Hail, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,
Each soul expands, each grateful ***** burns,
While in thine hand with pleasure we behold
The silken reins, and Freedom’s charms unfold.
Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies
She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:
Soon as appear’d the Goddess long desir’d,
Sick at the view, she languish’d and expir’d;
Thus from the splendors of the morning light
The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.
  No more, America, in mournful strain
Of wrongs, and grievance unredress’d complain,
No longer shalt thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand
Had made, and with it meant t’ enslave the land.
  Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was ******’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must ******,
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d:
Such, such my case.  And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
  For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,
And thee we ask thy favours to renew,
Since in thy pow’r, as in thy will before,
To sooth the griefs, which thou did’st once deplore.
May heav’nly grace the sacred sanction give
To all thy works, and thou for ever live
Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
Though praise immortal crowns the patriot’s name,
But to conduct to heav’ns refulgent fane,
May fiery coursers sweep th’ ethereal plain,
And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,
Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.

People of all ages sitting in a circle staring at the ground, ceiling, etc. a few twitching.

"Hi, I'm Fred."

"Hi Fred"

"I started this group because I found that I was on Hello Poetry 24/7. I got an account and I loved it. At first I was only on a little, posting one or two poems a day. But I loved it so much I began spending more time on it. It became a problem when I was fired for focusing on Hello Poetry instead of the heavy machinery I was operating. I was drinking so much coffee so I didn't have to sleep that I couldn't think straight. I began writing strange poems about adhesive sloths and grapes. My wife threatened to leave me if I didn't delete my account. I tried to stay off it but, it didn't work out. My wife took my kids and told me that I was too irresponsible. I responded with a limerick. She was very mad and left immediately after. I really want to stop being addicted to Hello Poetry and when I asked I got an overwhelming response from people who felt the same. If everyone could please introduce themselves in a clockwise direction."

"Hi… I'm… um… kittylover682"

"Hi kittylover682"

"So… I used to have a name, but now I can only remember my screen name. In fact, that is really the only part of my identity that remains. I miss obsessing over kitties and petting them, but now I just spend all my time on Hello Poetry. I used to have such a kitty-full life! I had so much potential! i made friends with every type of kitty, even new ones, i never discriminated. I met persian kitties, and alley kitties and tabby kitties and I went and pet them and showed them love… then i got kicked out of people's houses for sneaking in to pet their kitties… but my point is, kitties were my LIFE! And now, my life revolves around that little lightening bolt and i can only seem to speak in metaphors. That lightning bolt is the death of my heart, the thorn in my side, the electricity that warps my body and it just… it is a storm inside of my life. The agony when i see that my lightning bolt is not lit up with a notification… it is an undying fiery hell within my soul. I makes me want to… to… well, it makes me consider leaping off of cliffs or in front of trains… but the only thing that stops me is the hindering idea that I may have to get off of hello poetry for a few moments to go do that so I remain, under my bed on my computer, posting poetry, reading poetry, commenting, liking, reposting… its a VICIOUS CYCLE!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!!!!”

“Hi I’m DaPoet”

“Hi DaPoet”

“Like, kittylover682 I had a different name, but this is MUCH cooler. I don’t think I have a problem, because who says there is anything wrong with being a poet? Also I’m not a normal poet. All of my poems are also raps. I’m here because my mom thinks I have a problem. Apparently choosing poetry over sleep and school is not okay. I don’t understand her ‘logic’”

“Hi I’m DYING”

“Hi Dying”

“No, that’s not my name, who CARES what my name is?! I’m only still here and not on Hello Poetry right now because my sister has chained me to this chair and bolted it to the floor. She thinks I need help but I AM DYING! I need to get on it! I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM! I’M FINE! I’M FINE! GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”

“Please calm down.”

“Shut up Fred!
There once was a man named Fred,
who got it into his stupid head,
that people needed to be cured,
of the obsession with the written word,
and as soon as I get unchained FRED IS GOING TO BE DEAD!”

“Okay… please stop creating violent limericks on the spot. We have all been there, there IS a way out.”

“I DON’T WANT A WAY OUT! I HATE TO SHOUT, BUT WITHOUT A DOUBT YOU ARE A BIG DUMB LOUT!”

“Okay, stop making really ****** rhymes please.”

“Well then… GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”

“Okay… let’s just move on. We’ll come back to you. Next person, please go on, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut. Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver, after all.”

“Hi I’m…Sally”

“Excuse me, could you put down your phone while you introduce yourself?”

“No… Oh my gosh, Poetry is Life started trending!”

“I’m sorry what?”

“My fourth latest poem started trending!”

“YAY!” *everyone claps and congratulates Sally

“No. No more Hello Poetry. We are supposed to stop obsessing over poetry and be cured from this addiction.”

“I don’t want to be cured.”

“I love Hello Poetry”

“Why don’t we change this to a spoken word club!”

“Yes!”

“Hi I’m DaPoet and I declare this a new spoken word club!”

“YAY!”

“No no no! I created this to-” Sally clubs Fred in the head with her phone and he drops dead

“YAY! FRED IS DEAD!”

“He was hit in the head”

“And we are now free”

“To write continuous poetry!”

“And become more obsessed instead!”

The end.


REPOST IF YOU REALLY NEED TO ATTEND THIS SUPPORT GROUP TOO LIKE US
PLEASE COMMENT! WE LOVE TO READ ANY THOUGHTS YOU HAVE!

Solitary hiker, trudging up the slopes,
breath quickened by the angle;
hallway up, I spot a rock, sit, and
let my legs below me, dangle.

Take in the valley, far below,
that lingers lovely in my gaze;
through mist-filled clouds,
and scattered haze.

I find my pulse on my carotid,
the big artery on my neck;
it's bounding and it's fast,
but I continue, on my trek.

I slow the pace with measured gait,
granny steps and slow walking;
nearing now the summit's crest,
my hips and legs do all the balking.

Solitary walker, his face now in the clouds,
congratulates himself at last;
looks out into the far horizons,
out to the mountains of his past.

Dark and desperate caves fill our destiny,
Continuously moulded by the hands of white horses.
We shall pledge our allegiance here,
And I will finally become one with your forces.
Ships and ships of cargo pass through,
Carrying only our thoughts and queries,
Stopping only for the wise and free spirits,
And starting their journey whence the worries.
Can I meet the blue spirit that lives here?
If to ask for something so simple, so special.
Lagoons lie outside and ****** us with golden sands,
But temptation cannot withhold how we feel.

Will you...
Will you?
Only if to find my weakness,
Only if to be beaten,
And a tie commences which penetrates us.
Like children opening eyes to the new world,
We dance inside and emotions are spilled.
We cry so softly, echoes of joy are heard.

Stepping from these dark and desperate caves,
The moon congratulates our arrival to Earth.
Pacing every step with golden statues surrounding us,
But not millions are as valued as what you're worth.

The sun cannot replace you,
The moon cannot compare.
Without you I can't do,
All I need is you to be near.

A pair of eyes collides
With one identical pair,
The first pair owner lowers
His head to bow as heir.
The second rises slowly,
Triumphant lifts his voice,
Commands, commands this brainless
Descendant of his choice.

But number One refuses
He negatively shrinks
And in the eyes of daddy
He stares and never blinks
A “NO” still echoes somewhere
The word becomes a sword
It riddles Second´s ticker
And One is without lord.

Pale but smiling number Two
Congratulates his son.
Reassuring number One
His loss means that he won.
Then Two drops dead
At least in part
And moves no inch of bone

One, alone, falls into pit.
Pit uncertainty.
One can´t think straight,
Brain so full that empty.
Two wore coat,
Two´s coat heavy.
One still wears it,
Legs are wobbly.

One
Take first own step
Alone

Hello Poetry Support Group (collaboration between Ena Alysopriano and Ember Evanescent)


People of all ages sitting in a circle staring at the ground, ceiling, etc. a few twitching.


"Hi, I'm Fred."


"Hi Fred"


"I started this group because I found that I was on Hello Poetry 24/7. I got an account and I loved it. At first I was only on a little, posting one or two poems a day. But I loved it so much I began spending more time on it. It became a problem when I was fired for focusing on Hello Poetry instead of the heavy machinery I was operating. I was drinking so much coffee so I didn't have to sleep that I couldn't think straight. I began writing strange poems about adhesive sloths and grapes. My wife threatened to leave me if I didn't delete my account. I tried to stay off it but, it didn't work out. My wife took my kids and told me that I was too irresponsible. I responded with a limerick. She was very mad and left immediately after. I really want to stop being addicted to Hello Poetry and when I asked I got an overwhelming response from people who felt the same. If everyone could please introduce themselves in a clockwise direction."


"Hi… I'm… um… kittylover682"


"Hi kittylover682"


"So… I used to have a name, but now I can only remember my screen name. In fact, that is really the only part of my identity that remains. I miss obsessing over kitties and petting them, but now I just spend all my time on Hello Poetry. I used to have such a kitty-full life! I had so much potential! i made friends with every type of kitty, even new ones, i never discriminated. I met persian kitties, and alley kitties and tabby kitties and I went and pet them and showed them love… then i got kicked out of people's houses for sneaking in to pet their kitties… but my point is, kitties were my LIFE! And now, my life revolves around that little lightening bolt and i can only seem to speak in metaphors. That lightning bolt is the death of my heart, the thorn in my side, the electricity that warps my body and it just… it is a storm inside of my life. The agony when i see that my lightning bolt is not lit up with a notification… it is an undying fiery hell within my soul. I makes me want to… to… well, it makes me consider leaping off of cliffs or in front of trains… but the only thing that stops me is the hindering idea that I may have to get off of hello poetry for a few moments to go do that so I remain, under my bed on my computer, posting poetry, reading poetry, commenting, liking, reposting… its a VICIOUS CYCLE!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!!!!”


“Hi I’m DaPoet”


“Hi DaPoet”


“Like, kittylover682 I had a different name, but this is MUCH cooler. I don’t think I have a problem, because who says there is anything wrong with being a poet? Also I’m not a normal poet. All of my poems are also raps. I’m here because my mom thinks I have a problem. Apparently choosing poetry over sleep and school is not okay. I don’t understand her ‘logic’”


“Hi I’m DYING”


“Hi Dying”


“No, that’s not my name, who CARES what my name is?! I’m only still here and not on Hello Poetry right now because my sister has chained me to this chair and bolted it to the floor. She thinks I need help but I AM DYING! I need to get on it! I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM! I’M FINE! I’M FINE! GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”


“Please calm down.”


“Shut up Fred!

There once was a man named Fred,

who got it into his stupid head,

that people needed to be cured,

of the obsession with the written word,

and as soon as I get unchained FRED IS GOING TO BE DEAD!”


“Okay… please stop creating violent limericks on the spot. We have all been there, there IS a way out.”


“I DON’T WANT A WAY OUT! I HATE TO SHOUT, BUT WITHOUT A DOUBT YOU ARE A BIG DUMB LOUT!”


“Okay, stop making really ****** rhymes please.”


“Well then… GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”


“Okay… let’s just move on. We’ll come back to you. Next person, please go on, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut. Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver, after all.”


“Hi I’m…Sally”


“Excuse me, could you put down your phone while you introduce yourself?”


“No… Oh my gosh, Poetry is Life started trending!”


“I’m sorry what?”


“My fourth latest poem started trending!”


“YAY!” everyone claps and congratulates Sally


“No. No more Hello Poetry. We are supposed to stop obsessing over poetry and be cured from this addiction.”


“I don’t want to be cured.”


“I love Hello Poetry”


“Why don’t we change this to a spoken word club!”


“Yes!”


“Hi I’m DaPoet and I declare this a new spoken word club!”


“YAY!”


“No no no! I created this to-” Sally clubs Fred in the head with her phone and he drops dead


“YAY! FRED IS DEAD!”


“He was hit in the head”


“And we are now free”


“To write continuous poetry!”


“And become more obsessed instead!”


The end.



REPOST IF YOU REALLY NEED TO ATTEND THIS SUPPORT GROUP TOO LIKE US
PLEASE COMMENT! WE LOVE TO READ ANY THOUGHTS YOU HAVE!

You always hear of the first place winners
The people who got what they want
But no one ever talks about third place
No one ever congratulates third place
They follow the winners around,
Desperately trying to catch up, chasing
But they will always be the number three
Third to be noticed, third wheel
There is only one time and place
They manage to come in second
And that is, *second best

She bows her head everytime she works
Patiently giving her everything
She never stops until she achieves perfection
Constantly shapes,molds and draws
Her canvas are the mirrors of her soul
She congratulates herself for a job well done
And smiles from time to time
Every genius must have a mother,
This greatest artist who inspires
Every greatest man on earth..

cora chan

Each morning we awake with our heads buried into each others chests, as if they were bags of sand.
As if, everyone outside of this tiny room, would disappear.

Each morning he would tell me I am beautiful, so I stop wearing makeup and feeling the pressure to shave.
I don’t change out of my pajamas or shower for a week and he still tells me; ‘you are beautiful’.

He is all too familiar with my history to lie and I am all too familiar with the grey area of comfortability that I paint for myself.
And yet still I reply; “I love you too”
and he believes me without hesitation.  

This feeling is so familiar that I no longer can tell if it is a lie or the truth.
But I know that he believes me.
He looks down at me with big rounded eyes as he smiles, and I tell him;
“crows-feet do not look good on anyone so can you please soften up your face”.

No night is complete without my relentless nagging to watch a film
and afterwards, I still complain.
I complain when he ignores me while playing video games and I complain when he talks during Eastenders.

I have this compulsive urge inside of me to text him about every aspect of my life, while he is at work, from going for a walk to taking a bath.
He never replies.
But he congratulates me when I do the dishes even though he works 6 days a week while I sleep.

He makes loving me seem so easy. He makes me feel as though I am worthy of being loved.

We are both aware that I have molded him into being exactly what I need him to be-
Both protector and provider.
Both willing to take on the hefty weight of my sins without burdening me with his own.

When the guilt becomes too much he calls me both ‘baby bear’ and ‘princess’ while he rubs my back to help me sleep.

When he catches me searching for my old lovers name on facebook, he says nothing.
When he tells me he bumped into my old lover on the street, he detects my mood change and holds me closer.

I know that he is hurting inside too, but I allow him to comfort me everyday that it rains,
and in this little town, that’s more often than not.

I don’t know why I feel closer to abandonment and burnt out flames,
than I do to the shelter he built for me so I never had to go cold again.

Every restaurant we visit, every pub we drink at, I see every man who has ever sat in his place.
I can’t resist the temptation to tell him the story of when another man sat me at this very table.

I don’t know what to tell him when he asks me why everything I have ever needed is not enough.
I think the answer lies somewhere in my art.

You build our future, while I build my career.
A career of box wrapped trauma converted into a museum spectacle.
You piece me together until I am complete, left feeling so content and so- uninspired.

The distinction between falling in love with creating art and falling in love with the pain that brought me here is not clear.

I can not deny the underlying humour when I cry to a ghost of a man, asking what parts of me he is not able to love.

I dug a hole so deep into your chest, so I could bury my head and forget all the heartbreak that came before you.
And you forced yourself so deeply into my heart that you are willing to ignore all the warning signs and for that I thank you.

you don't get to lecture me over tears!
you celt you english, you don't get to that,
unless you want a punch in the face!
you... you get to say the anti-collective
pronoun! you get to say i belong to a they...
your fickle kind that march into the graveyard
and be: at best forgotten...
you don't tell me what, you don't tell me
what i need, you don't tell me what should have
with you, i'll gladly reply: certainly not children,
who'd want to infect that wretched womb
of ill...
     i'll go on chasing my "dream" that's a horror
until i'm dead and rot, so i might make
it all the more ******...
as you saying: a quest for an epitaph.
   but i will not hear you talk this crap!
go back to your Thai haven! *******... move!
and see why incorporated whives employ
the Indonesian tactic of covering their faces
because of their felt need to express shame!
i have honour in my country of birth,
what does the west have? more **** to sell...
that's about it.. i have too many things to utilise
to ensure i was living, worthwhise...
   death does not assort such privileges...
     it eats them...
                    ******* vermin architects,
look at them suctter into the depths,
an octopus might have wrirtten it,
given someone cried and kissed the finger that
rubbed the eye better,
and how tears aren't salty to begin with...
    you can really wipe off the tears in your
eye and later lick them off your fingers...
and then write something autocractic to compensate...
simply because you are a man of feeling...
  the west wasn't going to enter tha art-form
of dialectics anyway... it was always going
to stance itself as: model-perfect / model--prefect,
it wasn't going to entertain the art!
           toward the depths unseen...
                         paying your taxes under axis
power... what is democracy now? if not a disease?
all it took was sipping on my tears
to define what actually is...
          when an old granny congratulates me
for having received a pension: then i'll be happy..
           i must be upkeeping the need for
***** if i'm lagging behind imitating hong kong...
           there middle men, these con-,
i really don't know what to do with them,
they're just "there", the can't simply disappear...
you can't rub it better with them,
you can't even bleach them to eventually spot them...
but then i do have a love affair
   with pirates more so than i have with peasants....
don't know, perhaps it breeds the capacity
to breed narratives...
    oh no, not writing anything that might sell..
i feel restaurants to be the most lonely places
in the world...
just as much: when melville...
                  that could begin and end with:
once upon a time...
           mammoths... that could do...
                                                in ol' estonia...
reading homer and figuring mermaids isn't
that much crass as what modern narratives provide...
   that said and thus saying:
fiction is stranger than the truth....
                  does that fact actually exist?
  i should reiterate: does that "fact" actuall exist?
it did, it did back when there was a then
so reitereate: so it was.
   now? now?! ha ha ha!
                         you want now to be important?
now is important?
            what the **** is happening now?
if you're not Syrian what else could matter if not
Syria?
               i mean language as an object
rather than a per se subject....
                       what could i possibly fiddle with?
i'm not going to equate this medium to imply
i might play the violin...
      all i said was that i drank my tears
   from the fountain that was my index finger
wiping them from my eye...
   and that after i lodged a stone into my chest
that was to be a heart, and moved on,
careless of what might be considered art...
            that once there was love: but somehow
it fizzled out, like opening a bottle of carbonate water
and watching it choke, waiting for the last
bubble to evaporate;
dare i dream? that's hardly a question?
   dare i plagiarise? sure, esp. when there is no
basis to create an originality for the basis of movie
or theatre... by then i forget it's a plagiarism
of any worth, and i write: like i might ****** 30 people.

Stumped by Trump Crooked Hillary Clinton is Smitten!
teeth marks on her *** right where she was Bitten,

She tried to lie she tried  some  cheatin' She must have been high to not see the beatin"

From Queens our New President Hails,He knocked the Clinton Train Right off its rails!

Jill Stein In Mind to  recount this Election,Hillary too drunk to  give a concession,supporters report her angry in a RAGE,half her staff she violently berated,In the end Hillary was sedated!

In tears her fears all came to light,Trump congratulates her for one hell of a fight,on Election night America was made Right to  the left,an end to the theft of all our security Immaturity!! Soon to be jailed for her  perjury Dr Trump conducts a much needed surgery.

A fair Election with no deception Trump Chumped them all and now we watch as they fall,In the streets snowflakes Protest UNREST I detest the Nest That Soros Built with no guilt of the effect..America Wrecked for a Dollar people Shout and Holler NOT MY President The scent of RAGE running through their veins A shame in our streets Not Accepting her defeat!


Trump hooks up  a pump and does not refrain to Dems disdain he flips ON the switch and begins to Drain this *****.In a ditch without a hitch WE can all see her itch and twitch  with so much Hate.Worse then her pivots in the Debates. IRATE!!! Right off her Plate Trump sat down and ATE!

He took down Hillary! Like a Killer he slapped off that pilary on her face  DISGRACED! Maced in the face Burns to the Taste!She is cold and she Might be Bitter.Trump doesn't care he Continues to TWITTER!

Gowdy is still Rowdy and I dont think he will fail on his quest to put Hillary in jail.Trump says theres other things to do  but thanks for your Blessins' and then  he hired Jeff Sessions.No cards on the table no one is able to see What the Donald will do.Up his sleeve he wont leave it alone  Shes ******! You can believe it its TRUE!

: The Donald!
Stumped by Trump Crooked Hillary Clinton is Smitten!
teeth marks on her *** right where she was Bitten,
She tried to lie she tried some cheatin' She must have been high to not see the beatin"
From Queens our New President Hails,He knocked the Clinton Train Right off its rails!
Jill Stein In Mind to recount this Election,Hillary too drunk to give a concession,supporters report her angry in a RAGE,half her staff she violently berated,In the end Hillary was sedated!
In tears her fears all came to light,Trump congratulates her for one hell of a fight,on Election night America was made Right to the left,an end to the theft of all our security Immaturity!! Soon to be jailed for her perjury Dr Trump conducts a much needed surgery.
A fair Election with no deception Trump Chumped them all and now we watch as they fall,In the streets snowflakes Protest UNREST I detest the Nest That Soros Built with no guilt of the effect..America Wrecked for a Dollar people Shout and Holler NOT MY President The scent of RAGE running through their veins A shame in our streets Not Accepting her defeat!
Trump hooks up a pump and does not refrain to Dems disdain he flips ON the switch and begins to Drain this *****.In a ditch without a hitch WE can all see her itch and twitch with so much Hate.Worse then her pivots in the Debates. IRATE!!! Right off her Plate Trump sat down and ATE!
He took down Hillary! Like a Killer he slapped off that pilary on her face DISGRACED! Maced in the face Burns to the Taste!She is cold and she Might be Bitter.Trump doesn't care he Continues to TWITTER!
Gowdy is still Rowdy and I dont think he will fail on his quest to put Hillary in jail.Trump says theres other things to do but thanks for your Blessins' and then he hired Jeff Sessions.No cards on the table no one is able to see What the Donald will do.Up his sleeve he wont leave it alone Shes ******! You can believe it its TRUE!

I can almost expect
What you're worth to me
The search for something I care about
Leads me to consider some like you

To be honest, you're a bit of a plaything,
Some little dolly I can twist
To make me happy, one
Bird in the light's chorus

So the vanity in me congratulates you, you're in, that which I'm sure about
In my garden of the could've-beens
Where all is shelved and warm and no longer offensive

You can be great there, one of the best
And walk through the grass, the fountains of instinct
And meet the others who came before
As though you cared

There, you can taste the sweetness
Of pollen I scatter, brush past currents on the wind I send to ruffle your hair
*** it should be displayed,
Hear the laughter of girls in the painted summer
And appreciate me

When success finds you,
it leaves you orange,
then brown,
then blue,
green, anew,
with a shiny wax coating,
impenetrable, ready to rustle,
wind shaking you loose.

After no one helps beyond helpless words.

After no one understands, but congratulates anyway.

It can make you feel high and alone.
Somewhere sacred, secret, and beyond reach.
The sun you yearned for so eagerly in the distance, ignoring those crumbling around you.

As the sun sets on this day,
She silently congratulates herself,
For making it without him,
Until this point, when she writes,
And counts down to that day,
When she no longer needs to.

bed sheets spread and suitcases zipped shut
holding the best of our things, the ones closest
to the heart.

my laptop prepares for a week between rooms
where I laugh in one and drink in the other
while I write about you.

I greet the long empty roads to the airport
and my navigation congratulates a new
distance that we’ve shared.

with (not so) hidden anticipation and
a fresh wave of timidness as my arms
link behind your neck once again.

so we start all over, building caresses
and conversations, lightly once again
to ignite the covered flame.

my nose forgets the gripping scent you bring
that fills my head with a pain your
searching fingers can’t locate.  

your love for books and the details of your eyes
got lost between the texts and calls
from my drunk dialings to yours.

it’s harder each time to let your hand go
and release your body from mine, not knowing
when will be the next.

I never cry sober but when you boarded
the plane, the crucial drive back home
met my tears along the way.

the borderspace between our two lands
force a distance that disappears the moment
I remember the 8am smile on your face.

'Place me to your skin,' Robert says
As I continue to contemplate.
'I'll give you the satisfaction
And the pleasure,
That he failed to give.'
My dear conscience begs me not to
While I asked her when I needed her, what did she do?
My heart silently weeps,
Tells me I will regret it.
Oh *******, what of it?
It's a little sting,
For an eternity of peace.
The devil of a mind that I have congratulates me.
Says that people like me deserve it,
People who are not good enough.
I am a disgrace honestly, it continues
Because if I can't be good enough for the people I love who choose to leave,
I'm not good enough for anybody at all,
Not even for my own ******* self.
I can't even prove to myself,
That further gives proof that I'm not good enough.
Gives validation
That I'm a waste of space, a failure
And an annoying piece of trash.
But I have to hide it though,
To keep what's remaining
So they don't slip away, you know.
I don't have the courage to end it all, sadly,
Til then, Robert will be my hidden company.

HOPE

The White House has lost its Hope.
Will Trump be able to cope?
Did she rhapsodize
His little white lies?
Is he at the end of his rope?

-by Bob B (3-2-18)

TRADE WARS

When Trump has a bad day,
All of us have to pay.
A trade war because
Of tariffs? Where was
His babysitter? Away?

-by Bob B (3-3-18)

DOSSIER #2

We hear that a SECOND dossier
Has recently come into play.
The word "collude"
Gains certitude
More and more every day.

-by Bob B (3-6-18)

HUH?

Some evangelical preachers
Prove to be rather odd creatures.
Judicious thought
Is something that's not
One of their outstanding features.

Although Trump's values collide
With theirs, they're still satisfied
That as chief of state
He'll make us great
For he still has God on his side.

-by Bob B (3-16-18)

TRUMP CONGRATULATES PUTIN ON HIS “VICTORY”

Advice often falls on deaf ears
As Trump crosses brand-new frontiers.
Best wishes to Putin
Don't make for smart shootin'.
He ALWAYS confirms our worst fears.

The man just cannot resist
Putin, who’s first on his list.
Will no one say why
Putin's his guy?
Melania ought to be ******.

-by Bob B (3-22-18)

DACA

Trump might seem to talk a
Great deal about DACA.
Often he’ll dare
To say Dems don’t care.
What a bunch of ****!

-by Bob B (3-24-18)

INTERVIEW WITH STORMY DANIELS

In Stormy's concise interview
Not much was revealed that was new.
Does IT seem to strike
You, too, that it's like
Experiencing déjà vu?

-by Bob B (3-26-18)

In real life
No boy (or girl)
Falls for
The crazy girl.

In real life
She goes to therapy
Works on herself
Heals to whole.

In real life
She sees an old friend
Browsing records
At a book store

In real life
They get married
An apartment and dog
A divorce soon.

In real life
She learns even more
Buys self-help books
At the same store.

In real life
She starts yoga
Laughs more
Makes peace more.

Once in life,
A girl in her yoga class
Congratulates her for
A successful peacock pose,
Introduces herself.

One time,
The two go for tea
At the cafe downstairs
They start to talk about themselves
And laugh a lot more.

Once upon a time,
Their hands
Warm with tea
Touch and hold
Together strong.

Once upon a time,
In a dynamic relationship
After a long time
They find a place
A cat and child.

Once upon a time,
They grow old
The cat is buried
The child moves out
The girl lives on.

Once upon a time,
She dies of course
But she faces death
After she's lived
Whole and loved.

Social lubricant, they say.
To hell with that,
I don’t know when or how,
By what chance or coincidence,
But I will call you.

You miss a step on a stairwell
And start to fall;
I extend my arm in an almost automatic gesture.
You cling to it
And let go of my hand
Just a couple of seconds later
Than you were supposed to.

Loud noises make me want to sit closer,
And so I do
In an everlasting hum,
Monotonous beat,
Saying some meaningless words.

‘It’s two for a quarter, dime for a dance’

And as I feel
The touch of your fingers on my back,
I pick up the beat;
We dance shyly
To the tune known just to the two of us
In the whole wide universe.
Some stranger congratulates us
And, embarrassed, we laugh nervously
But then look into each others’ eyes
Just a couple of seconds longer
Than we were supposed to.

Social lubricant, they say.
To hell with that,
I don’t know why,
By what chance or coincidence,
But you called me back.

The tension grows exponentially,
So we literally have to face the wind
And light up a *** or two;
Another couple afterwards.

When you didn’t see me,
I pinched myself —
Just so you know.

The piano
Misses a measure
And goes offbeat.
We start to fall,
I extend my arm in an almost automatic
gesture,
You cling to it.
We kiss,
And let go of each other
Just a couple of seconds earlier
Than we were supposed to do.

I don’t feel the usual thrill,
Or any extra ‘tension’ for that matter.
I just feel like I’m free.

Loud noises make me want to close my eyes,
And so I do
In an everlasting hum,
Monotonous beat,
Thinking some meaningless thoughts.

An hour earlier,
Or, perhaps, a day later,
And the world would have been
So much different.

‘I recognise that smell’
A hint of dried fruits,
Chocolate
And oatmeal –
Looks like a gleaming skyscraper
With a cute pink foundation
Below.

You say I’m embarrassing you,
Well, the blush is mutual,
But you sure as hell have a good taste
In music.

New coat of paint
(an impudent and familiar smell applied),
Same joint – new day.
And I don’t pinch myself,
Not anymore I don’t.


Social lubricant, they say.
The tension grows exponentially,
The piano misses another beat.
I don’t know why,
By what chance and coincidence,
But I came down for a glass that night.

I was staring at the beer and crackers,
One of those nights;
Haven’t I told you that I love warm beer?
I hear something familiar
And I smell something new.
So, the world couldn’t have been
Any stranger.

A hint of dried fruits,
Smoked wood
And chilli in a bowl.
I steal you for a cigarette
And we chatter
Just a couple of seconds longer
Than we were supposed to.

‘Call me any time you want to have some fun’

I know **** well when and how,
By what chance and coincidence,
I will call you again.
Social lubricant, you say?
A two and a ten, please.

Hope you’re not embarrassed anymore,
I know I’m not.

To hell with that.

The schizophrenic with the multiple profiles
sits all day in various guises
venting tirades and his versions of deluded events
exchanging comments
with him selves and notes of friendships with his alter egos
Always deep in neurosis
and in the innate vapidity of the ****** witless grandee
our gender changing
nationalities changing and location changing slime vies and
zig-rags hurriedly from
one profile to the other the physical link so glaring its comical
as it more so exposes the narcissist
the dumb egotist craving attention power validation and self
aggrandisements from him selves
to him selves as he uses his other profiles pop in to massage his ego
Mad and full of bumf and nothing
our poet and poets of doubts and the demoralising schlock
selves congratulates in prolification
Our witless wonder glaringly compensating his small ***** or
even perhaps its a rancid frustrated *****
staying totally impervious that his infantile trickery serves no purpose and his endeavours laughable
The Learned mind sees the classic narcissist feeding his wanton
needs desperately craving eluded self worth
Regardless a weak cowardly inadequate neurotic bullying perp troll is just that....a pathetic nonentity seeking relevance
and fooling him selves