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A rose in the high garden that you desire.
A wheel in the pure syntax of steel.
The mountain stripped of impressionist mist.
Greys looking out from the last balustrades.

Modern painters in their black studios,
Sever the square root's sterilized flower.
In the Seine's flood an iceberg of marble
freezes the windows and scatters the ivy.

Man treads the paved streets firmly.
Crystals hide from reflections' magic.
Government has closed the perfume shops.
The machine beats out its binary rhythm.

An absence of forests, screens and brows
Wanders the roof-tiles of ancient houses.
The air polishes its prism on the sea
and the horizon looms like a vast aqueduct.

Marines ignorant of wine and half-light,
decapitate sirens on seas of lead.
Night, black statue of prudence, holds
the moon's round mirror in her hand.

A desire for form and limit conquers us.
Here comes the man who sees with a yellow ruler.
Venus is a white still life
and the butterfly collectors flee.

Cadaqués, the fulcrum of water and hill,
lifts flights of steps and hides seashells.
Wooden flutes pacify the air.
An old god of the woods gives children fruit.

Her fishermen slumber, dreamless, on sand.
On the deep, a rose serves as their compass.
The ****** horizon of wounded hankerchiefs,
unties the vast crystals of fish and moon.

A hard diadem of white brigantines
wreathes bitter brows and hair of sand.
The sirens convince, but fail to beguile,
and appear if we show a glass of fresh water.

Oh Salvador Dalí, of the olive voice!
I don't praise your imperfect adolescent brush
or your pigments that circle those of your age,
I salute your yearning for bounded eternity.

Healthy soul, you live on fresh marble.
You flee the dark wood of improbable forms.
Your fantasy reaches as far as your hands,
and you savor the sea's sonnet at your window.

The world holds dull half-light and disorder,
in the foreground humanity frequents.
But now the stars, concealing landscapes,
mark out the perfect scheme of their courses.

The flow of time forms pools, gains order,
in the measured forms of age upon age.
And conquered Death, trembling, takes refuge
in the straightended circle of the present moment.

Taking your palette, its wing holds a bullet-hole,
you summon the light that revives the olive-tree.
Broad light of Minverva, builder of scaffolding,
with no room for dream and its inexact flower.

You summon the light that rests on the brow,
not reaching the mouth or the heart of man.
Light feared by the trailing vines of Bacchus,
and the blind force driving the falling water.

You do well to place warning flags
on the dark frontier that shines with night.
As a painter you don't wish your forms softened
by the shifting cotton of unforeseen  clouds.

The fish in its bowl and the bird in its cage.
You refuse to invent them in sea or in air.
You stylize or copy once you have seen,
with your honest eyes, their smal agile bodies.

You love a matter defined and exact,
where the lichen cannot set up its camp.
You love architecture built on the absent,
admitting the banner merely in jest.

The steel compass speaks its short flexible verse.
Now unknown islands deny the sphere.
The straight line speaks of its upward fight
and learned crystals sing their geometry.

Yet the rose too in the garden where you live.
Ever the rose, ever, our north and south!
Calm, intense like an eyeless staute,
blind to the underground struggle it causes.

Pure rose that frees from artifice, sketches,
and opens for us the slight wings of a smile
(Pinned butterfly that muses in flight.)
Rose of pure balance not seeking pain.
Ever the rose!

Oh Salvador Dalí of the olive voice!
I speak of what you and your paintings tell me.
I don't praise your imperfect adolescent brush,
but I sing the firm aim of your arrows.

I sing your sweet battle of Catalan lights,
you love of what might be explained.
I sing your heart astronomical, tender,
a deck of French cards, and never wounded.

I sing longing for statues, sought without rest,
your fear of emotions that wait in the street.
I sing the tiny sea-siren who sings to you
riding a bicycle of corals and conches.

But above all I sing a shared thought
that joins us in the dark and the golden hours.
It is not Art, this light that blinds our eyes.
Rather it is love, friendship, the clashing of swords.

Rather than the picture you patiently trace,
it's the breast of Theresa, she of insomniac skin,
the tight curls of Mathilde the ungrateful,
our friendship a board-game brightly painted.

May the tracks of fingers in blood on gld
stripe the heart of eternal Catalonia.
May stars like fists without falcons shine on you,
while your art and your life burst into flower.

Don't watch the water-clock with membranous wings,
nor the harsh scythe of the allegories.
Forever clothe and bare your brush in the air
before the sea peopled with boats and sailors.
Connor Jul 2016
And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin
Written between late June to July 13th.
in my family conversation is seldom thoughtful questioning filled with wonder quiet pauses instead it is sociable banter teasing goading spontaneous gratuitous remarks clever embellishment excessive flattery it is an ancient system passed down patronage pecking order nepotism sycophancy near to impossible for me to be honest in presence of their overwhelming vanity when it comes to family gatherings my voice isn’t very strong my family’s joking squelches my chirp they are each and all more loud sarcastic faster wittier more crude outrageous more funny loud gregarious sanguine Mom embarrasses herself with uncalled for flirtations (her mental state rapidly deteriorating) everyone laughs boisterously they snap kid exaggerate amplify taunt i can hardly get word in i need to repeat myself several times or more to be heard my voice is minor i struggle to tell story they listen politely then rush back into their rowdy repartee i am way too sincere way too naked in my ineptitude my stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen pitch black in front of me voice inside screams please i need help so bad please make it easier i’m lost in all this commotion drama hunger lack of clarity

Chicago 1980 Odysseus always revered cousin Chris is taller tan-skinned handsomer stronger protective of Odysseus knowing he is frivolous liability tags along with Chris and his prosperous trader friends advantaged echelon inherited wealth educated white young men they float above everyone else their tastes in clothes furnishings run Brooks Brothers Burberry Giorgio Armani Ralph Lauren John-Paul Gautier Paul Smith Emile Zegna Salvatore Ferragamo their preference in women run typically blonde large ******* tight butts make-up painted nails they think Odysseus is a freak because he usually chooses females none of them want Odysseus likes skinny girls flat chests glasses he knows he is an extraneous art pet to Chris and his group

Chris joins newly built state of art fitness facility pricey membership accesses all of Chicago’s fast track shakers movers politicians lawyers pretty people Odysseus has his limits he does not have money to join also he dislikes snooty elitism several times Chris invites Odysseus as guest Odysseus feels insecure outsider Chris always includes Odysseus pays for dinners they begin with round of doubles then 2nd round of doubles before glancing at menu Chris drinks Canadian Club on the rocks Odysseus follows they raucously order extravagant meals with appetizers 3rd 4th 5th rounds of doubles after pricey dinner at chic restaurant Chris’s group rendezvous at bar or club they order round of drinks tip lavishly sip drink glare around room leave barely touched drinks walk out with look of disdain they scavenge more bars in search of females or some intangible attraction Odysseus is never certain what they are looking for or what is the source of their contempt each wears black leather jacket carries huge wads of cash $20s $50s $100s folded stuffed in front pockets no wallets or clips

the Red Meat palace or Chang’s Szechwan grill are their favorite restaurants as many as 8 men sit at table pack mentality prevails for dessert course they pull out small brown bottles filled with ******* if it is Friday night Chris’s pad is frequently elected females other arrangements settle bill depart restaurant one night Odysseus arrives early at Chang’s wanders downstairs into women’s boutique salesgirl named Fiona greets him they hit it off he invites her to join him and his hosts upstairs after her shift is done Fiona arrives as dessert is about to be served table of men look desirously at Fiona beams Odysseus and Fiona along with Chris Phil Tom go to Odysseus’s place Fiona is perhaps 22 petite lovely with deep blue eyes set wide apart long eyelashes brown thick hair cut to shoulders high ******* pink ******* fragrance of linden flowers delighted by male attention Fiona ***** fondles each men are quite intoxicated Odysseus and Phil are only capable to sustain erections Odysseus stares mesmerized at Fiona’s extraordinarily swollen ***** she notices his fixation grins blushing men shout commands but in actuality Fiona is in charge reducing each of them to little boys vying for her attention near conclusion she requests they form circle around her ******* on her chest she fondles them touches herself men laugh mockingly as if to compensate for their lack of performance Tom picks up plastic dart gun aims it at Fiona she laughs crawls on all fours Tom fires dart hitting her on **** Phil grabs gun from Tom reloads another dart suddenly it feels like fraternity stunt Odysseus goes along offended by his own complicity to him episode feels more like men having *** with each other than being with a woman telephone rings it is Odysseus’s latest love pursuit she tells him she is on her way over everyone rushes to put on clothes change bed sheets they depart within minutes she arrives finally ready after weeks of romancing to put out for him after that night when Chris and Odysseus get buzzed in bar Chris routinely speaks the line to women have you ever been done by 2 cousins one night at Green River tavern woman squeezes milk from her ****** into shot glass dares cousins to drink Chris laughing turns down her offer Odysseus shoots back shot of milk then takes swig of Irish whiskey cousins go see Billy Idol at Odysseus’s insistence they stand near front stage young girls screaming after show driving home in Chris’s Fiat Spider Chris complains his ears are ringing i don’t know how i’ll be able to work tomorrow Odysseus nods like he hears hollers out window hey little sister shotgun!

Mom and Dad want their son to enjoy fruits of burgeoning affluence they feel certain what they are doing is best for him they rent quarter seat at Chicago Mercantile Exchange they originally promised full seat but they are overextended Odysseus enrolls in trading course he learns to trade Certificates of Deposit and Eurodollars which are recently established markets suddenly Odysseus has lots of cash his parents are dishing out he does not know what he is doing newly launched markets lack investment and fleece young men of their parent’s money his friends surroundings change he loses sight of himself he is a thoroughly incompetent trader bleeding cash scatters money between harebrained panicked trades or ******* girls $1000. wristwatch when Mom and Dad see jewelry they become furious in a way he represents his parent’s design for how to build successful son yet their plan is going dreadfully wrong he wants to stand up speak out against Dad and Mom he is not courageous enough to counter their weight he wants to express with more assurance his passion to pursue painting and writing isn’t fact he graduated from art school evidence enough of his aspirations commodities exchange is last place in the world he belongs Odysseus is risk taker but he is not aggressive or entrepreneurial only lesson he has learned with respect to his parents is how to run away

by all appearances cousin Chris is brilliant trader in reality Chris is hooked up with powerful crooked brokers they use him as their bagman he covers losing trades and is compensated or offsets winning side of profitable trades subsequently dealt his share Chris is not a criminal he stumbles into profit-making situation when certain conditions are flexible to advantages Chris is diligent hard worker the vast sums of money he earns do not distort his personality he is always generous shielding of Odysseus gold trading pit becomes so shady S.E.C. intervenes relinquishing exchange’s contract Chris and his bosses walk away unscathed having made their bundles

Mom and Aunt Rita run social itinerary for family including birthdays holidays all other gatherings where family will meet changes by the minute depending on Mom and Aunt Rita’s caprice checking in by telephone at least an hour before is mandatory arriving at destination Mom and Aunt Rita insist on specific table location seating arrangement it is important they be seen viewed by others at restaurant they never sit near kitchen or washrooms or where there is too much noise light away from drafts who sits next to who is crucial round tables are their favorite preferring backs to wall looking out so they can nod wave Mom rules from proud pedestal Dad upholds chain of command sometimes he irritably gripes Aunt Rita immediately comes to Mom’s defense Dad points finger back off Rita you’re way out of line where do you come up with a remark like that Mom mediates Max that’s enough in a way the sisters are spoiled little girls over-indulged by their father they believe their opinions and tastes are the best most correct everyone in family are subordinate to their no and don’t Mom and Aunt Rita routinely criticize Odysseus’s semantics oppose his observations critical of his clothes conduct they handily misconstrue his comments to mean fodder for their amusement Mom and Aunt Rita’s efforts to keep prim proper decorum cause resentment Odysseus feels constricted by his subservient role in drama of family he fails to understand their care

Odysseus busts out of markets leaving behind alarming debts for family to pay off he feels humiliation disgrace plunges into bottomless sleepless despair hides in house door locked window shutters shut phone rings unanswered hates life willfully wants to destroy himself there is no way out after week Chris comes by to see if he is all right Odysseus is reluctant to let Chris in Chris commands be a man get a grip on yourself Odysseus replies maybe i’m not a man he feels failure shame realizes he has become traitor to himself he wants to look at existence head on embrace it but all he knows are dishonor regret deception he conceives his being has been stolen he wants his life back but knows not how to recover it he feels deep in obligation to Mom and Dad thinks to escape from Chicago but his parent’s control is crushing he wakes late drinks black coffee smokes cigarettes marijuana hangs out alone sky changes from light to dark to light phone rings he reads Nietzsche Sartre frequents ***** Hole punk rock dive several blocks from residence becomes orphan of night drinking drugging

January 5 2011 30 years have passed Chris marries fathers son becomes best father to his child he can be leaves markets in late 80’s Dad dies in ’91 Odysseus leaves Chicago in 1994 he manages to paint some paintings write some words stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen ***** pink gray skies behind pitch black in front sometimes you need to take a step back in order to move forward Mom says she worried enough about money when she was younger and isn’t going to worry about it anymore her entire life she boasted i’m saving for my children but in the end she saved solely for herself Odysseus never learned to stand on his own all he ever wanted is to love and be loved he wonders what will happen next
Luke Reed Aug 2010
Below One-Hundred Frequents,
Rattle,
They disturb my soul,
Rolled off,
Pushed away,
Drawn back,
With an introspective grin from ear to ear.

Penetrate thoughts with,
Waves of sub-aural patterns,
Trample them with raised rhythmic textures.
Wind down,
Breathe in,
Dark and let them permeate.

Twenty-Seven Frequents,
Stir my balance,
Nauseate the brain,
They flush the dance floor iridescence.

Nine Frequents,
To tremble the cage,
Until marrow sings.

Five cracks the walls it held,
Shatters the casing.

Two builds the pressure,
Pushes red through the glove.

And One is the,
Lub Dub,
Lub Dub,
Lub Dub.

Sound is a Lifeforce…
Copyright Luke Reed July 2010.
eileen mcgreevy Feb 2010
She frequents here most weekend nights,*******, long kegs, freaky appetite,Her eyes scan every inch of the club,Wet ***, all hard and *****, to hell with love.She licks her lips, and warmly, her other lips respond,She sees her prey and grins at knowing this night will be long,They stroll towards her knowingly, they are the lucky ones,She straddles one, while the other mouth makes her come.Moaning ***** words, and writhing, her **** are bouncing freely,Two on one's her favourite, it makes her come so gleely,Her wet tongue finds something hard and veiny, she takes it in her mouth,Her stroking slips and slides make both guys moan and pant out loud.His ******* dangles over her, she's begging for a ****,The other's fingers enter her, she loves a finger ****,Her mouth fills up with pleasure juice, she comes onto his fingers,She licks it off, but takes her time,intent to make it linger...
L T Winter Jan 2015
Over-born and too-
Bright for us treacle-bound.
We'll lay sections
Before us--

But I'm stuck-with-
Sasquatch oaks; --ginkgo golems
If only clouds could lift
The moon which frequents
Venus-speech at night.

Needless for dormant-- endings
We've been untwisting,
Thoughts trapped tightly
In rules-
And it's us again,

That can see or forget the darkness,
When keyboards and pens
Tame the light.
Hannah Beasley Jan 2018
I know a writer
She seems like quite the fighter
her arms and legs are covered in scars        
But her eyes are so full of stars

I know a writer
Whose future couldn't be brighter
that always seems so sad
Or maybe just a bit mad

I know a writer
Who couldn’t shoot higher
She always looks up on her strolls
For the sky holds all her goals

I know a writer
Sleepless over her typewriter
She often falls asleep in class
But, she has a smile that could cut glass

I know a writer
Who frequents the overnighter
Sleep to her is a foreign ideal
She knows not how it can heal


I know a writer
Who is quick to tire
An hour or two
It’s ever so true

I know a writer
Who's not an outsider
So full of compassion
She runs with a faction

I know a writer
And she's kinda a whiner
Loud and proud
Much like a storm cloud

I know a writer
She's nothing more than a cipher
With her secret codes
Hidden in all of her odes

I know a writer
Who couldn’t be nicer
Always smiling at strangers
She's a real game changer

I know a writer
Who fights like a tiger
She’s stronger than most
But she isn’t one to boast

I know a writer
Who bites like a viper
She can be malignant
But only if you’re distant

I know a writer
And this may seem minor
But her vivid imagination
leads to the beauty of creation

I know a writer
Who couldn’t be wiser
With a heart for spoken word
Though she’s often left unheard
(Mark, xi.17)

Thy mansion is the Christian's heart,
O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure!
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.

Devoted as it is to Thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place,
They steal away my hopes from me,
And rob my Saviour of His praise.

There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the World maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase pain.

I know them, and I hate their din;
And weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve Thee as I would.

Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when Thou art there;
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.

And if Thou make Thy temple shine,
Yet self-abased, will I adore;
The gold and silver are not mine;
I give Thee waht was Thine before.
Francie Lynch Sep 2019
Its commensal, at best,
This house fly of a guest;
Who frequents your home,
Alits on a chair,
Rubbing its hands together.
It shows no regrets,
Feeding, slurping and buzzing,
With a self-made bequest.
I can tolerate a bar fly;
A barn fly, a sty fly;
But,
I've the bottle fly,
That plunders my fridge,
Swarms over my beer
Like a blood-thirsty midge.
He's a house fly,
And ignorant,
So fly paper won't do.
I need a SWAT team to shoo
This house fly adieu.
Do you have a house fly?
Corey Kuropas Oct 2014
I dream a reoccurring dream
One that luckily frequents
I walk into a little dive bar
It smells of smoke and whiskey
I sit a table with three gentlemen
They happen to be outlaws
These aren't ordinary outlaws
They are the men that set the bar

There is the Man in Black
Next to him is good ol Waylon
Next to Waylon is No Show Jones
These men have seen it all
I sit down and order a glass of bourbon
They treat me like an old friend

They share their stories
Imparting wisdom I could never imagine
From the pain, the woe and the happiness
I take a lot with me
They tell me not to go soft
Stay the course, be who you are
As I finish the bourbon, I shake each of their hands
Giving them my honest thanks
I am an outlaw
And I hope to fill their boots one day
Terry Collett Mar 2014
Lydia's mother
opened the door
of the flat
after I had knocked

and gave me
a stern stare
is Lydia coming out?
I asked

she looked hard
at me
where?
to the herbalist

get some sarsaparilla
I said
sarsaparilla?
she said

yes it's good for you
they say
makes blood
I said

she looked
at my scuffed shoes
and blue jeans
and the gun and holster

hanging
from the snake head
elastic belt
around my waist

I suppose she can
her mother said
LYDIA
she bellowed

windows rattled
a dog
across the Square
barked

the milkman's horse
lifted its head
from the nosebag
Lydia came to the door

and poked her head
out from under
her mother's arm
Benedict here

wants to take you
to get a sarsaparilla
Lydia looked at you
her eyes narrowing

then widening
ok
she said
can I go?

she asked
course if I say so
as long
as you are wrapped warmer

than you are now
her mother said
Lydia rushed back inside
and her mother

took a long drag
of a cigarette
her yellowing fingers
in a V shape

what's your father
do for a living?
she asked
the smoke carrying

her words to me
he's a metal worker
I said
he makes things

from metal
she stared at me
a few loose hairs
had escaped

the flowery scarf
about her head
I think
he frequents ******

she said
I see
I said
unsure

what she was saying
she inhaled
on the cigarette again
her eyes

gazing beyond me
keep Lydia out
a fair while
she said

pushing out smoke
I want to rest
my eyes a while
ok

I said
she went indoors
and I waited for Lydia
sniffing in the smoke

hanging about
the doorstep
the dog barked again
the horse ate

from the nosebag
the milkman whistled
a few notes
from some tune

I sniffed the smoke again
hoping Lydia
would be out
wrapped warm soon.
A BOY AND GIRL IN 1950S LONDON.
Last night too came the demon
My sleeping face he held on stare
Pierced eyelids and had me thrown
To the darkest abyss of nightmare!

He enjoys the way I shrink
As he cruelly muddles my dream
Makes a quicksand for me to sink
Claps in glee at my woeful scream!

He turns turbulent the serenest beach
Rides me up the scariest cliff
His stretched hands always out of reach
The master that he is at mischief!

The demon frequents my nights of late
Himself going sleepless for the fun
Innovating new terrors ‘neath blanket
Conjuring fears where there’s none!
Dark n Beautiful Jun 2014
E-mail sent from Heaven

Written on gold and silver stone
Contents
My people have gone astray
to each his or her own way.

My Brethren is texting all over the land.
the lambs and sheep continues to be
slaughter by man.

As the undocumented skilled workers
watered the neighbor lawn
while the master of the home video tape ****.
neglecting his family in his home land

My creation has disappointed me tremendously
evil overpowered the good in man
therefore, no ending to this horror across the lands.

The popping sound of the firecrackers,
or was it the sound of DSM thirty four
rose to the heaven
the arch Angel sound the sirens

Man down, man down,
as the scream echoes in the airwaves,
another mother son lay dying
due to street violence,
Black on black crime
white and black catastrophe.
an frequents outbursts in society
by idle hands of a youth insanity.

The window are eyes ,
as it quickly closes its curtain
to a life uncertain.
so
its fades into a slumber.
building fear into the heart of the citizens.

Suffer the fool gladly
that he or she might see
the destruction of their ways.

CEASE FIRE ON STREET VIOLENCE.
(20 minute poetry)

They have it in for you and me,
Ingeniously
they have found a way
to have their cake and
eat it every day.

But it's not about them.

You and I get by and together
we can fly away.

In the summertime and the washing's off the line, we can build a kite together and perfect weather for floating a dream downstream.

I watch as the clouds realign and see a sign and a warning as more clouds and storm clouds are forming off the starboard bow.

How do they manage to eat all of the cake?

It's the frequency that frequents me and brings the news of home, news from friends and family, tears of joy and tragedy on the frequency that frequents me.

I turn off and tune in and soon all is forgotten
except for them and cake and I have a stomach ache.

You and me and two into one go on because it's not about them,
It's about us.
Jared Sacramento Dec 2011
Only he can wear this crown
The woe that pulls and holds him down
A life without, a life with shame
And only he may hold the blame
A door once shut can ne'er reopen
The portal sealed with those words spoken
A path he frequents and walks through slowly
A friendship formed by suitor lowly.
adis g May 2015
A little old man ordered an extravagant ice cream sundae. Glasses, striped short-sleeved collared button-down (outdated). I watch him as he eats it with a peaceful and innocent contentment. I can't help but smile to myself. He noticed me looking. He couldn't care less. He is himself; he's done with dreams and ambitions. All he needs is his ice cream sundae. I wonder if he's lived here his whole life. And now he frequents touristy places to avoid the familiar turf that evokes memories- or perhaps this is his turf- so much changed that it no longer produces bittersweet nostalgias. Tourists come and go.
I wonder what he thinks about- if it’s highly intellectual or if he simply dwells on his now-empty sundae bowl. Better the latter. Why dwell on the oddities of life when all you need is ice cream to make you happy? What a blessing to be old and happy; to care about nothing but your ice cream sundae. But what a tragedy that all we do in life is search, and in the end, all we were looking for was dessert!
Alice Burns Jun 2013
His name is William
Just a boy
A perfect stranger
Who even after meeting, I retain now knowledge of
Except for a name
And a face
Not just a stranger, but a best friend

I think of him
I feel his effect on me in an almost nostalgic euphoria
As if imbedded in memory
I experience the sentiment of moments never shared
Reminiscing our friendship never realized
I don't know him
But we know each other completely

He recognizes my ways
Adapting movements without force to mine
Being just William, for me
An individual with a head to imagine
A single body to interact
Without hesitation he considered me-
A girl with no known purpose in his life

This indescribable man, he lives honestly
And he remembers that he, first and foremost is a man
Practicing human nature
Feeling emotion
Considering others in all realities
And utilizing his mind to better understand others
Thinking before thinking

He frequents fantasies, just like many
But keeps his life amongst the living
With no imagination to smooth imperfections
But he still interacts with shadows who present themselves willingly
Looking past their movements before
And treats all equally
As their living, breathing, feeling selves

I trust William
And don't care if I am wrong doing so
He's seen inside me with glazed eyes
And opened them to look at me
Considering my thoughts and feelings voiced many times before
Never manipulating in his favor, and never dismissing my views
He sees me, Alice

He heard my words in his hand
Unvoiced scribbles spelling thoughts
If he didn't agree, he never shook the letters off
He sees me living
And with that solely in mind
He turned his head, with body not brain
And shared a smile with feelings and heart.
svdgrl Dec 2019
Succulents and decor,
Meticulous cleaning, more friends.
Swiping crazy on tinder,
Online shopping, expensive skincare
Ruminating on what was once there sitting,
In suspended reality.
Where were the parents? That child is
dead now.
Locked in a haze, trying to forget
What a let down we’ve become.
That’s just how it can be.
****, that really blows.
What you thought was flush,
could just be bust.
Watching Disney + shows,
Toes the color of a mood.
Brooding about the future,
And saving the cash.
Cooking up and meal prep,
A meditation streak
you’re scared to break.
Excessive napping and
rubbing ten out on Sunday.
Dealing with small men,
eating like a champion,
taking a bath with an enemy
then do it again.
Avoiding all your frequents,
Picking up your phone calls,
singing Doja lyrics in a commute.
Drinking away the anxiety,
Staring at the tv,
Covered in twenty Sherpa-
You’re gone and I want to stay high
But I’m settled in an empty room
with self care books
I hope this time it’s a womb and
not a coffin.
Mel Holmes Feb 2014
“all dreams are relevant in varying degrees to the life of the dreamer…they are all parts of one great web”--from man and his symbols by carl jung


the blackhole parking lot

the pool table at the bar



the despised dentist chair


the airplane that frequents underground tunnels

or the ocean with its killer whales.


you pick up the spike that sits in the lot at the gas station
to save us from the unspoken crash.


you handle the wolf spider of pure snow
climbing your thigh in awe.


you gaze wide-eyed as
the dentist tortures your teeth with pliers.


                you stand by the shore as the whale vacuums    your brother up like a dust bunny.

you transform the plane into a dive bar so
passengers don’t notice when you go down.


you watch the first bite in the cherry tomato:
the teeth settle into the plump yellow flesh
fangs puncture the skin & seeds become flees--
you watch it again & again, in slow motion, on repeat.




you walk down the aisles in the grocery store
under florescent lights, the canned goods explode
as you pass, a blackbean rain, no one cares.
but the ladies in line for blackberry pie
squeal when you forget to take a number in line.


and the partner that just dumped you says
he didn’t mean it when you agree to a date and
look down to see you’re wearing your pink fuzzy bathrobe.


share the closed-eye visions,
the untold stories stick to the web
of the collective subconscious.
Cynthia Wales May 2015
Hidden beauty resides not in the grace like charms
Of coy smiles
Painted across a gentle Madonnas face.
Nor is she vested within the chastened vows
Of saintly knights; encased Great-Helm:
Thus maketh the pale maidens meek pulse
To so fervently race!

She neither dwells in fair Michelangelos alabaster statues,
Or famed masterpieces hung upon hushed galleries
Hallowed walls.
Never does she proudly boast from-on-high
In lofty ivory towers,
Or brazenly shout across yawning grandiose marble halls!

For she will not be found in royal palaces,
Or sprawling estates of greatly lauded piles;
She is not to be found in ancient cathedrals -
Or exalted from their most sacred holy aisles!

She will not be found in hidden empires in brave new worlds
Frontiered by far flung foam washed shores;
Nor found prowling echoing dusty bank vaults -
If all the worlds bankers
Were to throw open all of their bolted cold steel doors!

For hidden beauty knows all the crafts and wisdoms
Of learned mens most subtle and tricky arts:
And cares not a jot, or gives a ****,
For all the poets and their foolish sentimental hearts!

                            But.....

Perhaps she shyly glowers inside a sun struck morn -
Her stealing lips simmering upon the dew kissed dawn;

Perhaps she wantonly flirts alongside a babbling brook -
Where sweet Virgil, Her, for a Muse mistook;

Perhaps she frequents the flowery paths of verdant pasture -
With all their lush, vibrant, unassuming rapture;Perhaps you may find her in the dappled shades -
In and amongst the streaming glades;

Perhaps she traipses idly through heavens lights -
Of beached harvest moons and star tilted nights.

                            Or.....

Perhaps she briefly flickers across sizzling lightening strikes -
Accompanying thunderous cannonades of symphonic rolling might;

Perhaps she sometimes ignites the drifting tallgrass plains -
Glistening within fleeting rainbows blazing an arc over sparkling rains;

Perhaps she is in the gulf filled roar of stormy headlands -
Whose pounding seas smash and grind the sheering cliffs to sands;

Perhaps she burns across diamond ice in glacial mountains high -
Where frozen snows reach sharply upwards to rip open the azured sky;

Perhaps she slumbers in impenetrable greening forests deep -
Lain down with the hunted grey wolf...safe at last in contented sleep!

                            For.....

I am the glint rippling upon the gleam -
The tumbling cryptic flashing only partly seen;

I am the eternal flame that crackles in the grate -
The enigmatic indecipherable most profound innate;

I am the paradox within the intrigue -
That does so contrive but does not deceive;

I am the quantum within the curled up string -
The grain of truth from which all half-truths spring.

I am all these indefinable moments and much, much more...
which all of your befuddled senses are resigned to grapple with -
Whereupon to set such store!

                            So.....
Content yourself and make not the mistake
To assuredly set me aside to thus debate.
For i am beyond the conjectures of a mere mortal mind,
As by accidental-consequential reaction...i cannot be denied!

                            For "Hidden Beauty".....

Once freed from Pandoras box upon this spinning coil:
To fire and play upon your enchanted thoughts - and forever foil!!
Apostrophe's Mar 2018
From the depths of my soul
My most reputable
source of information Told me
to keep it real
but the reel's spinnin' Towards me
and the fact of the matter
is a matter of fact
the laughing stock
is just a toy warehouse in the back
and these feelings are just feelings
and it's clearly appearing
that merely believing
is healing the cracks
Sanity intact
Man it seems that that alone
Would satisfy my manic past
A lapse of judgement
Frequents me
So let's adjust the frequency
Muster up the decency
To face it head on peacefully
Turn another leaf for me
To at least get through this evening
So I can focus on just healing me
Sally A Bayan Apr 2017
It's a bad dream..happens any moment
...late summer, or...early winter...
...suddenly, you're among unfamiliar faces,
....or places...in a  strange island, where,
a cloak of confusion spreads...thick,
to the skin, to the mind,  it sticks...
eyes gape, in fear...in panic...
there are only questions...no answers
those that had been asked, seem unasked...
.......
a moment of normalcy, a calm...arises,
...as if, you've woken from your bad dream
a bliss, that is momentary...because
....at the back of your mind, lurks,
a phantom fear...of the dark dream
setting in once again...of getting lost again,
alone...floating through the waters of oblivion
........and it is not known, when the waters
.....again, would clear...
........
this dream comes on and off, it frequents,
....up to a point...when yesterdays vanish
you're on your own...afraid...isolated...
.....what happens tomorrow when
your eyes meet with those of your loved ones,
would there be a spark? make you remember?
in that dream space of strange faces and surroundings?
why do you attempt to escape?
where does that urge to flee, come from?
why do you want to go unnoticed?
do you feel abandoned? are you hurt?
do you recognize that feeling?
.......
you struggle...and in brief moments of clarity,
your eyes ask the questions.......in silence...
"will i ever wake up from this nightmare?"
.......
It's a dream that can happen
.........in the late summer,
or early winter....of one's life...



Sally

Copyright April 24, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

#npmdream #nightmare #oblivion #alzheimer'sdisease
(two older friends manifested early, but progressing signs of Alzheimer's Disease.
   I saw them deteriorate...smiling when in their normal minds;)
          as if nothing ever  happened.....one is gone...the other, still struggling.)
Dennis Willis Jul 2019
the oscillation of anger and you
frequents my day my night
my fuel injected gut muscles
my rocking back and forth rhythm
and limbs that squirm and writhe
-pause to drink-
hit and wrestle this day down
and it is up again flinging desire
and **** you where are you
all over the moon and the sun
and this desert of and this desert of
-pause to drink-
enough of my brain leaps out at a thigh
nails on a red table cloth snag moments cause chills
powers flow through my thoughts and laugh
the laugh of old certainty on new foolishness
i am renewed in my stupidity of aim vs landing
vibrating rattles clanking down some mountain cliff
-pause to drink-
keeping keeping keeping
arms in hands close parallel to myself
not, in this case, me not in this case anyone
is grinning and gripping and grinding steps
and you are out there circling something            
with something lit and sizzling ahead no matter ahead
-pause to drink-
i am behind the sound has moved on banging
Beanie Baby Feb 2014
I don’t know when the alarm goes off, but when I come after lunch to get my books it’s probing, pulsing, beckoning through the dorm. It does not fluctuate like mine, which crashes and recedes-waves on a wall. It chips away at my sanity with the reliability of the aorta. I lose a sliver each second I am not crushing the power button of the dorm clock. I cannot be the only person who frequents this hallway during the day, or can no one hear its grinding wails? What Lucifer enthusiast set this alarm when no girl should need waking? I cowered today when I heard it seeping under my door, this immovable constant in my life. I believe now that it only sounds for me. Maybe I have forgotten something and this is the sound of it struggling inside a mental prison. Maybe one day I should let it ring, and ring, and ring, until I wake up.
Liz Anne Dec 2011
I wonder who you'd be
Without your misery
You say you want a better life
Reaching for a happier day
But will it leave you with less to say?
Who you are and who you want to be
Are separated only by your plight
What becomes of a soldier after the fight?

Tearless you, when it rains
Can't let go of your pains
Falling hopeless, you won't change
Beneath your fear you are curled
I wonder what you'd ask of the world
After you'd had freedom from your chains
Would life be the same with no one to blame?
Or would you crack without a cursed name?

Bliss should help you to soar
Could you even tell anymore
What it is to be happy?
Yet laughter frequents your face
Has your heart ever truly left that place?
Where did you hide the key to that locked door?
Lost in the darkness of your misery?
Why is your own happiness so hard to see?
Gaffer Apr 2016
He always brought the subject up at the most inappropriate of times, usually when some **** was trying to **** us.
Are you a believer now.
If I get out of this, I’ll think about it. We got out of it.
God was looking after us.
I would like to think my rifle was looking after me, but if you think it was your god bolt, or Jesus sticker, I’m happy for you.
Why do you never use the word christian.
Probably cos I’m a non believer.
You don’t believe god saved you today.
No, I believe I saved me today.
Let me read you this passage from the bible.
I’m already reading my own bible, it’s called *******.
You do know that is demeaning to women.
I don’t know, did jesus not hang out with a prosey.
Jesus saved Mary, there is a difference.
Oh, touched a nerve there goddy boy.
I will pray for you.
Why do you people do that, why do you love sinners.
So we can show you the error of your ways.
Do you know what I think, I think you all get together at the weekends, you do all this god stuff, but it’s not really enough, cos you all agree with each other. so when I come along, and you convert me, it’s collective creaming. Am I right, or am I right.
Something tells me I will never convert you, but I’ll keep trying.
Why do you do all this bible bashing, I mean, you’re a great soldier, a thinker. that’s a rare breed in our game.
I want you to do something for me.
Is there a god involved.
Indirectly there is.
I’m intrigued, shoot.
If I die out here, I want you to go into my church and say goodbye to me.
How does that work, I don’t have to pray or anything do I.
No, you can run in if you want, say goodbye, and run out.
Okay it’s a deal, but I want you to do something for me if I die.
Okay then, what is it.
Right, I want you to go to the brothel. Now this is very important, I’m onto the Chinese race now, so you must do your best for me.
You know I can’t do that for you.
Just testing you. Okay I want you to go into the brothel, give the money over to the lady, explain how great I would have been if I was there in person. But under no circumstances try to convert her, none of that self gratification stuff.
Okay, it’s a deal.

Tell you what goddy boy, we could do with some divine intervention here, give your boss a shout. a small earthquake should do the trick.
So you’re a believer now.
If he kills all the baddies, I’ll convert yesterday.
See what I can do.
You’ve failed, let's get to **** outta here, c’mon, now’s not the time to pray. C’mon Michael, Michael.

The town was a *******. Not surprised you got out mate, I’ve only been here five minutes, and I want to top myself. The church had seen better days, half a roof, half of everything by the look of it. He loitered outside, trying to figure it all out. The walk in was a slow one. So strange, he felt like a child again, awkward to the point the words wouldn’t come out.
The priest saved him.
You look lost my son, can I help.
Yeah, I’ve come to say goodbye to a friend, Michael Sommers.
Ah_Michael will be sadly missed, he was helping to rebuild the church. As you can see, we’re slowly but surely getting there. In a strange way, Michael's death has really helped, he left everything to the church.
How much more do you need to finish the job.
Ten thousand pounds, then the restoration can begin.
Your lucky day father, Michael left me money to give to you, ten thousand pounds to be exact.
This is truly  a momentous day, you don’t know how much this will mean to the community. The spirit will return now.


You ******* Michael, I should have ran in, and ran out. There goes my month of high class immorality, I can just about afford a pint in your local pub now. Christ, I should have given the money to the pub, what a dump. The only saving grace was the girl serving behind the bar. Gives a pint of what you serve here.
We serve beer, the same as every other pub in the world.
Okay, gives a pint of your worldly beer.
Did you fall out the wrong side of the bed this morning.
I’ve had a bit of a shock.
You don’t look the sort of person who shocks easily.
I was in your local church.
Funny, you don’t look like the sort of person who frequents churches.
I’m not, I was saying goodbye to a friend.
Anybody I know.
Michael Sommers, I don’t suppose he came in here.
You mean, Micky Sommers.
I’m getting a sort of vibe here, did you know him.
Everybody knew Micky.
Tell me he tried to convert you to god.
No, that’s not the Micky we knew.
Okay, I’m getting that vibe again, fill me in.
Well, I suppose you could say, Micky was a nutcase.
What, no, we must be talking about a different guy.
I’m Micky’s ex, take my word for it, I watched him nearly **** three guys who got a bit out of order.
In what way.
They made remarks to me.
This is brilliant, glad I came in now.
You're like him, aren't you.
Listen, can I take you for a meal or something, tell you about the Michael I knew.
Well, there is only one restaurant in this town, it’s Chinese.
Fantastic, I’m sort into Chinese at the moment, eight o’clock okay for you.
Eight is fine.
Okay, see you then.

She was to good for you Michael. Christ a girl like that is to good for any guy. I’m going to lie like hell to her, tell her you changed cause you loved her. Christ, I would change for a girl like that. You look after me Michael in your new position now. Did I tell you I’m moving onto the Japanese race now..
Kalani Nicolle Sep 2014
She frequents an air-conditioned room with cabinets full of years,

And other forgotten things.

She rests her elbow on the desk, and her head on the brick wall behind her,

So often that she doesn’t mind that stupid switch plate anymore.

It’s quiet, but not really.

The door opens like a floodgate and drowns the space in noise.
(a high school band room, no less, what is there to expect?)
A room four paces by three and a half suddenly holds the world's orchestra

And it’s terribly necessary—
that sound of simultaneous trumpets and clarinets and dreams whatnot—to dissuade her mind from caving in on it’s own cacophony.
--thoughts from K-building
Deep in the crevice of cozy cosmos,
Swirling around the big ***** enmasse,
A glowing globe of fire amidst aloft,
An earthly sphere spinning time its best.

The starry crowd watching and winking,
The crazy clouds clashing and flashing,
Moonlit fare is lovely, cool and strong,
Oh, the cosmic game is splendid far and long.

Tell-tale telecast frequents ultra-high,
Beaming across the ethereal sky,
The sportive spirit sponsored it all unknown,
Here we clamour to bring out well known.

The ever-invincible powers that be,
All out in space know not where to be.
Rai May 2016
She hangs the memories of what could of been back on the crooked shelf
Once a silence reigned where now the roaring of lions frequents her moments
To have to hold to free to let go to live to die to just be one self in a chaotic stage play
Hold her hand a while
Trace the veins which feed her soul , mind and body
She is not perfect
But somehow close for all her faults
You should of took it further
She would of held you for a life time
Fear is placed where humans dare not tread
Your  eyes swim with confusion
She can smooth the waters if only you could slow down
She has the music of mermaids and the power of the shaman
You let that go at the dark hour when you stopped and forgot to breathe
She held you there
Then you turned and walked away
Head held low as you fell in love with others who only brought you to your knees
Years passing
lovers come and go
She holds a small corner
Not in wanting but in yearning for
Not in yearning but in a knowingness
Once she loves she never forgets the taste upon her tongue
Pass by
Walk on
Head low
No more tears fall from these eyes
Love is gone
Now all there is a selfless understanding of belonging to one self
Connections blocked
Sophia May 2017
Pale hair, pale skin
Blue eyes that hold all her secrets
Like small ponds, surrounded by
matted ferns. Dark and sticky.
I loved her once. We went to Vegas
I watched her throw back her head in joy
Her laugh wasn't perfect, but it was real
thick and warm, like honey.
If I really remember, make my mind squint back into our foggy last weeks together
I can still see the lights of the strip behind her happy face
Hair tousled and fluffy, lips pushed together to announciate t's and drawl out vowels
Her shirt stretched over her modest chest
She shopped for vintage pieces and loved vinyl
But not like I loved her. Her breath was sugar, her perfume like violets on a summer evening
She smoked marlboro but didn't care it was poisoning​ her.
Long evenings were spent in silence, the dark city lights watching as we sat on an old couch in front of a movie.
One day I came home and she was in bed with the girl from 3B
So I told her I was sorry, that I wasn't enough
I didn't want to waste her time.
That was 4 months ago. Now I live further down the street
Above the little record shop she frequents
I see her walking out with her paper bag of old 12" records, grunge rock or classical piano peices.
She was a girl that I loved once.
Zaynub Elshamy Jan 2017
I sit at my rear window looking
over the rooftop of the opposite building

There's a woman who frequents there
she's tall and lean with ebony hair

I smile to myself as I wait
she ha mesmerized me, as of late

There she is now, right on time
she steps out in all her exquisite prime

I sigh, Ahh, she has such a carefree way
it's enchanting to see her joyous and gay

She strolls from corner to corner, then back
her happiness shows in each step of her tracks

I giggle as she skips and twirls
her head a mass of bouncing curls

She possesses my attention for this little while
she's my allusion of the Queen of The Nile
Deep in the crevice of cozy cosmos,
Swirling around the big ***** enmasse,
A glowing globe of fire amidst aloft,
An earthly sphere spinning time its best.

The starry crowd watching and winking,
The crazy clouds clashing and flashing,
Moonlit fare is lovely, cool and strong,
Oh, the cosmic game is splendid far and long.

Tell-tale telecast frequents ultra-high,
Beaming across the ethereal sky,
The sportive spirit sponsored it all unknown,
Here we clamour to bring out well known.

The ever-invincible powers that be,
All out in space know not where to be.
Jonathan Sterry Aug 2014
I know I hear what I'm thinking,
It couldn't be any smaller,
Like the lion's den, where my angel fell,
Into the darkest creeps of the night.

I try to live while I'm sleeping,
I could not see the illusion,
Of the future for rent,
As the silence frequents,
This strange lunar karma.

Lazy oceans of feelings,
I try to swim but they're frozen,
And mine is a heart so choked
And bound in wire rope,
Then the morning brings the day.

— The End —