White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
And leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
It's time to settle ethnic scores.

No more ragtime Minstrel Show.
Our Moorish Science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
Now move your pale face out of town . . .
But first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.

Cultural pride is ours alone:
Kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
Bedazzle in a darkened blur
(Clear to Africa's descendants—
Puzzling to you white dependents).

Blackness lent your world its light,
Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
Under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
Helped those Norsemen shake their *****.

The Seven Wonders of the world:
We built them all. No vain conjecture
Dims our banner, black, unfurled,
Above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
Are what we threaten to discuss.

We invented math and science
Which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
Caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
Testifies: your days are numbered.

Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
For Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.

Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
Choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
Heed your call to fight the power.

Crackers need to check your race—
Stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
Racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
Your light goes dark (you know it must).

So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
But here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.

out of a shallow dip
catch-water field
of landscape polished rock
a shock of pregnant junipers

olive-green fires arise
and my eyes bedazzle

gossamer
floating specks
of bees

new hatched
butterflies

golden jump
and spiral

as if tethered
to child's witching wand

random ride
the windless air

Oh me Ireland from the green emerald shamrock how you tantalize and share the blarney cool pools
And streams in diverse scattered form you bedazzle the mind I and all others are your prisoner
We fell under the spell of your charm wickedly fun delight smites from the heights of joy we
Stroll even the national theme is to cajole it’s born from the woods where the wee ones abide
They are the pride and honor of Irish lore Dublin the lilt the thrill rolls down the hill Joyce
Found and spoke from his native tongue so well there is the Mexicali rose and the” Spanish rose
That grows in Spanish Harlem” but what I know is those Irish eyes are gleaming makes my
Heart start my dreaming oh soliloquy with haste you make your statement the blends of this
Ancient twist of tree and steam that flows and then breaks a fix point to gather from wind and
Water the beliefs and wonderings of Leprechauns how else could such magic unfold and be told
After you awake conscious thought is so limited walk on my dreams and you will find my inner
Heart there revealed lost garrisons and bastions of thoughts and deeds spread to the woods
And coast spellbinding the listener the cistern of bliss was cracked open it profoundly and
Evenly coursed through city and villages alike timelessness found its place in this land uttering
The wistful richer than many pots of gold it was as distinguishable as a man’s own signature it is
Like a check list it holds close and tight the facts a man who as a stone mason handles the hard
And course and lives with the residue of fine stone work deeply ingrained like the esteemed
And like forth telling words of Thomas Aquinas who had the closeness to God and set forth
Those royal surmising that scorched the earth of his day it could almost be said as it was of
Jesus no man speaks after this order overwhelmed by the laudatory speech it rises on the
Breeze it stands in these excellent hills to walk is to be staggered with emotional fervor the
Bloodline of Ireland runs deep and is abiding what privilege to stand as a voice a teacher for
Such a place that has such great history that is easily exported to other places making inroads
To build Ireland anew in other lands if nothing more than in a small way that is the greatest
Deterrent to war is for all people to meet and share their positive and unique outlooks nothing
Can build quality life like sharing and creating like mindedness in others crafted out of feeling
And knowing of your world and your place in it to dispel doubt and fear and replace it with the
Quaintness and charm that makes every rock and bush in wee fair Ireland

Deep down
Down the steps
Step into the underground club
Club of jazz greats
Great Gatsby happens nightly
Nightly partake in raucous debauchery
Debaucheries of heathen heat
Heat exuding from the beat
Beat of drum and bass of hearts
Hearts of lovers in the dark
Dark corners hidden
Hidden from all eyes
Eyes who spy their kiss
Kiss of true love's wish
Wish made on fallen stars
Stars that bedazzle and awe
Awe and wonder romancing the night
Night that finds two in love
Love in / is / a speakeasy
Speak easy with love....

*(Deep down
  Where great Gatsby happens)

Here I am, I stand
for one thing
I stand tall and proud
and shrink -

It's like a magnifying class
being pulled away from an ant
as it grasps for its life

Here I am, falling
A simple hole in the ground
where I stomped angrily

the world spins with me,
the colors bedazzle and amaze
everything seems slow,
why is the clock broke?

Here I am, on the ground
now grasping for my life
here I am, an ant under a magnifying class
gasping for air
begging for life

the world spun with me
like a top that wont stop
and now it's fallen, and I am lifeless

when it's a pin *****
on my soft skin a zit pops
i play my mind trick
and i stop
to think of the pain i choose
how i want to bruise
and bedazzle my back
in thumbtacks
running razor blades
making crimson masks

This, my darling, is what you call divine -
my good for nothing, wondrous soul. Take but a step inside - let the beauty bedazzle you. Find yourself in outer space and let the shooting stars of my heartstrings guide you home.

where the void has
it's puppets...
the cartilage
of dead suns,
and the rumor of you
advances.

all the peculiar Rhombi
bedazzle the Waste
as long shadows
fold into crashing
waves of
noise... and split seams
mend your reflection
as you gather to yourself
the whole of Creation
to microscope the dot
above your
i.

The cheapest glue
in the smallest tube.
And yet the "crazy"
"fast-acting"
"SUPER glue"
ends up where
I do not need it.
Between my fingers,
under my nails.
However, no one has ever said
gluing sequins is easy.
Or is there a trick in which,
I do not know?

E.R.T.

O' body, O' dear body...
It's the mackerel you gobbled up yesterday.
Why else does this cat circle you
The third time again.

Silence! O' gut.
Keep thy waves down for a while
At least until the
Cat's wide gaze passes by.

O' body, O' dear body...
Be careful at the beach.
You are in their home land;
What if all those fish inside you
Rush up to the sea.


What if their friends try
Knocking at the doors of
Each of your cells.

O' body, O' dear corpse...
What if you finally come back
To the shore with a thousand fish-kiss.

O' body, O' dear body...
What if
Everything you savoured,
Everything you devoured,
Came to life before you, in a flash.

O' body, O' dear body...
What if you let
Your thirty-year-old breast milk
At the first sight of baby.

Or may be, the bread
And the roast meat
Came up in search of those tiny lips.

O' body, O' dear body...
What if those tender *******
Show up to bedazzle
A sunny noon at the dearest city
And what if the dank aroma
Makes you 'spill' all over again.

O' body, O' dear body...
What if the cattle inside
Come out to graze
At the sight of the meadow

What if that cockerel
Jumps out into the courtyard
At the sight of his hen

And the frogs inside
Start croaking at every downpour.
And the birds that settled in you
Yearn for the skies

O' body, O' dear body,
All those fish, birds and beasts,
Leaping out of thee.
O' body, O' thy soul… -

Rabbits and demons
Lurk in that cap
Stars from the sky
Bedazzle that cap
In a locked chest
Resides that cap
It clashes
With this season's attire.

Dust is that from which stars are made.
A paradigm of childbirth. Blood
Swirling in a hot centrifuge
Like a vortex of fabric, played
Delicately atop the palm of a
Darling wife, motherly creature,
Denied her union. Bled of that hot
Milk, strained like a force, though never

Pulled beyond, she sits atop her
Stool, draped in the clothier's mantle,
With the hands of a craftswoman. Her eyes
Bedazzle us, distant and purposeful.
Woven from dust, these gentle threads
Are tangled and wrapped unto themselves, formed
Into the fabric of a memory
And bled out in a lattice of starlight.

Dust is that from which stars are made.
The dust of a memory, ground
Under the craftswoman's pestle. Our lights
Are distinct, cut like a crystal
And hewn into the sterling weave
Of jewels, held out like a shroud
And left to dry, as that faint light
Dreams of swirling dust.

Ever-sung stories. Melodies, music
Becomes a lattice on which our
Light is recalled. A whispered melody
Turned lyric. Into the stars our
Memories echo, ringing through
Fields of starlight. Our resonance,
Committed to its odyssey, is sent off
With a kiss on its forehead.

Wisps adrift in the void count off,
One-by-one, and softly surrender.
The message of our memory,
Held upon a star, is lastly forgot
As the shroud dissipates and forms
A veil, adored and tragic and torn out
Across the sky. Gently woven anew,
Our memories refreshed like a drop of water.

Flattery will not be tolerated,
I use what I have for what I need,
I do not care for the publishing ideas,
Shame on you for invading my world,
My freedom to write carelessly,
I cry at the effort to reread my works,
Unable to deter the image of pain that stains each of my poems,
So prospect me these ideas,
And I will crawl into a tiny hole in the world and never come back,
Bedazzle me with compliments,
Shower me with offers,
Pour out the praise,
Show me the door.

When you left me over a phone call that lasted a minute and a half
I should've known our fate then
when you said you wanted a second third fourth fifth chance
I should've said no

When you texted me tonight asking me to see your make-up
I should've said no
because all I can think of
apart from your gorgeous eyes
and your pink cheeks
and your chapped lips
is that
he will see you today
and he will remember
that you did it for him
that maybe you chose his favorite colour
or you put on his favorite perfume
he will remember that scent on you
from that one friday
the one day which was the best of his life
maybe he waits every friday to see you

you say you did it for you
but you did it for him way before you did it for you
you gave a part of you to him
a part that you'd only given to me
and it took you a day to bedazzle yourself for him
and you didn't even know him

he met you on a friday
or so I think
but he sees you every now and often
and he will forever remember
that you did this for him
what today you say
you're doing for yourself
but he won't know that
to him
its still like that past friday

Wind through my hair
Cotton patches paint the sky
Dancing little lights
A view so common
Yet has its own charms
Mesmerise and bedazzle
A night like this
Though simple
Precious and remembered

I like shiny things
If I could
I would bedazzle myself
With rubies and emeralds
Diamonds and sapphires
All real of course
If only I could
I would look so cool
At least In my opinion
But alas I haven't the funds
Or if I'm being honest
The courage
A suit of precious gems
Would receive so much
Undeserved mockery
I fear I couldn't stand it
How sad.

In the vastness and void
I am just a grain
A particle
The grand opera plays
Through comedy and tragedy
The world applauds
While the speck observes
While the sands of time wash over me
Ignoring me
For I am minute
Solitary
Brief
All my endevours
All my labours
Are fleeting and insignificant
While time resumes
And power waxes and wanes
The glorious bedazzle the stones
The audacious stand, for a short while
Then fade
Just like me
Yet
In my moment
I know
I feel
I love
No grain could have such passion as I
Could ask the questions I dare to ask
Could seek beyond the familiar
To embrace the unthinkable
And taste the unknown
This grain lays upon a hazardous shore
Where tides and fauna hold sway
And the grain does not deride or decide
But acquiesces
With quiet assuredness
This grain does not struggle to be known
Does not beseech the approval of the universe
For in me are all the majesties and mysteries of life
And for me
This tapestry dances
And I rejoice
And I sing
For one brief second
A song
A melody of life
Such as can never be heard from the rock mass
Upon the waves of oblivion, of uncertainty
I flounder
One grain
On the vast shore of existence
Awaiting the builder's loving craft

Like iridescent moonbeams on a sea of midnight blue,
The stars above bedazzle me but not so much as you.
My darkest days you've brightened,
My cold nights you've made warm.
You ended all my loneliness,
Like sunshine ends a storm.
Come take my hand and stand with me,
I want the world to see,
The beauty of the one I'll love,
Through all eternity

we did it in the bath, we did it before a mirror... i guess we only didn't do it outdoors - only because... a swan at Loch Lomond turned us off...

that these have to be little autobiographical
sketches: for starters...

a life of no real consequence:
if i were magically thrown back in time
and allowed to bring
with me a book of plagiarisms
i.e. - so that i might be ascribed
the penmanship of a Descartes... etc.

i think i'd still only (bring): avec et seul moi...
i sometimes wish i bothered
to learn Fwench...
since Italian and Spanish were
never too much appealing to begin
with... only the deutschezunge could
have harrowed me more for
an impetus to learn...

acquisition of English was what it was...
thrown into the deep end...
learn the language, ******... or sink...
some prior knowledge via
cartoon network...
but not enough to have to remember...
the "joke" on my way
to the local swimming pool...
how puma: wasn't 'poo-mah'
but somehow 'pew-mah'...
****'s sake... if i wrote down phonetically
how i said something "wrong"...
the it would look like: pjuma...

i can't escape some escapades of life
so daft that i do remember me,
Peter Richardson, Kieran O'Mahoney
and what Ilford & South Park were like
come Saturday's afternoons...
like... having to hold your breath
when walking in between
the "batty man's legs"...
a road sign with two stilts...

most people don't have the energy to
write about such trivial matters...
i'm holding back a few details with
regards to Peter and Kieran...
as you do: for the cinema of memory
has served me well and enough: truly...
the time South Park closed and we were
rummaging in it after hours
like dwarfs of sort
and had to climb over the fence...
Kieran being overweight...
me and Peter managed as i remember
my youth was spent climbing trees...
but Kieran of course had to
mistime jumping over the fence
and managed to almost impale himself
on the fence... lucky for him it was by his
underwear...

truly life is too sweet to write about
such things...
best reserved for memory:
the cinema -esqueness of the project...
  
- i like the clarity presented after
the most timid resort to exercise...
making a journey that would otherwise
take 30 minutes +
via walking for a bottle of whiskey
in a peacock's tail sort of... enterprise
of running, walking fast...
gurgling excess phlegm... spitting it out...
harking aback... almost barking...

i abhor running... a pointless task...
no wonder i started to yawn
from walking... the initial project
dealt with... from circa 120kg down to 104kg
in under circa 3 months...
no more weight loss...
something more was required to push
the weight down to under 100kg...
so i could... remember how it felt
to walk down the road and
have eyes of the opposite ***
insinuate: fuckable...
i wouldn't really demand the 3-dimensional
version of the other traits
that come, necessarily with the load:

a life that's nothing more than
time loaned...
  once i spent ~£400 in a brothel...
     over 3 hours having asked a bank manager
for an increase in my overdraft limit...
faking a funeral... extra expenses: no one died...
so much so that at one point
i was asked whether or not i'd like
a ******* because i already exhausted
three... and maybe ******* twice:
but you never know when
you pull back your *******
and the "helmet" is purple-gleeful
like a bishops' parade blah blah
because that's all that love isn't
which is no bees, no butterflies...
just oysters, flowers... bourbon... octopus /
Hindu deities...
- and to think... the day my libido dies
and the day it dies and it wasn't...
mummified in something monogamous...
it wasn't trialled...
best of all... jazz hands...
executed by an imitation 'gina
       ever since one side: that did all the *******
would bellow: oh no... the women don't...
deer in headlights...
well if it is all "there" but there's no...
outlet...

- 3 to 7 working days for the delivery
of a...
    Trek Marlin 5 hardtail...
       and i guess i don't want to sleep because...
exciting thoughts...
a clarity of placing the body
on the rack of exertion...
or rather a change in perspective...
the distance covered via walking...
a marathon in under 7 hours...
from somewhere in the vicinity of
the greater london outstretch nibbling at Essex...
toward St. Paul's cathedral... and back...
but done... from the perspective of a bicycle...
or from said starter coordinates
toward Epping...

no point keeping this imagination timid...
a thought concerning...
Canvey Island... apparently anything on
a bicycle is... doable...
most certainly... yes... doubly doable...
the image strikes me
from the perspective of walking...
the great involvement of the dimension
of speed... which... in all honesty...
doesn't exist within the confines
of walking... unless of course days turn
into weeks and weeks into months
but man, not this man...
has that many allowances for leisure
of that sort...

some impeding "doom": or rather...
a trial of the wait per se...
even though: no clue as to why i'd wait
for the otherwise inevitable...

conversations in the night:
protection via the sphinxes...
toothless head turned into bull horns
chisel, ram, chisel...
that bonsai tigers have pupils
that have serpentine qualities...

oh to own a bicycle...
is almost like having authority of wind...
and all the flutes of the world...
my self-propelled mechanisation
of horse...
i sometimes wonder whether or not
horses are as friendly as people say they
are... after all...
a cat's bite or scratch is mostly self-invoked...
and thoroughly mea culpa proof...
but being thrown off
a horse's hind into a wheelchair...

paraplegic or whatever...
how friendly, how anything...
more care bound to befriending acorns...
clots of cloud... vinyl mistaken for
liquorice...
the whole shindig bedazzle frothing
at the mouth coup...

but a bicycle is remedy...
i can fathom it more than i'd ever want
to find use for a car...
perhaps a motorbike and all the zest of Zen...
but then from: wriggle worm
into a galloping gazelle
i'm a man that apparently walked...
will now have a second spine...
a variable of prosthetic extension
with no ghost limbs to mind...

well ******* on a whim wasn't readily available...
however much i tried not being
this: son of a mother
but in the grand scheme of things...
a detail of what's otherwise an abortion...
roulette femme...
by chance, by thieving...
by ******, alone...
by a butting in by some marker of solipsism...
by not appreciating anything
from orators akin to Seneca or Cicero...

one glorious **** and then i was out...
like a colt armed (with a) sharpshooter...
circa the months when i was 21...
****... now i'm coming to 35
and life... is still a stampede away
from Pompeii...
wasted or rather stalled...
i'm reaching into the depth
of shadow to find both dog and leash...
and all the other ***** toys...

****** and bicycles...
now it becomes self-evident... only now...
wish upon a star of lefty liberalism:
how does that comatose
spew of strict linear vocab-ulary go...
how everything is authentic... clarity prone...
locally sourced: teeming with
angel dust but never, at any posit of
required introspection... burdened by leeches
or mosquitos of the Christ metaphor
of slurping a bloodied loaf of: bwa...
of bread...

o.k. for now... marriage of oops
and bootlicking flukes...
dirt cradle and a hinterland of a hinterland...
hope for not having fake a day:
i.e. earned that deserving pause
of sleep: no dreams please... no dreams...
too many faces prop themselves up in
the juxtaposition of clouds
come the serenities of the night
that dreams... once cryptic...
by some standards of those who claim
to have found a new-architecture within them...

best without them...
        i would abhor waking up riddled...
i'll find something greying in obsolete come 4pm...
just after the children have made their route
sublime for an ease of breath...
from the school
of a posteriori and into the labyrinth
of a priori of home...
of inheritance "tax"...
              
yes... then and a somewhat stressed "now".

If only cute were a pill
to be taken on a whim
I’d have a bottle near at hand
to imbibe when calls
handsome is the normative
good enough for most days
still the angst is realized
when something more is desired

shirking off the past mantle
history stacked upon today
asks its due when the urge
to bedazzle comes forward
stepping out the winsome looks
hitting all the high notes
surely this may be chased
when the enchanting is pursued

perhaps this is too much
asking why the itch is there
judgment raising its concern
to be put out to the curb
there are reasons for the thirst
chasing images clearly seen
promoted by society
these are options to be embraced

cuteness springs from within
it’s not sourced from a pill
pharmaceuticals aren’t enough
to project gorgeous looks
instead the push is in the mind
wearing the outward to impress
the choices made are personal
provoking beauty to be observed.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190215.

Gem missives brilliant bedazzle left right above and beyond in prismatic sparkles of all the every colors into eyes wider than windows into souls open more than spring breaths over hills softer than pillows upon shoulders bearing my breast and how might the night be were the stars to light significantly
More spectacular
Could I even breathe
......shudder