The Revenant”(Ghost Song Inspiration)
Awake yearning Asleep
Barnacles of riveted keel ajar with wonder keepsakes to sweep
Traipsing the moonlit path between equidistant insanities
Billowing fumes of rage fulgurant in the vogue modality
Whispering 9 Billion hymns to an immemorial cemetery
Silenced by shattered quakes rumbling in the deep forest
Imagined long ago yet again…
Surfing the few fragile crestfallen waves Tighter Nooses in tsunamis on Portugal in the eleventh month hanging ten
Fragile swoons of kenspeckel verbatim echoed in hallowed halls of evening Diaspora gilded in excellence
Limit is no boundary to the timeless clock of tilted tendencies towards barbed decadence
Revelry is no artifact tethered to a patibulary pole folded in the pokerish sneakthievery of triumphant owl’s night
We laugh like soft mad children waxing the candlelit vigil of barren Beirut struck down with ultrageous fright
Cackling as misfortune trespasses are shot on sight
That The Remedy asphyxiates National Anthem hues
Slippery in the crevasse of caffeinated daydream sues
Toasting butter cretaceous with wonder a lapse of sentience is its ultimate blunder of 1015 Rooz
Because the tottering paragon overlooks his habitable tomb
Bequeathed in Nero’s fright askew for the itching view
Spawned instants of thunderous applause serenade the weaning night littered with dancing fragments of illusion
Time is no object to objective dimples on Helicopter dime
Swank is no subject because the predevoted pause owes all to cadence of currency in the heyday of sublime
Long-winded but curt
Outskirts to every vacant and inhabited skirt suburban to muses crooning with antiquity destitute with forbidden flirt
Livid with indignation over fallen hands outstretched to unheralded bands
Simpering with scalded water of tattered whisper of the nauclatic heralds of sunrise over moonlight land
Effort is no music without tragedian Shakespearean rebuke
Taylor’s stop-and-go with flashlight frisk a Pharaohs’ Zion too much of a Fluke
Greco-Roman travesty blinks with scary flicker in an alpenglow Apollon stained-glass window summit
Dirges always precede precipitate glamour aflame with spectral filibustered blight and plummet
besieged by fallen wonders
Sunken by echoes of consequence in Heavy Metal Thunder
Glimpsing the Revenant of a future tango with backwards sentinels of séance
Grief overtakes the rejuvenated sunlit hike
Hitched by Horses with No Name Painless by harnessed spike
Of a Roadhouse Blues not Red enough for the Scarlet Letter Hues of Bill the Butcher White with Tweed nullifying his diacopes of spite
Cadence peerless paling to mirrored reflection of recapitulated mated soul
Limpid nexility that ghosts flex with reflective Jazzy soul
Jailhouse rocking Malone swerves with jaunt
Easy to dance easier to flaunt
Dastardly darts four score and seven jerseys ago
The seamstress of violence alacrity to sow
Vindication belonging to orphaned asylum 44th
A King lost too soon because of masons coming fourth
Degrees of Solomon rustling through A Biff’s Palace
Jimpster hitman an Akabu of hustled alarm pegged to wild shadows dancing a delicate filigree of spawn and spark
To the plug anointed by tethered Cable Guy treason
Few vigilantes of Batman’s caliber yet to reason
In the Revenant’s wake of fallen timbers of Sunset Strip
Reapers prowl with the tide of Bruno Mars RIP
That he sprawls in survival a hat too generous to tip
Uptown Chelsea in uproar as auditoriums fill with hedged victims of sense and sensibility etched in Gore
Lone Pine Mall stranded by conflagration of bulletproof lore
Clowns dedicate independence while crowns croon ***** repentance
For a forlorn starvation of cities of jackals sailed to sentence
Dripping with a faucet of ghostly haunts
Kapstone Paper in Kansas verging on misery wants  
Yet Bleeding American with French-British hues
The world’s lovelorn starlet yet too swollen to amuse
Stark travesty in fatuous emoluments to Walter White vanity
A current streak unbeaten because of realism in Virtual Insanity
A Joker’s Gamboled revenge skittish in sketchy chalkboards of ossified prestige
Left to the milk carton missing is yet another Abandoned Pools squeeze
The Young Robot scared to Fly-by-Night in the pathway of terminal poignant disease
A punitive prison worthy of the cackles of Dinosaurs besieged by Mr. Freeze
Folksy natatoriums agape with bathhouse squalor
Every hierodule a ******* to the witwanton bottom dollar
For the buggery of a Titanic warning towering ever taller
Stilted Wilts 50 a game warbles without Chinese glowers of Silk Road Silk
An albatross of agrarian hubris is how Ping-Pong Champions were eventually built
Hollywood’s grotto a despairing bravado
Of a masonry skyscraping a surpassed entelechy of a half-known tomorrow
Escape malingering and dare to dream
Listless maneuvers of space a hipster jam of the rollicking heyday of a fortress of a team
That I brandish with pride and retrospective snide
How perjury Underoath is a much better bribe
Air Force pride against Scorched Earth fallow because of a wayward bride
The Spectrum of Casper is galloping in deceitful degrees of a piety too wide
Swayed by Swayze pretended or lazy
The whole world in centration glistens with the fashionable crazy
Electromagnetic Detroit a rumpus for Notorious donnybrooks of a Gretchen cloaked too tight for Avalanche brawls cemented in burgundy and white
Industrial locomotives bulldozing Buffaloes of a Boulder fraternity too leaky to always be right
Scattered on Dawn’s Highway Bleeding crowded by a sing-song peril by design
That deference is reference to rappers glistening in surrealism ripe and prime marveling at the Ace of Military Base’s glaring Sign
Lethal Killers on patrol roaming Earthquake plodded land
Count the number of hairs of vitriol in silicon purebred amicable handfuls of wafting sand
Drifting in Mescaline ends at the periphery of Desert Movies Goldmines for Choosing
The Native American Jabberwocky or Mulder’s Father’s dying musing neither of which is favorable to boozing
The Brown doctor disfavored by armed aristocrats is always alive and rarely unbuttoned when snoozing
Flynn torches bemuse the tattered knight
Presumptuous Arthur is only on the quorum when consentience of accord is proven right by both deed and prescient light
Hardly a sidesplitter for a curveball time
California Love is plastered with rivalries of NorCal grime
Of the greatest Banana Slug Fiction flagrant with Quinntessential clairvoyance of a deceased 60’s crime
A dead queer lollygag belonging to the advice of a Pearl Jam Jeremy’s erasure of snares of beleaguered blasphemous chyme
Nonlinear spurts fielded by stolen bases of paralyzed rebuffs rather curt
A rapper worthy of the stage rarely an actor beyond a churlish vendetta hurt
Yet I dazzle the lingerie of even the most guarded skirt
The kiln of machination is a wedding of guarded betrayals of Monster Mash extortion
Alexisonfire a harbinger to the world’s belabored victory over corrugated striptease contortion
Thursday is a miraculous noise of shattered glass
Inertia knows ventriloquial varnish of shattered bones and tempted blood dripping in crematorium ash
Yet I survive with a Jive walk and a sardonic wagtail flock
Of the best patronage of cognoscenti shockwaves of bonanza stocks stalked like a swarpollock locket invisible to Tik Tok
I’m the best hip-hop in the game beyond the treachery of retreads of psychobabble inane
I strut like magic belonging to the sanitorium of the edgy swank of modest profane
Granite defected is my cement planet infesting the game like Boardwalks on the revived Titanic
Aliens headbash the gamut of my spangled manic
Ghost Ridin’ Raiders of the Lost Arc leads to hysterical panic
Indiana laughs at Elway’s squirrel because he bolted Baltimore with a baseball pretense for a sexier girl
When the rigmarole of genius aligns infamy bails out the oyster aphrodisiac of a Heart of the Ocean pearl
Time is a self-referential quisling of a monarchy built of subtle curling
A bored sport dazzling with scintillation in recursive zeal unfurling
A Canada Dry livid stargazer dozes on Oiler comets meteoric as hydroponics
**** quaffs the lazy lollygag rarely hooked on the righteous phonics
But no distaste to the canine game
I am well beyond the distance to the lethargy of NV in shame
Bear Bryant on Rushmore flowing high
Jetsetting across Pink Floyd’s lurid Clear Blue Skies
George trampled by Chauvinist monsters
Zuckerberg and Gates are honkies betting on bonkers loud both in Boston and in Yonkers
100 Billion of counterfeit souls sold to slot machine mannequins quite droll
Someone needs to devour their corner like a Revelations sour-tasting scroll
Tagged to apothecary mountebanks of Trey’s on repeat
A hard-won small Utah town harder than Joe Montana to beat
Bypassed hack of time Luminosity the adultress of 1693 regaled as a freakish feat
Time simpers to Spirit of Grace graven kantikoys in Seattle Graveyards blemished by dancing Creep
The Idioteque squalor of bemused negligence in a flooded Avatar Jurassic Park Jeep
I recall the St. Joseph’s brawl not with Sevendust Animosity or a squawk on short-sighted grating flag hooped with haywire lines snorted on Basketball
The marstions of plenilune filigree are 32 Leaves of RINOs of crestfallen dirges of cacophony deafened by Yachted Wedding Crashers’ squall
The swagger of a Vogue Rose kissed by Shadow Dancing ******* is livid in throes
Of a throwaway stretchgrave of Jackson’s crooning on astounding Mike Bossy Bose
Engraved with Islander epiphany that smokestack chockablocks itch every more Leary in gawsy clothes
I rampage through the filibusters of Jerusalem silt sunken by immigrants in tired tattered kilt
That the only famine known to McDonald’s is the demolition of Fireman of young Wayne Enterprises yet rigged to insuperable caverns hitched to the hilt
Soul Kitchen alphabets on Dewey Decimal design swagger yet with a Lugubrious Monkey-Silent Bob’s Feared Spinosity in Sprites of commercial Lemon-Lime
Of a dauntless Decision among many subdued by Prison that the apish caper gouges 20/20 Vision a cacophony dimpled in recessive alleles of a modern prime
That is also primacy antecedent to yoked Cartel SUV’s perfected in acerbic dungeons Monster Mash corners yet death unfurled in matchbox tinder of Futurama slime
Jet Lagged infancy of Nuclear Duff hustling the Illmatic Annoyance of BiffCO ***** riddles Uncle RICO wed boschveldt of Kansas City seen 21-30 with zeal and repine
The Bizarre Inc. of a lovelorn 96’ robbed Liberace into untimely death the spinsters of Key Auditorium Dine
Hemlock sprees of Socratic whimpers of treason of Piraeus marks the infamy of Brutus lagging with conscience diseased
That the marvel of vengeance is the plaudits of swanky New York Times rustling against dead Nevada Subways and Lusitania rollicking seas
Rage itches as Brock is capsized to Hearts of Oceans littered with Sparrow Murders of Ravens Batty with Belief
Mourning the Twister carnage of A Shining City on a Hill printed by Federal Way disclosure by Armada Music without a receipt
To the dozen graves of Monster Mash London Fog the Undeveloped Story of a balcony of Wayne Packer Million Dollar degrees
Challenged to a Final Revolution of a Fantasy terrorizing the Trafficked hand a Coca Cola seizure God spared for “Canceled” Taco Bell automotive brain freeze
Spinsters with vertigo paralyze on the hopscotch kettle of popcorn for amusement racketing squashed Colombia too many lines yet to appease
And too gaping Walls of Chauvin weaning on freckles of Comfortably Numb disease that Love Story castle is the monarchy of allusion to 19-17
Coffins for 24k Carat foresight by the antiquated architects
attacked for 2001 vengeance on Forsberg’s Spleen
Notorious by scores of tourists in aperture for Native American Casinos blankets on Red Scare forests
Apple’s chocolate-box sergeant prescience on brittle Reed Chorus
Sung by the litany of Ima memorialized by punctual Grace of the sashay of Delphinium fountain pens porous.