Bushido don't like no virtureless woman
or maybe that's just what she thinks...
Cause maybe he ain't as virtuous as he seems.
But I like,
I be having Brittney spear moments
I be like, "oh my god, oh my ******* god."
And then I bust out laughing cause I'm having a Brittney spears moment.

Is that anxiety? I guess I never really categorized that feeling. I be feeling crazed. I don't feel it often and I wonder if its healthy to feel that way.

I know I ain't healthy cause I been reading my books, feeling resentment and regret.
How can I be a student and a teacher?
What I'm spose to do with him
They say the way a child acts is dependent on the parenting and that's facts
The flattering would urge me to reconsider,
'you a single mom one day you'll get it'
The real would tell me to **** it up, girl step it up**
It ain't easy, man this stuff is tough
It's going to take a virtuous woman sho nuff

The type who does things for herself
Be a righteous woman
One who ain't gon move
Stand on your word, cause that's what the solid do.
The amplified version of your intent being articulated into existence.
Dont be reckless with it.

Be a courageous woman
Notice the little things.
This is ain't nun but a drink. The fight is within me.
I gotta apply the things I think
And that starts with thinking better things.

Self control and Respect
I am the master of myself, the tender of my mind.
How others treat you is a reflection of how you treat yourself. 
 Tame your touch and your tongue. 
 Speak with a light heart, beam expressions of love
I am Benevolent

Cause I am that I am sooo I am who I be.
But who is that actually?
A woman with integrity
I been getting these signs and they been telling me this ain't where I'm meant to be.

Short fused, I been lacking patience.
A victim to my own abuse. I self destruct. Seldom slow down and put myself in check.
BUT I'm on my way
I swear I am on my way...

Honor thyself, be the example.
Affirm your intentions with your actions
Otherwise you just here blabbering scriptures, you telling the story but don't really get the picture.

Let your companions be sincere.
Cause them a be the ones to hold you back by the ear
Casting spells and killing ideas by suggesting fear
Feeding the darkness in your shadow
cause they lacking light within

Honor Yourself.
You are your elders
But even they can be their own enemy
Somebody said,
"A smart person learns from their mistakes,  a wise one learns from others' mistakes. "
I rather be wise.

Remember this is a fight. Young warrior. You cant have a young mind. Young minds are innocent, young minds are naive. Young minds are pure and ignorant to bad things.

Grow up, into a virtuous woman. Aware of what is and transformational when something's gotta give. Free, she lives. Bushido, she sips.

I think of honor, and pride
And the clashing of swords
The Heart that beats inside
Master my weapon, an art form

I will protect my land and master,
At the cost of my own life
Arrows and katanas only come faster,
And I'll slip in to the light
The code I've lived by, do or die,
A samurai

a warrior poet
Reflecting upon thyself
In bed alone visited by someone else
Golden in color niether man nor woman
I was not afraid
With a wave of its hand
Two of me divided and I was transported
To another place
Where all were lost
Lustfull, afflicted; some even possessed
My heart was heavy with echoes
Hopeless is this!
A thunder of words interrupted my doubt
"Yet the worst of these is laughter"
A jester rose from the stone ground
His teeth brilliant white fangs
He whispers to cops and gangs
Judges and jury.
And they scoffed the weak.
Meaning to them was bleak.
Because its power we all seek.
Artform is identified.
And innocence is part of mine.
But also destruction,
Of that jokers function.
The devil is my foe.
And I will not be laid low.
Again. Together;
We win.
                   He won. he lost. We win.

The people have endured hardships for a while now. They have prayed and fasted for a better day but none has come. Prophesy has been given but has not been fulfilled. There have been moaning and groaning in every heart, in every home and in all the streets. Tyranny and misrule have become the trademark of the Mugabe rule. Finally our hope is at an end and our patience faded. It is time for a new Zimbabwean renaissance!
Zimbabwe does not belong to a few, it is not an aristocratic organisation. No one inherited the birth right to the white house. No one person is entitled to the presidency alone. It is the people who make Zimbabwe and it is they who rule. The president is nothing but a glorified civil servant. He or she works for the people and not against them. The people are the masses and they have the ultimate power. The Police and Army are mandated to serve and protect the interests of the people and not to fight them. The government should be for the people. Governments are nothing without the people!
Mugabe is the most shameful of African leaders. He was a beacon of light that turned into an apocalyptic darkness. He was the colourful and joyous son of Africa now turned into a ruthless dictator. The unlikely and even undeserving candidate who now imposes himself to be the king for life. The incorruptible one who has now become the father and a haven for the **** of corruption. Mugabe is a man disillusioned by his own grandiose imaginations that have been brewed by his over-prolonged stay on the seat of power. He has become the educated man who turned into the most foolish amongst us. Lost all sense of morality and cannot distinguish between what is right and wrong. This icon of a man has ****** on his own legacy. He has torn down his own statues. No longer shall he be remembered as a great revolutionary, he shall forever be vilified for the political villain that he is. The angel sent by God to redeem us has become the devil to us.
Mugabe is a testament that education and wisdom can be parallel. Maybe he has succumbed to the vices of old age and lost his original senses. Or maybe he is now just a stooge and stage puppet controlled by others behind the scenes. It could be that he suffers from dementia or some form of schizophrenic condition. He has a deranged personality void of all manner of reason and decency. Maybe he has become blinded and cannot see the reality of the Zimbabwean condition.
I am neither Zanu PF nor MDC or any other sham. I am red, white, black, green and yellow. I am a Zimbabwean. I cannot believe how I supported this madman and his cronies blindly for a time. I was once deluded and believed in the sovereignty dogma and the right for Zimbabwe to influence its own politics. All the time the country was deteriorating as the Zanu PF cancer was spreading across all corners of this beautiful nation. Those in power were busy abusing it and looting wealth for themselves. They looted farms, properties, companies, gold, platinum and diamonds. Everything they touched was stained with failure.
Some of the most educated people in Africa have now become nomads and sojourners in this world. The beauty and grace that distinguished Zimbabwe from the rest has been greatly compromised and diminished.  Zimbabwe has become nothing to write home about. Our previously less prominent neighbours have outgrown us.
The people go hungry, the banks have no money, industry has lost its footing, unemployment at its highest, crime and discord rampant, nothing but lawlessness and disorder. No electricity everywhere and  water supply is erratic. The roads are in dire condition. The industries of Bulawayo have suffocated to death. White collar workers have been reduced to vending. We are now a nation of scavengers and families grow hungry. Exports are a thing of the past and the Zimbabwean dollar is nowhere to be seen. The whole economy is in a constant state of illness and misery. The health sector has been hit hard. Zimbabwean youth have become jobless and confused. The working class goes on without receiving wages and salaries. In the meantime the police has become more corrupt and draconian, ZIMRA keeps squeezing the little money the poor have and there is mass censorship everywhere. The man who was tasked to manage this country has failed and must step down. These are more than enough reasons for change.
Mugabe and his government have turned the reputation of Zimbabweans to nothing. Zimbabweans are now seen as weak and destitute people all across the world. In certain places they have become pariahs who survive by hustling, robbing and conning. We are scattered all over and it is not by choice.
The pride and dignity of the Zimbabwean flag has been tainted by this man. As heinous and evil was the Ian Smith regime and his supremacist government, Mugabe is worse. We will never wish to go back to white rule but we wish for a black competent government that is effective. We just want things to work in Zimbabwe. We want to restore the beauty of our glorious nation. We want Zimbabwe to be better than it was ever before. One thing is clear, Mugabe has done his part and has run out of ideas. His time is done! We need fresh thinkers in the white house. We need real change in Zimbabwe. A new dispensation with none of the failed old guard. They have served their role and it is time to resign and retire.
Mugabe is not a uniting force anymore. He has become a symbol for division pretty much like Adolf ******. He is just an old man hiding behind a suit and his hordes of security men and puppeteers. Even the great Fidel Castro relinquished power! South Africa has seen more democracy than Zimbabwe. Change has swept across most of Africa and it is now knocking on the door in Harare.
We the Zimbabweans across the globe unite and in one great voice we shout, “Enough is enough, No more Mugabe and his regime, No more suffering, we want a new and better Zimbabwe! We want a government for the people! We want jobs! We want local industries! We want agricultural growth! We want a country that works!”
My recommendation to Mr. Mugabe is that he researches about the Seppuku ("stomach- or abdomen-cutting") or harakiri (“cutting the belly") and practises it. This is a form of Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment. It was originally reserved for samurai. Part of the samurai bushido honour code, seppuku was used either voluntarily by samurai to die with honour rather than fall into the hands of their enemies (and likely suffer torture) or as a form of capital punishment for samurai who had committed serious offenses, or performed because they had brought shame to themselves.
Change is coming to Zimbabwe whether the old guard want it or not. The police black boots will not able able to intimidate this away. No oration or rhetoric will sweep this change under the carpet. This is different from the attempted changed introduced by the MDC a few years back. This change is not sponsored by the British or Americans. This change is motivated by the gross incompetence of the sitting government and it is empowered by the resolve of every true Zimbabwean to see a better and healthier Zimbabwe that offers a lucrative future for our children. This change is 100% Zimbabwean and is not about colour, creed or background.

Peace on your head,
Brother
I Love you.
We Love you.
PEACE


















YOU HEARD WHAT I SAID.
WITHOUT HIM I WOULD BE DEAD
nah
No im not deaf
Place treble cleff
Im not the best but one day I hope to be the best that I can be. That we can be, be free. NO SEE we are one and of one blood you YOU HERE ME SON said we are one we ONE STAR the son  we need the blood I see the son  BLINDING EYES im fighting lies
inside my mind i hide the blind. Like playing poker but the river is only mine imtryin to find;
A doubtfull shadow in a drought over overexposure in a year boutes
ROUND 1
HERE ME CLEARY  MY SON
ears and eyes can be numb
Steady ******* my thumb
Heres the truck and it runs
Spill my ill from this quill bleed a vision
Instill?
Piledrive at the mill
Robots is Optomis drilled
Pills and pharmacists ****
Im just a kid when it comes to this
But poetry is this is
Hope you dont miss this
TWIST IT UP IF YOU WANT
To do it thru it we **** hate
And Love is my median
No not a comedian
Just meditate
I see a dream and it's color blind
I said the gun is thiers and im right
We SOLD YOU RIGHT!?

IM COLD AS ICE.
but hold it tight.
I speak too boldy right.
Seams white is not the light?
Mold me and soul the frieght
GHOST IS A SOLDIER NIGHT
hahha ^-^
                          **hahha love ya Brother

§
Battle of New Britain

Lieutenant Jim G Paulos led elements
of G Company in a savage counterattack
that ousted the intruders supported
by Lieutenant James R Mallon’s improvised
platoon of H/11, which remained
to help man casualty-depleted line.

Improvise (OED):
One: to compose on spur
of the moment; to utter
or perform extempore

two: to bring about or get up
on the spur of the moment;
to provide for the occasion

Three: […] hence to do anything
On the spur of the moment

Improvised platoon
Df James R Mallon:

When most of your platoon
lies dead in the pumice sands
of the South Pacific-Japanese
bushido bullets tear flesh and spirit
out of the corporeal—husks of limp
limbs you fought to defend and they you
Japanese mortar fire, machine and small-gun fire
fifteen yards in advance of the wire
how do you bring about or get up
the courage to grab whoever—
the nearest marine
talk through ears drums burst by mortar succeeding shockwaves
forget for the time the men
you spent months training
sipping beers in Australia
laughing over bar stool drunken jokes
men you shared your dreams about after
away from the mosquitoes
away from the constant moisture
rain rain rain day and night
soaking through fatigues through skin through bone
never enough sun to dry out
air already saturated
sweat or seawater—it is all the same
now you must find new men—men you have seen,
but do not know the same as your own platoon
their life and yours in each others hands
alone in a group of stranger-brothers
always faithful
keep composure in the face
your buddy’s entrails pouring into the pumice sand
hence to do anything
on the spur kicked into your side
to block what no man should ever be asked to see
and do what you can in the moment
to save your division from enemy fire.

§
Cyclops Black Eyes

One summer e’ening drunk to hell
He stood there nearly lifeless
A gal sat in the corner
And it’s how are ye ma’am and what’s yer name
And would ye like a drink?
She looked at him, he at her
All she could do was accept one

And rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ she’ll go
Through his pair of blue eyes

She knew not the pumice beaches and streams
Sometimes walking sometime crawling
amongst blood and death ‘neath a screaming sky
Where Cyclops black eyes waited for him
Was it birds whistling in the trees?
Always the Cyclops black eyes waiting for them
So they give the wind a talkin’

And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ he’ll go
Away from those Cyclops black eyes

And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
All he could see were Cyclops black eyes looking at him

No Cyclops black eyes waiting for her
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ she’ll go
And never know what saw his pair of blue eyes

Could she forsee in that pair of blue eyes
Decades he’d spend drunk to hell?
Sometimes walking sometime crawling
Rovin’ and rovin’ away from those Cyclops black eyes

§
Colt 1911**

I was nineteen when I learned
my Dad his father’s Colt 1911 pistol

when Dad was young he
and his brother found
the gun—hidden in the rafters
of the cinderblock basement
their father built; magazine bullets and pistol
on one rafter—separate, except
the bullets lived in the magazine

my dad and uncle, like any
young boy, were fascinated
by the pistol; though too young
to feel and know the power
and danger in the cold blue metal

when their father and mother were
away—home alone they snuck
to the hand-laid basement
reached around the rafters
through years of dust and darkness
feeling for the colt and mag
scrape-click-pop—ca-chick
round in the chamber—“freeze!”

so played boyhood fantasies
cowboys & Indians
cops & robbers
with a lethal toy


so my dad kept it a secret
locked in a tarnished steel box
locked through the trigger guard
magazine separate
four silver, dimpled, bullets rolled round between
their queue and releaser

I was struck by the weight—heavier than I expected—I felt the years of use polished into the wood grips—thick hand grease sweat blood humidity sand saltwater gun oil mud tears life saved and taken.
At the bottom of the wood grips ticked notches deep in the grain—both sides—different numbers; “What are these?” I asked running my finger across the nocth-ticks feeling their depths their absence consciously carved with his next best tool—kabar: workhorse that can baton through five inch diameter logs, machete through two-finger branches, dig a hole to burrow while machinegun fire mows down jungle; easy to sharpen, keeps an edge; full tang to hammer temples or tent posts

“I don’t know; the only thing we have is the lore.”

fI counted seven
the number the magazine carries
eight total, if you have one in the chamber

You have to commit to fire
a 1911, the cliché: don’t pull
the trigger—squeeze
is how the 1911 fires—a button
fits the crotch of the thumb and index finger
opposite the trigger on the handle;
to unleash the hammer then
lead, squeeze the two—firm
tight at the target; no shot fired
by accident—no Marvins with the 1911.

1937

bushido invasion
memory still vivid in the Chinese
of a slaughter
prisoners
chopped and lobbed into the river
display their heads
let the next line kiss the remains
but the time is ticking
and the water is only pink
prisoners
mowed down
with bullets
and laughter
they can turn and swim
Japanese aim is good
not one makes it to the other side
the pink
is a deep red flood
becoming a dam
with the bodies of
children
ladies
gentlemen

why did those murdered forget
the purple mountain legend
when it burns
the city falls
why did they not flee faster

the policy issued
plunder
burn
******
do not let that little boy
take revenge
5 years old
they severed him

Japanese leaders saw a chance
to remove any pity
in the solider
they ripped out
humanity
inserted
brutality

training exercise
hoist your bayonet
plunge forward
twist
extract
plunge
twist
extract
men with bound wrists
considered subhuman
butchered
plunge
twist
spit

routine puts soldiers at a disadvantage
fire is added
fields are swamped with oil
and laced with people
patrolled edges
keep the cries alive
the only release
death

movement is needed
tanks must pass
chatting soldiers hang out the sides
wheels roll over the bodies
filling the ditches
carcasses
and
wounded
if there is not enough
they found the closest Chinese
and added it to the pile

competition
2 leaders
in a fight to show superiority
uptake a challenge
to win is 100
swords are withdrawn
ignore its' eyes
the race
a beheading
lost count
up the stakes
150

only the beginning
for the women

a hunt commences
females do not leave the house
there is not one in the streets
rounded up
army trucks
bringing in loads
******* like animals
chained to racks
*****
commonly gang-*****
bleeding to death
aged under 8
over 80
a pregnant women
***** to death
her fetus cut out
and destroyed
encouragement
from higher ups

and the advice given
pikankan is acceptable
every warrior should
do not let them talk
**** the pigs
when they are done being women

more than 20,000
maybe less than 80,000
defiled
in the carnage

journalist support
with authentic recounts

but with time
confused hospitalization
of the soldiers
who puked every meal
and gagged from inside out
as the horrors ate them

the only relief
an international safety zone
perhaps 20 Westerners
to help a mere 300,000
only half
at intervals
Japanese crossed the fence
for the women hunt
for Chinese soldiers
recognized by calloused hands

irony
******* on a Westerner arm
a symbol
as he aided
survivors of the massacre
and the Nazis in Nanking
aghast
leaked information
on the horrors
and
****** ordered silence

a single surgeon
a lucky boy with only one bayonet puncture
another
missing eyes
missing ears
half a nose from
100 tied together
set on fire

Japanese photography
of bonding moments
as they watched
a house packed tight
panicked people on roofs
to escape flames
jumping

6-8 weeks later

more refined brutality
enforced prostitution
and intake of *****
****** cigarettes for children

the West
in ignorance
watched the German rise
forgot responsibility
to humanity
in the Asian wars

no apology
denial
unfair hatred
of later innocent Japanese generations
mention of Hiroshima
amuses some Chinese
doesn't bother others
it's not everyone
that's still too many

lacking sympathy
the road to brutality
lingers

Honor before all else, duty and obedience without question. Never strike in anger, always be dutiful to your master. Protect the weak and defenseless, in all things live as you believe. Your sword is part of you, an extension of yourself. Focus and harmony must be your creed. Nothing must distract you from the task set before you. Until your end, how ever it may come, you must live the code you have chosen to adapt as your way of life.

tizz is love it or hate it, nuttin' in between
addicted to yayo like sheen, 500 bpm heartbeat
don't do it anymore, but remain psychotic
and hunt down idiotics like a carnivore

from florida to berlin, from tropic to toxic
deep in da game, da grimy streetz know my name
it'z tizzop, 14.8 inchez of hip-hop

hangin' at rashid'z, shisha ready, cuban necklace
three men in da back but ya don't know who it iz
all of 'em are dark-skinned, all of 'em are bearded
most important of all: all of 'em are fearless

we don't know what it meanz to be scared
just some migrantz who will now be heard
da territory split up: kurdz, arabz and turkz
we got our own law, like omerta, like da cosa

one apartment here, and one block' there
like bushido did, back in da dayz wit fler
sonny black carlo, godfatherz, yeeeah

power is about makin it and takin it, unlike nine said
unlike any other guy said, and if ya don't wanna buy it
find ya eyez in da wine-red, da choppaz are wild catz
ya can use them for da furiouz, some become notoriouz

otherz don't and die, but dey will be honored:
watch da muralz; urban networkz, also in da rural,
and five-o just remainz neutral; it is crucial to be brutal
as it iz to remain truthful; lyricistz can't deal wit diz
g-boy attitude of tizz: letz celebrate diversity
and ante up on google, i write barz and do diz
i'm a little too youthful for these oldskoolish

All weapons of
   the fates you've sealed
Are no match for
   this pen I wield
The power to
   articulate
Ticking rhyme bombs
   to detonate
The conflicts waged
   gambling mankind
My perfect hand
   is treaties signed
Hellbent hounds pray
  like dogs, I hunt
Frontline this notebook
  battlefront
With metaphors
  of mindless drones  
Like similes
  to brainwashed clones
Whose C4 booms
  and IED's
Can't build bridges
  like ABC's

Or tear them down
  with death regimes
By rusting through
  the war machines
Flamethrowin’ my
  verbal grenade
With ****** noun
  scorched-earth tirade  
On militant
  cold-blood elite
King cobras know
  I'm packing heat
Seeking missile
  resolution
Winged raptor
  devolution
Prehistoric
  barbarism
Literacy
  cataclysm
Stockpiling
  extinction bones
We're cavemen carving
  fallout stones

My Hiroshima
  prose explodes
With nuclear
  bushido codes
Released from my  
  katana's ward
To free my press
  from shogun lord
Oppressing haiku
  imagery  
And samurai
  epigraphy  
Expressions of
  my ronin soul
Omitted by
  the daimyo
Satsuma is my
  poetry    
My final draft's
  Nagasaki
  
Ink cartridges
  strapped 'round my neck
I print no charge
  or background check
And ****** every
  live round free
Of innocent
  blood elegy
And killing sprees
  of gunned-down news
Domestic violence
  black and blues
A Number 2
  pencil dependent
Obsolete
  lead-head amendment
Open carry
  shoots a blank
Empty shell case
  at my think tank
So grip this peace
  then **** and pull it
**** my diction
  write the bullet

I crossed you in a battle
in a distant land ,
in the Rising Sun Country.

I was ordered
in a new Code of Bushido
in a new mission of injustice.
I followed your steps
courageously
with an unconditional willingness.

I heard the lament of my people
whispering with pain
how long will be tormented…..

A Death Fog Veil
covered the human souls
my breath was iced.

A brave fighter
came to me
was the Last Samurai
I have ever seen….

I was dazzled
by his power.
His sword blazed
like a fire,
sharp as a steel.

Master I yelled
show me the way,
to defend my people
to give my life,
if this is written
to my destiny path.

Teach me the Rules.
Teach me the Code of Honor.
To protect the Law.
To respect my Opponents.
Obedience and Discipline
will be my heavy duty.

He embraced me,
with a peerless wisdom
a breezy air,
blew off my lungs
and he told me silently.

The warriors’ road
is long and never ends
Be Brave my Son!
I kept his last words
as a Promise.

©By Mina Boulekou

Red lips
White paint
hides death
her grace a butterflies wing
life caught in her cold stare of her sting.
All dressed in colours which catch the moons glare
she kisses you like death kisses away the life that fades from sleep
an angel with a bushido blade
cuts away the bamboo which grows with haste
the light fades into a full moon
A butterfly hiding in a tomb
with carnivorous teeth
hiding a song of red bloodied despair
her cold touch ice on skin
catches your heart within sin
The black tea ceremony
of vampiric death or matrimony
if she chooses you for her thrall.

bushido ruling
I offer up my haiku
wakizashi kills

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

They say the road to hell,
is paved with good intentions,
like the cherry tree split in two dimensions.

Here comes a rain storm,
so we'll see,
how that Great Man, begins to flee.

Uncle Sam says, I want you.
You want me to die,
in a battle of crude oil and some glue?

**** that ****, I begin to cry,
all the while they begin to fly,
to the other side of the desert.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

The children speak to their families now,
Why mom, why dad?
Must I despise that towel head?

Yes dear, they softly speak,
they hit us first so now we freak,
the **** out, and glass em, til they speak.

No more.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

Freedom and democracy, Uncle Sam cries,
Don't let their tyrrany make you shy,
stand up for your right to live and lie.

Terrorists they call them,
Oh, that much is true. True, true,
So that gives us the right to prosecute.

Those that resist.

Are terrorists themselves, says the NDAA,
let's incarcerate them without a trial today,
off to GTMO, on you go.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

You can take that to the bank he says,
that ebony clad man, dressed to please,
denies himself and his liberty.

They are armed with nucular weapons,
that balding man spits,
and down we go into the pit.

Of Hell-fire and brimstone.

Is what they preach,
to the masses, let's wash their brains in bleach!
You like it that way, modern Bushido man.

You slave, you sheep, you ignorant twip.

It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.

Mistah Gates. He dead"

Time is an ouroboros and
the Earth a flat circle

Measure out your life
in insta pics

Let us go then, you and I,
through empty diamonds
and deserted play grounds.
Let us visit, if you will,
the battlefields ,
streets full of bodies
that decay in minutes.

In waiting rooms people come and go
and speak of tanks and Bushido
 
Eyes I dare not meet
Can see me with their headpiece
made of straw

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Forgotten, as we stare at our new ones.

In the morning
Claudia woke to
Find her lover
Gone.
She want looking for him
Only to see Boris getting his head shaved
One of the monks said in broken English
That he live here
He look the part
They did not tough his piercings
Thank god
She thought but
“He is uniquely handsome with no hair” she thought to
Herself
When they got back to their appartment
He Boris told Claudia
That he wanted marry her
Before he started studying
To be a Lama.  
He kissed her gently
And
While kissing Claudia
Ask what his name would
Be
Boris said after they got married
That his name will be Tashi Surya.
Claudia thought
That was gorgeous name
And kissed him.
So the former street urchin
Turn Lana was
Going to be her partner in life
As they made love
After she met with a local
To see were she could open up a school
For her to teach karate
Until the local said to teach
The monks
An idea that she did think of
She had to get the local
To translate for her
Since she couldn’t speak tibetan
When a deal was made
She saw that Boris aka Tashi
Was talking in tibetan with
His new friends.
She knew he spoke some Russian
But this was a surprise.
When they were alone
She asked him to teach
Her while they made love
Every night.
She learned better that way.
With in a few nights of love making
With practice conversation
She was flaunt.  
Claudia during the day
Either practiced her karate
Or started sketching.
She was drawing people
And the other monks
One was beautiful
And loved using him as a model
She soon started talking to him
And felt unusual feelings
For the fellow.
She did not tell Boris about her crush
But he saw the pictures she drew
He felt no jealousy
Thinking that bushido
MAde her loyal to him.
He kissed her
And said that in a few days
They would be in wedded bliss
After they got married
Claudia and who was named Tashi
Still had gently passion only at night
He whispered that he will always be Boris
To her.

from my new anti war book Eventful War
Nick Armbrister


Toy Box
To build an empire you need the right tools
And Imperial Japan had those in abundance
Armed to the teeth with skilled warriors willing to fight
Advanced warplanes like the Zero, Val and Kate
The best torpedoes in the world the Long Lance
The Bushido fighting spirit of never surrender
Outlawed explosive bullets won an empire
A wicked tool was the ‘Assault No 1’ standard military-issue ******
**** as a weapon of war with Comfort Women the prize
Fighting spirit blooded from 1931 until 1945
When the Divine Wind was unleashed
Ravenously fighting till the Imperial Empire fell

Prove me wrong
I need to know
If all along I've come to grow
Into my own Bushido code
Of conduct guiding me to show
How good intentions paved this road
With my abode's most humble tone
To build a hearth of stone for those
To melt their souls adorned in gold
And sleep in spirit's selfless home

Or just to fill this house alone
With all the seeds we humans sowed
As bombs explode and we foreclose
On bungalows and debts we've owed
To others' woes and sin atones
Colossusses of ancient Rhodes
The person that to be you chose
To roam this earth, renounce the thrones
For all this power shall erode
To nothing more than buried bones

Samurai writer
Bushido inspired
Katana withdrawn
Edge hardened by fire

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)