They say farmer’s son will learn to take care of seedlings;
smith’s son will learn how to forge and beat the iron;
baker’s son will learn how best to bake
to conquer best the market…

They say some birdies grow up knitting nests;
***’s foals grow up carrying loads;
cubs grow up learning how to roar most

to scare most the jungle…
The blood brothers2 were brought up
like sibling cubs of the lion
as if Mesopotamia was forest.


On birth day3 they learnt to blow lives out of bodies as candles;
a witness will tell how a citizen was received
by Mukhabarat4 waiters
one of such days,
and describe conviviality at Saddam’s
where the evil has born the arch evil5,
and where they learnt the art of making people yell!

At bees biting babies6 Uday was taught to find rejoice;
at parents wearing Adam’s garment7
in front of children
his father’s great power was worth of praise! 8
and he burnt to rule like father or more!



Would the Maker of the Heaven and Earth hold the fit
at the fate of Nahle Sabet9, the cake thrown to swine?
Would Mucius’s10 soul hold the fit
at the fate of Saad Abd al-Razzek Nihaya11
whose medals and stars were made spots
fit to throw to bin after the half of his life
hurled down from the sky?
Would the pearl Ilham Ali al-Azani12 be thrown like dirt to bin,
father’s fear of Allah tried,
and shot like a sneaking thief,
and the abu sarhan 13 stay without a prize,
and cause more devastations in the garden of Allah?

1. The lion and his cubs: Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti and his two sons Uday Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti and Qusay Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti. - 2. The blood brothers: The criminal brothers. Though crimes committed by Uday, the first born of Saddam Hussein, have been the most reported by media, his young brother was not less cruel. In April 26, 1998 he ordered Colonel Hassan al-Amri to ****** on a grand scale at Abu Ghraib, Iraq’s largest prison, and more than 1,500 prisoners were all massacred the next day. – 3. On birthday: Reports say that Saddam’s sons received pistols as presents on their birthday! – 4. Mukhabarat: Saddam’s secret police. – 5. Where the evil has born the arch evil: such is the description of Saddam’s house. He taught criminality to his sons, and his first born became crueller than father. Uday told Latif Yahia, his body double, whenever he seemed weak or squeamish as a child his father would beat him with an iron bar and then force him to watch videos of prisoners being tortured. – 6. Bees biting babies: This is one of the tortures applied: naked children in a room with a bee hive, being stung hundreds of times, and their parents were forced to watch behind glasses! -7. Parents wearing Adam’s garment: men forced to **** their wives in front of their horrified young children! - 8. His father’s great power was worth of praise: First you note the irony. Uday told Latif Yahia, “Just wait until I become president. I’ll be crueller than my father ever was…” - 9. Nahle Sabet: A pretty architectural student. The girl resisted and rejected Uday publically; he threw her naked to his pack of wild dogs which ripped her to pieces while he watched, drinking champagne and laughing! Here is the testimony by Latif Yahia: «It was the look he was sporting on a crisp, dry winter day in 1987 when he drove around the campus of the University of Baghdad looking for action (for women to ****). He caught sight of Nahle Sabet, a pretty architecture student from a respected middle-class Christian family he’d noticed when he occasionally attended classes. He cruised past her slowly now, honking, trying to get her attention. She refused to even look in his direction. Two days later Sabet was a few blocks from her family’s home in a Baghdad suburb when a Mercedes sedan screeched to a halt on the sidewalk in front of her. Two men in dark suits got out and identified themselves as secret police. They told her she was wanted at headquarters for questioning and led her into the car. Headquarters turned out to be a farm Uday owned several miles from Baghdad. The frightened girl was hustled into a drawing room, where Uday sat at an antique desk. “You’re very lucky,” he said. “I’ve chosen you as my new girlfriend.” “You’re insane,” Sabet stammered. “I want to go home!” “Strip her,” Uday ordered his guards. The burly men pounced on her and ripped at her clothes until she was cowering naked on the floor. Uday towered over her, unrolling his favourite wire cable. “First I will beat you. Then, if you’re good, I’ll allow you to please myself and my men.” It took Uday and his men almost three months to break Sabet’s spirit. Then Uday was tired of her. Her face was ruined; her body was a mass of bruises. He had the guards take her out to the kennels where he kept his attack dogs. He’d told the keepers several days before to stop feeding them. Nahle Sabet was then smeared with honey and tossed into the kennels, where all evidence of the crime disappeared.» – 10. Mucius, (Gaius Mucius Scaevola): God of bravery and heroism in Ancient Roma. – 11. Saad Abd al-Razzek Nihaya: An Iraqi army officer decorated for bravery in the Iran-Iraq War but that didn’t help him or his new wife. Uday saw the couple walking together, took the girl to a hotel suite. She pleaded with him not to defile her - she had only been married yesterday. Uday beat her until she was ****** then ***** her. Then they heard a long, piercing scream, then silence. The girl had jumped from the seventh floor. Her husband cursed Uday, and he was soon sentenced to death for ‘insulting the president.’ – 12. Ilham Ali al-Azani: Uday always slept with the winner of the Miss Iraq contest. But when attractive student Ilham Ali Al-azami won she turned him down. Uday abducted Miss Iraq to his palace. He ***** her over and over again and then as ‘punishment for her defiance’ allowed all his bodyguards to **** her for an entire week. Then Uday circulated a rumour that the girl was a **** and let her go. The girl’s father, a devote Muslim, was so ashamed that he killed his own daughter. When the aging father appeared at Uday’s palace Uday had the old man shot.- 13. Abu sarhan: Uday seemed proud of his reputation and called himself abu sarhan, Arabic for "wolf".

Excerpt of Gallows Bird in Heaven, http://www.amazon.fr/Gallows-Bird-in-Heaven-ebook/dp/B005JKMW66

Source of the note: www.meritummedia.com, visited 2013/05/19

A woman so clever and secure
She hired bodyguards to keep her guard up
No man is going to deceive as easily as the others were perceived
That sounds like a dream every single man who likes that in a woman would want, shall it proceed?

The audience, silent, took a breath in unison
Included in the orchestra was every instrument imaginable
Banhus and Gadulkas played folk and polkas
The brutish brass, bodyguards and protectors of stringed melodies

Included in the orchestra was every instrument imaginable
A concert harp, plucked by fingers long, smooth and sharp
The brutish brass, bodyguards and protectors of the woodwind class
Saxophones provided a melancholy lilt, the timp was traditionally built

A concert harp, stroked by running fingers, smooth and sharp
Every sharp and flat note was passed through the throaty reeds of oboes
Saxophones reminiscent of ‘jive’, the timp in its size had nowhere to hide
This exhibition of musical traditions played late into evening with no intermissions

Every sharp and flat note accounted for, motifs carried whispers of folklore
Banhus and Gadulkas, swapped stories with bassoons and bagpipes
The exhibition had finished, piano keys rested, every note has its operatic death

The audience, silent, took a breath in unison

it's scary what people want to hear,
i feel, nothing at all, to be honest,
whenever i think of fame
i feel all famous people speaking the words:
don't become even by our standards moderates...
szlafrok: bathrobe -
              szuja: lizard-like-homeless person -
then again chattering ratty too -
does that mean: if i write i'll
get a penny for a structure where a brick is
worth just as much to the letter, the word
           or the line or the paragraph?
                  cukier: sugar...
   for every brick i'll get a penny's worth?
      writing discourages you from dreaming...
only the most adapted
                   who get encouraged by
   advertisement and who fake writing will ever get
the technicolour coat of Joseph...
         writing erodes your perspective of dreams,
it actually censors your ability to do so...
    i hear them, make novels from their body-language...
        and get an itch... nothing finicky... just
barring without baritone...
      poet's alphabet st. - barring without baritone...
antinomy of anecdote... false impression memorisation,
nothing rubric bound nothing alphabetical,
         nothing Pythagorean...
      antinomy... and there was me thinking of
antimony...                  there's no cascade of the sound
encoding of b or of a...
    there's the alphabet... and then there's
the dictionary... na na mmm, ma ma nun..
                    so cool with it, fit-bit....
      or should i claim you a toyo-bot?
           a ******* Hamleys' jack-in-the-box
     chuckles?
            either way... it's all a strategic **** -
or a macaque - or mà-cá-qé!
         herald the surgeon!
             grave a in the first syllable?
a delay... let's term yhwh as surd invocations -
           mà! (and yes, exclamation marks
are part of the necessary progress -
   unless you'd prefer anti-German anti-compound
allocation of a word to be turned into syllable mince...)
         mà! alternatively that's non-ambiguous -
what's ambiguous is the second syllable...
   mà!... cà!     màcà!        it's almost like holding-off
*******...          màcà!
      and then there's the qé!        or for optical reasons
as well as for reasons for the priestly monopoly
written as macaque - my-khaki-haka...
  (haka is a dance in rugby by the new zealanders,
   and khaki is diarrhea brown, diluted brown) -
   it's almost Spanish in a sense, huh?!
   well, because it's not exactly queue -
  or: que(h)? i.e. qweh?
well yes, it's a monkey, a tiny little bonsai
of a gorilla... cute... funny... loves tea-bags
and sugar... great company on a hot Kenyan night,
gets pestered with slingshots by the courtesan
   "bodyguards" of a tourist hanky-panky free whiskey...
  the time those kenyan entertainer girls
came up to me i sorta wished to play the
white-guy-****-history-joke...
stood my ground, went to sleep on one of the lounge
chairs one night... could have been stolen by pirates...
and i kinda wished it, but it didn't happen...
   still, the application of diacritical marks to
define syllables... the grave mark above vowels is
a bit like "holding back"...
         for some reason i first wrote mà-cá-qé...
but i realised... the avalanche only comes with
the acute marking above eh!....
        grave markings means restriction, a holding back...
and by this i mean that when the acute stress is
added, no number of optically adequate spellings
can erase it...
     in this case qé for what's encoded as -que -
   and still the four surds appear whether invited or
uninvited - softened laugh, eh? as in the asphyxiating
form of breathing, and then relaxed: ha ha ha ha!
       then again, i'm wrong,
they call them macaque: ma-ca-qac....
         so as a good revisionist does:
                grave and acute without a macron:
      má-cà-qàc - ma-cac-cac - not ma... ca-que!
   macaque!          Fawlty Towers and Mánuèl...
i know... nothing - hairspray romance,
and a horse called dragonfly...
   macaqué! olé!              
                          mácáquè -
    for the love of u - or parabola...
                 truth be told? i'll never know!
why? because no one taught us the rules of how
or when to apply such demands!
   let alone semicolons or commas...
                   macaque - barbarism sentenced to:
ma       ca              qak
                or simply my kayak...
**** me... it's still a monkey whether you like it or
not taking a **** and calling that chocy part of
its inverted intestines' toad-stool.
  let's just call it a mácàq monkey... because
the -ue suffix is just getting unbearable, like
an umbrella unfolded in one's **** -
   and applying diacritics to a suffix of pure-vowels
is beyond missing an ******, and making
rationale (the part where you miss stating an olé -
the part where rational is elongated into rationál
or the non-diacritical addition of -e)....
and then they worried why people never punctuated
correctly... maybe because people never applied
diacritical marks that they went beyond,
and didn't punctuate correctly?
                       humpty-dumpty hmm hmm:
                   eggs St. Benedict's, and a falafel Sunday!
me? trying to invoke a vocab that transcends
the ******* cool, however condescending i can be,
without trying or eating rye bread to boot,
    and then wear a balaclava calling it a Gucci neckwear,
drinking rather than throwing Molotovs.

The strike of the rainbow warriors part 2
We arrive in the  rainbow  land of mystery and see lots of rainbow people watching us while the  bight coloured green ship lands in the dock.  The golden goddess watches with delight when a golden sheet is laid down for  us to  walk upon.

The crowd  roars in laughter while our golden army is  taken down towards the big bright palace of illusions to meet the king of rainbow land.  After reaching the palace a guard dressed in bight orange  takes us through towards a big golden study.

A  confused white tiger looks around the strange bright  palace and starts  to feel very scared all of sudden at something in the air .  We all comfort the white tiger  while its mouth drops with shock at the moving roof above our bodies and the strange atmosphere .

All of a sudden  the king of the rainbow people walks in and stands next to his gold desk of power holding his bright hands towards the roof .  I hug luitent megs while the horses seem to become more concerned and unsure about the strange king  while the room begins to spin about.

The golden goddess suddenly grabs a door handle to escape but get thrown down upon the golden carpet by some sort of strange force .  At that moment the room becomes a mist of surprise and the windows have become metal shields of terror while we begin to run about looking for a means of escape .

We all stand in shock when the king transform's  into a large  pumpkin monster and his  bodyguards have  become  large fire breathing  dragon men with long  spiked tails.  The horses kick out at the dragon men's  bodies while they try and beat us down  but gets zapped by the king  laser gun of hatred .

The dragon men then escort us all towards another room with  yellow walls  while  the pumpkin king  throws  some magic powder over our scared  bodies of terror.  we promise to reveal the kings  secret to the rainbow people until a smiling  red witch with golden hair appears in the room and    says we will evaporate into dust  powder if we reveal  the secret  of the  pumpkin king.

All of a sudden a door opens and we are ****** out  inside the rainbow city with thousands of rainbow warriors cheering and clapping at our golden army.  We look with disbelief  while a  guard of rainbow people escort us towards our bight red hotel of multicoloured  glass.

written by wayne mockler
ownership and copyright wayne mockler

A drop of rain splashes onto his cheek, it is brushed away as the others had been, it had been almost three hours but still he waited, casting his eyes around the vista in front of him, refocusing his gaze through the telescopic sight and along the now wet steel of the rifles barrel, blue-black in the tiny gaps between the camowrap which merged with the foliage of his cached viewpoint, as the crosshairs snapped into clarity, He felt comfortable that he was well hidden from prying eyes, waiting was almost a meditation to him over the months he had been tasked with this duty he had grown to love the solitude it was a time to reflect, a time to listen to the birds and insects as he waited like a wild cat moving very little, almost  still and at the same time his mind concentrated on the target, the rain was getting heavier now although he had picked this spot at the base of a large plane tree, sheltered from the weather under the spreading crown of well-leaved branches, long bull grass directly in front of him he was warm and well protected by the elements with only a few drops of rain falling annoyingly on his cheek...,

He was a long way from the constant 28 degrees celsius and sunny days of his homeland  and his lovely Angela, how he missed her infectious laugh and freely given affection..".shake yourself up man you need to think of the job, you're not here to be emotional ! "

He blinked and refocused as he opened his eyes and stared through the cross hairs he saw a shadow shape change, a movement, he took a deep breath and flicked off the safety catch, gently squeezed the trigger and held it almost like the clutch on a European Manual car engaged in a hill start, two camo-clad figures emerged armed with assault rifles, (check - AK47 not accurate over this range - no immediate danger. ) Then he saw his target - a man in his fifties, long flowing silvery white hair slim build, dressed in black, this time looking like a special ops crew member without the training, ' thwack thwack ' one  bullet in the body and one in the head, his target was down even before his bodyguards had realised, beads of sweat formed on his brow as he buried himself deeper into the ground, keeping just one eye on the target zone, counting mentally and trying to keep his heart beat as slow as possible, he waited for the bodyguards to choose a route towards him, 17 seconds after the shooting "what were they waiting for?" At last they broke off in differing directions leaving a way through for him to get to his extraction point, deftly he dismantled his ****** rifle with controlled actions practiced time and time again -automatic now! 21 seconds he moved away stealthy stealing the space around the trees, a shadow in the depths of shadow melting into the undergrowth, he hears shouting and confused conversation.

In his new hiding place now waiting, completely merged into the darkness unseeable by the untrained eye, wait he must as he presses the button on his wristwatch to activate his extraction beacon it is now 43 seconds after the target had been eliminated !
Later sitting on the nearest seat to the open door of the Seahawk 27 minutes after the last shot -all in a day's work soon he would be on the deck of the aircraft carrier at anchor in the gulf of Aqaba, the debrief done and then home to his lovely Angela.

But until then he needed to ride the storm of palpitations, sweats and waves of anxiety and the deep dark mind that always accompanied a '****'..

First Contact
"How did I get here,I can't remember,
my brains burning out like a dwindling ember,
are those tears in my eyes?-no its pourin' rain,
I'm lying on my back in the bottom of a stormdrain,
hunted like an animal,but still I'm deadly,
like a wounded lion,you better bet ye,
will lose more men than I've already taken(taken sample),
the hunter hunted? I think you're mistaken,
I'm a one man army,armed or not,
you didn't bring enough manpower,have you forgot?,
that the sandman(badman,phantoms in the dark)
has more in his bite than you do in your bark,
it's getting dark now,tables turning,

tyger,tyger,my eyes are burning,

better keep your guard up,I've been confronted...
but how can you tell who's hunter or hunted? 16.

Riposte

Better count your sentries,I think ones missin,
when you see his blood glistenin your pants your ****** in,
should have been listenin,I gave you a chance,
now its time for the Sandman to do his dance,
like a praying Mantis I move so swiftly,
bullet's fly like locusts,but each one missed me,
the Locus and Focus of my 3rd eyes movin,
got your sentries rifle,but I won't even use it,
taunt you haunt you,flaunt skills I honed,
from a broken home,to the streets to battlezones,
catch you alone,smash your skull with a hanbo,
appear behind you from the mud like Rambo,
bodies placed like hannibal,a deadly scene,
you're a ****** housecat and I'm wolverine,
told your boss you could get me now you know you fronted,
cat and mouse reversed-YOU'RE the one who's hunted.

Denoument*

Now I know who you are,and I know where you live,
and in this line of work I can't forget or forgive.

We were partners once now you've betrayed my trust,
taught you everything you know,now it's ashes and dust
your bodyguards are good,but they know I'll get ya,
more ghost than man,a modern day ninja,
leave you injured,begging for mercy,
but you know the concept is alien to me,
grabbed the bull by the horns,my hand you forced,
you're a moveable object,I'm unstoppable force,
force feed your limbs til you beg for death,
line your family up and slowly take their heads,
then I'm in the wind,gone like keyser sozey,
the word is spread,don't try to **** me,
you were my friend,but you crossed the line,
try to hunt the Sandman,"you're all ****** dyin"

1.

Stuffed men who never made a single day
Of training make brave speeches on this day

Surely each one of them has his reward -

A government SUV
And bodyguards
And a household staff
And a clean, dry place to sleep
And an income
And medical care
And a pension
And a book deal
And a library
And maybe an eternal flame

2.

And the nation’s enlisted daughters and sons
Who sweat among the rocks, not on the golf course

Have their reward from a grateful nation -

Taking cover behind a blown-up Hummer
They are the bodyguards
They dig holes in the rocks and sand
MREs contracted by the lowest brother-in-law bidder
They stand-to all night under fire
They are paid something less than the president’s special, um, assistant
They will be ignored by the DVA
Their eternal flame is the memory of a death-burnt friend
They are dismissed as millennials and snowflakes
          By the Keyboard Kommandos who learned about war
          Just like our stuffed men in Washington
          By watching Patton over and over

The stuffed men bray every hollow cliché,
But this is what the stuffed men really say:

“Thank you for your service; now shut up and go away
Until we want another photo-op on Remembrance Day”

I can't say it was what I expected,
(an intimate dinner for two).
When Charlize showed up
with two bodyguards
What's a poor fella to do?

She glides in with the grace of a dancer
which is what she first wanted to be.
Charlize won the "Lucky Genes" Lotto,
I didn't unfortunately.

There I was was, stammering, star struck
blathering blithely away.
She passed a remark about mirrors,
suggesting I use one someday.

She could have been lovely and gracious,
instead she was distant and rude.
It seemed she was still Queen Ravenna
and I was the Burger King dude.

I dropped fifty large for the dinner
A pittance for charity due.
There's not likely to be little monsters
as Charlize and i are quite through

i don’t really want a body guard

no, man, not for me

because i am a nice person, dude

and i don’t need no police and the security guards

i hate being some dude that needs a body guard

because i hear voices saying, i am not your bodyguard, buddy

i don’t want to have a bodyguard

i am too cool for that

it’s nice how the police can protect you

but i hate the idea of bodyguards

you see when i was young i hung around the people

ya know, i want to really love life

you see if i have a bodyguard, i could end up in more danger than what i bargain for

you see while i watch prisoner i learn it is ****** hard to be a bodyguard

a lot of ****** work, but you see the bent screws like the freak ferguson

and **** stewart and stewart gillespie from prisoner abusing their fucken power

i hate the idea of having a bodyguard it will make me feel stupid

and i can tell you guys, i ain’t stupid no fear

i don’t want a bodyguard because they can’t be perfect oh no

because i don’t want people fussing over me, like i am a fresh piece of meat

you see i am an artist and writer and i perform on youtube

and i hate the idea of a stupid bodyguard coming in on me

One million dollars in between her fingers,
Chipped blue nail-varnish.
A cigarette; a tired frowning mouth.
Black denim jeans.
A petrol station, expensive perfume on her neck.
A flower patterned halterneck, a bottle of liquor.
The faded sun hides behind cloud bodyguards.
The woman is alone at midday,
The breeze is cool, the alcohol is sweet, her tears are hot, the mascara runs black.
She's tired; is she lonely?
She's lost, but a lone hunter.
The girl is beautiful, mid 20's with dark rolling hair and freckles.
The girl is tragic.
She wipes her eyes and leans back against the red brick wall, half concealed in shadow.
She eats an apple.. takes of her worn leather sandals,
Sits on the hot dirt, then the rainclouds come.
Rain falls and chills her clothes and skin.
She applies pale pink lipstick and calls a taxi from the payphone.
......
White peonies, 300 or more.
Dark oak coffin.
A lady in a grey fur coat, an embroidered handkerchief.
Tears, blonde hair, the smell of hairspray.
A young couple with dark eyes and bronze skin, their hands grasped.
'True Colours', a male pianist, stained glass, high ceiling, arches.
Loneliness.
Heartache.
Loss of friendship.
Aching.
Hopeful,
Fingers crossed.
Will love enter and lightning strike some wonder into the girl-woman's life?
.......
She holds her sister's cold porcelain-white hand, stops a moment to take in the tattoo of a shallow in black ink.
Elisa,
Gone.
29 years old.
Always one year between them but there might as well have been 20.
It's been four months since they met for coffee out near
the motorway where Helen was working at the time.
A golden locket; Helen places it around her sister's slim neck.

I've got enough explosive to be considered a threat.
Least with the substance that I have.
It would require law enforcement to place me in the top ten.
Cause to them I would be armed and dangerous.
When all I would have is a certain amount of love.
The same potent force that God has.

Just like him it's easy to achieve.
If only you are willing to receive it.
And in my case no plead is needed.
I'm just armed and dangerous with love.
It's the strongest weapon given to us.

I don't need to be hunted.
I don't need to chased.
I'm not afraid to show my face.
When she's the one that loves me.
Let alone put up with me.

I guess you could say she armed and dangerous.
Just giving all herself to me.
We all the bodyguards we need.

Love is just a dangerous thing.

I am walking through this crazy world
with so much love to share.
I am dancing through the rain at night
wondering why I even dare.
With predators on the prowl
and darkness all around,
I know I have God's angels watching me
even though they make no sound.
I am protected by His armour
and He knows and guides my step,
even when I wander off a bit
He brings me back so I don't forget.
No need to hire bodyguards
for they are just mortal men.
I have His protection day and night
His angels he will send.

heavy bags,bouncing busses n sweaty days.
Is what i called ****** school life.
Obnoxious teachers getting their ways.
Rules,regulations and continuous strife.
i had decided to stick to studies coz fun doesn't last anyway
Finish off school being invisible coz friendship is but for a few days
what i didn't know back then
Was in d end ill have these idiots i call my friends
Idiots who made me laugh wen i wanted to cry
idiots who changed my point of view making me realize

That good Friends do not get replaced
They just make their way into hearts n make their own space
m not even kidding when i say
These r professional idiots in every way

Like he_ for example cant get enough of screaming my name simply for fun
But i know that if i had to pick the sweetest concerned friend,she would b the one
she's an all rounder, amazing at everything
with her, fun is always present even while studying
People who annoy u r d ones who care most
is what i try to believe when it comes to this dost
who Even after she dies will probably haunt me as a ghost
Ni_ wont even budge if i say get lost
and great gh_ believes she's the only one who can b rude to her friends
and if anyone else dares the same,off with their heads!
A thriller movie is life according to her Highness
Her laughter echoes with pure childish innocence <3

These idiots may tease me till there's nothing left
But r also bodyguards of my deepest secrets
Their jokes n sarcasm will have u in fits
it is true i love these idiots to bits
idiots who add up to my best friends list
Idiots i consider as priceless gifts

Coz They r special in so many ways
coz They r bandages to my wounds, Brought back my lost smile
they're The 'start button' to my new life
coz They accepted me d way i was
N mostly Coz,
since my heart was no more
These guys aimed for my soul

N they got it.

:) dedicated to my frnz in IIS

Type cast a character that lasts.
A classic from the past.
Paparazzi cameras flash.
Red carpets are walked.
Obsessed fans lurk & stalk.
It's assured bodyguards make them secure.
Mature & pure.
Of that I'm definately sure.
Read the brochure & see the global tour.
A journey to endure.
Obscured & lured.
Detours to premature.
Time for leisure.
In rehab don't have a seizure.
Sobriety is not new but a vital cure.
Fame can be a blur.
Starstruck by their presence.
In awe of their essence.

© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,

ever pay close attention to that
steve bannon speech at
the oxford union...
no?
      what do you see...
if you've ever seen the film
the enemy of the state
you'd spot the cameo gorillas...
so... this is what...
"freedom" of speech looks
like, these days?
i need four wing-men,
i need four bouncers
to protect me deviating
from a freedom of thought?
**** me... that surely
must cost an arm 'n' a leg...
i'm no exactly rich,
i can't afford either
the freedom of speech,
or a judicial process...
so... i'm mute...
i write... sure...
   but how can i speak,
when freely speaking
is an entitlement that
requires four bodyguards
to guard me,
in the ******* oxford union!
eh?!
freedom, "freedom" of speech...
if that's what this,
"freedom" looks like...
can i veto it, i don't want
it and i certainly don't
want it protected...
let's learn: telepathy...
let's run... wild!
frankly i rather think...
what?
my writing was dropped
into a public domain...
did i earn the 20 quid
banknote i found on the street?
did i learn of a person's
personal finances,
outside a bank-machine
where someone dropped
a bank statement?
this isn't talking...
   this is an extension of thinking...
i don't have the sort of money
to "freely" speak...
i'm no steve bannon,
courted by four bodyguards...
at, of all places...
the ******* oxford union...
what are we talking about?!
sure as ****: not thinking.

The day has arrived.
The cold wind whistle, the land is bare and everything feels contrived.
A girl broken, fragile as a leaf in fall.
Damaged but promised.

Borded and no place to go.
Lonely, defeated and feeling so low.
The clouds are telling  a similar story.
Laying out a laundry list of woes.

The air is rich and fragrant.
A crooked little smile on her face.
She can't help herself as the sun fills her with grace.

Venturing out for the first time.
Load music, beautiful people everywhere.
Surrounded by all her partners in crime.
Spinning, dancing with laughter completely unaware.

He's at least 10 years younger.
An unusual flutter.
So beautiful, so strong and hard
He wants her but her bodyguards say no.

But she follows her heart.
Anticipation almost parelizing.
That first touch neutralizing.
Fast and furious, slow passionate.
Completely off the charts.

Behind doors and on roof tops.
Everywhere anytime, non stop.
Her innocent excitement increases.
A new cocktail of chemicals releases.
Lust, sweet delectable lust.
So happy and content

New attitude, a new her

Forever remembered

I met a man who could recite all twenty three thousand
lines of the “Romance of the Rose” but could not count to five.

I met a man who could recite PI to one thousand decimal points
but could not find a rhyme for love nor money

I met a man who laughed at every thing that wasn’t funny
I met another who cried for ever because he was happy

and another who laughed at his pain
and one who lost all he’d gained
I met a man who sailed the ocean blue
in  search of pastures blue

He told me he was searching for the “begining of the end”
so I sold him a postcard and he nailed it to the mast
then I stepped into his past
and went to meet his King
who was laying on the ground
whilst his bodyguards around
put the boot into him
like L.A. droogs with Rodney King
history just sings
endlessly repeating itself
forever shedding it’s skin
cleansing the kin
thinning and culling
and making a date with SIN……
……..ACTIC FOLLY

I met a woman who remembered
what life was like before Adam
I met a woman whose hair scattered rainbows everywhere
as she danced in the moonlight
I met a woman who was me and she set me free
I met a man who could measure words to the nth degree
he taught me heresy
and how to pray
and how to give it all away
then he asked me to pay
for HIS  fathers crimes
so I said “NO WAY”
and later that day
he tied me to the wheel
but I refused to feel
and I swore to heal
the wounds of my inquisitor

Well I met a man who said “I khan
unite all the nomads on the land”
he said “I’ll lay it all to waste
and the rivers shall taste
worse than ****** waste”
so I went to see my Mother
to ask if there was any other
WAY
to gain an extra day?
as the climate starts to sway
She said “have your say….
…..then be on your way”

Well I met a man and he taught me how to surf
on the crust of molten magma
and I met a little boy
who taught me the joy
of playing in inner space

Well I met a man from the future
travelling back in time
who said “excuse me Mr. RHYME?”
“…but I’ve come from a time
where wrappers are disposable
parts of a product”
“careful how you juggle
your verbs and your vowels
may get you into trouble”
so I burst his bubble
with a “sword” that I drew
from my grandmothers sock
which came as a shock
to the “thought police”
who were waiting in the street
with their “crosswords” COCKED
and their ’double entendres “ primed
looking for some crime
of the cerebral kind

but I met this woman
who said ” climb into my body and come with me
to the Ancesters tree
so I climbed aboard and I clung on tight
as her body rose to the highest height
and she showed me what might
or might not come to pass
then she lowered me down
by the hem of her gown
called me her “linguistic clown”
which made me frown
as I looked all around
to see where she’d gone
and a voice from the past said
“look inside your head
she is not dead
haven’t you read
a word that you’ve said?”

I met a woman who scattered rainbows from her hair
I met a woman who was me and she set me free

For those moments of happiness
for those moments of tears
I’ll never forget you
until the end of my years
I love you all
although  I leave

We had fun
We got mad
but we are a family
that not even if someone leaves
or are not in our grade
we can’t be destroyed
we are very strong all together

We are bodyguards of each other
not even a teachers will change our minds
we are one we are all
we are everything

Thanks for holding me up
to help me get through it
I don’t know how to thank you
You’ve helped me a lot
I hope I help, too
See you next year
but not in school

At last the sinister stranger arrived,
in a large limousine with windows dark
that no one should see who was inside,
and a small flag in front and a shiny sheen,
every part polished and perfectly clean,
diplomatic plates both front and behind
impressive it was this four-wheeled machine.
Out stepped the stranger and black of hair,
his glasses glinting in the glare
of sunlight shining down on him,
strutting slowly unsmiling towards
the club with all his bodyguards,
short of stature, fat not thin,
tunic of grey and stern of mien,
the arrogant autocrat himself in person
had arrived to visit George’s kitchen.

From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)

My Love, where have you gone? Where is the jewel that shone so brightly in your heart when we were young? I was away from you for years, campaigning across mountains and deserts, called by duty to my sardharan. Though never did I forsake you, nor our love. And now at last that I have come back, laden with the riches of far lands and strange peoples, enough to provide our family for ten lifetimes, you have grown cold. What happened in those years? Why won't you embrace me the way you once did, with such passion? It was that fire that drove me through war and death and sickness, those memories of our life before. Why does my own daughter fear me now? The day I returned you wept and she ran into the house as if from a ghost. When I embrace her now she cringes, as if expecting a whip. Our own Fatima, why should she be so afraid? I chased butterflies with her when she was but able to walk. Why should she now stiffen when I touch her? And where is your family? Mine were long dead when we were wed but yours loved and cherished our union, always some cousin or aunt was around to talk or invite us to dinner with them. Why won't you speak to me? I was nobody when I left for the war, but now I am returned, a deghan in the service of our lord, one of his trusted bodyguards, the commander of a hundred lancers and yet, my stallion Hafez was hamstrung in our field last night! They left him in misery for me to find this morning. My Love, what has happened to our home?

Yeah, so we know that there’s that big guy
Up in the sky
Every time we cry, He won’t let us down
If we don’t let our guard down.

He is our life guard,
Even with all the bodyguards.
We need no securities
We are secure in Him.

He’s not willing to give us rest,
So we will be His pests.
We are from Zion,
He is our lion.

Lights up our way
Even on the darkest day.
He’ll give you the grace,
So stay in the race.



Pearl.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

        Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment

The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear

The millions of corpses rotting in the sun




I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.

              -C. S. Lewis, Preface to *The Screwtape Letters

Seems easier when the sun is out.
Easier to smile, to appreciate the small bits about you you don't like.
To open your dusty journal and begin writing about love again.
Seems that way.
I've had a hard time sitting with a pen and paper in front of me, the paper blank and the pen filled to the brim with ink.
The paper whispers that it misses me, that I've been gone too long.
The pen? Feels so foreign in my hands it's like I've forgotten.

But maybe that shouldn't leave such a vile taste in my mouth? Is my mind fooling me? You see, the reason I started with those two in the first place was because of him, he led me to them.
They became my companions, my bodyguards, my shelter.
They became my needle, supplying the high I needed when I felt abandoned.

Now? Now I can't think of a better time in my life to be happy. Even saying the number 17 sounds wicked, and if you look hard enough there's a smile hiding behind it. As much as I want to stay here with them, and write until wit's end, I don't need to anymore.

I've misplaced my unhappiness, and I don't think I want to go searching for it yet.

Friday night:
Time is a nonentity now.
Days last longer than the hairs I find scattered around my bedroom floor;
Weeks go so quickly that I can't remember
when I last heard myself think.

Saturday morning:
The world is still.
I open my window to feel the breeze of crying skies
as if they knew
but I didn’t listen.

Saturday night:
I come back stumbling
the night wind still in my hair
I grab your leg, you touch my mouth
It’s been hours since I tasted the *** and ***** but my tongue still tingles
And my fingertips echo the feeling along your hairline
I remember thinking “I’ll have to deal with this in the morning.”
But I’ve been known to procrastinate.

Sunday morning:
You kiss me on the way out
I don’t sleep.
Every time i close my eyes I can still feel hands on my skin
I have bruises in places I didn’t know existed
My lip swells slightly, and I tiptoe down the hall
wondering who knows my secret
I can’t bring myself to pick up the pile of black lace on my floor
a mark of reality

Monday:
They say your skin regenerates every seven months— I don’t want to have to wait that long.
I know I sealed my lips but i need to scream
so I do it in semi-private whispers

Tuesday:
We reverse roles as I realize I don’t feel
this is new but it seems natural
no– ordinary
I thought I’d have an awakening but instead I’m apathetic
and awkward.

Wednesday:
I confront the ox sitting on our tongues.
I prepared for every possibility, every answer, every worst-case-nuclear-situation
except
this one.
And for the first time all week I feel violated and vulnerable
with all my clothes on I am naked in front of you again
and I step back as a door closes in my face
Huddled in the corner of my room
I wonder if mimicking my mother’s womb could recreate the safety I felt
before you told me.

Thursday:
I thought I wanted numb, but this is worse.

Friday:
How many words can I come up with for being shunned?
I give up.
I’ve started going to the bathroom on my own now, no more bodyguards.


Saturday:
I’m fine.
No, really.
I’m more fine than you and yours
and that in and of itself makes my blood boil

Sunday:
I smile, and you flatten yourself against a wall to avoid me.
You don’t remember me cleaning up your drunk mess last night
for a moment I almost thought we were back to–
but no.
you are too detached
and too hurt
to find any sort of perspective in this mess

Monday:
He talks to me again, and I feel okay, finally.
There are pauses,
like our fumbling fingers in the dark,
but this time I have back up.
And even though everything is wrong, everything goes right.
From rock bottom, there is nowhere to go but up.

Defensive barriers
         may bestow
         bitter *******
         and
burdensome byroads.

Defensive barriers
         can be
beneficial birthrights
bodyguards, buttressing
         by love.

Breathe and live.
Positive. Inviting every inch of me.
Testing waters.
Chemical inversion
My disturbance. Like a luxury.
So heaven like a tuxedo deal.
**** me see me luckily
Like coming up 7s real
While my stud husband
Cant stop ******* me.
My family jewels.
Tucked away. Dont **** with me.
Money comes so rare.
I swear.
I need to come up.
With a monthly.....
Self replenished
Money tree.....
And dont thinkbasis.
Is creative *** I made
The corners. Of the rug.
A ******* funny place
For pugs to ***.......
Them ugly looking *****
Something similar
To mister Donald Trump.
His ******* junk
Is made dysfunction.
The assumption. Being
Donald's *****.
Is the reason.
Santas fat *** replaced jesus as the meaning of the season.
I should pull meat cleavers.
Pull the lever.
Move the temperature.
To jam rock.
Mary Jane with solidarity. And reach a fever.
And create a religion solely baced on marley vibes. And make Donald first believer.
Launch a soaked ******. At his roster of bodyguards.
And tell himeat it. You big dumb ******* creature.
Back to shadow moves.
Chaotic evil is my breed
Of feature. So ****** feed my need
Or show me fear.
But never show me fakeness.
I'm made for basic. Greatness.
Blame myteacher.
And my leaders
Cant take it here's a spoon.
******* and tell me how it tasted

What shall be of me and you on the judgment day
A day when this greener land of ours will turn to gray
The rich; the wealthy will know how poor they are
The kings and gods will realize how small they are
The popular; famous will become unknown
Some will cry and the comedian will be unable to make his joke
On that day, everyone will know how special he is
Man will regret and blame himself for the way he live
Scientist; philosopher, scholar and professor will know how ignorant they are
Terrorists, hooligans, gangsters and drug dealers will know the reality
They will realize that life is nothing but vanity
Their missiles and guns and bombs will be unable to help them
The escort, bodyguards, bouncers will be unable to protect themselves
Their weight will loose; their muscles will cuddle and turn flat
And after that
Man’s temperature will read indirectly
His stimuli will dis-stimulate negatively
He will shiver under 12pm sun
Father will see but not recognize his son
The moon will burn and the sun will freeze him
His leg will be unable to hold him
*
A man who live his life and forget his origin
He malign and mistreat the filthy
And he believe he will repent when he reaches fifty
He’s gonna pray and seek for forgiveness at older age
But death took him away at earlier stage
He womanise and he cheated; he wine and dine
So, his grave will welcome him as the most despise
A believer on the other hand whom his heart is purest
His grave will welcome him as the most beloveth
He would be exempt from any form of suffering
And he will pass without exam on the day of judgement