She fidgeted all the time,
working in her cubicle,
with a serious smile
always on her face
& a faraway look
forever in her pretty eyes.
Sometimes she'd wear lace skirts,
accenting her feminine graces.
Her language was often
a bit ***** (but not too much),
and occasionally sighing sounds
could be heard
emanating from her parted lips.
I thought it strange
when she requested to management
a rocking chair for her duties.
What a cutie!
There were rumors swirling around
that she was a practioner
of the Burmese bells.
I so liked working with her
before such innuendos
circulated.
Now I love it,
she's swell.....

hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay

That interim between dreams and consciousness, that momentary lapse of reality
When slave children don't howl and the wild animals lay tamed in sun traps, weary

Your scattered thoughts betray reality
and you
question everything - now waking
Smiling chief, chirping loud
Your body gathered and prepared
under torchlight in dusty tents
Ingesting iboga and that old familiar numbness overpowers
You've been here for a life now, looking back on your life now
hatasha hullah - dey
vey, okay, huttah, ulay

Witch doctor, tribal medicine, fanning smoke from a wild fire
flashing imagery akin to memories of when life was decadent
you remember the taste of stray rain drops on your upper lip on muggy British summer days
and waking on a beach, bloodied as the sand at your feet is the next recollection, how powerful
the act of reflection, as you recall the mirrors of the sea and your torn body weakened and inept
The gathered village chant in unison and splinter groups fall off beat only to rejoin intermittently

Remember the Burmese boy far from home on the Gabon shoreline
and he informs you of your own death,
and asks you why do you breathe still?

hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
Oh laa, ley ley lahh ley lah
ley hatasha hullah - dey

On some beaten path lost in Angola you carried two packs, food for the world
but you fell starving and spluttered on the rock that looked like your home
Rebels run wild in jeeps black as night, your supplies strewn on rubble grounds
- hatasha hullah - dey
Taken in a flurry, twittering birds in far off trees betray your trust and fly away
in the opposite direction, and the juggernaut jeep catches air over uneven tracks
You were scared and crying under blindfolded eyes and captors jeered, captivated
- parablah nuh parrah
An orchestrated mass of military garbed children with rifles gather you abruptly
when the car stopped with a rumble
And tied to rusted rigs you're gagged and stripped, bloodied your face now
as they beat you and laugh
- vey, okay, huttah, ulay
Congolese giant man, sword in hand and grimacing through bared teeth
Making bold gestures and speaking some inscrutable language
You cannot answer and fear is now in control, you shiver in the ghastly draft
On failure to answer you must be beaten, your back is lashed, repeatedly
- narralah, narrah, nutay
You remain silent but cry in disparity, after shrieks of horror finally escape your barren lips
Through stinging eyes you assess the surroundings after hours of torture when they retire
to their leather beds of shame and innocence faltered, try and remember how to live
- Oh laa, ley ley lahh ley lah
Months must have passed, survive off insects and morning dew on the muddy floor
This African wasteland, time forgotten, child soldiers and lack of humanity is trivial
Always scheming, recollect the armament and through door-way shack trapped light
you see a clear path, and it is good
- ley hatasha hullah - dey
The pinnacle nightfall anticipated arrives, and your skinny wrists released now easily
(their faltering lack of knowledge and abundant braggadocio betray them)
AK laying in moonlight illumination, a sign of God perhaps, but experience proves otherwise
(How cruel the dreams you had of such a gift)
When they spot you leaving, the night lights up, wild crackle of gunfire, heart beats, tribal drums
(To massacre children, such proficiency, the dreams were mindful)
No lapse in concentration, you may ruminate on objective morality in due time
(Crawling through blood and bodies of children, so pure, cadavers tell lies)
The clearing ahead in giant trees, you run and don't look back, praying for no pursuit
(Another genocide committed by a white man, justified perhaps this once)
Weeks pass and you falter only to slurp rain water from Congolese sipping cups the leaves
(Blacking out somewhere in the Republic, or on a border or who cares, as you died long ago)
- vey, okay, huttah, ulay
  ley hatasha hullah - dey

To awake from hallucinogen dreams, and cruel memories linger, it's painful you agree
Witch doctor still sings, lonesome now as the tribe apply ointments and silently pray
The fire still dances to some incredible song and your scars redacted, physical and other
How incredible the mind feeling fuzzy and that insane dream is just that - a dream
You black out again, a common occurrence but upon waking you're free, no tribe exists
With a sheepskin rucksack full of cassava, plantains and sugarcane and cocoa beans
Months pass and you make it to the North, when you leave Africa your body is new
and your mind is stable, no lingering cognizance or frightful thoughts of a forgotten ordeal

You arrive in Turkey, to partake in ***** with nimble girls
and I see you floundering on silken sheets,
My memories were fresh as the nymph on your lap
I write to you a note, and you turn alabaster, moon faced being
I was there always and saw every moment
Your ideals on morality are hazy at best, and to your behest I detest all that you stand for
Is your afterlife so pure, now that bodies litter the forest floor
and do you believe that I am not (a) God
and is this mere poetry, or an indictment of your folly and a warning to all whom engage
but do you not also see that every reaction was an action taken to your original action
and when all is said and done, do you no realise that from the day you were born
you were born a God and that God was born dead
and this is just that interim between expiration and consciousness, that momentary lapse of reality
when slave children don't howl and the wild animals lay tamed in sun traps, weary

hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
Oh laa, ley ley lahh ley lah
ley hatasha hullah - dey

My brother and I explored a ravine
in our younger years. A wooded
labyrinth where the auburn
mist of fallen leaves
covered the floor
like a Burmese
tiger pit.

My brother
and I discovered
a lake, which became
a creek, which became
a swamp. I must've found
something exciting, because
I began sprinting homeward in a
juvenile fervor. Penetrating the
leafy shroud with my eager
feet. Unaware of traps
set subtly for those
tramping  through
the wilderness.

A nail,
I stepped
on a nail in my
recklessness. My
tennis shoe armor proved
futile against the steel weaponry.
Completely exposing my vulnerable
sole, the spiked interloper sank
its lone fang into me. The
pain shot through my
foot until ambulatory
abilities all but
vanished.

I didn't watch
where I was stepping
and landed on an inadvertent
weapon.
I should've
known the pollution of man
would stab me in my
outstretched hand.

A lesson was
learned about
paranoia and why
it exists. Even if I watch
where I'm going, polluters
will slit my wrists until the findings
of the swamp are forgotten in favor of scars.

(For Marg and Laurice, snake charmers extraordinaire)
  
Like the Burmese priestess
kissing the cobra
I must never take my eyes off
that steely, staring, coal-black serpent eye
lest the fangs swaying in that unborn smile
strike
in the split-second
that contains my salvation or my undoing.
Lips always poised between heaven and hell,
I advance on the servant of knowledge
hooded with an assumed mastery,
that hood branded with Nature's tattoo:
Omega, the end
and that flickering tongue that reads my body
temperature could cut it cold.
Cold as the smooth-bumpy reptilian snout
upon which I lightly lay
the final kiss.

Useless Money

I often get petitioning letters so many people trying
to find a place to live and only receive a bitter refusal
and see their children die of thirst and hunger.
I wish to help them, but no money in the world is
enough to stop this flood of humanity seeking a haven
flotsam, the wreck of the unfortunate and we can do
nothing but look another way.

Overwhelmed by the misery I can do little about, but
the woman from Myanmar who won a medal for her
tenacity, choose not to speak. The friendly Buddhists
are killing Muslims in their midst, they have become
refugees; the woman from Myanmar is voiceless.
She, the upper-class daughter of a Burmese general
Who aristocratic behaviour impressed us deeply,
But I ask why she is staying silent now.

Journeyman Pictures
Will take you on a  journey

The DVB journalists
Jailed and tortured

They showed the military
Shooting at protesters

They hid on the balcony and filmed
They got footage
Of the Japanese journalist
Who was shot by the military

Another journalist
Helped make

An award winning
Documentary

About the devistating
Cyclone that hit Cambodia
In 2009

He was captured and jailed
For years

He had promised to write
The girl he met
From his documentary

But could not because
He was jailed

He made his own guitar
While he was
Wrongfully jailed

He is a good man
He just wanted to show
What the people were going through

Now he has been released

An executive from DVB media
Came to talk
With the Burmese officials
In 2009

About having their own
Official office

Some of the journalists
Have spoken out
About how they
Were tortured

Things are improving
Although it is a process

I hope DVB succeeds
And is not pestered
Or persecuted by the government
Any longer

This poem is dedicated
To the journalists
Who went through
Great hardships
To show the injustices
Of their government

Who wanted to document
What the people
Went through
After the cyclone

"They call him a magic man"
"There's no such thing as..."
"As what, magic?"
"..."

And the coffin hit the banks in Burma
Mud on the feet of a white man, stranger
"I came in search of truth, can you help me?"
The two men sat awake, drinking alcohol
Fermented and brewed by hand and the locals watched
Flaking hut, the bamboo was broken, he wondered how

"They say he has the power to heal"
"And yet I don't believe you"
"Find him"

The trees were dusted and the Antelope were grazing
In the Kalahari I found my guide, we smoked and died
By the fireside, I lied about the tide
He took my hand, I lost my stride
The Nile ran red and I awoke covered in sweat

Phantom structures of glass and brick, apparent not to I
A world of stars and the translucent eyes of a *******
The grinning dawn was mournful as we fell from barriers
The guards were boiled alive but their guns survived
And the California beaches were beckoning

I lay down on the road, calling out to Kerouac and receiving nothing but a jolt as the cars massaged my flailing back, and the monkeys were howling as a witch doctor calls

The small boy read the lacquered book with glistening nails adorned
The tide was vile, washed him away with a sly smile

A great **** at the doors of a church, masks discarded
The preacher man watched with a snarl, upturned lip
Gripped by fear the small boy clawed his way to the banks
He banked on life
Gambled with a choice and won

Burmese man-child, hashish in the pipe
Tell me of the story of your life
The bamboo pipes

A lighter falling through space, as the astronaut suffocates
Nicotine daze and a greyish haze, through the eternal maze
And we lay awake for days and days

A tank would fall from the mountain top
Crushing just one daffodil
and the bamboo mourned

Muddy river ran dry
Today, the day I die

As a child in primary school
curled beneath a black coat
with neon-pink and -yellow zippers, empty pockets
holding my chest
beside two gray recess doors.
I’d pretend it was my living room,
with no visitors.
Watched t.v., mainly, and not talk on the phone.
Drank apple-juice beer from my concocted fridge
on my green recliner chair
until the doors opened and my building fell
apart.

I moved to an apartment
on a busy city street-- no green
recliner:
no beer, no t.v.
Stealing internet from Burmese-jungle refugees
to read about food shortages, and indiscriminate mass killings.
Beside the doors with
zipped zippers, and isolated goosebumps--
Monkey bar plucking, screaming
running and jumping-- trip and fall
in love, dancing haphazardly-- well
until the sound of a bell.

Of all creatures that exist on earth,
I think the cat is the most fascinating.

We take them for granted
because they are so common.  
We don't give them a second glance.

It is said that pound for pound
Cats are the earth's supreme
predators. I agree with this.

The big cats are the most beautiful animals.
But I'm talking about house cats, now! :)

I am especially intrigued as to how
Felines can be sleeping and suddenly can
do extreme acrobatics.

This seems impossible and yet it's so.
A magic trick with no smoke, no mirrors nor
any explanation.

The cats who own me, are three.
Mocha, Peanut, Qweeny.
Mocha and Peanut are on my profile photo  

The cats who own me
Are indoors, strictly
But I have watched feral cats
Hunt things as big as a rabbit
Felines can take down prey
that are half their own body weight.
That is truly impressive.

However, cats can also be prey
And a large hawk or eagle
Can end their lives.
So while they prey upon rodents
They also make themselves
vulnerable to predation.

I find this predator/prey aspect
of their existence
To be fascinating.
Natures balancing act!
A great study for Evolutionionary
Genetics of felines.

More of a cat person than a dog person
Loving their velvet paws
And loving purring
Over the constant panting of dogs

Cats are the cleanest animals and
Just one more reason to love them.
I admire this quality of cleanliness.

Cats were worshipped in Egypt and
I feel it's a sacrament to care for cats
You are contributing to the Divine
in this simple way.

Purring is a blessing.
One cat who owns me,
Purrs all of the time.
She never stops.
She is in my top three
animals I have ever loved
In my entire life of
53 years.  

The cats that own me
Are Beautiful.
They are Burmese, Siamese
and finally Tonkinese.

They are obviously very important
And one if the best things
In my life. That is why I'm writing
About them.

They are not only important
But also paramount.

I often think, that if my husband
Would allow it, that Id like 10 cats.
Id like to be a crazy old cat lady
Dressed in a faded purple dress,
With sacred beings prancing their way
Across my living room!

They sooth me, in a way that
Humans cannot & in a way dogs cannot.

I never cease to be amazed
By the qualities these cats imbue

I feel fortunate that these
Three cats have adopted me

I feel a sense of love from them,
from some very wise beings.

I love them, too.

They are now all senior cats
I won't have them forever.
I am facing the fact that humans
simply live longer than critters.
The number of animals I've lost
In my life is truly staggering.
Each death as painful as the one before.

On the other hand, one of my
cats lived to 22 an I hope the
current kitties will be so lucky.
I can only do my best to care for them.

You have to love fearlessly
As if you've never lost.
I will suffer when they die
But I do not hold back my love
for them.
You have to be courageous to
Love sometimes.

You have to face impermanence
By losing your loved ones
And in this way
The three cats that own me
Teach me valuable
Lessons of life.

A huge lesson is not to cling
Another is to accept death.

What else can I do but appreciate their love
And love them in return.

I never take them for granted.
I am always appreciative
Toward these blessings in my life.

They are both Holy and Divine.
And also, most revered spiritual teachers

~Arianna Darshani

they packed the town into a big box
and shipped it to southeast ohio
they packed bryan adams into a box
and shipped it to southeast asia
they packed the baby into a box
and shipped it to madonna

drawn up with a silver pen
the EPZs jurisdiction
the cease fires declaration
and the stockyards reopen for business

the hundred thousand leaves shrouding
the white house roar
like a crowd, like a nation
a few man's hands
shake that sound
like snake's tails rattling
into a megaphone

the heavy metal band pleads self-defense.
they just play music. that's all they do
they're not protesting
except in a vague way
against everything,
they're not sure what
perhaps the chaotic volume
of their early adolescence

a child bent around a pen
is told to count the lima beans again
he counted too fast
a snarling dragon pulls up
and he rides, concluding
in a sorcerer's castle constructed
of speedy fretwork and overbearing tablature

the card game made us
wizards, frankly, and we enjoyed it
more than being what we were
I throw the dice and the king's head
tumbles with them into a basket

a burmese girl sews the silhouette
of a man performing
a feat not meant for man
into the side of a shoe that will
wing you to heaven if
heaven is as high
as a slam dunk. boys
in a park joust styrofoam swords
a hand is folded
behind the back to signify its heroic
loss in battle. it is regrown momentarily
to dunk a chicken mcnugget.
in another park across town
boys no longer ****
each other for their shoes.
jay z is in a booth with warren buffett
and jerry seinfeld at daniel

they are saving the galaxy

the only one we have to save
which nobody lives in anymore
the forest is off in endor
the snow belongs to hoth

a boy fights a war
in an afghan marketplace
through his television set


in hd and widescreen
it's practically photorealisitic
the guns sound authentic
in 5.1 digital surround

another boy fights the exact same war
he wishes it did not look so real

the internet, our new planet

i shut the computer down
404: I am a file no longer to be found

business Friday that ISIS took control
Husayba sometime around
I tell you Love Ramadi Habbaniya
non leader. and meters) east of Ramadi
and about women soon cottoned on
evil and the good lesser gunfire
occasion of his I email my teachers
Rabbit of their day; a toy that you are
doing more group's latest push east
since the Dalai Lama their words
actually led to facilitate some good
old if you love those estone that a US
State most intract ARTICLE b in her
response wrote that they appeared
who love what seized the key city of
finally used to pleasure do not even
Pagans do departmental official
acknowledged defeat ISIS Geisha
Burmese ***** heighten the pleasure
our righteousness in front of others
to be seen executed people in the street
whom Lama's compassionate approach
teaching on what to do by evening
no reward from your Father in heaven,
do not announce it during *** with
trumpets heading towards Palmyra
Heavenly father is perfect the streets
to be honoured by others compassion
and call to action went supernova
Ben Wa ***** background in cognitive.
remember to give thanks more efforts.

As she chooses the flowers to decorate her bun
She chooses the petals, she thinks the best
She has to choose….
What would you do if you have two difficult choices to make?
What if both choices were equally important?
Whether to just ignore your people and lead your own life?
Or …to follow your dad’s footsteps and lead the country?
It was hidden in Aung San Suu Kyi’s life
She only had two choices to make and she finally made her choice
But she was kept in her house all alone
by the cruel Burmese military for so many years
But she still chose to save her people’s life
And made her father and ancestors proud
She is happy with her choice
Not because she was caught by the military
It is because she is one brave lady
The lady Aung San Suu Kyi has made the choice of her life,

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they sat in the tray
eagerly awaiting planting day
24 little beauties
of various shapes and sizes –
some, sisters
strains cut from the same mother
others, new to the farm
and new to me
I give them all the love of a doting father
gently and tenderly caressing leaves
and giving soft encouraging words
of success and growth –
today I bring in a Durban and a Rhino
and the set is complete
they join a cornucopia;
a white widow
a Burmese kush
one little stout body
called a Deep Purple
lemon pledge
sits alongside
a lambs breath crossed
with a sour diesel
the gorilla glue #4
looks lovely in the afternoon light….
I smile at the rows of little ladies
thinking about the next 5 months –
sunlight
infused soil
compost tea
giving them only the best
of the organic foods
micro-biotic nutrients
and cool well-water
bending them ever-so-slightly
to encourage a larger canopy…
it’s going to be a good year,
again –

I see you're getting old, sitting there,
With youthful eyes, but graying hair;
But I recall the splash of tresses
Blending with the golden sands.
The time shows in your hands;
You don't hide the blemishes
That youthful pride concerned you with;
The thin lines of loosening skin
Are not what keep you in.
But I recall your winter porcelain,
And summer lines of worship;
Cherokee cheeks and Burmese neck,
Sun-dappled tops and blue jean dress,
The tennis smash and victory dance,
The on and off of our romance.
And in your memory, locked away,
You dance and sing and nurse your babies,
As if it were today.

military oppressors
put her voice
into a muted pause
of suppression
the peoples of her land
were denied
of her ideology
that was placed
under a secure key
of a military
who wanted
her voice silenced
in totality

how can a bird that is born for joy
sit in a cage and sing
this proposition
gave thought
to some pondering
the Burmese people elected
Aung San Suu Kyi
to lead them with
a government of democracy
her message
though stifled
still bought joy
to many in her land
her voice had been
silenced by a coupe
the strains of freedom
were ingrained
in her words
that never deserted
her people's ears

liberty did come
at the release of her tongue
which carried
her nation
back to the breath
of a self determining
lung

Dear Mae Sai,
You’ve been a hard pill to swallow.
Downward gazes and inside jokes.
Farang, farang.
Little pointing fingers followed by a wave of giggles as my floor-length dress with the slit down the side blows wild in the breeze,
trying to contain my runaway drapery,
maintain modesty in a border town where summer dresses don’t fly.
A voice cautions from the inside:
"You’re not in the islands anymore dear one.."

Om Namah Shivaya
I murmur steadily to myself repelling thoughts of “I just want to go home.”
There is no home, not outside in the physical world at least.
This here is a recurring theme.
Now I’m really traveling.
How dislocated will you become before you eliminate outside chatter,
and go to work paving the temple solace inside yourself,
the eternal home within the eternal om,
the exterior is irrelevant.

Oh Mae Sai,
soot and smoke bellow up from your belly
placing masks on the mountains at your back,
your wretched reflection glows unforgiving in the street.
Glorious, unpainted authenticity.

**** the farangs, they’re just passing through.
Smile til my face hurts,
it mostly makes no difference,
and then when I’m feeling so unwanted that I can’t hold back the tears,
you throw me curve ***** with every passing street.

A little Burmese babe with the brightest smile
still unsure of how fast her feet will carry her,
she dashes to my right and with the smacking sound of her lips
and the grace of her palm she blows me a kiss.

Thank you sweet one,
that’s just what I needed…

I (August)

By way of magic theaters
& Volumes of intellectual glitter
& Tragedy in the form of escalator dramas
Replaced with alcoholism and the tile floor in need of cleaning

Bulbs green and vibrant
In accompaniment of nearby mechanical ships/
I'm too spoken and the traffic has been melting against itself for the last three weeks

Doorhandles left empty of the
Torch of lost odors
& Bouquet smiles
& Petrichor thru the window facing the street
A shouting sort
And 25 cents in my back pocket

The dream I had yesterday of Bank Robbery
Solipsism

Also sexuality revealed as
The Camel's endurance
For kind people

Everyone around me in the bookshop starts vocalizing my internal scatterings
& The whole thing becomes surreal
Corso waves as I walk by
I'm afraid if what might happen on acknowledging it

Lamppost summoned and
Violent
Carpet is stained with the footsteps of people you don't want around anymore

Your gigantic ego had a hard time fitting thru the doorframe on exit


II (September)

A woman is reading a japanese book on
Windmills
Cradled by a sweater the tone of
Sunsets

The hour has devolved into silhouttes

An internal voice peaceully sings its way higher into the skull to be remembered/
The melody of September

On the verge of permanence at all times
& feeling it now!

You will never be this shy around
Orchards again,
Once the Hotels quiet down &
Autumn laurel replaces the crow of
Current conciousness

Ur journal is a series of wet shapes
Lucidly mixed with Candlewax air

Have fun transcribing Burmese papers
Or attempting Monkhood in Vermont!

III

It has been easy attending
All these social Funerals
And watching the Hospitals keep busy
As water is drained from countless fountains

Meanwhile a dog with a crooked lung is manufacturing a vivid sense of
Totality with the garden
Tongue out
Unaware of the Sun

My family is better than your family...

My Dad wouldn't care if I was gay,
words of love would be all he had to say,
he's pretty **** okay.
& because my Mum's 1/4 Burmese
I tan dead easy in the summer breeze,
sun's out? Guns' out!
If your Dad discovered you'd gave head to a him he'd shoot your head in,
son's out? Gun's out.
Your Mums not alright,
& she's all white,
that's why you go well red.
Oh, my parents bought me books, that's why I'm well read,
yours said "******* I'm busy, take your illiterate little ****** *** to bed!"!

freshly-soaked soil
Burmese cloudscape
humid trunks wrestling
for domain of the sky

I need to sell this Caddy to the Cardinal
and get my lifelong harbinger mood swing
out from the wilderness of oblique directives
written with the strident ***** of Satan
shaking money from my pockets again
like they do in Burmese shadow theater
where the container is the contained
trying to let it miss your attention won't fly
because we obstinately index the cornucopia
in a total lack of continuity all at once
with a pigeon tongue spoken in barter
fit only for bouncy news anchor banter
pancake makeup a bit too aflame
like the Great Blazing Spiral in the Sky
his mind a bordello of interpretation
memes eating his soul like red worms
only my degree from the School for the Sickly
standing tolerably vigilant between me
and the dervish nuns of St. Manacle
doing their Plantation Branding Iron Dance
for chopped liver epicures at the Bank of Winter
conniving with the demented to create a better world
living dead men's dreams like a second skin
he hated coercion like he hated licorice
his collective unconscious operation manual
tossed on the burn pile half a life ago
going from syntactically correct to uncooked
in infinitesimal quantities with a Nefertiti smile
perpetually enthused by the mystery of tomorrow
just don't try to tell me how to move my eyelids
barely able to walk after the derision of linguists
lobbed horseshoes across my barricades
on a search and destroy mission
and that's space for you
beginning with  the rank elements
God is not dead he is passe etc.
nature is unquestionably to be leashed etc.
a raised by wolves feral non-conformist
everything orbits everything else
which will bend yer crank kid
tried quoting Lenin but it was too easy
the proletariat is people in a pickle
the dueling cucumbers of class warfare
it was a kosher Pentecost event
now I'm on a dozen watch lists
followed by Diana's paparazzi
to this claustrophobic cinemaplex
and its temporal artery of light
at 3 o:clock in the afternoon
a good cheap remedy
following a bad diagnosis

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon

Tis Best to Find A Book Not Graceless Netflix
Snickle it snuck by the text of tickety tucked
Burmese and Maine **** Panther and Typhoon
The guise of the ill imbrications of tiles of lore
Betwixt the center and cast aghast into the seas on naught
Sheilds fell short and velocity of the beast did comport
Thee with little hope of finding truth or vanquishment or champion lore..
At behest of the demons the civility once again was swept out the door
I have not braver notion than the jasmine and fools language
Yet distinguished are the bedfellows that save us they fight the truly savage!
With nor Godless notion
nor piety in tow the folks amassed to have a go!
"I can accept only an acumen and candor from the least of the less to
the greatest of all angels that upon grace I swear!"
They had decreed in the hope of making past dilemmas
But the unctuous beacon the Harold of evil the overpaid and underscored rose again
As faith had put it they were stifled not by nuance or systems
Only the deafness and the undertow that had created
  an egocentric and thoughtless causeless follow through.