Clinking of ink bottles
Scratching of quills
Rustling of paper
Pouring out knowledge

Sweating students
Angry teachers
Swatting of fleas
No more patience

Old mad bat suddenly
Shouting
"Bring me the earmuffs!!"
Laughing, crying, farting

Interupting the quiteness
"Why would you ask that?"
Principal Harpy asks
"Surely it isn't winter"

"Goodness me, have I said that out aloud?"
"I take it back!"
"Kindly continue with your exams"
But no matter, nothing was the same.

Shrouded in secrets
The men from F-Branch
Recite the techniques
Undiscussed in advance
Of Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Hundreds of men
Hooded in the dark
Of the midday sun
Kneeling on the run
From Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Suspected by students
Back home and online
Theories get conspired
Petitions get signed
"Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance with Terror!"

The attorney general
Is called for advice.
A solemn exchange
Top down bottom line.
His argument is
"If it's nice it's all right."

Ministers from Ministries
Are detained and questioned
By the goggles of a press
Suffering sleep deprivation.
It's like a game of touch rugby
Outside downing street
With a twist on the rules of 'Just a minute'.

And outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Democracy doggedly dances her dance.

But the rhythms of the dance
The stress of white noise
Peaked
And escaped on the wind
Blowing through the forgotten kindness
Of confused hearts and minds
Escaping through the drafty guilt
Of hung up uniforms
Dancing on the mumbling lips
Of sleeping soldiers
With wives, partners, families, friends
Back home
Who don't know what it's like
They don't understand the drill
They can't do the moves
They don't know what it's like.

But the dance did not stop
It did what every bad vibration does
And moved elsewhere
And was henceforth known
By an unpronounceable acronym:
JFIT!

And now we join James
Young musclebound man
With a drink in hand
Back from tour of duty
It's a Saturday night
And the Weston women like a soldier,
A real man.
The fact that he
Has been doing his duty.
"Do you mind if I ask..." Asked Deborah
Showing more than necessary of her bra
"Where was you based, your base in Iraq-
Your third base, in particular?"
"I'll tell you," Said James
And the ladies came quick
Putty in his hands
Just like a joystick.
Said James, with the gravitas
Or some silverscreen star,
"While out in Iraq,
I was stationed
At a British logistics base in Shaiba.
It's outside Basra.
Basra in Iraq.
Iraq?
You have heard of Iraq?"
But by then,
Deborah and her bra and her friends
Were talking to another group of men
Who worked in property development
And apparently, Deborah, they're neighbours
Or something, because that one said
They've got seventeen houses between them.

But what James hadn't told them is this
The exact meaning of words in English
Like British Logistics camp is
Not always what you think that it is.

Oh did I say camp?
I meant base.
Please delete any mention of camp
From the record.

It was not long before
That James' routine
Had been... very different
To say the least.

Indeed soon after crossing the border
And re-invading his parents' home again
He'd been watching Jeremy Vine when
He spotted a pattern of systematic abuse
On the curtains
Whenever he muted the telly.

James decided to get out of the house
And to help him get a grip
He decided to go shopping
But when he looked down at his list
It said:

59 hoodies
11 Electric plugs
52 Alarm clocks
122 pairs of earmuffs
160 torches
117 blackened goggles
132 stress positions
39 enforced nakednesses

And by this stage he realised
That perhaps he ought to see someone.
But instead of seeing a journalist
Or the Swedish King of wikileaks
He went and saw a military psychiatrist
Who charged him a lot to let him speak
On a one-off profit plus! contract
James ended asking the same question
Week after week -
Do you think I'm crazy?
What does all this mean?
The doctor replied:
"Of course you're not crazy,
It's just your mind is very ill,
I'll tell one part of it to ignore another part -
Here - take one of these little pills
They're only one pound ten each
And if you take one
Every three hours
Every day
For the rest of your life
(Or until you die,
Whichever is longer)
You'll be fine.

Meanwhile,
The dance continued to be taught
Like capoeira on a foreign-office team-building course
On the art of interrogation
The alpha-tango
Aimed at prisoners of war.
But the footsteps of karma
Where circling once more
And the base back at Shaiba
(Near Basra. In Iraq?)
Was once more withdrawn
This time to the airport
Along with other UK forces.

Now relatives of the victims
Both at home and abroad
And those most susceptible
To empathy's ill-considered force
Were planning to divert the dance -
Divert the Dance!
Divert the Dance
with Demo Dances,
Demo Dances!
Demo Dances!

Then it was the turn of the politicians
To work their magic of popular logisticians
By answering the questions no one has asked
Like are we human or are we just dancers?
We are just humans
Doing democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance
Democracy's dance with
(cough, cough).

And the news reporters
With their sleep-deprived goggles
Reported in such detail
As to make one's mind boggle
Each step, each move and each deliberate error
Of democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
With Terror.

(To be Continued... on the BBC)

those earmuffs you gave me were nice
you told me I looked pretty

the whole world said you were physco
I couldn't hear anything but you

I should have taken off those earmuffs

With a wide demographic of *******
There's average, massive or missing
There are ******* to nibble and tweak at
And cleavages perfect for kissing
But I'm of a practical nature
And with just a little persistence
I'll give you a host of good reasons
To justify ******* existence

They're perfect for warming your hands up
When the gas meter's run out of gas
And there's little that's better to look at
When there's no chance of seeing an ***
Elasticity makes them ideal
For displays and arrangements of flowers
And if you find yourself short of your bus fare
Then they radiate magical powers

You can use then for counting in binary
Or a pillow with mild central heating
And they're perfect for holding a bottle
To keep safe while you're busily eating
As a pair of provocative earmuffs
You'll be envied by all of your friends
Just be sure to take optional tassels
In case one of the ******* offends

You can hollow one out for an ashtray
Or a skullcap for cutting edge Jews
You can throw them about like a Frisbee
There are just so many options to choose
But they're useful right where they're located
And not just to tickle and tease
Just give them a couple of decades
And you'll find them protecting your knees

MWAH! x

Merry go-rounds
Twirl around the sky
Shut down ice-cream posts and
Repressed flower petals
Crisscrossed hands and
Popsicle sticks
Loitering the salt-stained pavement
Glints of late-night squares in
Skyscrapers which brush the clouds
The crunch of diseased leaves and the
Distant honks and whistles
In chaotic, zig-zag traffic
Snow falls silently
Its fingertips landing on
Windbreakers and cotton mittens
Of children
With red cheeks and
Exasperated smiles
Chasing after frozen-pond ducks
With tongues extended and catch
Soft white water
Winter dampens the sidewalk cracks
And chills the abandoned earmuffs
But winter will not
And can not
Dampen or
Freeze or
Abandon the spirits

The first time you hear a gunshot in person is a coming-of-age event. Where were you when you heard it? Standing behind your dad, wearing earmuffs and protective glasses while he showed you how to brace for the recoil of a 12 guage shotgun? Going into a shooting range to learn self defense and studying everyone else because you're too nervous to ask how you're supposed to stand or how you're supposed to hold it? On the street in the dark with your friends, walking through the rough part of the neighborhood to prove how big your sack was? Blam. Bright light. Blam. Total darkness. Blam. Bright light. Three shots. A total of 2.3 seconds has gone by. You are suddenly years older, because of how much those 2.3 seconds of time ages you. Your friend's injured. Blam. Get down. Blam. Go home. 1.8 seconds. Everything is silent now. The only sound is the ringing in your ears, followed by the peeling tires of the vehicle. Smoke hangs motionless in the air. In your head, in your room later that night, in the hospital to bring one of them poorly stated "Get well soon" cards and in the graveyard to bring the other one flowers, you only hear one sound. Blam. Four years later. Training on a range with soldiers. Have the drill sergeant scream in your face that you don't know what it's like to watch your best friend take a bullet in the battlefield. Compose yourself. Two years later, walking to work through the bad part of a different city. You already know it's going to happen. This time, it's not to you, or to anyone you know, but you hear it anyways and you think of the first time. Unfortunately, it's not the first time we all like to think about, which is usually a backseat, or your parents basement, or in the school bathroom, no, this one's a bang that's much less enjoyable. We're told not to talk about it. We live in fear of it. A constant fear. You start to feel unsafe where you live. Better go by a gun.

Her teeth as white as my mothers porcelain doll
and itty bitty *******
with a rear that was particularly
grandiose
it was unsettling
yet her tan lines were
extra crucial.
Her thighs
the type you could use
as earmuffs
year round.
She had ******* of a dancer
Petite yet fitting her stature.
i miss her golden brown eyes that'd
glisten
and even when i’d be looking into the sunset
her pupils would still dilate when
looking at me.

My head on another desk
Grandpa’s words echo between my
Ears – somewhere – spanning tired
Fatigue
‘listen to your teachers’
Traffic, static mumbles somewhere
Beyond the glass walls of this
crucible
Quiet civilians desensitised
To the sound –
Reminds me – of the sound of the
Urban sea
Through a conch shell.
The carpeted walls muffle my mind –
Like earmuffs absorbing my
Words and thoughts
Jumping electron shells in an
Excited state of bored
Releasing the light of light –
Light-hearted scribblings.
I confer with an open page
He offers lines and I typeface
The space I need in solitary
Confines of the brain.
Soon I will be called – and
Questioned in expectation –
What crime have I committed?
But heavy exhalation
[I wonder how many modest
Strangers I could irritate with
Heavy breathing??  Maybe but I’ll
Try another day, alright? – awake]
Right now the sigh is in my mind
As I consciously start myself again.

I would suggest
Staring blankly at the wall
Matching socks or playing cards
(Something like that)
Something important
Until I'm gone

I would suggest
Turning your heart over and over like a turkey on a rotisserie for three days
Until it's burnt all the way through and the nerve endings are too charred to feel anything for me anymore

I would suggest knitting earmuffs for the antennae of your tv
Because it gets cold at night
And I want you to get reception to your favorite Portuguese children shows
Maybe I'm a saint for wanting you to be happy
Maybe I'm a martyr for wanting to be the one that makes you happy
I don't think happiness and my soul can co-exist in your heart

I was made for something a little bit darker than the stars of your eyes
I think that much was proven when I fell from grace into the hell-scarred arms of another
I am a creature of darkness

Because you are light
And I have been driven away

I placed the sheet music against my side
The hot iron of the notes beat their way inside
Every strike of the mallet crushing it’s way in
Such a sad song, what a terrible tune
It hung in the pit of my stomach
Held by the fluttering of two song birds
Both with wings plucked from their bodies
They read aloud the music like an anthem
Knew every tap in the ivory and stroke of the clock
I dream now with earmuffs,
Anything to lay to rest their somber songs
Watch the ceiling as it spins and shakes
The eggshell cracking with every blink in the night
I’ve forgotten what it is to breath, the taste of a sunlit shoulder,
All I do now is play audience to their noise
No longer can I even hear my voice

With each tear that falls down your cheek, my heart breaks a little.
And as I stand watch a thousand miles across this lake that is compiled of the sorrows of those who condemn you, those who confine you to the smallest of boats, leaving you without a paddle, small frustration inside my soul is keeping quite.

Suppressing the raging fire that may or may not be blazing over the feelings inside my chest that act as an answer to the quiet torture that you suffer.

You fight your fires with deep breaths and words of wisdom but you and I both know that to those outsiders, your breath has been wasted.

Ignorance has presented itself to you as a new brand of earmuffs; tougher than a brick wall and more smothering than motherly love.

When you cry I often imagine what it would be like to drown in the flood of your frustrations and though you are miles away I can still feel it, leaving me soaked to the bone.

None of this is any of my business; it is not my place to be the lifeguard of that lake.
The saltiness of the water stings when it touches my soul giving off this feeling of urgency to throw you a life raft and pull you to my side.

I know that you are a good swimmer, but, maybe I will be your life guard anyway.

There are clouds hanging around my head
And there is skin capturing my skull. I am boxed in. I can’t hear what you say when you speak.
This is not a problem when you have your hat with the earmuffs on and are momentarily deaf. When you have your hat on neither of us can hear.
Your hat has a pattern on it that looks like your skull
And so when you have it on you are like a deaf half-skeleton. This is when I feel the most need for lip-language, Morse code, when I want to drum my messages out on your skin. I say more when I lock my brain out of my skull and leave my body to its own devices.
You feel the bumps of earth trying to poke through the street
I know this because you had your earmuff hat on again this morning when you went walking outside
But even with your hearing gone, the street spoke to you, in bumps and ridges and edges and curbs and paint. You spoke its language back to it, feedback through
The soles of your feet.
You may be a little scraped up but you know the asphalt
Like a closed loop, like Saturn’s rings
Like the grooves of your favorite record.
I’ve seen you when you sleep, floating two inches above your covers. Your skin becomes yarn and it unravels, it waves, it ties itself around your ceiling fan.
Multi-colored yarn that twists and writhes and slides and knots itself until
The wavelength steadies and you are a solid telephone-line-stretch of yarn
Reaching straight across town.
I touch my end of the yarn and I whisper to the other end. Then I sit in the dark humid air.
I sit and I wait for the response.
This is when the clouds lift.
When the skin around my skull evaporates and I am left bare bones, unboxed.
When this happens
I hear the sound of Earth’s rotation
I hear your telephone-wire skin
I hear the closed loop
I hear Saturn’s rings
I hear the grooves of your favorite record
I hear the bumps in the asphalt.
I hear it all.
I am begging you to break your silence.

and I strive unsuccessfully , as you will see,
to write a romantic love poem,
you know the one , the kind that rhymes with the
moon and stars

hearts and tugging strings all those metaphors
for love safe and warm like a kitten
purr, all done up in honey, dripping
from my tongue

as words come more  true from experience
sadly,
tonight I must refrain

put my pen down my earmuffs on
my short pants  on
and once again

snuggle up to
my Labrador.

A body full of rocket fuel
And rug burns on my knees
To all those out there I hurt,
This is my apology

I wish I could undo
Everything I’ve done wrong
But since no one’s listening
I only have this song

And I know all the sorrys in the world won’t be enough
Would it please you to see me in handcuffs?
I know the road to redemption will be rough
But I ask, to this plea, please don’t wear earmuffs

I live everyday in the horror, in the guilt
How did I weave this never-ending quilt
The world is caving in, the sky is falling down
I know I don’t belong to this world, to this town

I just want you to know I pray everyday
For the turning back of time
I never meant to cause you harm
All I can do is rhyme
And pray for forgiveness
Pray for forgiveness

A body full of rocket fuel
And rug burns on my knees
Cleanse me of unknown faults
You’re the ones that hold the keys

He always wrapped up
when he went outside.
Buttons up to the top,
scarf wrapped around twice.

Hat pulled down tight
with his earmuffs on,
skin windswept white,
all sunny summer long.

My experience doesn’t matter,
it’s cookie cutter, the typical growing-up story.
Fending off boys and snapping bra straps,
Pushing off voices pressing in,
a pair of earmuffs I can’t peel away.
My eyes know to dart around,
To look behind that bush, find the most direct, most lit path
The casual-not-so-accidental grab at parties,
too strong arms reaching for a hug that I can’t break out of,
crushing me in, sweat and too much cologne muffling my breaths
and then, thankfully they come, my friends swoop in,
fierce warriors, my sworn protectors.
I find safety in their arms.
We are bonded by shared experience,
multiplying daily in number.
Stand up, brush off your jeans, and put your hands to work,
find your voice.
I am not unique in my experience.
Those strong arms dripping sweat and cologne will reach for someone else,
a lesson must be learned and we will teach them
Put our voices proud, project them to the sky,
let them fall as comets, spreading fire,
and bringing us warmth and light

The freeze returned, and I, no earmuffs on,
Expecting warmth, kissed by the sunlight’s dance,
Ice kissed my ear, poor cuddle in the dawn,
Curse the frozen, I’d melt if in warm hands.

The calendar, it turned with betrayal,
The promised spring, a kiss that never came,
‘Tis the season, of relationship fail,
Morning and night, that chill comes all the same.

Jack Frost nipping, but not what I deserve,
Frostbitten heart, when will your fire be lit?
This cold despair, how much more in reserve,
My lips turn blue, hot kiss, I wait for it!

The atmosphere about me, done me wrong.
I’ve waited for some warmth for far too long.

There’s a man off his chops selling tough for a tenner
But the mercury drops in his ugly temper
And gets lost under Victorian modesty
When faced with their war on fallopian sovereignty

Girl wears her mother’s mittens for earmuffs
Until they’re far enough upwind
“See they’re paraphrasing Jesus dear-but
I’m not so sure that’s what He meant”!

Prisms casted rainbows
that danced on the walls
from the mirrored doors my uncle installed
onto my bedroom closet.
Just like that,
the old brown wood was discarded
and, in its place,
a heavier, more durable barrier
between my private belongings
and the hellscape I was forced to inhabit outside of them.

More often than not,
they were a barricade between
what I didn’t want to hear
and the comfort of old dance costumes
and holiday dresses I’d outgrown
all lined up in a row,
soft robes to melt into after a bath
and my trusty, fuzzy pink earmuffs.
I paraded around the house in them,
as a symbol of the silence I desired
or a more obvious cry for help.

I remember when we went to Lake George and didn’t return
and how I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just go home.
I didn’t want to stay on vacation,
I wanted to sleep in my own bed.
I remember smashing my hands
against my ears
to keep out the shouting
and sitting awake in bed,
waiting to hear the garage door to go up,
because then I knew you’d be home
and you’d be safe, and we’d be safe
and we could all fall asleep in the same house,
whether my happily ever after
was based in reality
or a bedtime story I told myself every night
so that I could finally rest my eyes
in hopes that my mind would follow.

It goes on and on
and on and it never stops
Now I wear earmuffs

Little lies
All right beside
A troubling cry
And sharpened knives.

Her wrists were scorned
With hate and more.
But not before
She spread her flaws.

A spellbound boy and a half lost girl.
He swore they could rule the world.
Broken glass and red hot coals
Wouldn't stop the coming storm.

He strapped on handcuffs
And placed on earmuffs.
He didn't heed the broken trust
And doubled down in blinding dust.

She said by soon she would have known.
But an empty promise has its shadows.
And false summers can still be drenched in snow.
Yet still she sinks her teeth, soaked in venom.

A park bench scene
And a crippling freeze.
She told him there that she had to leave.
But even then he didn't believe

She'd renege on her word.
But her oaths were always slurred.
Her hollow echoes could be heard
If he had stopped and listened.

And now his arms burn bright white.
A tally of perverse delight.
He found long sleeves would do the trick,
But boiling heat starts to unpick

The threads that held the mask in tact.
He never seemed to accept the fact
That jails are a safer place
Than the relentless pace

Of fantasies and
Sweet tasting venom.

Let me out

It’s going to be a good day today
I can feel it in my bones
No really, my bones ache when the weather gets colder
Knees hurt when it starts to rain
I no longer have to put on that hideous forest green parka and
Those grey sorrel boots
It will be a navy pea coat and black laced up boots instead
I can barely wait to get them out of the closet and try them on
Goodbye silly hats, and scarves
Arrividerci heavy mittens and earmuffs
Hello leather gloves and colourful headbands
I no longer have to tie up my hair
It can now flow freely down my back
Those chocolate highlights were definitely worth it
The skies will be a glorious blue
Birds will be chirping out natures love songs
Squirrels will be scurrying about
And the raccoons better be out of the way
The trees will have on their green ensembles
And guard the earth all year round
Flowers will bloom white yellow and red
It just started snowing!
Maybe tomorrow will be the day

11/18/2020

I don’t want to be a person that everybody wants to be,
Why should they look at me and think I have it all together?
Do I put on a show so good they believe it?
My careless apathy is bliss,
But if I showed them that I actually did care,
Would that give them too much power over me?
How many times have I scrolled my contacts?
Deleting numbers, cutting contact.
I’m intimidating sometimes, but what if I have fears of my own?
But really, I have nothing to fear-
Does that mean I fear everything equally?
Could showing fear give me control, if ever so little?
Why is it so empowering to be weak?
What is to be gained by complaining?
Why does it feel good to put yourself down?
But sadness is never as good as joy,
In an instant, comes the surrender to cheerlessness.
But how many words can turn joy into heartache?
How long does it take for broken to be mended?
Are the hours in a day too many?
Why is another sunrise the only thing I’m waiting for?
Will the vagueness of night give way to clarity?
I could ask a million questions, but what do I do with them?
Will the answer I’m seeking satisfy my thirst?
Does a question end only with its answer?
Is a destination the death of a journey?
Or are there paths worth abandoning in the spirit of trust?
How long until there is peace in this tempest?
How many steps are left up this staircase?
I was never lost, but I don’t know where I am.
There has always been One who knows my situation,
Even though I chose to take many steps alone.
Do I possess the strength to do the hard things?
Or will I remain icebound in this paralysis,
As I watch opportunities follow their course without me?
Do I possess the strength to motivate a good cause?
Or will someone else fill the empty shoes I should’ve?
My ears were cold, so I put on earmuffs,
Oh my soul! Grab a megaphone and wake me up!
Pierce the dampened holes of my sleeping heart.

I pray your day
Goes as planned
Planning is something
I never had much mind for…
Mind…
Oh yes! My dream
Walking patiently forward
Toward a blanket of twilight
All I could sense
Cold touch of faint wind
Over time I finally spoke
A garbled sentence
Greeted with an echo
First it was mine
Then a reverberation
Of voices I didn’t recognize
At least not yet
Touched my ears
Earmuffs?
I don’t own a pair…
I could hear?
Such an odd experience
The intensity increased
Till the force of the symphony
Pushed me backwards
Landed headfirst onto a rock
Rough and uninviting
Then I awoke
Unable to hear my breath
Like always
The status quo remains the same
Will it change?
Boy, I hope so
Truth is that…
I fear I’ll never know
Even if I said yes
Who will believe a man
With no way to hear it?

Don these earmuffs of positivity,
To better combat the whispers of apathy.
But don't let your guard down,
They aren't a passive form of protection.
Guarding your mind takes constant effort,
And conscious decisions.
Happiness is a choice. It is work.
It's the antithesis of the easy way out.
Those lazy and uncaring thoughts
Still come, no matter what,
But it's up to you, to me,
To armor our minds against them.