So many of us sit, think and still
wonder,
But have we ever gave ourselves the chance to ask?
Well no!
We just rejoice and find oursleves
floating on cloud nine because
"it is just another public holiday"

So many of us have cherished this day,
as a day of drinking, parting
and being in the family way.
Which "Us" am i refering to?
Well it is the youth of South Africa,
That can only sing "Freedom is coming tomorrow" very well
without knowing the significance
of that freedom
and what it took for this freedom
to come

well let me take you back to the
hands of time.
In June 16, 1976
the mongoloid youth of South Africa
marched down the streets of Soweto for this freedom we have today.

BLOOD SHADE,
SCREAMS,
EXPLOIDING SOUNDS
and the cries of faces without races
filled the streets of Soweto.

Parents feared for the lives of their children,
but who knew that adolescents
could be so brave?

They stood together in unity,
the same unity we lack today.
Fought for what was right and that came with their African roots,
which we nolonger honour today,

they fought against the usage af
Afrikaans as the main language of communication at schools.
And look where it left us today.
We have the Right to choice
and the Freedom of association.

And not forgeting that,
they left us with the courage to say "WE ARE PROUDLY SOUTH AFRICANS"

once there was some self respect,now, life is control by drug useing interlect.taking all selflove aspect.turning you into a reject, forgeting pain so quick is incorrect truly a drug user defect.

My greatest fear is forgeting my dreams.

I am a hard
person to love but
when I love,
I love really hard.

When I love hard
Though its hard to confess
But I end up being close to where you are
Every night is so cold
Cause I want to be close to where you are

I smile,
I try,
but the truth is...I want to die

We play mind games
We play ping pong
Forgeting that we are one,
We love ourselves but still do the opposite

You don't want me,
you don't need me,
you don't remember me,
and that kills me....

*Now that it seems that we are two edge lines.
The pain has only sharpen me
Of course no pain no gain!!!

Dear Mona lisa,
So Comely Just like The Queen of Sheba
Standing Wonderously As if you are The leaning Tower of Pisa
Putting me under like anesthesia
Forgeting where I am As if I have amnesia
You are Everywhere I want to be like visa
Painted With glitter Shining bright Like Fame
Some may see you as a picture living in a frame
But I......I just Pondering at The thought of just knowing your name
As I Admire from afar
Praying to get to know how truely beautiful you are
It amazes me how thru you I can see him.
You remind me of an artistic painting in a museum,
Seen Marvelously but left untouched
Yet I yearn to have your heart to clutch
Desiring One day that you and I can love one another so much

a poetic collaboration
with Elizabeth Squires,
(thank you for the privilege)*


high in the infinite skies,
above the clouds.
where no, naked eye can see 
particles in the ozone layer,
bounce around.
in a manner, most carefree. 
these minute, wee, little things,
e'er bobbing and moving,
so happily. 

we on the ground,
would delight,
in their existence of joy.
but we're tied to the prosaic, daily grind working,
in our nine to five,
coalface coal mines.

with axe and pick,
we chip and hack away...
whilst our minds delight,
in front-lobal play.
of waxed wing-ed flight,
of acrobatic, aerobatic display.

whilst working,
in the cramped and dubious
spaces we inhabit....
we dream, of spaces, blue, boundless and arcing-wide, forgeting, forgoing, forgiving the mindless, daily grind...
we leap,
with fragile hope,
into fledgling flight....
up to the ozone,
up toward the light...

there, in the freedom,
of this spacious playground,
we're at no command,
of employer's tools,
of work.

on our faces, we'll wear 
those  effervescent, unfettered smirks
hopping in rambunctious 
fun 
in the ozone's air,
upon the weary brow of labor release, is found.

in it's mirthful atmosphere,
which eliminates, our obligations, to our bosses.
we then farewell,
with liberating tosses.

and so we soar
in insouciant grace, unfettered,reckless,feckless 
freedom, sliced and pared, away across our wings
and faces,
joy ungaurded,
is this moment's prey
unbidden, unbound.

no longer hearing,
the sound of the grinding axe.... at play
we soar eagle high...
we soar to the sun's eye
but we are not made
for such undulterated bliss our wings of feather
and wax....
become, around us mist  
and to the ground
we do spiral....

into our adult occupations,
where there is little time.
for us to be engrossed,
in exuberant glee.
we're shackled 
and yoked to,
our heavy work day shrouds.
but our dreams of play,
with those ozone particles,
seem too impractical.

happy little vegemites
we'd be,
if our days were free.

take heart, our days off,
are nigh and on the lounge
we'll sigh, 
a well earned sigh.

Bar dreams came dripping in
Beer bottles a headrest
Towers of bottles tops for weary eyes
Moonlight will capture my tries
Morning light will fill my demise

Wake me up when my mind stops raining
Flooding the gate of pain
Hurtful shadows taking my sane
Peaceful remedies go down the drain
Love always forgeting my name

Goodbye says the sun
The sky fell asleep all over agian
So did the smile from her eyes
All I see is frostbitten grass
Talk to the light while dusk tries to pass
Make your way to the end of all wars
Dont look down
Dont you fall to the floor
Someone has to remember my name
The stars remember nothing
When clouds drift ahead
While misty liqueur came making me drunk
I awake and I'm lost in my mind
I have taken the last of my time
I end up escaping the murderous fiends
I'm always hating these midnight bar dreams

I shoulda known going out of my league
I thought this would be nice, if only it's easy
but it sure aint' at all and I'm really in the fall
flat on the cement, body parts evident, splattered all over the place
even some in my own face, body meat spray, just like Israel on a day
of a suicide bomb
spent lunch time in a sob
why I am such a dumb one?
Why do I fall for such pond ****
ok, maybe he's a diamond
to someone I can't find um
but my darling he's out with someone else right now
and I'm on the shelf
four vodkas to my name
and it's such a shame
can't keep torturing myself.
should have not fallen at all
but I did, and it's true, this love
ain't gonna do, cuz as soon as I was out of sight
he ran with all his might
into another's arms
and that's really ok
because come what may
only I'm not ready for this
not playing this dating game,
not waiting for a kiss
and that's all there is
just me, vulnerable and amiss
and I thought, he's not like me
he's playing the field
and of course I was right
and now I'm out of my league
lonely
in the night
but that's gotta be the way it is.

cuz that's who I is
right now
just still a kind of pudding
of a loving human being
easily squashed and
the pain is too much
so that's how it goes
just me and the ***** and forgeting
everything that goes

The sweet sensation,
of another's touch,
so intense,
heart beats faster,
stumbling through words


The heat from the other's touch,
soft,
warm,
she's so calm,
so in control


She doesn't think anything of it,
just another hand,
rubbing against hers,
nothing new,
nothing special,
quickly forgeting it ever happened


On the other side,
time freezes with thought,
cannot believe this could happen,
happen to him,
thinking about that moment,
for days on end.

Does your completed wurk look as if it were tiped while wearing a baceball gluv? That liddle red, squigley, line that often appeers
beneeth a  wurd, shows up for a reeson. A signal that something "just ain't right." Weather a speling or punkshuashun issue,pay attenshun to it.

A mispeled wurd can distract the readers attenshun froom the subject of the peece, and creates a very uneezy reed.

Keep a dicshunery near you're desk.

Go bak and refresh when to us too 'C's, too M's", (dubble consanants)etc.

Know you're "valves" a-e-i-o-u.

Know where to place an apocolipse when writing a contractshun(can't, don't)..................

Use the correct wurdes!!

Know the diffrance between "Their", and "There."

A dicshunary can also prevent having to exit a wurk, and risk losing it by forgeting to save it.

Pay attentshun, PLEEZE!

copyright: richard riddle-10-07-15

Thanks,
richard riddle

being alone is hard...

have no one to love
have no one to talk
living without you is like a shock
lonely on the road i walk
lonely cross the sea i sail
lonely in my life trail
no one to hear my tale

about us and what a perfect tale
was... :'(

lonely are the nights
lonely are the days
lonely i am, in so many ways
lonely are the years
so lonely i am, and it bring tears :'''(

but...

am sick and tired :@
of living with all my fears
of losing you after all these years
forgeting all sweetness of this life
living with a heart stabbed by a knife

you know what !
i will be lonely with my hate
and happy with my fate
and happy when you out of my sight
that way i will be elite
WITHOUT YOU!!!

Deep in the rain
each droplet traces the creases in your face,
melting the smile that held for a year.
never good enough.
your hands became faded,
frozen with difference.
gray shadowed pigments.
never good enough.
empty eyes of blank paper
underlined in tired sadness,
you stared at me.
never good enough.
those lips of red wine liquor
now pale roses of wilted colour,
foreign taste of discomfort.
never good enough.
you walked away, head turned
forgeting us, each step erasing memories
you left me in the rain.
why wasn't i good enough?

i come home
to
a mexican standdoff
of
sorts

on the inside
of
the window
the
little blucat
with
firebrush tail
and
arched back

facing off against

the big
busterfer jones
tom
from 3 doors
down

black
and white
persian
moggy
more than
twice
the size
of gus blucat


pressed
up
against
the outside
of the glass

normally
the
best of buds
but
there is
a
new girl
in town
and
she sings
a siren song

so it is
bared claw
at 3 paces

as i
put down
my keys
there is a
muted
thump,
thump.

they have
rushed
each other

forgeting
the magic
of glass

and now
as i
finish
r.o.l.f.ing

i see
they
have
retired
to their corners

with that
was'nt me
that did that
dumb thing
look

as they
wash their
paws
with backs
speaking volumes
and eyes still
crossed.

The battalion that once crashed the pillar of servitum lies in deep sea, sinking low. The generals have abandoned their call casting their nets to fish out a chain to history.
The binoculars has lost focus and so have the guns, they lay pointed at the commander with bullets intact. Who knows the pain the child gives when he bites the hand that feeds it, just like to dance to the tunes of the beat you made but duplicated.
The bells failed to make enough sound to alert about the time zone. The sweetness of the power has stripped many off their understanding, forgeting however much the bone is tasty soon crashed to pieces.
Why should one wait For a vine yard to turn bitter, the peace preacher who lives a life of torture to others, a said speech written by the crowd.
Hello Captain, am worried for your sinking ship your trainees sail better than you For your lack of visibility. Your self esteem bigger than your ego.
In the very beginning, the river so strong along fertile soils, rejuvenation goes with sprouting crops but the later the senility of the river, to worse the season to bear fruits.
Yes the old broom knows all corners of the house, now with the new times the swept area turns dirtier

Sometime I take a breath
And it's only then I realize
how truly long it has been
since I took my last breath

Forgetting what it's like to live hand an hand
I used to touch things as they'd break apart so fascinated
But you gave me such a close look
I never wanted this
Watching our memories tumble and fall
Watching our love fall apart
Piece by piece
Looking back and suddenly seeing the rot along the edges and in the cracks.
What once was soft and fluid, is now brittle and torn.
My memory is shining new and sharp
And I'm realizing who you really are
And I'm forgeting my attraction to you
Mean and hateful
Angry and resentful
You are
Smashing my wings under your toes then kissing them better.
Again and again
*you've completely played me

Art! True treasure of all entity thou art
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes
Who brings the raging enemies to its knees
And create thyself delicious meal
In thee lies true knowledge of all inventions
Unto poets heart, showing thu great addiction
Unconquorable is thy deering-do offspring
Who wouldst not desire one or many of her offspring?
'Twas you that made mother and child  dear
Many a man thou didst respect and fear
Even the great artistc being thou created
Not forgeting your endowing clemency.
Surely, thou art true treasure of all entity
But thy mystique existence needs some clarity!

#McNaevets -2033
Copyright.. ©

Daylights were so much
than expensive goldbars
with your arms securing my chest
in the twenty-fifth of May
covered with comfy bedsheets
and you as my everyday scenery,
my healthy breakfast,
my vitamin A.

But nightfalls were so much
unaware than missed shooting stars
in clouded firmament
with your eyes refused to stay
growing cherry blossoms
as I hope that your feet
became regretful
for stepping to the nothingness
to the process of forgeting
until to the complete unknown

— marion.

Rap is hard
You have to nail the ascent
As it ascends keep the rythm
Ryme but with meaning
Spitting splitting their minds
Into thinking wat you seeing
Wear your eyes for a second
Not forgeting reason
Not **** about the ******* u spent the season kissing
Dissing a disease in every verse
In each case
An issue of whose ggetting more paper
Famous feature, who gives a **** who was witchya
I like to believe rap is art
Poetry, painting a picture of your perspective
Respective enough Ts you who holds the bigger share
In music I hope u use it to dare
These kids who believe in you to make a change
Not messages of disorder and rage
Flip that page forget it
Skip, cut , merge into a better clean version of bars
Educate relate heal scars
Cries of sorrow are wiped through you
Dies and a little turn of mood
As I plug in these phones in my ears
Fears should race
Trace back myself to belief
Pace back to relief, relive
Hope in me
See I nid to be told um gonna make it
That's rap music

Dropping slowly
slipping down a rainbow,
floating softly
can you feel the wind blow,
gently gliding way up high,
I have no wings but I can fly,
sea of purple sky of love,
let me swim like a fish
and fly like a dove,
mystery trip of mine ,
leed me through this world divine,
enhance my trance now let it flow,
tell me things that I don't know,
now iv opened the doors in my mind,
I have true sight now
I'm not blind,
I saw many things along my way,
the wisdom of the night
breaking up the day,
if day had no night
then nothing would stop,
night brings rest
it's nature's time clock,
I open up a door
that doesn't have a room,
everything is clear
my mind is in full bloom,
travelling down a tunnel
in a kaleidoscopic rush,
witnessing the beauty
normality seems to crush,
your mind is like a river
a river of many streams,
by forgeting all your thoughts
you can drift into your dreams,

The promise has been broken
Now everything looks blurry to us
We try to make a head way but yet
We are still not getting what we want

We feel left out
To us every situation mellows us
Because feel we have no say at all
We tell different stories that are both
true and lies

Decieving the wold with our tales
Making it seem true but they are lies
We go about living a double life
Forgeting our background compromising
our life with lies

mystery mind.
Dropping slowly
slipping down a rainbow,
floating softly
can you feel the wind blow,
gently gliding way up high,
I have no wings but I can fly,
sea of purple sky of love,
let me swim like a fish 
and fly like a dove,
mystery trip of mine ,
leed me through this world divine,
enhance my trance now let it flow,
tell me things that I don't know,
now iv opened the doors in my mind,
I have true sight now
I'm not blind,
I saw many things along my way,
the wisdom of the night
breaking up the day,
if day had no night 
then nothing would stop,
night brings rest
it's nature's time clock,
I open up a door
that doesn't have a room,
everything is clear
my mind is in full bloom,
travelling down a tunnel
in a kaleidoscopic rush,
witnessing the beauty
normality seems to crush,
your mind is like a river
a river of many streams,
by forgeting all your thoughts
you can drift into your dreams,
        written by
      DAVID LLOYD o.w.

The refrigerator is humming;
It would only take a thumping
“thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!”
To sound like film through sprockets.

My dad captured family life
On 8mm then super-8 film.
He taught me editing.
Splicing, cross-cutting the past.

Thread it; see it, cut it…
Get out the razor blade
And thin strips of splicing tape.
Make the past more perfect.

We are our own editors.
Remembering and forgeting.
I choose to remember joy
And excise the pain.

finally
hope isnt the only concern
and shrinking isnt the only direction
and qualifications are burning in trashcans
on sidewalks, my rings are shining,
my bells are ringing, my finger nails are
sharp.
my eyes linger on trees, my ears fiddle with
forgeting that they ever forgot
my hushed, lulled, chest power, passion put-forth
sees leaves and no bodies and no bones
my belly is a chestnut, my knuckles
are a *****, my knee caps are a cushion
and i am buckling but only to secure,
never burden, and i am a compromise
i am a mushroom, i am a fungus, i am moss
i am electron, positive, negative, charged,
changed, channeled, a room of lights, egg wash,
hardening and cracking, i am a reaction, grout, a mild wind,
a mild salsa, cayenne, dopamine, allergies,
a cat with a cold, the number nine, more&more&more&more
eager.

you know what sweet sensation of
whiskey hitting the nervous system,
just after you've been awake for more
than 30 hours...
     and every gulp you start feeling up
a touch of cushion,
   like it might be your mother singing
a lullaby to you as a child?
****'s all... fuzzy...
                    fictoid...
  which is the alternative of a factoid:
an item of unreliable information
that is reported and repeated
so often that it becomes accepted as fact...
well borrowed from real life,
that's focused upon it (life,
or the narrative) being usurped from
being staged...
i still don't know how drunks manage
their quasi-epileptic
        space-oddities by climbing
7 stories of a building,
  to simply know on the balcony window
from the wife: refusing them
entry via the conventional route,
of utilising a front door...
               true story that,
****** managed to do the spider-man
up nearly... wait... circa two metres
per storey...
             sigma, circa: 20 metres
up in the air!
                 that's not exactly 100 metres
of comparison while holding
your breath in a jamaican sprint...
          blind wind playing the flute
of a pine forest...
                but there are certain sensations
you just can't suspect of
being the product of a Saturday night
revelry in Essex, England...
                some drunks do the Dante's
inferno expedition into:
       everything and anything -
   but only when embarked upon, solo.
my excesses of insomnia are
countered by my "excesses" of drinking,
       what could possibly be wrong
about a teddy bear among romanian
****** dreaming, awake,
  of a pillow?
                it's not even a comfortable
numbness,
      it's a mollusk encapsulated by
the safety of an oyster's shell mentality...
         i mean, there's only so much
much of the FIFA world cup you can stomach
before seeing a proper game...
   and when you do manage to receive
the spectacle of a 3 - 3 Spain vs. Portugal?
**** me... that's like receiving
the ******* eucharist!
                        RAMOS!
                       ­          ******* child of
            a one ******* ball-sack of Franco...
   and those Spanish eyes:
you know the ones...                    (    (
romance with a real tear-jerker...
             but what more entertaining
than the football is,
   the behind-the-scenes preservation
of the political narrative by minors,
minor-intellectuals, and:
                  behemoths of swaying the gamble
of history...
Iberian eyes?
        i'm starting to call them
                          siamese Shiva diamonds...
muguruza has them...
                           very idiosynratic...
in vino veritas?
    i find twice the amount of truth
in a dose of sleeplessness and whiskey...
       which usually ends with
a knock-out and: the great void eating
            all concern or, "need" to dream...
hell with a brain like a sponge that
requires quasi-x-ray
               to suit-up to the everyday
in the mythos timing ref. to boiling an egg
in real time...
         RAMOS!
          you already know of the extra
long football socks, and the rolled up sleeves,
   Puyol would be a proud
second-far-removed-claim-of-fatherhood...
not that's the case...
      beside the point...
                but there's no distraction from
my perspective,
              an appreciation of, sure,
               but you can't exactly forget
the premature ******* quasi-thrill
of listening to the bundestag match of:
left-to-right, right-to-left,
             and something in between
being plagued by a w. b. yeats quote about
all centres,
            apart from the gravity hard-on
of god, which, for reason for the four seasons:
always seems to hold,
   tight like a ******* mousetrap,
tiger pounce...
        very humane, in terms of a rodent
passing bypassing being a plaything
of some bonsai feline...
                ha ha! in vino, veritas?
every tried a dosage of sleeplessness,
   and something more, strict?
   a Dublin ****, or a Glaswegian
                                           apple juice?    
****, the mingling with sleeplessness...
you'll speak more truth than
the C.I.A. would mind giving
                two shoves to a shovel over...  
nudges? sure...
      nugget crisp and...
                  oh but i like the current
digression...
     the facade...
                      the momentary month of
blissfully forgeting the talk of politics,
and imagining the head
of Commodus being kicked about by
                          22 legionaires...
no greater cathedral to make man's
concern stupendous,
        than in a prayer-house of amnesia...
and, there isn't a reason as we'll somehow
forget for half an anno after the month?
circa, of course...
                                                     well?
by the sober judge i make my plea drunk...
and should the judge drink?
          first i nail him to a cross,
   and then: allow him to pass judgement...
who the hell doesn't pass
crucial judgement concerning sexuality,
on the throne of thrones,
without first doing the no. 1,
  and then doing the no. 2,
                   and then not doing the no. 3?
i should be all "hot-and-bothered",
   should i?
                          a case to say:
                                 don't date, on a diet;
because not on the cruel slab of
the altar of mammon are two naked
bodies suddenly: phantom?
         does eating, **** the butterflies?
what sort of contract for an hour,
require a prenup of eating,
      for a time constraint that's more than
            the actual: non-verbum flex,
                          which constitutes an hour?
RAMOS!
                    always the central defender
role...
              because... well...
              given the hard-on for the tournament...
you can somehow listen in on
political-football kicking-off simultaneously...
while the Tsar is found stark
naked, dressed in gloat, gluttony and glee,
the little people can take to tongue and chess...
little people, like the Warsaw pundits,
the staggering delayed pleasure Londoners...
and Berliners-***-Bavarians...
               and whoever the hell is left...          

ah, the quiet life: and it's little wonders...
   but a Tsar that appears so well attired in his
self-with-nation
                             goat-fat smile,
    like a Davvy Cameron prior:
      plump doughnut and plush well oiled
cheecks with missing bones...
                     plump little doughnut...
can't help but admire
   the arabian formal checkers pajamas...
sorry...
           i forgot it's high-fashion over
there too...
             houndstooth print
                                   coffee-table-cloths...

come to think of it, this western-union
euro and the post-nationalistic experiment?
**** the tongue, before claiming
a dead soul, to control the living thought...
i only allow english for reasons
that i can speak it, above a certain
framework of its native contraints,
   but if another Belgian is going to think
i'm going to let him perform a sujud
on me like i were some half-wit from Congo?!

the swiss still make milka...
                   so...
                                see you in Ypres?
and yes, truth is a form of audacity...
                               Benelux: Banalflux;
cite Forrest Gump to boot, if y'all wanna.

Nobody is Perfect
but Practice make perfect.

Courage & Honourarium
Arreal Ārry Åyrā
À'ray Ariél Arayà
A'rare Arræl Harrer Ayõ

A blessing,
an athmosphriendly
of Harmony.

He whom puzzled the Stars
measured their usefulness
& examine their result
Without forgeting their original posited.

Bring forth your
goodness dauther of the stream
mother from the soil
queen as a breeze,
of Ox thotem blood ritually
warrior lady
natural social tribal woman.


Let her remind you
how I  Broke all the stars of heavenly gemstone
adorned Eve breast-plated
as grains of cloudy blood-cells
as a dominion warrior,

Paßsīng through Ra [Pastor Ra]
An Evening Āngæl [Evangelist Amøn]
Illuminatíng Perfect-hood
[Prophet Raīnbow]
Teacher æ Holy communíon
[Príest ẞēa ẞtær]
Martial Arrael milk & calmly
Abstract-metaphysical
The Astro-logícal Theor³m-īnn
Cleanse æ Çlær
Á Pøør ẞól [Apostlē Pebblē Rhythm]
13 Natar Chart
Hu-roscope
Supreme Gracious Humming Glorious All-Court Óccoult•

I was ecstatic, the thrill, the rush.
I felt like I'm going on an adventure with friend.
Before getting in we had had our amours on and, we never used our guns.
Slowly, I started forgeting that we're at war with one another.  
I told him all my  weakspots and he told me his.
Letting him know where to shoot if he wanted me injured or dead
Sluggishly I  removed my amour and let my gun go(I trusted my friend).
He encouraged me to do so but he never took off his.  
I removed the amour forgetting it's there to protect me.
Forgetting that I was still at war .
Once it came off it could never go back on .
My opponent realized that this would be the perfect time for him to do an experiment.
He shot  me where I told him it would hurt me the most.
I felt the bullet go straight from my back and it pierced through my heart before leaving my torso.
I bled on him.
And he helped me nurse the wound.
Soon I healed and  I forget about the pain.
But.
Everytime I'd forget, I'd feel another bullet. Entering and exiting my body the same way it did the first time.
This went on and on again.
He hurt me over and over again .
I grew tired and weary of the pain.
Finally, I admitted defeat and left the battle grounds.
Now I look at my heart I can only see my scars from The "friendly" gunfight.