Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."
Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
This is one of Barry Hodges' most inspired memories.

  'Twas morning time in times of yore and I, bold Barry Hodges, stood outside my store, my giant vegetables on display for all to see, when lo and behold! a luxurious limousine drew up, and from the back there emerged a gorgeous form of voluptuous statuesque feminity.
  "My God!" I cried, it is that beauteous lady from *La Dolce Vita
, the wondrous Anita - and I gazed with joyous on her divine body, imagining it sprawled lasciviously in my bed, legs open as wide as a major road junction on the M1 motorway.
  "Excuse me", said she in that Italo-Swedish voice guaranteed to make any man wet himself copiously, "But I am a-lookink for a shop a-called 6B, and yet all I can-a-see is a Barry Hodges' the Master Geengrocer's, complete with a giant cucumber or two, which I 'av to say remind me of somet'ing tasty."
"Dearest lady, said I, you have come to the right place: 6B is the trading name of my sister enterprise: Barry Bodgers' Boil Bursting Beauty Bureau which is located upstairs, Barry Bodgers at your service, my dearest, most delightful Fru Ekberg."
"Shhhhhhhhh! I am een deesguise, not even dear Federico knows I am-a-here." And thus, assuring her of my utmost discretion, and forming a bond by saying that I too, the famous Geordie seducer, Barry Hodges, had indulged in a slight nomenclatural change in order to separate the two sides of my business interests, and in order to do a spot of money laundering on the side.  "But," I enquired, "How is it that you have need of the rather specialised medical services we offer, you who are so radiant and bella-bella?" She lowered her eyes seductively and promised to reveal her terrible secret.

As I ushered her up the stairs to the studio, my eyes on her ****-cheeks wiggling like two delectable beach ***** in a sack, she told me the sad tale of the immense boil which kept recurring on the middle of her back and which no amount of corrective surgery could fix.
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "Only Barry Bodgers, the world's greatest boil-sucker, can effect the cure for which you long, and I shall operate on you personally, not entrusting such a task to even the best of my boil-bursting minions." I added to myself, "Also I want to give you a good old bonking while we're at at."

Once we attained the privacy of my consulting room, I instructed her to strip off utterly so I might examine her, and I can tell you, dear reader, that her **** **** was a joy to behold. I too divested myself of my clobber, knowing that boil-******* can get a bit messy at the best of times. Jesus wept!, but the mighty boil betwixt her graceful shoulders revealed when de-plastered was a true horror, with a yellow tip as big as a Grade One Belgian Turnip. I explained that I would **** it out whilst I rogered her from the rear and that, when she felt her ****** on the way, she should scream out to that effect and I would then bite the core of the boil right out in a blaze of mutual ******* glory, before applying a dose of my exclusive Boil Preventative Cream, namely a handful of our conjoined love-juices extracted from her gaping ***** by hand a few seconds earlier.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" screamed the Swedish bombshell and with a mighty **** like an industrial Dyson FX334 on full power, I slurped and  razor-bit the boil, bursting it asunder, smothering my eager face in blood and putrid pus, thereby causing me to blow my *** as ne'er before. The green core of the boil emerged from its fleshly cavity with a deafening plop as we came together like a nuclear blast d'amour.

O, but only then, as my seminal outpourings soaked my jim-jams, did I awaken to discover yet another nocturnal emission. And, not unexpectedly, dear Nurse Nellie, having heard my cry of ecstasy, rushed in to my bedroom, head-shaking and tut-tutting as usual, as she knelt down and licked my tum-tum dry.
"Yum, yum" she murmured in her dulcet Northumbrian tones, "Ah've looked after three generation o' Hodges laddies, and I kin tell ye, your *****'s the tastiest of them all, ye bonnie wee man."
"Better than Grandad Charlie's?"
"Why aye, mon, yours is well creamier."
Andrew T Hannah Jun 2013
A Surreal Epic of Existence

Prelude to the Journey…

I smiled yesterday when I beheld the morning’s brilliant colors,
Etched with gold, across the canvas of the heavens, hanging…
High above all those mountains of the world, gigantic brothers,
A wilderness of clouds, where there can be no human taming.
I did not always smile when I looked up to that noble height…
For I have seen how terrible goodness can be, when untamed.
Once I thought my sojourn in this flesh was from a divine spite,
But now I know it was a gift, and for it I need not be ashamed.
God once walked as I do now, and suffered the same stress…
Betrayal, love, and passions too, though no Church shall admit,
The true nature of divinity, lest all their secret sins they confess!
You are told you are alone in the universe, by leaders so unfit,
That they themselves are fed a diet of lies and stories invented.
But we walked amongst you since the very dawn reincarnated,
Having lost our first flesh in conflicts long past and unlamented.
We guided the steps of ancients, as monuments demonstrated!
And yet we are born as children: your own, and live our span,
The better to remain hid, in plain sight, our faces clever masks.
I am the eldest, and I remember still my kindred’s lofty plan…
And though I wear the human face, I am beset with alien tasks.
Helping they who lack the knowledge to see what lies outside,
You have seen me in the darkness, blazing upon my own pyre.
Where I am waiting to lead the way, where the angels glide…
Anyone can follow, if they are dedicated enough never to tire.
Ironic, since I myself have known helplessness and still oft do,
It is only human after all, and in your form I was so re-forged!
The image of God, whose own blood is in all of us hither unto,
From the first to the last, alpha to omega, like a sharp sword.

Prologue: (My Mask is Slipping)

As a child: I was a servant at the altars of the heart so sacred,
Singing hymns of the immaculate: without seeing the depravity.
It was only when I myself wore the crown of thons, naked…
My spirit exposed through my pain, that I realized the gravity.
What man believes is sacred, is profanity disguised as graces,
And those who lead the sheep to slaughter are mere butchers!
Forcing innocents to wear porcelain masks to hide their faces,
They rob children of their childhood, bound with crude fetters.
As a teenager: I walked in nature, disgusted with all humanity,
My exodus was from those who had defiled all I cared about.
Finding faith in an angel fallen, I discovered my own sanctity,
And in her name I found the means to cleanse my feral doubt.
Then came marriage, and betrayal by a wife I gave up all for,
The dissolution of our union then loneliness without cessation!
A mortal had pierced my flesh, leaving me to bleed on a floor,
My heart was torn from its’ moorings without any elaboration.
But the angel remained to calm my anger and ease my agony,
My only light in the blackness that has overcome my waking!
Reminding me, that I was more than this flesh and mortality…
The angel tries to keep me from harsh trembling and quaking.
And then I see: I am more than my tears and life’s traumas…
I let slip, the mask behind which the scars of my tears etched.
Then I sense the heat of the night more intense than saunas…
As I long to dance with abandon, until time itself is stretched!
Mortals may betray one another with impunity, but never I…
I do not betray; rather I pour my heart and spirit forth whole.
Creating a phylactery, of all I am, and with an innocent eye…
I demand to be loved as I am: pearl white and black as coal!

Canto 1: Sacrifice of the Doll

Part the First: (The Bleeding Shores)

Do not call me, doll, for I have departed your ancient cavern,
You are lifeless, a mere toy, and not a real child in any form!
A boy’s red ruby lips I spy drinking in the dreariest tavern…
Whilst true children singing, frolic in the fields filled with corn.
I am going home, upon the wings of the great silver griffon…
Far from the shores now bleeding red from defiled memories.
There is no return, for me, to the glories of the first ignition…
When the mind eternal, was ignited all with pleasing ecstasies.
In the stars, there are words unheard that I do want to recall,
For I came down so very long ago, among the first to so fall!
Eldritch nightmares born of the stuff of the pure chaos of old,
Are waiting for signs at the threshold to be released by magic.
The forbidden incantations return to my spirit, aflame so bold,
That my spirit nearly forgets: the origins of this time, so tragic.
When children drink, and true children hide themselves apart,
Whilst the waters bleed and the corn withers upon the stalks!
That is a sign that change must come, and so I work my mind.
The face in the moon is a grimace of tormented fear, horror…
Whilst I stand upon the precipice with my hand over my heart,
And amongst the long rows of corn, my black shadow walk!
Watching over the innocents whose souls are of my own kind.
The summer heat turns orange, the moon: in celestial corridors.
My mournful cry can be heard in the sound of the lonely wolf,
And in the wild abandon of the lion when he is on the prowl…
I feel the pain of nature, I long to bring back paradise craved.
I have seen the terror of the land, as the blood ran in the gulf,
Black blood of the earth: which causes living things to howl…
As man has the foolishness, to say what is or is not depraved!

Part the Second: (The Crucified Souls)

The doll is laid lifeless atop the altar, prepared for a sacrifice,
In the cavern where the limestone shapes the wettest arches!
A thing un-living, but with living souls trapped still, as if in ice,
Within the cold porcelain shell that so never with feet marches.
Serpentine blade held high, it drops precise into a doll’s neck,
And it cannot call out, because a doll has not any voice to cry.
A boy walked out of a tavern then, looking like a vile wreck…
Whilst as a man I attend to higher things, my body full purified.
In the voids beneath the spaces, witnessed in the rugged rock,
Voices echo loud in the darkness, calling up names unspoken.
The ferryman brings the souls delivered to him, to a far dock,
Where each must pay the copper coin, the old desired token.
So they come to drink those waters that cure all of life’s ills…
Freed from their porcelain prison to feel death’s darker chills!
Whence came those souls into captivity, no mortal may speak,
But I freed them in an instant, removing the nails that pierce…
Every man is he that was put up on the cross of old Golgotha.
And every woman too, as all were made to feel such torture!
I was there when the primal sacrifice was implanted so weak,
And yet so strong that it endured in the psyche all these years.
That doom was sealed behind a wall of fire long ago in Terra,
So that the stigmata of it might endure, even in the vast future!
Mine was the hand that signaled that doom, mine to release…
Yet, still old illusions persist, and I cannot awaken a multitude.
I, who devised the iron web that enfolds much of what is real,
Cloaking it in unending trickery am, myself, longing for peace.
For I too was entrapped, until my liberation rough and crude!
An angel freed me, and now I strive to break each cruel seal.

Part the Third: (The Return of Light)

Risen from the slumber where colder, electric dreams reside,
The forgotten intelligence is invoked, the arcane spells cast…
The eldritch nightmares return to thence amongst man abide,
Reminding us of the things banished to Hell in some age past.
Mine the hand that raised them up, light in the dagger’s glow,
The stuff of my power left to flow, like blood run swiftly free.
Out of the abyss, rises the girl-child of a lost millennial flame,
She who is the angel reborn lets her illumination clearly show.
And all are blinded who have not the innermost eyes to see!
The unbelievers are, in a single instant put unto lasting shame.
From the star of six points, a goddess works her sacred will,
And as she crosses the scarlet threshold, she brings the light.
For a single instant, all in Heaven and all upon Earth are still,
As the long day ends, bowing before the coming eternal night.
In the darkness, radiance far fairer and so perfect descends,
Whilst those who gather in my name: have lost my true path.
The wrath of angels descend upon their minds, closed shut…
Entrapped in the iron web, they cannot flee of such a prison!
The light blinds them for they never truly saw it, and it rends,
Tearing away the churches built for naught but mortal wrath.
There, the unfaithful ******* themselves: like a wanton ****,
Inventing dogma to pass on, forgetful of logic and of reason!
Faith need not be a fearful thing, yet some have made it thus,
And look for an end to come before they seek their reward.
Whilst they should be creating the paradise they left behind…
But in an image of freedom: rather than of servitude and fuss.
Too much time had been wasted in converting by the sword!
Mankind looks to the light for salvation, their eyes long blind.

Interlude Alpha:
This age is one of barbarism cloaked as gentility to sell lies…
Did you purchase some today by design or mayhap chance?
You should know this era to be neither intelligent nor wise…
Else you would not march, when you would prefer to dance!
My nights are filled with nightmares; my days are too much…
I used to dance with one I loved, and bask in purple sunsets.
Now I am haunted, by so many memories I can never touch,
That it fills me with ****** anger, and countless cold regrets.
I recall how once in desperation, my wrist rode a razor edge,
If it were not for my family I’d not thence have lived beyond.
A man abused as I was, and used like cutters upon a hedge,
Must rise higher than it all in order to survive it all, my friend!
I survived, I transformed, I ascended and in the end became,
So much more than I was, until no more did my spirit erode.
But still I wait in loneliness for a maid to awaken my flame…
And I burn, oh gods I burn until I think that I might explode!
The skies darken more and more, and bright forks crashing,
I hear the drums of fury in the heavens, giants of old winters.
The gods grow angry and I behold trees uprooted smashing!
Angels are trampling the grapes of man; they, the vintners…
I am reminded of when the battleship that sailed all galaxies,
Descended one day amidst clouds boiling with its’ steam…
To lay waste to *****, and Gomorrah, for their indignities!
I was there, when the wicked did perish with a final scream.
And as people mock me, wishing me ill because I am good,
I ask God how long I must be forced to bear such suffering.
But I am not alone, and to many I am in fact misunderstood,
So God forgives, for now; but I have not, his understanding!

Canto 2: Sacrifice of the Spider

Part the First: (The First Smile)

Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial ****** has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.

Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)

The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.

Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)

An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep ****** tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!

Interlude Omega:
T
I found this one in my basement. Seems I wrote it a year or two ago but lost it.
Karen Hamilton Jan 2016
Donald Trump what a Chump
The name makes my blood Boil
His views remind me of
Those poor Jews when ******
Caused such Immortal coil

Trump claims to be against
Extremism yet it
Leaks through his core all the
Way to his Brittle bones
Brainwashing vulnerable;
Led to his Blood stained Throne

No blood shed yet; He speaks
Hell don't be so naive
Trump contemplated by
So many minds in this
Day and age shouldn't be

Building walls make them tall
Then what Is this the way?
Segregation, Racism
Shuts his eyes, Cover's ears
He'll not hear what we say

It's Devastating such
Man claims chance to taint our
Minds with his Bitter taste
A Catastrophe,
Shows no Diplomacy
With 'Morals' formed into
Very Strange Scary shapes

Yes, I agree Something
Needs to change but Believe
Me 'Trump' is not that Thing
Sheds empty promises
Causing controversy
With 'Peace' as the end goal
Trumps No way to begin

His Immaturity
Is so apparent that
He will ruin the world
As we know it today
I think Trump needs some help
Some Mental help to drive
All those Devils living
Within him Far away!


© Karen L Hamilton, January 2016
How can anyone back someone with such a bad track record. Look at the facts, Trump is not a good businessman let alone president! He may be rich but money doesn't always come to honest, genuine people in honest genuine ways.
Eva Nov 2011
red wine
sugar, cinnamon
sliced pears
nutmeg

boil boil boil
stir

pricey cheese
**** food
****** mood
rare-and-rad Sep 2014
Dear ****,

       ******* and your devilish traps
thanks for making my good days go to crap
thanks for separating me from my mother,
for making me look like a **** up to my brother
thanks for the addiction I have to face
you really did take me to another place
thanks for making me into the person I am
at least you never made me slam
thanks for making me stay up for a week or two
you showed me that I got nothing to lose
thanks for putting shadows in front of my eyes
but if it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t have realized my lies
I now put a gat in the side of my lap
cause I can’t even sleep or even take a nap
I’m always moving around , where ever it is you take me
bringing me to my dealers house making me beg on my knees
even if it’s just leftover’s, crumpled up in aluminum foil
Now I pick my arms because I think it begins to boil
I’m known as the black sheep in my family
you made my life a ****** up tragedy
The scars you caused aren’t only visible but mental
Thank god I stopped before I melted my dentals
There’s still a voice in my head telling me not to leave you
but I want to start my actual life, I want to be someone new
I thank you for the **** caused, for the mistakes you made me do
But I’m leaving you now, one last thing, *******.
zebra Oct 2018
Round about the couldron go:
In the poisones entrails throw.
Toad,that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Sweated venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first in the charmed ***.
Double,double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blindworm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing.
For charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double,double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and couldron bubble.

Scale of dragon,tooth of wolf,
Witch's mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd in the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat; andslips of yew
silver'd in the moon's eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver'd by the drab,-
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For ingrediants of our cauldron.
Double,double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
William Shakespeare
Phosphorimental Oct 2014
I'm putting the tea to boil...
finding a spot on the earth in which to sink,
a heart string to play, my mind to think
and untangle a knot of toil
I'm putting the tea to boil

Something warm to come
porcelain cups and waiting lips
hibiscus leaves and rose hips
within the heart a thrum
stirs a ripple in a steeping conundrum

My last verse has gone missing
it’s sound, sans words, lost half in slumber
so half awake, and torn asunder,
by answers hissing then bristling
then comes the awaited harmony of a kettle whistling
On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely mood
I’ve seen the winter floods their gambols play
Through each old arch that trembled while I stood
Bent o’er its wall to watch the dashing spray
As their old stations would be washed away
Crash came the ice against the jambs and then
A shudder jarred the arches—yet once more
It breasted raving waves and stood agen
To wait the shock as stubborn as before
—White foam brown crested with the russet soil
As washed from new plough lands would dart beneath
Then round and round a thousand eddies boil
On tother side—then pause as if for breath
One minute—and engulphed—like life in death

Whose wrecky stains dart on the floods away
More swift than shadows in a stormy day
Straws trail and turn and steady—all in vain
The engulfing arches shoot them quickly through
The feather dances flutters and again
Darts through the deepest dangers still afloat
Seeming as faireys whisked it from the view
And danced it o’er the waves as pleasures boat
Light hearted as a thought in May—
Trays—uptorn bushes—fence demolished rails
Loaded with weeds in sluggish motions stray
Like water monsters lost each winds and trails
Till near the arches—then as in affright
It plunges—reels—and shudders out of sight

Waves trough—rebound—and fury boil again
Like plunging monsters rising underneath
Who at the top curl up a shaggy main
A moment catching at a surer breath
Then plunging headlong down and down—and on
Each following boil the shadow of the last
And other monsters rise when those are gone
Crest their fringed waves—plunge onward and are past
—The chill air comes around me ocean blea
From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread
Strange birds like snow spots o’er the huzzing sea
Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled
On roars the flood—all restless to be free
Like trouble wandering to eternity
CK Baker Dec 2016
It’s all you’ve ever seen
in a midnight’s dream
the zero sum games
and exorcised demons
asinine plunges
on tunkwa brides
phantom fingers cradling
the ragged red dress

shadow hands
clasp at the floodgates
lava fields boil
through scorched amber veins
needles pierce
the look out
where flames dance wildly
over boneyard grounds

deep red pedestals
behind bleeding walls
empty halls and doorways
throughout the sinful nest
bulging eyes and blood rush
in a dark crimson sky
a funeral, before I die
Pagan Paul Aug 2018
.
i.
Smoke coils up and dissipates,
soon the images will be clear,
as she stares with cold contempt,
into the depths of the Seers Sphere.
And she stands toking her pipe,
watching as the story unfolds,
soon her hate will boil once more,
unleashing her vengeance of old.

ii.
Smoke coils up and dissipates,
a thousand lifetime's away,
blackened stone and charred bodies,
the remains of a village destroyed.
The flames still licking at the flesh
and melting mortar of cottage walls.
Raiding horsemen ride off cheering,
with swords, shields and firebrands,
carrying amidst them a prisoner,
their prize and sport for the victory feast.
Savages are these violent men,
barbaric in their wanton lust for war,
the red mist and the ****** fury,
it's all they really have a care for.

iii.
She waits with patient seething,
her moments will arrive so soon,
the spilling of her black arts,
witnessed by a Woman's Moon.

iv.
The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

v.
But the leader here was not a man,
she was the daughter of this warrior clan.
Fierce, cold, she barked out her orders;
build a fire, make food, secure the borders.
Her status unquestioned by her riders,
they would all fight and die beside her,
and as the camp grew out much wider,
her boot casually crushes a hated spider.

vi.
Manacles held her ankle fast,
shackled as she was to a tree.
Withdrawn, shivering with cold,
still seeing her burning family.
Images scorch her private intimacy,
awaiting the moment of her epiphany,
eyes watching with careless vacancy,
preparations for the nights ceremony.
But she would not co-operate,
would not give her jailers pleasure,
as she knows these last few hours
would seem to her like forever …

and Nature weeps with a prelude to grieve,
as the Maiden pulls a dagger from her sleeve.


… deny them their sport she will,
placing the dagger 'neath her breast,
a sharp tug towards her heart,
a thousand nightmares laid to rest.

vii.
A thousand lifetime's away,
smoke coils up and dissipates,
a cackle rents the air like ice,
the time her Woman's Moon anticipates.
And the instant arrives with joy,
as the Seers Sphere is thrown,
shattering and cackling hold hands,
as the glass touches solid stone.
At that moment of contact with rock,
time slips into a reverberating shock.

viii.
The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

And the earth heaved and tremored,
shaking the Vales languid peace,
uprooting trees with tremendous urge,
rending the loamy soil from beneath.
Frenzied horses scatter with fright,
and men are thrown up high,
screams and shouts of piercing pain,
and the stream suddenly runs dry.
The quake unsettles the warriors camp,
leaving many broken bones and blood.
Then an ominous deafening roar
heralds the arrival of the coming flood.
And water coursed fast into the Vale,
no longer pretending to be calmer.
All living men drowned and dead,
encumbered by their heavy armour.
But she was much fleeter of foot
and ran hard as the waters rose.
Tripped by a treacherous branch,
head banged, stunned, her eyes closed.

ix.
Sunrise saw many things.
Smoke coiling up and dissipating,
over the ruins of a village,
crows and dogs feasting well.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
squatting on top a new grave,
smoke coiling up from her pipe,
cackling …

x.
She awoke in darkness.
It didn't take long to panic and scream.
It took no time to realise,
she was sealed naked in a coffin.
And she screamed and screamed.
Pushing at the sides, the lid.
The air was heavy, stifling, stifling, stifling.
Precious oxygen running out.
The coffin moved, and she screamed,
desperately scratching and scratching.
And in the box she heard … cackling.
Her frantic screams turn to sobs of pleading
to be let out, to breathe, to live.
She felt something touch her inner thigh,
she screamed, as it touched again feint.
Brushing it away as the voice cackled on,
more tickles on her thighs, she screamed.
And something landed on her face.
The feel of a large spider on her mouth,
and she screamed and screamed.
But the cackling persisted
as she scratched at the wood,
her fingernails shredding to pieces,
but the wooden prison gave no quarter,
the skin raw and bloodied,
scratching, scratching, scratching.
And in her tomb she screams,
she screams and screams and screams.

xi.
… sunrise saw many things.
It saw a new river,
wending its way to the sea,
caressing the contoured land,
it saw horses running wild,
across the lush grass on plains.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
standing beside a new grave,
as she places the flame dagger
upon the Maiden's final resting place,
it saw
ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence.
Weeping.


© Pagan Paul (02/08/18)
.
3rd poem in Judderwitch series.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2076298/judderwitch-the-beginning/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1923972/judderwitch/

Today, Aug 2nd, marks two years on hp for me.
Thankyou to all those who have supported and helped me over these last 2 years. You are all greatly appreciated :) PPx xox
s May 2018
The kisses get ******,
*** follows routine.
The dishes pile up,
waiting to be cleaned.
There are six fresh eggs
to be cracked and framed,
while the washing machine sings
its closing tune, unnamed.
Tea comes to a boil,
toasts drizzled with honey.
Geyser's warming up
the yolks are runny.
Breakfast at midday
and dinner's a supper
who's keeping time
when Sunday comes over.
Lilly Tereza Dec 2012
Abandoned on the side walk.
Melting-
Drips slide down
Like the tears
On that poor kid's face.
Funny
How all of his problems
Boil down
To an ice cream cone
Abandoned on the side walk.
I'm no good in a kitchen but, I can cook stuff all the same
Around here, say "the recipe" and most folks know my name
It hasn't changed in fifty years, and folks still drink it up
I've been making it with my granddad since I was just a pup

I"ve been racing cars through out these woods since before most learn to drive
I've been chased by cops and revenuers, I surprised I'm still alive
The funny thing, they know the route, and I always make the border
Because if they ever caught me, I would just cancel their order

Magic comes from our hard toil
Once it travels through the coil
We cook it slow on a low boil
It's cooked according to old Hoyle
It's magic in a glass
And it'll put you on your ***


In all the years that we've been cooking we've only moved on twice
Not because the cops found us, but because of all the mice
Grandpappy started cooking when the jobs round here dried up
And me, I've been his helper since I was just a pup

Everyone's on credit, we all live on iou's
There's still no jobs around here, there just isn't no good news
But, if folks round here need healing, we've got magic in a jug
Our granddads old elixir is a moonshine mountain hug

Magic comes from our hard toil
Once it travels through the coil
We cook it slow on a low boil
It's cooked according to old Hoyle
It's magic in a glass
And it'll put you on your ***
Colette Jun 2014
I was falling into a deep pitch of darkness,
never having a thought of being rescued,
and only the thoughts of me falling into the abyss of darkness clouded my mind like how 21-gun salute resonates the deafening silence on one's death.

But I was saved by a blinding light,
warm arms wrapped me with comfort and security,
hands to hands with mine,
to stop me from falling.

Never have I thought I would be save by an angel in admits of all darkness that was eating me alive.
An angel he is, though we both said that we are of bad souls like devils.
Despite so, both our demons played well.

My heart beats fast around him,
and every poetry I write seems to only be indirectly pointed out of what seems to be him.

To say that this is a sickly puppy love wouldn't describe what I have for him.
An addiction, a complex disease, a deadly infatuation,
are what more seems to describe him in literal.

As if cigarettes and bottles of beers were more than enough to ****,
I might eventually die from the presence of him.

On 2505, I brave myself,
confronting or more like pouring my tongue-tied words with feelings of afraid of being rejected,
but wholeheartedly he accepted me.
The feeling were mutual and an awkward kiss we shared.

I feel my dark world lighting up,
blinding me in the consuming brightness.

Ever since then,
I felt more sick.
It wasn't a negative effect,
but I was very much deeply fallen in those brown irises of his.

His words, his movements,
the way his hands fit with mine,
the way his lips capture mine in perfection,
how could I have still survive all these while?

As day passes,
I questioned myself,
"Was I worth it?"
"Am I good enough for him?"

The thoughts of him with another sickens me and made my blood boil.
But he ensures me by saying the same.
And again, the kisses came after.

As days passed,
I, who had been busy often,
found less time to spend with him.
Getting tired and frustrated at times,
but I always feel guilty.

He would ask me to sleep and rest,
though I can be quite stubborn,
but eventually my body gave in.

Despite so, he would never get mad at me,
and I wonder and wonder..
was I ever that good of a lover for him?

All these doubts are still in mind,
but nevertheless,
I  hope that he wouldn't get bored of him.
And if ever do,
I would probably never stop chasing him.

Desperate and deeply in love,
that is the word to describing me.
But afterall, I'm just hopelessly in love with the man who is everything to me.
My best friend, my lover, my saviour, my anchor, my beautiful euphoria
and most importantly,
my everything.

Can you see how badly you have infatuated me with?
made a poem for bae on one monthsary so yeah-
Joseph Sinclair Apr 2015
They tell me that
inserting a stent in an artery
these days is no different
than lancing a boil in my ***
when I was a kid.

It should reassure me,
but the use of a phrase
such as invasive surgery
fills me with such dread,
as does the hated “C” word
that rattles round involuntarily
in my head.

And even worse
is when they call it
Percutaneous Coronary Intervention
or PCI for short
but not for long
before the dreaded doubts
once more invade my mind
in sinuous counterpoint
to that more disquieting
portent of invasion.
Antino Art Aug 2019
I am the only Asian in this bar right now.
Be my friend!
I will check the box of your social diversity quota.
Granted, I only speak a mispronounced fraction of
my immigrant parents' native tongue.
Ala Jackie Chan, I do not understand the words coming out the mouths of anyone on that massive continent (Russia included) that I appear to be more or less from.
But, I do eat spaghetti with chopsticks.
I am mystical as
fox, or Kitsune, in Japanese folklore.
I can hit you with wisdom worthy of a fortune cookie as fast as Google can tell you that the Philippines is nearly 2000 miles away from China. I want to say I'm from an exotic island where they play basketball in sandals and drink soda from plastic bags- like, A-level material you could make a movie out of in Slumdog Millionaire fashion and get awarded for your romantic portrayal of poverty you think is three worlds away from home. But nah, I'm just a kid from South Florida. Paved driveways and cul de sacs. But I do pump both fists in the air watching Manny Pacquio PPV fights on a bootleg stream. Beyond that, I'm probably the worst Asian there is. Not the crazy rich kind with a PHd. I dropped out of engineering after one semester and cannot solve a rubix cube. I never learned kung fu. Though I'm learning to face the adversity of becoming a single parent after my daughter's home broke in two. I write marketing proposals to pay the rent and poetry to fight without fighting in the spirit of Sun Tzu. My eyes do not slant in the direction of your narrative. I once ran in a pick up game where I caught the nickname of Yao Ming. Yao, I am 5 foot 8. Though I fall short of expectation, I can still check your diversity box on the way down and do a cool pen spin after to punctuate my intellectual prowess. I also happen to own an assortment of Japanese swords made in China, which I intend to use as heirlooms. This is what cultural colonization looks like: me, in a bar, the last samurai standing confused in an age of melting pots, Korean tacos and Asian slaw made by corporate imposters with names like PF Chang. What in the slaw is Asian? I wish I knew!  I wish I knew the true value of my heritage to be worthy of carrying it forward. Like how my grandfather planted a Malonggay tree in our backyard whose leaves my mother would pick and boil to make tinolang manok -the Filipino version of chicken soup- as a weeknight staple on our dinner table. I can barely soft boil an egg for instant ramen. Or how my motherland's socioeconomic gap tooth smile is so wide that it drove over 10 million of its native sons and daughters off its shores to find work overseas as servants on cruise ships and hospitals to feed the families they barely get to see. To follow their trail blazing footsteps, let me be the second generation tipping point where some form of cyclical tradition breaks. That way, I can raise my daughter free of predetermined scripts. So as the worst Asian in this or any bar, cheers:
to being the first of a new kind.
Md HUDA Dec 2012
Without you how I can remain well
My heart is in mystical severe turmoil
The heart is burning like a mosquito’s coil
Or like an egg full boil or half boil..
My love, come to me pour the rain of love upon my heart
How can I wait as Things Fall Apart
Since you depart
I started to follow love flowchart…
Even …. Even … Even…
The lovebird and the rose of love had left the Eden..
Joyfully expressing how the feelings are from her departure...
AD Mullin Oct 2014
The first time I truly stepped into the mystic
For a suspended period
Those close to me watched with amused
Concern

Later on I would find out that this place was called hypo-mania
A lower energy level than mania
Recognized by the p-doc's as a creative place
But also a place of warning

Cause what comes next?
Mania
For me it was spiritual; I was playing in the aether
I was living the Tao; I instinctively called it Source

I was studying to be a scientist at the time
So this didn't make a lot of sense
The data didn't support the hypothesis
Had I just eaten one to many mushrooms as a teenager?

I already had a psychiatrist
I was being treated for ADHD
He had prescribed something called Concerta
An amphetamine; a ******-stimulant

At many points along the journey
I cursed the day I ever heard of psychiatry
I'm sure that the neuro-chemical pathways opened up by Concerta
Had something to do with my awakening

Those first days near Source made me realize I needed some guidelines
Mine were informed by my indigenous heritage
Only take what you need (i.e. sip, don't gulp from the River Tao)
Find your foundation: my rock was integrity, eventually leading to authenticity

Even with these guidelines, I couldn't maintain the healthy place they were calling hypo-mania
I had too much toxicity in the relationships around me
I couldn't fully elucidate what I was seeing and feeling
And my 7 kettles were on a full rolling boil

I was draining myself
I drove myself into madness
I was trying to sip from source and live my truth
But I wasn't honouring the nature of the Tao

It was Helter Skelter:
'So you go back to the top of the slide
And you turn and you go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again'

Over the next 3 years
I would lay down what I now think of as my
4 pillars; four hospitalizations
Well over one hundred days in the Cuckoo's Nest

The first hospitalization I went happily
I was going to teach and inspire the sickies
It's hard to get healthy in a place of illness, though
I came out still a little hypo-manic but went into a deep, dark depression
After finding out what those around me really thought

The second hospitalization, I went against my will
The doctor's were inconsistent, I found flaws in their logic
They looked at me like I was a flaw
They tried to prescribe health at me; I told them to *******

At that point I was not happy with the Canadian health care system
Health, first and foremost, was a public good
This ******* the individual's rights
I wasn't a danger to myself or others but I was a risk so there goes 70 days of my life

I was fortunate to have the support of some important people
They made sure my finances, among other things, were maintained as I tried to make it back to the ordinary
After my second hospitalization I really began to delve into the idea of holistic healthcare

It was after my second hospitalization that I made my first Hero's Journey
I was playing the role of a white blood cell for Gaia
I had my first three sweats within a month of each other
I met many shaman and I'm pretty sure I began my own residency

I put 10,000 km on my trusty steed
Chasing windmills
Sancho Panza by my side
< --- -- - Vancouver, NYC, Los Angeles, 'da bridge - -- --- >

My third hospitalization was the third act of this Hero's Journey
I was pushing it, reckless; I stopped taking my prescribed medicine
I ended up in the City of Angels of all places
Straight outta Compton!

My fourth hospitalization (and final pillar) was last summer
This time I ended up in Billings, Montana
The American model places the onus of health on the individual
I could have stepped out of that hospital at any point but I now had the wisdom to know what I did and did not need

Even though I speak of four pillars
There is always a fifth element
Her; the one
She woke me up to my soul's purpose

We met shortly before my fourth hospitalization
(You've got to use the fourth, Aaron)
She was a stranger in many ways
Still is but why does she feel so familiar?

She walked me through Dante's Inferno
She had spent time in her own non-ordinary reality
She left behind a map and published it
Through her bravery, I was able to find my way out of the inferno

And through her bravery, I was able to publish my map
http://www.bipolarorwakingup.com/
kilo Aug 2012
all the sand in my shoe
and the love i have for you
it all boils down

all the dreams in my head
and the words that i've said
they all boil down

with the weeds in my hair
i don't care if something's there
*** we all boil down

to things beyond me

all the rocks and all the moss
and the minty dental floss
it all boils down

all the fountains at the mall
and the misty waterfalls
they all boil down

we are big yet we are small
in the middle of it all
as we all boil down

to things beyond me
Christos Rigakos Sep 2012
Once in a while frustrations boil over,
spilling all over my white shiny stove;
dousing to smoke my flickering pilot,
exhaling my courage like inert gas.
And woe to anyone smoking their anger
'round me or near or yet even far;
I’ll blow up a tempest in porcelain tea cups
and throw up a hell of a storm in a jar.

(C)2004, Christos Rigakos
Blank Verse
samuel hdz Nov 2012
I haven't addressed you in a while, only because I thought you had left me for dead.  Little did I know that regret had infected your veins, made you loose sleep, and let you experience some of My pain. with your remorse you bring me back to this place that was filled with more turmoil than love. You Made my blood boil only to watch my happiness spoil. Yet I did love thee more than words can express. How else could I have ended up this this intricate, drunk, and heartless? Understand that I don't want this for you but karma had your number.
jee Nov 2018
sienna cities
sparkling saturn sunrises
sangria skyscrapers
sublime.

you are kaleidoscoped
through and through
with window blinds, bed sheets,
and street signs.

they call you modern art
and hang you on a wall
of white
and beige.

your color bleeds.

you boil
and no *** can hold you.

you speak and
wind chimes cry,
ringing into the empty night,
saturnine.

a ballerina can only hope
to move as gracefully
as you do.

your eyes light up
like tuscan sun cities
sizzling sirius sunsets
school bus skyscrapers
salient.

i’m hooked on your city glow
brighter than tokyo.
andromeda’s got nothing on you
Frank Brown Sep 2012
Sat eating my lunch and a letter from the student union is dropped onto the chair next to me. I forgot; I’m a student. Why? I don’t even know. I ignore the letter, knowing it will be full of all that fake happiness *******. The thought of it causes my blood to boil. **** that. **** your community, your society based on ignorance, coaxing young impressionable students to become involved, engrossed in your way of life. Do what you want, I don’t give a ****, but don’t try and tell me that I’m not making the most out of my life because I don’t get involved. You can’t understand that there are other ways to live. You go about your business in this world isolated from the creatures and monsters that lurk within the depths of life – that lurk within the depths of yourselves. Suppressing; ignoring; having fun in your sterile environment. You think you avoid suffering, that you’ve found the recipe for happiness. All you’re really doing is suppressing life itself, your existence is incomplete, you are nothing but an effigy, a shadow of yourself.

As I flick through the leaflets and pages of the over-coloured, glossy pamphlets, I am overcome with what I can only describe as passionate rage. It’s just too ******* easy to be cynical about the crap that’s in this letter. Everything can be torn apart, I can see right to the depths of all the ******* they’re trying to feed me. So what if some guy has been elected as the student representative for sports – do I really need to see his face smiling back at me on every page I turn to? Why do I need to know who this guy is? Am I supposed to look up to him, is he the intermediary authoritative figure that I’m supposed to look up to; respect; even admire? A role model for myself, and all the other impressionable young minds arriving at university?

Taking them in when they’re at their most vulnerable. They’re living alone for the first time in their lives, but don’t worry; here comes the student reps to fill that void that is left where your home and family used to be. Come and join in with our activities, drink yourself stupid and forget the pain. We’ve even planned out a schedule for you to follow, each night laid out for you. Don’t even think, don’t use your own initiative and decide where you might want to go. Cram them in, venues at maximum capacity; drinks as cheap as you’ll find for miles, everyone wearing the same clothing styles, forgetting to think what this world is they find themselves in, stick to *****, forget about whiskey and gin. Your life as a student has begun; from now on this is what you’ll find to be fun. Don’t venture further into the depths of life, this is all you need. Your one pound ***** shots used as a catalyst, overcome your awkwardness, get laid for the first time; ****** for the first time. You wake up in unfamiliar surroundings, lost your phone and your wallet, can’t handle the drink, just an unconscious student, why the hell should you think.

Of course, these students are anxious, what better way to ****** them to this way of life. A world of cheap drinks and easy *** with clueless idiots. It doesn’t seem right, but this is what we’re told, better make the most of life, before we got old. Pass me a drink, there’s a girl over there, acting like a fool, but right now you don’t care. In the morning you wake, vision clouded, headache, now you’re a student, an authentic fake.

Rant ******* over. Well no not really, this is a rant that will stay with me till the last star has faded from the sky above. This sickness of society, the disease ****** onto every young mind is a tragedy. The potential for a better world erased, great minds suppressed, left right left right, all well-dressed. Who’s going to paint the great portraits, suggest a way to change the world, play a piece so beautiful the piano weeps? Who will suffer, and live life the way it could be lived? Come to the depths, to that murky world where adventure lurks around every corner and at every door way. This is life, you don’t have to know where you are, and it’s better if you don’t know where you’re going.
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
They had the plastic coffins ready
Before the panic hit, Ebola was a planned
Population reduction project

A good distraction from Economic collapse
Governments always divert your attention
At critical moments in history
The elite wish to keep their control
Ebola had no trouble infecting

Medical professionals, but they assured us
It’s not airborne, it’s only an exchange
Of fluids, so cover up your eyes

Ebola carries with it the heat of Africa
Able to make your blood boil form the inside
A post-colonial bioweapon specifically designed
To make you fear, to make you a follower
I think my stomach can feel it spreading

Around the world, in months, years
You cannot contain something like this
By simple quarantine? Even the medical staff

Don’t want any part in it, so cover your eyes
The black plague drips sinister News
In our times, the mainstream media plans
Consumes with its grip, like Ebola
It has the power to consume, a portable
Killing-machine, enough to linger about doom?  

Ebola is an outbreak, taken more seriously
The closer it hits to home, what is home
On a planet of billions of travelling people?
Mr Jonah was sent to Nineveh
He head out but took a detour
Now in the belly of the beast.

Mr Jonah cannot change things overnight
Says his town's men
Who will Carry or move anything
Without power?
Obviously no one, so we need power
They also said;
That's not possible overnight.

Our palm oil is dry
No groundnut oil to fry
Nobody is buying our powerful oil
Yet we have to sell before we boil
If we don't sell something
We will not eat anything.

Our children are misbehaving
Is this the future we are saving?
Will Mr Jonah build a place
Full of tutors?
Well,that's not possible overnight

Cows everywhere
Is there no one to check these cows?
Mr check cow is busy
Burning our farms and farmers
Mr Jonah cannot stop Mr check cow
Not overnight.

365 days make a year
How many years make an overnight?
The writer coughs;
6 years makes one night.

Wait o, is 6years overnight?
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
You're trouble, you're toil.
Yes, trouble and toil.
With you I think I'll bring to the boil.
A pinch of salt and a teaspoon of oil
but not too much, your taste it'll spoil.

I'll take off your beard.
To eat that would be weird.
But gristle that makes your knees
into crackling . . .
. . . oh yes please.

With mint sauce on each cheek,
two kebabs that are seekh.
Not keen on the chin
so I hope you don't mind,
that goes straight in the bin.

Chop, chew, swallow and digest.
Can you guess which part
of you I like best?
It's your nose that I grate
all around the edge of my plate
and because I've asked "Please"
that you try not to sneeze.
It makes a much better garnish
than parmesan cheese.

Savoury poetry by Kaydee.
I'm just messing now.
Florence Maude Mar 2015
What is this feeling in my chest?
It's like a thousand fireworks going off at once,
Mending the shattered parts and rejuvenating the rest,
Making me more alive than ever.

What are all these new colors I see?
They make the world so much brighter,
Kissing life into the dark places and thoughts
Making me feel lighter.

Why do I feel this jealousy?
When he looks at another,
Darkening the clouds and making things once again gloomy,
Making my blood seem to boil.

What is wrong with me?
Thinking thoughts such as these,
Twisting reality making me wish I was normal and free,
Making me drunk on this sudden highlightation of life.

They say I have a crush,
But really I'm a million miles away,
Hoping in a rush,
That it is alive on both sides instead of just one.
To W. R. B.

And so, to you, who always were
Perseus, D'Artagnan, Lancelot
To me, I give these weedy rhymes
In memory of earlier times.
Now all those careless days are not.
Of all my heroes, you endure.

Words are such silly things! too rough,
Too smooth, they boil up or congeal,
And neither of us likes emotion --
But I can't measure my devotion!
And you know how I really feel --
And we're together. There, enough . . .
Tryst Oct 2014
She watched the water slip and slop
As flurried flames climbed up to heat
And bubble boil the cooking ***
Emitting steam to rise and sweep

In splendid arcs and cloudy wisps
Of candy cotton colored plumes
That filled the cavern air with sips
Of fragrant tones and sweet perfumes

And withered bony fingers bent
To loosely grip a ladle shaft
And scooping water, swiftly went
To pour a steaming cloudy draught

Into a pretty painted cup
Upon a dais of sorcery
And gulping down a mighty sup
She gasped,
                    *"A lovely cup of tea!"
Happy Halloween!

First published October 30th 2014, 06:50 AEST.
Jeff Stier Sep 2018
In this life
we are sculpted down
to bone
burned to cinders
and our ash
tossed without regret
into the four winds

I wish I could live.
Be a man.
Find comfort in the sun.

But every cell in my body
revolts against time
cries out against the sun
speaks in tongues
for the sole purpose
of creating an outrage
against God.

Oh Lord!
How did you make us thus?
And why?
Above all
why?

We are made metal
and in the end
alloy with the sun.

Our breath is drawn
to fuel that fire
bring life to a boil
and
if luck prevails
to wake each morning
in comfort
and with a smile.

Perhaps the last sweet smile.
Ember Evanescent Jan 2015
You were so hot I spun twice to see, call me a fan
Your regal youth made my blood boil, call you peter pan

You were like a boomerang I wanted to throw away but you kept coming back to me,
And maybe I've always been scared of hurdles and you were my biggest one, 'cause I just can't get over you, you see

I thought you were like a paradox:
Cool as ice and hot as molten rock

You were like a magician with words, drove me so crazy I was pulling out my hare,
You steal my heart like a pirate captain when I sea you standing there,

But you didn’t have any morals, I deserve to call you *****ible
Yet you still think you're cute. you know? leaving my house the way you came would be adooreble

I discovered your texts to her on my birthday, the cake was ruined with my tiers
You caught my Eye with your animal magnetism, but you’ve been a cheetah for years

What? you think this is a game? No, you don't have a clue!
You had a monopoly on my life and now your name is taboo

You said you needed some time and space to yourself you were the only one in the galaxy I Wanted,
I guess life never turns out how you planet and since you left I've been feeling haunted,

Why did I believe you were a great catch? Just because you master *****?
You made me think we could smash; every second felt like a brawl

Loving you was no gouda, though I swiss you now that you’re gone, it isn’t easy,
I said goodbye, It’s not you it’s brie, sorry that was cheesy.

You gave my life flavor but you were just a masked spyce that made my life sour like limes
I know I need to chili but you have really bad taste and we’re out of thyme

I need a holiday from your lies, my patience is running short
I’m better off with you gone, and leaving you is my last
resort

I guess we didn't have that spark no need to be astunished,
all I know now is: IT IS TIME YOU WERE PUNISHED.
We had a lot of fun making this, and it was Spencer’s idea, I hope you guys enjoy it as much as we enjoyed creating it :)
We love puns and so this entire poem is made up of puns.

Spencer’s lines are in the normal writing, and my lines are italicized.

It took forever to write! (Which was mostly my fault because I procrastinate and have no time! It was a lot of work though.) Anyway, this is our collaboration!

-Ember Evanescent
-The-ever-brilliant Spencer Craig

:)
Holly Salvatore Dec 2012
Molasses is
The most red
The most gold
The most vibrant
Least cold
Fall of my life
And it’s a new ****
Maybe he wears a trucker hat
Or maybe he wears bibs
Maybe he’ll be some dark horse
New candidate
I don’t know yet
He could be one of these
Over mountain men
Filtering through the woods
Appearing in the hills
Ghosts of Hatfields past
Fur on their faces
Instead of skin
Strong and sturdy
Growing up from the ground
Like the cane we’re cutting
Down
And it ain’t about money
Out here in God’s country
We’re just willing and
Able
Enjoying the rich soil
And machetes
Carving calluses
While the sugar’s pressing
Staining, straining
Green and sweet
Skimming, boiling, browning
Finally draining
Into glistening mason jars
The day is going dark
Sail away ladies
Sail away
And say darling say
Playing banjo
In a moonshine-induced
Hallucination
Till all the bread is gone
The molasses gets carted off
And now it’s full dark
The spooks come out
All the wicked witches
Spitting hairballs
At their victims
That thing making noise
Moving in the bushes
Might be Matt Kinneman
Tells me I’m a good woman
I’m a human wall
And my pigtails make good handholds
When someone needs to reach his knife
The mountains grow
Apart at night
And the hollers pull us in
Molasses tastes like being
Home again
For Lou
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
Erica DeAngelo Mar 2017
A whistle,
blows off the steam
heated inside the kettle.
Warmth is luscious and comforting.
The sensation that will soon puncture between your lips.
It comes to a boil,
the whistle grows greater.
Higher.
Oh that one night.
The note reaches soprano,
and continues.
Water rises to a boil.
Anger.
Only a sound that can make your ears throb.
Grasping the handle,
you pull the *** from it's key source.
Oh how you yearn to do the same.
Something this bitter,
needs a sweetener.
The warmth will exit.
Won't it need someplace to go?
Honey,
your warmth is forever welcome,
if you find yourself becoming cold on the boil.
Cindy Long Sep 2015
**** me
just **** me
I want you inside me
Oh how I've wanted you
dreamed of you
our bodies intwined
breathing heavy
You don't have to take it
easy on me
I can handle it
Put your hands on me hold me down and choke me
just choke me
oh please be rough with me
I wont fight you
I'll let you right in
Kiss me
just kiss me
flick your tongue against mine
kiss me all the way
down my body
oh how I long for you to touch me just touch me
touch me there
make me shake
and beg for you to stop
torture me with your fingers
get me all excited
And wanting
raise my hips to meet yours
and smile at me
that smile that makes me weak
And flustered at the same time
that one that leaves me wondering
I don't know
what you're going to do
to me
but it doesn't matter
just do it
I want you
to do it all to me
claim me
Just claim me
in every single way
release yourself on me
I can take it
I want it
give it to me
please give it to me
show me how much you want me
just want me
need me
love me
push me to my limit
take me over the edge
make me scream your name
press into me
sO hard
I can't breathe
oh how i long to feel you
feel me
Just feel me
close your eyes
and gasp on me
Lay on top of me
don't let me move
Take control of me
oh how I want to taste you
your sweat
your seed
gut me
just gut me
Cut me into pieces
splitter me
shred my innocence
open me up
And spread me apart
look at my insides
At how you make
my heart race
blood boil
organs tense
by the way
You **** me
just **** me
show me
how much you
love me
just love me
please just love me
-Cindy Long
Jeff Gaines Feb 2019
I'm so sorry for not being here much, dear Readers. I make no excuses other than I have been having surgeries, getting my books edited, formatted, copy-written and published on Amazon and dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Michael, which decimated our humble tree farm. The eyewall passed a mere 18 miles south of us and I am STILL cutting up fallen trees and either dragging their remnants up to the road to be hauled away by the county or down to the burn pile to be burned by me. As I said, I am recovering from Stent surgeries, so it is a slow pace, at best. When that is all finished, I'll need to address either burning or cutting out the stumps of all these fallen pine trees and then finally fixing our washed out driveway. (Long sigh)

  As many of you read, I published a piece titled "Message To A Friend". It is an homage to a life-long friend that had passed away. Your responses and comments absolutely warmed my heart ... THANK ALL OF YOU! It was even chosen as my very first Daily here at HePo and I was truly humbled.

  But as most know, whenever you achieve something or are given accolades, you draw the ire of people who have little or no self-esteem and have a psychological and pathological NEED to either show themselves as better than you (an attempt to jump in your spotlight by pushing you out) or to just undermine you out of jealousy by bullying and name calling. Often the line between the two is greatly blurred.

  My being given this Daily was no exception. There is a person here on HePo who can nearly ALWAYS be found leaving derogatory, self-serving, condescending comments on peoples HePo Dailies. He did it to a friend of mine, not too long ago. Not being one to take such drivel at idle, I responded and this began a volley that was not only funny but truly enlightening on the behaviors and the motives of a bully ... or a troll ... or even a hater. The difference between them all is nearly non-existent. Their lack of confidence, their self-doubt, and personal inadequacies/inabilities drive them to form an ego that on the outward eminence front, makes them appear very confident and quite often overbearing and extremely judgmental as though they were so much better than everyone else, they are then entitled to do so.

  These judgments are spewed in an effort to not only make it appear as if they are high and mighty enough to be entitled to do this but to make the person they are attacking fear them as well. In essence, they are frightened cowards that are desperately hiding this fact behind false bravado and holier-than-thou entitlement.

  I have removed this person's name here, as that is irrelevant to the thing I am trying to achieve here. I would like you to witness their initial attack, then my responses, and the volleys that follow. You will be able to witness, first hand, the way that these types of people operate. You will be able to witness them spiral downward in their actions and tactics, desperately trying to maintain control of the situation. Even to the point of becoming child-like in their name-calling and spewing "facts" that they can not POSSIBLY know a single thing about.

  They even, predictably, call foul when you do the exact same thing to them, that THEY have done to you. This juvenile response is actually funny, but in reality, all of this is actually very sad.

  They do these things in an attempt to keep the appearance of having the upper hand. But their ego blinds them so badly, they have no idea that they are exposing themselves, and their sickness, to everyone. Most, if not all, of these types, have a need to appear to the world as someone who is better than everyone else. Someone who has it "all under control" ... even you. They want you to believe that you should revere them. This person, in particular, has this part of the affliction chronically. It is a form of narcissistic megalomania.

As you stand up to them, they have "stages" that they go through while dealing with the person that has stood up to their superego. The more you stand up to them, the further downward their spiral goes. You will see them here, in order. I cut and pasted them, then removed his name. Other than that, they are unedited. It even ends (for now) with them offering a truce. (They will undoubtedly come back, as predictably, they can not help themselves.)

BUT ... the truce is yet another poorly veiled attempt to regain control and come out appearing as the dominant one. It is laughable in many ways, but again, it is also very sad. These people have many, many deep-seated issues and may have experienced traumas in their life that have molded them into this behavior.

Admittedly, I probably took this a bit too far. Mea culpa. Remember, when you are dealing with these people, they have one goal, and one goal only ... to PROVE to you and the rest of the world that they are superior and you are inferior. NOTHING else is acceptable. Some are passive-aggressive and some are straight aggro. I shouldn't have used little teasing names and put-downs, but I couldn't resist, as he was just SO textbook in his actions and it kept them coming back.

  I baited him from the very start by presenting him with perfect logic and critical thinking. I removed his predictable arguments BEFORE he could use them. This sped up the panic and the downward spiral.  I needed to keep him coming back by denying his need to dominate me because I wanted to post it all here, in order, so that you might learn about what drives these people and thus, take them with a grain of salt and brush them off more easily while feeling less hurt by their hateful, condescension.

  They really can't help it. And, as you will see ... they can not be helped either. No matter how many times that I pointed out to them how they were exposing themselves to the world, they just kept coming back for more. It really is a sad state of affairs.

  Keep in mind, as you read this very first post in the comments from them, that they are commenting on a piece that I had written, as a letter of sorts, to a lifelong friend who had just passed away. There is a link to that and the second piece they trolled in the notes. This is how they opened their assault and I set the hook:


(Name deleted)  Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame.

0



2 replies

4d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Huh?

So sorry, (Name Deleted), that this took so long to respond to ... It has taken me this long to stop laughing. As they say in NYC, "Haters gonna hate" and "If you got haters, then you are doing something right!"

You have just made both idioms ring so very true. Especially considering that:

A: We have never met.

B: You write such a childish attempt at an attack just when the piece has received a daily. (Bad timing there, pal.)

Firstly, I am not now, nor have I ever been an "Alcoholic". I'm not really sure where you got that impression. But using my references to drinking, as teens often do, was a very apparent (and desperate) grasp at trying to bring some sort of defamation to my character. This is made further pathetic by the fact that you know neither me OR my deceased friend, and therefore have no right to make such an assumption. (Another thing you've done to make yourself look pathetic is to write such a comment about a piece written about a deceased friend).

"unreconstructed"?

THAT was a two-handed grasp, so desperate it brought me hysterical laughter. Definitely my favorite part of your nonsense. Please, stop by my website, read up on me and my accomplishments and have a look at SOME of the stars that I have worked with in my nearly 40 years in the "Biz":

>>> www.jeffgaines.world <<<

As you do, ponder the fact that you DO NOT get into the position of doing these things by being an "alcoholic in need of reconstruction". In my business, the first time someone found you with ***** on your breath, you be blackballed. It is UNACCEPTABLE. Besides, being a Master Production Electrician, working around services of 1200 AMPS or more, requires complete focus, lest you **** yourself or others. But I digress ...

This way, you can attack me with something other than untruths, like me being an alcoholic or being in need of "Reconstruction". (I was hoping you would be so kind as to explain EXACTLY what you mean by that? Or was it the "wittiest" thing you could make up at the moment?)

(So ... let's see ... you could poke fun at my being a "Big Guy" perhaps? Or maybe you will disapprove of my long hair? Oh, I know, my ****** hair ... you can crack on that for certain! And let's not forget the fact that I'm 55. Maybe you could come up with some great defamation about my age! You could even use a clever (and predictable) British slur, like "Geezer"! Oh, that would hurt SO much! LOL)

I'm looking forward to more of your hating nonsense. How sad, empty, meaningless (and pathetic) you and your life must be, that you feel the need to be a hater. I'd say that I feel sorry for you, but I simply don't. People like you strengthen and encourage me because they let me know that others are jealous of my life and my abilities. I especially love it when they would expend their own precious energies to attack me or my writings when they could expend that energy to better themselves or THEIR writings! It is your choice, not mine.

I saw in your profile that you have "NO use for Tobacco or Alcoh" (Sic) ... and I would fight to the DEATH for your right to have no use for such things. By the same token, YOU have NO right to IMPOSE your beliefs (or childish judgments) on others. But please, carry on! I invite your further attempts at schoolyard bullying, posturing, judging, and holier-than-thou posing.

It will be fun!

Namaste

4d

----------------------------------------

N­ext, they try to act like they were just being satirical and that they meant no harm. They have now realized that I can, and will, stand up to them. I also startled them with such an educated and seemingly well-thought-out response that they were definitely not ready for. Like a good debater, I had also took away all of their predictable responses with logic and critical thinking. So, this is their attempt to back out of it and still feel "on top":


(Name deleted)  So you caught my 'Alcohol abuse is not a way to salute the memory of anyone' satire?.

0



1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   No, (name deleted) ...

What I've caught is you cowardly taking down the response I made to your earlier jealousy-driven, impish attempt at slighting my piece after it had been chosen for the daily.

In it, you called me an "unreconstructed alcoholic with no sense of shame". (A person you do not know, nor have EVER met). After explaining to you that you had no right or reason to make such an accusation, you retract (read: take down) your foolish commentary (and my response) out of embarrassment, and replace it with this poorly attempted sidestep of a claim that it was some sort of "satire".

It is well known here at Hello Poetry that you like to bash on pieces picked for the daily. I have read your pathetic, childish drivel. It is because of those, that I have never gone by your page and actually read your work as I felt it unlikely you would write anything worthy of reading. Especially considering the imaginary high pedestal that you picture yourself spewing it from.

I guess I hit home with my observations about you attempting to be holier-than-thou and a bully. "Spot on" as you Brits say. Or was it the comment about your Karma? Did that ring home with you? I mean, you being a big Yoga person and all ... Karma is VERY important in your beliefs ... is it not? In your TEACHINGS ... is it not?

Did I make you suddenly stop to ponder your Karma after attacking others precious works with your unsolicited words of judgment and Holier-than-thou condescension? (Yet another teaching of the Hindu-Yoga beliefs, not being prideful, right?) Well, I should hope so. That is why I reminded you.

IMHO, being a person that claims to believe in Karma ... a person that TEACHES it ... who would reach out with harmful, spiteful, cruel and critical words ... words that are founded in nothing ... perhaps in his own opinion, at best ... is akin to a "Religious" person that carries a Bible, self-righteously belittles "sinners" as HE sees them ... and then wanders down to the ******* for some whiskey and "relief". Wouldn't you agree? Not much difference, now is there?

How funny is it that THAT person, who would break SO many teachings of his OWN beliefs ... Would also claim to not only be a practitioner but a TEACHER of these beliefs as well?

Oh ... very funny indeed.

Tell me ... Do you CHARGE your students? How do you think THEY would feel about giving you their hard-earned money if they knew that you practiced such things here on Hello Poetry? Do you think they would want to attend your classes after that?

It is people like you, that keep people like me ... laughing. Laughing with a bit of pity and, more importantly, a whole lot of wisdom. You are a very wavy pane of cheap glass ... and still, I can see right through you.

Good luck with all your endeavors... AND your Karma.


Namaskaram

3d

----------------------------------

N­ext, they take a posturing/yelling position in an attempt to frighten me (textbook) and then cry foul that I am doing the same thing to them that they have done to me. But, as I point out, I am only reiterating and asking questions. They follow up (on the offensive) by attacking my politics, my race, and even my religion. Then they finish by trying to call out their fellow yoga enthusiasts against me, by claiming that I am a hater of yoga. Again, comical. They also attempt to re-establish dominance by offering me advice (instructions?) on how to "fix" myself. Behold:



(Name deleted)  I have not ever taken ONE PENNY in payment for explaining how to commit the actions that are guaranteed to turn Knowledge into Experiential Knowingness.
You try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!.
You must be an enemy of Yoga.
You are a sick bourgeous no-nothing intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!.
Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!.

0



1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   BINGO!

Button pressed!

Glad that I waited until after breakfast ... or I would have been laughing too hard to eat!

Well now ... that was quite the outburst, huh?

Predictable from a common bully. Now, knowing what I know about bullies, you are slipping into panic mode here. Bullies always get startled when the person whom they are picking on turns and gives them the same medicine. So, first they act like its nothing, then they lash out in fear ... as ALL bullies ARE cowards. Their bullying is a behavior pattern hiding a defense mechanism that hides their true cowardly nature.

So ... let's look back on what's transpired so far and save those just joining our little exchange the toil of reading the other posts ... shall we?

Besides, it is MUCH easier for your type to have it all spelled out one point at a time, rather than to give an actual all-in-one lecture.

1. I received a "Daily" from Hello Poetry for my piece titled "Message For A Friend". It is a heartfelt letter to a friend that had been important in my life and had .now passed away.

2. You (a person I have never met or even chatted with online) decided to leave a crass, condescending, holier-than-thou, bullying comment (as you are well known here to do to other peoples Dailies). To be clear, we are all here to post our beloved works and others are given the chance to comment or even review them as fellow writers. That being said:

Your exact comment was: " Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame"

Here is the definition of Bathos according to the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

bathos (bāˈthŏsˌ, -thôsˌ)►
n. An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
n. An anticlimax.

3. I am going to make the assumption you were referring to the second ... "An anticlimax". If you felt that my piece was anticlimactic, that is your opinion and you are humanly entitled to it. Point taken. Its validity rests with you and your opinion. But I accept it like a man, nonetheless.

4. (And here is where you began your childish posturing and holier-than-thou condescension.) You then DECLARED me, the author, as an "Unreconstructed Alcoholic". Seeing as how you have never met me, this can ONLY be speculation or conjecture at best on your part. You CERTAINLY had NO right to DECLARE this as fact to the public at large. But bullies don't do either of those things (speculation or conjecture). Their cowardice and jealousy drive them to spew judgments and put-downs such as these in order for them to not only be the Judge but to exalt themselves somehow OVER their intended victim. It somehow makes them feel superior. Something they desperately need, especially in the public eye. It helps to hide their faults and inabilities.

5. You finished with yet more conjecture and condescension by stating that I had "No sense of personal shame". Once again, a very pretentious declaration about someone you have never met. This one, in particular, shows your true colors and position as a bully in that you wrote this after reading what ALL of the other comments said was a warm, heartfelt piece ... as I had intended, about a friend that had DIED. This, as near as I can tell, would make it appear that YOU have "No sense of personal shame". But I'll not address that. We have BETTER fish to fry.

6. After my response, where I call you out on making judgments and spewing condescension from your imaginary ivory tower, you then back peddle and try to side-step your actions by now calling them "satire". Again, typical bully behavior... They posture, get punched in the nose and decide to say "oh, hey, I was only kidding" so as to save face and keep the same face from any further shaming by their intended victim.

7. I, a person who personally has a disdain for bullies because of being bullied as a child, would not allow this attempt by you to regain control and, in your mind, come out on top by saving face. I did so by pointing out FACTS, not assumptions nor conjecture. To wit: you claim to be all Existential and a believer in the teachings of yoga, so I thought it poignant to point out how in those teachings you are not allowed to display your ego/superego, nor are supposed to impose hurtful things, verbal or otherwise, or judgments of any kind on others. These things are not conducive to good Karma.

I finished my point by comparing it to a Bible-thumping preacher who, one moment is slandering "Sinners" and the next moment enters a house of ill-repute for whiskey and "relief". I also QUESTIONED, I did NOT state, whether you charged for your teachings. I also conjectured that if you did ... then how would your patrons feel about your actions here on Hello Poetry? It was conjecture, nothing more.

8. You then respond with yet another HYSTERICAL attempt to posture me and slander me in order to draw attention away from the fact that it is YOU who have been exposed for your OWN actions ... NOT BY ME ... but by YOURSELF ... I was simply shedding light on them here in the forum where YOU shot the first volley! And you do it SEVERAL ways ... to wit:

9. You make the accusation that I " ...try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!." (Love the period AFTER the exclamation point. Nicely done) I insinuated NOTHING. Read it all again. I stated facts. Facts garnered by YOUR comments right here on these pages. The ONLY person who insulted or attempted to "blacken someone's character" here in this forum has been YOU by calling me an "Unreconstructed alcoholic that has no personal shame and writes utter bathos".

That was not only unfounded, but it also calls for an apology as you had NO right whatsoever to publicly call me these things or "blacken my character" in such a manner. All of my responses were directly to your words. I stated facts about your actions and facts about Karma and its beliefs. The only conjecture I committed was done in the form of a question, in that I asked if you charged for your teachings. I never said that you did. Read it all again.

10. You state that I " ... must be an enemy of Yoga". More laughter-inducing reaches by a bully in panic mode by trying to make me look bad to a group of people who love yoga. I'm assuming that you think this will call them to arms against me? Again, if you read ALL I have written here ... I have said NOTHING bad about yoga at all. I also show it not only in a knowledgable light but with respect, in that, I am questioning your actions while claiming to practice it. Honestly, not even a "nice try" here (Name Deleted). Simply pathetic.

11. Next, and here is where we can see the utter desperation in your cowardly panic, you escalate your attack on me with even MORE unfounded "insinuations and attempts to blacken my character" as you call them. All in the name of taking the light of exposure off of yourself. To wit:

You state:

"You are a sick bourgeous (actually spelled "Bourgeois") no-nothing (I'm assuming you meant "Know-nothing") intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!." (Again with the period AFTER the exclamation points. Well, you're nothing, if not consistent)

12. So now you first assume that I am a middle-class "no-nothing" (sic). Again, knowing NOTHING whatsoever about my financial status OR my intellectual abilities OR education. And you make these claims as though they are facts, which to any person reading this is readily and obviously untrue and/or unproven. More typical "bully" behavior.

13. You now cross yet another line of "Karma" and assault/slander my race by making it sound, in the context of your sentence that is some "lesser" thing. My race? Really (Name Deleted)? I didn't expect that, even from you. I mean, what does my race have to do with ANY of this? But that last one ... oh, that takes the cake ... it exposes your true persona. It lets the entire WORLD see, as I do, through your cloudy cheap glass and right through your empty, pathetic soul ...

14. You assume that I am a "Liberal, born again Christian" (as usual, you do this without knowing ANYTHING about my stance as a liberal OR a conservative OR what religion I practice) But that is neither here, not there because whatever you assume I am, you have spewed it out in the context that it is "lesser" than whatever it is that you consider yourself. Wow, (Name Deleted) ... just "Wow". If there was a Karmic Hell, I would think that last bit would send your pathetic soul STRAIGHT to it. Of this, I am CERTAIN. Karma/Yoga/Hinduism frowns on judging or speaking ill about other religions ... Am I correct?

The only correct parts of that ill-uttered proclamation are that I am indeed white and am indeed a poet. I am not a liberal (OR a conservative) nor am I a born-again Christian. My stance/position/beliefs are not only not for discussing here, but they are also, quite frankly none of your business. Nor do they have any bearing here whatsoever, so why attack them? A feeble attempt at misdirection while in panic mode.

It should be pointed out, that even as you have descended into all this petty name-calling and condescension about beliefs and religion, I have NEVER engaged in these practices in our volleys here. Again, showing your panic-driven behavior as an exposed, and stood-up-to, bully.

15. You finish this puerile rant with:

"Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!."

(AGAIN, you consistent devil, you ... with the period AFTER the exclamation point. Priceless for such a critic of other's writing.)

The first line is truly confusing. I am guessing you needed to toss out some "big words", but their use in this context makes little sense (to me) as they are not slanderous or even pertaining to the subject here. To wit:

From the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

ob·se·qui·ous (ŏb-sē′kwē-əs, əb-)
adj.
Full of or exhibiting servile compliance; fawning.
[Middle English, from Latin obsequiōsus, from obsequium, compliance, from obsequī, to comply: ob-, to; see ob- + sequī, to follow; see skew- in Indo-European roots.]

I am neither "serving" or exhibiting "servitude" or "fawning" in ANY of this. So, I'm VERY unclear what you meant by that.

AND, again from the English Dictionary 4th Edition:

twee (twē)
adj. Chiefly British
Overly precious or nice.
[Alteration of tweet, baby-talk alteration of sweet.]:

Again, totally confused by what you meant by this. It is almost laughable. I've definitely NOT been "Overly precious" NOR "Nice" in our volleys here. I have been concise, exacting, stern and occasionally I have even let a wee bit of my anger show through. I'm sorry about that. But bullying and people who think they are somehow better than all others just make my blood boil. I have done my best to handle this as a calm and focused adult.

As for the "DEEP NASAL BREATHING" suggestion ...

I would like to offer the EXACT same advice to you. It may help you come to grips with this rather embarrassing exposure of your true nature that you have wrought upon yourself here in this little volley. I know that it certainly helped me to stop laughing and catch my breath.

I EAGERLY await your next outburst. Please, make it a good one this time, won't you? Putting you in your place has been made so easy by your ridiculously transparent, predictable and childish actions and words, that it is quickly becoming boring.

Mujhe pooree ummeed hai ki aapako shaanti milegee.

3d


-----------------------------------------

In this following post/response, they simply call me a name. As you can see by this juvenile choice of just two words, they are not only panicking ... they are spiraling into a regressive state that they have held inside themselves all of their adult life. Inside, they are still that terrified child. That child called me this:


(Name deleted)  Electronic Arsewipe

0



1 reply

2d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Ta Daaa!

Reduced to using schoolyard name-calling (and not very imaginative name-calling, at that. I'd rate that one at around grade 5 ... maybe 6, at best).

(( Yawn ))



--------------------------------------------


Admittedl­y ... and ashamedly, I do egg them on a bit with that response and am sinking to their level. I was bullied as a child and my defense mechanisms can be subject to regression as well.

Still, not knowing how to deal with me ... seeing that they are not being successful at either dominating me or discrediting me, they return with yet another posturing, condescending retort. Here, they actually threaten to "punch me in the nose" if I: " ... continue
hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do." I don't have to point out the irony here, that THEY are the one guilty of this. And now somehow, they are SO offended that I would do the same. This, as I point out, is typical, textbook bully behavior.

The first part is random, panicked statements that really don't make sense (again) about how "easy" and "demeaning" it is to write of a "dead friend". Remember, they NEED to establish and maintain some type of dominance and control. So, they use these types of accusations and insults ... but call "no fair!' when you do it.

"Easy"?

"Demeaning"?

Hmmm, I didn't find it easy or demeaning to write that letter. I can't explain his angle. He also tries to offer me help by sending me his CD (of his music) which will supposedly save my soul and lead me to a higher plain of some sort. This offering is more of his posturing and desperate attempt at establishing dominance by both claiming that I am in need of help AND that HE can GIVE ME that help. But I'll let you, dear Reader, take it all in here
:



(Name Deleted)  It's so easy and so demeaning to praise a dead 'friend' in PUBLIC especially (for **** sake) that you haven't seen for 10 years.
Sounds like a strong case of GUILT over something there!!.
You will get that punch in the nose you are so obviously looking for(and do not deserve) if you carry on hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do.
Tek several deep breaths and listen to my CD.
If you send me a Poste Restante address I will send you(free of charge)a copy.



.

0



1 reply

2d
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   Oh, (Name Deleted) boy!

You are TOO fun!

And so predictable!

Again, you come, in typical wanna-be bully fashion, spewing condescending judgments and even physical threats to my person now as well? I guess it was a matter of time. Especially with me so deep in your head ... kicking your marble-sized brain around like a deflated football.

You honestly don't get how foolish this little expose of your true nature makes you look here, do you? I love it. But, I guess most bully-types are narcissistic and blindly foolish anyways.

I really do love the periods AFTER the exclamation points! And your spell checker has definitely gone fishin'. Hysterical.

Apparently, you do not read too well either. I had not seen him, true. But as I said in the piece, I spoke with him on the phone all the time; we were always close. And I'd love to know two things ... How is it demeaning to write about, or to, a dead friend? I would also like to know why ONLY you have found this "demeaning"? All the other comments were praiseful or even thankful for sharing such precious memories.

And, in case you've not heard of these terms, this piece could be called both a "Eulogy" and/or an "Homage". BOTH are typical and have been done by millions of people (friends/family/colleagues) about recently deceased friends for centuries. There are DOCUMENTED Hindu Eulogies for ENTIRE families dating back to 10000 BCE. Look them up online. Nothing new here. Nothing demeaning here. No guilt here. In fact, I praised my time with him and stated that I wish that we had more time together. But if you see that as guilt of some sort, you are, once again, foolishly mistaken.

But that isn't it at all, is it?

What you are really doing here is more of your panicking-bully behavior by once again trying to turn the light of exposure away from yourself and on to me with (more) silly, unfounded accusations and even ****** threats. Not even a good try little man. and so, so predictable! You are like a broken record!

Your ability to induce laughter is amazing. It truly makes one ponder what kind of person you really are ... and you do it publicly!

I LOVE IT!

And tell me ... WHO first hurled "gratuitous insults" at WHOM? SO hysterically funny and, again, predictable, that the bully can dish it out, but can not take it. It is ok for you to do it to me, but not visa-versa? I guess calling someone an "unreconstructed alcoholic" is ok because it comes from the imaginary ivory tower of the high and mighty, all-powerful YOU!

(Peeing me pants laughing)

Your crying about this is so sadly pathetic. It leads me to yet another teaching of Hinduism and the laws of Karma ... "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Man, I am beginning to think it is YOU that hates Yoga and Karma and all the other beliefs you pretend to practice at your ego-driven web page. They sure do not show through here on Hello Poetry, now do they?

It is obvious that you fancy yourself as some kind of spiritual leader/Guru/Swami, when in fact, you are a common coward with a narcissistic megalomaniac complex. You NEED people to think you are a BIG man. You attempt to further this ridiculous image by speaking ill of peoples posts in order to make it seem like you are better than everyone and are somehow entitled to make these childish condescensions.

"Pathetic" does not begin to cover it ... OR you.

And YOU are going to punch ME in the nose? You may want to look at my website again and ponder my size. I promise several things should you ever attempt this, little boy ...

1. It will be the single most unpleasant experience of your pathetic life.

2. Win, lose or draw, you WILL NEVER wish to fight me again.

Tell me ... Do I seem like someone that would cower to the likes of you?

Your ego has become so blinded, I predict that it will get you in WAY over your head someday. If not with me, then some other man that will also put you in your place while you attempt to be dominant and holier-than-thou.

How funny (and pathetic) is it, that the guy who STARTED this whole volley with his own unsolicited, "unfounded gratuitous insults", now whines and cries and carries on when the same is done to him?

Awwww, poor, poor little baby. Your threats make me laugh even harder as they further expose your desperate panic-driven agenda AND persona! I am absolutely LOVING this!

As for listening to your CD?

Why on EARTH would I listen to a wee little man, that claims he is helping my life and soul when I have already seen him for the posturing, holier-than-thou, bullying, narcissistic egotist that he really is?

That ... would be an utter waste of my time.

Since you are so keen on giving advice, I'd like to offer some to you ... and then end today's volley with a question.

"It is far and away better to keep one's mouth closed and be thought of as a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."

I'm not sure exactly where this old bit of advice came from ... but if anyone should heed it, I would think it to be you. Through all of this, it has been YOU showing what and who you really are. I have only reiterated or commented on it. Unbelievably, you keep PROVING my points with EACH new response.

And now the question ...

I know in your ego-driven mind, you feel like you HAVE to have the last word to be the "winner". But, considering that you took the first shot at me, and by the rules of engagement, I am to take my turn ... do you really think I will just "give up" after one of your silly attempts at asserting your dominance?

Keep them coming wee man ... it is your undoing ... NOT mine.

2d


-----------------------------------------------

N­ow here, they claim to have deleted something, but they don't say what, exactly. Again, I am guilty here of cajoling them a bit. I do apologize. More to you, than to them. As we have come this far, have you noticed that they NEVER address what I am saying and only throw unfounded accusations and childish ridicule? They can NOT engage in your part of the conversation as, in their mind, only their part is worthy of dealing with.

Besides, it might actually let you make your point and they simply can NOT have this. They also call me a "troll". Something they have very clearly established that they are since the START of all this. But now, in one of their panicked efforts to retain dominance, they accuse me of being that. Futile misdirection for certain. But a predictable tactic, nonetheless So, here we go
:


(Name deleted)  Deleted Unread you sick TROLL.

0



1 reply

23h
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   "Deleted"?

I'm very proud of you ... Did you select it all and hit backspace ... or the actual delete key? Or ... did you actually take the time to place the cursor and hit backspace through it all? It doesn't really matter; either way, I'm still very proud of you. (And you didn't misspell anything here either!) Bra-VO, (Name Deleted), Bra-VO!

Now ... what, exactly, did you delete?

Please, be more clear. (unsurprisingly) It's as though you are speaking nonsense. Nothing in this string has been deleted.

"Unread"?

Well, now ... if you are claiming to have "not read" something written about you, wee man, we BOTH know that your ego wouldn't allow that, would it? Simply impossible. JUST like you are reading this! So, for all that's holy, don't expose yourself as a liar too! Your credibility here has already thinned to near nothingness, as it is.

As for "Sick Troll" ...

*** - Kettle, moorkh chota ladka, *** - Kettle.

(For goodness sake, if you don't understand the reference, then Google: "The *** calling the Kettle Black")

Now, if you STILL don't get it ... then I'll offer up this one in its place:

What's good for the Gander is good for the Goose!

SURELY you get my meaning here, don't you (Name Deleted)- ol' boy?

Thanks, once again, for the hysterical laughter. Experiencing you being you has been a real barrel of laughs so far. And nice try at having the last word. Actually, if that's what this was, it was pretty pathetic. But at this point, I feel you may be in need of a nice "'Attaboy!"



Please see part II ~ Link in notes below.

— The End —