Raise your right hand for Queen and Country,
To protect life and limb, and whatever your company.
The tunic is pressed and the boots are bulled,
A future of Justice the weak have been culled.

March out of the line to the front of the hall,
Warrant card gripped standing proud and tall.
Today is the beginning of your 35 year tour,
Wearing the blue a civilian no more.

The training begins as the class will teach,
How to understand the laws and oppose those who breach.
Take up your cuffs and baton with hope,
Strike to defend not the head or the throat.

Now you're ready to stand up my Son,
For what is right and just not always what's fun.
You may lose some people and friends on the way,
But you can look in the mirror after a long  hard day.

The fight against crime will never be done,
The war wages on a long way from won.
And 7 years in since called to the test,
I always parade on to do my best.

I turn up each day for this city I love,
I'm accompanied on duty by God up above.
Colleagues have died doing what they believe,
What's right and just locking up killers and thieves.

The villains will rage on but burn out in time,
But they will be held by the thinnest of lines.
Unpopular as we are sometimes remember,
We will fight always for you the good...and never surrender.

Aye Go Gaga

Hey Play boy bunny,

(▒)(♥)(▒)

Are you tired looking for real dating partner like me
whelp...probably nada worth yar while spending precious
   time frittering away re:
ding tha following mish mash literary mush - we
ving, and bobbing, which iz meaningless mum bo pap agree?

(▒)(♥)(▒)


This poker face mwm 4 bad romance gamboling hall
ideal to suit up for a fun virtual cat and mouse chase
myopic eyes stare intently into cyberspace
folk kiss sing song snap chat ting
mine eyes fixated b4 ur image seconds erase
with an exclamation of eureka a ha -
u look familiar at least yar face
mebbe we both lived during same time centuries ago, eh
perhaps in adjoining caves some place
and/or dashed off the starting line of tha human race.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
this yo dull ling josh hing glute max a mess aye n us
tooting ring ding oof a max i mus drake
haint named Bruce
boot ah do like the taste of cous cous
what the deuce
as i goose
whereby bull winkle the moose
n Natasha the squirrel plus otter creatures tink i lack mental juice
er purr haps goot a ***** loose
right duh gray matter of dis knit wit, the "infamous" they noose
sum hmm iz amiss from indigent guy lugged in papoose
cob bulled with whirled wide web
peppered with rotten green tomatoes -
prompting n immediate VAMOOSE
& find my rye ming ting ab
solute zero in chime with zee cuckoo
ready to call doktor demento ore Zeus.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
thus, this friendship introduction
will mutual ideally nada blow
based on ma unseen essence of body, mind
& soul more so than dough
i.e. money, which tends tubby superficial criteria
viz assess worthiness to flow
toward greater comprehension akin to garden
requires one 2 **** din ***
thus, this common non sloppy joe
maw owl ease keeps tim self i.e. ya know
a contemplative sort & writes ha low
crossing fingers immediate aversion arises,
yet an emphatic "no"
toward me would be taken in stride per this poe
it, whose ability finds comfort within simple pleasures
of life while invisible one that doth row
this creaky human vessel occasionally
calls out for big tow.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
mebbe as a d liver e purse son
2 supplement social security income
(this disability 4 generalized anxiety)
within me gray matter doth lay.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
although (mentioned for noah particular rhyme nor reason)

of heterosexual tendencies, my inner sanctum affected

by unkind actions towards those,

who (by choice, genetics, fondness,

or environment) steer clear of the madding crowdsource

who (as a rather skinny diminutive boy - and average emasculating

asia meister wordsmith) experienced constant taunts.

no matter that  me very late mother (who passed away from

ovarian cancer some decade plus two years ago) encouraged me to

give the bullies a WHAT FOR (in that era kids could pummel

without reprisal),  but fear kept me back,

viz the brutish nasty monsters zeroed

on countless vulnerabilities such as being affected with blatant

nasal tone when talking,  extremely shy,

and undersized physique honed - fallacy

sensitivity to others differently abe bulled

or others, who hapt to be fair

game sans being gay or lesbian for instance.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
can be accurately ascertained, this archetypal nonestablishmentarian
introspective individual attempts to affect exultant image
with words my (ahem) pen ultimate aim.
yet all the while trying
to steer clear enduring wagging virtual finger in blame
neither at this fellow via x 'cept able dame
chance circumstances of existence akin to being frozen
in some space/time paradigms frame
attempting extricating ourselves a lifelong game
which message offered in poem rather lame.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
email moi, which means
applying cerebral muscles 2 flex
fire off a brief bull a tin

or mebbe u wanna drop me a lion by zoo
per doo purr postal service, si from you.

Okay.

(▒)(♥)(▒) - pose crypt:

death tomb he iz a permanent good bye

though, when me mum passed i only did cry

for about one week - cuz resentment did not die

within me, yet toward me octogenarian widower dad

who during tumultuous prepubescence a fie

re: cold war raged,

which deprived "dad" tune oh his guy

now grown (with two adult daughters) says "hi"

allows emotional connection, cuz - lesson learned late -

need to communicate sentiments today, lest they lie

dormant, and return with a vengeance after grim reaper

doth exuberantly and well nigh

whisk a family member, friend, neighbor...away on the sly

thus - even if the wording nada so perfect, the effort to express

heartfelt feelings well worth a try

thus, every mortal shares this bitter irony of life

forever asking being born only to pass away

(vis a vis via whatever faith) why...?

Their words cut deeper then a knife, her fear is you won't be by her side, she loved you,  but she feared the pain,. But He saved her , he saved her with his wisdom,  he saved her with his love,  he saved her with his affection and he gave her all his love but,  sadly that wasn't enough,  she cried all the time and she had wished she died,  people bulled her and called her names,  it was so sad and they thought it was a game,  but they pushed her to the edge she wished she could of flew of the ledge,  but her guardian angel came to save the day,  he reminded her of all the times they had together,  and how he will die without her so he changed her mind and made her feel loved and now she is safe with no worrys.

_

I tore my hand from hers and I stumbled backwards feeling disgusted.  Feeling disgusting.  

Soiled, oily.

Five bottom-shelf screwdrivers and a pitcher-and-a-half of cheap beer briskly informed me that my stomach was a little too happenin, and they were gonna go ahead and go.  

Like, NOW.

I ran towards the bathroom, elbowing several people out of the way as I went.

Several much larger, and leather-clad Mowhawkians.

Moshers who had been standing in line for at least 15 minutes.

How I didn't get punched I will never know...

I careened into the stall like a methhead pinball and got ready to lose my liquid lunch.  

The watery hi-***** and natty light must have seen the same sight I did, because they decided they didn't really have anywhere to be after all.

I propelled myself away from the nightmare cesspool masquerading as a toilet, mostly by force of horror.

Luckily my legs wanted the **** out of there as badly as the rest of me, and they shakily complied.

Rocking side-to-side like a punch-drunk prize-fighter in Round-9, I bulled past an eight-foot-tall stick-figure goth-person, and it hit me:

I am going to have to tell her....

I was suddenly alone in the club.

...I am going to have to tell the love of my life that another woman kissed me.

The electricity went out.

Not in the seedy South East D.C. nightclub, but inside me.

The room was still, full of the life-like statues of dancers.

Lasers, frozen-fire, suspended in darkness and smoke.

The color had drained, like a rerun on a black & white TV...

I could only watch as my life crumbled in my mind's eye.

In the midst of this noisy, noxious, overcrowded *******.

In deafening, rhythmic silence.

What passed for air was sweaty-*****, and midsummer dank even in winter.

But the air around me became crisp.

Not crisp like the wind in February,

Crisp like the silence in a tomb.

Fitting.

Because I won't survive this.

I didn't know it yet, but this $5 cover open-bar might as well have been my tomb.

Sealed as tightly as my fate.

With a kiss.

Will you fight for me?

If you get bulled at school
Will you fight?

If your friends leave you
Will you fight?

If your family regrets you
Will you fight?

If you feel alone and abandoned
Will you fight?

If you can’t hear my voice
Will you fight?

If you feel like the world hates you
Will you fight?

If I ask you to die for me


Will you die for me?

The bull's-eye on
your chest, the black marker
on death apparel, was
turning red after the shots rang out.
Somewhere in a golden cage a parakeet starts―
shrieking.

And which means, each grain
of the last portrait you―
made would inherit the color
of the dying sun. We were
martyrs bulled by milk of the
religion of the state.


After sometime there will be
no news of you. We will
forget, forget the footsteps
of past, our golds would bloom
in the garden of hate. The mystique
of palace will bask in glory.

A Soldier That’s Lost.

Green was the colour of all of my suits,
Razor starched creases and bulled mirror boots,
Focused and steadfast,
Her majesty’s best,
Ribbons and medals proud on my chest.
15 years and 7 tours to my name,
A considerable asset I truly became,
But since I discharged its been a bit rough,
I don’t like to admit it but I’m finding it tough,
I struggle at times to know what to do,
No ones around and so much is new,
I was the cocky one the life and the soul,
Now I feel life’s spiralling out of control.
My wife doesn’t know me - my kids can’t relate,
I’ve no one around me that I call a mate.
I’ve nowhere to go but a job that’s demeaning,
I used to fight for my country,
I used to have meaning,
Now I get angry and can’t get a focus,
I could disappear now and no one would notice,
It’s not what I envisaged it’s not what I thought,
It’s certainly nothing like what I was taught,
I’m not a civilian,
I’m a soldier that’s lost,
From Her Majesty’s Army it feels like I’ve been tossed.