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Bus Poet Stop Jul 2017
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BusBusNYC (A Live Love Bus App)

•<>•

if you made it this far, so fare one,
be undressed with thyself and impressed as well,
for thou joints me in holy matrimony upon a living map

where our presences can meet
in virtual real time as if eye new what that meant

but that blue dot is where this body possessed can be located by the nearest satellite finger snaking down from the heavens to Cain mark my foreheads location,
just like on Game of Thrones

don't you desire me, or rather,
the knowledge of mine
whereabouts?

the who of me, that very useful information, can best be
seen moving crosstown on the M72,
which is a mythological bus for in twenty years eye never
seen it come, go, though all its stops clearly marked

see me moving in fits and spurts of bursts of movement,
leaping streets and avenues in a single
unbounded, unstoppable superbus leap

in a city of anonymity where all who walk it streets,  
ride the tides of its buses,
all ask a single Job-like question,
regardless of age,
"I am desirable, do you want me?"

eye say the ayes have it,
no,
this is not a great poem

but!
this live bus map app is the dating site ever created by
geeky human cells
alll this virtual meeting possibly leading to coitus  
with a stranger while Pandora serenades
with perfect synchronicity, playing and plying us with
Romance for a Violin and Orchestra in F Minor,
a combination musical **** work of
Dvorak-Mehta-Midori

this bus app is
the social media's most immediate,
so meet me on the bus
at Broadway and 86 Street
where our metro cards can be
merged and we will be recognized
as a legal couple(ing)
in the eyes of MTA,
a multi-state agency and be bound in bustrimony
(legally married when riding on a city bus, only)

jeez, a crazy poem, not just, not a good one

but a true tale from the one who rides the buses and only
alights and delights with regaling tales and tellings

of love sortie sorrow maybe tomorrow the busbusNYC
app wil apply itself a smidgen better and
let me love you even with
a good under the hood
bus poem

but!
someday we will,
this, thy poet,
who does desire youalone,
will hijack you and a NYC bus,
and visit the poets from India and
the Great Northwest

won't that be a fabulous poem!
Choudhury


https://appsto.re/us/nxo6H.i
What's New
The bus app can now help subgles locate
compatible mates interested in riding the buses and  falling in love
Muhammad Usama Jun 2017
By that enchanted lake,
With the trees playing a serenade,
A madness grew inside,
When I waltzed with you that night.

How timid were we then,
And how our feet trembled,with each beat-
Yet,we danced with no respite,
By that unusual tide!

And when that moonlit lake,
Conducted your eyes-to play to mine,
A certain melodious rite!
God could not but cherish the sight.

Later,that benign darkness,
Grew all over the place,and masked us
As we danced in delight,
That silent,lovely night.

We bowed,in curtsy,then,
And we vowed to waltz forever.But
Why did you,out of despite,
Forget that vow,we vowed that night?

That night was naught,but
A chaotic fantasy,I wish was real.
Having all other pleasures denied,
I,still,wish I was by your side.

All because of what I fantasized,
A sorrow still lives that should've died.
Paul S Eifert Jan 2013
It having been decided, herein is pronounced.
Let them know the number of days; let them count the number of days
and the count shall be 180.
Day 1 let him strike his head with his fists and call it "stupid".
Day 5 let the vomiting begin without surcease.
Let him dress for work as if he can.
Let him park and never drive beyond Day 10.
Let him pass out at the toilet.
Let him shed 100 pounds and all his hair.
He shall suffer such indignities as appertain
until he is brought to tears before his eldest son
of whom he shall ask, "Do you believe in miracles?"
Let there be no reprieve, neither for the holidays.
Let him wander out into the snow without a coat
and utter, "So beautiful. So beautiful."
All this in due course to precede the final 3.
The son and he shall smoke a last cigarette on the porch.
He shall proceed to the gurney and not see home again.
Let them gather at the hospice room.
Let him suffer terminal rage
thus shall he be manhandled by the sons.
On that day he shall be bedridden by narcotic.
Let him fall into persistent incoherence.
They shall play the New World by Dvorak.  
He shall not hear.
They shall gather for the Rosary over him.
He shall not hear.
The eldest son shall vow to stay at his side
nor shall he sleep for 72 hours.
The son shall not permit the end to come.
The son shall take his hand and say
"Only God takes it away."
And when the room is empty but for them he shall sing softly
"Today While the Blossoms Still Cling to the Vine"
He shall not hear.
Let them all tell him it is okay to die.
Let the eldest son protest, "It is not okay to die."
In the final hours he shall struggle again
thus to be manhandled by the sons.
Then amid his incoherence he shall look the eldest in the eyes
and solemnly say
"I love you."
These shall be his last words.
Let them check his toes for signs of life.
Let the breathing come infrequently.
Let the breathing cease.
Let the son remain until they pull away the sheet
and display him in his nakedness at last.
All this to be accomplished January 15
in the year of Our Lord.
Remembering you dad. I love you.
pcbzzzt Jun 2010
Desire expressed
manifests in moments
Genesis to geneticist
alpha to omega, Eden Armageddon
and a particular flat stone
I'm flinging at that pile of H2O

It skips, predictably,  causing surface ripples
under a line of predefined arcs
each described by gravity and water molecules
neatly arranged in surface tension that
reflects this day ... blue as the clear sky
and a peaceful wavelength
we know as
harmony

I'm wondering who desired such perfection...
Enabled energy, proclaimed pebbles
Caused a lake to feel at home right here

Read Darwin some respond
you're only here because
a primal pond appeared
somehow someway backwhen
and that famous fertile germ
opted for a brave new world
with ****-sapiens
conveniently mapped to its single cell
Dadadadaaa! Dumdeedee dumb!
Dvorak wonders too

Backwards, on slow-motion rewind
lofty intellects scratch and munch in flaky wonderland
ever plotting the self-indulgent, Lemming way 'ahead'
Independence day drags drearily on
Take fifty! ... A more human-friendly God
created in our image ... lest we forget the beast
I, me, first-person-one, Oh you're lookin' good!
Lets put that that triple 6 trinity to work
Replete, till death us do part, we do things My Way
ala Frank (and certain gorillas with cigars)

Thus is the compliment returned
Man attains an ever lower High place
Pass my slice of cake please
Myopic, entropic moments
loop their mobius strips
ever further down the food chain
Highways congeal and earth chokes
desperation

Small wonder Wisdom opposes pride
Shows His face to humble folk
Invites shepherds to witness
Jupiter in Virgo's womb
Rouses them with a shofar blast  
come Kingdom come.
Lydia Jul 2017
• The way you laid on the floor and listened to Dvorak “Romance for piano and violin, Op.11” and got lost in the music.
• The way you started to fall asleep watching Grand Budapest Hotel
• The way you grabbed my hand to stop the shaking.
• The way you took care of me when I had a little too much to drink.
• The way you ran back to campus to ensure I would get home safe.
• The way you brought me back when I started to slip.
• The way you kept my gaze as I struggled to keep my eyes open.
• The way you made me never want to look away.
• The way you watched me get lost in the music and the stars.
• The way you wrapped me in your arms that night.
• The way you kissed my forehead.
• The way you pulled the blankets off me in the morning.
• The way you played with my nephew, and I could see the future ahead of you.
• The way you get lost in your own mind.
• The way you talk of the galaxies.
• The way you always know how to respond.
• The way you laid in my bed.
• The way you accept everyone.
• The way you strive to be better.
• The way you talk to me.
• The way you always know what I’m thinking.
• The way you make me wonder.
• The way you melted into my family.
• The way you care about my family.
• The way you care about your family.
• The way you are so selfless.
• The way you want to run.
• The way you want to get out of this town.
• The way you care about everyone.
• The way you try to escape.
• The way you seclude yourself from others.
• The way I feel like I can’t help you.
• The way I sat there with nothing to say as you cried.
• The way I feel when I see you with her.
• The way I struggle to get out of bed.
• The way I can’t focus.
• The way I can forgive you.
• The way I sit wordless with so much to say.
• The way I wish you saw me.
Milushka Oct 2010
~I too have a dream

Oh, what a beautiful morning,
I wonder
what's going to happen
to spoil it,
what's going to befall me.

There are so many possibilities
of things going wrong,
not going my way,
I don't even want to imagine.

Why cannot I just sit quietly
enjoying the sunshiny day?

The phone may ring
bringing bad news,
I may lose my beloved
to the the world.

An unexpected invoice
I forgot to pay
might appear in my mail box,
the weather may change
and out of the blue day
a thunderstorm and rain.

Will I pay dearly
for seeing everything
only in shades of grey?

Then the tones
of "The New World Symphony"
with motifs of Bohemian village dances,
the hustle and bustle
of American cities,
native Indian drums drumming
bring the image
of peace;
of pursuit of happiness
on both of my continents.

Impossible dream, you say?

Author Notes
~Largo from the 'New World' Symphony (1893)
by the Czech composer Antonin Dvorak;
and is probably the most famous piece
of the composition played at all American state funerals.
~This is not my Poem; this belongs to me Lamushkia; (Milushka) who is no longer with us.
Check out her other poems in her collection here.
She deserves to be remembered.
~Anna

~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Prior Reviews:

B Woods Righter   Jul 28
I just read 'Woman of the Wood' on Frank's page and then stumbled on this, what a beautiful poetess. I listened to the New World Symphony just the other day, its one of my favorites and this poem speaks to it so well. The shift that Milushka takes when she hears the music is so dramatic and relateable. That last stanza incredibly captures the beauty of Dvorak's work in so few words. With music like that and poems like this, I believe no dream is impossible, thank you so much for sharing this Anna :)
~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~
D   Sep 26
I can truly appreciate this, Anna...I love Dvorak and this symphony is my funeral dirge.
Stu Harley Aug 2014
my piano
dreamed of
playing a
duet
with
Dvorak
and
Pavane
in the courtyard of
the queens of hearts
are you there
Sarah Jan 2017
So in moments of cello
and measures of
rendezvous,
Dvorak concertos &
adagios too...
in moments of breath
when reading the lines,

it's your hands holding
a set of strings,
and afterwards, then
mine
BELOIT CAFE

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS



For Vicki Whitaker



Chapter 1

"Two eggs, over easy, double hash browns, and coffee, black," said Sally.

"Got it," said Leo.

Leo was Leo Lottman. He was also a genius, but he never cared about that. He had been the cook at Beloit Cafe for six years. He had gotten the job just after he had graduated from Beloit High School. He was 4' 9" tall, so had to see the whole cafe through the small crack in the right wall.

"Order up," yelled Leo.

Sally came over to pick up the order and took it to her customer. The other waitress was Mildred. Both had been working there for 10 and 12 years respectively.

Both Leo's parents had been killed in a car wreck when he was a junior in high school and had to spend his senior year with his uncle. He easily could have won a scholarship to KU, but having been socially shunned all his growing up, he was content to live a private life.

Leo got a job at the Beloit Cafe as a cook. He also rented the room above the kitchen. He loved classical symphonies and reading books on American history, as well as other subjects. The only person who never shunned him was himself.

Beloit is a small town in north central Kansas with a population of 3,400 citizens. In it is the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. On occasional Sunday afternoons, he had gotten permission to go there and talk to those girls interested in the history of the United States.

"Oatmeal with raisins, buttered white toast, and a large glass of whole milk," yelled Meredith.

"Got it."


Chapter 2

After the Cafe closed, Leo slowly climbed the stairs to his room.

The first thing he did was to put on Rachmaninoff's PIANO CONCERTO #2. Then he was ready to absorb himself in all things American. He had already read Howard Zinn's A PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. For example, Leo knew that eight men who became President of the United States also owned slaves themselves. George Washington had owned slaves and Thomas Jefferson, the man who wrote "We the People," owned more than 600 slaves. Now he was exploring and enjoying poems written by American poets.

Take, for example, Frost's MENDING WALL, Leo might say.

"The lines I enjoy most are (1) "Something there is that doesn't love a wall" and (2) "Before I'd build a wall/I'd like to know what I was walling out or walling in."

Provocative, Leo thought.

"Or let's examine Emily Dickinson. She wrote a poem titled "I'm Nobody - Who are you?" I think the title tells everything you need to know who she was, a brilliant, but secluded, woman. Lived virtually her whole life in her bedroom. She wrote often about death, probably because she was slowly dying within. I don't think she was ever loved."

"Walt Whitman--let's take a look at him through his poetry. I think Walt Whitman was the emotional antithesis of Emily Dickinson--wide open, not shut as her bedroom door was. I see Whitman as the first American hippie. After you read I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC, read LEAVES OF GRASS.

Leo was getting sleepy. Who wouldn't be after spending hours on his feet?


Chapter 3

"French toast with maple syrup, two lightly poached eggs, bacon, and a cup of coffee with cream," said Sally.

"Got it."

There seemed to be a lot more people coming in to eat breakface this morning. At 4' 9", Leo could see whichever waitress was leaving an order, but could not see the full cafe, which was why he often looked through the small crack to the right in the wall. In a way, this was a metaphor of his life.

Leo was thinking about what he would talk this coming Sunday afternoon at the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. Probably American history, but he was also thinking about a fellow named Tod Howard Hawks and the many poems of his Leo had read and liked on the Internet.

Among a number of Hawks's poems he liked were SOLITUDE AND GRACE, I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN, and SIMONE, SIMONE,
Leo had read all of Hawks's poems, over a thousand of them, as well as his aphorisms and essays. He had also read his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH, which Hawks had posted on the Internet, which meant people could read it for free. Leo admired Hawks's magnanimity, but he wanted to pick 10 more of Hawks's poems to share with the girls.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky, I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize. My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN

I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always high
noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
please come to me
and bare your breast
for me to rest
my shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone.


Chapter 4

"Ladies, it's nice to be with you again," said Leo.

"This afternoon, I'd like to talk a bit with all of you about the beginnings of our country. After that, I'd like to share with you some poems written by a very talented fellow.

"Our Constitution of 1787 ratified slavery with the 3/5th Clause, thereby making slavery legal in all 13 nascent states. My question:  How can you reconcile slavery with democracy?  My answer:  You can't. Slavery is anathema. It is immoral. It is repugnant. The child of slavery is racism that permeates our nation today. People whose skin is black are still being discriminated against to this very day. The period from 1890 to 1920 saw more lynchings of Blacks than during any other comparable period. The grotesque fact is that eight men, eight presidents of the United States of America, were slaveholders themselves. George Washington was a slaveholder. Thomas Jefferson, our third president, who wrote the preamble WE THE PEOPLE, owned more than 600 slaves. This is how our "Democracy" got started, which I find repugnant.

"Now I wish to share with you a number of poems written by Tod Howard Hawks."

SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky big and blue.
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the tired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to began another day of long labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, a Hereford cow,
is there to care,
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother's milk.

About 60 miles to the north,
and a little to the west,
the sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe;
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theatre.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth sown together by miles of barb-wired
fences spread interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless little country towns
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin and ruler-straight,
flanked on either side by telephone poles
and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren't too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa's growing green
and irrigation's coming in.
Rain's been real good
and the cattle market's really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it's got all the big towns got--
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.



THE WAY THAT WINTER COMES AT ME

The way that winter comes at me,
as if a stranger from a side street
cold and dark accosting me. I turn
my collar up. He hollers, "You, there!"
Faster I walk, fear chilling me,
a lamp post but a grey ghost in the fog.
This ****, winter, mugs me. He hits me
in the face with frozen fists. He grabs me,
stabs me in the side with knives
of ice, slices at my heart, the home
of hope. Supine, frost forming on
my brow, I pray to boughs of willow
trees:  pines will sing my elegy. My mind
drifts like snowdrifts:  a mitten lost...
fingers, nose, toes frostbitten...
a lake of isolation...a sleigh with no
horse...a blizzard of insanity.
My blood thaws the frozen ground,
then freezes.



GOTHS AND VISIGOTHS

I read of Visigoths and Dark Ages,
nomadic tribes, enormous rage
toward an empire falling,
fires and fleeing,
a desire for being
eternally at rest.
We walk through the ruins
of our empire romantic,
fires still burning,
a yearning so fierce
it's piercing our hearts.
The Franks and the Vandals
and Visigoths dismantle
the art and the ardor
we knew before the fall.
The walls have all crumbled;
that is all I remember.
The Ostrogoths have dismembered
the love we once shared
a millennium or so ago.
I am leaving the ruins
of my own Middle Ages,
turning the pages
of my own darkened soul.
I am solely my sage now,
trying to engage now
the vestige of happiness
the rest of my life.



A STILL LIFE

Pardon me, sir.
May I borrow
your squalor
for a photograph?

I love
the repetition
of those wrinkles in your brow.
Hold it, please.

The contrast
of your black skin
against the white plaster chipping
is marvelous.

When I
get them developed
I'll send you a print,
They'll look great in my portfolio.

Thank you
and your wife
and your eight kids
for this pose in poverty.


A DEEPER NIGHT

In the night
there is a deeper night,
in sorrow, a deeper sorrow,
in your sorrowful eyes more
sorrowful eyes I descry,
the deep night of your eyes
as I lie beside you, your head,
then your head lying on night's
pillow, deeper than a hollow hole
filled with tender tears as you tell me
of the night, the deeper night of your life,
your hair wet with deeper tears
on night's side of your visage
when you had to leave your son
to save yourself and him, a hurt
the still hurts, a deeper night hurt
you share with me through deep night
sobs, deeper sobs, wetting your checks
and neck and night hair, the hurts
the deeper night hurts that robbed
you of yourself and him, of how you
had to go in order to return, the sinuous
path, convoluted and constrained,
to leave the night to be able to come back
in the day. All I could do was to hold you
and let you sob and shake until you finally
saw the brightest sun in your heart.


MOON OF CHERRIES BLACK

Cherries black by water
flowing, berries blue,
the hue of Father Sky.
Bluffs and buffaloes
a long time ago, the
Great Spirit permeated
land and lives. Eagles
flew in hearts of men;
honest words were spoken then.
No token treaties, no entreaties,
arrows flew like truth to hearts
on antelopes. No interlopers,
no antebellum prairie schooners,
no sooner had they come than
bison hooves were no longer
heard. They herded red men
and women and children like
chattel. Wild dogs knew better.


SILVER SPOONS

Some people love their silver moons,
China closets in velvet rooms,
hand-rubbed walnut round pearls of glass,
antique notions to preserve a past,
while others love their silver moons,
orange sunsets, October tunes of bluebirds
sighing through sunburnt skies,
green fields soft where lovers lie.


IF I COULD MOUNT A MOUNTAIN

If I could mount a mountain
and ride it to the sea,
I'd gather up the waters
to make a bath for thee.
I'd rinse your hair with violets,
your ******* and thighs with myrrh,
and as you rose I'd cover you
with strands purple, silver, gold.
If I could garner galaxies,
I'd make for you a ring
and ring it round your finger
for eternity.  I'd call on all
the continents to make for you
a bed, a majesty of meadows,
white billows for your head.
And underneath the tapestry
God wove on Heaven's loom,
with love and lust I'd plant my
seed in your soft and sacred womb.


THE BUTTERFLY SONG:  A Lullaby for Katie

Tell me why, oh butterfly,
do you fly so high.
Tell me why, oh butterfly,
high up in blue sky.

Tell me, pretty butterfly,
with your wings of gold,
are you as kind and gentle
as I'm always told?

Tell me, golden butterfly,
will you come to me
and light upon my shoulder
to keep me company?

And when night falls, my butterfly,
please let your golden wings
illuminate the darkness
until the bluebird sings.


WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO SUFFER?

What does it mean to suffer?
Is it better to buffer ourselves
from turmoil, or does the oil
of hate and hurt serve some purpose?
Are we animals in some circus,
parading like elephants inelegantly,
passing through wire hoops?
We tire, we droop.
Are we poor men in soup lines,
hoping for salvation,
fed with propitiation?
Our faces show no elation:
they grow ashen.
Shall we cash in the bonds
our mothers never gave us?
Love's dearth has thus enslaved us.
Just put us in our graves and
let us live in Mother Earth.


The girls and Leo had a long, trenchant exchange for almost two hours. Leo found it exhilarating. The girls had never engaged others in their regular classes as they had that Sunday afternoon.


Chapter 5

Leo was listening to the 2nd movement of Beethoven's 7th Symphony while
he was reading about the "TRAIL OF TEARS" and President Andrew Jackson.

We, the white people, were the first immigrants to what became known as the United States of America, Leo thought. All the people and politicians can't see that, right?, pondered Leo. Are they simply dumb, or are they being duplicitous? Actually, Leo thought, this was a genocide of what we now call Native Americans.

The INDIAN REMOVAL ACT was signed in 1830 by President Andrew  Jackson. 60,000 Indians of the "five civilized tribes":  the Cherokee, the Muscogee, the Seminole, the Chickisaw, and the Choctaw nations. Over the course of this diabolical walk from the southeastern states to what is now Oklahoma, it is estimated that 16,700 perished from diseases and murderous conditions, as as well as anti-Indian racism. Those groups that "helped" the Indians keep moving along included the U.S. Army and state militias. Forced displacement, ethnic cleansing, and mass murders, among others, kept these human beings moving westward allowing the United States of America to aggrandize more land west of the Mississippi River.

Leo lay on his bed for a long time. He had finished listening to Beethoven's Seventh Symphony and was now enjoying Dvorak's NEW WORLD SYMPHONY. But the longer he lay there, Leo wondered if Dvorak was dreaming of a new, budding world, or whether he was listening to the preamble to a demonic future. Leo knew the hydrogen bomb was like the atomic bomb, only a thousand times more powerful.


Chapter 6

Leo remembered General Philip Sheridan said in the 1860s "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Every time Leo saw Hotah come into the Beloit Cafe, Leo thought of Sheridan and almost puked. Hotah, a Lakota Sioux, was a little older than Leo, and over time the two had become friends. Hotah had grown up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the poorest place in the USA. The drug addiction, alcoholism, and rampant poverty drove Hotah off the reservation, down through Nebraska, and into north-central Kansas where he made for himself a home of sorts for himself in Beloit. What the two had shared was a life of pain and intelligence.

"Leo, hello," said Hotah.

"Hotah, it's good to see you. How have you been?" said Leo. "Just a minute. I have a few more supplies to stock," said Leo.

The Cafe closed at 8 pm. It was 7:45. There would be no more customers. Leo closed the Cafe every evening.

"There, that will do it. Like a cup of coffee?" said Leo.

"Sure," said Hotah.

Leo poured two cups of coffee. "You like your coffee black, right?" asked Leo.

"That's right," said Hotah. Leo drank his coffee with milk. "Pick a table and I'll be with you in just a moment," said Leo.

Hotah picked up the two cups and put them on a table close by, then sat down. Leo joined him.

"I'm thinking I'd like to drive back to the rez and wondered if you'd like to join me," said Hotah.

"I think I could work something out," said Leo.

The Wounded Knee Massacre occurred in the winter of 1890. Hotah's great-grandfather and nearly 300 other Lakota Sioux died in that slaughter. Each year Hotah made a pilgrimage to the cemetery about ten miles east of Pine Ridge to honor his slain great-grandfather.

A ceremony called "Ghost Dance" performed by groups of Lakota Sioux had frightened nearby settlers. A detachment of the U.S. 7th Calvary Regiment confronted almost 300 Lakota Sioux men, women, and children and after a rifle was accidentally fired, the massacre began. Hotah's great-grandfather was killed.

"Do you think we could make the round-trip in a week?" Leo asked Hotah.

"I think we could do that," said Hotah. "My old Honda should get us there and back."

"I've accumulated some vacation time. When do you think you'd like to go?" asked Leo.

"How about next week, say Saturday?" said Hotah.

"Things around here are pretty flexible. I'll ask tomorrow and let you know tomorrow evening," said Leo.

"Great!" said Hotah.


Chapter 7

"Good news, Hotah. Saturday will work fine," said Leo.

Driving from Beloit to Pine Ridge is not like drawing a vertical, straight line. It's a lot of zigs and sags. Hotah had made this trip many times. He could make this trip without a map. Travel time is between 5 to 6 hours. Once they got to the rez, the two could stay with Hotah's relatives, the Brave Bulls.

Saturday morning Leo and Hotah got into Hotah's old Chevy pick-up and headed northwest. A number of small Nebraska towns Hotah and Leo passed through. After crossing I-80, they stopped at a cafe in Philipsburg. Then they traveled through Breadwater, Alliance,  and a number of other small towns until they passed through White Clay, then into Pine Ridge. They had planned on meeting Hotah's older brother, Akecheta, and his two younger sisters, Macha an Whicahpi at Pine Ridge's gas station and convenience store.

Hotah got out of his pick-up, went over and hugged his brother and two sisters, then introduced them to Leo.

"Pleasure to meet you all," said Leo. Akecheta had suggested that everyone come over to his house, relax, chat, then have dinner.

"Well, this is my home," said Akecheta. "Welcome." It was mid-afternoon by now and Hotah and Leo were a bit worn out. They all went inside and found a seat.

"Coke or Seven-Up?" said Akecheta. He took all the orders, went into the kitchen, prepared the drinks, served them, then took a seat. "Here's some chips if you're hungry."

"Glad to have Leo with us. You and Hotah will be staying with me. The girls will be staying with their mom. Our parents are divorced," said Akecheta.

Leo was beginning to unwind. He was used to standing for hours, but not so used to sitting for 5 1/2.

The group was starting to feel quite comfortable with each other. Leo asked the girls which grades they were in and which subjects they were studying. He mentioned that every few weeks or so he met on Sunday afternoons with a group of high-school girls and spoke about different topics. Akecheta, it seemed, was a very good athlete. The Yankees were scouting him.

Turns out, Akecheta also was talented in the kitchen. He excused himself and finished making dinner.

"Anybody hungry?" said Akecheta. "Dinner's ready."

So what was for dinner?

Wasna:  A traditional dish made from dried meat, fat, and berries.
Vegetables and corn:  Wild vegetables such as turnips (timpsila) and corn.
Thahca: Bison meat served as roasted, stewed, or dried.
Frybread.

More than enough for everyone around the table, and delicious.

After dinner, the six sat around and chatted. Hotah and Leo were tired from their day's trip. The next day, the two were going to the Wounded Knee Cemetery. It was time to call it a day. Akecheta took his sisters home. When he returned, he found Hotah and Leo asleep.


Chapter 8

Hotah and Leo got up early. After eating breakfast, they quietly went  outside and got into the pick-up. The morning air was cool.

It would take the two a bit under a half hour to reach the cemetery. There would be no conversation as they headed toward the cemetery. Leo understood this trip was a prayer.

They reached the cemetery. Detritus, not rose petals, greeted Hotha and Leo. It met all who came to this sacred place to remember those who were slaughtered that frigid day--men, women, child--in December, 1890.

Hotha and Leo sat in silence. The spirit of thousands of buffaloes of the past could be felt. No sound but the wind could be heard. Hotha could hear cries, screams from the massacre of a century ago. His tears wet the dry earth.

The sun rose slowly in the blue sky. First Hotha, then Leo, slowly rose to make their way back to the pick-up. Cries and screams slowly abated as they headed home. Neither spoke a word.


Chapter 9

The Badlands were first inhabited 11,000 ago. The Oglala Lakota Sioux originally occupied all of the Badlands;  today they control a small section called the "Stronghold District," still a part of Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.

Hotah and Leo took a number of drives through what is now Badlands National Park. As they drove, they chatted.

"The indigenous peoples have really had it tough," said Leo.

"When we speak English, we call it "genocide," said Hotah.

"All these atrocities...." murmured Leo. "You would think by now that peoples who have superficial differences between them would see them by now as, well, "superficial." Instead, for millennia, peoples who are fundamentally the same find a reason to **** each other. That's crazy, isn't it?"

"I think "crazy" is a sane word to describe the situation you're talking about," said Hotah.

"You know I like to read history. Let's see if I can name a few," said Leo:

"ANCIENT TIMES:  Assyrian Empire (900-600 BCE) known for their brutality against those they conquered;  Roman Empire (27 BCE-476 CE) various atrocities including mass crucifixions and the sacking of cities like Carthage.

"MEDIEVAL TIMES:  Mongol Conquests (1206-1368). The Mongol invasions led by Genghis Khan. Widespread destruction and mass killings;  Crusades (1206-1368). Religious wars. Much loss of lives on both sides.

"EARLY MODERN PERIOD:  Spanish Inquisition:  (1478-1834). Torture and execution of thousands accused of heresy. Transatlantic Slave Trade:  (16th-19th centuries):  Enslavement and transportation of millions of Africans to the America.

19TH CENTURY:  Congo Free State (1885-1908):  Exploitation and atrocities committed by the Belgians under King Leopold II.

20 CENTURY:  Armenian Genocide (1915-1923):  Mass killings of Armenians by the Otttoman Empire;  Holocaust (1941-1945):  Genocide of six million Jews by **** Germany;  Rwandan Genocide (1994):  Mass slaughter of Tutsi by the Hutu majority;  Bosnian Genocide (1992-1995):  Ethnic cleansing and mass killings of Bosniak Muslims by Bosnian Serbs.

21ST CENTURY:  Darfur Genocide (2003-present):  Atrocities committed in the Darfur region of Sudan;  Syrian Civil War (2011-present): Numerous war crimes and atrocities committed by various factions.

"How do you remember all of this, Leo?," said Hotah.

"Photographic memory," said Leo.

For the next few days Hotah, Leo, and Akecheta hung out in the latter's home. It had been a great time, but it was time to head back to Beloit. Hotah and Leo thanked Akecheta for his kindness and generosity, but the old pick-up was waiting patiently.


Chapter 10

Hotah and Leo got home on Saturday.

Leo was scheduled to meet with the girls at the Kansas Industrial School on Sunday. "I need to pick out ten more poems," he thought. Also, he needed to decide on which era of American history he would discuss with the girls.

Leo chose these ten poems by Tod Howard Hawks to read.

WHO WILL BE THE FIRST?

Who will be the first
to volunteer
to be poor, homeless, and hopeless?

Who will be the first
to live
with no love, hope, and will?

Who will be the first
to be
illiterate, ostracized, and forgotten?

Who will be the first
to suffer
enslavement, lynching, and death?

Let me be the first
to say
"This is not right!"

Let me be the first
to believe
"This is not honest!"

Let me be the first
to embrace
what's kind, generous, and caring?

Let me be the first
to love
you. you, and you.



WHAT IF WIND AND WHITE CLOUDS

What if wind and
white clouds blow by
without a sound to be heard.?
What if all hearts and souls
be one without red, yellow,
brown, black and white skins
What if one kiss is a kiss of all?
What if we miss these truths
throughout our hours? What if
love is all that matters as we scatter
through our myriad lives?



WHAT IF A POEM WELLS UP?

What if I sit
in a silent room?
What if I speak
only to myself?
What if I utter
no words? What if
a poem wells up inside
me unconsciously,
no trying need there be.
I think I should type it.


BUT I SHALL HOLD LOVE

For what is the most precious gem?
It is the blue diamond,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest wealth?
It is to own more than any other,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest honor?
It is to have all others bow at your feet,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest glory?
It is for one to be remembered by all forever,
but I shall hold love.



WE HAVE MINED OUR MOUNTAINS

We have mined our mountains,
we have fished our seas,
we have felled our forests,
we have gathered our grains,
but we have not embraced
the infinite energy of our souls,
which is love.



A NATION, A NOTION

A nation, a notion,
Hegemony or honey,
A cruel ruler or a kind mind,
All for one or some for all,
Aggrandize, or wiser still,
Enough for billions,
Gentle hands for a broken heart,
Lavender love to assuage the pain,
Head on your pillow,
Alone in the dark,
No fear as sun rises,
A nation, a notion,
Take some lotion
And spread it
To dissolve
All borders.



TO SHED MY TEARS

I am sitting on the curb in late July between Al's
Barbershop and Harry's Hardware watching ants
making their way to the gutter where they disappear.
Busby, Nebraska is not a big town--in fact, it's not
even a small town--in fact, it's not even a town. It's
three blocks long, but Ethel's Cafe is open for break-
fast and lunch. And most importantly, it's on the
way to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation located
in the remote southwestern corner of South Dakota
where I'm headed on foot. I've been to Pine Ridge a
number of times. Something calls me there from time
to time. Not sure what it is--kind of like a spiritual
whisper. Only got 23 more miles to get there. I walk
wherever I go--reminds me of Wordsworth's THE
WORLD'S TOO MUCH WITH US. I say I'm going
to Pine Ridge, but actually I'm headed to Wounded
Knee Cemetery, about ten miles east of Pine Ridge,
where so many of the Lakota Sioux men and women
and children were slaughtered, then buried, the
last massacre of indigenous people by the U.S.
Army in 1890. I sit on the ground and cry and cry.
The dry grasses soak up my tears as fast as they
hit the ground.



I WALK MORE SLOWLY NOW

I walk more slowly now.
The miles are longer than they used to be.
I know where I want to go,
but now I forget to turn left and turn right.
Here comes a pretty woman.
I say hello as she passes,
but I hear nothing.
I saw her, but I guess she didn't see me.
I walk by trees and flowers
that used to be green and red
and yellow, but now are grey.
I need to get my glasses fixed,
but I cannot find them.
I miss Shep, my dearest friend ever.
I hear him barking,
but he died a year ago.
I walk more slowly now.



I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU NOW

I used to hate,
but now I love, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You who loathe
and discriminate, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You who wish
that hell be black, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You who'd torture
and even ****. I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You are humankind,
but still unkind, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.



I AM REALIZED

Life begins at conception.

For a human being to be able to love, she/he must first be loved, usually by
her/his biological parents, other times by her/his surrogate parents. If the newborn is not loved, she/he will suffer great pain, possibly even dying.

Most human beings do not receive the love they need;  thus, they will
unconsciously compensate usually in one or more than three ways:  accrual
of power, not to empower others, but to oppress them;  aggrandizement of
great wealth;  or achievement of fleeting fame.

If, on the other hand, they are loved, they will love all others throughout their lives, realizing their own personhood, which is their innate sacredness. If they are not loved, they will realize one or more of deleterious behaviors.

When all die, those who have realized their real selves will not have to return to Earth to live another life, because their souls have become pure love that bonds with the pure love of infinity, which is reality that has no form, no beginning, no end. They have become enlightened and will be so forever.

Those who did not realize their real selves will need to return to Earth in  new lives unconsciously to make another attempt to attain enlightenment.

Human life is an illusion, but because of love and self-realization, it remains nonetheless paradoxically the path to the reality of eternal love, which is God.

Know truth by untruth.



Chapter 11

Leo had just selected 10 more of Hawks's other poems to share with the girls this coming Sunday afternoon, but he also had to decide which era of American  history he would discuss with them. Finally, he decided on the genocidal period from 1860 to 1890 during which General Philip Sheridan is alleged to have said, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."

Sunday afternoon came quickly. Leo enjoyed reading the poems to the girls and discussing with them the period from 1860 to 1890. But he was worn out and immediately returned to the Beloit Cafe, walked up the stairs to his room and lay on his bed and fell asleep instantly.

Monday morning, it seemed, also came instantly. By 7 am, Leo was ready to cook, and he did. And it was a long day. Most interestingly, that evening was the first time he saw that lady who came into the Cafe right before it was to close. Even more interesting was that the lady kept coming in every evening around the same time.  

"Have you noticed our new customer," asked Sally.

"Well, I've seen glimpses of her," said Leo.

"The interesting thing about her is that every evening she comes in, she's crying," said Sally.

"Crying?" said Leo.

"Yes," said Sally.

"Has she ever spoken to you, Sally?" asked Leo.

"Not personally, but she always orders the same thing. I think it's Swiss Steak," said Sally.

"That's right. Someone orders Swiss Steak every evening of late. It has to be her," said Leo.

After talking with Sally, Leo walked over to the crack in the right wall to see this mysterious lady. There she was, putting her handkerchief constantly to her eyes. I wonder what's bothering her, thought Leo.

The lady kept coming in every evening at the same time for more than three weeks. Leo kept checking her out every evening. Nothing had changed.

On Thursday evening of the fourth week, Leo did something that he had never done before. After Sally had placed the lady's order--yes, still Swiss Steak--Leo left the kitchen during working hours for the first time and slowly walked over to the table where the lady was sitting.

"I'm Leo Lottman, the cook. I'm concerned about you. Are you OK?" said Leo politely.

The lady was surprised the cook came over to her and asked if she were OK, but internally she appreciated his kindness.

"Your first name is Leo, am I right," the lady asked.

"Yes, you're right," Leo responded.

"It was very kind of you to come over and ask me if I were OK," said the lady. "By the way, my name is Julia."

"I didn't intend to interrupt your dinner, Julia. I haven't even cooked it yet--the Swiss Steak, right?" said Leo.

"My husband was killed in a car wreck," Julia *******.

Leo was stunned. "Oh, my god! I'm so sorry. My parents died in a car wreck when I was in high school," said Leo, his voice quivering. "I had to go live with my uncle. I suppose I need to go cook your Swiss Steak. And, by the way, don't feel you have to rush. I'm the only person working at this time of evening, so when everyone has eaten, I close the Cafe. I enjoyed talking with you, Julia. I hope to see and talk with you again."

"Leo, you're so kind. Your voice warms my heart," said Julia.



Chapter 12

Leo lay on his bed and thought about Julia. Tears and fears, a poem, Leo thought. Leo could relate to those two things. He thought some more. If Julia comes in tomorrow, I want to go over to her table again and just check in, Leo thought. And she is beautiful and nice, thought Leo as he continued to lie on his bed.

Leo had never interacted with a female until this evening. His heart was warmer, too.

He had been listening to Mozart's Symphony #40, which he loved. But as he listened to it this night, this Mozart's symphony sounded even sweeter. He was dreaming, thought Leo, even though he was still awake. And though he had cooked so many Swiss Steaks, Leo was thinking he'd love to cook them every night. Finally, he dozed off.

Morning did not come soon enough. Leo had never felt this way before, but this new morning Leo felt like he had never felt before. There was a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Leo was happy. He had never felt happiness before. There was something in the air that before was never there. This was great stuff, Leo thought...and felt.

Leo was almost running down the steps. He couldn't wait to start cooking. Eggs, hash browns, grits--whatever you want, thought Leo. Sally, one of the two waitresses, saw a different cook, a different Leo, than she had ever seen before.

Service at the Beloit Cafe had always been good, but as this day unfolded, Sally and Mildred had never sensed this level of happiness permeating the Cafe. Nobody spoke out about it, but it was palpable to every customer and staff. What was going on?, everyone thought.

Leo was extraordinary in flipping pancakes and frying bacon. Eggs--anyway you like them. Cereal--any kind you like. Coffee--we have the best. The Beloit Cafe was humming.

This workday was going by fast. The afternoon went by so fast, the staff barely noticed it going by. Leo felt he could run a marathon. Sally and Mildred were talking about seeing a movie together. If there were a dog in the Cafe, it would be running around tables and chairs. It might even have puppies.

Leo had been checking the time all day--about fourteen times. This time when he looked again at the clock, it was the magic moment. It was quarter to 8! And sure enough, Julia walked in and went to her table. As Leo and everyone else knew, there were no other customers coming in this evening and all the staff except Leo were gone. Eureka!  

Leo couldn't wait. After a few moments, Leo walked over to say hello to Julia.

"Good evening, Julia. How are you feeling tonight? I hope better." said Leo.

"Good evening to you. It's nice to see you again. I am feeling better tonight. Thanks for asking," said Julia.

"I'd like to chat with you a bit, but I know you want your Swiss Steak," said Leo.

"Don't worry about the Swiss Steak. It's not going to walk out of the Beloit Cafe," said Julia. "I'd enjoy chatting a bit with you, but tell me if you feel we're going on too long."

"Won't hesitate, but I am now a free man, if you will," said Leo. "My time is NOW my time. Where did you grow up, Julia?"

"I grew up in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I'm not a great skier, but I do love the mountains," said Julia. "Where did you grow up?"

"I'm a hometown boy. I've lived my entire life in Beloit," said Leo, "But I feel I've been many places and done many things, because I love to read and listen to classical music."

"Oh, that's interesting, because I love classical music, too. Probably because, as a child, I took lessons and learned how to play the violin," said Julia. "Who are your favorite composers?"

"Well, I've listened to a lot of classic music by different composers, but if I wer
e stranded on an island far out to sea, I'd love to be able to listen to the works of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart," said Leo.

These beautiful chats continued for several weeks.



Chapter 13

After this many chats, both Julia and Leo felt comfortable in each other's company.

Leo had decided to make a proposal of sorts to Julia.

That Monday evening, Julia came into the Cafe and sat down at her table. Leo came over to welcome her.

"Good evening tonight," said Leo. "How has your day been?"

"Just fine, Leo," said Julia. "And how about yours?"

"Well, the first thing I do every day now is to see if we still have enough Swiss Steaks. I have good news for you, Julia. We do!," said Leo.

Julia laughed.

Then Leo laughed, too.

"I have a question for you, Julia. Are you familiar with Beethoven's third symphony, Eroica?", asked Leo.

"Oh, yes, Leo, but I haven't listened to it for quite some time," said Julia.

"In that case, I have an invitation for you. Would you like to come to my room after eating another Swiss Steak and listening to Eroica? I have it," said Leo.

"Oh, that would be great!," said Julia. Julia never found out that Leo's invitation to Julia was the first invitation to a woman in his life.

"Well, I better start cooking your Swiss Steak now," said Leo.

Leo's heart was beating like crazy.



Chapter 14

Leo gave Julia a lot of time for her to eat her Swiss Steak. When he saw that she was finished, Leo walked over to her table.

"Well, Julia, how was your Swiss Steak tonight?" Leo asked.

"It was as good as all my other steaks have been," said Julia.

"That's good to hear," said Leo. "Are you ready to hear some beautiful music?" said Leo.

"I am now ready," said Julia.

"Just follow me," said Leo.

Leo walked across the room, then walked up the stairs to his door.
Before he opened the door and turned around. Are you OK after your hike?" asked Leo.

"I'm eager to listen to beautiful music," said Julia.

"Beautiful music coming right up," said Leo as he opened his door.

"This is my humble abode, Julia. I only have one chair and it's for you," said Leo. "Beethoven's Eroica, one of the masterpieces! Relax and enjoy."

Leo put Eroica on the turn table and turned the record player on. Leo sat on his bed. His heart was not pounding now. It was exuding serenity.

Beautiful music supplants all other feelings. Listening to Eroica was like relaxing in a warm pool. You didn't just listen to it. The music flowed through you. Finally, the music ended.

"That was so beautiful," said Julia. "Thank you, Leo, for sharing that with me."

"My pleasure, Julia," said Leo, then led her downstairs to the exit of the Cafe.

"Thank you, Leo, for brightening my life," said Julia.

"You're more than welcome," said Leo, his heart pounding again.

Julia walked home and Leo went back to his room, then lay on his bed, and before he fell asleep, thought this had been the best evening of his life.



Chapter 15

Leo and Julia continued their relationship. A number of times, Leo asked Julia if she would like to listen to other classical masterpieces. She said she would. After several months, Leo asked Julia if she would like to go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. She said she would.  After that, they began on the weekends to go see movies. Julia invited Leo over to her home for dinner.
Then Leo and Julia decided to take a week's trip into the Rocky Mountains.
A year later, the two announced to the Cafe's staff they were engaged. A year after that, Julia and Leo got married. And a year after that, Julia gave birth to a baby boy.

In life, you never quite know what's coming next. For Julia and Leo, it was love.
Vic Miller Apr 2020
(To the Tune of Humoresque, with apologies to Mssrs Dvorak and Douglas)

We want to make it very plain that residents should please abstain
From gatherings in groups (we’re watching you!!),

We discourage assignations, please commune in isolation,
Whatever you have done before DON’T DO!!

If you need a sweet flirtation, please recall our limitation,
Separation being the thing we hope you do.

If you start exchanging fluid, danger there is undisputed,
Please to keep the group size down to two.

Copywrong Vic Miller. All wrongs preserved.
David Zavala Nov 2018
sinners: his cane dislodged

l

Cane:

To an awake friend, he said mesmerized "rest on gorgeous fields are made for soccer players,"

The motion analogy is the lake or the river, at the school, reminds me of that the left row of made of pink lamps is still a malls sweat on their knees, whose above?

I lift your nudged fox to the women with the air filled with music in your clothes

Chicago is today, sick of the warm color warmed colored walnut an elementary something, happy by troubled, world only only world, enter my vision of art - the movie set, really,  

At the table, Socrates came from out of the cave,
of the center opened of the like a snoring beast snoring beast,
up staircases inside the small indent of the university, legs-crossed, lectures partially complete, and contemplated a 4 winged bird which leapt from the ground: cone-less and timeless.  

Frank Sinatra is on center stage, the square, literally, like being the poetess naked in the garden, singing with her husband went missing for several days reciting Shakespeare.

Eden, no that Eden, Eden is gorgeous and mothers multiple their eggs in wombs, they are birds, by way of television - sick of that rhythm, inside the history of museums, public images paint delicately.

                               Fathers are all brilliant and masterminds, the inside of the skyline fits my heart,

Driving to the national rabbit we liked the peanuts which were snacks and
saw walrus near the ocean with non-fury legs, their paws with peaches, pinks from schools like sugar Montessories, whole swarms of bees learning that John Ashberry's  mind used mine to mind dollars bills he finds off the street in New York to tell you that you should learn what a unit is. Close the world, close the window in the other room and when you to go to work and maybe to bring a snack where creativity is here and there. I see differently the trees and red wheel-barrow. My water bottle is purified and the reverse is the Cosmos on calcium. I want more chloride and sodium - make that ingredient good, good enough for your doctor, good enough for me, a cake for us, and faster because Arkansas is always walking, it is plastered rich sandwiches, missing girls are little and little on TV, the bud of a flower is a direction.

Space is big but my things are spill proof, the pumpkin we seed inside the my house next to the popcorns guitars are colored blue and fall immutably pulling loudly from men, in their canes, shaven cane, clean cane, looking at me looking at the portrait saying, I can see the red and blue in black and the dove sits on the statue on Monday and flew in cold from Alaska over whole towns, and the bird said, yes the bird said, he said "A fisherman saw, he was bearded and arrived on Friday, photos on the ground, animals are outside, libraries filled with no books and no their indexes leading to prologues that Freud says is moral but I've been saying better and reasoning that her makeup is missing and no shampoo in the bathroom, blush hands up in Vegas, fold - our cars are stuck on the highways means is leaving the only bar that is yellowish only from blue painters who paint with their paint brushes such that ballet dancers contemplate their watch. The Nutcracker and Animal Farm are complete. Bearded and braided black man, your is hair completely skinless in San Francisco which I've been to for two weeks because the back of the pack on back of the feet of the ton of the ground street lights guide us to a single number such is an exciting job opportunity, inside classroom, the difference is I'm in the front, how ludic it is, isn't it? Get dressed or get in we're going dancing. Drive or I can drive only to recognize a slip of free will, you're in white, the forums we enjoy are for professors which are only in my mind and therefore sprung forth whenever I want them. There are a couple of whole armies giving trees, Dr. Pink wants motion to activate a concert such that I like the words operraeta and subscribing to the dictionary, Mainly up is laughing are diamonds in hands in apartments are feet and hands, and almost wind, fire, water, turning from distance brothers and cowards uses his left hand and experiences sleep and whole days in a single sentence. It's cruel really to be beautiful and no I don't feel back for you. Your just a memory of him riding the shopping cart down the aisle of HEB - insight into psychologist's events - welcomed with nobility bowing down near the single article, sitting in front of our produced and not free laptops, their machines were used to make paintings and sculptures, thousand of journalists in their ties dress with microscopes in front of classrooms like a style that is thoughtful, high on salamanders, wait salamanders? No, a sad living room examining a firefly is a history of museums, it is useless. It is a calm waterfall, it is back from the seminary, it back from the river we sat at before inside of a conference room near downtown, the light of love produced kayaks.

We currently sit younger pondering an ice rink made of children dressed for Halloween, a few feathers but I know down on my injured fence after a tornado came in and placed beautiful women, their naked bodies and all, are here as a college student staying awake from both for Sundays and U-HAULs are only like criminal floats down the formed uselessness of that jars of pennies. But we selected! Entertained and busy, working, on a math problem from universities, I was reading Einstein earlier, bought it and profoundly expressed I am personally interested in Dvorak's String Quintet in B major Op. 77. That is, while watching YouTube videos of mysterious friendly characters although I'm standing naked in a bathroom, a peacock created the world, leaves fell, fire on the dirt, it doesn't burn too bad, does it? We pose another  question, to what sickness can I stand on a bench suit jacket, ill-fitted and have a friend say to me, you look like a philosopher?

I stick my leg out quietly because clouds coolly that day spent on wooden tables is possible and not meant to able to assuage the sun even for you school bus, actual school bus, hiding from large groups of people scared while the congregation sits praying,

Even for you, helmet,
On a football field, orange Spain leant me a hande, our dogs were not beside us though while Mr. Grinch sits in his apartment, editors don't want him pulling flowers from, for example, the baseball fields, doing baseball players are plays catcher, dresses in the same uniform totally is mesmerized by how water becomes ice, such that the eye bending time like a green cactus, objects and mountains and the insides of the restaurants, eight o clock evening dinners,

Dancing with angels the devil is ugly, trains go through time and say biology is easier than white picket fences, it makes me sad, it should make me sad, but there is new hope.

So more difficult the white flower is the candle menacing number 3 thousands of logically lettered alphabets for the alphabets, and for her, waiting at trees rooted but you know, construction men leaving everything at that grocery store where I can sit down and wouldn't buy a lottery ticket, sorry.

II  

Dislodged:

Entering my vision are tragedies
collages of white photos
eat our sons
              we
           swarm
          predators
          slowly
          down
             the
            street
                is
                a
             cigarette
                  is
busting friends out of apartments into huge houses after coming from grocery stores, passing fields, outside and zoos visited, jealous of her offices,
200 page completed novels completed, my way home, it's our problem really, but that comma coulda dressed in a suit, coulda been someone must run the title of his license plate

III

Cane Dislodged:

Settle down, the movie sat at the bar is dumb, i sit alone, I sit alone, still I sit alone, I sit alone. Tea from down the street is expensive so
we can't believe that the founders of the Quakers movement did that and that they are made in the image of empires such that a body ignorant because smudged paintings are the mouse, right?
David Zavala Nov 2018
For Julia Theriot, I want a two bedroom apartment.

Style is every thought you have
thinking every thought you have
is not poetry.

Moments Becoming: It is dressing in black in a history museum, in a museum of history, which means you are high with the salamanders, wait salamanders, and yes also calm under pressure,

Let me provide to you a question: Are you really that much better?

Our father's job is to be such that a poet,
    while the sun
          hits his living room
                where he has a microscope
                       examines the firefly

Because I went from coming back from the seminary, the dead, and when arrived back sat next to the lake which is a river which is dressing as an architect, I dressed as an architect, that is such as an architect as as I dressed as an architect in our small filled books rooms books. Yes in both. And I sat quietly painting, painting with a piece of metal from the microscope, in our room, that I pulled from the ground in that zone under construction surrounded by workers producing lovely light, lovely light, light love, lightly love which were not taken by moments but which were becoming moments such that I am intertwined with the near with the downtown area where we live such that a beautiful women and their smiling children slowly cross the river such that is a lake in their canoes or kayaks,

Huh?

We sit younger near the lake or the river, our arms straighten out, our chests, my chest mainly because not you, not your chest, oh no, such that that is our naked bodies, in the bathroom in the shower, that is our two maturties is an old age instantly caught Dvorak's String Quintet in B major Op. 77 such that is not but is but is and placing it gently in an ice rink such that you are a scientist, he is a poet, me a student, and we stayed awake at night and made one or two Nobel Laureates sing, yes, sing is that such is that is which of la-chula that is such that is that that that that is geniuses, only geniuses confused in San Francisco such that it plays near the end of such not is not you and is not excuses but is a listen to your doctor, listen to your mom, love your dad, call your grandma, call your sister, and call your cousin, and that weighted decision from your university is that poetess that is such that it is nested which is a created the world mesmerized a peacock, yellow bird with feathers injured flies from our fence outside our window two bedroom apartment. We saw it happen.

And yes, and figuratively took a train that was cold did you like your sweater which was yes white. Easy and on our way to the ball crossed the street chasing after a boy with a balloon and looked both ways before crossing the street together. We made sure he got to the other safely. He was not out or ought but is such that a few steps down are thoughts such that a math problem from our universities keep ish us ish busy. On Sunday, I am entertained-ish, but Julie Theriot, let me tell you, if only you knew Julie Theriot, how badly I want to be a smart and handsome you are a smart and handsome you are a smart and beautiful who while the jar of pennies sits in front of me, we start by selecting the candle and light it in front of our first two bedroom apartment and our window, and the window, and along with the bird so that useless as birds and statues do correctly and do right and do it correctly and do what they are supposed to do and what is really is really right is really an is it okay to ask: what does it matter whether I finished the book?

Basically, you are okay, listen to your doctor, become college educated, listen to your mom more or less, remember inclusion?

Our poetic thoughts can never overcome strength such that the bullies behavior really does reflect him or her more than it does you and our apathy? Our apathy, whatever that word means, well apathy means quietly our house has a red bag, a red bag, only a red bag, that is a smart smart red bag, enough to place cards in it, the red bag, which we will use to pay and make a ***** downtown come to life. Only in our city. By the way, because you are a scientist, remember? We don't like the payment at all such that is a student floating down the river or a novel of full of books or of poetry forms, the forms of novels, the narratives of my novel on that page of the novel, unplugged hearts, the unplugged hearts, plug in the hearts obviously, but I don't really have to move a muscle.

P.S. I don't like your name.
6:19 PM
Nov 7, 2018
Dr Peter Lim Feb 2020
I often choose Schubert and not Beethoven though he revered the latter so much.

He achieved sublimity without having to assert unlike Beethoven.
His music is more tender and gentle but it touches the very core of our heart in every measure while Beethoven insisted that his music must be heard..

Schubert was humble and congenial but Beethoven was wild, irascible and hurtful.  If there were gratitude, look to the life of Schubert who owed so much financially to his faithful friends.  

Schubert almost never performed in public--only twice unlike Beethoven.  Greatness can be defined in many ways. In music, I admire the life and personality of the composer as much as his music.  

Mozart was a master of melodies and Schubert was equal. Who could write over 600 lieder?  Dvorak was a great melodist like Tchaikovsky but there's only one Schubert.

Why did I not mention Johan Staruss junior and the other Strausses?  Their music is mainly ball-room music, to be heard for the moment, pleasurable but speaks little or nothing of the larger issues of human existence--they were great but of much lighter weight. I would die for the longing of Schubert's  but certainly not of the Strausses'.

  Some of you might not agree. I live in Melb, a music-lover.  
  Music is my religion
* posted in music site where Schubert's music is being played

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