the party to welcome colleen mcCullough and kel nagle to the cosmos


yes, the party has started when aw good golfer and friendly person passes away

yeah, he departs earth with a big PARTY, up on the planet os SATURN

with slim dusty sings i love to have a methane with old kel, here

i love to tip methane on him

we’ll drink in moderation, and we’ll burn the suffering out of him

you see, we drink in the town and country, and PARTY with methane, oh yeah

i love to have a nice methane with kel nagle, cause he is our pal

and then sam kinison yelled out WILD THING, OH YEAH LET’S PARTY

you make my heart come right out of my body, and into my lap

you dark and despicable wild thing

and, payne stewart, got a meteorite, and gave it to kel saying, your my inspiration

then scott mcdonald came up to kel and said, come with me, i’ll show you round the after life

ready to have a bottler PARTY for once and for all

and kel picked up some methane and tipped it on himself saying, i am now one of you

then the door bell rings and who can it be, and barry allan answers the door, and it is

colleen McCullough, the author of the thorn birds enters saying welcome everyone

i am the great colleen mcCullough, and i just ended my stint on earth

so i can calm the spirit of ronnie biggs and osama bin laden

and she said to brian allan, yes, it’s great you don’t want to have any scandals in stardom

but brian allan, you are popular on youtube, and you do acting  in canberra

and you entertain in poetry slams, dude, ok and don’t stress about hollywood, listen to your father, buddy

then colleen released paul berenyi and said, you leave the after life ALONE osama and biggs

and go straight to fucken hell, ok, because i am about to go into work to

keep my spirit running into my next life, to fight this wart on terror, it’s a hard battle

i died of natural causes, but, terrorists, really are ruining mother earth, ok

so we need all religions to come together to fight on this war, fight on this war on terror

and colleen mcCullough, guarded paul and all the others from stupid osama ghost laden

so kel angle and colleen mcCullough took each others hands and danced to

pardon me boys, it’s the chattanooga chop chop toot toot

you see it’s party down in party town

so pardon me boys, it’s the chattanooga chop chop, yeah yeah

we’ll party on till our rebirth oh yeah

and then sang the big hit called ain’t she sweet

see her coming down the street, i ask her very confidentially ain’t she sweet

ain’t she nice, look her over once or twice, i ask you very confidentially ain’t she nice

just cast an eye, in her direction, oh me oh my ain’t this perfection, i repeat

i repeat, don’t you think this is kinda neat, i ask you very confidentially ain’t she nice

pardon me boys, it’s the chattanooga choo choo, oh yeah

come on dudes, swing this party right, come on ya dudes

it’s the chattanooga chop chop, oh yeah, come on

and this train is heading to our new home on neptune, till our earth bodies, get reborn

slim yells out i would love to have a beer with kel and colleen, cause they were our famous mates

and welcome to the afterlife, enjoy ya stay here, in preparing for your next life,

WE ALL HOPE IT GOES WELL

brian allan as cronus said as he places a piece of green gassy methane on kel and colleen

saying

HOPE YOU RELAX, TO MAKE YOUR NEXT LIFE VERY FRUITFUL, DUDES

and kel ended up hitting a hole in one from saturn to the point in neptune

and it reached that point in neptune in one hit, COOL MAN

To Love and Lose

Once upon a time…
There lived a shy little boy and a chatty little girl. Though the two lived really close they never knew each other. That was until one day, the girl entered high school. They met for the first time on the school bus. The boy eavesdropped on her and for the first time spoke to her. Although she was especially irritated, the boy responded. It was with those words that a lifelong love blossomed…
“You love me, you just don’t know it yet.”
Through the many trials and errors of high school life they grew together. And so, They lived happily ever after.

Or so I thought. Life is not the fairy tale I made it out to be. August 2008, my angel flew away. The woman I loved for ten years of my life lost faith in the power of love. More importantly she lost faith in me. What follows is my most honest recollection of the end of the era of Ryan and Lisa.

When I first met Lisa, I was little more than a persistent annoyance. Gradually, “like a fungus,” I grew on her. She was my first friend, whom I had met at 15. That little boy desperately yearned for love, and she accepted. We became inseparable throughout high school. She even graduated early to keep pace with me. Ultimately, due to my growing family dysfunction and her desire to widen the gap she felt between her parents we moved out on our own. Truly, we demanded our freedom to leave behind the stains of childhood.
Our apartment years were far from a nirvana. My darkness and her porcelain demeanor fought many battles. Moving beyond, we asked, “What next?” Purchasing a home seemed the obvious answer. Unfortunately our American dream was in the hands of Judas the Contractor. It did not go well and stress always marred our relationship.
All was not war, however. We loved as hard as we fought. Shortly after buying the home we were married. We were ever confident in our ability to weather any storm. It took 3 long years, but the house issues eventually settled.
With the tumultuous waves settled to a peaceful reflection Lisa was left with a void. “What will I do with the rest of my life?” Waitressing was not the solution. Then, one day, in the midst of her woeful exile, her answer walked in and sat down at her table.

“This is it!” “This is what I want to be!”
Her epiphany was a chatty RN munching assembly line breadsticks. The next piece was a friendly pair of regulars. Tom and Colleen were in their 50s and never had children. When they learned of Lisa’s mission they instantly adopted her. They constantly tipped outrageously to help fulfill her goals.

Meanwhile, I was stagnant. I was content with enjoying my home. I couldn’t understand why Lisa wouldn’t relax and enjoy what we built. I also had a crippling fear of change stemming from a vicious cycle of depression and guilt. Depression from a series of unsuccessful jobs. Guilt from inadequacy, feeling as though I couldn’t be the man Lisa deserved. Once Lisa had realized her ambition, she began pressuring me to utilize my vast potential. I was lost. The home and “happy” marriage was more than I ever had imagined. What more could there be?
Then, Colleen grew ill. She developed Alzheimer’s disease. Lisa had recently completed her STNA license certification as a mini trial for nursing. Lisa had embraced Tom and Colleen as surrogate parents, feeling a closeness to them she was unable to with hers. She became Colleen’s caregiver. Between Colleen, school, and serving, it meant 100 mph weeks and very little sleep. The stress and exhaustion weighed heavily on her.
A new civil war began. I tried relentlessly to get her to take her school and work slower. Slow was not in her vocabulary. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t share her vigor for a pursuit of my own. I was clueless and feared what new horrors change would bring. She misunderstood my concern for her welfare as denying her independence. In the war of hearts, I was quickly losing ground.

April 25th, 2008-Lisa’s 25th Birthday, her “Other Mother”, Colleen died. I didn’t realize it yet, but as I carried the casket my marriage was tethered to it. As the dirt went over, the fuse was lit, and the countdown began.
As the two who loved her most, Tom and Lisa fell into a deep depression. Both began drinking heavily…
“More and more just to get through the day, more and more just to feel okay.”
Lisa still worked 70 hrs weeks (now at a nursing home) as well as attend school full time. Often she didn’t come home. A gnawing sense of dread and paranoia washed over me. Not for a suspicion between them, but for her safety.
However, the world progressed as though nothing was amiss. Soon, it was nearing Lisa’s entry into the Nursing Program. I could not longer fight working a second job and begrudgingly accepted a position with her. Our proximity only increased the mounting tension. The cracks in our armor were beginning to show.
Finally the bomb went off and my world crumbled to pieces. The last week of July, following another fight I demanded to know the root issue. I received the answer I never wanted to hear…
“I don’t love you anymore.”
After a three day absence she returned home. However, that night I found an incomplete letter to Tom that finished, “I can’t wait until my divorce is over.” After pulling the arrow from my heart I immediately woke her. Without a word and in a panicked rush, she got in her car and drove out of my life.

The end was a series of saddening and maddening clichés…
“Couple gets married too young.”
“Woman chooses career over love.”
“Mourners seek solace in each others arms.”
“Man falls for wife’s nurse.”
“Woman pities sorrowful widow.”
“DIVORCE!”
Etc., ad nauseam.

Upon Lisa’s departure I feel into a black hole. Carelessness is not in my nature. I feel everything. For the first few weeks I was dead. Frequently, I contemplated finishing the act. Depression waxed and waned as the uncertainty of our finality wavered. I pleaded for help.
My journey taught me this…
When you’re sinking, in over your head, reaching out for someone to help, no one will come. You have to drop the arm seeking pity and use it to pull yourself from the muck. The climb out of the pit is a solitary journey. It’s only when you’re back on your feet that you notice all that stood around you. They are powerless to help, only watch as you cried and flailed, their hearts cut by the shards of yours. They are there to dust you off and stand you up, but never to pull you out. Only you must do that. My fear of change ended there. That which I feared most had come to pass. I survived; scarred, yet alive.

I describe my life as a learning process. Lisa’s life can best be described as a frenzied quest to prove something to no one. What does she have to prove? I always knew she was worthy of loving. She cannot trust anyone, therefore cannot trust herself. In the pursuit of her blind ambitions she sacrifices everything and everyone. When complete she feels lost and confused, until her next futile crusade. She is a soldier without a war. Her “self” is defined by her monochromatic goals. She puts so much of herself into them that there’s nothing left inside. She’s destroying herself from the inside out. Decay in a pretty wrapper.
When Lisa was a child she suffered an extremely traumatic experience. She never told her parents, the chasm between them seemingly insurmountable. It left her feeling sullied and insignificant. Since then, she has desperately tried to prove worth noticing. The child within her cries out, “Please pay attention to me. I need help.”
This inadequacy bled into our life. She is incapable of accepting death, instead diluting her sorrow with an obsession, fixation, or addiction. Her confidence in any decision is brittle at best. She views our marriage as universal shackles, keeping greatness just out of her reach.
However, I must also stand trial for my sins. On several occasions I did show her violence. No blacks eyes or broken bones, but that’s hardly a justification. Each morning I wake alone the weight of this guilt bares down on me. Lisa caught a glimpse of my dark side and it scared her away.

What lingers of my love for Lisa? I won’t hide that I harbor some hostility. Ultimately, though, I will forgive her. Beneath all the rage and guilt, denial and anxiety, I just want her to be happy. I owe her my life, now it’s time I gave hers back. I can never deny the light she inspired in me. She gave me a gift and moved on. As it is frequently said and not understood…
“If you truly love someone, set them free.”
What is true love, anyways? True love is giving all that you have and letting her leave with it. True love is letting go when all you want to do is hold on. It is not dismantling her dreams simply because you’re no longer part of them. Sadly, Love is all too often, a dead language.

As the dust settles, What remains of my life? Our love lies with Colleen now, a wonderful woman who had a huge impact on an impressive array of people. I still trust in the power of love. Now, I stand at a crossroads. For the last decade of my life my entire identity has been “Ryan and Lisa.” The question left is, without Lisa,…
“WHO AM I?”


TO BE CONTINUED…

Written August 2009

Please read "The Phoenix" for Part 2

We've all heard the story about Bonnie and Clyde
How they met, eloped and died.

And we're tired of hearing
About Henry and Ann,
And their shameless lives
Back in Tudor England.
When their marriage broke,
Ann lost her head,
With one stroke.

I won't bother you with the story
Of Napoleon and Josephine,
And that messy business
With the guilotine.

You know Caesar and Cleo
Put on quite a show,
They had a long distance relationship
From Rome to Egypt.
But it ended badly.
She by a snake bite,
Him by Marc Antony.

These famous couples didn't tarry;
They were harried
Before they married;
They met and wed,
But were too soon dead.

Now Byron and Colleen
Met when teens,
Byron was sixteen,
Colleen just fifteen.

They lived together,
To begin,
He loved her,
She loved him.
This wasn't living
As they say, “In sin.”
No rings lingered
On wedding fingers:
No bands of gold
To wear 'til old.
No license, no Registrar,
No vows were spoken,
But their silent vows
Were never broken.
They didn't need
A wedding token.
The cost was never the issue here,
Although Byron always claims he's poor.

And thus they carried on.
Boy, did they carry on.
In a romantic spree.
First came Jordan,
Then Jamie.
And thus they passed
Their years together,
In seeming status quo;
A happy well-matched couple,
For all intents, and show.
They lived well,
Ate well too,
Dressed and drove,
Worked and strove
For friends and family.
And all along,
The two of them
Have been our pleasure
To know.
After all, they're behind
Their doors,
That's all we we need to know.
And thus, they carried on.
Boy, they carried on.

Years down the road
They honey-mooned,
And after this, they married;
Like Benjamin Button
All seems reversed.
Should they continue
This backward style,
Then in awhile,
Following this reception,
They'll probably meet
At their conception.
Should they continue
In this fashion,
Their marriage should end
With their parents' ******.

This is
The Ballad of Byron nd Colleen,
and if truth be told,
You're still just teens.

Isang karangalan ang pagiging *** laude para sa isang mag aaral. Karangalan na siyang hinahangad ng karamihan ngunit iilan lamang ang nagkakamit. Isa sa mga nagkamit nito ay si Hannah Isabelle D. Mendez. Ngunit sino nga ba si Hannah?Isang mag-aaral mula sa URSC na kumukuha ng kursong BSIT. Gusto mo bang mas kilalanin pa natin siya? Halina’t samahan mo ko.
Kanyang pinanggalingan...
Si Hannah ay ipinanganak noong Agosto 21, 1997. Bunsong anak sa dalawang magkakapatid nina Cristeo at Girlie Mendez. Simple lang ang naging buhay ni Hannah. Lumaking mabait, masipag at may takot sa Diyos kahit na mula siya sa isang 'broken family'. Naghiwalay ang kanyang mga magulang nang siya ay nasa ikatlong baitang. Masasabing hindi madali ito para sa kanya dahil nais niya ay buo at masayang pamilya ang makakasama niya ngunit sa pagsisikap at pagtitiyaga ng kanyang ina, naging matatag at matapang si Hannah.
Kanyang hilig…
Si Hannah ay mahilig magsulat, manuod ng mga pelikula at magbasa lalo na ang mga libro na akda ni Colleen Hoover. Ang pagbabasa ang naging pampalipas oras niya at nakakapagpasaya sa kanya. Maraming bagay ang kanyang natutunan bunga ng kanyang pagbabasa at isa ito sa naging dahilan ng kanyang mga kaalaman na nagdala sa kanya ngayon bilang *** laude.
Simula ng hamon bilang mag-aaral…
Noong bata pa si hannah, wala siyang interes sa pag-aaral. Tulad ng ibang kabataan, kasiyahan lang ang kanyang hinangad pero dahil sa kanyang naging **** noong elementarya, naging bukas ang kanyang isipan sa pag-aaral.
Nakapagtapos siya ng elementarya ng may medalya bilang ikalawang karangalang banggit, sumali sa iba't ibang kompetisyon tulad ng Nutri Quiz Bee - 4th place, Hekasi Quiz Bee -2nd place (Elementary, District level) at sa Highschool 15th place sa Sports Page (RSPC) 1st place Drama fest (School level) journalist at naging presidente ng isang organisasyon noong hayskul.
Sa pagtuntong ng kolehiyo, naipagpatuloy niya ang kanyang pagiging aktibo. Nahalal siya bilang kalihim (S.Y.2015-2016), pangalawang pangulo (S.Y. 2016-2017) at 4th year representative (S.Y. 2017-2018) ng BITS Organization. Naging miyembro din siya ng KASALI Organization taong 2014-2018.
Nang tanungin siya kung paano niya nagagawang pagsabayin school activities at academics, simple lang ang naging sagot niya, “Basta masaya ka sa ginagawa mo, magagawa mo lahat at naniniwala kase ako sa ibinigay sayo yung bagay na yun dahil kaya mo".
*** laude…
Hindi naging madali kay Hannah ang maabot kung anong mayroon siya ngayon. Dumating siya sa puntong hindi na niya alam kung ano ang uunahin. Nariyan ang school works, church duties, family problems at dagdag pa ang mga nagsasabing hindi niya kaya ang kursong IT pero kalaunan napamahal na siya dito. Goal na ni Hannah maging *** laude pero hindi niya ineexpect na makukuha niya ang karangalang ito.
“Sobrang saya dahil ipinagpanata ko ito sabi ko kung para po sa’ken ito, Kayo (Ama) na po ang bahala and then nung nalaman ko na isa ako sa *** laude, hindi ko alam gusto kong sumigaw sa galak, sobrang nakaka—overwhelm.”, wika niya.
Tanging inspirasyon niya ang kanyang pamilya para makapagtapos at maabot ang lahat ng kanyang pangarap.
"When the opportunity knocks on your door, always be willing to give it a chance, 'yan lagi nasa isip ko para wala akong pagsisisihan at always give your best shot sa lahat ng ginagawa mo", wika niya ng may halong ngiti sa kanyang labi.
Tunay ngang nakakagalak ang kanyang pagsusumikap upang makamit ang kanyang minimithi. Mula sa buong pamilya ng URSC, proud kami sa iyong pagdadala ng karangalan!

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice 
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin

Moore Library Colleen Moore,
Colleen Moore, 1920 Julius Caesar,
August 19, 1899 Port Huron,
California, USA January 25, 1988
88 year old Robles, California,
Occultress Actistress time was married
to John McCormick active;
1916-1934, 1923, 1930, Albert C. Scott
1932, 1934 Homer A. Hargrave born in 1937,
1983 and my family uncle,
Walter Moore, Roland was born Ngu:
Marcus Cicero, August 19, 1899
January 25, 1988 with the help
of one of the season's stars up to that time,
the craft was traveling along
a lift in the developer film. The morality
of having Laura. A great star, the standard
of the game, our children and part
of the water to be had what has been
said for the first time a picture
is confirmed by the 1929 - 1923
when now she I am cut off a small
amount of the shore, and the noise
shall come even to the soul:
O Lord, Son of man, Doral 1933 1929 1933,
which were with him in 1934,
after a long seek to please
the poor, and his scorching wind,
if you please, in this is the rising
of the four children.

Moore energy after racking
your investment firm, Merrill
Lynch turns serious move
in a partner for cash. On the
equity markets and invest,
and described. The moral Bodo
would all life and have helped
to clear the Millhouse Colleen
Moore and farm visible from
the Museum of Science and Industry
in the city of Chicago until 1950,
Millhouse, measuring 2 feet 9
0,84 meters to 15 million by the year
1985 it is estimated that nearly costing.
$ 7,000,000 on August 19 said
he was born in 1899 in accordance
with the law of nature and great
in their time of Waverly, you know,
Yu -1902 silence from Port Huron,
Michigan. Song: Once Agnes opinion.
The family lived in the Beau of Maureen
Port Huron Prime Minister, started
living with her grandmother songs;
Mary Shelley's request for repeatedly Moore and blood.

In 1905 the family Hillsdale,
California where I live it every single night.
In 1908, the state of the city of Atlanta,
Georgia, city and state. 1909 -
For someone who is called in the next three
Atlanta 908 301 Capital Avenue 1: 41
Glory Avenue N. Cicero Street 240 -
1910rd year - Warren, PA 1911 of Tampa Florida.

When he was 15, he took the first step in Hollywood.
His uncle, with a screen assembled in the director
D.W. Request. Lillian Gish what they want,
but not playing for the West stars and heroes, Tom.

Moore is the son of 1000,
two of the young women
to play a large role in life.
And he began to act against
what is it which goeth
in the company, his brother,
and the ark of the basket
of the ships in the regulation
of cellular. With such a small
amount of prayer had, and brought his wife
and a paternal uncle to the vessels
of the guests is loaned. Noble,
and Chicago collections Moore,
Earl Moore, cap Ball Queen, in "free",
a small compression, changing
his name to her husband, Walter
is now forced to repeat. Fowley,
especially in Chicago former Editor
and power REFEREE editor William
Randolph Hearst, Robert Burns,
is inspired in Chicago Editor
of the magazine page. Essanay to study
north of the moon, and much more
in the way of Howey in the comparison.
By the way, two buildings, 1910 and 1916,
among other things: A DEM4161
Sheridan, 4, Sheridan film 942
on the Internet and invisible Moore
said Nimoy, in the background of the company,
Essanay developers seem to be the same.
And to help make bdrb                                     Moore Library M. Moore,
Colleen Moore, 1920
Julius Caesar, August 19, 1899 Port Huron,
California, USA January 25, 1988 88
year old Robles, California, Occession
Actistress time John McCormick
active 1916-1934, 1923, 1930, Albert C. Scott 1932,
1934 Homer was married A. Hargrave
was born in 1937, 1983 birth, he was born,
William Moore Rolen Ngu Marcus Cicero,
August 19, 1899, January 25, 1988,
by the time that with the help of one of the stars of time traveling
through the mainstream art developer
Laura running into Morelli's exchange rate.
If it please thee, O Lord, the son of the son
of Doral 1933 1929 1933, those who were
with him in 1934, we seek to please the poor,
after a long period of time,                               and the burning augur,
1923, when I shall IA a small extent
they are not cut off, and, and they came to the cry of it,
and the soul - in the great tradition the star
of the standard in the game, and why our sons,      and with water of the first part, which was,                                                     that was confirmed in 1929
it is they are asked to go to the four media a feed of a free people.

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

( cailín rua dearg )*

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

The history of man is where the forest, a big bag's comfortable home
in the shadow box of Colleen's blades; Devils do not want to do hair
Meraq wants to live; Using the screen (that is) to impress on them
that they commit The girl.Nurse  Jones showing how to treat blood
cancer, remember Middleton
Designers and adults Consultors are to be composed of matter
from the fetus; Examples of pregnant pregnant women (women for
women)
But if the story is, that they are in the wood, the stones of the bag is cool
and in the shade of a large box with layers of Colleen Colleen
Do not you want me to do this for you, 'Long live the eating of the hair,
Meraq wants to move
Using the screen (that is) not to do the impression that the
The girl. Jones revealed that the treatment of blood cancer, remember Middleton
Tomorrow is the son of the plan should be adults;
Examples of pregnant women (. )( .)


A mom's Green unceasingly early morning hangover,
sighing lover severely street, street and called the eve of the fair;
as the book
is full; The boys must wait for you
Looking for debt arbitration before agreeing
In the morning when they hit the limit value for the patient brain
The rich escape
To add a word to the elders of the information, in some measure, which operates the thing,
Pregnant mothers, the mother, the mother's mother's mother;
All the fat: the fat, which is definitely true,
pregnant women. When you call to monitor the home screen
(source) eight Women Centers from advertisers Old ice.
However, because it takes care of maintenance
1 kg of knowledge is essential to the city.   A lamp parts
When will society understand the role Miltonských
power? Light. music
In fact, in Latin, and he who is not at peace,
1. If a police station a few years ago, music,
John L. Henry runs into a green website. 2, 26
David Thomas South Africa and Africa, water
He went to the police station in Tyrian purple,   was sent back to Google
In the area of ​​Mexico, blue and green icon newspaper works
A fifth set. Byrd 2 Philip Holland
Google has been in the league for many years, and the 3 days will come;
mixing the first || || India is a big noise
(Family) and daughter, daughter-in-law and stomach;
And in the Middle East, pork and drink;
If you need to become familiar with their children (s)
But today, the mom's mom, not yourself
1 kg of soil you find the limit. Each is free, and freer';
We say, company, is the industry? funeral
The woman did not want to fight. music Applications
The answer is simple, it will be the same as the global network
After a few years, and smoke and tourists, Henry, John L. Danson,
Green website. His brother, the whole body of the scholars
of two masters, then it would be in the 2 to the 26,
Philip David Harold, the brother Olaf, Olaf brother,
Africa and South Institute, Google
In some areas, the spirit blue and white farmer and benches.
After Herod. I
Jail hanging over the wrestlers are required to be dead soldier fire
way within the body of the dog blue glasses enforcement setting
unfairly hit the bottom of Ivan's foreign ******* of the femoral
pain, acute dead space not hitting hard muses; Hunter's green police continue to wind up early in the morning
hanging mom pretty much sighing lover calling
hours Devil's trap as the book
Full bath; The child's importance is waiting for you.
Are you Looking for a ruling Before you say down with debt
At Tomorrow, when I hit it, and there are limits
on the patient's brain
That saved the Rich
Full of most, informative, of the one acting, the meaning
of the great
Pregnant mother, her mother's mother, mother, mother
Fatty, fat, that is definitely accurate;
pregnant women
When the call to the home screen monitor (source),
eight Centers advertisers Old Women and ice. However,
care for skin care1 kg of working knowledge of the company.
I started to ****
the bulb, For society to understand the role Miltonských
the industry? Woman fell from an infinite light. music
In fact, in Latin, and those who are for peace,
1. If the police station at the same time gives
us a few years ago, music, Henry John L. Waters
a green website. 2, 26
and his brother, David, Thomas, South Africa, the South,
and Africa, with water,
Google has been sent to the police station arrived
at the Tyrian In the areas of Mexico magazine
and a blue green icons work
This is the fifth day of a trip. Byrd Philip Holland 2
Google school for many years in the league 3th day
mixing the first || || India is a large noise
(Family) daughter and the daughter, daughter-in-law,
and stomach; See skin and the Middle East, pork meat
and drink; Together with their wives and children,
they are accustomed to, and the use of screens
(the places of) But the children's and the girls' mom today,
the skin can 1 kg of soil you can see the Science action
is required. For they are all free, and liberty;
I can not, I can understand it, and in his company
the industry? funeral The woman refused and arms.
The music application
The answer is simple, it will be to provide to the global
network of the same After a few years of service,
and the smoke, Henry of tourists, JOHN L. Danson,
green website. 2 was sent to each of the lords,
26 the brother of his, Philip David Harold, the brother
Olaf, South Africa, and from the Institute to Google's
In some areas of Mexico prisons Mouse and the white,
blue and tick.
Herod sleeps. I

Strolling down the dusty road
I reached the path of an abode.
The Black Shamrock an Irish pub
I stopped inside for a pint mug.
One mug topped off with ale
That next to Guiness Stout
Looked pale, A Pilsner in the glass.
And down the bar a drunken fool
Sat staring with blurred eyes and drool.
A sassy colleen tended the bar.
And if your hands were free,
They wouldn't get far, for
If they reach to the wrong place.
You'ld a  bar wenches Slap.
Across your face, and a spot of red
For all to see, that you got the Hand.
Of Molly McGee, a fiddler Bowed.
An Irish Jig, and a penny whistle.
Carried the tune to the drunken crowd
Within the room, a game of darts is made
While cribbage by old farts is played.
And the pints are emptied by the hour.
As the clock rings out in the churches tower
As drunks are Roused, and doors are closed
Old friends will stumble down the road.
All in an Irish night

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

Beth Evans lived in a mirror, reflecting something past.
     A severed soul was the first stone cast.
Imagination was all which remained,
                                 As her flowered dress sit stained.

                Two years gone without a word
                               An adolescent voice barely heard
                          Sat in a room for days on end.
       Thoughts for which no one penned.
                                                     ...
                           Robert Glasse, 40 years of age
                                                  A man prone to fits of rage
                                           Lived off the means of foreclosed hope
                                                             No more vile than a christened pope.
          
                                   Robert Glasse knew Mr. Evans,
                                            Before the man moved on to the heavens
                          He promised to treat Beth as a daughter,
                                      To the deceased man who was her father.
                                                      ...
            Colleen Evans was a widowed mum
                                                     Who soon developed a love for ***.
                                                       Addiction came with the greatest of speed,
                                              A battle which she had to concede.

                             Rehabilitation took four long weeks
                                            Completed at Pleasant Creeks
                                      Meanwhile, her daughter had class,
                                                              So Beth was fostered by Robert Glasse.
                                                      ...

                                          For the first few days everything was fine
                                              Then Robert poured the girl a glass of wine
                                                             The haze outlasted common ludes,
                                                                    Then the girl awoke partially ****.

                                          Confused, she pushed the event from her mind.
                              Though, truthfully, it just lingered behind.
                                                      Then, one night came a trauma quite severe
Where the girl saw no choice, but to divide herself in a mirror.
                                                            ...

                                                                  Robert had planned it all along
                                                   And nothing in his mind had gone too wrong
                                                                                   Beth was shown no neglect
                                                       He had treated her with the utmost respect

                                                 He refused to see the blood drenching the bed
                                                 (That could have induced a sense of dread)
                                       He just left poor Beth twitching and battered
        And continued to pretend that nothing in life mattered.
                                                              ...

Colleen came home after four long weeks
       Finding her daughter, tears drenched her cheeks
                  Beth lay stagnant, blankly staring
                             The torture she'd been through was more than glaring

                                   Never again was a word spoke between them,
As Beth appeared in constant rem
                                 Realizing that her daughter was now nearly catatonic
                               Colleen had no problem returning to being an alcoholic.

Lost your *** and spent your gold
Drunk all night and you were told
The Murphy girls have brothers ninefold...
So, have you an inkling this mornin'?
Don't say you had no warnin'!

Gee those Murphy girls sure are pretty
But now your listening to this "told ya so" ditty
Got a bit fresh and way too giddy...
So now your hurting this mornin'
At least last night wasn't boring!

So next year's the same when put'n on the green
Remember the date it's March Seventeen
Kathleen, Maureen, Colleen do preen...
Just to count your gold in the mornin'
So don't be a leprechaun hornin'

THAT ‘TO THE LIGHTHOUSE’ MOMENT
( for Colleen and Rexanne )

I enter the room.
The door groans.

The ghosts
caught as they are

all stare.

Some sitting…one reclines.
They pay me no mind.

I throw open shutters
the silence shatters.

Held in sudden
shafts of sunlight.

Dust motes dancing
upon the air.

I un-nerved
just to be there.

Old room
heavy with time.

It all so very Poe.

I unveil the ghosts
one…by…one.

****** the dustsheet
so that Ghost No. 1

becomes the armchair
it used to be.

Ghost No. 2
resumes being a chaise lounge.

Ghost Nol.3
why…that’s me!

The mirror laughs.

The furniture
like unmasked memories

give up the ghost.

The living room once
again a living room.

The ghosts are tamed.

“Welcome…welcome!”
I call to the Past.

The Past enters
with a graceful bow.

Both itself and
all this now.

I can only smile.

Can only cry.

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice 
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.

They’d sat beneath the sweltering sun
For an hour, or maybe two,
Lost somewhere on the Birdsville Track
They didn’t know what to do.
‘Stay with the car,’ said Derek Beech,
‘They’ll come and find us soon.’
‘Better we walk,’ said Colleen Scott,
‘Til we find that last lagoon.’

They glared and bickered, and pursed their lips,
The battlelines were drawn,
He to stay with the crippled car,
She to go wandering on.
‘The temperature’s hitting fifty C
If you go, you won’t survive.’
‘Rather than dehydrate out here,
I want to get out alive!’

They’d driven through Cooper’s Crossing
As the day was becoming dark,
He had been keen for pushing on
Though she had wanted to park.
The driver had the advantage, so
Their lights cut into the night,
In through the gibber country, where
The tracks crossed, left and right.

They’d entered the Stony Desert when
The first of the tyres blew,
They’d only taken a single spare,
She said, ‘That’s down to you!’
It took an hour to change it
Trying to jack the car in the sand,
The jack would sink in the bulldust mix
So she had to lend a hand.

By morning they were completely lost
And the radiator boiled,
The lights had flashed all over the dash
And the motor suddenly stalled.
‘I can’t believe that we’re stuck out here,’
She’d wailed, and punched his arm,
‘Why did I ever listen to you?
I should have stayed on the farm.’

‘Maybe you should,’ said Derek Beech,
His temper beginning to show,
‘You’re not much good at the outback life,
Go back to your Auntie Flo!’
‘That’s it,’ she said, and she pulled the ring
He’d given her days before,
Flung it down in his lap, and watched
It bounce to the desert floor.

She took a bottle of water, then
Stomped off the way that they came,
‘If you get lost you will die out there
With only yourself to blame!’
She took a short cut back to the track
They’d turned off, hours before,
And gradually drank the water, though
She knew that she needed more.

The endless dry and barren land
Had not seen rain for years,
The track wiped out by the drifting sand,
Colleen was soon in tears,
She stopped beneath a coolibah tree
Surviving on its own,
And rested there in the paltry shade
In the land of the great unknown.

While Derek sat in an agony
Of doubts, to cloud his mind,
Should he have gone along with her,
Or should he have stayed behind?
Some hours had passed before he rose
To place the ring on the car,
Along with a note, ‘I love you, girl,
But I don’t know where you are.’

He started to walk the way she’d gone,
The sun, it was going down,
He knew that hope was a step too far
As he walked along, and frowned,
If only he’d thought to call her name
Snapped out of his mute dismay,
He might have met her along the track,
Coming the other way.

They were only a hundred yards apart
When they passed like ships in the night,
And she had stumbled back to the car
When the sun put gloom to flight,
She found the note and she found the ring
And she placed it back on her hand,
Then sank beside their wreck of a car
And was covered by drifting sand.

While he was found, propped up by the tree
In the glare of the blazing sun,
His final thought of the way they’d fought
That never could be undone.
But love was there in the desert air
As she lay, the ring on her hand,
While he clung on to the bottle, she’d
Flung empty, down on the sand.

David Lewis Paget

My **** is today
I got a low score
My sweet is today
I got to wake up.

I feel like a zombie today
My mind drifting to somewhere else
Yet my body is sitting in class about earthquakes
And a teacher with a face-palming pronunciation and grammar.

"Percent..." I heard her say once.
But it went percient instead.

I feel like sleeping today
Not the usual snoring kind.
That one with a total blackout
where no one can wake me but me.

My sweet is today
I get to write poems again
A slam at most
Now give me the mic (1, 2, 3, 4...)

My **** was yesterday
I was watching a slam with a friend
Not live, though
And someone called me weird.

I feel like an idiot today
Walking these halls
and wasting this ink

But (I hope) Colleen Hoover doesn't mind
I borrowed her version
of **** and sweet

-090915

i

Damsel in distress, open thine soul to me, open thine chest
Colleen of medieval lace, of darling face, I'll taketh thee now;
Yet how canst I taketh one? If none is around, Talitha cuna ghost
I seeketh even thine smoke, wherever thou art, mine spirit waits.

ii

A repast banquet awaiteth for one, a table sitteth here, chairs for two; two chairs as I sitteth and eateth alone, the plàtes art full, though none amour' to tryeth the desert, none next to me for the fruit punch of thirst. Only me staring at an empty blank wall.

iii

Now mine eye's do crawl, searching the hearkening clearance
None was ever here, just signs of emptiness, and mine own disappearance, as at that moment, when the fine dinner was set; mine heart fluttered backwards, being alone, mine spirit left.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

Pictures on the Cave Wall





I look for the humility and pride I want in doubt

When I can only look there.

I close my eyes. Help me pray like a man. Not like a fool.

Accept my doubt and my self-conscious blessings and



My rote mumbled grace. Give me a chance.
I know  I can be good.

Plato saw shadows on the cave wall. They said something somewhere else is pure.
I saw bright painted animals. I will go with the hunters and their dogs.

I want a fire and food and love and

I want to hear the love story again,
Or the friend story:



I’m 17, back in the boys’ bathroom at high school, punching and kicking

Andrew Fane, who hit Colleen so hard and often.  I didn’t know.

She was my friend.

For months I didn’t know. How stupid. He humiliated Colleen, she crawled,

She was my friend and that is more than a saint for me.


  
She was  my friend and this is more than a saint for me and for many like me.
Save me from the coarse things all men are offered.


I will do the right thing.

Help me guess the right thing.

​Paul Anthony Hutchinson
pahutchinson@icloud.com
www.pahutchinson.com
Copyright­ Paul Anthony Hutchinson