Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret ,Kenya ;aopicho@yahoo.com)

On 13th January 2014 Dr. Wafula Chesoli of Mt Kenya University, at Lodwar campus in the north western part of Kenya published a scathing attack against homosexuality in the Neighbourhood, a daily circulating paper of the River Delta state in Nigeria.Dr Chesoli justified his contumelious position against human homosexuality by basing his stand on the scriptural citations of the Bible. The Bible which  Dr. Chesoli has operationally defined as the word of God in  this article that he entitled Strong holds of Homosexuality ;Biblical Persapectives.Chesoli’s argument has a depth of Biblical groundings, however I beg to differ with him in principle, given the  scientific scintillations on humanity of homosexuality from the recent researches of health education and psychology.
Firstly, I humbly remember that about three years ago I also published an article in the East African standard which harshly condemned social and behavioral position of gay and lesbian marriages. This was when the Anglican archbishop Dr. Eliud Wabukala of Kenya had in a similar tone lambasted the archbishop of Canterbury for suggesting that there was need for the office of the gay Bishop in the Anglican Church. I strongly supported Wabukala in that I even called gay and lesbian behavior as cultic and satanic hence to be condemned with all forms of capital nemesis. Some of the contents of my article in which I condemned homosexuality are here;
Let us support Wabukala stand on gays and morality
(January 13th 2011 at 00:00 GMT; By Alexander Opicho, Eldoret)
Practice of psychology and Christianity operates on a universal principle of unconditional positive regard for all. However, there has been a twist in this convention when media in Kenya at the start of this week carried a story that depicted moral fortitude of Bishop Eliud Wabukala; who has out-rightly dismissed the idea of establishing the office of a gay bishop in the leadership of the Anglican Church. Wabukala has come out boldly on this against the strong currents in support of gay marriages from his superiors in the Church. The efforts by Wabukala befit all manner of felicitation from all of us who believe in morality as a basis of humanity. The basis of gay relationships is legalistic and political. African culture conscientiously discourages a cult of gayism. And in Kenya living as a gay is living in contradiction to the Constitution. These collectively fall in an agreement with basic teachings of Christianity. Gayism, lesbianism, celibacy and trans-species ****** behaviour are admonished by Biblical teachings. Gayism is social deviance that originates from degradation in ****** behavior; it is a state of ****** depravement. Read more at;
http://www.standardmedia.co.ke/?articleID=2000074879&story;_title=-Let-us-support-Wabukala-stand-on-gays-and-morality.­
Little did I know that as I was publishing this article two percent of my friends and my family members are victims of ****** behavioural disability, which we are calling homosexuality in the above juncture. As university teacher in the departments of social sciences where student populations is usually high, I again came to discover sometimes later that ten percent of my students always have disordered ****** or gender conditions. I found these to be substantial revelations that provoked me to carry out both desk research and investigative *** socialization researches into this bamboozling human phenomenon of homosexuality and other related disordered ****** behaviours.
The order of explanation would first require a position which posits that; religions both Christianity and Islam don’t have any intellectual nor social machinery to carry out a socially ameliorative process in relation to disordered gender and ****** behavior in any society. Their approach have been and would still be parochial in the sense that the only outcome to be achieved is prejudice, bigotry and discrimination with full harassment against Christians or Moslems with ****** or gender disability. Thus religion should pave way for other competent social players over this matter.
Dr Chesoli’s Position that the Bible is the word of God and the Quran is the word of Allah and hence those with physiological conditions in contrast to the word of God and Word of Allah are satanic, only to face wrath of God on the judgment day is simply devoid of modern logic. I want to sensitize Dr Chesoli on the fact that not every thing in the Bible is the word of God neither   every thing in the Quran is the word of God otherwise called Allah. To support my position before I just explain scientific position of homosexuality, I want Dr. Chesoli to learn that; 159 psalms in the Bible are poetries of Kind David, Kind David whose leadership was full of Machiavellian tricks just like the current leadership of Yoweri Museven of Uganda. The book of Job is theatrical and poetical literary creation of Moses. But not the word of God. This is so because the land of Uz in which Job lived is pure fiction. All papyrological surveys have never established geographical evidence of this land. The last part of the Bible is made up of 21 epistles or letters of Paul the benjaminite. Paul’s writings display eminence of intellect as a lawyer and a person schooled in the Greek classics of Homer’s Iliad and Odysseus as well as Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex.The idea that the words which Paul wrote was the word of God is not founded ,perhaps the last stage of Jewish casuistry.
Homosexuality has to be understood as lameness or disability like any other animal or human disability. I am aware that Dr. Chesoli belongs to the old school which only appreciated the fact that lameness is limited to physical, mental, eye and hearing impairment.However, this position is now scientifically obsolete. Humanity is now understood to be sometimes a victim of ****** lameness, intellectual lameness, emotional lameness, racial relational lameness and other plethorae of lameness to be uncovered, courtesy of science and research.
Like the condition of ****** disability can be heterosexual disability or homosexual disability. Heterosexual disability can be indicated by misfortunate human ****** conditions like; early *******, erectile disfucntion,oversize *****,undersize *****,frigidity,phobia of opposite ***, oral ***, **** ***,****** appetite for your own child, ****** appetite for your sisters, brothers, uncles or aunts, frigidity, small ******, abnormally big ******,insatiable libido or insatiable appetite for ***.
But on the other  hand  homosexual disability are often indicated in the perverted ****** behavioural positions like male to male *** also known as gay and female to female *** also known as lesbian, or female to male to female to male *** also known as bisexuality. We also have other ****** phenomena like celibacy, voyeurism, *** with non human creatures, *** with inanimate objects, *** with ghosts and *** with spiritual creatures like the one accounted in the Bible between Mary the mother of Jesus and an Angel Known as Gabriel. There is also *** with dead family members. Dear reader just accepts that the list in this line is long.
Now labeling above positions as satanic or ungodly can be misleading in the modern sense. The motivation for all the above behaviours is sensual satisfaction. But the physiological cause of the behaviour is few and far between. Some of these conditions are caused by genetic misprogramming or mutation; some are due to body malformation. Like having female reproductive system in a male human casing or male female reproductive system in a female human casing. But the sorriest part of this human experience is that victims of these conditions always feel that they are right human creatures in the wrong body from which they struggle to jump out but they have never succeed.
This is why the Journal of Pan African Voices known as Pambuzuka news has a platform for anti – homophobic journalism, which actually purport to promote social and intellectual awareness among the Africa societies about matters relating to ****** and gender disabilities. This journal strives to minimize homophobic positions like the one taken by Dr. Chesoli in a smokescreen of Christianity or Islam which will ultimately only end up as heinous violations of human rights.
An empirical position has facts that gender and ****** disability conditions is rampart in urban areas than rural areas and more rampart in industrialized or developed countries than peasant rural based countries. Thus logic will tell you that we have most gays and lesbians in America and United Kingdom than in Kenya or Malawi. This is why President Barrack Obama in an imperial stretch conditioned the govermenent of Uganda to make a legislation that favour gays and lesbians. This was also reflected three years ago in the United kingdom when David Cameroon warned the government of Ghana that if they don’t make a legislation that appreciate homosexuals then United Kingdom would not give economic aid to Ghana.Contextually,both Cameroon and Obama were wrong. We don’t use vents of desperate imperialism to manage a misfortunate social condition. We first of all begin by educating our people, then socializing the idea among our people then we finalize by positioning the idea among our people. Thanks for your audience.
Alexander K Opicho, is a social researcher with sanctuary research agencies in Eldoret, Kenya.He is also a lecturer for Research Methods in Governance and Leadership.

Is such a big and impossible to miss step for a scribbler
of poetry free poems to trip over.
A step that cannot be ignored, except consciously and conscientiously.
Such a person as a scribbler of poetry less poems would be a person who cannot tell the difference between truth and truthfulness.
A person whose sole raison d,etre in pretending to be a poet is their lifelong angst in being unable to escape from being under the control of  their mind and its operating system --the Conditioned Identity.
The Conditioned Identity,which is the facetious and morally dishonest "I am a poet" mask that is the consciously adopted Conditioned Identity--the operating system for the Mind.
In the great scheme of things becoming just another member of the human GroupMind--one who doesn't count--not even on the fingers of one hand-.
One,who,in the grand scheme of things,never has counted and never will count-call them countless.
Shadows that flicker and dim on the walls of the Prison of political, racial,national,familial and religious conformity
And these worthless scribblers of poetry less poems do have an all consuming conditioned habit  of consciously ignoring truthfulness and integrity and substituting pathetic sub-teen lower middle class emo whinging "truth"--about their "art" and "insight"and "vision"and their "truth"--always their worthless "truth".
Sitting and mourning the fulfilling love that always evades them and always will evade them--unless they let go of the conditioned identity and the Mind--consigning them to the dustbin of history--where they rightfully belong.
Angst ridden whingers all--in love with their image in the mirror of Minds oh so believable deception.
Scribbling about a conditional possessive love that would have been a valueless truth but never can be the essence of truthfulness.
A conditional possessive love that never was and never will be unconditional and non-possessive.
Whinging about nothing more than conditional love and a truthfulness that never can be for them--- as we see openly here and there and everywhere there are scribblers of poetry less "poetry" who use sites such as this to scribble their pretentious infantile nonsense.
Poverty of values and integrity,orphaned from the Isness of the Universe, children of worthless technological consumerism and followers of false oligarchic hopes.
With their greedy gobs open for any crumbs falling from the rich peoples tables,like baby chicks in the nest--feed me feed me they screech.
Colluding with like minded betrayers of truthfulness,groupminds of
limp wristed bombastic poseurs.
Deluding themselves by babbling media made inane celebrities
empty insights and twisted conclusions--purveyors of puerile pettiness.
Oligarchic media celebrities noted only for the illusions between their ears,and the beguiling way they collude with each other to delude themselves.
Ludare!
Oh how they love to play mind games
Lives spent colluding with these babbling worthless celebrities who know the price of everything and the value of nothing,
Pompous posturing pretentious pissants of aesthetic poverty.
Bound together into a worldwide consumers Groupmind,
persuaded by perverts of PR into believing in the Illusion of Wealth and Demockery that the Oligarchy sells.
To step over the truthfulness threshold is,indeed, to  leave behind their
security blankets of "truth and beauty and revealed knowledge"
and the concomitment meaningless verbiage about "veracity" and "existence".
Shallow and unrequited attempts to own another that the weak and unwanted call "love".
Stomping through the quagmire of conditional love
up to their necks in the **** of consumer garbage.
The Conditional love of possessing another and grasping at thin air
as they submerge slowly in the seas of righteous stupidity .
poets cling to their misconceptions religiously,
poets cling to their ignorance avidly,
poets cling to their proto-fascist politics squeamishly,
with each word and stanza that they write.
Pouring out such pleasant and elegant and flowery and "deep"
words and verses(rhyming or not) that,at their core,
have only one meaning and aim.
Which is!.
To divert and confuse their readers with the"shallow beauty"
of endless strings of meaningless associated but fine sounding words .
To create a groupmind for their poetry business products.
Admire me--buy my product--join my groupmind--eulogise me,
let me rip off your energy--I need your praise,I need your lifes energy
gimme your money honey!.
The Publishing Oligarchy will bestow rewards and honours,
medals and diplomas--critiques fit only to wipe your **** on.
Book sales and the summer Poetry festival circuit--reciting and signing scribbles of narcissism--casting lecherous eyes over dripping **** or stiff wobbling **** in the adoring crowd of sycophants.
The  Media will fawn and adulate and cast its sly net
to entangle your desires in ---infamy awaits.
Come admire me and my use of other poets stolen words,
my criminality in even daring to think the word "poet" has any value.
These are my words about my inexperience and unknowingness they scream possessively in jaundiced teeny remembrance.
Remembrance of mediocre middle class homes and attitudes
of ingrained ignorance and wilful imagined self victimisation.
Eating societies poisoned dishes--.
Serve me up a burger of roasted babies on toast
from Vietnam--live on Channel Whatever.
Or chargrilled peasants from Afghanistan
with breathless commentary from
our "reporter on the spot".
Or homeless mental wrecks from the streets
of any Amerikan or World city big or small,
trailing acerbic criticism from the immoral majority.
Or dead celebrity  consumer junkies in 5 star hotels
complete with PR handouts and **** licking "friends"
positioning themselves for increased sales.
Or the children of the Oligarchs with their "I" newspapers
and inbuilt fascist attitudes.
Who spend their shallow lives hoping for the kind
of meaningless and worthless Honours and Validation
from those that do not have honour or validity..
Or the not just lame but crippled duck presidents with their finely crafted speeches that say nothing but I am a beard wearing  failure,
looking forward to penning lies and calling it a frank memoir
while holding out my hands  for the Oligarchies pennies.
Can anyone tell me where to get a bucket of truthfulness?.
A glass of honesty?.
A tumbler full of veracity?.
A beaker of back breaking honest labour?.
Can anyone tell me where I can find
a peaceful man or woman,of any of the 5 colours.
Not those merely observing a Cease-Fire
while they rearm their weapons of the lies of beauty and truth.
Oligarchy allowed social commentary.
Is there just one decent truthful man or woman out there?.
Judging by the world Id say not.
No Id say not.
Not.
There Ive said it.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

You took me to the park
And we sat on the swings
We talked for hours
And I didn't even realize the lapse in time.
You're proud of me, I think.
Proud to be with me, I think, while you take pictures of me to show.
I laugh and smile, and self conscientiously act, the usual first date second date I don't know what even.
My interests, my problems. Your advice, your plans.
In sync.
I don't know where to go from here,
I just hope it keeps on going.

Chance Operations are methods of generating poetry independent of the author’s will. A chance operation can be almost anything from throwing darts and rolling dice, to the ancient Chinese divination method, I-Ching, and even sophisticated computer programs. Most poems created by chance operations use some original text as their source, be it the newspaper, an encyclopedia, or a famous work of literature. The purpose of such a practice is to play against the poet’s intentions and ego, while creating unusual syntax and images. The resulting poems allow the reader to take part in producing meaning from the work.

The roots of using chance operations to generate poetry are generally traced to the Dada movement in Western Europe in the early and mid-twentieth-century, involving writers such as André Breton, Louis Aragon, Tristan Tzara, Philippe Soupault, and Paul Éluard. The Dadaists were deeply interested in the subconscious, and they believed that the mind would create associations and meaning from any text, including those generated through random selections. In one section of Tzara’s “Dada Manifesto on Feeble & Bitter Love," he offers the following instructions to make a Dadaist poem, here translated from the original French by Barbara Wright:

“Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are--an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the ****** herd.”

The use of chance operations in contemporary poetry has been used most famously by the international avant-garde group Fluxus, poet Jackson Mac Low, and the poet and composer John Cage. A good example of a poem that was written using chance operations is Jackson Mac Low’s “Stein 100: A Feather Likeness of the Justice Chair," which also includes Mac Low’s explanation of the methods he used to compose the poem.

Innocence and full of hope
Quickly became disparity and anguish
Nothing left, sold some dope
Miracles were needed, not a wish
Sleepless nights
Sickness began to start
Tunnels continue with no lights
Conscientiously loosing heart
Parental disconnection
Being alone and the one
Purity vanished
Gone farther than "just kissed"
Cupid doesn't like resistance
But we had no chance
2.5 years of a roller coaster
Then I lost her
Learned who I was
Living in a sobriety buzz
Dagger to the heart
Found a poetic art
Going across the country
It's more than just a dream
Not just a quick scheme
And finally doing it for me

I’ll go to this restaurant
cos today I’m eating low-fat
and healthy;
I want to glow and eat safe
and be on a diet
and take some weight off my body
and so trim some fat off the burden on
the National Health Plan;
so I’ll go to a healthy restaurant today
they serve fresh and they spell out
fat contents
for each item
so I can choose carefully
and conscientiously;
and the menu board tells me which sandwiches
have low fat
and which burgers offer health
and which meat burgers are approved
by the Heart Foundation;
and so I’ll eat healthy today
and so here I am
so can
I have one of your low-fat burgers, please…?
Yum, that’s going to be really healthy…
Yes……with double cheese…yes, make it double meat…
And can I have plenty of sauce
and add that creamy sauce special too, please….?
more of that sauce please….more….more…
…more…continue till I tell you to stop…
….thanks….and
is it too late to add bacon and sausage?
Yes…thanks….yum…that’s really healthy
And yeah, why not? – three cookies
and a large cup of the post-mix syrup…
Yum…that’s healthy and good…Thanks.
That’s yummy…I feel good…
Also could you pack a takeaway
of the same stuff
for me dinner, please?

Over in Israel once visiting the holy sites
One morning I took off on my own for a wee wander in the desert
I hadn't been walking long
When I came across this thing sticking out of the ground
It was a kind of strange looking dial with ancient markings on it
I thought to myself this could be a real find
I might get some money out of this...
I started nudging at it with the toe of my boot
But then suddenly I hear this little voice "Go on, pick it up"
So I turn around expecting to see someone there
But there's no one, no one there
Well that's odd I think. So I start nudging at it again with my boot
And then I hear the same little voice again"Go on, pick it up"
I look around and there's no one there only some rocks, the sand and... and this, this prickly looking desert Bush,
I look at the Bush a bit suspiciously and I say rather amusingly not expecting an answer
"Are you talking to me... you talking to me ?"
Well I tell you, Jaysus I nearly jumped out of my boots when the Bush it snaps back at me rather curtly "Well who the hell else would I be talking to, you're the only one here aren't you!!!
A Bush with an attitude I thought, I bet Moses never had to put up with that
Then I thought to myself 'this isn't the kind of Bush you meet every day'.
So I bent down and picked it up, the strange dial
'What is it ?" I asked
"It's a magical time piece" the Bush replied, "it's like the remote control device you use for your TV
It has 3 buttons, a Pause button in the middle, a Rewind and a Forward button
But instead of controlling a TV, it controls Time itself"
"Yeah!" I said a little disbelievingly
When you press the Pause button Time stops and the whole world stops
If you press the Forward button you can go into the future
The Rewind brings you back into your recent past".
'You're not serious', I said.
"So", the Bush continued, "if you're in a queue, say in a restaurant, you can press the Pause button and then you can go right up to the top of the queue and get your dinner and you can sit down and eat it in peace with no noise or distractions, time will have stopped for everyone else
No one will see you, it's like you're the Invisible Man. You can go up and down your whole world just like that".
'And I suppose' I say, 'if I ever need some money I can just nip into a shop and take it out of the till, or go into a Bank..'
The Bush cuts me off here suddenly saying "No! You can't steal/take other people's money
Instead you just go into the future, there you can get all the winning horses and winning Lotto numbers and bring all that knowledge back into the present".
And what's the Past button for?' I asked
"If you have good happy experiences you can go back and relive them over and over".
'That sounds great', I replied. I thought he would have made a great salesman this Bush.
"But why me", I asked kind of conscientiously, "why should I be so lucky",  
"Well you found it", said the Bush, "and I can't use it, I'm only a Bush".
Then he went on "But be careful to keep it a secret, others will suddenly start getting curious and start asking questions
They'll want to know why you're so lucky and successful and where all your money is coming from
Even if you take a wife, she too will probably eventually start asking questions, trying to discover your secret. But remember always keep your finger to your lips, like a Sphinx never reveal to them your secret".
Then the Bush said "I've got to go now".
"You've got to go", I said a bit sadly (I was getting kind of fond of this Bush),"but you're a Bush"
Then he starts burning, becoming engulfed in flames.
"Are you alright!" I said, a bit concerned
Then he says finally "Enjoy your new toy, have a great time !
And he was gone.  And I was alone again.

Everyday there's a growing
that stretches through the cracks of the ground
while my feet conscientiously step on them,
because if you step on a crack,
you'll break everyone's back.

This growing has blue eyes,
sapphireblue eyes,
oceanwater blue.
The Tempter. The serpent that
crawls freakishly across my feet.

Shall I smash his head against my heel?
No, his eyes. These sapphireblue eyes
oceanwater blue. They're
intruguing.

And if this sin is something that will break everyone's back.
I'm going to step on each one
until every hospital bed is full.

There aren’t beings, just bodies.
Just skin
and parts to be conscientiously coded
as we are packed into boxes
like commodified corpses.
Carcasses eroded. When will we learn?

Can we still learn?
Learn to look at all beyond the body.
Or are we doomed to linger, these living corpses?
Oh, if only we had greying skin,
broken out of wooden boxes
and, in doing so, break into the Code.

**** the Code!
Yet, no mind is bold enough to learn.
To unpack brains overflowing with long forgotten boxes.
After all, it is your body.
In the end, it is your skin.
And it’s you who dwells in this corpse.

But please, oh please, do not pity the corpses!
Empty shells enslaved only by a code
of laws as pliable as skin.
And despite lessons past, they never learn
to take hold of horns hitched upon the bull’s body.
But, instead, cower and corrode in the comfort of an illusory box.

A cadaver’s box
fashioned by corpses.
Bodies led by bodies
no more fit than the next to conjure an unquestionable code.
But they never learn.
Where is the sanity beneath that skin


so telling? The different skins
in color-coded boxes
with the definition of difference never truly learned.
There are only corpses.
Existing encoded
as senseless, sightless, and soul-less bodies.

Let us skin the corpses!
Trade the boxed remains for lessons learned:
The mind and the soul, beyond the body. We are the Code.

From the nature of what we ignorantly hail as comparative commerce,
To the stacks of dollars you keep in upscale apartment buildings,
Will you get past your own facade of money and public persona
In looking inward, at calloused soul,
Seeking judgment of what bears true value...

When Shkreli is dead,
There will still set puppet senators,
Spewing the filth which is evil and sponsored—
Regurgitating paid claims from which he too cut his teeth.

When along the life cycle does one lose their soul,
And if that's where you draw the conclusion that you're a man,
I'll conscientiously object from your vision of mankind.

The sun sets of empires, and you do not have one.
I don't have your wealth,
But both of us are sure to die,
Both slaves to fate,
Nothing left to buy out.

On the genesis of your ashes, your sins will not die with you.

In memoriam, only a kid who liked to play devil,
Just not as good at it as he thought.

Float seamlessly in dark.
Come in my arms,
like a cloud―
like a moon.

The cult will live
on for eternity to
meet the challenger.

The objector had
the flatfoot. Will walk
overdressed.

In eerie silence―
an agile titan was going
to vilify himself.

Conscientiously I
wanted to feel you once
in my verses.

No virtue, no sin
was needed to come to
the lips of an abyss.

Luscious lilting lullabies lightly linger in the air.
Wondrous words whispered in willow trees wink through windows at the widows and the wanted alike.

Lovers make words delicious and insinuate dangerous kisses with few syllables.

Friends make words kind and embrace warmly with charmingly unaware, patterned banter.

Betrayers make words smooth and deceive easily with conscientiously phrased flattery.

I tell you truly-
I am not your lover,
I am not your friend,
I am not your betrayer.

I tell you truly-
I am a Creatrix.

I am a writer, a poet, a dreamer, a weaver,

I make words true and beautiful, honest and shimmering.

I dare not tell you facts-
I tell you the truth

Like a many-faceted jewel, the truth is.
Infinitely large and various,
yet singular in beauty.

Weaving willowy whispered words.
How wondrous.

Purity
of mind
captured in
moments seen
and observed closely;
She's not just avoiding her
skin - she conscientiously won't
let them - in she knows a gem when
she sees one and refuses to be another grain
on the beach, but a sea of beauty further beyond.
She'll draw them in with her smile and her
defiance against being another skinny
leggy, blonde thing or a doll that's
life is pretending to be of worth.
She knows how to put on
a show of originality and
she's purer and more
beautiful than
the clearest
waters on
earth.

(C) 20/6/15

Just like God created it to be enjoyed.
To be enjoyed.
We must address this question truthfully.

If love ends, just what would happen?

Would we conscientiously understand its importance?
Just how it will affect us?
The most important emotion that holds us captured  suddenly is gone.

Would we be adapt at carrying the fee
If love ends.lings on?

It's sad to say but
the sight of your face
reminds me of all the time I have lost.
Faces older than they were.

Shadows of houses grow -
black teeth closing across the road.
Long yellow fingers claw between.
Golden, all the lines I have crossed
without thinking twice.
My general, I conscientiously object.

Another stanza, another, empty poem

Another line of cliche sorrows and oh

Don’t forget a splash of self-hatred and a

Sprinkle of age old, seasoned, melancholy.

How many words will it take

How many conscientiously polished

Lovingly carved, painstakingly painted

Smiles and rueful laughs will it take

For you to realise my love there is, no, end.

This won’t end, you won’t find

Your soul or your peace in hollow

Worthless words that you purge from

Your heart and- smear onto paper

Poets are lonely, where did I read that?

You don’t cry, you bleed silent agony

Into ink, into words, into poetry

You scar page after page with your

indecipherable rage at this universe

And you tarnish another pearly white sheet

With your coal black pain and silenced

Tales of lonely, lonely days wasted by-

Desperately scribbling, madman letters

Frantic to understand, the millions of

Atoms, nerves, bone, flesh that is

Pathetically, tragically, you.

And you knife away at your thoughts with

A pen in a homicidal attempt to

Slaughter the hurt inside and bury them under

Empty words and barren phrases

Poetry will not teach you to love your

Jagged edges like razor blades or your

Missing parts to the enigma that is well,

Yourself. Poetry is your hideaway from the

Ugly, ugly truth that you my love,

Don’t know who you are at all

So you continue to bleed in ink,

Cry in words and bruise on pages.

But this? Is just another stanza,

Another, empty poem.

Stand up for democracy--
For true democracy, I mean,
And NOT for what is being spread
By the far-right propaganda machine.

Stand up for the rights of voters--
For rights that make democracy strong.
Ignore the cries of voter fraud
From folks who try to string you along.

Stand up for integrity
And truth, and do not give the nod
To efforts of many folks on the Right
Who are committing election fraud.

Stand up for the rule of law.
Accountability is key.
No one should be carrying a card
That reads Get Out of Jail Free.

Stand up for a compassionate nation--
One that can learn from past mistakes.
When it approaches danger it knows
How to swerve and apply the brakes.

Stand up for responsible
Behavior. May everybody strive
To work conscientiously
With others to make democracy thrive.

-by Bob B (1-18-22)

rapprochement somewhat salvaged dislocation

Truth be told about following poem
mostly written quite some years ago,
and revisions made to recreate
a more satisfactory literary product.

This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask queer aid,
(my humble apology NOT
to incite unwanted
and unwonted anger
among lgbtqia community),
and accentuates tendency
(mine) to administer
reverent unpretentious yawping,
sans (asper thy usual)

wordy, quirky, nutty, heady, easy...
and gallimaufry charade,
though pointed lament
decries copious blather,
which awareness (in tandem
with better devilishly cherubic angels)
prevail upon sesquipedalian
nippy nap noopy quirkiness, might be
in my best (in show)
interest to evade
leaving an unsuspecting

reader psychologically frayed,
and without doubt prematurely
finds same cyber surfer
harried and grayed,
styled akin to experience dramatic,
and sudden onset of progeria
hence, a concerted effort
will be orchestrated, i.e.made
so everyone involved woodwind
fur me (a hip cat) tabby
conscientiously choosing

meow me modus operandi
to mute trumpeting,
associated with this one man
faltering hit parade,
hence, an intent to write
swiftly tailored and more clearly,
cogently, and creditably
qua more understandable to invite,
subsequently witnessing, an
increased authorial fan
base, and unite

easy to comprehend
underlying intelligent conversation,
and/or share something trite,
anyway, thee impetus regarding
risking emailing a younger sister,
where repressed spite led
to dissolution, née cessation
of brotherly linkedin communication
engendered me to make right
egregious emotional estrangement,
principally vitiated, nursed,

generated, augmented
(thank you very much) by me,
viz in sum avoidance behavior
(traipsing, purring, loping,
humming, and doodling along) quite
familiarly, easily, (no matter
discontentedly), alas and alack
moment seemed apropos
for this only bro
their to allow, enable,

and proffer selflessness -
pushing aside ego
(mine) and attempt to go
for the gusto ***
embarking, kickstarting, and
resolving upon reasonable resolutions
to convey persevere re-establishing
cordiality, despite misgivings
toward Shari Todd
thee family member in question.

Your love was suffocating my cells,
blazed, crazed, smeared tears spinning
my soul into frantic positions, darkened
compositions, intangible, conscientiously
backspaced, scratched out, implausible
equations feeling like nothing, feeling
like blades hidden away in depressed
dimensions.  I was trapped inside your
poisonous love, your worthless emotions
floating in abandoned oceans, all empty
and depleted, scarred, overflowing
with tar.  I was lost in your passion,
saddened, shattered, the pain incessantly
crashing upon me, wanting to escape
from your drunken landscape, but every time
I thought I was done, I found myself
running back into the dangerous waves
of your reckless storm.