Inconspicuous, his presence noted only by the obscurity and the ever growing number of spent cigarette stubs that littered the ground.  It had been a long day and the rain, relentless in its tenacity had little intention of stopping, baleful clouds still  hung heavy, dominating the lateness of the afternoon sky, a rain laden skyline broken only by smoke filled chimney pots and the tangled snarl of corroded television aerials.

     The once busy street was fast emptying now, the lure of shop windows no longer enticed the casual browser as local traders closed their premises to the oncoming night, solitary lampposts curved hazily into the distance, casting little more than insipid pools mirrored in the gutter below, only the occasional stranger scurrying home on a bleak, rain swept afternoon, the hurried slap of wet leather soles on the pavement, the sightless umbrellas, the infrequent rumble of a half filled bus, hell-bent on its way to oblivion.

     In the near distance as the working day ended, a sudden emergence of factory workers told Beamish it was 5-o'clock, most would be hurrying home to a hot meal, while others, for a quick drink perhaps before making the same old sorry excuse... for Jack, the greasy spoon would be closing about now, denying him the comfort of a badly needed cuppa' and stale cheese sandwich.  A subtle legacy of lunchtime fish and chips still lingered in the air, Jack's stomach rumbled, there was little chance of a fish supper for Beamish tonight, it protested again... louder.

     From beneath the eaves of the building opposite several pigeons broke cover, startled by the rattle as a shopkeeper struggled to close the canvas awning above his shop window.  Narrowly missing Beamish they flew anxiously over the rooftops, memories of the blitz sprang to mind as Jack stepped smartly to one side, he stamped his feet... it dashed a little of the weather from his raincoat, just as the rain dashed a little of the pigeons' anxiety from the pavement... the day couldn't get much worse if it tried.  Shielding his face, Jack struck the Ronson one more time and cupped the freshly lit cigarette between his hands, it was the only source of heat to be had that day... and still it rained.

     'By Appointment to Certain Personages...' the letter heading rang out loudly... 'Jack Beamish ~ Private Investigator...' a throat choking mouthful by any stretch of the imagination, thought Jack and shot every vestige of credulity plummeting straight through the office window and amidst a fanfare of trumpet voluntary, nominate itself for a prodigious award in the New Year Honours list.   Having formally served in a professional capacity for a well known purveyor of pickled condiments, who  incidentally, brandished the same patronage emblazoned upon their extensive range of relish as the one Jack had more recently purloined from them... a paid commission no less, which by Jack's certain understanding had made him, albeit fleeting in nature, a professional consultant of said company... and consequently, if they could flaunt the auspicious emblem, then according to Jack's infallible logic, so could Jack.  

     The recently appropriated letterhead possessed certain distinction... in much the same way, Jack reasoned, that a blank piece of paper did not... and whereas correspondence bearing the heading 'By Appointment' may not exactly strike terror into the hearts of man... unlike a really strong pickled onion, it nevertheless made people think twice before playing him for the fool, which sadly, Jack had to concede, they still invariably did... and he would often catch them wagging an accusing finger or two in his direction with such platitudes as... "watch where you put your foot", they'd whisper, "that Jack's a right Shamus...", and when you'd misplaced your footing as many times as Jack had, then he reasoned, that by default the celebrated Shamus must have landed himself in more piles of indiscretion than he would readily care to admit, but that wouldn't be quite accurate either, in Jack's line of work it was the malefactor that actually dropped him in them more often than not.

     A cold shiver suddenly ran down his spine, another quickly followed as a spurt of icy water from a broken rain spout spattered across the back of his neck, he grimaced... Jack's expression spoke volumes as he took one final pull from his half soaked cigarette and flicked it, amid an eruption of sparks against the adjacent brick wall.  Sinking further into the shadow he tipped his fedora against the oncoming rain, then, digging both hands deep within his pockets, he huddled behind the upturned collar of his gabardine... watching.

     It was times such as these when Jack's mind would slip back, in much the same way you might slip back on a discarded banana peel, when a matter of some consequence, or in particular this case the pavement, would suddenly leap up from behind and give the back of Jack's head a resoundingly good slapping and tell him to "stop loafing around in office hours... or else", then drag him, albeit kicking and screaming back into the 20th century.  This intellectual assault and battery re-focused Jack's mind wonderfully as he whiled away the long weary hours until his next cigarette; cup of tea, or the last bus home, his capacity to endure such mind boggling tedium called for nothing less than sheer ******-mindedness and very little else... Beamish had long suspected that he possessed all the necessary qualifications.  

     Jack had come a long way since the early days, it had been a long haul but he'd finally arrived there in the end... and managed to pick up quite a few ***** looks along the way.  Whilst he was with the Police Constabulary... and it was only fair to stress the word 'with', as opposed to the word 'in'... although the more Jack considered, he had been 'with' the arresting officer, held 'in' the local Bridewell... detained at Her Majesties pleasure while assisting the boys in blue with their enquiries over a minor infringement of some local by-law that currently had quite slipped his mind at that moment.  Throughout this enforced leisure period he'd managed to read the entire abridged editions of Kilroy and other expansive works of graffiti exhibited in what passed locally as the next best thing to the Tate Gallery, whereupon it hadn't taken Jack very long to realise that it was always a good place to start if you wanted free breakfast, in fact the weeks bill of fare was tastefully displayed in vivid, polychromatic colour on the wall opposite... you just had to be au-fait with braille.
                            
     No matter how industrious Beamish laboured to rake the dirt there always appeared to be a dire shortage of gullible clients for Jack to squeeze, what would roughly translate as an honest crust out of, and although his financial retainer was highly competitive he understood that potential clients found it bewildering when grappling with the unplumbed depths of his monthly expense account, which would tend to fluctuate with the same unpredictability as the British weather, the rest of Jack's agenda revolved around a little shady moonlighting... in fact he'd happily consider anything to offset the remotest possibility of financial delinquency... short of extortion... which by the strangest twist was the very word prospective clients would cry while Jack beavered around the office with dust-pan and brush sweeping any concerns they may have had frantically under the carpet regarding all culpability of his extra-curricular monthly stipend... and they should remain assured at all times... as they dug deep and fished for their cheque books, and simply look upon it as kneading dough, which eerily enough was exactly the thick wedge of buttered granary that Jack had every intention of carving.

     Were there ever the slightest possibility that a day could be so utterly wretched, then today was that day, Jack felt a certain empathy as he merged with his surroundings... at one with nature as it were.  The rain, a timpani on the metal dustbin lids, by the side of which Beamish had taken up vigil, also taking up vigil and in search of a morsel was the stray mongrel, this was the third time now that he'd returned, the same apprehensive wag, yet still the same hopeful look of expectation in his eyes, a brief but friendly companion who paid more attention to Jack's left trouser leg than anything that could be had from nosing around the dustbins that day... some days you're the dog, scowled Beamish as he shook his trouser leg... and some days the lamppost, Jack's foot swung out playfully, keeping his new friend's incontinence at a safe distance, feigning indignance  the scruffy mongrel shook himself defiantly from nose to tail, a distinct odour of wet dog filled the air as an abundance of spent rainwater flew in all directions.   Pricking one ear he looked accusingly at Jack before turning and snuffled off, his nose resolutely to the pavement and diligently, picking out the few diluted scents still remaining, the poor little stalwart renewed its search for scraps, or making his way perhaps to some dry seclusion known only to itself.
  
     Two hours later and... SPLOSH, a puddle poured itself through the front door of the nearest Public House... SPLOSH, the puddle squelched over to the payphone... SPLOSH, then, fumbling for small change dialled and pressed button 'A'..., then button 'B'... then started all over again amid a flurry of precipitation... SPLASH.  The puddle floundered to the bar and ordered itself a drink, then ebbed back to the payphone again... the local taxi company doggedly refused to answer... finally, wallowing over to the window the puddle drifted up against a warm radiator amidst a cloud of humidity and came to rest... flotsam, cast upon the shore of contentment, the puddle sighed contentedly... the Landlady watched this anomaly... suspiciously.

     The puddle's finely tuned perception soon got to grips with the unhurried banter and muffled gossip drifting along the bar, having little else to loose, other than what could still be wrung from his clothing... Beamish, working on the principle that a little eavesdropping was his stock-in-trade engaged instinct into overdrive and casually rippled in their general direction...  They were clearly regulars by the way one of them belched in a well rehearsed, taken-a-back sort of way as Jack took stock of the situation and was now at some pains to ingratiate himself into their exclusive midst and attempt several friendly, yet relevant questions pertinent to his enquiries... all of which were skillfully deflected with more than friendly, yet totally irrelevant answers pertinent to theirs'... and would Jack care for a game of dominoes', they enquired... if so, would he be good enough to pay the refundable deposit, as by common consent it just so happened to be his turn...  Jack graciously declined this generous offer, as the obliging Landlady, just as graciously, cancelled the one shilling returnable deposit from the cash register, such was the flow of light conversation that evening... they didn't call him Lucky Jack for nothing... discouraged, Beamish turned back to the bar and reached for his glass... to which one of his recent companions, and yet again just as graciously, had taken the trouble to drink for him... the Landlady gave Jack a knowing look, Beamish returned the heartfelt sentiment and ordered one more pint.

     From the licenced premises opposite, a myriad of jostling customers plied through the door, business was picking up... the sudden influx of punters rapidly persuaded Beamish to retire from the bar and find a vacant table.  Sitting, he removed several discarded crisp packets from the centre of the table only to discover a freshly vacated ashtray below... by sleight of hand Jack's Ronson appeared... as he lit the cigarette the fragile smoke curled blue as it rose... influenced by subtle caprice, it joined others and formed a horizontal curtain dividing the room, a delicate, undulating layer held between two conflicting forces.

     The possibility of a free drink soon attracted the attention of a local bar fly, who, hovering in the near vicinity promptly landed in Jack's beer, Beamish declined this generous offer as being far too nutritious and with the corner of yesterdays beer mat, flipped the offending organism from the top of his glass, carefully inspecting his drink for debris as he did so.

     A sudden draught and clip of stiletto heels as the side door opened caused Beamish to turn as a double shadow slipped discreetly into the friendly Snug... a little adulterous intimacy on an otherwise cheerless evening.  The faceless man, concealed beneath a fedora and the upturned collar of his overcoat, the surreptitious lady friend, decked out in damp cony, cheap perfume and a surfeit of bling proclaimed a not too infrequent assignation, he'd seen it all before... the over attentive manner and the band of white, Sun-starved skin recently hidden behind a now absent wedding token, ordinarily it was the sort of assignment Jack didn't much care for... the discreet tail, the candid snapshot through half drawn curtains... and the all too familiar steak tartare... for the all too familiar black eye.

     To the untrained eye, the prospect of Jack's long anticipated supper was rapidly dwindling, when it suddenly focused with renewed vigour upon the contents of a pickled egg jar he'd observed earlier that evening, lurking on the back counter, his enthusiasm swiftly diminished however as the belching customer procured the final two specimens from the jar and proceeded to demolish them.  Who, Jack reflected, after being stood out in the rain all day, had egg all over his face now... and who, he reflected deeper, still had an empty stomach.  Disillusioned, Jack tipped back his glass and considered a further sortie with the taxicab company.

     "FIVE-BOB"!!! Jack screamed... you could have shredded the air with a cheese grater... hurtling into the kerb like a fairground attraction came flying past the chequered flag at a record breaking 99 in Jack's top 100 most not wanted list of things to do that day... and that the cabby should think himself fortunate they weren't both stretched flat on a marble slab, "exploding tyres" Jack spluttered, dribbling down his chin, were enough to give anyone a coronary... further broadsides of neurotic ambiance filled the cab as the driver, miffed at the prospect of missing snooker night out with the lads, considered charging extra for the additional space Jack's profanity was taking...

     And what part of 'Drive-Carefully', fumed Beamish, did the cabby simply not understand, that pavements were there to be bypassed, 'Nay Circumvented', preferably on the left... and not veered into, wildly on the front axle... an eerie premonition of 'jemais-vu' perched and ready to strike like a disembodied Jiminy Cricket on Jack's left shoulder, looking to stick its own two-penny worth in at the 'Standing-Room-Only' arrangements in the overcrowded cab... and at what further point, Jack shrieked, eyes leaping from his head as he lurched forward, shaking his fist through the sliding glass partition, had the cabbie failed to grasp the importance of the word 'Steering-Wheel...' someone wanted horse whipping, and as far as Beamish was concerned the sole contender was the cab driver...

     In having a somewhat sedate and unruffled disposition it had fallen to Beamish... as befalls all great leaders in times of adversity, to single handedly take the bull by the horns, so to speak and at great personal cost, alert the unwary passing motorist...  Waving his arms about like a man possessed whilst performing acrobatic evolutions in the centre of the road as the cabby changed the wheel came whizzing around the corner at a back breaking 98 on Jack's ever growing list... and why, Jack puzzled, why had they all lowered their side windows and gestured back at him in semaphore..?  Rallying to its aid, Jack's head and shoulders now joined his shaking fist through the sliding glass partition and into the cabby's face, "Who" Beamish screeched with renewed vigour ,"Who Was The Man", Jack wanted to know... *"a

Cancelled
For being too keen
For saying
I like you
Too loudly
It seems a shame
But then...
Maybe I was a little full on...
Like maybe what was heard was
"I need you!"
Not "I like you"
So maybe what i was actually saying was
"Save me,
From my lonliness!"
"Complete me,
Let me hang off your brilliance
and raise me from my inadequacy"
Which to be fair is kind of creepy
And well not who I want to be anyway...
So if I wasn't cancelled by someone for being like that...
If that vibe floated their boat
I'd probably have to cancel.them anyway.
So the final score
One all.

I am sorry to announce that due to intermittent
thick cloud cover,
(I am so a lover
of meteor showers) our viewing is cancelled,
no wait is that
a clearing in the sky the deep blue colour and
are those stars
not near but afar, nope, just some plane, making
for Bellingham or Blaine, might
as well be Spain.

Shower me with flowers. (no thorns please)
Shower me with (dark)chocolate.
Shower me with meteors.
                                           No not me personally.
What lights their tales
What makes their beards
  Flame...to warm my heart
I know the physics, astro-too
Does it affect me, like it affects you
Just one hour of a meteor shower
I'll be good for another year of power,
like one super hero (or ONE with a super lot of zeroes, after)
We can hold an after meteor party at my place and
your all invited and I will put your names on the
guest list, now we can't now we won't there is no
shower here this night
clouds shield my sight
they are like a blight
on the fruit
that I toiled
for a year,
readied my
sleep cycle,
pruned back
tree tops to
see the horizon,
set up lines
of sight to
track their
paths this night
across the heavens
but now I will
go to bed,
if you show
up to a dark
house, I am
sorry in advance
as I said sadly at
the start the
show is cancelled
and for my part
I will try again
tomorrow night!

PROLOGUE
               Hyde Park weekend of politics and pop,
Geldof’s gang of divas and mad hatters;
Sergeant Pepper only one heart beating,
resurrected by a once dead Beatle.
The ******, Queen and Irish juggernauts;
The Entertainer and dead bands
re-jigged for the sake of humanity.
   The almighty single named entities
all out for Africa and people power.
Olympics in the bag, a Waterloo
of celebrations in the street that night
Leaping and whooping in sheer delight
Nelson rocking in Trafalgar Square
The promised computer wonderlands
rising from the poisoned dead heart wasteland;
derelict, deserted, still festering.
The Brave Tomorrow in a world of hate.
The flame will be lit, magic rings aloft
and harmony will be our middle name.

On the seventh day of the seventh month,
Festival of the skilful Weaving girl;
the ‘war on terror’ just a tattered trope
drained and exhausted and put out of sight
in a dark corner of a darker shelf.
A power surge the first lie of the day.
Savagely woken from our pleasant dream
al Qa’ida opens up a new franchise
and a new frontier for terror to prowl.

               Howling sirens shatter morning’s progress
Hysterical screech of ambulances
and police cars trying to grip the road.
The oppressive drone of helicopters
gathering like the Furies in the sky;
Blair’s hubris is acknowledged by the gods.
Without warning the deadly game begins.

The Leviathan state machinery,
certain of its strength and authority,
with sheer balletic co-ordination,
steadies itself for a fine performance.
The new citizen army in ‘day glow’
take up their ‘Support Official’ roles,
like air raid wardens in the last big show;
feisty  yet firm, delivering every line
deep voiced and clearly to the whole theatre.
On cue, the Police fan out through Bloomsbury
clearing every emergency exit,
arresting and handcuffing surly streets,
locking down this ancient river city.
Fetching in fluorescent green costuming,
the old Bill nimbly Tangos and Foxtrots
the airways, Oscar, Charlie and Yankee
quickly reply with grid reference Echo;
Whiskey, Sierra, Quebec, November,
beam out from New Scotland Yard,
staccato, nearly lost in static space.
      
              LIVERPOOL STREET STATION
8.51 a.m. Circle Line

Shehezad Tanweer was born in England.
A migrant’s child of hope and better life,
dreaming of his future from his birth.
Only twenty two short years on this earth.
In a madrassah, Lahore, Pakistan,
he spent twelve weeks reading and rote learning
verses chosen from the sacred text.
Chanting the syllables, hour after hour,
swaying back and forth with the word rhythm,
like an underground train rocking the rails,
as it weaves its way beneath the world,
in turning tunnels in the dead of night.

Teve Talevski had a meeting
across the river, he knew he’d be late.
**** trains they do it to you every time.
But something odd happened while he waited
A taut-limbed young woman sashayed past him
in a forget-me-not blue dress of silk.
She rustled on the platform as she turned.
She turned to him and smiled, and he smiled back.
Stale tunnel air pushed along in the rush
of the train arriving in the station.
He found a seat and watched her from afar.
Opened his paper for distraction’s sake
Olympic win exciting like the smile.

Train heading southwest under Whitechapel.
Deafening blast, rushing sound blast, bright flash
of golden light, flying glass and debris
Twisted people thrown to ground, darkness;
the dreadful silent second in blackness.
The stench of human flesh and gunpowder,
burning rubber and fiery acrid smoke.
Screaming bone bare pain, blood-drenched tearing pain.
Pitiful weeping, begging for a god
to come, someone to come, and help them out.

Teve pushes off a dead weighted man.
He stands unsteady trying to balance.
Railway staff with torches, moving spotlights
**** and jolt, catching still life scenery,
lighting the exit in gloomy dimness.
They file down the track to Aldgate Station,
Teve passes the sardine can carriage
torn apart by a fierce hungry giant.
Through the dust, four lifeless bodies take shape
and disappear again in drifting smoke.
It’s only later, when safe above ground,
Teve looks around and starts to wonder
where his blue epiphany girl has gone.

                 KINGS CROSS STATION
8.56 a.m. Piccadilly Line

Many named Lyndsey Germaine, Jamaican,
living with his wife and child in Aylesbury,
laying low, never visited the Mosque.   
                Buckinghamshire bomber known as Jamal,
clean shaven, wearing normal western clothes,
annoyed his neighbours with loud music.
Samantha-wife converted and renamed,
Sherafiyah and took to wearing black.
Devout in that jet black shalmar kameez.
Loving father cradled close his daughter
Caressed her cheek and held her tiny hand
He wondered what the future held for her.

Station of the lost and homeless people,
where you can buy anything at a price.
A place where a face can be lost forever;
where the future’s as real as faded dreams.
Below the mainline trains, deep underground
Piccadilly lines cross the River Thames
Cram-packed, shoulder to shoulder and standing,
the train heading southward for Russell Square,
barely pulls away from Kings Cross Station,
when Arash Kazerouni hears the bang,
‘Almighty bang’ before everything stopped.
Twenty six hearts stopped beating that moment.
But glass flew apart in a shattering wave,
followed by a  huge whoosh of smoky soot.
Panic raced down the line with ice fingers
touching and tagging the living with fear.
Spine chiller blanching faces white with shock.

Gracia Hormigos, a housekeeper,
thought, I am being electrocuted.
Her body was shaking, it seemed her mind
was in free fall, no safety cord to pull,
just disconnected, so she looked around,
saw the man next to her had no right leg,
a shattered shard of bone and gouts of  blood,
Where was the rest of his leg and his foot ?

Level headed ones with serious voices
spoke over the screaming and the sobbing;
Titanic lifeboat voices giving orders;
Iceberg cool voices of reassurance;
We’re stoical British bulldog voices
that organize the mayhem and chaos
into meaty chunks of jobs to be done.
Clear air required - break the windows now;
Lines could be live - so we stay where we are;
Help will be here shortly - try to stay calm.

John, Mark and Emma introduce themselves
They never usually speak underground,
averting your gaze, tube train etiquette.
Disaster has its opportunities;
Try the new mobile, take a photograph;
Ring your Mum and Dad, ****** battery’s flat;
My network’s down; my phone light’s still working
Useful to see the way, step carefully.

   Fiona asks, ‘Am I dreaming all this?’
A shrieking man answers her, “I’m dying!”
Hammered glass finally breaks, fresher air;
too late for the man in the front carriage.
London Transport staff in yellow jackets
start an orderly evacuation
The mobile phones held up to light the way.
Only nineteen minutes in a lifetime.
  
EDGEWARE ROAD STATION
9.17 a.m. Circle Line

               Mohammed Sadique Khan, the oldest one.
Perhaps the leader, at least a mentor.
Yorkshire man born, married with a daughter
Gently spoken man, endlessly patient,
worked in the Hamara, Lodge Lane, Leeds,
Council-funded, multi-faith youth Centre;
and the local Primary school, in Beeston.
No-one could believe this of  Mr Khan;
well educated, caring and very kind
Where did he hide his secret other life  ?

Wise enough to wait for the second train.
Two for the price of one, a real bargain.
Westbound second carriage is blown away,
a commuter blasted from the platform,
hurled under the wheels of the east bound train.
Moon Crater holes, the walls pitted and pocked;
a sparse dark-side landscape with black, black air.
The ripped and shredded metal bursts free
like a surprising party popper;
Steel curlicues corkscrew through wood and glass.
Mass is made atomic in the closed space.
Roasting meat and Auschwitzed cremation stench
saturates the already murky air.              
Our human kindling feeds the greedy fire;
Heads alight like medieval torches;
Fiery liquid skin drops from the faceless;
Punk afro hair is cauterised and singed.  
Heat intensity, like a wayward iron,
scorches clothes, fuses fibres together.
Seven people escape this inferno;
many die in later days, badly burned,
and everyone there will live a scarred life.

               TAVISTOCK ROAD
9.47 a.m. Number 30 Bus  

Hasib Hussain migrant son, English born
barely an adult, loved by his mother;
reported him missing later that night.
Police typed his description in the file
and matched his clothes to fragments from the scene.
A hapless victim or vicious bomber ?
Child of the ‘Ummah’ waging deadly war.
Seventy two black eyed virgins waiting
in jihadist paradise just for you.

Red double-decker bus, number thirty,
going from Hackney Wick to Marble Arch;
stuck in traffic, diversions everywhere.
Driver pulls up next to a tree lined square;
the Parking Inspector, Ade Soji,
tells the driver he’s in Tavistock Road,
British Museum nearby and the Square.
A place of peace and quiet reflection;
the sad history of war is remembered;
symbols to make us never forget death;
Cherry Tree from Hiroshima, Japan;
Holocaust Memorial for Jewish dead;
sturdy statue of  Mahatma Gandhi.
Peaceful resistance that drove the Lion out.
Freedom for India but death for him.

Sudden sonic boom, bus roof tears apart,
seats erupt with volcanic force upward,
hot larva of blood and tissue rains down.
Bloodied road becomes a charnel-house scene;
disembodied limbs among the wreckage,
headless corpses; sinews, muscles and bone.
Buildings spattered and smeared with human paint
Impressionist daubs, blood red like the bus.

Jasmine Gardiner, running late for work;
all trains were cancelled from Euston Station;  
she headed for the square, to catch the bus.
It drove straight past her standing at the stop;
before she could curse aloud - Kaboom !
Instinctively she ran, ran for her life.
Umbrella shield from the shower of gore.

On the lower deck, two Aussies squeezed in;
Catherine Klestov was standing in the aisle,
floored by the bomb, suffered cuts and bruises
She limped to Islington two days later.
Louise Barry was reading the paper,
she was ‘****-scared’ by the explosion;
she crawled out of the remnants of the bus,
broken and burned, she lay flat on the road,
the world of sound had gone, ear drums had burst;
she lay there drowsy, quiet, looking up
and amazingly the sky was still there.

Sam Ly, Vietnamese Australian,
One of the boat people once welcomed here.
A refugee, held in his mother’s arms,
she died of cancer, before he was three.
Hi Ly struggled to raise his son alone;
a tough life, inner city high rise flats.
Education the smart migrant’s revenge,
Monash Uni and an IT degree.
Lucky Sam, perfect job of a lifetime;
in London, with his one love, Mandy Ha,
Life going great until that fateful day;
on the seventh day of the seventh month,
Festival of the skilful Weaving girl.

Three other Aussies on that ****** bus;
no serious physical injuries,
Sam’s luck ran out, in choosing where to sit.
His neck was broken, could not breath alone;
his head smashed and crushed, fractured bones and burns
Wrapped in a cocoon of coma safe
This broken figure lying on white sheets
in an English Intensive Care Unit
did not seem like Hi Ly’s beloved son;
but he sat by Sam’s bed in disbelief,
seven days and seven nights of struggle,
until the final hour, when it was done.

In the pit of our stomach we all knew,
but we kept on deep breathing and hoping
this nauseous reality would pass.
The weary inevitability
of horrific disasters such as these.
Strangely familiar like an old newsreel
Black and white, it happened long ago.
But its happening now right before our eyes
satellite pictures beam and bounce the globe.
Twelve thousand miles we watch the story
Plot unfolds rapidly, chapters emerge
We know the places names of this narrative.
  
It is all subterranean, hidden
from the curious, voyeuristic gaze,
Until the icon bus, we are hopeful
This public spectacle is above ground
We can see the force that mangled the bus,
fury that tore people apart limb by limb
Now we can imagine a bomb below,
far below, people trapped, fiery hell;
fighting to breathe each breath in tunnelled tombs.

Herded from the blast they are strangely calm,
obedient, shuffling this way and that.
Blood-streaked, sooty and dishevelled they come.
Out from the choking darkness far below
Dazzled by the brightness of the morning
of a day they feared might be their last.
They have breathed deeply of Kurtz’s horror.
Sights and sounds unimaginable before
will haunt their waking hours for many years;
a lifetime of nightmares in the making.
They trudge like weary soldiers from the Somme
already see the world with older eyes.

On the surface, they find a world where life
simply goes on as before, unmindful.
Cyclist couriers still defy road laws,
sprint racing again in Le Tour de France;
beer-gutted, real men are loading lorries;
lunch time sandwiches are made as usual,
sold and eaten at desks and in the street.
Roadside cafes sell lots of hot sweet tea.
The Umbrella stand soon does brisk business.
Sign writers' hands, still steady, paint the sign.
The summer blooms are watered in the park.
A ***** stretches on the bench and wakes up,
he folds and stows his newspaper blankets;
mouth dry,  he sips water at the fountain.
A lady scoops up her black poodle’s ****.
A young couple argues over nothing.
Betting shops are full of people losing
money and dreaming of a trifecta.
Martin’s still smoking despite the patches.
There’s a rush on Brandy in nearby pubs
Retired gardener dead heads his flowers
and picks a lettuce for the evening meal

Fifty six minutes from start to finish.
Perfectly orchestrated performance.
Rush hour co-ordination excellent.
Maximum devastation was ensured.
Cruel, merciless killing so coldly done.
Fine detail in the maiming and damage.

A REVIEW

Well activated practical response.
Rehearsals really paid off on the day.
Brilliant touch with bus transport for victims;
Space blankets well deployed for shock effect;
Dramatic improv by Paramedics;
Nurses, medicos and casualty staff
showed great technical E.R. Skills - Bravo !
Plenty of pizzazz and dash as always
from the nifty, London Ambo drivers;
Old fashioned know-how from the Fire fighters
in hosing down the fireworks underground.
Dangerous rescues were undertaken,
accomplished with buckets of common sense.
And what can one say about those Bobbies,
jolly good show, the lips unquivering
and universally stiff, no mean feat
in this Premiere season tear-jerker.
Nail-bitingly brittle, but a smash-hit
Poignant misery and stoic suffering,
fortitude, forbearance and lots of grit
Altogether was quite tickety boo.



NOTES ON THE POEM

Liverpool Street Station

A Circle Line train from Moorgate with six carriages and a capacity of 1272 passengers [ 192 seated; 1080 standing]. 7 dead on the first day.

Southbound, destination Aldgate. Explosion occurs midway between Liverpool Street and Aldgate.

Shehezad Tanweer was reported to have ‘never been political’ by a friend who played cricket with him 10 days before the bombing

Teve Talevski is a real person and I have elaborated a little on reports in the press. He runs a coffee shop in North London.

At the time of writing the fate of the blue dress lady is not known

Kings Cross Station

A Piccadilly Line train with six carriages and a capacity of 1238 passengers [272 seated; 966 standing]. 21 dead on first day.

Southbound, destination Russell Square. Explosion occurs mi

Cancelled...
Final...
The End....
Unless
of course,
your'e in
Syndication.

I like slandering your makeshift forceps.
I hammer you down with watery *** and then spill

the remainder on the couch. Yarg! A diamond’s
worth at least a small intestine, and you

are worth whatever’s left over after night
has upended itself, poured sideways out of its

shellacked crawlspace, and turned the basement sour.
There are remnants of you in the park,

some red stain by the baseball field where,
if you’ll remember, you watched little leaguers

build teamwork, and faint splotches on tree bark
from your lactations which, if you’ll remember, happened

every morning. I whisper your godforsaken name
and am slapped in the head. The children cry

when I smile. I cry when the children smile. Good
heavens. I forbid you from not entering my corridor,

even as I set up a barricade. I like my water scalding,
my passion chilled, and I like you in easy-to-

swallow doses. I like you in my eggs.
Ditto the faucet, keyboard, the occasional lily,

but do not mess with my pearls. I mumble of apodictic
meadows while I sleep. What can I say?

I do not mumble of unclogging your bathtub,
which has a certain foul repute, and has grown

heavy and ugly with your hair, which is everywhere,
just as you are everywhere, and wherever, and so

******* hidden it’s not funny anymore, we stopped
looking some millennia ago, after scouring the drainpipes,

kicking down your doors, dissecting your mattress,
speculating about your burial site, etcetera, and even so

we have not been really looking all this time, have we,
just blaring your name through the speakers,

putting wrong numbers on our calling cards, leaving
uncooked meat out on the back porch as if you were

a raccoon, oh, or a lion, which you are not, or not
quite, though, as the books say, you have honey

in your stomach, and if you could but be
ripped open we would taste and see.

Isn't it weird how one bad comment can overcome several good comments?
Isn't it weird that it's easier to feel bad about yourself than feeling good about yourself?
Isn't it weird how evil can be acomplished faster than the good?
Isnt it weird that we live in such an intricate world, where the negativity always outcomes the positivity, because no good is left, when the bad often lets you down.

Alike charges repel, opposite charges attract. This was our philosophy  in dealing with the atoms in our world. But what about our world? How come all the positivity and the negativity in the world in all of their different forms,  , as they cancel each other, get the world cancelled along?

Corona Virus Poems

 
Index
The virus from hell is amused
End of the World
Every Day I Turn on the New
Irony Meters Blow Gaskets
Chaos
Corona Virus Fears Tanka
My Phobias Overwhelm Me
Fear Fills the Air
Is this the best we can get?
More Trouble Every Day
by pass the alarms spreading across the land
corona cinqku
Taking a Walk in the Corona Era
A lone man stands in an empty parking lot
hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelled
The Virus King Cried
Bring out your dead
the Virus Came From Hell
The Delivery System of the Virus is Round
the corona virus is testing us all
the call goes out
the horsemen begin to ride
nature spirits revolts against humanity
Last Human on Island
Corona Virus Haiku
the virus came from hell
bring out your dead cries
Be Afraid  haiku
Death Comes Knocking
the virus from Hell haiku

 

the Virus from Hell is amused
the Virus from Hell is amused
laughing at the world’s panicked reaction
as it marches through the world unabated
infecting everyone in its wake
as the world awaits its fate
the virus smiles he ain’t no fake
he is the real deal
he is death itself
he is the end of the world
the grim reaper is smiling
god is silent as usual
the world’s leaders
dither and rather
as the economy craters
everyone hoping that God
will save them
the virus does not care
insults and orders do not work
the virus simply does its virus thing
infecting everyone it encounters
and thousands will die
equal opportunity offender
killing the rich and the poor alike
but more poor people
just so many more poor people
than the few billionaires
the virus smile
his work is done
and mankind is doomed
so be it the virus thinks




that is the way of the world
and the virus is the new king
of the world
 
End of the World
end of world
the fears world-wide
soon find us dead
bring out the dead
ll the dead die
death lies here there
there goes here
as death here comes
soon here death comes
 

Every Day I Turn on the News
debunking the bioweaapon conspiracy theories
every day I turn on the news
nothing but news about the virus
the virus from hell
the world is filled with fear
and my anxiety levels rise
every time I turn on the news
oh my god I say
we are all going to die
and I am so afraid
afraid of everyone
afraid of everything
dreading the latest news
and nothing relieves my fear
I watch the world
loosing its collective mind
wondering how much more of this
can  we all take
I scream out
Dear God save us all
god is silent as usual
and so I realized
we are doomed
perhaps it is the end times
perhaps not
I turn off the TV
try to stay calm
hoping the madness
will not overwhelm us all

 
Irony Meters Blow Gaskets
the Irony meter gasket
is blown again and again
with every statement
of our chaos president
and his endless surrogates
promoting the latest Presidential
on spot guidance by our great leader
that must be true
because our dear leader
says it is so
The President accuses his democratic rival
of being senile and needs to be in home
and will be run by his radical left allies
and the right wing media
echoes the presidential absurd comments
refusing to acknowledge
that the president himself
is rapidly fading into dementia
and his radical right cronies
are looting the government
driving out expertise
even in the midst of pandemic
Oh  yeah the irony meters
are blowing gaskets
every single day
 
Chaos
the world descends into chaos
as our world leaders
led by the chaos president
are overwhelmed
by the smallest
enemy of all
a simple virus
straight out of hell
blows through the crumbling
third world public health infrastructure
living proof of the decline of America
and no one is prepared
and panic ensures
with every Presidential tweet
as people don’t believe
a word he says
conspiracy rumors spread
everyone believes their own reality
as the world spins out of control
the chaos king is in his element
convince that only he knows
the deal
and everyone else
is iust a bit player
in the reality show
that he presides over
and so the rest of us
hunker down
just hoping for the best
as the panic and
chaos spreads faster
than the virus
are we doomed
can we survive
will God save us?
he is silent as always
 
Corona Virus Fears Tanka
Corona virus
lurking fears all around me
we all will die
the TV screaming nonstop
Must be afraid be afraid
 
My Phobias Overwhelm Me
lately I have become scared
of everything
the news scares me, the corona virus scares me, the presidential race scares me, fears of gun men in the street, terrorism, fears of getting sick, fears of dogs, fears of other people, fear of loosing money, fears of becoming demented old man, lost in his nightmares on the street just another invisible homeless *** in the end of his life
all these phobias overwhelm me
time to walk away from my fears
and realize
it will be alright
everything will be alright
As long as I have you
by my side
 
Fear Fills the Air

watching the news
CNNMSNBCFOXBBCKOREANNEWSJAPANESENEWSBLOOMBERABCCBSNBCGOOGLEA­PPLEREUTERSAPIRUSSIANTVCHINESTVFRENCHTV
blather on and on
the world is ending
pandemic is coming
we are going to die
and the fear grows
and the restrictions grow
travel comes to stop
the economy comes to  a stop
everyone is so afraid
our leaders fret
say that everything is fine
as the world enters
the second great depression
and we are faced
with the reality
all over the world
idiots in high places
the masters of the universe
are in charge
the internet spreads
the wildest rumors
must be true
I read it on the internet
the truth is lost
in the shuffle
no one believes anyone
everything thinks
that they know
it is all a conspiracy
the thought comes to mind
we are all so ’S….
end of the world
is upon us
 
is this the best we can get?
watching the news
one wonders
how in this great country
of ours
335 million people
among the most educated
richest people in the world
we can end up
with such idiots in high places
running out country?
these idiots in charge
no disrespect intended
both political parties
all corporations
and our institutions
except maybe the military
has been infected
by this virus
of epic incompetence
greed and indifference
to the general good
who loudly constantly proclaim
that they are Christians
while violating
all of Christ's teachings
Jesus if he came back
would scream out
I am not Christian
it is all about me
and mine
and you can go
to hell
if you dare to disagree
and so we tweet and titter
and watch the news
reading the latest rumors
and I wonder
if there is a god
or if there is a devil
and are we overwhelmed
by the dismal news
why can’t we have better
leaders
better people
in our leaders
around the world
has god abandoned us
are we in hell
or did god ever exist
except in our fevered imagination
will god save us all
or will the world
just go around the sun
indifferent to our pleas?
no answer
must watch the news
consumed by the need
to see the latest news
and so it goes
and I wake up
the sun is up
and the nightmares
fade away
until I watch the news
and the madness consumes
us all again and again
as the corona virus
marches on and on
consuming us all
as the world falls apart
these must be the end times
I hope I will be raptured away
even if I am not a Christian

More Trouble Every Day
The Old Zappa song plays
on in my head
every time I turn on the news
and see more trouble every day
no one can delay
the trouble coming every day
Frank Zappa died too soon
before the horrors of the Trump era
and the corona end of the world plague
that he would have foreseen
if he had lived on
he was truly a prophet
crying in the wildness
while making money
as an over night sensation
as he saw the slime
oozing out of the TV sets
we will do what we are told
for the rights to us have been sold
And Jesus too
has been sold
to the highest bidder
nothing but a business deal
in America
the land of the constant deal
and so I turn off the TV
and realize that
the torture never ends
the torture never ends
 
Trouble Every Day
more trouble every day  Frank Zappa
Well I'm about to get sick
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friends
Is anybody's guess
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Wednesday I watched the riot...
I seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke & fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust…
 
The Torture Never Stops
Frank Zappa
torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin'
In this dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumblin
**** they clothes
Scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window-hole
Hundred yards away
That all they ever get to know
'Bout the regular life in the day
'Bout the regular life in the day
Slime and rot and rats and snuck
***** on the floor
Fifty ugly soldier men
Holdin' spears by the iron door
Stinks so bad, stones are chokin'
Weepin' greenish drops
In the den where
The giant fire puffer works
And the torture never stops
The torture never stops, torture
The torture never stops
The torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin'
In this dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig
In a tumbers right near there
In the chambers right near there
He eats de snouts an trotters first!…

 
by pass the alarms spreading across the land
to bypass the alarms spreading across the land
the circuit breakers are breaking down
as the alarms go on and on
with the end of the world
the end days approaching
spreading the alarm far and wide
 
corona cinqku
corona
it came from hell
we must be all prepared
meet God

 
Taking a Walk in the Corona Era
every day I go for a walk
in the spring time woods
near my house
braving the weather
and the dreaded corona virus
wearing masks and gloves
keeping a distance
from anyone we encounter
that is life it seems
in the era of the corona virus
when will it end
no one knows
until then
I will brave the viral threat
and confront my fears
and walk in the park
with the love of my life
my bride my wife
by my side
in these challenging times
that is all we can do
 
A lone man stands in an empty parking lot

contemplating the new normal
social distancing run amuck
as fears of the corona super plague
plague the land
driving everyone inside
sheltering in place
afraid to go out
afraid of the deadly c virus
 
It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
said the old man to me
sitting on a bench
in the park in the woods
as we both sought shelter
from the spreading chaos
the pandemic swirling around us
Yes I said
standing up
to enforce the proper distance
between us
don’t want to give the virus a chance
to spread between us
he smiled and said
relax I already went through it
I am fine and you will too
 
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
All around us fears and chaos
Unlike the end of the world approaching us
Sadness overcomes us dooming us to our fate
Every we go nothing but death awaits
 
I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelled
I feel as if the whole worldneeds to be canceled
due to rough times ahead
due to the corona madness
and the thread of pure craziness
that it inspires in us all
 
The Virus King Cried

the virus king smiled
as the politicians lied
saying that the end was near
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king sneered
as people panicked
and partied on the beach
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king laughed
as the markets crashed
millions became unemployed
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king roared
as the world slid into chaos
people turning on one another
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king smirked
knowing that there was nothing
that they could do to stop
his army from infecting millions
and killing thousands
the virus King begin to realize
that soon there would be no one left
no one for his army to infect
as everyone was dying
the virus King yelled
remaining defiant
as civilization collapsed
billions were infected
millions died
the Virus King at last cried
when he saw that he was defeated
as one by one
people began to recover
and his reign of terror came to an end

Bring out your dead
the call bring out your dead
spreads around the world
as millions die
all over the world
the virus has spread
mutated and killed
all over the world
bring out your dead
the mournful cries
echoing in the wind
of the dying cities
mass starvation
as no is working
in the fields
as more people die
and the world spins
around the sun
with the politicians lying
and the dead still dying
as civilization dies
and humanity flee
into the wilderness
chased by the killer virus
straight down to hell
 
the Virus Came From Hell
the virus came from hell
straight out of a mad lab
born and raised in China
the virus spread from Dinah
all over to carolina
it spread from the lab
the mad virus of Hell
was mad as hell at humans
who it blamed for everything
seeing itself as cleansing everything
killing the world and everything
revenge against humans
perhaps virus came from God
more likely came from Satan
part of natures’ revenge
all designed to avenge
the damage to Stonehenge
virus came from Satan
 
The Delivery System of the Virus is Round
the delivery system of the virus is round
very simple system
the virus spreads around
and all must pay the price
death and destruction
 
the corona virus is testing us all

the corona virus
is testing us all
is it a plague
sent by God

if we have faith
will we recover

or it is beyond our control
the end of the world

does god hear our prayers
does god even exist

the virus from hell
spreads around the world

and test our faith
will god save us all

I have no answer
but perhaps if god exists

we will recover
from this plague
from hell



The call goes out

the call goes out
stay at home
to beat the dreaded c virus

will we live
or all die?
 
the four horse men ready to ride

the end of the world is upon us
as god unleashes the corona virus
which is spreading across the land

the four horse men are ready
to begin their grim journal
announcing the end of the world

the white horse comes first
offering peace and hope
in the midst of death
and despair

the red horse rides second
ushering in war
throughout the world
as nations turn on each other
and civil war looms

the Black Horse is ready
unleashing famine
on a starving world
as people stay at home
and food rots in the field

no one is able
to work any more
as the virus kills more
and more

the pale horse rides last
bringing death
in his wake

death all around us
as the virus kills us all
and civilization ends

the four horse men
have done their job
the virus finishes its reign of terror
and the few survivors
beging to recover

end of the world
came and went
and they are still alive
thanks to God

who remains silent
as always

nature spirits revolt against humanity

all around the world
nature's spirits
are on the move

the world is changing
as the nature's spirits
rise up
in revolt against humanity

is this the end time
is nature on revolt
against humanity

is this the end for us all
will the virus **** us all
will nature rise up
and **** us all?
 
Last Human on Island

Last human on an island
in the deep blue sea
nothing there
but death and destruction

virus all around
pandemic plague
Apocalyptic views
end of times
death of civilization

 


corona virus

corona virus
staying home waiting for death
Afraid everything  
the virus came from hell

the virus came from hell
staying home waiting for death
Afraid everything  
Bring Out Your Dead

bring out your dead cries
break out all over the world
we are waiting death



death comes knocking

death comes knocking
on our doorsteps tonight
will God hear prayers



be afraid afraid

be afraid afraid
Must be afraid every one
Death is at our door


The Virus Came From Hell


the virus came from Hell
ravaging the entire world
all waiting for death

Life is like a math problem--

Some people are cancelled out
So that you can find the answer

Some people are like asymptotes
It seems like they should be there
But they're just a hole in your graph

Some people are like parallel lines
Always in sight
Never in reach

Life is like a math problem
And sometimes
*There's no solution

All ferries are cancelled making way for the storm
tied to their piers, rocking back and forth, back and forth
ropes pulled tight, taut, no mail today, no fresh supplies
this is Robinson Crusoe life lived alive in the 21st century
a time set aside, cut off, forgotten by the rest of the World.

Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb—
Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:

And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing—nothing at all.

Santa got a letter
From a young boy in Duluth
Will there be a Christmas
Say, it's not the truth

We heard that you aren't coming
This virus is real bad
Folks say there'll be no Christmas
And Santa, I'm quite sad

A virus keeping me away
What does this child say
A Christmas without Santa?
No gifts on Christmas Day

A week went by and letters came
They all said the same thing
We heard there was no Christmas
No gifts to us you'll  bring

So Santa called a meeting
He had to find out for himself
He called everyone around him
Including his top elf

Folks, this is a problem
These children are upset
This virus that they speak of
Is it one that I could get?

Research, do a study
Find out what's going on
I'll not stay home this Christmas
On Christmas eve, I'm gone

So, the elves all started searching
They checked and made the calls
This virus was a bad one
They've cancelled Santa at the malls

A week went by and Santa
Called a meeting just to see
If the virus was a dangerous
Would Christmas cease to be?

Santa,  said his favorite elf
You'll need to have a mask
So, we've started on designing
It is our major task

Santa said, he'd wear one
If it was what he had to do
I need to keep the children safe
Just, make sure that it's not blue

Another week, more meetings
A mask had been  designed
It covered up his nose and mouth
And it ******* in behind

I can't wear that on Christmas Eve
It will not stay in place
The knots will loosen over time
It'll slide around my face

The letters kept on pouring in
The kids all had to know
Was Santa staying home this year?
Was Christmas a no-go?

Another meeting, one more mask
This looked like Santa's beard
I like it, but, there is no mouth
I think it looks quite weird

Think boys, do your magic
You make toys and are the best
A simple little face mask
Should not put you to the test

Another mask, another fail
Time was getting short
If they could not deliver soon
This Christmas, he'd abort

Another meeting came and went
So Santa said to write
A letter to all magic folk
Maybe they can set this right

Two weeks before the big day
There was a small knock at the door
A fairy stood before him
She looked no more than four

Santa, I can help you
You want a mask you can see through
You do not want to scare the kids
They have to see it's you

Exactly, that is my plan
But, can your mask do all these things
She said, my mask is magic
It's made of fairy wings

She went inside with Santa
She told him fairy wings were tough
They could do all that Santa wanted
And lots of other stuff

The problem with my plan though
Is if I give my wings away
Wherever I am at in time
That is where I'm bound to stay

A sacrifice like that is huge
Do you want to make that choice?
There's no Christmas without Santa
She said in her small voice

You'd have to stay up here with us
A winter fairy you will be
Although you will be wingless
You'll like it here you'll see

She blinked her eyes and wiped her tears
It's what I want to do
I'll give them up to make your mask
And I'll stay up here with you

Santa, too was crying
This was the gift that he would need
He called his elven council
And tasked them with their deed

It took about a week or so
They made the magic gift
Invisible and see through
It gave Santa's heart a lift

The loops to go around his ears
Were as thin as thin could be
The mask, well, it was perfect
And there was nothing you could see

Santa put the mask on
Took a breath, and all was fine
There will surely  be a Christmas
And I love this mask design

The fairy was now wingless
She followed Santa all around
But, you could she see was not happy
She could no longer leave the ground

Santa called another meeting
Now that the mask is done
I have another job boys
And it is an easy one

He told them what he wanted
Gave a time when it was due
I need it to be perfect
Do the magic that you do

The big day came and all was set
The sleigh was set to go
The reindeer were excited
There was fresh, white, Christmas snow

Tonight, I will endeavor
To make this Christmas night the best
I'll deliver all the gifts you made
And I have one here in my vest

He called the fairy forward
He said the joy that Christmas brings
Will go on with no stopping
Because you gave your wings

For you my dear I have a gift
It's made from Christmas snow
A little elven magic,
And at this, the box did glow

She took the box, and opened it
Tears were in her eyes
A perfect pair of fairy wings
Measured perfectly to size

Santa, these are lovely
But, my wings, I gave to you
No dear, these are special
These fairy wings are new

You do not need to stay here
You can fly again and go
I made these to say thank you
You saved Christmas don't you know

I know you know the answer
She stayed there, need you ask
That kids is the story
Of Santa Claus's magic mask

Sat in bed and feeling bored.
Work was cancelled ,"Oh my word".
The lantern of the idiot tickles my mundane brain.
Hence writing yet again.
The dragon in the garden shed is sitting there, waiting to be fed.
It's not a dragon really, just a silly little dog.
She's not in the shed, she's sat on my bed.
She just clambered under the covers with me.
Guess tomorrow's gonna be a great day.
(C) LIVVI

Dear Daddy,
you found out mommy was pregnant. you told her how happy you was and how you would always be there. you said that you was excited and loved us both, you said you couldn’t wait until you finally got to meet me.
i can’t wait to meet you either Daddy!

Dear Daddy,
i heard mommy crying and really upset.
she said something about another women.
she said she hated you.
but don’t worry I’m still here
i can’t wait to meet you Daddy!

Dear Daddy,
i was just born, you gave my soul a look that said you would always be there
you helped mommy give me a name!
Mollee Ann Langemkamp
wow today was great.
I finally got to meet you Daddy!

Dear daddy,
im a day old and you already are mad at mommy infront of me.
i can’t see you but i can hear your anger.. i can feel your anger
Mommy gave me a have a new name
Mollee Ann Nelson
I guess we will have to meet again Daddy!

Dear Daddy,
i can remember you and mommy fighting over me.
you dragged her down the driveway while she was in the car.
my brother drove after us.
he wanted to **** you
your lucky i looked over my shoulder to stop him.
Because if i didn't.. then Bubby said you would have met god...

Dear Daddy,
its christmas and boy am i excited.
I’m five and begged Mommy for this new dress.
i hope you come this time.
this time i have a good feeling.
maybe ill get to see you and meet your new girlfriend!

Dear Daddy,
its christmas again.
I’m six.
you called.
but you didn’t show.

Dear Dad,
you have been missing a lot of visits
i don’t know why
i cry a lot over you
why aren’t you here..
Did i do something dad..

dear dad,
im 10.
you called mommy asking why she was trying to put you in jail.
you got mad so you ended the call
you called back
i think it was the first time i heard your voice in almost a year.
the first words you said to me were “hey brat how old are you now?”
brat.. rung in my ears..

Dear Chris,
i haven’t heard from in you in two years.
im 12
you fought to get custody of me
the judge didn’t allow it but he let you visit
five hours max
i cancelled a lot
so did you

Dear Chris,
its been four years
i can barely remember what you sound like

dear ***** donor,
you contacted me the morning of my 18th birthday
i went off
you tried to make me feel bad
i didn’t give a ****

I was given someone who decided they would no longer care. They would bail out before i could correctly form words into sentences. I was given a father who as barely even a stranger in my life.
But i was also given a brother who made my life much different..

dear Bubby,
You found out mom was pregnant.
Boy was that a shocker huh, 20 years apart from you will be fun!!!!
I can't wait to meet you!

Dear Bubby,
You was there to help mom when she was crying about Daddy and a woman.
Wow i can tell your going to be a great brother!
I can't wait to meet you!

Dear Bubby,
You was there when i was born.
you were so excited to meet me.
You told mom she was making a mistake by letting me take my fathers last name.
You and him meet with a lady to fix the problem.

Dear Bubby,
Mollee Ann Nelson
Our last name
Wow Bubby i think its so cool you helped mom
Its like meeting a whole new me

Dear Bubby,
Mom fell out of the car when Daddy was backing out of the drive way.
You were really mad.
You told Daddy he was going to meet god.

Dear Bubby,
I know you want me to spend christmas with our family but Its Daddys turn to have me.
Boy am i excited
Im five and i begged mommy for that new velvet dress you like so much.
I have a good feeling Daddy will come this time.
Im supposed to meet his girlfriend but you seem unamused.

Dear Bubby,
Its christmas again.
Im six and you cuddle me while i sob because daddy didn't show...again
You called saying i would have a new sister to meet.. Thats a good gift i guess..

Dear Bubby,
Every visit he missed you were there..
You held me close and told me it wasn't my fault..
You knew he was braking my heart
You knew you would meet a different person.

Dear Bubby,
Do you remember how angry i was when he hung up.
When i questioned why he didn't want to talk to me?
But don't worry he called me back.
He didn't even remember how old i was..
Its like we were meeting at a reunion..

Dear Bubby,
We were both confused when he tried to get custody of me back.
We laughed and the judge must have too.
He was allowed five hours max
I cancelled on you because i was in power to do so.
Your meets will have to wait

Dear Bubby,
I don't remember what he even sounds like..
Do you?

Dear Bubby,
I remember how happy you were for me when i was finally able to tell my ***** donor how i felt about him.
To bad it had to wait until i was 18 huh!

Rubicon on broadway 
young and beautiful 
in white Cadillacs and Buicks
audio pop gods transmit 
preludes for the night 
through hair waves 
and satellite finger tips

Buried souls are only resurrected
among friends
at Shakespearian rags
at 10
in mind
with wine, no whine 
oh mine, oh mine 
no more golden toads in Costa Rica—
the planet is a metaphor for the body—

old spice and white gum

our everyday gospel

I'd rather not do anything today.
leave my plans to figure themselves out
let them forget about me, no more missing.
I'd like to excuse myself from today's torturous repetition.

It's all my fault, admittance of solitude!
what happened to the practice of things I care about?
my cares have shifted, hearts been lifted, yet there's something
still missing: Motivation.

ahhhh, no more worries.
ahh, why should I?

"Tell me, have you ever known one man that never made mistakes in his entire life? Tell me?" hindi ko maiwasang hindi itanong sa kaniya ang mga salitang iyon mula sa kaibuturan ng aking puso.

Nanatili lang siyang tahimik. Wala akong makitang kahit na katiting na emosyon mula sa kaniyang mga mata. Nagawa pa nga niyang balewalain ang tanong ko. Hindi ko alam kung bakit ganoon na lamang niya ako tingnan.

"I need you to see the worst part of me and this is what I am aiming to you right now. Hindi mo ba nakikita kung gaano ako ngayon nasasaktan sa harapan mo, Rheka?"

Hindi ko gustong ilabas ang saloobin ko sa kaniya pagkat sobra akong nasasaktan sa bawat mga salitang binibitiwan ko.

"Hindi pa ba sapat ang mga nagawa kong 'perfect' things sa iyo?" muli akong nagpakawala ng tanong sa kaniya. At sa wakas ay kusang nagkaroon ng sariling isip ang kaniyang dila.

"You have everything a woman will die for, Forester. Those perfect things you showed to me; travel around the world, walking on one of the most beautiful beaches in the Pacific, eating at the most expensive restaurants, and spending time alone were not enough. We were married for 10 long years, but you have never fulfilled my lifelong wish and that's to conceive a child, Forester."

Natulala ako at naurong ang aking dila sa mga salitang lumabas sa bibig niya. Ang buong akala ko ay masayang-masaya na siya dahil lahat ng pangangailangan niya ay naibibigay ko maging ang mga luho niya ay napupunan ko.

"It is not enough to spend one day, once a week, once a month, twice or three times a year spending your time with me. They are all not enough. Hindi sa akin umiikot ang buhay mo kundi sa trabaho mo! Sampung taon, Forester! At sa sampung taong iyon ay puro ka na lamang trabaho, business appointment, at kontrata sa bawat kliyenteng naipapasa mo. Nasaan ako roon sa mga prayoridad mo?" pinilit kong huwag kumurap sa kaniyang susunod na sasabihin.

"I am ending this relationship. I'm leaving..." tinalikuran na niya ako. Napako ako sa kinatatayuan ko pero maagap kong nahawakan ang kaniyang kaliwang braso pero iwinakli niya lamang ito at nagmamadaling lumabas.

Nang unti-unti nang lumalabo ang aking paningin ay doon na bumuhos ang mga luhang kanina ko pa pinipigilan.

Ilang beses kong ipinaintindi sa kaniya mula nang maging kami at nang maging mag-asawa na siya ang prayoridad ko. Sa kaniya at para sa bubuuin naming anak ang lahat ng ginagawa ko. Hindi siya nakapaghintay.

Oo, aaminin kong may mali ako dahil kulang ang oras na inilalaan ko sa kaniya at ang kagustuhan niyang magkaroon kami ng anak ay hindi lingid sa kaalaman ko. Gustong-gusto kong sabihin iyon lahat sa kaniya, ngunit ayaw niya akong pakinggan. Sa tuwing nagkakaroon ako ng oras ay sinisigurado kong naroon ako sa tabi niya.

I have always updated her on my whereabouts and what I am doing because I don't want her to realize that she's not my priority. I even cancelled my appointment and rush into her to save her from danger.

Sinubukan kong tawagan siya nang makailang ulit hanggang sa umabot ito sa sampung missed calls pero pinapatayan niya lamang ako. I even texted her just to explain it to her, but I never recieve a response.

What else can I do? Do I have to end this?

…

After almost a week calling and texting her, I decided to go to her family house. Gabi na nang makarating ako sa kanila. Alam kong naroon lang siya. Pababa pa lang ako ng kotse nang makita kong lumabas siya at hila-hila ang malaking maleta.

"Please, Rheka. Let me explain. Mali ang iniisip **** hindi kita prayoridad... na wala ka sa prayoridad ko."

Iwinawakli niya ang mga kamay ko. Naipasok na niya sa likuran ng kotse ang bagahe niya pero hindi niya pa rin ako kinakausap.

Panay ang wakli niya sa mga kamay ko. Kitang-kita ko kung paano siya mairita.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! From now on, I want you to stay away from my life! Stay away!"

Kahit naiipit na ang mga kamay ko ng pintuan ng sasakyan ay umasa pa rin akong makikinig siya akin pero wala. Wala na akong nagawa kundi ang hayaan siya. Pinaharurot na niya ang sasakyan at ako naman ay naiwang nakatulala.

What else can I do? I was aiming at her heart to forgive me, but its like I'm shooting with a broken arrow.

I went back to my car. Tuliro at basta-basta na lamang pinaharurot ito nang mabilis. Natagpuan ko na lamang ang aking sarili na tumigil sa isang mahabang tulay. Lumabas ako at nagkaroon ng sariling pag-iisip ang aking mga paang umakyat sa tulay na iyon.

With arms wide open while tears running down my face, I jump off the bridge.

Nang unti-unting pumailalim ang katawan ko ay naaaninag ko ang isang puting liwanag na may nakakasisilaw na mga pakpak. Nang imulat ko ang aking mga mata ay naramdaman ko ang pagaspas ng dalawang pakpak sa aking likuran at ako ay inangat mula sa kailaliman ng karagatan.

--Wakas---

Today is cancelled,
woke up to storm,
inside my head,
and a pain,
in my heart.
The reconstruction,
of my mind,
is backed up,
and the energy,
went out again.
So I'll go back to sleep,
with a hat over my eyes,
and start again tomorrow

No one listens
Friends seldom seen
'I'm all right'
Cancelled conversations
Happiness on demand
Courses in tautology
Reverent respectability
Chimes lost to time
Disconsolate coverlets
Scenes from lonely places
Litter on the streets
You're on your own.

380

There is a flower that Bees prefer—
And Butterflies—desire—
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird—aspire—

And Whatsoever Insect pass—
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her—capacity—

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture—
Or Rhododendron—worn—

She doth not wait for June—
Before the World be Green—
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind—be seen—

Contending with the Grass—
Near Kinsman to Herself—
For Privilege of Sod and Sun—
Sweet Litigants for Life—

And when the Hills be full—
And newer fashions blow—
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy—

Her Public—be the Noon—
Her Providence—the Sun—
Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed—
In sovereign—Swerveless Tune—

The Bravest—of the Host—
Surrendering—the last—
Nor even of Defeat—aware—
What cancelled by the Frost—

I'm sorry to all the people I hurt while I was hurting

I'm sorry for last minute cancelled plans

And ghosting your text messages

You've done nothing wrong I just can't get myself together enough to answer you right now.

I'm sorry for all of my triggers.

And that sometimes my triggers, triggered you too.

I know I have a lot of them, I know it is frustrating

Believe it or not I've actually come a long way with them though...

I'm sorry for the days i was too irritable and short with you

I understand it wasnt fair.

I'm sorry that the things that upset me, most of the time wouldn't upset other people.

I'm a very emotional person, this is a blessing sometimes but also a curse.

I'm sorry I see things black or white.

I've been hurt so many times, I've built a wall for people in the grey areas.

You're either all the way in, or out of my life completely.

I'm sorry this comes off as dramatic, and unrealistic.

But if you know me well enough, you'd understand why I see it this way.

Regardless of all of this, I'm sorry that I pushed you away because of it.

Because of my, me-ness.

So far away.

When really I needed you right here.

But this is what I do when I'm hurting.

I hurt you because I'm hurting.

None of that is fair.

I'm sorry if you were one of those people.

Tilt past the uncertain
I replied with the molten
form of my disillusion
that I want to leave a precaution
for a manner speaking,
I work like there's no beginning
nor end to what I offer
and the rest of my co-worker.
We'd trudge to get home
and the wanting to go alone.
Will the drizzle ever stop
or will the week gets tough?

Doubt
So easy to say.
So hard to get past.
I've always had a little bit of it reflected inwardly because I've never been able to attain the appearance I wanted. I've never been quite thin enough. My hair has never been quite long enough. My skin never quite clear enough. And because of this its caused me to doubt other areas. If I can't get in peak physical shape, what makes me think I can become financially independent?  Get a good job?  Start my own business? If I can't control something as simple as a complexion, hair follicle or calorie, how do I think I can take on the outside world?

It's the doubt that eats you.
It's the doubt that tucks you into your grave with the could haves because you cancelled yourself out.
You're problem is not in your thighs or uneven eyebrows. Your problem is you think they're your problem.

Stop taking yourself out.
You are worthy.
You are so. worth. loving.

The sight of rain,
of wet clothes, wet plants,
wet doorsteps, wet hopes and dreams,
and, that known scent of sadness and grief
all these...create soggy, sluggish minds

we just lost two dogs to the virus
the glum of monsoon rains affects the moods
the "yays" from cancelled classes
have all passed...
sun is shining, not too bright, though,
peeps like a tease, but,
enough to dry the ground...

i see vacant lots...almost naked now
motor's droning hum is a lullaby
that lulls the mind
a strong smell stirs the nostrils and
defines a welcome pleasance...
i sniff....and chase away sadness,
with this intriguing scent
.....of freshly cut grass....


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    July 25, 2018

Brackets

Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125

(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)

You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door

(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)

You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans

(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)

You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher

(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)

You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go

(again.)

A SNOW STORM CREATED BY OSAMA BIN LADEN AND RONNIE BIGGS AND TED BUNDY



LAST NIGHT, OSAMA BIN LADEN WANTED TO REALLY ROCK THE WORLD AND CAUSE A REAL BIG SNOWSTORM

WHICH WILL SHAKE UP THE WORLD, YOU SEE PEOPLE ARE FRANTIC IN NEW YORK AND SURROUNDINGS

WHICH HAD TO CLOSE A FEW SCHOOLS AS WELL, AND RONNIE BIGGS AND TED BUNDY SAID, WE ARE

GOING TO GRAB BRIAN ALLAN, WHO IS CRONUS, SO HIE POWERS CAN’T BE USED HERE, YOU SEE

THEY BOUGHT IN MANY HURRICANES AND LOADS OF SNOW, WITH THE SOUND WOULD SCARE EVERYONE,

YOU SEE,OSAMA TED AND RONNIE HAVE BRIAN ALLAN PAUL BERENYI AND ADAM WALSH, TRAPPED

SO THEIR EVIL PLAN TO STOP NEW YORK AND SURROUNDS, FOR A FEW DAYS, YA KNOW ANY BROADWAY SHOWS

ON, WILL BE CANCELLED, AND PEOPLE RUSH TO BUY FOOD, SO EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU, ARE TRAPPED

AT LEAST FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, AND THOSE SNOW PLOW MEN WILL SUFFER, YOU SEE, LIKE BRIAN ALLAN AND PAUL BERENYI

AND ADAM WALSH, ARE ******* TO THE SUN, KEEPING THE SNOW, DOWN IN THE USA, AND THE SUN IS BLOCKED

PAUL, ADAM AND BRIAN, ALL SCREAMED, HELP, HELP, LET US GO, BUT OSAMA WHO WAS THE RING LEADER SAID

NO PAUL B BRIAN A AND ADAM WALSH, ARE WIRTH US FOREVER, AND THE PEOPLE IN CANBERRA ARE SAYING

LET BRIAN BE OUR LITTLE SKATEGOAT, WE LIKED THAT LITTLE GUY, BUT BRIAN AND PAUL AND ADAM

ARE BEING FORCED TO KEEP THE SUN AWAY SO THE USA CAN COMPLETELY SUFFER,

YOU SEE, US, BAD GUYS, LIKE WE HAVE YOU BOYS WITH US AND WHERE NOT PLANNING TO LET

YOU GO, UNTILL, AT LEAST THIS SNOW, DESTROYS THE LIVES OF EASTERN AMERICA, EVERYONE ON EARTH

WHY IS THIS SNOW, TAKING AFFECT, AND TED BUNDY SAID, I AM NOT LETTING YOU GUYS GO, YOU WILL BE WITH ME

FOREVER, AND EVER AMEN, YOU SEE EVERY BLADE OF SNOW, THAT FALLS AND CAUSES HAVOC, IS THE WORK

OR THESE SPIRITUAL VILLIANS, YOU SEE, BRIAN ALLAN STOPPED YOUTUBE SHOWING KIDS TYING THEMSELVES UP

ON YOUTUBE, AND TED, RONNIE AND OSAMA, HAVE TRAPPED BRIAN, WITH PAUL AND ADAM, AND FLIGHTS ARE BEING CANCELLED AS WELL

EVERYTHING IS BEING SHAKEN, OVER ON THE EASTERN COAST OF AMERICA, AND AS THE VILLIANS FLEM PAST THE SUN

WITH LOADS OF BIG SNOWBALLS, THEY WENT HEH HEH HEH HEH , WE HAVE YOU CRONUS AND YOUR TWO FRIENDS

YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE, OK, WHILE WE ARE TRYING TO FORCE MORE AND MORE SHOW, AND HOPEFULLY FLOOD

THE ENTIRE EATS AMERICAN CITIES, AND EACH PERSON IN NEW YORK ARE RUNNING AROUND BUYING SUPPLIES

AND BROADWAY IS BEING CLOSED FOR THE DAY, MAYBE LONGER, HOW LONG ARE OSAMA BIN LADEN AND TED BUNDY AND RONNIE BIGGS

GOING TO KEEP BRIAN AND PAUL AND ADAM UP THERE, BLOCKING THE SUN FROM DESTROYING A BIG AMERICAN SNOWSTORM

THEN AFTER TED BUNDY SAID GOODBYE, HE WENT OVER TO BRIAN AND PAUL, AND BASHED THEM WITH A RAY OF VERY HOT LIGHT

FROM A SWORD, THREATENING THEM AS HE SAID, I WILL HAVE YOU KIDS, WITH ME, FOREVER, PAUL AND BRIAN SAID, WE AIN’T KIDS

WE ARE MEN, AND RONNIE BIGGS SAID, YEAH, 2 LITLLE BRATTY KIDS, YOU 2, ARE AND THEN BASHED THEM, AS THEY CAN’T GET

THEIR BODIES, FREE FROM MY CLUTCHES, AND WE ALL SCREAMED, FUCKEN LET US GO, YA BLEEDING LITTLE ****

YOU SEE OSAMA, IS A ****, YOU SEE HIM WITH RONNIE BIGGS AND TED BUNDY, TRAPPING PAUL BRIAN, AND ADAM, AS WELL

AS MANY AMERICANS, WHO CAN’T LEAVE THEIR HOUSE, A KIDNAPPING MADE, THAT POLICE CAN’T STOP, UNLESS THEY WENT

AGAINST THE THEORY OF NATURE, AND OSAMA, TED AND RONNIE YELLS OUT HEH HEH HEH HEH, WE HAVE EVERYONE IN OUR TRAP

HEH HEH HEH HEH AND NOBODY ESCAPES THESE SPIRITUAL VILLIANS, JUST ASK BRIAN ALLAN, PAUL BERENYI AND ADAM WALSH, NOONE

Ewww
Look at you
You disgusting little girl
Your hair’s a mess
Greasy; pimply; ugly
Teeth not white enough
Eyebrows too thin
Makeup done wrong
Just give up already
Walk to the mirror, tubby
Your thighs too large
Your arms flabby
They say your skinny
Who believes them?
You don’t eat some days
You say you’re not hungry
Plus, it’s too “mainstream”
You love food
That’s your problem
Think back on today *****
You yell at them
You think your life is so hard
You make theirs miserable
Ruin what little happiness they have
Worst sister ever
Why should they ever love you?
You don’t even know what love is!
You think you do
You don’t

You ruined another friendship
You thought you were in love. Ha!
You ruin everything
You’ve ruined yourself
Arms out
Wrists up
Examine the scars
Anger and hurt
Permanently displayed
Scars; burns; signs
The world can see
Just another ******* statistic
You like that, hipster?
Didn’t think so

Oh the labels
Do you want to be classified?
Hipster; depressed; hippie; cutter
How do those even go together?
You confuse people
You don’t even know what you are
What you want
What you want to be
You wear your heart on your sleeve
You dress like a freak
Outrageous clothes
Stupid hair
Trying to make an impression?
Make people remember you?
It’s working
And not in a good way

Are you crying?
Wipe the tears from your eyes, you baby
You cry over everything
The last 48 hours
And yet you smile
You disgust me
You hide it
All too well
Are you faking the tears for attention?
Or are you just plain manipulative?
Manipulative of yourself
Your thoughts; feelings
Disgusting

Oh, stop crying over him!
It’s your fault
Remember?
You broke his heart
Like a twig
The day you broke up with him
You gave up
You quitter
You were scared of his love
Scared of your feelings
They weren’t perfect
So you ran
You’re so messed up
You ruin the good things
The ONLY good things you have
Do you think he’ll want you back?

Then another
He was a great friend
You were scared of him
Of the things that made him him
You cancelled
Again
Lies and blames followed
Mad at each other
You said good bye
And because you’re a stubborn ***
Don’t apologize
Erase him from your memories
Cry over what you had
And lost
You ******* baby

Go “escape”
You dreamer
Escape your reality
Dream big
Then give up
You can’t make it
Isn’t that what you always do?
Blame him; I see
It’s not his fault
You just can’t remember
You have no motivation
No goals
You quit too early
I can’t stand to look at you
You disgust me completely
You’re the leftovers
The flaws no one had room for
ALL wrapped up in you instead
You want to be too many things
Everything you’re not
Can’t just be happy, can you?
You want to be the good girl
Want approval
You want to be the bad girl
Drinking
Smoking
*******
You want to be crazy
Not a care in the world
You want acceptance
You don’t even know
You’re greedy
Jealous
Foolish
You clown
Stop embarrassing yourself
Don’t be proud
It’s not nearly good enough
Stop trying
Maybe one day you’ll get it
We hate you
We all secretly hate
But we hide it because we’re good people
There you go
Just go cry sweetie
Act like everything’s ok
You fake
You poser
You loathful creature
I’d hate to be you
Oh, wait
I am...