I am not deaf
They could say
What they want
What they need
To make me plead
Guilty for something
I have never done
Nor I have ever thought
But I would never run
From my faults and mistakes
Playing ducks and drakes
On an empty lake
Like they do
Just to be away
Cause they are afraid
Of being condemned
But I am not them
I am not mad
I feel only free
When the silence speaks to me

These things I've seen
 
A lover be unfaithful, allowing another man to boisterously indulge her...
The love of a 25 year life imprisonment sentence fall to pieces like the shackles at the end of slavery...
The characters of the bible being whitewashed and leaving the blacks in the dark, a black book with red sides and edging, resembling the sword that drips of blood --- Blood of the tribes fighting for their brown and green land but by way of religion fell into the enemy's hands...
Crimes of passion that claim to be unending and relentless symbolism of love and affection however psychotic...

These things I've seen

Drakes protecting the hidden treasures in the garden where the first temple was built --- I guess Adam had cousins but had no aunts or uncles...
Shapeshifting humans during intense low-level vibrational frequency ****** ******* - all ritualistic...
{In my dreams} Shapeshifting humans as they turn into star dust and crystal as they make love at high-level vibrational frequency - all electric...
Flying saucers that blip orange and red lights hovering about in circles...
Driving into the Neverland in the dark where the compass tilts clockwise then anti-clockwise...

These things I've seen

Tall Long haired pale ones looking down from a cliff in front of the greenest of trees through a mirror that connects the Universe...
A falling star descending as if it were directed or aimed with a cosmic bow and arrow...
Light elementals showing themselves through a register of time called the calendar...
Innocence fall as the heavens had color or people called the blacks such as the advanced humanoid-apes that fly spaceships...
Lion King being a true story of a faraway lost home called Avyon, where Cat People or the Felin live amongst the Bird People or the Carians...

These things I've seen

Starving children swell up and their heads being left huge on  slim a body signifying the aliens called the greys...
Aids killing brothers and sisters like they were not meant to have form, purpose and meaning...
Chemtrails arting toxic infections that cloud the nervous system with diseases...
Beggars begging for a penny and hobos pushing hope and home on a trolley...
Visions subliminal being told on tell-a-vision only to have the masses document orchestrated thought forms on social platforms...

These things I've seen, as I speak I hear them sing. As I listen I feel them breathe, as I gasp I smell their feet... and I am just below their toe nail. These things are real and the more I try to put on hope-headphones I realise there is a giant Zeitgeist being plotted against you and me, can't you see?

Hello swans with your brown signets
On the near edges where the weeds blend
And the green meets the trusted stoney bed
You frighten a little with those huge wings
The strength to **** if fear struck an orange eye.

The ducks and drakes trailing fluffy ducklings
As they swim back to the safety of the reed bed.


Love Mary

Hello swans with your brown signets
On the near edges where the weeds blend
And the green meets the trusted stoney bed
You frighten a little with those huge wings
The strength to **** if fear struck an orange eye.

The ducks and drakes trailing fluffy ducklings
So linger daring the hands of bread and biscuits
A continuity of return until fat and bloated, stop.
Their tail feathers sharing a twitching line march
As they swim back to the safety of the reed beds.

Love Mary

"I go to Nature to be soothed and healed and to have my senses put in order".
- John Burroughs


Part I

When the time was right, he does not hesitate to follow the path, “I've been waiting for this moment a very long time" he says.
Just himself, a Sage XP fly rod, a Golden Prince reel and a selection of March Browns and Slate Drakes. Its a special morning, Autumn 60s, overcast skies and lowlights.


The pathway bends past tall Sugar Maples, Old Stone fences, a Groundhog or two, trout lilies and mountain laurel. Its right here, that his fondest memories reside.
He had come at last to transcend the idea of coming back to the river for a greater purpose. A purpose that makes life worth living, a milestone, his own personal mark on this special place.
The sound of the river is in earshot now. A Chipping Sparrow sounds the alarm and all of Neversinks inhabitance are now on notice….human approaching.


As he reaches the river bank he's transported to a memory of his Granddad. The times when they fished this stretch of the river together.
His Grandfather told him about a time when fly fisherman and fly tiers honored Neversink and made it famous.


We always fished until it was dark. Granddad would light the lantern and we’d walk and talk all the way home. I often felt encouraged that just knowing the importance of this place, brought me luck.

Part II

"So by now, you're probably wondering who I am." "My name is Tom, Tom Murphy." "As a child, I came here each summer to spend time with my grandparents in the town of Roscoe, NY. When I graduated high school, I still came here from time to time whenever I had a college break as an Agronomy major at Cornell. I've always loved this place. It's always been near and dear to my heart."


The very next morning, Tom makes his way down the pathway to the river again. A nice steady Breeze was blowing through the trees, and that's when he heard it again. It's almost as if someone was speaking through the trees and wind. There it was again, this time calling out a whispering "tight lines." This was the very same voice that Tom heard as a child when his Grandfather took him to the river from the very first time.


A light rain began to fall, and Tom took cover under a large hemlock tree. Thunder sounded off in the distance, and everything in the forest was dead silent. As Tom peered across the river, he spotted movement in the adjacent Forest. A second later, a figure appeared on the bank of the river. An older man probably in his late sixties dressed in a top hat and coat, a split bamboo fly rod, and a German Shorthair Pointer by his side. Tom called out, " Good morning, sir. How are you?"

How Dare You Tell Me - What Is Literature?
When I, waking pre-8:25 alarm, from some engulfing dream
Roll out of bed, read poetry when the day has hardly dawned
The wind surges through the crack in everything
Through my window, leaning and weeping
Screaming and tearing at me in Greys
Grays I've neglected in favour of Drakes
Socialising, absorbing this post-everything
Hearing echoes of Alex Turner
Soulful Amy drowned in Wine
The Magic Mushroom experiments of my early years
My late teens, which should have come earlier
Forced to grow fast to the sounds of Lennon and Kendrick

We live in a generation of not being in love, and not being together

When I first heard 'good kid, m.A.A.d city' I was still young
Because who told me what to expect?
Who told me but the Mothers and Teachers of the 80s?
The Bleeding Hearts and Artists make their stand
So Far Gone, falling free from the wall, unhinged
Leap of faith, like washing up the first cup in a student kitchen
Lemon drizzle flow and Drizzy seeping through every artery
A modern century, reaching 21 in 21

But back to the scene set to the Ice Age
Liverpool is my hometown,
London is frozen in memory, the pressure has us crash together
Our minds blend like time, concepts, musical genres
'Blurred Lines' - Feminist uproar defines this '4th' Wave
3rd Eye: We are living in the Future, in ignorance of the present
We are Generation Y, or Z, or just a generation of terrorists
Sages, Mystics, Heroes...

Sweeping winds through my window on a dreary morn
I read 45 pages of poetry because I feel like it,
Not because I have a seminar
University's red bricks fading away for me now
I'm just staring at a man's soul,
Attaching myself, this is why I write
I reach for the ceiling, in this small room
Yawning, the stretch of a new day
Going for gold (the sun, the stars)
Going for breakfast, alone downstairs with Paul Farley

As I stretch I look out the window
See four attractive, modern girls walking
(Probably to lectures, though it seems amidst the hour)
I can lecture too, with my arrogant, contemporary voice
I think - if they see me I will smile and wave, wink maybe
(Perhaps not, I am a feminist after all...is this ironic?)
These are products of angsty teen poem generators
They don't look, but I feel it may as well have happened
(I am in such a good mood I would smile at myself)

This generation seems to lounge in apathy
Girls in beanie hats, tripping off Raider **** (RVIDXR KLVN?)
Obey Snap Backs giving me Flash backs
I wish it was the 60s, I wish I could be happy
Trap is the new Rock and Roll, Prog-Rap is coming, sit tight
(Was this always about hip hop, girls etc?)
Am I as readable as Holden Caulfield?
Reading about John Lennon drinking Milk
I felt like Sylvia Plath on 10th February 1963
Well, I feel like Lennon on 11th February 1963
Am I even an '13 Ye?
Screaming 'R.I.P STEEZ', or 'Twist and Shout'
How far have we come now..?
When will we redefine 'Post-Modernism'
Or give this era a Literary title
Like PBR&B; or Indie
Like Blues or Jazz
Like the wind that rushes through my window and my follow up 9:45 alarm telling me I need to set off

Passes not by a day, that many an e-mail
unsolicited for would not stray--
from only Christ knows where--into
my SPAM folder. Some do sail
there to have a prurient stay,
bringing along many a memento
in an argosy of raunchy piquant pictures.

Some convey commerce, insurance or banking
messages; some the cargo of relationship
carry; while another an ad of ******
bears, still another talks about dealership.

Yet stood out Twain. Two diverse
SPAM e-mails have been berthing,
with goatish gaits and sharkish smirks,
in that folder unrelenting and unswerving.

One SPAM e-mail reads: "Why wait--have
an affair with a cheating wife today."

Sweetest SPAM!

Gorging myself on this fetish
fare free of charge. Kittenish
jades, serve me thy dainties of
dalliance enough!

To rock and roll, rolling in the hay,
making merry heaves, does ever crave
this rebellious flesh--yet, this randy
SPAM e-mail's offer offsets much the mind:

"A cheating wife" desiring to find--
for reasons amourous--a dandy,
a sort of cad.

Wondering muse: "A cheating wife"?
What a magic life!

Another SPAM e-mail says its own thus: "View
my pics. Lonely married women--
view **** pics." Indeed and true,
they grip with a serious sudden
poke the soul, like pangs the heart,
those three momentous, wrecking,
wretched words: "lonely married women."

Though content spicy and Libidinous;
yet maddening.
Secret meals seemingly are delicious,
but have a fiery taste.

Where--on Earth, in Mars, or in Hell
are they? Here, in this world they dwell.

Thought marriage is a blessed haven--
a heaven of unfeigned love and lasting bliss.

How could one be married and yet
be alone in life--lonely, who has
crossed over singlehood's borders,
nor is she a widow for bereavement?

A husband did his queen abandon
for a fresh-fangled pawn,
flying away with that new
dove--frittering his fortune away,
as she chirps love in lust songs anew
into his donkey's ears; flattery
displayed, a groovy
guise--

playing ducks and drakes with his riches

until his substance ship sank, like Titanic,
colliding with an iceberg of folly
in the deep of adultery:

making a muck of his wealth.

The flirtatious dollybird no sooner
flitted, then flew abroad at last,
leaving him to drown in the murky
waters of his wreck.

Returned the prodigal man to his hearth
in a sad pickle, with one shirt, one
jean,
and a pair of snickers, to the ever
gracious ***** of his loving Missis--
like a sinner contrite to Jesus.

Whilst a sudden grass widow, his wife
did not covet the companionship,
comforts and copulation
of another flagship--

but was committed to her
vows
to that fun-tossed lugger--
despite the billowy waves,

praying he'd come to his harbour.

The women howbeit in my SPAM folder--
those "cheating wives and lonely married
women", are like Lady Portiphar
pining and yearning for Joseph.

Unread.
Unreplied.

When my mind wraps up my body
I can hear the divine rhapsody.
When my body aches and breaks
My mind plays ducks and drakes.

they won't catch me slippin.
my shoes are resistant,
my views are resistant.
a few anyway...
could lose grip in an instant.
to them, my truth is fiction.
to love, is all that i meant with
all my decisions. well most anyway...

some say I been distant
I just stay a safe distance.
don't take it personal, assure you that it isn't.
more security than anything.

insecurity's my middle name.
it'd be yours too if your doorbell rang
and the ring tone ****** like your cell phones drakes.
in that bell tone way.. that you hate.

but you wont change, and I won't too
til they catch me slippin like, you fell down Jake.

til the hell bound day,
when the smell hounds break.
Then I'll tell house mates,
"I'm headed to the jailhouse, bail out Jake."

Its in these waters, when I was merely a Parr
Or as you might refer to me as a fry,
This wise but young Brook Trout cruised the slow water with my kinfolk fry.

Moving to and fro hiding among the biome vegetation
The sunlight supported my living space and warmed my growth rings.
I dart in and out of the oxygenated seams which help me flourish.

Some days, I had to use stealth to outwit the pine marten and warblers,
I shadowed the cattail and watched them fill their bellies with those around me.
But I felt fate had a purpose for me to be something special.

And When the time was right, I'd propel myself above the water into the night air.
The large circle of orange light filled my eyes and the night sky was filled with luminary.
I imagined what it must be like to live outside this riffle domain.

This morning, through my refractory vision I spot some floating objects,
And through an inherited sensory recall I can see these are hatching green Drakes.
I immediately shoot to the surface and fill my stomach, then swim back to the undercut for cover.

As the years pass by and maturity abounds,  I find my self settling in behind a large boulder
Right at the tail out of the back eddy, providing me with an ample food supply.
And it's here I prefer to live my life in the slow current, content and peaceful.

And one day as I swam into the current seam, I spotted what appeared to be,
A different looking bug with yellow belly,  so I make my move.
He's not moving much so I decide to raise my head above the water line and sip.

As I grab the hopper I start to slide back behind the boulder,
When I feel a pinch, as if someone try's to pull me towards the surface
I fight with all my might but this force proves to be stronger than I.

It's now I realize a human reels me towards the shore line, and I'm fearful.
This one called a human, grabs my tail and places his hand on my under belly.
Pulling me from my home, he dislodges the hook from my mouth. I gasp for oxygen.

He looks me over from nose to tail, smiles and says how beautiful I am.
He looks me in the eye And says " This was a wonderful fight my friend, enjoy the rest of your life,
He places me back in water, gently reviving me and finally lets me swim away.

I dare to turn and look back at him for a moment and as he continues to watch me,
I hear him say " I fish, knowing everyday on this stream is a gift."

i. Sometimes the sky is purple where the firelight of the Sun meets the vapour of the Earth, and the vast mountains are overlain with crystals of ice and snow, scintillating among the peaks presiding above, and here IS the habitation of dragons, who soar in procession and ride o'er the rolling pure white, whose claws razor & move & rivet the Earth, and her bounty, for formations to roost, whose faces and bodies scale with white crystals, hanging bright and so clear, opened, void of concealment, and their eyes are orbs of lightning, looks of arcing illumination that hang in the sky like branches of a tall tree, and speak words like polished stones that ripple upon a balmy pool, like the flowing sounds of Vespers that Holy Angels play to you Endlessly in ur dreams, in the rhythm of golden oceans, and the melodies of rainbow harps, forever whispering to you during the passage of night and day.

ii. The blind snake gropes along the ground, bleary eyed, conceiving the body as a *** totem, seeking ultimately only to consume his own tail.

The swimmers and paddlers.
Hello swans with your brown signets
On the near edges where the weeds blend
And the green meets the trusted stoney bed
You frighten a little with those huge wings
The strength to **** if fear struck an orange eye.

The ducks and drakes trailing fluffy ducklings
So linger daring the hands of bread and biscuits
A continuity of return until fat and bloated, stop.
Their tail feathers sharing a twitching line march
As they swim back to the safety of the reed beds.

Love Mary

So obsessed
She is
changed
Her Closet
Turn-on
Lover
Something
submerged_

Never full lips
sheath
dresses

Walk-in confesses
Vanderpump Rules
Just take one
ticket you mules

Being tagged
Pants Golden pocket
Price reduced
One chosen
Deep  every breath
we take in

Miss Marilyn
Road some like it hot
More to hustle
(Monroe)
Curves and wiggles
Spiky heels
Named Doe
The Skid Roe

Never make a deal
The sheik riding hood
**** lower than hell
backs
Too unveil him
Who should?

The warm sun camels
closet smells slender
Cigarettes
Never cracks
That whodunit
Walk-in
Only low backs
Sherlocked dress
Mystique to guess?
Monique
He spilled
Sinnamon latte
Exotic Tiger print
Whispers Walk-in
Hints?
Love magnetized
late
The caramel
sensuous sips

A girl best
friend
Not one
ring or
love note
Valentine email
Dressed in closet
But it wasn't mine?
Stacks of
dresses

  A+ Yes, never a  no

I believe
I will find
your vote

Coziness Closets of
many
alterations

Altered her vision
Designer maniacs
Never ticks
**** hens and clocks
   Guys under the weather
The Umbrella ladies
Eating chocolate
Being bombed
Mr. Drakes

All latex
Younger
man
Plastic
double
agents
Of Botox
Oh! Dear
Mommy
Closet case!
Can you spell
spellbound

The green envy
dress
Near her
wallflower
the wax museum
of witches
Breaking some
britches
Broomsticks
Fly Robin Fly closet
Oh! Why
So subtle the Seance
Copies in her Palace

Something rearranged
her closet
Humanity switch
Her designer
hangers
underground

She became
the closed
closet mute
Shabby chic
out of lines

Never bling
I am going
to wash
that man
out of
Ponytail

I wonder
Why? whipped
hair
My big
walk-in
closet
You're invited

The girls live in
her shoes don't
judge a closet
With all her books
Tied to his ankle

Whip cream-color
Come over
You stepped
accidentally
into her dirt
French
tulip skirt

Her walk-in closet
she calls them
on skype lips up
The Closet
always shuts up

Depression, Depression the feeling of emptiness always a challenge to fill it with happiness. One of my favorite songwriters is Nick Drake his somber yet powerful lyrics about not be able to connect with people and depression really helped me in times of personal trouble. I was diagnosed very early on in my childhood with depression I started reading a lot listening to music looking outside my window watching the other children play knowing how I would not be able to connect socially. When my parents divorced I realized that my life began to go in a downward spiral then I discovered Nick Drake. I felt connected to him in some way as if I was a incarnation of him. When I listen to his music I feel the same sense of hopelessness the same feelings of isolation. At times I feel stronger for going through this permanent pain but then I think to myself what of my future. That question races though my mind it almost like its making me a restless ghost during those cold dark nights. Through my high school years I still felt the same isolation with people as when I was a child. But the big difference was that I didn’t place a big smile on my face when I knew everything was not alright. This time I expressed my feelings in a more mature and realistic way. I started to write a lot in my spare time I usually wrote a lot of isolated characters trying to find that source of happiness that would free them of their personal pains. Once I wrote a short story about a girl that I fell in love with being a huge fan of F.Scott Fitzgerald I described the main character as the girl all the boys want but can ever have. With a combination of Nick Drakes lyrical style and F Scott Fitzgerald’s plot structure I wrote a love story that defined my inner feelings that I couldn’t really express with verbal communication. Sometimes I believe when people socialize verbally it establishes a more meaningful connection but for me developing socializing socials wasn’t so verbal but it was with writing and listening to music where I developed a sense of identity that was a real morale booster to continue living life with the aspirations of success and personal happiness.

aches
void
circulation of losses
a truck filled with messes
existence full of profanity

only
            acing
                           drakes

sigh! tie me with laces
life's short,move with slower paces

but your only a creep
with more patches
don't merry me with braces
a ****** broken into pieces
this earth
                 is a
                       savage palace

now applaud me hater