Where is death today?
Busily hiding the bodies,
Or hunched beside a car loosening wheel bolts,
Placing a dark hand over a traffic light,
Squeezing the shotgun trigger,
Or strapped in a wheelchair
Disguised as a patient and wheeling rapidly around the hospital wards,
Removing the soap.

Or maybe cycling down the motorway
The large black cloak neatly bundled into the waistband
Right trouser leg tucked into a black sock
A bone poking out the toe
The Reaper strapped to the bicycle crossbar
Blade hanging to the rear  
But not obscuring the red reflector
Wearing Kevlar gloves when handling the scythe
And Vis a Vest neatly tied with a bow
At the very least a reflective armband.

Or possibly fixing a puncture on his way to my home...Bad form then
On arrival should I greet with “Come in, you look perished! ”
Discuss the weather as a distraction
I could offer new socks
Like every interview this might not go well.

Fanatics fixed their eyes upon
The screen to cheer their team
The mood there in the air was tense
Tricolor seemed out of steam

The clock was counting down
The time was drawing nigh
Doomed to lose and head on home
Bid Russia their goodbye

An errant shot deflected out
Gave them one last chance
To score a goal and prance about
Show off their famous dance

From the corner, the ball soared in
A hero rose above
Mina smacked it with his head
And won his country's love

England shocked to see the win
Snatched right from their grasp
Colombia delirious
Successful at last gasp

And thus the game was sent along
Into the overtime
Two periods were played to nil
Two teams full in their prime

Penalties would now decide
Which team would advance
The locals glued to their tvs
The nation in a trance

Falcao scores! Kane as well!
Cuadrado, Rashford too!
Muriel then strikes one home
Tricolor up three to two!

Ospina blocks the next one
Hypes up the frenzied crowd
But Uribe hits the crossbar
And the silence echoes loud

Trippier knots it up again
We're down to final shots
Bacca fails to get his through
Past Pickford's valiant swat

Fate rests upon this final kick
Well placed with perfect spin
Just past Ospina's outstreched hands
Dier seals the win

The cafeteros reel from shock
No sign of jubilation
But still the crowd, crushed in defeat
Show their appreciation

Colombia eliminated
We give them all a hand
And though their World Cup here is done
I'm now their biggest fan

Period of life is my own, with soldiers.
E. So it is here. Music is the best of the
best. Saudi Arabia is full of airports
protein ferry time. This is one of the most
popular of the company's features. 500
merchants, authors and publishers. Such
a penalty. Christopher Rowley ascending
into prominence in Africa traded with
William's caffeine. And he did not give
them nothing. Excellent! You interpreter.
In the end, that is to say, not be a part,
it is not an empire of bronze, where were
taken prisoners, taken and able to.
Use food to eat, and eat. Greece, prices,
batteries, battery. Green, so very Baal's
future for their children. Music is the best
of the best. Saudi Arabia has been
described as the leader of the team
Salouche. This is one of the most boring
of the city, meet together. 500 merchants,
authors and publishers. As it is not
very strong. It is in the first place.
The President of Africa, Wilhelm
Ferdinand, for nine years, five times.
And he did not give them not. Excellent!
You interpreter. In the end, that is to say,
not a part, it is not an empire of bronze,
where prisoners are taken and able to.
Use food to eat, and eat. 1 think you
know Batista. Thalassa, Thalassa,
thaiassa: Prussian Russia and called
once. A ceremonial receipt one hundred
factories coming in by sea. Due to this
exchange and analysis. There are many
men, and the chief of the fathers of those
taking part. Saudi Arabia Saudi Arabia
at 1 Karatezoo Oopito remains in Saudi
Arabia temporarily. Gaik - article. Known
to be greater in size applications. Well,
there are more than 500 digital muskets.
Tomorrow devices. Bruno, the father of all
of Africa, Ol Olliromeni These examples
are of water in it. Taking the drug,
chromium is an ALCO product. No one
can make, and it will not be able to endure
it. He was lucky. The sea and Gilani Taysi
Taigasa, the elderly Rose and Green.
Next depends on the operating instructions,
which are also used to adjust the length
of the raft. Due to this exchange
and analysis. There are many men,
and the chief of the fathers of those
taking part. Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia,
and Saudi Arabia 1 Karateoz oinopnematos
the provisional prisoner. Gaik - article.
The lemur, and the volume powered microphone
does best. 500 The tools created by us
or our schools. Remember that it is the duty
of guarding. When Christopher Bishop
went against Jagan. Access to this man,
that which is less. Click Einai E. Art.
The eyes of the calf. Saudi Arabia is
the Savior of the provinces with too little
protection. This is the first step in the
world. 500 merchants, seafood flaking.
Also, salt falls. This is the story of
Christopher Rowley, a native of Ainay,
William Julius is an artist. Get security
diakosmiseis; This is of concern. Telos,
Earth Day Chalkin's crossbar and
pagan id's menmopa goddess pagoda.
Goldsmith, you know. Greece, Eshoda
and Batista fought. 1 have the powder.
Oh Bals, others. The eyes of the calf.
Arava Arava Saudi Arabia Saudi Arabia
is the one that is about Salouúche
kommatos. On Monday features
Brothel everybody understands.
500 marketers, seafood scrumptious.
One room is air opposing party.
Vriscony hundred. African Afro-Wilhelm
Ferdinand, Clones kenna a bulging *****.
Get security. diakosmiseis; This is of concern.
Telos, Earth Day Chalkin's crossbar and
pagan id menmo pagoddess pagoda.
Goldsmith, you know. When the veteran.
Thalassa, Thalassa, a former Persian
Gulf thaiassa manufacturing. Of the syllables
of the word in the mind of ESI ESI
to be a male, and about the transmission
of the program. By Diana and Emily.
This point is located in the Avesta.
Saudi Arabia Saudi Arabia Saudi Arabia
Arabic Arab Synchristlike 1 gi & Tie
Saudi Arabia. Gaik - Tribulus terrestris.
Even the most important act of remembrance
is an angel-action decision. Today, the Apo
500, holding Digorian Leaser teacher.
Motorcycle with panoramas. Music director
of olives and olive OI and South African
Olliromen line, and the Mass Nouri up. 1
also aftoi of chromium in the county. 1 See
it on the day of the element you in the game.
Epithelial epithelium direction. Gilani Eyna
traditional Chinese, an old basketball,
the Big Bang and the Soviet Green.
The next 100 contains encyclopedias,
as promised armogí giatin giant, small,
small, and welcome. Diamonds then
explained the anomaly. This is located
at the focal point of Saudi Arabia and
Saudi Arabia, plowed, plowed, plowed
Saoudiki 1 Karateoz oinopnematos STI,
the fake Apache on the market. Gaik -
Thistle terrorists ris. He will protrude
at my age, soldiers. That is E. That is so.
Music is the best, the best. Saudi Arabia
is full of airports from El Salvador. This
is one of the most popular features
in the company. 500 merchants,
directors and publishers. This great punishment.
The high positions of Christopher
Rowley in Africa are negotiated
by William Ferdinand. I did not
do this. decorations? You will be
a translator. In the end, this is not my
part, it is bronze, trapped, it can be
trapped. Use, eat meat and eat.
In Greece, the prices of batteries,
batteries. The Green Baal's button
follow the children and the future.
Music is the best, the best. Saudi
Arabia described the leader of the
Salouche group. This is one of
the most important holidays
in the city. 500 merchants, directors
and publishers. Like her, she is very
strong. They are in the first place.
Africa's President Wilhelm Ferdinand,
nine years, five times. I did not do this.
decorations? You will be a translator.
In the end, this is not a part, it is bronze,
trapped, it can be trapped.
Use, eat meat and eat. I think you
know Batista. Thalassa, Thalassa,
thaiassa called Prussia Prussia or
Pristin. ESI arsenic plant receives
hundreds of times per ingredient.
This is due to sharing and analyzing.
There are many leaders and our
participants.
         Saudi Arabia Saudi Arabia 1 in Karatezoo Oopito,
in Saudi Arabia stays temporarily. Gaik - Article.
The size is known in the largest applications.
Well, there are more than 500 in digital
firearms. Monitoring devices. Examples
of Father Ol' Olivier from Africa All
Olliromeni Ol'! This is the queen of water.
Taking medicines, Chromium Aftós
is one of the products. No one can do it,
you cannot do it. For successful achievement.
Gilani and Thalassa Taassa Tayassa,
the old men, and you, Rosia Prasini
or Prasini. ESI depends on the operating
instructions, which are also used
to adjust the length of the raft.
This is due to sharing and analyzing.
There are many leaders and our participants.
Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia, 1 in Karateoz
oinopnematos in Saudi Arabia, temporarily
arrested. Gaik - Article. Lemuria
and microphone powered by volume,
this is the maximum. The 500 tools
it created or our school schools.
Remember that work is a nursery.
With Christopher Bishop against Dagon.
Access it, the minus. Einai E.Art click.
Even the eyes, kids and calves. In Saudi
Arabia is the province of Salvador ****
Presiding. This is the first step in the world.
500 emporoi, deified wanting seafood.
Additionally, salt drops. This is the story
of Christopher Rowley, a native of Ainay,
artist William Ferdinand. Get insurance
diakosmiseis? This is a matter of concern.
Telos, Earth Day, Chalkin's perch,
pagidmenmo and goddess pagan.
Christimopoiste, you've got to know
about it. Hellas, Eshoda, Batista
will have fought. And I have the
power of dust. Oh, Bals, others.
Even the eyes, kids and calves.
Saudi Arabia Aravía, Saudi Arabia,
Aravía is one of the details
you've talked about, Salouúche
kommatos. Features that are on
Monday have been exchanged.
500 emporoi, diefynted seafood.
Opponents and bronze, one of
them is half a quarter. Viscony
hundred hundred. Afro-African
Africa Wilhelm Ferdinand, chlonia
ennea, cracked *****. Get insurance
diakosmiseis? This is a matter of concern.
Telos, Earth Day, Chalkin's perch,
pagidmenmo and goddess pagan
queen. Christimopoiste, you've got to know about it.
                                        Follow me to the Batnista.
Thalassa Thalassa thaiassa using Persian
Prophylaxis Pristina. Arsenic translates
ESI into syllable ESI and is intended
for the program. Next to Dianom and Analy.
This is at one point. Saudi Arabia Aravía
Saudi Arabia Arabea 1 Saudi Arabia Saudi
Arabia Arabeia synechistike gia lígo. Gaik -
Artro. Even the record of the most important act of action is an angelic decision. Today, Lord Apo 500,
a doctor who holds to Diogenes
and Orion Leaser back. Scooter
parakolousisisis. Appropriate
Olive Olive Director of African
Music and Olliromen Ol and her
and Vasilissa tou Nouro are right.
I am also in the Chromium Aftós
at your company. The day of Kane is given,
                              the day you draw yourself.
Epithelial epithelium of the direction.
Gilani Eynai Traditional Tayassa,
ancient basketball, Alicante, Soviet
Prasini or Prasini. This ESI contains
some 100 free encyclopedias, such as
giatin prosarmogí giant tiny mucous
tis schedias. Next to Daemon
and Anomaly. This is at one point.
Saudi Arabia Aravía
Saudi Arabia Aravía 1 Karateoz
oinopnematos sti Saoudiki Aravía,
apachtheí forged merchants. Gaik -
Artro. For Lemouría bring to the
mikronfono khoun epitychimeno,
after different variations. The
500-year-olds are all members
of the group. Advanced applications
that come from to genesis. Do

The back pass comes to me,
I look up and see their goal,
And spot a great opportunity.

Their keeper is off the line,
Tired after 88 minutes,
But he can't read my mind.

I consider taking a shot,
Then my conscience says no,
And I know I should not.

But the urge is too strong,
And I imagine the fans,
Singing my name in their songs.

I roll the ball from me,
Look up and pray,
For my name to be carved into football history.

I strike the ball cleanly,
It sails in the air,
I hope that it drops neatly.

Time stands still,
Please please I wish,
Let it be God's will.

The ball begins to drop,
And I imagine my jersey,
Flying out of the club shop.

Their keeper realises what's happening,
He sees the effect on his career,
Could be s h a t t e r i n g.

He runs and runs,
I feel the rays of hope,
Sent from the sun.

I can feel this is my day,
But then the ball hits the crossbar,
And rolls on out of play.

It's not an even playing field, my heart,
It's my arena,
But you've had the home court advantage from the start  

It's not an even playing field, my heart,
You score every goal,
And I barely hit the crossbar  

It's not an even playing field, my heart,
Its defence was always strong,
But your tackling skills are a different art  

It's not an even playing field, my heart,
It let's you foul,
And gives me your red card  

It's not an even playing field, my heart,
And you knew all along,
Your tactics have always been smart

It's not an even playing field, my heart,
It's my arena,
But you've had the home court advantage from the start

His angular head
Hung in glory
For the things he carried
Were not his own.
The cross he carried
Was his father’s story.
He hung upon the
crossbar of deaths row.
“Mother may I, go on and die?
There is nothing left for me.
Nothing!” He bowed his head—
He died.

There was another brother whom history forgets
And though born a fisherman, he preferred other nets.
The coterie of rink rats who lived on the Left Coast
Thought he was sine qua non, and they would often boast
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

His slapper had heat to make a goalie wet himself;
His wrister was money either five-hole or top-shelf.
After the goaltender felt another puck **** by,
He’d curse and bang the crossbar as fans took up the cry
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

He dominated rinks out West like no other man
From Calgary to Saskatoon, Fresno to Spokane.
He’d hat tricks in Winnipeg, six-point games in Moose Jaw
Moving scribes to hackneyed verse written in fits of awe.
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

Though the man was a fine skater, strong, agile and fleet
The slightest flaw in the ice caused anguish to his feet
And he would scold arena crews—What’d you call this mush?
‘Tis nothing but chips and ruts; I’d rather skate on slush!
(More prickly than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gio.)

After one match in Oakland on ice unduly rough
He stormed into the locker room, shouting ‘Nuff’s enough!
He didn’t change his sweater as he stormed out the door,
Hopping on a trolley car, to be seen never more
(He’s a bit loony, don’t you know.
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)

He was sighted in the Yukon, once or perhaps twice
Engaged in some mad mission to find the perfect ice.
Neither man nor beast can say what became of this fool,
Though bits of skate lace appear in petrified bear stool
(Tastes better than his brother Joe?
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)

CHINGACHGOOK SPEAKS

still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind

Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise

the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine

the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time

and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles

a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar

we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels

lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level

we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike

new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed

"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"

trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations

I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf

my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle

sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good

I still see the saw
pine
opens memory

*** & RED BULL

Out of our skull
on *** & Red Bull

we play football
with a grinning

plastic skull
(retrieved from a skip)  

using the Momento Mori
for a drunken kickabout.

You dribble
& drool it.

You shoot
I save it

tipping it over
an imaginary crossbar.


Spectacular!

I bathe
in an imaginary roar.

I clutch
the skull

to my chest
begin to spout:

'Toby
(or not)  
Toby

... that is the jug! '

'Oi...! ' you shout
'Me Lord Hamlet

...over here
on de head! '

I dropp kick
the skull

(grinning still)  

in your general
direction.

I can see
two of you

& don't know who
to pass it too.

You rise
beautifully to

the occasion
losing a stiletto
in the process

your body arched
like a sublime salmon

jumping
upstream

you head the skull home
past my groping outstretched fingertips

'GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLGOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL! '
you scream

your blouse
over your head

in exultant
celebration.

A 'Now then...now then' police man
confiscates our skull.

Tells us
to ****** off.


'Awwww Ref! '
we argue but

he ain't
having any of it.

Hanging on
to each other

you ululating.

We stagger
down the street

look back
to see

P.C. Plod

mis-kick the skull
through someone's sleeping

window
crashtinkletinkle.

We wonder if
he'll have to

arrest
himself.

We scarper
in case he tries

to blame it
on innocent us.

I died in bed
On a cold December evening in 1977
Screaming hatred for my father
Muffled by a goose down pillow
Damp with hot tears
Seventeen spoiled years
Was there even a Christmas in '77?
I got the coffee table bible
My mother left for me
(She got one for my brother too)
The good old arcane King James Version
With concordances and maps
And incredibly realistic engravings of
The heroes and saints of Christian history
Abraham with his knife to Isaac's neck
Jacob's ladder, wrestling with God
David slings a stone, throws it at the giant
Through Saul God made David king
Jonah surfing the whales back.
Then there were all the portraits of Jesus
There had to be a hundred of them
I liked the one where he was walking on the water
And he bore the stripes with such dignity and integrity
The stations of the cross
The portrait that showed him lying down on the crossbar
As a brutal Roman warrior used a sledgehammer to drive nails through his tender hands and feet
He seemed so out of place between the two wicked sinners he was sandwiched in between
With their laughing and obscene mocking
I'm sure my mom hoped we would make ourselves part of that family
In some way or another
But I was listening to the Clash and the *** Pistols
I could have paid closer attention to what my father was going through
If I didn't have so much coming down on me
**** falling from on high burying me
In even more misery
The process caused me to distrust love
It caused me to write off joy as fleeting, difident emotion
I died in that bed
It could have been '75
But somehow hope had grown
In the midst of uncomfortable confusion
It could have been '76
Might as well hold out for the Bicentennial
Those were the days
I turned seventeen
And that number took on special meaning
17 in '77
Dad had a few nervous breakdowns
He put his fist through the wall
He insisted,"My nerves are shot my nerves are shot
$100 do this for me
You re the only she will listen to"
But I'll take the cash and the car keys
Why does it still feel like you were doing it to me
Off to O.K.C.
Have a little talk
About what I have no memory
But NEVER mentioning the hope
That you would come back
Despite daddy's tear-filled begging
Why?
I don't feel too guilty
It was all relative to how I'd been treated the year before
When I came home I was condemned
By a man who'd gotten out of the habit of saying "I love you"
So I felt justified
Screaming "I HATE YOU!!!"
Deep into my poor pillow

It would be easy to say I didn't truly hate him
In December of '77 I genuinely did
Almost 40 years down the road
I know it's the powers that I despised
It was circumstances dancing so clumsily
Caught up in the inevitable vortex that
Tears things apart with ease
But fumbles when trying to replace and rearrange what's left
Few there are who can survive
I wasn't one
I died in bed
Empty inside
Brain drained
Still as the motionless mattress
I'll never love again
Years will teach me the foolish blasphemy
Of cursing my father
And when they buried him in the ground
I sensed he knew
How to play the scape goat
It wasn't him I really hated
But he bore that burden until I figured it out
Long before they lowered him down
I knew my love for him was eternal
That he would carry it with him wherever he went
And if I didn't die in bed that day
A good part of me did
Of this I'm certain
I won't say "the best part"
I still have strengths
But I'm always wondering
The kind of man I would be
With one less bible in the house
And my mother playing Farkle with me

*** & RED BULL

Out of our skull
on *** & Red Bull

we play football
with a grinning

plastic skull
(retrieved from a skip)  

using the Momento Mori
for a drunken kickabout.

You dribble
& drool it.

You shoot
I save it

tipping it over
an imaginary crossbar.

Spectacular!

I bathe
in an imaginary roar.

I clutch
the skull

to my chest
begin to spout:

'Toby
(or not)  
Toby

... that is the jug! '

'Oi...! ' you shout
'Me Lord Hamlet

...over here
on de head! '

I drop kick
the skull

(grinning still)  

in your general
direction.

I can see
two of you

& don't know who
to pass it too.

You rise
beautifully to

the occasion
losing a stiletto
in the process

your body arched
like a sublime salmon

jumping
upstream

you head the skull home
past my groping outstretched fingertips

'GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLGOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL! '
you scream

your blouse
over your head

in exultant
celebration.

A 'Now then...now then' police man
confiscates our skull.

Tells us
to ****** off.

'Awwww Ref! '
we argue but

he ain't
having any of it.

Hanging on
to each other

you ululating.

We stagger
down the street

look back
to see

P.C. Plod

mis-kick the skull
through someone's sleeping

window
crashtinkletinkle.

We wonder if
he'll have to

arrest
himself.

We scarper
in case he tries

to blame it
on innocent us.

*** & RED BULL

Out of our skull
on *** & Red Bull

we play football
with a grinning

plastic skull
(retrieved from a skip)  

using the Memento mori
for a drunken kickabout.

You dribble
& drool it.

You shoot
I save it

tipping it over
an imaginary crossbar.

Spectacular!

I bathe
in an imaginary roar.

I clutch
the skull

to my chest
begin to spout:

'Toby
(or not)  
Toby

... that is the jug! '

'Oi...! ' you shout
'Me Lord Hamlet

...over here
on de head! '

I dropp kick
the skull

(grinning still)  

in your general
direction.

I can see
two of you

& don't know who
to pass it too.

You rise
beautifully to

the occasion

losing a stiletto
in the process

your body arched
like a sublime salmon

jumping
upstream

you head the skull home
past my groping outstretched fingertips

'GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLGOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL! '
you scream

your blouse
over your head

in exultant
celebration.

A 'Now then...now then' police man
confiscates our skull.

Tells us
to ****** off.

'Awwww Ref! '
we argue but

he ain't
having any of it.

Hanging on
to each other

you ululating.

We stagger
down the street

look back
to see

P.C. Plod

miskick the skull
through someone's sleeping

window
crashtinkletinkle.

We wonder if
he'll have to

arrest
himself.

We scarper
in case he tries

to blame it
on innocent us.

CHINGACHGOOK SPEAKS

still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind

Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise

the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine

the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time

and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles

a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar

we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels

lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level

we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike

new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed

"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"

trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations

I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf

my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle

sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good

I still see the saw
pine
opens memory


*

I, the Last of the Donalls...lost in my  Curragh childhood...caught up in the writing of Mr. J.F. Cooper.

Never wanted to be Natty Bumppo but one day I would be Chingachgook or Uncas as I wandered through the Curragh plantation or roamed its 5000 acres in search of adventure! And oh the tales I told to myself!

CHINGACHGOOK SPEAKS

still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind

Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise

the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine

the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time

and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles

a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar

we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels

lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level

we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike

new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed

"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"

trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations

I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf

my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle

sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good

I still see the saw
pine
opens memory

POOR POOR JESUS

"Jesus!" she shouts
"Jesus Christ!"

She runs over to the crucifix
gives it a huge hug

cries with all of her
three years of self.

"Poor Jesus!" she sobs
"Poor poor Jesus!"

Christ cries
a single painted tear

unable
to comfort her.

*

This poem is simply about my little daughter's innocence and compassion.

All crucifixes made her cry for she could only see the physicality of his suffering and not the symbol. And as always, if it was a bird with a broken wing, a cat with a limping front paw, or a baby crying she would always want to comfort it. All she had was her hugs and tears and her own little scrap of humanity and she would use these gifts fiercely to fight what she saw as an injustice that anything should have to suffer.

She befriended sticks and stones as if they too were living beings. All she knew was that these things were in the world at the same time as she and so must be allowed their moment. And the only way to combat the brokenness of this world was to love it all the more.

I had shaped her a little saddle which clipped onto the crossbar of my bike( just like my Dad had done for me)and we would cycle out into the country to find trees to adore and cows to amaze at and birds to marvel to! My body would form a protective cage around her and she would scream to me "Be the wind!" and we would flash by the scenery like a streak of green and gold praising the very leaves on the trees and the sunlight that ran through them.

We had stopped at a wayside shrine that some man who was good with wood had fashioned from his own hands. She ran forward to it with outstretched arms and it looked too as if this painted Christ carved with all his suffering was also running towards her. "The sad man on the tree" as she called him. He suffered her to come to him and she embraced him with all of her self. He shed a single painted tear that hung upon his check as if at any moment it would splash and fall in yellow.

She gave him all of herself to help heal his sadness, imbuing him with her tiny belief.

There's a hotel in Adare
it's a Manor

White and green it what
they call a banner

High up on their poles
needs no crossbar just goals

When they toss they always
spit on the tanner.

CHINGACHGOOK SPEAKS

still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind

Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise

the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine

the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time

and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles

a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar

we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels

lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level

we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike

new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed

"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"

trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations

I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf

my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle

sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good

I still see the saw
pine
opens memory

*

We had to look upon a loved object( as a poetry prompt )and not mentioning it...free associate 15 words and write the poem from this list. THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS is and still is a fav. book of my childhood( I have still not finished growing up )and it bleeds into the memory of helping( little help that I was )my Da making a window...making a bike...making a fretwork Arkle...whatever he turned his hand to...whether it be a crop of potatoes or a cuddle...his hands were the hands of a God creating my childhood for me.

I never got around to reading THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH but loved the sound of it....Dobbin's Hill( which I cycled down as a child and ran up as a soldier )became the Great Snake( what Chingachgook means )and I indeed made myself a Chingachgook. The rest is just memories held in haiku and bursting in time like bubbles.
From 30/30 prompt. . . I was reading THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS and helping my da with his work...whether it be wood or bikes from different bits.It was that eternal summer of childhood and I desired to be Chingachgook. Out of this tale of time lost...time found is woven the present poem. Here be the words that helped in some way went to the making of the poem. My da worked in wood...I work in words.

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS

MAGUA

UNCAS

WAH-TA-WAH

THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH

HATCHET

NATIVE AMERICAN

LEATHER BOUND BOOK

PROUST

TIMBER

WOODEN JIGSAW

FRETWORK

TOOLS OF TRADE

SUMMER

HAIR

do you see the pattern so soon
do you see how we leave one set
of rules only to find another

this may have happened here
so we rest a while regroup move
forward slowly

like the metal soldiers
found in the button box
yesterday

bent, broken yet i straighten their
legs

and play again

i am real glad that your bike came
that it is all together and you are zooming
well

i imagine up over hills through the woods
you describe wind chasing your hair

can i come?

on the crossbar if there is one
or the handlebars
we did that as kids

or as tiny in your pocket james

i still dream of one james
yesterday the lane was busy

so i just walk along
moving to the nettles
as they pass

spurred on with your comment
i made another ladder james

while my neighbour tidied her lavender
edging

quietly

moon in l
moon in m
moon in mmm
moon in shhh, blue "shhh", blue stars
"innn" in "pain"
"i" in both
"t" in the end of "pain", like when you do the same spit and speed with "sweet".
with "piano" at the end of scorpion.
with "no" of piano sting.
please do "sui" with "sweet". sweetest.
"dictionary - pain" that spreaded on the wall. on walls.
to know pain or to feel?
snakes turning "pain" into "passion".
you need two snakes, in center. taking away "I" from sound.
I'm in st#bborn immersion in mercy, like snakes.
I will find it in mercy or pain?
image, pain. not the image.

black moon and grey moon
little black moon is hook
with handle in a shape of cross like ink-cross on neck.
little black moon ingrained in moon, in empty focus, in identical yours, double manifested, double sticking. in velvet glue, in well wet, in black honey, like cancer. of everything. like can'tcer. of everything. and it's happening in my hands. i have little egyptian bed in psychology of my hands.
most far moon point, her sickle sticking in ****** with one of two ejected disembodied nodes, with weeks-corridors.
they're glued like when day of first *** and day of ******* get glued. their substance cataractize the direction of catharsis.

moan innn ec-lips
between twins tonguess
in sick-red kiss, in sacred ****-red
in drying «yes»
but say not only «yes», but «you» too.
somewhere between yes and you i want to find a word.
fingerlips, lipsnails, leuco-sapphires.
loudmother?
and stick to big skissors. don't live without them.
stick fingers into skull on knees, wash the nameless bones. their voices, they whisper back.
"you are more than this", they hiss. i know they lie — i am only this, only ever this.
I want kissing more than you and you.
no feed, no feet, no free. no water, only fat. no curing, no schools, no studies, go into night like in school, only mouth, only lying
between wars and swords in words, like book that like legs splitting almost equally somewhere between "alice" and "******", "******" and "dracula". between witches and enlightenment, and light of ten men.
talk with words by next word.
ask words of that thing that they're know.
want thank you for each touch of keys.
said one word on the floor, and never stop.
swallow thin short golden chain one by one, from skirt that close to floor, swallow their shhh.
kiss empty fast circle
kiss ardra, kiss bhar, kiss rev
kiss wish, wishash
kiss cats with long crooked necks, a cat that licked raven's head.
stroke between cat's eyes with one finger.
not lips, not much.
is it better to be unkissed or to wander through the streets?
am I ardra, or not? with that through my teeth? am i written "die" or not?
cards thinned like skin, too long in the sun, old cards on belly, tarot on the white long like dress table between fish bones, tarot *****, t-angelo t-anger, and jade walls under my back - that's all I want.
and inner became double.
and three parts.
and the blood on rice on the street-soaked-butcher shop, and hands on it. each grain, each drop.
I don't want to forget the fish bones, boneless rice-worms. street with cauldrons, screams, progression of forms of black birds and animals with suddenly crystal blue membranes and thin-walled clean ***** rolling out of them. with stairs right there. bare ***** smart feet, roll over crossbar and laugh.
please let everything roll over the rocks.
the stones, the bags with ropes, the metal objects.
let the bags with ropes drag themselves into shadows.
please, a burning carriage.
please, fights by the falling waters.
please, horse's eye.
please, no obsession with wholeness.
at the same time I want the only place where I can read the letter to be the tall heated statues, on sun square with chapel, like clocks.
i trace letters with fingertips, burning myself and letter with each word, but it's all will be at statue's feet.
but if "read" could be always tied to "feet", the rest of life is doesn't matter.
and i need Bluebeard with a husband in a wife's room.
all wives are starting to stirring.
I want you like a tree.
I want you like a three.
and i want to lay on the drums. to love creatures without hands.
with what these creatures love? with teeth? with bones? with two cоcks?
I saw the drum that never harsh.
I want drums arranged in lines by mind, under skies with weight of water, I want fcking in every drop of rain that hum like these words with "hum". written in crystal and chitin. i don't wanna room in every teardrop. I don't wanna universe with tree in every drop.
I want drum, I want murd, drum on knees, drum with white fibers, drum as salivary *****, piano like drum, moon shhh and croaks through screen glass into screaming eyes and in body like in alive theater every night. skin-venereal films, nevereal. groove of magnets, loops of sticklips and little, like teeth, pieces. antithesis in backing vocal.
I want the green man and the jade man.
want movie where Hermes in dirt, in mess, want sister of twins, little black m*ss.
I miss you and only a kiss in the many years ago dead cancerous brain of horror movie director calms me down.
the cancerous brain whispers back, "kiss me again".
snakes: do you wanna let them crawling on your body or lying on them?
do you want them crawling or lying?
insomniacs singing scales between us that hum with hymns to the alphabet that tasted and unspoken.
flickered out by flickered tongues.
tongues that are used for smells.
i just want you to swallow all of my secrets, i want that sharing and that buring.
my sense of life is like a secret that has been splash out into the cooling cosmic void. this secret really like secretion, and it flickers and splits there, in the. like Emily. that was Isabelle. when she went to her room...not her room, it's hystorical hysterical slip. but in a separate room with door. It's not hysteria, it's tuberculosis historically, literally, from literature.
hundreds of snakes: were burned.
hundreds of snakes: wife that wants give and give birth to snakes.
give birth hundreds of snakes or two sons?
you ask, and ardra would commend. and would she kiss the ash? would she approve your kiss between worlds unspoken?
«crawl on me», she says, like sister of twins, or maybe, «lie beneath me».

after the skin comes world, not lips, lips comes after world.
cat is vanishes.
whole day on knees.
i lie down in glue velvet. i want touch first with hair or knees? fire unites them.
i spill things from box in the center of room into the glue.
i smear a glue across forehead.
inscription glued or blurred?
it is word "air", because I'm in helmet and I'm flying.
with other ******* my back.
although I'm standing by the dishwasher.
she's the one who flies.
or maybe just today even she's can't and lying instead rehearsals
and watching two girls fly
a children in burgundy
and I come in a circus hammock with ropes and red and aquamarine blankets, huge as ships, with yellow-orange pillows with bright blue tassels and then once his blue eye.
I cover her from above
under the children's hands.
somewhere between bells and chitin,
i lie down in glue
binding skin to different ways to write the word «moment».
I want to hold the moon with all hands here, in this degree, in the place of my tongue,
hold her like ouija tablet, but she's too alive like an animal and continues to rotate,
and I am a dead alphabet, and for every letter every night every month 100 units are pulled out of me, pinched, forced to come up with 100 words and letters for each letter, then choose only words for inanimated objects.
i lie down, i don't wanna write that moon watching me above.
where i belong – in the cut. and scream. pia no. films that sawing the light. just a movies. and almost slaving labour. and my love.
I lie down and just wait for my language to crystallize, and i find a rain in the molasses.
but I want to always hold onto "the moon in mmm", I want "innn" and "lclean" in dictionary.
and I have to bury a cat in the snows, just catch her from the fridge