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  This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...

weary of mothers and friends
losing their children,
before their time,
weary of failing
to achieve reconciliation
with whatever one nominates
the force that regulates,
fate, Name-Your-God,
deity of your choice,
nature, laws of physics,
the "whatever"
that controls, interferes,
that you think to believe
wills these event's occurrence
non-randomly

cessation of formalities,
one sided truce
signed and delivered,
unafraid to call this
what it is,
**** and damning fate,
for no god
could be so cruel...

If only there was a
Dislike button
for life and the poems
wrenched from death

at 5:00 am
this thought is my
sole inhabitant

once again,
nature's bosses distort,
another friend's grief
asks, cajoles me
to betray my/thy belief

banish it or me,
for we both cannot be
cohabitants
under the one roof,
of this limited mind,
where flailing
poems
never good enough,
failing
to express my
sorrowed rage

In Greek Mythology, Terpsichore “delight in dancing” was one of the nine Muses and goddess of dance and chorus. She is usually shown dancing and sometimes holding a lyre, accompanying the ballerinas’ choirs with her music

Close your eyes, relax the spaces of your mind
Delight in Dancing I give to you, practiced from the beginning of time
Terpsichore, the Greek Mythology Muse of dance and chores as I hold my lyre
Passion, lust, desire, graceful movements for the mind to inspire
Enticing the man’s **** flames of fire
No rhythm to engage, only your body, the essence of this muse, no cloth or Greek attire

The body enticement found in a wanton dance
The sum of ninety-three, the Thelema spiritual philosophy for a man to understand
Ancient dances to make the skies shed rain
Dancing in glee to escape life’s stinging pain
The muse within me guides your mind to move like the smooth flow of sand
A beautiful crusade to be shared between woman and man
Lucid, rumbustious, daring, as feet moves to the beat
As you hark unto the dance, as my lyre sets the energy of your soul free

Medicine, ceremonial, rituals, and entertainment dances to amuse
Terpsichore, the Greek Mythology Muse of sensual dances, no man could refuse
Under the silken covers time we reclaim
Two bodies seeking the carnal feast of its weakening fame
A private dance made for two lovers, my lyre discreet to be
Instilled passion under the moonlit, giving and receiving, the commencement of you and me

From the taste of my honey dripped lips
The dance of grace, elegance, seduction, the heart it eclipses
Clench me tighter and feel the alluring sway of my hips
The balance of my soft hands roaming over you, your body basking in the abyss of a wet slip
Linking my arms around your neck as we attune to this emotional dance
The lyre, my chorus backdrop, as the enticing moves heightens of this sultry romance

Allow the rhythm once inside as the elixir of love floats from you
Dip me slowly, worshipping my soul, losing your mind in the addictive moves
Body to body, feast of love found in the magnetic inviting grooves
Spinning me around, taking my mind pass the stars
Come into me as you taste Venus, dancing found under the planet Mars

I’m dizzy from the twirling thrill
Pull me closer, sinking deeper and deeper of your own free will
The rapture with the chorus of my tuneful lyre surrounding us, as time stands still
Feel the essence of my erratic heartbeat as it’s matching yours
Blissful finale of dancing bodies, sedated, perspiration seeps from pores
Breathless and content, as allowed me to take your mind for a sequestered tour  
Heart to heart
My lyre, when dancing with a love one, is a masterpiece work of art

I’ve danced in times of old with my lyre, the chorus played in sync on Mt. Olympics, to the Roman towers  
A woman’s greatest asset as she cajoles in a passionate dance, entrenched by the slow dancing power
Love comes in droves while whirling in the soft mist of a rain shower

Bedazzled under the once seductive poetic words of Horace
Terpsichore, the Greek Mythology Muse of dance heard with my lyre, and chorus

A growing sickness

Flowing through my veins

Burning away inside, eating me away

As the darkness takes over from within.

Lapses in sanity, I find myself lying

In cold sweat, falling through the chasm

And I know its only a matter of time

Before the demon inside has arisen.



A manic bloodlust takes over my being

I ache for the violence to be set free.

In their dead eyes, I see reflections of mine

A murderous gleam shining within

As my face stretches into a smile that isn’t mine.

Every fibre of my being, repulsed by myself

Petrified by the beast I have become

I cry out in pain and anguish

As I feel Him taking over again.



Under the light of the gibbous moon

I revel in my madness, as her

Screams goad me on and take me

To the precipice. I stand grinning at

Her broken,****** form in the earth

As she whimpers a pathetic plea for mercy.



No one knows of my disease; He only

Claims my body for himself in the dark

Leaving me behind to feel the horror and disgust

In the cold, grey sunlight.

Every night I struggle inside

I fight against my inner devil, pleading

For reason and humanity to return

To the twisted ******* I have become.

He stretches my face into a wide smirk

Reminding me of that exquisite, repulsive

Scent of flowing gore; He coaxes me,

He cajoles, He beckons me to join Him

As my will weakens and my body surrenders.



And so ends my tale, I have lost myself

To the contorted insanity I bred inside.

Horrified, repulsed, revolted with my being

My death only entices me now

Promising relief from my unholy illness.

But I know that small comfort is lost on me

Eventually, He’ll possess me entirely

And in the remorse of this truth I lie

And I feel Him return inside, eagerly awaiting my demise

No more can I hold out against Him.

No more can I wear the mask of Jekyll.

1023

It rises—passes—on our South
Inscribes a simple Noon—
Cajoles a Moment with the Spires
And infinite is gone—

Breathless . . . Heaving . . . Sputtering . . .
Many more steps to go.
Hardened feet.
No longer are my steps maligned by stabs of blood.
Condemnation . . . Damnation . . . Corruption . . .
My seasoned back launches into my perennial burden.
And another step I take.
Into an inevitable future of drudgery.
Hope . . . Exoneration . . . Absolution . . .
Have long been forgotten.
Their burnt ashes adorn my forehead.
My shoulder screams ahead, into the weight it upholds.
Rumble  . . . Rumble . . . Rumble . . .
Each step like the millions before it,
thrusts the stone another foot towards the jagged peak
that towers impressively up ahead.
Dum Da De  . . . Dum Da Doo . . . Dum De Da Dum . . .
And the day goes on.
Dum Da De . . . Dum Da Doo . . . Dum De Da Dum . . .
And the night lives long.
Breathless . . . Heaving . . . Sputtering . . .
My war-torn muscles relax.
And the stone sits.
Stares at the valley below.
Lightning . . . Rain . . . Thunder . . .
The wind caresses and cajoles,
And the stone rolls down below, echoing Thor’s exclamations
And my heart leaps with joy.
After all, there will be another day.
And my feet have hardened anyway.
Ha Ha . . . Ha Ha . . . Ha Ha . . .

if i were to ask
if you'd prefer the truth
over happiness, would you take
the red pill or the blue?

in Your Heart is a Muscle
the Size of a Fist, Sunil Yapa
writes, "care too much
and this world will **** you cold."
but there is no greater love
than this: i'll lay my life down
for both strangers and friends.

it's true what the adages say.
knowledge may yet yield power,
but most find bliss
in fictitious myths.
the tyranny of dead deities
cajoles the soulless, self-inflicted
ignorance claps the mind in shackles,
a brain neutered by obedient acquiescence.

there is a somber courage in sobriety.
i'll deny until i die, defying the urge
to idolize a substance that distracts
the mind from misery. i choose to question
everyone and everything,
even if a clear-head invites
utter agony. conviction is certainly
a long and lonely road, but our integrity
is the very last inch of us and—within
that inch—we are free.

so steadfast, i remain
a stone anchored to the riverbed
by the weight of gravity and the rushing
tides eroding me. we'll stand strong
in solidarity with all those suffering,
opposing the specter of dominance, illusory
as a phantom, ephemeral as the passage
of time. i'll unleash an omnipotent psyche,
inspired by the insight found in the closing lines
of a punk and artist's call-to-arms:

pursue what haunts you.

if the truth terrifies you, good.
that is precisely what veracity
ought to do.

Cryptic dreams awaken the mind
Telling more than I want to know
Hinting at emotions undefined
The glint of rough gems to be mined

Possible rapture threatens contentment
Disturbing the balance and the flow
Turbulence enters the calm of the present
Subconscious susurrations could prove prescient

The painstakingly built façade stays intact
But the lingering dream won’t go
No use denying its deep impact
As it cajoles me to think and act

Like puppets dancing on strings
Are Presidents and princes
Prime Ministers and politicians
And the tune they dance to
Is older than their kingdoms
Behold the King of this world
Hidden away from the public eye
Yet commanding nations with a whisper
He was glorious and beautiful once
And he walked among the innocent
But, in one moment of vanity
He stole rulership of the world
His personality is stamped upon mankind
For he sets the pace
While most men follow
He spoke the first lies
Inflicted the first casualty
And he has never felt regret
Has never shed a tear
Though his wars have taken millions
And his devotees have enslaved nations
He is the author of confusion
The instigator of Hellfire and hatred
The creator of trinities and tribulation
He accuses you and I of cowardice and selfishness
Yet is himself running scared
And clinging to power and life
He is the excuser of unholy child abusers
And the inspiration of Jihadist bombs
He speaks lies about the innocent
And glorifies the guilty
He hunts all good men
As a lion hunts the deer
He will tear at your throat
And consume you
He is the Resistor
The Slanderer
He cajoles those who consider his existence
And paints himself in mythical proportions
He would destroy the earth rather than surrender it
Would rather ruin if he cannot rule
Yet the whole world is in his hands
But not forever
Because forever does not belong to him
And not life
For the gift of life is not his to give

On The Great Lawn of my mind,
The city's biggest dance floor,
Upon its cushions, stepping lightly,
The spring breeze, feeling its way,
Making, reawakening, a thousand acquaintances,
Absent parent kissing each long-lost babe-blade of grass

Breeze takes each blade of spring grass:

Cajoles, asks not,
With windy hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes

Breeze makes each one
Neck, caress their neighbor,
A thousand pas de deuces of  
fresh faced green children.
All in all a triumphant processional,
Cloaked in robes of sky blue velvet,
Crowned by the sun's burnt orange kisses.

At the middle school dance,
The walls are portrait painted  
with the shy ones,  
The ones-who-don't-know-how-to-ask.
Passover's children
Needy for a Moses.

Student of the spring breezes,
This silly earnest teacher/chaperone,
Grand-pa-rent will:


Cajole, ask not,
With hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes

Under his tutelage,
Every boy and girl
A dancer, a blade,  
Each a Passenger on the fuselage
Of his Spring Ballroom breeze.

These are my spring rites  
imagined,
Visions of my sight  
unimpaired,
Present and future  
clarified.

Soon we will teach our own  
Little Princes and Princesses,
The shelter of dancing,
Feel the embrace of nature,
Under the mantle of an  
A Capella choir of tree leaves,
We will lie side by side,  
Skyward pointing,
Sharing our spring-sprung imaginings,
Performing each and all  
Upon the breeze to carry away,
For all to gleeful applaud!

scribble something
on the back of an envelope
final demand
credit chaser for that
that cannot be given
laugh and set fire to it
with a cheap bic lighter
ten for a pound
is there any release for winter snow
spring clouds
autumn frowns
summer ***
look at the line of flex
see how it cajoles
and beckons
flecks of spent
diamond
inlaid in her stockings
challenging times
for the anti-hero.

I don't think winter
Was ever meant to be
Who can live when the cold
Freezes your soul?
I want the warmth of the sun
To kiss my skin
I want the delicate flutter of
A butterflys wing against my cheek
But nature plays this cruel trick
On me every September
It cajoles me with red and gold leaves
The shades of amber and burnt orange
Delight my eyes
All the while the leaves are dying
And I will never behold them again
Bare branches will reach up like skeletal arms
Against dull gray clouds
Snow will descend and a hush will fall
Like death, but not quite
And I must wait so long for the first bloom
Of color to push up through the spring snow
Promising the warmth of summer to follow
I don't think winter
Was ever meant to be

I'm not "Religious".
I believe in sin (Wink wink- If you know what I mean)
but I don't believe in religion when it cajoles or demeans.
Yet there is a ray of light in the windows of my dreams.
And it calls to me in a voice at once radiant and dim.

I call it the universe, but were I Religious, I'd call it "Him".

I am not loud, nor do I preach.
I believe in soft voices, and hymns sung only in one's head.
I believe in the reach of silence, broad and inky and welcoming.
I believe in my own inner thoughts and their peace (and too, their dread)
Yet there is a voice that tells me, in words softly said
that sometimes only the loudest sermons truly can teach.

I am non-religious, and I have been for a while.
I believe in dulcet whispers, and the sweet touch of sin.
I believe in Metal Music, and the musical devil within.
Then why, whenever I see someone capitalize "Him"
does my mouth turn up at the corners,
and grant me an unasked, yet welcome smile?

10,000 reasons,
ten thousand years,
A cloud of witnesses,
over head

They are the ones who praise and roar
                                             raise their voices; for you.


Many years before though
one fallen,
lost before the fight was fought
                 thought it right to recruit with doubt.

These are the unseen, not good, and the Unseen not at all bad,
both are armies, only One leader leads;
the other
cajoles, then,
takes his toll, many
a jaw dropping,
eternal soul.

Then you look around you, the landscape,
city, country, mountain, lake open ocean
and outer space, awe and wonder on your face.

Then you look around you, after you text,
talk, and tap your phone, 'buds in your
ears, what you experience replaces your
fears.

Of being alone.

When the dark (one)
closes in,
and pours over you your sin,
and it has been so long you
only want to hide, but you are part of
the Seen world, where is the light switch,
anyway...
the noisy noise,
breaks your poise,
separate

yourself and make time for ...  prayer
"Open my eyes, so I can see"


©DWE062013

Your muse sits on the draining board
Swinging her legs like a child
A quizzical look on her face
As you make yourself a coffee
Eyes follow you round the room,
You haven't spoken in a while

Pen and paper lay where you left them
Since the last time you were inspired
Writing words to shake the world
Simile and metaphor straight from your
Soul, but even though she whispers, nudges
And cajoles, you continue to ignore her

There are other poets in the world
Screaming out for inspiration
Begging for the right word to guide them
Bring them to the ****** of creation
Don't leave the door too long open
She may slip away without you noticing.

The sunlight,
Softly removes the blanket of snow
To awaken earth from winter's sleep.

And the mild breeze
Gently cajoles the cocooned bud
Out of her drowsiness.

Slowly the blossom wakes up,
Stretch towards the unbound sky
And the light drizzle
Freshens her to face the tunes of nature.

A playful butterfly and a bubbly bee
Greets the jubilant flower with great enthusiasm.
In the frame of time and space
Life after life unfolds in spring's loving care!

Curled in a quivering ball,
She holds her lips sealed tight.
Her sole goal is to pass the night
Without utterly losing it all.

Fingers pressed to temples,
Eyes shut with all her might,
She waits for dawn's first light
And begs for it to be gentle.

She begs for Time to have mercy
On her worn and wearied soul.
She pleads, beseeches, and cajoles
For Time to find her worthy.

And when the sun's beams
Breach the womb of dawn,
Her exhausted form looks upon
A new day and a new dream.

Information guarantee
ask and what will be.

In her guidance, moments changed this man and what will be is what?
I am,
surrender,
I give in
She has won,
this tug,
if war is what it be she wins at every thing and today is everything and she wins, she wins,
the game.

I have aces up my sleeve though don't believe I'll use them yet,
She
gets me, understands the foibles that trouble me, cajoles and comes close then she cuddles me,
If it was only up to me
I'd ask for information guarantee from everyone's in this but me,
and
what will be?

3/30/2O23 WRITING
THE WROX OF ATTINGENT ATTRITION WIELDED BY AKINESIA ORBITED AROUND GALERICULATED JARVEYS TO THE PANMIXIA OF BARNSTORM WASES OF BARTONS ENTANGLED IN THE CRUCIBLE OF ERUCIFORM MOTIVES FOR OLIM WALLETEERS AND WALLFISH THAT BREAK THE BRATTICE RANKS OF APARTHEID THAT ABORNING ALPENGLOW SUNSET SAFFRON CAJOLES OF THE WELKIN SCYTHING AGAINST THE PLEROMORPHY OF REDACTED AND REDOUBLED PLEONASM THAT MIGHT BE AN ESCADRILLE ON THE FOREFRONT OF THE CAMARRA OF VENTRILABRAL FEATS OF KNEADED MALAXAGE FOREVER THE SUFFRAGE OF BODACHES ENTANGLED IN SARSENETS OF SERICULTURE. WE WITH RIP VAN WINKLE THORNY IMBROGLIOS OF THE COLLECTIVE AMNESIA CREATED BY SIMULTAGNOSIA WE SPURN THE ANZACTILE FLASHBANGS AGAINST SECTILE DOLDRUMS OF WINTRY SUPPEDANEUM USING THE FAGINS OF SUBACTION THAT THE CLOFFIN OF GEZELLIG TRAMONTANE TO ALL SPECTERS NEVER A BUGABOO OF BODEWASH RINSED IN NIHILISM COULD EVER SURMOUNT WITH THE CARYATIDS OF CHOMAGE AND METEORIC CHOANIDS WE STAND A FIGHTING CHANCE TO REVIVAL AND WITH THE WAPENTAKE OF CONFEDERATE OMPHALISMS WE MIGHT SEE A CLEAVED WORLD DISMAL ON SATURNINE SYCOMANCY BECAUSE THE NEMESISM OF ROILING ROARING ROORBACKS OF CAREFULLY PLUCKY VENOSTASIS MIGHT THE BARRULETS OF HABITUES OF LIONIZATION BE GREATLY ENRICHED BY THE ENLISTMENT OF NOVERNARY MACROPICIDES BECAUSE OF FALTERING STEVEDORES THAT EVENTUALLY THE CURGLAFF BECOMES AN APOTHECARY SENTIMENT OF DELIBERATE POISON TO THE WELLSPRING OF WINTERBOURNE ARCEATED ARMISTICE WITH THICK AND DENSE CURDLED BONNYCLABBER THAT CLOYS THE MUTILATED ETHOS OF THE VANGUARD CORTEGES AND THE CORBELS OF THE SYBOTIC FENNEC AND FIDDLE. WE BLACKGUARD AGAINST RHADAMANTHINE AGENTS DEPLOYED BY SENTINEL TRIBUNES TRYING TO GLITCH THE FUSION OF PARVANIMITY WITH THE CAPABLE BANDELETS OF SPECIOUS SOPHISTRY THAT SCRAWLS INTEMERATION IN EVERY SUBDICOLOUS SWARF OF GRAVID IRONY PREGNANT ONLY BECAUSE OF MIDWIVES TO CIRCUMLOCUTION THAT MOTIVATES THE THRESHING FLOOR TO SEIZE THE FIG TREE AND GALVANIZE THE MUSTARD SEED ECONOMY OF ERUCIFORM DELIGHTS KNOWN FAR BEFOREHAND BY COGNOSCENTI FRAVVERSCRIBBLE BECAUSE OF THE OBLATED NUTATION THAT GOUGES TOO MANY BECAUSE OF THE ZOOSEMIOTICS OF NEKTON TRUCIDATION THAT THE HARVEST OF NYALAS IS NOT IN VAIN FOR ALL OF THE CODSWALLOP THEY DERIDED IN THEIR PERENNIAL FICTIONS AND THEIR BONTBOK PROSELYTIZATION OF MANY SUSCEPTIBLE SURQUEDRIES OF SURDOMUTE MYTHOS SPANKING THE MONKEY UNREEVED BECAUSE OF TURNSTILE PHARMACEUTICAL ROT THAT DISTILLED IN ITS ESSENTIAL CONTORTIONS THE CORDWAINER APPEAL OF CURATIVE NOSOCOMIAL RANCOR TRUCKLING TO HIDDEN EPITHETS BURIED IN ACCOLENT TEMPTATIONS RATHER THAN SUPERSTITIOUS IDEOGENIES THAT BECAME THE BELLWETHERS OF INOCULATION IN AN ERA BESET WITH PLAGUES AND THE BLAINS OF BLUNGED ORTHOPTEROLOGY ZESTY WITH THE ZEAL OF THOUSANDS OF ANGRY ANGARIES FOR THE UMSTROKE OF LABILE LEVERAGE FINESSING THE BARCAROLE SUCH THAT THE INSIGHT OF THE WIVERN OF ANTICTHON MIGHT EVENTUALLY BECOME A DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER PARABLE OF THE RETCHED MISCEGENATION OF OUTCAST MANUFACTURE STRICKLING A FENESTRAL DISGRACE FOR THE JANGADAS OF THE CAMPANILE SEED ****** BY CALUMETS OF THE VEES OF MOULIN ROUGE SCANSORIAL CONDUCT OF THE DEMARCATED DERMATOLOGY OF PATINAS ABOVE THE CIRCULAR REPOSE OF VISIBILIA BECAUSE THE GIAOURS OF SPHACELATION OF GRAMERCY BROWBEATING FOR SPECIOUS RANTIPOLE RANGIFERINE SERROWS OF ESTABLISHED ELITISM ABOVE FUNNELED BURROLES OF BRAINTRUST SUBORNING ALL ALLEGIANCE TO THE GREATEST PINNACLE OF SUBSIDIARY CIVILIZATION THAT IS NEVER INDOLENT AND ALWAYS A REPROACH TO THE WISEST PEOPLE OF WISEACRES WIDELY ENTERTAINED BEYOND VAPULATION IN CATERCORNERED ELITISM. NYALAS ENGINEERED THE BIGGEST SCAM IN THE HISTORY OF NYALA AND THE STULMS OF CORPORATE SABOTAGE DESIGNED BY THE MAJORITARIAN TREACLE OF URBANE BERLINE DERELICTIONS OF PROXEMICS THAT WE MIGHT SEE THE BOLAR STOLONICITY OF CASEMATE BRITSKAS RENDERING THEM EFFETE IN DISEASED MENTICIDE ABOVE CARPAL TUNNEL FORESIGHT OF TWADDLING SCRIPTURE THAT BELONGS TO ROCKSTAR PARLANCE BUOYED BY BRIMBORION BLACKLISTS OF SAMIZDAT BECOMING MORE IMPORTANT TO THE ACT OF BALEFIRE THAN THE PORTREEVES HANDING THE CLAVATE OF GHAWAZI THE CLAVIGEROUS MIGHT OF HANDSPIKE FOR JALEOS AND JARABES OF GREATER TRICOTEES THAN TREACHERIES BECAUSE THE VINTAGE WINDCHEATERS THAT SOARED WITH CORSAIRS MIGHT THEY BE SO PRIVILEGED WITH PREROGATIVES OF SUBLIME EXCHEQUER THAT HOPEFULLY THEY STORGED THEMSELVES ON HEALTHIER DIETS RATHER THAN THE NESH DEBAUCHERIES OF MISERICORDS BECOMING BETHELS OF THE COMPANIONWAY OF LECHERY THAT SCOWLS AT OWLERIES BUT INSTEAD WANTS THE NECROTYPE FOR ROOSTERS BECAUSE OF HEYDAY HATRED RATHER THAN SOCKDOLAGER PROSELYTIZATION TO THE LARGESSE OF PYCNOSTYLE PERSEVERATION. INSTEAD OF ERECTING  STANDPIPES TO THE ILLITERACY OF SEDIGITATED DELUSIONS FED INTO CAMISOLES OF BROCKFACED BRAZEN STRETCHERS FOR THE WALDGRAVES OF WARDCORN EXPERIMENTATION WE FIND THAT THE WINZE THAT LEADS TO THE SYRINX OF ELITISM NOT GUARDED BY ABESSIVE PRIVILEGE WE ENTERTAIN THE STALINESQUE SYSTEM OF PSYCHIATRY TEETOTALING AROUND THE CEREAL KILLER MENTALITY BECAUSE OF A SWARTHY BIAS OF PREGNANT NIGHT AND KNIGHTS TO RULE OVER HEADLESS HORSEMEN TAXIDERMIES BURIED IN THE CLOTURE OF CETACEAN MYTHOS GIRDLING THE CARDIMELECH OF BASELINE PRIDE RATHER THAN CARDIOGNOST UNDERSTANDING THAT NEPHROLITHS OF  STOCKINETTE ARE IN FACT THE BOLSTERED ECONOMETRICS OF SCALING THE TOTEMIC LEVERAGE OF SUBSTRATOSE SOCIETIES IN VARIOUS DIVERGENCES OF IDIOSYNCRATIC ARRAIGNMENT THAT RESULTED IN SUCH A PROFOUND NEUTROSOPHY THAT EXERTS A TUG UPON THE STOKEHOLD SPODOMAN CY AND SPODIUM OF SPECIAL INTERESTS THAT ATTEMPTED TO MAGNETIZE THE MESMERISM OF DEFEATED IDEAS AND IDEOLOGIES MIGHT THEY SURVIVE WITH CATHEXIS FOR THE WASES OF BARNSTORM OF RHEOTAXIS IN WAPENTAKE. THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW HOW SEVERELY THE IVORIDE OF THE IVY LEAGUES AND THE CONSTELLATION OF PEOPLE WITH PERVERSE COMPASSIONS DISCARDING THE EMOTIVISM OF BLUEPETERS TRYING TO EDGE BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES OF IMAGINATION TO FORSIFAMILIATE BECAUSE OF ECCENTRIC PECCADILLO THAT LURCHES AGAINST TIMBERLASK VIRILITY TO ENTRENCH A QUIXOTIC AND QUISQUILOUS MULIEBRITY TO ROUSE THE SEMAPHORE ALARM THAT NO LONGER CAN THE BANDEROLS OF THE SIMPLEST MEN BECOME THE SIRENS FOR EVERY PROTEST RATHER MIGHT THEIR TURGID DISREGARD RENDEM THEM IRRELEVANT BECAUSE ONOLATRIES AND SCRIVELLOS BOTH PANDER TO WICKED WICKS OF THE TABLE OF ALL AFFAIRS THAT EXLEX REALISM IN A PRAGMATIC WORLD OF STUNSAIL SUPERNOVAS DEFEAT THE NOMOGENY OF THE RADICALISM BECOMING MORE RADICAL BY INCULCATION THAT CONSTERNATION IS THE CRUCIBLE OF ARISTOPHREN DISTASTE BUT THE EXCHEQUER OF ELECTORAL CERTAINTY OF PERIBLEBSIS ABOVE CLEARHEADED SIGHT RATHER THAN MYOPIA IN FAMISHED LANDS FATTENING CALVES IN THE PROVIDENCE OF PROWESS THAT MIGHT RESCUE US BEYOND PETTY DELUSIONS THAT WE MUST ENCOUNTER TRIBULOID CNICNODES WITH THE BEST ABDERVINE AFFAIRS RATHER THAN A NOMENCLATURE ELITISM THAT IS SAVVY ONLY WHEN THE ABAFT TURTLEBACK ONLOOKERS OF THE NOYADE APPROACHING FROM MILLIONS OF MILES APART THAT THEY BECOME DISENTHUSED BY THE COMPOSITE SPECTRUM MIGHT THEY TURN INTO DEMOCRATIC SOLFERINOS OR OTHERWISE SOLFERINOS TO BEGIN WITH, THE LACERTILIAN CROTALINE SONDAGE OF DARKNESS IS A KNELL FOR THE DARK RASPY DAYS OF WHERRET AND STULTIFICATION OF GARBOLOGY EVEN WHEN IT REMAINS THE LINCHPIN OF ALL TROPES OF TRUTH FOR TROMOMETERS AND STADIOMETERS THAT UNDERSTAND WANIGANS OF WAINAGE. IN CONCLUSIVE HARBINGER UMBRACIOUS SERVITUDE TO A SUFFRAGE OF SPHECOID LITTORAL EMBANKMENTS THAT RIVULATIONS GUARD ABOVE THE GROUNDPROX MUGIENCE OF BRAYING JACKALS HAUNTING THE JIBOYA FORESTS OF AFFORCED AND ATTEMPERED ATTENUATION THAT RANKLES THE GRAVAMEN OF RANCID HINDSIGHT IN CHRONOPSYCHOLOGY THAT SPRAWLS OUTWARD FROM THE PROVENANCE OF ALL ILLUMINATION THAT THE SORBILE SOURDINE SGRAFFITOS TO THE ELECTORAL REGARD BECOMES A SWANK BEYOND SILKALINE BANGTAIL OSTENTATION THAT NEGAHOLICS AGAINST CRETACEOUS SUFFICIENCY OF THE PALLOR OF ARENTRUM ABOVE BLANKETED WALLFISH WHO SPY ON PISCIFAUNA MIGHT THEIR SENICIDE BECOME THE CAREWORN OPPOSITE TO ALL CAREER TEMPTATIONS FOR GIGMANIA IN A SLOW CARAPACE OF FORAMINATION ABOVE THE RESOFINCULAR DISTORTIONS OF BOLTROPES INGRATIATING THE INSTRUMENTALISM OF DECLINE. WE MUST HEED GOD AND OBEY HIS PROVIDENCE SUCH THAT THE CHEVET OF THE RELIGIOUS ACCLAIM OF GENERATIONS EXPANDS TO BE A DISCIPLESHIP TO ALL WORLD LEADERS IN THE SEDERUNT OF PATIENCE RATHER THAN IMPETUOUS FUROR AGAINST RIDDLED PRAXEOLOGY. IN THE CULMINATION OF ALL AGES WE MUST ENDURE THE SUFFRAGE OF COGNOSCENTI PIRATES MIGHT THEY EMBARK IN OPPOSITIVE SUPPORT FOR THE GRATUITIES THEY SEE THROUGH THE PORTALS OF ABATJOUR THAT SPAWNED MYTH AND MYTH CONQUERED THE TREACLE OF DECEIT BECAUSE OLMS OF THE PAST AND ZEKS OF THE PRESENT DESERVE A BETTER REGARD OF THE CREDENDA. NEUTROSOPHY IS THE BALKANIZATION OF QUIZZICAL IDEAS DERIVED FROM FAULTY COMPASSIONS TO MINORITARIAN BACKPIECES OR ROTUND PROPAGANDA COALESCING PEOPLE BY GIROUETTISM THAT THEY MIGHT BE ENTHUSED BY A WEIRD CISVESTISM AS A BADGE OF HONOR BECAUSE OF LIBIDINAL IMBALANCE AND MANY FORMS OF RADICALISM POLLUTE SOCIETY PRIMARILY BECAUSE ECCENTRIC BOOKWORM PROFESSORS HARDLY THE VICTIMS OF POLYHISTORY OFTEN TRADUCED THE CONTEMPORARY MALAISE AND INVENTED FROM A VACUUM A DERIVATIVE OF WARPED EUHEMERISM THAT MISLEADS MANY ONTO DESOLATE PATHS OF ISOLATION IMMUNE TO THE CONSENSUS OF GENIUS WHICH FLOUTS THOSE SPECIOUS SOPHISTRIES BECAUSE THEY ARE RACKRENTS OF ACADEMIC BANKRUPTCY THAT NEED TO BE ANNEALED OF A REVIVAL OF PEAK MODERNISM IDEOLOGIES BEYOND THE IDIORHYTHMIC PROGRESSION OF TRUCKLING COMPROMISE AND CLOYING TOLERANCE.

The Universe drip feeds me
keeps me being true to myself

Cajoles, encourages, loves
keeps me informed

Where I am on this road
in a personal, intimate, myriad of ways

The Universe drip feeds me
Her child.

Quand tu touches ma tige
Tu ne la touches pas seulement
À proprement parler :
Tu l'aiguises, tu l'affûtes, tu la redessines
Tu adoucis les angles et les courbures
Tu la fais flèche de cathédrale
Juste en la frôlant de tes ailes de fée.
Quand tu touches ma tige
Je ne savoure pas seulement
À proprement parler
Je frémis, je frétille, je pétille de tous mes rhizomes
Je sors de mes entrailles telles des queues de comète
De petits couinements infinis d'années-lumière
Adulterines et incestueuses
Tu m'effleures, tu m'effeuilles
J'enfle, j'enfle, je gonfle
Je vogue entre les galaxies et les îles
Et toi pendant que tu m'electrises
De tous tes cils
De toutes tes tentacules
Pendant que tu me transfigures
Tu me cajoles sans hâte en geignant.
Et dans chaque gémissement
Je crois entendre en playback
"Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland"

I may have never been the light of your life but you were mine. Recently when people voice the word ‘therapy’, it elicits in me a feral sort of anger. It's a routine: rage, panic, and exhaustion.

My mother’s quaint china dishes have found a steady home on my sienna wooden floors. Please understand why I taste acid and rancid flesh when I think of your hazel eyes and strong arms. My Tracy Chapman record echoes monotonously out to me, but the blood simmering in the grooves of my brain fills my ears with a sound that displeases my auditory senses. It sounds like static from a broken radio. The wind howls through the cracks of my windows and sometimes it cajoles the door open. Somehow, my penchant for you never fails to disappoint me as my eyes flit up for the briefest second to see if you've arrived. I use my teacups as wine flutes and my heart as a pincushion, but maybe your broad shoulders and firm chest could shelter me from myself. My desk stands proudly in the corner of the room. Enrobed in dust and half-eaten pizza slices, it stands proof of what you've done to me. Mr. Teddy is taking a nap. His cottony, soft, white insides poke out in tufts from under the patchwork.
Another one bites the dust.

The poison seeps through the gaps in between my teeth and panic swallows me like an ocean. If you want, I would clad your feet in my shoes but I have never been one to chase after something so I cannot fathom how to explain to you why they have holes on their soles, much like my soul. The towel pools at my feet as I feel the heat behind my eyelids start to cool. Exhaustion sweeps over me like a summer breeze. I can hear fast cars as the put me to sleep.
It smells like petrichor; wet earth after the storm.

On this auspicious day of  Her becoming a Republic....

BHARAT MATA DESIRES

Our Bharat Mata, today requests; and Her children cajoles, to truly love Her.

Wondering, from their sleep, their siesta,  indifference, when will they rise n stir !

Ages of attacks n conquests have tired Her, now our solace She seeks.

She asks Her soldiers n leaders to truly love Her; and not become meek.

Awaiting eagerly She is for Her children  to love Her;  waiting for that truly happy morn.

Wishes She another  Gandhi, Shastri, Dadabhoy, Bhagatsingh n Patriots many be  born.

Desires She that correct n clean up they,  all the  mess; all that has sadly gone wrong.

Desires She, that all Her administrator sons, become honest n strong;

That for Her, they, a great name in  the current times earn, is Her burning desire.

Can all the leaders, big n small by their deeds n actions everyone else aspire.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

Make your unwanted advances
- on the ****** predators.
Place an uninvited unmistakable hand
on the casual grazers
the brokers
traders
*** negotiators
anyone who assumes
his entitlement
to sate his primal appetite
by right
anyone who
coaxes
cajoles
coerces
controls
in order to pick away
at a vulnerable soul.
Now's the time to shout
to call him out
and expose him
to unforgiving light
reversing the shame
in bare plain sight.
And there you'll find
you don't have to fight alone.
No, he'll be shown that
you were never on your own
and together
we can show society
that we stand defiantly
claiming the right
for all to live beautifully
free of each and every
pathetic
*** starved bully.
Come out now
and claim your life
and live it truely fully.

light distracts me
the switch that the night brings
cajoles and attracts me,
she knows me too well.

My cell in hell will have pictures
of Bananarama on the walls
and
I'll be climbing them,
(the walls, not Bananarama)

Ideas are like buses in that
you wait for one
and ten come along
at once,

but they're in a muddle and
I struggle to find some design.

I shouldn't ought to
but I thought you
might like a read
on a Saturday and
unlike 'Zenda'
don't need to spend a
life time hid
away.

And there it is in
black on white
trying to write
when the light
distracts me.

"ÇA  PLANE POUR MOI!

You
all that Paris is!

The myth..the magic
the music of being.

Sunlight sifting
through summer leaves.

The dazzled waters
of a morning.

A forgotten orange
on a cobbled street.

Chitter-chatter of
passing Parisians.

A flock of
human birds.

A look-alike Plastic Bertrand
busks Ça Plane Pour Moi!

A crumbling wall shouts
in a strong graffiti voice

"Laisse tomber
c'est pas grave!"

Et dans
Jardin les Tuileries

Madame's tone
scolds and cajoles

"Flick-flac...flick-flac
en dedans en dehors!

Suzanne..sous-sus
sous-sus Suzanne!"

Little children
the puppets of her voice

balance on
their too spindly legs.

Old man lost
in his Tai Chi

grasps sparrow's tail
smiles to his secret self.

These and so much more
grace notes to our loving.

We the present lovers
of lovers gone before

stretching back into time
the ghosts of kisses.

We embody all
that love has been.

I kiss you
in best Bogey style

"At least
we'ill always have

'Ça plane pour moi,
moi, moi, moi, moi,

ça plane pour moi
(Hou-hou-oou-oou!)'


. . .Paris!"

Waiting for a war could be the make up of you
Asking for the style of toasted chips chains and whips
be more you
Yet inside the tunnel of fun the banal seeking mug
is never a deference for seething inside is self forgiveness
The lights you thread states streaking faster
to satellite then to satiate the falling fist
Of all humanity's brutality the devils are well met
as you lay and decompose in sin
The messes made of ginned up country sentiment as if from dignity
Your predilection for face is only simpleton vanity
as always it's what you anchor between you and me
Here this now what now is a force as the flag up the gripping girders
Preened per pound and pasteurized by demi goddess hope here
queens who sing of flesh who're only as an entity that vows
Touch the answers for in the end the people you claim to protect
will dismiss call out and take
The last blade falls and with you all and your likeness adores accredits oh so cajoles

Desperations promises perpetual ingratiations poverties hells