What a flim it is?
Just mindblowing

Sublime
Sublime
And sublime

The Extreme love
The Extreme Care
The Extreme Kindness

The years of Longingness
Vanished With in a second

Extermed Psunami
Brought out exteremed emotion

Just thought
To hold My papa
And mama
And To die next second..

But just had a responsiblity
And soon WILL I..

MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY: A Dreadful Tale about a Dead Anglo Mother, A Dreadful, Avenging Syrian Aunt, A Stolen Baby Sister, and a Hateful, Unfaithful, Defaulting Father.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With people, people who hardly know
Your vices, your intrigue, your lies, and so,
You’ve ruined lives, and now I will show

How demonizing you are, with just your thinking
About your “slemly” self,  just linking [Nice in Arabic]
That self to your own, and not us--no one else
You belong in no company, your old-time thinking.
Adopting my sister, without any inkling
Of what it takes to challenge the motherless
And seeing we ended up, also, being fatherless.

Travesties galore made this woman happy
You won hearts, but you seemed quite daffy.      
Childhood, telling us we’d never be as good
As your Syrian daughters - such a strange brood!
This kind of “teaching” by a Syrian mom was kinda lewd.

She verily and surely became our ISIS
She thought who could ever, ever be like us
She raved for hours so very against us
To that red-headed family so she could easily best us!
Humiliating us at every stop
We really, really got a lot
From her, the decadent Queen of ISIS
No, she’d never, ever be like us!

Twenty years to a guileless young person
Is a forever herstory an eternity…
A lesson, an identity…
Carried on secretly, destroying our Syrian identity.
She stole that connection, filling it with confusion
She with cruel humor would **** our loving illusion
Stopped it in its growth,
Forever unseating that family oath.
To care - without any rejection.
It was She that was The Great Defection.

Mary, Mary how does your hatred grow
Picked on those who had no Syrian power
But you didn’t see yourself becoming lower
To the ends of the earth, heartless black flower.

In her mind she’d be our Mother
But as this poet, I did not know it
Things would be better if we like sheep
Worshipped Mary, into the deep
Quite similar to the rest of her Keep
Then mayhap we’d enjoy their fully undeserved sleep.

Taught my dear baby sister like her to hate
Would I had the power to shut up her pate
Her mouth was evil to the core
I never, never could stand more.
Her hatred entered me, made me sore.

Screaming at us to keep us out
Stupid Daddy joined her in this falling out
She, successful -as any lout.
By God I thot I must be evil
Their strange behavior was not legal.
Would that she’d accept me, that dangerous eagle.
I lost my sense of self and ‘came very sad
Would that I could be like she so glad.
‘Tis fifty years now, and I can’t stop crying.
No one ever heard this “mother” sighing.

Hell, Mary, full of Face
Recognizing only your Syrian race
Did anyone else matter? Just your primitive face?
Everyone one was hurt, except you and your nace
There’ll be no one, ever, that could take your place.
Laughing to destroy our wanted Arab destiny
Which you did, and did, successfully, with your fantasy.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
Like plants, you lined us up all in a row
One good, two bad - you did the choosing
And what did you leave?
Only us, who did the losing.
You didn’t water those two plants.
Treated us two as if we were ants.
Watered sissa so she would grow
Your dreaded deeds no one would know
Judgement is left only to God.
But you and Dad should’ve returned to your sod.
Your behavior to the motherless seems very odd.
My sister and I two tossed peas in a pod.

Deserting us suddenly knowing only this hateful group
There’s nothing to which she wouldn’t stoop
Her sick obsession to hurt the powerless
Speaks of a very worst yes, cruel foulness.

We lived at a convent school very protected
Visiting weekends this aspiring ****,
Two sisters know she made a very strong mark
She was not our blood, we couldn’t take part
Of this constant coldness on her part.

And another Aunt with two daughters, good
They were always with us, always stood
The opposite of this wicked would-be aunt
This family, Americanized and very sane
Never did play the ancient Ottoman game
These Aunts were our world - our windowpane.

Two aunts - endowing us with a Syrian heritage,
One, the bad one, with too much leverage
The good one to teach a cheerful Syrian beverage      
With balance, love, and the length of days
Not like the other, the one who dismays.

We represented that bad woman’s target
What it came from. Could it be her precious Margaret?
No, not at all her peaceful daughter
But the other, gladly joined in on the slaughter
Making serious and even much more, fodder.

We had no tools to breach this hate
I guess that it would have to be our fate.
To live our lives just disenchanted.
Our hearts broke, as if forever lancets.
With Syrians there’d be no more dances

Taking my sweet sis turning her against us
She did truly give strong heed to finally fence us.
What ever could we find for our defenses?

Dad, real Dad, inebriated dad,
Fell in with them: became this negative father
Sought their pity--likening me as a foreign daughter
He was in love with them, weakly turning
But in turn, the two of us, spurning
Back to his Syrian fold back, not farther
Unwittingly, unrepentedly, uncaringly, joining the laughter
Discarding his American daughters to a mental slaughter.

At his picnic - family there - he called us foreigners
Foreigners we were, surely, when with them
They couldn’t ever believe in us,
Dad influenced them, peeved at us.
Made us feel like little fools.
No, we never had the tools
To fight this ignorance - Change these mules?

Punishing, punishing us as wedded women
Accused of all that they gossiped about
What did they say? And this truant dad a lout
Speaking of us in downing tones
I’d feel far better had they broken my bones.

Closing his relationships to his
Two lesser liked non-Arab sisters
Would there would be a better mister
He considered us two a mere sinful blister.

We ran away from this horrible drunk
He hated his daughters and he stunk
And then we suffered the worst of any they would dunk
Uncomfortable at their Arab-speaking home
We stopped visiting long before their moan
We were “no good”  said our Syrian family
Would that we knew that we’d be anti-Family.

They had something to hate and did they do it
We had no idea we were just a joke
Their words, their disgust, far more than a poke.
Their anti-American provincial views
Made little sense - such perverted mews
All we loved, we would really lose.
There was never any right to choose.

That Family didn’t speak, avoided us
At sissa's Syrian wedding. It was all mined
That scene returns to me all of them lined  
Winding its way into my unbidden mind,
They were so, so truly unkind
We always would be to them the “Other”
Yes, us, us, us, without a mother!

We lost three mothers, our real one gone
Also our good step-mother quickly on
Add Mary to that three, glad she is gone
Perhaps Dad guilty of the first two deaths
I shan’t continue - you’d lose your breaths.
  
But Hail that Lady, she would change our world
Sending us suddenly into a whirl.
How to change the young with screaming?
She’d not change but destroy our dreaming
Waking horribly from our Syrian dream
We just didn’t fit their shady crème de la crème.

Everyone was fooled by this greedy witch
She and her daughters I’d deem as *****
What was in them, caused their making?
Taking away, taking, taking, taking.
Good cousins now, have seen an awakening
My work of writing revealed Mary’s faking.

Hail Mary full of Face
Only using her charms to erace
The sisters she wished not to embrace
With threads of lies an unrevealing face
Syrians’ acceptance of her goldarn place  
No one ever will she replace  
In every way she used her mace
A clever poison to keep her place
Successfully, she’d snidely hid her dreams
Wearing a mask to hide her themes.

She’d always hated us through and through
We didn’t know it till she did what she’d do
Her masque did work, from dusk to dawn.
Hatred of us was what she would spawn
She would definitely **** our spirits
Would that I could reveal all her lyrics.

Our Syrian sissa’s wedding put us in place
That even there we could have little space.
No other family events could we be included.
Engagements, baptisms, we would be excluded
Their intentions now were completely nuded.   deluded!

You stole our little baby entering the world
Through our Mom’s Death
You stole my Dad’s affection
He also her straw man, worshiping Mary‘s fiction
Her stand could only be that of affliction.

Hail Mary full of Face
Face that faced nothing exçept winning the Ace
Did no one ever tell you - you were a case?
Using your screams to stuff our mind
And even more shrieking to clog our mind
No other Syrian family could be so unkind.

Always filling us with her delicious food
Only to turn against us, trussing our good mood.
I’d like to regurgitate all that poisonous food
Anything about her became totally lewd.
She bragged of her daughters - were they really that good?
When we were children, told us we’d never be like them
We never wanted to be like those hurting us.
Took our Dad’s affection, he also deserting us
We never but finally saw that they were into hurting us.

She has attacked us screaming, screaming on end
Never an explanation, never to end
She took money, stole sister too, not a lend.
With this cruel treatment, we were not able to fend.
I’ve never heard such venom in any human voice
It seared through both my ears, such an odious noise
Those first twenty years were so very splendid
But later with her actions - all was ended
With her allotted time this is how she would spend it.

Sister, affections stolen, obeying by fear
Couldn’t counter - with a mere
Stand up to this fraud of a Mother Dear.

Our baby sis had became her clay
She would remake her through many a day.
She owes us much, this lying thief
No family tree would know, not even a leaf
She stole and changed our beautiful blood
Returned nothing except a bad bad flood
Of making our names into family mud.

She then gave out inimical messages
The taunting that came from her mealy mouth
From Damascus, that lousy mouse.
Couldn’t discuss, but only scream
What ever, ever, did she mean?
This Family into which father bought.
Their apathetic “reasoning” I was never taught.

Her daughters conscripted to the Mary core
Following her words, her iron ore
Inflated us with much heavy criticism
To fill our sissa with a lack of witticism

Lying, lying she always, always hated us
For twenty years, she consistently slated us
For slaughter, just like little lambs
Motherless, she took our little lamb
She won, didn’t she, in her sham?
Mary & dad really fated us with their sick flim flam!

She’d tackle anyone, anything in her path
And she did, with her oh so dreadful wrath.
What powered this extremely devilish mind?
She had never, ever, been really kind.

Our sodden father turned to her
She was Goddess, he deemed Something
While we were nothing, nothing, NOTHING!
It didn’t happen till twenty years after
From kindliness to hypocrisy
One would not believe.
Our real selves never to retrieve.

A sweet child, sissa, full of love
Knew they were cold and she let us know
After those years, sadly though
Turned into another hateful *****
Forced to be like them, else be ditched.

Dad, dad, the precious Syrian lad
Embraced the family gatherings that they had
Youngest of the Ikmuks - he was mad
Allowed them the desecration of our pad
They could say anything--made it their fad.

He wouldn’t speak to them of their travesty
Worshipped them, and ever drastically
Wanted to be Them, lest he be
On the Outs from the Family Tree
Ousted, married out of the Tribe
Hardly now, when this happened, few are alive.
He refused to tell them we both should be here.
He would never, ever, play it fair.
“Dad, if you go, I’ll never be the same.”
He would never, never take the blame.
Of his paltry stabs at being a human
Go stuff him in a jar with more rotten cumin.

Never defended us, never, never
Always took their part like a mismatched lever.
Usually a Dad with a daughter would stay beside her
But then, he gave Mary a far wider rider.

Gatherings went on, by the family Mare.
All our lives had been spent with them before
But Iron Lady with Iron Ore
Came through later and before.
She would win, so well connected to her vile kin
Change, girl, change, you’re just an Anglo fem.
Don’t, please, don’t pay much attention to them.
Sudden hate - my thoughts now were dashed.
I changed - they took all I had and then they smashed.

They brought us into their sickly Ottoman lives
But all of them acted as if we had the hives
They, centuries‘ habit, it was the mid-1950’s why so bold?
They were too much, too much very, to behold
We were stricken, treated as in days of old
We would never be part of their unhealthy mold  [Mould?]

Regular at Church. What kind of God could she worship?
You know who should have been told? The Syrian Bishop!
The She-Devil not even relishing the Church script
Eternally, she would always, rip, rip, and then grip!
Instead looked to those after Church who would serve her!
She did just this with a total fervor.
No Communion, no worship, but her only feats
To seek and add to gossip in the streets
Afterward. When-Where everyone meets.

Se enjoyed the Devil of Power over those she knew
Verily, she should have been thrown in the loo.
Few new. Only the rejected two.

Mary, Mary full of Mace
You never did achieve much grace
Wish you could have finally
Fallen on your ignorant Face
There’s really not going to be any space
To explain your bad translation of a very good race.
The Syrian families I always know very well
Would never have made this kind of hell.

The Syrian race is good, except for this “mother”
I speak from my place as the dreaded ”Other”
You are and were a terrible, mother
You’re a crude example of this Middle Eastern  race.
Very few of them did see through your face.

In that family I barely gleaned this toxicity
But, never, ever, did I witness much felicity.
They llaughed and laughed about any Other
Played well their acts as if they cared
They knew Syrian-like we would not fare
We, Dad, all sisters three - fell for her snare.

What think you, God, of these poor children
How il-ly this Family thoroughly tilled them
Two non-Arab daughters’ given bad repute
Their shocking beliefs really made us mute
All that came from her demented mind
All that encountered Mary’s “kind”
She destroyed our conception of self
This hypocrisy would make one melt.

She infiltrated us, her daughters, and my Sissa
That we were not as good as she - but she lost her mister
Had Uncle [our blood] lived, this would never have occurred.
But Auntie [not our blood] surely had demurred.
Her hooked-nose criticizing, and simple daughters,
Psychologically--against us-- they joined in on these slaughters.
Kindness for two decades to rent, later they spent
Hell on the motherless, but hiding that intent
Taught her daughters: “Don’t be involved with them”
We really do know some of what she did, or said,
This is the kind of meal that she constantly fed
Her masque nearly hiding her evil bent.
Too bad she wasn’t forced back into her Syrian tent.

Mary, Mary quite contrary, How does your world work?
You won, you won, you ignorant, piece of work
You demanded respect from all of us, treacherous,
She got it, didn’t know it, then she brought down the two of us

Sneaky, low-life, hypocrite witch
We always thought we had a niche
But lost kids like us did never snitch
We wouldn’t, didn’t open up about that *****.

We had a twenty-year comfort zone with her
Deserted at last by her flying fur
Stolen, deserted at last by Dad--that foul mister
Stolen, deserted, lastly by our pretty baby sister.

This left us changed by this She-Devil
Would that there’d be a way to counter her evil
We couldn’t - she was always far too strong
An ISIS for us - this would last too long.

After these years, I could not grow
Was I a real woman? -  I didn’t know!
Being a mother couldn’t show
That this Family created a list of woe.

When Sissa had babies & a mom to help
We did this alone - all this we felt.
Her faulted hatred never did melt.
I didn’t know how to take a stance
Nor could I find out how to advance.
We had to oppose Aunt Mary’s dance.

That Sissa could not bo

life more abundant calls forth an expandable reality primo,
thus wisdom, the principal thing when-ce all other
things may be made

machine level codifiers ifying
meaning back into idle words.

Keep the secret. Answer the call,
who will help the widow's son?

You, Templar, what message bear ye to my child?,
asked the widow.
Fi-del-e-tus. with a squeeze and a tap,
wink and grin

Poet, who named the prophet?
who named the teller to tales?
who gave thee hearing ear and seeing eye?

Some mind imagined those as yet unformed in forever past.
You agree. You experienced living, so far.

So good, we move on, figurative re re re al-it if-ity
Haps apt to appear be fore your veri variety of being even
hapt as a thing thought, imagined made for a function, as yet

undone. Conserve the NULL set, that whole idea is dangerously
close to fading…

Have you seen those videos of soap bubbles filled with H
and no O?
You should see those, to recall the phenomenonal pre-dictatorial
image, see the bubble, invisible but
for reflection of ambient ambits in our epigenetic radiosphere,

bubbles collapse, and for a flash, flame orange shaped
as the bubble was.
No ex-plo sion it-a-tivity, mere dis cipation,
loss of grip on the shape of things that were, now
con forms to re per ceive,

try again, get a good grip, swing and a miss, go again
take a Mulligan, I think, some game has such a rule,

We can use it here. We can scroll back up,
like a rope lift on the bunny hill at Big Bear, back when…

wheels in wheels, bubbles in bubbles, forms in forms

this is the information age I was informed. Adamkind, those
qubitical, ambitical little images of

Who, who? would a name comfort-you worth more than a breath?
Fresh air after a minuted moment twixt out and in again,

Power, create ific power haps twixt out an in again,
the cipitation, the d was missed, what if it were not?

re-read, religion once meant that, re-connect, too,
religion meant that state of having re-read the map,
re-tied the worth carrying,
stacked the worthless by the trail so
some hapless stranger may see
the treasure it was and is, to any who care to

receive, or con ceive it for the
truth I found in it and kept, which I leave to you
here:
Both treasure and truth are where ye find them,
and shall be for ever, when ever starts for you.

Ezekial, judge my riddle, please. The fool missed the
point of conception…
No, no no no

A fool's dance in a Phrygian cap with useless, symbolic wings…
gee, Phrygian, means nothing to you? Google it, you live in the future.
Later,
A time upon which a Mercury dime would comfort
a rich American Tyrant, son of the Flim-flam man,
no lie, this is mythic, you can't make this stuff up
its history. Hysterical, right
John D. Standard-for-Petropower-manifestation,
the dead's carbon footprints bubbling up
to fire and fridgin' ice, whoa, who broke the world,

I was distracted. Did you know the planet is
as self healing as those scabs on my grandkids knees?

ah, caper, eh? Capere, to grasp, to take,
ceive means accept by taking,
be liefing an idea ceived ex nihilo, is likened unto

Drinking from a still pond in a distant land. Sults,
results. may result in,
Dear Rhea revenging Montezuma, at a gut level.

However, a sort of how in an open mind facing forever,
a sort of omni-directional saliency
seeing further,
--Bomb, Jesus-bomb--

At least two reasons for thinking Jesus is objective, out side
you or inside you. You aren't Jesus. Jesus is a friend of mine,
in my mind, object-if-I-try
to pray, listen pray hopes
happen
shapes form
forever from ever point, every point, not of, in buy

a why..
why does a y on the end of every mean any thing?

That's the y-factor. You will learn why wise men still seek those.
As treasure, they are light, and the taste is beyond

the grasp of tongue to tell

that whole class of moded-ever words weave wards
whenever, forever, however, whatever
used proper, everafter,
that will save Dresden, some time, we think.

However, now, Rhea by name has entered the game.

Who is this named femofame? What game is she good in?
Or does she just knock the **** out of lying spirits?
Cool.

Ah, mother of all the gods, I recall, I mean
I meant to say
I remember, then I for got the power words hold here
exactly heare in eleven metrixed mentions,

this point, in time, not of time.
In the world, not of the world, you've heard the pharse?
The allusion is not lost on you, you know the phrase,

In the world, not of the world, holier men than I have
claimed to be, while I follow a few fine words,
linguistic kief, sprinkled fairy dust, like the stuff
captured in the gleaming film on your
microscopic-outer eye

see a salient point in time.

A pin point 'pon which one,
no more,
one story begins for ever, a gain in good net
value, if

we have tasted that word, chewed the gristle,
indigestible ligaments and sin-yews and such,
which once anchored meat to bone,

value is first good. Good e nough, nough
Gut genug, okeh,
maybe not my best, my best is yet to come, they say.

sufficient for today
------

enough (adj.)
c. 1300, from Old English genog "sufficient in quantity or number,"
from Proto-Germanic compound *ganog "sufficient"
(source also of Old Saxon ginog,
Old Frisian enoch, Dutch genoeg,
Old High German ginuog, German genug,
Old Norse gnogr, Gothic ganohs).
First element is Old English ge- "with, together"
(also a participial, collective, intensive, or perfective prefix),
making this word the most prominent surviving example
of the Old English prefix,
the equivalent of Latin com- and Modern German ge- 
(from PIE *kom- "beside, near, by, with;" see com-).
Second element is from PIE *nok-, from root *nek- (2)
"to reach, attain"
(source also of Sanskrit asnoti "to reach,"
Hittite ninikzi "lifts, raises,"
Lithuanian nešti "to bear, carry," Latin nancisci "to obtain").

As an adverb, "sufficiently for the purpose,"
in Old English; meaning
"moderately, fairly, tolerably" (good enough) was in Middle English. Understated sense, as in have had enough "have had too much" was in Old English (which relied heavily on double negatives and understatement).

As a noun in Old English,
"a quantity or number sufficient for the purpose." As an interjection, "that is enough," from c. 1600. Colloquial 'nough said is attested from 1839.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/enough#etymonlinev8703>

Gather my children
Said the man in a school
I know what is good
And I know how to live

The definitive difference
Between right and wrong
There is truth in war
And lies in a song

And there is injustice
That we can make right
and there is morality
Darkness and light

And I know what god wants
I know how the world should be
                 -well the wise man knows all of this
                 Is flim-flam philosophy

This flim maker,
this idol, this obsession,
to be like him,
better then him.

He is why I write to you, to practice.
Quentin Tarantino, if I could meet with him and speak, that would be a dream come true. But to direct a flim with him, to share a piece of his magic with me and I learn... that would be the wish of my life. I want to be better then his genius mind in flim... but thats a pipe dream. To me there is no one greater not even myself. Its not about money to me, its about people seeing my vision and sharing it with as many people as possible on a huge scale. Then one day the money will be there, till then he will just be the god in my eyes

A Flim consoled me
They doesn't talked to me
But they comforted me

Sometimes GOD would help us
Even through flims....

Thousands of words
Are not enough
To describe
That

Howmuch
I love
That
Flim

Evil is innocence
unspeakably betrayed
as it laughs at it’s partner
about the deal that was made

The lights are hit but in a naughty way like ***** little hampsters like.
Befor the audience sits the greatest okay most perverted mind Hello has ever known
yet much like a bad habbit can't ever seem to get rid of.
The man ,The Mith ,The guy who mispells everything and think's that silent movies
that win oscars shows that the oscars are more high than Whitney Huston was on a five week crack binge !

The Icon of Hello Gonzo.

I view the room looking at the young minds and for naughty hampsters with short skirts who
are allergic to underwear.
You have to admire young minds that dress like total ***** well ya do if your a perverted *****
hampster like me.

After taking a sip of a smooth 100 proof and finally starting to  breathing again.


   Raitch

What can be said about this legend of Hello.
Poet ,Writer,Thespain although ive herd she's into guy's.
Yes indeed she is a fire from down below that can not be put out by any simple vist to
a free clinic.

With works that have captured the hearts of the young,The old,And  the  recently incarcerated.
This poet is a more than a icon but a wheel that runith over my ankle in a schoolyard and has
parked it's self apon are hearts or other places closer to are hearts for those of you into pain.


Please Poet's Studio welcome Raitch!

The crowd exploded in the verbal sense that is at the site of are beloved brit.
Hey Gonz how are you?
And btw why the ******* did you get this gig?

Cause I thought of it first cause I sit around all day drinking watching **** and playing video games
yeah i know i totally kick **** !
Im kidding I never play video games  but enough with the forplay children.

Raitch  

In the modern classic Belive you wrote.
It's warm there like a child.

I must say it strikes me like a ****** ****** in a subway after ive grabbed her fake ****.
Your response?

Raitch looked at me in that strange way often people do like I wonder should I brake out the pepper spray or just run for my life.

Finally in ahh of the greatness of my statement she responded.

Umm well that's nice Gonz hey are you high on something new or just maybe
had to many?

Dear Raitch im high on the poetic genius for which you have displayed.
Why do you have any pills?
Umm no she replied in that yummi little accent the brits have hey why ya think i im
such a big fan of Rich hey even if he ses he's gonna stap ya in a back alley still he ses it with such grace
oh spank my **** and call me Jackie Chan.

Raitch when in doing your craft do you find it best done in warm enviroments ?
Gonz if you dont stop this pervert ***** im gonna stab you.
Yes she's a charmer.

Knowing I was on the verge of being knifed or the edge of glory dam you Lady Ga Ga!
I being a true reporter pressed on like a underage schoolgirl with a really ****** fake ID.

Raitch in these warm like desrt conditions do you find it best to write in next nothing at all?
And if so do have any pictures ?
Gonz your a pervert .


Pervert ? me?
I swear you strike at the heart and also kick in the ***** at the same time you poetic Godess of the
east.
Gonz Im from the U.K.

Duh I know Rach its not like im dumb and dont know where the land of dungeons and dragons
is yeah i went to school once .

Raitch i most know were does this tortred genius come from ?

Suprized i asked a real question she paused.

Well Gonz .

Next question  was it from the lack of spankings as a child ?
or do you find it helpful to find stranger's to help recall these memories like myself?
Gonz you are so ****** up on so many levels ?

Thank you Raitch.

Students of poetry what you must see here is through the pain there is a true art that will
always shine through a talent that speaks directly to the reader.
Raitch has been a friend and as a true friend doesnt let us slip  when others just kiss are ***
and tell us were doing great.

She's the one who's never left and still I know no matter how bizzar i get is always there as a
true friend.
In her work we view her pain and the many stages of her life.
And as any great poet she is a book that always desserves to be read.

Hello will always remain a bit brighter for her pressense.
So this is why I honor her.

Well that and hey this is a late Birthday pressent.


The audience clapped in joy and honestly whats better than a happy dose of the clap?
Raitch looked to the twisted hampster of Hello  no not Eliot.
Gonz thanks for this .

Rach your very welcome but one thing I have to ask?
Sure Gonz Shoot.
Thoose pics we mentioned i mean come on we are in the spirt of giving i mean.

I was met with a surge of pain worse than when I first herd Justin Bieber.
The audience must have not seen my cruel and unjust assault for they applauded even louder.

Raitch much like that kung fu master Elvis had left the  building.
taking with her a little bit of my heart fly little bird fly back to your garden and try not stab anyone
or crap on any tourist im kidding who doesnt think thats funny.

Yes Ive learned many things from Raitch one of the most important lessons is to wear a cup.
That and if you **** her off she'll make you cry like a school girl at a Twilight flim.

Stay crazy kids

a plain poem (the first time I came in you)*

a plain poem, light and effervescent, a flim-flan tasting,
plein de absurde rimes, full of nonsensical rhymes,
a lattice of criss crossing pastry sugary lines, the ones,
cannot, struggle to deduce, induce, reduce
from my constipated vocabulary

oh well
~
the first time I came in you,
entered, bidden welcome,
suffused a bridge between
the party of the first part,
the party of the second part,
sugar lightness airy nonsense,
two spirits dancing the singular
pas de deux of their finite lives,
a performance unbeatable,
unrepeatable,
lost to the perfection annals

Shockingly, Surprisingly, Summarily,
did not compose an ode,
don't mine a new vein of ore,
even write a plain poe poem

as best can recall,
at the candle melting of the
sealing wax of the deal,
gave an honest speech,
instantly falling fast asleep
with nary a grunted word

ever since l,
cannot write of plain love plainly,
so she makes me pay with a
new living elegant elegy daily,
a quatrain, what a pain,
this iambic panting meter
love poem writing

jeez louise,
how I wish could write of
roses red and violets blue,
get back to sleep,
oh well then,
back to work

got to make those sad moans,
hers, go away,
so please excuse me

near ten years later,
still paying the dues of the
initializing error of my way

she rumbles-mumbles in her
pre-awakening dream state,
so please excuse, got to go, think up
some implicated complicated  
verses to soothe away
her simple poorly hidden anxieties

you see,
I am happy paying
on and on,
writing like the devil furious,
she is stirring, coffee soon,
cafe au lait
if you get my meaning,
but still cannot beat,
repeat, re-alive
that simple plain living poem notated,
when first I came in her*


<•;)

9/24/17 6:49am ~7:17am

Let us begin in the factoring of gin where the malefactors and blaggards try hard not to show us a grin.
and begin.
Factor out taste and factor in waste in the factory, in any case nobody cares,and the gin could be anything from nappies to ****** toys for the big boys and pearls for the girls,but we call it gin.
and begin.

They're all scammers,flim flamming their way from the start to the end of each day and we pay,through the nose,for **** knows what,(a touch of soylent green),get your brains on toast,shin for sunday roast and the marketeers,new age buccaneers blow us out of the water,someone should have taught me how cruel this life can be.
and we begin.

Back in the factory buying up gin with a passion,the fashionistas get ****** on the fumes and the poor people are shown only crap filled back rooms where the gnomes sit to **** out, tomorrow we'll sit out in the sun,spit out what's home spun and make money from telling funny jokes to the poker faced liars and the gin filled flash buyers who have bought up our Christmas and resold it to China,
'and it's another fine mess dear Laurel,please pass me the bottle of 'mist chloral'.
'Why certainly' said Stanley who seemed ever so manly in the valley when the dolls had gone home.

We, all yearn for that type that others likes.
To men, it's the trophy on their arms.
To women, it's the pretty man will all the charm.
And with both.
We find love might not be involved.
And when pushed for this truth.
We goes into self denial.

Many good looking people lives a insecure existence.
Even, they ponder if they are being used.
But many play the game of acting.
Especially , if money is a factor.
But, when pushed for truth to this comment.
We see self denial.

If women are called goldiggers.
Then men deserves to be linked to flim flam.
They both operates behind a plan.
And yes.
When pushed for truth.
We see self denial as prove.

Except, we can see beyond the facade.
We know, we all can't get our way.

wake to
               people walking
home from after hours kegger
cheeks red
     holding their heels
swinging handbags

brazen voices pierce      through     holey
    screen to fitful
half sleep state

next to an acrid smelling
guitar player
i
stir
  and
   put on
     my coat
decrepit door
c r e a k s on worn hinges

                  sneak through filthy kitchen
littered with plastic cups

reeking of stale sweat
    poured
tequila
           shot
abandoned
along    with sliced
lime and salt   shaker
companions

marijuana inspired chords
l  i  n  g  e  r  
in the air

   take my bottle of Jack from the freezer
dare not drink water
from
the
tap

though head pounds
  just put on   sun
glasses
taking flim-sy
strides to
fair trade

sit outside               in an iron chair
the art on the walls    burns my eyes
adj
usting
2   days   *****
shirt

the barista brings
a  hot  soy     latte
with           cinnamon
sprinkled   on top

          thanks-   i say
she doesn’t        respond

smoke a cig found  in my
purse
who was smoking 27’s?

give a       homeless      man a
quarter on the
way back to my
                   car

he takes it says
     god bless you

the strokes play through
cassette player
    it’s too loud
before noon

don’t buckle  seatbelt
on east wash  
capital                      disappears
from    rearview mirror

until road becomes
hwy 151
   and it
vanishes     behind
            a hill

like i was never here

I have had lives in a day dry and fade, yet they bade me to stay in the amber forever where whatever is real isn't so
I had to go on the programme which jammed all the flim flam and what did it leave me?
holes in my head ,and my memory believe me, it's not worth the jag that you get from a bag and the brown golden town where you think that you sleep and when you're down, there's no further to go,
you end up on the programme which jams all the flim flam.
The truth that we face is not the face that we wear when we're somewhere out there and locked up inside here
but it's the truth that we fear so we hide,I have lied with best of them,tried it on with the rest of them and hid away from the holy men.
Only now is the peace
only now the release.

You're long overdue,
as if you ever knew the time,
time for you meant something to do,
somewhere to go,
but not something to be.

Is it goodness and mercy?
oh mercy it's not,
the bubble you sit in
is the one that will pop, but
it bothers me that what I see are
the rip-off merchants
collecting kudos for even bigger
flim-flam, ten cent men,
for the
cheats
and the deadbeats,
the tax dodgers,
those who make and won't pay, those
who make and just take it away,
the fraudsters
who love to lord it and
I'm really getting bored with it.

For you there's a reckoning due
and not before time.

Part I
They say death comes in threes
I say pain is apart of reality
Looking at my homies
On the block guzzin' forties
And toting a glocks
On the look out for flaks and punk *** cop
****** ain't no stranger
Nothing but danger
Where I'm from deep in the slums
Ya find killers to drug dealers
Hoes and hoochie quick to give up the *******
They try to throw something to eat
But I don't bite I just watch and write
About the real.**** I see and feel
Keep my pistol concealed
So when my enemies lurkin' me
The last thing they gone see
Is a nice chromed nine shined
Blind Cuz I catch em off guard
Turned there vehicles into an open casket yea I'm drastic
I hate to see my own in plastic
But I gotta do what I gotta do
Its the life of a **** brotha
My heart has no fill so i feel no pain
Razor in my teeth herringbone as a neck chains
Made of gold times is growing old
Friends turn to foes
Looking for me but can't find me
Even though I'm right in front of me
Once im.in the dark I gather my best thoughts searchin for peace
In many ways
Hopin' for better dayz



Part II
And to all.my homies doing time
Hold ya head high to the sky
Cuz we know half of ya serving is a lie
Hard to support family
When ya sittin' in the penitentiary
society is a flim flam
Got ****!! how many brothers they gone lock up ?
The ***** *** system been corrupt no abrupt
After brothers the color of me
But if I **** another like me
I get praises silently from white society
And they won't care
If ya poor and on ya last dime
And do a crime
Not for the love of it
But to support his broken family
But media labels ya a culprit
Dangerous and the biggest threats
Are our cops letting the drugs drop
in the first place Miss the case
**** the judge They all gotta grudge
Against skin colored like me
I ain't a suckas I'm the black machavielli
In time I will rise no need to open my eyes
Cuz my third eye vigilant
Soon to be a retaliation for all the incarceration for scorning Black nation
Comin' with me violently we moving silently
With our clenched fist raised
Eradicatin' evil
Searchin' for better days 

We're squeezed in a topsy-turvy
*****-ball world;
What's upside is down,
What's inside is out;
Your smile's a frown,
Your whisper's a shout,
And the flim-flam man
Just pitched a curve.
We're headed to second
After rounding third,
And first is stolen;
This game's absurd.
So, I gather up my bat and ball,
I've read the writing on the wall,
I've turned, running for home.
We've been tagged on bad calls.
We were safe, but now we're out,
Exiled, banished, conflicted, confused,
There's nothing good on the news.
The umps and refs have all been turned,
We've been benched,
We've been spurned.
Behind me,
Someone calls out,
     *Play Ball;

I could pretend to be anything I decides too.
But in the end the through would soon emerge.
I could imagine, in my mind things I am.
Except, I rather be me.

A con artist showcases only his skills of manipulation.
The same skills that a flim flam man have.
Whether it's a doctor, a lawyer or a businessman.
Except, I rather be me.

Scheming never gets you anywhere.
Except for fooling people in life.
Who was fooled by the mirage?

What you see in me?
Is truth.
What you see in them?
Is a fool.
Who couldn't be me?

What I achieve to be?
Is based on my determination.
And once I succeed.
Then I bet they would rather be me.

Excuse me.
Don't accuse me.
And never try to use me.
For that would be too much to take.

As the French might say.
qui s' ex-cuse  s' ac-cuse.
In Enlish words of honesty.
He who excuses himself accuse himself.

The flim flam man play the game.
Of saying what she wants to hear.
And when she reeled in with his words.
That's when he disappears.

He that use.
Gets accused.
All because they the ones behind the abuse.

As  I would say.
A fool is born every day.
Except a fool doesn't let an idoit get away.
They realize there's a price to pay.

Apologies to Dr. Seuss

I am The Donald, The Donald I am
And not like any other man
I’m living large out on the stump
In this house of cards I am the Trump
Little Marco and Big Ted Cruz
Punched me hard to make me lose
They did not know I cannot bruise
I am the Donald, The Donald I am
Withstanding every media pan
The party of Lincoln, the party of Reagan
They’re on their knees and now they’re beggin’
Please, please, Dump the Trump
To them I say harrumph, harrumph
For I am The Donald nobody’s chump
I dish it out lump after lump
And when at last the votes are counted
And protests left and right are mounted
I’ll still be here still standing tall
Because I’m just too big to fall
Be it Crooked Clinton or ****** Bernie
I’m on the phone to my attorney
Cause you all know I’ve got the loot
And Trumps the card that beats a suit
I am Donald, The Donald I am
Known to all as the Flim-Flam-Man

Jeff Moredock…almost the Ides of March

I am glad of who I am.
I celebrate my difference
From those who scam
And lie, without diffidence,
Meanwhile, they are godless
And worship Mammon
In the name of holiness;
A practice that is common.

Their sleepless nights
And bingeing on Mylanta
Belies their image of Santa;
Their self-created fantasy
Of being job creators
When the money they create
They keep, and put away
Into offshore banking states.

With no basis for pride.
They can’t celebrate
About what they are,
They can only prevaricate;
Hire companies to help them
To look us in our eye,
Smile in thousand dollar hairdos
And capped teeth then lie.

Not I. My armor is truth,
Saying what and who I am
And letting others know
Their postures are flim-flam!
And as long as they make money
Nothing is commendable but wealth;
They joyfully create a culture
Where there is pride in stealth.

As you step out of  your cage
Erase the rage
guzzle  the sorrow
Swallow the flame
Act calm
And claim the” fine”
Spread the smile
Hide your dust pile
Un fold  your spirits
Paint  your stony pith
Crush  the grim
never record a flim
smite the drama
conceal  the devil
in your moist eyes
let it fly
orcry  
or dry
or die .

It'll **** me in the end or
send me round the bend.
Some think I'm already there, around the
bend I mean.
But I have seen them come and go
the wide boys, cowboys, the
flim-flam men and just when I think
I've seen it all
I fall into a reservoir of happiness.

I am a mess
can't think straight,
I want to wait, but I can't find the time,
I want more glad
I want it and bad, but
I just can't wait.

It'll **** me in the end,
the wanting and the wanting now
but happiness is a bonus spin
the reels go random and I grin,
I've seen it all before on the
TV screens, in a hundred dreams,
on the one-armed man who
wants a coin to operate, but I
just can't wait my turn.


I adjourn to the bedroom where
I find some room which is my room
and I watch the blue moon which
is my moon and the new broom of tomorrow
will sweep these thoughts clean.
I know
I've seen it all before, but I wonder why
or how it is
that I always want some more
and I just can't wait.

I drove down to the lake today
Where the water flowed in through the old spillway
Lazy and bored, I figured I'd just sit
Drink a beer or two and daydream a bit

I parked right next to a gnarled oak tree
In solitude where I wanted to be
Eighty eight point five played my favorite songs
I couldn't help myself, so I sang along

Till I had a fancy to explore
I opened up the rusty blue Dodge Ram door
All bundled tight in my wool poncho
I stepped out the truck into two below

Where the Permian red mud
crunched beneath my boots
Onto the flat full of geese and coots
The sky was depressing, dark and grey
Like you'd expect it to be on a funeral day

But I hadn't gone there to sulk or brood
Watching water fill the lake is always good
I walked a fair distance to the northeast side
Skipped a few rocks on the by and by

And just when I was sure that I was all alone
Up comes a hobo with a mangy redbone
I could tell by the look in his careful eye
That he was scared of me as to him was I

I put out my hand to introduce myself
Saying 'What's with the weather? It's cold as hell!'
He, 'That's a contradiction. It's about to snow'
Me, 'Yes, no, maybe and I just don't know'

He told me then that his name was Sam
He was down on his luck, but not on the flim flam
Trusting him I reached to scratch the red dog's ears
Something telling me there was nothing to fear

And Sam and I walked in unison
He did most of the talkin'-- me the listenin'
He pointed to a place in a far off nook
Where his tent was hid away in a secret crook

Sam said, 'It isn't much, but I call it home'
'I've gotta can o' beans and some stale corn pone'
So we sat on the ground and I lit a match
The wood smoke smell from the campfire patch

Making me think it was more of God's plan
That led me here to this homeless man
And together we ate with some plastic spoons
Chatting back and forth till way past noon

When my watch chime signaled it was time to go
To walk back to the spillway where the water flowed
Where Sam was my brother for one crazy day
Though I doubt that I'll ever see him again

Written by Sara Fielder © Feb 2012

Straighten my buck teeth and give me a million dollars.
Straighten my dollar teeth and give me a million bucks.
Straighten out my sister as it is sure to be her first time.

Hate is such a strong word.
Yet you show me plenty of it.
You first flash your gun.
In compensation to cut wages.
Yet you remember me.
How you should have listened.
A siren of power rung.
the hands that flashed adamantly "no, please don't."
You ignore my cry.
Covering me in the congress of actions seen.
I guess bad decisions in part.
Act first speak later.
My spirit shattered in false hope.
I put firm trust in the light that flashed from your badge.
Thinking to myself its all a mistake.
To think I was half right.
It's much easier to edit flim or tape.
The disguise worn scene to scene.
You were never held accountable for your word or action.
In a couple of months everything will be thrown out.
A face sagged in misery.
Treating me your very worse,
Refusing to see that your very belief is the problem.
I couldn't say a thing.
The claps of your sole echoing against concrete.
A new victim found.
No matter how fast you run,
Your disguise can never hide what you've done.
You fled the scene before my body dropped.

They're taking selfies and we remain hope less,
if
incredible journeys begin with ideas
whose idea was that?

There are eighty pints in a ten gallon hat
and whose idea was that?

this is cards on casino
a strip show
the flim-flam and
to a man
we fall for it.


The university curses me
for being ignorant
I curse the university for
being irrelevant
and
nobody wins.

Mushroom promises swell into existence,
flim-flam miracles,
pristine plump “truths”
when uttered, swelling proud
alongside peach-keen
endorsing smiles

But the treacle of decay acts quickly
so even the casual observer
sees the rot before the ink dries,
smells rank mould,
and we decry ad infinitum