East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions and principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.

we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice

we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...

countless points of comparison,  
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...

we write......

we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities

yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...

years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night

while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May, 19, 2019

Bar: Drinks are on me
Dartboard: Make mine a double!
Pinball: Down the hatch!
Bottle: Who's having a half-empty day then?
Glass: Stick a cork in it
Table: Steady on lads
Clock: Time gentlemen!
Dancing Girls: Bottoms up!
Calendar: Same time next week?
Windows: You're all barred!
Door: We are now closed
Lights: *We'll be off then

I remember
Gran’s bony hands gripping my wriggling wrists
Crossing streets,
Watching my parents leave for business trips
Screaming, crying and kicking at their departure
Gran held me firm in place poker faced
Family additions
Dragged away like furniture:
Made felt like I was the fist that punctured the peace,
A surgically removed cyst from familial bliss.

Trying to demonstrate
That she was not as straight
As die, rulers, skyscrapers, line geometry,
My one time fathers frivolities
Preoccupied my attention
Until austerity crept back into her manner,
A gulf snatching me away from her temporary lapse,
Her gnarly hand seizing my shoulder.
Her part played to a fading friend and children gone

Continental drift.
Ocean crossings for funeral celebrations
Ravines forming in her fathomless foundations
Avoided my attention
Bright wrapping paper covered my childhood perception,
There was no melancholic manic depression
no lashing out with verbal accusations of abandonment.
Isolation.

Bubble wrap layers of armour; parental protection
steadily cast off in adolescence,
Left me reeling with raw emotion after seeing my grandmother broken.
My father staring at the TV ignoring the reality of her sanity,
It is easier coping with the match score rather than the eyesore.
Sitting in silence sooner than covering circular topics exhausted.
This is the most either can hope for, every move calculated, deliberated.

She waits for death so she can be liberated
He waits for deaths so he can live again
In memories reclaimed,
bony hands gripping wrists,
Establishing familial bliss,
My one time grandmother’s frivolities ,
A collection of her life’s mythology,
Not the sum of her anthology.
We will rewrite her biography.

My acute dementia
Seems to precipitate the need for immediate euthanasia
A hurried departure
Through the aperture
Deep set in the hollowness of time
Because essentially life’s been a lackluster mime
Imbibing flawlessly flawed ideas
That inform my capricious
Nature to various stimuli
It’s a life story based on a true lie
Frivolities interspersed with grave concerns
The myriad adjourns
Futile attempts at mitigating
A self-imposed galling.

Abandoned, deserted and forsaken to whine.
In privation was he left lonely to pine.
His friends like a bird fled to another tree,
Leaving him to rot away in Dundee.

His soul was parched, pained and weary,
Longing him to be refreshed speedily.
His heart was sad, bitter and lorn,
Praying him this even to morn would turn.

And the laden lad afterward to London went.
By labour and favour did he an apartment rent
And began in earnest his early dreams to pursue,
Having himself picked up, as a man ought to do--
After a certain disappointment or fall in life--
Chasing no fantasy, frivolities, but working to rule;
Neither was he as afore again playing the pool
But was saving straight, and soon he success struck,
By heaven's fortune that to him came--nay by luck:
Like it's no fluke finding a goodly and godly wife--
It was by grace that he was wherefore blessed.
So his old chummy comrades to him returned to nest:
To wine and dine with him more like before. But he,
Once bitten, twice shy, was wise enough to repeat folly.

what/====/what  ==
  what./==what.///=what.//==/what.
  here, it is a tar pit  the yellowed trees all that eyes  see cherry blossoms through &through cherry blossoms  cherry blossoms through and through and through  cherry blossoms through
   it soothes- -it becomes ..it blooms -it becomes ..it blooms ---it becomes ..it blooms ---recantations  reconsecration
so many many ages ago,  “probabilities man probabilities”
that’s about itt, man, it seems“similarly“,,,,, noww nowwthe drudge  magenta!noww, man-about time
as i knoww itt” well for once “ once  so pretty  ” she-says -cohorts
justt a dayy more we are closer-hippyhippy-hopp
the  best off linens the blue coats the finest frivolities all that  is pristine pristine-here/Jesuits
a sea of happiness in here everything
a well laid dining table a desk to write read eat a tree outside the never ending vanity fair “that  the magic will live  never will die
cause it’s automatic for people”says-Scot  it is really  automatic-now

“ patterns  emerge   as my prime whiter s,man”----tells,Joe
    

cups of tea-  chamomile- tells Jon/ mayb  “as much as you will like to mingle/&dangle-&mingle /double dribble/triple./Onegin //all the  wriggling the  implausible imposing    ,, nibbles ,,all the book keeping
“the classic anecdote” iff i mayy ... we are all  only supercilious  there’s more here to come”----Jim,, retorts tells
“to which i may”,tells jill    a sheep is _, its all gloom and  kingdom comes
   reasons /and acuity/  th more the merrierer   my bliss/slits
/ & the black space everywhere in
   them the/many minds   all the more   \><citadel.come and go touch of gold   see to believe  
             &&&&&
  <    deep blue lakes &blue that  never end their rune and it  returns  a ship on her chest a ship on her chest,on her chest-that i will reach places un dreamt of
\   will   returnn  > there. everyplace tea<>>>>\
   stays afloat,    dispels /beaten /scowls  scary ,tea<>>>>\all-of jiggling/ bouncying   ><weeds out / >minuscules
ripes/renders jesica>>>>jamboree  come face me.
     the grandest / all  the oddities   one magic invention i was missing all this time transgression/ kindda may be timid /  
  my jive / rruby/mouthing a last supper if you will .something akin
   timid all this time
  wt i was endless immeasurable the - wild/beckons/ ribbons and knots
door to door tropic  day/&night; /beckons// ribbons and knots
\i  was i would  on my side Ausual-revival Arendition again  again
and  lifee-like -ride  and whatever moreover all oveer the leftovers
rose swells . fine  our grasslands,you know, stilts frantic Jiving,Jiving Jiving in smoke  -reels/incapabl,,indecicve
one more dayy nd through h moors
are off ,,,, raspberry,Jiving,Jiving Jiving
discontent  / neatt/  mother  fuggazii ,Jiving,Jiving Jiving ,a week goes ayb a month a long intention, itt- sooths./all the more oegin \Gerianne- ,,twitces  .astute, many floors up,pigging cleaning,every quarter
the clouds/massquadre ,this is cat to,, through ,,moved,moved,,moved

, a-blue,, a-temple a bloom,a ,temple a rook a trek a stoop now
Buddha, a simpleton/buddah geriane 16-1-5-1, miniature lamps,,blizzards6-1-5-1,
all that can in a man/rigour all that hula hoop
possibly a merry christmass,, dayys spent ,,,  full
you  are all that is sire a \ all the pleasures off a small room
full off all the kool tools an art decoo sire by now you know it
all thecrystal fairies in blue crystall *****
pretty slick,,,runs ,piping hott ,, undone  &the; buddha, the-rider,, the- boxes,,,layaway the glistering the beaming, all  the book keeping
a philistine, if i mayy impeccable, and  free
glitters all  the hourrs,a\ repliccaa just a beguiling  taste ,\
,sire,,little empty purposely,, masterfully done,,,sire
beefy ,,sire,and, plenty-full surelyy
the nectar bequeaths

projected .mediocre , mister faires in ferries  shimmering  dearest of stories  / wings/reminising _faires
drool  an artt decoo sire,,,a purple tea *** in which we drink our tea,,,mirrors,,, the very best in the pristine
the mannequins,,all the more-buddha,the-rider,, the- boxes,,
,,sire iff only i may all that   hula hoop.dope-slopes -keystrokes -rabbi=ed folks we traversed   alone
among the ******* faires shining.and whineing
tee -hometown alleys too,the innate shufling,  neat //pique
   from,treetops,bellhops,  all  those-pitstops
   chit chats-flips flops flat-crapp
lemonade/the charade the bee all the hives-all
handmade kind of  dreams /transpicuous
**** you would knoow you would knoow-that anyway blinking/ slits . //slithers
leaping/ reaping/ leaving all blue //eyes bulls eye

archic // mine  !all blue //eyes----  eye leaping/ rearing/
leaping/ reaping/leaping/ rearing/leaping/ reaping/leaping/ rearing/

  
and now the mother  a finale-  ( )   grand //tiers ;piping ;deep-dives................
-clean-off beat -best kept thatt  allures us //still gilding  top -down.  infairies   delusions/- 2rapid 2rabid distracted
comes easy free /  -******
a cup of tea/honey -man i know  with it  /// batteries  jazz like   *******
time and time againn pronto sire
wired tried intake-uptake /cup cakes/hatted  /// orbs many many many kinds justt soo many soo many  many
  any takers in no hurry
/Orphic
left /blending/mended melting too which she says enough off all this shenanigans i want //if this is
her

Grim sonnets fraught with fraud and trauma stuff
her notebooks—steamy, bitter memories
of finished romance, rarely with enough
sweet lip syrup—ripe with frivolities,
important drama, broad license.  She needs
an audience like green things need daylight.
I’m the sun to her bright lily.  She reads
with fierce emotion—I squeeze my arms tight
around me, choke a chuckle—she pretends
I’m just amused at her soul-piercing style.
So much to ask, this ritual she tends
like a garden?  I feign attention while

she rails at love and fate, lips pursed or drawn—
sarcastic, crushed, dismayed her youth is gone.

My name is Rajabu Al Islam, an African Muslim
Born in Africa, Black Muslim not Arabic,
I am now in the solemn city of Mombasa,
Standing on the pinnacle of Tahir Sheikh Towers,
Looking at the land of Likoni and Motonkwe
Beyond the deep blue arm of Indian Ocean,
Behold the Muslim terrorists, lynch fierce terror
On the innocent human beings, in ramshackled church,
They are shooting women and young children,
The pastor at the dais, wielding the Bible,
Also succumbs to a bullet in his ***** capacity,
The church choir master has also dropped dead
And the rest of all humanity in the church
Have no where to take cover from terrorist,
As Moslem terrorist ******* bullets on them,
Poor humanity wail in the agony of death
From the injurious bullets, of AK 47,
Auma Otieno drops dead her son Osinya falling away,
Osinya is not dead, but a slug stuck in his skull,
In glorification of Al shabab the Islamic terror wing,
Baby osinya is young boy of six months,
Without selfish   piety of Middle East in chest,
When you shoot him, is it n’t it super terrorism!
To shoot a child of six months in the head
In pursuit of your religious ecstasy?

Who said that Islam is the way of Godliness?
He was a beautiful cheat full of brawnish frivolities,
Islam is total darkness, as its overt organs are ;
Al gaeda, Al shabab and Boko Haram.
I hate Islam for its ***** reasonless ignorance
I hate it with my full passion and my entirety,
Indeed I am prepared to die in stern defense
Of my antipathy for Islam; a piety so uncouth
When I recall, the Twin towers of America,
West Gate of Kenya, American embassy in Kenya,
And the stubborn Boko Haram, that condemned human life
Foolishly in the north of Nigeria to be foul divinity.

How the late night wasteland has tempted me to waste, and
squander sleep with running from myself; and for good measure!
If any soul was not himself, than I
If any soul longed to be himself, than surely I
Ah but here there are only frivolities of speech which I present
For I cannot afford clarity obtuse; simple confessions of regret
Least walls be broken down and teeth to the grind be set
So let me quibble in the vaguery of verse and line
For such is the brief solace and respite, afforded to these nights of mine

The bareness of Winter,
Skeletal branches,
Black and silver,
Chimes like a music box,
Like a melody stripped
Of frivolities, so the weightless
Chill in the air is life
At her most pure.

Summer's tension mounts,
Cacophonous nature
Or threatening silence,
And shanghais children,
The truly perceptive ones,
Into a game of tag,
Running like dervishes till lungs
Feel like burning.

Of all the things I know not of,
I do not care if there is a heaven above.
A house in the clouds and streets of gold?
Are just some of the frivolities of which I've been told.

I have no need of your petty gods.
I'm betting against them, I like the odds.
I have come to terms when it comes to beliefs.
In that I have none, no gods or chiefs.

I thought that I might've like to go to the show.
To emerge from the shadows and bask in the glow.
It was then that I saw that I wasn't invited.
Upon seeing reviews I was rather delighted.

You say there was dancing and drinks to be had.
That a wise man spoke and said things are so bad.
You gave him your money so he could have more.
He bought a new jet, it's not for the poor?

I think I'm good with this wise man of yours.
He's not feeding the sick and offering cures.
Promises made plenty, never paid in full.
This wise man of yours, sounds more like a fool.

Keep your shamans, your nuns, and your preachers.
I'll take the poets, the lovers, and teachers.
Those people around me who care for my heart.
Those people who nie to tear me apart.

it's an age-old quandary
posed in introductory
classes on physics and philosophy
pray tell
what happens when
an unstoppable force
meets an immovable object

at first
such inquiries struck me as
existential exercises on the
paradoxical nature of language
and the circumstantial limits
of our reality which i found
to be little more than petty frivolities
after all
this existence is comprised of
nothing less and nothing more
than subjective perceptions catalyzed
by our own eyes and

while i've since come to realize that
there are no black and white solutions
only grade shades that obfuscate
manichean and simplistic versions
of the truth
i must admit
i think i've found an answer
to this question that might
just be foolproof

because i've already met an unstoppable force
it's personified in her twin twilight eyes
that rotate like intertwined galaxies
in a nocturnal dance of evanescent starlight
manifest in the mischief that burns
as white-hot and bright as hydrogen fusion
every time she smirks at me

and if she epitomizes the
extravagant intensity of a
runaway train that refuses to be stopped
or a knockout punch that cannot be blocked
then i myself am her counterpart
an immovable object
solemn and sober at a standstill
withstanding an onslaught of elemental
cacophanies that shake this very
planet to its molten iron core

still i remain the silent sentinel
a giving tree
ancient
ageless
vigilantly awaiting her impending earthquake
which will shake and shatter this forest
of fools and frauds about me who reach
outstretched limbs like thieves and liars
she is a hurricane uprooting craven mentalities
and when all the barren woodchips are
spread about the vicinity i shall stand strong
on the mountain peak with those alliterative words
carved into my wooden feet

i'm "bent
but not broken
hanging on by a thread"
and while we might invent
a trillion reasons to steel
our resolve and refuse this
addiction once and for all
i can think of one monosyllabic
four-letter word that gives us
an excuse to do just the opposite
one that is as rare as it as pure
at once precious and effervescent
it is the cousin of faith and hope
but greater still and it gives us a
reason to fight when we cannot seem
to cope with a world tightening
nooses of rope around our throats

so kick the chair
my neck won't snap
and when they come to cut me
down they'll ask me
"after all this time"
i will conjure my
patronus in your image
as the word "always"
anoints on my lips like your kiss

like evolution or the Big Bang
this eternal question must have
an answer buried deep
waiting to be unearthed
and it begins
as always
with a simple hypothesis

were we to meet again beneath
the moonlight the way we did
three hundred and sixty-five days ago
on a rooftop in a distant neighborhood
i wager it would be a bad idea
dangerous and reckless
but our affection would become unbreakable
as we coalesced in ethereal bliss

so
while i do not yet know
what happens when an unstoppable force
crashes into an immovable object
try asking me again tomorrow
so i have time to conduct
some experiments
and i just might have
a more scientific answer

but
then again
it is only a
hypothesis

If my work were my child
It’d be the middle one
In between my perfectionism, the elder
And my self-loathing, the younger

I phone up inspiration
To help with the troublesome kid
But she never returns my calls anymore

Motivation, I haven’t spoken to in ages
She left when my insecurities
Got the better of me
Said I’d become a pathetic husk of a man

Look at me
I don’t even have the energy to rhyme
Better toss this one on the pile
With the rest of them

What’s the pile, you ask?
It’s where I keep all my
No-effort narratives
Forgotten frivolities
Miserable musings
Worthless writings
Inadequate ideas
Laughable lines
Soulless stories
Cold chapters
Terrible titles
Bad books
Garbage

The pile is large
And it only gets larger
As time progresses
Because the quality
of something I write
Quickly regresses

Who gave you the right?

You haunt my sleeping and my waking

mind. I dream of you at night and fear you

in the day. I think of you constantly. Only you,

With your too large hands on my too small body.

I can't hug my boyfriend, can't handle criticism,

Can't deal with emotions. Because of you. Because

of your selfishness, because of your cruelty,

because of your sick perversions.



I had another dream tonight.

You starred in it, as always. You, with your slimy voice,

calloused hands, wet tongue. I woke up, tears spilling

down my cheeks again, the salt burning my skin

I've never hurt anyone. Not that I know of.

Never gotten into a fight, never done anything bad

enough to deserve this. So, why? Why did you do this to me?

I'm done waking up, gasping for air, with tears

in my eyes. I'm tired of crying over you.



You swept in and stole my life.

I'm not right because of you. I can't make love to

the love of my life. I can't talk to people. And love?

Love is a concept I couldn't comprehend. Not until

recently. I thought it was for others, but never

for me. No, I was *****, all used up. I wasn't made for

such frivolities. You took ******* love from me.


So, I ask again, who gave you the god ****** right?

Burrowed intimately in my own sedacious eclipse,
I awake mid day, soaking up our heavy and expected frivolities.
As I sip from my cup, the soft silk slithers down my throat.
Unable to sustain a direct state of such, it eats at me like a disease.
The tingeling heat that wraps around my tired lips, ignites the yearn of more.
With each bat of black beneath my eyes, I shiver as I am endowed by everything that it yours.

Take me.

my morning muse comes doused in drowsy eyelash
a soft spot in the heart of the bed
tattoos threaded in skin I've traveled often in lamplight
on tundra nights, drunken hands with too much to say
soberly sobbing with good intentions
truth swap in the tether of tongue touching
opulent limbs, an ode to you
swiftly I want to say
I've compared others to the hallowed moon
a sunset without an end
but you, the enthusiast to my affection
are a morsel of cold water after ***
the lush terror of a first kiss
a delectable fight of a god against his demons
my zest, my fever
the patient savoring of my exquisite savior
there is a violence to love something
to indulge in a deluge of tenderness
for you
my favorite friend
my sympathetic lap of luxury
this body of roses would like to confess
that it no longer feels empty between the ribcage
that the songs too sad to listen to before
fill me with a quietude of laughter
I used to think love poems were frivolities for the mediocre
but now I understand
this is a love poem

Strive to Listen. Thus convert what we hear
If Articles alone were your Sharp Cause
Even I, sore as a Horner's Thumb fear
What sordid News would take my Heart to pause
May be just as well; Though tempted to peek
Ask my Frivolities from your State feed
Such Real Illusion; Of Poisoned Scents reek
Take your Summed Profile more than I would need
And as I have told - at least by Bob's Bay
Ask once more the Whitened Baby preserve
For his Dark Water; Un-Succumb the Day
And wipe his Flannel he so much deserve.
Such is Behaviour. Balanced by Degree
The same which I bind the Demon in me.

what is it, gaggles, giggles, hiccups, frivolities of nonsense, you can stream me all of them to perform the rightful description - point being, like any "ally" to an idea, i move up the chain of history, beyond pole, czech, russian... there's the pearl, the oyster to attach myself into the ethnicity counter-germanic, slav, with a missing e? well, słowianin (swovianin - sw'oh-via-nin, you alright on the consonant count, brat?!) słowo = word. i could be called mad, but then i write parallel to what i see, and what i write is what happens before my eyes, obviously mismatched to say the least, and never the perfected hindenburg perfection of "waiting for it"... but this isn't a back to the future prediction of lightning either.

e-ver -
            i-ver;
  talk about a need for a grapheme...
             it's just: ha ha ha ha... funny...
     i remember this one time,
my ex-g.f. younger sister...
  the one that became my muse:
cushioning lips -
  almost ***** -
     you know: fat, plump to invite
cordiality -
                         you know the problem
with poles migrating?
  they don't congregate,
hammersmith is an exception of
an area highly concentrated by poles,
otherwise?
    a pole meets a pole in england:
what a surprise!
    i saw you buying polish beer...
  żywiec?
          a **** good beer...
                     mazo mazo mazowsze (sz = sh
cz = ch, yzwz) -
                  one hand knows:
the H catches the vowels - but it also
serves as the pivot for laughter -
  aH hA hA hA!
           batman? probably the only
"superhero" worth investigating,
   given that all the baddies are batman's
alterego...
              two-faced joking billionaire
who's enigmatic with a pet penguin to boot...
a "superhero" who's only "super power"
is a **** load of money...
and some grease in the cranium...
          really, the russians are behind all of this?!
i find that the germanic tribes of lore
can never find themselves agreed-upon
singularism of an origin -
the french will remain french,
the germans german,
       lost the spaniards -
the english were always a tad bit paddy
mongrelling themselves with celt...
                in an anglophone realm of
language -
    it's much easier to identify yourself
as a slav, than a pole, a czech, a slovak,
       a russian,
                             a bulgar,
      a roma,  
                          a croat,
                     a slovene,
     funny... it's almost desirable, to be able
to identify yourself in the most accessible
           and broadest spectrum of tattoo...
   in the end there's only western europe
   that's described as western at the limit of
berlin...
       never helsinki...
                     and my god, so much land after
berlin -
            tilting toward *anadyr...
                        the process of subsetting in
the anglophone world -
          if only welsh and gaelic was more pronounced
in this realm,
perhaps then the english could identify themselves
along a more germanic heritage,
embrace it, and not treat their affairs
down the simpleton route of a football skirmish.
i actually can't find any "english" in all
honesty - on these isles it's easier to
name a gael and a pict, a wael too,
  but an anglican?
                what are they, really,
  anglo-swabians, anglo-saxons,
   anglo-pomeranians?
     these days you're already talking about
                            anglo-slavs & afro-saxons!    
i'd still prefer a blackbeard sharpshooter
  (3:1 mixer of *** & pepsi) -
                    or a flaky monotonous-****
cosmopolitan;
  just saying, who am i to judge,
       i once tried laughing gas -
                  and didn't even laugh -
        as always, the sometimes apparent banality
of cogito per se came up with all the necessary gags;
because it shouldn't be, the prompter of
all "necessary "gags"?
     to consider the brain as devoid of thought genesis,
since man tends to think about the entirety of
his body-geography -
     nuisance, or nuance?
                       thinking is the unnecessary
action that resolves no necessary "action" -
         it's a free-falling limb -
                whenever a prompt to kick,
to throw, to spin,
                            to mix - never is there
an equivalent prompt to think...
             that said: to truly meditate is to harness
a slingshot's worth of straining -
to refrain from thought -
                     to allow the building up of strain -
prior to a release such as this...
                  and from what i found is that:
thinking revolves around a quasi-claustrophobia...
its boa constrictive presence suffocates -
   until it reveals what is its most naturally
ontological about it: pathos & irrationality;
obviously if scrutinised beyond this -
   a homing device for specified interests -
               thought in autism -
                                thought in specialisation;
but by a majority rule-of-thumb:
          a pathology and the most
                 irritable irritability - irrationality:
the random selection of non-coherent set of
"intertwined" set of facts.

We don’t talk about the future
“What’s the point of being rich when you wake up alone”
But how many times do I have to tell you that I want you there
“What’s the point of going home when ain’t nobody there”
We call for hours but you still can’t hear me
It’s days like today where I wish boys did go to a Jupiter
Though some of them cannot afford to get any stupider

I never could write a song
It was an unnatural endeavour, and
I wanted to, so much, but the notes
and words refused to stretch out of
the womb
Or at least knock the walls within to
give a hint as to what frivolities or
beauty I could put into the spaces
I tried to conjure up a melody, a rhyme
that wasn't wickedly elementary, but
all that came were impatient breaths
So I fumble with words and their
infinities instead

-cj

Behind bars of black
painted red white and blue
singing songs of your freedom
the cameras laugh at you

You twitter chirp and tweet
cheep cheep
about the shiny frivolities
disguising bleak realities

Ignore a war
or three or four
Look away again
a time or ten

Don't look down
that's where you'll drop
when they break your wings
because they don't like how you sing

Don't look up
that's where they sit
and it will only show a reality
free of reason or morality

You only exist
so they have someone serving
who'll believe the lie
that they serve you

You know that you're trapped
and there's nothing you can do
but you can still move enough
that you can pretend that the cage isn't there

And so you sit
and you sing
about the lie of freedom
that you made yourself believe

what/====/what  ==
  what./==what.///=what.//==/what.
  here, it is a tar pit  the yellowed trees all that eyes  see cherry blossoms through &through cherry blossoms  cherry blossoms through and through and through  cherry blossoms through
   it soothes- -it becomes ..it blooms -it becomes ..it blooms ---it becomes ..it blooms ---recantations  reconsecration
so many many ages ago,  “probabilities man probabilities”
that’s about itt, man, it seems“similarly“,,,,, noww nowwthe drudge  magenta!noww, man-about time
as i knoww itt” well for once “ once  so pretty  ” she-says -cohorts
justt a dayy more we are closer-hippyhippy-hopp
the  best off linens the blue coats the finest frivolities all that  is pristine pristine-here/Jesuits
a sea of happiness in here everything
a well laid dining table a desk to write read eat a tree outside the never ending vanity fair “that  the magic will live  never will die
cause it’s automatic for people”says-Scot  it is really  automatic-now

“ patterns  emerge   as my prime whiter s,man”----tells,Joe
    

cups of tea-  chamomile- tells Jon/ mayb  “as much as you will like to mingle/&dangle-&mingle /double dribble/triple./Onegin //all the  wriggling the  implausible imposing    ,, nibbles ,,all the book keeping
“the classic anecdote” iff i mayy ... we are all  only supercilious  there’s more here to come”----Jim,, retorts tells
“to which i may”,tells jill    a sheep is _, its all gloom and  kingdom comes
   reasons /and acuity/  th more the merrierer   my bliss/slits
/ & the black space everywhere in
   them the/many minds   all the more   \><citadel.come and go touch of gold   see to believe  
             &&&&&
  <    deep blue lakes &blue that  never end their rune and it  returns  a ship on her chest a ship on her chest,on her chest-that i will reach places un dreamt of
\   will   returnn  > there. everyplace tea<>>>>\
   stays afloat,    dispels /beaten /scowls  scary ,tea<>>>>\all-of jiggling/ bouncying   ><weeds out / >minuscules
ripes/renders jesica>>>>jamboree  come face me.
     the grandest / all  the oddities   one magic invention i was missing all this time transgression/ kindda may be timid /  
  my jive / rruby/mouthing a last supper if you will .something akin
   timid all this time
  wt i was endless immeasurable the - wild/beckons/ ribbons and knots
door to door tropic  day/&night; /beckons// ribbons and knots
\i  was i would  on my side Ausual-revival Arendition again  again
and  lifee-like -ride  and whatever moreover all oveer the leftovers
rose swells . fine  our grasslands,you know, stilts frantic Jiving,Jiving Jiving in smoke  -reels/incapabl,,indecicve
one more dayy nd through h moors
are off ,,,, raspberry,Jiving,Jiving Jiving
discontent  / neatt/  mother  fuggazii ,Jiving,Jiving Jiving ,a week goes ayb a month a long intention, itt- sooths./all the more oegin \Gerianne- ,,twitces  .astute, many floors up,pigging cleaning,every quarter
the clouds/massquadre ,this is cat to,, through ,,moved,moved,,moved

, a-blue,, a-temple a bloom,a ,temple a rook a trek a stoop now
Buddha, a simpleton/buddah geriane 16-1-5-1, miniature lamps,,blizzards6-1-5-1,
all that can in a man/rigour all that hula hoop
possibly a merry christmass,, dayys spent ,,,  full
you  are all that is sire a \ all the pleasures off a small room
full off all the kool tools an art decoo sire by now you know it
all thecrystal fairies in blue crystall *****
pretty slick,,,runs ,piping hott ,, undone  &the; buddha, the-rider,, the- boxes,,,layaway the glistering the beaming, all  the book keeping
a philistine, if i mayy impeccable, and  free
glitters all  the hourrs,a\ repliccaa just a beguiling  taste ,\
,sire,,little empty purposely,, masterfully done,,,sire
beefy ,,sire,and, plenty-full surelyy
the nectar bequeaths

projected .mediocre , mister faires in ferries  shimmering  dearest of stories  / wings/reminising _faires
drool  an artt decoo sire,,,a purple tea *** in which we drink our tea,,,mirrors,,, the very best in the pristine
the mannequins,,all the more-buddha,the-rider,, the- boxes,,
,,sire iff only i may all that   hula hoop.dope-slopes -keystrokes -rabbi=ed folks we traversed   alone
among the ******* faires shining.and whineing
tee -hometown alleys too,the innate shufling,  neat //pique
   from,treetops,bellhops,  all  those-pitstops
   chit chats-flips flops flat-crapp
lemonade/the charade the bee all the hives-all
handmade kind of  dreams /transpicuous
**** you would knoow you would knoow-that anyway blinking/ slits . //slithers
leaping/ reaping/ leaving all blue //eyes bulls eye

archic // mine  !all blue //eyes----  eye leaping/ rearing/
leaping/ reaping/leaping/ rearing/leaping/ reaping/leaping/ rearing/

  
and now the mother  a finale-  ( )   grand //tiers ;piping ;deep-dives................
-clean-off beat -best kept thatt  allures us //still gilding  top -down.  infairies   delusions/- 2rapid 2rabid distracted
comes easy free /  -******
a cup of tea/honey -man i know  with it  /// batteries  jazz like   *******
time and time againn pronto sire
wired tried intake-uptake /cup cakes/hatted  /// orbs many many many kinds justt soo many soo many  many
  any takers in no hurry
/Orphic
left /blending/mended melting too which she says enough off all this shenanigans i want //if this is
her

After years of thought on the matter on whether or not it matters.

Implicated complications frivolities and such.
Demand my time and suffrage, a very gentle touch.

I seek to find a reason for these things I don't control.
Why must these things happen? I tell you I must know.

Does karma as it does hold a certain sway?
Or do the gods themselves decide on judgement day?

Perhaps I'll ask Ganesha, he should know of what's become.
Maybe I can trade if I tell him where he's from?

Do I have to leave my mortal coil to come upon the truth?
To finally hear my dark side speak, no matter how uncouth.

To **** the nature of anything is really quite obtuse.
Failure to understand this thing, doesn't mean it's of no use.

Your beliefs my friend have failed you, there lies no right answer.
Ignorance prevails again, like an existential cancer.

I think I'll stick to thoughts and leave my mind open.
It seems to be the fairest way and easiest with coping.

I hope you find your happiness, your illusion be it good.
Me? I'll just keep hanging on and let it be as it should.

Conversing through a brew, amongst neon lights
one would say shooting the **** about past fights.
There were cries of laughter and of sorrow.
All the while the night becomes darker
and yet, there wasn't a sense of tomorrow.

We decided to drive to the beach to unwind.
The stars were bright and endless; a way to unbind
our tangible selves from the frivolities of life.
It didn't matter how insignificant we really are;
we'll heal, we'll grow, we'll walk the north star.

Separate, but equal beds, we laid.
Asking the most random of questions,
a fetal vulnerability began to be displayed.
Ultimately, we solidified the charade that
in the next life, I'm a dolphin and she, a mermaid.

The following day, I was awoken by a pillow hitting my face.
I didn't want her to leave so I suggested lunch, she agreed.
Lesson learned: it's easy to pick a place when you erase your birthplace.
Initially, I thought our little muse would then diffuse,
but as fate would have it, we oozed blood from fresh tattoos.

I could divulge more details about our adventures,
but I'd have to ask how much time do you have
because condensing the stories won't do you any justice.
Instead, I'd rather discuss my emotions I didn't think were possible
for I have sailed motions of uncharted oceans.

There was once a time where my heart turned icy.
Even though life experiences shot me the **** up,
the "beating" trophy only seemed to thaw.
I picked at straws to apply a healing salve
to revitalize the tender, raw tragic flaws.

I've done plenty wrong in what I consider another lifetime.
I try to make amends for what I've done or what I might do.
Perhaps it's the guilt that's deeply rooted
or maybe it's the love I have for humanity to be saved.
Some would say idealistic, others call it being depraved.

Despite it all, she saw right through my thorns
and thus her walls soon became worn and torn.
My heart wasn't mourned, she held it close to hers,
to be forever adorn. That's when I knew I was home;
for she is my Unicorn.

I crave a cigarette with my whole existence
Like I’ve never craved something before
My body aches, my joints feel heavy
My blood has stopped flowing
My nerves are dormant
My system will cease to exist without nicotine
Why is it that these getaways are all I have?
At the end of the day, I have no internal support system
Other than these fleeting moments of happiness
Why is that I feel as if I might combust?
I might tear apart anyone or anything
Because I don’t feel good about myself
And that statement is old and overused
But it is eternal and never-ending
Is there any other way to be?
I don’t want the things I used to
I have stopped trying to bargain with love
I have edged into the dent in the wall
Of sad guitar solos and sugary coffee
Of books that tell me how to breathe
And transport myself into another reality
Is it okay to be so far away from yourself?
To settle into stories like they’re all I have
Are these illusions all I have to proclaim?
When I’m 50 and they ask me what matters
I’ll tell them about youthful indulgence
And fictional stories, second-hand feelings
I’m trying to live like there’s no other day
But sometimes I feel like I should stop
And look myself in the eye and ask
“Who are you? What are your ideals?
What makes you who you are?
What do you desire?”
Playlists that make me teary
Late night battles with myself
Transcendence into places
I avoid during the day
Viktor E. Frankl said,
“The salvation of man is through love and in love”
How deeply you lived is how deeply you loved
Not just people, but life itself
The opportunities, the frivolities
And yourself
Imagine being stuck in a room
There’s constant knocking at the door
You can unlock the door if you want
But you’re unable to, you just can’t get up
And you hate yourself for it
Year after year, you’re in a war
That you don’t want to be a part of
That is how insecurities feel
Angst and rage swallow your loathing
You consider music
Baking, painting, writing
Make up, old dresses
Long showers, strangers
Mellow afternoons
Scrapbooks full of prose to make you feel alive
Create infinities
Within yourself, around yourself
By yourself
It’s like you’re trying so hard to run
From what? To where?
You don’t know
Just somewhere
Where the bells chime in solace
You drown your anxiety
Into Bailey’s Irish Cream and chug
Sloppy and smiling
Where nothing but the present matters
And you can stop running
The shadows you can’t face
The situations you don’t know how to handle
Are long gone, almost unreal
You look back and say,
“Thank god, I’m not that person anymore.”
Tell me that place exists
Tell me the city lights will feel like stars
Tell me that when I jump off a cliff into water
It will ignite my existence
I will be greater than myself
I will understand what it means
To go all in and not hold back
That even if it’s a bell jar at one point
It’s la vie en rose at another
Is there a philosophy to follow?
Am I doing the right things?
Are knowing and unknowing
Two sides of the same coin?
Can I hold your hand?
I promise I won’t fall in love
I promise I won’t give you my burdens
The phone rings but you don’t pick up
And I survive one more day
Without expecting anything in return
I know you’ll leave one day
And no matter how much I avoid feeling anything
I am not cut out for stoicism
But I sure do aim for it
Rainy evenings and windy days
Yellow flowers that scatter the street in front of my house
I reach out
For what? I don’t know
But sometimes, I feel something reaching back
Escapism and frustration
Bitterness and disconnectedness
Amidst all that
I believe in my absolute freedom
No matter how delusional
There are no circles that enclose me
There are fine lines I tiptoe on
On planes at wildly different angles
Searching for meaning
Distracting myself from the misery
Until it hits me unawares
Dostoevsky said,
“There is only one thing that I dread:
Not to be worthy of my sufferings”
And I feel myself to be of no significance
In the greater scheme of things
But as Lana Del Ray put it,
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
But I have it

When I was one and twenty, my mother said to me:
“Life is short, Dear Son, don’t waste it on frivolities.”
But I was one and twenty; I thought I knew better than she
Funny how none are so blind as those that will not see.

I had good times in college in those days when Love was “free”.
I did a modicum of work and avoided STDs.
I saw some sadness in her eyes when my paper chase was through.
A window closed, though I knew it not when I was twenty-two.

I worked ten years in government, which left me a bit depressed.
I threw away a woman’s Love, Why is anybody’s guess.
My youthful promise dripped away, my greatness was denied.
I entered another decade with a bottle by my side.

When I finally hit bottom; when all else had been tried
I tried the ten-step program in lieu of suicide.
In a drafty old church basement,we sat on creaky wooden chairs
and confessed our self-debasement to the fellow sufferers there.

Last spring, my saintly mother died. I came too late to say:
“Mom, you were so right, I’ve thrown too many years away.”
For Life is short and, now and then, it takes us by surprise
when another window closes on the loved ones in our lives.

life's frivolities
rationality out once
protocols stifle

Written by
Ute Sonja Medley

You can leave all your troubles behind you,
but this is the smart age and they'll look 'til
they find you
so
it's a waste of time.

I've wasted time,
lots,
on frivolities
and fripperies,
it just left me
feeling ill at ease.

These assortments
of discontentment
make for a heavy burden.