Sorbian, meaning, tickling the armpit of Germany
in terms of what's the desired encoding;
the variations of person:
            čłowjek (upper sorban)
               cłowjek (lower   "    )
     čovjek (croatian)
                           člověk    (czech')
człowiek (polish)      clawak (polabian)
              człowiek (kashubian)     človek (slovak)
                                 człowiyk (silesian)
         чoлoвік (ukranian).

' well, there is a little misunderstanding with the
  czech caron e (ě), mind this later.

yes, the peasants spoke more softly
compared with urban sharpening of accents,
so that you knew that in urban areas South
London has hardly Hackney Cockney,
and never Richmond, like Essex never spoke
good Yorkshire -
                             so they sharpened the letters
and that translated into involving accents
to later be abused -
                             the recipe? yes,
i was cooking Ukrainian Borscht today -
apart from the fact that Borscht isn't exactly classified
as a soup, a Borscht is a *Borscht,
   it transcends the category of being a soup,
just like rosół transcends the same category of being a soup,
           it's a very fine version of what is otherwise
chicken soup -
                            and as a critique of western cuisine?
why are all western soups like puree? they have
snot consistency, they ever never see-through -
they're all ******* creamy, like toddle-pulp of mauled
faeces - as if a bird feeding its chicks with regurgitated
products - eastern soups are see through,
floating bits you can see, a bit like the sea turned into
a Narcissus clarity. let me tell you,
the nurses love hearing the answers to the questions:
do you do any exercise?
                 yes, i walk everyday, once a week a take on
the miles.
             do you smoke?
        i try to fit within a packet of 20 a day.
do you drink?
                   only on alternative days.
        do you eat your five-a-day necessary ration
of fruits and vegetables?
          i don't like fruits... i avoid them...
vegetables? sure.
the basic ingredients of an Ukrainian broth?
        carrots, beetroots, celery, parsley root,
potatoes, leeks, fibre: green broad beans,
                   mushrooms,
                         red borscht concentrate
           white borscht concentrate for the sourness -
garlic.
                             (base? chicken, salt to taste).
well, coming back to the czech variation of the word
person... i feel there's a need to somehow find
diacritical uses coherent -
                                  i can only see it as
the nakedness of the original phonta (variation
on quanta: a specified sound being encoded with each
letter) -
                      it's diacritical marks akin to punctuation
marks and a few mathematical deliberates -
                  e.g. caron:
                                                        z
                                                      š
the z is invited to be applied to the s to make a shush
stress -
                                       arms wide open looking to
the sky for manna from heaven -
soon enough and y and j were confused with
yaks, tetragrammatons and some Spanish conquistadors
named Jesus - whether jumping or yanking the
shortest straws while sitting in a kayak -
or as Jacky said yards ahead if himself -
                   for every Jew there's a yew tree blossoming.
              there should be a rule of law stating:
only such and such diacritical marks to be applied
to vowels, and such and such marks to be applied to
consonants - but, evidently, this is not the norm -
             these are not merely unconscious accepted
aesthetic consideration, when i was being taught
French at school, i was never taught that
    ê (circumflex e) does as much damage to pronunciation
as does the è (grave e) - i.e. the circumflex is binding
the two letters in-between the stressed vowel,
while the incisor e with è cuts the word off when it's used -
              so the caron (mathematically more than? i.e. >)
  asks pleading to the skies for a letter to balance on?
   and the circumflex looks to the earth to find the seashells
and pebbles?
                             as in less than? i.e. <     ?
i rose above language, i rose above spelling because
i decided i could say to Bukowski's claim of genius:
tie your shoelaces before you talk to me:
simple as simply said: whatever lessons in life
i have to learn i'll learn them by my own accord -
               being drunk in Europe is the norm,
as is prostitution -
               last time the police booked me for drinking
i wasn't there... last time i talked with the Bulgarian mafia
i went back to get my debit card back,
            the **** showed me a wallet with 100 or so more
credit cards, i said: none of these are mine...
          the police cruised pretending law abides to the
standard imposed by politicians...
                   prostitution is fair game, but
keeping the girls contrary to self-employment is abhorred....
            me? i just don't do the dating scene,
should i be harrowed from that hide & seek of western
society's women woefully fishing? can i?
i can't be bothered with the games and the Geisha.
                       - you reach the proper level of appreciation
when you start to ridicule your heroes -
                                  you overpower them,
there's no point brown-nosing them with excess over-quotation,
you brown-nose them for a while, but then the gimmicks
begin... and they know it to be true:
    i' peg down Mr. B like anyone critical of getting an
education: learn to spell, and punctuate, and tie your shoelaces.
       you can't let them get away with it... those dumb-*****,
you can't: we all have a sad story...
    does anyone give a ****? m'eh... probably not.
it's the part when he says he read philosophy
but never bothers the ideas behind into a narrative:
                                   with him your end up *******
before Sophia rather than ******* her...
                        you have to **** her at some point...
                  no point ******* women and simply
******* before the deity -
                  better nothing ******* women and not
******* before the deity of worded fertility -
i was brown-nosing him for much too long...
                 whatever he said in his defence,
i'm aiming to capture the imagination akin to ****** addicts.
                      and that's hardly a feat to undertake.
so yeah, punctuation marks and some mathematical marks
above the Latin... Greek went wholly toward the Cyrillic -
oddly enough a Persian, Cyrus, entombed it into the strength
it possesses, rather than some Saint...
                                        so if i'm a loser at considering
myself a citizen of the world... what is Syria to me?
                                               Syria to me being Anglo-Slav
is:                    when Ramses destroyed Syria...
            don't come here with Westminster, please don't,
leave it out in the open with the paedophiles...
                                            i'm a citizen of England,
not of this world: you keep concerns over Syria where
you're at... if i can't be a citizen of thee world in a world
of globalisation, don't include me!
                                    diacritical marks, punctuation
alongside mathematical Copernican -
                                             yes, umlaut and the colon:,
what's the list? an extra oh... the latter phrase for
          omicron.
                                               Boršč or z z (zed zed)
             or h h (tricky, hay hay? ****** ******?
                               hatch hatch?)
            evidently the pronounced: shoo!
                                                        stinker that one:
given z morphs into h when given s or c...
                                i guess it's easier with      šč,
                   a.k.a.           shch...
and the most frequently asked question in English?
(by the middle class), how do you pronounce this?
                   you know why gangsters don't attack
educated people?
                           they love the fact that people made
the effort to learn reading and curtail other peoples' efforts
in changing perceptions -
                  for me it was always about being taught bad
French and rewriting the laws of stress -
                       i'll never understand the caron on vowels:
sure, the French makes it assured to make the circumflex
and the grave accenting above vowels synonymous...
  &

Sometimes I wish I had something different
Every piece of art is made with deliberates but from intuition
Just like my life
Every decision is thought out but in reality
Its timing and final say is on the way I feel that day
And so many and so much sway
My mood pulling it like the sea to moon
It’s never free, I’m always high tide in emotion
Sometimes I wish I had something different
That mathematical precision that some people just have
But intuition just feels right
I can’t shake something that is so much part of me
I wonder if mathematical precision could explain
High tide that that never turns

all you can hear is me swallow my spit.
Right in the middle of the room, on the carpet we sit.
In awkward silence.
Playing on our phones;
Cause I don't really have anywhere else to go;
With conversation.

She's so breathtaking.
The minute I think of something,
I look up and lose it.
My brain is blank pages of nothing.
But when I get home my journals are always filled; to the brim with words , as I skim through my tangled thoughts and release them through this pen.

Something from within .
My heart belongs with Him,
So I - don't know if God - will ever - let me lend - it out.
But if does it'll be worth it,
Cause this girl takes away all my hurtin'.

I Swear she's like a drug.
She's all up in my veins.
Smoking ounces of that Abel ,
I don't mess around Cain.

Is this all a dream?
Or is this all the real deal?
I wish I could IM God and tell him how I really feel,
He'd probably respond back:

"A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. Her husband trusts her without reserve, and never has reason to regret it. Never spiteful, she treats him generously all her life long. She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. She’s like a trading ship that sails to faraway places and brings back exotic surprises. She’s up before dawn, preparing breakfast for her family and organizing her day. She looks over a field and buys it, then, with money she’s put aside, plants a garden. First thing in the morning, she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started. She senses the worth of her work, is in no hurry to call it quits for the day. She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth, diligent in homemaking. She’s quick to assist anyone in need, reaches out to help the poor. She doesn’t worry about her family when it snows; their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear. She makes her own clothing, and dresses in colorful linens and silks. Her husband is greatly respected when he deliberates with the city fathers. She designs gowns and sells them, brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops. Her clothes are well-made and elegant, and she always faces tomorrow with a smile. When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say, and she always says it kindly. She keeps an eye on everyone in her household, and keeps them all busy and productive. Her children respect and bless her; her husband joins in with words of praise: “Many women have done wonderful things, but you’ve outclassed them all!” Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades. The woman to be admired and praised is the woman who lives in the Fear-of- GOD. Give her everything she deserves! Festoon her life with praises! "(‭Proverbs‬ ‭31‬:‭10-31‬ MSG)

A detail
Of the dusty deep,
The dingy and desolate,
Dreary and dark.
It deliberates
Does Death's damp dread dress dawn yet?
Do the bells ding declaring destitution?
Does a dance a dash off determine a dads despair?
A damning design desires decision
But deficient development is doomed for destruction.
Do dripping days dally?
Do disposable distresses dominate?
Do We disappear in depthless diction?

Light, from a billion years too late
Creating states of existence
In an essence of brilliance
On a journey that deliberates deliverance.

Belonging to all
These black nights filled with pockets of galactical,
manifested mystical’s –
of fire and pure delight.

Welcoming all, to join them in a dancing rage
Screaming to all who look upon their fate
Come and join us and live among this artificial state
The black holes creating galaxies of continuous rate.

Follow me on this journey of magnificence

Stars falling in from everywhere
Dust clouds manifesting inside out
Colours only seen to believe their brilliance
Planets colliding
Solar systems offering silence
Moons defending restless meteors that seem lost at the gate.

A planet resides west offering food, shelter and light
Are you ready to hold on tight?

Entering the atmosphere with the weight of an eternal flight
Help me
Ready to die with overwhelming fight
A raw silence hits the delicate shields of plasma that give off a radiance of fire.

Shades of blue await
Living eyes that are here to communicate
The journey is only beginning
As this one
Terminates.

He changes his socks
but never the muse
and
wonders what's the use,

in time when the stream
reaches its destination.

He never fixates
he
always deliberates
slowly.

Things will be
they always are.

I leave well enough alone,
even in marriage
sometimes
it's good to be on your own.

There is here a limited access
no entry,
do you have a pass?

Go
be things as they are,
better by far that you know
what will be.

(2017)

A word is almost I can't write,
It deliberates the wrath
That recollects my childhood
And departure is got!

Did I lost such beauty
Or this delusive phase,
I truly need my vision, —
To prove hypothesis!



E.

send off for the catalogue
let's all become a pedagogue
and labour at the point.

I'm having none of it
not one iota,

(which I always thought
was a Scottish Island)

Loner?
we'll all be 'Billy no mates'
and no more deals at
mates rates

he deliberates on this
as to what it is he'll miss
then
has a cup of tea.

A week shy of eighteen months
constitutes the difference in age gap
between yours truly
(me - no longer that lithe lad,
with washboard stomach and narrow waist,
and the Herrin, a once slender sylph
at then one hundred and five pounds -
ideal for her towering
four foot eleven inch frame)
born July 6th, 1960
within the environs
of Philadelphia,* Pennsylvania
*derived from the Ancient
Greek terms φίλος phílos (beloved, dear)
and ἀδελφός adelphós (brother, brotherly).

Our initial encounter (of the third kind)
took place circa nineteen ninety four
on a warm summer evening
at Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street, Philadelphia, PA 19119
and about two years later
both of us fêted as groom and bride
by fellow contra dancers.

Gamophobia (a fear of commitment
or fear of flying into marriage)
scared the bejesus out of yours truly
upon being asked point blank,
countless times soon after we dated,
and soon shared the same sleeping space,
(no matter we both lived with our parents),
which salient question
impossible mission to answer
"I do" after being asked

about pledging my troth - no fallacy -
promising such lifetime allegiance
subsequently pricked psyche
with heady undo anguished suffering,
yet verily barely hindered me,
to spear my stiff little minuteman
into miniature portcullis,
and hence expressed nonverbal predilection
to be fruitful and multiply
courtesy seething hormonal secretions,

she tacitly assented also
to experience concupiscence
and taste figurative verboten fruit
for consensual ****** intimacy
initially found me coquettishly flirting
daring to let fingers do the walking
across erogenous zones
easily gravitating toward physical intimacy
cavalierly riding *******,
throwing caution to the wind

hence no surprise
when the then girlfriend
******* pregnant news
about a bun in the oven
and intimated she objected
to birthing an offspring out of wedlock,
thus we concurred to pledge our troth
courtesy Judge Henry J. Schireson
of Narberth, Pennsylvania.

Upon our (yours truly and his missus)
exchanging holy matrimony vows
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety four
(another poem for that occasion)
ultrasound allowed, enabled
and provided obstetrician to zoom,
image courtesy sonogram
showing fledgling fetus,
thus we pledged our troth

after spouses' womb
(approximately halfway
between her pregnancy) did balloon
******, wherein conception
delineated birth of eldest daughter
five months later, and many a tomb
morrow later she then
when these words first drafted
resided in Oakland, California.

I attempted reasonable rhyme about...
oh happy yesteryear
when newly minted groom (me) wed bride
family in attendance cried
as Justice of Peace officiated as legal guide
extolling pregnancy of she who could not hide
welcomed into the pudding club,
which matured inside
after two gametes fused and multiplied
countless times after nine months
quickly birthing embryo
baby on the way nullified
application of premarital ***,
and attendant use of contraceptives.

Clear out of the blue
thee wife asked me
opinion if wedded bliss between us,
cuz I never profusely expressed affection
no matter head over heels
puppy love found found the missus
analogous to dizzy dame gone cuckoo
until completion of third trimester –
28 to 40 weeks signalled parturition due
ha, how heretical to think

swearing off copulation altogether,
and decry repeating the experience of childbirth,
nevertheless spouse warmed up
to begetting a second progeny
upon beholding beautiful bundle of joy
receptivity to estrus did ensue
since romance long since flew
out the figurative window
impossible mission to feign significant other
analogous to brand new
alluring, beguiling, captivating... tchotchke.

All kibitizing aside, a requited love with zeal,
I attest invisible spokes supported unseen wheel
when turning sparking genuine care and concern
delivering selflessness with role of motherhood
acted as buffer against emotional hemorrhage
and received good housekeeping approval seal
more applicable to most recent
elapsed wedding day anniversaries
ex post facto after both daughters flew the coop
finding me reeling with empty nest syndrome,
whenever yours truly reviews mental newsreel,
now absence of offspring, akin
to psychological wound I did heal
no longer mourning natural course
of begetting progeny more readily
accepting their necessary autonomy doth appeal.

Though marriage in our golden years finds us celibate
devoid of that indomitable physical intimacy
with once fecund wife
both she and I get along swimmingly,
we exhibit less strife
than days of yore effulgence promulgated
to all readers unbeknownst to human life
form characterized by bloke,
whose words appeared across screen
exemplifying, embodying, and edifying
regarding beloved simian counterpart
bandying playfully sometimes
drubbing and drumming my body
while she deliberates
fluted helmeted jiggly Johnson
emulating sounds of skin tight fife.