four bodies lay
here in this small, square piece of ground
made especially for you gents
they dragged your bodies from the shore
the morning after your ship was torpedoed
while protecting the North Carolina coastline
many remain forever in the Graveyard of the Atlantic
brave souls you were
giving your very lives
in defense of an ally
and seventy-five years later I take a few moments
to acknowledge your bravery and your sacrifice

upon returning home I replay moments from my trip
to Ocracoke and Hatteras Island
and during my short stay at the British Cemetary
when I felt honored
to be standing in the presence of the lost souls
of the Bedfordshire
a voice whispers...'We are at Peace'

He’s got a bagel on his head,
Not a Cornish Pastie, nor a slice of bread;

Not a Singin’ Hinny, nor a Bacon Roll,
Not Bedfordshire Clanger nor Toad-in-the-Hole;

Black Buns from Scotland pass him by,
No Jammy Rascals, nor Stargazy Pie;

No Bakewell Tarts, and no Teisen Lap,
No Apple Dumplings adorn his cap;

No scones from Devon spread with cream and jam;
Just a crispy bagel full of cheese and ham.

Bagels are the coolest, bagels are the best:
Up with the bagels and down with the rest.
Onwards and upwards, long may it be said:
He’s got a bagel on his head.

He’s got a bagel on his head (February 28 2017).
He’s got a bagel on his head,
Not a Cornish Pastie, nor a slice of bread;

Not a Singin’ Hinny, nor a Bacon Roll,
Not Bedfordshire Clanger nor Toad-in-the-Hole;

Black Buns from Scotland pass him by,
No Jammy Rascals, nor Stargazy Pie;

No Bakewell Tarts, and no Teisen Lap,
No Apple Dumplings adorn his cap;

No scones from Devon spread with cream and jam;
Just a crispy bagel full of cheese and ham.

Bagels are the coolest, bagels are the best:
Up with the bagels and down with the rest.
Onwards and upwards, long may it be said:
He’s got a bagel on his head.

Let me sleep under the burning moonbeam
I want you to be the last I see
Before I close my dead tired eyes
Let me close my EYES
Let me sleep
T O N I G H T
Put a bullet straight through my head
Toss me on top of the bed
In the land of Bedfordshire
I rest my tired bones
Bones that caressed you
Loved you
Cared for you

Are you still capable of the love you once shown?
Let me drink a cup of ***
Just ONE
One more ***
Let me smoke the weeds
The witness to your ***** deeds
Your mouth, full o lies
Explode
****
Dynamite

Your skin, stone cold
Cold and numb
**** this cruel world
How can one be ever that dumb?
To love you like this
And torture me to grits I cannot endure
AU REVOIR
That's all I could say
Darling, I wish I'd stay
But I want to go home now
So please let me sleep
Before you let me drown

He’s got a bagel on his head (February 28 2017).
He’s got a bagel on his head,
Not a Cornish Pastie, nor a slice of bread;

Not a Singin’ Hinny, nor a Bacon Roll,
Not Bedfordshire Clanger nor Toad-in-the-Hole;

Black Buns from Scotland pass him by,
No Jammy Rascals, nor Stargazy Pie;

No Bakewell Tarts, and no Teisen Lap,
No Apple Dumplings adorn his cap;

No scones from Devon spread with cream and jam;
Just a crispy bagel full of cheese and ham.

Bagels are the coolest, bagels are the best:
Up with the bagels and down with the rest.
Onwards and upwards, long may it be said:
He’s got a bagel on his head.

zyklon: ficken ratten!

we called them:  Swabians... sh-v'ab-b' and then the hollowing out either Y or I... szwaby... schwabian... you call one germ the other: something to be rid of.

have you noticed
how the multicultural
factions of "nation"
begin a rare
migration wave of invetment
in Darwinism
i.e. less primate
and more vermin...
how they... run away...
how they...
retain: scuttling like rats?!
who's the vermin now?
                   ficken ratten!
i still said that sour-***** made
sense with a kebab!
the acidity would have cut through
the fat!
ficken ratten!
          who's the vermin now?    
no matter...
              gas 'em out.
- and they better speak
proper Bedfordshire accenting
on their way out!
                           ******* vermin.

for someone who doesn't reach much journalism*

if one "they" read the story in
the english newspapers,
once upon a time not too long ago...
there is much more spite in
calling an ethnicity *vermin
then being lazy phonetically
and not invoking the suffix
           -stani...
                what, provoked by prickly
word shortening via
a mere prefix ****-?
                        no one budges when
Afghanistani is shortened to
afghan-...
          do i even need to make that
a prefix i.e. with a hyphen invoked?
obviously being misinformed
is the new: being "informed",
notably in a global world combating
local media, local affairs,
  local grievances...
           but no! word on the moon
counts as more than the word on
the street...
              and if you don't walk
the same streets as the person who walks,
breathes, speaks them,
what word of a citizen half way around
the world, actually differs from
the word of the politician
  to the local?
     apparently a private citizen half way
around the world has as much
power over a local citizen as
   the local politician has over him...
populism at its vaguest,
solitary confinement populism,
populism without a cause other than
the cause for individualism,
and the soon to impede claustrophobia
of the ultra-individuated "self"...
yes, that's "self", for sooner or later,
individuation will creep upon
abstracting into insignificance
           the point of a self to speak of.