There's a guy walking along
The city streets at night
I don't know where he's going
But you can only see him by the lights

When everything's quiet
You can almost hear
The sound of a horn
And then he disappears

The city is sound asleep tonight
But the dead don't ever sleep 
There's no rest for the wicked
And there's no secret he can't keep
And the driver gets out of the car
But there's no body to be found
The strangest thing always happens
When Jim Crowder walks around

I never knew the man
I never even saw his face
Until Wednesday morning over coffee
I flipped to the second page

Seems Jim Crowder didn't see the lights
Maybe he didn't want to some might say
He didn't care enough to look ahead
Or even bother to get out of the way

The city is sound asleep tonight
But the dead don't ever sleep 
There's no rest for the wicked
And there's no secret he can't keep
And the driver gets out of the car
But there's no body to be found
The strangest thing always happens
When Jim Crowder walks around

The fakeness of fake reality
is in reality ...
fake
and is of no consequence.
If you, in reality,
are fake
the consequence of the fakeness
is - your reality,
Ipso facto, this consequence,
your - fakeness
should cease, in reality
or - prepare for consequences
which - in reality - won't be fake.

The Fakeness Of Fake Reality   Michael C Crowder 17th March  2019

Everything, is fine,
it is. Fine,
If I have that again, it will, make me sick
It will always get stuck in my throat,
I would choke. Sick,
that I don't need, Don't eat.
leave it out? Totally.
Someone might see,
know, help, me? Getting worse.
Help myself. Normality,
keeping things usual. Work.
Pull myself together? get over it, don't be silly:
That's not helpful,
don’t say anything.
What's happening? I've never passed out before.
You in my head will you explain
What to do, yes you; I'm losing,
help me?
see things I'm missing. Ignore.
Remember being sick ? I don't want that, leave,
I Need food to keep the same.
Not. Change.
Food others have makes me feel unwell. Don't eat.
I. Tremble, consider, stare, UNABLE TO EAT MEALS,
Eat: with everyone, sit, quiet, be slow,
as much as possible, I will leave.
At least I tried. To observing eyes. I did well?
Touch leave, take leave tremble, later, maybe. No.
Don't want to, yet: need to think,
what I'm going to have? where I'm going to eat?
you can tell me, yes, no.? Safe food list, alters,
becomes not safe. It has changed, different cold.
Leave it. If it's not the same, colour, shape, smell,
not safe, Wait. It's on the list. Avoid it, the date is old,
milkshake
best.
In therapy, I speak, I listen, you unravel.
Best?
help me? keep to timetable? Its achievable.
What has really happened.?
Avoid? Try? Listen. Try, try
Is it fine?,  me  trying, still worried, concerned.

Not what you thought
(ARFID)  Michael C Crowder  September 2018

A poem a day takes the pain away.
"It could always be worse"
That's what they all would say.

If it could always be worse,
Then why don't your words make it better?
Don't diminish what I'm feeling,
Simply bc someone's circumstances were harder.

A town was destroyed,
Lives stripped away.
My family and home still in tact,
But I too felt the wrath of that 22nd May.

The ****** and the bruised,
Don't forget the whaling sirens,
Continually speeding by for the first 48 hours.

Anything to help,
Water to the families
Prayers for the refugees.

Thank goodness it wasn't destroyed,
That football field.
What else would have sufficed?
To house the bodies,
In number, nearly 165.

Prayer and tears cannot rectify,
The pain and the hurt evident in mine eye.

Grasp hold of
The friends you were able to get ahold of.

Proud of this town I call home,
Banded together.
But my school, a whole other story on it's own,

I lived, breathed, what was just a building.
My faith in a structure,
Security and normality soon ripped from feelings.

The boxcar children?
The boxed mall children.
Diploma in a shopping bag,
Earned through PowerPoint presentations and 9GAG.

Thank goodness for glassed in boxes,
How else would I have been able to think?
Those tanks have awesome acoustics,
And hey couples can use them for **** tricks.

Build a fort of cardboard,
Film a music video that'll win zero awards!

Throw ping pong ***** over the walls,
Practice ACT while you hear the drama kids doing bird calls.

Can't use photoshop?
There's a class for that.
"Teacher" can't help with trig?
Here's an F for that.

Grief counselors available 24/7.
Doors are also always open,
So go get some lunch at the 7/11.

Took advantage of naïveté,
Skipped school to deal with that 22nd May.

But hey! Prom was still awesome,
And the seniors got scholarships,
So it's alright that my gpa was messed with.
Heck, I was a junior, easily forgotten.

Off to bigger, better things!
Forget the past,
Endure the change.

Hello MSSU or Crowder.
Community college "fo dayz"

This is how we deal with windstorms, in the little old land of Jomo.
The town banded together, but school....
It's more broken than ever.

They turn ya loose and you'll move on,
Cuz for a few years ya had a laptop,
And hey that's enough to build your future upon!

And we are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.
and Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss,
and my heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don't have time to maintain these regrets,
when I think about the way that
He loves us, oh how He loves us.

Sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Cutting keys wit flour
****** man of the hour
It’s the sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Lookin down from the tower
Homeboy, I got all the power

It’s the sweet sweet powder
Like I’m raven from the bowery
I be hittin fools wit trash cans
Wake em up in bout an hour
With that sweet sweet powder
Shootin three ***** like crowder
Hollarin hella louder
Like Aretha in the shower
Got that sweet sweet powder
That I’m given to the *******
Never ****** with those snitches
That are wearing goodwill britches
No I roll with the
Sweet sweet powder
Been running through the ditches
Eating salty ham sandwiches
You act like I don’t know riches
I know that

Sweet sweet powder
Be cutting keys wit flour
I’m da man of the hour
Jumpin in the shower
With the sweet sweet powder
On the ivory tower
Pimpin tricks by the hour
Holding all the ****** power
Got that sweet sweet powder

Now wit that sweet sweet powder
I get ******* like a Scotty
****** Baio was hottie
But with that sweet sweet powder
He coulda ****** gotten Molly
Little Ringwald in her prime time
Slap that *** like a hate crime
Sweet sweet powder blowin my mind

I got that sweet sweet powder
Fuckim man of the hour
Rollin with robin trower
Acting like a lil bow-er
With my sweet sweet powder
Turning trick by the hour
Showering with power
Giving ******* flowers
Got that sweet sweet powder

Before her the open laptop stares
At settled coffee shop young lady
smart appearance nice hair.
Phone close, to hand for just maybe.
nowhere in particular she looks here and there,
as she shares short glances between
coffee shop phone and screen,
An image created of controlled serenity,
around her the tidal increase of customers ebb and flow.
Laptop screen, a document shines out, I'm here.
Momentarily her phone blinks me too
then returns to outward inactivity.
An embryo smile flickers, perhaps a thought
of the fleeting communication, perhaps not,
voices sway back and forth then, spike of a laugh
quickly swallowed by the ambience to give way
to hisses, gurgles of music coffee machines  play.
Young men perch and slouch in fervent conversation
They leave, talking, passing Dad with daughters so pleased
when discovering window side seats, wait in anticipation,
where delivers Dad , then into newspaper immerses.
Girls silently survey the scene, hot chocolate cupped
shortly paper closes, a look, chocolate speedily drunk
to join dads exit swift, wordless and abrupt  
past headphoned staff in crockery recovery.
Incessantly tables change coffee treats enjoyed again,  
The coffee shop laptop lady alone but not lonely
chooses to be, just maybe, happy in her own skin.

scorsby

MICHAEL C CROWDER         1st January 2019

Sleep - Oh my dear friend why do you hide
midst the turbulent brooding that twist
and tumble within my fatigued mind?.
Come, let slumber kiss my heavy eyes,
whilst Luna roves the scene Nox has spread,
waken for me Somnus from his bed
to still thoughts and words erratic chase,
till Morpheus dreams then takes their place:
thence to grant me slumbers precious peace,
Come - settle my mind: Please - let me sleep.

3.30AM ©Michael C Crowder @scorsby
15th February 2021

Period homesteads line Peppercorn Road , meticulous working farms of corn , cotton and sorghum cultivars , rugged gravel drives cut into dried , red clay ditches , Charleston architecture cooling her Summer residents . Double story barns with white washed brick silos , picket fences and blue ribbon cattle .. Sturdy Pole barns shelters surrounded in shamrock clover , the clanging of cowbells as Dairy cows return from her glistening fields ... Catfish feeding frenzies over field corn and evening mayflies , gas porch lights illuminate the family garden with activity in Summer well into night , Crowder peas and Fordhook butter beans , Okra and Butter peas harvested free of Red wasp and Bumblebees as opposed to hungry mosquitos , red chiggers and Crane flies ... Silver washtubs on hot , humid nights , the instant relief of cool well water relieving the pang of harvest .. The creaky screen door and porch ceiling fans , white rockers and good books ...Mason jars filled with sweet tea , hearts filled with adventure and young eyes with sleep .. Coonhounds sing to the ever rising gold Moon .. All was well .. All was most certainly well ...

Sitting in the henhouse to relieve pepper burnt eyes with the sound of Miss Trellie whipping the okra, willow switch in hand ,  harvesting eggs , adding fresh hay to each nest  box , ankle deep in pig dung , snapping crowder peas , Fordhook butter beans , pulling black eyed peas , resting on a five gallon bucket , mother nervously on the lookout for " Giant Serpents " more commonly known as King snakes and taking breaks with a mouthful of figs, plus all the cherry tomatoes that my overalls would hold ! A daily event in the Summer ..... Children thrive on routine , dirt , a mothers love and a long list of chores each and every day !

Is it possibly, strange believing,
you’re somewhere else but, still here,
Not physically close by but a feeling
Is it reassurance - perhaps a  safety tier
a presence somewhat instinctive around me.

I speak to you, didn't always do,
not commonplace between us,  conversation:
sometimes there'd be an answer, from your perspective.  
Whenever now I question my determination,
a moments ponder- what might have you selected.

Character of courage and trust: ruled by fairness.
Silent belief - dignified and true,
moral sensitivities caring and kindness
None, ever, placed prominently on view,
just waiting behind your shield, for careful use in crisis.

Solitary - not seemingly lonesome but quiet,
yet, when needed around to convey
considered words, and sturdy hands to guide.
You wisely put to use, new skills, knowledge learnt,
supporting the family if required from day to day.

in thoughts is where your lingering presence exists
reminds, so much still to learn – that’s why
your story, the about you, we will want to hear,
absent physically - true,  yet in thoughts  indeed they persist,
You never left completely Dad, you’re still here.

You Are..
Michael C Crowder  @scorsby            Friday, March 8, 2019

Have you worked a crowder pea field in July
As the Georgia sun fries
When humidity sits you down every half hour ,
where the weather deals great power
Showers are few and far between
Dirt fills every pocket of your blue jeans
Sweat blinds
The day seems to grind
Humor and inspiration are hard to find
Picking peas by moonlight
Mosquitoes feasting by lamplight
Filling bushel baskets by day
If the good Lord be willing , please call the paper wasp away* ..

i went through most of them,
   well, at least some of them,
   the ones that would pop up
when the algorhithm wasn't
               a f-f-f'ed     cue: up...
some great bands popped
up, spontaneously like mushrooms,
seemingly out of nowhere...
don't know if this is the usual
diet to some people,
    but some time,
    it was mine... until...
                    i chanced myself finding
an outlier...
the diet?

   - computing forever
    - paul joseph watson
   - styxhexenhammer666
- lionel nation
   - tim pool
   - amy young
   - shaun
   - the iconoclast
   - amy young
   - jacklyn glen
  - dr steve turley
   - stephan mo... mo... moleneux(?)
- sargon of akkad
   - ms pettibone
  - black pigeon speaks
   - joe rogan
- vertigo politix
   - dave ruben
   - jordan peterson
- strange aeons
- red ice tv
   - economic invincibility
- roosh v
  - critical condition
   - gavin mcinnes
   - roaming millenial
   - stephen crowder...

but...
         after a while...
    this was the "in" crowd...
the subject matters converged
and i just,
might as well have stood
in trafalgar sq.
   and listening to the cooing
of pigeons,
   nothing wrong with that,
but when overlap appears,
shared subject matters,
the same subject matters,
you know you're going
to be forced out of the audience
by your own intent...

the subject matters with
seemingly no personal incentive...
what i started to call
vulture journalism,
    changing the main-mainstream
narrative
   into an alternative
competition ranked
                          viewing...

well... that's until today...
today i foundd myself a gob-smacked
viewing time,
       what put me off?
success is fine,
   but the egoism and the bragging
baggage that goes with it,
this persistent need to
    cite viewers, subscribers,
   whatever you want to call it:
lapse in "introspection"...
  
   sure... i'll probably still
watch some of these channels..
it's not like i'm going
to turn on nice news or something...

the first time it happened
that i found videos,
where: the samsung tablet
would light up for a while,
but then be "dooped"
   into switching off the screen,
first dimming the screen light
before switching off...
now... when you listen
to a radio station on such a device...
the device does that...
  but even though the screen
is off, the audio feed is still
intact...
   but not the case...
        with a video + audio content...

so... i guess...
that's the epitome of the edge...
even millanial woes
videos don't have that "problem"...

who's in "question"?
                      surviving life...
i write "poetry",
   unless there's some hannibal
lecter interested in citing
any of my scribbles...
    then why would i venture
into the dark web?

                     if i wanted
to buy some chemically enchanced
marijuana,
   i'd just go to my paranoid
schizophrenic jamaican drug dealer
and listen to him ramble
about the illuminati for a while,
and how he once tried to convince
me that there was face of jesus
in the moon...
   as he showed me a video
he took, outside his house
                                   one night...
he once even asked me to teach
his daughter guitar...
    i couldn't think of a payment,
since i was then moving
away from marijuana
   and working on my liver's worth
of a punching bag.

   great stuff...
        i can more or less
agree to the lower regions
of, what i once thought,
was "edgy", as told by the "edgy" /
now tame youtubers.

it was fun, while it lasted,
oh well.

Responding to the sunny afternoon,
curtains, breathe in and out of the room,
for a moment I lay, I rest my eyes
and listen to neighbours DIY,
and children's voices lifting stream
playing on joy giving trampoline,  
indistinct not much clearer,
are voices somewhat nearer
which, discuss matters of no alarm,
laughter adds to its charm.
Even trains pass at a slower pace,
like the breeze, without clouds to chase.
A magpie's chatter, doves return coo,
and a wood pidgeon joins in too.
Dreamily, creep reminiscences.
Times, difficult to dismiss,
all the ways, perhaps I would
have changed prospects, if I could
have sorted things, when I should.
Still it's not bad, nor is it good.
I just turn away, and let them fall
the past cannot be changed at all,
dismissing them, behind closed eyes.
De stress, maximised,
my negative thoughts, who cares.
Feeling so relaxed, is for me rare,
a difference todays sun had made,
and it's one I so gladly take.

Afternoon  
21st April 2020    Michael C Crowder @scorsby

Lying so close to you... my love.... my life
I feel your warmth, see your smooth skin
in moonlights glow....cast over silken sheet,
defines in subtle shadows pale light,
partially veiled..... your sensuous form,
fractional to your captivating...wholeness.
So I..rapt within your especial fragrance,
the very essence of you, that my indulgence is, so drawn.
I regard your soft, gentle, calm breathing,
for me beautiful, nocturnal music, sweet,
written by you, for this, hedonistic night.
Such treasures are future memories, seeding.
I long to wake you, to hold, to love you... be complete.
So enthralled am I, watching you sleeping
your dark hair frames the face I cherish,
as you stir the motion slightly slides the sheet.
your thigh, back, shoulder, the silver moons gleam
exposes your appealing femininity
evoking your caring personality,
you are moving.. sinuously.... towards me,
midst soft murmuring...eventually,
bodies in coalescence curl serenely.
I softly rest my head against your shoulder,
kissing your neck, I caress your breast.. gently,
your warm smooth skin... tenderly moving downwards
slowly you turn facing me, our eyes meet... to betray
a tiny smile from the lips I will kiss... and kiss,
is the silent signal between us.... intimacy assured.
Pushing away the covers, we fondly embrace,
and so aroused, we, as lovers, experience a consensual excursion
towards effecting the ultimate... ecstasy,
fuelled not by - carnal impulse or lust - but along with grace,
an unconditional... true love and mutual desire.

In Love In Memories

Michael C Crowder           January 19th 2019      @scorsby

I think my heart is on the end of one string
guided much like a yo-yo toy, dangling.
Up and down that prevalent emotions bring,
Upward for passion, love, joy and affection
Downward in sadness, pity and compassion
insightfully, holds place if sensed doubt or fear.
True strings, the hearts tendons, ensure its function
where  muscle and valve labour through connection
keeping life's system robust, hearty and hale  
But the perceptive unseen strings, felt each day  
so often to be tugged, softened, snapped and played
best of all is when one, or several of mine
resonate in tune, when in concert with thine.

Heartstrings      Michael C Crowder @scorsby
10th February 2021

.         watching a steven crowder
video from 2016..
  crashing college socialists
#SJW protests...
and i'm like:
  the **** would i even need
late night friday t.v.?!
  this is breaking my *****...
i'm all giggles
and marshmallow froth
on my lips like a dog with
rabies...
oh comedy has changed...
            it's not even about
laughing about other people...
it's laughing at
the summa summarum...
because, that wasn't the genesis
observation, to start off
with?

- and there comes a time within
the confines of the expression...
i can't do this...
this is breaking me...
   i'm about to give birth
to a chicken egg via my gob...
sure, some teeth will fall out...
but hey! a chicken!
  **** me... 2018 and
these 2016 americana socialists?!
i swear i just came from
a warsaw pact country...
        what did or was or wasn't
supposed to have changed?
ah...
   english neighbours...
the usual custard tards...
queens and kings among
the local citizen...
   somehow...
   as being the forefathers of
capitalism, they are...
slightly, confused,
about private ownership rights
of property...

and?
   so i can't sit on a windowsill,
and smoke a cigarette,
outside my own window,
just because you gave birth to
herr pinguin?
   a sick boy?
    i was sick as a child...
you think i was given any slack?
what's with the ******* english?!
i thought they originated
capitalism,
   and private property rights?!
so... one citizen is, apparently,
able to dictate to another private
citizen, with regards to what
he can, or cannot do,
on his property?
     let me have a listen...
.................................................
..........................................
i have to take a **** in a niqab?!
now you're pushing it...
     is this... plain english gall...
addressing me... donning a t-shirt...
and only wearing underwear
with bare legs...
subsequently crying about
not figuring out my labyrinth of
logic, about to dictate the rules
of what is, private, and what is
public?
    **** me... drinking a beer
in public is illegal...
   but for the past two years?
glug glug glug... downed a bottle
of beer in public...
   no problem...
     if you're 40+... and just gave birth
to a child, that's sick...
guess what nature replies...
     em...          survival of the fittest?
how is it somehow cruel,
when it's the foundation
of reality?
    and i, i really would be inclined
to ingesting psychedelics...
if i succumbed to daltonism:
               a color-blindness...
but since i spotted the grand ***-crack
of a vacuum encompassing
earth and the stars...
i started to binge on music -
              to fill... zee... "gap"...
from said experience?
the english have lost it...
   given... they have no concept of
private property...
   and what one does...
on said property...
    like smoking outside of
one's own
       property...
             ******* bananas!
         honestly, the english deserve
the harshest bashing,
from both the E.U. and the U.S.A.:
you had the ******* pound!
you were never in the E.U., proper!
    so... would me... allowing myself
to take a **** in your garden
constitute... the appropriate response...
to you infringing on my right
to a private property?
   all of a sudden... some english galls
decided they'd reached the status
of queen...
  ******* AND *******!
guess the morbid sweat of
surprise i noticed... when, after 15 years
of living next to me,
she had her first conversation...
oh yeah... ich spreschen ihre zunge...

not even a glum look...
   simply...
                             tears...
       i hate to see a woman cry...
but sometimes...
when the, said woman,
infringes on your privacy,
       in the sacred ground of "contested"
property...
  man... **** it...
     this is a sacred topic for me...
just because she's english,
she can dictate when and where
i allow myself to defecate?!
  she allows herself the stature
of dictating...
     where and when i get to smoke
a cigarette?
   these... "english"?
  they're not english...
can't even call them commies...
   my grandfather was a communist
party member!
    these, these... "people"?
            something out of
a... mary shelley novel...
    and she ought to be the face on the fiver...
don't know why they decided
upon jane austen.

spot this slogan in Glasgow:

    *******, *****!
  oh i'm frothing... counter-ingenious
monarchist ******* cut-offs,
weaved together for
                               faking a smile...
the one, and only, thespian nation.