staying up til 3:34am just thinking about his kisses

angrily fluffing pillows because they're not him

tossing and turning wondering if he's doing the same

She stunned me when I first saw her looks
Never seen like her even in books

An angel who dropped from the sky
To say to me "Sam! Hi!"

She instantly got my full attention
And I at once shown no pretention

She lives now in the corridors of my mind
You won't find a lady so gentle and kind

Now I miss her as I miss the air when I stop breathing
She lives in me, so God help me her seeing

Sam Burton (C)


Today is Friday, Oct. 10, the 289th day of 2014 with 82 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.



Quotes for the day:



"Correction does much, but encouragement does more."



Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



"The first requisite for success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem incessantly without growing weary."



Thomas A. Edison



POETRY

Israfel





Edgar Allan Poe



In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit -
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute -
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.



BEAUTY AND HEALTH TIP

Strengthen your nails



Before you go to bed every night, use a nail-strengthening cream on your nails (and under, if they're long). This also keeps them hydrated, which is essential for healthy nails.



Trivia

Where did the name “Revlon: come from?



Nail polish distributors Charles Revson and his brother Joseph, along with nail polish supplier Charles Lachman, who contributed the "L" in the Revlon name, gave birth to the Revlon cosmetics company in 1932. Starting with just one nail product a nail enamel unlike any before it the three men pooled their paltry resources and developed a unique manufacturing process. Using pigments instead of dyes, Revlon was able to offer to women rich-looking, opaque nail enamel in a wide variety of shades never before available. In only six years, the company became a multimillion dollar organization, launching one of the most recognized cosmetics names in the world.



How many atoms are there in the universe?



Astronomers believe that the universe contains one atom for every 88 gallons of space.



How do animals influence the weather?



Living creatures create tiny weather systems called microclimates in their nests and burrows. For instance, bees fan their wings at the hive entrance during hot weather. This makes a cooling draft blow through the hive.

VOCABULARY



Splenetic

adjective



:


marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite



Examples:



I know David was in a bad mood all day, but the splenetic tone of his reply to Brenda’s question was not necessary.



"If he were 10 or 15 years younger (or at least looked like he was), [Charlie] Sheen would be perfect as the splenetic, screed-spouting anti-hero of John Osborne’s 'Look Back in Anger.'" — From an article by Ben Brantley on the New York Times Arts Beat blog, May 26, 2011



Did you know?



In early Western physiology, a person's physical qualities and mental disposition were believed to be determined by the proportion of four ****** humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. The last of these was believed to be secreted by the spleen, causing feelings of disposition ranging from intense sadness (melancholia) to irascibility. This now-discredited association explains how the use of "splenetic" (deriving from the Late Latin "spleneticus" and the Latin "splen," meaning "spleen") came to mean both "bad-tempered" and "given to melancholy" as well as "of or relating to the spleen." In later years, the "melancholy" sense fell out of use, but the sense pertaining to ill humor or malevolence remains with us today.





Courtesy of Merriam-Webster, Inc.



JOKES



Female Comebacks



Man: Haven't I seen you someplace before?
Woman: Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore.

Man: Is this seat empty?
Woman: Yes, and this one will be if you sit down.

Man: Your place or mine?
Woman: Both. You go to yours, and I'll go to mine.

Man: So, what do you do for a living?
Woman: I'm a female impersonator.

Man: Hey baby, what's your sign?
Woman: Do not enter.

Man: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Woman: Unfertilized.

Man: If I could see you naked, I'd die happy.
Woman: If I saw you naked, I'd probably die laughing.

Man: Your body is like a temple.
Woman: Sorry, there are no services today.

Man: I would go to the end of the world for you.
Woman: But would you stay there?





Seminars for MEN




(Prepared and Presented by Females)

1. Combatting stupidity

2. You too can do housework

3. ***: Learn when to keep your mouth shut

4. How to fill an ice tray

5. We do not want ****** underthings for Christmas: give us money

6. Understanding the female response to your coming in drunk at 4am

7. Wonderful laundry techniques (formerly titled, "Don't wash my silks")

8. Parenting: It doesn't end with conception

9. Get a life; learn to cook

10. How not to act like a ******* when you're obviously wrong

11. Spelling: Even you can get it right

12. Understanding your financial incompetence

13. You: The weaker ***

14. Reasons to give flowers

15. How to stay awake in public

16. Why it is unacceptable to relieve yourself anywhere but the bathroom

17. Garbage: Getting it to the curb

! 18. You can fall asleep without it if you really try

19. The morning dilemma if IT is awake: Take a shower

20. I'll wear it if I **** well please

21. How to put the toilet lid down (formerly titled "No, it's not a bidet")

22. "The weekend" and "sports" are not synonyms

23. Give me a break: Why we know your excuses are bull

24. How to go shopping with your mate and not get lost

25. The remote control: Overcoming your dependency

26. Romanticism: Ideas other than ***

27. Helpful postural hints for couch potatoes

28. Mothers-in-law: They are people too

29. Male bonding: Leaving your friends at home

30. You too can be a designated driver

31. Seeing the true you (formerly titled, "You don't look like Mel Gibson when naked")

32. Changing your underwear: It really works

33. The attainable goal: removing "****" from your! vocabulary

34. Fluffing the blankets after flatula! ting is not necessary

35. Techniques for calling home before you leave work





The Bacon Tree



There are two guys who have been lost in the desert for weeks, and they're at death's door. As they stumble on, hoping for salvation in the form of an oasis or something similar, they suddenly spy, through the heat haze, a tree off in the distance.

As they get closer, they can see that the tree is draped with rasher upon rasher of bacon. There's smoked bacon, crispy bacon, life-giving juicy nearly-raw bacon, all sorts. "Oh my, Pepe" says the first bloke. "It's a bacon tree!!! We're saved!!!" "You're right!" says Pepe.

So Pepe goes on ahead and runs up to the tree salivating at the prospect of food. But as he gets to within five feet of the tree, there's the sound of machine gun fire, and he is shot down in a hail of bullets. His friend quickly drops down on the sand, and calls across to the dying Pepe.

"Pepe! Pepe! What on earth happened?"...

With his dying breath Pepe calls out...

"Ugh, run, run!... it's not a Bacon Tre! e...

Scroll Down...













...it's a Ham Bush"





HAVE A SUPER NICE FRIDAY and a GORGEOUS WEEKEND!

I pray although it's the end of the time,
The angel wakes up to flutter his wings.
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.

Snowflakes are the angel's feathers, like springs.
They dance with the wind of change, in despair.
The sky glows pinkly in the shades of things.
  
We're like icy trees screaming at the air,
With icy leaves and crystal hearts, we dream
The crystals of wept tears in our prayer.
  
Within sky vastness is our bleeding scream,
Digging early graves in the war of crime,
While our thread of love weaves wounds for life's gleam.
  
I pray although it's the end of the time,
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.

I’d only been home for a week or two
And Jeanine was acting queer,
Each time she’d pass the mirror she’d stare
And I heard her say, ‘Oh dear!’
I’d been away for five long years
But she hadn’t changed a bit,
Each time I’d ask, she’d cover her ears:
‘I have to go to The Crypt!’

I thought that she meant the local club
Where they drank and danced all night,
‘Aren’t you a little too old for that,’
I’d say, and her face turned white.
‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ she snapped,
‘If only,’ was my reply,
‘Whether we like it or not, we age,
And then, we finally die.’

She put her hands to her ears, and shrieked,
‘Don’t ever say that to me!
You can die, but I’ll still go on,
I’ll be what I want to be.’
I stood quite shocked as she raved, she cried
And turned and ran from the room,
I didn’t know what to make of her,
So sat, half stunned in the gloom.

She’d always worried about her looks
Had made up her face for hours,
I’d said, ‘You’re really compulsive, Sis,’
She’d take innumerable showers.
I said, ‘You’re washing yourself away,
There’ll be no oil in your skin.’
‘But don’t you think that I’m beautiful,’
She’d say, with an evil grin.

She’d never married, but dated men
Who would compliment on her looks,
‘He said I’m like Cleopatra,’ or,
‘Like Helen of Troy in the books!’
‘Words are cheap,’ I would say to her
And she’d fly right into a rage,
‘You’re always trying to put me down!’
‘You’re like a bird in a cage!

Always fluffing your feathers up
To say, ‘Hey look at me!’
Don’t you care for the things in life
That are not complimentary?’
But she would shrug and ignore me then
She was vain beyond compare,
I didn’t know that she’d signed a pact
With the Devil, in her despair.

The weeks went by and her mood got worse,
She was nervous, I could see,
Her hands would tremble and she would curse
Applying her toiletry.
The wrinkles set in around her eyes
‘So much for that cream I bought!
I’ll have to go to The Crypt,’ she cried,
And burst in tears at the thought.

One day I spied her out in the street
Down by a ruined church,
She forced her way past the battened door
And disappeared with a lurch.
I waited hours, out there in the street
To see when she’d reappear,
Then realised she’d gone to the crypt
In the bowels of that church, in there.

She came out walking, as in a trance,
So beautiful, redefined,
I couldn’t believe the change in her,
I thought that I’d lost my mind.
The girl I saw was only a shell
Of the woman who once was whole,
Whoever she’d met in that evil crypt
Had walked away with her soul!

David Lewis Paget

The clouds of curiosity
fluffing up like pink cotton candy,
the kind you get at the county fair.
A blooming pink fluff of a sugary
capacity, to fill your mouth
with the most desirable thirst
for lemonade that you've ever had.

Allowing for the sweet granules
to melt blissfully on your tongue,
savoring each and every sweet
morsel
'til you don't even realize that
the pink fluff is all gone.

Then you are riding on a perpetual
rush from the sugar
seeping into your bloodstream
aiding your curious adventure,
seeking as the lights from
the Ferris Wheel tantalize.

The fear of the top of the ride
worth the rush on the way down,
the people seem much smaller than
you expected;
but the rush,
well, the rush speaks for itself.

Oh
Yeah
mmmmmmmmmmmm

You know you love me, I know you care
Just make whale sounds whenever, and I'll be there
You are my significant other, you are my heart
And we will never ever ever be apart

If I was your wife, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House
Keep you on my arm, you'd never be alone
I can be your Thigh, anything you want
If I was your wife, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House

Girlie, girlie, girlie mmmmmmmmmmmm
Like baby, baby, baby nooo
Like girlie, girlie, girlie mmmmmmmmmmmm
I thought you'd always be mine (mine)

When I met you girlie my Hamstring went whale noise
Now them Iguanas in my Neck won't stop stop
And even though it's a struggle love is all we got
So we gonna keep keep fluffing to the mountain top

There's gonna be one more Hamstring going whale noise
One more Hamstring going whale noise
One more Hamstring going whale noise

Your Spine, my biggest weakness
Shouldn't have let you know
I'm always gonna do what they say (hey)
If you need me
I'll come groping
From a thousand miles away
When you grow beards at McDonalds I grow beards at McDonalds (oh whoa)
You fly big red dragons, I fly big red dragons
Hey

Na na na, na na na, na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
Yeah significant other
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
If I was your wife
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
If I was your wife

My friends say I'm a fool to think
That you're the one for me
I guess I'm just a skanky fool for my girlie

Uhh ohhh

wednesday

the squeaky-shoed boy day
the extremely annoyed day
the ice cold void day.

the boy who's all teeth
smiles with the girl in the cleats
drowning in bicuspids
telling her how he 'roughed it'.

sneakers scuffing
hair fluffing
smoke puffing.

Hello & thank you for taking the time
to come here in order to satisfy your small curiosity in me.
I do hope that you find the information which I have placed here, to be both convenient, & useful to you in making up your mind as to whether or not you deem me worthy enough of any more of your valuable time. I do hope that you can both enjoy & appreciate what you find here about me, as I am very eager to begin to learn more & more about you. Thank you for your consideration, enjoy..

I have lived through enough to understand what the greatest things in life are truly made of, & they are not material, yet they do have substance. Among'st them are integrity, morality, modesty, & selflessness, to name a few. These are traits you cannot fake, you cannot buy them in the store or imitate them from watching television. They are gifts, God given & you either have them or you do not.

They do not give us much room to elaborate, so I will try to sum things up best I can. And while doing so, I promise to be honest with you. I am not going to make you spend the next few moments of your life listening to the same'ol tired routine of some @sswipe writing down everything he thinks you want to hear, fluffing himself up with attributes from a fairy tale & doing whatever else he can in order to blow enough smoke so far up your @ss that you start to think your pant ies must be on fire. That's not me. I'm not going to waste your time or mine by insulting your intellect. This is my 1st act towards you in order to gain your confidence in me & your respect, because those are the foundations of any lasting relationship, & that is what I am here to find. All I ask for in return, is that you appreciate this respectful courtesy which I am extending towards you, & that you please extend to me the same courtesy.

Now, before you read any further, the next fact that needs to be made abundantly clear is that I am nowhere close to perfect, not by anyone's standards. I am not wealthy (far from it) & I struggle through this life just like you & everyone else out there, if not more so. I am not skinny, or obese, nor am I the muscular & athletic type. I am however, a big, strong, healthy, loyal & very protective Alpha Male & Father. I am an honest person, understanding, patient & realistic. I am not controlling, abusive, or insecure, nor do I have a jealous bone in my body. I am highly emphatic & am ever aware & care very much about the effect I have on the people that are around me in any given place & at any given time. I am not thoughtless or insensitive. I detest rudeness & despise bullying of any kind, be it physical, intellectual, emotional, whatever, I wont have it, & I will not allow it to take place in my presence. I am a bit old-fashioned, I tend to romanticize the world, life & all it has to offer, from the best of it, to the worst. To me it all has meaning & offers an opportunity for learning & growth.
I do not believe in coincidences, accidents, chaos or chance, I believe in One God & I know he does not make mistakes, so therefore he would be contradicting himself if he were to allow them.

And If it's not crazy, mad, passionate, extraordinary love, then it is a waste of time. I have enough mediocre things in my life already & I refuse to allow love to be reduced down to just one more mediocrity.

I am in search of a person who knows exactly whom they are. Someone who has struggled through their entire life, in order to be able to hold onto their true identity, their God given individuality, in order to be able to accept the person they see staring back at them through the mirror. Someone who can accept theirself for all that they are, both good & bad. Someone who accepts responsibility for their own actions & choices in life. Someone with empathy, patience & understanding. Morality, modesty & selflessness. Some one who loves for the sake of others & not merely for the sake of themself. I don't care what you have done, or haven't done (I haven't done much myself) I am no one of any particular importance, but I am one of a kind & that is pretty much all I am ever likely to be. I live my life by the examples which I set, based on the consistency of my character, & God willing, I will continue to do so until the day I die.
So, if your biggest fight has just been holding on to who you are, not what you have, then you & I already have something to relate to. I may not be much, but at least I am me, and I don't have to compromise my morality just to be able to blend in with everybody else out there.
All I want, all I have ever wanted all of my life, is for someone to treat me the same way I treat them. That may sound cliché, but it is true nonetheless. I am an easy man to please. The little things matter to me more than anything else, & I am a true romantic in every sense of the word.
I am only looking for one type of personality, so if you read this & see yourself staring back from between these lines, then perhaps I have already found you.

I do not smoke, drink, or do drugs. That does not mean that I judge either. I just don't partake. I don't mind what you smoke, or if you drink. Everything best when done in moderation. But I will say this, I am not interested in competing with any substances that a person chooses over & depends upon more than me or anything else in their life. But if you have a problem with something, that is not a deal-breaker either. Times are tough, & we are all hung up on something, in one way or another. I'm here for you, & always will be.

I am not a sports fan, sorry. I just can't seem to be able to give a crap about any of them in any way whatsoever.
However, I can be talked into attending a game every so often, I just wont pay any attention to it.
I enjoy literature & I like to do a little writing myself from time to time.
I am handy, & I prefer to fix things myself.
I Can't dance.
I like to cook & can cook.
I'm a neat person & I tend to keep things tidy.
3 cat's may sound a bit excessive, but how many pairs of shoes do you own? They are very special to me & are a nice compliment to My lifestyle.
I'm not a selfish or inconsiderate.
I'm not impulsive & I don't jump to conclusions.

I am Muslim.
Hopefully by now, after all of this, you can see that I stand nowhere close to any negative stereotypes that you may, or may not have been conditioned into believing of us. I'm not some fanatic, chauvinist, controlling @sshole, I didn't raise myself that way. I am a rational, open-minded non-judgemental individual. I am Muslim because of my own ability of subjective thought & by my own choice. Not because of influence, heredity, or culture. No one talked me into this.This isn't just something I believe in, it is something I am convinced of.
I wasn't born into a Muslim lifestyle. I have no Muslim family members, or friends. That means, I am not doing this to impress mommy, daddy or anyone else.(Trust me, none of them like it one bit) This is for me, it is something dear to me, & it makes me feel better about you, myself, & everyone else out there. And so what if I pray 5x''s a day, & abstain from certain things which really aren't any good for me any ways? What is so wrong with that?
At least I am a man who would rather follow rules & morality more than just his own selfish impulses, un-like most of the inconsiderate lil sh¡ts running around out there. I am more focused, more disciplined, & a much better human being than I ever dreamed I could be. And being human is all I have every really wanted to be. And because of that, I love being Muslim. It is the most important thing in the world to me.
But that does not mean that is has to be to you. Your beliefs are your own & mine are mine. I respect your choices & visa versa.

I would like to thank you coming this far. I tried my best to make all of this worth your time. Now after all of this,it is obvious that I am not lazy, nor do I lack the willingness to be considerate, expressive or informative I put my sincere effort into this, I am a pretty good writer when I want to be, but it does not happen easily. And even though I am capable of writing, & enjoy it very much, I will let you in on a little secret, none of that necessarily means that I am a great typist, or even a mediocre one. I am a terrible typist, & an even worse text'r. I spend so much time editing and with these tiny screens and big thumbs it can be a real pain in the @ss and is very frustrating...
That being said, I will text you a little, but please, not on & on. As you can probably tell by now I have a problem with summing things up, & making long stories short when I write. It's the same way when I text. I am very thorough & am not accustomed to leaving out important information when I communicate, information being the most important component to understanding. Therefore if you want to talk to me, then lets talk. Offer me the courtesy of a telephone call please. I have already put in so much time & effort with all of this writing, which is a'lot more than anyone else in here has been willing to do for you. I assure you that I have far too much of a healthy sense of shame, & would never dream of bothering another human being past their point of interest in me. I'm no stalker.

Within his paw
smeared bloodied red
by a deliberately mocking thorn
sat a
blanched ripple-y
guarachera strip of cloth
confined narrowly
between the love and the life lines.

TWO ROADS!

what remained of her
remained of the underthings
beneath

fluffing rows of silk
the heavy skirt had been raised
above the ankles
the creases no longer hidden in shadow,
one leg hoisted over the back,
the reigns held expertly.

Hey Beauty!
As it happens, the card numbered Eight is
Strength (also Lust)

She had surely fled
She has surely flown
through the trees and away
Not on foot at-all
while the three saw her pass.
great speed.
The two sisters
with that prince vulgaris looking on
curiously
Three daemon goblins watching from a distance
a disturbance
a smallish crashing
and afterwards
a scrap, sleepy and unfurled, relaxed
within the leaves that shudder
and give up the delicacy, slyly
into stubby fingers

Lovely
Dark
Deep
The Woods are Laughing!
Did you notice any scent?
Did it linger between
the thumb and the ring?
the remnant of her flowers,
Petals flouncing, swirling
in odorous potentiality.
a scrap, yes
a deep seated souvenir
Can we re-fabricate the whole from this little thing, you think?

we want her.
there are things that we want to do with her.

dangerous, they lean in close, nostrils flaring slightly
searching for the ambergris or the sticky  jasmine
sweet,
settling instead to gaze upon
the still clutched
still a little springy
sprightly, o! the remnants of her liveliness
and ***** and yet
No memories

3: at least let us show you the stage that we’ve built
with a clean sheet for the curtain,
paper cut-outs
and some sticks.
it’s called acting.
the wine and the wafer.
hidden in the trees’ darkening
‘the mattress’ lays where
the leaves will crumple

meanwhile, he’s petulant:
- why, if you’d just get off of that high horse!
- how long are you going to resist?
- are you STILL angry?
- why won’t you just let me stick it in you?

she telegraphs her response, cough:
‘you do know that in this
particular scenario
(fingers pointing downward and across
as if to suggest
that the scenario
had a specific location)
You are the wolf, right?
The wolf...

I, the girl,
am in the forest with my basket and
I have got a
cute little
blood red
crushed velvet
swing coat
With matching hood and a single task
And YOU
(with those other two *******) have decided
to bore ME with this ****?
Daresay slow ME down?
Of course I will get rid of YOU.
Wait, who am I talking to?

Let me also add that
there never has been any
high-stepping on my part,
nor ankle twirling,
no mandate to impress a stale balcony,
no sign of gaslit
illuminated
pink bows
that lay down flat
perfectly upon the straps
that snap
perfectly at the thigh,
NOT to be slid off a buttock (mine)
NOR crumpled into a dubious ball, ripped and torn
and yet I know that
that determined creature,
a hairy monster
more faithful than Argos,
is prepared
to wait a lazy eight
at grannie’s cozy house
in a sickly corner
over-eager and overwrought with
pandered fantasies
and explosions of once sort or another, irrelevant to me.

What I WILL admit to is
that the touch of those grubby fingers
transubstantiated at my waist
invisible
approach
as usual from behind
impatient and
impractical,
always too quick to make himself a beast
to rid himself of being a man

knowing how way
leads onto way
but I doubt if I should ever come back’

waking from a dream
of combing through
forgotten files
with neatly labeled folders

under “warblers”
I found a cellophane
envelope enfolding
a black and white bird

I opened the envelope
and the bird awoke
fluffing its feathers
in a cloud of dust

I offered
an outstretched
palm of seeds
which the bird ignored

hopping onto my finger
it glanced out the window
and sang -
forget the seeds

forget my name
open the window
- which I did
and it flew away

Tom Spencer © 2018

sheathe thee
still earth         in thy raiment so pale and daunting
a face i cup and hew with lips as cool as the wind
i've broken slander and maleficence that droops
so witless of the boorish plucking youth
do so i, kiss with excellent flavor, this season dewed in frost
meandering carefully my soul in a bolt of fluffing flakes

Yet sometimes when the backyard fills up,
and glows with that silvery grey light,
and I’m tucking into my big enough bed,
and fluffing all of the pillows around me,
my bones ache for your bones,
and my mouth waters for your mouth,
and my skin chills for your skin,
and my mind races for your mind,
and my heart cries out for your heart,
I miss you (and I shouldn’t even miss you).

the sinking sun keeps calling
poetic bones and walgreens; three am
flinging glass, nightmares, explicit
circles of the wind

singing into daybreak
shutters slamming shut; flickering eyelashes
and flopping into pillows fluffing up
shifting clouds of how you smelled

porch swings, heartbreaks
capturing breezes soaking skulls
red wine and "oh-take-mine"
tracing outlines imprinted
swaying grass lays flat

where you were,
but the summer sun keeps calling

Light emanating from distant ***** of burning gas are intimidated from the children’s vision by the unruly, central licks fluffing about their little fire.
----------------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------
The wind, streaming in from the warm side of the nearby ocean, picks up waves of genuine laughter and stunning, off-key voices.
----------------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------
A bloodline of salt water curls the group into a circular haven where there is no need for corners to shadow defensive secrets.
----------------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------
This is a time of absolute purity as the children’s minds drift to Never-never land and their hearts float within the red wine spilling into their mouths.
=========================================================­======
They are all the happiest that they have ever been - on the seams of their spines, dallying until the currents will overtake them someday to bury their bodies at the bottom of the sea.
============================================================­===
Darkness thickly pastes the surrounding beach, longing for the fleecy little fire to cease its bravado so that the children can fall deeply into sleep.
=====================================================­==========

A Dreamer’s Dream



only Dreamers can dream,
a dream such as mine.
dreaming silly dreams,
like the stars that shine.

pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?

A dreamer’s Dream can only be
a vision of uncertain reality
You can do what you want,
you are finally free

pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?

I can’t take my eyes off you
standing there in the light of the moon
your dress is so perfectly blue
hold onto my hand and step into the room

pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?

Ferrets talking to snails
little white rabbits fluffing their tails
She only speaks in rhythm and rhyme
But i don‘t care because i know she is mine

pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?

promised them not to do this tonight,
                                                        ­     please pass the potatoes, my they are light and fluffy,
promised them not to be so distracted,
                                                             they said if I keep going, it will be redacted,
asked them if they meant the turkey or the stuffing,
                                                       ­                            they said is that your feathers you are fluffing?
asked them where is the cream corn and the gravy,
                                                                ­                 "stop typing and we will pass them maybe"
thanked them for their generosity,
                                                     ­  they said they "hadn't seen an appetite with such ferocity."

thankful that I am full and tasted some of it all, did not have to cook, only child mind and clean,
up after,

they said, if I "try to write a poem again during a family celebration," with irritation, my "serving
                                                        ­                                                                 ­     will be lean"
thankful that they do not know that I really will eat anything even if it is just white meat...



©DWE102013

.

What the hell is wrong with me,
where does this circus come from
Three rings that seem to open new tents in my mind
Dark tents filled with wild and dangerous thoughts,
pacing in a cage, waiting to be released
Yeah, you just try and make me
jump through one of those fiery hoops,
see where your head ends up and where
that whip is shoved

Sawdust everywhere as I parade around
Fluffing my feathers, thinking I know,
Proud ain’t even close to how I feel
as I swing from the trapeze,
sequins glistening,
looking for the meaning, the why
I keep asking why…why as I once again
light the fuse with cotton candy fingers,
shot from a cannon, screaming,
there is no net, not for me, not for these thoughts

Open this door and let me out,
I’m stuffed in this little car
with a bunch of clowns, painted on smiles
big floppy shoes and ****, they are all me
(Send in the clowns, I hate that song)
and I hate these thoughts
Juggled about, like so many *****
flying through the air, never touching the ground
and there they are, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
children of all ages, staring, laughing, pointing,
shoveling popcorn in their faces
then running in fear as these thoughts
escape confinement once again

Don’t you get it, can’t you see,
this is real, this is me
I love, I love deeply, I can’t guess your weight
but I can feel you rummaging for tickets
in my heart and all I have is for you
Free admission, stop by the petting zoo,
Share a branch with a giraffe, share
Share, wow, maybe that’s it,
maybe that’s why I smile
when the tents come down
heading for another place

another town

another time

send out the clowns

Shhh!
I'm straining to hear
(I admit, this is my greatest fear)
thundering, rolling silence
boulders loosened
parched from a dry spell
not able to find the words to tell
nor a drop in the hollow well
a writers ramblings that freely clutter
thoughts, ideas, those clever lines I mutter
All taken for granted, perhaps there's just nothing more
needing to be said, it never before felt like a chore
Comfortable as clockwork, like a heartbeats drum
Absent, broken, chaotic ideas now that make me look dumb
A river of words, a waterfall of passion, that carries me
taken by the current now lost at sea
Dry and dammed, a beavers work,
also called 'writers block', a place where evil idleness may lurk
Reassured by friends and family to not worry
it will be back and come in a flurry
But they don't hear the voice
or comprehend inspiration is not a choice
Yet I should confess
I am responsible for this lazy mess
It's not as though I haven't tried
"I wrote a little today," I lied.
Sterile white paper mirroring my thoughts, blank stares
inky shapes, pixels, sans serif, no one cares
Interrupted by any distraction
Even the most tedious jobs holds some attraction
Mopping, scrubbing, fluffing, dusting
Acid in those scribbled notes on torn paper rusting
**** in chair with rolling fingertips like the roll of a drum
Waiting for that muse, my writing voice to come...

I bought a few sprigs of lavender tied with yarn from a boy outside the bookstore during the brightest days of summer.

The small decoration lay on a stack of books by the bed, scent fading with the passing days, inches from my pillow.

Meanwhile I ran about dusting and polishing, fluffing and waxing, making everything nice.

At night I fell into sleep moments after lifting my feet from the floor, forgetting all I dreamed.

On the days that I can't
even roll over in bed without
an internal sigh so deep
it would rival the heave of
the shuddering earth
and you ask me why
dinner is still cooking and
the drier is fluffing and
the dishes are crusting
and the dust is still lying
and my lashes are bare
and my hair is unkempt
as the sheets on the bed...
On these days when
I go to work anyway
before you wake up and
I get home after you
(you're sleeping on the couch)
and pick up after you
and serve myself after you
and you still think to ask
about the undone things that
your eyes see so well...
On these days with
these questions and that
look in your eyes
it's all I can do
to set my jaw,
smile,
and say:
"I just haven't..."

concerning making the bed i’ve grown rather fussy even meticulous as far back as i can remember i’ve made my own bed even when i lived in my parent’s house many years ago i asked teresa the maid to leave my room untouched and as a child made my own bed i don’t recall being as particular then as i am now in fact when i lived on armitage street in chicago and enjoyed feral affairs with many women i slept on futon on floor with bottom sheet and sleeping bag but that was 25 or more years ago now i pull tight from foot end bottom powder blue sheet and brush area if i find particles or loose feathers i pick them up with fingers and walk them into kitchen deposit them into waste basket then return to bedroom to make the bed i choose to exclude top sheet next i pull quilt cover symmetrically over foot of bed allowing for some over-hang then attend to head of bed flipping and fluffing pillows adjusting duvet proportionately over pillows to top edge making sure if perhaps some woman sleeps with me she will find clean neat spot next to me yet no one has slept with me for years i sleep in queen size bed hoping praying for loving partner but becoming aware i will possibly likely die alone in this bed

in ear shot, passing by
you can hear warnings on
the street signs

death,
it stops breathing,
holding holding
until you’re no longer separate

it sprints through city streets
gracefully stretches out of hospital beds
folding blankets, fluffing pillows
waits next to us

death is fragile,
shatters on pavement
falls in cracks and
drifts and dries

how many of us have died walking
through a doorway
could so much be forgotten

Snow: the gentle magisteria
that we crumble by, fighting
and flinging and fluffing about before
the touch-- of ice, of each other-- the same
thing
gathering about in the utmost
dust of things that were. Water
is in between us all the time, but
we couldn't possibly notice until we do it,
the touch-- of ice, of each other-- the same
thing,
y'know? Y'know what I'm saying? We talk
about it constantly. Flinging and fluffing
about before that
thing,
the touch. There you are. Hello,
how are you?

I love slow,
not snailish,
random acts,
but where one is
relieved, revealed

in their yawn and
stretching of limbs,
a little scratch
in the ribs,
stomach

like an animal
absently fluffing
up fur...
a spread of charm,
wayward hair

strand curled
curled to a spiral,
deep guttural sigh
of a woman asleep
over her lush hair

or walking quietly
under the trees
trance-gazing
a stray cotton seed,
helicoptering dry leaf,

squirrel run...
I love slow,
gentle sidestep
dance to it,
revolve of

lissome waist to music,
liquid spread
in a hot pan,
still breath
between kisses

sea waves licking
up the feet,
slithering afar,
time nibbling
away...

Over by the old church spire
sits a very noisy woodpecker
fluffing his plumage for all to admire
this little chap is a wrecker.

The dark mysterious crow
knows the woodpecker drills holes
but he is more interested in the meadow
and the land around which he controls.

The magpie however is a smart guy
sitting in his black and white uniform
he only needs a lens over just one eye
surveying his prey from his platform.

The little finch meanwhile
knows every little square inch
down to the smallest pile
of what he can pinch.

The pigeon, thick as two short planks
standing in the purple of the shadow
he knows the sort of pranks
they get up to in the willow.

It is on eves like these where
confinement to my quarters is perfection.
The crushing ideal to become the butterfly
who floats ever so gracefully
in the shadows of the neon lights
with fore and hind chitin
effervescently radiating towards
the heat source greater than my own
and pollinating each and every flower
gracing this beautiful Earth:

gratuitous metamorphosis

Tonight I will be the moth,
flickering near the light
and fluffing my feathered antennas.
My "drab" wings will shield me
from predators of land and sky,
an easy rest on this heart of oak.
Navigate me stars and Moon,
my essence attracts for miles round.

*placid animation

Cold blue steel lying all alone in the dark. Begging and pleading, pleading and begging to help. Staring at the lonely soul. Unrelenting gazes, silently screaming, calling out by pain. Promising peace and serenity. A single thought of calmness overtakes the dungeon. Closing eyes, visions of days gone by. Thunderous hooves tamping out a rhythmic thump thump, thump thump. Silence mocked by staggering, pulsated breaths. Cheeks washed clean by the salty flow. Bitter taste, unforgettable memories linger on. The cold indentation sends a chill down the spine. Storms echo in the distance warmth overtakes.  Once, stoic chimney now toppling to the earth below. Curtains fluffing, dust scattered with the breeze.  How will they remember the gentle heart? If only they had been a part. Empty chair, multitude of flowers despair. Did love die or get scattered across the sky? How will they remember the gentle heart? What a glorious symbol of art.

Through the eyes of
The wicked and ******
I spot an old friend up the road
And come to see it's old brother Sam

On his head is an old straw hat
A pint of whiskey hanging from his right hand
As he walks he kicks up heavy clouds of dust
Thick as blood, reddish sand

But he quickly passes me by
Muttering something I can't seem to understand
And the look in his eyes are bloodshot & crazed
As if he had been walking in fire for days

I turn to watch him walk the road
Where he's headed I don't know
He whistles a tune as the whiskey bottle sways
Everyone around here knows they got to pay to play
But where he's going I know he'll be o.k.

I make my way home and sit up on my porch
And scan the sky hoping to see my ride
But no one comes so I go inside
Open a beer and think of old wandering Sam
Where he's going and what left he's got to hide

I wake up to a knock on my old screen door
I shake and stumble and fall to the floor
Shouting out, "Who is it? Why you wanting more?"
I see it's old Sam and I'm struck to the core
Getting up to greet him, I see my shirt is tore

He smiles as a greeting and he stands silent
The moon outside is pale and white lighted
And though I've known this man for many a year
I feel that he's different now and I start to fear
He only standing and staring, not coming near

I ask, "Are you alright, Sam, you want to come in?"
He stands, without blinking, not trying to begin
I empty my lungs and begin to close the screen
And he turns for the field like a victorious king
I turn the key in the lock and slip in the metal ring

I never did see old brother Sam again
Where he went I couldn't guess to begin
Yet as I laid in bed and fell off into sleep
Fluffing my pillow and pulling up the sheets
That whatever he was searching for
He would find one day and keep

Begins while still babbling, fluffing their feathers but showing them how to open a door
Cradling while still wobbling , cleansing refreshing their moving forward is now an obsession
Needs met  in stages, all corners being cut on wages ,personal provisions not as important as before
Finding new futures being seen and needed by others while the maternal grip holds back progression


Swaddling & coddling felt as primal instincts now making it even harder to break the link
Many words spoken of time passing so fast after the fact we are now left aghast
Spoons to forks to  even knives, sippys to slurpees &slipper; slides ,but now on the brink
Crawling on floors to climbing the walls,bringing one up while both become more grownup
soon passages mementos & chronicles are just another generation that has passed

Building a healthy home life while learning from strife ,daily  rituals helping to meet the masses
Transparency of childhood taking on newer levels ,more corners thinking & revealing more opaque
Vibrant with many variables is addicting for all those involved while trying to avoid the view through rose colored glasses
One coming of age while others just age gracefully ,while also hoping life will cut a clean break

Fledgling to   finally  flying ,fashioning fortunes while falling and occasionally fumbling
Brought along with bumps & bruises  mingling with blinks & blushes ,crushes while also caressing
Weights of the world now wait but maybe leaving elders holding the gate,flying to fast leaves them stumbling
Fondness strengthened to unbreakable loyalty no others rising to this level of royalty
the preparation for the separation now comes as a mixed blessing.:) R.C.