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vircapio gale Mar 2013
it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed

"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again












'
Bier und Eis: "beer and ice/ice cream"

http://flickrhivemind.net/Tags/reichstag,spirale/Interesting
Butch Decatoria May 2017
Get on with your Bad self

Go on with your Hustle

Into the bustle

And the gristle

Briskly

Frisky

Grizzly world...

Go 'head find and get that paper

Let your greenback wings unfurl

Telling you who to be

Made

So dapper...

Go Rise above

But still only talking

'Bout

That Unfathomable

Love

Still wrapping

The turkey in a noose

Letting bullets loose

For hundred dollar shoes

Shoes!

Shoo sure 'nuf!

Time to wake up / this close to the Sun

Wax in' & Flossin'

Ill prepared to Rise above

Pretending to exude

The same kind

Of Love...

You

Go'ne now...

You Dawg you - A "g"

N-word y'heard in Everythang

We trust

Go'ne muss it up!

I just must know

(My boo)

Didn't you?

Give the World

This Life

Much Love?

Fire in the sky... Fallen

Too high

At dusk...


gone to fly into the eye

(Cush)
I grew up knowing we are a broken race,
A race that changes smiles to frowns on everyone's face,
A race of pity, a race of self destruction,
A race of slaves, a race of savages.
I grew up knowing that we are the poison to the sea,
Acid to the earth
And pollution to the air.
I grew up embarassed of my colour,
Embarassed of my Nation,
Embarassed of my Continent...

I guess I didn't know better
That one day I will discover of our Greatness.
I discovered that our forefathers walked all four corners of the Earth.

Let me rephrase that...

Our forefathers were acknowledged in all corners of the Earth.
I discovered we were once tutors of the world,
We were once Astronomers of the stars,
Travellers of Mother Earth,
Doctors to the sick
And Founders of great kingdoms like Cambodia, parts of Egypt, America etc...
We were founders of some of the world's oldest civilisations,
The olmec vivilization.

African child, how far have you fallen?

I get so much joy and pride when I look back,
Back beyond the slave's era,
Further before the missionaries,
The beauty I see.
I am overwhelmed by the greatness of our Africanism.

Where did it all go wrong?

We have such great history
But it all sounds like a myth or a mystery
Especially when I say that we once walked tall and high in the foreign lands of America,
Not as slaves but as residents and rulers.
Our history shouts of our greatness,
It tells us that the first man to be saluted as Emperor of China
Was the son of the soil, the son of Africa.
Our history tells a story of our existence in India,
Our great kingdoms in Cambodia and Scotland.
Our history even goes back further to the ancient times of the Bible.
It speaks of ******, a great man in the eyes of the Lord,
The father of Cush, the founder of Cushite, a black nation.

It saddens me to see us disrespect our elders like this
For they hold our rich history.
They hold the bridges we have forgotten,
They hold the secrets of our Nation.
They were there when mama Africa gave birth to us
And we will weep when mama Africa swallows them up.
We will not cry for they have gone
But we will cry for the knowledge we have buried.

If you don't believe me ask the sage Ntate Credo Mutwa.

Wake up Africa. Wake up and Rise...
Rise African Child!
Poetry In Motion
IG: rapnapoleon_za
#DearSelf
#Bang4Lifé
BlakOps Feb 2012
Drum up the emoticons of Tweeners
Lost between the couch cushions
Smoking on Cush,
                               Listening to lines of lying lions.
No soul,
             Symbols twisted into idols
Non-paralleled,
                         Prophets for profit
Refusal to obey convention
Convection will guarantee a feature flight
                                   To where?
                                    I don't know.
                                   Nowhere near never, never land
                                   The fall will forever fragment followers
                                   Peons of lies, hope, and mirrors
                                   Cause is not lost, for change
                                   Moons tide motions for…
The ebb of conscious thought, drowning the flow of seceded freedoms.
Critique is welcomed.
bobby burns Nov 2012
some mornings
even my hair
seems to behave,
when i don't need
it to -- like weather
or feelings.
                         after
today, i was content.
i finally got my bed
just the way i like it,
settled in, surrounded
by cush, and plush and
(dead insects)
                            despite
    a growing discomfort
in my belly, i'm still fine;
saltine remedy, mint tea
                              potion.
a lovely girl asked                
me to catch dreams for her.
of course i will, in jars like
fireflies, natural lanterns
to light up your
imagination.
                             but the
          aching in my belly
    seems intent on staying
until addressed appropriately--
sneakily
                creeping up on me
like adolescent shenanigans--
acknowledgement is
reminiscence, the kind you
don't fancy at 1:00 am.
so i mulled it over,
going home; like
a kick in the shins,
it made me realize
that the little place
in me, maybe a vein
or vesicle, is still
missing.
               it used to
be an *****, a limb;
in months it shrank to
an extremity, a digit,
finally infinitesimal--
but still
missing.
     (now) i'm having trouble
                making my peace
with the fact that you'll have
that artery, or capillary,
or soul atom for awhile
or forever, maybe.
but i think, i posit
in fact, perhaps
by march, a few
months more,
i'll forget and
be able to say
*"it's yours."
old summer loves.
the self destruct button
is waiting for that fellow to push
he'll blow himself up like
a snooker ball off the cush

it won't be any surprise
to see him blasting himself away
this very explosion was fated
on a forthcoming day

the firing switch is set
for the big self strike
whereupon he'll be ******
into the air as a flying pike

soon the event will be
happening on television
let us not miss watching
his most important mission
Walking down the ***** needle filled streets I see the poster everywhere. I swear any unclaimed space all around Van Nuys there’s my naked body and fake eyelashes. Thank God for computers otherwise my ******* would be recognized no matter where I was in this ****** city. Its not a cush life doing what we do, but hell it pays rent in this God forsaken place.
Devon Brock Aug 2019
I used to live downwind of the slaughterhouse,
the one below the high bluff where the state pen towers,
commanding the best view of the marsh lands
and the stink ponds making lime outta ****
for the crops not meant for human consumption;
by the dry grass parks with the broken backboards
and the netless hoops that never slow a ball down.

I used to live downwind of the rendering plant
where the bubbling lard becomes aerosol
and the air reeks of freezerburn bacon and feces,
below the high bluff where the trustees cut grass
in the clean air not meant for the locals
mixing with the immigrants and loser folk
who have knots in their shoelaces that
press against bone when chasing a loose ball.

This town never grew up. Doesn't need to.
There's plenty of ground for the taking.
Plenty of farmers selling out to the downtown club
who cobble the streets in past time fashion,
netting big gains from the professional set
lining the smooth roads annexed to the east.

I used to live downwind of the closing in stink
of renewal, where the cheap rentals and struggle
stores with the marked-up Walmart brands
lining the shelves - expired but still edible -
bide their short time compressed and diced
up like leftovers for dogs.

But this is America. I don't live there anymore.
I got myself a cush gig with a padded ladder
to the top. Did everything I needed to do
for that sure climb out into a cleaner air,
only to find myself bruise-faced and reeling
when the profits didn't match the dream
and the ladders were sold for scrap.
Butch Decatoria Jul 2016
White Cookie-dough Cush
Rainbow munchies, puff-puff give:
Life's stunted Bonsai.
Sam Barger Mar 2014
Spread the cush
Give'r a shush
Warn the push
Baby
We're goin' in the ****.
Zaynub Elshamy Oct 2015
Short and sweet
Tall and ****
Do I make you blush?
Slow and sleek
Fast and flush
Quick and quiet
Can you feel the rush?
Open and offered
Closed and cush
Locked and loyal
I'll beg you to hush!
Cold and clear
Hot and harsh
Humid and hazy
Wait for the push!
There's the final crush
So full and so plush
Now I give you leave to blush!
Masked Voice Dec 2016
Who is a CRUSH?
Someone to brush,
our feelings on..
No need to flush,
our feelings of sadness down..
To make ourselves blush,
on looking at them..
To gush,
your shy on them..
As a cush,
To love them without a fear..
To thrush,
about their looks..
To smush,
yourself to the thought of being apart..
It just makes my day looking at my crush's smile.. hope I feel it someday ;)
Bethlehem
Nemrod, Hemophilic Camel

Describes Vernarth:
They were falling down a *****, typified as a rebellion of angels. In such disorder they were advised of a new language and numeral concept. Given before the component of Steeds, Pelicans, Nymph of Mask, Champion of Cemeteries of Messolonghi, Vernarth Commander Hetairoi and Saint John the Apostle. Wading through the Nablus desert on a mission to Nemrod and the Gigas Camels and the twelfth and last of them afflicted with morbid sin.
Nemrod or ******; being the name of the biblical character described as son of Cush, son of Ham, who was son of Noah.
Although the Bible does not mention it directly, since ancient times tradition has regarded ****** as the builder of the Tower of Babel. Since the tower was built on his territory and during his reign, it is assumed that it was under his direction that construction began. But there are also other sources, also extra-biblical, that point out the opposite, claiming that ****** was not in the region of Sinar when the construction began. His name became proverbial as a "mighty hunter in opposition to YHWH (Jehovah)" His kingdom comprised Babel (Babylon), Erech (Uruk), Accad (Akkad) and Calneh, in the land of Shinar, also known as the land of ******.
Vernarth replied: "They came and went, crawling on their old Palestinian and Hebrew feet ..., helped by ****** to understand and worship each other"

When they were on the road from Nablus on the carpets of Kfar Tapuach, there is a hemophilic effusion of some of their Camels Gigas that accompanied them, separating them from the remaining eleven, leaving them in the hands of Saint John the Apostle. "From that moment on seeing the camel bleed, the apostle falls into a trance remembering the annunciation that will have to take place in the whirlpool of biblical time when they arrive at Bethlehem." Right here the angel Gabriel will rejoin when he said to Mary: “Do not fear, Mary, for you have found favor with God; you are going to conceive in the womb and you are going to give birth to a son, whom you will name Jesus." Then the Camel turned around and said ...: "I will be there ..., seeing his short feet and his long cry confusing them at night, those who are jealous of his smiles of an infant of seven ..."

The camel in his telepathy transmits to Saint John: “We all have a long road ahead of us, the road of life that we have to follow day after day. Today it flows with force in me not being able to stop my torrent, like my previous parents, who were never able to cross Palestinian lands. I represent the line of Camels Gigas guides since the angel Gabriel spoke to Mary; For this reason and why I am an energetic guide.

on the path of life leading the Messiah's elect.  With challenges of long distances and terrains with adverse spiritual conditions. That is why I have inherited the ancient blood that has traveled over my Palestine and Hebrew. Biblical time ... has determined in me that so much blood has been shed since our Messiah left for the House of God, that thus being a camelid in flower, every two years this crisis of hemophilia attacks me, embodying the sins that others they will be amortized with their body and blood. My liver belongs to my Palestinian masters, they eliminate the viruses in my body, but the healthy genes are Hebrew and they remain in me for a short time until dawn. My time is more than the southern time process; it is the southern temple when opening it on my consciousness of the leaves of the Bible "Before the stakes of the World come out of the braces that hold it ..."

Reply Saint John the Apostle: "Few words and numbers come rolled from Nablus, they will be decoded by ****** ..., collecting the months so that we can see an increase in the proteins responsible for blood clotting and in the conciliation of the Palestinian-Hebrew world. This treatment will actually heal my hemophilia in both homelands in me, not only by treating it and reducing the bleeding, but to pay for the sins of these salty nations, already prophesied for our salvation that the Messiah prosecuted.
Saint John, taking the leg of the Giant Camel, caresses him ..., he makes a gesture of not feeling pain, but like an anti-death, he begins to heal his wound by covering himself with Hebrew spring flowers. A candid, volatile mass of Rose of Saron petals settled on the camel's foot. Meanwhile, Vernarth tried and helped him cut off a certain portion of his leg. But a miraculous fusion flower occurs that mixed in its leg and the same stem of the flower, regenerating the gangrenous part of the Giga camel ..., in the great time of the Temple, growing in God, forgiving Palestinian and Christian sins, juxtaposed to their diseases, almost being guests of a crippled scientific metaphor ..., but much more Christian Salvifica.

The camel is restored and the bonfires are put out, they continue through the desert in the carousel of the lullaby of the parents of the camel, singing with love to their camel son, that they will never leave him alone and that his words were restored and decoded by command of ****** to your ears. Not far from Him, with words and odd Palestinian neologies and Menorah numbers to the right lit up. Little lacking to reach Bethlehem, almost like synchronizing the magical steps under a star that heals and renews all the flesh of the camels in the human world, before being heeled to the eternal wind of the Messiah's hometown.
Nemrod, Hemophilic Camel
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
  on a Triumph 69’

When your song came on the jukebox,
  and hit me from behind

I was headed for a bad place,
  and cared for nothing much

When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
   my heart and soul were struck

Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
  like nothing had before

When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
  I headed for the door

But something made me turn around,
  and grab another dime

Ten more times in that diner's booth,
  still lost within your rhyme

Now back inside the bus station,
  and sleeping on the bench

I scratch your words into the wood,
  last dollar gone and spent

My bike outside against the wall,
  the kickstand now long gone

And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
  that unrelenting song

Waking up at ten unsettled,
  across the street I pushed

The sign said Triumph-BSA,
  the owner Mister Cush

He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
   I said “nothing—out of gas,

But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash

Would you please just buy my Triumph,
  I know it’s old and worn

It got me here through seven states,
  runs great both cold and warm”

“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
  on that can we agree?”

We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me

I thought about a bus ride home,
  my thumb looked more in line

Facing East on old route #50,
  my heart in deep decline

The first big rig that came along,
  was bound for York Pa.

The driver said “If you like dogs,”
I’ll take you on your way”

In York I caught a fast ride out,
  two ‘dodgers’ going North

And got back home with hat in hand,
  your song to guide me forth

Two years then passed, I met my wife,
  four more and our first child

And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
  her dad back from the wilds

Now forty years have come and gone,
  my beard and hair both gray

I owe you Gregg, and always will,
  your song, her name—that day

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
     For Gregg Allmans- ‘Melissa’
Raven Quill Jun 2017
Page one, Page two
same stuff, none new
Black White, White Black
andthenasounddifferentfromthelowbuzzormaybehumoftheaircondi­tioning
Turnhead Turnhead
shoesshoesshoes go clopclopclop boinkboinkpass--
Turn ‘Round, Face Front
Charm Me, Sit Still

Page four, Page five
none new, dead drive
Eight times Six makes
andthenabreezeblowstreesinanalmostmagicalyetinsidesilentway­
Dazeout Dazeout
swayswaysway light glitglitglit shimshmerdrows--
Turn ‘Round, Face Front
Charm Me, Sit Still

Read on, Till nine
dead drive, ley-line
What’s Greece, Rome’s what
andTHENasoundofGLORIOUSMAGNIFICENTifthatisevenaword
Ringring­ Ringring
Screamscreamscream feet bowmbowmbowm cush’seats

(Take a deep breath in, then exhale… smooth… steady)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2017
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
  on a Triumph 69’

When your song came on the jukebox,
   and hit me from behind

I was headed for a bad place,
  and cared for nothing much

When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
  my heart and soul were struck

Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
  like nothing had before

When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
  I headed for the door

But something made me turn around,
  and grab another dime

Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
  still lost within your rhyme

Now back inside the bus station,
  and sleeping on the bench

I scratch your words into the wood,
  last dollar gone and spent

My bike outside against the wall,
  the kickstand now long gone

And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
  that unrelenting song

Waking up at ten unsettled,
  across the street I pushed

The sign said Triumph-BSA,
  the owner Mister Cush

He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
   I said “nothing—out of gas,

“But worse I’m out of money,
   can I sell the bike for cash

“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
  I know it’s old and worn

“It got me here through seven states,
   runs great both cold and warm”

“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
  on that can we agree?”

We walked back up inside his shop,
  three bills he handed me

I thought about a bus ride home,
  my thumb looked more in line

Facing East on old route #50,
  my heart in deep decline

The first big rig that came along,
  was bound for York Pa.

The driver said “If you like dogs,
  I’ll take you on your way”

In York I caught a fast ride out,
  two ‘dodgers’ going North

And got back home with hat in hand,
  your song to guide me forth

Two years then passed, I met my wife,
  four more and our first child

And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
  her dad back from the wilds

Now forty years have come and gone,
  my beard and hair both gray

I owe you Gregg, and always will,
  your song, her name—that day

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
           For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg Last March,
It's on His Website. We Spent Two
Days Together In Richmond Va. In  A Blizzard In 1982
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2019
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’

When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind

I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much

When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck

Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
  like nothing had before

When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door

But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime

Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme

Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench

I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent

My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone

And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song

Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed

The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush

He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,

“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash

“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn

“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”

“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”

We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me

I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line

Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline

The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.

The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”

In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North

And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth

Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child

And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds

Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray

I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg In March 2016, It's on His Website.
We Spent Two Days Together In Richmond Va. In A
Blizzard In 1982.
Butch Decatoria Oct 2017
I’ve noticed how impatient I’ve become.

Have you noticed yourself?
Looked at yourself
Outside of yourself?

As I get older I’m more in a rush
And MJ is totally legal in Sin City

Why hurry?

I’ve noticed how impatient I’ve been numb.

Did you know?
That Cush is an empire

Totally legal in Sin City.
Butch Decatoria Nov 2017
White Cookie dough Cush
Vape and munchies, puff puff give.
Highs of blunted stunts.
Bæç shore Çhīldrēñ
Jērêmíel bêê Sūrē Çhīld

Lament Sore Eyesore Cane
ẞlävory æ Wär Sorrow

Lamentatory
Lamech-Cane-Story
Lament °³Orí
Lamemen èn theoremìnn

El-èdu-ma'rīè---
Elèdumarè
El-èhdu-ma'rīè---
Elèdumar­­è
Èl'hell doom I rate
49°
3l'law-dù-Í'rare


3l'æîr' ~tø my Īrīē
A laid room I made
Edē'n Nubiãn
Key key
Care care
Parãdîßê

He made known the beginning from the end
He who is the end from the beginning

666
Aint I Christ already,
Already done with entitlement•
Ancient I'm oldie
Day ēn timly Odette,
Ødēttê'él
Oldest tale
Devînè stœrì

Mī Oøni Õdēth Pærl
A-bell clœck
A Cain æ spherically õldest lawv
A-læd³
Ī-led-her
A-ledge-dā,
A lëdg³ dâ
Jerry too Arayà

Land free of doom Baby ã-låw
Land of counted star Cush-height
Land of fulfilled Promise Kem-care
Land  of disciplinary Lake of hellas
Land of the fair Oønī

A Shy-Lawl- arry-thing no eth err
A-chair-lów- Everything
Shiloh Carefree
Ka-ifa Virtuously D³vinatory
Is so ³cool

Orun-Iwà bieng-lawed
³-mold-hear

Imowé.
³-mold no.
El-cclisiastic Ka how Dã SOLOMON
Turn-IYESUS.
ORISHANLÀ A1


ærth ³mold know Ī speak everything
El-cclisiastic Ka how SØLØMØN
Trasfigured as IYESUS.
Dā JÈRÊMÎĒL
ØRÎSHA'NLÀ

Forever Living ẞmīlê
Œh me
Eternal Everlasting is all me
Ærth owe me.
Perfected & Sacredly•

I had
I.AM YHWz Abba HIM
Īñ My "SCHOOL" All-MÉ.
ẞïgn
īã Zîóñ

A LORD GOD FATHER A KING
DĀ LEADER
MÍ PERFECT A-LONE ME.
IA-GUN °Cord-
Hæ Òrùn Ogun.


Brilliant Genius Dinstiction Excellent
{PERFECT} Hæ Œgun

POWER ALMIGHTY
Mean less without measurement
of homeliness

POWER Æ MIGHT
ALL FULLNESS
Mean ẞhīlø~Àmour ....
101000° rated
Balance Stable
All sowing good
101000° rated homeliness

A lawed room I'rate
A law do my rare
A loād-do-i'rea-thīnk
Allien intelligence
law do I matory 49°

All bow Kneel headed
eth -fair
Ifé
Oønī years rated.
Līving Alone
•••

666
Nathan Haile
A down-el' me
A daniel me
A dan here me
A dan hell me
daniel hail me
Apple-baptist
Dis Lost.



Basin-Math-Mat call
(Educationally Traditionally Religiously Culture-ry
Customary
Costom married
Answered Questional).


{Educationally Traditionally Religiously Culture--ry
Customary
Costom married
Answered Questionally.

Gentleman éh~Oonī
Flawless victoratry
Stainless Smooth ~Lea~da..r
Effortless flow frequency sequence
Willed equity essence.

Ai Lawed room
Eh el da
Sense me laudatory

All roam Ī see now
All room Ī see now
All romed Ī ßee now
777


A fore dā
A sun °lèdg³ då I mõld
Lesser līght I moon


Arch-knowledgement very costly
Jērêmíel

Chakra Skin ³eye
God digger
gold digger
goal digger
go dig her
goad dā èl
goat dig ārk {grætest øf all tímely}


a ledge caculatory
answered agreed
(isé &Amen)
Yes sworn

cos Course Cause Curse Cost cure ³°***

(10/10)
No Gifted Luck
to my calculatory
All Lawv.

TIMĒLY~ FLÃG LÎÑ3~ÊDG3
[Prēy Prêsídóry Prêpóry]• TRIBAL~KÍÑDRËD
[Pēnāncē Âprîl]•
ÇHÛRÇH~ẞÇHOOL
[Pèity Prâyòry]•
KÎÑGDŒM~COMPLETE NATURAL THEOREMÍNN
[Pāīn Prâîßóry]•


A call en you shall be answered
seek en you shall find
A knock en it shall be open
Ask en you shall be giving
One excellent play °cord Prepóry•

°Hu Gehazi {Vīsīøn Dræm Wàter}
èn Dâ-Lilly {Delilah}
A1-Man {Låwd Beīng}
{Sheol- æ -mon}
I dress Ede'n

A diamond 6 and a golden 7
Health is wealth
Morally Naturally
From dusted water en ant into a tree
ēn ā ßæld scroll•

Literacy balanced stabled æ bēîng.

Nation tears•
Fulfilled satisfactory


Meaningful Meaningful
Omnī Omnī
ALMIGHTY SHÅLLŌM Í WÓÑ

ÏLL~HŪ~M~ĪÑÑ~ĀTĪÑG B3ÃÇ ŒD3TT3 FÆŒẞ ØøDËTH
Tex Dermott Jan 2020
Once Evil
Until he sunk deep
Henry Cush
Repented
He now helps the multitudes
A love rarely found
I was somewhere deep in Kansas
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me
  like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand was long gone
And out of gas, my hopes were dashed…
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “Nothing—out of gas
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash?
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route 50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
We named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

For Gregg Allman
I sent this to Gregg in May, 2017.  It's on his website.
We spent two days together in Richmond Virginia in
a blizzard in 1982.
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2023
I was somewhere deep in Kansas
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me
  like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand was long gone
And out of gas, my hopes were dashed…
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “Nothing—out of gas
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash?
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route 50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
We named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

For Gregg Allman
I sent this to Gregg in May, 2017.  It's on his website.
We spent two days together in Richmond Virginia in
a blizzard in 1982.

— The End —