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.

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."

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

"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?"

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.

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

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

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."

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?

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

Yehudit sat by the pond.

The morning was warm,
sunny, white puffs of clouds
drifted overhead. Benny lay
on his back beside her, eyes
closed, hands behind his head.

She gazed at him. Not sleeping,
eyes motionless behind lids.

Resting he'd say. She took in
his blue jeans and off white
short-sleeved shirt, open necked.

She looked away, back at the pond.

Drakes and ducks swam. A swan
was over the far end. Elegant.

Can be vicious. Suppose they
can be. She put her hands around
her knees, fingers entwined.

Her skirt just over the knees.

Green stockings. Itchy. She
sniffed the air. Flowers, farm
smells over the way, water smell.

She looked at the long grass
behind her. Some months back
they'd been there. She gazing at
the sky, he on top of her. His
hazel eyes, looking into hers.

His quiff of hair on his forehead.

She liked that, the way it moved
as he did. She listening for sounds.

Footsteps in the grass, old broken
branches crunched under foot.

Voices on the wind. Wonder if
we would have? Maybe. Another
time. Too  soon. She looked away,
back to the pond. The swan was
nearing the ducks. Circles of water
spread over the pond. There was
that time further in the woods,
dense wood, tall trees, bushes.

Unexpected. Suddenly they were.

She wondering: was this how it was?
He eyes closed, moving in a motion,
entering, sensed him. Her coat on
the ground, cushioning. The tree
tops swaying, his quiff of hair,
clouds moving slow overhead.

She looked at him beside her,
eyes closed, his breathing slow,
but regular like one who dozed.

In the field of white
Everything is coated from head to toe
In a icy blanket
Of crisp sparkling snow.
The path that often takes
Us past the little duck pond
Crunches beneath our feet
White with snow and far beyond.
We can see the ice
With frozen ducks and drakes
Huddled from the cold wind
And the falling snowflakes.
The force of the snow
Has detached and thrown
Down to the base of the tree
The pretty fragrant fir cone.
It is placed in the basket
Covered in melting ice
It will decorate the fireplace
With berries and cinnamon spice.
There is a sense of magic everywhere
On each and every stone and rock
Twinkling diamonds reflected by the sun
Wet underfoot seeping in my shoe and sock.
Toes feel like little blocks of pure ice
Must make the way back to the roaring fire
Hot chocolate and toast sounding nice
Take off my icy clothes and into something drier.
The snow from my window looks inviting
The red of the berry against the blue of the snow.
The smile on my face tells the story
Nice and warm where the wind cannot blow.

O road take me back to my country home
Speed me quick for my heart missed it so
For wealth and good fortune I foolishly roam
Now home-bound I once again go.
To the trees and blossom of Springtime
Even to the bare twigs of Fall
Yet even to the frost of a cold Winter’s rime
In the country I feel I am all.

Once I travelled o’er great oceans deep
I saw beautiful skies so bright blue
Yet I dreamt of you whenever I’d sleep
In countryside of lovely green hue.
For much as I love the hill and the ride
And all of the beauty found there
If I couldn’t sense you here by my side
Such bounty would just seem so bare.

So over  great oceans I travel once more
I’m heading to you darling dear
My heart it is calling to one I adore
It beats faster as home draws me near.
O darling I can’t bear to leave you again
This journey is the last I’ll pursue
In the country with you, my very best friend
We will live under our sky of blue.

And on days perhaps spent in woods near the lake
Watching woodpeckers , jays and the brambling
We’ll sit by the lake with a picnic we’ll take
Watching lambs in the fields as they’re gambolling.
Our hearts will be full and so satisfied
We’ll walk hand-in-hand by the shore
We’ll play ducks and drakes and watch the stones glide
Who could ever want anything more.

At night our arms each other enfold
We’d lie in passionate embrace
Our love we’d give in manner so bold
And I’d watch your beautiful face.
I’d wonder how lucky a man such as I
Could ever have been so well blessed
Such thoughts would make me silently cry
As we lie in our cottage now at rest.

©Joe Wilson – My beloved and my country…2015

My travel companion:

Hiding behind a mask of deceit

cloaked from each other we traverse this path

we are aware of looming contempt

yet grin as we wait for veracity's wrath

as the hollow smiles have begun to show cracks

at a distance we hear a deafening roar

what could cause such an awful cry?

perhaps the marching army corps?



a fang emerges into the clearing

we instantly know this hellish beast,

the crimson dragon from ghoulish lore comes straight at us charging

we leap, roll and fret

as we scramble the goliath is scarcely dazed

regaining posture, gaping, it shows its teeth that put daggers to shame

spewing embers astray it stands with its nostrils flared



we lose the luxury to exercise restraint

with no resource left to sustain our deceit

we shed our veils and our true form is revealed

swords out, we are on our feet

wind changes direction and smoke starts to shift

moving swiftly concealed in the coal black vapour

two swords enter the drakes scruff

with vengeful eyes a blow we deliver

the ruddy beast falls into a macabre heap

Think I'm gonna fail then you're truly wrong.
In this game of life I'm far more than a pawn
Started from the bottom, now I'm up, Drakes song.
But I been at my greatest all along
To you this is just words, a rap, a song.
For me this is life,freedom, a gateway to beyond... Reality
Allowed me to rise above a self fulfilling prophesy.
Went from the streets to Seattle University.
Without music, I don't wanna think where I'd be.
My story, my life, a piece of me.
Creating music helped me to cope, to gain clarity
Music is a gateway out of reality.

I'm chasing the wrong dreams
so I might as well catch them
Wheels on rims
I guess I got to trust them
The game is the game whether I win or lose
I'm sticking to my wheels amid the chants ,past the boos
I'm caught up in the moment
Trapped in the torment
See things don't come fast life ain't no comet
It's unpredictable, won't rhyme as a sonnet
So I gotta be patient,though it stings like a hornet
And it's hard,call it finding a soulmate
I'm going without breaks
Albeit it pours ducks and drakes
Up for the bend, I'll see this till the end
I'm giving hope a chance
And faith another glance
Time keeps ticking, opportunities I'm seeking
Things are loading I can hear guns clicking
I'll do this like an addict, a day a packet of cigars
Or say serial killer,won't rest till I pull some triggers
I was born to rhyme for my time
Wisdom and philosophy is my crime
I see company in solitude
Longitude in latitude and
there's an altitude in my attitude
I don't do this for the sake
Like a hip hop beat for the shake
It's my therapy so like music
many dance to my bullets
And find solace in the sarcastic missiles I shoot
I'm an owl for the night
have no fright when I hoot
It's that scary melody that
might in a day fatten my wallet
It's a sad story to tell
that I see the world as it should be
*And live in it as it is,for I'm swayed
by winds of karma like the trees
But you'll realise we deserve better
when you add twos and the threes
It's just a gamble with words
trying to fix all them shards
I live everyday getting prepared for the worst
Funny when it comes it's like I didn't
Most tines I wish I hadn't but then
Wishes, if they were donkeys all else would ride
Hard to conceal all pains inside
Sometimes it feels like all has died
With only breath surviving having nowhere to hide
But we all know nowhere is such a safe place
And survival's just a game of chess
Sometimes I say things I too don't understand
But then why should I understand when I said them
If I said them I thought, if I thought I sought
If I sought it's from my mind or I bought
If I bought they were cheap otherwise it's the little wisdom I got
They never stop flowing they're like a river
And they're the phantoms in my head silently loud as a weaver
And I bleed them in lines and rhymes as a cure
To the breath of the ennui I endure
It's the greatest terrors on rolling wheels
It's me hiking the fears like rolling mills

Maybe maybe
Please, someone,
save me?
Maybe no is okay
Questions about all
exclamation points

What is the point when
it's not ((Ok)) maybe no
But yes is
something to
outweigh the odds
your feelings
Higher force
The Gods
Mowing your lawn-
Until Dawn meets her clown
So underweighted feeling down
((Minds Inflated))
The bad depression
feeling disliked being liked

He's heavily happy
The before or after 400 pounds
Can't you pick your relatives?
Your niece the Alaskan- Huskies
Howling Greyhounds
Maybe stand-up
Maybe waiting stood up
Like the walking dead
diseased no way you became
half-dead---?
Or maybe no I'm not
OK? What's in my head
You decide (No-Show)

No, it's not my fault
Maybe she shouldn't
open up the$$$
Bank vault
Increased blood pressure
Not Moms coffee pressure
The world of electronics
Everything Melancholic
Depression became
the liar

Losing your shirt like
Sport big-time gambling
Scattered all broken glasses
Maybe no blind spots
wearing your sunglasses
The reasons Maybe no
I shouldn't__pass
this opportunity up
Buy the video game
Snapping perky eyes up
The flash drive all hyped
Overcharged to get recharged
On your Visa charge
Well what do you know
Is one cup of coffee going to
miss my meter fine

Gives me no joy from
your joystick .).
Maybe the change of soda's
Ms. Coconutty
Cherry Godzilla
On your Mozilla

Joy to the world
fanatics of electronic
Heres to your litter's cats
and dogs
Twinkle star OK Twitter
Maybe Scarlet and Rhett
butler went with the wind
From behind demon's Scarlet, no's
I will be dammed ferocious
The hospital surgery OK
I got eye strains

Maybe no routine is better than maybe
Is it OK to feel guilty getting the guillotine
My Contagious computer
My snacks chocolate
covered drakes

Bending your head down
at your phone, it breaks
my heart spinal
degeneration
Like a hermit that's
OK!! No home didn't
pay rent

Welcome to our ((Generation))
24/7 and everything will be OK
  those hours don't ever take away
Broken bones earphones
Arthritis, It's Ok

Write something every day

My family is my heart of the lifetime
Once upon a star blessing all the time*
Early birds After hours of words
So maybe no could have
made a lucky, yes

Go to Disneyland and say yes
Those high heels beauty and the beast
OK let it be let it be
No-one will take that part away from me

I am moving as a spirit.  I am rippling through the rye
I am hunting in the corn with malice in my eye
I run through the fields beneath a misty moon
And cavort in the corn amid the scent of elderbloom
I am stalking in the wind, I am weaving through the hedge
I come and go between the worlds and trot along the edge
I prowl through the darkness until the night withers
Now through the dappling leaves the first daylight dithers
The soft summer breeze ruffles through the thorns
And Venus sparkles brightly in the bezel of the dawn
I run beneath the chorus, the fluting whistle-trill
Of the long billed curlews as they wheel above the hills
A covey of grey partridge is stirring in the spurrey
They see the ripple in the corn and set up wings a-whirring
I skirt around the homesteads with their whimpering curs
And run under the lapwings circling over moors
I come again to cornfields sparkling with dew
The cornflowers opening to reveal their vibrant blue
The first blush of poppies is just starting to bleed
A wavering tide of scarlet along the edge of fields
The days they are longer and so the nights are short
While the moors are being gilded with bristling golden gorse
At the silent casting off of the deep blue night
The lapwings dart over me flashing black and white
And far above the brambles and the dog-rose bloom
The owls doze and dream and wait the day out for the moon
The brown soft-hued ducks and the bright gaudy drakes
Startle and take flight across the sedge-rimmed lake
They are not prey, I leap away over whispering rush-lined rills
That wriggle through the meadows and down the low-backed hills
Faintly growling, I am prowling, I am a mist of grace
Who has swirled for centuries and stalked about this place
Padding through both peace and war, rippling through both sun and storm
Hackling at those I see, yet few have seen my silver form
I run under the thorn trees that spring decked in white
My howl shivers the barley beneath the shortening nights
I run through the hedges that will yield the blue-black sloes
I leap with ease between the worlds.  At will I come and go
I hunt my prey through night and day, through the dusk and dawn
I am the ripple in the rye, the demon wolf of corn
The rattle of the lilac blooms rusting on the trees
Carries on the waves of the summer-scented breeze
I smell the bruised stalks of the purple creeping thyme
The undertones of yarrow and corn chamomile
As a fitful breeze veers towards me cool and fresh
I catch the unmistakable smell of human flesh
They go about their mortal world without a sense of fear
For ignorance is bliss - they do not know that I am here
Modern man has forgotten that I even exist
Only my victims see me form as silver mist
I do not need to eat - I am a spirit of the corn
But do not take me lightly, indeed, be warned
I can manifest at will and the breeze is my breath
And should I so desire my fangs will rend your flesh
In the barley and the wheat and the rye I am at home
Be mindful should you ever walk these fields alone
Ask yourself, if you ever catch my glinting eye
If it's really just a breeze that ripples through the rye.

It was just one of those nights
The kind of night that was nauseating
The one where I want to go out for a long drive while listening to Drakes Thank Me Later album
The one where I wanna be numb to everything
Unfortunately I can’t, so I just sit there and pretend that everything in my head is...well... just in my head.

Watching patterns in a storm of randomness.
****** in pants. Tailored
For a man.
When my inner strength.
Is female handling.
Obstacles. Thinking
Boxless like tearing chocolates
Out the cardboard box
And dismantle conventional
Practices of packaging.
An instrument of god.
Who solves the wolves
That lurk
Like shadows. In the city
Under man made suns
That light up.
Sidewalks
Where bodies lined in chalk
Make Benjamin bratt
Batman.
Marishka hargitay
All deploy tactics
To evolve the plot of miss piggie
Fooling mom about the sweet allure
Of my want for the awesomeness of
The cookie mob.
Is watching every ounce of
Imported chocolate
Controlling product
*** dad hated gangsta rap
So that's the way my life
I was crazy to model it.
Drakes the top. Of tyranny
He wants my body
For a swallow of his hot chocolate
So I swallow it
And roll in modesty.
While sarcastically
Talking of obnoxiousness
Like the same box I do not think in.
*** drakes box.
Is toxicly stocked with ****.
And ***. And love.
The total. Sum. Of love and chocolate
Like I'm filled with humour
Haunted by a want
That's as noxious as a ****
Choking other every other
Thought
That grows in the garden
Of my consciousness
So as the watchmen
Drop clues
So do I want me to swallow this
It's like slavery
13 states wanted it
Half of the people fought to abolish it
America. Your awesome
But half your population is intolerant
The times have changed you votedtrump
Your dumb as ****
You scare me with your complete
Abandon of moral competence
So I've gotten my response
From god
He said you lost in Vietnam
The dudes who wanted it
Were haunted by a political ideal.
Your rich sons never fought in it.
Hate me for every stitch my Jean's rap the sacred cloth that swaddled my body in.
That's slot of talk
That Jordan's a false prophet
And hesgodless and monstrous
Prominent talk of Christians acting like gods. Trump followers. And ignorant fallen angel followers and lots of intolerance
In the empty corners of an office crawling
With spiders. Inside my eyes. Drawn inside a web that entangled every bug and crawler.
In my bedside drawer.
Tell me horrors. I cant stop
So say goodbye.
Admire my broken jaw
My spoken song.
My matching eyes.
And watch me die

Countless generations lapsed since height of Greco-Roman mythology conceived, birthed and populated vast canopy of sky and expanse of terrestrial firmament, whereat obeisant propinquity quintessentially remains stalwart this day and age as guise dolls dote demonstrably come Valentine’s Day, when Cupid plucked from the quiver, notched in bowstring and launched Eros tinged arrow induces love struck swain to swoon upon a lassie faire, whence fecund female feast proliferates progeny.

Yours truly not necessarily romantic at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated

noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome,
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.

Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking,
yet straight as an arrow nock king,

establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks

at the growing flock
including male friends relatives,
minus yours truly, whose presence,
would merely generate a yawn,
though even a distinct black swan
received royal carpet treatment
particularly one named Shawn
encompassing another honorable guest

with illustrious surname Rawn
guests underwritten by Cupid,
whose presence surreptitiously withdrawn
(invitations distributed widely explained,
just beak cuz gerrymandering redrawn)
even provoking deer interest
of stray doe eyed fawn
hence lacking bravado and brawn

this bird den some seedy,
yet dove out crow kissing Avocet
trundled off to parts unknown you bet
far from boys stir russ, raw cuss, diss cuss
ting clacking clique, and thus this solitary fret
full ostracized, rejected, unwanted egret,
who heron there experienced many a let

down, not simply because of stork disparity
with the Aves and havenots,
but I never met
any other species so set
in their ways, hence off
on a wing and prayer
in search of other buoys and gulls,
whom this dodo bird they will coe vet!

Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking

establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks

at the growing flock
including male friends relatives,
minus yours truly, whose presence,
would merely generate a yawn,
though even a distinct black swan
received royal carpet treatment
particularly one named Shawn
encompassing another honorable guest

with illustrious surname Rawn
guests underwritten by Cupid,
whose presence surreptitiously withdrawn
(invitations distributed widely explained,
just beak cuz gerrymandering redrawn)
even provoking deer interest
of stray doe eyed fawn
hence lacking bravado and brawn

this bird den some seedy,
yet dove out crow kissing Avocet
trundled off to parts unknown you bet
far from boys stir russ, raw cuss, diss-cuss
sing demerits of being in debt
ting clacking clique, and thus this solitary fret
full ostracized, rejected, unwanted egret,
who heron there experienced many a let

down, not simply because of stork disparity
with the Aves and havenots,
but I never met
any other species so set
in their ways, hence off
on a wing and prayer
in search of other gulls,
whom this dodo bird they will coe vet!

Hi praise from a genius.
Interveniusly fed from the heavens.
Birth of concept directed as a gift
Of immaculate conception.
Weapons of an angel.
Death and life in direction of travelling passengers
On a raft in river of
Deliverance from ****** repression.
****** suspension.
Chemical intervention. Medication meant to be a super natural circumvention. Of a dramatic urge to ****** sessions with **** men and .
And I'm a menace. With a compass pointing north like magnetic attraction to a hardened compression
of gravity in the pants of attraction in a storm of upwards direction known as your skyward awakened sacred *******.
And I'm going south with plans of making my face take southward facing face plant
A face cant.
Take that.
Make me decorate my place with fake plants
A baby with a fate that.
A man that grows apussy cant ******* make that.
Following gods naked granted word
Promise that a baby
Is promised.
Like a slate that.
Cant clean
Itself. Like jesus needs to save that which
Is depraved inside my nature a
Way of naked anger
Attempting perfection
With a worthless self appraisal
My name that
Needs saving and re decorating
In a place of carpets draped
On windows
In the light. Where the saints dance
And the devil waits to take that
Which cant protect
Its life I took for granted
Need to stand in
Saving grace
The light that fades
From mystic music
Cascading
From her hair and face and
Her smile great like
God inside the depths of hell
Shining light in darkness
With compassion
For the fate of which
Was elaborately persuaded
To abandon sacred ashes
while jesus dusts the grey ants from my dusty plant which
Smells like eminem kanye and jay z
Diamond eyes. A mind of detention
Crime of perfection
With genius mention
For the sentence
***** is a craving. That leaves me weapon less and unprotected
An urge to get pregnant
While imspeaking of future intentions
I should avoid my hatred
Of self expression
I should forgive
My pseudo intellect
And goof like intentions
**** I **** I say all thisshit
But cant break my body
In the alottedtime
Not pragmatic
*** I'm tempered like a serrated blade.
And worthless with a great chance
To face agrave.
Of shallow grief speaking of a reach from Angel's breaking bread with words that make that
Mission
Like s vision
Of envisioning
A great plan
Prophetic
Eradicating
Drakes laugh
From my gay half
Laughing like I'm cisgendered
Not a gay man
Or a Jays fan
Break leg fam
You fake glam
**** fan
I'll shave my legs
And drape your legs with my ankles
Breaking bones
As I wind up on your face champ
So ******* break dance
Kick it like a karate
Break my body like
A babe lamb
Bones are inventions
Of a name
A single world that makes me think
I'm ******* great and
Than people speak of changes
Like a fate of
Slated fake plants
I honestly believe
I'm going to conceive
A baby from a great man
But the tragic truth remains
Imdeluded. Polluted conclusion
Undoing of pursuing my inner truth
Like serial killers pursue
A cell in Arkham county
But there too smart to take a g

So beautiful you are in the field of wilds flowers
you are a common flower
you brighten up the field with your beautiful gold
You brighten the days of a lovers eyes
you are a flower of many
But you are your own beauty
You are the beauty of age
so thin and small rich in color
you rob the lover's hearts
You are the beauty
even when dust makes its way in
you stand out among the wild
in the fields, you glow  
You are the art of the painter's eyes
the meadows deep shadows on the graze
the painter paints away at your beauty
of gold swaying back and forth
You are the beauty among all the wildflowers
you sprinkle your love around the drakes old tree  
You beautified the land
You are my childhood flower
my eyes had always desired
I had to pick you and take you home
to lighten up the place.

Judy Emery © 1983
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery