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mark john junor Jan 2014
bourne the weight of the day
with the faded strength of yesterdays hopes and dreams
but it suffices to carry me forward
i light a candle
curse the darkness
stand against all the things
which try to lay me low
i have come this far
**** if im going to let anyone knock me down
im not hurcules
im stronger
im not superman
im faster
i belive in me
i have people eho love me
and belive in me too
thats enough to get me through anything
this life can toss my way
and if anyone reading this needs superman
you got my freakin number
peace the **** out my friends
:-)
Keifus Dec 2015
My dear
Modernity
I do not believe in what the Devil hath seen
but how do I not believe in what the Devil seen?
Creation? Destruction?
Fear? Hate?  
What hath we sought that we not deserve?
Crucifixations caught through gopros
Electrical diction, photons in slow mo
Billy clubs used to break bones
Bullets know how to stop the beating heart
Blood punctures provide insights on poverty analytics
Flood lectures absistence from the soul
Stress dominants king dr$$SS$Falalalzzzs
S
karlotti Sep 2014
Femenina, pero sin excesos,
que fluya la luz de sus ojos
pero sin apagar los neones
de MONSANTO, luz biodegradable
pero agradable al tacto.
Libre y Natural, como un sombrero.
Mezcla sutil de lana y jacquard.
Silueta relajada a la altura del *****
como una virgen romana,
y un concierto de colores húmedos
según va cayendo la tarde
Muy casual a partir de los labios
y un lindo ABCdario  entre las piernas.
Transmisión sin pausa, dejando un eco
al volver a casa, sin caer en brazos
de una sonrisa armada hasta los dientes.
El color blanco es su aliado
y los pájaros pintados en el jardín
de sus sueños, en las manos, la imprescindible
lencería  de una imaginación sin prisas,
y la siempre impredecible pasión
en su fresquito pequeño, aroma a alba
con un poco de opio en los cristales.
Un look de muerte para terminar
con el ideal de hombre, todo sin dejar de ofrecer
la cara oculta de su luna, un poco descabellada
al caminar por el Mercado
dejando claro que su hogar no se marchita.
El éxito como una póliza de seguros
guardado a la altura de su láctea paradoja.
Y de vez en vez mostrar la plantación de flores
cultivadas por la maniquí secreta
que en ASIA o en los fiordos del alma, arde.
Sin dejar oír nunca un si te quiero
que no sea el fru fru de su trastienda,
seda y sede de coral *****, y una navajita
para degollar pecado como peces
sin dejar de ser sofisticada con los dedos
y una delicadez a prueba de balas.

Es lo que se va llevar en las Avenidas de este Otoño.
Y un cielo en rama para amar un poco.
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
You know, this journal does not even contain half of what we know.  I hope we never forget.  


(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLV)


Now, while cicadas drone 'neath blue skies' pale
Glance, or to deeper shades of that, what hence?
Remember Starbucks' "Friends Day" for intents,
The prompt last night, as yesterday's detail:
We rode the bike path 'gain whose wildflowrs hail
As wont in clover's pink, and yellows thence
With brown eyes, thistles' purple, grasses dense
On either side, while goldfinch laughed t'avail.
I'd hated these auld trails we knew, as poor
Since Mum's death, but now I belong to you,
Oh! all's sae sweet like ne'er before as twere.
My car'mel fru-fru drink was tasty too:
Cuz I am yours.  That means I can't write fer
All that cuz evry minute's yours who woo.

08Aug17
I'd fully intended to ink that bicycle ride, sweeter than I've ever known before cuz of you, but you must captivate every minute; and to think I didn't realize Mrs. Sitz' prompt of "Friend" was on the same day as Starbuck's Friendship Day special.
Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
This is one of Barry Hodges' most inspired memories.

  'Twas morning time in times of yore and I, bold Barry Hodges, stood outside my store, my giant vegetables on display for all to see, when lo and behold! a luxurious limousine drew up, and from the back there emerged a gorgeous form of voluptuous statuesque feminity.
  "My God!" I cried, it is that beauteous lady from *La Dolce Vita
, the wondrous Anita - and I gazed with joyous on her divine body, imagining it sprawled lasciviously in my bed, legs open as wide as a major road junction on the M1 motorway.
  "Excuse me", said she in that Italo-Swedish voice guaranteed to make any man wet himself copiously, "But I am a-lookink for a shop a-called 6B, and yet all I can-a-see is a Barry Hodges' the Master Geengrocer's, complete with a giant cucumber or two, which I 'av to say remind me of somet'ing tasty."
"Dearest lady, said I, you have come to the right place: 6B is the trading name of my sister enterprise: Barry Bodgers' Boil Bursting Beauty Bureau which is located upstairs, Barry Bodgers at your service, my dearest, most delightful Fru Ekberg."
"Shhhhhhhhh! I am een deesguise, not even dear Federico knows I am-a-here." And thus, assuring her of my utmost discretion, and forming a bond by saying that I too, the famous Geordie seducer, Barry Hodges, had indulged in a slight nomenclatural change in order to separate the two sides of my business interests, and in order to do a spot of money laundering on the side.  "But," I enquired, "How is it that you have need of the rather specialised medical services we offer, you who are so radiant and bella-bella?" She lowered her eyes seductively and promised to reveal her terrible secret.

As I ushered her up the stairs to the studio, my eyes on her ****-cheeks wiggling like two delectable beach ***** in a sack, she told me the sad tale of the immense boil which kept recurring on the middle of her back and which no amount of corrective surgery could fix.
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "Only Barry Bodgers, the world's greatest boil-sucker, can effect the cure for which you long, and I shall operate on you personally, not entrusting such a task to even the best of my boil-bursting minions." I added to myself, "Also I want to give you a good old bonking while we're at at."

Once we attained the privacy of my consulting room, I instructed her to strip off utterly so I might examine her, and I can tell you, dear reader, that her **** **** was a joy to behold. I too divested myself of my clobber, knowing that boil-******* can get a bit messy at the best of times. Jesus wept!, but the mighty boil betwixt her graceful shoulders revealed when de-plastered was a true horror, with a yellow tip as big as a Grade One Belgian Turnip. I explained that I would **** it out whilst I rogered her from the rear and that, when she felt her ****** on the way, she should scream out to that effect and I would then bite the core of the boil right out in a blaze of mutual ******* glory, before applying a dose of my exclusive Boil Preventative Cream, namely a handful of our conjoined love-juices extracted from her gaping ***** by hand a few seconds earlier.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" screamed the Swedish bombshell and with a mighty **** like an industrial Dyson FX334 on full power, I slurped and  razor-bit the boil, bursting it asunder, smothering my eager face in blood and putrid pus, thereby causing me to blow my *** as ne'er before. The green core of the boil emerged from its fleshly cavity with a deafening plop as we came together like a nuclear blast d'amour.

O, but only then, as my seminal outpourings soaked my jim-jams, did I awaken to discover yet another nocturnal emission. And, not unexpectedly, dear Nurse Nellie, having heard my cry of ecstasy, rushed in to my bedroom, head-shaking and tut-tutting as usual, as she knelt down and licked my tum-tum dry.
"Yum, yum" she murmured in her dulcet Northumbrian tones, "Ah've looked after three generation o' Hodges laddies, and I kin tell ye, your *****'s the tastiest of them all, ye bonnie wee man."
"Better than Grandad Charlie's?"
"Why aye, mon, yours is well creamier."
Dov'era la luna? Ché il cielo
notava in un'alba di perla,
ed ergersi il mandorlo e il melo
parevano a meglio vederla.
Venivano soffi di lampi
da un nero di nubi laggiù:
veniva una voce dai campi:
chiù...
Le stelle lucevano rare
tra mezzo alla nebbia di latte:
sentivo il cullare del mare,
sentivo un fru fru tra le fratte;
sentivo nel cuore un sussulto,
com'eco d'un grido che fu.
Sonava lontano il singulto:
chiù...
Su tutte le lucide vette
tremava un sospiro di vento;
squassavano le cavallette
finissimi sistri d'argento
(tintinni a invisibili porte
che forse non s'aprono più?... );
e c'era quel pianto di morte...
chiù...
SøułSurvivør Mar 2017
A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection


MARILYN

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes... driving every man mad... (dark) as the dark night she was... had what no one else had..."
BANANARAMA "Venus"

Upon first meeting with Marilyn the first thing I was struck by were her eyes. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, hers were the stained glass of Winchester Cathedral. They were absolutely beautiful. Polished obsidion orbs that seemed to have an inner light for all their blackness. The second thing I noticed were her teeth. Strong. Perfectly even, and glistening white. Lastly her height and *figure
. Again, I shall use the Winchester Cathedral metaphor... she was positively that... not just a brick house, she was marble! Cantilevered, with flying buttresses everywhere! WOW!

Now, I'm not a lesbian. But if I were, Marilyn would have been in trouble! I was to notice flaws in her looks as time went on. Her thick, shiny raven hair was poorly cut, and her face, while striking, was not all that beautiful. Her features were even and well proportioned, but she was not a classic beauty.  She was of arabic/caucasian liniage. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I noticed these imperfections because I was somewhat envious. She was a man-magnet. Ms Pac-Man! I'm not an ugly woman. But I couldn't hold a candle to Marilyn!

As fate would have it, I became her "twin". We were on the buddy system at the beginning of our Sea Org training, and I was paired up with Marilyn. As luck would have it, we hit it off. Even though I felt like a shadow next to her light, I also really liked her. And she liked ME. She never lorded her looks over me. Her brilliant smile could melt the stoniest heart. And we enjoyed the same things. Though she was no artist, she really appreciated art. I actually drew her portrait (which she kept and framed, she told me many years later). We would take long walks around the Hollywood area, and, when time allowed, went to the beach. Santa Monica Pier. She had a droll sense of humor which i could appreciate, and i made her laugh, too. We got along very well.

Our Mission, should we decide to accept it (or NOT), was to write letters to people who had, at one time, been interested in scientology, or the Sea Org (not necessarily in that order). We were told that we to up our "statistics" daily. All jobs were measured statistically. Now, even at THAT age, I knew the Samuel Clemmons quote, "There are lies. **** lies. And statistics." But i thought it prudent not to mention that to anyone.

So, we were to write letters. We worked out a system for staying "upstat". We figured if we wrote LONG letters, and took breaks at first, then wrote shorter letters as time went on we could "beat the system". So we did. We never competed with each other. I was slightly faster than she (I'm a writer, obviously) but she didn't care. I could write. But she could spell. I was never good at that (I HAVE autocorrect on my phone, lol!).

Our I/C (in charge) never really bothered us. We were "upstat". So we joked around and had fun with it. We were allowed to go out and have a little time off occasionally.
I remember going to see the first STAR WARS movie with Marilyn and another dude who was totally smitten with her. She didn't even feign interest, even if he WAS very funny, and good looking in a diminutive way. But he was around her in a holding patern! Like a hummingbird to a honeysuckle! Shaharizade had mesmerized him with her seven veils! But the poor man never got anywhere. So he started to evince interest in me! But got nowhere in that arena either! Poor dude! So, that's how it worked. Marilyn would draw masculine attention. And, eventually, I would be "second pick". Oh, well. I knew better than to "get involved". There was a strict rule about "fratenization". A polite term for ***". THAT was VERBOTEN! It was grounds for RPF, should the partners be unmarried. And since I had NO desire to marry any of them, those dudes were out o luck.

Time went on. FRU  (Flag Recruit Unit) didn't seem so bad! And then there was the lure of my final destination. Flag Land Base... Finally I was ready to take my

...*1,300 mile Greyhound bus!
The next installment in my tail will be a poem I wrote a while back. I went 1300 miles by myself from Los Angeles California to Clearwater Florida. Actually to Tampa as there was no bus to Clearwater. I had a harrowing ride from Tampa to Clearwater over the Tampa Bay Causeway... but that's another story...

IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN THIS "RELIGION" PLEASE READ THIS ENTIRE BOOK! YOU WILL CHANGE YOUR MIND!

I'm sorry if I haven't read your poetry lately. I've been very busy writing this book. And I've been going down repost rabbit holes. I'm sure you can relate! I love you guys! This is the best poetry site ever! I'll be reading again soon...

♡ Catherine
SøułSurvivør Mar 2017
A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

GILDED CAGE

Unlike the pampered, well heeled clients of my "faith", I didn't enter the Fort Harrison Hotel via the opulent main entrance. I made my appearance through the back. The garage entrance was less than hospitable. And, I noticed, there seemed to be people *living
in the cold, drafty motor housing! When I asked about this strange berthing, Noah was much less than forthcoming. "RPF", he mumbled. Well. What's an RPF when it's at home? Then I saw a few of the denizens of said "RPF". I knew very little about it. Only that it was punishment. For people were "out-ethics". WOW. The RPF "sleeping quarters" had bunks three high, and was protected only marginally from the winds that swept through that garage.

There was an RPF person who was coming through the breezeway as I entered. He stepped aside very deferentialy, and said, "Excuse me, Sirs!" to Noah and I. WOW. I'd never had THAT kind of treatment in my life! I guess I was someone important! This bubble was burst immediately. I met the I/C of the FRU.

She was not in a good mood, as I recall. But, then, who ever really was in this Organization? She DID TRY to be nice. Greeted me clammily, and put on a spurious smile. She recognized I needed sleep, at least. Upon walking through the building, the rooms got more and more posh. I was to get to my berthing through the hotel lobby, apparently. It was grand! But in a sort of an outdated way. I really don't remember much else. Except for the conditions in my sleeping quarters. Only marginally better than the RPF! bunks three high! Junk everywhere (some of the new recruits had yet to figure out that they should cull their possessions to a minimum). Guess who was designated the top bunk? You got it. And moi was not a happy camper! As I climbed the rickety ladder to the top bunk I remember thinking, "How much lower can a person go?"

*I WAS, EVENTUALLY, TO FIND OUT.
The time frame I'm writing of is 1977. So long ago! If i don't remember things perfectly, my friends who were there, please forgive me!

I'm trying to process all this again. My memory isn't what it was. I'm writing all this to convey the disparities between the conditions in the Sea Org and the cushy experience of the clients. All THEY saw was friendliness & grandeur. We were like indentured SLAVES. NO LIE.

ESPECIALLY THE RPF.And RPF wasn't the lowest you could go. There was the RPF's RPF! I wondered where THEY slept. In the sewer? I wasn't far wrong...

* RPF: Rehabilitation Project Force


♡ Catherine
Jeffrey Pua Oct 2014
Brea-
Fru- -sts.
      -its
    .
        .
     .
    E
      K
      O
    M
     S

I was once...
...a pile...of leaves.

© 2014 J.S.P.
Matthew Mckeown Mar 2018
It was a small cafe, the sign that hung
outside appeared wider than the shop
itself.

The logo was a purple monkey
with a large cup of coffee in his hand,
it read "Worlds Grapest Coffee".

Once inside the first thing you notice
is the place smells like brewed heaven,

not like those fru-fru places with all their
exotic flavors, this was just good ole
coffee aroma, thick in the air and
delicious to the nose.

As far as the ambiance,
there wasn't any,
no pretension here.

The wooden floor was old,
worn and uneven, It almost felt like
you were standing on the deck
of a small boat in the middle of a storm,

if you didn't know better, you would
swear the tables and chairs could
come sliding your way at any moment.

The counter looked like it was installed
in the 80’s it had a blue gray formica top
with tiny speckles.

The woman who took my order
had these remarkable sea green eyes,
I was taken aback immediately
when I saw them,

she wore a white button up blouse 
with a black apron wrapped around
her waist, the kind with a pouch
in the front.

Short slim, long dark, chestnut
brown hair with a contagious smile,
definitely not ******* these old eyes.

When asking for my order, her voice
had a smokey jazzy feel to it, adding
yet another layer of soothingness
to the place.

I ordered a regular coffee, black with two sugars
(house sand zero, and own nine)

Wine hot ja... jes... justa bead devout
boo... boos...***** hound 'n
frog *** (hic cup) bout...
new yea ears rez: hill loo... dang

(burp) louche huns, eh an...,
and beg... agh hen ah nee new wheel 'ear
as zha roosting gadabout
fra... fru... froom this ska...
ski... skid... row... man hunk scout,

ah so... sub... sober chip... er ...,little
tea...poe... *** short and stout
er... chap, cuz in necks stay...hm...
here...ism handle, and thar hiz muss spout
oh...ha rill lee odd doubt

y'all 'member wha...whi...
whoa, what 'prom says 'eed shout
th... hiss hex 'spurt advice
fro...fru...framed dis lout, yea?

What a difference (in meaning), clear
as hub ba hell...(belch) bell jar quake
obvious, (when one not pull lath ta heard) ,
my...er re... rev vol ting... lush 'n not be opaque,
one alphabetic character doth make
duff France sans, the nineteenth versus twenty

first letter of English... lake
really awesome man, how dog nabit,
I could hood **...hu... hoof accomplished...
rather steal piece o'@$$ er...rather tastykake
alm high ghouls when hide goot awake!

As somewhat (hmm...) not so evident,
one need not be a rocket
surgeon, or brain scientist
visa viz mastercard ****
at effect of one sprocket...
nor a judge explaining gobbledygook

of law to witness in docket,
cuz this po boy haint moost
richly endowed in his pocket,
nor talented ska, rocksteady,
or reggae tunesmith
never earning any moolah, but forced to sell
off each dreaded locket.

Fellow Americans, this poetaster
lacking hocus pocus
not merely here tubby chiefly
as time waster, with locus
of airy mission to plant sole

lee seeded to shift your focus
from aimining to satisfy reVolution verse us
impossible mission couched
as reSolution lest ye be deemed
moost laughable joker, who makes major fuss!
Dov'era la luna? Ché il cielo
notava in un'alba di perla,
ed ergersi il mandorlo e il melo
parevano a meglio vederla.
Venivano soffi di lampi
da un nero di nubi laggiù:
veniva una voce dai campi:
chiù...
Le stelle lucevano rare
tra mezzo alla nebbia di latte:
sentivo il cullare del mare,
sentivo un fru fru tra le fratte;
sentivo nel cuore un sussulto,
com'eco d'un grido che fu.
Sonava lontano il singulto:
chiù...
Su tutte le lucide vette
tremava un sospiro di vento;
squassavano le cavallette
finissimi sistri d'argento
(tintinni a invisibili porte
che forse non s'aprono più?... );
e c'era quel pianto di morte...
chiù...
Dov'era la luna? Ché il cielo
notava in un'alba di perla,
ed ergersi il mandorlo e il melo
parevano a meglio vederla.
Venivano soffi di lampi
da un nero di nubi laggiù:
veniva una voce dai campi:
chiù...
Le stelle lucevano rare
tra mezzo alla nebbia di latte:
sentivo il cullare del mare,
sentivo un fru fru tra le fratte;
sentivo nel cuore un sussulto,
com'eco d'un grido che fu.
Sonava lontano il singulto:
chiù...
Su tutte le lucide vette
tremava un sospiro di vento;
squassavano le cavallette
finissimi sistri d'argento
(tintinni a invisibili porte
che forse non s'aprono più?... );
e c'era quel pianto di morte...
chiù...

— The End —