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Sana Jan 2015
My heart I bequeath you
O’ stillness of my universe
I bequeath you my sanity
Spreading this cloak of being in your dust
I bow to your twinkling stars
To the waxing sun and scented grass
I bow to your springing rivers
To the parched grain and blossoming flowers
I bow to the warmth of my lover
And want of my beloved
I bow to your saccharine figs
And honeyed nectar in chalice filled
I bequeath my mortality to your transiency
Blinded by this light in game of ruse
Into your cohesiveness, I fuse
In blinkers to win the race
Espying a king in glass
Presage of being a slave

Yet when darkness falls
I furl my cloak and solemnly rise
For I bow not then
To your barren fields and waning suns
I bow not to your garish colors,
To the cloying drupe and wilted blossoms
Bracing my feeble transience
With my tenet and trail of faith
I bow to the King of kings;
Whilst I beseech for emanating hope,
In my tigers clasp, my God’s rope
I beseech,
Till the noise becomes music again
And as I gaze in the glass now,
All I espy is a beseeching slave
True, the brightest light casts the darkest shadow but it is in darkest that brightest embers can be found.
"Inside the womb, silence whispers;
Darkness wombs the light
Raging storms give birth to light"

Our fate is storm,
We are the light
We are the raging storm
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Warning: the government is reading your poetry!
(Metadata Mining This Site)


If to the world about, you are attentive,
You have imbibed the news that our governmental,
is exercising its parental abusive in-discretionary powers,
Purviewing and purloining our electronic communications,
Causing some to have worrisome palpitations

My life is on the boring side,
So welcome gents to look inside,
The surfed sites, the emails, hardly slimy,
But stay the fk away from my poetry!

Tis obvious from your midnight editing,
That my wordily, working body has been discretely
Simonized,
My data,
Googlized,
My poems,
Scrutinized,
A comma, a colon, a verb, out of place, capsized,
Little threads kept in door jambs, their alteration,
Your snooping presence, a confirming revelation

Will the words Rye Catcher be caught by a filter,
My mocking of Obamacare, be the transmitter,
That becomes a curiosity inflictor, a predictor,
Of your requited, on-this-sited, attentions?

Meta dating women, once a goal, worthy of attaining,
Meta dating mining of poetic alliterations, pertaining
To me and mine, a serious no-no, causing consternation,
Heavy percussing, voters, party swinging in self-flagellation

The information unwittingly provided on HP
Will be used to modulate the time and temperature,
Add certain chemicals in the liquids we drink
Like testosterone in erogenous zones,
Xanax in the air vents in the high schools and colleges,
Hell, they may even put fluoride in the water

Control the atmosphere, fashion styles, population size,
Disclose location to my enemies and my illicit affairs,
(Exposed, leaked to the NY Post's Page Six, to my better halving),
Keep the emotions checked,
Within acceptable parameters,
Especially of those *****, love sick
Senior Citizens, always ready to get down
When poetry-aroused

This narration of condemnation for espying
Will YouTube spread like a new flu virus,
Cause I know where you live and Iam,
Cell phone camera armed and dangerous
On  the Internet, your faces, posted

They riot-for-rights in Cairo and Istanbul,
President Obama, we have on good authority,
Your daughters support our rhetoric, no bullsht,
Watch your step, or on you, we'll sic the IRS,
Cause in the end, they work for *us,

Hold on, who's that knocking at my door?
Ah. The things we think of at 3 in the morning.  Nonetheless:
|: Who's that knocking at my door? :|
Who's that knocking at my door?
Said the fair young maiden
It's only me from over the sea,
Says Barnacle Bill the Sailor,
I'm all lit up like a Christmas tree,
Says Barnacle Bill the Sailor,
I've sailed the seas until I'm broke,
I drink and swear and gamble and smoke,
But I can't swim a ****** stroke,
Says Barnacle Bill the Sailor.

A perfect example of having a punch line, then figuring out the joke. The joke is on my many friends of liberal, Democratic persuasion.   Warning! Another warning poem will be coming, for my insanity is fertile, when past midnight, I dream with, upon my face, this smile, demented. Hell, there it goes, now come, now gone.
Teen, sixteen, gazing into the mirror, adoring
Her smug self afore that vanity espying glass.
At her well favoured features she's ogling
With ****** grins, sans ****** feelings.

Everything was still in a pink state,
Like morn, from her sole to her pate.

"Time's winged chariot" flashes by, and she's
Turned sixty. That same structure luscious
Like seasons, from summer to winter,
sooner changed: gray hair hath taken over
With wrinkle surface, shelving ******* on
A frame frail. Her cherished hot form
Has sunk, as the sun, down the horizon
Of beauty for ageing, which doth man transform.
I dispelled arduous watches tick on laborious appareled macrocosms scatter spitting patter, teeming paved labyrinths searching for something to own orbiting the bench I sit on, envisaging celestial bodies slinging transonic ripples. Ether colliding into clouds masking infinite galaxies from a suffering and crawling universe destined for a hole in the wall, where the rats live; nibble, scratch, deconstruct, and reconstruct, cannibalize, ****, and die.
         Does silence exist amongst the deucedly hot and dense state that incrementally dilutes vociferous dissonance illuming dynamic hurricanes, merciful gases, and asteroidal moats guarding engraved anthropomorphic landscapes?
Probably not; fauna whisper, tear down, and settle, birth exigent infants and zealous appraisals, ***** towers and castles; consciousness capitulates, inundates prisons, cemeteries, and landfills. Silence, in precipitous day dreaming, auspiciously reverberating webs espying arpeggios tomb the suburbs as one navigates in and out of trepidation to avoid being caught like a gnat, a quiet ******* bug with no cigarettes to burn.
The impact flung me from the bench in the commons toward dusk disguising 16 acres with streetlights and homeless asking for squares on the roads to spurs and oaks, scattered acorns crepitating under my soles. Each  compressing sound pulling like gravity, transporting down roads with bouncing winds, subtle aglow, guides from defiant contours of Gods in the clouds, dandelions erupting side walks like tectonic plates seismically tear apart earth, the fog’s mist like ships floating into suns swimming like tadpoles; air undulates as I wave my hands against the wind, molding the space as clay.
This city is mine, I tumultuously grow with it, and I mercurially oscillate with it as a memory inevitably plays. The past as a dream, is mine. The abstract present is mine, and the infinite future is not, yet they are given away for possession.
Inept graffiti cartographically stain bricks providing a simpler search for portals made perfect for laying like a crescent moon near their opening edge, watching dawn lift dust and my eyelids, glaring off windows building and kissing the satellite towers on roofs, waking the mountains in the horizon, painting the sky, one could give a **** about the past, present, and future, the beginning is just as imminent as venturing any further.
Embryonic sun rays mixing fluids and this coffee I nabbed to wake the day, having it enlighten the conversations one has with oneself; consisting of bellicose thoughts filtered, taboos accompanying bleating people, ubiquitous t-shirts, satirical newspapers, and indecorous magazines perpetually feeding me preliminarily eldritch reconnaissance as they dress into strangers.
It could be time for another cup of coffee and cigarette? Or am I just floating off into enigma over the road becoming a sea?
Gypsies contort into seagulls, shingles moving like tsunamis smashing down on metropolitan brick cities, Atlantis generation XYZ resting in an underwater valley, mountains sew gardens on the ocean’s bottom, signs buried, and I’m simply lifting back off into space.
Complaints will suffocate; I’ll be out of town, however, I will miss those whom drowned.
Good riddance.
“Hello,” a soft resonation shaking the atmosphere.
Resuscitation; back to reality…
“Hello”, the voice repeated, “Are you going to be alright?”
“Pardon, what happened?” I slurred.
“You just fell several stories and your head is missing. This is astonishing how you can hear me, how I can hear you, are you in any pain?”
“Um, I apologize, but I’m not really certain of what you are saying. My head is missing?”
“Yup, it detached from your atlas, when you hit the asphalt, what is the last thing you remember?”
“Having my head…well sort of, I remember staring at people on a bench in the commons it was kind of turning my stomach, making my head feel heavy, so I got up and walked. Explains the headaches and visuals, Where am I?”
“You’re in my basement. I could hear your voice when I found you, even with your head, well, skull missing.”
“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“I would have called an ambulance, but you told me not too, you wanted me to hear you, you kept insisting I hear your stories, so, I listened to your stories as I basically dragged you here. You would go in and out, talking then silent the next, and now you seem like you’re in at this moment; without a skull, your heads there.”
“Well…I can’t see you… or the basement… and I am not in any pain… How long has this been going on, why did you listen to my stories, and what did I say?”
“You know what you said.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the only one who listened.”
who was responsible
for the queen's ultimate disappearance
who took it upon themselves
to seek her clearance

over quite a length of time
those of a regal pedigree
have been unexpectedly vanished
from the monarchical tree

these culprits cannot be
traced anywhere on the ground
its as thought they are secreted
beneath a shadowy mound

and we aren't able to stem
their anti regal sentiment
which is ever hardening
like a ten ton cube of cement

exhibiting the crown's
bloodline doth bring vaporization
where there will be nowt more
espying of a visitation

danger is omnipresent
and its peril aimed on any empress
an unknown body of disfavour
not requiring her impress
Eclipsing Moon Oct 2011
Beauty Is As Beauty Does--chapter one

A Chapter by Eclipsing Moon-blood red

Galaxy Stanza



A Poem by Raven Starhawk



Nimbus arms embrace celestial terrain

as it cascades infinity

wielding zephyr's wand

and sipping inferno's nectar



In zenith's hour

epochal monoliths mystify

Goliath arrogance

as it persecutes a nebula
while astral satiety arrests the beast

and galaxy stanzas resume





Beauty is as Beauty Does-

A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red



In the dark recesses
of the void, we call our universe a cloud was forming, one devoid of morals or
intent.



The molecules came
together under the thought processes of a malignantly minded old sorcerer,
blended with his hope of a lasting endowment of centuries of learning and spell
castings.



He was searching for a
one to carry on his knowledge and spells of potion and this cloud could carry
out the espying in secret as he wished...under cover of dark and
thought...unless a spirit was descerned by another caster of woven potions.



Today in time was
measured more by centuries and decades as the process took... its
form...questing for the entity as this universe and others had been targeted
for his type of Magic...sorcerers specialized in their trade and like all good
practitioners he had his fireworks shows with energy beams and potion majic mixed
to control and manipulate the certain being he was working with...for power was
the name of his gambit...the access and addition of as well as controlling in
the sphere of a society...let’s just say he got his jollies from using other’s
well- earned energy…What they worked for...he stole and reveled in the process.

It just so happened
that today...his cloud was in the vicinity of a planet known to the Magical
world as Earth...Terra...this being inhabited by beings in many dimensions and
frequencies...it seemed to home in on a child...being birthed as a logical
consideration ..So that; further study was merited

Marking this beings
location in the foothills of a hidden mountain range ...in the Tibetan range and
former birthplace of a religious teacher known as Lord
Buddha...Siddhartha...and a nice long history in the telling of the Monks who
followed him...this time a twist a counter turn of the incarnation was a Female
child …Looking to be imbued with the same set of majical powers...and the
beginning of another time and space of reign as the first...excellent time to
lay claim to the mind and teachings of this ...ONE..Of Beauty.











Her fingers curled into her palms. Beneath her fingertips she felt an electric shock, almost gasped but then the pulse was through her. The diary was etched in her memory; its feel, shape and smell. It was almost as if it was a breathing thing rather than an inanimate object. The cool plastic feel of a pen settled over each relaxing digit and it was as if she was writing the next entry.



Darkness lingered around her eyes as she shifted her weight to one foot. Glancing at the end of the avenue she gave a weak smile to anyone who passed by and dared to look at the two officers and teenagers. Then as the lamp next to them flickered, its bulb ready to give way to shadows, the first officer stood perfectly tall once more and stared with unmoving features.



Owen stammered, looked from Candace to the first officer and then the second. He pushed his glasses up with a shaky forefinger and shuffled closer to the lamp post where it beamed a dully. She tugged at his sleeve and nodded toward the police car. Its spinning lights ceased as the first officer hopped in the driver's seat.



"Come on, Owen," Candace said and was pulling him along toward the back where the second officer was standing with his hand on the handle.



"Are we being arrested," he asked, Candace pushing him into the small caged seat. Staring through a steel mesh, he asked, "What is going on?"



Moments later they were riding into the night. Soft music was playing over the radio but only at a whisper as the two officers engaged in conversation. They hardly spoke like authority figures and Candace sensed Owen must be in a world of questions but as they sat with silence between them she simply smiled.













next chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red
Bisho Jul 2012
March 10, 2010 at 11:26 pm

I'm lost in translation,
For a language....does my life be,
In each & every situation,
There's much that I can't see,
The times of meditation,
The times I know what's me,
In dots lies my consolation,
In the question marks it does flee,
Every second of desperation,
Is like drowning in a sea,
In me, I feel I am a nation,
Endless thoughts from which I can't break free,

What a total illusion !!
The future seems a million mile,
& the great confusion,
The past seems a one-second while,
A dream I cherish ,the love suffusion,
That dream oppose the world & rile,
The only left mere solution,
To choose to enter the death isle,
Or here's what is a dead conclusion,
To let the world erase my smile,
But I'll always allow the fusion,
Of love & passion in my lifestyle,

I can see souls of passion & pain,
Some lovely written letters in gold,
Matters not fleshes or colours or a strain,
I see the young just like the old,
In capital or small alike on the lane,
Some are warm & others are cold,
Some sell them letters for nothing to gain,
But to the life in hell they're sold,
Some bleed pain like drops of rain,
U cannot count, u cannot hold,
But the wise ,a word, they attain,
From humble letters forming the untold,

I see some letters roving alone,
Espying the grief of the lovelorn,
Each letter lost the life they've known,
In all their doubts & their mourn,
Every heavy heart became a stone,
& them letters became forlorn,
How would it be some reason shown,
In their lives & hearts that are torn??
Think of this present not the unknown,
For the grieving we're never born,
For every night must have a dawn,
But them reason does be the scorn,

I'm Peter not Judas, I stand when I fall,
From strikes of time I learn to rise,
I'm Solomon who built every holly wall,
I can see the truth through a million lies,
I'm David who loved God above the all,
For God's the world in such poet's eyes,
I'm the lost son who lost control,
Who'd from his father the forgiving prize,
I'm the mislaid sheep, once a devil's doll,
But now my morbid sin I realize,
I am God's son the only one I call,
The one who embrace me in his skies,

Oh, poor me...so alone I stand,
I linger in some reality's dream,
So distant & lost in a faraway land,
This ardent fire of passion does seem,
Like some springs of life flowing to my hand,
Out of my soul a running stream,
Upon pillars of salt & pillars of sand,
Stood their castles of no sun can glow or gleam,
Altogether my thoughts do band,
To form a code the all esteem,
Though I am the one whom the life strand,
But also I'm whom God did redeem...**

Tryst Sep 2015
Part 1.

What wantless seeds attest to willing soil,
Each rooted finger delving to earth's core
In counterweight, as newborn limbs recoil
Up from the grave, to rise, to lift, to soar;
To marry gold above with gold below
As petaled faces bask in fiery glow.

In each low nook, on each high rising hill,
By narrow streams wending like living trails
Down through deep harbored vales where winds lay still,
Where night and shadows meet in mingled veils,
All sacred spots that nature calls her own
Know bounty of pure beauty fully grown.

Heaven to some, to some Arcadia;
Her lands enriched not by cold ore struck gold,
But by a blessed cornucopia
That wise men seek, but few will yet behold:
Into this realm a weary hunter treads,
As silent as a widow in silk threads.

His hooded face as weathered as a storm,
Dark eyes, a crooked nose, a fearsome chin;
Worn leather garb clung to his sinewed form,
Drab long cloak loosely clasped by silvered pin;
Old sword and dagger hung from side to side,
Short bow and quiver tarry not his stride.

Part 2.

The vestige trace long lost to eyes unskilled
Takes umbrage at his oft' requited glance,
And twisting like a ****** darkly quilled
To gift the puzzled reader bare a chance,
Turns this and that but all to no avail:
The hunter ever watchful of the trail.

Through field and copse, down to a steep ravine,
Plumbing the darkly deepness of a cave
That writhes through earthly riches like a stream,
Rising to spring like buds from winters grave:
Emerging into light as one exhumed,
The hunter pushes on, the hunt resumed.

For mile to broken mile the land retreats
To greet the rouse and sleeping of the sun;
As day and night dance gaily round their seats,
Taking a turn to sit on either one;
By light of sun, or moon, or stars, the prey
Sets firmer tracks each passing of the day.

Until a dawn awakes to shrieks of mourning,
One golden speck cries foul at visions edge;
Espying of the hunter's cruel adorning
She flits away towards a mountain ridge:
The hunter leaps, pursuing at a pace,
His prey is found, his hunt becomes a chase!

Part 3.

Arcadia delights in summer faire,
Yet all departed seasons lie within;
Protected from the ravage of time's stare,
They wander here or there upon a whim;
And to her borders, winter is inclined,
So comes the chill as summer falls behind.

Soft fertile plains give way to rocky climbs,
And mountain shadows mock sun's feeble stare;
Ice clung to stone, to sting all clinging limbs,
The hunter's eyes blinded by frigid glare;
His prey nearby, she clambers up the *****,
Her racing heart surged by false glinted hope.

Arcadia bade mountains rise up steep,
To keep her borders free of dint or breach,
And rising heavenward, each snow-capped peak,
An endless climb beyond all skillful reach:
The hunter clambers swift to shrink the gap,
And in a breath she falls into his trap.

A foxhole late encumbered with deep snow
Becomes her prison hemmed by harsh cold rock,
The hunter stands above, inclines his bow,
With silken string depressed by feathered nock;
One pause to blink before she pays his toll:
He stalls, steps back, and stumbles from the hole.

Part 4.

"Cold winds chill numb the hands, freeze not the mind!
What trick of sight gives light to such deceit?
Dare I to look once more? Pray will I find
My prey's own claws or tender dainty feet?
Treacherous snow lies deep, my eyes misled!
A beast I sought, a maiden found instead!"

"Kind sir, I find myself at your command!
Pray lend me arms no smith nor fletcher made,
But as my own formed of the sculptors sand
To shape the flesh into the mould he bade:
Pray open up your heart, come set me free,
For I would spy which hunter bested me!"

"Afore I gift my fingers to your plight,
Would you attest to count them fore and aft?
And pledge no claws will scratch nor teeth will bite?
And offer up the scheming of your craft?
A beast I hunt, yet here I catch no beast,
Be swift of tongue, the swifter then released!"

"Upon the sky that houses sun and moon,
The trembling mountains tamed by winters shiver,
The hills, trees, shrubs, vales, Arcadia's bloom,
The living streams, flowers like natures mirror:
Upon all things of worth if word be aught,
I gift my word, my ill to you is naught!"


Part 5.

Her slender form, as light as sleight of white,
He lifts up to assuage her troubled snare;
And looking then upon her wondrous sight,
With darting eyes for fear the sirens glare;
He feels a hammer strike a pillowed blow:
His lifeless limbs collapse into the snow.

"Fear not for words I gift are duty bound,
And bind me as a branch unto a tree;
Would I were fool to feast upon my hound,
My bonded words so too would feast on me:
But listen now, this nymph has had her fun,
The chase is run, the quest is just begun!

Arcadia opens up her vaulted gate
To fallen souls with honor on their name;
Not that bestowed where mongers congregate,
By kings rewarding those who **** and maim;
But those revered for kindly word and deed
Are born again through Arcadia's seed.

Live free to roam in Arcadia's haven,
Fish, hunt, give chase, for sport and for the thrill;
But heed me well, my bonded words are graven,
Open no doors to death, nor test his skill:
Death hunts you like the beast you thought to best,
Though chase be long, be sure he will not rest.


Part 6.

*Arcadia has but one proposition,
Be glad of heart, her realm cannot be broken;
But of your hand she makes a supposition,
You wear it still, a lovers gifted token:
All bonded vows should break upon her border,
That yours did not has brought her some disorder!

Though day and night swing endless through the sky,
No time shall pass within this hallowed glade;
Where once you stood, forever shall you lie,
One breath between a life and bitter shade:
Arcadia can open up her door
And with a breath, release you evermore!

Return to life, return to love's embrace,
Return to sickness, death and poverty;
Go now and lose all knowledge of this place,
Be troubled not by wistful memory;
This path once trod can never be unstarted.
Be warned: no path returns here once departed!

Here then your quest continues with a choice,
Remain within Arcadia's golden land;
Or live a mortal life and then rejoice
To greet your death when taken by his hand:
One breath to choose, one solitary breath,
Immortal life or yet a mortal death."
Being the fourth ...
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Hear her soft lilt before espying her
from the promenade?

Listen carefully for mondegreen.
This morning she will come out
of the water, risen from froth,
made of the same elements
as Adam's Eve,
a pastiche dressed in summer's flurry,
transpicuous & clung-to,
amaryllises strung about
hair & thoughts,
the sinfully twisted scent
of Bergamot Orange
filling the nostrils as they flare.

Shall she succeed in coaxing you back
to a tree that once held such promise?
It's called Temptation for a reason.
Eclipsing Moon Sep 2011
Beauty Is As Beauty Does
A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red


If enough people are interested I will continue with this series as a Book with chapters this one being renamed ...Beauty Is As Beauty Does-Prologue .





Beauty Is As Beauty Does



A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red







If enough people are interested I will continue with this series as a Book with chapters, this one being renamed ...Beauty Is as Beauty Does-Prologue.







In the dark recesses of the void, we call our universe a cloud was forming, one devoid of morals or intent.



The molecules came together under the thought processes of a malignantly minded old sorcerer, blended with his hope of a lasting endowment of centuries of learning and spell castings.



He was searching for a one to carry on his knowledge and spells of potion and this cloud could carry out the espying in secret as he wished...under cover of dark and thought...unless a spirit was descerned by another caster of woven potions.



Today in time was measured more by centuries and decades as the process took... its form...questing for the entity as this universe and others had been targeted for his type of Magic...sorcerers specialized in their trade and like all good practioners he had his fireworks shows with energy beams and potion majic mixed to control and manipulate the certain being he was working with...for power was the name of his gambit...the access and addition of as well as controlling in the sphere of a society...let’s just say he got his jollies from using others well earned energy..What they worked for...he stole and reveled in the process.



It just so happened that today...his cloud was in the vicinity of a planet known to the Magical world as Earth...Terra...this being inhabitied by beings in many dimensions and frequensies...it seemed to home in on a child...being birthed as a logical consideration ..So that; further study was merited



.Marking this beings location in the foothills of a hidden mountain range ...in the Tibetan range and former birthplace of a religious teacher known as Lord Buddha...Siddhartha...and a nice long history in the telling of the Monks who followed him...this time a twist a counter turn of the incarnation was a Female child ..Looking to be imbued with the same set of majical powers...and the beginning of another time and space of reign as the first...excellent time to lay claim to the mind and teachings of this ...ONE..Of Beauty.
Bijan Rabiee Aug 2019
I'm not a seasoned poet
As standards go
I have neither the will nor wit
To assemble words that exhale
Sensuous truths of beauty
I have been tossed in poetry's net
To serve and protect its fate
I'm not sharp enough
To detect Moon's climb
For I'm not Archibald MacLeish
I'm no master metaphorician
To equate yellow fog to a cat
For I'm not T.S. Eliot
I'm just here to release the waves
That load my pen to barrage
Their organic ammunition
I cannot delve into the dark show
As smooth as Edgar Allen Poe
I'm not one to sing of love, of wine
For I'm no Rumi nor khayyam
I can't settle music's dust
For I'm not Robert Frost
I can only write what I'm taught
By the shadow rulers of Art
If Yeats is awake
And Shakespeare watching
If Whitman, Dickinson, Keats
And the rest of the sublime ones
Happen to be espying
They would regard me
As an underling
And that would be a win
For I shall never reach
Their poetic spin.
Shivam Apr 2014
Laying in my emotion.
Espying you in my ocean.
Drowning in your lotion.
Singing your song… na na na… aana  
That’s how you sang it.

Looking you in the mirror of memory,
all night goes in weeping dream.
You are a sleeve of my waking gleam,
Your voice still beams
in my emptiness.

I wondered silently, on shore
of misty stream, how will I paint
you tonight - Bold and bright red.
But I am scared that there is no you
except in my empty heart.

I wondered what it would be
like sitting beside you on couch and
reading you my heart’s bleed. But
internally I squeal like a child when
I behold the truth.
Helen Jun 2015
We long to roam through
discarded gardens overgrown
with antiquated notions
to pluck the weeds from
the very soil we often
refused to simply toil
Espying the single rose
beneath the creeping vine
asking not what encouraged it
to be simply divine, it just is
Little weeds that head with colour
springing beneath a summer flower
ignored for its parasitic ways
flourishing beneath a distant gaze
growing in a barren wasteland
untouched by a living hand
Unguarded garden in riotous
bloom, little weeds that like
to loom, beneath the heady
fragrance of another day
asking that you not pull them
from the only soil ever known
to them, they grew heart whole
despite you staying away
due to a congenital psychological affliction
hobgoblins joined human league averse tomb eye plaintive benediction
thence, this with mine jetblue skinny legs like a chicken
his (mein kempf) got dealt mortal (who gives a hoot) blow fish
   rem mains disintegrated by mailer daemons usurped dereliction
whereby sanity given eviction
in the subsequent fiction
that makes feeble attempt to evoke stricken gumption
where nihilistic thoughts rode rough shod to wreak humiliation
upon prepubescent initiation
whereby the antithesis of jubilation
kept the author (yes, yours truly)
   like a trapped mouse in a cat protected kitchen
where no cheeses cur heist could rectify or bring libation.
-------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------          
   noah hide da what mailer daemon possessed this earthlinked live nada so hotmail to splutter so much persiflage.

   ye might well categorize the palaver as pure llama heaped dung attempting to sneak into yar consciousness as some esoteric badinage aspiring to convey that this doodler with words adroit with the english language.

bah hum bug
down the gullet went lethal drug
e'en without any farewell hug
after smacking lips polished off deadly drink from mug.

   Long fostered freedom last attained to exit silently this terrestrial real estate oblate spheroid during hulu heralded century21, which brought eternal senescent deliverance.

   life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and goodwill toward men/women served as a mere pretense extant the global arcade.

   nothing boot  charade, enfilade (albeit with limp poetic/prosaic pugnacious), facade, gilded hilariously inside *******.

  ever since he did start kick king lifelessly, his noggin oddly plunges quietly resting as a deceased shutter ring fly tonight under vaporous wisps.

   a somber mood prevailed amidst the cloistered silence imposed from - The burial of Matthew Harris
i.e. this faceless book earth worm member
joined the rank n file of his slimy brethren n cistern
   when a mortal male ceased to live one december

   The undertaker drew a deep breath.

   He exhaled little billows of cold air while awaiting the hearst carrying my lifeless body.

   Prior to death, I took special pains to select an ideal piloted kamikaze pilot plot.

   A mossy glen with a mill by the pond of my boyhood swimming hole served like the ideal welcome mat for the return of this native son long gone from his family estate of Glen Elm.

   Death struck unexpectedly while dodging the madding crowd jostling to get a glimpse of this renown author where fame seemed destined to track me down.

   As the advocate of countless essays on inalienable rights for all creatures large and small, no pause from the hounding local populace offered peace of mind.

   Until now!

   The prospect of dying never scared this non-believer.

   Cessation of consciousness essentially served completion of life in corporeal form and reconstituted physical being into grist for other organisms to flourish.

   Karma and the glorious unique characteristic that comprised each of our respective charisma, dogma, and persona (generally comprising an enigma to the world) absorbed after contract with cosmic creator lapsed.

    Brief occupancy on this terra firmae as inscribed in genetic code (merely a blink of an eye in the universal schema) gave this now deceased dreamer notion to maximize enjoyment of each day.

   One need not globe trot (and boast of espying exotic places), but could experience inner harmony by imbibing the present.

   Simple pleasures that abounded in the wild or evoked via the creative imagination of august writers supplied ample sustenance for satisfaction.

   Contemplative and introspective mien prompted Eros to be discerned in the grand canyon of Mother Nature in tandem with personal motive to indulge like-minded thinkers since the beginning of time.

   Any given day frequently found thoughts turning over every figurative jagged rolling stone when the grim reaper might spring a surprise visit, which metaphysical thought interestingly enough gave sigh of relief.

   Why?

   Upon termination of enjoying existence in living color, the eradication of this pet peeve of mine i.e. anxiety/ panic attacks interwoven with inxs of obsessive compulsive behavior would dissolve into the basic elements bread earth, wind and fire.

   No iota amount of matter marshaled of the non-entity dimension would assume command.

   Those former psychological trials would thence be relinquished from their parasite role and recompose cells of one mortal man (me) into matter to be recycled into raw materiel for other organisms to feast upon.

   Basic constituent cells of this **** sapiens would become necessary seeds for some other manifestation for plant or animal development.

   Go daddy maggots sans a fancy feast, a best buy per this former foo fighting beastie boy, whose nihilistic outlook promulgated within his in utero psyche.

   Gestation as an embryonic fetus, the potential live, googly eyed, earth-linked, wannabe hotmail prodigy harbored no oshkosh bug gosh pinterest to remain in the world wide web of bad company,

     Hence. nothing could mollify ne measly mumble bling linkedin (albeit progressive matchless who unwittingly opened the redbox of Pandora.

   Molecular features would assume novel combinations thru said degradation of flesh, yet improvisation of biology would wield wasted corpse that once epitomized an articulate, civil, enumerate, glib, invertebrate, kind male into novel marvels of unpredictable genus and species.
Ovi-Odiete Jul 2016
~
©

This Night is seemingly too long,
           as i sit espying from my window,
alone with the shadows
                                 And Voices.
I see the Night falling
            as darkness takes its shape
And Structure,
            the Night is Made.

A Baring Owl Screams
               from the back of the Fence,
       alerting every one of
the witching hour
         And the Moonlight moves on,
               shining and glistening,
          Radiating the dark night.
          The Sky holds no guiding Star
                    tonight
And men Sleep beneath
                   A
Strange Moonlight.

This Night is traveling too far
  As Anguish takes the better half of me,
                I sit in sorrow and illusion,
               Fighting a thousand fears,
that troubles me without a smile.
I slip into the Night
                          Saddened
                    The Night has swallowed
          My Glory
                     and here i am in dismay.

        Two Nights born from
                     A
                 hopeless day,
where pain and sorrow
                  visits with their
                        twisted hands,
Strangling and Manacling me,
          Who can Save a Wandering Soul?
          Where he searches for the other
               part of himself.
      Where
                two nights merge as one
       and a long journey emerges.

               Two Nights in one day,
Where my Screams Reverse back to me
                             And
all i hear are voices
                 Of Silence.
This Night is tortuous and treacherous,
        This Night is so far from home,
            This Night may never end soon,
                This Night may last forever,
                    We may not Awaken.


~© Ovi Odiete.~•
Originally written 2015©
This poem depicts the depths of MISERY and sadness.
The height of loneliness and PAIN.
The struggle and trouble that grows within us when we feel an EMPTY VOID IN US.
Its a sorrowful description of the most tragic phase of Anguish, where the PERSON feels lost, dejected and swallowed by the Man called MISERY.
Like a poet friend of mine wrote recently on her poem on WRITERS CAFE TITLED MISERY "MISERY LOVES COMPANIONSHIP, because Misery is lonely.
This doodling Yankee (boot noah dandy)
doth newt lack chutzpah,
tries to finagle Fitbit fitting figurative footwear,
that ideally Fitzhugh
like custom made glove snugly,
terrifically, unequivocally matching,
thence handily solving Finger hut issue,
when or if arctic blasts cold
doggedly enveloped Gaea,
whence  humans analogously held hostage
linkedin among fellow Earthlings freezing,
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly searching vainly
from shelter ring sky (with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling

(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier)
once (what seems millenniums ago) livingsocial
jackknifed habitat fractured,
essentially damning Crispr bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide
telling tales amidst the mill by  Ponderosa Pine
drawing a crowd of curious onlookers,
who forewent idling away time structured existence,
thus, nary a clock watcher weathering whims
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously,

and indubitably stripped away
bow ring pastime asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to
(seeketh dale and hill) to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal immoral majority linkedin
encapsulated, housed, kindled
within luxurious faux existence
capitalistic dreams engendered existence fleeced
devoid of featherbed,

indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors
scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin **** sapiens

bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps against pearl jam killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled,

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame
via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic,
fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling the playing field.
Exposure Therapy

     A figurative light shines on me (courtesy of Pink Floyd), no matter I live on the dark side of the moon like another brick in the wall, and rarely present thyself stark naked sans emotionally. The metier viz modus operandi of writing (poetry seems to edge ahead of other structures) allows, enables and provides with utmost exhiliration, infatuation, lumination, et cetera an opportunity to test (dis)comfort zones. Hence carefree foray induces loosing oppressive repressed unvented xanax albatross drugged gewgaws, jetisonned (via Jetson propelled Segway) means producint resplendent unfettered x2c.

      I became habituated, insulated, jackknifed with non-healthy, destructive behavior cultivated detrimental habits disallowing natural maturation of body, mind, and spirit, which this middle aged mwm now more fervently revisits, remonstrates, and recapitulates when attempting to explain to thyself or another, how bing figuratively tethered to the apron strings o' me late mum promulgated, narrated, and licensed to avast quantity of active listeners, the self made parent trap (albeit synonymous with an invisible umbilical cord that well nigh strangled satisfactory quality of life.

     Thus culled from me lately (countless decades when within fledgling offspring, the progeny evince metamorphosis that display heavenly lottery phenomenal tinder phase linkedin DNA when processes of puberty per purring prestidigitation when mine deus darling daughters developed into divine dames) instilled, jolted, kickstarted personal quest to broach me interpersonal/ social comfort zones.

     The presence of generalized anxiety (with attendant debilitating panic attacks) ******, foiled, highjacked journey to experience ordinary sensate human bonding never took place.

     I copiously deprived, emotionally fleeced, gamely hocked innumerable joyous kissably leavening male natural ordinary processes qua ramping sundry transitions ushering vital wings yodeling zen attainment. emotional, physical, social discoveries visa vis via blockaded, deprived, forfeited, hamstrung inoculated je nais sais quois electric kool aid acid test disallowing, barring,

depressing, forsaking growing **** Sapiens trajectory toward autonomy free self destructive hermetically sealed reign.

     Otherwise, thru avoidance behavior, clamped down eponymous flapping gums, this now middle aged baby boomer believes he cheated himself, injuriously jarred kidnapped legendary manifold noble savage traits ushering vital willpower yawping zealous adulthood.

Said physiological, integral, hormonal, germinal, fantastical, external, developmental, capitalone entourage fumbled mine kempf outlook predicated unanimously withheld Mortal Kombat from finagled grim-faced hoodlums, whence thine smarting, roiling, quivering psyche broke LivingSocial will power to remain alive, thus surrendering StarWars shield, essentially via nixed invisible IdentityGuard, undermined re: self defeatedly favorable growth, when thy prepubescent self firmly believed he hermetically sealed, guarded, buffered, himself against nasty, meanly lampooning, cruelly brutal bullies when in truth he merely annihilated, boobytrapped, bolloxed against learning to deal with dangerous enfilades fired, and essentially a uselessly futile coping mechanism.

     Quest diagnostic codified by yours truly incorporates initiating, kibitzing, and making odious quirkiness stamping utterly worthless yikyaks axed. Courageousness employed grappling ingeniously

kickstarting my nifty operation quintessentially rallying strength to utter verbal warbling, especially when espying a guy or gal donned with dreadlocks.

     Inexplicable to myself why a plethora of persons (constituting various generations) attire themselves with the lengthy process to braid, maintain, and wear follicles in such a fashion most attribute to Rastafarians.

     No matter what the reason or rhyme (whether with or without sense and sensibility, yet inculcated with pride without prejudice), a fascination with curiosity asper men, women, and/or children sporting a headful sprouting knotted ropy plaits sets the impetus sans this non establishmentarian chap to inquire what influenced him/her to impress the trademark dreadlocks. Each person usually offers little objection asper what influenced such a predilection.

     Upon conniving, daring, egging, et cetera this quintessentially respectable son, the unsuspecting gal or guy ruminating about some purchase, I nonchalantly assay, foray, sashay...and issue a positive comment about their snake like confection of locked tresses.

     Most interaction with persons previously unbeknownst to me launch into a harried styled and swiftly tailored explanation.

     Poetic and/or prosaic concoctions, confections, coiled connotations configuring confusing confabulations representative of mine unsettled psychological state, which (aking to purging) oft times erupts without any sense nor sensibility, neither pridefulness, though prejudice against victorious vanquished wicked yoked zealousness toward unhealthy behavious linkedin with a nada so good and plenti outlook.
AriGio Feb 2014
Open the book to pages blank, I, larva born alive, open, new, turning this life’s’ page, pupa, turning page, chrysalis encapsulating me safe, warm eager to too feel freedom. The comforts of light and darkness, sensing me entombed, darkness, being nourished, coddled, doted, protected…
Turn the page. Metamorphose, still, writhing, flailing, stretching straining to free from this bond.

Turn the page. Rebirth, excitement stretching, taking in new life, sensations of wonder, intrigue. Restless desire to reach to the breeze about and begin a journey in this, new life, powerful, strong aching to explore what is so new to the senses and learn more of these mysteries. Floating, darting, eyes bright, mind free to open to this newness of it all. Resting here & there taking in all that surrounds me. Time, something to which, I unaware nor care to know of. Exhilaration, without expectation or obligation I hover, flitter and roam.

Turn the page. Growing weary as the unending journey calls for rest to re-nergerize. Falling into a dream with reflections of this gleeful journey called life. Slowly, surely an undaunted sense of breath light slipping, teetering on this swaying reed, the inn, which gives me respite from this wondrous arduous journey. Fading reminiscing on what has been without regrets for the awes having experienced. Releasing my weakened grasp falling reaching the earth and dust from which I rose, espying the last of it with hopes of grace and dignity, I die.

Turn the page.Grateful for what has been and will be in my eternity of, Life!
Prathipa Nair Oct 2016
Walls designed with children's art
Room decorated with garlands of spider webs
Entering my grandfather's kingdom of treasures
Nearing a wooden antique box abreast his cot
Jumping with a loud scream
Seeing the thorns popping out
Ever disgusting ugly cockroaches
Hanging a large lock with arts of humans
The box challenging me to open
Breaking the lock abaft an hour of hard work
Lento opens with a creak sound
Eyes piercing out with a thunderbolt
Espying a red with golden jewel box
Opening it with exhilaration
Ah! Taken aback with tears of jolt
It was my grandfather's dentures !
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
   especially, encountering
   the following conglomeration
   in matthew scott harris patois).

He readily admits writing inventive
   attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
   Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
   courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
   gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
   and certainly less
to impress.

Gnome hatter intent toward
   cogency, fancy ingenuity,
   levity, the inevitable
   resultant wrought gobbledygook
   fascination for Lingua Franca
   feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
   and splatters Asia Yukon guess.

Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
   sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
   finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
   swimmingly enervated
   via ****** laced sentiments
   perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
   hollering, gesticulating floundering,
   (in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
   to avoid drowning at sea
   perchance comprehending passionate influence.

   Upon espying a signature poem of mine
   forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
   tib hush anonymous re:
   dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
   taking him/her to the brainy
   (briny) deep brink
   Icon fess

this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
   aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
   alphabetic wanton soup,
   or figurative egg drop bub
   bling broth (el) doth brew)

   pronouns Sibyl affectation
   affliction sans plethora,
   where each ladle full adrip with
   richly flavor Verdana Font lee
   and sincerely textured vocabulary.

   Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
   (blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
   suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
   particularly expectorating flashy

   hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
   hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
   might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
   vis a vis plagiarize plethora
  amidst storied plentiful English droppings.

Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
   temptation to bask exultantly,
   professed glorious unrequited love
   announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
topaz oreilly Jul 2013
She travelled from London to Weedon
if only for a day she promised to be
someone of importance,
by burning bridges.
Espying the gentry by learning subterfuge
the romance of the veil,
observing the roses by feel.
this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a.
grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city
bonded with blood brothers
felt born to run along backstreets
in brilliant disguise that did cover me
frequently blinded by the light
of the full moon

casting silhouettes against darkness on the edge of town
which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room
while immersed in book of dreams
describing better days on a Cadillac ranch

where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark
celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july
or other glory days in darlington county
even though I ain’t got you.

livin’ in the future
mine hungry heart hankered and felt like I’m on fire
for you, this fire in me craved human touch
desire - roaring into the ole factory fire because I wanna marry you
because the night populated with girls in their summer clothes

each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on)
in imagination of my american skin
descended from when adam raised a cain
before last to die forecasting kingdom of days
now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill.

now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/
local hero and I’m goin’ down
meeting across the river
if I should fall behind
on the downbound train as living proof
within light of day magic jungleland

policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99
alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun
defending this lucky town established on Matamoras banks
from an incident on 57th street

thus celebrated as local hero every independence day
when with ****** incorporated firing point blank out in the street
that staccato new york city serenade from no surrender outlaw pete
originally from nebraska.

it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night
within my hometown
once my father’s house, now my city of ruins
where tis moot to ask does this bus stop at 82nd street?

one step up
into the pink Cadillac
hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket
teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere
a red headed woman

racing in the street toward secret garden
to save my love – with thee angel rosalita (come out tonight)
offering reason to believe roll of the dice real world
and to prove it all night

from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel
housing souls of the departed
please save my love and stolen car
for sherry darling – that spirit in the night

she’s the one among souls of the departed
no longer stopped by state trooper
precinct based along streets of philadelphia
some crackling like streets of fire
straight time mandate for those armed to the teeth
along tenth avenue freeze-out.

requiem per terry’s song – what love can do
accompanied by e street shuffle
performed in somber tones
rumbling down thunder road
for souls of used cars
two hearts crushed

along this hard land
for: the ghost of tom joad
the last carnival homage to wild billy’s circus story
the price you pay when you’re alone
working on a dream
now wreck on the highway.

we take care of our own from youngstown
when heading of to the promised land
the rising distant mystical eden
where you can look (but you’d better not touch)
espying the river of salvation

joining eternally the ties that bind
a tunnel of love
or like the wrestler
pinning opponent tougher than the rest
like laborers working on the highway
chiseled like this hard land!
into the abyss of envy he
*fell

it gobbled him down in its
well

the desire to be the class
act
tormented his resentment
tract

they of quills superb of
skill
outshone the poseur's paltry
till

he hankered for what they
held
yet alas his penning so bad in
meld

at espying their brilliance of
verse
the ground swallowed him up as a
purse

jealousy he'd never ever
subdue
of the green hue there'd be an enduring
*due
quick figurative brush stroke drawn out character sketch
(serendipitous verisimilitude)

i stand in awe
(with mouth agape) at elegiac, fantastic,
   and graphic idyllic Kinkade magic
   leaving breathlessness from craw

at such artistic talent oozing
   spellbindingly, whatever
   aforementioned noteworthy craftsman
   didst paint or draw,

and chanced to comment
   about sad affairs leaving flaw
in regard to questionable business ethics -
   where press hee haw

contradicting, maligning, undermining, and jaw
boning sans said late talented mortal
   engaging in sketchy traits of south paw

city when contrasted with a dog given gift -
   ooh...such rah...rah...rah
when he first appeared on the scene,
   where most viewers saw

utmost dynamic, fantastic,
   and harmonic convergence
displaying such prosaic, rhapsodic,
   titanic art show events

hum...and perhaps not surprising
   his illicit in dull gents presents stark contrast,
   staring hypnotized as imagination invents
experiencing peaceful, restful
   and tumblerful joie de vivre espying

   honorable mentioned nonpareil oeuvre
   that placidly rents
craving to disappear into bucolic landscape whence,
splashed upon canvass,

attempting to bat
presumed "FAKE" rumors aside as nonsense - fat
chance prevailed constituting:
   deceitful, immoral, unfaithful sly kat
nocturnal antics, despite scathing attacks

   (cut him down to size), niggardly praises spat
out for me, I maintain cult of personality (his)
   setting Mac Book Pro wallpaper
   with exemplary landscape,
   either authentic or copy cat.
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with ******* – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,

who orbited the sun LX times
**** sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite

the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid ****** drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight

evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right

since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would

nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an

unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite

off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed ****** propensity gone cold

nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest

nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight

a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight

tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite

overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of ******
or "FAKE" shining knight

chess moonlighting also  as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent ****** plight!
this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a.

grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city

bonded with blood brothers

felt born to run along backstreets

in brilliant disguise that did cover me

frequently blinded by the light

of the full moon



casting silhouettes against darkness on the edge of town

which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room

while immersed in book of dreams

describing better days on a Cadillac ranch


where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark

celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july

or other glory days in darlington county

even though I ain’t got you.



livin’ in the future

mine hungry heart hankered and felt like I’m on fire

for you, this fire in me craved human touch

desire - roaring into the ole factory fire

because I wanna marry you

because the night populated



with girls in their summer clothes

each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on)

in imagination of my american skin

descended from when adam raised a cain

before last to die forecasting kingdom of days

now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill.



now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/

local hero and I’m goin’ down

meeting across the river

if I should fall behind



on the downbound train as living proof

within light of day magic jungleland

policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99

alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun

defending this lucky town



established on Matamoras banks

from an incident on 57th street

thus celebrated as local hero every independence day

when with ****** incorporated



firing point blank out in the street

that staccato new york city serenade

from no surrender outlaw pete

originally from nebraska.



it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night

within my hometown

once my father’s house, now my city of ruins

where tis moot to ask does this bus stop at 82nd street?



one step up

into the pink Cadillac

hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket

teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere

a red headed woman



racing in the street toward secret garden

to save my love – with thee

angel rosalita (come out tonight)

offering reason to believe

roll of the dice real world



and to prove it all night

from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel

housing souls of the departed

please save my love and stolen car

for sherry darling – that spirit in the night



she’s the one among souls of the departed

no longer stopped by state trooper

precinct based along streets of philadelphia

some crackling like streets of fire

straight time mandate for those armed to the teeth

along tenth avenue freeze-out.



requiem per terry’s song – what love can do

accompanied by e street shuffle

performed in somber tones

rumbling down thunder road

for souls of used cars



two hearts crushed

along this hard land

for: the ghost of tom joad

the last carnival homage


to wild billy’s circus story

the price you pay when you’re alone

working on a dream

now wreck on the highway.



we take care of our own from youngstown

when heading of to the promised land

the rising distant mystical eden

where you can look (but you’d better not touch)

espying the river of salvation



joining eternally the ties that bind

a tunnel of love

or like the wrestler

pinning opponent tougher than the rest

like laborers working on the highway

chiseled like this hard land!
Eleete j Muir Jan 2021
Time true of ages triumpeth the secrets of faery
With Hazael's ivory tusk espying insight thus even
Solomon was not arrayed like the lily in the field, Eve,
Whose Tears filled the Aryeh Fountain that watered
Iduna's golden apple tree of discord, the source of the gods
Youth and health yet still not death preventing;
Continuance mightier thus we lose what is certain whilst
Seeking that which is uncertain under ye such as
Life and the volitant green silk with men and woman
On the right hand and spirits on the left as if a
Beatific vision were penetrated and the sun in the sky
Become blackened by the Rukh bird and like a lion
Satan stalks the saints, likeness in our echoing for the
Fairest in love and war for the matrimony of
Heaven and Hell.



Eleete J Muir
though a might bit out of vogue
   years after chart topping renown came
since attainment sans high water mark of fame
one combination amongst, who made a name
for himself countless other scenarios
   could be drafted incorporating addressing same
song titles arranged in an alternate combination
   from the GREEN DAY audiofile playlist,
   hoop fully you get my aim.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As an atypical GREEN DAY fan, when exorcising
mailor daemons along the boulevard of broken dreams
easily misconstruing myself as just another American Idiot,
who mentally, frantically, emotionally veers away from
painful memories linkedin with when September ends.

This mid dull aged mwm accidentally poured 409 in his
coffee maker as proof positive that he iz a basket case.
All the time now (and for about the previous 1000 hours)

carousing Fitbit gremlins housed inside luckless oaf release
trigger, where 21 guns fire banking, bidding, bumping
uglies good riddance to this atheist. Jesus of suburbia waits
with waxed wings, when I come around to recant my ******
babble (attempting to appear as resident of Bend, Oregon.

This faux gad shill Norwegian bachelor redoubt patriot)
indicative of mine sigh lent kickstarter impression that
casts me as off kilter (psychologically), when I strive
to affect the to become welcome to my paradise. This
vantage point (especially atop Mount Everest) offers

the longview sans the big bang theory, where a deafening
cosmic blitzkrieg taught scattered mortals the best way
to know your enemy amidst camouflage, espionage,
hostage taken, yet key modes to keep still breathing
(soundlessly) without being detected.

Minority held opinion if flapjacked, highjacked, kidnapped,
await an opportune circumstance before thrusting out
your thumb vis a vis *** pen to reach sought after
destination (i.e. Lillies of the fields) hitchin' a ride
ideally before experiencing a 21st century breakdown.

While stranded amidst Foreigners, (who exhale Earth,
Wind and Fire) donned as Goo Goo Dolls), perchance
some buzz feeding, gabbing human Beatle browed
Beastie Boy, who doth sport Hair re: Kinks, a patented
trademark of The Village People) will trumpet.

Heed call to arms, via revolution aery radio broadcast
thru the Smash faced mouthpiece of a Ludicris Prince
too dumb to die. Meanwhile Straycats (on the outlook
page number two:

for a stray heart, and potential mate fo Cinderella)
slink into a Soundgarden sanitarium remaining stock
still as Indigo Girls doppelganger. Pseudo surveillance
(controlled by an AC/DC Lumineers progressive Tumblr
Youtube filmed vanity fair, yet essentially shape
shifting ing flickr ring into a tiffany shaped lamp

adorned capriciously, elegantly, garishly invoking
kooky, loopy, lubriciously monied popinjay. Soliloquy
spiel squawking prurient mumbling Jeeves only adds
further confusion to an otherwise totally tubularly
uneventful Rainbow coalition gathering.

This impromptu razzmatazz inadvertently manifests
into a state of the art IdentityGuard espying anyone
with an aim to **** the Dee Jay. He rose from the ranks
as a working class hero, and under the private tutelage
of Saint Jimmy elbowed sought out top honors to be
the ring leader for the upcoming Macy's Day Parade.

This honorific guest feted endowed duty stipulated
that Geek Stink Breath be remedied with any reason
able over the counter breath freshener. Once outfitted
for this fountainhead title (where Atlas Shrugs before

moseying off to Buffalo) hopefully locates whatser
name (an awesome bejeweled charming dame with
a Heart of Queen Latifah). Many admirers and suitors
of said Mademoiselle reckon she ranks as Last of
The Mohicans, as well The Last of The American Girls.

She (this Lady GaGa holds out against pledging her troth
at the countless hot-mails knowing full well, that
nice guys finish last. Oft times behavior of this
Super ***** ping Cheap Trick playing Jewel

appears as a walking contradiction, though nobody
ever faulted said Uber Lourdes for remembering
the forgotten twittering Mama's and Papa's,
whose influence 2,000 light years away prompts
even the staunchest cynic to claim west assured,
cuz East Jesus Nowhere to be found.
(preface to constipation)

way before aye knew
the name Fletcherism applied
tummy uncommonly (recherché) atypical dyed
in the wool feeding and/or slaking thirst guide

did precepts sans hungry
deaf eating beast impossible to hide
(the ferocious growling harassing imp -
armed to the figurative teeth ready to pounce
viz casus belli sans reeling off

a pseudo say id dish us vicious jeremiad
me, this unrepentant conscientious masticator,
who re: lied
on self control unbeknownst
to this pumpkin eater
unwittingly followed

the basic tenet of Fletcherism - custom made
modus operandi vis a vis exercising okayed
mandibular metered (when famished),
eyes kept closed while tongue gently played

adhered to practice of eating small amounts,
which discipline stayed
engorging self, and as a result
(consuming sustenance

only when hungry avoiding
(wolfing like an instantaneous blitz krieg flash)
found me aware visa vis master car ding
marginal increase in pounds meaning
thy body electric weighed

approximately for long stretches
when a habitue at one or another dining digs
stuffed nibbling on hors d'oeuvre figs
adequately satiating with with oomf

when contra dance caller Scott Higgs
announced "hands four," which signal
helped get my mojo back
and reel lee deuce home jigs,
which kickstarted, syncopated,

oft times espying Bobbie Riggs
who years gone back **** Vic Tory huss
e'en when donning apparel of Whigs
like colluding trump petting molecules
that via tiff ***** doth zags and zigs.
This doodling Yankee
(boot noah dandy)
doth newt lack chutzpah,
tries to finagle Fitbit
fitting figurative footwear,

that ideally Fitzhugh
like custom made glove snugly,
terrifically, unequivocally matching,
thence handily solving
Finger hut issue,

when or if arctic blasts cold
doggedly enveloped Gaea,
whence humans analogously
held as tumblr hostage

linkedin among
fellow Earthlings freezing,
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly
searching vainly

from shelter ring sky
(with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling

(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier)
once (what seems millenniums ago)
livingsocial jackknifed habitat fractured,
essentially damning Crispr

bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide
telling tales amidst the mill
by Ponderosa Pine

drawing a crowd of curious onlookers,
who forewent idling
away time structured existence,
thus, nary a clock watcher

weathering whims
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously,

and indubitably stripped away
bow ring pastime
asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to
(seeketh dale and hill)

to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal
immoral majority linkedin
encapsulated, housed, kindled

within luxurious faux existence
capitalistic dreams engendered
existence fleeced
devoid of featherbed,

indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors

scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters
espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin
**** sapiens

bereft, expunged, faux
invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind

twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps
against perverted pearl jam killers
who do not shrink
from ethically principled,

but give full reign to selfish
callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom
rhizome rapidity

ousting the omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated,
futilely integrated, lending oomph

residentially, scientifically
tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,

justified kneaded love
thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell
swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven,

heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes
reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee
staking claim to fame,

via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic,
fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling playing field.
(huff fin Bach seat driver)...

Aye kin recall when both offspring
     (yay high) as a small child
and now ma deux daughters
     (fledgling young chicks
     though they be),
     flew the coop, sans answering,
     when call of the wild dialed

their biological cell
     phone rang off the hook
as post pubescence metamorphosis
     (into young adulthood),
     they gingerly did brook
arbiters as consensual nymphs
     baited verboten fruit yum zook

thus, freed as private on call designated
     papa chauffeur de jure
yet, a nostalgic feelings
     surface within mine being,

     when many occasions
    witnessed this night owl
     barely awake
     stumbling out the front door

nonetheless diligently
     donning "taxi driver" hat
now, a virtual dust collector
     replaced by near identical head gear

     capped upon me noggin monogramed
     with pet name "hubby" and/or "matt"
thy (well worn) first name,
     despite futile protestation
     simmering into *** for tat

case in point encompasses this poetic blip
     instinctually navigating
     (southeast as the counting crows fly)
     (with ma own embedded

     global positioning satellite micro chip)
from Schwenksville habitue
     to center city Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where,
     nary agitation viz calm, cool,

     and collected demeanor did e-clip,
nor (as prevailed during anxiety fraught youth),
     emotional state would hove done a flip
with clenched steering wheel,

     whar white bar knuckles would grip
but nowadays (courtesy
     of targeted prescription medications)
mien psychological state quite mellow,

     and approaches ferrying human cargo
     via 2009 Hyundai Sonata
     as one shaded eyes, cool cat,
     and (so like...mon) really hip

telling spouse to pipe down and zip her lip
lest she wants the aggravating maneuver
     thru plethora of pedestrians
     (nope, yours truly
     DID NOT run anybody over)!

This mister plied his way
     to 1601 Market Street with nary a hitch
though returning back northwest to our abode
     entailed a bit hove va glitch

when orientation
     found me way off beaten bath,
     (a quarter tank of gas) circling
     the Philadelphia Airport with

     "Welcome to Tinicum Township),"
     some natural wildlife niche,
and of course did NO confession getting lost,
then breathing sigh of relief

     espying urban skyline,
     where Ben Franklin statue
     forever frieze a stitch
in time, and even rumbling
     deafening noise elicits nada flinch!
But sits here donned in his foreign
aged (not so lovely) bag of bones
barely functioning surviving, but by
skin off his teeth, (which explains
dentures) regretting, revisiting,
ruminating hellacious bout with

anorexia nervosa, approximately
five dozen (multiply) orbitz around
nearest solar system body agonizing,
decrying, lamenting... (slightly "FAKE"
dramatics) constant reminder deux
skinny legs ineradicable testimony

permanent indelible gawky
disproportionate ugly physique,
(particularly knobby knees and little
feet) starvation stunt houses boy
on cusp of puberty, wherein naked
undeveloped characteristics self

cannibalized attaining fullest
potential manhood - toothpick legs
(hyperbole) laughingstock, thus
maintaining shuttered life donning
trousers all year long, (albeit not
same pair) utterly embarrassed

public stares brash teasing comments
at mine psychological expense, I
grudgingly accept forever incomplete
fleshed out body costing purposeless
driven life concomitant with absolute
zero buddies, re: severe interpersonal

collateral/ fallout including missus
notwithstanding, this marriage devoid,
where emotional, physical, and spiritual
intimacy absent drooling enviously, furtively
espying healthy youths discovering vis a vis
metamorphosis transformation into young

adulthood, one kamikaze perilous nearly
figurative, asper custom made Benedict
Arnold traitor reviling against natural
processes sacrificing primate growth,
where solitude welcomed i.e. books offered

sole soul asylum hatch escape unknowingly
triggering seismic repercussions longtime
familiarization being quasi mister misanthrope
wedded to missus non people person, she
frequently exhibits hostile behaviour, which
marriage tacitly accepted as passive exit out

being under same roof as (long deceased)
mama, now nonagenarian papa, whose
former livid rage toward only son cooled as
deck aides elapsed at lightspeed, thee father/
son relationship less strained versus during
formative prepubescent stage, where sinking

unwavering, and withdrawing into black hole
wrought bereft willpower to remain among the
living depriving attainment experiencing joie de
vivre at critical chronological juncture, hence
mine entire scarred, yet expunging grief via

holistic, naturalistic, therapeutic... expressions
(exercise, meditation, reading, therapy, writing)
allows, enables, and provides modus operandi
to alleviate excoriating, lamenting, torturing...
irreversible self shortchanged inherent growth.
Of Hibernation To Rejoice Arrival Of Spring 2019

Accordingly, other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season

of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day

February second - requires one
with acute hearing to ****, and ear
turnips tickling the nose nostrils
delicate hairs (instagram ideal outlook) subtly,
markedly, lively..., yet gently flair
soon harkening shrieks

of delightful analogous funfair
no stranger to Renaissance Faire
of pitch perfect gamesomeness
will seem as... otherworldly pleasant
ah heaven sent giftware,
where all creatures great and small

sing psalms, upon arrival when hardware
trappings of winter shucked witnessing
unrolled welcome Scottish matt so hare
and tortoise can race,
cuz vernal equinox, sports a linkedin
improvisational, ebulliently

educational, audiological...
twittering melange I will hear,
and grateful no defect doth impair
ability to revel silence, slake, soak...
insatiable thirst even prodding junketeer,
panhandler, vendor...

the last named, perhaps selling kitchenware
knicknacks, keepsakes...to hippies with longhair
interwoven with kahila
garden lily, laurel, maidenhair...
profusion of sensual delight
brings Mother Earth near,
the body, mind, and soul

espying frolicsome **** sapiens
donned with minimal outerwear
infusing all living things
even those pining
to answer call of the wild overdare
ring to bee zee lee court'n prepare

ring to beget young as
singular requisite quintessential profiteer
fluttering, instagramming emoji,
sans shutterfly puppeteer
as audience visually already reddit
regarding acting entire scenes,  

viz Biblical Genesis answering prayer
particularly if gnostic, heterodox, queer...,
finally relieved, sans polar vortex
albeit somewhat rare
atmospheric phenomena, how ideal
if said rabid Jack Frost

would sink icy bite - part
and parcel green gang ,
at much more favorably time reappear
during oppressive heat spell during
sweltering triple digits temperature
summer re: time of year.
Eleete j Muir Mar 2022
The casus belli of the words harmony at the
Feet of Gamaliel's folly. A seraphic
Stratagem obeying certainties affirmation on
The tip-toe of expectation and the wind of
Discretion to tell of death in the ***, as well
As of, the better part of valour; the cold-hearted
Claret flame searing noxiously at the drubbing
Casuistical deleterious benedictory embranglement-
To see as far through a brickwall as anybody, espying
The beshrewed fragrance of spirits on the left, cloying
Incuriously at the beatific vision possessing knowledge
Of experience goring miscreant houses made of
Man and woman with inconsequential hands to the
Right which cut the baby in half upon the
Green silk of kings who know not the time of day
Nor the breath of God.









ELEETE J MUIR
She peeked through the keyhole espying a messy cool lair  
she ate up the tiniest bowl she could find      
disheveled, disarrayed, disordered were they with wild hair  

She chose a tiny seat and turned a bears world upside down  
smash went the wood, and he howled    
grungy, grimy and grubby were they and sadly they frowned

She cleaned up there mess though she caused them distress
come the night, the little wee bed fit just right
muddled, mussed and mussy were they but also such bless  

She learned how to live in a world full of bears in plain sight  
though she called them all "dears, "
it was the baby bear she called, beautiful, beloved and bright
t
Ambiguity within mine
doodling Yankee mind that
arises, asper current
hoopla harrumphing
American Civil War statues,
which verbal/written spat

particularly regarding southern generals
(many atop horses) arouses
call to arms whereat,
excited curiosity possibly twill incite
dangerous extraneous, mutinous,
treasonous *** for tat

promulgation exhuming ghosts
abolitionists of Dead Poets Society
screeching like a wildcat
signaling resumption, sans
war between the states recruiting
every able bodied proletariat

after well nigh one
hundred fifty four plus years,
which repurpose sing reformat
might transform mine
humdrum friggin existence
into one enviable secretariat,

where these ears will
hear constant ratatat,
when bombardiers din
temporarily doth pause
scampering atop rampart
analogous to polecat

espying the freshly minted "enemy"
unconcerned if maneuvers induce pitapat
cuz resumption of battle will drown,
this weasel granted leeway within Union
Schwenksville, Pennsylvanian nonfat
spry old man confident fighter

despite civilian life
extant, viz noncombat
acclimated to rustic/primitive conditions
honest to dog abode comprised
thatched hut housed within mudflat

only during rainfall rigging
makeship shower plus laundromat
counting lucky stars kismat
blessed without necessity
to whip out handy dandy hemostat,
thus yours truly ready for action

quite content nsync
within no man's land habitat
linkedin with nearest battalion via
microchip embedded within
noggin rock solid as hardhat
genetically modified lest

Johnny Rebel lob brickbat
also on lookout against
swampy hungry creatures,
thence I will ******
these lovely bones akin to acrobat.

— The End —