Believer takes his hat and coat,
Walks out of his room,
Into a misty gloom where shadows warp his irises,
And he falls and falls straight into heaven.

Disbeliever steals a rock from the underground cave,
Ties it to his ankle never floats away,
Blasphemy is and will always be his life,
Every night the disbeliever sat near his bed,
Praying to Believer above,
When it never came he took the name,
Coward.

Believer took pity and asked heaven for an angel,
The angel couldn't do much but mourn with Coward,
As his disbelief kept his sight blinded,
And he was content, by god he never wanted to let go.

Plants grew into Coward's room,
His frame growing frail and tired,
Years of fighting and giving up drained his veins,
Finally, an ounce of death brought a clearing in his vision,
Coward saw his angel and shot it not once, not twice, but thrice,
Once for the son, second for the father, the third for the holy spirit.

Believer took this as a sign,
That he was fearful of something controlling his life,
Coward needed to control and stabilize himself his way,
No angels over his shoulder,
No rules to abide by,
Whether it was real or not,
It was Coward who needed to learn to heal himself.

Coward shot himself once more and bandaged his wound with care,
Taking his blood with him,
He inspected it's contents,
Wondering what was inside that cursed and plagued his life,
He found that it was all himself and things he told himself,
To a shock and a conclusion of misery,
Coward knew that once he got off of his ride,
He'd have to drain his blood and purify it,
It took every ounce of sadness and courage,
But it worked. Oh god it worked.

Ethereal: A Commissioned Poem


This one knocked me askew! What do I know of
"an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination."

I am a flea of simplicity, a blunt and direct man, who scribes the small, cherishes the little, grabs the middle.
So many here are so far linguistically superior, when matters light, airy, and heavenly are involved.
Hell, I even call god, my buddy, by his first name when ****** stops by to make confession.
But first take nine minutes, patiently, to listen to this, all the way to the end.
http://youtu.be/xxTF2umRtqY
Then, and only then, read.

— ethereal (adjective)

light, airy, or tenuous; "an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination;" extremely delicate or refined: ethereal beauty; heavenly or celestial; gone to his ethereal home; of or pertaining to the upper regions of space.

My ethereal is:
Autumn leaves, piled,
wet and slimy,
stench rotted.

Human waste smeared,
in the the diaper
of the olden, enfeebled.

Burnt flesh,
the sulfuric acid kiss
from a rejected hand.

Cigarette smoke stains
yellow post-it's stuck
on human skin.

Men who live in cardboard boxes,
knowing this is
the all of their days
existence.

Scowling smiles, a
coin of death,
on the faces of those forced
to sell themselves for money.

Cursing accident traffic,
until you pass the overturned car,
see the car seats, teddy bears,
just litter now, amidst the
safety glass highway tree decorations.

What did you expect,
some of your favorite things?

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages ******* with strings
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs

Ethereal is Sandy swollen-springs
drowning mother and child in their SUV.

Froze dead vagrants
under white pristine,
suffocating,
beneath lovely snowflakes
that ****,
no strudel for them.

Mean ones pouring punch
on white prom dresses,
ruining dreams,
such a big scream,
put it in the yearbook,
don't forget the smiley face,
*******.

State troopers ringing doorbells
with so sorry so sorry ma'am,
she is not coming home
any more.

Stop!
Why?
You all grown up, learn the real,
this ethereal is the real too.

Wipe that *** look off your face.

You want gossamer and lace?
Wrong poem.
Beat it.
Go whine about your heartbreak
to somebody else,

Ether is the aromatic odor and sweet, burning taste, derived from the action of sulfuric acid.
Look it up, disbeliever, if it matters, it is so
real.

If you gonna use a word,
then know it.
If you gonna claim
the title of human,
try being it,
earning it.

Ethereal is the orderly,
cleaning the *** of the helpless,
one more time,
softly singing.

Ethereal is a car seat, belt,
that saves a child, a teen.

Ethereal is soup,
not a folded twenty,
hot hot soup for the
lying on the sidewalk.

Ethereal is miles of flags
receiving our dead
from overseas.

Ethereal is writing a poem about
someone else's pain
in your words.
just once,
straying away from the word I.

Ethereal is saying,
hey, to the blind,
careful,
wet leaves ahead.

Ethereal is human justice,
most un-divine.

Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of seeing the world.

Part II

Went out into the night,
back to The Village,
Bleecker Street.
where I used to live (#308).

Heard voices. Human voices.
A Room Full of Teeth.
They sang a Partita.
"A simple piece.
Born of a love of surface and structure,
of the human voice,
of dancing and tired ligaments,
of music, and of our basic desire
to draw a line from one point to another."

It was ethereal.
As I wrote these words in my mind,
My ethereals did not battle but blend,
the ugly and the beauteous.
They coexisted in peace?
I think not.
They coexisted in humanity.

All that is delicate,
is only because there is rough.
All that is soft,
is only because there is hard,
Listen to the lines drawn from points on earth.
You cannot choose which points to connect.
For all point to
Ethereal.

Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of hearing the world.

Ethereal: A Commissioned Poem


This one knocked me Askew! What do I know of
"an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination."

I am a flea of simplicity, a blunt and direct man, who scribes the small, cherishes the little, grabs the middle.
So many here are so far linguistically superior, when matters light, airy, and heavenly are involved.
Hell, I even call god, my buddy, by his first name when ****** stops by to make confession.
But first take a nine minutes, patiently, to listen to this, all the way to the end.
http://youtu.be/xxTF2umRtqY
Then, and only then, read.

— ethereal (adjective)

light, airy, or tenuous; "an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination;" extremely delicate or refined: ethereal beauty; heavenly or celestial; gone to his ethereal home; of or pertaining to the upper regions of space.

My ethereal is:
Autumn leaves, piled, wet and slimy,
stench rotted.

Human waste smeared,
in the the diaper
of the olden, enfeebled.

Burnt flesh,
the sulfuric acid kiss
from a rejected hand.

Cigarette smoke stains
yellow post-it's stuck on human skin.

Men who live in cardboard boxes,
knowing this is
the all of their days
existence.

Scowling smiles, a
coin of death,
on the faces of those forced
to sell themselves for money.

Cursing accident traffic,
until you pass the overturned car,
see the car seats, teddy bears,
just litter now, amidst the
safety glass highway tree decorations.

What did you expect,
some of your favorite things?

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages ******* with strings
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs

Ethereal is Sandy swollen-springs
drowning mother and child in their SUV.

Froze dead vagrants
under white pristine,
suffocating,
beneath lovely snowflakes
that ****,
no strudel for them.

Mean ones pouring punch
on pristine prom dresses,
ruining dreams,
such a big scream,
put it in the yearbook,
don't forget the smiley face,
*******.

State troopers ringing doorbells
with so sorry sorry ma'am,
she is not coming home
any more.

Stop!
Why?
You all grown up, learn the real,
this ethereal is the real too.

Wipe that *** look off your face.

You want gossamer and lace?
Wrong poem.
Beat it.
Go whine about your heartbreak
to somebody else,

Ether is the aromatic odor and sweet, burning taste, derived from the action of sulfuric acid.
Look it up, disbeliever, if it matters, it is so
real.

If you gonna use a word,
then know it.
If you gonna claim
the title of human,
try being it,
earning it.

Ethereal is the orderly,
cleaning the *** of the helpless,
one more time,
softly singing.

Ethereal is a car seat
that saves a child, a teen.

Ethereal is soup,
hot hot soup for the
lying on the sidewalk.

Ethereal is miles of flags
receiving our dead
from overseas.

Ethereal is writing a poem about
someone else's pain
in your words.
just once,
straying away from the word I.

Ethereal is saying
hey to the blind,
careful,
wet leaves ahead.

Ethereal is human justice,
most un-divine.

Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of seeing the world.

Part II

Went out into the night,
back to The Village,
Bleecker Street.
where I used to live (#308).

Heard voices. Human voices.
A Room Full of Teeth.
They sang a Partita.
"A simple piece.
Born of a love of surface and structure,
of the human voice,
of dancing and tired ligaments,
of music, and of our basic desire
to draw a line from one point to another."

It was ethereal.
As I wrote these words in my mind,
My ethereals did not battle but blend,
the ugly and the beauteous.
They coexisted in peace?
I think not.
They coexisted in humanity
All that is delicate,
is only because there is rough.
All that is soft,
is only because there is hard,
Listen to the lines drawn from points on earth.
You cannot choose which points to connect.
For all point to
Ethereal.

Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of hearing the world.

The face of Earth is for no one
King Solomon or the great
Alexander the believers.
Nor for disbeliever
Nebuchadnezzar.

Hell or Paradise neither
is on the face of Earth.
What lives is in the heart!

I give great advice.

Your health and happiness are more important than your commitments. Your problems are valid even if they're not as bad as what is going on in the rest of the world. Let's look at this rationally. It's okay to show that you're grieving, hurt, upset. You can only do so much. You need help. At some point, you have to put yourself before others.

But I'm really just a liar.

While I know these things to be true,
I don't believe any of them.

It's so much easier to tell others how to be
than to change what my own head believes.

You need help.
I know.

But I won't do anything about it.

Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on.
Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce.
Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief.
Belief is six feet below.
Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths.
Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.

It         is in, the how,
not the why, the where,
or, the when,
no, no, it

Is         the how,
that provisions and provides
all the answers
that any lover needs, for

In         the how, one revels,
but also,                      
unbeknownst, unwillingly, reveals
what one's heart wishes to secret, and conceals
and with

The       single stroke
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
raising sky colors upon
thy skin's patina and,

How    commences the matina,
with petals of white cloud roses,
blushing anew in your cheeks,
loveliest of failed cover ups,
laughing, I airbrush your
almost, invisible tears away,
residue of melodramas of troubled sleep,
stilled and stolen, mine,
to pacify, keep,
tranquilized in my breast

It,        Is In, The How,
What,  You Are Thinking.

What   vincible arrogance
humans possess when we pray,
we hope, knowing that we are infidels,
hoping to mislead
the eyes that glance upon us

You     give up the shadows painted for me when
filtered beams, rays of
a, and of...kind,
lance shield of densest lead,
lain upon the chest to cloak
the tremors of volcanic hearts,
the eyes of hurricane thoughts,
containers of need that

Are     so full of oh so
many questions, yet,
singularly resolved,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
knowingly full well you are

Thinking  there is no exit,
no right of way to negate
the sum of what we let to ail us,
O disbeliever, how simple be,
for all, all of

It,        Is In, The How,
What,  You Are Thinking,

I soften and modulate,
your conflicted complexion,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
all that is mine,
to encapsulate,
recharge, refill thy vessel
with Bocelli tones of
passioned, gloried harmony

Worry not if my eyesight dims,
be unconcerned if
my hearing, my voices
wearies and weakens,
for all the answers
we shall ever need
remain, contained in  
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
and
this is how I know now,
and forever more,
what you are thinking

As long as skin is the coverlet
o'er the bell jar of mind n' heart,
as long oxygen defies gravity,
I will know how,
unveil, open secret chambers,
now and forever more,
what you are thinking

You’re swimming, okay,
And the Bible suddenly opens up.
Not many people are faced with this,
Except you: you’re an exception.

How do you take it?

Barely, would the sublime horror of communion pass on your lips
Once the ocean take its Leviathan form, and it opens its mouth to speak.
Its oratory becomes very clear in the maelstroms of countless gallons
Rushing blue cannibalizes itself before you; you have no time to think of death
When the salt’s burning your eyes and you’ve finally figured
How useful a gyroscope can be.

Too soon, three darknesses will emerge from the desolate homily
Taught not to discriminate in thought or action: the backs of your eyes
Straining against the buoyancy, the restfulness of not seeing a bottom,
And the path Jonah’s bones took, the disbeliever.

Mostly, you’ll want to congratulate yourself like a legend,
You wonderful *******, when you come in crashing on the waves.

She's principled. So is he.
Islam is their way of life
so they understand one another.
Committed to it, dedicated to it
is the only way, she and he are free.

She and he are not afraid
to stick their necks out.
Kaepernick, wouldn't you agree?
Though hers is covered
by her own choice
and his is not covered
Both refuse to get broken
Their moral resolve with a noteworthy shout.

Her hijab
takes her places
to public places
without the need to be center stage.  
His solo self
flies through the air with a basketball in hand
on basketball courts
in his homeland
and in other places
on God's world's page.

Anytime, we wearing hijab
walk outside of our home door,
we stand
Yes, we stand
Yes, we stand proudly
not for our country
not for nationalism
not for a puffed chest
not for a pat on the back
Yes, we stand
with inner beauty
doing a grand job
of minimizing our outer beauty
We stand
We stand even when others choose not to
Even when others feel they cannot
think it's too hard
they'd rather fit in
We stand

We stand for You Most Magnificent Allah
We stand for You Most Lovely Allah
We stand for You Most Beautiful Allah
We stand for You Most Brillant Allah
We stand because of You
And we stand forever for You

We stand because of Your Love
We stand because of Your Light
We stand because of Your Fellowship
We stand because of Your Assistance
We stand because of the strength You've given to us
We stand because of Your Smiling Face Upon Us
We stand because of Your All Blue Skies
Yes, we stand

Thank you, dearest Allah
Thank you so much for ordering us to stand
Thank you enormously for showing us how to stand
"Thank you for everything" said Sr. Marzieh Hashimi, you, who in hijab stand everyday
Ya Allah, Dearest Allah, you're the reason we're able to stand
You're the reason we can confidently stand
You're more important than
You're more significant than
any distasteful look
any disbeliever's ill judgement
any person wanting not to see a hijab as not to be reminded visually of his God, wanting to dodge an in-your-face symbol of God
any human wanting to avoid digesting the message of fulfill your responsibility to God, and need to regularly express gratitude to Him
any individual who knows it isn't the piece of cloth that modestly covers he has issue with, it's God he has issue with, it's God he is distant from, it's God he's uncomfortable with, it's God he fears, it's as my unforgettable Muslim, young brother forced out of his homeland, mine, and yours, that of Syria (Every person has two homelands. His own, and Syria. -Andre Parrot) who carrying my bags to assist me said,
Often, it's not the dark we're afraid of, it's the light

Thank you, Imam Asi for making sure we understand
The One Who manufactured our stand

For all ladies who believe in The One
And with whom make The One, Number One
There will be no sitting in public here
There will be no rest for us here
Because rest belongs to the Heavens
Rest is waiting for us to join it, to stop with it
if we've been given not a red light
but a green light
Oh, we want that green light
You and I
Isn't that right, Br. Mahmoud?
You want that green light
More so, because you've tasted that green light
You've tasted that green light
Who said it's a red light that starts a blaze
No, it a green one
Your STAND over 25 years ago
Got you tasting green
Got you tasting peace
Got you tasting harmony
Yes, we want that green light
Yes, ladies in hijab and Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf
We want that eternal sit
That sit up close and personal with Allah to see HIS platinum gold, shining face
That sit intimately with Allah's beloved Messenger and his beloved
That sit happily with our deserving kin and deserving friends we met on earth and in the heavens
That sit on canopy beds
That sit on the greenest of pastures
That sit on gold and platinum benches
in front of gardens we can't unsee
You said so, Br. Mahmoud
You said so with your ACT OF SIT
and your ACT OF STAND IN PRAYER
during the playing of the national anthem in 1996
And you said so with your words in 2022
So, as is required
We graciously STAND temporarily
for however long temporary is for us
We STAND
AUFSTEHEN, STEHEN I repeat
And we STAND with the man
whose STAND has helped change how we see ourselves
whose STAND asked us to ask ourselves
If we were Br. Mahmoud,
would we have done the same as he did
And whose prayer while standing on the court
Caused an uproar
Forced people to have to look within
and for a quick few seconds ask
Why am I singing but not feeling
Why am I honoring but not respecting
I am a contradiction
This country is a contradiction
This stolen land is a grandiose fake
Why have I abandoned my STAND

But in fear,
But in their desire to be associated with a false deity,
But in their need to feel superior
because of their inner feeling of low self-worth and insignificance,
they stopped reflecting
They stopped thinking
They stopped asking
And instead of facing the music
Instead of facing their inner voice
Instead of facing their God
They again turned to idols
They again turned to false deities
They again turned to their ills  
They turned their very backs on
the super star they had been cheering for
and routing for all along
It was easier for them to cause ruckus
Easier for them to cause pain and grief
More satisfying to scream and yell obscenities
offer death threats
Like the way the unbelievers, the hypocrites
treated our beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
More satisfying to speak the unbelievable
You're fired.
Like the Monster, Donald Trump,
if he were the commissioner
would have said
Instead, David Stern said it
to a fellow human
Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf
a practicing Muslim
a still NBA basketball star
not former as is often written and spoke
like Imam Muhammad al-Asi
still The Imam of The Islamic Center of Washington, DC
you, a married man then
a father with children
You're fired
for your STAND
for GOD
for morals
for principles
against tyranny and oppression
against injustice and hypocrisy
against thievery and slavery
You're fired
for your refusal to STAND
for a country's anthem
for a nation's flag
for disobeying slave (Thank you, Imam Asi for not wanting to even say or speak this word 'slave' as pertaining to a human referring to another human using this word) masters
and obeying The Only Master
You must pay,
they cheered
You must pay,
the NBA said
the then, David Stern said

GOD
The ONE better than
the basketball fans
the NBA
the then, David Stern
tells us that we never pay,
when we STAND
As a Muslim
on the court
when we STAND
As a Muslimah wearing hijab
in public
when we STAND
We don't pay
We gain

Gain is what we obtain
A reward is what we earn
And
For as long as we keep standing
in a jersey
or in a hijab
they'll keep hating
And
For as long as we
in a jersey
or in a hijab
keep standing
we'll keep shining God's light
and
we'll keep scoring

By: Najwa Kareem

Disbelief or doubt is my natural disposition.
With this I try to explain away what is inconclusive.
To a Christian leader, I have another gospel, so my prophet is false.
To a Muslim, I am an imposter because I believe in innovation.
To a Jew, I am not of the Chosen Ones.
To an atheist, I am unreasonable or delusive.
To a Buddhist, I cannot attain enlightenment.
Thus, to the secret societies of belief, I am a disbeliever, mad, and ignorant, going to hell, karmic or not, or to die a mortal death.

How can my healthy doubt have any way with explanation?
To incorporate the masses, we provide governments and universally make declarations as the United Nations.

Should I lose belief to satsify the masses: agreeing with them that I'm a disbeliever and coming to terms with atheists?

Just stand for love and unity.

I am not, what one would deem to be a "religious" man. As a matter of fact, it has been a very long time since I have been to a church service, other than attending a wake, or a funeral. But, that should not label me as a "disbeliever", for I strongly believe in the Trinity.

Around my neck is a chain with a cross pendant. My wife, Karen, gave it to me the first Christmas of our marriage,  49 years ago, come this December.  On my right-hand is a ring, the symbol of the  Alpha/Omega stamped upon its crest. A reminder that I can be taken from this mortal earth at anytime, and perhaps, not of my choosing. On my left-hand, another ring, with a cross carved upon its crest. Again, a reminder that there is a higher, more powerful entity, that we as mortals, often take for granted(we say we don't, but we do).

Does everyone agree with me? "No, of course not!" I wear them, "for me." I thank the Lord everyday, for my family, my grandchildren, and yes, that does include my cat(my Guardian Angel). I thank Him for the friends I have made, and for the friends I have never seen, but to whom I enjoy stretching my hands across seas and continents, asking, "How are you, hope you're doing well, and stay in touch." I hope it continues for a very long time.

copyright: richard riddle: September 30, 2015

Quite the start to the weekend
There it goes, watch it ends
These pages are made of dust
What is half read is still unread
Tree of paper leaving glue trail
In search of the perfect bookmark
I found a place for receipts to recuperate

I locked eyes with Jupiter
On a wooden coffee table
The great counterclockwise storm
Ticking away with each drop
Disaster, sky without a star

Heaven receives blessings,
On slow workdays
When martyrs are lucky enough to live
We swore by that which divides day and night,
and fails to conquer either
That Faith must not pass the gate
Until they call for prayer
Until the square of crossroads is clear
Sometimes I feel like a disbeliever in Jerusalem

Prayers manifest duality as one
So shoulders can shrug in unison
Banal attempts to restore faith
Outrage is out of reach
The mind sets red-tape traps,
We call that mindless assertions
In the climate of trumpets and megaphones
Nothing escapes poltics
Vicious cyclones of “Breaking News" cycles
"I see pictures of children in faraway places that wreck me for a day"

we flood thee
roots to the very
swell of bone
skin to very bark
of soul
flesh as tangible as
personal truth
but now we tire
and you none the wiser
as once we guarded
your affections and your gaze
no further shall we repair
now belief and disbeliever
we depart and shall
remain ever departed
blame what chances
you denied
when you and your
throne sat high
bones crash
under the pulses
and machinery of life
decay decay decay
such reluctance
what nails rend and flair
sense wed in a torn bed
remind you for their
lack of recompense

Abdul and Ram were better friends
Than you and I could've ever been
Sitting on a bench in a park
Having strawberry and vanilla ice cream

Now it was time to return
Abdul's uncle came to pick
Asked him,"Who's the other boy?"

"Ram"

The uncle had a massive fit
"Don't you know that that boy
Is an idolater,is a disbeliever
He worships rocks and leaves
That 5 year old is a liar, a thief
He worships the false prophet
Do not go near him
We are better, we are in the right
Leave him or convert him
We are the faith of peace, son"

Now the 4 year old pondered over this
While Ram's brother came to pick up Ram
Seeing him with a skullcapped boy
He took him to the bronze statue in the park

"Brother you're a fool, a miser
You should've been a little wiser
This boy's ancestors' ancestor
Killed our family's ancestors' ancestor
Your grandfather's grandfather's debt you have to pay
1000 years before today..."
He proceeded to tell this 4 year old these words of propaganda
Trying to fulfil his devious agenda
".....they killed our women and lynched our folk and committed other atrocities
Leave this progeny of Mahmud of Ghazni"

No one spoke the complete truth, no one completely lied
The bronze Buddha statue near the fountain smiled

They left the park one last time
Together they weren't meant to smile
For a millennia ago
One man killed another man and everybody died

Hate was sown into their minds
Why O! Why O! Why!

No one spoke the complete truth, no one completely lied,
One man killed another man and everybody died

Could I be the moronic imbecile?
Maybe an unbelieving hard-to-feel?
What about a radical exemplar?
Maybe a frenzied Templar?

Would I be the ferocious fighter?
Possibly an inspiration lighter?
What about the unforgivable lie?
Oh, what am I?!

Can I be the troublesome dramatic?
No, maybe the suicidal problematic?
Could I be an uninspiring doomer?
No, maybe just a late bloomer?

Ugh, these things that I can be...
What if I'm the traitorous flee?
Maybe I'm an unlit sky?
Oh! What am I?!

The lovable opus?
The unremovable hopeless?
A corrupted cause?
Or maybe a bag of flaws?

I'm rich in depression,
And even richer with aggression.
Maybe I'm an overlooking fly?
Ugh! What am I?!

Maybe I'm a religious act?
Maybe I'm a broken pact?
Could I be the admirable laughter?
What will happen before or after?

What if I'm the infamous scammer?
What if I'm the iconic war hammer?
What if I’m just an unheard cry?
What if I die and never know why?

-From the mind of a questioning disbeliever, only to be known as an average human.

Look out the window and tell me what you see
The world Is not that great of a place to be in right now
People blindly trust the disbeliever and bash the one who always had his heart in the right place and thought of everyone else but himself
Education is still very important but kind of overrated
the things that should be taught in school are so much bigger then just a bunch of text books and handbooks that can be printed and bought from a store
Exams set you up for so much more then failure
People care but only about themselves
Fake friends have become more common that fake nails
It is cheaper to live off and mimic peoples ideas and innovations then to think own your own
people are too lazy to do that as well
Apple everything and robots do it for us now
It is easier to break things and watch them turn to dust then to rebuild and prosper
Words are have lost their meanings too
Reading is a luxury but emojis and abbreviations are a must
People will think I am crazy for writing this but it doesn't take an person with a Phd or plain old street smarts to figure out that we are all doomed
The world is truly going to ****

imagine any Chopin...
well Chopin might just have stopped
the impromptu barrage
of jazz...
bill evans - portrait in jazz (1960 Album)...
but a Satie?
but a Debussy?
oh, mein, gott!

john debney: the aramaic
and the music brings me to tears...
i know i know it's a mel gibson
fetish fest...

it's either bill evans or it's
sonny clark...
and there are those
who: putting it lightly...
have some gravestone grief
over what michael
hutchence did on
the loose abstract of the noose...

not my "thing"...
at least jazz allows
the soloist pianist...
the crescendo...
the bass player
the sax sexed-up whizz...
no alto please no alto:
trumpet!
and we're all right in bingo...
rolling besides there's
this grand spectacle known
as the Niagara...
and it's neither Niger nor Nigeria
nor Bulgaria nor:
oh... right you are sir...
******... we will need
this excess on the rubber-ball
bounce severely excused via
Broadmoor "ltd. esp. if your name
is not peaches,
or jackie o lem(m)on"...

mr. bananNa to you:
heathen disbeliever!
the joke reaches its conclusion
when all the people laughing at it...
are somehow: dead...

it was such a dandy place to hive...
abrupt when the bass...
did its solo:
and it was this higher tier
of the plucked cello...
this rembrandt of the 20th century
moving some distance:
toward a "forward"...

this would most certainly require
the most bleak defence for all
this creative bulldozer...
an auschwitz to be certain...
some germno-esque
and a Vienna limitation...
a mongolian gold-hoarding...
the mongols that remained
in europe... and called themselves
tartars, and this the neu-crimea...
and this lesser love circumstance
of the London dating scene...

my always reserved
and my always "missing" / otherwise
sub-plot jazzy London of
an elsewhere...
bill evans handshakes a cousin IT
of a chopin and the world is allowed
to spiral out of control...

jazz on piano and rain is cascade...
what is felt and what is not composed
for the advent XIII...
raindrops on the forest floor...
raindrops on the begging
frank sinatra...
raindrops of tinsel and some will
have to propose...
when leisure was a synonym of leather...

disorientating piano...
jazz piano...
give me the trumpet and let's forgive
the alto sax...
to each hell his hounds!
to borrow, to beg...
to growl and to scuff!

to each hell his mercenaries of choiced
hounds!
blood-thirty cherubs of ****-mongrel
hinter of cerberus: standing before
the log indigestion of the fore!

this angelic face and the woman
to come!
to have to have "innonce" being
whispered in my ear...
as nothing more than:
**** this Jezebel while you might...
it's not more a metaphor...
when what's gagging is
to also to be applied for: minus literally...
wholy within the confines
of the dostraught metaphor.

as does the jasmine...
the flower prospect matches
the beauty of the genitals...
but sure as ****...
it doesn't match up to the face!
the face is a schizophrenic's nightmare...
the flower is the genitals
of that i am most assured...
but the face?
"androgynous"... sorry...
what's that? "cute"?!

Each day that I spent
Was with you
A portent,
A momentous occasion
To love
Or lament
But I never meant
For it to turn
Into neither
Expected to yearn
Like a stern disbeliever
Eventually,
Prophecy
Still self-fulfilling
Except now I know
I was not as unwilling
To let you go,
Let it be
As I led on
Couldn’t quite live without you
Yet here you are
Gone