Friend one:
Reads "Rotten Tomatoes"
Always early, parks in a handicap zone

Friend two:
quietly disapproves
knows Friend one walked her dog a mile earlier

Friend one:
moves her car
digs out two waters, chocolate
and back pillow
buys peace and tickets

Friend two:
catches sneeze with *** of tissue
aggravated exchange:
about walking too fast ahead.
“Are you not my friend?  Walk with me!”
Buys popcorn

Friend one: 
  wants seats on the end
for handy bathroom runs

Friend two:
does not want “the blow by blow” of reasons
just not in rafters
sneezes, and says so
trips
spills popcorn on the stairs

Friend one:
Sets up “camp”

Friend two:
holds crap

Friend one:  
Settles in, builds her "nest"
opens water bottles
arranges back pillow
half-a-million napkins
“Want your jacket?”

Friend two:
holds popcorn, helps Friend one with jacket

Friend one: 
  pushes button for her seat back
seat sounds like a ****.

Friend two:
says so, both laugh like fools  
Friend two sneezes loudly, rubs her eyes
loses self in movie

Friend one:
starts to snore quietly

Friend two:
nudges her

Friend one:
(Who is never really snoozing)
runs out to restroom
misses best part of movie
Comes back,
“What happened?”
What happened?”

Friend two:
aggravated
hushes her
takes allergy pill

Friend one:
weeping at the end, watches all the credits
starts her review
apologizing to the kids of theater-cleaning-crew
popcorn, napkins, tissues everywhere

Friend two:  
Sneezes yet again

Friend one:
Knows all the stars--
of friendship

being how she is one :)

XVIII

Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc’t and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

SONG-POEMS

These are poems that were written as songs, or as potential song lyrics, or that could easily become songs if someone were to set them to music (hint! hint!) …


Ave Maria
by Michael R. Burch

Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
listen to my earnest prayer.
Listen, O, and be beguiled.
Ave Maria.

Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
be Mother now to every child
beset by earth’s thorned briars wild.
Ave Maria.

Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
embrace us with your Love and Grace.
Let us look upon your Face.
Ave Maria.

Ave Maria,
Maiden mild,
please attend to our earnest call—
When will Love be All in All?
Ave Maria.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch



Faithless Lover
by Michael R. Burch

Well I met you darlin’ on a night like this;
the stars were fallin’ as I stole a kiss.

And I fell in love that very night,
as the moon above blessed us with its light.

But the moon was false, and your heart was, too.
Oh, I never dreamed you would be untrue.

'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone.
One day you'll discover yourself all alone.

Well, we found a preacher and we said some words.
I should have noticed yours were well-rehearsed.

When I looked above, I saw the pale moon frown;
the sky burst open; I began to drown.

'Cause you're a faithless lover, with a heart of stone.
One day you'll discover yourself all alone.

Now, since that day, how you've run around.
You’ve been with every boy in town.

Well, I learned my lesson, and I learned it well:
how one night aflame left me cold as hell,
till my heart grew hard in its icy shell.

Now, I'm a faithless lover with a heart of stone.
I seek faceless lovers who leave with the dawn.

Copyright © 1991 by Michael R. Burch



Unlikely Mike
by Michael R. Burch

I married someone else’s fantasy;
she admired me despite my mutilations.

I loved her for her heart’s sake, and for mine.
I hid my face and changed its connotations.

And in the dark I danced—slight, Chaplinesque—
a metaphor myself. How could they know,
the undiscerning ones, that in the glow
of spotlights, sometimes love becomes burlesque?

Disfigured to my soul, I could not lose
or choose or name myself; I came to be
another of life’s odd dichotomies,
like Dickey’s Sheep Boy, Pan, or David Cruse:
as pale, as enigmatic. White, or black?
My color was a song, a changing track.

Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch

Published by Bewildering Stories and selected as one of four short poems for the Review of issues 885-895



Through the fields of solitude
by Hermann Allmers
set to music by Johannes Brahms
translation by David B. Gosselin with Michael R. Burch

Peacefully, I rest in the tall green grass
For a long time only gazing as I lie,
Caught in the endless hymn of crickets,
And encircled by a wonderful blue sky.

And the lovely white clouds floating across
The depths of the heavens are like silky lace;
I feel as though my soul has long since fled,
Softly drifting with them through eternal space.

This poem was set to music by the German composer Johannes Brahms in what has been called its “the most sublime incarnation.” A celebrated recording of the song was made in 1958 by the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau with Jörg Demus accompanying him on the piano.



The Pain of Love
by Michael R. Burch

for T. M.

The pain of love is this:
the parting after the kiss;

the train steaming from the station
whistling abnegation;

every highways’ broken white bar
that vanishes under your car;

each hour and flower and friend
that cannot be saved in the end;

dear things of immeasurable cost ...
now all irretrievably lost.

Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts

Note: The title “The Pain of Love” was suggested by an interview with Little Richard, then eighty years old, in Rolling Stone. He said that someone should create a song called “The Pain of Love.” I've written the lyrics, now can someone provide the music?



Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch

Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?

And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?

Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?

And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?

Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch
Published by The Word (UK), The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, The HyperTexts, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Starlight Archives, TALESetc, Writ in Water, Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring



Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch

What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?

Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.

For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on—
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by Strong Verse



Flying
by Michael R. Burch


I shall rise
and try the ****** wings of thought
ten thousand times
before I fly ...

and then I'll sleep
and waste ten thousand nights
before I dream;
but when at last ...

I soar the distant heights of undreamt skies
where never hawks nor eagles dared to go,
as I laugh among the meteors flashing by
somewhere beyond the bluest earth-bound seas ...

if I'm not told
I’m just a man,
then I shall know
just what I am.

This is one of my very early poems, written around age 16-17. According to my notes, I may have revised the poem later, in 1978, but if so the changes were minor because the poem remains very close to the original.



Earthbound
by Michael R. Burch

Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a floating and crazily-dancing spirit horse through a storm as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse.

Earthbound,
and yet I now fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that no sound
echoing by
below where the mountains are lifting
the sky
can be heard.

Like a bird,
but not meek,
like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey,
I will shriek,
not a word,
but a screech,
and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay—
the sheep,
the earthbound.

I believe I wrote this poem as a college sophomore, age 19 or 20. I did not know about the vision and naming of Crazy Horse at the time. But when I learned about the vision that gave Crazy Horse his name, it seemed to explain my poem and I changed the second line from "and yet I would fly" to "and yet I now fly." I believe that is the only revision I ever made to this poem.

Copyright © 1978 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Momentum! Momentum!
by Michael R. Burch

for the neo-Cons

Crossing the Rubicon, we come!
Momentum! Momentum! Furious hooves!
The Gauls we have slaughtered, no man disapproves.
War’s hawks shrieking-strident, white doves stricken dumb.

Coo us no cooings of pale-breasted peace!
Momentum! Momentum! Imperious hooves!
The blood of barbarians brightens our greaves.
Pompey’s head in a basket? We slumber at ease.

****** us again, great Bellona, dark queen!
Momentum! Momentum! Curious hooves
Now pound out strange questions, but what can they mean
As the great stallions rear and their riders careen?

Originally published by Bewildering Stories

NOTE: Bellona was the Roman goddess of war. The name "Bellona" derives from the Latin word for "war" (bellum), and is linguistically related to the English word "belligerent" (literally, "war-waging"). In earlier times she was called Duellona, that name being derived from a more ancient word for "battle."



Just Yesterday
by Michael R. Burch

Yesterday
she went a-way
and now I don’t know what to sa-ay,
'cause I loved her more than life
just yesterday.

[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]

Yesterday
she held me tight
and our love lit up the night,
but then our flame was not as bright,
just yesterday.

[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]

Yesterday
she left me a-lone
and now I don’t know what I wa-ant ...
I just listen to a song
called “Yesterday” ...

[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]

Yesterday, oh Yesterday,
Yesterday, oh Yesterday,
I loved her more than life
just yesterday.

[Descending notes: DUH Duh duh]

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Stay With Me Tonight
by Michael R. Burch


Stay with me tonight;
be gentle with me as the leaves are gentle
falling to the earth.
And whisper, O my love,
how that every bright thing, though scattered afar,
retains yet its worth.

Stay with me tonight;
be as a petal long-awaited blooming in my hand.
Lift your face to mine
and touch me with your lips
till I feel the warm benevolence of your breath’s
heady fragrance like wine.

That which we had
when pale and waning as the dying moon at dawn,
outshone the sun.
And so lead me back tonight
through bright waterfalls of light
to where we shine as one.

Copyright © 2019 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The Lyric



This Train
by Michael R. Burch

To be sung to the melody of "This Train is Bound For Glory" up-tempo.

This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way,
gonna take me back
to my baby,
This train is goin’ my way, this train.

This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’,
and my heart is cryin’,
cryin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.

This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now.
This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now.
This train’s chuggin’ down the tracks
and it’s gonna have to
take me back now.
This train is chuggin’ on down the tracks now.

This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’,
and my heart is dyin’,
dyin’.
This train is flyin’, flyin’, flyin’.

This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way, this train.
This train is goin’ my way,
gonna take me back
to my baby,
This train is goin’ my way, this train.

This train must run a little longer.
Oh, this train must run a little longer.
And although I did her wrong, her
love is only gettin’ stronger.
This train must run a little longer.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



The Vision of the Overseer’s Right Hand
by Michael R. Burch

“Dust to dust ...”

I stumbled, aghast,
into a valley of dust and bone
where all men become,
at last, the same color . . .

There a skeletal figure
groped through blonde sand
for a rigid right hand
lost long, long ago . . .

A hand now more white
than he had wielded before.
But he paused there, unsure,
for he could not tell

without the whip’s frenetic hiss
which savage white hand was his.

Copyright © 2001 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by Poetry Porch



When I Think of You, I Think of Love
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

When I think of you, I think of Love.
Oh, when I think of you, I think of Love
as magical as the moon and stars above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.

When I think of you, I start to cry.
Yes, when I think of you, I start to cry.
And I think you know the reason why.
For when I think of you, I think of Love.

When I think of you, I start to smile.
Oh, when I think of you, I start to smile.
I think of you and, dreaming all the while,
when I think of you, I start to smile.

When I think of you, I have to laugh.
Yes, when I think of you, I have to laugh
because it’s certain: you’re my better half!
So when I think of you, I have to laugh.

I think of you as Eve, and at your feet
blooms everything that’s equally as sweet,
as magical as the moon and stars above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.

I think of you with babies at your breast,
and does and fawns that come at your behest,
as magical as the moon and starts above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.

I think of you and find myself at peace.
I feed the ducks, the turtles and the geese,
all as magical as the moon and stars above,
and when I think of you, I think of Love.

I think of you as Love, a Love that heals ...
the gentlest Dove that soars and flies and wheels
then looks down on the earth from high above.
And when I think of you, I think of Love.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Hill Down the Road
by Michael R. Burch

I imagine this song being sung to an upbeat tune like “Afternoon Delight” with an emphasis on the last word in each line. The song would come out as a sort of breathless rush — one long, run-on sentence.

There’s a hill down the road
where my babe and me would go
when the sun was sinking low
where the sparkling waters flow

and we’d sit there in the grass
and we’d watch the sunsets pass
and then I’d walk her home,
but we’d never walk too fast

and we’d sit there in the summer
when the sun was in the sky
and we’d talk of our tomorrows
and we’d watch the butterflies

and I loved her even then
although I was so young
and I’ll love her till the time
that my time on earth is done

I wrote this poem as an aspiring songwriter, around age 14. But alas, I was too shy to show my compositions to anyone!

Copyright © 1974 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark . . .
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?

Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?

Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?

Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly



Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.

And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.

Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.

Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.

I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976.

Copyright © 1976 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



How Long the Night
(Anonymous Middle English Lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts
with the mild pheasants' song ...
but now I feel the northern wind's blast—
its severe weather strong.
Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!
And I, because of my momentous wrong
now grieve, mourn and fast.

Copyright © 2013 by Michael R. Burch
Published by Measure, Setu (India), Poet’s Corner, Glass Facets of Poetry, Better Than Starbucks, Chanticleer, Poetry Brevet and Deviant Art



Sappho’s Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy

Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys
sleep unaware of the nightingale's call
while the dew-laden lilies lie
listening,
glistening . . .
this is their night, the first night of fall.

Son, tonight, a woman awaits you;
she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring.
She'll meet you in moonlight,
soft and warm,
all alone . . .
then you'll know why the nightingale sings.

Just yesterday the stars were afire;
then how desire flashed through my veins!
But now I am older;
night has come,
I’m alone . . .
for you I will sing as the nightingale sings.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy

Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin;
Angelic face; wild chimp within.

It does not matter; sleep awhile
As soft mirth tickles forth a smile.

Gray moths will hum a lullaby
Of feathery wings, then you and I

Will wake together, by and by.

Life’s not long; those days are best
Spent snuggled to a loving breast.

The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky
Will bronze lean muscle, by and by.

Soon you will sing, and I will sigh,
But sleep here, now, for you and I

Know nothing but this lullaby.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Let me sing you a lullaby
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy (written from his mother’s perspective)

Oh, let me sing you a lullaby
of a love that shall come to you by and by.

Oh, let me sing you a lullaby
of a love that shall come to you by and by.

Oh, my dear son, how you’re growing up!
You’re taller than me, now I’m looking up!

You’re a long tall drink and I’m half a cup!
And so let me sing you this lullaby.

Oh, my sweet son, as I watch you grow,
there are so many things that I want you to know.

Most importantly this: that I love you so.
And so let me sing you this lullaby.

Soon a tender bud will ****** forth and grow
after the winter’s long ****** snow;

and because there are things that you have to know ...
Oh, let me sing you this lullaby.

Soon, in a green garden a new rose will bloom
and fill all the world with its wild perfume.

And though it’s hard for me, I must give it room.
And so let me sing you this lullaby.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



Swan Song
by Michael R. Burch

The breast you seek reserves all its compassion
for a child unborn. Soon meagerly she’ll ration
soft kisses and caresses—not for Him,
but you. Soon in the night, bright lights she’ll dim
and croon a soothing love hymn (not for you)
and vow to Him that she’ll always be true,
and never falter in her love. But now
she whispers falsehoods, meaning them, somehow,
still unable to foresee the fateful Wall
whose meaning’s clear: such words strange gods might scrawl
revealing what must come, stark-chiseled there:
Gaze on them, weep, ye mighty, and despair!
There’ll be no Jericho, no trumpet blast
imploding walls womb-strong; this song’s your last.

Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch
Originally published by The HyperTexts



This is my translation of one of my favorite Dimash Kudaibergen songs, the French song "S.O.S." ...

S.O.S.
by Michel Berger
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Why do I live, why do I die?
Why do I laugh, why do I cry?

Voicing the S.O.S.
of an earthling in distress ...

I have never felt at home on the ground.

I'd rather be a bird;
this skin feels weird.

I'd like to see the world turned upside down.

It ever was more beautiful
seen from up above,
seen from up above.

I've always confused life with cartoons,
wishing to transform.

I feel something that draws me,
that draws me,
that draws me
UP!

In the great lotto of the universe
I didn't draw the right numbers.
I feel unwell in my own skin,
I don't want to be a machine
eating, working, sleeping.

Why do I live, why do I die?
Why do I laugh, why do I cry?

I feel I'm catching waves from another world.
I've never had both feet on the ground.
This skin feels weird.
I'd like to see the world turned upside down.
I'd rather be a bird.

Sleep, child, sleep ...



"Late Autumn" aka "Autumn Strong"
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
based on the version sung by Dimash Kudaibergen

Autumn ...

The feeling of late autumn ...

It feels like golden leaves falling
to those who are parting ...

A glass of wine
has stirred
so many emotions swirling in my mind ...

Such sad farewells ...

With the season's falling leaves,
so many sad farewells.

To see you so dispirited pains me more than I can say.

Holding your hands so tightly to my heart ...

... Remembering ...

I implore you to remember our unspoken vows ...

I dare bear this bitterness,
but not to see you broken-hearted!

All contentment vanishes like leaves in an autumn wind.

Meeting or parting, that's not up to me.
We can blame the wind for our destiny.

I do not fear my own despair
but your sorrow haunts me.

No one will know of our desolation.

Keywords/Tags: song, songs, songs of life, lyric, lyrics, music, rock, love, lover, lovers

Last week we bought a bottle of epilepsy to share
at a party made to crash on dinner plates
rolling down uphill battles.

The clustering warm anticipation set to pounce falls short
with talks of who is late and who can't make it
because someone in the family disapproves.
Who cares about the bitter salt cakes in the dust of fossilized crustaceans?
The polar bears march to beautiful, pointless noise beating off the living receptacles.

The locals are scars in the conclusions deep in the visiting sounds—almost forgot but still murmuring.
*The first citizens of noise.

This girl doesn't care that it's August. She will wear her snow boots because she likes that they light up.

This girl doesn't care there is no music. She will dance where she wants to the music in her mind.

She doesn't care who is watching. Or who disapproves.

I wish to be more like her.
I wish more were like her.

I hope no one stifles it out of her.

No, "Sit still"
No, "Calm down"
No, "Be embarrassed"

Be you.
Be like her if you're inclined to.
Be a dancer in the street.

1511

My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when ’twas cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced “a fit.”

Great Britain disapproves, “the stars”;
Disparagement discreet,—
There’s something in their attitude
That taunts her bayonet.

You let me rub sawdust in your ears.
You let me drip wax on your fingertips.
You let me defenestrate your free time.
You let me run my voice across your lips.
You let me think I can.
It is of my opinion that the basement here smells
of expensive wood varnish
and it reminds me of what you are supposed to be;
an old thought.
A grimy vexation.
A copper colored conundrum,
antiquated and nauseously green.
I hate it when you waste time with me.
You make me feel like we're worthless.
Sitting alone in a stone darkness
with both purple hazes
hanging in the air like rhythmic skeletons
strung up in a celebratory gallows.
I'm happy when I'm with you,
you two-penny *****
of wasted yourself.
I love you.
Now leave.
Out of our lives.
I would be happier if you were out of yourself.
But you knew that.

I know a cedar chest of a hundred years
and you are knees-to-chest inside;
not dead
but breathing through the keyhole
in a white evening gown
with your skin growing tighter against your ribs.
One day I will open the chest
and your blood will flow
and your eyes will open
and your skin will hang more loose
under healthy fat and muscle and life
and you may throw your arms 'round my neck
and I will cry as I love your touch
as you smile with joy
as I take my hand and put it to your chest.
Push.
Down.
Hard.
You will not escape to make me love you.
The latch will close and you will be silent,
breathing through the keyhole,
and I will not mourn.
I will try not to mourn.

You are beautiful,Time.
Why?
You burn heart-shaped marks into the souls of lovers
and whittle them away through yourself
and that is horrendous
yet you change not.
Villain! A pox upon you for a clumsy lout!
You must undress in simmering water for ramen or tea
because you refuse to change until I look away.
You make the voices of a hundred years past
hiss and pop on gramophones
because you didn't feel like sharing 2008's MP3s.
Oh, you wretch,
you curdle milk
and Captain Crunch disapproves.
You make car rides to Washington, DC unbearable.
You masterfully draw out the suspense in waiting rooms,
dangling gender verdicts of newborns over the heads of expectant fathers.
You ****.
You ridiculously unfair goblin.
You murderer.
You toyer of lives.
You are so beautiful.
You make life short so it matters.
This hate is a necessary hate
but so is my love for you.
You will **** me one day.
For that, I loathe every second you give me in your pitiful pity.
I wish I could rip apart every second and return them to the sender
and have them ignite on your doorstep
and burn your house down
and have you cry "I was only doing my job"
as your home smolders to ashes.
But right after I would buy you a nice dinner
and tell you that it's going to be okay
because you made some months of my life matter
and enjoyable and happy.
I might even admit to arson
to make you smile
or grimace.
Time, you toothless wolf.
You spineless snake.
You stringless marionette.
I love you.

XXI

Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

My father shows definite signs of toxic masculinity.
Always with the "man up" or "toughen up"
I think he was afraid I was too sensitive.

When I was a kid, he told me it was okay to cry.

Then I guess I cried too much.
And it was no longer okay.

I learned to swallow my emotions,
Pills so big I thought I would choke.
My voice caught,
My feelings were strangled.

I learned, too, to listen and observe him more.
Yes, there was the homophobia,
There the unmistakable reek of feared emasculation,
The lines about how certain things were "effeminate,"
Including things like the way I sat,
Or wore my long hair,
In my own home, no less.

I don't think he thinks me very manly.

Never mind my compassion, loyalty, or steadfast, stubborn nature.

I've learned not to care so much what he thinks,
Though the very act of not caring hurts.
I'd like to be able to share who I am with him,
But I think he disapproves who I am,
The way I choose to live.

Never mind I am straight,
Though it would be no excuse if I were not.

Never mind I have a beard,
Though it would be no excuse if I were clean-shaven.

Never mind any of the qualities that I am,
Any of the things I am proud of,
Any of the reasons I call myself man.

To him, I am not masculine.
That knowledge sears like razor burn,
Leaves scarred tracts of pain and resentment.

Doth a man not bleed?
I suppose not.

I am haunted by the kiss in your eyes, the kiss you can’t give me. Your family disapproves of me, and so do your friends. They will probably never approve of me but in the end they are going to admire my strength and faithfulness. They are going to realize that I will never, never give up on you no matter how hard they make it for us to be together. One day, they will understand that this kind of love, in itself, deserves to be returned.
When I am in bed, about to sleep, or when I’m alone and lost in my thoughts, suddenly I meet your face, and I know you’re the one for me, no matter what stands between us.
I love you more because I have to fight for you.

The Wildest Conclusion

Who are you
To tell me
My thoughts
Aren't worth being heard
I deserve
And demand my rights
I might
Shout amendments
First,
Then commence
To irregular common sense

My stability
Is retained
By the imbalance
In my brain
You see,
I can't enable
These "Cain and Able" angels
That rest on your shoulders
Because
I ain't able

Fables
Fly out the mouth
Of an astounding author
His sound
Is profound
His prowess authorized
By his copy written
Signature
Which is his style
Italicized and laid back
Now,
Crack open
Another pack of pens
And draw out
The wildest conclusions
In deep thought
Then listen...

.The world disapproves.

The extent
Of my intentions
Were wilder than I could imagine
So I didn't know
I would take it this far

The words written
Were forbidden
In the foulest belief system
I wouldn't have wrote them
If my outrageous mind
Wasn't dying
From boredom
Boarding off the monsters
That alter ideas
From beneath the bed
They reach my head
And toy with my
Emotions
Tantalize and
Taint my tender mind
Then morph it
To be the tainter!

To picture death
You'll need help
From this
Morbid painter

Why do I
Write so wickedly
Then spread like pandemics
It's
Pandemonium momentarily
Shared with you
With whatsoever
You should do

With

Evil knowledge
Is truth
Look in your hands
I say
"Vice is right"
Can I persuade?
Like a gun used to
****** a murderer

Some executions
Are executed
At the exact moment
Of redemption

How tempting
Is it for
A wholesome man
To make
A half-hearted attempt
At prosperity
Sparingly
Laying in Evil's bed
But never staying

When he awakes
Will he use the tools
Because he learned the trade
Or teach others
To not
It's hard to reach others
When all they believe
Is a happy ending
I conclude
But
The true ending
You can't imagine
Because it's too wild
For you.

“Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war,
death after life does greatly please.”
—Edmund Spense

|PART ONE|
CUL DE SAC
Courtesy is informing
The gardener he shall not
Be needed next week
As sometime before then
You will fall suddenly dead


Like a blanket...
Yes, like a blanket
Or a shawl if you’ll have it—
A sheet that whispers a weight
Upon your shoulders that rise and fall
And rise and roll and once more rise
And collapse inevitable as relapse or vice,
We arrived as the sun is
Saying its final goodnights

Life spends some empty
Second inside your lungs
And continues on its way, moving on
Perhaps to resuscitate a
Fading gunshot victim
Or shake the hand of a minute

As time ticks furiously by,
A dog licks its teeth
A few sorry times, tastes a residual piece
Of something tasty he earned
In his attempts to learn fully
To roll over,
He rolls over now and then for fun,
In the disapproving face of the sun

But it’s a different thing to roll
Over at the command of your Master—
He who is looking disapprovingly at the world,
Disapproves of all of it
But through a very small window
He had not seen before
About the size of an envelope
It must have sneaked up on him

Most of all he is bored,
With packets of cigarettes,
Lighting themselves each night in
Spectacular repeats bright and brilliant
Pyrotechnics of white-hot potential,
You must shield your eyes, Master,
Heed the warnings of the doctor when he says
You are doing yourself no favours,
Tempting yourself by leaving them
Laying around in plain sight

And...now and then, just now, and
Just then he finished a whole one,
Packet of twenty, and his reflection,
Unshaven and puffy-faced in the
Deep ocean of the bathroom mirror,
Can’t look at him until morning,
And morning is a long time away

Meanwhile time is
Blackening the dog’s sorry gums,
It painted such dark spots on his Master's lungs                                              
That he now coughs impatiently,
The paint grips like superglue to
The walls and though a full exhale could
Betray their function for one,
Deform their shape for two,
Lungs so rarely tenderly embrace
And now his face goes blue,
And blue with many shades of blue,
And a touch of the colour of the just-rising moon


Nothing comes up...
His diaphragm, taut, it stalls,
Struck, retching,
Everything slows
Everything

slows

— stretches of sounds
And moans echoing
The sinister intent of
Turpentine visions.
Each bloodless
Indecision


You can see him doubled over
By the window, even from here,
And you’d think this bird will
Succeed in catching his worm,
Each slowed in turn, nothing changed,
Bird was swooping long before the slowness came,
Whatever happens, whatever happens...
The dog sleeps whilst his ticking legs kick,
But slower —  

A fly is caught between
The unaffected forefinger and
Opportunist thumb
Of a young girl who is well known,
(She once squeezed a cat
So tight that its insides
Got all twisted and burst),
She would not hurt a fly though
Especially not this one
It’s so lethargic, she thinks,

How she blinks at normal speed—
Immune somehow

Other kids are told to keep away from her
By their respective mothers
Who’ve no respect for others
you’ll see them goose-stepping down
streets in stop-motion synchronicity
These mums communicate by phone
Hogging the lines and spitting malicious
Rumours into the telephone wires,
Such poison is said to excite cables
Causing electrical fires and the
Firemen here have been called out
several times to find the same boy
Of about ten, crying *“Help! Pariah Dog!”
He’s shouting it now, calling the emergency
Services on a credit card phone
And his pennies won’t take
—So slow it’s hard to watch

The bow that fastens the little
Girl’s hair keeps falling down,
She kicks it down the sleepy evening streets,
Rumours cruelly spread of shadows
Calling her to where the street sweepers are known
Not ever to sweep

Everything is slow, as before but
Slightly more so,
The Master’s contractions
In such slow motion rhythm,
You couldn’t recognise patterns or
Repetitions with short-term memory
but they’re rhythms of threes and fours
but also nine over eight and
Four-four straight, the
Tempo is so slow it doesn’t register...
Listen closely for a while though:
Jazz is on the radio!

The dog’s legs still kick as it sleeps
As it dreams of jumping the garden gate,
Even slower now,
And life is longer now,
In ways
Of course we do not notice
But the little girl,
Returning home just before dark
How will this affect her future?
Time’s arrow
The tragedy of its trajectory
Leaves us in a state
That is not worse off,
But there is no help in this!
Positivity does not come
From the things which are simply
Not negative

And the worm
In a slow motion crawl,
Indignant, as the bird’s wings
Cast long finger-like shadows
That are shifting, flickering,
Twitching near crisis point,
Those last hundred-yards of the race
Where lactic-acid-spasms
Makes a mess of the atoms
And slow-twitch fibres made of
Matter once constituting
A percentage of the mass
Of a sabre-toothed tiger,
Cowering in the cold,
Feeling the pull of extinction
Weighted eyelids,
Mischievous hands tugging
On the ears
And polishing the fangs in museums
It was ashamed, the atoms told us this
But refused to declare a name for itself
Or the beast

Slinking and curling like a
Shoe sole that bunches up
The shoehorn is no good,
Not a help, but to borrow
Just one word of that line
And introduce the trumpet,
In its considerations of brass
And blues
It blows lipless fanfares for the
Invertebrate class

The worm, with frantic intent,
In search of his hole in the ground,
Profound effort,
See the slinky worm speeding
Across the lawn at the speed of a gravestone,
The bird getting closer,
In it’s time,
It’s a fizz of radio waves
With a fuzzy static outline,
Popping grains and throbbing like
Power surging through the telephone line,
Where voices can be heard warning of high pressure
With a fatalist sigh, and poor weather,
A voice with a regional accent
Sounding authoritative and wise
Intensity in the eyes somehow I imagine,
How we paint pictures of faces and people,
The voices are so telling at times,
You can hear whiskey-burns in the throat
Saying things of the colour
Of a nose, and sweet childlike lisps
Suggest dungarees and freckles,
And a gap between the front teeth,
Why these? What prejudices
Have slipped out weedily from
An imagination that is surely
Out-valued by its frame
Of gold with wooden panels

*“PARIAH DOG!”.....

As mind disapproves the heart
You're terrified to cross the line
This unyielding love can be so silent
If you always put it into rhyme

Beyond these so-called differences
Reaching the limit and shows your immaturity
Thinking those funny phone calls, lovely nights
Can be so deceiving, but in a good mind

So take out your futuristic mind
Every little thinking like domino pieces
Let's focus at the moment
Can you worry less and be happy?

I dislike my body, much
like how a mother disapproves
of her son's girlfriend.

I'm half-naked in a bed
that isn't mine -- but I'm
used to being adopted by
beds; fostered by
temporary situations.

The sun passed, long ago,
and I know that tomorrow
might vanish, emulating
melting moments aboard
brittle rib cages, slack jaws.

Nothing days like the
yesterday and the one
before that; fragments
not meant to be placed
back together, only to
be cut on, leaving wounds
to be wished upon.

I know, one day, I'll be
as tattered as this flag
I call my master. I will
die, for the thousandth
time, as I talk to an idea
about how I was in love;
how she believed in me;
how my brother was a
man I wish I could have
back; how my littlest
brother was always in
trouble and how I didn't
help enough. I was a
writer, I'll say; I was a
son, I'll whisper that
they were imperfect but
their wish, that's what I was;
their hope, that's what I was.
I was their's.  

I'll be sunken into a seat,
staring out a window,
during a night like this.
Hiccuping thoughts
that should be tossed.

It's currently 3.40am and I'm laying awake picturing tomorrow.
Your accent spinning round in my mind.
Bringing me back to Friday.
And this evening.
I know you 2 days and I feel like I've known you a lifetime.
It's crazy.
I'm crazy.
Of course everyone I have mentioned you to disapproves.
But I really don't care right now.
The hope you inspire in me is beautiful.
The fact that you think I'm pretty is amazing.
I'm shocked at how well we get along.
And after two days of knowing you.....
Actually after two hours of knowing you...
I think i've fallen once again.
Except this time...
I think you may have fallen a little bit too.....

I'm stuck between a daisy and rose
Both I hold dear in heart what do you propose?
I feel like Adam in the garden of Eden
Picking a flower for Eve which one should I leave?

Margarita and Rosa mi favorito en las mundo
Spanish is kinda cool though
Now back to the poem

In a world full of so many, who can you choose?
I choose my words well and try never to be wrong but one disapproves
But the other is enthused

I know what you're thinking
If she agrees she's probably the one right? Wrong
Heard it once being sang in a song
"If she disapproves she can make you strong"

But then again its just a song
I always try to structure my poems, but in this case
All they gave me was a pen and a Pad

there’s no rosetta stone to decipher the engravings on your bones, old as the core of the earth itself.
i trace my name onto your skin and
i breathe my heart into your mouth but you never want anything more than my hands further south and i
want you to be happy so i do
what i hate and i pray it’ll make you content
because when you cry i swear i hear the heavens crying too, the sun looks on as though it disapproves of us and i’m shaking enough as it is, darling
april is over and the drought has brought us nothing but weeds.

The all embracing
warmth of a coastal night
The heavy humidity
when love is no longer right
The water ripples restlessly
The tired slivered moon
has had enough
Goes on down without a goodnight

The hollow deck makes scuffing sounds
You stop but there are no other sounds
A disturbed bird flies  on by
Squawk ! letting you know
It disapproves of you being nye

An ancient breeze of feelings
ruffles your hair
string up the cares of
the yesterday's dawns
They were red flag warnings
but you sailed on  blissfully

You savor the ropes last release
Taking time to store the lost will
Cast off becomes a minimal thing
as you slip free of your mourning

There is a cast of grey across the sky
Dawn is coming pushing the winds
of freedom across the bay
You drop partial sail and
the ship responds
Making knots out of a knotty situation

You hear the bow slicing water
As you release all the canvass
Slipping past the jetties
on the falling tide
you sigh , a relief , a release
It's just you , the sea , and God

Seems like there's always
someone who disapproves,
they judge us like they know
how we used to steal
your parents liquor
and climb to the roof,
we will keep all our promises
be us against the world,
baby, be mind tonight,
say yes,
if you get this kind of rush
every time we touch.
who will love you?
who will fight?
who will fall far behind?
i dont want to be someone,
who walks away so easily,
i'm here to stay.
make the difference i can make,
marmalade, we're makin out,
dont make me tongue tied,
when i look into your eyes
its like watching the night sky,
or a beautiful sunrise.
oh, your a shooting star,
like Peter Pan up in the sky,
these lights will guide you home,
and ignite your bones
and i will try to fix you
my eyes on your eyes
dont wave no good bye,
my, green eyes,
your the one i wanted to find,
anyone to deny you
is out of their mind.
honey, you should know
i could never go with out you;
i could write a song,
a hundred miles long,
talk about our future like we had a clue,
but i will be your girl,
thats where i belong,
here in your arms,
and you belong with me.
not swallowed by the sea.
the water is rough,
the stakes are high,
but this love is ours,
you cant replace it with a million rings.
i have died everyday,
just waitng for you,
Darling don't be afraid
i came here with a load
and it feels so much lighter
now that i met you,
one step closer
honey you should know
i have loved you for a thousand years
i could never go on
with out you.

After being abused, some people will turn to the *****.
Whether if its mental abuse, or physical abuse.
Ends up being overused,
everyone around you strongly disapproves.
But, what can you do when you can't find any way to get rid of the pain and memories that left you bruised?
It gives you so much fear but all you do is like to ignore,
leaving your thoughts and feelings destroying you to your core.
The atmosphere seems so unfair, hallucinations of being in thick air, eventually having you feeling suffocated and wanting to disappear.

I want you.

Even if for
the briefest
moment of time;

even if the world
disapproves,
and it will;

even if our hellos
quickly become
good-byes;

None of that matters:

the world and time
mean nothing to me,

I see no rules
in your soft
green eyes.

I want you.

~mce

She met a boy
And she's in love
Her mother disapproves

Her mother says he's trouble
But she adores this boy
He's someone she'll never lose

Forbidden to see him
She meets him in secret
Every single night

He calls her many
pretty things
They keep their affair out of sight

The boy she loves
Has killed a man
Police are on his trail

She has a choice
To hide her love
Or watch him rot In jail

In the dead of the night
She leads him to the house
Through the creeky back door

Gun still in his hand
The pair tiptoe
Across the kitchen floor

Her mother finding out
About this situation
Is among her highest fears

They sneak up
to her bedroom
And she bursts into tears

What have you done?
She cries to him
He shoves her onto the ground

Tells her to shut up
Curses at her
Warns her not to make a sound

There's a pounding on
The door they came in
She follows him down continuing to cry

The stranger he owes
Stalked him here
And tells him to pay or die

Her lover's gun fires
The stranger falls
****** and still as a rock

They turn to see her mother
Who heard voices and came down
Her eyes filled with horror and shock

Without even flinching
Her lover aims his weapon
And says she's seen to much

Her mother's screams
Echo off the walls
She's bleeding and cold to the touch

Sobbing at her dying mother's side
He shoots her too
Saying I'm sorry it had to end this way

Then leaving them both
To die alone
Her "lover" runs away

Father comes down to his ****** family
She whispers Sorry daddy
He calls 911 and they all wait

But by time they arrive
Just like her apology
It simply is too late

Repost...if you like the repost button ;P
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry or poetry itself as an art! :)

On my own I am troubled,
It will be long until you see how strong I am,
Some men got to show ya... yep not me -  I don't need to,
My strength is God who is in me!

Mistakes and Addictions - sure I got a few,
Some hang on the wall like a flower,
Behind them the devil delights,
Though the Lord disapproves sometimes I seek to satisfy my own.

My heart will always stay young,
As life will help me rise in every breath,
All you need to do is realize you shine to many,
Just tune into to life and live to move up.

I did and so can you...

Thoughts of you overtake me
makes my mind feel high
and your palm fits into mine just right
Your lights blind me
I haven’t seen the clarity since you stood up
I wanted to find you a crown but my time ran out
Thoughts about you are angelic
I hesitate on hating you but my heart disapproves
It would rather stay wrapped up in you

We’re locked in our affair
We’ve lost the key
There’s no place to find
We keep our memories of parking lots locked in our minds

Thoughts of you make me crazy
Cause your the only one who painted me
Now I search for leftovers in a freezer
Anticipating & pacing are my kind of adventures since you couldn’t keep me
I wanted to walk out and surprise you in a white dress
But my time ran out
Thoughts of you wake me up early
I hesitate on not knowing you but my heart disapproves
It would rather stay true to its early dedication to you

We’re locked in our affair
We’ve lost the map
There’s no roads to find
We keep our memories of evening runs locked in our minds

Thoughts of you make me keep searching
I open locked doors and stare into empty windows
Cause I keep seeing you
I was going to gift you a pen that constantly clicks
But my time ran out
Thoughts of you flush my cheeks and I can feel your slow touch down to my chest
I hesitate on erasing your hands but my heart disapproves
It would rather feel the ghost of you

We’re locked in our affair
We’ve lost the reasons to stop
There’s no answers to find
We keep our memories in our mind...

We’re locked in our affair...
The moment our lips touched we weren’t aware our passion would never disappear
Thoughts of you overtake me..
And your palm fits into mine perfectly
I wanted to read you words on a paper in a white dress
But Your time ran out.. and you changed your mind
But here we stand, in our locked up affair
Hoping to recreate the memories we share

It was a sigh like no other
a respiration of desperation
a thousand times over

It was as if I could exhale
to exhume my own corpse

I'm in love with this word
only aimless expression
with a senseless,
seamless repetition
for it never disapproves
never uses the writer
as it was itself, used

I'm in love with the world
but only as a whole mess
of uncanny absence

As a strangled moment, leapt away,
exposed by obscure limelight,
I shall expire

Magnifying the reflective scarlet ocean
a marred, oily silverscreen eclipse
a piebald, ****-mired unicorn
curled at the feet of a ******
in a subfusc-glo™ hometown
crushed by rusted machinery
amongst rudimentary scenery
in a homespun anathema gown
in the broken household, wound
up men's eyes, went grey and dying
past every thought, incendiary
words lambasting paper
mayhap, I'm through
trapped, trying to
explain other
wise, now

if my rights are wrongs, doom me, for I am comforting minds within themselves
surroundings and experience influence, I will go through pain to make you feel secure, be what you desire
if the world disapproves your sexuality and says its wrong
accept yourself for what you are, and be right within you
Because your impact is greater than what you think it is
Not being afraid can influence people to get rid of freight of expressing what they've always wanted to be or do
if you ever feel doubt in your guidance on the road
know that youve impacted the silent
and if you give up, their hope will be gone
be someone's help or hope, someones life progression, create gateways
Smile to the malignant, you'll see reflections soon enough
Feel at home in your mind, feel welcomed
The rooms that make your home are the interests that make you, love what you do with passion because you've impacted me to write this, to reach many others like you that can do the same
The love for a hobby can trigger someones passion, to do the same, to do the right, to progress as a whole
to help people, to help communities, to help the the world, to break barriers
purpose is to serve
Purpose is to make a purpose
for the ones who need guidance in their purpose
anything can create, innovation in humanity is within you
with your will anything is possible
be gracious, for you have potential to change lives, to change perspectives
your happiness can make happiness all around your surroundings
your actions are impactful chants, scream
dont be afraid to show your emotions in expressive ways, thats what makes the world
its defined by you, do good
its the little things
that can make a little road create highways and routes in lives; options
You are glorious even if you're corrupt
sadness and happiness are glorious and im happy to be passionate about people, like you, all of you
Dont be afraid to break barriers with your passion
Dont be afraid to break barriers with your love
You are possible of doing anything
You are someones road to take
To be saved
To accept themsleves
Inspire and motivate
You are the art of progression

Dear Mr. Depression
I have realized I am your Obsession,

You have made me a partner of your loneliness
Why are you guiding me to darkness,

Swayed away by your hypnotism
I make my way towards negativism,

I have lost interest in everything but you
People around are having no clue,

Are you my friend or my foe?
Coz you make my head blow,

I cannot deal with my blood boiling anger
Teary eyes I look out for an answer,

My days are so lonely my nights are so long
I now have a fear of the breaking dawn,

I feel so weak and numb
All I could do is to keep mum,

I am not getting killed , I am being suffocated
My inner peace is long awaited,

You make me so tired to fight
I beg you , This isn't right,

Shackles in my feet I can barely move
My Mind is in your trap but My heart disapproves,

The love in my heart is meant to overpower
You are unaware of the strength of my will power,

Slowly and steadily I change my direction
Your world was nothing but a deception,

I not only want to live I want to feel alive
Your foul intentions cannot keep me deprived,

Far away I see a light
Hope is standing on that side,

I promise not to look back while I start my Journey
Your pleas to keep me along are not worthy,

I might be late
But I'll make sure I reach that gate!!!

You ,Go easy on yourself for a while
Take a deep breath and come out of your self imposed exile,

Don't hesitate to uncover the curtain
Meet the sight of butterflies dancing in your garden,

Erase the boundaries that have been drawn on your canvas
Start afresh
Paint with a free flowing brush,

Remember once in a life time 'You' happen
Don't let 'Your Life' get trapped in,

Discover yourself uncover yourself
Even if someone disapproves of your 'Real self',

Choose to bend only till the time you don't break
Hold your head high and turn away before your heart aches,

Please walk away from what is perturbing
Away from the chaos and people who are disturbing,

While you walk away don't hold the grudges so fiercely
Don't let the negativity damage you severely,

Coz you aren't bitter
You are an ocean of nectar,

This is your poetry fit in your own words
Be your own Muse , Rhyme your own prose!!!!

If your the only one left
Could you go on?
The world itself would seem to have taken the other side
Would you continue to fight?
The last few breathes of a man
Would you close his eyes?
Your friends call you mad
And everyone disapproves
Could you still go on?
Will you go on
For a Lost Cause?

brief introductions, skipping fining judgments and
unconsciously accepting regret some days later;
i should’ve known better. . .
anna is a narcissist.
jerome is a hipster.
kenneth (also a hipster) wants to be the alpha all the time
when it comes to movies.
anthony’s a poet, at least considers himself
to be one because he writes
and stupid girls loves his generic works.
marianne thinks of herself sharp and has
nothing to say but “cliche” on art pieces
that she doesn’t like, pretentious as ****.
just because kath graduated from one of the
well-known universities the world
has ever known, her opinions and
views about everything must be and should be golden.
olivia who seemed to be a kid at heart,
turns out to be a ****-loving ****** of all sorts.
jacob who’s good at playing guitar is a self-indulged
narcissist
and thinks that anyone who’s not as good as him
or plays in band like he does can’t join he
and friends’ “clique,”
like hell it would mean the world to me
to be a part of those phonies.
professor richards who teaches literature
disapproves of my favorite writers, also a phony.
benison is a bully with nuts for brains.
to hell with this, and i’m a pacifist who’s
judgmental.