I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie
I wanna **** my thumb like I'm smoking a doobie
I eat all the munch, then I screamin for more
Then when u turn around I gonna **** onn the floor.

Poopy poopy ****, I wanna **** on you.
Open ur mouth, I give you something to chew
But you won't get mad and you won't scream,
Cos I'm just a little baby *****, that's me!

uh huh

lil baby *****
lil baby *****
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie

lil baby *****
lil baby *****
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie

*****

I like *****, I like ****,
before you touch, you must get permits.
Nothing like a nice pair of assets,
oh how puppies make nice pets.
Bazongas are ***** that are large,
strippers and hookers, will always charge.
Nothing like the perfect *****,
but only on the perfect woman.
******* are yummy dark or white,
but first you must wait for an invite.
Some girls even have a third ******,
do not squeeze says Mr. Whipple.
I don't mind girls on the itty, bitty, ***** committee,
on a carpenters dream, I show no pity.
They could be called a bust, some call them cans,
a woman's squeeze box, all men are fans.
Chesticles is a term I have never heard,
but everyday, I learn a new word.
I like cones, I like jugs,
girls with big ones, I give hugs.
Al Bundy loved calling them *******,
at the restaurant, I wish I was one of the recruiters.
A girl with a nice set of knockers,
might find herself with unwanted stalkers.
Fergie sang about her lovely lady lumps,
a good set of melons, still give me goose bumps.
***** always come in a pair,
why do bra's, they have to wear.
Even men who smoke lots of crack,
still can appreciate a good sized rack.
I don't care if there fake or real.
in a crowded room, I always cop a feel.
Girls love showing off some cleavage,
I wish I lived in a ***** village.
Babies need breast milk to make them stronger,
if the mom is hot, they may do it longer.
In conclusion, I love *****,
with whipped cream or melting ice cubes.

to the young privateer.
the captain kidd & his bought n’ taut gang of holy bluffs.
they bribe and imbibe and swoon on the dock-way looking for a quest or two or three
to dream and bury their doubloons in island guts like little mysteries. little sundowns
over a rixdollar indian ocean.
let them take a turn.
destined to mutate from private to pirate, the kidd, like blackened rotten wood.
******* frigates.

the ship:
with her bob and sway. she is, the adventure.
& her song is calling out for a rapturous few,
for men ready to die on the highwater mark by glory or fire or dead glorious sun.
so they put her brass and bough to seafaring days,
the sweet galleon, barely wet, yet
completely riffed to voyage.
she is
from the shores of london. built. designed to kick 14 knots under a full sail blast.
& she will bite.

she’s in calm waters.
the kidd savvy toothed and butterscotched, he awaits the big show,
engorged to set forth the play like wily ocean dervish &
they do.
they do proceed with benefactors coined and crunched on postulations of pirate death &
pirate gold. reclaimed honor as they say. the hunt for pirate teeth.

& with official pass and parchment, high-throne approved,
king ***** III stamp & sealed,
this voyage is.
this voyage is and forever was, hereby charted, to recover said stolen goods.
to reclaim thy warrior vanity &/or vengeance.
to noble this **** with pinched loaf, like now.
set sail. now.
1696.

“**** them navy yachts at greenwich, the thames be ours, boys.”
slap *** and flick thumb toward those armada sons,
& as tribute
smoke balsam herbs on the starboard side for the mother she and the father be.
but for this slight,
this dishonorable silly ****,
one third of adventure’s men are pressed into service of the crown.

[continue.]

the adventuresome few, petty crew and crows.
steal the heart and mother-meat of a french ship. steal everything onboard.
steal the ship itself.
& on her way to new york, new boon, pure and entered into the new world.  
there are new men bought in the american port,
good men and odd men of long criminal legacy.
a small black vicious quartermaster. he’ll do.
a murderous preacher gripped by stars and celestial patterns. he speaks spanish. he’ll do.
another type of holy man and a wild drinker too, embattled by demons on the port side. sure.
plus the dock-boys destined to **** for fruits of exploration.
this is the way of the son of a gun.

the boatmen jockeyed. she is
the adventure
prancing the vertebrae of atlantic and beyond. cape of good hope, she
breathes easy out here on the wide tide and float.
out here on the vast blue this. she
evolves
out here. loves out here.

pirates.
the hunt for pirates or the lack thereof. she leaks.
she rasps into the years on. and on.
the kaleidoscope hallucinations of sun and moon, sun and moon, and moon and sun
forever.
the strait of bab-el-mandeb.
& there
she plunges into darkness, into the stars seen from and through a periscope formed
by ancient hominid lineage.
seen but untouched,
in dreams. the kidd, reluctantly lime, admits to his madness.
madagascar.

malaria and cholera and hell break the boat by the throat.
& thrash.
to be organic is to be ruled by a shadow, or entropy.
the mouth of a red sea.
one third of the men will die here.
simply as insects crushed and brushed off deck and into to her great spate of agua,
the mother gush.
her earth.
body.
father,
hear his whispers in the mirage.
the ancient mariner, the ancient holy ghost riming down there.

in destitution.
in a rough and soggy life squeezed and making men weird or violent or both be ******.
the kidd goes cold to hot sweating noxious.
turns pirate himself
out of sheer hunger.
out of sheer need to eat.
sets the boys like dogs upon a frigate of east india company men,
or french *****. either/or/or/either/or.
he & the boys are in a madness swirl of sun and heavy guts.
cuts to spill blood
or gold. this tender bit.
lip bit
& tested.

captain kidd fractures the skull of a deckhand named moore,
for bad attitude and giggles. moore gets death.
chisel on the deck.
& to think we are all troubled by some primal trauma.
some dumb thing called death, that is.
men starving, men dying, men falling in the vast black that is that eternal void.
dream of women and riches in the meantime.
fortunes.
1698.

savage kidd, cool kidd, cool spit
off the edge. to think of the once soulful idea of these paradise days
& trip.
savage to cool.
the two divine modes of a survived man.
a ghoul man, or aging man.
& to keep control of his crew kidd sets them upon the quedagh merchant;
a 400 ton armenian hulk chalk full of gold, silver, satins, and muslin. ‘tis *****.
renames her: the adventure prize.

madness quenched for now.
charmed for now
& on the horizon are fragrant times. blissful distance.
but robert culliford,
with his mocha frigate. this man, this suave pirate lord, his vengeance act.
he had stolen kidd’s ship years back, &
the captain opts to cut his throat.
take the mocha.
keep calm & carry on.
to paradise.
to dream of her cool warm beaches and fruit forever, peacefully thinking.
so that night they two drink together in good health, and in the morning
most of the men defect to this other man, this other ship, culliford.
other dream,
other captain of true buccaneer effect.
act 3:

13 remain in the galley firm.
this is the house adventure.
& she is burnt alive three days later for rot and ill repair.
but she was fun,
& a *****.
a stitch of old woodwork given-in
& crackling with the eyes of her crew seen in fire.

kidd steps the pond to caribbean times with the adventure prize, toad toxins
& high on the jungled shore.
he trades that colossus, flips her for a sloop and seven little chests of gold.
little bellies.
the island-gut doubloons to bury.
dream, remember?

but the men-of-war are after him now. the privateers & hunters & devil’s dogs.
the men he once was.
men of marked death.
& he is now some pirate, some forthright bandit
settled to **** or be killed.
some sad kid.

first: buries that treasure up the coast of america.
oak island rig.
cherry rocks of the maine bank and *****-trapped pit.
the hunted.
they catch him on an inlet ****, and sail back
to london to be tried for crimes against the crown.
the high court of admirality.
1701.

they hoist and gibbet his body with worn chains above the river.
not for piracy, but for ******.
the ****** of that strange deckhand moore and his giggle.
kidd’s bones
suspended there for three or more years at the mouth of the thames,
as warning
to the perverse travails of a criminal lifestyle on the highwater pond.

Now amugst the crashing of the waves ,
and the calls of seagulls true and brave ,
Iying in the sea ,
about to take a nap ,
lies a sea turtle enjoying the tankards sailing by ,
as the afternoon sun rises to meet its cloudless blue ,

all of a sudden without due thought ,
or care ,
or a tidderly doo   ,
for if he had ,
would not have bothered you .
A brown ***** who had flown off course looked for direction,
from the shell of a sea turtles back .

.” Excuse me my friend I’m taking a nap ,
Please be so kind not to sit on my back “

The ***** bird said nothing in reply ,
not a swork ,
or an eek or a  “ soon ile be back “

For the rain forests are burning ,
and the skies are filled with smoke ,
and the seas are filled with plastic ,
and I’m ready to croak “
To be honest dear turtle I don’t give a dam ,
I’m looking for trees that form some dry land ,”
for all I can see ,
are tankards filled with oil ,
and cans and plastic in the sea  man can’t destroy “

Look said the turtle whom just wanted to rest ,
The Greta fleet are sailing to harbours to save ,
whist world leaders shut parliament,
ready to dig out our graves .
Oh look there goes a wet wipe ,
a can of empty coke ,  
takeaway cartons ,
an empty bottle with a note ,
* please if found return to shore ,
the ***** bird picked it up ,
then threw it back once more ,
said “ romance is dead “
for the little girl waiting won’t ever write back .


For at the end of the night  ,
when all have gone home in search of a better day ,
Fly tippers leave their waste on toxic land to decay ,
and we breath in their fumes as best we can .

The Story
by Kamal Nasser
translation by Michael R. Burch

I will tell you a story ...
a story that lived in the dreams of my people,
a story that comes from the world of tents.
It is a story inspired by hunger and embellished by dark nights of terror.
It is the story of my country, a handful of refugees.
Every twenty of them have a pound of flour between them
and a few promises of relief ... gifts and parcels.
It is the story of the suffering ones
who stood waiting in line ten years,
in hunger,
in tears and agony,
in hardship and yearning.
It is a story of a people who were misled,
who were thrown into the mazes of the years.
And yet they stood defiant,
disrobed yet united
as they trudged from the light to their tents:
the revolution of return
into the world of darkness.

Kamal Nasser was a much-admired Palestinian poet and Palestinian Christian, who due to his renowned integrity was known as "The Conscience." He was a member of Jordan's parliament in 1956. He was murdered in 1973 by an Israeli death squad whose most notorious member was future Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak. Barak (born Ehud Brog) later ruled as Israel’s tenth Prime Minister from 1999 to 2001. His adopted Hebrew name Barak means "lightning." As a younger man, Brog/Barak was a member of a secret assassination unit that liquidated Palestinians in Lebanon and the occupied territories. In the 1973 covert mission Operation Spring of Youth in Beirut, which was part of the larger Operation Wrath of God, he disguised himself as a woman in order to assassinate Palestinians. The raid resulted in the deaths of two women, one of them an elderly Italian. Two Lebanese policemen were also killed, along with the poet Kamal Nasser.

Nasser was the PLO's most prominent Christian and he enjoyed "great appeal" in Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq "both as a distinguished poet and likeable personality." He was the “conscience of the Palestinian revolution,” according to Nazih Abul-Nidal, who worked with him on the magazine Filastin al-Thawra. Nasser “had the most democratic outlook of all Palestinian leaders at the time,” he recalls. He respected opposing views, admired the commitment of young people, and was a major recruitment asset for the Palestinian revolution. “That is why he was put high on the hit-list.” The previous year, the Israelis had murdered another renowned Palestinian writer and activist in Beirut, Ghassan Kanafani, by *****-trapping his car. Nasser’s successor, Majed Abu Sharar, was also assassinated by Israelis, in Rome in 1981 while attending a conference in solidarity with the Palestinian people.

Keywords/Tags: Kamal Nasser, Palestinian, Palestine, PLO, Conscience, Ramallah, Christian, religion, poet, Arab, Arabic, Arab Spring, betrayal, conflict, courage, devotion

.

                                   Legos
                            Rubik ' s Cube
                          Stress ***** Top
                         Squirt  gun  Yo-yo
                          Slinky GI Joe Hot
                          Wheels  Action  F
                 ­         igures  Col lectibl
                          e  Puzzles Etch  A
                          SketchStuffed An
                          imals Marbles Do
                          llsCards Kite Perp
                          plexus Le a p Pad
                          Magic School Bus
                          Micro s co p e   Kit
               Vibrating                Rubber Duck
           ie  Handcuffs            Oral   ***  Strip
        Glowing  Stretchy       Vibrating *****
          Doll theLibera               tor  Soloflesh

NOW

Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.


                           BEFORE

One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and seasons sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to **** our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite)
then packed his bag, unfurled his flag, when sent away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of gravelled graves he sailed a killing spree

The ****** dropped and cooked the crops, charred huts along the way
and tanks, with zest, erased the rest, their villages of clay.
(Yes, turret guns are loads of fun with roaring roundelay.)

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
<When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive>

With ***** traps (sticks smeared with crap), yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes with snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite within the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jack awoke beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead some suture thread neath wraps to hide the hole,
and realized a further prize: a chair on wheels to roll

His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
(across his chest, you've surely guessed, his medals shone, arrayed)
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed


                           AFTER

Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome) to start his life anew
receiving dole which took its toll as largess went askew
for sure enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or else some *** who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs.
And those who can't, are viewed askant like those we call the dregs.

For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a wooden cup, a mangy pup, a smirk when miming mirth,
and best of all, at midnight’s call, beneath a bridge, a ‘berth’

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared


                           ENLIGHTENMENT

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done
and threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things, like what it was we'd won

His vague unease arrayed a breeze with words that chilled the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, they floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and shrieked 'How could he dare?'

Yes, freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By hacking clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day, eclipsing freedom’s shine

The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the waterboard awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout “well someone's gotta pay”

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers) inclined his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan.
(A voodoo Loon withdraws as soon as Night condemns the Dawn.)


                           ETERNITY

While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life


                           EPILOGUE

Well Jackie's ghost, unlike the most, still mused upon the praise
for misdeeds done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and once again upon the sin of thinking, nowadays
where, cunningly, humanity’s served lies, and trust betrays.
Then, reconciled, it simply smiled at fortune's wanton ways.


                           EPITAPH

A mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and cerebrate with programmed pate, adorned with thorned bouquets,
then mimic mimes in troubled times - and no one disobeys.
With freedom’s death, truth holds its breath awaiting better days.

She was the ***** prize, he left her cos she had none.
He was a right ***!

I know this sounds like a soliloquy,
But why did bulldust men find me?
God made Ratlotto sardonically,
Life's ***** prizes always find me,
Now 70  years old is  the new young,
O God of funster fun,
Is it them or me?
Yes indeed, my soliloquy,
Is it them or doormat me?
Whinging is fun for us,
No one's listening to this fuss,
Dear God of Ratlotto ***** prizes,
Any more masculine surprises?

PARTY ZONE WITH DAVE AND SUE JANUARY 3 2015







DAVID’     HI DUDES AND WELCOME TO PARTY ZONE, AND ON TODAY’S SHOW, WE ARE AT

THE AAA NITE CLUB, IN GAREMA PLACE, AND TONIGHT WE HAVE ENTERTAINMENT FROM

PETE NOWNEY, WHO IS PERFORMING AT AAA NIGHT CLUB, THEN SUE LONGWAYS

GETS A FEW OF THE CLUB’S PATRONS TO PERFORM A FEW DRINKING SONGS OF THEIR PAST

AND HERE IS SUE WITH ERNIE PIGFEST

SUE’,  HI I AM SUE LONGWAYS, AND WE HAVE A GREAT DRINKING GAME TO SING, OK ERNIE TAKE IT AWAY

ERNIE’   21 BOTTLES OF BOURBON ON THE WALL, AND A FULL BOTTLE OF SCOTCH

YOU BETTER GET YA COTTON PICKING HANDS OFF IT, OR I’LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GOB, AND MAKE YA A SNOB

YOU SEE DRINKING GAMES ARE SO MUCH FUN

YEAH, THEY ARE FUN, OH YEAH, YA SEE WE HAVE CHIPS AND BURGERS AS WELL

AND A NICE CAN OF BEER, OR JUG OF BEER, WHATEVER YA RECKON, MATE

IT’S GETTING CLOSE TO  HALF PAST EIGHT

SUE’   THANKS, ERNIE, AND HOP IN THE HOT TUB AND NOW HERE IS **** LEARY

****’  I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT, I REALLY WANNA MOVE IT MOVE IT

I WANNA PARTY PARTY, AND I WANNA GET DRESSED UP AS A REAL SMARTIE

OH SLICK, YOUR A ****, YOU HAVE NO BRAINS, LIKE A REAL SPASTIC

I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT, I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT

I REALLY WANNA SHAKE MY THANG, I REALLY WANNA SHAKE MY THANG

I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT

GO QUICK, YOUR A ****, YOUR A BRAINLESS TWIT WHO IS SPASTIC

I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT, MOVE IT MOVE IT

I WANNA HEAD TO EVERY CLUB IN THE CANBERRA CBD

OH YEAH THIS IS THE TIME WHERE WE REALLY PARTY

COME ON GUYS, GET WIGGLY WITH IT GET JIGGLY WITH IT

I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT

SUE’  THANKS AND NOW OVER TO, YO  DAVID AND HIS INTERVIEW WITH PETE NOWNEY, HERE GOES

DAVID’   OK THANKS AND NOW PETE, YOU HAVE JUST FINISHED YA GIG

AND YOU GOT A FEW PEOPLE DANCING ON THE FLOOR

AND I HAVE THIS LITTLE GIFT FOR YOU, IT IS THIS, HAVE A PEAK INSIDE

PETE’   YEAH, THIS IS WHAT I ALWAYS WANTED, A ***** DOLL

DAVID’   YEAH, BUT, IT’S NOT A ***** DOLL,

PETE’   NO, WHAT IS IT, SOME KIND OF TORTURE PRESENT FOR MY BIRTHDAY OR SUMMIT

DAVID’   NO, IT’S A ORDINARY DOLL, YOU ONCE TOLD ME, YOUR DAUGHTER LOVES DOLLS

SO I BROUGHT THIS IN TO SHOW YOU

PETE’  WELL, DAVID IT’S PRETTY RAD, I CAN GUARANTEE THAT MY DAUGHTER WILL LOVE IT

DAVID’   I NOTICED YOUR FIRST SONG, BEING THE LITTLE LOVE IN MY LIFE, IS THAT ABOUT YOUR DAUGHTER

PETE’    NO, AND YES, NO IT’’S NOT MY DAUGHTER, BUT IT’S ABOUT THE MOTHER OF MY DAUGHTER, YA SEE

WE MET ON THE SYDNEY HARBOUR BRIDGE, I NEARLY FELL IT WAS BAD, DUDE

DAVID’’     DID YOU GET TO SEE THEM ON CHRISTMAS

PETE’    YEAH, AND I HAVE MY DAUGHTER WITH ME, TO SING O COME ALL YE FAITHFUL, YA SEE EVERY YEAR

WE CHOOSE A CAROL TO SING, AND THIS YEAR, O COME ALL YE FAITHFUL, AND I KNOW IT’S JANUARY 3 2015

BUT I WOULD LOVE TO SING WITH MY DAUGHTER STEF, OK SHE IS 10 THIS YEAR

DAVID’   OK TAKE IT AWAY PETE AND STEF

PETE AND STEF’

O COME ALL YE FAITHFUL

JOYFUL AND TRIUMPHANT

O COME YE O COME YE

TO BETHLEHEM

O COME AND BEHOLD HIM

BORN THE KING OF ANGELS

O COME LET US ADORE HIM

O COME LET US ADORE HIM

O COME LET US ADORE HIM

IN CHRIST THE LORD

SING CHIORS OF ANGELS

SING IN EXULTATION

SING ALL YE CITIZENS OF HEAVEN ABOVE

GLORY TO GOD, IN THE HIGHEST

O COME LET US ADORE HIM

O COME LET US ADORE HIM

O COME LET US ADORE HIM

IN CHRIST THE LORD

DAVID’  STEF, YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL VOICE, ARE YOU

PLANNING TO GO ON AUSTRALIA’S GOT TALENT OR THE VOICE THIS YEAR

STEFF’   WELL, I WOULD BUT DADDY AT P.RESENT WANTS TO BE THE ONLY SINGER

IN THE FAMILY

DAVID’   OK THAT IS ALL, AND NOW OVER TO SUE, WITH ANOTHER DRINKING SONG

SUE’   OK HERE IS ANOTHER DRINKING SONG, FROM KENNETH

KEN’   I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE COCKTAILS WITH GORDON

YEAH, IT’LL BE FUN TO HAVE COCKTAILS WITH HIM

YA SEE DRINKING COCKTAILS WITH GORDON

IS WAY WAY BETTER THAN DRINKING WITH KIM

CAUSE KIM IS A BIT OF A *****, AND CRAZY TO BOOT

I  LOVE TO HAVE COCKTAILS WITH GORDON, AND SPEND ALL HIS LOOT

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH YOU, SUE

YEAH, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE MANY BEERS WITH YOU

YA SEE SUE LONGWAYS, I REALLY ADMORED YA FROM A DISTANCE

AND WHEN YOU DRINK BEER AFTER YOUR 3RD OR 4TH

YA WILL LET OUT A MIGHTY BIG SPEW

IT WILL LOOK DISCUSTING, OH MAN, IT WILL OK

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH YOU SUE

CAUSE YOUR A TRUE DUDE

SUE’   THANKS KEN SEE YA NEXT WEEK, NOW HERE’S DAVID

DAVID’   OK, THANKS TO ALL OF OUR SONGSTARS AND PETE AND STEFF

AND THE OTHERS, SO SEE YA NEXT WEEK ON PARTY ZONE JANUARY 3

Once a year they'll disappear
To a place their wives can't go
With chicken wings and other things
To watch the super bowl

A place where chick flicks don't abide
For testosterone rules this place
A place where a man can be a man
With no girly stuff or lace

A place so secret even the FBI
Don't know of its existence
It's guarded by lots of ***** traps
And mans undying persistence

A place where women cannot enter
I'm talking about their wives
A secret knock will open the door
To a land of beer and high fives

So if your husbands disappear
Without even a kiss or a wave
He's only gone for once a year
To visit his secret Man Cave

the air was thick and heavy
the sun was heating up the sky
And somewhere in the jungle
more men were gonna die

The streets were full of people
Feral dogs were running free
The haze was thick and murky
The sun you couldn't see

It's a Saigon Sunday Morning
Ten more men were going home
To  a flag tri-corner folded
And a marker of white stone

The men were all assembled
To load them up with care
It was a Saigon Sunday Morning
with ten men no longer there

The jungle was a minefield
The trees were blocking out the light
It was ***** trapped like crazy
And it seemed like it was night

A patrol went hunting "Charlie"
But, they were found out first
It only took twelve seconds
And it turned out for the worst

The city never noticed
The 'copters flying overhead
Whether bringing in supplies
Or taking out the dead

It was a Saigon Sunday Morning
It never changed one little bit
The air was always heavy
And the alleys smelled like ****

Back home the news delivered
The families destroyed
They were waiting for their loved ones
A short time were deployed

Ribbons tied around the Oak Tree
to support those coming back
On a Saigon Sunday Morning
With twenty bullets in their back

A transport with the bodies
Drops fifty more to play the game
It's a vicious, endless, circle
The procedure's all the same

It's a Saigon Sunday Morning
Ten more men were going home
To a flag tri-corner folded
And a marker of white stone

We would stay up late talking on the phone
He thought I was beautiful
He thought I was amazing
He loved me first
“I remember watching you in the street thinking you were the cutest thing ever. You were so happy and beautiful.”
He held me when I was cold, even though he was shivering harder than me
He walked with me everywhere
We were perfect
He was gorgeous
He had blue eyes
He had an amazing smile
He had long black hair
I saw our baby
He was my first kiss
I dreamt about him: I saw his funeral, he was in NC, he came back to me in the mall, he told me he forgave me and would always love me
He told Kevin to look out for me
He made me happy and forget my sorrows
He made the world go round when I thought it would stop
He picked me up when I was down
I miss him a lot, guess I always will
He was my superman
He was afraid of spiders
His nickname was ***** because he was ***** miles
His number was 45
He wanted to name our kid *****, but we settled on naming our dog *****
I’m still going to name my first dog *****
He wanted Stephan to live with us, because we were going to have a huge house
I was going to be a model and him a huge sports star
I wanted to be a teacher but he didn’t want boys looking at me because I was so hot
He helped me lose then find god
He taught me what true love was, what everlasting love was, what “even death couldn’t end my love” love
January 6, 1992
December 4, 2006
He didn’t get to see his 15th birthday, or any more
He didn’t get his license
I never got to kiss him without braces
After our first kiss I said I wouldn’t kiss him till I got my braces off because I was worried about hurting him
He wasn’t at my grad party
He didn’t take me to prom
He didn’t get to walk with the rest of us
He looks down at me from the brightest star in the sky, the one that I used to wish on, till I lost him
It hurts
It gets easy, but gets really hard
I never got to say good bye
I never got to say I’m sorry
I was going to marry him
I was going to grow old with him
He was going to be my first everything
First kiss check
First love check
First everything else…uncheck
First broken heart check
He was my inspiration to start writing
He liked blue
“Tonight” will forever remind me of him
He called me crying once, worried what he did would come back around, karma
I broke his heart
But he forgave me
I feel him when I’m lost, when I’m sad, when I need him
“Stars are a beautiful ending”

"We have come to be danced
not the pretty dance
not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
but the claw our way back into the belly
of the sacred, sensual animal dance
the unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
the holding the precious moment in the palms
of our hands and feet dance

We have come to be danced
not the jiffy *****, shake your ***** for him dance
but the wring the sadness from our skin dance
the blow the chip off our shoulder dance
the slap the apology from our posture dance

We have come to be danced
not the monkey see, monkey do dance
one, two dance like you
one two three, dance like me dance
but the grave robber, tomb stalker
tearing scabs & scars open dance
the rub the rhythm raw against our souls dance

WE have come to be danced
not the nice invisible, self conscious shuffle
but the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
the strip us from our casings, return our wings
sharpen our claws & tongues dance
the shed dead cells and slip into
the luminous skin of love dance

We have come to be danced
not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
but the meeting of the trinity: the body, breath & beat dance
the shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
the mother may I?
yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
the Olly Olly Oxen Free Free Free dance
the everyone can come to our heaven dance

We have come to be danced
where the kingdom’s collide
in the cathedral of flesh
to burn back into the light
to unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
to root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced
WE HAVE COME"

Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby

Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.

Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.

We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?

And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.

And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.

"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".

And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.

-Gina Morrone

Hieroglyphs on my ancient soul
foretell the end of me,
they say I'll die by my own hand
when I’ve reached god status
and every knee has knelt
before me
and I have nothing left
to achieve.
This prophecy has been written
on me for many lives
each ended by a pill,
bullet, or brilliance  —
I can feel it.  
My fingers are my slaves
who type a pyramid of words
that'll hide my body
in a maze of *****-trapped metaphors
that no thief
would ever dare explore.
So shut me away
with my mummified poetry
so the gods in the next life
will worship me.
Let me hold the empty orange bottle
like a rosary in chalky hands
folded stiff
into forced prayer.
Let me rot away
and be forgotten
while my poetic pyramids
stand for thousands of years
in the sun.
Let tourists stand under their shadows
in awe
while my bones turn slowly
to dust
somewhere deep in the chambers
of their brilliance.

Dinosaur bones, discovered under an overturned rock. Dust-covered and forgotten photos in the attic. The rug pulled out from under us. Highway patrol of a distant creature. I woke up on the wrong side of a very terrible generation. Just when I thought all was good, it wasn’t. Giant ego ruined their reputation. Lost on the beaten path. My faith smells like ***** dishes. Heroes come and go; villains will always be. Dramatization of the fire. It’s up, up and away with a feeling of mutilated pasts. A young woman in a bad man’s dream. Keep a cool head while we enter the jungle. *****-trapped instincts. This plan was doomed from the start. Let’s go back while we still have two of our appendages. The dog stares at the door, waiting for a Drunk. We both drink, but we’re not arrogant ******. The love I have for a friend of true nature. What’s that in the shadow of the empire? A rebellion. Smoke out the rat. The back door is a fire lane. A simply-put puzzle. Razorblade Cake-Mix. The sound scared the children. Candy from a stranger, candy from a friend, both will likely **** you in the terms of very end. I’ll stand on the first fallen soldier. He doesn’t know me in the meantime. A happy face for all those once told to forget it. My dignity in a department store lost-and-found. Jump for joy, parade for unemployed.  A long line of henchmen waiting to be sidekicks. Watch where your education gets you when us dropouts change our pace. You’re better than no one, we’re better than no one, but we faced the facts about this a long time ago. Convincing isn’t working. A dark hole in the bottom of the bird-feeder. No more nourishment for your ill-advised brain.

I woke up with a noose around our neck.
I thought it wasn't real,maybe,
a scene from a dream?
The snapping of the tree branch.
You use your nocturnal carte blanche
for just this one thing, it seems?
Every night you're given another chance.
Perchance;
Shrubbery snubbed your success, this time.
Instead of being caught by the bushes,
We could've collided into those boulders below!
Luck decided to show.
Intervened when there was no one else to.

I stranded us both on this island:
it's just me and you.
What delusions helped shape your one truth?
This island is a (psychological) poker table for two.
I deal from the deck.
We play a game reminiscent
of four-hand Omaha.
Sitting across from each other:
It always ends in a draw.

You know I can read your poker face.
You know I detest the one desire you chase.

Make your excuses:
They won't help you leave this place.
I see the ace up your sleeve:
It has always been homicide.

I wish you saw this body same as I-sacred.
Its purpose is to serve us,not be desecrated.
Everyday I pray in its name.
you prey.
plotting its demise at night.

One temple.
Two temperaments.
Your one-way fight.

at the Altar I pay tithes.
We are two alters-tied.
You wish to ***** out my life,
Yet abhor the idea of suicide.

I will never leave your bloodlust unchecked.
Your worst intentions(what do they reflect?)
You once could reside in the heart of the city,
Near the coast, by a bustling transit station.
I emerged that day to save them all from you-
You planned to derail a monorail
with a distraction,
Disguised as an altercation.
denied you your reverie
Of a premeditated killing spree,
stranded us intentionally far out at sea.
your constellation prize now
is trying to **** me.
You plant your ***** traps in the dark
while I'm sound asleep.

One morning
I
awoke
and water welcomed our lungs.
Weights wound round our feet,
took us down deep where fishes sleep.
One morning
I
awoke
and smelled smoke clawing at our throat.
Only one entrance in and out of our cave.
and of course: you'd set the entrance ablaze
One morning
I
awoke
and was in a daze
You had consumed something similar to peyote.
Slathered our skin in spices with a savory glaze,
then left us to be eaten in a den full of coyotes.

One morning
I
    awoke   And
One morning I
awoke
And
This morning I
Awoke
and this time. instead of death traps ...
my notebook was nestled in my lap.

ripped out pages I had written
-directed at you-
you glued them to trees with their own sap.
Splayed them out like Hansel and gretel,
for me to follow like a trail or a map.

But I'm no fool.
Luring me on a paper trail to buy my trust.
Where are the trojans that you've hidden?
Trying this new scheme
to occupy my attention.
I know you wish to slice and dice.
If I lose and you win:
we both will pay the price.

Yet, still I follow your route.
I have hope for what you want me to see.
I will always love you
because you're a part of me.

Maybe we can play a new game?
Learn from one another?
I know you think I'm your enemy,
but I've always seen you as my brother.

Shudder-I smell death.
I approach a clearing in the woods.
why have you brought me here?
Atop an amalgamation of numerous dead fowl, fish, rabbits, (those same) coyote
and deer.
A single piece of paper;
clear off the guts and grime.
Tears in my eyes, holding the paper dear.
That single sentence you wrote down:

I never thought I'd live to see this day.
That one line,

that one line was all I ever hoped to hear you say:

           
        "Together at our Altar we will pray."


-

My heart is dead
no, I don’t have one at all
every time I start to feel something
my mind constructs a new wall

No one can break through it
but so many have tried
and the closest voyager
may nearly have died

Poison soaks the bricks
like a rabid dog’s mouth
the uncontrollable leaking
kills many without a sound

If they passes the wall
and do not fall ill in return
the next obstacle will surely
end with them burned

A 10ft wall of flames
threatens those near with claws
reaching closer and closer
and scorching them raw

If those flames were extinguished
for a split second of distraction
they could trek one step closer
to the main attraction

After poison and flames
fail to protect my castle
the final test must work
to prevent total disaster

Cerulean seas splash against wood
and spans across the land like a highway
within the depths of the waters
lie the souls of the wounded that can’t fly away

Bones and shattered hearts
line the base of my security
with a step into the water
the next will be history

And yet only one has
made it to the center
Only one lover
could truly understand the endeavor

But, alas, as expected
she perished as well
A ***** trap triggered suddenly
launched her far out of my hell

So here I sit
Upon my throne
Safe from my feelings
But all alone

By the dawn's early light,
Casual ties of warring pride,
Who wear the fit of uniforms,
Creasing down the seamy streets,
Who once in his sights were called to order,
By arrow clutching eagles, sandbagged
By the rivers heart of darkness, *****-
Trapped by bootstraps pulled, torn apart
In tiger eyeing fields that lied
In wait while choppers dived, delivering
Payloads of giant dragon flied fire
And this unction was to be their balm
And the swordless Dons were spit out
Of skull hunting windmills, Jonah
Beached to thy kingdom cong.

And over their heads cried the phantom
Jets, bat out of helmet, to the straw
Pulling hairs and these heroes, we
Abandoned without bonds nor blindfold
And lashed them to the flagging pole
With guns saluting while the sirens
Wailed, no wonder they should crack,
Our green jaded Gods, our Greek
Journeymen, due south of lotus land,
No wonder they should break on the China
Seas in that cold, ******* land.
O say can you see, that it is we,
The people, in anger and in shame
Who have no mettle, to give, but tarnish
Foisted on the brave and they
Are worn, like trinkets to dishonor.

And over the deep non-ending sank
Our heroes, betrayed by ism's, discharged
By ghosts in the machining guns,
Unspirited by a corporeal world,
Bamboozled in the muddy thickets
And dropped to the fray on ****** wings,
To foreign soil, where children are lost
In the man eating groves and they
Were thus dutifully numbered by their own
****** arms and all were made
Guilty cold in that sliver of uncivil
And polar eyed land, O say can you see,
The burning of twilights last gleaming?
And, we sutured a wall for the trigger-
Happy dead, we dammed the bleeding,
But can there be no bridges?

And further from those chilling fields
They are casting us letters, address
Unknown and mid adrift are messages
In drowning bottles by the waysides,
They are swimming to our doors,
Where, we the people, have built a wall,
Made of stone, black and shiny, it will
Not smear— and we are polishing off
Our dead, say the cold blooded
Behind that face and in front runs a red
River running down the vane, glorious sun,
Yet, this humble partition, in stories and tears,
Is deconstructing grave white heads,
Quartered in pride and darts to the ground,
That warring bird, crowned to his vacant
Lots.  O— say can you see, the turning
Of twilight's last gleaming?

The lights are out ......and the clouds sail past the window.
I can't wait until naptime is done....I want to play with my friends and have some fun.

I see the other kids and they fall off one by one....like a set of dominoes set up by a magician.  I'm laying on my back staring at the ceiling .....the teacher comes to my cot and asks me how I am feeling.

I said "I'm not sleepy", and he says "you should try".  Close your eyes and you will fall asleep....if that doesn't work ....try counting sheep.

I still couldn't sleep and was just laying there....the other children were all sleep now....and he returned to me.

He kneeled next to my cot and said "maybe this will help you sleep".  
The teacher unzipped my pants and pulled out my little meat.

The feeling that I received felt really good and I did go to sleep.

This happened two more times during the week......I never told anyone ....because I didn't know.
All I knew is that it made me feel good and I was able to sleep....he wasn't a teacher. This man was a creep.

He preyed on a child who didn't have a clue.  

I was abused at home...so I never said anything about what happened at school.  This was the place where I was allowed to have fun.....and wasn't confined to a room with a lock.  Instead of watching television I was learning how to block.....but I was always accused of flopping.

I've seen stars many times...and I've never been to outer space.  Those views came from several slaps across the face.  The memories don't produce any smiles....they just gave me a blueprint on how not to raise a child.

I didn't have any toys....or a bed.  I was a prisoner in a room that was blue......it's crazy that I like that hue.  My room was ***** trapped with pieces of thread....to see if I had been out....and I was smart .....so he put on a latch....he became mad because I learned how to take it off and put it back.

  He eventually installed a lock with a key.  If you have to use the bathroom ....you have to ask me.  Wow...you are my father not a sheriff or a deputy.

My father was on drugs and beat me like a stranger.  I felt school was the lesser of the dangers.  I'm a product of abuse and I sit here and write.

I'm realizing that Jesus helped me win the fight.  How you may ask did he help me win? I'm learning about this word called Sin.  When the teacher abused me .....he planted the seed of lust.

The enemy attacks when you are young.  His job is to steal, **** and destroy.  I was supposed to be dead....not helping other abused boys.

I now work with childeren who suffered from similar situations....and I say to them......allow school to be a vacation.....away from the abuse and cursing.  I'm rebuilding their self esteem and allowing them to dream about a different life.

I tell them that my life was also filled with strife.  The children with father's who seldom bother.....are the one's that break my heart.  My dad wasn't around....but God provided me with another start.  

I survived the tests and now I have a testimony.....To help those who are abused and lonely.  I've been on that street and I have ran away on several occasions.....

I almost died...but that's another story.  I'm just getting some answers about who I am......and why I make the decisions I do.  I just shared a real deep piece of my life story with you.

The reason.....God told me to.


Help prevent child abuse.....save a few lives

commentary of a bunch of photographs uploaded showing the dilemma of the A's in paper size... exhibits a - f show a lesson, well, you remember that old depiction of the idiot of the class, standing on a stool at the front of the class with a heretic's coned hat? well, they revised the hat, now it's a once green eyeshade clerk's hat via interpretation of a cricket cap.

it's quiet easy, words fill never justify the images,
the dunce was just saying: you could make one
toothpick from a Sunday newspaper's double spread,
that's what got him canonised perched on a stool,
no one exacted how many anyway,
like they never teach your the chemical formula for
wood, if what has a H too two Ohs, then wood must
must have something in the strand of including
carbon, a cabaret of elements with carbon the prompter
poking his prickly head once in a while due to
acting tremors and cold sweats of sudden amnesia...
the point being, to further the first point about
the size of newspapers on Sundays and whether there's
such a thing as A0, or an architectural sized paper,
i guess architectural spreads are like breast sizes...
imagine looking at schematics of 30F through 32E
and onto 30D past 38DD... you never see the sagging
in these diagrams, because they're abstracts of
the two hangmen... you see, the bra... did anyone tell
Freud that Anti-Oedipus as proposed by the two French
philosophers mixing up Nietzsche and Marx with
Freud on the side anticipated this Anti? it's the bane
of my existence, English black humour mixed with
giggles at words like: bottom, ****, ****... i don't know
how you can get seriously randy afterwards...
it's atypical English humour, *** jokes... the notion
that Oedipus can't laugh at *** underpins the very
basis of the unconscious, i.e.: that something sinister
is lurking in the depths and reaches back into childhood
and it's subsequent destruction. the opposite of
the theory proposed by Freud (as evolved from the already
mentioned *Gilles Deleuze) is at the same time frightening,
because it almost presupposes Oedipus' father
in the version of Saturn, best exemplified by
Saturn devouring his Son painted by Francisco Goya...
and the basis of this eventuality due to the woman's
madonna-***** complex: mini-skirt ***** lollipop
but a saintly mother beneath... jooke.
**** it, i deviated from the topic of periscopes but more
importantly of the size of sensible paper, A0 being
the spread of a Sunday Times... architectural scores
must therefore begin with B5...after architecture come
advertisements probably beginning at around
B3 or B2... football stadiums are filled with these passive
sheets of material, and that's talking way down the
alphabet of categorising size... you know, when they
pull down those massive club insignias.
in the end all i can do with a A4 paper is cut a kippah
or make a momentary mask... but with the
sunday spread of newspaper... i can momentarily
turn into a newspaper ghoul, or if you prefer:
a newspaper ghost!

Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.

Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.

We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?

And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.

And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.

"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".

And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.

Here you are!
Las Vegas bound!
Got your dollars
by the pound!
Looking 'round at
all the sights!
The big Casinos!
Pretty lights!

You are here
for three big nights...

You and the wife
take in a show!
Gotta do that
don'tcha know
Then the liquor
starts to flow

The quarter slots
and off you go...

WOW! You WON!
$800 bucks!
You just can't
believe your luck!
You're hi-rollin'!
That's no lie!

Friend, you won the
***** PRIZE.

Off you go to the
Blackjack table
You play as long
as you are able
Start to lose.
Become unstable

Win in Vegas?
That's a fable...

You begin to
lose your mind
You lose more money
Than you find
Gambling
becomes a grind
You are really
in a bind

Sin City's really
so unkind...

Table to table
You're on the hop
You're all over
on the shop
Buying chips with
money you ain't got

Your wife is
begging you to stop...

Back at the slots
where you began
Don't know day from night
my friend
You drop the dollars
You're 'round the bend
You spent money
your friends lend

Finally you're
at the end...

Here you are
upon the stool
You didn't play
by you're own rules
Don't bank the house
and be a tool

But here you sit
Just like a fool...

Now you're singin'
the sad song
You spent it all
you're in the wrong
Vegas knew it all along

Your wife has left
your money's gone...

Open pocket
out it slips
You fell for
the dealer's quips
The dreams of riches
from their lips
You fell for
the gambling whips

now you gotta
EAT THOSE CHIPS.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/7/2016

I DON'T know how he came,
shambling, dark, and strong.
  
He stood in the city and told men:
My people are fools, my people are young and strong, my people must learn, my people are terrible workers and fighters.
Always he kept on asking: Where did that blood come from?
  
They said: You for the fool killer, you for the ***** hatch and a necktie party.
  
  They hauled him into jail.
  They sneered at him and spit on him,
  And he wrecked their jails,
  Singing, "******* your jails,"
  And when he was most in jail
  Crummy among the crazy in the dark
  Then he was most of all out of jail
  Shambling, dark, and strong,
Always asking: Where did that blood come from?
  They laid hands on him
  And the fool killers had a laugh
  And the necktie party was a go, by God.
They laid hands on him and he was a goner.
  They hammered him to pieces and he stood up.
They buried him and he walked out of the grave, by God,
  Asking again: Where did that blood come from?

Zikketmen Uprise

Sillpy glopin honey drop slowly dripping in a gooey flop.Fropling trolippy skitterbug bleeringly rupoling the door

Dewy molifropinin weterings kladet in holimeter lines as criggol meets the Zikketmen.

But vasping ants jig molky polky on the derbholkpin as if chinnyzilcobble.

Meanwhile the phettering teeblers sang joop, joop, joop and ***** crackle flew over in the feetumleftumground.

The crumbwarblers screamed " hooji folpityquif bollp" but the zikketmen knew it was a lie.

"Who are you ? ", said the phettering teeblers as they oxiety the suggits.

Huge swarms of vasping squiding ants who were oblivious to the drama grigged the blodderpad and swung it violently towards the skitterbugs just as they finished their meal.

" I fooled the zikketmen" said the chief teebler.

But just then ***** crackle landed a heavy blow to the chiefs vast head and dripping masses of joolping green blood poured from his brainincasementholderthingy.

As if by magic zeery eyed cooljinmen had appeared in fighting mood.

Yelping ground slippits burrowed deep in to the sludge pockets and closed their eyes in fear.

Andrew Dursley 2015

Strong
Is the way you
Crawl through life's
barbed wires,
***** traps,
And barricades
And coming out still standing up after everything,
Still going.

Strong is withstanding
The harshest sand wind,
Letting the grains smother you,
Try to take you down,
But you still stand.

Strong is fighting for what is right,
Being able to know when you need to step in,
Realizing one's mistakes,
Fixing.

It's killin' me,

the way you always
heed my silent becks
to the cat's cradle
for the dim-dusked
shimmyings we do,

for the middle of the courts
hopscotchin' we improv
in the
catacorner criss-crosses
we continue to let
splash
in the middle of our
bashing pool.

stakes are
brimstoned
high
this time-

higher than the dizzy chicks
with flower magic
stick-on things
not really covering their ******* -

their faith's got them
grinning down
proudly
to the matrix hubbub below,
from the drooping shoulders
of their guy bits
in matching flowers

('cause we're all one here
yeah? - yeah!).

tonka tricks
litterin' my walkway -
slinkin' around,
tryna play on with
the big cats -

instead,

just trippin' up my
flutter game -

chill out.

i mean,

i'm not complainin'
'bout the mess your
charcoal lashes keep
leavin'
after payin their
naughty boy dues
to them round things
just one step down -
makin' love to
the apples bobbin'
in cheeky
conversation.

i've kinda got this
cheshire thing goin' on -
the way my smile swells
too slowly for you -
showin' off whiffs of
those secret things

the ones i only hold onto to
to keep rattlin' your cage
with the big toys
i keep tellin' you
you can't have.

but
you keep
swimmin' in that pool
of excessive *****
traps
thinkin' there's a way
to ****** the magic
carpet from beneath my
bottom,

believing some dumbly
that your charcoal
is the only fire starter i'll ever want
markin' up my agenda.

you're screamin' a bit too loud
now, Cubby -
readin' to me the words
i can't see written across
my face.

I can't see 'em
without a mirror,
though i can feel the letters
being etched into my skin
with every flipped card
i wasn't
necessarily
tryin' to flip.

but, honey
i got cosmic dust
stored in my fingertips

a special
spunky mix
i like to throw down on
in the kitchen with
the sandman's concoctions -

plan A and plan B
it's a fight just to see in -
need to be prepared
for whatever is comin'.

though you ain't snatched
the rug yet,
i'm lollygaggin' on the
tip of the edge

my carpet's doin this
rufflin' thing -
and i'm slippin'.

you got me
colonizin' your corduroys
draggin' my stirred and ragged heart
behind me -
too sturdy and ambitious
in its wild-hearted
persistence.

gonna bust open
this fruit bloom, here
if it takes me all day
and all night.

I am
an ant,
looking for salvation
in big places.

It aint the same everwhere
I know it took a man
To stand and stare
Down them gallows
In Zebullon county square

Lil Mae
age of 21  
saw her man with another
moaned
"I'm gonna make you pay"

now  some of you wanna say

"Lil Mae get a gun make that man pay"
To mad to see
to hurt to care
Lil Mae stormed her way down to
Zebullon county square.

Bobby Lee wasn't  a simple man
to proud to be dumb
could read and write
Yet he never let no one know

Bobby Lee workin late
bumped into a drunk,
back on that old alley

Bobby Lee took a beating by four whites
the blood poured out into the streetlight

Soon enough the sheriff came a runnin
"whats the matter here!!"
white men shouted
"the boy had it coming, he took my money
try to **** me, sheriff I had to do something!!"

12 days later 12 men had a shine
sentenced ***** Lee to hang
Saturday morning half past nine
sun be coming up behind him
so his shadow
would grow tall on that line.

Sun rose cool that day
Folks lined up to watch Ol
Bobby Lee pay.

Soon they all began to scatter
preacher man shouted
'"whats a matta"
Lil Mae had come with blade readied
for her last stand

"Preacher man" Lil Mae shouted
"you goin to hell, no doubt about it"
"Im gonna send you there by my hand."
silver plated blade glistened in the sky

"lord my soul , dont let me die!"

Blood sank  from the preachers throat
Lil Mae watched  til his last choke

Crowd screamed "NO!!" but it fell on Gods deaf ears

"Lil Mae" came her mans voice
"why you do it?"
She reckoned "I had no choice"
"I love you but you put me to it.
you and this preacher man ripped me apart."
Lil Mae's man stood in the middle of the square
tears draining life, sobs stealing air......

Bobby Lee innocent as he was
unwrapped his noose
and slowly walked away

Lil Mae stood her ground on them gallows
but it gave way
half pass nine
she fell in line
the sun made her shadow tall
dead before her body
went through the gallows fall

Crazy things we didn’t know were there
Without an X to mark its spot,
We shoveled and we dug over our bodies
We pillaged acres of skin, ravished even,
Our flesh fueled by the promise of glowing treasure
Wielding shovels and picks only our better natured angels
Understood, or could call “sweet intentions”
No map we possessed ended in gold
So we drew up our own tracing mountains and streams,
Upturning every rock, wading in every pool,
Our made-up languages became passcodes for secret doors
Our hair and nails became *****-traps
Like poisonous ivy and razor sharp spikes.
Perilous our hunt for heirloom, we would find.
But how could we not look?
Our compass points Northeast from down here
So as I climb towards your chest and you to mine
Our knocking proved there were unhallowed
Cavities under ribbed-caged bodies
And still we dig
Closer and closer to the treasure in our chests.

Is this going to be another joke-
A shiny nickel welded to the floor
So when I bend to pick it up
A paddle whacks me from behind.

Will this turn out to be a whoopee cushion
Hidden underneath my chair
So when I proudly take my seat
The room erupts in cruel laughter.

Will I put forth a major effort,
Break my back and heart in trying,
Only to find the load’s too heavy
For me to ever hope to lift it,

Too complicated to untangle,
Too precise for my small skills,
A recipe for certain failure
If I dare to take that step.

Doubts and fears are ***** traps
That I must circumvent to win
And if I find that I can do it
I can be the hero of my life.
    ljm

By the dawn's early light,
Casual ties of warring pride,
Who wear the fit of uniforms,
Creasing down the seamy streets,
Who once in his sights were called to order,
By arrow clutching eagles, sandbagged
By the rivers heart of darkness, *****-
Trapped by bootstraps pulled, torn apart
In tiger eyeing fields that lied
In wait while choppers dived, delivering
Payloads of giant dragon flied fire
And this unction was to be their balm
And the swordless Dons were spit out
Of skull hunting windmills, Jonah
Beached to thy kingdom cong.

And over their heads cried the phantom
Jets, bat out of helmet, to the straw
Pulling hairs and these heroes, we
Abandoned without bonds nor blindfold
And lashed them to the flagging pole
With guns saluting while the sirens
Wailed, no wonder they should crack,
Our green jaded Gods, our Greek
Journeymen, due south of lotus land,
No wonder they should break on the China
Seas in that cold, ******* land.
O say can you see, that it is we,
The people, in anger and in shame
Who have no mettle, to give, but tarnish
Foisted on the brave and they
Are worn, like trinkets to dishonor.

And over the deep non-ending sank
Our heroes, betrayed by ism's, discharged
By ghosts in the machining guns,
Unspirited by a corporeal world,
Bamboozled in the muddy thickets
And dropped to the fray on ****** wings,
To foreign soil, where children are lost
In the man eating groves and they
Were thus dutifully numbered by their own
****** arms and all were made
Guilty cold in that sliver of uncivil
And polar eyed land, O say can you see,
The burning of twilights last gleaming?
And, we sutured a wall for the trigger-
Happy dead, we dammed the bleeding,
But can there be no bridges?

And further from those chilling fields
They are casting us letters, address
Unknown and mid adrift are messages
In drowning bottles by the waysides,
They are swimming to our doors,
Where, we the people, have built a wall,
Made of stone, black and shiny, it will
Not smear— and we are polishing off
Our dead, say the cold blooded
Behind that face and in front runs a red
River running down the vane, glorious sun,
Yet, this humble partition, in stories and tears,
Is deconstructing grave white heads,
Quartered in pride and darts to the ground,
That warring bird, crowned to his vacant
Lots.  O— say can you see, the turning
Of twilight's last gleaming?

Remember when I saw the good in life?
Remember when I saw through the haze?
Remember when I hated sitting idly for days?
Those times are over. Done.
All I want to do is float, coast
Painless, without feeling
Numb is fine
Numb is safe
Numbness is mine
To have and to hold
Always reliable and guaranteed
Never let me down, no need

I can’t explain it.
A dream deferred:
Forced to observe,
Live vicariously through people
For the rest of my life.
Watch, facilitate, no thanks.
What can you do in life
If you can’t do all that you’ve dreamed?
Sit and swallow it?
Try to believe?
I’m just coasting through,
Trying to find my way,
But my way is filled with potholes,
***** traps, and rattlesnakes.
Doesn’t my head realize-
It’s my heart that’s at stake?

Defined:

implementation
demonstrated by achievement
intellectual talent
measured by achievement

measured by who?
in essence someone less qualified
has been given the task
to determine if you're more qualified than them

a thought process inherent with ***** traps
a person-to person mine field
where you go in like a soldier in war
every situation is blind

but yeah,
I'm loaded with meritocracy
why not?  
I'll make up other words that sound good if you like.

it will show implementation
demonstrated by achievement
intellectual talent
followed by achievement