I came along to your garden, to see your chillies growing
Unaware of what laid in wait, or what was really showing
There stood a glass a lidded drink, familiarity of knowing
If that's what I think it is, I don't want it overflowing

Do my eyes forsake me, is that a fluid from the body
Is that froth of a good beer, or from a head that's shoddy
Does it look like what it is, a very dodgy toddy!
Ghoulish drinks will turn you green, like Goblins are in Noddy

What the hell you thinking off, with water that's distilled
It smells like the local gents, so it should not be spilled
I don't mind a special brew, but this time I'm not thrilled
Unusual cocktails are okay, but not ones you have filled

Aren't beverages supposed to be, refreshing and thirst quenching ?
You say that it's good to drink, but really it's gut wrenching
An endless supply you may have, but it should be toilet drenching
Don't ever make a wankers drink, by using a fist clenching

You wouldn't want this drink on tap, it defies imagination
It's just the same as a lady, drinking her own *******
It maybe the water of life, but it's just urination
Aqua vitae is not my idea, of a real drink designation

Even just the thought of it, makes me feel sick and hazy
To drink a glass of this stuff, you must be ******* crazy
Well talk about recycling, or are you just bog lazy
Is Harvey Denton related, or do you live in Royston Vasey

People like to drink sometimes, is there something I have missed
You seem to have your own ideas, but with a certain twist
A brand new meaning you have brought, to getting yourself ******
Golden showers are one thing, but that's when your sexually kissed

There's one thing I'd like to know, so what do you say
Why do you think that drinking ****, will keep the germs away
It cant be very good for you, it's an inside body spray
Your just drinking toilet water, hay Jay are you ****** today ?

if i had to write
(and i do believe i do)
about how much it means to me

the flowers
girls and their shorts
the trees..

i think that i would start with
saying something about a feeling
at ease... free

neatly tucked in a small town
not far from down-
town,

in a little spot i like to call home
a sense fills senses
unaware... warm

with sun on my face, a
particular place
away from "rat-race)

called Denton

Got caught in the ordinary,
Lost one more year to standing still,
Still bowed by the cost we carry,
If we don’t run now, we never will.

I lost my voice in the silence,
I thought that I needed this to heal,
As seconds inflict their violence,
I’ll try to hold on to what was real,

A broken glass to remind me,
I covered my tracks to disappear,
Got lost where I hope you’ll find me,
Still running away to keep you near.

THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
  Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari

Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?

Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !

ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.

Miscellaneous pieces of life
I will list my families then you jump to your family and memories and enjoy again the special ways that thrilled then and still do today.

I have already told about my dad several times this was a mix of hobo voodoo and a poor man’s barbeque his big thrill was going
In the kitchen jerking out the rack from the stove taking it outside and in my opinion way to close to the house and put a few rocks
Down and build a six feet roaring fire the stove rack now a grill then a great cast iron skillet filled with sliced potatoes fry them a giant bon fire the trick was not to torch yourself in the process so before long those old light brown made to look like bricks shingles on the side of the house
Almost at the blistering point believe it or not a great meal would be the result how’s that for keeping up with the Joneses.

His mother my Grandma Denton a full blooded Cherokee when she was younger use to take the nine children and an old Walton’s
Pick up and head for the Indian nation in Oklahoma later when she was confined to a wheel chair for over forty some odd years as a
Five year old I would stand by her and from that chair she fired a burning flame of wonder lust in my heart that has never subsided she
Talked about the places we were going to go then a car wreck out at the then called Y at the Rosebud her going days were over
Granddad afraid for her safety wouldn’t take her out after that but he did bring her down to the farm above Opossum creek we were
Going across the road on top of the hill to pick black berries somehow we managed to get her and the car over there then we set her
Under a small tree for shade then down field in front we picked berries I never seen her smile so big and be so happy I guess when she
Died her son said that at that last moment looking up as she lay there a brightness lit up her face she was looking at her new home
Where she would soon be leaping and running for ever she would be there when Kevin her grandson would arrive I see Terry Jack two
Eaves Margaret Foil, Louie and many others I wrote about them in the curtain of time and the fun their all having makes you envious.

My grandpas were something else Grandpa Denton for his own enjoyment would set watch the fights and cuss the television well some
fighters at least and then to fix ever body else at every family gathering it was pull down the violin or in his case the cats dying screams
He never once hit something that sounded like music but he would just smile I would have turned up his hearing aid but he didn’t have
One he could hear all of that caterwauling but to him it was amusing a quart of oil would have been a waste how any one person could
Set music back that far was a curious wonder. My grandpa Brown liked to go to Toot an tellim order a large root beer and slap the
Dash board as he drank it all down without stopping we would have a contest he won most of the time.

Both of my Grandmother’s were Christian should I tell this why not she can take it now where she is but the night it happened it was
Different she kept this pint of Seagram Seven in the kitchen cabinet strictly for medical purposes well I found it the show was on I
Sounded like Elmer Gantry I got inspired oh Grandma here I am an impressionable fifteen year old and your sneaking a nip oh I have to
Call the preacher then with emphases oh I got to call somebody you should have seen her hopping around almost in tears the devil
Made me do it. Well that ought to give you a leaping off place.

Why’d you get locked up then lad?
Oh. I’m locked up?
I know you. You won’t escape lad
Escape from where?

(Jackie Wilson at her majesties pleasure 1884, West Denton, Newcastle)

The sweat rolled off Dominic’s nose.

Its ‘movement’

movement

movement

Uniting.

Meditation takes a person out
from themselves
so far out, without any need
for any additional charge, toll, or need, that when you come back,
even if it’s within
the same body,
you feel

and the glow comes back
on-coming traffic smiles, dead less grace
the worst, and 7am

chess
without a game.
a drool.
an intricacy within
mirage.
hope in the sorry soft gas explosions
and death was heavy enough to fly and give
But not in the normal way
one second, and even joy spills
and the cabbies have begun to scream and break down at each other
even though it’s not a full moon
too many people squashed on a tight balcony
drinking us all away
too many hands
not dancing
it all away


Slugs emigrate across concrete when the soil is wet.
When you wonder why they’ve left.
Its pouring
and you think you recognise a name scrawled in the wet trail.

Single, intimate, observations.

And reasons for the evening to be near.
It will be worth it! – I’LL SEE YOU! –
And now we are allowed to be glorious without price.
And now it’s sad as hell.
And the trees know that.
But the squirrels never do.
And now those words don’t matter.
And now we are allowed.
And now we go.

And the laminate floor
has the weight of a cross.
And the thing is,
you know

(It’s all softly bombed)
Not in a horrific
or knowable
way.

But in God’s good loving
loving
loving
******* for ya.

We’re finally rubbed out.

Crucifying.
And uncrucifying.

Eyes are useless here.

Blackness first.
THEN that soft
‘soft’

dripping.

easy blackness.

Meditating, sat middle
the pentagram of a small flat.
blue white board marker, on ‘easy wipe’ wood flooring.

And if I wake, I can wipe all the lines out.

SO, it went the same.
blue colour of cityscape coming-black light flashing always
across the distance from balcony
a beautiful stillness.
Waves first. Sea. The complete sea. Swimming.
ego. Ego swimming. Ego going down. Hello! And ha!
And no more jokes.
And isolation.
And no more months.
But there were gushes.
Gushes of experiences in, and outside, with individual breathes
and the proximity of love, coming closer
like a germinating hand
guiding you down
into the oceans private concert

Not too close to the expensive parts, or the bad parts,
or anywhere too pristine.
Christ, that’d be
a joke. It’d be funny
and then the surgeon would come and operate
on you;
lifting you out whilst you’re asleep

And it would go like this:

Cancer: Hey! What’s going on?!
Get off! I’ve paid my
rent and don’t wet the bed
anymore,

Surgeon: Don’t care.
Come here...
Oh for **** sake you’re making my day long.
I don’t get paid
for this.
Cancer: Oh yes you do handsome.
Surgeon: Oh yeah!

rest on the long side of your bed.
‘What’d you do at the weekend?’
Where’d you go?

...

banter broke down into spider web
substance
before fading completely, as thoughts begin
to disappear and fly down
into heavier states
from outside you saw a man still dressed
in formal office attire
tie hanging undone around a white shirt, shoes kicked off
beside strange markings on a polished floor. From in,
the understandings
are quite different
fly gently, like a loved one retiring from life
as the single light bulb watches from your ceiling
tensing one last second time in hesitation
then blowing you out with a blink.  

looked into the well where life is buried
and reached down
arms lengthened like dusty pieces of ham down a hole
touching the foetus as it crawls back up,
and up through the highway lines of his veins,
like a rabbit hunts wolves,
like the peach reacts to your bite.

We smoked and ate apple pie as the autumn tattooed
We snapped small pieces off
then ate the mites.

And then when the well filled we made our arms lassoes;
that churned the grain,
turning the quietness into storm,
and back to parts of spring.

You hesitate, touching the ape
like a clown who’s just tossed his life into the air, and juggles it,
like dead poems and hot boiling yeast.
you looked further into the well and found the figments of the ‘Narwhal’
the sea creature with a prominent horn
that shoots from its head-

Early sea farers
used to think the horned mammal was a type of
magical being
it birthed the idea of unicorns
you let the water well mix and join
as we drink coffee today, and the night is less silent
than that of star of apples and gloom
each tarantula that scatters in the red stars of sand is welcome;
and the honey man and honey woman flicker,
through numberless bank checks and bills as knocks arrive
knock after knock after knock
into long vibrational hum

All that remains
is the bursting punch
near the bottom
of oceanic well

As it tightens your grip into the follicle hibernating bears
that speak eloquent words whilst we eat;
the deep groan of munching hands
in the well helps our arms
pull up the glowing carcass as it turns back
into us within our hands, it speaks easily and slow, telling each
servant surrounding
the hole that they should:

‘Dance casually, dance inside my red eyes’.

Some take advantage of melody, as a trust that funds satellites of globe,
as if no one ever dreamed or broke the yoke of more pleasurable things;
one of your arms
is like the way that a crab crawls past over my nose and into our future home

another asks that you aren’t so violent in February
and that the month is a counting mouth that multiplies zero
beside the arms reaching for a pyramidic beauty
under the ***** shell; aborting its children like blood in the snow,
without humanistic style, more in tune with time
than the army of water lifting your throat up,
spits- that poke at us with antlers, undeterred, no legged, mating in the sand

After a while, otherness takes over, and will comes.
And emotion is long shattered,
easing out,
playing skin game and dissipating need, where all will and human comes back
it takes a while.

And our gender has nothing to do with just lust
We are the almost completely blind, as the cliché remembers
Gender is
the lack of gender and the freedom of paradigm
whilst hands are upon love,
And more night(s) turn within us.
dream like bright black stars.

Weekends. Week. Work. Corporations dancing like butterflies on fire. Gone.
Gone
Gone
Gorgeous

nothingness
apart from its face and voice
speaking

“Heyy, how’s it going?”
Projection
No
“Yes... Lover,
Yes yes yes!”
“No.”
skull now linked to the lips of a home
“Correct, correct, correct...” The intangible
darkness, over and over

a rushing
and uncontrollable
heaviness of fire.

foxes in back alleys salute
the black sky with a mongrel scream
and all the animals of the world are linked for a split minutiae,
recognising and respecting the breach;

“You’re hurting... mmmmuh-” Dominic tried to say
in the onslaught.

Converging planes that came from the lips of the spirit crowning his mind.

“You’re not Juuu, Juh Juah Juh.”

He tried to say for the next few hours, as the sun spread down
on the city
and felt a deep
empathy for another one
of its children
attempting to free
itself.

“No.”

how right you are...” The spirit said
as Dominic’s head slumped from exertion.

“You see...” The spirit said seeping into his bones
and killing him;
paramedics zip
the bag
over his face.

“You see...” The voice says again
knocking the lights off
and flinging you
by your throat

Each one letting you
go

landscape sick in multiple elements of confused colour,
parts of buildings, art: growing up in the horizon, new structures
made by thoughts, old flowers inside limbs,
smoking.

“What...” The spirit
said.

sigh at the strange place,
without looking around.
blossoms of mind and traffic
circulated
characters
on a schizophrenic island

two flies ****** invisibly
and grow from the unseen smallness of their passion
and become an instant world
in the Red Mountains.

“What’s up?” Dominic say gloomily,
laugh a little.

“You’re meant to be screaming...
And yes...
Yet another ******* month
without hitting
target.” The nightmare says,

No incorporeal speech
no anger
anymore.

She might have been about twenty five,
dressed in a shade of grey
change
that covered her genitalia
and ******* from ankle up to neck

get used to it all.
raise your chin to the sky and try to blink away from the constant lick
of the beast growing
from yourself, or lover, or day

And grow the chimera
throughout numberless
stages
like a beautiful clay
that cant decide

Finally the meer-hawk looked like a Dickensian peasant
with an intricate smile, dressed all in jail rags
stinking of sweat, *****, and time.
And then we change
again

And her black hair scooped down
into the blackening sand
where the grains accepted her slim weight
through out itself

She was tired and fed up of the back-world today
She left her contract looking around upstairs
and accepted the hit
on her targets

A transference of types in the quaking room.
A quick drop of laughter flys
into the lil bear or a lot; and a snap and a lot of hunger
for us all...

The master of the basement was mostly machine.

The front of his face that we run towards
is a centred and hovering engine
at the far end of the shadow
room
and the stench
from its thought.

a farce and enough
to turn you away
from a really good
steak.

no walls

no matter

a car mouth approaches naked.

dead cats know this, as they lay purring still, licking their paws still,
misery knows,forgetting, and the coldness of the street gave birth

to numberless seedy neon lights
flickering away from the wall less walls
once more

and you know, we
all
have a prayer
that comes
out
here was
mine:

might as well let you know
whilst we’re at it
that this one comes
out, in some accent~~
but is how it’s meant to go

“...as if to prae
inside the rain
as if to move
the moon with small hands
ah cross the yard
and lucky sky

I live in that playce me lass
with ya quiet weiyht
upon me own
of ya li’l voice
that taeks it away

Ya-renuf ta bring
al me Gods back
an pin ‘em te tha walls

Enough ta mayke
al’ me angels breathe
heavy
for even an ounce
of ya grace

Ave begged at tha hands
of jesus Christ
for that tayste
of yeh
me sweet bonny lass
an ya the only lass
‘ahve evva met
that mayde us feel
like ah cuhd heal
without bein less

An I’m lookin at ya now
with al me luv
an ah divent need
ney where to ruhn
as am ah freed dog

and in ya charms

An ‘av ney-where left to luk
but I’ll kip alreet the neet pet
cos ya by me side

an in me arms.”

But now it is rather late my friend, and
we all know how long old accents last,
mine, I cherish, I will say it when cursing
and gone
when lit among friends and when
impressing
new jobs, that I shall leave, such is
my
way
and
i may
see you
again.

Hits ^ Misses
In this telling will recount close calls of different ones and some guilt and though most have raised your
Children now the children’s children your admiration doubled the worries real. Our class just had the
class reunion well we did it seems a test run three of us one we hadn’t seen in thirty years met up at
Decatur ******* Barrel close to six hours later we stumbled out we had a lot to talk about. Now for the
Next session like an old mountain men Rendezvous were adding a lot more Monroe, Jefferson, St. and
One pine street rep in fact where the first story happened in lees orchard the emblem between the titles
Is significant now any one can play paint ball but let me show how Jefferson played two Lakers and a
Denton one almost didn’t come out alive we wore the standard neighborhood issue rebel outfits heavy
Coats extra rags for padding and a head band pulled down as low as possible for our only eye protection
And the rule no head shots BB guns fully loaded let the game commence it was a bit terrifying sight
Three scarecrows slowly advancing looking for a target that’s when the real terror when one was marked
The problem I was carrying a toy bow but the arrow was mounted with a hunting tip it was blue and
Looked like a razor blade but thicker but I’m sure you could shave with it sharp gleaming silver along the
Edge for a weak it had been shot into sheds soft trees but over in the orchard it just bounced off of the
Hard apple trees and it looked like the road sign showing a straight but curvy road ahead so with those
Facts and the only fact that made it even try to be a real bow it had a hand grip that thickened it right in
The middle in all the under growth Jerry walked out in the open walking away from me so mathematics
Distance speed his steps mine halted just like the race with the train at a dead run you still was doing a
Whole lot of figuring you don’t learn that in class so I raised the bow when I let it go it was a move in
Archery where you’re just laying it down to get to the target with his dads leather bomber jacket on with
That thick padding and those rags and the arrow just bouncing off the trees by now no problem well he
Took the last step he didn’t know it but that step was across death’s threshold and he made it to
Continued life because I hit him right where I aimed in the back a lot of padding but no body fat instead
Of the arrow innocently hitting his jacket and bouncing off and dropping to the ground there was a
Thunk and a scream of pain and terror it wasn’t cupid in the woods Geri it was stupid I ran up he was getting
The coat off arrow still attached just the tip pierced his skin it didn’t feel like a bug bite believe me as I
Said ever thing factored in and the greatest divine protection it wasn’t a heart shot but if I hadn’t given
Him the last step it would have passed more than half way through destroying vital organs. He was ok but
Retribution was swift and instant I beat it out of there like a rabbit but the no head shot rule was out
Both of them bounced multiple B Bees off the side and back of my head I remember the sounds and
Feelings they gave and my thoughts were blood is thicker than water I told you I know how to run.

Now my turn we were down in Bill’s yard this time we were upgraded we had a thirty pound pull fiber
Glass bow from archery class headed by Mrs. Summers the old country girl teacher remember her
Paddle and she loved to let it sing its favorite song sting ***** sting so any way the pain of those years
Have faded we didn’t know it but we were about to make our own song I’m stuck in you. The stage set
Everyone in place when you shoot a bow in the yard you’re going to come across this problem the arrows
Will slide into the ground right at dirt level and then sew themselves up completely with grass as you
Look down something like looking for night crawlers except its day no flashlight and it doesn’t involve
Worm *** education so the fishing just involves finding the arrow this means is preferably done without
One of the shooters down field with his head down looking for said arrow but what a thrill and your
Friend Bill has done just that shot another one to help find the first one well you look up and he is out in
The street doing a mime act flailing his hands jumping up and down his mouth is moving but nothing is
Coming out I might be a little slow on the up take as they say but I got it death was on the wing I was its
intended victim what could I do if I ran right I could run right into it left was the same possibility dive
On the ground get an arrow right below your head in the neck doing what it does with the ground I
Already heard the devil way those guys **** gators in the Everglade’s by ramming a wire down there
Spine While still alive I didn’t want that experience or the other show where the guy said the worst way
To **** is with a bow not only the arrow head but the shaft creates trauma to the nerves and I couldn’t
jump straight up in the air no one wants to have their legs spread apart at a time like this so I did the
Only thing left I followed Bill’s bird dance routine turned sideways to make less of a target and then
Started bobbing my head up and down as I held it sideways looking for the biggest shaft I would get in
Life the more I looked nothing except bill became more agitated then twenty feet straight out in front of
Me there it was how curious and weird where was the beautiful yellow shaft and the two orange
Feathers with the green guide feather yes I remember everything just like the shoot out in the orchard
When people become intense everything is different those Laker boys normally weren’t that good of
Shots and I was mighty interested in this particular arrow and it didn’t glide the way it looks from the
Shooter it was wobbling and only the front was visible and it was black you don’t have to worry an
Animal will never see anything this wasn’t chicken this time Still life was being played for and I won so
When the arrow got close enough believe me I never took my eye off of it I gave it the disdain of the
matador I just bent from the waist back out of the way and let it stick harmlessly behind me in the
Ground well there is more hits and misses but they are more about guns and cars and I’m at twelve
Hundred and forty one words already so keep an eye on the children it’s a dangerous world.

Happy Trails

The trail with Roy is a long and winding one for the family I was in we were the ones who chased the
Television viewing from friends and family’s house one night Lucy who made your jaw hurt from
Laughing so hard then Saturday night lineup at grandma Denton’s but it was best on Saturday afternoon
When we went to Tower Hill on the egg run the last house in the neighborhood on the south side they
Had the corner house and out the back door you would go right into the field. The way the magic started
Run in set down in the floor the old gentlemen would put it on the right channel and
Then there he would be shooting riding the golden palomino as he rode it was a high point every time I used
to Fantasize That he and Dale would come through Pana in their big blue Cadillac especially after it raced through the Prayer room at our United Pentecostal church that Roy and Dale received the Holy Ghost later is was a
Thrill when Colonel Harland Sanders followed in Roy and Dales steps for Roy it was all of his sheet music
Showed up at our church for the Colonel it was Kentucky Fried chicken buckets at general conference for
Offering collection plates. He wouldn’t come to me so I went to him Tower Hill to Apple Valley took
some years I was on my way to Palm Springs that lies about a hundred and some miles further out in the
Desert first I was doing what I have always loved and it was more thrilling to be going to his house I was
Cutting across the high desert in a brand new car I was breaking it in I ran in excess of a hundred miles
An hour for over an hour just me the desert and the Joshua trees they held their arms skyward as their
Name sake held his arms skyward to Jehovah in bible times while I smoked a streak across that beautiful
Stark landscape I stayed first at Victorville about four miles from Apple Valley where back then Roy had
His museum his house on Tomahawk Lane and the museum were both built by his son Dusty’s
Construction Company the house is round and the stone fence contained wagon wheels with RR as a
Brand inlaid in metal it was kind of funny at the motel I watched Gene and Pat Butrum movies while
They introduced them form a studio made at his museum in LA as the desert wind howled throughout the night I never caught Roy
At the museum on his frequent visits but I did meet Dale at her house and talked to her briefly half a
Dream fulfilled I got a special answer to the other after returning home I sent my writing to Roy it was
The early stuff not the fifty pieces I’ve written here but it included lost friend Disgrace Imposter life force
And about thirty total he and Dale and the Sons of the pioneers were making an appearance at
Marriott’s Great America I stood back off at the side but Dale spoke to Roy he focused on me and held
My gaze for a long time he showed me to him I had value my writing has effected others they stare long
And hard trying to get it and understand some say it’s too deep and hard to understand not if you
Approach it thoughtfully if you want shallow meaningless quick reading you will have to look else where
Trails end we were at the Hilton Suites at Disneyland it was our anniversary I opened the door to get the
Complimentary paper there was Roy rearing on trigger he traded the golden palomino for streets of gold as Iva and Others I’m looking forward to that great waking up morning.

A special Christmas tree
Back home in California we would go to Disney land for Christmas we stayed right across Katella the street that runs in front of
Disney we stayed at the Anaheim Hilton Anaheim in German means home and we purposely asked for the fourteenth floor I loved to
Set that high and look out those floor to ceiling windows and type away that and on stormy days hideaway all day just watching the
Beauty of the blustering wind and the effects it would have on the grounds far below a tiny taste of heaven there was another reason
For requesting this floor the hotel was so dark on that side and we would put a small Christmas tree in the window how it glowed
Others like ourselves some much father from home than us could see this little twinkling tree in the whole of this black glass wall gave
Those a sense of home and their tree back there where ever that was we bought cable car decorations from San Francisco other
Christmas items were on the table when the maids came in they had a nice showy display a comforting scene to enjoy, the in God we
trust coinage is the universal way of saying thanks Abe and Hamilton are always welcome and really say have a great Christmas.

I’m not turning morbid but if you come to our home there is no outward evidence of Christmas it just any other day except the
Sacred honoring of his birth its not our choice it’s the hand life dealt us but I have a tree more beautiful than any great conifer of this
Earthen wood can produce the lights are the main attraction although the tree holds its own this town this life has very dark spots
I relight them at his special time these lights glow with familiar smiles faces filled with joy they come back from a far away land they
glow so white no need for diminished power from this earth they are glory white but as gems they come in all colors and sizes like a
Conjurer magician with a toss of his hand this wondrous spray of color gently falls in all places on the tree and of course the very top
Holds the star that represents the star that stood over Bethlehem you will probably recognize some of these gems by name there on
My tree for different reasons her are a few of their stories and names and who they are to me Clint my grand pa for many reasons
But especially this one I was four I was in the old white School house and I heard the story how he used to walk two miles to school
In the snow they couldn’t afford proper shoes so he wrapped his feet in rags he did this but it didn’t continue I guess just to cold the
Reason I know it didn’t continue at sixteen he went with me to city hall to get my driver’s license now an old man I had my heart broke
As I watched him sign with an X my heart just broke again the tears flow anew he is the gems that are extra special I call them my tear
Washed ones my dad is included he couldn’t read or write but he read the bible though haltingly three times asking me what words
Were Gary M. was another we were in eighth grade he couldn’t read simple words like at I would rather someone beat me with a
Board than see others suffer or be laughed at he was smart as a whip on cars his future was with his hands I know I’m A godless animal
But Gary took care of the guys to big for me I took care of those my size except for these two gems I was helpless one a student the
Other teacher I watched them both cry openly from the treatment they received one asked supposedly by an educator and principal
To quit school he was too much of a drag on the other students helpless against him and a teacher I respected did respect the others
Who hurt jerry C. physically got to experience how it felt to kiss the side walk at high speed that’s where I put them and other acts of
Vengeance they had coming now the teacher he was a preacher and math teacher I set their daily watching these bozos misbehave
Taunt this man until he cried in front of the class and right there he gave up his teaching job if I had a gang behind me like Butch H.
There would have been a whole class bawling he resides on my special tree I can’t tell you where they belong. I guess this goes along
In that vein this will have to serve as the tree stand do you know you can smile to much in this world I worked up north on a line in this
Factory and this Mexican what’s with these guys well this one proved to be deadly he glared at me and asked why do you smile and
Laugh all the time I thought man what kind of sad life is he having a pretty sad one the day I was on another assignment this same guy
Stabbed a kid right in the heart killing him instantly and blindness settled on everyone standing there no one saw a thing I will repeat
I’m a coward that’s the outer pen you push through the inner gate and you will face a bull, this guy walks free to this day if I was there
He or I would be dead most likely me he waasn’t just a kid I had an advantage over the MP waving a forty five in my face he was tall a and thin as a pencil
You don’t poke a bull with a pencil and you don’t try to whip me with a forty five like I’m a piñata he would have eaten that forty five
He had the teeth for it his problem he hated gringos but he only had a fist full of hate I had a whole body and life full of hate I walk
Slow talk slow but in a fight they had this saying in the service the quick and the dead he would never have seen what hit him but I
Hated self not him it feels better setting her than in Leavenworth. Sorry went from the tree stand to showing my roots I don’t do to
Good in some respects but depending on how hard you’re backed up against a wall the harder the better I look.

It takes many sides of a person to make a life I will soften with this gem’s story this is my crippled lighted gem my Grandma Denton
I never seen her when she wasn’t in a wheel chair I fixed this by observing her one sister in particular she was the same size and beautiful I
Transposed grandma onto Rosy and truly experienced all that was missed by the prison that was her wheel chair I have a picture of a
Native American woman dancing the shawl dance I just substitute grandma in her place and she made up the rest she set there I stood
By her side she took me with words to places and wonderful travels we had the greatest times now she holds a special place on my
Tree others on this tree is found in fathers’ story, solo flight, life force, lost friend a blend of people and nature’s monarch Imposter a
nation defined and many others enjoy his birthday season.

it's 11:20 pm
it's a moon-risen domain
rusty truck of Ford 1978
unlatch the faded tailgate of white and pale turquoise

off a Denton N. Elm highway
sitting in the heat of the ocean air.

The trees but a silhouette
and the moon a rustic orange
feeling heavy sentiments of cascading hair ending in curls
sickly eyes with blue shadow and glazed look that pierced.

2 minutes of absence growing fonder
and I wanted it to last for much longer.

If I worship more than arch angel but don’t love
I have nothing
If I give all I have to the poor, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I have faith which moves mountains,but don’t love
I have nothing
If I give gold in  alms as big as Ohad but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die  circumambulating the Kaaba, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die fighting  in the holy war, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die and buried in the tomb of prophet but don’t love
I have nothing
If I get land larger than Solomon’s Kingdom,but don’t love
I have nothing
If I receive God’s healing power like Christ but don’t love
I have nothing
If I am given un paralleled patience like Ayub but don’t love
I have nothing
If make sacrifice like Ismael and Hussain but don’t love
I have nothing
If I am given the kingdom of whole world, but don’t love
I have nothing


No matter what  I have done, no matter what will  I do

Without  wings of love, I cannot soar in the kingdom of God

Vincent Boykin I admire your courage in writing about Love in a serious relationship with the spiritual. It's shows your heart and that you understand Love. Love is usually just some word in the cosmos. Love bonds everything in good. Love. Super Poem! It's how I took it. It made my day. Thank you.
Demelia Denton An amazing poem Matloob .... Enchanting ...beautifully worded
Michele Vizzotti-White I like the fast pace of it, but it still is rich in thought/words

The setting was between Oconee and Ramsey my uncle Oroville Denton is an ordained minister
With the United Pentecostal Church he was putting on a brush arbor reenactment our church
Has what is called a testimony service where anyone can stand a tell of anything special that
God has done for you they have someone to lead the service and this was what I was doing but
The PA system was acting up while I was talking my voice was being bounced back where I
Could hear it that was where I was wonder struck I was talking normal but that wasn’t what I
Was Hearing there was spirit covering my words they make a lot of the Holy Grail as they
Should As a Relic of antiquity and it connection with Christ but it is still just a lifeless object but
Hear the Living God was speaking I felt this utter sensation of vibrant electrifying tenderness
Bathed in Unfathomable love a richness of texture that was profound the very distillation of the
Sublime mixed with human thought and expression it was warm endearing and it entered the
Soul as food ultimately different than what I experienced before except when I listened to the
Pastor in Monterey California he spoke and this sensation occurred within the spirit the same as
When you consume natural food this in the simple act of talking about the goodness of God the
World was set at a variance what was simple was astonishing the world of the unseen was
Becoming visible at least in speech anyway it was charged with supernatural renowned
Offerings that took you to levels not otherwise found inexplicable taste unbound knowing was
Fixed you were truly speaking God speak a well filled with knowing fulfillment thrilling
Spell bounding gifts sought and found by the ancients provided to common man illustrious
Clean and gleaming secrets the foretelling of dreams that begin in Heaven and then stream into
Human life truly before banners unfurled Holy and grand fortune awaits he who listens bends
His will to the flourishing uncommon vistas the predates earth and all that it is or ever will be
You are tied to immortal strands the quests of earths wisest who fail because they depend on
Only self as the one who holds the only possible answers when towers of attributable power
Stand without perplexity to the lowest searcher all is revealed it is all at the desecration of the
Giver not by might or power but by humility of need this world is bridged to the next we are
Endowed with all that is needed to secure Heaven for those that will obey truth and it just
Cause in the earth

MY Place IS Placeless
Matloob Bokhari


You are moonlight
You are fragrance in the breeze
I am bewildered to see you
I am speechless
In the frenzy of my love
I am drifting in the sea of your love
Now and then ,joy and  depression
Dark thoughts and light of love
I am senseless
You and I are inseparable
I want to kiss you  with tenderness
I am helpless
I live for you, my  love is timeless
My heart ,where you are living,
Has become a room of prayer
All  I belong to you!
I am a nameless poet
My place is placeless!

Persian Khushi Sweet and touching


Deanna Caroline Bosworth How precious!...Quite the romantic

    Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Wow, I feel the commitment of your heart...a room of prayer, so very toucing, Matloob. Thank you, for sharing.
Fran Ayers So lovely!!.I missed your poetry!!
Natasha Nabokov Thank you, . Kiss kiss
    Barbara Shoetaker You write so passionately.
Demelia Denton A writer of many explicit romantic words Matloob Bokhari ~ Beautifully written
Lindy Michaels Really lovely...

Who gave permission to paint the inside of my eye lids,
closing them was the only door I had to escape each day.
I’ve knocked down monuments and blew up all the power grids,
and yet there’s sounds, thoughts and memories I can’t keep at bay.

Someone needs to cover their tracks,
I’d rather gut wrenching honesty than sugar coated lies.
I’m not obliviously naive I drown myself in facts,
connecting invisible dots and stretching coincidences and ties.
I saw a rainbow, though it’s hard to distinguish if it was just in my mind,
and I tell you her beauty can even turn the heads of those who are blind.

The game of chess I left years before;
the pawn on it’s side that I placed the blame.
The knight, king and queen are strewn on the floor,
did I happen to mention that I lost the game?

Losing my path that I’ve been following,
though indecisive I’ve always been one to lead,
and with these objections I’ve been swallowing
it’s a wonder my throat hasn’t begun to bleed.

Someone needs to cover the cracks,
‘cause the water’s rushing in as time goes by.
All I feel is cold shoulders and turned backs,
not sky or ocean but veins to match each eye.
I’ve got a million confessions on my tongue, but the words I just can’t find,
and I tell you her beauty can even turn the heads of those who are blind.

I swore I opened the thirteenth door
but I found myself upon floor,
and dragged myself until I was tattooed with rug burn.
Experiencing an implosion from my core,
flame’s extinguished but I feed the fire more,
I’ve always played with matches, I guess I’ll never learn.

I lay watching the clouds
change shape into my distractions,
all hitting my brain so loud
I wish to turn it down by fractions.
Feeling isolated within crowds,
and feeling excluded from my own factions,
I hide my heart but it’s well endowed,
and it’s all yours despite my words and actions.

THESE EYES,THESE BEAUTIFUL EYES

When you looked at me
The fire of your eyes created
Deep waves in the sea of my soul
I am drowning deeper and deeper
In the wide ocean of infinite love
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
Made me see deep in the ocean
And imbibe wisdom from the sky
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
Painted kindness on my mind;
And  inscribed love on my heart
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
More beautiful than the starry night
More sweet than the moonbeam kiss
More kind than  fragrance of perfumed garden
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
    Marilyn Ann Francis Beautiful....EXCELLENT...MAF
Angela Davis
Natasha Nabokov Thank you, poets, you make my day Natasha Nabokov It's such a memorable poem, Matloob. Thank you
Wow, Matloob, you should post your work in FM Online Magazine, I know that the editor would publish it!
Michele Vizzotti-White Writing about eyes is such a great idea and u do it so beautifuly, u go on from the appearance to the way they make one feel in few but rich words, my fav line is the painted kindness in my mind eyes tell so much yet i have not read many poems about them
Saalik Siddiqui Fantastic indeed.
Demelia Denton Another beautiful poem Matloob
Melanie Bingham Chapman very, very nicely written !
Natasha Nabokov Oh, you are so magnificently productive
Larry Barmash What would you do if I sang out a tune

Perry Alexander Nectar of love.

MY Place IS Placeless
Matloob Bokhari


You are moonlight
You are fragrance in the breeze
I am bewildered to see you
I am speechless
In the frenzy of my love
I am drifting in the sea of your love
Now and then ,joy and  depression
Dark thoughts and light of love
I am senseless
You and I are inseparable
I want to kiss you  with tenderness
I am helpless
I live for you, my  love is timeless
My heart ,where you are living,
Has become a room of prayer
All  I belong to you!
I am a nameless poet
My place is placeless!

Persian Khushi Sweet and touching


Deanna Caroline Bosworth How precious!...Quite the romantic

    Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Wow, I feel the commitment of your heart...a room of prayer, so very toucing, Matloob. Thank you, for sharing.
Fran Ayers So lovely!!.I missed your poetry!!
Natasha Nabokov Thank you, . Kiss kiss
    Barbara Shoetaker You write so passionately.
Demelia Denton A writer of many explicit romantic words Matloob Bokhari ~ Beautifully written
Lindy Michaels Really lovely...

THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
  Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari

Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?

Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !

ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.

AN ODE TO A BABY
MATLOOB BOKHARI

I saw a baby in a valley wet with dews
Standing   in the wholesome herbs
And flowers of fresh hues
Plain air was ruffling her hair
She was honey sweet and a pure chaste lily
No bee has ****** her;  no wasp has stung her
The valley was alive with the music of stream
With flowers so various, so beautiful, so new,
So stunning sunlit blue sky,  so sweet cool breeze
In the valley ,  the baby  was the most delightful flower
I praised her  with all my heart and with all my  mind
O sweet heaven, lucky will be the one
Who will pass his life with you!
Few moments in the valley have made a forever memory
Still smell  perfume of her beauty   when  lay awake at night
The baby  even to date brightens  up  my soul with her smiles
Semeniuk Carole Matloob Bokhari . that is a huge compliment coming from such a worldly writer as you my friend .. .. thank you . You've such a gift ; you are talented; and we are blessed to have the privilege of hearing your stories; experiences; dreams; thoughts ~~ indeed we are .. .. happy weekend my friend PEACE

Demelia Denton My goodness Matloob ... so many expressive words you write ... A great mind for words ... very nice
Sandra Delussu something worth to keep in your eyes. thanks Matloob
    Rebecca Longan I love this my friend Matloob Bokhari
Christy Noel Feddersen My Grandma Feddersen (God rest her soul) used to call me "Flower". She said I was the first little flower of the Lord. She was wise and filled with Spirit, and taught me many things. I have been thinking a lot about her lately, and this reminded me that she is always with me. Thank you.
Debbie Tripp · Friends with Christy Noel Feddersen
She is always with you Sunshine \
Sand Tucker Lovely write. It carried me back to when my children were actually children. A sweet journey. Thank you.


Karyn Walker I tried to send you what I saw, in your manuscript, dear brother Matloob. From my heart to yours.
Stunning lines.

IF I LOVE NOT, I HAVE NOTHING
MATLOOB BOKHARI


If I worship more than arch angel but don’t love
I have nothing
If I give all I have to the poor, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I have faith which moves mountains,but don’t love
I have nothing
If I give gold in  alms as big as Ohad but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die  moving around the arc of covenant, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die fighting  in the holy war, but don’t love
I have nothing
If I die and buried in the tomb of prophet but don’t love
I have nothing
If I get land larger than Solomon’s Kingdom,but don’t love
I have nothing
If I receive God’s healing power like Christ but don’t love
I have nothing
If I am given un paralleled patience like Ayub but don’t love
I have nothing
If make sacrifice like Ismael and Hussain but don’t love
I have nothing
If I am given the kingdom of the world, but don’t love
I have nothing
No matter what I have done, no matter what will  I do
Without  wings of love, I cannot soar in the kingdom of God
Natasha Nabokov: reading your poems, I am reminded of Tagore who is my first love

Angela Davis :matloob, your work is so amazing!

Laura Luce del:Hello  Matloob Thanks.,  Its an amazing, understandable & great write. I hope you are blessed throughout the rest of yoir life. Never stop writing! ♡LLM


Vincent Boykin: I admire your courage in writing about Love in a serious relationship with the spiritual. It's shows your heart and that you understand Love. Love is usually just some word in the cosmos. Love bonds everything in good. Love. Super Poem! It's how I took it. It made my day. Thank you.
Demelia Denton: An amazing poem Matloob .... Enchanting ...beautifully worded
Michele Vizzotti-White: I like the fast pace of it, but it still is rich in thought/words


Fay Slimm: Ah - - how true are these words Mat. - love is all we need and nothing more. An inspiring read.


Seyed Mohammad Reza Parhizgar : this is why you are called Matloob, but I have something better than love, and that's God.thanks dear friend I loved your poem.

Sara Fielder: I agree, love should be the motivating factor in everything we think, do, and say. The world would be a better place if we all remembered that.

    
Stephen Montgomery : My favorite line is:  all   I can sense the cogs turning in this sincere post which has come to an understanding; Love must be everything because love conflicts with nothing. Hold everything sacred and nothing suffers

on this day in 1969, Denton Cooley implemented the first artificial heart
into a human whose nature was slowly failing and falling apart
blood barely pumping under electric skin
fake skin pumping blues under rubber valves and tubes
it kept his breath for
64 hours.

I imagine his family watched the light leave his eyes
and not even love or divine intervention
could beat him back to equilibrium
wires surging through him
your body is not science project
it's a miracle
but I guess it's conditional
because some people see the light too soon
when not even artificial life
can keep you from dying

even with robotic models
clinking clanking
subconscious
pounding veins into submission
keep this miracle alive
revived
it's not cheating Mother Nature
it's not cheating your life
beating pressed against the odds
artificial body
artificial feelings
love
isn't even a feeling
it's a combination of chemicals
connected in your brain
but I wonder if that human felt his rubber heart breaking
when he saw the tears in the eyes of his family
these aren't emotions
imitation life can fake
even though not all of me is here,
I still feel like nothing ever left me
they didn't know
I would leave so soon
64 hours
I could wake up a robot
I could wake up a miracle
either way
I'll be gone in 32 more hours
when a brand new heart
infects my blood
you didn't finish the job
but you held me over
beating on my chest for me
blue blood pumping
but I guess I forgot how to do it on my own
when my own heart should have never even left me

on a mission of self-searching
(search for myself)
a home-coming long awaited
what better a place to be found

like myself, so much about here has changed
this is where i'll make my mark,
but right now i haven't a single penny to my name.

times have changed and it appears that Denton has kept up
sadly though, i believe that i have not.

for so so long i have waited for this day
it has called to me, (this seat, this town, this cafe).
but everything is so so different than before,
perhaps i truly shall find my way, (my place, my course).

my past has now discovered a reckoning,
and i can start again fresher than before
a new hope in me has risen
one that was never there before

The two catholic priests sat
in the Breakfast Room
off the refectory
in the abbey.

They looked up
when you entered
then continued
their conversation
about Dante
and you poured
yourself a coffee
and a small bowl
of Cornflakes
with a little milk
and sugar.

You sat down
and sipped the coffee.

There were prints
of Michelangelo
on the walls
and a crucifix above
and between
the two doors
that led to the
refectory
where the monks ate
three times a day.

The priests conversed
but said nothing to you.

Their words were uttered
in posh well bred voices.

One said
Few believe in Hell these days
and even fewer in Paradise
and those that do
have vague ideas
gathered from odd books
you find on airport
bookshop shelves.

You listened half heartedly
as they talked.  

You wanted to ask
about the place.

Wanted one of them
to hear confession.

Maybe one
to give absolution
and perhaps offer a solution.  

You could hear
the footsteps of monks
in the other room
getting their breakfast
of bread and jam
and black French coffee.

One priest laughed.

You never heard the joke.

The other guffawed loudly
in a girlish voice.

And the woman was seen
leaving by the back door
semi dressed and in great distress
the priest continued
And Father Denton
was never the same.

Then they were silent
and stood and smiled
and went their way.

You sat alone in the room.

The Michelangelo prints
reflected the single bulb
hanging above the table.

The Crucified seemed
above it all.

You would find some other
to hear confession.

To give absolution
from your fall.

Waiting
Waiting is what I do
I bide my time patiently all for you
My pockets are low on this three hour drive,
Hands at ten and two,
As I head north on interstate 35 to you
Hello goodbye Denton, not my stop
I reach Ardmore, plot and tie my tie in a knot to the top
Flustered's how I feel,
Hands perspire as I grip the wheel
The closer I get to you the faster the blood pumps through
Davis came quicker than I thought it would
Not much longer til' I'm in your 405 neck of the woods
Knots in my stomach as Norman gets near
I see you, I'm here,
I smile ear to ear

Drove 16 hours today
Up and down the interstate
Stopped for fast food in Denton
Felt my treads wearing thin

On 44 I felt like I was going to burst
So I grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups from the passenger seat
Dumped the half melted ice out my window
Relief down to my feet

In plain view of the policeman in his squad car
Watching for people like me
Desperate to get away, half-desperate to be caught
For a moment in my mind I can see the celebration freedom lights red and blue
Until some guy blows by doing at least 100
Breaking the spell


It's three hours later and I'm asleep on your couch
or pretending to be.
I can hear you arguing with your boyfriend in the next room
He's not nice, but he seems to know the score
You come into the room and pat me on the head
Hair like grease-soaked down.
I hope he' sticks to your ribs like your mother's cooking
I hope he plays your guitar when it rains
I can hear you mumbling reassurances
Spyglass in your hand
Pretty pink drapes to hide the grimy windows.

RECORD: ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
FROGMAN: JIMI HENDRIX

CUTS TO leader's STUDY:

NIGHT

leader: I would like,
            if I may,
            to take you on a strange pondering.

he crosses to The Cloud.
sHe selects an album.
we see the title: "The Watchtower Affair".
He returns to her desktop and places it in reflecking tool.
He puts on her seeing glasses.

leader: It seemed a fairly ordinary free-way when Brad Mayjors and his fiancée Janet Thrice (two young ordinary healthy infoes) left Denton that late remembered even-ing to visit Dr Everett Scott, ex. tutor and now friend of both of them. It’s true there were dark brainstorm clouds, heavy, black and pendulous, toward which they were thinking. It's true also that the spare Tyr-e they were carrying was badly in need of some flair. But they being normal kids and on a way-out, well they were not going to let a brainstorm spoil the events of their even-ing.

on the way-out.

He closes the bRook
marking the cage with two numbers.
A 4 and 2,
scrawled across the concrete blue tail.

Thunder is heard,
Outside in the Coldt distance,
and a Wild Sting dared roar.

leader: It was a way-out they were going to REMEMBER
            for a very
            long
            time.

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

A downtown sausage sandwich is crying at a bar.
Empty I wonder, does everyone get along?
At a folk life festival I realized it's family.

At a friend's house I reach my arms out,
the dishes are washed,
the clothes are folded,
It's funny because he's fat,
jack and the bean stock in my father's kitchen,
mushrooms and jalapenos are hot,
the houses in Denton are nice and probably affordable,
badly my depth is hate,
                                  a unique color
                   a vegan restaurant -
what the hell is a mimosa?
lines off a desk at Colorado State college,
Mariachi players in San Antonio at a Mexican restaurant,
cheer teams because I don't care,
I happen to be happy for my dad's tailor, he's married, no mamasitas, pretending I check my emails, when you were skinny! where's my husband? You remember the cold winter nights, too, don't you? I am so angry, never mind I don't. The cleats I don't have on my feet snoop my neighbor, be calm I can keep this up for awhile, take off your shirt, I'll take a shift tomorrow, join the race that everyone now knows is not worth the wait, sometimes it's short and sweet, stone creeks too cry, my house in Egypt, I went to all the libraries! Hold me I'm not tired but I know once I get a job I'll get fired. It's too far, it's a Friday night, it's really no ones fault, we'll call it the prodigal son. At church: a hymn & a psalm, a male celery, a kind voice to make me try.

in San Francisco
It's not
clouds I Denton, Texas, Co-Ops -
mat(Oh my)ter alone again,

Yes   I'm
         I'm inside a art house            I suppose            
Can't      the country of
    China? -  god -  We
Coke Blues
                     eternity painting
        Mother

Sometimes Conceptual Space

       are brighter
                   I
                                     century
poor,
          variate
along
Your mac will sleep soonish

         home

theaters, It's  
      
a fact.
will be coming home soon.
It's not condescending.

Names are boring, sweet brooks, Chinese restaurants.
(a car crashed)

I have one week to make it back to Paris and meet Rayne at the airport.

Goodbye magnolia trees and Margaret the cat, I'm out the door early and into town for coffee and to figure out what direction to move in next. "Toodalure San Fargeau" I hope sometime to pass back through. After freshly ground coffee, an orange juice,  some homemade yogurt,  cigarette,  and a piece of alvacado toast, I head out of town in what I believe is soo (south). Stopping only to snap pictures of a castle and a church, seen yesterday.

The next town down, I pas a cemetery and a veterans memorial,  but no restaurants, or even a post office.  There are a lot of these little residential villages from what I've seen all over France. On my way through the village after that, I stop to check my map, and see that even if no one picks me up on the road, I should be able to make it to a place with water and perhaps food within the next 2 hours, there's a large community another couple villages away.

A younger guy pulls over to a stop in front of me and says, "You look as if you could use a ride," I climb in what looks like a work van that has been outfitted to sleep or live in for short periods of time on the road. William is a carpenter by trade who has recently broken up with a girlfriend, and is getting pretty sick of his boss. He's headed west to spend a week of vacation time with a girl there, and to decide if he ever wants to go back to his job again. He's also a pretty good guitarist and a new fan of bluegrass.  We stop at the next town and I spend my last few euros to get us coffee and hear him play. Afterwards, I decide to continue our conversation as far as he's going so, my new direction is now west. Closer to major transit anyway, and still in route to collect my friend in the city at the end of the week. (All trains go to paris)

Dropped off in the city of Rennes, (pronounced more like "wren"), it's a collage town similar to where I'm from only with a river running through it, a slightly better transit system,  and a few more boulangeries than Denton. Rennes is a city rich with midevil history, some of the first tournaments began with knights there. But 11th century walls renovated by 13th century lords, restored again by architects, masons, and builders of the 15th century,  is fast becoming victim of 21st century "could give a **** less" newbloods. I decide to stay for the night so, I look for a place to play. The first person I meet is named Francis, he is headed to a cafe/bar for "english speaking night" there. I go with him, but he skips hanging out with the group inside and instead just chats with me for a bit. He has been to India where I am going and he's an English teacher so, we have good conversation,  and I learn a little bit of "le france" too.

As the night goes on, drunk kids who've just finished exams flood the streets, and though there are many great interactions, compliments on my singing, and everyone is having a good time, I only make pennies. And after phoning to check in with Mom, and checking to see how Rayne is doing, a drunk local woman shows me to a spot where I can crash for the night.

The next morning, after making only .70cent dealing with drunk students last night, and fussing with homebums this morning,  I decide to take off and see Brittany's other city, Saint Malo, on the coast. I make camp next to the motorway and slept in a bit late, but found a ride about half way there, deciding to stop en route to see a little town where every single building was sourced from the granite quarry there. I walked about a kilometer into th town when I found a pub and it began to rain. The frequent rain in Brittany makes the countryside lush and green, like much of the south I've seen so far, accept here, there are more hills and coastline landscape much more similar to Oregon or Washington,  in the states.

Tim has been a local here for 18 years, moving here from England after meeting his wife, she's the lady behind the bar who laughed at my sign, (on my pack it says, "apprends-moi le français, s'il te plait"). He says that when he met his wife, he was forty (something) and she was 18. They're both good company,  and after a couple songs and a bier, I am invited to supper with them. (Duck).  

Tim gives me a lift the rest of the way to Saint Malo. Through the gates of "cite' corsair" to the wall facing the Atlantic... Atop it, I am 5 thousand miles from anyone or anything I have ever really known, with 6 'roes to my name, the closest I will be to the US for the rest of this adventure, and I'm looking out over one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen in my life.

Two cafes' later I met Arthur, he tends bar but it's his night off, he wants to write, play music, and go watch the sun go to sleep from the beach. "Ye' are mot!" That's how you "cheers" in San Malo. I have a few drinks, Arthur's treat, and we're watching "coucher de Soleir."

The next morning it's time for me to leave "pirate city," and continue finding my way to meet up with Rayne. Cafe, cquesant, found a couple euroes somewhere, mail a postcard off, and I'm walking country roads again in no time.

I leave the ocean coast a walk for several days through yellow fields that feel to me like I'm strolling through an oil painting, forests where I camp by streams of running water and wake up to snow on the ground, passing 600 year old places lost in time, walls and stone structures reclaimed by nature and covered with moss and ivy, everything dating hundreds of years older than anything that still stands in my country. As I reach a road at the edge of the next town, a woman pulls over and asks if there is anything she can do for me. I am tired from sleeping on the ground and days of walking, I'm out of food, water, money, and haven't passed anywhere to play music since leaving Saint Malo. I tell her that I would take a lift into town for water, if she is offering.  

She takes me to a cafe for coffee, trys to phone a place to see if I can play music there, buys me a sandwich, some bread for later, pastries at the boulangerie, then drives me to the otherside of town and leaves me with 20 euros in my pocket. Time spent with her was brief, so brief that I never got her name, but she spoke of how fortunate she has been in her life to live long enough to have things and be able to to help. Speaking momentarily on budist and stoek philosophies saying, "Now, is the gift we are given to do what we can with. The goal to being pressent now, is to Not Worry. And to use the 'now,' you ask, what can I do?.. If nothing, then No Worry. If something,  then you do it so, No Worry."

I walked for a little ways and fot a short ride that took the confusion away from my directional questioning for the remainder or this trip. . . Walking along "Rue de Paris."

Many more miles to go still, and it's getting cold out again, but my needs have been met, I have a positive mental attitude,  and all I have to do now is walk .






Stop Auto... (preview)

I do wish that I knew a bit more of the language still, I am learning, but I still feel like somewhat of a disappointment when hitching a ride and found not to be as good conversational company as most hoped. Still, hitchhiking is pretty easy in France, and after factoring my pace walking thus far with the amount of time I have before Rayne lands in the city, I decide not to risk coming up short of meeting her there, and to just hitch the motorway for the last 300km or so. I stood at a roundabout for a few minutes with my thumb out and got a ride most of the way to where I needed to be, the toll booth entry for the motorway headed nord.

Honks and waves, and smiles (probably at my hat and guitar) accompany my short walk there. It only takes a few minutes and I get a ride to the outskirts of Le Mans where I have to change highways. I hopped out of a car, and straight into an argument with law enforcement about being on the wrong side of the toll booth. I go find cardboard and make up a sign that reads "Paris," and in route back to the proper road, a man yells at me and tells me that he will get off work at 7pm and can give me a ride to Paris then. So, I sit down at the McDonald's and read for the rest of the day.

Stephen turns out to be a pretty stand up guy too, and although he's not supposed to have anyone else in his "boss' car" that is just for travel to and from his work, he lives 20 minutes from Paris and I ride with him 2 hours all the way, and he drops me off downtown.

The Poppy Queen

In wispy waves she courts the breeze
At fringes in the summer fields
And gentle are the thoughts that greet
Her scarlet sprinkling of the wheat.

Busy martins sweep the sky
As poplar leaves commune on high.
Mares tails drawn in frozen swirls
Fix Denton’s merry morning world.

My flow of thought runs deep and clear,
I sense her presence drawing near.
Above corn’s coarse and brittle throng
I hear her soaring, crimson song.

She smiles on all who smile with her
Then lingers at their hidden ear
To whisper words they all once knew
When gathered by a moonlit Yew.

No sorrows bind the spirit’s surge
As worlds within these moments merge.
So, what I am and I will be
I see in flower, leaf and tree.

I will leave her golden throne
With a heart so happy to have known
A sense of joy in being free
To feel creation laugh with me.