MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY: A Dreadful Tale about a Dead Anglo Mother, A Dreadful, Avenging Syrian Aunt, A Stolen Baby Sister, and a Hateful, Unfaithful, Defaulting Father.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With people, people who hardly know
Your vices, your intrigue, your lies, and so,
You’ve ruined lives, and now I will show

How demonizing you are, with just your thinking
About your “slemly” self,  just linking [Nice in Arabic]
That self to your own, and not us--no one else
You belong in no company, your old-time thinking.
Adopting my sister, without any inkling
Of what it takes to challenge the motherless
And seeing we ended up, also, being fatherless.

Travesties galore made this woman happy
You won hearts, but you seemed quite daffy.      
Childhood, telling us we’d never be as good
As your Syrian daughters - such a strange brood!
This kind of “teaching” by a Syrian mom was kinda lewd.

She verily and surely became our ISIS
She thought who could ever, ever be like us
She raved for hours so very against us
To that red-headed family so she could easily best us!
Humiliating us at every stop
We really, really got a lot
From her, the decadent Queen of ISIS
No, she’d never, ever be like us!

Twenty years to a guileless young person
Is a forever herstory an eternity…
A lesson, an identity…
Carried on secretly, destroying our Syrian identity.
She stole that connection, filling it with confusion
She with cruel humor would **** our loving illusion
Stopped it in its growth,
Forever unseating that family oath.
To care - without any rejection.
It was She that was The Great Defection.

Mary, Mary how does your hatred grow
Picked on those who had no Syrian power
But you didn’t see yourself becoming lower
To the ends of the earth, heartless black flower.

In her mind she’d be our Mother
But as this poet, I did not know it
Things would be better if we like sheep
Worshipped Mary, into the deep
Quite similar to the rest of her Keep
Then mayhap we’d enjoy their fully undeserved sleep.

Taught my dear baby sister like her to hate
Would I had the power to shut up her pate
Her mouth was evil to the core
I never, never could stand more.
Her hatred entered me, made me sore.

Screaming at us to keep us out
Stupid Daddy joined her in this falling out
She, successful -as any lout.
By God I thot I must be evil
Their strange behavior was not legal.
Would that she’d accept me, that dangerous eagle.
I lost my sense of self and ‘came very sad
Would that I could be like she so glad.
‘Tis fifty years now, and I can’t stop crying.
No one ever heard this “mother” sighing.

Hell, Mary, full of Face
Recognizing only your Syrian race
Did anyone else matter? Just your primitive face?
Everyone one was hurt, except you and your nace
There’ll be no one, ever, that could take your place.
Laughing to destroy our wanted Arab destiny
Which you did, and did, successfully, with your fantasy.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
Like plants, you lined us up all in a row
One good, two bad - you did the choosing
And what did you leave?
Only us, who did the losing.
You didn’t water those two plants.
Treated us two as if we were ants.
Watered sissa so she would grow
Your dreaded deeds no one would know
Judgement is left only to God.
But you and Dad should’ve returned to your sod.
Your behavior to the motherless seems very odd.
My sister and I two tossed peas in a pod.

Deserting us suddenly knowing only this hateful group
There’s nothing to which she wouldn’t stoop
Her sick obsession to hurt the powerless
Speaks of a very worst yes, cruel foulness.

We lived at a convent school very protected
Visiting weekends this aspiring ****,
Two sisters know she made a very strong mark
She was not our blood, we couldn’t take part
Of this constant coldness on her part.

And another Aunt with two daughters, good
They were always with us, always stood
The opposite of this wicked would-be aunt
This family, Americanized and very sane
Never did play the ancient Ottoman game
These Aunts were our world - our windowpane.

Two aunts - endowing us with a Syrian heritage,
One, the bad one, with too much leverage
The good one to teach a cheerful Syrian beverage      
With balance, love, and the length of days
Not like the other, the one who dismays.

We represented that bad woman’s target
What it came from. Could it be her precious Margaret?
No, not at all her peaceful daughter
But the other, gladly joined in on the slaughter
Making serious and even much more, fodder.

We had no tools to breach this hate
I guess that it would have to be our fate.
To live our lives just disenchanted.
Our hearts broke, as if forever lancets.
With Syrians there’d be no more dances

Taking my sweet sis turning her against us
She did truly give strong heed to finally fence us.
What ever could we find for our defenses?

Dad, real Dad, inebriated dad,
Fell in with them: became this negative father
Sought their pity--likening me as a foreign daughter
He was in love with them, weakly turning
But in turn, the two of us, spurning
Back to his Syrian fold back, not farther
Unwittingly, unrepentedly, uncaringly, joining the laughter
Discarding his American daughters to a mental slaughter.

At his picnic - family there - he called us foreigners
Foreigners we were, surely, when with them
They couldn’t ever believe in us,
Dad influenced them, peeved at us.
Made us feel like little fools.
No, we never had the tools
To fight this ignorance - Change these mules?

Punishing, punishing us as wedded women
Accused of all that they gossiped about
What did they say? And this truant dad a lout
Speaking of us in downing tones
I’d feel far better had they broken my bones.

Closing his relationships to his
Two lesser liked non-Arab sisters
Would there would be a better mister
He considered us two a mere sinful blister.

We ran away from this horrible drunk
He hated his daughters and he stunk
And then we suffered the worst of any they would dunk
Uncomfortable at their Arab-speaking home
We stopped visiting long before their moan
We were “no good”  said our Syrian family
Would that we knew that we’d be anti-Family.

They had something to hate and did they do it
We had no idea we were just a joke
Their words, their disgust, far more than a poke.
Their anti-American provincial views
Made little sense - such perverted mews
All we loved, we would really lose.
There was never any right to choose.

That Family didn’t speak, avoided us
At sissa's Syrian wedding. It was all mined
That scene returns to me all of them lined  
Winding its way into my unbidden mind,
They were so, so truly unkind
We always would be to them the “Other”
Yes, us, us, us, without a mother!

We lost three mothers, our real one gone
Also our good step-mother quickly on
Add Mary to that three, glad she is gone
Perhaps Dad guilty of the first two deaths
I shan’t continue - you’d lose your breaths.
  
But Hail that Lady, she would change our world
Sending us suddenly into a whirl.
How to change the young with screaming?
She’d not change but destroy our dreaming
Waking horribly from our Syrian dream
We just didn’t fit their shady crème de la crème.

Everyone was fooled by this greedy witch
She and her daughters I’d deem as *****
What was in them, caused their making?
Taking away, taking, taking, taking.
Good cousins now, have seen an awakening
My work of writing revealed Mary’s faking.

Hail Mary full of Face
Only using her charms to erace
The sisters she wished not to embrace
With threads of lies an unrevealing face
Syrians’ acceptance of her goldarn place  
No one ever will she replace  
In every way she used her mace
A clever poison to keep her place
Successfully, she’d snidely hid her dreams
Wearing a mask to hide her themes.

She’d always hated us through and through
We didn’t know it till she did what she’d do
Her masque did work, from dusk to dawn.
Hatred of us was what she would spawn
She would definitely **** our spirits
Would that I could reveal all her lyrics.

Our Syrian sissa’s wedding put us in place
That even there we could have little space.
No other family events could we be included.
Engagements, baptisms, we would be excluded
Their intentions now were completely nuded.   deluded!

You stole our little baby entering the world
Through our Mom’s Death
You stole my Dad’s affection
He also her straw man, worshiping Mary‘s fiction
Her stand could only be that of affliction.

Hail Mary full of Face
Face that faced nothing exçept winning the Ace
Did no one ever tell you - you were a case?
Using your screams to stuff our mind
And even more shrieking to clog our mind
No other Syrian family could be so unkind.

Always filling us with her delicious food
Only to turn against us, trussing our good mood.
I’d like to regurgitate all that poisonous food
Anything about her became totally lewd.
She bragged of her daughters - were they really that good?
When we were children, told us we’d never be like them
We never wanted to be like those hurting us.
Took our Dad’s affection, he also deserting us
We never but finally saw that they were into hurting us.

She has attacked us screaming, screaming on end
Never an explanation, never to end
She took money, stole sister too, not a lend.
With this cruel treatment, we were not able to fend.
I’ve never heard such venom in any human voice
It seared through both my ears, such an odious noise
Those first twenty years were so very splendid
But later with her actions - all was ended
With her allotted time this is how she would spend it.

Sister, affections stolen, obeying by fear
Couldn’t counter - with a mere
Stand up to this fraud of a Mother Dear.

Our baby sis had became her clay
She would remake her through many a day.
She owes us much, this lying thief
No family tree would know, not even a leaf
She stole and changed our beautiful blood
Returned nothing except a bad bad flood
Of making our names into family mud.

She then gave out inimical messages
The taunting that came from her mealy mouth
From Damascus, that lousy mouse.
Couldn’t discuss, but only scream
What ever, ever, did she mean?
This Family into which father bought.
Their apathetic “reasoning” I was never taught.

Her daughters conscripted to the Mary core
Following her words, her iron ore
Inflated us with much heavy criticism
To fill our sissa with a lack of witticism

Lying, lying she always, always hated us
For twenty years, she consistently slated us
For slaughter, just like little lambs
Motherless, she took our little lamb
She won, didn’t she, in her sham?
Mary & dad really fated us with their sick flim flam!

She’d tackle anyone, anything in her path
And she did, with her oh so dreadful wrath.
What powered this extremely devilish mind?
She had never, ever, been really kind.

Our sodden father turned to her
She was Goddess, he deemed Something
While we were nothing, nothing, NOTHING!
It didn’t happen till twenty years after
From kindliness to hypocrisy
One would not believe.
Our real selves never to retrieve.

A sweet child, sissa, full of love
Knew they were cold and she let us know
After those years, sadly though
Turned into another hateful *****
Forced to be like them, else be ditched.

Dad, dad, the precious Syrian lad
Embraced the family gatherings that they had
Youngest of the Ikmuks - he was mad
Allowed them the desecration of our pad
They could say anything--made it their fad.

He wouldn’t speak to them of their travesty
Worshipped them, and ever drastically
Wanted to be Them, lest he be
On the Outs from the Family Tree
Ousted, married out of the Tribe
Hardly now, when this happened, few are alive.
He refused to tell them we both should be here.
He would never, ever, play it fair.
“Dad, if you go, I’ll never be the same.”
He would never, never take the blame.
Of his paltry stabs at being a human
Go stuff him in a jar with more rotten cumin.

Never defended us, never, never
Always took their part like a mismatched lever.
Usually a Dad with a daughter would stay beside her
But then, he gave Mary a far wider rider.

Gatherings went on, by the family Mare.
All our lives had been spent with them before
But Iron Lady with Iron Ore
Came through later and before.
She would win, so well connected to her vile kin
Change, girl, change, you’re just an Anglo fem.
Don’t, please, don’t pay much attention to them.
Sudden hate - my thoughts now were dashed.
I changed - they took all I had and then they smashed.

They brought us into their sickly Ottoman lives
But all of them acted as if we had the hives
They, centuries‘ habit, it was the mid-1950’s why so bold?
They were too much, too much very, to behold
We were stricken, treated as in days of old
We would never be part of their unhealthy mold  [Mould?]

Regular at Church. What kind of God could she worship?
You know who should have been told? The Syrian Bishop!
The She-Devil not even relishing the Church script
Eternally, she would always, rip, rip, and then grip!
Instead looked to those after Church who would serve her!
She did just this with a total fervor.
No Communion, no worship, but her only feats
To seek and add to gossip in the streets
Afterward. When-Where everyone meets.

Se enjoyed the Devil of Power over those she knew
Verily, she should have been thrown in the loo.
Few new. Only the rejected two.

Mary, Mary full of Mace
You never did achieve much grace
Wish you could have finally
Fallen on your ignorant Face
There’s really not going to be any space
To explain your bad translation of a very good race.
The Syrian families I always know very well
Would never have made this kind of hell.

The Syrian race is good, except for this “mother”
I speak from my place as the dreaded ”Other”
You are and were a terrible, mother
You’re a crude example of this Middle Eastern  race.
Very few of them did see through your face.

In that family I barely gleaned this toxicity
But, never, ever, did I witness much felicity.
They llaughed and laughed about any Other
Played well their acts as if they cared
They knew Syrian-like we would not fare
We, Dad, all sisters three - fell for her snare.

What think you, God, of these poor children
How il-ly this Family thoroughly tilled them
Two non-Arab daughters’ given bad repute
Their shocking beliefs really made us mute
All that came from her demented mind
All that encountered Mary’s “kind”
She destroyed our conception of self
This hypocrisy would make one melt.

She infiltrated us, her daughters, and my Sissa
That we were not as good as she - but she lost her mister
Had Uncle [our blood] lived, this would never have occurred.
But Auntie [not our blood] surely had demurred.
Her hooked-nose criticizing, and simple daughters,
Psychologically--against us-- they joined in on these slaughters.
Kindness for two decades to rent, later they spent
Hell on the motherless, but hiding that intent
Taught her daughters: “Don’t be involved with them”
We really do know some of what she did, or said,
This is the kind of meal that she constantly fed
Her masque nearly hiding her evil bent.
Too bad she wasn’t forced back into her Syrian tent.

Mary, Mary quite contrary, How does your world work?
You won, you won, you ignorant, piece of work
You demanded respect from all of us, treacherous,
She got it, didn’t know it, then she brought down the two of us

Sneaky, low-life, hypocrite witch
We always thought we had a niche
But lost kids like us did never snitch
We wouldn’t, didn’t open up about that *****.

We had a twenty-year comfort zone with her
Deserted at last by her flying fur
Stolen, deserted at last by Dad--that foul mister
Stolen, deserted, lastly by our pretty baby sister.

This left us changed by this She-Devil
Would that there’d be a way to counter her evil
We couldn’t - she was always far too strong
An ISIS for us - this would last too long.

After these years, I could not grow
Was I a real woman? -  I didn’t know!
Being a mother couldn’t show
That this Family created a list of woe.

When Sissa had babies & a mom to help
We did this alone - all this we felt.
Her faulted hatred never did melt.
I didn’t know how to take a stance
Nor could I find out how to advance.
We had to oppose Aunt Mary’s dance.

That Sissa could not bo

"The Three Kisses

The Kiss Of Hello
The Kiss That Is Never Just A Kiss

The Kiss That Spikes Vein With Precision Orchestra
The Kiss That Heals In Entirety

The Kiss That Hides The Relent Of Vex
The Kiss That Suffocates Rusting Man

The Kiss Without Detail/Ed System)
The Kiss That Pounds Each Pore To State Of ******

The Kiss That Hiroshimates Euphoria
The Kiss That Approximates/Parallels Living

The Kiss Only
The Kiss, The Kiss

The Kiss Of Neither Hello Nor Goodbye
The Kiss For The Sake

The Kiss To Save Face
The Distracted Kiss For/Of Domestic Bliss

The Kiss To Bathe Mania In Generic ******, The Kiss Of The Motions
The Kiss Of Searing Content, Hindering Suffocation And Blasé Defection

The Default Kiss, The Efficient Kiss, The Alteria (Motive) Kiss
The Kiss That Makes Sense

The New Language Of Kiss
Le Kiss, Le Kiss

The Kiss Of Goodbye

The Kiss That Is Never Just A Kiss
The Kiss That Spikes Vein With Precision Orchestra

The Kiss That Deals In Hypocrisy
The Kiss That Begins And Ends Each Second

Job, Health, Kiss, Marriage, Car, Security, Kiss,
Yearn, Enjoyment, Loss, Holiday, Kiss, Loss Holiday Kiss

The Kiss That Hiroshimates Plague
The Kiss That Parallels Living/Approximates Rage

The Memory Of Kiss Acidifies Brain
The Kiss, The Kiss, The End.

A sleep so sound

As to only wake

The dreams of others

Where armstice

Is given to thought

That wanders beyond

The jeweled dawn

In a defection of insensitivity

A quality of oppression

To look on beauty

And wear its lightness

In generosity, a generosity

Of mutual attraction

That bargains not for purse

But wealth much more sought

To sleep a million dreams

To bask in a different version

Of that which is the same

To have that embrace

Or metaphor entwined within

Yes and awaken with a smile

A smile, a smile, just a smile

Maiden, maiden, maiden, a depilidate mobious minaret –
Holical, Eris begs an atlatl defection, the
Genuis-from-Mars technique – an erathicus lecanopteris.
Suffretex, past-perfection in pastel gloxinia,
Glowingly acidic and shiftingly glossidic, it’s cosmaltry mariala;
Ungual outmoded, holonym singing Aquilar rapax as demiurge.
Demos and Phobos weep, coruscating terrathos, killing riva.

Swell quickly, optic ophidia, lest the ira florena rise –
Rise, maiden, rise optic ophidia, ignore Irredelphine!
Strut the hematacolpa and pace-willow, but fail flow:
Deciduous telechir beckons, demanding autobogotic-hajra.
****-venom and picea hovea, eche verri naught echo –
Beta-decay and COBOL error, fandango with teeth
And sing praise for Eucladanic soignè solaris

Sprint quick, maiden-solidago gesparisè, to Misra pourum!
Majerns and hapax, death-knell aloud and encelia,
Enfloranè, haste! Enatic haste tichodrome, flee, anise!
Apios, harken: tryst-sans-thermobic sweeping of thresher-thrown,
Little-low else yet achroma, de-jubilance:
Fall fairly, ayah! So to be so, blanking systemic,
A thousand steps for one death.

She is the object of affection

No matter how wide the selection

She gets in your head like an infection

She"s sweeter than any confection

But there"s a certain section

That I"m vying for inspection

Please no rejection or defection

Let me make a correction

I just want a you collection

Pardon the change in inflection

But I can"t hide the *******

Because when I look in your eyes and direction

I see more than my reflection

It's simply...just perfection

I know you're not mine
But OK! its fine
Even though i can't ask you for dine
Nor for a cup of wine .

I try to be indifferent
when he holds you in his arms
Though I'm not a charm
But i know he is a harm.

I want you to be happy off course
But want to be the source
Its a paradox but personified.

The roses that I gifted you
Embellish your fair
Only if you tie in your hair.

My intentions are crystal clear
To love you and to be loved by you.
Its my heart and my will
I will spark love
In every breathe that you take.

It's my  game
And it is certainly not for love fame
Great love stories in history
For me are always a mystery .
I will die in shame
The day I forget to love you
I can spend my whe life in expecting  the same.

I'm optimistic
But not being realistic
I dream to conquer every
Chamber of your heart .
I don't belong to the naysayers
For I know god answer my prayers.

My glance turn into stare
How long i have to bare
This pain
Without having anything gain.

I'm on a roller coaster
That goes neither up nor down .
I'm starting to wonder
Is it because of my skin colour brown ?

My one sided affection
I want to deliver it to you without defection
The imperial affection.
     The end



Naidu Chandra Pegu

I don’t know what it would be like but a man can dream,
I want to go grocery shopping with Jeandar, you know like a team.

She could drive and I would ride,
Backseat buckled bags by my side.

Where do you want to go?
Natural Pantry? Fred Meyer? Costco?

Ok well we’re gonna go get some healthy food,
Now taste this codliver oil come on don’t be rude.

Here take this bottle of oregano,
It’ll make your skin glow, dontcha know?

Can you go get the milk,
and I mean soy and it better be silk.

I’ll be in the vegetable section,
checking some asparagus for defection.

We’re not gonna get bread here,
We’re going to great harvest for real stuff dear.

Before we go grab a thing of cashews,
oh yeah and some vitamin-D too.

Have you been taking your vitamins?

Hey call Ivory and ask if she wants some treats,
We can find her some healthy snacks to eats.

Have you eaten dinner yet?
a place at the table we can still set

Make sure you wash your hands now,
That’s something I won’t disallow.

Goodnight, drive safe, call me when you get there,

The young lady asked the Yeti
“What is your name…do you have one?” As the kissed.
While kissing, the Yeti said that he had no name. So the young lady
Massaging his chest gave him a name
Vajramrita… after the fierce deity
For he was a fierce lover.
He kissed her on the fore head.
Vajramrita and the young woman kissed
Their tounges me and dance erotically.
She sat on her lover while kisssing and rode him and rolled her hips.
He ****** with her ****** rhythms as they coupled.
Soon enough the Yeti got on top of his delecate lover.
He entered her and gently jumping
As if trying not to hurt her
The yeti thengot between her legs
She could feel his face bewteen her.
Then she felt his probing tounge.
He gently yet passionately kissed her womanhood
Again not to hurt her.
Even monsters need love and defection.
The young woman stroked his head and he looked at her.
She took him my the scruff and pulled his head closer to her
And kissed him. As they kissed monster and human explore eachother in an embrace
The young lady went down
And kissed and nipped at his member.
After she was done with his member
The kissed and they slept in each other’s arms
Body twisted and entwined together

Swerves the verve of voluptuous curves
That ******* clad lies become ironclad wides or wives
That the uxorious mission is a useful instrument of precision
That a denuded forest becomes the acme of toon and television
Let us garble our quotes and refrain from prolonged oaks
That whisk the memorial flames beneath the softly and the constricted spoke
I wrangle with big swells and tumescent lips
Labial love is liquid rushing to impress my scent and my lisp
Flamingos careen the specialty of wide-nosed oxygen
The toxic ragamuffin does lack the characteristic halogen
Runny tears on whitewashed days, scrape the pond of excess
**** of waifs and wastrel sways the world’s columns stand ever more proud
The future has two authors a converging future and an approximated past
Leeching on to the dastardly knockers of hacked brass tax
We then linger and malinger with germs that flippantly exercise the *******
That exorcise the ruffled harbinger in an incomplete rhyme
Sordid yet sublime, a city breaking on through to the mother side
Of the brother’s promise, to bequeath love lost and undressed
Unbuttoned snooze caffeinate my coffee
Established crews scour my pastiche of laundry
I need a confirmation that some littoral joke isn’t anymore creative than a hoarded broke
Broken in fracture, illuminated by rapture, the panacea of pain disaster
The deliverance of fragrance yet to gain and yet to lose,….. refrain poetaster
Simpered friction swipes the edict of election
As ******* becomes the Olympus of defection
But ponder no more these quodlibets of regaled glory
The amaranthine time has been proferring the same tried and true Love Story
Arranged or deranged, the best will *** and the rest will come
Thereby we become the litter of Medulla Pons surviving on Jack-and-Dandy ***
Remember this in many ways we are a shining city paid for by the mentally ill
Waylaid with the marble of the ultimate rocketship dumb enough to thrill
We soak and absorb the truest bright and the weakest light
As the fraternal order of the lambent moon becomes an extraterrestrial communion rather than an aghast fright
John Derry offers me two geese and I offer to fleece the homespun danger of the moral police
But Capone cannot cap the stone with signature and artistry alone
He cannot unfurl the booth bonfire and the broken home
But his evaded taxes are relaxed because of meritocratic classes
Of wisdom becoming wizardry and idiocy becoming harlotry of sinister waste crass plastics
Limpid with freckled frowns and monolithic and nomothetic pounds
Of zeros escalading a spawn-trout upward voyage and a quiet pillage of a bear-eaten town
Benign rumors of soaring afflictions and deloused tumors swarm the pasquinade village
A Potemkin place where gays get spayed covertly by laying a nescient egg deceased and weighed
In the navy we are not, but thanks to the gravy we are bought and we are sold
And of course you must trim the bushes before they scowl in the fold
Hedged bets on arts, squirts and debts
Of hottest flirts, car washed shirts and wrangled King Tut **** and Cleopatra wet
To this history I owe a greater than perfect debt
A Raider with influential sweat
A gamboler with a frisky totem of regret
Radiant sun says goodnight
Glazed to beat you, you fearful fitful 1997 willful fright

"Forgive me, Father…for I have sinned"
This is how all my thoughts begin
Their ritual of villain regrets and sorrows.
They come, they lie, they spin…
Misguiding words and blinding the hallows,
While tears pray for the everyday forgiveness,
The tyrants chain my finned tomorrows
Forever consumed in acid of my illness.

Forgive me, Father…
For I have baptized my thoughts in holy water.
Their slushy sins dived into a cruel slaughter,
Leaving me senseless…hopeless…

My tongue have lost its ability
To cut the truth from raw evilness.
In this shell of madness there's no tranquility
In vengeance, burning wounds don't find stability,
In anger, blurry paths lie in selfishness
And so I lie there senseless.

The way back home
Can't be guided by crippled lights,
Redemption has got me in too many fights
Between me and my reflection,
I breathe and I bleed with no defection
While violins cry over my lost pure smiles,
Their grave shrouded me into a foolish disguise.

My lungs shout for Jordan River.
'Cause I can't go on like this…
Lies, mistakes then hinder
Every time dreams are never what is real.

Hear me, Father…

Here I stand in this place my tears used to gather.
Give me a rain drop so my eyes can heal,
Give me myself again so my skin can feel -
My thoughts are unsafe and they will ****
My insides as a sacrifice meal -  
I can hear their evil whispers, late at night…
Don't leave me drowned into this tight well,
Where my pillow is creasing words of farewell.

Thoughts sing lullabies in a shallow swing
Words like *"Forgive me, Father…For I have sinned."

He had lost her attention
As the time together bridged
A span of competing but uneven years
And made no mention of their wear and tear,
Of their original contention and intent.
The child that came invited, much loved and as one
Who excited such invention in privilege and  tokens
Said and done. The strings and threads that gently pulled
The girl who grew as people do, from state to altered state
And who when lulled and woken, revised their wry affection
Who promised to return when time was due, from school
Addressing such defection. And then was gone again
To live her life, as people do who grow and move away.
To live as one. Or more than one once more and say
Who knows? Who lives to fight another day.
That they will never see.

But now; the prospect of two adult lives
Rejoined in close convention. From three to two.
And who, when in-junctioned to review the synapses                                                    
And strands of all the memories, near collapses, half failures
Are faced with choices, the acid flavors and such truths that
The voices in their ears and eyes have shown. The tacit doubts
And sanctions. Nothing soothes the self perception
Or inaction of two frightened people, inwardly reviewing
Each to each the dessicated droughts of life alone.
To fill the vacuum. To atone. To shout. To bear again in later-years
The self-respect and mutuality that in the best of times and places
Shored up, sustained the complete totality of a life once shared.
Rediscover, reinvent within the spaces of a glacier so deep
Some magma of original notion that keeps the home fires burning.
And so to bed and the laying on of hands, the swift caress, good night.
Lips brushing hair in mild devotion. As the ocean of their solitude expands.

And in the evenings when the summer nights
Grow shorter; they watch tv and wonder if the silent peals of girlish laughter
In the listening echoes of the rooms just down the hall                                
Sound hollow, if not small. Had their time together then been judiciously spent
Without conditions? Without direction that presumed assent
And her right to leave, or follow her own stars? And when Suzanne                        
Took them down to her place by the river, they could spend the night
Forever, at the altar where it all began, and does she suspect that in the rap
Of their quick footsteps lies affection and assumptions that never,
Ever would they falter? She takes their hands and shows them where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers. The paradox of maps and rhyme
As the caravan of hours slips irrevocably southward in the race against
Their silent blocks of time. These are children in the morning,
They are leaning out for love and they will lean that way forever,
Unseen. The harvest is all in, the seeds are sown. The empty room confirms the errant teen
The final painful portent. And the bird has flown.

not so
without sound
there is a heartbeat
a gentle sniff
a scream
a hauntingly beautiful
song
a voice carrying
a burden
a body bent
standing strong
an unhappy heart
that bleeds
upon paradise
rearranging
circumstance
to justifiably
and painfully
try to arguably
lay down beside
What Is Wrong

We tend to lick our wounds
in the quiet of the night
when we think others
are sleeping
We stay awake
to protect them
from our own fright

We sit beneath one sided glass
so we can't see our own
reflection
and pretend we care so deep
as we are buried
beneath our defection

In the quiet
without the light
shining on our
imperfection
Gold and Silver
have no worth
as dull as Copper
and Nickel
ten times less
Precious
infinitely more
worth
than the babble of
the day to day
that's infects my ears
In the quiet
of the night
your precious voice
rises
The only song
my heart hears

it's possible to lose yourself in loneliness

at some point
my solo reflection that
gazed back into
glassy hollow unequal pupils
began to claw hungrily at the glass
bated breath fogging the
thin membranous divider
keeping back the
unadulterated
most abject terror

that wooden grain
geometrically containing the
image who must stay
hidden in the holy of holies
or risk the ruin of all
things

she beats against the glass
that wraith girl with the
sutured mouth and
blinded eyes
and skin who cries out
for the slice of liquid mirror shards
and grasps the edges
of that rectangular prison
jagged pieces sliding sensually
keys into forbidden locks
surgically opening
the red liquorish vines
pulsing with a viscous
pungent poison
just underneath
onion paper skin

her nails scrape lead paint chips
off the crumbling frame
and i take them into myself
sewing them with the care
of a grandmother's arthritic hand
into the warm moist black
i can ever count on

she falls
like a newborn foal
glistening with those
maternal fluids
the literal matrix of life
hesitant steps on the
feet from that other dimension
where laws diverge and
perception is not relative
but horridly absolute

how can she manage
that leap which
knocks me straight out of my body
astrally exiled from myself
and filled to the brim
with a ghost girl
marionette
with painted sanguine smile
and strings attached
at each one of my joints
moving me with a flick
of some nameless fear

i think i spent too much time
trying to reconcile
the foreign body whose
defection left me howling with
a fiery bloodlust and an
insatiable hunger to vaporize those
staining contaminants
those long chain fatty acids that
deposit like stones in my pockets
weighing me down to the
river bed
whose mirror still reflects
the graven image of
a sinner-saint
whose sallow complexion
demonstrates her devotion
and in her death
faith
though her sacrifice was no
crucifixion to relieve me
of any of my
transgressions
or prevent me from
besmirching the god
i'm not sure i totally believe in

how do i give myself to you
and banish the apprehension
that comes with the
crash landing of me into
this corporeal form
stolen from me ages ago

how do i tell you that
when your hands trace
the curvaceous line of this body
that it feels like a fire's touch
scorching me to the bone
burning me at the stake of
my inadequacy and simultaneous
excess

it's too much.

You aren’t going to see me cry.
You aren’t going to see me cry,
not because I am not crying;
But you can’t see Me cry.

Some little boy has been stuck,
timeless and drifting through the
pre-war era’s of space -
Playing with plastic toy soldiers…

Don’t think that because I am eloquent,
don’t think that because I have gumption;
that I will spare you at the expense of myself.
I won’t over time
                               or ever more.

I will not be an expense to any man.
I set the price of my love: and it’s giving.
I hope it’s the same for you,
along with Reciprocating.

I will not be the daughter
                                              of lies
                                                           for comfort.

If you think that there are things in the dark,
then speak your truth and walk your talk.
Be brave.

A subscription for thoughts that you don’t want
is worst than death.
Better to ask the questions
and put your faith to the test.

I will not be a crushed lily under your thigh.
Though I may bruise, I heal myself with time.
I choose to turn towards the inventory of imagination.
I choose to wrap these arms around myself.
I choose myself in all my self-destruction,
because loving you and me is worth it.

Yes, it burns.

I will not run from my origins
even when you run away from me.
I will look at my ghost with her pockets.
I will look to see the day and it’s green hues.
I will acknowledge that sunset when it calls me…
Because I am worth loving.

You can’t take the thickness of my cry,
not because you don’t carry a handkerchief.
But because you hide behind the lies
that keep the blade in the sheath, tied.
A little girl is lying somewhere,
in her soiled sheets and I stand
besides her as she begs me to leave.

Somewhere these two children exist,
crying and playing with me.

Now we are all gown ups
and it’s easier to look away then to start
because the truth is that judgment is easier
                                                                            then crying.

Judgement is safe like not crossing enemy lining -

You won’t see me when I am crying.
Because you see all of the faces of the people;
who left you there dying.
While I am Rectifying.

You won’t see me, all of this raw treasure.
All you will see are;
plastic toy soldiers
and soiled bed sheets to render.

You won’t see me the other girl in the mirror,
whose world went shifting
because she couldn’t see the same missing tears.

You won’t see the youthful adolescent
who was happy to see her face drifting.

You won’t see that young girl who woke up
without a nose to breathe in the morning.

You won’t see the girl who ate dirt,
because she wanted to see if she was living.

You won’t see who begged for forgiveness.

You won’t listen to the voices she's heard on her journey…
and you will not have cried those first tears of her own self-birthing.

You will not have lived in the wilderness for months on end.
Sat still for days as you listened
nature - until your scars had mend.

You will not have watched my face in that mirror,
of a girl turning into a woman,

whose virginity was stolen

and who now defines
her own sense of defining purity = growing.

No, you won’t -
Because that’s my story.

You are in yours.

With your own actions and darkness,

I am just someone who plays a role.

I choose to be free in this moment.
I am me, and I choose to be free.
With all of my expressions of sin,
lust, defection…

I choose to see the truth of it all,
because that is the definition of perfection.
When the little boy can live without fear,
and when the little girl can see herself
standing next to him in the mirror.

I sat and watched
The angel give up
Before the devil ever showed up.
If Lucipher and Beelzebub can fall;
What makes you think you’re above it all?

My soul is intact
And my love and sacrifices
Came along side my vices.
But my honor
Will not come from man
And my will will not detract.

I’ve seen angels
Turn into devils;
But it was man
That took evil to new levels.
If the greatest of men failed,
What makes you think you’ll prevail?

Because my lord,
My aid is your word.
Because my lord,
My word is my sword;
And though my actions
Are not all pure
In you, I’ve a cure.

I gave you my son,
I offered you Emanuel
I beseeched protection
From the angel Gabriel.
Now he forces his one;
He curses you with Demian
As to provoke defection,
And bring your kin to evil again.
What makes you think
You can prevent his will be done?
If you fail, he as won.

The greatest gift of all,
You gave me to stand tall.
Through the breath of your voice
You bestowed on me free choice.
While evil still be done,
Man is free from none;
But while choice belongs to me
I will keep this world good and free.

I am ugly.
Amy says to herself in the mirror;
wishing her face was clearer.
Wanting her smile to be brighter.
Longing for the skin around her waist and thighs
to be just a little bit tighter.
She's nowhere near perfection;
nothing short of a defection.
Just one of the few flaws on Humanity's gorgeous face.
Or so she believed
before she could really see
the true so called "beauty"
those around her posessed.
Most of them are all faker than fake.
Coated with a plastic cake
hiding their distinctive features
to the point where your face
is just like hers
making all hope of individuality disappear.
Pretty much goes against everything we're fighting for, huh?
All of you claiming to be so different; what happened to that, huh?
Oh and let's not forget "skinny".
'Cause, baby, skinny itself just isn't skinny enough is it?
Craving attention as if it were vital
like the air we breathe.
Lying about your home life;
Wearing your pain on your sleeve.
Like savages, we crawl;
desperately begging for reassurance from everyone else
but ourselves.
They've taken your personalities
and made them indifferent.
Making it so that you are so much easier to form
into what others see
as beautiful.
Well take it from me then, Sweetie,
this oppressive standard of beauty is sickening.
Sickening like the *****
traveling up your throat and out onto the toothbrush
you are using to conform yourself to this standard.
Sickening like the pounds of cover up that are quite obviously
clogging those pores.
But oh, the lies you've told have already filled
enough of the gaps in your heart.
Face it girl, you don't even know who you are.
You've been engrossed by the standard
you all swear you're not a part of.
It is disgusting;
ugly, almost beyond repair.
Now Amy, she is beautiful.
That's right, take a good, long stare.
She won't change herself to be like you.
Can't you see you're miserable?
Pathetic, it's true.
I am beautiful.
Amy says to herself in the mirror.
Wishing, wanting, longing
for all of you to hear her.

I do not walk in measured tread,
I cannot spare the time;
And steady pace is better suited to the dead
Or projects more sublime.

I see them dressed in garb of green
As best befits the land
That harbours jihadist and others more obscene
And not their native sand.

They bear allegiance to no state
That may have sheltered them,
But spread instead their ugly message born of hate
And anxious to condemn.

It would be easy to cast blame
On perpetrators of
The outrage that most freshly has induced our shame
And dissipates our love.

But this would be to hide our guilt
At similar events
That other so-called freedom fighters have but built
And empty rage foments.

The question that we must address
Is why these souls should choose
Defection from their lives of love, and thus aggress?
Why do they not refuse?

What is there that holds them in thrall
And draws them to a place
That their forefathers chose to leave for freedom’s call?
Is it a search for grace?

Is it the hope of paradise
Should they in jihad die?
Seventy-two-virgins is perhaps the promise
On which they then rely?

They claim that Allah is their lord,
that Islam is their life.
They spurn the pen; relying solely on the sword.
The Quran is a knife

with which to cut the Gordian knot
that engirdles their guide.
The jihad route to paradise, the unbeliever’s lot.
But we are mystified.

What must we then on our side do      
that hold freedom dearly?
I just demand the freedom that I give to you
Car moi, je suis Charlie.

I’m always waiting for perfection
But when something shows direction
I look past the connection
And make up an objection
I can’t handle rejection
If I’m not your selection
I can’t look at my reflection
So instead of showing you affection
I make a projection
That has a defection
Love is an infection
No matter my introspection
I need protection
I wish there was an injection
That causes more circumspection
Because you can see in my complexion
The result is my subjection
Which leads to eventual dejection

You cheat on me with
them and lie to me
about it. It makes
me want to throw up.
It makes me hate
myself deeply. It brings
back memories that are
disgusting.
Hurt.
Abuse.
Suffocating.
That's how it used to be.
"Swallow!"
Harshly said, because
they hate you, and so
do the rest.
Cough. It's infecting
my lungs as well.
You shouldn't exist. Stick
out your tongue and we'll
put this lit demon
out on it. Taste the
defection and the ash. Feel
the burn. Enjoy the
hatred and sick
pleasure they take in
the action of the cause.
We know it's wrong
and we choose to look
past these pains. Selfish affect
effects our better selves.
How does that feel in your
stomach? It felt depressing
as they force slid it down
my throat
in all literal terms.
They laughed. And
yelled. Development of
a physical sickness in my
insides and in my
mind. Make this stop. Please,
stop... Why can't you choose
me over them? No one has
ever chosen me over it all.
I can't deal with this cycle.
I can't remember. Something
will have to change.

Brevity of rot in wheeling
Memory and thought and feeling
Deviation from direction
Trajectory is shot and keeling

alleviation from all reflection
obfuscation of my projection
something leaks from my skull
flirtation with my own defection

thrumming bleats, a searching squall
for refunding or reaping or any recall
of memory or thought or feeling
Hunting weakly then withdrawal

Entropy is not appealing
Elegies a clot to dealing
Dedication to direction
Empathy without the healing

Hidden agenda:
Thank you for following me .
My pseudonym is Li.
Feel free to message me anytime,
To refuse you would be a crime.
I am pretty much someone who is miserable.

Conor Blatchford:
What causes you
Your misery?
Is there anyway
You can be set free?

Hidden agenda:
Me just being me.
Only way i can be set free,
Is I am no longer who I was.

Conor Blatchford:
Talking to you like this
Amuses me so
I do believe
Our poetic answers will grow
Into a masterpiece
Of our talent
Speaking like so
A perfect balance

Hidden agenda:
A perfect balance?
Nothing is ever perfect.
A girl with many talents,
Constantly told she's a defect.

How can there ever be a balance?
When cowardism is valiance.
Heroes and honesty is incorrect.
When a socialite fails to connect.

Conor Blatchford:
You say nothing is ever perfect?
Our words in poems are
What they are about
Isn't perfect,
Not by far.

In chaos is balance
For balance rules all
Don't ever assume
That with imbalance you will fall

Hidden agenda:
Word in poems are relative.
The raven to an optimist,
Is more positive than negative.
The Telstra to an Optus.

The large and rich win,
The good are faces of sin.
The night lay await for stars,
While the stars spend on cars.

Speak of balance,
I'll show the negative outweighing,
Speak of union,
I'll show you utter absence.

Conor Blatchford:
We all sin for the good,
Or commit kindness out of devilish needs
So unobvious are we
When the Good do Devils Deeds

I do not find you a defect
For defection is an illusion
Of something far greater
Than a misplaced man's intrusion

You do not need to leave me
For i understand such pain
Humanity is give-and-take
One's loss, anothers gain

Hidden agenda:
Do what you must to succeed.
While you celebrate another bleed.
This is what Earth has become?
Soon enough trumpets and drum,
Will reign chaos and madness,
For how do we explain sadness?

Conor Blatchford:
Sadness is our deepest emotion
For this one, no cure, no potion
Yet it is natural, let it consume
And in your quiet darkness bloom
So when sadness finally does fade,
You'll be beautiful, many colours and shades

Hidden agenda:
Despair and sadness is our deepest emotion,
I agree with you but I despise the notion.
Let it eat you up, the monster will.
So consume past your fill,
Because behind sadness is a mask.
For some its an alcohol flask.

Conor Blatchford:
We are all monsters,
Are we not?
A bullet loaded
Into it's slot
The spin of the barrel,
The click of a trigger
Suicide or each other :
Which is quicker?
Sadness and Depression rule
The sickening truth; may cause one to fall
To the Demon that we have inside,
The inner killer we try to hide
It's a truth we can't deny
This sickness that we try to hide

And why?
Embrace who you are
For we are all all opposites
Of what we were supposed to be: a perfect angel, we failed it

So lay down the revolver
Give up on our affliction
Our sadness, jealousy,
Unneeded addiction

Hidden agenda:
At best all we can do is share the pain,
Celebrate our life and our death,
In a game of russian roulette.
Leave our minds to a permanent stain,
Which will result to our last breath.
Hands to fate and chance in set.

Are we all gentle giant,
Who stomp and destroy,
Over anyone defiant.
Or is there a different ploy?
After all we can't all be wearing disguise,
Some of us must go beyond and just rise.
To dream, to love, to see.
To feel and to cry with glee.

What I wanted to say: Alas, I agree with thee.

Listen here little one
Nothing bad will ever come
For I am here
And I do not fear
There is no need to run

I know you are afraid
You may think that they'd
Take away your rights
And you'll die in all the fights
But what they do will be undone

This isn't a war
They do indeed implore
Equality and protection
Has turned into defection
Bite the hand that feeds one

Things at last will settle down
Or fear we all drown
We must trust in one another
We are all sister and brother
Let's hope our country is not overrun

Inspection leads some men
to brief resurrection,
But that course can also
lead to a defection.

There’s often some needing,
for a frenzy of feeding,
When we seek to feast,
on an ego that’s bleeding.

Is it real or some mirage,
lost in forest or garage?
So many casualties of truth,
how can we triage?

And this is that place
too well we all know,
that if you disagree
well that’s just your ego.

And right or wrong
you must submit,
Or be tossed from the circle
a dishonorable ****.

How is it we can be so blind,
to not see we are of a kind.
Who run about with desperate shouts,
without a mindful mind.

In the dark I see a wraith
Perhaps a remnant of our faith,
Ephemeral and tinged with rust
Forgotten father of our trust.

I’m not speaking here to thee,
what’s this paradox I see
But you said that, no I did not,
Oh, what a travesty!

Walk a mile in my shoes,
see for yourself what you may lose,
Perhaps you’ll find the fit so right
that it awakes you in the night.

And there you’ll lie and toss and turn,
amidst the loss amidst the burn
Oh, sad child who would not learn
Please say a prayer for me.

I've never thought this way before
My cynliders are in another direction
I can feel my defection
To my older ways
Now I feel there must be change
To compensate for your well being
And that's a golden feeling
You're working wonders and you never expected it
I am more than happy
To go lovey dovey and sappy
That's who I was and who I will be
Way too much darkness encroaching upon us now
I just hope that you can keep my lights going
And my heart pumping clear oxygen
Your smile already makes me hate the situations I get put in, less.
You make my pain less
You reduce all the worst parts about me.
I think I'll become your dream when you already think I am.

I do not hate my body for the dysphoria, I do not hate it for the wrong that it is for me but instead love it for the right it should have been for someone else.

I treasure my arms and my legs, my face and my chest, and I work to mold them into the kind of perfection I will never desire, because the only alternative is stepping into a pyre and proving to the world that this birth was not for me by trial of fire

I respect the body I was born into, even if at times it mixes the black and it mixes the blue, even if I recognize that all this forced-on love perpetuates the crimes of gender that I have worked so hard to hide

I hold myself with the strength that my dream self carries, and slip away into the mind-ferries that take me back to the days when I would pick black-berries and realize that like my lips they would look fine as hell colored with cherries

I do not hate this body for the dysphoria, I just feel the sting of eyes that immediately think ‘male’ when I wear a dress, like, do I have to write it on my forehead that ‘she’ is how you need to address me?! Do I have to rip off my ***** and sew on a different *** for you to learn how to respect me?

I cry this body to sleep, rocking it in my arms because I know that like my brown father’s black baby it’s not wanted. It’s perfection is a defection that I wish I could love, but when I don’t watch my thoughts I just find myself wanting it to leave.

I do not hate this body for the dysphoria, I just feel like I should have been given a body in which I could get cozy, one that fit me, one not for Tom, Or George, but instead for Josie.

Another lie upon your lips,
I tasted it with our last kiss,
It seemed so vague,
Now much more clear,
That you, nor I, should now be here,
You find comfort in my hemorrhaging
I can’t help but smile you pretty thing,
So ugly behind that beautiful face,
Contempt finds me upon disgrace,
I twist the knife myself, what’s worse,
I welcome it, for what it’s worth,
I can’t help but notice that you twitch
Whenever you can pull a stitch,
A piece of me that leaves you vexed,
I’ve no empathy, not so complex,
And yet you pick at the infection
So vehement in your doomed defection,
Just to see if I there halt,
Awaiting some cryptic result,
Some declaration of my love lost,
Some tears perhaps, a rose to toss,
But if I were capable of salting this earth,
I would’ve done with you dispersed,
Spread you throughout this lying land,
You’d be at home, just as you planned,
In my chest there resides hate,
Like Azathoth lying in wait,
It must be lulled, kept sedate,
Until, as now, it stirs awake,
For you it bites at bit to take,
It is that which God can not unmake,
No conundrum or mistake,
I will take that which you can not replace,
And if it came to that last kiss,
If even there was no consequence
I still would see you drown in ****
Than taste that lie upon your lips

I know now,
Why
You have captivated my heart,
Mister Sir...
For you were,
My image of perfection,
And attraction:

My heart has become tar,
For longing for your defection

You were an identical heart beat
And soul to mine,

But,
I was vile and young and bold...

I no longer need salvation,
For my King has come

I rather still fancy your immaculenity,
For I dream about it:
Sun down,
Sun up.

a pernicious old troll
with restless fingers
    and maybe also a mouse
still haunts the White House

for his last days in office
he spooks out of all bounds
sends millions into poverty
destroys protected grounds
obstructs where he can

desperate not to lose fans
    from his base that still dream
    that he won an election
he tries to make it seem
     like he still is in power

but many have gone sour
there is talk of defection
and crumbling are formerly
supportive actions

yet he still claims he’s won
fires those who don’t agree
is unable to see
that his time is gone

I am looking for a world where I don’t have to be sad
People don’t always act like their mad cause I know
That they are not bad, not cardboard cutout, stiff and preformed
Made to perform in the swarm to dive into the **** storm
Killing the warm form of normal affection for a quick *******
Defection for assimilation,
And I would consider self-immolation
If the rewards would exceed the pain it cost
The innocence we lost was just Christmas dressing
Preachers oppressing with fairy-tale lesson
Like lesions on our brains
Like leeches suckling on our flesh
The lies drain us of so much
They train us to do so little
So I am looking for a better world
Not out in space but a race to place human beings and nature
On a pedestal above baser things
A place where human beings belong to each other
Not the state or the denomination
No more discrimination
No more recriminations
Just a world more about love and less about greed

love makes perfection
love gives satisfaction
love makes affection
love makes defection

                                    love is some thing
                                     love is every thing
                                     love circumscribe nothing
                                     but a profound illusion

love give pleasure
love award treasure
love remains forever
admiration or aversion

                                               deovrat - 16.09.2014 (c)

He crows about his crowd size
For “winning” an election
While most of us experience
Democracy’s defection

donald knows no boundaries
His pants always on fire
Now numbers past 12 thousand
Show he’s a constant liar

Praising evil dictators
He thinks that we won’t notice
While kow-towing to putin
Our crazy shady potus

Earth’s life-supporting systems
Are collapsing day by day
Showing scorched Earth strategies
Daily through his EPA

Rolling regulations back
For Mother Earth’s protections
Defiling our National Parks
Drilling toxic injections

The Amazon is burning
Is any country helping?
The Earth is getting hotter
Too many glaciers melting

trump’s polluting our sandbox
Distracting us from the greed
In the frenzy of rollbacks…
his relentless Twitter feed

Maligning our Free Press
It’s clear for whom he’s rootin’
Eliminating sanctions
Against vladimir putin

I look in the mirror and what do I see,
pure imperfection staring at me,
curiously wondering, wonderfully curious
at what new imperfection I soon will be.

I've found its important not to be perfect
not replace imperfections for better or worse.
it's when we make peace with our faultless defection
that godly perfection starts getting to work