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I suffered with You, Belarus, my beloved,
When a police baton *****
You at the police station,
In full drill.

I was there when they fired at You,
When they killed the helpless
On the street without mercy,
In envy, in anger.

I was when they beat with a baton,
When they hit the eyes with a baton
In the police torture
Or in the yard by the wall.

I was when they beat uncontrollably,
When the lying, despite wanting to
Prove his innocence,
Got the fifth stick in the bone.

I was when they took off the woman’s
******* and were pushing a baton there,
And in the man’s ****
It was being inserted - until the whine.

I was when they beat one in the forest,
The spirit still carries me there,
I saw hundreds lying in the alps,
I saw the dead in the halls.

Hospitals ...

It was the baton of Łuka,
Which *****,
Which killed,
Which beat,
Which knocked out teeth,
Which bruised,
It was the baton of Łuka.

The bullets were Łuka’s,
The hands were Łuka’s,
I give the large double doors back to Łuka:
Let you be rotten in a bad way.

The baton was Łuka’s.
It was the baton of Łuka.
The baton was Łuka’s.
It was the baton of Łuka.

You wronged a simple man,
And the walls will collapse anyway,
It's not balderdash,
Oh, you ignoramuses,
Oh, you ... stupid.

Oh you the bows! ...
Oh, you, Łuka (the Bow)!
Translation.
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chipped wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on an iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped by gully goats
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
Zeeb Jul 2018
Tool of desperate confrontation
Object of pride for a grateful nation
In Baton Rouge on the mighty river
Kidd rests proudly
376' length overall,  Fletcher Class destroyer
Like every ship, of oil she does smell
When I boarded her, she had something to tell

I was with a scoutmaster, my son and the boys
Concerned with their fun, and the making of noise
But late in the night, as quiet set in
Kidd started whispering, to my within

She spoke of the men who gave up their lives
Their children, their girls, the tears of their wives
Thirty-eight men, in fiery fuel
Hell's agony touched, a death so cruel
Fifty-five more, burned badly that day
Defending our country, our homage we pay
Visiting sailors will stand at attention
… and for a young Kamikaze, scarcely a mention

The big war was over, Kidd passed her test
Now to San Diego, for a permanent rest
But as men will prescribe, it didn’t last long
Kidd went back into action, near Korea’s Kaesong

When in Baton Rouge, you can visit the Kidd
If you’re bold, listen carefully, just as I did
You'll get half of the story, the rest we don't know
The men who have fallen, to Kidd's mighty blow

Let's set a new tone and have us some fun
The Kidd's crew were pirates but they didn't run ***

Those flat-tops were fancy, their flyers elite
In the galley was ice-cream, their reward and their treat
When a pilot was downed, Kidd quickly steamed
Then radioed the skipper, "your man for  ice-cream"
PJ Poesy Mar 2017
1 Kings 15:24-  "Then Asa rested with his ancestors and was buried with them in the city of his father David. And Jehoshaphat his son succeeded him as king."

Hand passes baton
Race not about runners
An objective not at odds  
To something further than singular
It is about the passing
Dedicated motion
Maintaining of
Exchange at maximum speed
Invigorating something else
Notion of familial  
Virtues vested
In a completement
Of the passing on
And a carrying of values
So well learned  
From another before
And His trust given
Rewards of a relay
Are plural
With an instinctual handing off
Of Faith
In a mentor before
My father was an avid runner, and knew the value of teamwork. This is something I will always be thankful for, amongst the many lessons he taught.
Ashwin Kumar Sep 2018
You are a guardian of the law
Your duty is to keep crime at bay
And bring the criminals to justice
But, as I watch you,
Wearing a khaki uniform
And swinging your baton around
As you go about on your daily rounds
I am filled with such a rage
That I hold my hand up in prayer
And desperately wish that thoughts could ****
Because you would then be dead
Before anyone could even say "police"

You are a guardian of the law
Your duty is to keep crime at bay
And bring the criminals to justice
But instead, you abuse the immense power
That you wield in your iron fist
As people come out in hordes
To protest on various issues
You swing your baton around
As wood clashes against flesh
Democracy dies a thousand deaths
However, your lust is unsatiated
A pistol replaces the baton
As it rains bullets
Bundles of cash change hands
As you quietly pocket them
You yell to the world
That justice has been served
Even as the bodies pile up
And Humanity waves a white flag
As she bows to your iron fist
This is my rant against the brutal and corrupt police force of India.
estelle deamor Dec 2014
Ha kamatuoran la,  gin-susumhan na gud ako,  
Diri ka pa ba gin-susumhan?  
Hin mga buhat nga balik-balik nala?  
Diri mo ba nahahalata?  
Nga utro-utro nala kita?  
Kun may napakiana ha imo, "Ano kumusta na?"  
An pirmi mo baton: "Adi asya la gihapon, waray pinagkaibahan han kakulop!"  
Ngan kontento ko na hito.

The truth is,  I am sick and tired.
Aren’t you sick and tired?  
Doing the same things over and over again?
Still haven’t noticed it?  
This has been like this again and again.
When somebody asks you, “How is everything with you?”  
Your usual reply is: “Oh nothing’s changed same as yesterday.”
And you’re happy as it is.


Usahay liwat nabati ako ha imo nga utro-utro an reklamo.  
Nga baga hin kadaan ngan guba nga plaka,  
Balik-balik an tukar, masakit ha talinga.  
Reklamo an imo pamahaw,  
Ngan amo la gihapon hasta panihapon.  
Kay kuno makuri.  
Kay kuno waray salapi.  
Kay kuno waray kapas.  
Kun may sweldo daw la an pag-rineklamo,
siguro maiha na unta nga nag-riko.

Sometimes, I will hear you complaining again and again.
Like an old and broken retro vinyl,
playing over and over again, it is hurting my ears.
Complaining is your breakfast,  
and it is your same meal for dinner.
Because it’s hard.  
Because we don’t have money.  
Because I am powerless.
If complaining will provide you a salary,
perhaps by now, you might quite be wealthy.


Nagkatapo kita kanina ha dalan han "Kada Adlaw"  
Asya la gihapon an imo sul-ot nga bado,
ngan an kabutang han imo buhok.  
Asya la gihapon an pagkakurumos han imo nawong,
Ngan an bubble gum nga hasta yana imo la gihap ginsisinamsam.  
Nangurog ako han kaluwad.
Tigda ako nahingasuka ha imo atubangan.  
Pasayloa, pero magpapadayon ka nala ba hito?
Diri ka pa ba ginsusumhan?  
Kay ha kamatuoran la,  Naamin ako Nga Oo.

*I came across you at the street called “Everyday”
You were wearing the same clothes,
And your hair was fixed the same way.
You were having the same wrinkled frown in your face,  
and was chewing the same bubble gum.
I cringe.
I suddenly felt vomiting in front of you.
I’m sorry, but will you keep on doing this?  
Aren't you sick and tired?
Because to be honest with you,  I think I am.
I have decided to put my entry to the 100 Thousand Poets for Change-Qatar last September 2014, as my very first submission here at HP. Hopefully you will enjoy my poetry in two tongues, Waray-Waray and English. This is my call for change.
Shrivastva MK May 2015
Tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya ,
Tujhme khoye hain hum es kadar ki,
apna nam pata bhi bhula diya,
Jawane Se chhupa ke ki tujhse mohabbat ,
Par tune mujhe jawane se hi begana bna diya,
Tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya....


Tere intezar me har pal ji raha hu ghut ghut
ke,
kaha chali gayi ** sanam tum mujhse ruth ke,
ab to jine ka sahara hain bus teri ye yadein,
Soch kar biti baton ko nam ** jati hai meri ye
aankhen,
Teri wafawon ne mera sab kuchh jala diya,
tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya. ..


chalti raho me tujhe dhundh raha hoon,
chand taro se tera pta puchh raha hoon,
tune mere dil me ek jagah bna liya,
tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya....


mat dena dhokha tum mujhe pyar me
ai sanam nahi to tut jaunga,
chhod tumhe mai es duniya se chala jaunga,
laut ke phir mai kabhi na aaunga,
tere esk me maine teri har kamiyo ko bhula
diya,
tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya. ..


yaadon ko teri  Manish  likh raha apni kalam se
es tarah ki,
teri nafrat ko bhi usne amrit bna diya,
tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya,
tere pyar ne mujhe pagal bna diya....
PNasarudheen Jul 2013
Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming "save India", alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it, against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat, Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a ****, with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic, fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs , in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don't dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
Note:1.Gujarat , Assam, Bombai(Mumbai), Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, :  these are places where riots or blasts occurred in India
Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!:two sanyasins(monks) of India the Former proponent of Advaita Vedanta Philosopy and the latter preached it disciple of Sri Ramakrishna  and founder of Ramakrishna Mission in Kolkota, India.
four Mutts: the mutts(Seminaries) established by Adi Sankara in Badarinath in the North , Puri in the East. Dwaraka in the West and Sringeri in the South of India to propagate the Vedic philosophy. It also proves the Undivided Indian concept the ancients had .
MNCs:Multi-National Corporations.
Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi: A very venomous snake representing Power and torture.Lord Krishna danced on the hoods of it and killed it as per the mythology. Kalindi is River Yamuna in India that divides Delhi in to two.
I give you my heart son
For today you gave me my bread
And I knew it was time to pass the baton
Shift the crown on your head.

Today you passed me my bread
A precious gift in love I earn
To softly place on your head
The crown as it’s your turn.

I felt so great and so good
You’ve taken over my son
With the humblest of attitude
From my hand the long held baton.

Today as you passed me my bread
In the crossroad where we now stand
Happily I unburdened my head
Passed lovingly the baton from my hand.
Familial the ties siblings we are
Brought up with love care discipline and protection
Values inculcated deep
Respect and love we all each other
Hold it strong in the heart
Hurt we can never bring to each other
Stand together in testing times forever
Raising high the baton of love today
Passing it on to the generation next
To relay it in the timeless tomorrow
Raksha Bandhan - the festival of the bond of love and protection, shared by brothers and sisters .
The sister ties a sacred thread / amulet on the brother’s wrist , and prays for the well being and protection of her brother.
The brother promises the same and showers the sister with gifts .

https://youtu.be/oapzWU3ttqg

Dear all , owing to the festive occasion I have not been able to read much here , should do so in a couple of days , stay blessed all of you !

Thank you  all, for the love and support for this poem( 3rd May 2019), this was made the daily!

Will soon respond to all your lovely comments, thanks and love to all ♥️
Milo Clover Aug 2015
Our thoughts of time travel
burnt-up when Junior
sang The Blues.

Foreign creature.
***** voodoo muppet.

His spaniel’s moan,
a call to mud,
digging deep like
“woo-woo-woo”

Smacking the past in the chin,
he dipped a laden lead melon
in a barrel of black molasses.
A slow lowering,
tender sinew slackened.
Unclawed-
the orb traversed his finger tips
nicking his nails on the way earthward.
The black drink parts then
floods back where it once was,
coating the cold round load
as it sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.

Junior gurgled in slow-mo
dipped his Gibson
and stirred the stew,
made the black brew dribble over
the barrel’s shoulders
and puddle in the thick sticky
corners and cracks of
the Juke’s oak planks.

He fished it out then
-bladaplowplow-
-WHAP!!-
split that melon in half,
no knife, they used the trap,
then Junior took his break
to take a nap
in Baton Rouge.
blues great Junior Kimbrough's one of a kind sound
George Meadows Jun 2020
“From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”
–William Shakespeare (Prologue to Romeo and Juliet)

I was hewn from the helpless limbs of a tree
Which could have grown
To become something magnificent

Through sanding and carving
Through varnishing and the work of human hands
I was formed

In a way, the tree which was mutilated to give me life
Was a foreshadowing of my truncheon fate

I swing through the air once again
A weapon in the hands of a vehement oppressor

Skin splits
Blood sprays
Bone shatters

Bodies litter the dust
Staining the earth with crimson testament
To the cruelty I have wrought
Some of the figures are marred
Reminiscent of the tree from which I was hewn
Which died to give me life

The dark throng of protestors
Are but mortals
Faced by the immortal power
Of those lighter beings
Who wield me, mercilessly

I wish to weep
For the destruction, pain
Anguish I leave in my wake

I wish I was still a living bough
Capable of shedding resin tears
Capable of yielding to greater forces
Not to force the vulnerable to break

But I cannot weep
I cannot yield

I am a baton
A weapon in the hands of those who swore to protect
Yet scythe down those who rise to protect what is rightfully theirs

Ancient grudge of black and white
Break to new mutiny of segregation
Where civil blood of those who seek protection
Makes civil hands who swore to guard them
Unclean.
In June 1959, the inhabitants of Cato Manor protested the forced removals of the time. The police were sent in and the protests turned violent.
Terry O'Leary Dec 2015
1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.
Shrivastva MK May 2015
Tujhe dekh najane kyon dhadkta hain
ye dil,
Tujhse milne ke liye najane kyon tadpta hain
ye dil,
Aaj mausam bhi udas hain tere bina,
Teri hi yaadon me najane kyon khoya rahta hain ye dil,
Tujhe dekh najane kyon dhadkta hain
ye dil...


Mere dil me gairo ke liye koi jagah nahi,
Tujhse pyar karne ka koi dusra wajah nahi,
Aksar tut jata hain ye dil kisi ke pyar me,
Bah jati hain aansoo kisi ke intezar me,
Soch biti baton ko najane kyon rone lagta hain ye dil,
Tujhe dekh najane kyon dhadkta hain ye dil...


Tere pyar me judai hum sah nahi sakte,
Ekpal bhi ab tere bina hum rah nahi sakte,
Teri judai se najane kyon darta hain
ye dil,
Tujhe dekh najane kyon dhadkta hain
ye dil,.
Tujhe dekh najane kyon dhadkta hain
ye dil....
TRANSLATION OF POEM :-THE HEART

Why not let you see the heart beats..?
why not let this heart suffer to you met..?
Today the weather is gloomy without you,
Why not let the lives lost in the memories of your heart beat,
Why not let you see the heart beats.......?


In my heart there is no room for another,
Love to you, becouse there's no other,
Often broken heart in love with somebody,
Waiting for someone tear flows,
Why not let bygones be bygones, thinking it cries heart....?
Why not let you see the heart beats......?


we can not bear parting with your love,
now we can not live a moment without you,
why not let your fear of separation is the heart....?
why not let you to see the heart beats....?
martin murray Feb 2016
Police broke their baton
Caught a thief with a weapon
In the court was an easy decision
Judge said 20 years in prison
He did 15 years in depression
And 5 years on probation
Police got high recommendation
Now one is the police commissioner
Drives about with chauffeur
Now her friends are missing her
The fellas will never forget dancing with her
Community is growing like flowers
Each time police break a baton then they catch a criminal with a weapon
Megan Sherman Mar 2017
The warmakers paint the world with a fetid fire
The artists fight back by painting the world with a fine fluent fire
The righteous, truest path inciting passion and desire
Majestic medley of peace sung along to ancient lyre

We take the baton and pass it on
Under the sweet and setting sun
To each other with light we run
Passing on the cosmic joy and fun

This is the song of serendipity
That incites the world to love and amity
That inspires an uncynical charity
And eternal laughter and the cosmic hilarity
kalpana nayak Jun 2015
Jee aur aieee k sadme k mare ** jte h anjne anokhe unvrsts k hawale,nya clg nya jgh nye dost sb kch hta h nw nw,clg k strtng s hr ksi k dil m hta h rgng ka dar....2nd yr m cnr bnne ka hta h sbko gurur,frnds kai grp m bat jte h,hr koi dkhte h nye luks m,3rd yr m sbko ati h apni jimedari ka ahsas aur fnl yr ata h dston m fasle bdhte h...rah dkhe the is din k kbse,age k sapne saja rkhe the njane kbse,sb bde utavle the yhn se jne ko,zndgi ko dusre trke se dkhne ko....pr njane aj dil m kch aur he ata h,piche ja k waqt ko rok k apne andr sare lmhe ko samet lne ka jee krta h....at d strtng f btech kha krte the bdi muskil s y 4 sal bitenge lkn kse pta tha y sb chd k jne ka mn ni krga...na vulne wali kch yadein reh *** o yadein jo ab jine ka sahara bn ***...na jne aj q un palon k yad bht ati h jin baton ko lekar tab rote the ,aj un palon ko yad kar bht hsi ati h....y sch k ankhein nam ** jte h k mri tang ab kn kncha krga,m apne bton s kska sar khaungi,pranks ksk 7 krngi,ab mjhe kn itna jhlga,ksk smne ntnki krngi,jin dst p lakh kurban whn 1 rupye k ly  kn ldhnge,kaun rat vr bina soye bt krga,kaun bina pche 1 dusre ka chj istml krga,kaun nya nm rkhga,bina ksi bt k m ab ksse ldhungi,bina ks tpc k fal2 bt kn krga,bkws q kn krga,xam k ek din phle o tyri o rate,kn rat var 7 jag kr pdhga,kn fail hne p dilasa dlyga,y hasin pal ab ksk 7 jiungi....yad ati h o rec k choti si cntn bar bar jhn kch v ni mlta mre yar fr v na jane q hum gye hnge so bar...tum jse kmine dost khn mlnge jo khai m v dhaka de ayen sale srs mtr ko v joke m cnvrt kr de,par fr tmhe bachane khud v kud jye....mre hrkton se nakhro se jid s prsan kn hga ,ksk 7 brng lctrs jhlngi..bina mtlb k ksko v dkh kr pglon k trh hsna,na jne y fr kb hga....ky hm y sb fr krpaenge....bdy clbrt,ek h rm p bth k 1 dusre s wtsap p bt krna...rat k 3-4 bje khna pkana....bina ksi mtlb k rat ko chilana....mlk pina...pgl jse hrkt krna..mlk ghumna....kaun mjhe apni kabiliat pr vrosa aur jyda hawa m udne pr zamin p lyga....mre khusi m sch m khus kn hga,mre gam m mjhse jyda dukhi kn hga....keh do doston y dubara kb hga....dil m ek kasak hoti h jb hr ankhein nam hti h,fir mlne k wade se hm ek dusre se juda hte h,kv na akle rhne wle dost bas yadon k sahare zndgi bitate h....lkn jb v y clg k din yad ate h ankhon m hasin aur ansu ek 7 late h...engnr bnne k khusi v ansu rok na pai ,q k njr aa rai t doston s judai...ab jo hna tha o ** gya akhir m sbse juda ** h gye....aj v un palon ko yad kr k ansun rok ni pte h ....nkl he jte h...aur yuhi lkh lkh k apko pka rai hn....char sal yu he gye hmri beet..ab khn mlnge wo dost wo mit...dua krt hn sb k ly race y zndgi k jao tm jit....
I ms my clg clg dys.....
PNasarudheen Sep 2012
Freedom to Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming “save India”, alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it ,against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously          
forced us to riots-in Gujarat ,Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune,Bangalore ,Poovar or Marad ,no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a **** ,with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic ,fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs  ,in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don’t dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave ,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
Jeremy Betts Feb 2018
{Political}

Just look around you and you'll notice that every day there's another suucker born
Another mother fuucker trying to pick around the thorn
But there'll never be breath blown through the victory horn and there won't be one to worn
Cause the new norm is news meant to deform not to inform
Leaving only torn fragments of real mixed with lies, a new truth is born
And it's one that defies the meaning of truth so it's armor for our thoughts and soul that must be worn

Cause it's forced upon every sense, attached to ignorance, illegal for an opinion to be drawn
It's a new dawn where rational thinking is gone, new laws signed in crayon
And it doesn't matter what paawn gets passed the baton when an election comes along
Cause it was years ago that this corruption spawn with a freedom slogan button on
And it's the divide that's grown from a line to a deep chasm of a wide canyon
That'll be our legacy, the legend we pass on till we feel defeat and meet the same demise that fell upon Krypton

It's crazy how we as a society love to single out one to staple blame on, makes it simple
But every man that's held an oval as his office might as well have been a floating carcass, dead in the water from the get go
Don't just agree cause I said so, that's half the problem yo, go do your own research bro
And know that they fear intelligence so go gather up a couple library's full
And don't jump in half cockeed like you only got one teesticle
Give it your all, fuuck being humble, we keep this shiit up we're all in fuuckin trouble
So burst this bubble, let it trasnform to rubble, forget being subtle
It's time to break huddle and be a factor in this much needed rebuttal
Screamed in the face paced on this ancient government scandal

But fuuck it. I'm only one person and not the one to change it cause I'm not perfect
But my imperfectly perfect plan sits perched in dust, never to be touched like it's deadly sick
Like a dripping diick, you pretend you don't have it 'til the graphic turns horrific
Then they say it's fake news but you're looking at the problem, starring derectly at it
But it's me that's ignorant and insignificant? I see it different you one percenter priick

I have a thought, just a notion, top of my head, tell me what you think
How long can we survive on the brink? On a doomed vessel destined to sink?
Holding the knowledge of where the boat is weak
Have known about the leak but putting off repairs till a metaphorical next week
We can see the old, rusty chain of command, it's obvious who's the weakest link
But if we the people aren't in sync (bye bye bye) we're all gonna drown in the drink
The spiked flavor-aid is laid out just waiting for evil to speak then give a sly wink
The nod to give the go-ahead once we're in to deep, swerling round the bottom of the sink

But there's more of us then them so I say we push back
Take the power that we hold off the rack, grow a pair of metaphorical baalls in a metaphorical nuut sack and attack
Put on Hatebreed as the soundtrack and dish out some payback
This is a call to all who can't just lay back like seats in a Maybach and watch the train skip off track
You don't need an almanac to predict this fact, the shiit storm is here, lead by a maniac
And if we don't take our country back then it's our fault, not theirs, that the future seems bleak and black
Let that neat little fact sink in and fill the crack like plaque stacked from years of no contact
Then get back to me when you see clearly that the peace tready that was eagerly signed so freely is actually a death contact

You can't dispute that once you've read the small print on the back of this sinister, sell your soul type contract
Gotta realize we've given to much slack but we do hold the rains, we must pull back
But mustn't hold back, can't afford to hoard the ball and record a sac
It's already fourth down and forever, standing in our own in zone taking the snap
A hail Mary is our only hope, but it might be crazy enough to be the key to the exact play we need to get the lead back
We lose this game and that's it, no respawn, no next season to fall back on, blap, extinction just like that
But fuuck that shiit Jack, I'll fight till my last breath escapes me, I ain't going out like that
Can't give up with my back turned to a population under attack
Cowering in a ransacked bomb shelter resembling the shrieking shack
Can't do it, no matter our differences no one deserves that
But I'm going to need all the help I can get to keep this flaming wreckage off the tarmac

So please, as soon as the Kodak filters been lifted and you see the mess that we've been gifted
You'll come join the million other kindred spirits that have enlisted
No longer tainted by politicians political poison, no longer frightened
Instead, an ability to sift through the ******* has been heightened
No blinders, just enlightened, a vision readjusted, a true path brightened
Natural senses sharpened like a tack then augmented, now you look frightened
All ready to attack and take our lives back, combat tested
And mother approved, well connected, you've been vetted
And we've all come to the conclusion that it's time this reign of terror ended
Way past time for this regime to be upended
Quickly removed and  permanently suspended
Only then can we drop the act, no longer a need to pretend we're not wounded
Only then can we be on the mend and begin the healin'

©2018
PNasarudheen Nov 2012
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming “save India”, alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it ,against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat ,Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune,Bangalore ,Poovar or Marad ,no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a **** ,with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic ,fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs  ,in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don’t dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave ,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
…………………………………………………………………….
brooke Jan 2013
Almond Roca in the winter
the trees smell like sun and
the floors are heated, maybe
the swell of ******* under a
red plaid robe, we both have
tear dimpled faces but cider
the cider smells good in this
house, in these mugs on the
table, this morning is like

syrup
(c) Brooke Otto
Michael Mitchell Apr 2013
Sitting on stage
The glare of the audience immobilizes my every move
Is there a way this paralysis will soothe?
The lights suddenly blare
Like a deer bathed in headlights
How can I escape from this radiant bear?

The conductor baton rises into the soundless air
Sweating, stammering, shivering
Will this be my final prayer?

The sound of an A fires from a clarinet
Bow on string, I imitate the shrill
This magical note seems to be my fever pill

A-D, D-G, A-E
Instrument seems in tune
But will this miniscule fact solve my problem soon?

As the chief baton swings side to side
Flickering images in my mind crash like a tsunami tide
Joy, Love, Hardship, and Harmony
Music conducted the opening to my passion ceremony

Fire ignites my being
Like bungee-jumping off a bridge
The words “Anything is possible!” now beaming

Like poetry, music is an art
Raw emotion strangles uniformity
Expression bears no limit
Creativity beats as our vital body part
For all whom have suffered through stage fright.
~M&M
Cedric McClester Jan 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Before they can
Pass the baton
Where they’re holed up
In Oregon
Don’t give ‘em time
To sigh or morn
The law must win
This marathon

If their militia
Refuses to be flagged
Once identified
And toe tagged
Take ‘em out
In a black body bag
Wrapped inside
A confederate flag

Why allow ‘em
To break in armed?
Threatening folks
Will sure be harmed
If they reject them
Or aren’t charmed
Because the government claims
The land that’s farmed

Are takeovers
The new pandemic
Or do I sound schizophrenic
They are clearly becoming
Endemic
And more to the point
Pathogenic
Now they’ve even become systemic




Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.
MOUMITA SARKAR Mar 2016
Tuesday
7:57 pm
15/3/2016

Woh jaa chuka hai…
Laakh koshish kar lunn,
Woh na rukha…
Woh  nahi rukega.. aab kabhi
Kitna bhi usse yaad kar lunn..
Woh jaa chukka hai..!

Woh na aab kabhi ageyega
Rutha jo hai mujhse bahut,
Shayed nafrat bhi aab,
pahele se zaida karne laga hai…
woh jaa chukka hai…!

Haan maine koshish ki hai ussko,
Bahut bhulane ki… par sab bhul jaati ***,
Shivayen uss ke…
2 saal ** gayen inn baton ko yaad kar ke,
Ki kabhi na kabhi aa hi jayegaa woh!

Woh yaadein jo chah kar bhi,
Kabhi bhulne hi nahi diya.
Jaane kya pata… ye pyaar hi tha
Yaa fhir ekh sapnaa…
Woh jaa chukka hai!
#some #memories cant forgettable :)
I went above the roof of my so-called humble home;
Don't think I'm feeling lonely just because I'm alone;
My older brother is present maybe he is fast asleep;
Even my friends and loved ones have dark secrets they hide and keep;

I don't mind I have done much worst than you can think of;
Honestly, it doesn't bother me, there are many crucial problems we need to solve;
If we keep our eyes closed then yes we can smile, laugh drowning ourselves in ecstasy with bliss;
That is fine with me if everyone can do it, but if we see what is truly happening around us and we have a beating heart, tears in our very eyes would not cease;

If I just want to do what I wanted I would love to be with the girl, the woman who saved me, maybe hopefully I honestly love;
But If horrible war and all the crazy things around the world are still going on, what's the sense of everything I'll do, please enlighten me those who hear me from above, all your blessings I'll grab;

If I'll inspire the younger generation will it work?
I have already made many unacceptable things I'm worst than a ****;
If I do good or bad in the standard of this world could it make everyone happy and smile?
I lived in the City of smiles, but can every people be truly happy in facing life's trials?

All the ugly, disgusting things I've done whatever they are I don't deny it;
Some of it makes me stupid, a good-for-nothing fool any word you're hungry to add, no good all bad,
and at times makes me lose hope and end the very life I have;
but no I'll embrace every experience I have and endure all the aftermath and still fight, I'll never quit;

Honestly, I'm tired of pleasing people, but deep inside I want to please that girl/woman who saved me;
And most of all the one who gave me my life the one who created me;
Other people call the Father I know God or whatever any other name for the source of all creation;
So if it's fine for you, whoever reading this let me call the one who created me, my Father the one I invoke if I need immense inspiration;

Forgive me if the words I use bother anyone of you;
Yes I know, I have trouble using them, if only you have a clue;
If I'll be true in everything I do and say;
Can every ear and heart handle it? If it's the answer to every problem will you follow each step of the way?

If I'll be a righteous pious zealous man with the grace of our Creator in just one snap overnight;
Would anybody follow me and do the same and leave all the wrongdoings which are unpleasing to every sensible rational being's sight?
Yes, I know every human being have their principles, ideologies whatever philosophy in living;
But in life and death situations you can truly see if what you are looking and standing for is worth dying;

Yes, it's easy to say words, sing songs, write poems, or whatever at this time and age;
But you can only know what is true if your very life is at risk and face your life's unpleasing page;
When I was younger I easily get into a rage and make a reckless decisions;
But now I can just act like I'm angry with good intentions;

Yes at times I get ****** when someone, anyone bothers me;
And at times I get so cold everything vanishes in my sight not a single soul worth for me to see;
At times I wish this world could be a paradise once more;
But at times when I get blinded I wish this world would tremble to its very core;

The things I say may appear so vicious and malicious;
Isn't we human beings capable of that, kindly answer that, and don't be pretentious;
In my experience it is true I could do the worst possible thing I can imagine;
I don't care if you list my name in every sin;

But no I still have hope and dreams for the future of our world and every living being staying in this place we are sharing;
Who the hell I am to make a change in this world, I know one thing in the vastness of creation I am nothing;
That is why I have nothing to gain or to lose;  
I could just do nothing and be safe and wait for my story to end or simply die but now I'll be reckless and say things I bottled up, forgive me if that is what I choose;

I say these things because I see and feel what is happening here and around;
Violence is just around the corner great or small even in our very selves it can be found;
I don't say these things to put anyone down or destroy people's hope;
I just say what is true, but we need to face it and hold on to that redemptive rope;

Many of us want solutions to the problems we encounter may they be great or small;
But when the answers to the problems are facing us, some of us run and roll;
Sorry, I'll say a ***** word influenced by a well-known country;
**** it I'll spend all day writing until I'll run out of words even If I will sound crazy;

Honesty I'm not comfortable using this English language;
I love to speak in my mother tongue or just be silent but I need to do what is needed in our time and age;
Writing this, whatever you may call this would not give me anything;
but who knows it can stir something, make bells ring;

The first concern that comes to my mind is the
extreme weather and war;
Let me think about what will I talk about first
cause both things can leave bitter scars;
Many of us are always in a hurry to go somewhere;
We use and ride vehicles or any transportation that pollutes the air just to mention a few and say yes we still care;

Oh! I want to say the ***** word! but can we be true to ourselves and swear to vanish into existence or simply die?
If we including you and me human beings with our endless activities are the cause of extreme weather conditions please to ourselves don't we lie;
Can we give up the things that contribute to the devastation of our planet our home?
Or settle for a half-*** lukewarm solution and wait for the worst then we all tremble to our very bones;

Let me ask, those who have homes or shelter you frankly love to spend your time staying in every day;
What will you do if a pest or anything is destroying it I ask this nicely anyway;
Likewise our common home our planet called earth do we honestly take care?
Or just open our eyes every time there is a calamity happening anywhere;

Then close our eyes once more when it seems peaceful and calm;
Knowing we're slowly gradually contributing to our world's injury, I don't express this to everyone but maybe some;
I don't know maybe I have already done unimaginable damage to our planet;
If so I'll face any consequences but please let us do the things needed to be done before we all fall and regret;

I don't forget I'm just passing by spending some time in this world of ours;
If I ask forgiveness and do nothing to solve the problems, It's better to die or stay behind bars;
Let's not play dumb, we know we human beings are so intelligent;
Isn't human beings invented things that could destroy our world does that sound excellent?

Let us learn and go back to history what occur to that country Japan;
If that emerges once more, I don't know if we could still have some fun;
Wait I'm not done, why do we follow leaders or rulers who lead us to a pit;
I don't know if I have a leader who is like that the hell with him/her I'll quit;

Why don't those leaders fight their war and leave others be;
Imagine you're peaceful and someone bothers you or me;
They want peace and want to talk it out but they are ready to ****;
What on earth is wrong with our heads, we need to check it out is that the first thing we need to heal?

I have heard enough of myself writing in a foreign language;
With all due respect I'll use another for the next page;
Bato bato sa langit ang ma igo please wag tayo always galit;
Pasensyahi lang ko kung kis-a syado ko ka kulit kag bua-ngit kis-a gani ako yagit;

Ang panit ko medyo nang ***-om sang sulay sa adlaw;
Pero ako man kis-a maka yuhom kag ginagmay maka kadlaw;
May ti-on sang una nga ako daw isa ka patay nga ga balang-balang;
Mayu lang damu nag salbar sa akon, kag ako na banhaw kag daw alang-alang na mag talang;

Pero samtang ga ginhawa pa ako hindi ko ka hambal sang tapos;
Ka nugon sang mga tinaga kung indi mapasaburan kag mapabay-an lang nga gaka pan-os;
Sa tuod lang ka tawhay diri sa gina tiniran ko na panimalay;
Simpli lang ang kabuhi ga biya biyahi e-bike ga dul-ong sang pasahero nga ga sakay;

Sinsilyo ginagmay, biskan ang balay gani indi mani akon;
Salamat sa akon amay kag iloy daw ara lng sila gihapon;
Buenas lang ko sa mga grasya na akon na baton;
biskan wala na gani si nanay ga sulod gyapon iya pensyon;

Para sa SSS kung may sala man ko na himo ari lang ko sa balay kung ako inyo dakpon;
Kay kung mag sulod pa gihapon sa atm pwede ko pana ma gamit sa amon galastuson;
Wala ko kabalo kung inyu na gina hungod;
Bangud gatingala man ko ang grasya wala ga untat sulod;

Kay kung sa inyu layi dibala dapat wala na nga grasya ma sulod tani;
Pero kung sigihon ninyu pasulod ay ka tahum kanami;
Pero ka balo man ako damo na may ma batikos kag ma hisa;
Pasensyahi lang ako batunon ko na ang ihambalon ninyu tuod man gina paguwa sang akon dila;

Daw ka bug-at abi kung ang isa ka tawo may gina tago tago;
Amo ina nga tanan ko nga sala bahala kamo mag sintensya kay ako kadali lang mag ako;
Dumduman ko sang gamay pa ako na mana ko kay tatay nakon and iya hapo;
Medyo hubin pa ko kabalo na man ako kung ma patay ako kung diin ako ma kadto;

Sang gina ataki ako sang asthma daw ma bugto ang ginhawa kag daw ma ubos akon pwersa;
Gina hulat ko ang akon nanay nga ga langoy sa lamesa pero okay lang na siya intindihan ko na;
Natun-an ko sa kabuhi hindi man permi permi ara aton mga abyan biskan pamilya;
Amu ina sang amu to nga ti-on nag tawag ako sa kung sin-o man sa akon nag hurma nag tuga;

Kung lantawon ko gani liwat ang na tabo; akon man to sala nga ako gina hapo;
Sa bisyo ko na sigarilyo kag pahubog na inom;
Na ani ko lang mga bagay na akon gin tanom;

Amu ina mga kabataan indi manami kung inyu ma agyan ang akon na agyan;
Kay kadamo nga dalan ang akon na laktan;
May ara man kasanag kag mga matahum;
May tyempo man nga kala-in kag ka dulom;

Pero salamat sa nag patilaw sang kabuhi sa nag tuga sa akon;
Ako ari paman gasulat buhi pa man sa giyapon;
Pero balik ta sa isturya sang tyempo kag klima;
Kag kung anu anu pa ang gaka tabo isa pagid na ang mga giyera;

Sa tuod lang matyag ko ang kabuhi ko daw ako na hampangan na tripan;
Wala ko kabalo kung tungod sa mga gina sulat sulat ko, ahay ewan;
Sang una mag sulat ko kung ano ano daw wala man may ga sapak;
Pero subong ambot hindi lang ko sure daw hindi ko ka giyo kag ka palak;

Wala ko gani ka balo ngaa amu ini ang na agyan ko na direksyon;
Wala man ko ga riklamo biskan anu subong akon ma dangpan na sitwasyon;
pasalamat lang ko ka tilaw man ko mabuhi nga isa ka tawo;
Nga maka dumdum sang mga memorya kag maka paminsar sang mga bagay-bagay sa
sulod sang akon ulo;

Intindihan ko man ang iban mahambal sagi ka sulat wala mana pulos usik lang na tyempo;
Pasensyahi lang ko kay gamay lang akon kalipayan amu lang ini mahatag ko sa inyu;
Labay man lang akon na pamangkot kung ikaw abi gaan chansa kag ti-on;
Himo-on ka isa ka lider, presidente, prime minister; okon hari na may mansyon anu una mo na obrahon?

Sa mga bagay bagay kag gaka tabo sa aton subong nga panahon;
Kung kis-a gaka lipat kita biskan sa kahoy may pulos man na iya mga dahon;
Biskan ano kapa ka gamay kung kita tanan ga binuligay indi ayhan ina matawhay?
Kung ikaw abi isa ka lider okon amay nami-an kabala nga kita mag inaway-away?

Hindi ko ka intindi ngaa ang mga tawo ga pinatyanay;
Kung amu man lang ni ang bwas damlag sang mga kabataan mayu pa mag tulog na ga tulo ang laway;
Katawhay tani galing kung amu sina daw tinamad na man na daw buhi nga patay;
Dibala sang una kita tanan basi gina kugos man lang sang aton nanay okon tatay kag kung kis-a man mga tupad balay;

Ngaa dapat kung ga dako nata dapat gid bala mag dako man aton mga ulo haw?
Pyerdihon man ta gihapon sang baka kag karabaw may dala pa na sungay ka luoy man galing kis-a sa ila kung sila gina ihaw;
Sabagay ga mahal na man mga balaklon pati mga pagkaon;
Medyo maayo mana siguro ang sustansya sang utan para sa aton;

Kis-a maka hambal kita bay-e dira ang mga gaka tabo wala man ta gaka epiktohan;
Te kung ikaw gaan isa ka blessing para maintindihan mo, ibutang ka sa ma-dulom kag pwerti ka teribli na dalan sang kabuhi para ma inat imo nga paminsaron kag balatyagon kag imo ma intindihan;
Gina pangabay ko lang na imo ma sarangan ang mga leksyon sang kabuhi na tani aton tanan ma tun-an;
Buenas lang mga tawo nga permi lang sa masanag kag manami na dalan ang gina agyan, indi man siguro tanan;

Sa kadamo sang kala-inan nga na himo ko Amay nga nag tuga sa akon pasensyahi kag sintensyahi na lang ako;
Kung may butig kag indi matuod sa akon gina sulat subong maayo pa kilatan mo na lang ako;
Ako nga nag sulat sini isa ka tawo na indi perpekto sa mata sang mga tawo;
Ginoo Amay ko nga nag tuga sang akon ulo, mata, paminsaron, corazon kag ini mga kamot gabayi lang ako;

Sa kada tinaga nga ma sulat ko diri subong tani makabulig hilway sa akon kaugalingon kag balatyagon;
Kay mag abot ang ti-on na kina-hanglan ko ini balikan kag basahon may gabay na ako sa akon distinasyon;
Sa isturya na man sa akon kabuhi ang pahina parti sa gugma romantiko kag relasyon;
Sa edad ko subong na traynta-uno sa gugma
romantiko na aspeto daw bata-bata pa ako wala kabalo kung ano akon himo-on;

May ara ako na luyagan sa isa ka malayo na lugar;
Sa pwerte ka luyag ko sa iya kung kis-a wala ko kabalo kung ano obrahon ko daw indi ako mag andar;
Wala ko kabalo kung ako lang na luyag sa iya kag siya wala man ya sa akon;
Biskan gusto ko na buy-an ang luyag na akon gina dala gabalik man ako sa iya giyapon;

Ka ilinit na balatyagon nga daw ga kurog na corazon kag dughan;
Daw mahibi kung kis-a akon nga mga mata nga daw gal-um kag ga tubod na bagyo kag ulan;
Nga-a amu ini kung ma luyag-luyag ko haw kung maayo ang relasyon grabi ma hatag nga inspirasyon;
Kag kung buy-an ko na kag indi pag ibato ang sa sulod sang akon balatyagon daw delubyo ang dala kag distraksyon;

Paano ko ayhan mapa luyag sa akon ang na luyagan ko;
Tudlo-i ninyu man abi ako ga ayo ako sang sinsiro;
Okon buy-an ko na lang kag indi pag i-pilit sa iya ang kaugalingon ko;
Palihog please prangkaha na lang ako kung wala na ako pag-asa sa imo;

Ka balo man ako damo man mas responsabli nga maka palangga sa imo;
Hambali lang ko kung ano obrahon ko kay indi na ako mag sinabad sa imo;
Pero dako na salamat sa ti-on na gin bangon mo ako sa pag ka dasma nga gapa luya;
Biskan ano akon napanghimo na mga sala ara kaman giyapon naga uyat kag wala nag buya;

Pasensyahi lang akon mga tinaga kung ako daw wala sing huya;
Sa bagay kung sa mata sang mga tawo indi man ta bagay kay ikaw prinsesa ako ya kabalan na dukha;
Mabalik na man ako sulat sa ling-gwahi na hapos para sa imo ma intindihan;
Para ini sa babayi binibini sa malayo na lugar na akon na luyagan;

Not all letters at a post office are meant for everyone to read;
Not everyone in this world can make my heart and head gradually bleed;
For the woman who captured my frozen flaming heart;
From far away you are may you read this with your heart this annoying art;

If I bother you before let me do it once more;
I can't wield this feeling deep inside my core;
A woman whose 1st name starts and ends with A;
This part of this letter is for you, I'm expressing today;

Forgive me if I've been reckless and will be in my actions and words, I write and say;
The way I am now and before can you accept me I ask you in a sincere polite way;
I write this not because I'm angry or happy just trying to keep in touch;
You have made me your slave a prisoner you made me crazy in many good ways I can't say
too much;

I have nothing great to offer you to make you truly happy;
I know millions of others can love you more and you can be;
Honestly, it makes me jealous if you'll be in the arms of someone;
But I have no right to do that for in your life maybe I'm just no one;

If it is God's plan for you and me to be apart in heart be far away;
It's not God's fault or yours but mine cause many times both of you I have dismayed and maybe betrayed;
I have played the game called life and I have no cheat code to win it;
I have times I'm on the straight road and at times fall to a pit but still, I never quit;

Even a writer just can edit and at times unnecessary messages he can delete;
And a witty singer can sing passionately so bitter and at times so deliciously sweet;
You made my heart beat truly beat in a romantic sense;
And at times in your presence I feel intensely tense;

We live in a dense world full of amazing people;
But I wonder in love and madness for you I fall;
I understand and know what I need to do or my Father's/Creator's/God's call my duty to do;
But if I pour my life and my heart into you I don't ask you to do the same I don't want to control you;

Forgive me if I'm madly obsessively falling in love with you;
Correct me if I'm wrong honestly this feeling I have for you I have no clue;
All I know now about me and you without you I'm so blue;
I want to please you in every way at times I can no longer be at ease and be true;

Please tell me what I need to do to capture your heart;
Or just even give me a place there to be a part of, just even a tiny part;
If you can make me your friend honestly for me it's enough;
But if you ask my heart what it truly wants for me it will be rough;

I dream of a future for you and me to be a happy family;
But who I am in your life now I don't know I'm lost I can't see;
Just tell me sincerely if in your life I don't have a chance;
If even a small there is I could leap for joy and madly dance;

But I don't want to manipulate or control you I want you to be free;
To say and do what you want and need truly even if it's not me;
Don't worry I can take it gracefully if you reject me I'll move on;
But the blessings you gave me the hope I'll treasure it and never be gone;

Please don't think if my heart will fall into pieces I'll become a monster;
Don't worry about that God is watching me our Creator the one I call Father;
If I accept the good things in life is it not fair to accept also the little trials;
Sometimes it's also good to shed some tears and cry not every time just laugh and smiles;

I'll do everything within my capability to make this world a paradise;
But without the grace of our creator God, our common Father I'm just a foolish man not wise;
So don't worry to reject me I just want us to be free;
If only I own all the things in this world or a castle for you to be;

If that will make you truly happy how I wish I would be a king;
And make every people our family and we could share a meal a home have fun and you can sing;
I know it may sound crazy and impossible but who I am now I'm happy, a life of simplicity is simple;
One thing I remember my mother wrote a note on a book she gave me, it says always be humble;

I'm afraid to be as powerful and rich as the kings;
It's not a joke to have all that and the possibilities it brings;
One thing I know is that everything I have is temporary;
The things I have, my mind my body, talents, and everything within me;

Only by the test of time, we would know;
If we'll be blessed with old age we can still live and grow;
Forgive me if I did not sound so romantic;
At distant seas we are apart I'm not sure the whereabouts maybe the Pacific and Atlantic;

But deep inside my heart I only wish the best for everyone especially you;
If we're not meant to be for each other I'll accept it but please let us be true;
I write this part of the letter for the woman whose name starts and ends with A;
I wish the best for you and in my heart, you already have a place to stay;

I'll just end here for now but I'm not yet done;
I hope I can hear from you even if in your life maybe you want me gone;
I have nothing to offer you to truly genuinely make you happy;
But if you are already truly happy with your life I will be happy too it resonates with me;

Now, this part of the story is for everyone for a human being who has an open heart;
Can we welcome someone anyone maybe a stranger in a time so dark;
Can we replenish what is missing from someone unknown to us what they lack;
Or just ignore an unpleasant stranger in our hearts we put a block, chain it and lock;

If someone needs something to eat just to survive and be alive are we willing to give;
If a homeless hopeless stranger knocks on our door will we accept them where we live;
If someone or anyone truly essentially needs something a matter of life and death that degree of importance;
Will we give or share and sacrifice what we have even if it hurts or put a lock into our hearts and do nothing but glance;

If every open-hearted people in our world who don't want and need war will unite;
And strive extremely to heal not only our heads but also our planet and disobey those who commands us to do violent actions and senseless fight;
Will we give time or a chance a shot for that matter;
Or just go with the flow and do our day-to-day routine to obtain our bread and butter;

Is it possible for all of us just for a day or a week to have a leave like a worldwide collective vacation;
To stop and cease anything which is harming any living creature/being and let the planet breathe, maybe mother earth is already in a state of suffocation;
Or can we just sit somewhere and be still whatever you may call it prayer or meditation;
I don't know I'm just giving an idea but maybe anyone there somewhere has a better answer for an open-hearted being who is willing in listening and doing the solutions;

We can be open-hearted to listen and do what is truly needed;
I'm no genius I need everyone willing to share their solutions and answers, for now, we are alive but what can we do if we're already dead?
I've become who I am because of my relationship with our creator God or our common Father;
But before I encounter our Creator I knew him through someone in some stories or letters;

I don't know for everyone but in my life experience it was the man called Jesus Christ;
Who let me have a glimpse of the source of all creation which is unexplainably nice;
I do some methods or ways trying hard to follow that man's footsteps and maybe accidentally;
  I have tasted and touched the one called infinite;
If I'll put into words what I've experienced it will be indefinite;

Everything pleasingly beautiful that I have made I can't make any of it just by using my wit;
But for the wrong ways and decisions, I have chosen it was my own will I will not deny it or disown it;
I don't know and will not assume anything about anyone practicing being still;
But one thing I know is we are all created by the same unfathomable Being for me that is real;

In this lifetime of mine I have experienced indescribable things I need not say;
But I thank you our common Father the Creator of all for the chance to live even this very moment and all the nights and days;
By the way, I know people are confused and fight because of what they believe or their religion;
If a person has a sincere conviction on what they know or believe they will have a clear vision;

So if it's the end times we are living in now will it change the way we are because of fear;
And if it is not will we just do anything that pleases us even if we hurt and harm others who are dear;
I won't stop anyone to be fearless but please can we human beings be harmless;
I have no right to say this I know in my life I have hurt and harmed someone I'm that careless;

If only we could open our hearts and not give them a lock;
And fill which have empty and shower them with what they lack;
May it be physically, emotionally, spiritually, or psychologically on any aspect of a human being;
I know things seem so hard but if we have an open mind and heart dark skies and times will be brightly shining;

I know whomever we believe or know the one who Created us all will not abandon us;
For the gifts, we have like talents, knowledge, wisdom, and many more given by our Creator I still have faith in humanity and especially in our common Father God I trust;
I always remind myself in the vastness of creation I'm just a speck of dust;
Even that man of steel in a children's story has a weakness like steel eaten by rust;

So if it's a must to open and stretch our minds and hearts then put away those locks;
For the time is ticking for all of us we better spend it wisely and set our clocks;
Set aside or sacrifice anything that blocks us to reach a common goal;
Then if possible we all communicate, and cooperate for the common good of all;

I wish and dream we can all have an open mind and heart to lift one another;
This is a wish coming from an ordinary child-man who already lost his biological father and mother;
Will it be beautiful before we end our life's stories this world will be so much better;
And the next generation will no longer need to read this lengthy letter;
Rodney Mendoza May 2014
I'm that used ****** under the bed that your girlfriend found.                                                                                                          I'm that last breath you take before you drown.                           I'm that raised manhole cover that give you blowouts.              I'm that pothole in the hood that the City knows about.         THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm the safety on that nine that determines life or death.                                                                                                                 I'm that asthma attack you had when you couldn't catch your breath.                                                                                                          I'm that last surviving egg about to go head on with that *****.                                                                                                         I'm that ***** next door that gave your wife that ****** up perm.                                                                                                        THEY CALL DRAMA.                                                                                I'm that wooden baton when you get your *** beat by the cop.   I'm that SUV the kids jumped out of when they robbed the **** spot.                                                                                                               I'm that sweat tricklin' down your cheek like someone shot ya. 
I'm that quarter pound of **** under your seat when the cops stop ya.                                                                                                   THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that Breathalyzer test that test alcoholics.                                I'm that ******* that comes back after you flush the toilet. I'm that **** you took before you realized you ran out of tissue. 
I'm that *** stain left on blouses by government officials. 
THEY CALL DRAMA.                                                                               I'm that cold turkey when you got dope dependency.                       I'm that bottle of pills when you got suicidal tendencies.            I'm that bet your ******* made when you knew you didn't have no money.                                                           ­                                I'm that roach crawlin' cross your T.V. every time you got company.                                                                                                THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that hole in your socks when you try on new sneakers.     I'm that ****** up sound that comes out when you got busted speakers.                                                        ­                                               I'm that slippery lane when girls think they're to cute to bowl. I'm that telephone pole when young car thieves lose control.       THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                             I was that dingy *** collar infested with Jeri curl juice.                  I was that crack addiction you had when you noticed your pants were too loose.                                                                  ­                 I was that closet your friend came out of when he said that he was gay.                                                                                                           I was that red spot on those blue jeans when your little girl forgot it was the 28th day.                                                                  THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                          I'm that **** you take after the 3rd day of being burnt.               I'm those dingy thongs when women wear those short *** skirts.                                                                                                           I'm that government cheese that didn't melt in your baked macaroni.                                                                                                   I'm that 10year bid you did all because you didn't rat on your *****.                                                                                                          I'm that long Island ice tea that got you that DWI charge.                                                          ­                                              I'm that slippin' transmission in bank robbers getaway cars.    THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that seven you rolled every time you played craps.             I'm that burnin' sensation your girl gave you.                          
**** it. Just call me the clap.                                                            ­                                                 I'm that 300lb. Freak talkin' about "let me get on top boo'.                                                            ­                                                      I was that DNA the cops found that pointed straight to you.    I was that broken crack pipe when you had just brought an 8ball of crack.                                                                                                I was that ******* coke you brought that wouldn't come back.    I was that peanut butter and jelly sandwich after school      when there wasn't **** else to eat.                                                             ­                                                       I was that smell between your toes when you had stink feet.                                                            ­                                                       I was those socks on your hands when you couldn't afford gloves. I'm those bubbles that float up your back every time you **** in the tub. THEY CALL ME DRAMA.  c. R. Mendoza
MARK RIORDAN Mar 2017
THE COMMONWEALTH GAMES
THE QUEEN'S BATON RELAY
THE POETRY OF QUEENSLAND
IN BUCKINGHAM PALACE TODAY


MY BOOK IS IN THE PALACE
MY LETTER FROM THE QUEEN
PROMOTING OUR BEAUTIFUL STATE
LIKE NEVER EVER SEEN


I AM A BRISBANE POET
THE QUEEN HAS MY BOOK
THE BATON RELAY HAS STARTED
BY HOOK OR BY CROOK
THE POETRY OF QUEENSLAND HAS BEEN IN BUCKINGHAM PALACE SINCE MAY 2016. THE COMMONWEALTH GAMES GOLD COAST. THE QUEEN'S BATON RELAY HAS COMMENCED. THIS BOOK IS A BEAUTIFUL GIFT OF THE GAMES IN AUSTRALIA IN 2018.
Odysseus struggles needs to prove to himself world he is talented painter determined to achieve recognition goes from art dealer to art dealer seeking support one dealer says Schwartzpilgrim stop changing settle on 1 style you can be known for what you’re doing now is good stick with it call me in 6 months with 300 drawings just like these another dealer says Odys you must learn great art is a **** beneath bed sheets another dealer says Modigliani knew how to paint flesh paint like Modigliani you need to learn more about painting Schwartzpilgrim you’re too young inexperienced another dealer says thank you for your interest in our gallery we’re not taking on any new painters at this time Odysseus knows there are people so much more talented better looking than him he feels inadequate intimidated

thinks to himself sister Penny is right female wish list is curse Bayli haunts she alone always be my ideal until i met Reiko Lee now Reiko Lee Furshe holds me captive i long for her voice eyes shoulders wiry delicateness crazy outrageous humor fiery ****** appetite i need to tear apart wish list leave myself open need to learn to seek inner beauty let anatomy fall where it will need to cultivate new standards it’s difficult to see with different eyes i am so biased how do i do this?

Odysseus muses with Reiko’s ghost 6 months since separation lights candles burns incense opens bottle of red wine pours glass for her and himself sips watches her glass while he makes toasts speaks elaborately of her beauty charm cites reasons why each of them does not need the other why couldn’t you have been the one? what is it about me you didn’t like? what did i do wrong? pours another glass begins talking louder ending in rage why aren’t you here? why? what went so terribly wrong? i love you where are you? how come you’re not here with me tonight? looks at her glass sees she has not even taken sip feels slightly drunk fearful he has sunk too deep  gets up staggers to bed sniffs blanket for traces of her tonight is their anniversary his only excuse

telephone rings sometime in late july hi it’s me Reiko how’ve you been Odys? he questions Reiko Lee? uh yes Odys it’s meee your stray puppy Reiko’s voice sounds playful tender Odys are you there? what’s up? let me come over **** and ******* please he speaks into receiver Reiko Lee is dead hangs up wonders if he has done right thing paces room writes a woman like that you tell yourself you do not need  ignore her deny her let her pass because if you admit how much you want her you become fugitive in chains running from dogs men with guns a woman like that is all you need a woman like that is motive seed chance of a lifetime a woman like that takes chances at twice your speed a woman like that keeps you guessing hoping waiting a woman like that leaves you destitute you cannot have her because she possesses you a woman like that is a wanted woman

decides to move finds new place blocks away apartment on lill street changes telephone number in his heart he knows nothing more thrilling beautiful than joyous girl yet he attracts women who seek abuse because they see themselves in him because he lets them try to mend his abused mind because he misuses them so well reaching finding joyous girl looms impossible breakup feeds venting bitter fires

the most dangerous woman eludes meall other women are too attainable chinese green tea gestapo limousine it doesn’t matter that you don’t understand that is the line darling dangling darjeeling your lips bleeding your ***** on fire imagine i am running sprinting in relay race just up ahead i’m about to pass baton this is life expectancy of poet indonesian cigarettes made of clove leaves i held your wrists pinned your fragile body to floor strummed you like guitar while other men looked on i knew one of them would take you next

miranda comes out on verandah with lemonade on hot summer day hair blows free in breeze leans back against beam softly hums inside time bomb ticks somewhere fly caught in room knocking itself against window ricocheting off corners  buzzing crisscross ceiling floor miranda sips just enough so lips are wet eyelids flutter like butterfly wings ******* swell in heat of midday sun she calls to us with hand stirs more sugar in lemonade late afternoon when fly is caught entangled in spider’s web buzzing is muffled ice has melted lemonade watery we are dozing in hammocks rocking chairs miranda is changing dress perfuming thighs crafting character in mirror screen door slams she looks up recognizing it is only wind sun is sinking orange ball spider crawls fixing aim grabs thread swings in for **** we are passed out in grass at dusk lights around verandah beam on miranda appears wearing low-neck dress with one strap down breath heavy with anise invites us inside giggling shyly as we follow timeless newsreel vision men hard at work war room spins as fly ***** desperately spider opens legs miranda lies arched on bed eyes weaving

he gets drunk loudly sings she must be some kind of witch flying in the wind she must be some kind of ***** to dig this grave i’m in he rhymes it was just another **** stunt forgive me for speaking so blunt she was just being a lady no need to get crazy it was just another **** stunt he scribbles she gets ****** hair styled eyebrows plucked nails done walks out new woman miss fox Mrs. G. Fox madame de faux meeting the girls for lunch wearing her pearls writing her name in swirls talking up a storm pack of women is worse than pack of hungry wolves wolves stop at carrion women carve combs out of bones

Cal is driving Odysseus sits in passenger seat heading to pit & pendulum for cocktails it is raining down hard Odysseus looks out beyond sweeping windshield wipers sees red cowboy boots the ones they found together at flea market there she is Reiko Lee Furshe arisen from wasteland Odysseus tells Cal to stop car turns to see her she is running across street his hand reaches for car door handle what’s happening? Cal demands are you there? i can’t stop cars behind me! this is crazy Odys what’s going on? i’m not stopping! Odysseus stares through rear window frozen watching her disappear behind red brick wall in pouring rain

ghost girl it’s difficult to write in comatose passage apart i am in theater of mirrors with empty seat beside me black hole inside me itinerary of fears i’m seeing dancer but haunted by you look in your eyes smell on your fingers clonking up stairs of your wooden clog shoes feelings we dared plans we knew might never come true la laahh la lay la lay dee la lady of shady lagoon weeping willow pisces moon like India ink you’ve left indelible stain i fumble in dark of empress’s tomb like necrophiliac i grip onto memory stroke ashes of you lantern licorice amethyst bone you are gliding in your canoe cutting through mist swirling whirlpools that untangle themselves behind you dancing nearer to flame la shady lady does pirouettes in rain
JB Mar 2015
Karaoke night on Tuesdays was, until recently,
My only release
The half-hour drive across Lake Ponchartrain
And into New Orleans
Has become at least a weekly ritual for me
Last time I went, I saw a friend there
One who I made a few months earlier

I sang a song, and then sat down to talk to her
Catching most of what she said, but not all
My mind wanders as it always does

Somehow we start talking about dating
And soon I'm planning with her a trip to Baton Rouge
To meet her single friend
Asking her to be my "wing-woman"

But then I realize she is a little incoherent
And I have to repeat things to her, and she seems confused
She says, "They made my drink a little too strong"
And soon she is in a drunken haze
A few tears come down her face, and I sit silently for a minute
Unsure of how to comfort her
I ask if she needs to step outside; she nods

She follows me out the door, arm in mine
I slowly move outside, making sure she doesn't trip
And then we sit, and she cries
And soon I find out she is mourning the distance between
Herself and her boyfriend

I tell her about my closest experience with a long-distance relationship
About my Brazilian friend who could've been more
But then she moved, and we fell out of touch
This friend seems humored through her tears at the story

"She moved to Hawaii?" she says. "Yeah", I reply.

"Hawaii?"

I nod. We talk some more, our conversation moving into
Our mutual love of stargazing
She looks up at the cloudy sky and mentions the light pollution
And the lack of stars in New Orleans

"Hawaii?"

I tell her about the stars across the lake, where I live
And how, far enough north, you can see all the stars on a clear night
And then the DJ for the night calls her up to sing
And we go back in, into the loudness and enclosed chaos of the bar

She sings, nervous, stumbling through the songs and holding onto
The stripper pole in the middle of the little stage
She finishes the song, steps down, and we go back outside
And we sit down and talk a little while

"Hawaii?"

An acquaintance comes out and says he ordered onion rings for us
I ask if she needs a ride home, even though I work the next day
And she does too
The acquaintance says he can give her a ride
Since he's unemployed for the time being
So we go back inside and wait for our onion rings

I get my acquaintance's phone number, and ask him to text me
When he gets her home
And then I tell her to text me the next morning
To let me know she made it to work alright
She says she will

On my way back home, the acquaintance texts me: "She's home."
And the next day, at work, I get a text from my friend
Thanking me for listening to her
I replied back that it was no problem
And then I go back to finishing my closing shift
PNasarudheen Sep 2013
ODE TO  RIOTERS
The clouds rumble , O! sons of Malice ,hear
The smoke of arson and roar of lies
In the name of God in heaven; to the tune of lords near
Ignorant men  , followers of Dionysus fly like flies.
Think ! read ,what the history of man tells
Of fire that Prometheus brought for our happiness
But, ingratitude of satanic forces by  spells
Inflame the fire of Ire and burn the huts; brings unhappiness.
Tempters like Hera of Zeus pleasantly smile
Resting in Bars or legislatures , counting votes on computer screen
Echo of slogans on Equality, Fraternity, Liberty from a mile
Makes in social conscience  a  scathing scene.
The land of Buddha. Abraham Lincoln, prophets of peace all
Sent by God to every race and all clans dull,
Told the people all over to be kind
Loving ,lovable and of service mind.
(2).
O! political crookedness, in struggle for power  you tempt
People to compete and hate and conquer
By communal spirit forgetting  Divine Spirit and contempt
Religious heads and political aspirants together
Like criminals think and twist the holy ideas, even
They hold holy books in left hand and in right hand gun
And advice disciples to die and **** for heroic heaven
For them, as if death is an easy going fun;
The First Estate of France still as  impulses here in world
Reign the countries as rulers  of Democracy mocking
And they jointly exploit subjects ; and devotees of the spiritual world,
Misguide men and women  by prayers rocking
Hope of Heaven and horror of Hell
Make the people, forget all , and yell
When the villainous leaders signal by baton
The desperados become boys wanton.
(3)
O! devilish War-Lords, do you read Vedic Books?
What they mean ? for you mean? as they tell of God ,the sole Creator
The Creator of you and the “Other”  in your hooks.
The Preserver and Destroyer , may not be for you Pharaohs greater,
O! Pharaohs , you don’t  cause rain, make the Sun rise
And the greenery, birds and fish flourish .
When the Earth rumbles and tsunami rages you give the price
The rewards of hatred you sowed nourish-
All around ,as chemical war terrorism-a horrible nightmare
But, Epicureans! All are from Him and unto Him all shall return.
Marketing competitions and sale of arms cause the Wars
As history reminds us :none gained but failed to sustain peace;
Still, the blunder of division of people and exploitation stars
Rise , at the West with the dying Sun’s horses and Mars.
Politics and Economics -two horses of Civilization unbridled
Terribly gallop with men on them girdled.
(4)
O! cruel  egoistic  businessmen ,you globalize immorality
By greed, you trade with  fanatics and  terrorists,
Spur clashes: Multiculturism versus monoculturism  denying plurality
Challenging Eternity; certainty of scientists.
At Saranath,Lord  Buddha told  disciples on the Middle Path of  life
To Torah “The Lord our God , the Lord is One”, so Jesus taught us all
And guided to worship  God in” Spirit and truth “ in our life
No other Lord but Allah deserves worship of us all-
Allah is the Light of the Earth, and of the Sky ,O! Lord
God is the Eternal  Light  to illuminate all  ;to be worshiped
Bhagavat Gita says,"The body is the temple of God
In the Spiritual realm : all are from the One ,the  worshipped.
God is the only One without birth and death
The Unique unlike the creatures on earth
The Force is called “atma” by Vedas no trade and
Sciences  tell: it is Eternal  , cannot be made by human hand. .
(5)
O! the ill -taught  simpletons , think !why shall we spoil life
in feuds communal or political  for the luxury of masters
Suicide never a sacrifice; if at all ,it is beheading of human in life
At the altar of regal, egotist power-mongers.
The Only God is the  Seed of all; names may differ by language difference
Holy books use all noble qualities to the name the Supreme Lord
Then, why the sons of that One Lord, in repentance
Think on action : virtue  or evil and pray: forgive ,O! Lord
In democracy, we are free to believe  the God or not
Still, we can be human by refraining from paining others
Freeing ourselves from communal hatred, the vicious knot
As the political fences   encircle us that make us enemies of others.
Stars in the sky and the Sun and the Moon
Are mortal ones from God for our boon.
Let us be men and women loving all , serving all;
Not severing heads; but lead a life ,culturally tall.
                                             ***********
Note:atma=soul.
Sakshi goyal Oct 2020
Aa ab laut chalein apne ghar
Aa ab laut chalein apne ghar
Bht lamba hogaya yeh safar

Jaha teri shetaniyon ka manzar tha
Jaha pyar ka samndar tha
Jaha thak kar sona ata tha
Jaha har kona muskurata tha
Jaha beeta har din yadgaar tha
Jaha ka har pal suhana khwab tha

Aa laut chalein apne ghar
ab bht taay kar liya yeh safar

jaha khul kar tu bhi hansti thi
jaha muskura mein bhi leta tha
jaha teri badmashiyo mein
bacha me bhi bann leta tha
jaha naachti tu thi aur jhumta me tha
jaha bachon si ladhai aur dil ka mehal tha
jaha na kabhi dur hone ka dar
na adhuri koi aas thi
jaha sath beshumar tha aur poori har saans thi
jaha rote rote hans dete the hum
na koi fikar ki bat thi
jaha ghanton batein karte the hum
ghadi ki sui na humare sath thi

Aa laut chalein apne ghar
Bht lamba hogaya yeh safar

Jaha tera kam se ana tha
Phr mujhko gale lagana tha
Jaha teri bematlab ki baton me
Mera kahn gum hojana tha
jaha har sapna jee rahe the hum
jaha nahi thi kisi ki koi sharam
jaha dikhawa koso tak na tha
har jagah tha bass pagal pan

Aa laut chalein apne ghar
Bht lamba hogaya yeh safar

jaha jhagde bhi suljhe se the
jaha ansun bhi uljhe se the
jaha hothon pe muskan bhi thi
jaha ankhein kuch naadan bhi thi
jaha nanhe kadmon ki awaz bhi thi
jaha lori ki chankar bhi thi
jaha ghungru si tumari payal bhi thi
jaha kangan ki awaz bhi thi
jaha hansta hua tera chehra bhi tha
jaha ghurti meri ankhein bhi thi
jaha band woh darwaze bhi the
jaha do **** ek jaan bhi the


Aa laut chalein na apne ghar
waqai bht lamba ** gaya yeh safar....
waqai bht lamba hogaya yeh safar..!!!


..
Beat the rhythm
empty hand,
Iron cast chains
rattles command.

Ol' Boss Hogg,
baton raised
Self righteous fool
has need of praise.

In order that
he gain acclaim,
thinks with hate,
acts with shame.

Human beings,
commodity,
ships hold stacked
with those once free.

Bodies piled
upon high
you will not see
the strong ones die.

Scars embedded
on their backs
chained and shackled
to the racks.

We deal in branded
breathing stock,
Unload black vassal
from our docks.

Beat the rhythm
empty hands.
Iron cast chains
in far off lands.

We keep our skivvy,
wired hair blacks.
We work them hard,
we score their backs.

They do for us,
they work the field.
Grow the cotton,
pick the yield.

Keep the body,
take the mind.
Labour whatever's
left behind.

And if demeanour
does ever flinch.
We'll introduce you
Willie Lynch.

Beat the rhythm.
Empty hands
Iron cast chains.
Unfair demands.

Beat the rhythm,
shackled feet.
We take their worst
but can't be beat.
Anybody know who Willie Lynch was? Anybody? Raise your hand. No one? He was a vicious slave owner in the West Indies. The slave-masters in the colony of Virginia were having trouble controlling their slaves, so they sent for Mr. Lynch to teach them his methods. The word "lynching" came from his last name. His methods were very simple, but they were diabolical. Keep the slave physically strong but psychologically weak and dependent on the slave master. Keep the body, take the mind.  (Melvin B Tolson)

19th  July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
Janette Jan 2013
There came quiet
the colors of your cinnamon skin,
its taste, persimmon
spread in red syllables
and quicksilver spills
in the folds of this tickled silence,

Laden with prophesy
the white thought of love
leaps through the tamarack pastures,
suet to the shadows of dahlias, flesh
you say, is water
and its symmetry, a penetrating
sound of pure ebullience,

Love, in the pale baton of light
you coax from cognac eyes,
open my veins to every thorn in the garden,
rumors of rain,
say nothing and endure,

Spread over panes of glass
where butterflies drown
in the sweat of our charms
and moths drop from the true color of lunacy,
cold depths lapse softly into my flesh,

I hurt, in that quiet shatter of light,
and from moth-eaten thighs
you soak the ****** of earth
with velvet tears and lavender,
spread its dark balsam to quell the quick faith
with sighs, as reluctantly,
the soul speaks what the body has written,
and gives-in to its asylum....
Tryst May 2014
TENOR:
        My love!
        My first bassoon!
        The one - who taught me loves sweet tune!

{DRUMS}
        GONE!  GONE!  -  GONE!  GONE!

TENOR:­
        My love!
        My sweet La Lune!
        She came - and then was lost so soon!

{DRUMS}
        GONE!  GONE!  -  GONE!  GONE!

SOPRANO­:
        My love!
        My great Maestro!
        The one - who taught me all I know!

TENOR:
        Why?
        Why did she go?
        Why did she - L..E..A..V..E... - M..E?

{DRUMS}
        GONE!  GONE!  -  GONE!  GONE!

BARITON­E:
        My sweet La Lune! - She plays her tune
        Upon a shiny new bassoon!
        My sweet La Lune! - She plays for me
        Oh such ****** symphony!

{BRASS}
        OOM PAH PAH! - OOM PAH PAH!

TENOR:
        What's this?
        I spy La Lune?
        Blowing bassoon - a new c-o-n-d-u-c-t-o-r?
        His baton -
        She's sat upon!
        It seems she's found - a new i-n-s-t-r-u-c-t-o-r!

{DRUMS}
        GONE!  GONE!  -  GONE!  G­ONE!

SOPRANO:
        My love!
        My new found love!
        How I adore - your o-r-c-h-e-s-t-r-a-t-i-o-n!
        And with -
        Your dextrous hands -
        You fill me with - a-n-t-i-c-i-p-a-t-i-o-n!

BARITONE:
        My love!
        My new found love!
        You light me up - a shining c-a-n-d-l-e!
        And with -
        Your dextrous lips -
        My baton loves - to feel your H-A-N-D-E-L!

{BRASS}
        OOM PAH PAH! - OOM PAH PAH!

TENOR:
        The end!
        The end is nigh!
        And they must die! - There's no denying!
        But how -
        To pay them back?
        For they deceived - me with there l-y-i-n-g!

CHORUS:
        The end!
        The end is nigh!
       And they must die! - There's no denying!

TENOR*:
        Upon my word - I will make them pay!
        Upon my word - they will die THIS DAY!      

{TRIANGLE}
        TING!

{CURTAINS CLOSE - END OF ACT 1}
I want to tell you about time, how strangely
it behaves when you haven't got much of it left:
after 60 say, or 70, when you'd think it would

find itself squeezed so hard that like melting
ice it would surely begin to shrink, each day
looking smaller and smaller - well, it's not so.

The rules change, a single hour can grow huge
and quiet, full of reflections like an old river,
its slow-turning eddies and whirls showing you

every face of your life in a fluid design -
your children for instance, how you see them
deepened and changed, not merely by age, but by

time itself, its wide and luminous eye; and you
realise at last that your every gift to them - love,
your very life, should they need it - will not

and cannot come back; it wasn't a gift at all
but a borrowing, a baton for them to pass on in
their turn. Look, there they are in this

shimmering distance, rushing through their kind
of time, moving faster than you yet not catching up.
You're alone. And slowly you begin to discern

the queer outline of what's to come: the bend in
the river beyond which, moving steadily, head up
(you hope), you will simply vanish from sight.
Nota: man is the intelligence of his soil,
The sovereign ghost. As such, the Socrates
Of snails, musician of pears, principium
And lex. Sed quaeritur: is this same wig
Of things, this nincompated pedagogue,
Preceptor to the sea? Crispin at sea
Created, in his day, a touch of doubt.
An eye most apt in gelatines and jupes,
Berries of villages, a barber's eye,
An eye of land, of simple salad-beds,
Of honest quilts, the eye of Crispin, hung
On porpoises, instead of apricots,
And on silentious porpoises, whose snouts
Dibbled in waves that were mustachios,
Inscrutable hair in an inscrutable world.

One eats one pate, even of salt, quotha.
It was not so much the lost terrestrial,
The snug hibernal from that sea and salt,
That century of wind in a single puff.
What counted was mythology of self,
Blotched out beyond unblotching. Crispin,
The lutanist of fleas, the knave, the thane,
The ribboned stick, the bellowing breeches, cloak
Of China, cap of Spain, imperative haw
Of hum, inquisitorial botanist,
And general lexicographer of mute
And maidenly greenhorns, now beheld himself,
A skinny sailor peering in the sea-glass.
What word split up in clickering syllables
And storming under multitudinous tones
Was name for this short-shanks in all that brunt?
Crispin was washed away by magnitude.
The whole of life that still remained in him
Dwindled to one sound strumming in his ear,
Ubiquitous concussion, slap and sigh,
Polyphony beyond his baton's ******.

Could Crispin stem verboseness in the sea,
The old age of a watery realist,
Triton, dissolved in shifting diaphanes
Of blue and green? A wordy, watery age
That whispered to the sun's compassion, made
A convocation, nightly, of the sea-stars,
And on the cropping foot-ways of the moon
Lay grovelling. Triton incomplicate with that
Which made him Triton, nothing left of him,
Except in faint, memorial gesturings,
That were like arms and shoulders in the waves,
Here, something in the rise and fall of wind
That seemed hallucinating horn, and here,
A sunken voice, both of remembering
And of forgetfulness, in alternate strain.
Just so an ancient Crispin was dissolved.
The valet in the tempest was annulled.
Bordeaux to Yucatan, Havana next,
And then to Carolina. Simple jaunt.
Crispin, merest minuscule in the gates,
Dejected his manner to the turbulence.
The salt hung on his spirit like a frost,
The dead brine melted in him like a dew
Of winter, until nothing of himself
Remained, except some starker, barer self
In a starker, barer world, in which the sun
Was not the sun because it never shone
With bland complaisance on pale parasols,
Beetled, in chapels, on the chaste bouquets.
Against his pipping sounds a trumpet cried
Celestial sneering boisterously. Crispin
Became an introspective voyager.

Here was the veritable ding an sich, at last,
Crispin confronting it, a vocable thing,
But with a speech belched out of hoary darks
Noway resembling his, a visible thing,
And excepting negligible Triton, free
From the unavoidable shadow of himself
That lay elsewhere around him. Severance
Was clear. The last distortion of romance
Forsook the insatiable egotist. The sea
Severs not only lands but also selves.
Here was no help before reality.
Crispin beheld and Crispin was made new.
The imagination, here, could not evade,
In poems of plums, the strict austerity
Of one vast, subjugating, final tone.
The drenching of stale lives no more fell down.
What was this gaudy, gusty panoply?
Out of what swift destruction did it spring?
It was caparison of mind and cloud
And something given to make whole among
The ruses that were shattered by the large.
RebelJohnny Jun 2014
Synchronicity -
It means all of the events
flying, WHIZZING!, d-r-i-f-t-ing by us
as we ourselves float through the world
are related, connected, entangled,
and emerge from some kind of
divine symphony.

The sounds of laughter, tears dripping,
hearts BREAKING, SMASHING, SHATTERING,
the scraping knees crawling through the rubble,
hands SLAPPING TOGETHER as heads turn
towards heaven in prayer-

The warm embraces, -sighs- of comfort, lips smacking,
bodies pressing together in the hopes of being
reunified for a few moments, the glances,
the poems, the letters, the rings exchanged
and matching cemetery plots-

The triumphs, WOO-HOOS, celebrations,
toasts, clinking wine glasses, bottles, mugs
bumping fists, patting hands drumming
confidence into chests-

They are all supposed to be
one godly plan.
Like high notes, tragic sonatas
and joyous fingers plucking
heavens strings into
gracious cords and
silent pauses between tracks
are all one concert that we're conducting.

But doesn't it all feel so fragile?
One broken instrument, one
distracted player, one missing page in
your play book, a hand swished too hard,
eyes-too-penetrating or overly
aggressive dismissal of your
prized pianist
and the whole orchestra
falls into chaos.

What's it mean? What was that lyric?
What key is it in? What is the right tempo?
Do I emphasize the earthy drums that provide stability?
Do I drag you along on a magical carpet ride of echoing
falsettos, throats tugged like the handle-strings
drawing across my violin eyes on an exciting journey?

Or do I sink into the minor keys of my pain-
Songs that I don't share, playing on headphones
now I want to blast them, sob them out, sing them in whispers
at first, let them grow in me like my apathy, swell into tumors of
fear, and hurt and eat me from the inside out!

I want to shout songs of suffering. Have my piano keys
spin you into my anxiety, guitars raising the key like water rising
one floor at a time in the Titanic that is my beating heart.

I want to watch the drummers sweat as they beat out the rage
of having my most precious friends, objects and opportunities
snatched away - over and over - despite the progressive movements.

I want to draw you back into my finale with my fear. It will have to be so disturbing that each note raises hairs on your neck. When I drop my baton, leaves you with my night terrors - so foreign from the concert I'm playing that I'll need

electric guitars, wild wind instruments, theramin and a chorus of sirens and banshees to scare you back into your seat. Songs inspired by fear, pain and sadness, anxiety and misery are all you'll find at this concert. Songs that make bowing an act of submission and never respect or adoration. My forums lack fan clubs. Covers of my songs don't exist.

Please - leave your hearts at the door. Chances are that fate,
the ultimate conductor, will rip me out of this black-and-white
universe that traps me like a suit made from
straightjacket fibers, anyhow. Because life, no matter how unified they tell you it is, LIFE doesn't get remastered. There is no deluxe version, b-side, or re-recording.

No one can auto-tune my words. The dangerous, raging guitar solos of insults and fury that have wrecked
all of the men who really cared at one point.
The friends who survived the mounting anxiety of watching me
skip like a CD in the broken walkmen we had as kids. Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I meant to! Mean-! Mea! Meant, Meant, Meant, Meant <silence>, SLAM "Meant to call you,"

Or maybe ([SARCASM] IF YOU'RE LUCKY!) you'll hear track 4. I'll sing, "I need your help!", "Wow, *****, just come over!", "This *****!", "I didn't mean it", "Don't get like this again!". Against the anxious, building, manic tones, my panick blares while "I'm not good enough", "Can't do that", "my disease makes that hard", "Do you like me?", "**** this!!!" blares like an infernal choir pressing you to madness.

See, human symphonies aren't coherent - music theory isn't a predictive corpus. Experience shows that you can't make it come together. Too often, we don't get any rehearsal time. The death dirges that have stolen away my family, one at a time, creeping up from a silent, whispering stocatto'd-doom drown out any of the romantic, epic harpsichord solos that I still only dream of.

The angry, head-banging, 'where's that mosh-pit for grown-up children with kneepads?' beats don't motivate me anymore. They break down the walls to the studios where I was writing expert concertos. The earthquake-like blasts of my self-loathing fear have already torn down too much sound-proofing and the record studio collapsed because noone had the credentials to get in. My only dance consists of turning off the lights and yanking up the covers. Being a one-hint wonder isn't happening. Then again, can you blame me for not stopping? I don't pass this after I hit it.

In the end, the musicians don't always show up. It's like, - We've all been to that concert. Ya know, where everyone feels the awkward energy of a 4th grade Christmas Carol musical? Where, the costumes weren't convincing. Of course neither were the conductor's falsehoods, lies, omissions, or the promise that you'd enjoy this show. Cover art, like my critic's ratings, just don't do me justice . "Smart, engaging, relatable" the new listener's proclamation that "I'm falling in love! I can't get enough!" are marketing gimicks that just don't last.

Synchronicity, like destiny, has revealed itself to me as a fantasy. Reality's crumpling threads don't always find their way into skilled weaver's hands.  These strings have all snapped. In the end, I'm left smashing drums with trombones, crying over the rusted saxophones that can't croon for other hearts anymore. Just wait, my closing number is a Celine-Dion covered effort to stay afloat in the monsoon that I've been summoning for over a decade. When everyone leaves my audience, the program is either left behind or taken only by the weirdos who resonate with this kind of tortuous tune

I end each night walking the aisles of my darkened auditorium-soul now. I like to follow the echo and chase "coulda!" "woulda!" shadows across walls. I find your ticket stubs and nostalgia pulls me away from the dimming lights. In the end though, I can't counter the reviews that my show has no point. The tragedy isn't teaching any lesson and the cacophonies I birth don't generate fans. Plus, requests for autographs have become suicide invitations for an artist who can't release a polished track.

Synchronicity:A word invented and popularized by psychologist Dr. Carl Jung in the 1950s.  We all no better now that this is not a word that exists. Yet, the potential leads us all to chase after seasont tickets.

Synchronicity, defined as the false hope that it all means something. Synchronicity, the hope that you'll get to be the big strand in something special. Synchronicity - the promise of a heavenly choir, or divine symphony; of course we've already fallen from grace too often to question our unfulfillment. Sync-ro-nic-it-eeeee, like an old worn-out cassette tape, rarely comes with the equipment and support needed to hear it. Synchronicity - The jagged, little red pill that I can't take. Synronicity: the seemingly fate-driven world that we all stop believing in when the silence sets in.

Synchronicity: a series of seemingly random events that promise you a long night of unsurpassed concert sound. At least it's not alcohol I'm left lacking

Synchronicity, the artists that't leaves us entangled in distractions. Like scratched soundtracks. Synchronicity: the band I quit that has since left me wishing for buttons:

Pause. Stop. Repeat. Shuffle. Fast-Forward? Rewind!.....
..... Skip.

...................Eject.

— The End —