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The invitation had arrived and I was over the moon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it is coming soon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition

It's been eight years since the first was won by China
It was held in Illinois in a place known as Medinah
Turns out the swimmers used were just not what they seemed
The chinese had a total of nine atheists on their team

So, the time has come to try again and bring it to fruition
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
No date has been decided yet, due to issues with each church
So, even though the invitations out, we're still left in the lurch

Saturday is out because the Jews are all at temple
Sunday, the Christians all must set a good example
Friday, cuts the muslims out for they are at Mosque praying
So we've four days to hold this meet, is what I am now saying

The Chinese team is back again, but the Atheists are out
The team's made up of Christians and two Jews who are devout
Their working on a movement that involves making a cross
The Christian swimmers get it but the Jews don't give a toss

The team from Israel's withdrawn because they are all sitting Shivah
They had a coach drown last week, he hit his head while in the River
The Arabs won't be back, you see they're not interested in the least
They get confused while under water and don't know which way is east

The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
Will take place in the New Year, we just need to get permission
The Jews won't swim with Muslims, and the Sikhs are up in arms
Because swimming with their daggers may cause other swimmers harm

But, we've got a great location at the lake up at the park
We can use it when we want to , but it must be after dark
Remember keep an eye out for a poster where you pray
We don't know just when we'll hold it, it may just be today

This is your invitation and the event is coming soon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it'll be held beneath the moon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition

See you there...
Ryan O'Leary Sep 2018
Willie sat by the side of
the river in a philosophical
mood under a weeping willow.

Midway, between the two
banks, was a small island
only paddling distance away.

Debris from a previous flood
had accumulated on the low
foliage of an uprooted tree.

A funnel of cold air from the
ten arch bridge made a wind
sock of a plastic net nitrate bag.

In all his time, Willie had never
ventured on to this little islet,
even wondered if he should flag it.

Off with the shoes, rolled up the
legs of his trousers and slowly he
negotiated his way over the stones.

On exploring the land mass, which
was an isthmus of a mere ten square
meters, he decided to return to land.

Just before his disembarkation, he
noticed a large denominational euro
note caught in the gills of a dead fish.

Eureka Eureka money and food all
in the one catch (was his thought as
he made his way back).

The sodden state of the 100 euro note
was what guided Willie’s wise decision
to take it, as was, to the local Credit Union.

In the queue whilst waiting for a vacant
teller, everyone was admiring Willie’s
dead fish.

Eventually, at the desk, and known to
those working therein, a 100 euro note
was not his norm and created suspicion.

After tendering the note attached to the
Trout, that had apparently been fowl
hooked up the river by Johnny Logan,

The lady behind the desk called for the
manager, who immediately held the note
up to the halogen fraud lamp.

Willie had never encountered anything like
this when he made a 5 euro deposit once a
month to his savings account.

He enquired of the manager as to why he
was holding his fish and 100 euro note up
against the bright light.

The manager responded,  “ It is the policy of
all banking systems to check high denominational
notes for visible water marks “ !!
This is a true story that happened in Mallow
County Cork Ireland in March of this year
2018. A local journalist Eugene Cosgrove
covered the story for " The Kerryman " news
paper.  A photo of the fish that caught the
100 euro note was controversial, and currently,
there is a legal challenge between Willie Eaton,
Johnny Logan and the Mallow Trout anglers
association, who stock the river. The 100 euro
note is being held at the local Garda Siochana
pending the outcome of the tribunal.
Johnny Logan makes his on Fly's and can prove
without doubt the Dry Fly that spiked the 100
euro note, is actually his and thus claims the money.
Johnny uses Chicken Wishbones and feathers for his hooks.
Meanwhile, The Anglers association also have a strong
case that is currently being discussed, because according to
the fishing charter, only fish that have been taken from the
river by Rod and Reel, are the property of the Angler.
The Fish has been placed in a deep freeze, with the Fly and
100 euro note intact and will be visible to the public at the next hearing.
Willie's solicitors also have a strong case insofar that the fish was on
the Island of The River Blackwater just by the Town Bridge and the Island
has never been charted, thus giving the dead fish a status of what would be akin to refugee. The European Union (EEC) are now involved, as this could
set a precedent for The Fisheries Act, currently topical between France and UK
over the Scollop War's. More on this case will follow, as soon as I have a report from Eugene Cosgrove.
Have times really changed that much,
since the crucifixion of The Christ?
People still discuss personal opinions,
looking to find meanings within life –
with some reference point, relative to Him.

Are we any different than Cleopas,
when we latch onto Christ’s name,
desiring our prayers to be answered,
hoping never to be spiritually the same?
Are we able to sing new songs and hymns?

How are we occupying the time of our lives?
Are we on the road, speaking with strangers,
expecting to bump into a hidden Christ or…
angels that keep us from unforeseen dangers?
Are we just waiting for life to wear thin?

How much longer will denominational tenets
keep us from the necessary work at hand?
When will we fully focus on the coming Kingdom
and stop searching for the “Promised Land”?
When will we stop - gossiping about Him?

Are we on the outskirts of a similar town,
unknowingly headed in the wrong direction,
arguing the debate of what faith is,
without reaching a level of maturation?
Will we continue to remain - estranged from Him?



Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Luke 24:13-35

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Kenshō Oct 2014
T'was the gleaming dawn that those fairies poked from the veils of flowers and caught on hair were the pedals of the healthy sun. When the age was young and time knew not of itself, the hills were not corrupt.
   The wings of faeryflies and butterflies were tarnished not, but were glode upon by the winds of aimless grace; Thus they were always at Heaven's feet. Racing upon the glorified mountains were the badgers and bears lined in unison, smiling and perfect. The sun bound its rays to the shoulders of grass hills like eyes of Gods upon their children. Stood ***** were housing trees of the nested kind, fertile and lush.
   Lazy and idle slumped man happy and lethargic, hypnotized by that herbal glory that was his natural home. That of a kind that had been stolen in past tales but was revived in that timeless moment that could be lived and lived again alone in the forest to the east. Winged reptiles fluffed with fur dove from penetrating limbs and sung to the distance in inspiration. Perked were the ears of the majestic and gorgeous felines, born of the deserts that were the companions of kings. Not caring to hunt, lapped the wolves and dogs laying with the enemies of ages gone. Now only peace was reigning.
   Books and poems spoke of nothing new for the moment had found itself in heaven. The poets had no magic to convey and the authors nothing to tell, the scientists nothing to document. Thus the dreams of Children and Gods poured like water of the loveliest kind, sparkling with diamonds quenching the soul of the population. Food grew lush and free like fruits of divine knowledge upon that giving tree!
   Ritual and rite spoke of many diverse Deities and contact was non-denominational. Praise rose to the highest and rang of the clouds which were glided upon like notes of bards to which realms beyond one could go no further to speak! This was the realm from which language was born and art was bare in its true identity. This was where the onyx was carven by the Lord's anvil, given by the spirit of blacksmiths, and craftsmen of the like. Within those onyxes was night's essence and dwelling within the diamonds of day was a rainbow of fantasy hills free from decay!
   Giants gave free rides to the ones below with lifted songs of magic, levitating them free from natural bounds! The trees grew miraculously at speeds unknown to time lines perceived but was of time construed as God Speed. Bushes bared fruits of rainbow colors and iridescent visual illusion! Beautiful and bold were the tastes that quenched the deepest of yearnings. Salt liquid would drip from the children as they skipped from haven to haven with baskets woven on crafty mothers said to know of love. Those mothers would lullaby their babies to worlds of sorts known in mythologies of ageless civilizations! Lifted and beaming the children were transformed to angelic entities with harps of berceuses. Emanating were visual paradises transcendent of worldly nature but only known to the angels and the ears that were graced by glory!
   Proud were the further generations of what had been laid out by their tall, masculine birth fathers. Unholy language was unknown but only the ecstasy of heaven poured from lips like nectarous liquor.
   The forests were lined with prairies of diverse flowers sprinkled and gazed upon by moons and suns of worlds magical and beyond! Stumbling, the mossy giants wore clothes of Pan and draped were their leaves over their limbs reaching for love and what may lay beyond those wreathes.
   The soaked floor of druid woods were vibrant and lively. Untrodden paths bore magical potions and herbs that once ingested sung through the guest's frame till ecstasy was found and language no longer made distinct the inevitable unison that those vibrations of time had strung through countless, and meaningless ages. Entered would be a realm beyond form, void and the concept of either. But only would love and the moment of now float like stars of unfathomable material buoyant in the womb of worlds. And sprung from what would be perceived as void came all the heavens and what lay beneath those shaman's and kahuna's ingrown feet.
   Embedded were the children of time, one with nature and naked in themselves and free to breathe what ever purified and holy air that cuddled their outlines like a mother does her child.
   Spoke from ten thousand horns were the tales of Lords and Gods and kingdoms that laid harmonious upon mother earth. No matter how the bard of the local bar was spoken, crazy he would be deemed by men who now hid this knowledge from those who knew not of the possibility. In all languages that soul would speak to all ears ignorant to difference but had love for only the song. And now still the gift of imagination and the boundless feats that it could manifest were passed along like feathers and leaves upon the passing river. Sought and caught were the treasures of language to those who knew of translation. And lullabied were those Gods and Angels who heard of the transmissions.
   But now only the drunken bard lay sloppy and tired beneath that tree that somehow taught him of nature and the wisdom that it held. And off into the distance sprang the vibration of his passing mumblings like songs of nonsense upon that aimless wind.
Going to show a short story I have been writing. I have a few others saved. Let me know what you think, maybe I will release more on here.
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2015
It was my first Cathedral,
Cavernous and nearly silent.
Dark enough that I closed,
My eyes giving them time
To adjust to the depths,
Of it's shadowed blackness.

Languid slanting rays
Of penetrating sunshine,
Alive with moving mists,
Of floating, rotating dust,
The only source of light.

The bittersweet scents,
Of venerable age mixed,
With fodder and animal waste,
Not at all unpleasant to sniff.

Leather tack hung on walls,
Awaiting the call to work.
Long delayed, and overlooked,
Replaced by mechanical steeds,
Wheels and blades of steel.

Neatly festooned wall hooks
Displaying wooden handled
Hard-worn steel hand tools,
Flecked with rust, chipped by use.

The choir was in the rafters,
Pigeons’ and Doves
Cooing Heavenly Hymns.
Occasionally the murmur of,
Feathers flapping on high,
Like the sounds,
Of Angels wings.

I climbed the ladder,
Into the Loft up high,
Followed by a friendly,
Old one eyed Barn Cat,
I recall his name was Cy.

Old Cy who knew,
All the good places,
To explore and secretly hide.
And too, where tasty rodents
Were found in heavenly,
bountiful supply.

That lofty perch,
Among the penetrating
slanting rays of sunlight
Inspired a fathomless hush
of contemplation and inner bliss,
I'd never known before, or since.

We sat silent for many minutes,
In a state of transfixed repose,
Old Cy and I, speaking not a word.  

We crawled among stacked bales,
Of fragrant fresh cut hay,
Like a lofty Fortress built for us,
Playing and imagining,
Endless flights of fantasy,
Long into the eve of day.

Yes, my Grandfather’s
Old wooden Barn,
Was indeed a magical,
Reverent and sacred place,  
As any formal denominational
house, of any faith can be.

If ever, I truly felt,
The presence of Holy Grace
Surely it was within,
That impressionable
all inspiring place.

Even fleeing memories
of a long ago small boy,
Have not diminished,
That big Cathedral's
Prevailing, exalted space.
Spiritually overseen by,
An old, feline, one-eyed
clergyman named Cy.
Grand old wooden barns are a
disappearing breed.
Standing in various stages of
disrepair and non-use, replaced
by metal clad boring industrial
looking structures.
They are a relic of the past.
But anyone that has memories like
mine, told here will never forget how
grand they were. If you get a chance to
visit one, do so before they are all gone
and see if I was telling the truth.

I was recently in another big old wood
barn and was moved to write about it,
but found this older piece that pretty
much says it all. So it's a re-post.
George Krokos Aug 2019
WARNING:
This is a true story which might be distressing for some people
and hopefully may also be a kind of help or revelation for others.
-------------
It was like a cut or rift in the soul which seemed to be fuelled by anxiety and the sometimes innocent presence of others where the sufferer or victim would mostly come out second best or worse still, as with a sense of loss, going away with the feeling of anguish knowing that one had somehow absorbed sponge-like all the negative vibes and crap of those who were close by or there around regardless of who or what they were and then later on having to pay the price alone by taking it out on themselves with the almost near endless and uncontrollable self expunging torture of the bad habit.

A living daily hell of pain and self doubt, lacking that much needed acquired gift of self confidence and assurance that all would be well in the hope of the future where one could look back here on the current situation or malady like a bad dream and perhaps even laugh thinking how could that have been happening at all and the causes of it, if there were any, so that it could be reversed for one to make amends or at least be normal again and not have to go through this problem any more which in some ways very much resembled the taking on of someone else's curse where no matter what one did to get rid of the **** problem they were confronted with, it always kept coming back at them like some merciless relentless demon that wouldn't stop until it stopped.

Only then would there be peace or a semblance of it after coming to one's senses by sensing the extent of the damage caused by the feverish non-stop action of the bad habit which they didn't want or need to do; thinking or even saying to themselves with anger or utter frustration that this has to stop once and for all and then regretfully attempting to cover up or hide the all so obvious affected area that was the result of the distressful action which targeted that prominent part of the body indiscriminately and then having to get rid of all the evidence and now useless pieces which once covered and formed that well rounded part of their body wondering with stark curiosity if anyone else in the world had the same condition that didn't seem likely to go away. Or, even for that matter, if one could have a period of time, for it to heal long enough for them to make some recovery and be able to get on with their life, whatever that now meant or was; at least to live and prove to themselves that they were in control of it; and if all the so called powers that be would grant them some kind of reprieve from whatever the hell was causing the problem to continue without any clear purpose other than that of self abasement and an apparent denial of their own worth and potential which was their precious birthright which many people would call, say and affirm to be a God given existence and inheritance where no one had the right to take it away from anyone else regardless of whatever had happened in the dim past, being now more or less forgotten, not having any real or tangible reality other than that which one thought it may have in their mind and soul by a deep psychological wound like that of perhaps a post traumatic disorder where the original harm of whatever happened in the past still lingered in some way and had not been treated or healed.

Yet there were days, weeks and even months that would go by seemingly and  surprisingly relatively free of the problem but it would gradually once again find its way back to wreak more havoc and dismay on the already fragile life of the individual who had been suffering for most of their life with the unusual condition in a shroud of silence unseen except by those who were helpless to do anything about it only to ask questions of why and how was it going on, not really suspecting for one moment that they themselves were contributing to the ongoing pain and anguish of the person suffering with the above illness and were also somehow partly responsible for the cause both mentally and physically of the condition called or known in medical terms as “….............”, a form of ADHD, which was also known as the “Trickster” because whether one liked it or not and regardless of what one did to avoid doing the **** thing, it would sooner or later find its way back to plague those who were afflicted even though they knew that it was something they didn't want or need to have anything to do with at all.

Healing eventually came gradually after that person's immediate family had passed away when living by themselves for a few years but still in the same house where all the action had been taking place previously over most of the years, though it even occurred elsewhere as well irrespective of where they would go but seemed to abate for a while at least when away from the rest of the family and other people, and it also seemed upon reflection that it came as a blessing or some kind of reprieve from beyond the grave because for one thing there was no one else around to thwart one's effort or self determination to stop and live a normal life without the intermittent and unwanted action of the self debasing bad habit when the person afflicted then began taking some Chinese nutritional supplement that they had originally bought for the well being of a relative who had passed away a few years before, of which packaged contents were found partly unused and stored away in an area on the kitchen bench.

Another factor which contributed to the healing of the deep psychological wound was the use of, it seems, various powerful brain hacking software in the form of binaural sounds that some entrepreneurs, pioneers of a new science of awareness, had discovered, developed and made available under different guises with their own creative genius or interpretation, which had to be listened to by using a set of headphones with eyes closed as in meditation and under specific instructions that the user was not to do anything else while listening at some convenient time of the day or night, and to drink some water before and after the session, whenever they could find the necessary time to undergo the building of new neural pathways between the right and left hemispheres of the brain which was emphasised as being the beneficial action taking place by listening to these sounds that were played together and along with other relaxing music to avoid the monotony of the repetitive nature of the binaural beats or sounds in the form of mainly: alpha, beta, theta, delta, and gamma wavelengths that represented the normal and deeper levels or layers of consciousness that were scientifically proven to exist by years of research monitoring those who were in fact either Buddhist monks or some other neo, pro or non-denominational class of meditation practitioners that had participated in a scientific research program.
----------------
Sometimes healing comes by itself when a person learns how to be their own best friend and works with nature rather than against it away from exposure to unnecessary or overwhelming negative influences and undergoes that discipline which facilitates the much sought after healing response in a conducive environment.
________
Written early in 2018. Based on actual first hand experience. If anyone would like to find out more information on anything mentioned above or is seeking help for a similar personal problem or perhaps is trying to help someone else just let me know with a comment or send me a PM.
I'm the king of the entire world..
the one i live in my mind.
Solitude is what I'm trying to find
My master plan to unfurl
Unbeknown to the denominational drudges
The voices I hear in my head
urging me to go dancing with no care in the world

Jokers be laughing at me
And I wouldn't mind
Drunken lullabies lures me out
Of my dazed stance
And I can take on anyone

Said the sobriety right to my face
tsk, tsk you don't belong in this place
Go back to where you belong
no no i don't, not in that other place
This is where I belong
with the sad clowns holding me up
And I'm not alone in here...
Emmanuel Chikody Aug 2016
A.
Alphabetic Avalanche! An Avidly Artwork Appraising Adonai Alphabetically. And Also Awaken All Asleep Amidst Advancing Avenging Armies.And Acting As Agent Against Agony And Aches

B.
Beware, Because Boosting Breaks Bond By Bringing Barriers Between Brothers.But Brilliantly, Bible Basically Balance Brawls, Battles Between Bloods. Be Born-again.

C.
Curse, Carnal-living, Chaos, Commotion, Catastrophe, Carnage, Causality, Certainly Cleared.Courageously Christ Carried Cross to Calvary Creating Captivating Convivial

D.
Daily Deepen D Deliberate Demarcated Distance Dug for Devil D Deceiver.Devourers, Darkness & Demons.Diligently Despise Denominational Drape

E.
El-Shaddi Effortlessly Evaporates Every Enigma & Enemies.Ending & Exodus Evil Exacerbating Entities.Everthing is Everything in Elohim.

F.
Faithless Fellowship Fabricate Flippant, Feeble Followers.Faithful Fellowship
Factually Flourish Fantastically

G.
God's Grace Grants Great Galvanizing Gift & Glory.Giving Generally Generates
Greatness.God is Gracious.

H.
How Has Hatred Helped Humans? Habitual Happiness Hedges Hatred, Healing Hazardous Hiatus Harming Human race

I.
Impeccable Insight Into Immaculate, Immortal & Invisible God. Instigate Intriguing Illumination Inside our Inner being

J.
Jesus Christ the Just Judge, Jam Jungle Justice.Jailed Jeopardy, Jabbed Jezebel's Jinx & Juju Jolting Jealous Jesters

k.
Koinonia Keeper, Keenly Keep Kneeling before the King of Kings.Keep Knocking on Kingdom's door

L.
Listen, Learn, Light-up, Look Lively. Let Love Liquidate Loathsomenes. Least Little, Lowlife, Lazy Loathers Labouring Lengthily Limits your Level

M.
Morning-Star, Most-High, Messiah, My Majesty, Mentor, Master, Maker, Mountain Mover, Merciful-One ,Milk & Maintain My Ministry

N.
Nobody Needs Negative Nonconformists Nearby. Nevertheless, Neglect Notorious, Nonsensical, Narrow-minded Notions from Nihilist Nicely

O.
One Overcome Obstacles, Only by Obeying Our Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Overall ruler Outcomes Of Obedience Outshines Offerings, Oaths & Other Opponents.

P.
Proper Preparation & Plans, Plus Patience & Persistence Protrude Powerful, Progressive Prayer Performance.Prayer Penalise Problems

Q.
Quickly & Quietly, Quench Queasy Qualms, Quarrels & Quacking Quibblers.

R.
Religionists Removing Restitution Rarely Recognise Real Repentance. Returning Reports Remains Relevant Revelation Regarding Repentance

S.
Since Saviour's-blood Saves & Sanctify Souls, Sinners Seeking Salvation Sacrificially & Sordidly, Should Stop Searching. Selah

T.
Thanksgiving Through Tough Times, Turns Trials, Terror, Temptation & Tribulations To Testimony

U.
Understanding Urges Us Unto Universal Unity. Unfortunately its Unattainable.

V.
Vengeance Vented Via Venomous Violence Vaguely Visualises Victory. Value Virture

W.
With Worthy Word We Warn Women, Walk Wisely When Working With Watchful Workers

X.
Xeric

Y.
You're Young; Yield Yourself to Yahweh

Z.
Ziplock Zeitgeist Zapping Zombies (Zealously Zonked). Zoom into the Zenith Zone.Zero letters remaining
The first letter of the Alphabet 'A' is used to explain to reader what they find while  going through the poem.The  letter 'X',has only one word which means  'A dry habitation' and it chiefly explains to readers that the stanza for 'X' is dried with only one word
g clair Dec 2014
"For truth has such a face and such a mien as to be loved needs only to be seen. "

JOHN DRYDEN, The Hind and the Panther

:)  love this, and I'm non-denominational ( raised Catholic)
take in the corn and spit out the cob. IT's not the word of God, and I believe that some see the truth and hate it, because they are in a state of rebellion. Spoken from experience.
bb Dec 2014
12 dec: yesterday,
he sat behind me, crying. his eyes and were puffy and red and I asked him if he was all right but he said
nothing. it's predictable, it's overlookable.
I thought God, God, god,
but he's non, non,
non-denominational.
how pretentious.
i "use the lord's name in vain" because i've accepted my vanity, learned to cope by belittling myself in the dark.

there was a certain serenity in his chaotic demeanor, if that's possible.
he wrote with such affinity, such pressure. abundant was the adrenaline and passion which coursed through the veins in his forearms as he scribbled.
something's...different.
he's wearing glasses. are they his father's? I considered the prospect because I thought he might have asked to borrow them to hide his tears.
"I didn't know you wore glasses,"
(never in three years).
"I got them yesterday."
bb Jan 2015
Although I never looked closely, there's something in the Bible about cutting off the hand that causes you to sin; tearing out the eye of the same nature and casting it off.
Have you heard of it, dear? Last I checked you were a non-denominational Christian.
So maybe you have, but you're too pretentious to say so. It was always like that with you: you left things out.
It's quite interesting. I stopped believing in God around the time that I met you.
Do you remember? Two years ago, the walk home, too many dandelions. They crawled up through cracks in the newly antiquated sidewalk. I couldn't focus and you were too focused--an antithetic situation.
You were my savior for a lot longer than you should have been.
There was a shrine to you inside of my mind, with 300 steps and stone pillars time hadn't been kind to. It was like an image from a textbook, but a little more fuzzy around the edges.
Hell, I think I prayed to you; you were just as absent as the God you believed in, so it was easy.
But you're just an man.
Maybe that's too strong, maybe
child would be more suitable.
And if you're human I am almost certain that I was at the other end of this spectrum of religious allusions; one of your demons, or maybe even all of them. I represented everything you couldn't control. I ate away at you; I was the devil on your back and under your eyelids.
I can't go away. You painted me as this sort of ugly creature and put it in plain sight, and though you never looked at that cursed painting, you cursed at it a lot.
I'll be ******.
But unlike you, I can always convert. You could disappear completely from me, washed away,
If I wanted you to.
And I did. I cut off the hand that caused me to sin,
I tore out the eye of mine that remembered
The veins in your hands, your bony hips
the curvature of your face, your lips
And I never saw them again.
T R S Dec 2019
The morning after a horror date,

I baked myself a non-denominational celebration cake.


I celebrate being alive.

In spite.

Bedazzled by a bedroom sprite,

I made light of my emotions,

that turned into pig iron and over caustic coke that could never even ever start the driest fire.
Though psyche sundered and cleft,
sans like Earth bereft of moon
with wrack and ruin
please don't ask how I am doin,
especially after natural automotive
wear and tear
found anguish brew'n,
no matter yours truly know win,

there haint no benefit in getting
fit tubby tied emotional state strewn,
yet quite impossible to shuck off,
NOT being affected aghast by loon
nut tick raging
(like an angry red bull)
growing foreboding, looming
large, and grow'n like...June

shadows of late afternoon
madly - swelling the
inside of my head
like a hot air balloon
until...my noggin
feels ready to explode
aside from such lacerating
peace of mind, I reck ****

this chap feels great and aware,
perhaps the silver lining
extant within bare
lee able to cheer
hip...hip...hip hooray,
an unconquerable drear
re: heaviness weighs
down clapping e'er

ambition to relish pickle
yar welcoming more'n a fair
weather friend, though
tis natural inclination to gear
us sin muss
elf within hermetically
sealed within hare
sized rabbit hole, a lair

only large enough
for me, though um...mare
reed man, I don't
want anybody near
just a treasure trove of
multi denominational prayer
books, no matter not
exceptionally religious

just maybe...a rare
salvation (reed deliverance as
lucky sweepstakes winner)
delivered by some
body named Alistair
relieving torturous vice grip tear
ring inside mine wear
re: soul perhaps...for a year.
jeffrey conyers Jan 2019
Anything, all one color like churches or school.
You couldn't accept loving another.
You planted in your secluded world.
Guided by those afraid of a changing world.

Some one dimensional segment wasn't created by them.
But by others laws and racism.

But many aware of the phase white flight.
And they still running now.
Hiding behind being a religious school.
When in truth they just one frightful group.

And religion has always been a damaging messed.
When you notice many kicking other denominational group.
Then we see this in scriptures too.

Where you see various opinions and views.
Which you find preached in these one color schools
About four plus weeks after
frazzling fiasco from friggin fraudsters
white knight still mourns swindled money
Lynne Costello Senior Civil Investigator
(assistant to Philadelphia attorney general)
unable to recoup forfeited funds.

While holed up in castle keep,
(albeit fetchodit fuming father
cursing out blimey scamming creep),
I replay nightmarish scenario
that disallows me to sleep
inconsolable tears yours truly doth weep.

Though secular humanist,
nevertheless yours truly (me)
beseeches a higher power
something in the order of

voltages ranging from
115,000 to 230,000 VAC
Voltage Alternating Current
or Extra-High voltages ranging
from 345,000 to 765,000 VAC.

Courtesy malefactor left me bereft
cyber criminal shrewdly,
meticulously, hucksterish antagonistic
online criminal with deft
once again revisiting series of theft
designed warp and weft
traitor to the cause of honesty
wove webbed, whirled wide net
pounced (visualize yourself analogous
recipient of lionize) de León.

I implicate myself aside from bogeyman
being submissive at financial havoc
fake Macbook Pro wizard
posturing as legitimate
Apple computer technician did wreak
more than laptop malfunction, he did tweak.

Any number of "red flags"
clear as day in retrospect
stand out like a sore thumb
with self reproach
and attendant emasculation
"how could I be so dumb,"
not ready to concede desperation
to scrounge around
for every little monetary crumb
when "Que Sera, Sera
(Whatever Will Be, Will Be)."

Resultant severe emotional grip
courtesy financial fallout
fantasy thought arise
regarding being cursed with
purchasing winning Mega-million
and powerball ticket,
hence the following fantasy.

Lucky lottery winner
…and the super powerball
and mega millions jackpot winner is…
from Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.

No way.

This must be some off-season
April fool and/or Halloween trick or treat.

Yea right.

In my dreams.

A voice inside urges
“take another look.”

Yet upon frenziedly staring
(for what seems like an eternity)
at the matching numbers
(per tickets for both
record breaking sweepstakes)
no denying that every numeral
exactly the same as those randomly drawn.

I don’t know whether to cry or scream.

But, if held at pen point and forced
to splutter out how such winnings
would be managed (from mine mouth
to God's ears) such fantasy will be elaborated
within literary exercise
(just for the purposes of this writing contest),
I now let finger flit to and fro,
hither and yon across qwerty keyboard.

Though a pauper, no ambition
could goad me to live like a king.

The immediate step would be
to seek professional top-notch guidance
from a sterling gold reputable investment banker.

He or she to be a staunch advocate
of wise management
sans such substantial windfall.

Consent to be given for a chunk
to be divested into high yield
money market funds with a modicum of risk.

Other dollops off currency denouement
elected to be doled into
on demand personal funding accounts.

A suitable proportion thence hedged
toward monies for thee spouse and
two darling daughters.

Said wife would be awarded ample chunk
to meet her present
and future financial needs and/or wants.

Since she tends to be tempted
to spend any cash on her purse (son)
plus pose (on bended knee) plaintive pleas
for this husband to drain his meager resources,
a ceiling limit incorporated
within said deposited arrangement.

Each progeny (both charming young women)
established with academic, catastrophic, exotic…
healthy portfolios.

Upon reaching age of twenty-one
release of full access to aforementioned bonds,
dormant fiduciary interest bearing,
known, noteworthy
Yankee Doodle dandy legal tender.

Even though total claim to do as they wish
with apportioned denominational millions.

A caveat will include disallowing banal,
flagrantly haphazardly spent (even though
exercising a spending spree not illegal),
the contractual obligation affixing
each offspring will witness the forfeiture
from fathers’ instantaneous famed fortune.

Self imposed restrictions viz electronic mechanisms
(probably at least one computer software application
(probably dashed off by kindergartner during recess)
will bar this fanciful papa
to blithely act frivolously,
yet a predetermined
monthly allotment made accessible.

No spending spree will occur sans yours truly
until bulwark of allocation, dedication, gratification…
securely settled analogous
to digital electronic gatekeepers,
which strategy (affording truckload of dollars
to appease capitalistic cravings)
still replete with common cents paid out
to select charities and non-profit organizations.

These agencies to focus on animal welfare
of genus and species besides **** sapiens,
eco-friendly.

Environmental utilities, educationally
non-discriminatory colleges/universities,
and other copasetic, democratic, ecologic,
holistic, non-partisan opportunistic
politically welcome think tanks.
Since time immemorial
happenstance bestowed **** sapiens
ability to become self aware
double edged figurative sword
allowing, enabling, providing...
forebears of yesteryear
to marvel at life, and
reckon with death,

which mixed blessing
confronts twenty first century
man/womankind with dilemma,
albeit reconciling mortality
linkedin with consciousness
heightened, tested, under_scored...
particularly at demise dearly departed
inadvertently affect

upon surviving family members
hijacking, offsetting, upending...
fracturing emotional composure
prompting immediate questions
regarding purposefulness living
nee, being born essentially to die
predestined to pass away
identical fate decreed upon

all animals and plants
bolstered by believing deity
foreordained every creature
past, present, and future,
yet most pronounceable afflicting
non denominational, non
religious, non sectarian
case in point Unitarian,

vis a vis visa versa secular humanists,
especially nonsensical poet wannabe
riddled with perplexity
about nature of being alive
wondering what explains
essence constituting individual fluke
finding meaning scuttling
across world wide web

hither and yon, to and fro
dumbfounded at futility
absolute zero adequate answers
(again, unless one subscribes
to codified doctrinal dogma
i.e. religion, faith, creed...)
I attest as garden variety primate
baffled, flummoxed, nonplussed...

why chance genetic dice throw
gifted me finite time
solely to contemplate
(more than just my navel)
meaningfulness analogous
to scrutinizing Möbius strip

unable to identify
inscrutable mystery
defining random existence
specifically essence
happenstance/circumstance begat me
Matthew Scott Harris.
Descendent of proto humans
dumbfounded, mystified, stupefied, et cetera
despite plethora of technological trappings,
whereby world wide web virtually linkedin
allowing, enabling, and providing
instantaneous electronic feedback,
I still experience dearth
of mental, psychological and social
meaningfulness amidst cerebral chaos
courtesy healthy mailer daemons

occupying sixty plus shades of gray matter
more valuable then any terrain
designated as Silicon Valley or Wall Street
constituting nexus of brain power,
where metaphysical thoughts proliferate
and ponder such basic thought
such as who art yours truly
what (I declare)
will constitute date with death
and where will corporeal flesh
and spirit separately journey?

Since time immemorial
millennium generations
happenstance bestowed **** sapiens
ability to become self aware
double edged figurative sword
allowing, enabling, providing...
forebears of yesteryear
to marvel at life, and
reckon with death,
which mixed blessing
wrestling with living and dying

also confronts man/womankind
during twenty first century
said inscrutable dilemma,
albeit reconciling mortality
linkedin with consciousness
heightened, tested, under_scored...
particularly at demise dearly departed
inadvertently affect
upon surviving family members
hijacking, offsetting, upending...

fracturing emotional composure
prompting immediate questions
regarding purposefulness living
nee, being born essentially to die
predestined to pass away
identical fate decreed upon
all animals and plants
bolstered by believing deity
foreordained every creature
past, present, and future,

yet most pronounceable afflicting
non denominational, non
religious, non sectarian
case in point Unitarian,
vis a vis visa versa secular humanists,
especially nonsensical poet wannabe
riddled with perplexity
about nature of being alive
wondering what explains
essence constituting individual fluke

finding meaning scuttling
across world wide web
hither and yon, to and fro
dumbfounded at futility
absolute zero adequate answers
(again, unless one subscribes
to codified doctrinal dogma
i.e. religion, faith, creed...)
I attest as garden variety primate
baffled, flummoxed, nonplussed...

why chance genetic dice throw
gifted me finite time
solely to contemplate
(more than just my navel)
meaningfulness analogous
to scrutinizing Möbius strip
unable to identify
inscrutable mystery
defining random existence
specifically essence
happenstance/circumstance
which begat me Matthew Scott Harris.

His noggin mottled, plagued, and riddled
with debilitating accursed impediments
since birth circa
January xiii mcmlix.
Onoma Jun 14
an entourage of black & white monsters
rabidly collapse--on a mall's glassy floor.
itching away at pixelation, retaining the
right to crudity.
the mall's scent marketing spreads its
delicious mist around yellow hazard signs,
methodically placed around hinterland's
embattled fringe.
the horror vacui of a mall, full stop.
the Art Brut of the disciple that got away,
having escaped from a ****'s forth crow, or
Judas' Romanesque royalties.
the unnoticed figure that whistles apart the
mall's glass ceiling, rubs his eyes to reveal
St. John of Patmos ******* out the soupy eyes
of lambs.
shaking free an extra large fountain soda from
Christ's right hand--dissolved by flavor.
denominational puddles rising from the mall's
glassy floor, as Christ hacks up demonic roars
as he's assailed by children.
whose parents wander off to ***** a voluptuousness
that sheds their hands, all over the place.
a pendulously oversexed wash of half-baked
******, as if a feather could be roused from an
indeterminate wing.
the adjourned high courts of dream.

— The End —