there was a little donkey he was very small
when stood by others they looked rather tall
he had a big ambition to win a donkey race
a derby for the donkeys he could win first place
he put down his name at the local donkey show'
in the donkey derby he could have a go
he took it nice and easy till halfway through the race
then towards the finish at his fasted pace
the little donkey won his dream it had come true
to win the donkey derby just like he dreamed to do

Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.

Come on down to Louisville, Kentucky
For the Fastest Two Minutes In Sports
The first Saturday in May is Kentucky Derby time
It's the end of a two week celebration; the best of times

The runners race that takes a lap around the track
Thunder over Louisville has fireworks and planes fly past
There is a balloon glow and steamboat race
Where else can you go for a time so great

Now it is race day; an all day party
The insane gather in the infield and they can get naughty
You have celebrities, mint juleps and crazy hats
The Kentucky Derby is where it's at

The beautiful horses parade around
The bugles sounds and  My Old Kentucky Home plays
The excitement peaks; it's time for the race
Dreams of the Triple Crown; the Kentucky Derby is the first leg
The Run For The Roses; someone's dream starts today

The sun rises up over the Kentucky hills
The horses in the pasture are slowly strolling around
But today is different
Today is the Kentucky Derby

The quietness of the morning will soon turn to excitement
The pageantry will unfold; the hats, the costumes
The mint juleps and the red roses
The sounding of the trumpets
And the singing of My Old Kentucky Home

Many know nothing about horse racing
The Kentucky Derby horses; they can maybe name a few
We’re proud people in Kentucky; the Kentucky Derby is ours
Come on down to Louisville it’s the Run for the Roses
With open arms we will welcome you

Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."

Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,
I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?

Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,
where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA., friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,
of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.

even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.

My latest two poems are neck and neck
As they jockey back and forth for position
They're both getting the same reads and hate to concede
They hope the other will break a leg is what they're wishing

They both came to rhyme this fine morning
Up to the gate one after another
You'd think they'd be friends coming from the same hand
Instead of battling it out with each other

But this is where we are today
This the 2nd day of May
It's the Kentucky derby of Hello Poetry
So let's place those bets before the end of the race

with the U.S.A. it's oh so monochromatic.*

why is it that when i
listen to Simon & Gafunkel
i think of Woody Allen?
well, anything goes
with under-representation,
apart from the Jews
and the English we're like that angry
integrated and assimilated
black women giving a near
**** salute although ******
like the Black Panthers
at a Nordic parade... Orange Coats
in Belfast, perhaps William minded,
or perhaps the Red Coats
were too deviating in propaganda
(need orange)...
while some **** gets told to suffer,
suffer, suffer... expect no
justice and propose no alternatives,
if it ain't private enterprise
don the ******* mask and say
you won the national derby on
a donkey rather than on an arab stallion
feeding it hallucinogenic carrot paradise
rather than the whip.

Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.

1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.

11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.

2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.

7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.

6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.

5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.

8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.

10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.

3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.

4.  
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.

9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.

12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.

First bump, tree stump
Second ding, one of those things
Third scrape, didn't concentrate
Whoops, bang, fourth prang
Better get a brain scan.

We are watching the clouds
bandage an incarnadine sky,

we are practicing our best knots,
weaving an army of tourniquets,

we are slow-dancing
barefoot on the edge
of a razor.

We are watching
a demolition derby
in the driving rain,

the smell of motor oil
mixing with gasoline,

the hard melancholy
of dying machines.

We are waltzing from room to room,
smearing our names on the floor,

we are keeping time to slow music,
bleeding out behind closed doors.

The final words deeply
Rooted well spirited from top
To the wishing well bottom
She writes-- on-- the-- top-line
  Real flower takes action
The Spring Mom affection
Dark- Shades She's the brightest

Star- Poppy make it snappy
Fire red Floppy disk
Movie flick favorite flower
Take a risk perfect pick
Your heart sunglasses got baked
With Moms baking flour
She couldn't see the sun
       Light years away
Words sound alike look at the what!

blue skies just pray we are rooted
     like a gifted flower
       That never dies
       Star Eyes** enter
The flowers frame mirror
   "Sunflower Face"
  *          *          *
Words sprout like

"Mr. and Misses"
The ceremony
Oh! Honey what's your point.....
Red so vibrant laughing Loretta
Crying operetta baby birth flower
 Rudolph running nose red
Homesick cough water spell
chamomile flower bed

Light up Holiday wed
  "Poinsettia" she's tough

Bloom-  make room  
Show Biz flower "Cafe Vienna"
Curtain call sprinkle me
Sunflower voice heal me
Daisies lion- roar- free
The fresh-cut dandelion
Sunflower hats bow

"Kentucky Derby" I reckon
Flower words I beg your pardon
Did I ever promise you the rose garden?
Last curtain call divine sunflower

Was it love?
Was what we did last night really love,
or were we just *******?
Because your daddy is screaming
that we were just ******* to be *******
and that our little three minute excursion
couldn't amount to anything.
Something inside me, call it foolish pride,
wanted to say that it was actually closer 
to twenty-three minutes.
But if you take out all the pauses of
trepidation and uncertainty then you're
probably right.
Your mother's crying her baby is a *****
her baby is a ***** ***** *****.
But see I'm confused.
When I hear *******, i see two people
throwing caution and their clothes to the 
wind as they gorge themselves on carnal delicacies.
But what we had was different.
What we had wasn't a mad dash
to the sensual finish line.
What we had was more like a slow
stroll through the garden of ecstasy
as we sampled the fruits of sensation
our hormones whirling and singing
about us like nightingales in the pale pale
moonlight of your smile.
I still remember the soft cotton of your
comforter, a stark contrast to the 
hard facade I tried to hastily construct.
A boy trying to emulate the icons of
masculinity.
So I tried on Usher's bravado sitting
legs splayed wide. I even licked my
lips imitating LL Cool J. But they
didn't fit me. They hung around my
awkwardness like the boots you were
wearing hung around your slender legs
more suited for running scared into
your daddy's arms than trying
to walk into "womanhood".
Each step infantile and uncertain,
uncertain of yourself and the situation at hand.
And if you hadn't been so scared,
you would've noticed that my
walls, hastily constructed of sand,
began to fall with your shirt to the floor.
And you would've noticed my
eyes darting back and forth in the sockets
pacing like the scared animal I really was.
My mind weaving webs of confusion with
each tendril spinning off into the possibilities.
What if I'm done too soon?
What if she laughs at me?
What if I'm not big enough?
What if I get her pregnant?
Will I still love her?
Do I love her now?
What if I don't meet her standards?
Wait, she said she was a ****** she wouldn't have standards yet,
would she?
What if she isn't a ****** like she said?
How would I know?
What about STD's, we did get tested right?
Yeah, two weeks ago in a clinic on Panola Rd.
Were the test negative or positive?
OH ****.
Her bra is off and I've never been this close
to a naked breast before.
Well when I was a baby, but then I was more
concerned about what was coming out of them
and is that a freckle above the left
******?!
And in that cacophony of confusion
you placed one finger on my chest and
quieted my storm
like mother to child you calmed me down
like Jesus on Galilee you quieted my storm.
I placed one hand on your chest and discovered
the same staccato pulsing through you.
And as I penetrated your inner sanctum
we both inhaled
sharp
deep
invigorating
as we breached the surface of the sea of
infatuation and breathed the life giving air
of ****** awakening.
Our heart beats raced
like Sea Biscuit at the Kentucky Derby
with the intensity of one thousand
birds in flight
until they began to slow and find their pace.
Our bodies followed suit, mimicking the rhythm
of two hearts beating as one and rocking
back and forth
back and forth
back and forth
as we rowed through ecstasy having the
best ******* time of our lives.
But there goes that word again,
and I'm still confused so you tell me.
Was it love?
was what we had really love,
or were we just *******?

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Imagine a love spell that could bring back your Ex, return a lost lover, or fix a broken relationship. The love spells were created to restore the romance and strength of deep love while erasing the heartache and pain of the past. By restoring these emotions with a clean foundation, my witchcraft rituals offer hope to those who fear resentment and deep anger from a lost partner.
Personalized Love Spell Dagger
These spells will not take NO for an answer, they never lose, they do not know the meaning of the word 'failure.' If you have a stubborn ex or the one your have loved since the day you first saw them appears disinterested in you, you need to alter that - and you can, with these threatening love spells. They ensure the one you love, loves you back, and it will be true love, as already stated black magic shocks a situation and turns it on its head - the one you love will look at you in a new light, the light you are looking at them, their feelings for you will be overwhelming, they will be well and truly under your spell.
We customized and personalized 4 spells each spells adds more power's your loved one will be swept off their feet and feel lighted headed and weak at the knees each time they think about you.

Stop A Cheating Partner
Are you afraid your partner might cheat? Or perhaps you would simply like the security of knowing that he or she will never cheat. These spells will eradicate any possibility of adultery or cheating by dissipating any feelings of attraction or lust your partner may feel towards another person. For more info visit:www.drmwama.co.za or email us: info@drmwamba.co.za in Spain, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Uruguay, USA,
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Burnley Grimsby Hastings Thanet Blackburn-Burnley Burton-upon-Trent Colchester Eastbourne Exeter Gloucester-Cheltenham Torbay Lincoln Sheffield Basingstoke Bedford Worcester Canada
info@drumar.co.za
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+27780130306

Sun rises on the day,
and incinerates the night before.
Bodies stumble to the kitchen,
jello legs drag across the floor.

Silence hangs in the air,
as we sip on our open drinks.
We hate us now, sick and tired,
but one day we'll think...

Think of the drunken friends,
all the spilled drinks,
all the puked out brains,
all the drinking games,
all the endless laughs,
and all the times we crashed,
and all the love we shared,
under one small roof.

Draining sweat out of my mind on the black line
wondering how the hell did we get here???…

one minute it’s 5on5.
i’m on the JV squad beating varsity with ease.
intense energy arise.

next minute, coach is ******. has all of us on the line like soldiers. running in sections of groups of 3-4

varsity runs first
JV next
freshman third
whoever’s left just run last.

as we look at the scoreboard,
the death clock is set for one minute.
all we have to do is beat the clock
before time runs out,
otherwise we keep running.

a full-court “Kentucky Derby” sprint
and yet, we’ve been practicing for 7 hours
on a school night.
mentally exhausted
from homework due tomorrow.
physically in pain from the drills.

Coach yells: “NEXT GROUP!”

dam_. here we go.

Coach: “GO!”
**tick, tick, tick

a tumblr full of rocks
a pour of ichiro malt
and a stir
gan bei
and
ichi
to the yamazaki and nikkas
i am in the land of the sun
i go down to the land of the dead
mei hi ko
anejo
casa amigo,
to my brothers in arms
jose, i must have my agave
cheers to the alamo
to the land of the prohibition
kentucky
yippee kay yay
bourbon,
spicy rye kick
spur to the horse
giddy up, giddy up
riding off into the sun
set to kentucky
derby
bourbon
ballentines
tom ford west
make your mark
with maker’s mark
bottoms up
and now i am staggering
vichi patia
better than grey goose
aunt jiin
and all the cult gin
navy strength and **** juice
getting rowdy
like irish bloke jameson
and that **** scot
macallan
and his gang
oiban, glenfiddich, and
glenlivet
I am livid
at that *******
son of peat
another round
i am monkeying around
monkey 47
sun set
sun rise
*** on the beach
i see kings and queens
louis thirteen
i am going to sleep
pappy van winkle
100 years
like rip van winkle
don’t wake me
stir and not shaken
good night, mama
sweet havana
neat
a shot of don papa
i go to sleep

I left the flat to pay the electric
and a stranger approached.
Shocking. But,
he was a strange stranger
sporting a long brown coat
and rubber boots
a bowler derby
and a broomstick.
“Can we both fly away to Oblivion
and visit Neverland?
And the land before time--
play Jumanji and see Narnia
and come back with scientific discoveries and fanfare?”
he asked with a thick accent.
Just before I could respond,
he grabbed my hand and pulled me
toward an iron bed.
He quickly ******* on a bed ****,
rubbed it and mumbled something
and all I could do was
stare.
Webster certainly
didn’t correct me
as I never opened my mouth.
So we settled on the moon,
waded in stardust--
and pondered our space odyssey.
HAL begged us to stop laughing
and threw roses until we
came back down.
All the way down
to the size of carpenter ants.
We quickly found a few
and tamed them for a ride.
But first had to convince them
that the lazy cricket could never be
convinced of the value
of a hard days work.
A Lost Boy darted past
as we concluded the lecture
and a game of tag ensued.
We captured them all
and deposited them with Mary Poppins
who worked wonders on their manners.
She offered us a
cup of tea with a spoon
full of sugar, so we indulged.
Imagine my surprise
when the Mad Hatter
hung his hat and joined.
We then rose and danced after
the Nutcracker.
The stars followed us
and the daisies cried petals
leaving freckles of pollen all over.
Achebe reminded us
that things fall apart
so we didn’t mind the mess so much
and set off for the trolley wood
where trees ride carts.
But when we blinked
they were gone and how we cried!
John asked us to Imagine--
so we did that instead. Alice popped
through the looking glass to show us
a tiny door that Anastasia had
forgotten and once through it
we bloomed and went to seed
and were carried to the sea on an
autumn breeze.
Suddenly swallowed, we met a pickle
named Jonah in a dark fishy place.
He needed a therapist and I was not qualified.
With a heave-** we were spewed onto sand
and marooned with a Captain Jack
who was preoccupied with ***.
So we closed our eyes,
clicked our heels together three times,
and I ended up on my front porch
quite alone.
No fanfare, and certainly no
science-- as I could hardly tell
if reality was even involved.
The electric bill quickly commenced calling
and responsibility dampened my fun.

beyond the whiskey
and the beer drank along the familiar
path, with memory stressed
as to no accomplished ego coupling,
drunk indeed,
but rehearsing the familiar path
that thought de-activates
and there's less of identifiers required.*

in terms of gambling,
in familial setting,
betted:

watford (21-20) home to newcastle
(5-2), QPR (6-5) against wolves (9-5 to win),
barnsley v. rochdale (draw at 11-5),
chesterfield v. millwall (to win, 11-8),
oldham v. bury (draw at 21-10),
port vale v. bratford (home-side 8-5),
coventry (13-10) away winning against southend (13-8),
plymouth (11-5) against bristol rovers (evs),
accrington (13-10) against exeter (13-8) too,
manfield (6-5) winning against luton (9-5),
portsmouth drawing with oxford united (21-10),
wycombe with leyton orient (11-5) too,
yeovil beating crawley (13-10),
dundee utd. losing to kilmarnock (11-5) -
scots wish me luck,
motherwell drawing with ross county (19-10),
brochin losing to aidrie (11-10),
montrose winning over clyde (9-5),
hamilton losing to edinburgh's hearts (6-5),
finally...
burnley overcoming derby (13-10).

if i got all nineteen right, i betted 2 quid
and won a million,
split it down the middle with my father,
bet for two quid, quid each, half a million each.
my father is a cautious gambler,
bets spare change to get pennies for a million
exchange, i only desire serious alcoholism,
i am a true scot between the two pulling
two pence apart to create copper wiring,
scots are the jews of the north, after all:
i don't gamble, i play chance,
the chances of me being prophetic about five
football scores will be a, a ref. to the guinness book
of records.

i aimed high today, feminism still hasn't the foggiest
of house husbands, lazy lions,
it's still thursday pay-cheque day for the women,
i can cook a killer korma (added late
grind cashews), and a serial killer kashmiri masala curry,
organic chemistry experiments 12h a week will do that to you,
you'll enjoy cookbooks more than chemistry textbooks,
too many esters i say, spices v. perfumes, your choice
the pakistani in my off-license looked amazed i was wearing
hindu perfumes after having cooked a meal he could
recognise that wasn't a concentrate of strawberries:
find a needle in a haystack, yes... find a berry in a haystack...
no.

i love hindi cuisine, much aroma that deviates from
what europeans claim to be aromatic:
pig sweat and oxen salivate a taste for synthetic
odours when an analysis of cardamon justifies aplenty
likewise: what opens necessary porous areas
of the skin as necessarily sweet
does not necessarily invoke a sweetness for the tongue
to match: fat cows better than anorexia voodoo
of *******-champagne girls i'd tell you.

Suited up as I try to maintain
In this ground cracking weather.
Heavy bags on my back
And artillery in my hands.
Goggles dusty
From the blistering sand
That slice my face like razors
With every gust of wind.
The scorching temperature
Is on hell and every breath
I take is so dry that my tongue's stiff.
One canteen,  a few packs of food,  
And a mission to complete.
My boots are laced,  
With my feet feeling like people
Trapped in a burning building.
The further I go the more my body
Feels like it's being cremated.
I must reach my destination....
As helicopters pass through
Dropping explosives the size of a
Small child with the impact of
Several meteors hitting the earth.
Running like a track meet and
Maneuvering like a game of Dodgeball.
Gunfire,  bodies,  and thick smoke
As I bypass fallen aircrafts.
Approaching my target which
Will be my final destination.
BOOM! I found myself airborne to
Only hit the ground in unconsciousness.
BEEEEP! Is all I hear as I try to get
Up and regain consciousness.
Just a little over a hundred yards to
Go with a blurred vision
Feels like a lifetime.
As I'm reaching my target with
Bullets whistling pass my ears....
It's time. I set up my shot....
I hold my breath
Heart pounding with adrenaline
I'm studying
I'm focused
I'm ready....
POW! As my 50 caliber jerks
Back into my shoulder kicking
The dirt off the ground like a horse
At the Kentucky Derby.
MISSION COMPLETE!
As I'm going home with a bad case
Of paranoia and a Metal of honor...
I still have disastrous flashbacks
And ****** nightmares.
But....Nothing compares to that
STORM in the DESERT.

What a shame
When someone loses fame
For doing nothing
Because of a shortcoming

For days, he was liked
Taken care of and prized
But once he had to be away
Got forgotten and castaway

He was called a liar
To be put on fire
He was blamed
Accused and defamed

For, frankly speaking, no reason
Yet he was charged with treason
Days ago was a family member
Now he's put at stake of timber

Indeed, very odd is man
When he is subject to ban
When jealousy driven
And heart-striken

Lucky is a freeman
Who refuses to live in a can
Lucky is the man
Who is not fried on a pan.

Sam Burton(C)







Today is Friday, Oct. 11, the 284 day of 2014 with 81 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Uranus and Saturn.
In 1845, the U.S. Naval Academy was formally opened at Fort Severn, Annapolis, Md., with 50 midshipmen in the first class.

In 1886, Griswold Lorillard of Tuxedo Park, N.Y., fashioned the first tuxedo for men.

A thought for the day:

We all should rise above the clouds of ignorance, narrowness and selfishness. -- Booker T. Washington


Quotes for the day:

A good traveller is one who does not know where he is going to, and a perfect traveller does not know where he came from.

------------------------

All women's dresses are merely variations on the eternal struggle between admitted desire to dress and the unadmitted desire to undress.

Lin Yutang

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."

Oscar Wilde

"It takes but one positive thought when given a chance to survive and thrive to overpower an entire army of negative thoughts."

Robert H. Schuller

My boyfriend and I broke up. He wanted to get married and I didn't want him to.

Rita Rudner

It is only by following your deepest instinct that you can lead a rich life, and if you let your fear of consequence prevent you from following your deepest instinct, then your life will be safe, expedient and thin.

Katharine Butler Hathaway


TIVIA


What made Lucky Lindy so special?

Charles Lindbergh was not the first man to fly the Atlantic. He was the sixty-seventh. The first sixty-six made the crossing in dirigibles and twin-engine mail planes. Lindbergh was the first to make the dangerous flight alone.

Can your brain hurt?

Only figuratively -- Pain from any injury or illness is always registered by the brain. Yet, curiously, the brain tissue itself is immune to pain; it contains none of the specialized receptor cells that sense pain in other parts of the body. The pain associated with brain tumors does not arise from brain cells but from the pressure created by a growing tumor or tissues outside the brain.


Where can you see a lot of magnets?

More than 7,000 magnets are on display at the Guinness World of Records Museum and Gift Shop, located on the Las Vegas Strip. The exhibit is a portion of the more than 26,000-magnet collection of Louise J. Greenfarb, dubbed "The Magnet Lady," whose accumulation was designated by the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's "Largest Refrigerator Magnet" collection.



Poetry

Evening Star

Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.


Vocabulary

Strudel

noun

: a pastry made from a thin sheet of dough rolled up with filling and baked

Example:

Strudels are usually made with high-gluten flour to increase the malleability of the dough.

"The Supremes belted out a song on the radio, their voices as smooth and flawless as the ribbon of cream Kirsten poured from the pitcher onto her father's strudel, and the whole house smelled cheerfully of pork and spiced apples, laced with a note of butter. — From Rebecca Coleman’s 2011 novel The Kingdom of Childhood



Health and Beauty Tip

Mineral Water for greasy hair

If you have oily hair, use a shampoo that contains zinc. It's okay to condition if you feel you need it -- just don't use it on your roots and scalp.


JOKES

Funny News

From the Churchdown Parish Magazine:
"Would the Congregation please note that the bowl at the back of the Church, labelled 'For The Sick,' is for monetary donations only."

-o-

From The Guardian concerning a sign seen in a Police canteen in Christchurch, New Zealand:
'Will the person who took a slice of cake from the Commissioner's Office return it immediately. It is needed as evidence in a poisoning case."

-o-

From The Times:

A young girl, who was blown out to sea on a set of inflatable teeth, was rescued by a man on an inflatable lobster. A coast-guard spokesman commented: 'This sort of thing is all too common these days.'

-o-

From The Gloucester Citizen:

A *** line caller complained to Trading Standards. After dialling an 0891 number from an advertisement entitled 'Hear Me Moan' the caller was played a tape of a woman nagging her husband for failing to do jobs around the house! . Consumer Watchdogs in Dorset refused to look into the complaint, saying, 'He got what he deserved.'

-o-

From The Barnsley Chronicle:

Police arrived quickly, to find Mr Melchett hanging by his fingertips from the back wall. He had run out of the house when the owner, Paul Finch, returned home unexpectedly, and, spotting an intruder in the garden, had visiting Mrs Finch and, hearing the front door open, had climbed out of the rear window. But the back wall was 8 feet high and Mr Melchett had been unable to get his leg over.

-o-

From The Scottish Big Issue:

In Sydney, 120 men named Henry attacked each other during a 'My Name is Henry' convention. Henry ****** of Canberra accused Henry Pap of Sydney of not being a Henry at all, but in fact an Angus. 'It was a lie', explained Mr Pap, 'I'm a Henry and always will be,' whereupon Henry Pap attacked Henry ******, whilst two other Henrys - Jones and Dyer - attempted ! to pull them apart. Several more Henrys - Smith, Calderwood an! d Andrew s - became involved and soon the entire convention descended into a giant fist fight. The brawl was eventually broken up by riot police, led by a man named Shane.

-o-

From The Daily Telegraph:

In a piece headed "Brussels Pays 200,000 Pounds to Save Prostitutes": "[T]he money will not be going directly into the prostitutes' pocket, but will be used to encourage them to lead a better life. We will be training them for new positions in hotels."

-o-

From The Derby Abbey Community News:

We apologise for the error in the last edition, in which we stated that 'Mr Fred Nicolme is a defective in the police force.' This was a typographical error. We meant of course that Mr Nicolme is a detective in the police farce.

-o-
From The Guardian:

After being charged 20 pounds for a 10 pounds overdraft, 30 year old Michael Howard of Leeds changed his name by deed poll to 'Yorkshire Bank Plc are Fascist! *s.' The Bank has now asked him to close his account, and Mr *s has asked them to repay the 69p balance by cheque, made out in his new name.

-o-

From The Manchester Evening News:

Police called to arrest a naked man on the platform at Piccadilly Station released their suspect after he produced a valid rail ticket.

-o-

An Austrian circus dwarf died recently when he bounced sideways from a trampoline and was swallowed by a hippopotamus. Seven thousand people watched as little Franz Dasch popped into the mouth of Hilda the Hippo and the animal's gag reflex forced it to swallow. The crowd applauded wildly before other circus people realized what had happened.

-o-

An elderly woman at a unit for sufferers of senile dementia passed round a box of mothballs thinking that they were mints. Eleven people were taken to hospital for treatment.

Confessional Etiquette


The new priest is nervous about hearing confessions, so he asks an older priest to sit in on his sessions. The new priest hears a couple confessions, then the old priest asks him to step out of the confessional for a few suggestions.
The old priest says, "Cross your arms over your chest and rub your chin with one hand."

The new priest tries this. The old priest suggests, "Try saying things like, 'I see,' 'yes,' 'go on,' 'I understand,' and 'how did you feel about that?'"

The new priest says those things, trying them out. The old priest says, "Now, don't you think that's a little better than saying, 'Whoa... What happened next?'"

So Funny

A guy purchased Willie Nelson's hair for $37,000. ***** removed his braids and the guy bought them for $37,000. This is the kind of decision you make after spending the day on Willie's tour bus.

David Litterman

Did you hear what happened to Willie Nelson's hair? They sold it. There was an auction this week and a pair of Willie Nelson's braids sold for $37,000. It's a good deal because each braid has a street value of $80,000.

Jimmy Kimmel

Quick Blonde Jokes

Q: Why did the blonde keep putting quarters in the soda vending machine?

A: Because she thought she was winning.

Q: Why did the blonde take 16 friends to the movies?

A: Under 17 not admitted!

Q: Why did the blonde bake a chicken for 3 and a half days?

A: It said cook it for half an hour per pound, and she weighed 125.


Have a very nice Saturday!

Roller derby, disco.
Bump and grind
On the dance floor.
Drink some punch,
Sip some wine.
Party, party, people.
Flirty, *****, girly girl.
Do a spin,
Flail and twirl,
Dip, but do not fall.

All of these
And many more
You're sure to learn
In a year or four.

In quick-step and in air-cushioned silence,
With the drumbeat threat of mob violence,
All those laces were quite absurd,
But to us 'Jo-***' was just a verb.

Now the Alts stand in plain sight,
Preaching:

            "It's OK
                 To
                 Be
              White",

Hidden by our new dress code,
An Oxford collar and a Derby brogue.

I'm from Sister Shubert's rolls and homemade chicken and dumplings
From bowling late on Thanksgiving night to trying to be the first one to find the pickle in the Christmas tree

I'm from the smell of my mom's famous pies (pecan, chocolate peanut butter and Kentucky derby fresh from the oven)
From "Sweet Caroline" and "Oh Happy Day"

I'm from the macaroni and cheese I never realized was good
From "Dance with the cow in a patch of clover" and puzzles on Nana's steps

I'm from Rook parallel to the bathtub
From my three favorite windows in the whole house and crazy surprises in my lunchbox

I'm from reading dad's sermons over his shoulder early on Sunday mornings
From lightning bugs and fried okra to the quote board and pickle pancakes

I'm from biscuits with honey for breakfast every Saturday
From McDonald's delicious chocolate birthday cakes

I'm from ***** feet and a pitch black washcloth
And that's the only way I'd want it

LAST night a January wind was ripping at the shingles
over our house and whistling a wolf song under the
eaves.

I sat in a leather rocker and read to a six-year-old girl
the Browning poem, Childe Roland to the Dark
Tower Came.

And her eyes had the haze of autumn hills and it was
beautiful to her and she could not understand.

A man is crossing. a big prairie, says the poem, and
nothing happens--and he goes on and on--and it's
all lonesome and empty and nobody home.

And he goes on and on--and nothing happens--and he
comes on a horse's skull, dry bones of a dead horse--
and you know more than ever it's all lonesome and
empty and nobody home.

And the man raises a horn to his lips and blows--he
fixes a proud neck and forehead toward the empty
sky and the empty land--and blows one last wonder-
cry.

And as the shuttling automatic memory of man clicks
off its results *****-nilly and inevitable as the snick
of a mouse-trap or the trajectory of a 42-centimetre
projectile,

I flash to the form of a man to his hips in snow drifts
of Manitoba and Minnesota--in the sled derby run
from Winnipeg to Minneapolis.

He is beaten in the race the first day out of Winnipeg--
the lead dog is eaten by four team mates--and the
man goes on and on--running while the other racers
ride, running while the other racers sleep--

Lost in a blizzard twenty-four hours, repeating a circle
of travel hour after hour--fighting the dogs who
dig holes in the snow and whimper for sleep--
pushing on--running and walking five hundred
miles to the end of the race--almost a winner--one
toe frozen, feet blistered and frost-bitten.

And I know why a thousand young men of the North-
west meet him in the finishing miles and yell cheers
--I know why judges of the race call him a winner
and give him a special prize even though he is a
loser.

I know he kept under his shirt and around his thudding
heart amid the blizzards of five hundred miles that
one last wonder-cry of Childe Roland--and I told
the six year old girl about it.

And while the January wind was ripping at the shingles
and whistling a wolf song under the eaves, her eyes
had the haze of autumn hills and it was beautiful
to her and she could not understand.

I self-indulged—
For me a rare
Lapse, an unexpected
Slide to materialism.
Repenting already,
My selfishness.
I bought myself
Internet Radio.
How could I resist?
E-Tail has made it so easy.
GOTO Amazon Electronics.
•Amazon.com: Electronicswww.amazon.com/electronics-store/b?ie=UTF8... Amazon.com, Inc. Online shopping from a great selection at Electronics Store. ... Electronics. Shop for TV & Video, ... Featured Offers in Electronics ... Electronics Categories • ($“Ka-Ching! Ka-Ching!$ Ads in the middle of the freaking poem!”)
The omnipresent marketplace:
Shop at home in your pajamas,
Pay for it with keystrokes,
Go back to sleep.
FOR SALE:  Hail to thee,
Oh bittersweet Credo of Capitalism!
I finally broke down,
Accepting the fact that
RADIO: once a wireless marvel;
Now, a fading media option,
Its broadcast range
Not only shrunk, but
Signal reception, downright poor.
So, I finally broke down
Bought a radio that actually works.
So what I want to know
Is NPR so full of itself that
They go so far to find some
British-accent guy to read
Sports summaries?
I am listening to some
Pompous Pommy poofter,
At KBOS, Boston, Massachusetts,
Nigel Longshanks, himself,
Recapping “The Run for the Roses,”
Kentucky Derby homestretch,
Missed NBA semi-final foul shot &
The freakish mojo comeback of
Yankee Baseball Bad Boy: A-ROD.

Goats are Nature's own
ambulating Demolition Derby
in hilarious miniature

the soft grass tickles
my bare feet
as I walk across the bluegrass
and I realize that it may be
a bit sterotypical for a girl like me
a sundress wearing
sweet tea drinking
southern girl like me
to tell you that Kentucky
is not a place i want to leave
but heres the thing
I've got all my teeth
a pretty full vocabulary
and a 28 on my ACT
and here in Kentucky,
we're hobbits, not hillbillies
we're more than just a basketball team
and maybe in the dictionary,
its Daniel Boon and geography
and home of the KY Derby
but hell we've got Johnny Depp and George Clooney
and the beautiful mountains and trees
in Eastern Kentucky
and we have culture and cuisine,
and so many things
that if you still think I'm stereotypical, then maybe
I dare you to see what youre missing.

it's a bone dry west
for a cool east summer
i'm steeple chasing baby
from a derby to a dungeon

orange cones on the left
bright beams on a Hummer
i'm flicking off the bird
from nevada to wyoming

get this load off my chest
it burns April like a stoner
i'm a bayou baby
from the streets of magnolia