970

Color—Caste—Denomination—
These—are Time’s Affair—
Death’s diviner Classifying
Does not know they are—

As in sleep—All Hue forgotten—
Tenets—put behind—
Death’s large—Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand—

If Circassian—He is careless—
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber—
Equal Butterfly—

They emerge from His Obscuring—
What Death—knows so well—
Our minuter intuitions—
Deem unplausible—

I am a nerd
Who finds pleasure in books of fiction
Of life in fiction
Of pain from fiction
A fragment of my being
I am nothing without a book

I am a nerd
Who finds pleasure in comic books
Whose mind comes alive in their pages
Of heroes and their sidekicks
Of villains and their lovely vile
I am nothing without a book

I am a nerd
Who finds pleasure in rock as a religion
It's transitions and it's leads
Metal as a denomination
So electric; I come
Alive over and again
I am nothing without my music

I am a nerd
Who finds pleasure in Mangas
Their Naive heroes and their half clad villains
Their pervasions and their strengths
Their one-on-one battles and defeats
Their awesome storytelling and the twists
I am nothing without my Manga

I am a nerd
Who finds pleasure in video games
The difficulty levels and their walkthroughs
The vibrations and the boss fights
The sleepless nights and the highs
The shouts of victory and the barrage of curses
I am nothing without my Video games

I am a nerd
Who finds pleasure in surfing
The endless chasm of the world wide
Web, of knowledge and terrifying ignorance
Of horrors and uplifting humor
From one end to the never ending
I am nothing without the Internet

I am proud to be all of these and more

I Am Nerd.

Social Injustice;
from ****** to ****
from kidnapping to ******
all these things our society does best

How cold can you get?
How do you sleep with yourself?
Is your heart at rest?
Do you ever not regret?

We are the reason our nation is corrupt
We are the reason God looks down on us
I know they say God never changes
and will always be compassionate
But what if God gets fed up and turns his back on us?

Over-taxation!
Why do we have to pay so much for the food we need?

Extortion!
Why does the poor pay for the rich to eat?

Religious Persecution!
When did religion become a war of better denomination?

Police Brutality!
This grows each and everyday
Why are we being physically, mentally and emotionally abused by our 'protectors'?
What about the mothers that cry for their children?
All our prayers in vain
You even **** newborn babies,
souls die without a name

Where is your shame?
Do you feel no pain?
Society, we are sure to perish,
if these social injustices remain the same...

*writers: Jenelle and Anise

i'll always be there outside of the box
where you spill out your burdens to god
tell me everything you've done wrong-
just unpend your sins, you're cleansed, now you win

i'm
the convenient answer
to feeling remorseful about what you've done
made a mistake?  i'm here, don't you wait
i've got all the time you need

and on it goes; my shoulder
for you to lean on will always be there
but don't bother to ask me how i'm doing-
you're not supposed to care

i'm tired of being used like an old *****
you rip me to shreds, leave my tongue on the floor
i'm speechless, i'm hurting, held back by my pride
i'm letting my ego take over my mind
i'm playing callous like it's some sort of game
pretending i'm fine when i'm driven insane
you take the wheel from me, steer into a ditch
leaving me battered and broken, unimpressed, not spoken

i've got
my tongue tied in knots
from navigating the tangled webs you drag me through
but i
will never let myself lose

i need to destroy something, run it right through
to reflect my insides after speaking to you
and maybe i'm just a bitter young *****,
but i'll take a hit, and i won't let you miss  

so drive me into the ground
i won't be beaten down
you can't do much to me;
i can't get much lower now
how far can you bring me down?
yeah, i'll hold my ground

i'm tired of hearing each of your confessions
simply not being able is not a transgression
you're weighing me down with your innocent guilt
i won't feel your trauma if no souls were spilt

i'm so sick
of hearing your troubles; don't say what's amiss
take a hint
your drama won't make or break you
it's no calamity if she hates you

i'm tired of hearing about your petty fights
scuffling over my business won't help with your strife
you think being hateful will show me the light?
you're wrong, good riddance, get out of my life
something so intrinsic isn't abomination
no matter your creed or your denomination
your social life will never make you a saint
and confessing won't stave off my hate

i'm so sick
of hearing your troubles; don't say what's amiss
take a hint
get off of my shoulder, take your own ******* boulder
and live your own life for a bit
don't confess, i'm not impressed,
just live your life and leave me be.

the real question is not
    whether god exists
but whether you believe in one
no matter which denomination

do you believe
    that there is someone
    who commands your fate
    created everything
    makes earth move and the universe
    protects the good and punishes the bad
    and will reward you after death
        according to the life you led
    with everlasting bliss
         or fiery hell eternal

or do you rather think
    that it is our responsibility alone
    to live in peace  
         not war
    protect all life
        not only our own
    and not pretend
        that hunger  sickness
        lack of water and clean air
       are simply  natural  

if you are a believer
     remember all religions
     respect all forms of life

if you are prone to think it's humans' obligation
     remember those who do believe
     may also strive  to do their best

the common goal of all
should be the recognition
     that whatsoever god
     may have created us
     would not have wished
     for our abolition

I regard what calls itself "Christianity" today, as so much RELIGIOUS ****.

Why? The Apostle Paul wrote this in his second letter to the Corinthians

2nd Cor 11:4 For if he that cometh preacheth another Jesus, whom we have not preached, or if ye receive another spirit, which ye have not received, or another gospel, which ye have not accepted, ye might well bear with him.
KJV

Some earmarks of "another Jesus"

· He was borne on Christmas
· His "Triumphal Entry" was on Palm Sunday
· His Crucifixion was on Good Friday
· His Resurrection was on Easter
· He turned water into grape juice
· He inspired the NIV (or anything other than the KJV)
· He prays the Lord's Prayer "...thy will be done on earth..."
· His "gospel" is John 3:16
· If he didn't have brothers and sisters
· If he loves EVERYBODY
· If his mother makes apparitions
· If he builds his church upon Peter (Matt 16:18)
· If you have to say the "Sinner's Prayer" to be saved (John 6:44)
· If some "Reverend Doctor" preaches about him
· If a ThD "Theologian" explains him
· If his ministers call themselves "Reverend" of "Father"
· His followers refer to the 3rd Person of the Godhead as "Holy Spirit"

Go tell your Lovey-Dovey jESUS: he can take his salvation and shove it up his ***...AND TELL HIM THAT I SAID SO!

If your opinion of ANY of the above is: "It doesn't matter", then YOU, your church your pastor, your denomination, your jESUS, your gOD - are so much RELIGIOUS ****...ask Nadab and Abihu how much it matters! (that is of course, if your stupid *** even knows who they are)

Also, if you still think it doesn't matter, because one day you're going to fly away to meet your lovey-dovey lord in the lovey-dovey clouds...your ******* will wonder why you are still here when the FIRST SEAL BREAKS

There are 7 years soon to commence, it's called the Great Tribulation. All you lovey-dovey ***** Chunk "christians" will have an opportunity to PROVE that you REALLY ARE what you claim to be.
++++

Do you think you will survive? The coming Seven Years
It's called the Tribulation, a time of and pain and tears
-
Chances are not good, that you'll live to see it through
You'll probably be killed, your not the chosen few
-
You will greet the Antichrist, and you'll take his Mark
This guarantees you'll burn in Hell, the warnings were so stark
-
For 1000 years you'll burn, before you stand before the Throne
The Great White Throne of God, you He will disown
-
Then you'll be cast alive, into The Lake of Fire
With all RELIGIOUS ****, and every other liar

I have travelled, many a weary step, so long, and for so long with baited breath,

ANXIOUS

ready to be relieved of the responsibilities of life
craving freedom from calamity and strife
frantic and frenzied
as though at some point i might find the answer
to an oft ignored question

i look up at the stars, as they look down at me
and bask in the glory of the past and present's symmetry
because there are so many of us...
all bound to humanity
now passed through the flame of mortality
the "others"
the ones who have asked themselves why they're here
the intellectuals warriors who have no need for fear
when they look into the veil of death
and sense the first vibrations on the pulse of life

when i used to dip my pen into the ink,
metaphorically, because my  computer helps me to think

i used to doubt engaging in the process of creation
it used to enrage
my self serving denomination

the sensation of never quite being able to express yourself as fluidly as option b
or the devilry that comes from hiding yourself within the layers of flesh referred to as anatomy

i use to cower by act three,
run from the stage before the audience saw through me,
never receiving my final bow

but now i realize,
that at the core of my existence
imbedded in my instincts
is the ability of my creator....

and I'm a fan

so now when i dip my pen to the paper
I'm a masked crusader
cool, liek darth vader
and i aint never going back
to that tired dusty beaten track
refered to, in passing, as memory lane

You and I are cut from the same stone.
Diamond.
The extreme pressure we face gives us our shape
our sparkle
our shine
And our formation
reduces the common denomination
of things that can affect us.
The things that do penetrate
within us, permeate.
Revolve around our universe,
Dictating our hue.
We may appear blue
or red or yellow but deep down
Our own imperfections define us,
which is why we are Brown.
While we have different varieties
Only one thing can destroy us
decisively.
Diamond.

They were ok on the screen
of Breaking Bad, but one does
find that they can also be used
in a condescending tone.

The British are quite goos at it,
demeaning derogatory undertones by
verbal diminishings, such as, The IRA.
Full denomination please, makes one Irate.

Ps.

They say, The I.R.A. is a terrorist organisation
Not, The Irish Republican Army is a T.O.

The Dark Pariah and The Mouth Breather went to go get a jump start on their blackmail and their payback

All the kissup's
All the suckup's
Who think they're the best thing since sliced bread with the crust cut off
Who pick on people's foibles and leave their self-image in shambles
Not to mention all the narcissists who claim to have coined certain phrases we all use, then pucker up to the ***** of those who can keep up with the Joneses

They were going to make this world go belly up
Remove all of the potholes and speed bumps in life

The Dark Pariah wrote his plan in chicken scratch
And The Mouth Breather wrote his in calligraphy

The Mouth Breather's plan was to kick start a new denomination of hero worship
All followers must give themselves rug burn and stick up three banks in thirty minutes then put their plunder in the collection plate on Tuesday mass

The Dark Pariah's plan was to create music to their ears
That would make them hopscotch off a cliff and free fall to their deaths
This was part and parcel for his sham to exact his vengeance

But ipso facto they never followed through with their plans due to sheer laziness
And now they're both dominated by remorse and online FAQ's

Don't walk on my side of the street,
we do not want to see your feet
pounding down on this sidewalk.
We feel no need to  mix or talk.

Here are the rules that we send,
if you're not like us you're no friend.
So take this threat and do not stray
or with your life you'll surely pay.

We want our race line to stay pure,
we're happier when you are fewer.
So die you ******* do us a favour
for we don't like your cultures flavour.

These thoughts have always been in mind,
our message passed from kind to kind.
Children taught how they should hate
and never enter in debate.

We're happy just the way we are,
with bullets from a drive bye car.
Machine guns we can lock and load
Dead bodies lying in the road.

Why would we ever want alteration
and mix with lesser denomination.
We keep the streets clean as we sieve
sooner than integrate we would grieve.

It makes good sense that's what we learn
and then pass on when it's our turn.
Our children we do educate
and their forbears they emulate.

And on and on and on and on
and through this course so many gone.
They die because they cross a road,
or move out from their postal code.

We **** because he looks at her,
they die 'cause they decide to care.
Rather to **** them than to alter
we choose instead to maim and slaughter.

This is it, it's what you do
to those who do not look like you.
We must step forward and be brave,
and if they mix they choose the grave.

We are there to teach and show
for without this no-one would know.
Cultures they would amalgamate
then we would have no cause to hate.

-a prayer for Jan 24th, Day of Shame. From the year 2217,
from the service book of a future denomination

It is time for repentance,
the annual pilgrimage.
To the doors of heaven
and the odours of hell.

     Let us visit your creation,
     the blessed pipe that bleeds.

Let us cross the barbedwire,
let us enter the tunnel.
Let us hear the trickling stream,
let us smell your ineffable breath.

     Let us visit our souls,
     our inner vagrant selves.

Let us look down into the black current
and watch your great flowing face.
And through it, in it, while we watch,
we sinners recognize ourselves.

     Let us visit your revelation,
     our tested veins that bleed.

From the deserts of the great plains
to the drowned cities of the coasts...
Your whip on our spines
confirms the evil that we host.

my path is satiation
rage is my recreation
no more delineation
i crave your liberation
im caught in my own mire
bound up by my desires
cage of my own creation
im stuck between relations
sacraments and medication
breathed into my being
divisions my denomination
emptiness is what i'm feeling

all my hopes ive been misplacing
i lose my head in circle tracing
lines throughout my thoughts
fight to twist, untwist, each place they cross
i guess maybe i'm lost
and so i look for signs
create them where they're not

they say that desperate times
call for desperate measures
im so desperate for pleasure
i mistake it for pain
so hungry for help,
i could drown in a drop of rain
so take me deeper
i'm already under
what more is there to loose
ill breathe in fear
im underwater
this is the death i choose

sacraments not meant for tasting
ive spent my whole life chasing
but my life and self are recreating
and my guilt God is erasing

If:

There were no people of color, they'd pick on redheads.

If there were no redheads they would pick on people with glasses.

If there were no people with glasses they’d pick on fat people.

If there were no fat people, they’d pick on welfare recipients.

If there were no welfare recipients, they’d pick on non-Christians.

If there are no non-Christians around,  they'll pick on Catholics.

If there are no Catholics around they'll pic on Christians from any denomination except theirs.  

If there are none of those around, they'll pick on college graduates.

Obladee, obladah, yeah! Yadda yeah, the list goes on...

(The same thing applies with Non-Christian bigots. Just change a word here and there.)

Bigots are bigots
No matter what the name
The underhanded tactics
Are all just the same.
They are heartless and evil.
That’s the name of their game.
They are social criminals and
Look for someone else to blame.

So I’ve been praying a bit as of late.
I’m not a real member of any particular
denomination; at the present time,
I pray to: “to whom it may concern.”
Not sure of his name—
Actually, I suppose it could be a her.
Sorry, Gloria Allred.
Let’s see there’s God,
there’s Buddha,
then there’s obviously Harry Potter.
There’s always Eric Clapton,
especially in the sixties and seventies.
There’s Pablo Escobar’s legend.
There’s Christ the Savior.
My ex calls the mighty one Yahweh.
I might refer to him as Yogi,
or is it yoga?
Wait—I meant Yngwie Malmsteen.
There’s d-lysergic acid, courtesy of Owsley.
Then there’s always Tai Chi.
It’s whatever you want to call it in order to
center yourself in this slightly slanted world.
I need to pick one of the above, because I
really am dragging my feet at this point.
Any one of my friends would agree that the
bottoms of my shoes appear to be charred.
Holy friction burn, Batman!

I have drunk your water, and thus your wine,
Though I choked upon the former's salty brine.
Lapped up delusions of dehydration.
Oceans now praised as a denomination.

Drainage…I drank it…I drank your milkshake!
Pillaged claims of an Arctic at stake.
Ruskies, Chankoros, and Yankees all alike,
All willfully ignoring Canada’s most northernly spike.

I'm building a cathedral out of
Needles, hope and wire;
Cast-off iron, nickel, tin
And coins of low denomination.

My rosettes dress the sunlight up in
Dripping gems, like royalty;
With scarlet slows the sounding bells while
Amber makes the dust motes lazy.

Seven halls, eleven arches
And eighteen darkened booths
Hold a single breath - an unfinished
Thought with a heart of dripping water

And legs made of undressed marble.
The steeples dip their faces in the rainclouds
As I crouch among the shingles with
A wooden mallet and a mouthful of nails.

The long breath before the plunge into the sand,
That which makes you want to not pick yourself up,
For once you know, you get ***** by the end of the month,
But the greens you can count on,
Makes it rather a fair deal, or does it?

The real question is, would you rather deceive yourself
and the rest of the world, for the denomination,
to only trade your fortune to be in the rut  that is called
the day to day life of the survivors,
Suffering from the plague that is called The Normal

Lonesome in the moonlight
thinking only of your kisses
missing the levity, missing the pivotal moment
where I open eyes to two who stare in mine
and return to Earth as ash as we both burn up
as we turn to stars mimicking, a little bit,
the husks of human flesh we were
And I'm surrounded, and I drown in
the affectations of a denomination out of touch or too in tune
Pull me ever down
Under the riptide
To be so suffocated
Between the dead--
not deities.

coins of every deNOMination,
picked up, roadsides, sidewalks,
laundry tubs and machines.

bolts, nuts, a few loose screws too,
glinting in the daylight to my crow-
like eyes, bending, squawking my surprise

found
objects of infinitesimally small worth,
of unknown origin
desired, delightful, destined
   to belong to me

F.O.O.D.

Found Objects Of Desire

Treasure trove of trinkets tickling fanciful obsessions of discards.

No aeroplanes should leave the capital,
incoming traffic should be diverted into hangars
loaded with soldiers of no recognisable denomination.

All passengers must surrender to security checks
at Gate 3, where security personnel will stamp
your passport for onward movement to selected
hotels on outskirts of city. Journalists are not allowed
to take pictures of cats and dogs without clearance from
Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Men in un-uniform should not disclose their barrack
locations. If any passenger sticks a flower in your rifle
pull the trigger!

Foreign guests posing as tourists may be allowed
into city centre where the riots rage. They make take
pictures of selected zones where tyres burn and
firewood has, at last, come out of homes into the street,
to protest against the snow and icy conditions.

No citizen should have duck roast for a week
the president has just gone duck shooting and assures
everyone there will be enough left for everybody
for the coming festive season.

Real peace will be over in a week
and everything will be normal again.
The firewood may go home and all the cats
dogs may return to the barracks. An announcement
will be made when journalists , may, at last
photograph people at war!
( pssst, with their neighbours)

so let's suppose you find yourself alone on a Saturday
night, a hermit inclined to hedonism - and you're sipping
whiskey and smoking cigarettes and start to feel winter
pinching your skin, so you put on another piece of clothing,
and you're also reading a book in an uncomfortable position,
sitting on your leg on a windowsill, crushing your tarsals -
    and because of the discomfort you get to reread half of
                 jung's the undiscovered self
(subsequent quotes extracted from the book,
  page references not given, and alterations made,
            indicated by being listed with a hyphen prefix)...
    and you have read it become...
but then you get a prompt from the book, and you have
to walk to another room where there's a computer
and internet access, problem is you need one hand to open
and close a door, and open and close another another,
and Braille read the walls of the corridor (because
it's dark), and the other hand requires you to carry
a glass of whiskey and bonsai iceberg rattlers...
  but you need the book too?
       good dog, shame there's no leash... the take in reference?
you stick your tongue between the two pages
that prompted you, and snap it shut with
your jaw... i've done a lot of things with my mouth...
for example ate a jasmine out to arouse it and then
penetrated it while kissing the mouth that spoke
       opera in onomatopoeia shrapnel while
the bed rocked... oh you got to reference *** into
everything these days... we live in an over-sexualised society
that doesn't really get jiggy-with-it anyway...
               i don't know it thinking about it
might insinuate it, or instigated a transition
from fiction into fact... but **** it...
  it's fertile ground...
                      and as the Koranic promise
suggests... 72 virgins, an infinite supply of ******
and your ***** chopped off...
              because *******, said an 8 year old
masturbator: is dissociative with the production
and subsequent discharge of *****...
    the purely muscular reaction.
        and who would need ***** in the realm
of the eternal?                so who the hell
would need *****?             steering toward golf
and the bowling alley... sport: it had to have
genital origins... all of them...
   like watching rugby today: i was imagining
the dynamic of the tsunami of ***** honing in
on the finish line of their tadpole adventure.
      and some do suggest that twins and triplets
are paradoxical births...
    i intend to mean that lightly.
           - weltanschauung of science...
- there was once the iron curtain,
                       now we have the niqab...
   i would have gone as far to say a lunacy with
the 24/7 transport system of new york,
    and when you pass from a big city into what remains
a rural community: it's lights out at 8p.m. and waking
up with a cockerel's skreech,
      - the west has unfortunately not yet awakened to
the fact that our appeal to idealism and reason and other
desirable virtues, delivered with so much enthusiasm,
is mere sound and fury...
    (or as Jesus said: the twelve to become the sons
   of thunder... real quote... never the bright spark
to be honest... unless he was referring to an aeroplane...
to hear the sound much later than seeing the plane...
so you get the pointers of what sound and fury can
create after the Macaresh haggle)...
- and where the church is notoriously weak, as in
  Protestantism
          (i'm guessing primarily due to the spirit of
schism embedded in it, and no other christian
denomination)
        for was it really about a "communal experience"?
  as is a belief in such a futility and the rampant
gang culture of mexico city... a community right there,
out to steal your rockers.
- stone of beds, an average of 145 grams per pebble..
     on this basis, telling someone to find a pebble
    that weighs 145 grams to the nearest decimal point
     of 0.1 - he would find no pebble of such a weight...
       'the statistical method shows the facts in the light of
the ideal average but does not give us a picture of
their empirical reality. while reflecting an indisputable aspect
of reality, it can falsify the actual truth in a most
misleading way. this particularly true of theories which
are based on statistics. what's distinctive about real facts
is their individuality. exceptions to the rule,
    as absolute reality suggests: the character of irregularity.'
the book: a brief history of time boasts of being a bestseller,
a bestseller that was rarely digested by readers...
  a Marquis once boasted of having an uncle that
owned a bishopric... and a fine fine library of books
you're read using only one hand...
                        guess what the other hand was doing?
     would i dare write a critique of what i just
referenced? i.e. jung's the undiscovered self?
it's a good enough book to be read while sitting on a
toilet for a bit longer... and even without pedantic
chronology of page 1 through to page 79...
          i just wanted to cite this quote the echoes today...
   western anxiety:
            it is useless to pillory the socialist dictatorships
as utopian and to condemn their economic principles as
unreasonable, because, in the first place, the criticising
West has only itself to talk to, its arguments being heard
only on this side of the iron curtain, and, in the second
place, any economic principles you like can be put
into practise so long as you are prepared to accept
the sacrifices they entail.
       i guess just as much, even without the historical
context...               modern capitalism has encouraged
a military styled empowerment of the police...
              and provided a weak military focus when
encountering alien hostility...
     and it has created the 0-hours contracts...
                   not even workers who are unpaid
but paid on a whimsical basis...
                                           and i guess Islam was like:
well... this model isn't going to work for us...
    let's create the most sustainable economic insurgency:
          war!                in some quantum-alter-universe
this seems to be working...
                                you can't really say that war
isn't the most effective and sustainable economic insurgency...
             but i love the fact that a new term has
emerged... counter to civil war... proxy wars...
                        and when Ukraine was joint host
      with Poland for the European championships
do you think the debate on expanding the European
union to encompass the Ukraine wasn't on the cards?
              one was already a member state for
8 years... and the other was sorta treated worse than
Turkey in terms of asking for membership...
    then Monsieur Pútān stepped in after proxy-stresses
were implemented from investors and political
operators of shadow projects...    thus said...
the West was still spotted talking to-itself in a lunatic
asylum of New York... where insomnia is rampant:
just like Mr. Piggy-Bank predicted mid-20th century.
and yet: i have so many more fractions of that
bottle of whiskey to drink... i might write
something less worded and less infused by world affairs.

taking place at bar after rare occurrence of
an early night. ordered a single whisky and tall beer.
the drunkard opposite found agreement in the random
statements i interjected between him and blonde bartender.
cheaesing his Miller to my whiskey because of false-statement
passed through these winter-warped lips. cheersing, to words
that are false belief. if only to retain him to placated  stupor.
opened book of Style, left-to-right this hand underlining sentences
and rectifying the self-criticism ever present. talking louder,
   'i just don't hear as well as i once could.'
he orders another but sends it to vacant chair adjacent mine.
stumbling, moving from his ritual spot. sitting, he claims
his upbringing as Southern Baptist. after i announced the
denomination to my rearing in childhood.
   'you're a christian, good.'    but
i don't have the heart to elaborate upon the crazed and
pantheistic beliefs i hold in truth.
   'you were baptized and saved?'    i lied,
for truth is my soul will burn in hell according to this man's
-- self-proclaimed sinner -- drunkenly spewed theological underst-
atments. his words slur as he falls into elaboration of Bible conspiracies.
adding a few
   '*****'
                      here and there,
and always in concern of his opinion of Muslims -- awkward.
my boss in background chimes; we had a similar conversation
moments before. now my words betray everything stated during
prior moment. i order another beer then excuse myself to ****.

Religion is an experience ‒
Don’t forget to pay attention
To the road signs and orange
Cones – stations of life.

The dried putty surrounding
The stained glass shards is
A template for countercultural
Beliefs – fidelity.

Pick a denomination and take
A number – investigate the
Universe – celebrate via Billy
Graham or Timothy Leary.

Turn to the pages in the
Geodesic south Indian sub-
Continent – pray to a Hindu
Shrine or dine with a Swami.

Hail the Krishna highs – close
Your eyes and be transcendental
As often as you breathe – but
Do not divulge your mantra.

Heed the children as they climb
And play – drooling on the statues
Of Buddha and his goddesses
At the corner of rebirth.

Monastic discipline is for the
Elderly – after they reach the
New liberation – in tune with
Their pure souls.

Be pragmatic if you must –
Choose therapy, shock waves
Of the brain – or bow down
Before B. F. Skinner.

Start and nurture your own
Beat generation camp – be
****, be alien, be aware of
The invisible lights.

Go west to “EST,” and train
Followers to process bits of
History – couple that with an
Out-of-body jaunt.

The je-ne-sais-quoi of ends
Is approaching – embrace a
Chapter on thanatology, and
Share the culture of after.

There are alternatives – try
Gnosticism or Scientology –
Be the man who won’t believe,
And reach your potential.

The final analysis is to find
Your eternal family – they can
Be anything – beings with which
You will piously be born again.

Give each their name – 2nd Eve,
Zen the little, Erhard, Wymyn,
Pope ***** III, Bogie – and call
Them your disciples.


© Lewis Bosworth, 1/2017

she had a face
like you see
on a coin

like an Empress
newly
minted

or on a rare postage stamp
or on a high denomination note
that I could never afford

she had a body
like a story
that had yet to be written

but that was
just within the grasp
of the writer's pen

"Marriage?" she snorted "Marriage!"
perched upon
an ornate chamberpot

"Go marry..."she laughed
"...your self!" she chuckled
peeing fluently

& then she flew
like lovers do
in a Chagall painting

only alas
minus - me
I the jagged hole in the canvas

the moon refused
to shed light
upon her refusal

I a ghost
haunting her every word
the music of silence

The time is comming
all muslims will be pushed out of their western suburban lives. The mass forced exodus will begin. Pushed out of thier homeland pushed back in and doubled. I see devastation on the massess. There are too many western countries.  Too many peoples to even lay a debt big enough. 140 souls compared to billions,  5000, to billions in all a nothing. 1.2million lost each year to car accidents alone and nothing changes.  Death is inevitable.  Many live it every day. Desensitization to humanity will transform the tender compassion into concrete perceptions of evil. The big business boys will still be big business boys. The poor and the innocent are the only to suffer. When the final division is made
The darkness will win. The peace of Islam completely shattered. For now Islam bleeds as the Christian Matyrs sing hallelujah Jesus is coming! for now is the end of days. The good suffer at the hands of evil as the custom demands and we count each martyr separated by denomination and none wrong. But none right.
Peace must reign as will the truth. We must all stand together in the face of every desperate act. For in the lack of love only the devil wins. The creator so loving watches as we do what we will with our God given free will.

To the faithful that center in the audience.
Many were suprised by the invited guest.
Which were them.

They came from all denomination.
Because of the great invitation.

When prompted to stand upon their feets.
As, with some in church.
A few complained.
Until Jesus Spoked.

He stated to those leaders of faith.
Love me, as you love God.
Through me you come to the father above.

Don't keep creating strife.
Because of difference ideology.
Cause what you're preaching in sermons.
Is a representation of me.

A few walked out.
And he realized they wasn't true.
Like in church.
We realized them too.

Jesus has spoken with just a few words.
And those that stayed.
Was the one that received the word.

Whenever I see a dangerous demon
I feel scared. I cry as if onion
Is being peeled or cut in union.
Same feeling in the examination
Of Maths I feel as issue in nation.
The very word takes me to the station
From where no train goes to destination.
Finger of Maths – a giant accusation
Whopping, gigantic, big adulation.  
Maths – My God! A most dreadful lion;
I am afraid of it and its companion.
Let it be Savani or Goenka or Ryan
Or let be Divine or DPS, Maths demon
Will never spare us in relaxation.
The only way I feel is Meditation
Which’ll save thee from assassination.
So mediate well and study notion
Without having any denomination.
To save me from austere acidification
I wrote Monorhyme for affirmation.
I assume my readers’s ready opinion
Will not differ with my solution.