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preservationman Jun 2017
Proud being the Peacock
This was always the NBC trademark
The beauty of variation colors surrounding NBC
Yet there is another distinction, the legend Gabe Pressman
Mr. Pressman would investigate and report his findings
Even had his own NBC News Talk Show
Where there was news, Gabe Pressman put viewers in the know
If there were something wrong in investigating wrong doings, Gabe would establish
His years of NBC News
Gabe’s voice and stature made viewers to be enthused
As a Journalist, Gabe Pressman took his job serious because he had an obligation in bringing truth and he showed it being evidence
Viewers would be glued to their TV sets in what Gabe Pressman had to say and this was every day
The name Gabe Pressman was the man in showing NBC the media way
If Gabe Pressman was here today he would that is ok
Heaven got Gabe Pressman caught up
He is walking the Pearly Gates
This is something we all can relate
We bid Gabe Pressman in a job well done
Thank you for being among
Your journey being Heaven bound
There will be applause being the sound
Rest assured, Gabe Pressman is a name no one will ever forget
There is a Code Of Silence all around NBC
NBC-TV’s loss, but Heaven’s gain
The camera is ready in Heaven with your daily televise
Cry not, but remember who
Remember how, I accomplished through
Lights, Camera and so long
After, Gabe Pressman silently departed
The NBC letters describe Gabe Pressman best, Natural, Benefit and Concept
The combination that made Gabe Pressman of who he was a commodity
Gabe Pressman was the variation colors behind the NBC Peacock
A pride to honor and appreciation in what you achieved
This is Gabe Pressman reporting from NBC
Your final Bow
Journey on and So long now.
Theresa M Rose Oct 2015
The Midnight Dawn: The ship begins to dock.
A woman stands, looking down, silently. Black waters swirl salty white foam; Icy waters move through flapping rudders; The sounds of shifting motors pound; This is a beckoning scene for one in feelings of immersing self-isolation; And, Lora stands at this very edge. Lora stands completely unaware of the true beauty that surrounds her at this very moment.
         The ship’s docking, at Dearing's port, in the Kotzebue Sound... Alaska's pre-dawn dark blue skies with it’s tawny orangey gray clouds; A  panoramic view of white snowy peak mountains surrounds the port. And yet, the only thing Lora has on her mind … is a small Inuit village that will soon make her isolation complete.

    Out onto the deck Jeff calls, "Lora!"

Lora turns towards her husband's voice; But then, turns her eyes back to the whirling water over the stern.
  
    "Sweetheart?" Jeff places his hand on Lora’s arm, "I called the shore; The transport will be waiting… as soon as we're finished docking."
Jeff's voice becomes serene.
“ Wow. Lora, I can’t believe it. It’s been eight years since I been home last."
Jeff places his hand on Lora's.
“ It’ll be good for us to be with family. We'll leave the ship before the sunrise and we’ll arrive in the village just in time to see the final day of Tribal Awareness Week. Lora, I wish we were here a couple of weeks ago. I think my mother would have been happier meeting you when she wasn't so busy...."
  
Lora turns…, "You know, Jeff; I do wish you would just shut the hell up!”
Lora pulls her hand away.
“ Please, just keep still until we get up there.”
Her teeth clench.
“ It's another four and a half-hours, to get to  where we need to go. And, quite frankly, I think it's going to be hard enough for me to what needs to be done; And, I’d much rather get through this without having to listen to your mouth all the way up there."

"Alright.", Jeff says in a somber voice.  He turns to walk back inside but then he sees a new flicker of hope.
"Lora, I see the biplane. It's pulling in..; See it? See it, down there, at slip four, on the pier?!” Jeff smile’s pointing to the small transporter; As he does he grabs Lora kissing her cheek. “ I'm go get the porter to help me with our bags and we'll meet you down at the clearing, All right?”
"Fine.” Lora,…with a strain in her throat.
"Fine, let's just get this over with..."

    Lora stands at the clearing;… She watches the ships crew set-up for a day of helping  passengers board and depart the ship.  Jeff arranged for the two of them to leave the ship two hours earlier than everyone else so they could meet up with their connection.
As Jeff and the porter comes down the ramp a man comes down the dock waiving.
“ Jeff!”

    Jeff calls out. "Lora, here comes Gabe!"
“ Gabe! Gabe!”
"Gabe?"
"Honey!? This is my cousin, Gabriel." Jeff says to Lora as they started down the pier to the biplane. “ He runs our local transport."
    Gabe turns towards Lora.
" Yeah, I run everyone from our village up and down the river; Sometimes, I think this little craft here thinks she's just another boat! She so seldom has a chance to be airborne.”
The luggage is placed on board, Jeff and Lora settle into their seats and Gabe starts moving up the sound; Then, after about fifteen moments the little plane begins to lift, up and out, off the water.
  
    Lora becomes startled, "I thought the plane wasn't going to leave… I thought we were not going to be airborne?! I thought we were riding up the river?"
  
"Yes, Lora." Gabe states with a giggle,
"Yes, the Koyukuk River! I'm sorry, I thought Jeff would have told you?! We'll be airborne for just over an hour then we’ll reach the Koyukuk River and then, from that point, we’ll be riding the river for another three hours till we reach the village."

"Oh."
Lora sits back… and begins to stare out at the enormity of the Alaskan skyline. For her, it seems to have no end; And yet, for Lora there seems to be, nothing, nothing at all but endings on her horizon.

    The procession begins...
The parade comes down the main road in the small Inuit village. The local people are all playing drums, jingles and bones and they’re all wearing traditional ceremonial attire.

    Lora starts looking around to find her husband but Jeff is gone. Lora thinks, angrily.
‘ This is so senseless!? Why did Jeff ******* up here? I can't believe this; Here I am at The Koyukon Festival to tell his mother we're divorcing!? His mother never wanted me in his life. He was just suppose to finish his studies and come back home. I'm sure she'll be relieved to see me gone from his life.’

    Jeff comes up behind her, smiling.
"Honey, Honey isn't this wonderful?! I remember my parents and I participating all together in these events when I was small.”
Jeff points down the road. “ Hey Hon, look!" He places his arm on Lora's waistline.

    Lora turns to him with a grimace," Remove that…!"
    Jeff moved his hand and Lora turns to see where Jeff is pointing.
Lora sees, her mother-in-law, PaKaSuk; PaKa begins down the road dressed in her traditional Inuit tribal clothing.
    She has on a headdress made from the skin and skull of a coyote, and there’s a pair of small antlers imbedded on it. And, she has on tall boots made of polar-bear fur that are adorned at the rims with dangling teeth from the hunts of the past.
PaKa sings long mournful notes as she plays a soft singular beat over and over again on a drum-snare of  sealskin and whalebone.
    Jeff waves to his mother; As she sees her son, she begins to call out,


” Come fellow me one and all…;

Come fellow me to the place of the great hall;

Come to hear a tale that must be told;

Come hear the words from the time of old.”

As PaKa reaches the doorway she gestures to Jeff and Lora.
"Please come, sit here near the fireplace."
    As everyone-else  finds seat’s; PaKa kneels down, she looks deep into Lora‘s eyes; She smiles and then hands Lora a small long rectangular box.
Speaking softly, "Lora, please, hold this… But, do not open it right now; Wait until I’m done with my story. I'll return and we will talk."
  
    Lora stares at PaKa thinking…
‘She is an odd woman. To give me a gift? Looking down at the small rectangular box. She makes a huff, ‘ It's probably a brand new pen to sign the divorce papers with. She's probably…; But wait!’
Lora remembers, ‘ Jeff hasn't told her anything about the divorce yet. ‘
Lora places the box on her lap.

    The show begins...
    PaKa hushes the assembly; Cues the drums to play.
    The drums start. It is a slow, low singular beat  beating over and over…; Over and over. beating  slow low beats; Over and over... Again.

    Jeff bends down; He whispers, "Lora, the crowd is so much larger then I ever remembered it being before."
    Just then, a woman comes and sits right next to Lora and the woman has a baby sleeping in her arms.
Lora closes her eye and thinks,…
‘ Oh God… Why couldn’t this woman find somewhere else to sit; Anyplace other than here?’

    "Welcome! I am PaKaSuk...I am the Coyote-woman for my people…, now! But my story is of a Coyote-woman of long ago. Her name,… GaTraRa; The Coyote-woman Who Lost Her Tears.
Come one and all close your eyes. We shall breath deep the air and hear the drums beat…; And, we shall go… into the past.

            GaTraRa became a coyote woman when she was young. Much younger than the old custom....The old Coyote-woman would chose a young girl to replace her and she would teach the girl all of the knowledge  needed to help her people; She would learn all the wisdom of the herbs that cure and when ready she would take place. GaTraRa was chosen… And with great pride and joy of all the tribe.
She had learned much in a small time working at the side of the old Coyote-woman. But, a great sickness came to the people; Nearly half the tribe were lost...
The old coyote woman was lost…  GaTraRa was now The Coyote woman; …without knowing all the wisdom  the old coyote woman needed to give…

    Lora, sits there listening to her mother-in-law; She starts feeling cold beads of sweat against her skin. She starts feeling a slow low ache in the pit of her stomach.
    Jeff looks at Lora, "Are you alright?"
    "Leave me alone!” She swats at him. "Just go away! I'm fine. Leave me to hear this..."

    PaKaSuk continues "By our old traditions the Coyote-woman is not to join with any man; It was said… She’s to care for all the people of the tribe; But…, for GaTraRa;  GaTraRa was highly favored in the eyes of the council, And, especially by the chief elder's son, NeKraRa.
NeKraRa, who wanted the tribes very young new Coyote-woman to be his spoke a plea to the elders; GaTraRa wanted to be his as well. But she knew a Coyote-women was not allowed to join.  GaTraRa was surprised and overjoyed when the elders told her that she and NeKraRa being allowed to be joined...She felt the spirits were pleased.  And, soon after their joining they were blessed...They had conceived a child.
  
    The drums begin sounding faint and far away to Lora. The scent from  the smoke seems to be making her feel hazy.

Lora feels a low dark ache in the pit of her belly; It begins to grow; Her head lowers and her breath begins to labor. The pain is so deep Lora's eyes feel full of heat and she holds-back a feeling to cry out...
  
    PaKaSuk continues…, "It was the time of the hunt!”
  
    Eyes tighten. The pain becomes overwhelming to Lora; From a deep place within … A howling cry cries out!
"AAAAIIIIEEEEE"


    GaTraRa pushes; A baby’s cry fills the room. Her beaming sweaty body falls back onto the bedding.
    "It is a boy! You have a son!” mother-in-law smiles while wiping off the tiny crying new born.
"My child, he is a, strong, healthy boy! And, look, look see how his face shines like dawning light. NeKraRa will be pleased when he returns."

    As her husband's mother places the new born into her waiting arms, GaTraRa thinks ‘ No woman could ever be this happy.’
She looks up and says, "This day is the day of my greatest joy,"
  
Several weeks come and go. It will soon be  time for the men to return

Several weeks come and go without the young men.
The sound of drums call out from the distance; The time  for the return has come at last.
Many come to the Great Hall to greet the men when they arrive. The young Coyote-woman lefts her baby and runs happily to show her husband, NeKraRa, his fine new son.
Looking out, beyond the path, the men could be seen; They look weary of their hunt; Not all who left seems to be coming… The elder  hunters  may be a day or two behind bringing the treasures of their travels ;All the trades made with the outsiders.  The younger men come with the new pelts to cure and with the fresh meat and fish for the smoke.  As the men come closer the young women gain sight of their man; They run to walk with them to the Great Hall. But, but GaTraRa could not find her man. Her husband, NeKraRa, was nowhere among the men.
“ NeKraRa; NeKraRa !“ The young Coyote-woman begins thinking…’ He may be with the elder hunters; But why?’ She calls out several more times “ NeKraRa!”
Grabing at the men as they pass she asks,
"Where is my husband?"
    None of the men would speak to her or even look up at GaTraRa They’d just keep pass by her and enter the tribal council. Leaving her standing there holding her small baby.

    NeKraRa's father comes out of the council hall; He walks to GaTraRa and places his hand upon her arm.
"My child, our NeKraRa met his death over the ice on the very first night of the hunt."
  
    She looks down into the face of her small child.
"That was the night his son was born..."
Softly, sadly she speaks to her sleeping child cradling him in her arms,
"You will hold your father's name, my sweet boy...and his spirit.“
She walks home.

    Her mother-in-law meets her at the door, crying.
In a deep mournful tone, "My child!"
    GaTraRa just stands there with a void look on her face. Then, she looks at her baby. She lifts him up and hands him to her mother-in-law,
"Here mother," in an increasingly laboring tone,
"Here, here is our NeKraRa."

    The next day, mother-in-law waits for the baby to wake. She waits, long…, but there is no cry. She goes to lift him up and to wake him but as she pulls the blanket back she sees the baby's body is still, motionless. The baby is cold, blue and silent,
She lifts him and lets out a long wailing cry, "No...!"
  
GaTraRa runs…, only to see her baby in her mother-in-law's arms; A face full of tears and crying out over and over again, "He's gone...He is gone!"
GaTraRa falls to the floor; She begins to rock, repeating
"No…! No…! No…!"
But yet, now, not a single tear falls from her eyes.
  
Weeks pass since the death of her baby. Her duties as coyote woman become harder for her. Whenever others seek out her help she becomes angry. She says, "The spirits curse me; I went against them with family and now I have nothing; They will allow me no peace!"
All she does is watch the doorways; it is as she is waiting for someone or something...

    The council watches GaTraRa closely. Mother-in-law brings her worries to the elders.
“GaTraRa‘s sadness grows. “
Mother-in-law tells them, “She must be watched. Our Coyote-woman has felt the brush of the Raven’s feathers; Her tears are stuck within… No tears fall.”
Mother-in-law pleas to them, “ Her sorrow grows, silently! I fear, if we do nothing, she will be taken from us as well.”

    The women of the council gather together; They decide to have the grieving ritual for GaTraRa. But, none them has ever done this ritual. This was something the Coyote-woman would do.

    Days pass, the men are preparing to leave for the last hunt of the season. And, the women begin to prepare the council hall. They gather up all the things they could remember from having watched the ritual done times before.
    The chief elder sees the woman; And he asks, “What are you women doing?”
Mother-in-law tells him of what she and the other women have plan.
Shaking his head, “For as far as back as my memory takes me I have never seen a Grieving-Ritual done during this season before; And, without the young men being around. Do you really know what you are doing?”
All the women said, “ We must!”

    The men are gone…

    The women take GaTraRa to the council hall. They place her near the fire. GaTraRa watches as women gather herbs and place them in bowls.
She speaks out, “You don’t know what you are doing!?” Then, her voice saddens.
” …or maybe you do.”

    The women do not listen; Without a word, they begin to place the bowls in all the places they have remembered seeing them before…Recalling, all the men would play drums all night, during the vigil, they each pick up a drum. They gather around the fire. They stand and surround  the fire with their drums; The woman slowly begin to play.
GaTraRa, motionless, looks to the women thinks to herself, ‘Why are they doing this…I did this…to myself. They should not care
As always, I enjoy any and all  feedback you could give me.
Vid May 2019
Araw

Akala ko ikaw na yung mundo ko
Akala ko ikaw na yung araw at gabi ko araw lang pla kita

Araw nag bibigay liwanag sa daang madilim salamat naging liwanag kita binigyan mo ko ng pag asa lumigaya

Pero malayo ka hinabol kita sinundan kita tinakbo ko kahit mainit pa nag papaltos ang paa tumagatak ang pawis ng parang lawa okay lang kase binigyan moko ng pag asa para sumaya

Pawis na tumatagaktak na parang nota humihimig ng maganda sinasabe sa aking tengga na malapit kana

Binilisan ang takbo para mahabol kita walang pake kahit maka bangga subalit akoy nadapa
sugat ang nag silbing sakit na nadama

Sinusundan ang liwanag na nag sasabing may pag asa pa

Umiitim nako pero bat ang layo kopa  dumidilim na nawawalan na ako ng pag asa baket oras na para na umalis kana baket ngayon pa

Baket sa oras na madilim staka  ka mawawala  Kay langgan kita baket sa oras na madilim ako dun kapa nawala

Pano ko makikita yung daan kung wala ka diko kaya pag wala ka nahihirpan ako sa dilim ilawan moko para makita ka

Gusto kitang kalimutan gumawa ako ng paraan para lubayan nag umbrella para maiwasan ang sinag mo pero nahihirapan ako diko pala kaya kalimutan ka

Pero baket hanggang ngayon hinahanap hanap ko paren yung araw ko kung saan iikot ang mundo ko yung parang kulang yung mundo pag wala yun araw ko

Kaya siguro hinahanap ko pa yung taong nag papaliwang sa madilim kong mundo yung nag papainit sa nan lalamig kong minuto segundo

Naalala ko di pala hindi kita mundo kase nasa mundon kita ikaw yung nag papa ikot ng oras ko sa buong  buhay ko nag babalanse sa wordwide ko

Sa mundo mo ako si buwan yung palihim **** na sulyapan magandang umaga ako nga pala si buwan yung simpleng mahinang ilaw na laging na diyan sa tabi tabi mo lang

Magandang tanghale ako nga pala si buwan yung hindi kayang mag paliwanag ng  daigdig sa kalawakan pero pangako lagi kang sasamahan kahit sa kadiliman pangako magandang gabi ang madadatnan

Ang pag ikot ng araw sa mundo ko ang pag ikot ko sa mundo mo ay habang buhay ng mananatile

Magandang gabe ako yung buwan na pipiliting biygan ilaw ang madilim **** daan ako yung buwan nag bibigay panaginip maging masaya ka lng ako ang mamanatiling ilaw mo sa gabi para pag gising mo safe ka lng

Tandaan mo ako yung buwan na bibigyan ilaw sa paligid mo buwan na laging bibigay buhay sa gabi mo bibigay ningning sa mga mata tandaan mo buwan ako dimo nako maales sa mundo mo
sam common Feb 2010
dead babies.
college.
music.
clean.
***** house.
*****.


linda.
gabe.
gabe's teeth.
gabe's ***** teeth.
school.
friends.
leaving.
new orleans.
new orleans.
change.
change.
very worried.
adderall.
drugs.
more adderall?
shower.
clean.
clean.
emoticons are kinda lame.
sleep.
sleep.
want more smarts.
want more dumbs.
dumb dun dun.
tittle tattle rattle pattle goo.
*******.
attention.
attention.
more please!.
your dumb.
that's a defense mechanism.
air:
more of.
less again.
stop that.
stop stopping that. stop stopping stopping that. think about clouds. what will it be like in a year?
maybe people think I have weird hand gestures. maybe I'm thinking about them so much that they look weird. maybe I'm thinking about thinking about them too much too much.


oh god, hum. sing. play around the room. something already.


Don't look at me you *******.
go. back. ***.
I'm sorry. stay. look around.
I love it when your around. Your really amazing.
Do you like me?
Stop calling me so much.
Hey call me. Can I call you?
What are you thinking about?
I'm tired. I can't sleep. will you talk to me about my problems. problems are dumb. I have too many problems in my little head! I can achieve EVERYTHING
Hold me! Stop asking me to hold you. hold me? hold you? hold hands? Don't touch my hands. stop looking at them.
no, just no. sleep. shower.

clean breaks. will make me brake.
- May 2017
I didn’t know you
but I know you.

You were
a rebel.
It was in your veins.
You wore a leather jacket,
leather boots.
You’d walk down the street with
a purpose.
You never cared what they thought.
The roar of the engine
would bring a smile to your face.
You loved everything about it.
The rumble
and the low-slug feel of the seat.
You loved
the rush of wind in your face,
the feeling of being free and in control of life.
Your destination never mattered.
It was the trip you enjoyed.

Once you got a taste of freedom,
you became addicted.
Always seeking for excitement.
You searched for new places,
new people,
new things.

Explored.
Discovered.
Learned.
You did it all.

You cared for your family,
your friends.
Her.

I know you
loved her.
I could feel it,
see it,
sense it
when she entered the room.
I didn’t even see her right away
but I knew something was different.
I knew you were there
with her,
with us.
It was the first time I met her
but I knew who she was.
She entered with a purpose.
Just like you.
The way she stood.
The way she talked.
The look in her eyes.
Her presence.
Just like you.

The more I talked to her
the more I saw you.
It hurt listening to her.
She was in love with you.
I could hear it in her voice.
You’ve been gone for a while
but you impacted so many people.
I wish I was one of those people.
I miss you,
even though I never met you.

Your life betrayed you.
You were no longer in control.
The end came too soon.
You were too good for this world.

I didn’t know you
but I know you.
Princess Lynne Oct 2014
August 29, 2014
That was the first day of BIO 201 lab.
The first day for a lot of things actually
Like meeting the first who met my standards
Or meeting my very first college crush

Silly isn't it?
How it all sounds like it's high school again
But, from that day on, I couldn't stop saying his name
Gabe this, Gabe that, or Gabe (insert something nice here)
I remember I'd always tell my best friend
About how smart he was

It was the kind of brilliance that was contagious
It made you want to push yourself to be better
He was so intellectually stimulating
That it was inspiring and endearing to watch
I wanted to surround myself by people like him
I wanted to be surrounded by him
I never really thought much about it

It never came to mind why I spoke so much about him
Why all I see are the goods, even from his flaws
I wanted to know more about him
Until now...
Because now I know...
That maybe...
Just maybe...
I like him.
I really think I do
Those poor, misunderstood teachers,
Counting down days till retirement.
Like grunts in The Nam,
Waiting for a reprieve like it was a
Papal dispensation or a Presidential pardon, or
Last minute stay of execution from the Governor.
Teachers: dying a slow death
On the same lame stage day after day,
Performing amateur comedy,
Hosting their very own Karaoke Club;
Filling barely enough seats in the joint
To crack their daily job satisfaction nut.
The kids who do show up for class are too bored,
Or too apathetic to stay awake,
Heckle you or walk out.
Most teachers hate their jobs.
So many teachers, so many miserable mooks
Wishing they had some other job, any other job,
Like plumber or astronaut,
Mortgage broker or CIA assassin,
The last two with similar personality & career profiles
On The Myers Briggs Type Indicator MBTI® Step I Interpretive Report. Anything’s got to be better than being
Trapped in a 40 by 40 foot box all day,
Stuck in some Dungeons & Dragons classroom
All day with 40 chaotic, evil, teenage
Gary Gygax-ed kids, used to entertainment
Of higher quality and sparkle.
The cardinal sin of teaching:  Thou shalt not be boring!

Teachers complain constantly about how bad the money is,
Having to work almost 185 days a year,
Whining about only getting 8 weeks off in the summer &
Every freaking holiday on earth known to man.
Snap out of it: you get paid what may be one of
The last livable, middle class salaries in America,
Not to mention health and defined retirement benefits, &
You’re still kvetching.
Meanwhile, Good Teachers—
Those deliriously happy few,
That small rare band of subversives,
Maybe you can count them on one hand &
Still feel lucky you had that many—
I’m talking about the good teachers,
Who view teaching as an art form,
Atypical teachers with both brains and heart.
These are the teachers that make the difference.
These are the vital early role models we need
To encounter when we first leave home as toddlers.

I can still hear you, Mr. Feeny:
“I want you to go home this afternoon and open a book! I don’t care what you had otherwise planned, I order you, nay, I command you. Go home and open a book.”
Books are sine qua non.
Good teachers start out by reading a lot of books—
That’s the brain stuff.
It is life lessons of the heart, however,
That really counts,
Stuff they’ve learned the hard way,
The pain they’ve felt personally,
Particularly while young themselves.
That’s where the heart comes from.
And for **** sure they never read about it
In whatever passes for textbooks in
Most graduate schools of education,
Largely lame crap masquerading as academic rigor
In the diploma mills serving the education profession these days.
I taught in 15 high schools across the American southwest &
I’ve known some really breathtakingly dumb,
Essentially illiterate teachers.
Even at the highest institutions of higher learning,
The average educator of teachers is
Rarely known for intellectualism.
With the possible exception of Diane Ravitch,
Jonathan Kozol, Paulo “The Brazilian” Freire--&
Maybe that Marxist hold-out, Eric “Rico” Gutstein--
Instructional staff at most university
Graduate Schools of Education are not
Taken seriously by the rest of the academic faculty.
What was your source of heart, Mr.Kotter?
I can assure you, it was not something you
Picked up at a teacher in-service, Gabe, &
Welcome back, by the way.

If you remember one thing about
Teacher licensing, remember this:
Albert Einstein, at the height of his fame &
Intellectual prowess, could not walk in
Off the street from out-of-state, or
Anywhere else in the universe, &
Qualify for a secondary single subject
Preliminary license to teach physics.
Not in any public high school classroom in
California or in the state of New Mexico.
He simply lacked the requisite education,
Hadn’t taken the plenitude of pedagogic courses,
Expensive college credits in such vital subjects as:
Methods of Teaching Science for Dummies;
Educational Technology for Idiots;
Band Aids & First Aid;
Tae Kwan Do for the Inner City;
Teaching & Testing the Test Takers;
Touchy-Feely 101, 201 & 301;
Understanding Special Kids:
Gifted Kids, Not-so Gifted Kids,
Kids with Attitude & Kids with ADD;
Curriculum Simulacrum;
ELL/Cross-Cultural Learning;
Self-Esteem for the Worthless; &
Last but not least, Foundations of Education:
Sarcasm & Humiliation for Fun & Profit.
And I didn’t even mention taking & passing
That sublimely subtle CBEST or NMTA/NES,
Teacher licensure tests,
Essentially 8th Grade literacy exams
Quite a few applicants take 3 or 4 times
Before earning a passing score.

Blame society?
Blame the parents?
Blame the politicians?
No, teachers:
Blame yourselves.
TheConcretePoet Feb 2021
Pitter patter
pitter patter
across
Heaven's
floor-

it's just me
mommy and
daddy,
it's me Gabe;
i'm not in
pain anymore.

thank you
mommy and
daddy for
making a
decision that
i knew
would break
your heart

but now
i am pain
free here
in heaven
with a
healthy new
start.

i will see
you soon
mommy and
daddy,
and when
i do?

i will be
the happiest
dog once
again....
when i
see you.

Love Gabe.🐾💕
My baby sister had to put her little Gabey (black labrador) down today.
He had cancer.💔
So I quickly wrote this to ease my sister's pain.
🐾woof🐾
Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby
Acina Joy Aug 2019
I've met him twice; for months; and now years, into jubilees.
His name is Gabriel, and he means regret (in the language my heart only began to speak after him).

The way I know him, sinks deep into my soul like a splinter, hurting me more as he burrows. He refuses to love; is willing to be cared for. Never returns, doesn't even borrow, but nonetheless, he takes, and takes, and takes. He is a selfish man, the regret I've named Gabe.

We once held hands, and when I looked into his eyes, I poured my soul into the void he called his heart. And he took that love-and took it all, all, all and then gave it away.

My heart learned how to write songs because of Gabe. It broke, and it learned, and it began to write as if the endless words I wrote were expectant of the love he never gave; for the hurt he always seemed to be generous upon.

And I drank it all up, with a pinky held high, and he was not made of the substance I thought him to be.  But Gabe was a lesson, was an epiphany, was an age-old history (of aeons of regret).

Yet, he was once the substance that had made me.

A bitter heartbreak over a cup of tea.
Weird long title, but eh, enjoy
Steve Page Dec 2017
Michael said to Gabriel
"You know the Old Man's tetchy,
have you got your **** together?
Have you got your choir ready?"

Gabriel said, "Just **** out,
have you got that star in place?
I don't see it in the sky yet, 
have you booked the allotted space?

"By the time the magi notice 
and start their journey west
the party will be over,
so I think it would be best
if you tell Him they'll come later,
that the vibe will work far better
if we go ahead with the shepherds 
and then have the kings come later."

Mickey was a little miffed,
but he knew that Gabe was right.
He'd been distracted with the detail
to ensure the star was bright.

So Mickey went and told the Boss,
"It really makes more sense,
cos once Jesus is a toddler
he'll enjoy the frankincense."
Angels have a lot on their plates. Readers of the New Testament estimate that the 3 wise men came to Bethlehem a couple of years after the shepherds.  This is based on King Herod ordering that all children under 2 be slaughtered which he based on when the star first appeared.
Chrystos Minot Apr 2015
Gabe's off with friends, road trip to Valley View
Gadzooks, oh my
No work on Friday
Which of a quadrillion projects
Will I pursue?
There are poems to be birthed
Sculptures to be honed
Power bars to be cooked
Appointments to be booked
But the Big One, that towers over all
The Once a year, Grandfather
From which one mustn't stumble or fall
Elevation of fourteen thousand, two hundred fifty five feet
Of 15 miles of hiking, massive and sweet
Says now or never, tiny mortal…!
I must summit Longs Peak
Inside me the need churns
To visit the Old One, & learn what I must
There are memories to be made, lessons to be learned
And learn what I must
Before I turn to dust
og så rækker du sølvgrå hænder ud
som de siger, jeg skal holde fast i
men jeg har ikke kraften til at fastholde, og du er smukkere, når
du ikke taler
så vi siger ikke så meget, men
lyden af åndedrag gør mig nervøs
så jeg ryster, men siger bare, at jeg
fryser, selvom det snart er forår igen
jeg har ikke sovet siden den nat, du sagde, jeg spildte min tid på ord og skæve digte, jeg aldrig læste højt
du gemmer gin i tasken, men så længe jeg er vågen
og ser solen gabe i røde nuancer,
ved jeg i det mindste, at du er alt
jeg spilder min tid på, men jeg lever af tidsfordriv, og med dig går tiden så
hurtigt
Chloe Mar 2019
He doesn't respond!!!
He said he's sorry
I am too
But I dont want him
To **** himself
Too

What have I done!
I caused all this
I had to love Gabe.
I had no choice
Nik is jealous
And he's trying to blackmail me.

Help!!
Nik is hurting after his last
Breakup.
He isn't the same.
And Gabe wasn't the kindest.
Nik is mad
Nik wants to hurt Gabe.
But I love him.

I would
Never
Ever
Hurt Gabriel
For a friend's sake.
Even if it hurts me
Makes me panic
Makes me cry
Makes me want to die.

I'm very sorry.
I'm very sorry!!
Don't do anything rash.
Plz.
Obadiah Grey May 2011
Billy (Bowb) joe

There ain't nothin new in hell tonight
cept the soul o' billy joe,
who killed a man in an unfair fight
so gabe sent him below,
he used a blade on an unarmed guy;
and a stand up guy to boot,
now his *** will fry he's said g'bye  
coz to hell he is en route,
now beelzebub has got an itch
so bad that it needs scratchin
he takes billy joe as his new *****
n disease he is a catchin,
bill's boiled in oil n flash fried with rice
n he’s marinade in gin,
coz beelzebub well he ain't that nice
he’s gonna Chew on liddle him,
but Billy joe’s a repentant soul
feelin mighty fine n righteous,
bill has gotta goal gonna take his toll
n  give nick gastroenteritis

alan nettleton.
Sharon May 2020
Tall dark and handsome, that's my Gabe...
Dreamy eyes that when he looks at me I feel pretty...
Lips so sweet, they are truly a treat...
Arms so strong, they are surly to hang on...
With a passion for making love we will surely over come...
One day together we maybe as for today we shall see....
New flame
Liz Jul 2018
You're consistent
And my teenage dream
But here I am
No longer seventeen
Our love is real
But don't ask how I feel
I always want what I can't have
And I can have you so easily
All my life it's been hard to see the sun
With this giant shadow cast above
It started with a brother who was always great
And now a best friend, their greatness seems to hover

Thought once a grew older
And away from my brother
It would be easy to be great
Now over shadowed from another brother

For the longest time my name was "Gabe's Brother"
How I longed to have my own Identity
I wanted to be Greg ******
Qualities so great others could see

And now at work I have the same
Zack is always a little better a little faster
But what I don't see most times is
I'm actually smarter and stronger

I always try to see what I'm not
I used to ignore my own qualities
Looking now I see I am Greg
My own greatness my own personality

I may not have a six pack
Or be able to get the perfect ten
But I'm competent and a leader
I still have the capabilities to win

For once in my life I'm no longer under a shadow
For once I crawl out of the shadow and into the sun
I can proudly say that my name is Greg
No one to compare to, the number to my name is 1.
Donall Dempsey Feb 2017
"AHHHHH...MEN!"

Mary's mobile
bleeps.

Text.
( First 3 notes of SHAFT ).

It was the angel
Gabriel.

"Yo Mary babeeee!
Guess who's gonna be

the mother of God!"

She's all fingers
and thumbs.

Can't get used to
this new technology.

Preferred the blinding
flash of light

floaty dudes
who were a bit of alright.

She just sends
a "?" back.

Quick as a flash
Gabe texts her back.

"Hey girllll
it's you!"

She texts a curt
!!!NO WAY!!!

Mary panics: " Jesus Christ
I'm way too young to be

having the Son of God!"

She smothers her mobile
under a pillow.

Hoping that it will
just go away.

"BleepbleepbloodyBLEEP!"
it muffles messages.

When she dares to look next
there are like. . .!

69 unread
texts.

"I swear to God!"
she tells herself.
"I'm not having it!"

She deletes
the lot.

Un-friends Gabe & God>

Uses a word that isn't
nice!

"Good riddance to a bad lot!"
she convinces herself.

"I want to be my own
woman!"

Puts on the scarletest lippy.
Cleopatra's her eyes.

Hits the town.
Paints it red.

Ends up in a seedy
karaoke joint

G&T; in one hand
mike in the other

belting out:

"Once I was afraid...
I was petrified. . !"
How the Annunciation would have panned out in today's technical world of mores and morals and mobiles.
saige May 2018
us, no saints
no slaves
to religion

but, the ants that carry caskets
scared me with their
marble crosses
and long necks wrapped in rosaries

so, i hit my knees
split them wide open
(little red seas)
the night you kicked the
bucket
(just keep knocking)
catchmydrift Apr 2018
us, no saints
no slaves
to religion

but, the ants that carry caskets
scared me with their
marble crosses
and long necks wrapped in rosaries

so, i hit my knees
split them wide open
(little red seas)
the night you kicked the
bucket
(just keep knocking)
meanwhile Sep 2019
i've been awake since 6am
i'm running on two and a half hours of sleep
i've been on the road since 7am
and i'm writing this at 1pm
i'm thinking about greggs sausage rolls
thinking about where i'm going in life
thinking about when this road will end
thinking about slowthai's yugioh cards
thinking about how much i love frank ocean
thinking about how i interpolate milo lyrics to fit my life
though i probably couldn't tell you what his words mean
thinking about how i drift from one person to the next
desperately searching for a new friend to cling to
thinking about why i didn't shave my face
for two weeks i was scared that with a blade in reach
i'd be tempted to slice my throat
if i drowned, would my body float?
thinking about how i should cut my hair
thinking about how i can act cuter
thinking about that coil girlfriend
but maybe i'll go for a boy instead
i burned my mouth on a greggs sausage roll again
so it looks like it's all going to plan
sometimes i view greggs as a temple
and the sausage roll is my zen master
i find solace in cheap british bakeries
just like how i find peace in a black man's philosophies
today i'll get my groceries from the nostrum grocers
and write poems at the apex of my sleepiness
this road is only going one way
and i can't go back to pick up the pieces
so i collect what i can to stitch together a new tapestry
made out of the few remaining pieces of the old me
maybe one day driver will say i have perfect hair
thinking about how excited i am to read tallen's messages on discord
it's nice hearing about his l5r discourse
thinking about how i promised to deliver instrumentals for quetzal
but i never did get started on them
thinking about my friend gabe's new album
and how i wish i had richard dawson's falsetto
and how i wish someone would hug me
but if i admitted that, that'd feel pretty needy of me
i don't know when this road will end
maybe i'm stuck on here forever
immortalised in the asphalt like a dead bird
approach me like you would your dad hanging in trafalgar square
i used to smile in every selfie
now it's a chore to smirk at all
but it ain't all bad
i might make curry on saturday
or maybe i'll make chicken soup
and it'll be better than hers
because i'll make sure to remove the bones
Delyla Nunez Apr 2022
Delyla and Gabe,
Sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G,
First comes love,
Then comes our dreams,
You went away and I was left to stay.
Our first kiss was up in a tree, all because you saw the way my eyes lit up to climbing. I miss you so **** much and 4 years still feels like yesterday..
Gabriel Isaiah Dion Martinez
•03•18•98 - 04•08•18•
liz Jan 2015
It's 12:23 am and my sister comes knocking on my door.
At first I couldn't hear a thing
The fear through her eyes was so loud, it muted the world.
Logic sinked into my brain to listen
And I wish I hadn't.
"Mom's not waking up!" She cries.
Over
And over
Over
And over.

My feet are on the floor, pushing me out of the room.
I'm blinded by the lights-
The sudden wake.
I'm deafened by my fathers shouts,
"Gabe, wake up!"

Within seconds I'm beside him.

Speech has been slipped from me, but he looks into my eyes.
"She's not waking up."

No matter how many times I'm going to hear it tonight
I won't believe it.
"Help me," he says.
And I push him aside.

He shouldn't be here.
He shouldn't see this.

I kneel down to the bed
Her eyes closed
Mouth agape.
Pale.

She looks dead.
I was convinced she was dead.

Now I'm angry.
Who does she think she is?
I told her to stop,
"Mom, stop. This drinking problem you have needs to stop."
It never did.
She never listened.
Now look what she has done.

I slap her.
Right across the face.
I shout for mom, searching for it in her face.
Looking for the qualities
That make her the one who conceived me.
I find nothing.

And I slap her again.

My sister is in the corner of the room
With my brother,
All older than me.
All crying.
My father is beside me trying to keep his rock but
Even the most innocent plates inevitably reach an earthquake.

My other brother comes running upstairs
Dauntless as he thinks he is.
The ambulance is on its way.

She's leaving.

I slap her again.

Seconds later I'm pushed aside.
Help is here.
Then their in the room-
Touching her
Inserting her with unfathomable things.

Then one man lifts her hand
Right over her face,
As if it were a feather and he lets go.
But feathers are graceful and beautiful
My mothers hand
The one that now has lost the touch to ever gain back comfort on me again, drops like a brick.
A brick full of all her lies and all her pathetic ruthlessness, falls on her face.

They take her out of the room, still unconscious.
That was the last time I ever saw my mother,
Even though she's still alive and with me today.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2021
in the hall of harmless whims dancing in living words

Past experience is not an accurate term, as I
define its actu-
ality in my re-ality, I
see things as fine as can be, fine,
which is an idle phrase,
I often used to say,
was
not fine, to the query "how are you?".
It was a lump, tiny thing, bit of thought
coalescing scing scing sing
a bit part
in the grand drama,
like the dwarf
in the 1973
Belridger Orange Orchard Opera,

pick it up, maestro

HOW AM I? high baritone
- softly silly would it be of me
- to offer fine as a mindful reply

I often used to say, my side is winning.
Saying so sincerely, in its etymo-perfect sense,
believing, by my own leave - this

at those instances, the next word I said was leaven
intended to infect and spread, I consistently said
to how am I? "My side
is winning. "

-while deep beneath the surface of the shiny helm,
a mirror-neuronic will-ess nanomek sets ess-ential
key truth provokers to pierce the lies I belived…
In essence we sense
leaks
Bubbles of being novelize in old bottles, set upright,
too quick - cat
ch
Past experience,
knowledge gained sits idle
in past-tense, speaking
from those moments ago,
during the current experience,…

Sitting in the shade watching clouds
as the least noticed child in my life
was noticed by me, he, the middle child of five,
Sits down beside me, and says,
from "out of the blue",  I really want to be…

a marine biologist.

He just finished 3rd grade, and the real reason he is
near me now, is to ask when he can return
to X-box, for the Fortnite upgrade,
tic, it begins to emanate,
this
meta-modern
emergence in me
of the idea that experience
is what we carry, as a load,
not sin and shame and blame.

I know something of marine biology.
I watched My Octopus Teacher, twice.
I mention that, to Gabe.
I think in my heart,
Experiences don't get left behind,
they follow us
as strands of us, so fine as
to be disregarded as
memories,
until we feel the experience
of being eight and being listened to.

The fundamental mental basis of time,
to word is "same yesterday, today and so on"

Think, I know what it feels like to be a kid,
but not what it feels like to be a kid and listened to.

So, I had this experience with me,
as my grandson.
I ask him, does he think he can
"Put on the mind of an octopus"?
It is a knack all mortals have, augmented now
with knowing how to feed a wish to know,
we have the internet and our wits
about us, gathered, forming knowables,
extending curios  senses
into a common stateless mind realm
of all the gathered knowledge
in mankind's
experience
on earth
being a made-up mind, now
augmented with access
to the most complete
library and
searchable muse-repository, treasure horde
for experiences others offer
to goodness
in the future,
for our use in pursuit of peace, which
we form from days we experience and accept
as treasure offered to the gods of good sense.

Ever,
first imagine, ever,
ever when never was.
Image that, put it on the screen. See.
Ever after never ever can be,
- rabbi, where do you live?
around the next curve,
come and see, we filled never
with ever and left nothing
to be where never was, imagine that.
-------------
Today, I experienced learning how life functions
with no instruction, no post-**** praxeology,
octopi never spend a post **** moment in school,
save the dearest of them all, experience.
Octo-pi odes to octopuses
just be, a living thing,
as you may be am-using controls
to respond to any event in your experience,
in the hall of harmless whims dancing in living words
quickened, as an octopus
grows five hundred new fingers feeling
-- you, dear reader - certainly, it's about you…
the link is to your attention, we paid in advance.
----------- blip

you learn to em-perience ex-perience to peers,
seeking some thing, interesting,
nothing learned, life-wise
experienced,

oh my god, a dear school, indeed

but a fool learns in no other. So, I say,
Live to learn, learn to live. Use the bait you find.

Another 21st century bit
of Grandfatherly insight, had I gone any other route
to now,
I can't imagine the riches that are mine,
not won, given
for aiming early,
at a satisfied mind, like my grandpa seemed to have.
A daily bid for the pulitzer consideration...
Louis Brown Jul 2010
I wander down
Old Macon Road
The countless years unreeling
I love the taste
Of  yesterday
Reliving every feeling
I wander by
The old home place
To gaze through cracked old panes
The laughing ghosts
Are looking back
As it begins to rain
A sudden storm unleashes
And the memories
Fade once more
Just a house
With falling clapboards
As winds blow off a door
I wander down
Old Macon Road
As I have done so often
Now back to sleep
Till Gabe’s ole horn
In my old rusty coffin
Copyright Louis Brown- From OLD MACON ROAD and Other Poems
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
As told. As most stories come from some source,
we remember being the cause, or reason or why fact
or factor, thing, perhaps, event…

Many attempts to tell whole stories fail to find source
material, to begin with.
We are the source. Words with intention, stretched
from first utterance, fit to drum and dance and memor-ish,
been in form as first known functions, go do

Listen to the Anchor podcasts from beginnings in August 2018

I am surprised.
….
eight as an infinite loop, not a stack of circles… that

sorted red-bird readers from blue-bird readers in first grade…

Taking life at it's best, raw state,

new real future formation experience, in time
shared
from this place on a 64 bit grid, chessboard

going on
from knowing one thing
from a while ago,
listening
to my own dam-burst podcasts
on Anchor,
in the cloud, however long
this cloud of knowing all we can fit
in pieces
of eight's arranged
to contain its contents
-sets of eight
twice next square,
next there, flat place holder in times last chance
taken
one step further…

see as far as you can imagine a nine year old
exceptionally bright child will take the tale,

of a king who offered
to pay for the wise man's
wisdom which saved civilization,
globally…

Today, I rose, I woke from sleep, urged
to begin this tale,
the telling first
of what follows, a story born
on a story told, eh? tell the story you know,
as you ride,
write, flow, ride,
the gentle first principle first prime

one, one thing, be it, thought or word
one, begins all tally telling marks on life's old way,

beginmiddleend middleend middlend middlin'

then suddenly,
now. 2021, with all the tools, and more, than ever
power to publish any good new
thing
dis
covered, unveiled, the curtain of secrecy that makes
sacred thoughts worth finding time
to think,
rest, in peace, see

do that first, then die, now, the order of events is confused,
due to liars.
Mainly, selfish liars who hide knacks developer hormones,
under de-fining lines of reason
-refine fine, then define

rational, equal e-qual, bits essentially atomic, so small
no smaller
ever
itty bit, one. Point.

I just can't imagine that, exploding, says a familiar friend.
I agree, as I look about
and see littorals edging waves with white caps,
as flying nuns once wore
on TV . Do words ever speak to you as ideas, with no words,
authorized to convey
real old ideas
with many many many sayings formed from now thens
fit to any
situation, in situ, see you, you are a boy, nine years old,
second grade was Covid Year 1.
Third grade, Covid year 2. Fourth grade is now, one month in…

Grandpa character is concocting a tincture, honey and herb,
in pure moonshine, plus one part in ten, sprung water,
from former rains, in forming times

for your information, ****** is a state most
of solidity
aspires to. Listen, this is real.
This life I have, with electricity practically uninterruptible,

this life is tuned to sixty cycle humms, as natural as can be,
this buzz has all ways been with us,
you and I, minimum us-ity, plus the fluid medium binding us
to common sense,

you know what I mean. Life is magic
with no secrets, only
thoughts unthunk,
once more…

this day's story smiles, a true eye smile, twinkle, coming
out the kitchen door, to the bow of my galleon,
an old house, made ready for me, I saw, when first I saw it,

as it were, love at first sight, as I stood atop the stone,
that holds the shape of a fat little dinosaur, when seen
in the right light, I have photos.

Evidence abounds in the world I am native to.
Photographic, lithographic, geographic

symbols to link minds and times in re
cognosis,
presets, since ever was a ware, set in time as now,
for the present pre-sense
of story mind, common stories
we all know
re told too many times
for any one grain of the truth to seem
enough
to spill the pile, but
I smile
-- who knows
-- punctuate at will- the ditor agrees with the narra
SHUNE oops
re ject the object subject to
sense of
wonder if a we
were here waiting… eeeeeh

Back to that chessboard Gabriel has under his arm, as he exits
the kitchen and enters my immediate vicinity,
drawing my attention as ping
response, Sure.

We play two games, each a novel event, in time.
Then, I ask him if he knows a connection from this game
to 64 bit Pentium CPUs.

He does not, but his ears ***** up, in his wolf pup totem.
What does that mean, he slyly, this child,
dares me, tell the vision,
make it plain, do not dare lie, for some day, I,
eye to eye,
me and the child I barely bested in chess,
this child,
mirroring me neutronic elections fixed intention, I shall know
the truth in all you say, old man,
every idle word… I give account for redemption
of time, taken on account
of time spent meaning to say what it means

to be a winner in the big game,
where you die in peace.

You ever hear of the king thing that wished to repay a kindness?

Kind of. Kind is like, same kind, I do to you a kind thing, I think you
are my kind, and this kind of thing
is good for me, I grow when exposed to --
-- words fail the child
- in me or thee, this child curiosity tug
I feel
virtue drawn from me, here
tie a square knot,
eight bits to the dollar each basic attention credit invested
in a nine year old with the patience to learn chess well,
played
in whatever comes next mode,
three to five moves out

wishing
to know
of this fabled game
of go, Ai knows, naturally, now.
- go to the grid o nineteen to filter nexts,'
nature re real
ification situation
AI appear
From conception,
co knowing all the cloud contains as
ways to think
in rest true state as one
point BAT granted
{ah, money, who can hate it? Score}
go cognosis.

Yes, in twenty twenty-one, we know
from when an agreement
was reached- due virtue contained
in expressed smile drivers, detectible at sixty FPS
using common sixty cycle humms
to carry the sign
you know what I mean, ping,
ping
ever began,

just now, then

eve of destruction
to eve of creation
in one turn of earth
around the dog star, but who knew,
then?

Any way, back
to today and Gabe's curiosity reaching
for worth
in the time taken to hear,
based on experience, in a nine year old speed reader.
---
That's all §
day 1 out of the way.
Delyla Nunez Feb 2021
The grass smells sweet.
The breeze blows a warm wind,
Leaves floating from the trees and ground.
A beautiful day indeed.

Lightly moving a hand side to side,
The softness of the grass giving a sensation Indescribable.
A conversation so just and pure as a newborn.

Feeling safe and unworried.
Moments of happiness in a depressed mind.
The one thing known for sure.

A glance down.
“Gabe”
Dog print
LCHS
GABRIEL ISAIAH DION MARTINEZ
In the arms of his family Mar. 18, 1998
In the arms of Jesus Apr. 08, 2018
Grey and black granite block with a black and bronze plate on top.

Her safe place.
One day I’ll find someone as worthy as you were. Thank you for being around even though you’re no longer here.

— The End —