we are cheetahs on prowl who let their guard down

there was a little cheetah he had a dream one day
to run in the olympics in a land so far away
he boarded on a plane and flew across the sea
to a place in russia where the games would be
he went to the track a runner he would be
running in a marathon a sporty cat was he
then the time had come for the cheetahs race
he stood in a line and cheetah took his place
now the race was on cheetah took it slow
took it nice and easy with a steady flow
they ran for  quite  a while the race was very long
cheetah had a finish that was so very strong
as the finish neared he come to the front
then stepped us his speed like being on a hunt
he went like a train  like the speed of light
and flew across the finish line with no one else in sight
his  mission it was over and his race one won
he enjoyed his holiday that gave him so much fun

i like to watch the cheetah running at such speed
chasing after prey so he can have a feed
as grace full as can be and fast as speed of light
a creature with such beauty brings me such delight
when  his meal has finished and filled his appetite
he  sleeps among the grass completley out of sight

I cheat and you cheat but it's never the same. We're too much alike so it's all fair game. I cheat because I'm needy and you cheat because you're greedy. I'm not gonna want you....when you act like you don't need me.

I'll go through your phone or it'll fall in my lap. I don't say anything for a week then it builds up and I snap. You find out I found out and you look like you wanna die. I lower my voice. "Who is she? How many times and please don't lie." You grab me by the waist as I look in your eyes. You start to apologize and I start to cry.

I can't be mad. But it hurts so bad...because no one will ever love you as much as I do.

But I can't be mad. And it's hurting so bad...because no one could ever treat you worse than I do.

You're lying to me saying that she only ****** your ****. The anger is festering inside me and it's literally making me sick. I run to the bathroom and I throw up. Because I'm tired of this...and I wish that you would grow up.

Your concerned act is deceiving. I know you'll do it again and you know I'm not leaving. But I don't kick you out because I want you to feel bad. Lay next to me while I silently cry for the rest of the evening.

It hurts so bad and it makes me so mad...because no one will ever love you as much as I do.

But it makes me so sad and I feel so bad....because you don't know all of the things that I do.

Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.

A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the  wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.

Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.

Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.

Unforgiving heat
Cool drink
Giraffe,
Hippo,
Wildebeest,
Gazelle
Sip muddy water hole
Crouching low.

Unforgiving heat
Cool drink
Texans
Sip fridge-cooled Camelbacks
Crouching low.

Light breeze
Eggplant skies
Tall savannah grass
Sways
Masking movement.
Predators travel
Unseen.

Guns ready
trophies sighted
Giraffe
Hippo
Wildebeest
Gazelle

Bullet chambered
Trigger finger
trophies....

Running?

Cheetahs pouncing
Texans screaming
Law of Nature
End of Story.

As a ginger, I'm inclined to say fox. I've always had an affinity for those cunning, red canines.

But if it's just for a day then perhaps something a bit more adventurous. I suppose I would choose to be a cheetah.

Fastest land animal in the world, agile, and speckled.

Nobody messes with a cheetah. Not because they’re so hulking or intimidating— just more fascinating than terrifying.

We travelled to South Africa once, my family and I. As a tribe we chased wild creatures down with cameras in jeeps in a raucous yet hushed thrill.  

The cheetah was one of the few animals that eluded us. Perhaps having never seen one up close is partially what draws me to them.  

Mysterious, as well as evasive, with an "I don't give a ****" attitude.

They only eat every so often because catching food is such a feat. When they do hunt however, it's one of the most spectacular things in the natural world.

It's why places that sell tv's show footage of cheetahs running in slow motion over and over on a dizzying loop; demonstrating how clear the pixels are in the plasmas. It's mesmerizing.

Their feet move too fast and fly over the dirt, honed in on whatever poor gazelle or kudu they're after. If you're a cheetah that is your body, your thin bones, your rapid heart and beating paws that make you move in such a blur.

To be a cheetah for a day is feeling and knowing the difference between machine and muscle. Humans have found ways to fly, and people regularly move faster than a top speed of 75mph.

But how sublime it would be!
To be solely and purely responsible for that unparalleled speed just for one day.

Walking into the Reception Hall,
they stole the show away,
A regal pair they were,
with a little bit of Butch
and Sundance swagger shown.
A confident air, not at all underserved.
Dressed with just enough elegance.

Their posture and hue ,
sleek and silky golden,
like a duet of Cheetahs.
Eyes alert and searching
for prey. Alert for danger.

Like a herd of antelope,
all heads turned to look,
The men perhaps out of desire,
the women staring envy at them,
Like the twin bores of a loaded gun.

Mother and fetching daughter,
From twenty feet, hard to tell
which, one was one, or the other.
Long blond hair, full and fine,
both women tall, statuesque,
moving with grace and ease.

The mother my old friend,
the daughter all grown up now,
each having a smile that would
light up anyone's darkness of mood.

We greeted one another,
hugs and hand shakes shared.
A little conversation in the crowded room,
Many pairs of eyes upon us there.

Enchanted is the word that best describes
my impression, this duo as intelligent and
charming as they were beautiful to see.
The mother sedate, classy and yet open
and free, no pretense, no games just naturally
at ease. As lovely as I remembered her to be.

Her offspring, vivacious, spirited and bold,
smart as whip, with a tongue that could
draw blood if she desired it to.
Chatty and funny, sure of herself,
in the manner of beautiful people,
yet not in a pompous way, merely
Confident in self and her place in the world.
She possessed all the character traits you
would wish your own daughter to have.
Her Mother had done well is raising her.

Too soon they moved on,
meeting and greeting others',
out of my hearing and seeing.
Some weeks have passed, a month or two
and yet their strong impression has lingered,
I can't keep them out of my mind.

The Mother, my friend most of all.

Ecstasy in commingling
Neurones writing poetry
Sunshine in the evening
In cerebral you and me

Muscles enjoy the steam
Under the red microwave
Nano curves in scheme
Cheetahs from the cave

The spines make an ocean
Of the entangled nerves
A dance of intoxication
Orange flames in verve

The cheetah licks and bites
The sea lifts toward moon
A Hurricane Harvey arrives
Time in a  fleeting swoon

Cherries come together
In the veins blooms rose
Burning sparks in weather
In a tremor they enclose

Two stanzas become one
Two times get conjoined
Ending in a peace of Psalm
In ice the cheetah disjoined

My whippet ran
as fast as the wind.

With a cheetahs gate
he could catch all.

And now he rests
his race is done,
all rabbits happy.

*Shanzi is a syllabic poem in seven lines  4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2   INTRODUCE the SUBECT
Lines 3 and 4   AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7    Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled

California Dreams Part I

Time is falling apart,
My heart is stumbling,
the road is ending, so

follow me on.

Take my hand and forget yesterday, let me
get out of the country of Texas, see all of the world.
Don't worry so much, I'm always there,
and the world is free, let me show you.
Then let’s fall in the swift winds of adventure.

Let’s go!

Now look at the map in my brown eyes, and hold tightly
my hand, and our fingers will never grow cold.

After Christmas we'll travel to Highway One,
we’ll first set our eyes to the crystal skies
of California. And your dreams could come
true, under the lime light, everything
will make sense and our dreams will
rise like skyscrapers.

The dreams, euphoria, the fights and the pain,
it'll make sense through the hard times, it will.
If we falter, I know, we can still climb the gates
of paradise.  We can do everything. And we will.  

For in one year we'll climb to the stars,
stand on the purple mountains of Alaska
and conquer the midnight hours, we'll post
our banner on our mountain, call this our kingdom.

As the lot falls, we'll work, we'll go to school,
we'll pick each subject like roses and carve our hearts
into the trees, we'll find sweet the kiss of unity.

In the season of the blue moon, when we
get weary of one another.
 I'll find unwritten ways to love,  for 
 I will love you always.  It will be all okay.
    It will all be well. I promise.

As we fall in love again,  we’ll turn under the sun
To Arizona where the valley’s our only beauty, and
our voices are thunder in the Great Canyon.  
The eagles will perch  under the sycamore tree,
for we will lie down in the
fullness of peace and rest by the
hawk and the snake at noon.


Part II

Let Me Show You The World

Now I'll show you the world.
We'll see all of it.

Let's go!
Let's go!

Let's starve, let's eat, let's see.
We'll go on ship to Africa. We'll buy a jeep and and visit the brown hills
of Zimbabwe. We'll sleep with the cheetahs and run with the lions.
Our hearts can never die here.

Knowing war and love ,
we’ll lower our hearts to the children and serve them.
And look into the eyes of the broken, the hurt, and the dying.
We can help them. For as the warrior children destroy mothers
And fathers inside the streets in Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt.
We can save that one Child.  

The following year we'll walk upon Mary's path to Nazareth,
and see where Jesus grew up and David
defeated the mightiest of armies.

We'll remember the creation of the world,
and the end of it all, on the valley of decision,
Where the world will come to ruin.

Don’t’ worry dear, we'll find our romance and rest.
We'll follow the road the road to Rome.
We’ll see the catacombs of old, the virgins and saints buried
with love so perfect.
We'll see see so many things and all the color of the world walking together, the nobleman, the thieves, and the harlots at dusk,
we'll remember our love, as the wind of our prayers
carry them.

follow me on  

Let's turn to the twisted hills of France and
find fragrance, and the lips of war.
We'll walk in the evening and lie down upon the roof of Notre Dame
and watch the morning light spill into the city of Paris.

Don't be surprised, for war will come again.
We will be ready, against our enemies we will fight.
We are mortal my dear, we must fight.

When the wars boil over and settles down
we'll escape to London.  Where books fly high,
and parties go higher, where love seems but a
gentle lying dream.

Before we die in the darkness, we can always hide
under the blood and water of our prayers, we can be forgiven.
As our sanity returns, we'll lie down on the rocks of Stonehenge
and dream once again.

Part III

Let's Lie Down, I Will Be Your King

Let's turn our way to Scandinavia,
and taste the richest cheese and
then bicycle to the home of Germany's finest chocolate.
Let's find our fill!

follow me on,

Next  we'll buy to the ticket to the mountains of Romania
the land of many orphans. We'll grow a garden
of orchards of olives, and make our wealth and peace.
And we'll feed everyone of them,
Everyone of the little children and hear their forgotten history.

Three more years later, we'll call our home in Siberia
where puffins find refuge in the white mountains.
We'll learn to fish with the Eskimo and
watch the faint heat of dawn whisper away.

Let’s Go!

In Beijing let's learn Karate and the arts.
We'll know the greatest of warriors and find peace
in the red blood sky. And we'll rent a yacht and live there for months
and make a business with great merchants. See it'll be okay.
It will all be okay. We’ll find our fortune and
lie down on the ****** shores of Hiroshima.

My dear, If the world wasn't enough, we will rule paradise
on a thousand islands near Malaysia and
compose immortal songs about the world between you and me.

Like the kings of the northern stars we'll explore
far out. For in the land of New Zealand,
we'll see where  beauty cannot
die and mountains cannot fall, where paradise
begins. We’ll surf on the silver waves,
and write more songs till’ love draws us home.

We will lose it all and have nothing again
we’ll make our last campfire
and tell the village people our winds
of adventure.

Until  the moon turns to blood, I will be by your side,
morning by morning I will be your king and love,
your warrior outside, beneath
our  balcony we will see a thousand
blue and yellow rivers, flashing their gates of paradise!

Let's Lie Down  

The Return Part IV

In our old age, we'll go back to our home in Texas.
Where the oil never runs dry and where corn crops still grow;
where friendship is only a second away, let's go again.
Let's get on our motorcycle and visit where we grew up
and remember it all. And look at the playground where I fought
the bully in the third grade, and where you
drew your first kiss. Let's see our
first Sunday school, where the air
touched our first prayer.

As our hearts grow in splendor
like a garden of strong delight and the
fearful valley is stricken with good rain.

Let's lie down there at the white steeples
where we got married, where our eyes can close
and drink in the heavenly shores and

      thirst no more.
     
 and thirst no more.

There's something crazy going on these days
Down at the city zoo
The giraffes have joined the high society club
While the monkies are getting tattoos

The elephant's are packing up their trunks
And moving to the Bronx
With all the hippos on a diet
In an effort to lose their junk

The Lions have stopped lying
The cheetahs have stopped cheating
And as far as all their drinking
They're both going to A.A. meetings

The orangutans are the ones to blame
For a pyramid scheme gone bad
Left the zebras all in the red
When they lost everything they had

The crocodiles are out sunning themselves
By the pool drinking Piña coladas
While the mother snakes go on Maury
To try and figure out who is the father

Yes, things are a little crazy these days
Down at the city zoo
But if you were locked in a cage all day
Wouldn't you go crazy too?

Rose

o rose
you must be tired of bad manners
o rose
you must like that the trains come often
o rose
you must wonder why people move so fast
o rose
you must enjoy the naked girls falling from the trees
o rose
the trains are always coming fast, competing with cheetahs
o rose
that’s how it’s always been

© Matthew Goff

Yes i can swim
strokes through the sea
but the swordfish is better
much better than me

Yes i can fly
my eager engines burn
nothing to the falcon
simply done, once learned

Yes i can run
toss my legs in front
leisure to the cheetahs
three fold faster on the hunt

Oh but did you know
just how few of these?
When we left the gates
map and guide made me

A land only nature has touched
A lion to its prey, clutched
Before that though
The Lion crept up real slow
Crouched down real low
He puts on a good show
Creeping and crawling
Absolutely stalking
His ***** orange coloring
Unseen by a prey so alluring
His big tufted paws are like a quiet breeze
Unheard by a prey totally at ease
His eyes focus, like a morning lotus
Finding the sun with such slowness
Silently stalking towards prey, not yet ferocious
A gleaming meaty meal ready to devour
Just another moment and little prey will cower
First a pounce with claws drawn out
Then a bite and a shake, making the prey shout
Now a *****!
Chewing prey up before its deceased
Drug across the land only nature has touched
A lion has won it’s hunt, quiet now, be hushed
Can you hear nature sing, the way she does
With violence and beauty no matter if lion or cheetahs
Now humans are different! Or is it really so?
The desire the same as a beasts hunt, reaping what we sow
A need to ***** and overpower
A craving to devour

A sunny day but she can see rain in the sky
The news reported truthfully, but she reads lies...
Says the time struck 12 and her prince is no where in sight...
So original when she thinks "just like every other guy"...
She was into all the things that girls like...
Hair products, **** fashion, a hand that captured a ring
But her intuition says pain is what men bring
So she walks with her guard up...blocking all pickup swings.
"My hearts been tortured, cheetahs roam my land" and "my life résumé
Is messed up...things didn't go as planned"
Independent and so pretty...men hate that she is witty...wish she was a freak and try to read her like "Shades of Grey plus Fifty"...
Dear woman who I speak of...
Please don't ever change love...
Just hold on to your faith and don't hide behind your make-up...materialism is abstract to her natural ability...find your inner star, put your mind in a state of tranquility.
My princess please smile, pain doesn't last a while.
Time heals all wounds and its a quarter past ya "new life" and 10 too Coming Soon...stay beautiful my queen.
-Dougie Simps
"For my girls who just needed a man to walk in their shoes. I got you"

Who are you, that you can palpitate my malcontent heart?
When you pass me in the street I avoid your eyes
For they are too much for my troubled mind
The way your doe eyes and mascara coalesce
and my spirit wanes with wondering thoughts of You and I

Oh blue-eyed seraph, queen of my callow folly
Is your name the password spoken to Saint Peter
When a man is to transcend this eternal struggle
Or are you the devil dressed in down robes
Come to drown me in wanton waves

You seem to have come here on gradient beams from the cosmos
With your platinum locks, alien in texture, encompassing and fine
Do your misdeeds and free my tortured mind
For these enumerations may drain these tortured veins
and leave this poor proletariat passionless once more

Pouting and winsome, your elegance is eternal

When the plants have all turned as blue as your eyes
and the cement golgothas all crumble
When every elephant of the Sahara, withers and dies
and the Cheetahs fall to the ground and mumble
When the skies turn black and curse our love
with the oceans boiling over
When the stars all fall from high above
and the cliffs are brown at Dover
When the Earth splutters and coughs, gasping for fresh water
When God yells obscenities and Jesus has no choice but loiter
When the racing rats stand still and ponder
When the hills all fall, way out yonder
When the noises of the cities are but ghosts on dead air
I shall remember your smile and know I have nothing to fear

O have you heard? -
the standards at the
Faculty of HISStory and Catssics
are slipping;
and its esteem
in the public eye declining
Have you heard?

Why?

Well,
that Faculty’s
got too many cheetahs
That’s why

Sometimes, I wish I could fly.
Soar above the endless spacious sky,
Run my fingers along the fluff of the clouds
And look down at the world from above
viewed as nothing more than a speck,
Why did you not create me to be able to fly?

Sometimes, I wish I could climb.
Grapple with the backs of rocky mountain sides,
Touch the tippy tops of sharp, jagged peaks
And shout my accomplishments into the wind
heard as nothing more than a slight breeze,
Why did you not create me to be able to climb so high?

Sometimes, I wish I could swim.
Dive down into the deep, flowing depths,
Plunge myself into a whole new world filled with danger and mystery and beauty
And pour my discoveries into this magnificent and vast sea
becoming nothing more than my swept away dreams,
Why did you not create me to be able to swim so far?

Sometimes, I wish I could run.
Dash into endless forests and over countless hills,
Race alongside cheetahs amid the golden savanna
And let my strong legs carry me to wherever I may go
with nothing more than sot sunlight on my face and stars above my head to light my path,
Why did you not create me to be able to run so fast?

Sometimes, I wish for too many things in life.
That I could be someone or something I'm not.
But I am who I am, you made me this way, God.
A limited and restricted being,
bound to exhaustion and pain and ensnared in materialistic desires.
I hope that one day, I will be able to experience it all,
Free of the way of human life.
Seeing the world the way that wild animals do,
Truly living, like today is their last day. +

illusions abound

what's not an illusion?

is all in life an illusion?

is life really nothing
  but a man sitting at a computer
  typing his existence into existence?

could he type himself into
  whatever existence he wanted?
could he dare to type
  the thing he feared the most?
   the lack of existence?
    and whether such a state
     was type-ably reachable?

he wouldn't dare
the sentence would elude him
but it would gnaw at his mind
  it would sit and wait
   and then jump out
    and try to be typed
     but the man wouldn't let it
like a caged bird
  a self-destructive bird
   one who literally would vanish
    if it flew from the cage

if that bird knew its potential fate
  would it still want out?
would the caged bird still sing
  if it knew what awaited outside?
   not just doom
    but complete annihilation

SHOULD the caged bird still sing?
should it accept its fate?
should it reject its fate
  and try to escape?

what would the caged bird do?
what should the caged bird do?
and if the caged bird is nothing
  but a part of the man
should the man listen
  to the caged bird at all?

what about the other thoughts?
  the thoughts like cheetahs
   sprinting through savannahs
  like dolphins
   leaping from the sea
  like digital aliens
   quantum leaping across the universe
more free
  than that bird
   could ever hope to be

should those thoughts have more say?
or should the caged bird win out?

will the caged bird win out
  if it's such a strong willed beast
telling that man to try
  to be bold
   to type that sentence
    into existence
     (or non-existence)
  just to see what happens

the heart would speed up
  man's heart does speed up
the thought would jump forward
  man's thought does jump forward
the fingers would begin
   a slow deliberate march
    across the keys
  man's fingers begin to march

the breath catches
the bird sings
the cheetah halts
the dolphin floats
the aliens know
  and yet they watch
all stops
all waits

the fingers tapping at the keyboard
  now the arena of the whole universe
as the man types
  one key at a time

as he's always typed his existence
  INTO existence

and wondered

if he could type his existence
  OU

"I Have A Dream, one day..." - MLK


What preferences did the shackled legs,
the whip gashed backs,
sister-child maid wife
what favorite tastes or memorable tune
did have
those seen as a lesser you?

Far African kingdoms without the murals
or architecture of mathematicians,
or the pomposities of golden circumstance,
no gilded marble halls or pillars
or streets of cold stones
no fashions for the sharp nosed
pallid under parasols
caricatures of indifferent beauty,

rather the abducted men from the other shore
have a realm as fine to witness
if not much more
cathedral ceilings of heavens
ever shifting in days and darkness,
diamonds not found in ****** muddy ground
as priceless and as pure
the wealth not considered but conditioned filth
the wilderness and otherness
abhorred,
the living landscape the abundant beasts
giants of profound creation
gentle and danger - not found but there
the expanse of hot suns' earthen bones
and further back beyond history
these mirages shimmering walls
of palaces that have wind and width of awe
for its halls...
What infant legs that ran with cheetahs
offend, the native cries along the chains
die with the weight of loss
not yet found - the kingdom of suns

the people removed of their crowns

made to hate and sold and laid to waste
ever the more thirsty then
in the wooden boon of ships
on oceans cannot drink.

What choice or gift of eloquent conquerors
allows another a life not lived?
And still ... this kingdom that is the life
we all see
creates from shackles the blues
everything new, no matter how often
the iron grip of times they ****
or assassinate the truth

We can always choose to see
the palace walls of heavens' surrounding kingdom
make soul and food and love
and hip hop

When freedom is absolute
the preferences or favorites once missed
will be no more a hollow well
when life is as equal to the  minds we share
and the times without fear

the lines will blur
because there is nothing more between us
to cross ...


(we all are rich when we have choices
to be free is to raise our voices)

No place to sleep
My bed is all there is
Let me take care of you, Allyson
Allyson.
That name on his tongue
You feel heavy
You don’t feel **** anymore
Sweating
You’re sweating and sweating and sweating and sweating
Hands on your hips
Hands
On
your
Hips
God you’re so STUPID
You’re so so so STUPID
Lie down
Keep to yourself
Nothing will happen just keep to yourself
Look at the ceiling
You’re ok
You’re ok
Throw up
You’re ok
Leave at 6am
It will disappear
It will disappear
But it doesn’t
People are saying something about crying ****
No you just think he made you feel uncomfo-
You never said anything about ra-
You’re a feminist
You’re a contradictory *****
You’re a gazelle and four cheetahs are
Ripping
You
Apart
You’re losing touch
Hives
Hives
Hives
All over your body
Steroids
Steroid pills
Steroid injections
Mom it’s poison ivy
Mom it’s the laundry detergent
Mom it’s the overwhelming anxiety that is consuming even the largest ***** of your God-forsaken body and it’s on your hips
Hands
On
Your
Hips
You’re sick
You’re sick again
You want to die again
Prozac again
20mg this time
the dreams
the dreams are so vivid
google search: how to tell your boyfriend his best friend violated you in a nightmare for the third night in a row
friends
losing
friends
fights and fights and fights
no one cares and you don’t either
how are you supposed to care when all you see when you look at them is
Hands
On
your
Hips
And the dreams. The ******* dreams
Who would believe the dreams
Who would care
give them the glare, give them your signature glare
they don’t understand they will never understand they don’t want to ever ******* understand
walk alone
eat alone
read alone
alone alone alone
it’s better that way
it’s almost over

Our bodies pressed together as we danced the invisible square in the middle of the school hallway. Moving from side to side as the piano's melody infiltrated our ears through the headphones. We swayed slowly, softly, keeping with the pace of slow-quick-quick that was required for the box step. Her arms were around my shoulders, my arms rested on her hips as we swung slowly, softly, going about the hall as if it were a grand ballroom and us its only occupants. I looked her in the eyes, the emotion on my sleeves that were hugging her hips. She looked back, smiling as if she were enjoying herself as much as I was. I couldn't help it, I had to whisper to her, had to break the trance the music had put on us, but had to in such a way that the moment would be filled with no regret, filled with the trueness I had kept in my heart.
"I love you." I say, smiling as if I had no clue of how ugly my smile were, smiling as if I were happy with more than just my grades. Her eyes glistened against the shine of the over-head lights. She smiled her beautiful smile and took me into a euphoria that was so blissful that I imagined I felt heat rising to my face in a blush.
"I love you too."
And with those words spoken, she leans closer, arms running down the broad of my back and hooking there as she lay her head on my chest and slowly rock with me, easing from left to right, slowly making our way in a giant circle in the middle of the hallway. I knew this was it, I knew this was what I had been looking for: a feeling of love to replace the feelings of longing in my heart, the feelings of lonely in my soul.
Left, right, left, right. We swayed in unison, her hips matching mine as our circle broadened with the music of the piano. I kissed her forehead, prompting her to look up at me as if we were sending mutual signals. I lean into her, hands lightly swishing her hips a little further, pushing against her own momentum, and kiss her tender lips like I had never kissed before. This was what her love had done, this is what my longing had done, we were one in the same in a world that only matched stride with cheetahs. We were the difference, we were the exception to the world as we softly went about the hall rocking and rocking, lips matching and not mismatching for long periods of time.
And then the bell rang, stating that it was time to go to class. But we paid it no attention, we stayed where we would remain for only mere seconds before the herd of students could overtake us. She drops the earbud and grabs my hand.
"Please, for me, remember this moment. Remember the moment when two unlikely souls set each other free, the moment when the heavens looked at the both of us with favor and brought us a match in emotion." tears escaped her eyes.
"though it may be my last time seeing you like this, I shall always be here in spirit," She continues, "but don't hasten to bid me farewell, love. Please, take the punishments of this tardy and stay and dance with me. Just sway." and with that, I continue our sway, placing my hands back on the sides of her hips as the students walk around us.
And we swish, hips moving as we make our own music with our foot-falls, matching a rhythm that we both find pleasurous. Rocking and rocking, swaying and swishing. I lean toward her once more, bidding her farewell with just one last kiss. Closing my eyes as our lips connect, right hand coming from her hip to stroke her cheek.
But when I open my eyes, she's no longer there. I'm alone in a hallway as my schoolmates pass around me, strange looks shown evident in each face that passes. The second bell rings and I open the door to class just in time, tears escaping as I look around the room at those who could never understand what I had felt.
A love that was lost isn't a blessing in comparison to the feeling of never being loved, in fact, it is a curse. So I have always remembered my beautiful hummingbird as she was, a free spirit and a free soul, but a part of me that I can never retrieve again.
Is brea liom tu, forever and always.

Thanks to that velveteen tone he
saves for me
And his turpentine diction,
The cliches that made my eyes roll
Now make my heart rush

Nonetheless, my thoughts riot as follows...

(When urged to call him something cheery
something no smile can wane at
like that fleck of gold in his left iris)
Well, "sunshine" should suffice
And Latin for that equals
"Apricitas"
Which phoneticized equals
"Opry cheetahs"
So the obvious endearment here is
Opry

(When urged to call him something pure
perhaps upon watching him blink
or blush
or blow
cigarette ringlets away from babies)
"Snowflake"?
No, that's a slang for ***** these days
So, "raindrop"
Yes
If Latin is dead,
It sure knows how to haunt me
"Gutta imbrium"
Ember
My little ember
The only glow in all this charcoal

(When urged to call him something pretty
when he's brushing his hair
or allowing me to arrange red clovers
in his sideburns)
Hm, let's testdrive "moonlight"
Let's shift into Latin, "luna lumen"
Thus the nickname I bite back is
Lulu

/Lulu/
While I hear darlings and dearies
on the daily
Why must I fail to mirror him?

(When urged to call him something sweet
like the butterscotch kisses he whispers
into my knuckles)
Like a honeycomb
Or as Ceasar would say, "cera mel"
Close enough?
Caramel?
Carousel?
Dizzy, then

We spin
In silence

(When urged to call him something cute
with his cap on sideways
and his head in my lap
and the world at my heels)
Kitten
Catalus
Catapult
Half of that backwards might as well be
Tulip
Two lips
Two tongues
Too much, yet never enough of his
Smoke bomb pomegranate mouth

For heaven's sake, see?
That's why I kiss instead of speak

Monkeys can climb
Crickets can leap
Horses can race
Owls can seek
Cheetahs can run
Eagles can fly
People can try
But that's about it

A billion believers.
We're running like cheetahs.
Away from the fight
And into your arms.
They pray every night
There is no more harm.
But everyday,
The terror grows tough

Dark desires as dark as river water
But unlike river water that is cold
It is warm like the sun
Warmed by passion as the sun is warmed by chemical reactions
The warmth is trapped by a blanket
A blanket that is like night
In the sense that it hides things
Things that are hidden because maybe they shouldn’t be done
Too soon to be done but driven by desire
Desire driven by need
The need of closeness opposite of a person who is claustrophobic
Opposite of space
Even though it feels like a million miles between the two hearts
Hearts that run at different paces like a cheetah and a cat
The same in root but made for different circumstances
Completely the same but so different
Different heartbeats like different rhythms
One is fast and hard and erratic like a cheetahs run
One is slow and steady and quiet as a cats tread
Two different drumbeats of two different songs
Like putting in two different ear buds playing two different songs that somehow go together
That blend to make a new tune
A tune that winds around bodies sticking to skin
Skin sticking to skin as arms are wound around waists
Like a cocoon cradling a caterpillar
When the arms are unwound a new creation will emerge
The arms having changed them so completely
Though the arms may never unwind because there is no desire for them to release
Release their captive and let them go
If their captive did go
It would come back like a moth to a flame
Locking itself in its own cell because it does not crave anywhere else as it craves this place
The captive does not wish to be released when it feels this nice to be held
In this cell of arms
Because in these arms the captive doesn’t have to be alone
The surrender of freedom for the reward of companionship

Don't worry ‘bout me: I have a nice panga,
A pretty assegai, a Chukchi yaranga,
And I can start fire with some thin tiny twigs
By touching them a bit with my fishnet stockings.

In the Atlas I tamed the last of the lions;
In the Ngorongoro cheetahs feared my irons;
In the Rocky Mountains I made all grizzlies pant;
And in Tamil Nadu tigers purred in my hand.

‘Cuz for kisses, it’s true: I do never resist,
And every man I like, I track him on the pist,
I find him and ******, and finally kiss him.

As for peeled vultures though, hillbilly noisy dogs,
******* or green mambas, stinky naughty warthogs:
I do always cook them but never embrace them...

Read by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth :
Please note: In the link address, the word "UNDERSCORE" (2x) has to be replaced by the typographic sign of the underscore (Alt+095).

https://www.cjoint.com/doc/18UNDERSCORE05/HEzhgrx8p4AUNDERSCOREIn-love-in-the.mp3

Long I remember
When alone I’d run
To the sea side shores
For sandy mud-pun walks
On where waves lengths strength
Stretched and end reached
And never passed
And on cliffs patched
Where nests all sea birds
Was a shamble of noises
And a squabble of fights

Some were stealing from others
Others were killing others
Many were murdering in angers
Little were busy battling hungers
Rest were roosting and resting  
Grooving and grooming

Sporadically, a Tern would call
Kwi! Kwi! Kwi-kwiii!
He would gather his feathers
And fully beautifully display
Their clean preened length
Before her maternal mate
To strengthen their eternal fate
And she would appreciate
With gestures affectionate
Her lover’s majestic exhibit

A pair of Puffins pretty would come-Penguins and Magpies black-white coats
Rainbow beaks, puffed cheeks and orange webbed-feet beautiful creatures
Innocent as ever, active as always with mouthfuls of sea foods-fishes
Irregular, her wobbling gait weighed down by her food and hasty walks home-
Worried hurry to luckily escape being bullied and robbed his foetuses’ foods
Along the long ways home full of lethal ruthless poachers and predators:
Feral opportunists and scavengers lurking near paths to their nests
Pitiful I’d feel at how unfair nature is to these hardworking birds
And helpless how they would surrender their hard-earned meals

With Hornbills’-heavy headed huge beak, Ducks’-webbed feet
Fowls’-heavy flying body and an imbalanced Penguins’ wobbling walks
She can’t match the Petrels and Ravens merciless ruthlessness
The Gulls’, and Kittiwakes’-scissor sharp beaks
The Hawks and Ospreys lethal hooked beaks
The Gannets’ and Kites cheetahs’-top speeds
Or the sitting Sea-Steller swift lift of their wings strength  
Piteously he surrenders his hard worked worth meals
And risks another long journey back to survive

A Gull would run, chasing the receding waves
Fast pick a pebble-like coloured sea shell crustaceans
Then poke his long hooked-edge beak
To peep and see if there was anything worth to peak
Of the wavy tides hustles and the sea-side buzzing bustles
The patience of waiting, of watching and of walking
Before the stealth Stilts, their competitor strides
And another giant wave of waves roars and come calling
And they wiggle as they walk and run to escape his sad slaps on sands

The Walrus and the Otters
The Sea-Lions and the Cormorants
Would all nest to rest invest and reinvests
On their furs and feathers fond interests
The Seals and their pretty Pups all would leisure
In colonies on wet large rocks far and away
From washing-waves and terrible-tides and sea-sands
And their Bellow and low and moo like loud grumbles
The irregular moo-mee! Dins of the fish markets rumbles
Would fill and drown the sea-side sounds
Mother besides kids-compassionate
Protecting its investigative innocence
From the cruel colony crushing crashes

Then there would come the tranquility of twilight
The much awaited time for all sea-lovers and watchers
The last of coastal day’s romantic rushes-lovers large leaving to burn their passions
A time when lovers would leave their cottages comforts hand-in-hand: arm-in-arm
To cuddle and cradle and canoodle-to freely display their amorous love
In the sands and mud’s pads, last before the sun bids them another goodbye
The mother of all coastal auburn burn magnificence-the setting sun
The colours of the coastlines as the sun burns touched the ocean’s horizons
It so an enthralling, captivating sight of the sun and the sea and the scenic serenity

The nights quiet with billions lights of signaling stars
and the midnight’s silent with the gleaning moons
These are the nights of the most patient, passionate, romantic passengers-the night watchers
Beautiful! Munificent! Glamorous! Awesome! Splendid! Spectacular!
I’d use all the adjectives there is to describe the alluring scenery of the moments  
So precious-so peaceful to the mind, to the soul and to the heart-a holistic healing
The captured memories of the stars studded nights and the magnificent moonlit midnights
Alone in the nights with just the silences of the soothing breezes on the palms fronds-restful!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

and he comes over in the afternoon, his wife is pregnant,
   she also had an abortion with the love
of her life... and he says i am diseased...
as i once said to a pensioner
in a park: cut words open and feel
less than a sucker's punch,
dis- (negation) of -ease... yes,
i'm bound to being denied a cradling of ease,
your quick syllable punctures are no wit to be
celebrated...
         i thought i gave back enough that was
necessary... but this madman of a neighbour complains
that i sometimes laugh in the night:
   because i am bound to tomorrow with aeons
toward the future, and aeons toward
  Darwinistic falsification of history...
          because where is the octopus ontology ****
up to the wall of intestines like a tapeworm,
as what point, exactly?
                  i sorta forgive that grievance,
even though i'm sitting in the living room,
and he picks up a package that's been left in my house...
           because the high-street has suddenly
evaporated... the rich are making the middletons
claustrophobic too... i could never buy the music
or the books i read these days when skimming the annals
of what's worthy of being bought, with the money i earn.
   it submerged, not even an anarchist bookshop
takes my fancy... but this **** of a neighbour comes
by and suggests i could ****** my mother,
              the same neighbour who ushers in politics of
gardens... a branch fell onto his side of the fence,
                   he throws it over to my side and crushes
the daffodils without much thought...
there are homeless people out there,
    and he complains that i syringed too much life into
my one chance to be here, to have the audacity to
laugh like a fox, to sometimes hum, and to sometimes
sing aloud...
      and he complains that it cost him too much money
from moving from the rear bedroom and into the front
bedroom... oh kiddly pauper, how poor you must be,
to have never had the capacity to laugh on your own.
   i listen to these Balkan guys angry at Sweden,
  i know the language like a Belgian and still that's not
enough... if national pride really bound to
a religiosity of fish & chips on a Friday, and skinhead
chanting at a football match at a London derby?
       should i say: sign me up!?
           all he had to do is move room...
he didn't have to sleep rough...
                what a swarm of ants in the *** that must be...
          because one man managed to laugh...
as it always does: concentrates on women...
           i must come from Mongolia to be honest,
how i find English women unappealing in terms of
companionship... the ridicule comes when a people
are unearthed and side with Israel...
                as the landowning class for a region bound
to Prussia and the Austro-Hungarian chattering maiden:
  Jan Sobieski (now a pop *****) and the siege of
Vienna...
                  we have so much prejudiced history tattooed
into our psyche, lukewarm 100 year old stuff...
   and out-of-the-blue, we're expected to bleach all of it,
somehow accept a dialogue that's merchant talk
     and a community clarification...
    the same neighbour has the same audacity to claim
i have a medical problem, and that his labouring wife
is the most-endearing hope for company...
  i just sat there on the sofa while he blah-blahed
his way into receiving the package...
             i could have emerged from my slumber and
faced slander to knuckle with piercing eyes...
   but i preferred sleeping for 2 hours on the sofa
while words turned into daggers...
it's just that part of me that suggests...
   for my knowledge of the English language,
  i have no need to debase myself with crude Englishness,
to invest in post-colonial ambition to right-away-the-elder-wrongs...
you know the first time you wear a cotton jumper
and you just itch? it's like that...
               i own language, language has no right to own me,
i tell language what to do, language doesn't tell me who
to identify with or as such identifiable with the thus said...
     plus... if someone agitated me over an intellectual
problem i might have emerged hearing slander against me,
but as they say: **** stinks, don't touch it.
    i once made brother of en Egyptian childhood friend,
every day since he chose olive skin solidarity
i've been heard citing a very pointless mea culpa,
              for i too could have been wiser
in not forming childhood friendships - and being a hermit
for 9 years and counting: i don't ever think
to engage in intimacy, other than with Puerto Rican
prostitutes in Amsterdam, or Bulgarian madames in
London... i don't know why they said they were
Romanians... the one word gave them away:
the cyrillic: pizdets! пиздетс!
                    if he even remotely insinuated a topic
concerning van gogh (v. gou) -
                such is the traffic of life passing through my
days...                    this the fascination
              how greeks gave names to their encoded
sounds... and how it took a plastician to recode
       what came as
         п (p'eh)- -и (ī)- -з (z'eh)- -д (d'eh)- -е (eh)- -т (t'eh)- -с (esse)...
  how fascinating that you cut off so much stabilisation
of the alphabet and no wooing vocabulary
  before you do away with stabilising letters that are
associated with clear indicative formulation from
alphabet into word...
                       which goes beyond Heraclitus' лoгoс
and certainly beyond my фoнoс...
                as suggested: back into the aлbion ζ
      beginning if not simple begging norman sicily's α...
                              alphabet - zetayod...
and mirrors - of those worth a seven year signature
to yet be mended... and those pristine,
      with focus on the doubly mortal, within
a tsunami of time's paraphrased democracy, wherein
autocratic: from Helen of Troy to Kimberley of the Liban...
     how then rise from such belittling circumstances,
and enforce the law of abstract?
                    to come toward the лoгoс
   as with due to spot the фoнoс, and as such
auto-instructive diacritical marking of iota should
Lιban be a Ly-ban....           enter the dragon, Bruce?
                     yep... we have established the лoгoс,
and chained by synonymous banking affairs for
peacocking tongue waggling, i insist upon a return
      into how the Greeks left no musicology to
how they named the symbol ι with iota, or ω with
omega... but the Romans left a musicology
that yahweh embraced, and said of a: ah... and said of
m: em, and said of t: tee... and said of p: ***...
because they didn't come up with names for letters,
which is why scientific constants are written
                                                   in γρεχκι (grechkι).
if knowing the native tongue is not enough...
        i cannot contemplate the natives teaching my
their ****** practices any more than my eagerness to
engage in them... their presumptuous agitation of
trying to "educate" almost everyone...
     it's true a Mongolian arrow pierced the throat
of the trumpeter in the tower of the Mariacki Church,
           it's just they treat their women
            as i wish i could have... the Dutch know love
by spitting on eastern European women...
(because they just had a conversation about their
interests in a pub with another man two seats down)...
   and in our age of propaganda: i have not a single
opinion that isn't bound to be but ash scattered in the wind...
            i just find it strange to be in "need" of being educated...
given most of these "men" have never had the guts
to visit prostitutes because the girls are playing puritan poker
at home: and Jezebel at an **** in Malaga...
         i can't deal with this en masse schizoid conditioning:
as if lying or having a Dorian Gray fantasy could
ever get me off with a hard-on when a girl says:
can you imagine what my daddy would say if he knew
i swallowed you jizzom? well, now that i know what
you're imagining i'm starting to think i need a shrink...
                  for ****'s sake! why do prostitutes seem
the most sane women out there? saviours!
               i could have done better things with my hands...
like moulded a statue, or something,
               dating culture killed it for me...
  and the whole: women are there to be chased like
cheetahs crying their eyes out at speeds of 100 kilometres
per hour...                  it was in my best interests
to learn a knowledge of the language...
  that was my utmost necessary courtesy of being
   part of this society... local customs though?
                  you know what a smarkatka is?
    you really didn't expect for me to blend up to the point
of supporting Millwall and knowing football songs
religiously, did you?   it's when you use the language
and still get ridiculed...           the locals have been
given it on a platter...                i get a "poem"
they get the ease of buying vegetables in a supermarket...
          brownnosing yourself in Kentucky
                                     will not help either...
Calcium Steeps       of Dover could be equated to that
Hawaiian Pearl in terms of what hand will wash the hand
that puts a thumb in the **** and the index and middle
into the ******.