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Jack Trainer Jul 2014
Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival

Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale

Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year
CK Baker Jan 2017
So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!  

Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat

Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!

Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid

Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square  

Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!

Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?
stewart acuff Aug 2013
When I was 16 and done

Cleaning out his horse stalls

Mr. Sodie Hampton said,

"Son, don't never work for less than

$1.50 an hour the rest of your life."

Momma who grew up choppin and pickin

Cotton said it a different way,

"A hard day's work deserves a

A good day's pay."

Momma also said,"You ain't any better

Than anyone else, but nobody's

Better than you either."

My Tennessee Momma also said,

"Son, your word is your bond and

A man looks after those weaker than him."

I learned as a man that children come first.

Syd and Sam taught me love

I'd never known.

We are all children of the same God

Breathed to life with the spark of

The Divine.

That's all why it ain't workin today.

We forgot all that.

We ain't all individual robots

With the strongest devouring the weakest.

And too many never worked for

Mr. Sodie Hampton and learned there's a

Floor beneath which we will not work

Indignities we will not bear

And disrespect we won't accept.

And our children deserve joy and freedom

And even skittles on a summer night

No matter their color or their clothes.

Too many of us got it ***-backwards

We make up all kind of reasons to

Hate and fight and **** and some

Even try to justify reape and ******

When Momma and Mr. Sodie Hampton said

It so different so long ago

In Tennessee and Missouri.
Styles Oct 2014
What’s up with this fool this a battle my dude
Your in my domain so you play by my rule
You battling a beast that’s more evil than you
Anything you do, I can do better than you
I’m bred from a breed that would eat you for their food
We watch and read about your type on the daily news
They only found your wind pipe no other parts of you
Thats what happened when you come across a beast,
That feeds off the hearts of its lower counter parts
Rap underworld boss, much bigger than you for starts
I make you and your crew look like they ****** Doo
Me controlling the elements that's hell for you
nothing you can do, my metaphors got meaning
You are a hoax just teething,
Imma full blown demon
you barely steaming
you've bean bitten its good ridden
my odds against you for so many reasons
I been hot, who you think changed the seasons
My HANS solo helped the pharaohs off spring
Made Alienware out of theses underground kings
Beating my chest in the middle of the ring
Raising vikings train'em to win
With my pen alone I could **** you with writtin
Imagine what a battle axe would do to your chin
I'll hulk smash, push your shin bone through your chin
Fresh off of my second wind, fresh off of a wind
I been doing this, before you exist,
And will run this when you stop breathing
You are in the path of a psychopath
You do the math then face my wrath
I **** guys blood ties then take a bath and laugh
You should just stop
We are not even
I revive your life
**** you twice
Just so the plot thicken
You was easy pick, from slim Pickens
I swallow whole chickens and baby pigeons
Livin under bridges trying to change my image
Fightin trolls and warriors my daily scrimmage
killing you, then train your brethren and break bread with
Your best friend, I'll be home by seven to have some words with the reverent
My crazy flow I’ll spit you a Rembrandt
My skill running rampant
About to get a little uncanned
I got a ***** in the Hampton
And she thinks I’m top ten
Plus I’m tall dark and I’m handsome
I’ll take you for ransom
But your not worth a grand-son
You couldn’t out rap me
If you were Santa grandson
Your evil family
Will Die ironically
every villain dies gory
In every story featuring me
Sean Flaherty Jul 2015
"We'll see."
(Thirty-two team,
two kyoo-bee,

a full-starting
O-, and only
two-guys on D.)

Mixed-media,
played-with, in poetry.
War, on, inside-me.

Implying-unstable, infer-me,
infirm the insane,
afraid,
and a stain,
and-to-blame.
And,

for shame,
part of race, don't,
myself, run-in.
Tryna buy-my-lunch. (&)
*******'s brought a gun-in.
Element'ry school, and all you wonder's where the fun's went. (&)
"Probably in another-empty-bag of
eaten-Funyuns." (&)
Probably, blue-blew fireworks, with fingers-off...
stumped-him. (&)

"Stomped'em."

Wonder, beauty, why you cryin'?
"Wonder,
if you'd drive?"
Bought-in, you did! To
all-I've-said, ugly and
alive-eyed.

"Wouldn't cough too much,
with tube-in!
You're mouth-dry."
Hampton-Beach-power-plant-hug,
July Five. CJD makes-me.
A bad brine, mine.
Another-youngest,
"Brother has died,
blind."

North Hampton,
on the way to
Hamherst-dam.
"Tryin'-man!
Love, the fam.
Will it be too late t'jam?

If I leave, you, now, from where I am?"
I leave now, from where I am. So,
[Leave now!
From: where I am!]

Leave now, "from where?"
(I'm already there.
Or did we come
the other way?)
"I'm getting there,
****."

I.

Am.

Despite the **** blizzard.
Why am I afraid to say
"it?"
Like:
"it" isn't.
I'm a Wizard.
Are we set,
now?
On-a-plan?
I'm a lizard,
tail-dropped.

Basilisk-Kenevel,
walking water-cans.
Bet you coulda. Know I woulda.
Puddle-crossed,
"Bye," I ran.
Ogled-over noodles,
with the
"wrong-sauce-
Dan-Dan."
I'm always glad to read you.
Wrote to your-self, I am

THE man, I am
THAT guy! I'm not?
"You are."
Just-High.
I fry.
These-frilly vegetarian-victims.
I ripped flesh from bone, before my dogs,
had to sic 'em.

Oh--
if you don't like the channels you can clickclick-click 'em.
If I'm showing off my *****! "Better go-head."
Lick'em.
See? Hawk-my-****, and
Stickemmmmmmmmmm.

Didn't happen to 'bic' him."
D'you know
how to pick 'em?
Cuz I take hit, like you
take-a-****:
Ummmmmmmm
...
well.

And, I turn-it.
All-around.
And I make you
****-yourself.
*******-on my
"all-that,"
it comes, with.
Now, Fall! Back!

Cell-tough, in round-III, so
convert, or burn-winnin'. "Comfy-
When-sinnin'." In-system,
Preferably would, and should-be:
Bobs. Newhart and Lee and "the
Third. " "Cornball." Griffin.
Racist, your second-choice, whiffin'.
K-battin', ten,

outta-tin.
Hear it in the heat, soul-hissin',
lion-sun, bathing,
and she-glisten.
Cast me, to an
island away,
swears-by-we,
"Listen."

"More pills, son?"
Try'na name
your brand,
Of volley-*****.
Wilson,

Rus-sell

"I call them the
'defensive-stars,'"
And this-league: ***.
***. Arr.
Ain't-no-side-

hus-tle.
Fantasy. Cyclycality. Football. And, all Bob's, thought-of, that rhymed.
mom is sick her 90th birthday is in several weeks she says she has lived a long full life and is ready to die the doctors are trained to keep her alive i remember when the doctors kept dad alive while waiting for the cancer to attack a vital ***** i wonder if this practice of keeping people alive is humane mom forgets events 2 hours earlier walks into mirrors falls down wakes up with black eyes i’m having trouble sleeping thinking morbid thoughts maybe lots of people all around the world are waiting to die people ***** mutilated robbed cheated bankrupt homeless war victims old people with chronic diseases dependent on caretakers maybe millions of people are thinking about death waiting hoping praying for death faced with the growing problem of overpopulation why can’t we mitigate the suffering of those waiting to die i don’t understand



in early morning i drift out of sleep toss right turn left look out window glance Mount Lemmon stretch out on back planter flex dorsal flex toes extend arms out to sides over head look up at exposed redwood beams ceiling try to remember interpret understand what i was dreaming rise from bed brush teeth walk around make bed pull brush sheets try to take dump because i don’t want to embarrass myself in pilates class drink water slip on gym shorts head down stairs grab keys lock door scan garden always feel lucky if Saab starts drive to Tucson racquet fitness club pilates class



i am ready to move away from Tucson nobody here wants needs me no one reads my writings or is interested in showing buying my paintings sun scorches bakes intrudes invades rudely glaring mercilessly my skin suffers i am thinking about heading back east North Hampton Massachusetts or Hudson Valley area or Chicago where i have many friends or rainy Apeldoorn Netherlands where Pavanne and Shannon live or Eureka California where Shannon also resides i’ve paid my dues a thousand times hoping to achieve success i live in fantasy imagining outcomes that never come



younger attractive female doctor wearing white coat low heel black pumps enters room of 60 year old patient suffering from depression loneliness despair

DOCTOR please sit up and open your gown (she plugs stethoscope into her ears)

PATIENT you want to hear my heart

DOCTOR breathe deep breaths (she examines glands around throat under arms shines light into ears eyes nose mouth) hmmm what symptoms caused you to admit yourself

PATIENT i’ve been feeling frustrated defeated isolated anxious for a while

DOCTOR you look strong healthy height weight proportionate i think your problems are psychological you may want to find a good therapist

PATIENT i’ve seen many as a kid none helped

DOCTOR well if you think you’re ready to be euphonized i can schedule you for next week of course the hospital will need to make arrangements for disposing your body

PATIENT does it hurt

DOCTOR the drug industry has made huge advances in the last few years i’ve been informed the procedure is actually quite euphoric

PATIENT next week huh like Friday or Saturday next week

DOCTOR the hospital will contact you

PATIENT do i need to bring anything or what do i wear

DOCTOR the hospital will contact you with a list of details including an e-will if you have family or relations

PATIENT thank you for your kindness you’re really sweet and pretty i don’t see a wedding ring are you married or single my mom would love to hear i’m dating a doctor
Ben Jones Sep 2015
A pounding of gauntlet on iron and oak
Called a stout hearted watchman of local regard
How the rain played a march on his armor and cloak
As he dashed to the gate through the cobblestone yard
And he rattled the thunder itself when he spoke
"Are you friend or foe? Are you bandit or bard?"

A mighty voice spake thusly:

"Tis I, tis I, Sir Hampton Chase,
The worthiest of knights
A foe to all of evil deed
A dragon slain, a damsel freed
Quite often found atop a steed
In armor, helm and tights"

The guard retorted thusly:

"I can't say I've heard tell of you
My good Sir Hampton Chase
Nor can I, in this ghastly storm
Get a good look at your face
Pray, tell me more about yourself
Regale me, your grace"

A somewhat muted voice returned:

"Are you ******* mate?"

A deadpan tone responds:

"Try me"

A noble sigh and then:

"Very well

I marched upon the dreaded spire
Destroyed the evil lord
I cast aside the dragon's fire
And smote it with my sword
I fought the groaning garglebuck
I clove it's head in twain
In taverns all across the land
They call me Bandit Bane..."

A meaningful look towards the closed gate prompted the watchman:

"Please continue, Sir"

The gate received a certain look from the knight:

"Seriously? Huh...

I walked the path of no return
To find the holy grail
I crept up on a unicorn
And grabbed it by the tail
In certain taverns I could name
I'm known for singing shanties
When I'm in town each married dame
Gets locked in metal *******"

Another meaningful look at the gate:

"Go on..."

A stony silence until:

"I sometimes rescue baby birds
And nurse them back to health
I spend my days amongst the strays
Redistributing wealth
I never miss the privvy ***
I always brush my hair
I went to school in Caldecott
My parents come from there

I'm running out of material here mate, can I just come in?"

The guard contemplated this:

"Sorry mate, I've just been killing time. *******"

The sullen clunk of retreating armor was swallowed by the howling tempest as once again, the legendary Sir Hampton Chase trudged into the night...
Marshal Gebbie Nov 2011
Gee it’s great to meet good people,
hear strong words and see big sights,
Feel the atmosphere pervading,
seeping through the wrong & rights
of giant types.

Strength in structure, taste in art,
these things I did percieve,
when you and I dear we did cart
a cache of plums, deep blue and ****,
under your grandma’s eve.

It’s funny how you feel at home,
feel acceptance without effort,
knowing that the breadth of foresight
will not judge you without cause,
Love and animation calling
through the sturdy timbers tight,
stretching down and pulling upright
countenance depressed by laws
of those callow public paws.

When we left my heart was singing,
I did love them like my own,
for I knew deep down inside me
I had found another home
in which we two....
could build our love alone.

Marshalg
Albury 18th March 1969
Alexis J Meighan Sep 2014
The dream

Remember- Martin Luther King-

"Let freedom ring"
He grace the world with a vision.
"Free at last"
He sang of the goal to the crowd

Remember -Agathe Uwilingiyimana -

The "content of our character"
Has come to judgment
But these character are just fools on a stage

Remember -Abraham Lincoln-

King's dream would come to a peak
But 2chainz, kim, minaj  TO and those unlike him
Would push it over and watch it crash on the buffs below

Remember -Medgar Evers-

Even Langston, wondered "what is a dream differed?"
Mahalia Jackson screamed for Martin to "tell em bout the dream"
But as Marvin proclaimed "we still don't know what's going"

Remember -John Fitzgerald Kennedy-

Obama made it in but the walls of the house he resides are far from the gleaming white it claims to be.
Blackened by the administration before him, the walls just too dingy to overlook

Remember -Fred Hampton-

He said "america gave us a bad check" and the march to washington would be how its cashed.
We all saw Barak at the teller endorsing but in the end the long fall of that tall horse was the goal of the fairest man.

He wanted every valley exalted.
Instead ******* God father pizza man makes a fool of the process, and a kid with a hoodie take the hit, just like Emmit Till, a school full of babies take the hit, Twin towers in new york takes the hit, theatre full of batman fans take the hit, but guess that's living the dream.

Remember- Harry and Hariette Moore-

Malcom says by any means
Even Jimi Hendrix sang for us to grab the machine guns
"Fight the power!" Be a public enemy. What ever happen to all that?
A fist in the air and a call for unity use to use to get us up in the morning
Now this ***** running around with a helmet and some horns telling these skanks he's the flavor of love.
Ya I'll pass on that
And go with the labor of love and survive with a better understanding of what life is.

Remember -Benazir Bhutto-

Mya Angelou was a ****, *******, stripper, and thief before she  new "why the cage bird sing"
Even today with all her enlightenment she ask where is Dr King's dream?

Humans have come so far so fast but judgment and common sense still elude our sophisticated lives. What once was a dream is indeed a reality to most but that's only because the play ignorance to the issues that still plague our nation and that dream we chase is littered with little nightmares.

Remember -Emmit Till-

Lincoln started the process J.F.K started the process, M.L.K. Preached the process, Medgar Evars tried to beat the process, Malcom X was betrayed for the process, Agathe Uwilingiyimana stood up for the process,Benazir Bhutto took a chance on the process,Fred Hampton died in the process,
Harry and Hariette Moore burned for the process,
Emmit Till was tortured in the process.
All believing the dream would see them survive.

-Remember the future-
-Xin-
Nae Nov 2013
“Nicole Brunelli, the first small town journalist receiving...” - no - “...the best journalist of Ludlow receiving the Pulitzer Prize! She is ambitious, determinated, fearless, unstoppable and this couldn’t be possible if she wasn’t like this otherwise she would never had revealed the macabre events of Bethlem Royal Hospital! Aaaaaaah”.
My name is Nicole Brunelli I’m 28 years old and I’m a journalist. My childhood wasn’t easy but what childhood was? My mom died when she gave me birth, and my dad... lo... my dad loved me too much until my 16 years old. By then I was starting college and I went to live with a friend of mine, we moved to  Glasgow and we graduated together. We had the time of our life and I ended up marrying him, a few years later we moved to a small town called Ludlow, we had our precious first child and I became an unknown journalist. But now everything changed, this is what I was meant to do.
I research about Bethlem Asylum and some archive stuff just doesn’t make sense, death dates, nonexistent patients, witnesses like one man who lived in the area of the hospital attested to the “cryings, screechings, roarings, brawlings, shaking of chains, swearings, frettings, and chaffings to be heard from the outside.” and he also said something about the managers of the facility that were known as Keepers, and were seemingly as frightening as they sound.  One such Keeper, Helkiah Crooke, a member of the medical department of the royal household, took over, ousting the former for being “unskillful in the practice of medicine.” It could be assumed that he would then handle the medical inattentions to the patients, but no records were ever made of any medical needs of the patients. He himself referred to the patients as “the poore” or “prisoners”. Something is not right I feel it and that is why I’m going there to scrutinize, and due to this I’m going to be the first and the best small town journalist receiving a Pulitzer.
My husband doesn’t really agree with this, but he knows how I am, he knows I’ll do everything for my Pulitzer, and to make him and our baby proud of me...
The time has come, this is it. My future is about to change, I am here now, after a bus ride to Bethlem that **** 3 hours and 45 minutes, I am here.
They refused to receive me! They don’t let me in! They don’t let me in and they don’t give me any information about their procedure on patients or anything! No, no, no, no. I gotta find another way to get in.  I have to. I gotta find another way in. I’ve got to do this! I don’t know what to do, I was so close, so ******* close! I can’t give up, I can’t! I’ve got to do this! This is what I was meant to do!

One night passed and I was still there waiting for them to let me in until the night watch, where a nurse thought I was one of them trying to run, or at least that was what she wanted me think. For instants I thought “This is my chance! This is it” until I realised that once I get in, the difficult part is to figure how to get out.
Three days passed and I realised what they were doing there...people coming in aisle F as sanes or insanes and two days later coming out as vegetables or dead... They were using patients, human beings, and most of them weren’t even crazy at least when they got there, and they were using them as cavies for their experiences.
Of course, who would believe in crazy people?
After the seventh day as a patient in the Asylum I had earned the right to a guided tour to aisle D... where they give you shock therapy. Apparently I’m a messy patient, I talk to much and I refused to take some pills, so they sent me to see Mr. Cleymoore, the asylum shrink so he could diagnose me; he said that I would never see my family again, that I would never see my husband or my baby again, he said he knew all about me, and he wanted me to sign myself in the asylum but I refused to do that...So they faked my death. In my plug diagnosis my name was no longer Nicole Brunelli, now I was Lisa Coventry and I was diagnosed with hidden schizophrenia and double personality disorder, caused by the fire that killed my family when I was 16 years old.
But how would they know all of this? My family, my past, my whole life?! It doesn’t make any sense!
Three months passed and I had a tour to aisle D every week. This place was crazy, it makes me think who are the insane people here. The way they treated people! The way the “disturbed” were chained up to walls and posts like dogs. They slept on beds of straw only as the water supply did not allow for washing of linens. The way the rooms had exposed windows, leaving the patients in damp conditions at the mercy of all weather and utter darkness at night. The hospital itself was actually noted as “a crazy carcass with no wall still vertical,” offering only leaking, caved in roofs, uneven floors and buckling walls.
Under Crooke’s Keeping, the residents were not only filthy and unclothed, but malnourished to the point of starvation using a “lowering diet,” of intentionally slim portions of plain food only twice a day. It was meant to deplete and purge the madness out of the victims, while helping to conserve money. 
 There were no fruit or vegetables to be given. Mostly bread, meat, oatmeal, butter, cheese and plenty of beer was the menu. While all of this is terrible, the true horror was in the moneymaking scheme that kept it running at all. Originally, the hospital was open to the public in hopes that food would be brought to the inmates from the community. Quickly, money was charged, creating a sideshow where the public was invited to watch patients displayed in cages, laugh at them as they banged their heads repeatedly on the walls, and even to poke them with sticks and throw things at them.
 Luckly I made a friend there, Mike Spencer was his name, he was the male nurse who used to do the night watches, he used to stay all night with me just talking and making promises; he knew I wasn’t crazy and that actualy helped me keeping me sane, at least for a while.
 Six months passed and I wasn’t the same.
They are coming, they are coming...they are coming for me...they are coming for Lisa.
 It’s cold, the cold tastes like blue. - Ahah - it tastes like blue! - Ahah...It’s cold... they are coming for Lisa, Lisa doesn’t want to go with them...
 She said that she’ll keep me safe, she said she would take care of Lisa. Lisa is hearing them, They are coming! Lisa doesn’t want to go, no, no, no, NO.
 She said they wouldn’t hurt me. YOU SAID THEY WOULDN’T HURT ME! They, gave me shocks again, they gave Lisa shocks.
 It’s not my fault. They know. They know. They must know why am I here if they don’t know? It’s not my fault she made me do it! She said it was the best thing! Now they can’t have him. Now he’s safe. My unborned baby is safe. They can’t have him now.
 She said she would protect me...She said she would protect Lisa. Shut the voices down! Shut the voices! She’s saying bad things. Lisa doesn’t like what she’s saying. She keeps telling me - “ You killed your mother when she gave you birth! it’s your fault that daddy loved you and used you to replace her! You know you liked when he used to play with you and love you. Everybody knows he used to did it what people didn’t knew was that you liked it! you wanted more! You know he only did it because you let him! And you certainly know who started the fire who killed him...” - SHUT UP! We need to shut the voices down! We need to shut the voices! shut...shut the voices...shut the... shut the voices down... shut the voices down... shut... shut the... shut the voices...
 She said Mike promised. She said Mike promised Lisa to take me out of here... Mike promised.
Two more months passed and I was completly insane due the shock therapy, but Mike kept his promise and he took me out of there, in the middle of the night he gave me a coat and he drove me to South Hampton seaport, he gave me the ticket and said that that was the further he could go. Along with the ticket he also gave me his lucky neckless and told me he bought me a ticket to Cuba so I could be free. I left a friend in that seaport a really good friend but I needed to go I couldn’t go back to that place.
 I had no lugagge, no shoes, nothing, just a coat, a neckless and a ticket to freedom.
 I had to ****** adapt to the situation and try to go unnoticed and not to attract to many attention, so I went to my cabine and stayed there until the end of the cruise for the maximum I could.
GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge;
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of “The Terror of the Thames.”

His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.

The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame,
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER’S ON THE LOOSE!

Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger’s rage.
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!

But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear—
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.

Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide—
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.

His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol’n away-
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.

In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks—
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.

Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise—
But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes.

And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives—
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.

Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I’m sure she was not drowned—
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.

The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.

Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
Norman Crane Oct 2020
The sun set over the Hamptons that night,
A golden egg cracked into the ocean,
We napped on the beach. Goose bumps. Wrapped tight,
Warm blanket. Waves. Shared ear buds. She sang
solely for us sitting so comfortably
on the precipice of forty. If only
we had known this would be the best day,
we could have begged the dripping sun to stay
afloat but then we would have always known
the sun will never rise as high or shine
as brightly as it did. Each day a slow
erosion of the New York coastline,
degradation of the mind. Please remember—
even when I don't—our summer in September.
The news spread over the countryside
As a clatter from iron rails,
The ominous sound of clacketty-clack
From their intersecting trails,
The plodding Goods of the 0-4-0
To the proud Express from Cheam,
It muttered as it was going past,
‘They’re going to get rid of Steam!’

The sudden shock brought an answering hoot
From the stack of the proud Express,
That whispered by on its 4-6-2
But shuddered to draw its breath.
‘And what will they pull their Pullmans with?’
As it passed through an April shower,
A 4-6-0 on another track:
‘They’re moving to diesel power!’

The steam from the Earl of Erin laid
A trail through the valley floor,
Its coals glowed red from the firebox grid
As the fireman shovelled more,
A Day Excursion that quietly sat
To wait for the train to pass,
Had whispered, ‘Sorry to see you go,
You’re King of the Master Class.’

The smoke that billowed from out the stack
Had turned from white to black,
The footplate shuddered, the furnace roared
As it raced along the track,
‘They say they’re moving to diesel power
And they’re getting rid of steam,’
The Earl of Erin had hurtled by
As a Tank Engine had screamed!

The driver, checking the frantic pace
Was trying to slow it down,
But nothing worked, not even the brakes,
‘We’re headed for Hampton Town!
We shouldn’t be doing sixty-five
We’re twenty over the top,
He slammed the door of the firebox shut
And the fireman’s shovel dropped.

The tender’s couplings opened up
And the Pullmans fell away,
The Earl of Erin had surged ahead
With a new found power that day,
It passed a struggling 0-4-0
As it headed toward the sea,
Gave one long blast on its whistle then
To say, ‘I’m finally free!’

The fireman jumped at the water tower,
The glass was going down,
The driver jumped when it hurtled through
The Halt at Hampton Town,
The Earl of Erin went racing on
When the sea came into view,
But locked the brakes at the water’s edge
Just as the boiler blew.

The Earl of Erin’s a rusted wreck
That still sits there on the line,
And children crawl on its footplate there
And dream of another time,
A time of dragons, a time of trains
A time they can only dream,
The age of romance, gone at last,
It died with the age of steam!

David Lewis Paget
Robin Carretti Dec 2016
Lamppost of crystal's
shadow light
It's me against me
shadow-fight
Looking out my window
I see the field
I am sitting with
my napkin fold.

Words moved__
unbelievably**

Looking at my ring hot steam
Exploded so conceivable
Did I imagine?
So intricate and fine
But invisible, in the tile cracks.
I can see a shadow face.
Please get him out of my South
Hampton house.
He's so out of place.
I never want to see his shadow face.
So swiftly shopping fighting the crowd
hunk's of  *** all over the City

I'm sold congratulations, I win me
Harry Winston diamond.
Jarod was fighting, with my jewel's.
On the titanic vessel
Something shadowing your Pupils

Exploring love at any cost
picking up the artist
historical love fossil?
He  gave her a necklace from
the shadow of his smile
exquisitely detailed tasseled

My lover tilt's me forward.
I go toward the  light Shadow fight
Hansel sometimes loves brutal
So gone Girl Gretel.
Someone is following me,
in my shadow

I was holding, Twin set croissant's
I see his sun-shadow, in the meadow
Hello, it's Me
and my shadow
The cafe black-catsuit,
he's jumping over my latte
So suited like a checkerboard
cake pursuit
So lucky me shadow kiss fairies
and elves.
Something moved me going through
my Carbanet shelf's 

Surprisingly angry. Oh! My
He's hungry
Beastly
Feastly
Shocked Ghostly
The Dutchess of Windsor

All I will be is this shadow
hanging with
  his ***** laundry

Model shoot fighting dart
Victoria secret *******
The best  silken qualities
Breaking into my house.
Was my spouse?
shadowed by too many boxers
GQ models "Guilty "Quarantine"
I'm dreaming White no shadows
of Christmas
Like an oracle of the ornament's
his shadow lip's
looking behind a cup
My mind boiled coffee grind
  every  second, broken record
I am the singer I  say hello shadow
hit my vocal chords made
the record

Robin red breast bird frantic
Sometimes life is cruel desperately
seeking  housewives  of New Jersey
Such high taxes
Getting hooked on Prozac- cheater faxes
The Christmas tree so ******* towers

Too many Jack shining, all writer's
winning April showers
Penpals writers and fighters

 African violets artist booming with
  lover's kisses seem's ingenious
But I'm not listening

His shadow follow's me I fight back
Somehow like I am pacing toward the
    Gotham city bat eye winged the
train track. The speed of heart attack
       "Crystal's Powers Comeback"
  So transparent batman flying so defiant.
Fairies with lucidity his shadow hot crime.
Right  at the same time
How I wished I was overlooking the water,
with my  Key -lime pie.
Please don't  shadow me
Or lie to me
To rob me again.
What's to gain, your invisible men
Met my virginity key.
Looking out my window

Face touched my back
monster vision,
not exactly love infusion.
I felt like I was having a
blood transfusion.

Sun-catcher caught my eye's dreamy
mad-hatter meadow
Mobster Gotti. Shadow proof

what about the book proof.
So vividly,
shooting, at windows,
cherry tree lost its shadow.
Ancestor's sign's leaves fight family
from the distance broken heart.
But Bette Midler sing's, knock's out all the,
shadow's of the earth distance.
One shadow across my opened heart window,
snow blizzard  blew apart ice my shadow fight
I paid the price started sticking
hearing music satanically

Andy Anderson window call's me?
Flicker's at me, it touched a part of me,
how it trembled me,
the familiar beat
I stumbled got down to my feet
looking out my window
Immortal sunlight powerful never
left my sight
Adele Feb 2015
In a great fountain garden,
tulips and lovely flowers bloom,
vibrant colours give life
to the Hampton Court Palace

Catherine of Aragon sat with grace,
watching the tranquil sky
as the bird sends sweet greetings
She slowly wipe the sadness coming
from her eyes

The Roman Catholic fell down from King Henry's hand
as the pope opposed his wish
Tyranny started to rule,
20 years of love and struggles come to an end

'Oh father, my heart is in pieces. Spare me the light, make me alive.'
Catherine whispered an agonized cry
begging for mercy in the Heaven's above,
she stood up and smiled in so much pain
Then slowly, she walked away
knowing Henry and Anne Boleyn is in a happy place.*

a.k
Inspired by some medieval palace stories. One of them is the Hampton Court Palace in England, where King Henry VIII once ruled together with his strange love stories with six wives including the first, Catherine of Aragon. He asked for annulment when he fell in love to "The Great *****", Anne Boleyn. Interesting.
Jo Gregory Jul 2020
I'm Bored in Brighton
Can't you see?
I'm locked here in this mansion
with just my family.

I'm Bored in Brighton
Yes, I've traipsed the streets
From Church to Bay to Hampton
I've jogged along the beach!

I'm Bored of Brighton
The Daimler's in the drive
The staff? Well they've just up and gone
All this to stay alive?

I'm Bored of Brighton
The twins are going mad.
And Rupert? Rupert's all a-moan
It's just so terribly sad!

I'm Bored of Brighton
The cavoodle looks a fright!
O heck! O no! It can't be so!
My Lulu's ...they're slightly tight!

I'm Bored with Brighton
You people are the pitts!
Try Lockdown in a high rise
And don't give us the pip!
Tallulah Jan 2013
Numb me with marijuana
Grown somewhere in Tijuana
Excite me with a line
Pretty soon I’ll be feelin’ fine
Money can buy me happiness

Meet me in the back of the bar
Smoke that musky Cuban cigar
Touch me with manicured hands
Glinting diamonds of wedding bands
Money can buy me happiness

Traded morals for skyscrapers
A Hampton house with too many acres
Smoothing down in a velvet gown
Baby don’t you see? I own this town.
Money can buy me happiness.
Homunculus Oct 2015
Feeling at this time, that I should really go to bed, but
Still I lay awake, and contemplate, what Fred Hampton said:
“If you dare to struggle, then you dare to win, if you dare
Not to Struggle, then you don't deserve to win.”
They shot him dead in his bed, tell me how long has it been?
10, 20, nearly 50 years, since the things that happened then,
What happened to the Panthers, Malcolm X and Dr. King, or
The Anarchists in Spain, the songs of victory they'd sing?
What happened to the world of struggle, in which they all used to live?
Where liberation's sweet embrace propelled the efforts they would give
You see, we need to put the ‘unity’ back into ‘community,’ and
That begins with you and me, living side by side, and
Working with each other, taking measures to deride, the
Ills of our condition that serve only to divide,
Those old notions of race, those old notions of gender, with
Raised fists, as we march, taking heed to engender,
A whole new way of life, and a vision to render,
Filled with class consciousness, making us a contender,
Maybe I could lie down, and I could find some rest now,
If we would only stop to realize that we're the real ‘how.’
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Hampton
Darbi Alise Howe Aug 2013
I am somewhere, maybe everywhere, but mostly nowhere.
Home is fictional; I am drifting in this city of strangers. Another night without rest, a candle burning, a boy crying, blood on the kitchen floor. I tried to buy cigarettes but my account decided it was empty. From the window on the fourth floor across the street, it might seem that I live a lavish life. I stay in Tribeca- I  even have an elevator. When I go out, I dress well. Beautiful people surround me and usually drinks are free. Sometimes they buy me breakfast or coffee or give me a place to stay. My weekends are often spent in East Hampton, in a three house lot that serves as a sanctuary. I go to nice places for dinner. I am not the one paying. I buy this with my silence, a silver tongue that keeps quiet when food and water are scarce. It's okay, it has to be, that's what I tell everyone who asks for help. How can I ease their wounds when mine are gaping, when I feel sick and weak and lost? I pay them with compassion-I give them kindness. I am exhausted.
I don't remember the last time I had money in my pocket or an answer I can stand behind.
This is what I wanted.
I kiss the man next door goodnight. I listen when he is sad. I carry the guilt of the woman I stay with in exchange for a corner to sleep in. My eyes are heavy with concealed bruises. My heart is heavy with the pain of others. My body is light with the heaviness of hunger.
This is what I wanted.
Will someone tell me what to do? Can I dream about a studio with a bookshelf full of my favorite authors and a man beside me each night? Am I weak if I walk away? Do I go back to school after a summer of travel and pretend that I am the same? Can I look love in the eyes and promise purity?
I am somewhere, maybe everywhere, mostly nowhere.
I am suffering quietly. I am proud.
I am absolutely terrified. I am alive.
This is what I wanted.
Darbi Alise Howe Aug 2013
I left with very little, expecting a week or perhaps two in the city, quick cash and then home to the sand of my beaches and the touch of my bed. It has been exactly two weeks and I am starting to say that I live here. There's an exhilaration attached to the detachment of a one-way ticket, I am a thousand people a day while being none, I can walk away from conversations without feeling guilty, there is not one person who cares enough about me to bother with my affairs-it is absolute freedom. Yet there is a loneliness that hangs on the hinge of liberation...a traveler has the world in their heart.  We cannot stop ourselves from stuffing our experiences inside, gluttons of the road with the horizon in our eyes. Sometimes, though, we lose sight of what we wanted all along and then begin to search for what we desire, which becomes blurred and tangled by time zones and climates and languages...our stomachs are always empty and our chests are always aching for the unknown.  It can break a person. I was on the bus back from East Hampton when an older man asked me why I was crying:
"I don't know",  I said, "I suppose I just realized that this city takes everything from you, and you must prove yourself to earn it back".
He told me what they all do:if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere
I turned back towards the window before asking, "when you came here, did you have nothing, too?"
The man nodded and smiled. Maybe he was lying, but he gave me 50 dollars and paid my cab fare. I hugged him goodbye and he wished me luck. I don't know how he knew I was completely broke with no way to get back to my apartment, but I cannot imagine the forty-block walk with three bags. There is a kindness in a fellow traveler, one more seasoned than we are, who will always understand what it is to be poor and hungry and tired. But we chose this life, I chose this life, when I stepped on the plane with no way back. I realized this as I was locked atop a rooftop in SoHo, watching the pink and blue of sunrise with champagne on my lips. It is okay to admit your inadequacies, to ask for help, as long as you appreciate the sheer genius of the universe. That, after all, is why this life calls to us.
James Worthley Nov 2009
I remember all things good and bad you left before shivering cold in a cell like all lost children beaten down by this life. This life that brought you joy and sleep, a sleep you have become petrified of and never can  rest here.  A smile that burns like gasoline into the minds of all men or women with a watchful eye. The laugh you hear in a bar and remember years later. This life brought you horrible crimes that you may, or may not have committed. Standing in front of humanity with one eye shut and the other pointed away, away from all that disgust in society as you were shown. Not all things bad, in fact many things here are good, you know that. The ever frothing lips of the hangmen, he to shall hang in the stomachs of all mankind and all love. The coming of night that brings hopeful chances of bar beauties or highs. One night the three of us were fortunate enough to each **** the night with some women we had found in Hampton. Trains pass by everyday with imaginative faces propped up against the windows, imitating their longing to have unique minds and ideas. You pass by on trains with out a glance, you can not **** a dead man, you never noticed the excitement from your ideas.

         Now I see oceans of faces screaming in decay, they're screaming the songs of victory, victory over this life. The rhythm of ten thousand slaves walking in harmony to the grave with no sympathy. Well past midnight hours you wait for heavenly Valerie to walk past your door and weep, and wearing nothing but her love for you around her neck shouting for you to come, shouting your name. Long before this you lay face down boiling saliva out from around your lips onto the carpet, dying for the chance to return to a  warm afternoon in march or may. You were revived and back home soon after. The cancer in all our eyes, the pain we all felt must stay a burden, never relief from this calamity. Ah yes success and pleasure were not for you then.
    
         I sat writing stories to no avail, never starting with a plot only developing one later. This was how life was written. No reason to expect anything else here, boredom brings excitement then to catastrophe. You held me through most, continuing your amphetamines I only wait for your thundering red heart to give up, give in. Then there will be many nights spent sobbing with regret, explanations to your mother and family and lovers long past. The idea that youth dies before the body should never be, should never be mourning for your ignorance, I spent most of this night writing, not so much of you but to you. I spent all of my money gambling and smoked most of my cigarettes. I went to the door and took in a breath of fresh air, I went to my bed and laid uncomfortable unable to sleep or dream of years before when I slept easy.

                  A pain through your aching legs went forth into the ground. Not all is bad and the continuance of random women in your bed, powders dissolved into your blood, smoke drawn down into your lungs, gas pedals pushed to the floor, alcohol soaking your liver, and memories of a lonely sidewalk in Florida will keep you in this life as a hero of my words.

    Part 2


A compass you laid in my hand, to help me home, always concerned with your friends. I see you now, drinking water from streams in wilderness untouched but by you to survive. Whiskey dried up around the curve of your chin, ***** to ease the days and nights of this life. You have survived 5 stepfathers and one father, a family even you can no longer come to terms with. No heavenly Jenny to tend to your wounds anymore. Fatigued and weary you lay on my doorstep, no sleep with out angelic drink to bring you back down. The clouds above your head never really rain or bring forth storm, not in my stories. The stench of your body as you sleep on the floor laid out like blankets by a mother to her child. A small cut on your wrist filed with ink, a reminder of long past agony that always returns before you can escape it. The sweetness you have left between many a girls thighs, the pain you carry alone, I know, I know.
              
               You thumbed to southern states to make a new home, what home have you made that keeps you in comfort and ease? This goes deeper than alcohol that your liver is always at war with. More so than your mouth that has betrayed your mind and spit out  words you can never take back so you say them again and again. White linen, clean sheets and a clean shave, perfumes and colognes, what are these things? The answer is in your fingers, you have overcome a typical drunk or ***, you may drink all day, you may never find a home but you can not and will not be these things. You are your home, its in the depths of your stomach. West called you but you never came, you never followed a single thing, you went alone and not scared of the fate we all will suffer, not concerned with the poisons or lie or the war in which we all fight just on a simple walk to the store, or to buy a pack of cigarettes. Victorious, lay on my floor! Sleep on my steps! **** for your dinner and lay your seed in her! The most immortal sin you could create would be to leave us with out some kin to look after when you go on that long walk you never come back from. The heights by which we stand while standing next to you, the current we fight swimming through rivers, this all goes back to you! I take my jacket off and put a shot of makers to my mouth, my throat warms and my legs weaken, This life, this pain, this woman, this death, it all grows distant now. You stand while roots of it grow around your feet clinging to your legs to climb closer to your chest and forever take you into its grasp. Just burning any feeling, any memory away, you just keep creating memories for the world who may never take notice of its children like you who make laughter from tears and adventure from stale nights.

          Benjamin, let fall your impression on this sand, let yourself become ash to soon, let not us down but going and going to the end of all this minced horrific times, let not night keep a shadow on your face, let not the world forget these things you did.


Part 3.

You miss your mother! The picture waits right next to your bed. The fire you started with nothing but a bottle of cough syrup and a few dollars is burning my mind and hands till they all blister and come back as a scar that feels ******* to the touch. Driving 94 miles an hour from New Jersey  on interstate 95 over heaves and cracks till they broke the suspension, no care must get home must get home to safe bed with espestis floor and many cigarette burns on the sheets. The shower is running, the heat is barely working. This is no poverty or lack of responsibility its just home. Paint my picture a thousand times and hand it to me from your window with a pipe , its getting warmer the longer we speak. Why not, why not anymore road in America or late night convenience store hang out to pick up women and fresh air. Lay down your guard, leave your problems in that bed and come run through the wicker with us.
winter 2008- From hero, or some
(Manuscript of Poet Mario William Vitale)


From 1993-1997 - Attended State University in Connecticut,Attempted plays : Tartuffe, Miracle Of St. Anthony and Balm in Gieade,( His poetic aspirations had  in 1989 from submitting his first poem entitled, "Remembrance Of A Loved One"- (Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum)Next from 1989-1997 ( Wrote primarily for Poetry.com and The International Library Of Poetry),* Received editors choice award in 1997 for poem, " A Beacon Of Light ",(1998) Sent poetic manuscript to N.Y. Time Magazine and Chief Editor " John Hyland".Back with rave reviews !* ( From 1999-2008:Had adapted a real keen sense of style for writing poetry: ( 1999- Sent Editorial to:New Man Magazine for the Passion of Christ Movie;Sent followup letter to company with poetry platform information attached,* 2000-2007 : Magazine : ( Catholic) Maries Rose Ferron Magazine submitted poem" Beacon Of Light", which had excellent editorial reviews as the outset !2008- Wrote poem entitled: ( The Heavy Cross) to Poetry.com* Achieved Poetry status of work of Excellence in writing from the Academy Of American Poetry in which still having received rank and status as a member of Academy;* ( The Connecticut Poetry Society)* Short story submitted entitled, "China Dog Ray" submitted to Virginia WritersQuarterly, West Virginia, Also having member status on their board of Poetry.*


( Attribute Poetry to an ever increasing love of God and his unconditional love that he has for us in return,Thankfulness toward family and friends.( To our past ancestors who fought to uphold freedom that far too many of us take for granted ?One needs a pure heart that's fixed on truth,This is in order to withstand the true great test of time !Life is way too short,Press toward the goal or mark of our high calling that is in Christ Jesus The Lord !~My contempoarry artists include that of ellan Bryant Voight, Kay Ryan and carl Phillips.Which all three are Participants in the Academy Of American Poetry.* Having been a member since 2006,My work reflects the likes of past poets such as C.S.Lewis, Hawthorne and edgar Allen Poe.Most of my work reflects with the values of religious beliefs intact,( In my personal view it is essential in demonstrating a real heart of creativepassion !The reader I believe will benefit by my artistic style of development in a verypositive light.)To further the need for poetry to become more main stream,

Mario Vitale was born in Bristol , Ct Has developed a skill for writing poetry in the free verse form. has been featured on Hubpages.com, Starlitecafe.com & Poetry soup. Vitale lives with his elderly mother Ann Soulier in Wolcott, Ct. Currently has written well over 1,000 poems & 2 short story's toward credit platform.

Vitale has taken the poetic world by storm being featured on Google, Yahoo & MSN. Looks up to contemporaries in the poetry industry such as John Ashbery & Major Jackson.
Has been a favorite featured poet reader at Barnes & Noble in Waterbury, Ct.
Also featured on such sites as Poetry soup, Writer's café & Neo Poet.

Mario William Vitale
1 Winfield Drive
Wolcott, ct 06716

A Beacon Of Light
Written by: Mario Vitale
A beacon of light to a much hurting world in need !

Can't help but to claim..,

Some sense of identity,

Stregnth and encouragement only come from above !



Amidst in the distance, the trapped seagull..,

Lieth frightened but still yet adrift !
In a most vengeful fashion striking the passing fish,
A true source of hope,
Yet a most triumphal beam !

This beacon of light shineth forth,
Passerby's can err' escape the helping hand..,

To the most sparkling of radiance !


(2)Thanksgiving Dinner by Mario Vitale
Home for the holiday from New Orleans,
with Mother and Father at the tiny
drop leaf, brown rosewood, mahogany
table with the gold, grinning claw feet;
Father, choler- red-in the-face, short-
sleeved white shirt and cane, says the blessing
as Mother brings in the turkey and cranberry.
Then Mother asks, “Won’t you have more?” and father :
“Do you think Moll Flanders was a *****?”
(I have suffered and bleached my hair blond.)
I am silent before their replies.
Mother sighs. “I can scarce speak to her.”
And Father, too, quotes Shakespeare. (I am thin
as paper and the rose- colored bowl
of blown glass sitting on the silver stand,
half- filled with water.)
“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
to have a thankless daughter”


(3)

Song of Spring
Today I heard a robin sing
heralding the coming spring
A song of exultation to the sky
an ode to earth's awakening

I saw a willow on the hill
It's branches greening in the sun
and all the earth seemed hushed & still
sleeping streams began to run

I heard a softly rising breeze
whispering through the grass
singing through the still bare trees
waiting winter's chill to pass

I saw the sun, so bright and warm
warming the earth after the rain
the buds and leaves, no frost to harm
at least, at last, it's spring again.

(4)

The Ancients
It's my last day with the old giants
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees
unaware of invisibles within,
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot,
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions,
And when daylight mushrooms into night,
and an owl hoots from cedar,
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe
Huddled with the ancients of the woods


(5)

Epiphany
Written by: Mario Vitale
It clings to the cliffed shore,
to the wintered face of the thistle path,
to the fingers of the old man's glove
as he waves his memory homeward

In that breath between come and go
she moves up from the bay;
gold turns her stride,
the line of her dress,
the soft sea pulling at her feet

When he reaches out
and the frail birds fly
and the sun and the sky
have married deep into the sea, it clings

Even as his shadow threads retreat,
it clings, even now as it dissolves to mist


(6)

A Return Home, Only Time Will Tell
Written by: Mario Vitale
Oh blessed hope !

Both hardly a believable dream,
Sweltering heat with bloodshed in the street...
Send the troops home !
There is no clear reason for them to roam..,

These are desolate times !
For we have chosen ill faded rhymes..,
The casualties are enormous ?
For a stated cause that clearly atrocious..,

A mother's cry as the door chime rings,
A vanishing salute to freedom as the church choir sings !
Let us look above to all the heavenly love..,
Merciful one, take this chip off my shoulder..,

Stop the senseless fighting before our dear nation grows a bit colder,
Suddenly, seeds were dropped out of a farmers bag,
In time roots spring up fresh out of the fertile soil...
As the sun heats up,


Time will tell when this harvest will soon boil...
In the vast game of life,
One's time is so very brief !
The soul yearns for its' heavenly relief..,

Share with others who may want to turn over a brand new leaf..,

Time will tell of the true importance of helping one another,
To never give into the finish line..,
Nor harsh criticism that our society puts out !
Like a famous fighter in his final bout !

Time will tell of the return home,
To the open arms of a loved one !

(7)

A Valiant Knight
Written by: Mario Vitale
A Valiant Knight

Death springs a new day basking in the breeze
In solemn moments lets pause to think of a place
A far off castle in the mountains away from it all
A valiant knight lived in the structure of it's dwelling
Those days of old where mere men had a noble demise
A beautiful maiden was in waiting for her knight
He would often fight for the cause of stregnth and dignity
The draw bridge where the castle stood had a very unique aura
A mystery of sort sought up in the vast array of crowned nobility

For the king on his thrown was humble yet greedy
Always would take care of himself caring nothing for the needy
A valiant knight was concerned about the kings trust
Often they would disagree on who it was to serve
A joker came in front of the king one day with a magic wand
Waving the wand in the air then there floated ivy everywhere
For the court jester was a fool in the making of his legacy
The maiden would often come forth and see

For she treasured a red rose that was plucked sometime before
Cherished the calling of her stature to the glory of the throne
A valiant knight would often sing sweet songs in the night
Had a following of village people that would sit before his feet
Having a way of words that he would often share
The castle was filled with dragons and warlocks searching for love
A cause to be brave amidst uncertainty of the kingdom
The legacy of golden capulets filled ardent vestibules
Let us toast to the valiant knight who keeps a watch on all that is good


(8)
Hampton Beach

The smell of fresh fry doe
Time had elapsed playing at the casino
Fresh lobster with a side order of fries
Those spacious wonderful sky's
Down at the shell the continental were playing
A walk by the lady of a statue in waiting
Flip flops and the sound of laughter
A playground for kids in the middle
The boardwalk with seagulls flocking over head
Fire works in the midnight air with a cheer


(9)

God's World
It is raining again.
Summer will be over before it ever gets here
Thunder rolls far away, drops
hit the windshield, the sky turns gray

The Sunflower, the blue
Delpinium, the white
Stinkwood drink the moisture
greedily. The green and silver

leaves of the Aspens sparkle as the rain hits them, and the
wind turns them round and round
The creek flows on, oblivious to
the change in the weather.

A break in the clouds allows a bit of sun to hit the side of a
towering mountain
Three cows slowly wend their way homeward. It is dusk.
The gray clouds lift and the sun bursts through,

before sliding behind the hills for the night
It is God's World. He gives it to us to enjoy and to share with each other


(10)

Jake's House
There was a man whose name was Jake
Who had a house upon the lake
Every morning he would wake
And for breakfast have a piece of cake

He had a private fishing hole;
He always used a long cane pole
He fried his fish on red hot coal
And served it in a great big bowl

For a pet, he had a cat


(11)

In The Zone
Written by: Mario Vitale
In The Zone

whispers...
through the dark deranged portals you evoke fear
filled with angelic fervor on it's textual base
yet we dig much deep then ever before

cries in the dark will light the spark of what we need to know
still we stand idle as the average novice introduces its spell
along again then the sadness evokes a newer feeling
dwindling through the vain extraction of the never world

we visually see a flash then a new day approaches
on the lawn two lovers having passionate ***
the screams of vile extreme explodes throughout
perhaps this is the place where Nero tread

yet again I sit alone in my house now huddled in the corner
the twilight sun has tainted my inner vision
the howls of Satanic laughter gives a piercing shriek through
a candle was lit by the edge of my bed

One can remain lax in the quietness of the moment
yet again the setting of the sun
a new day has begun as we embark on the moment
Does death hurt you the most or is it fear

You can equate logic through a firm grasp of the hand
whispers again...
then a faint cry,
we construct living pyramids to honor the dead

A stroke of luck an the impulse ensues
onto so much more but for what
are we grasping for straws what are we searching for ?
quietness again this time I'm in the zone

as if zombie creatures with viscous long fangs that bite
dripping blood off side we run away to hide
no one questions anymore no one has a voice
alone one last time yet feelings of grandeur awake

to the message of hope that spills from the sky
a challenge to be free is a question of time
eyes with spots digging holes in a pool of blood
Satan laughing again spreads his wings

Suddenly I awake but to what ?


(12)

An End Of The Age Of Innocence Part III
Written by: Mario Vitale
In our fast paced twentieth century world..,

We oft' have neglected to stop to smell the roses,
Oft' we used to bow our heads silently to pray,
As we reflect back to the sixties is had launched a pad to rebellion !
With a vast amount of liberal bias and thinking,

No wonder why our nation is sinking..,

Sinking amidst a cuss pool of mere morality..,
For now it is a quite different time,
A very unique but different type of day..,
An end of the age of innocence,

One hath been enlightened..,

From seeking truth,
Some fresh out of a garbage can..,
Yet for Gods' sake,
He hath such an amazing plan !

Hence, to shun the broad road,

Yet to seek to venture in the narrow..,
Such as a distant bird in flight !
You might see this creature venture out at night ?
Of the Eagle nor the Sparrow..,

It used to mean something to have a sense of common courteous..,
To hold open the door for your neighbor ?
Yet for the time being we relent and waiver..,
Would you prefer another taste of a certain ice cream flavor ?

To ponder we must be content with who we are in the inside..,

Nor, a mere fancy suit or blazing sport's car,
Life is a roller coaster..,
In what you do while busy making other plans..,
Finding solace among the height of nature.,

Such to think at what is quite simple,
As a young child reflects on his or her poster board,
Playing with their magic crayons..,
For in eternity it is such a very long time !

Take heed in what you do,

Now is the expectant hour !
What will one choose to do ?
There can be no place nor need for any compromise,
Within it's vast perpetual spectrum !

One just can't put a price tag on a genuine but unique heart !

Hence, with honest integrity..,
The time for change is today !

(13)

He Was There
by Mario William Vitale

From the inner silence of the lamb he was there
In welcoming to the world to share
Within the multiple of words the mouth speaks
As a heart beats through the passage of time
To every poem that was ever written
To every burden ever lifted
To rivers crossing where people living
Sometimes loving other moments giving
In storms that were outside brewing
What is the significance of this love
In painted pictures from above
To every soldier in a battle
To every cow amidst the cattle
Not a second glance at any real romance
A field of dreams throughout our head
From both fire and ice will make you think twice
Perhaps another chance at a roll of the dice
When every kingdom comes thy will be done
Shadows in the shining morn if there's a rose it bears a thorn,
He was there in every circumstance
When they tried to throw stones at her
He was there drawing a line with his finger in the sand
It is my hope that some day all will understand
A glance at the past will tell us of our future
Amidst the inner pain & uncertainty
Through shadows in a field of dreams
In moments of solace amidst the pain
A light moved out upon the street outside
A day that wasn't meant to be
Thorn crown was pulled upon his head
Those shouts of intense anger from the mob
There was only one who would help him back on his feet,
A light that brought only a few to greet
Let us not run away & hide
Each one of our sins was placed on that cross
To lose the battle now would end in tragic loss
Father please forgive them for they know not what they do
He said the prayer now the rest is up to you
That cross that broke a sinful world apart
With his blood-soaked crown with spear in side
To show the whole world he had nothing to hide
The summoned cry brought about healing in the sky
Watch the free angelic dove fly!



(14)

Momma Of Pearls
by Mario William Vitale

Since there's nothing I could find
That was worth giving you,
I sat down to think a while
And write a line or two
If I had a magic wand
I'd wave it just for you,
And give you anything you'd like
No matter how many or few
If I could give you back the years
You so willingly gave to me
I'm sure that you spend them over again
The same as they used to be
Remember when those days and nights
Instead of going to the fair
I'd always say tell me again
The story of the three little bears
I tried to get a strawberry pie
But they were out of season
Then I thought of gold
with immediate effect chinas embassy in london to be at the tranis house at hampton court. the old lodge  at hampton court where i lived in history in england needs to be tidied and checked by the police before i can go in. im pleased to see some eternity fund going where its needed around the world.
the banks are very nearly uncorrupt following hard work by bank of japan and america fall and bank of england hutchinson.
remember it against the law to raise a price in england scotland wales northern dansana and southern dansana, china or france.

house prices cannot increase more than 5percent a year unless restoration work or extentions have been completed.

it is illegal for interest rates to rise at all in china france and uk.

vat must be added as usual

if anyone( princes only please, wants to do trade please contact me here if you are a king or president or the embassy in your country.
embassys must assess if product would cause loss of jobs in home country if it is so china will not move forward. to trade with china england and france all food must be healthy.

to reiterate trade is 1percent inport 1percent export no other charge. exise must be paid in advance
Ann Marie Soulier (ne´e Hyland) passed away peacefully at her home in Wolcott on Saturday, Nov. 28th, surrounded by loving members of her family. She was 86. The second daughter of the late Frank and Delena Hyland, and sister of the late James and William Hyland, Ann is survived by her two sisters, Elizabeth Parenti and Mary Dudzinski, as well as her brother-in-law, Harry Dudzinski, and sisters-in-law, Gloria and Evelyn Hyland, all of Bristol. She also leaves behind her beloved children: Marie Barrett and her husband, Mike, James Soulier and his wife, Beth, Elizabeth Thisdale and her husband, Joe, Carol Roy and her husband, Doug, Leona Chamberlain and her husband, Dave, and Mario Vitale. Ann was affectionately known as "Nanny" to her 14 grandchildren: Paul, Avery, Shane, Kylie, Matthew, Bobby, Cory, Christopher, Marty, Todd, Michael, Tyler, Michelle, and Jimmy; and to her beloved 14 great-grandchildren: She also has many surviving cousins, nieces, nephews, in-laws and friends whom she loved dearly. The family would like to extend their gratitude to her special caregivers, Alicia and Eliana, who made a difference in the quality of her life and became like family members to her. Ann had an impactful presence. She loved Jesus, family vacations at Hampton Beach and Black Point, coffee, music, painting, doll-collecting, and her best friend of over 80 years, Nancy (Nan). She retired in 1999 from Superior Electric, where she was a cherished coworker for nearly 30 years. As mechanically adept as she was in the workplace, Ann was equally adept in making her house a home. She ran a tight ship during those years doubling as a homemaker, where she kept her loved ones well-fed, raising them to be resilient and to always have a sense of humor and a love of family. She believed in prayer and loved her son Mario's poetry. She also loved videography and was known to document family events using a camcorder starting in the 1980s. Always with a keen eye to see one step ahead, she kept copies of these moments on VHS for all of her loved ones to watch in the years to come. She will be sorely missed here on earth as she joins her parents, her brothers, and her grandson, Shane, in heaven. Friends and family are invited to attend a Mass of Christian Burial for Ann on Thursday, Dec. 3, 2020, at 10 a.m. directly at St. Matthew's Church in Forestville. Burial will immediately follow at St. Joseph Cemetery in Plainville. There will be no calling hours. The family also plans on having a celebration of life ceremony for Ann sometime in the summer of 2021. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations can be made in Ann's honor to the Wolcott Volunteer Ambulance Association, 48 Todd Road, Wolcott, CT 06716. To leave an online message of condolence, share a memory or a photo, visit Ann's memorial
Why Anger Over The National Anthem Is Nothing New In America
A Look Back At President Obama’s Greatest Music Moments
For The Record: Logic Talks Charlamagne Tha God & Joe Budden, Explains Why He Is Retiring
About “AKA "Ann Marie Soulier", Mario Vitale's Mom !”
Martin Bailes Feb 2017
Because in my day dreams
& in a heartbeat,
the Coke brothers
would be re-educated
digging deep wells
in Flint Michigan
till they found pure
clean water.

Kobe Bryant's wife
would have her
million dollar ring
expropriated & broken
down for drill bits
to use in the digging
of Flint wells by the
same Coke brothers.

All Kardashian holdings
everywhere & anyhow
would be seized by
the state & sold to the
foreign precious stone
market & the proceeds
used for funding
school book buys.

Trump Tower would be
occupied and stripped
of all its false veneer
while Barron's gold
baby carriage would
take pride of place
in The People's Museum
of The New Dawn &
groups of school children
would field trip to marvel
& learn.

Fox News executives
would be arrested along
with Limbaugh, Hannity
a multitude of talk-show
hosts as enemies-of-the-
people & re-educated
digging canals from the
high Rockies through to
San Luis Obispo to help
water the farms which
would now be unionized
& minimum waged & there'd
be taco trucks on every
corner for free workers
lunch & luxury campers
for naps from the burning
midday sun.

History lessons would
be for real this time,
buffalos would be
encouraged mightily
to breed and roam the
western lands where
Indian tribes would
return to pastures
of old & they'd house
themselves in teepees
hand-sewn by bankers
& hedge-fund managers
lodged in converted
L.A. mansions with armed
guards for the duration.

The NRA leadership
would be hog-tied &
immediately put to work
in foul prison conditions
producing ploughshares
from swords in blazing
merciless kilns & every
Sunday they'd be cuffed
& 'compassionate-leaved'
to the closest cemetery
where they'd visit the
graves of the fallen
children & granmas
taken by ricochets.

Prisons would use
psilocybin cure-alls,
golf-courses would turn
into adventure petting-
zoo play grounds,
Syrian children would
move into Hampton
mansions,

Detroit & West Virginia
would be declared
emergencies & the
entire overseas hidden
off-shore accounts of
the top 1% would fund
roads, bridges, schools,
doctors & nurses,
teachers, professors
& crossing guards.

Trump himself would
have to restore all the
gravestones in all the
Jewish cemeteries in
all the States,
& then,
& only then,
could he have
his lunch hour.

Because in a heartbeat
I could be far worse
than that & perhaps
in some ways it's a
good thing I'm not
the boss.
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
      On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war;
And at times from the fortress across the bay
    The alarum of drums swept past,
    Or a bugle blast
      From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose
      A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
    Was steadily steering its course
    To try the force
      Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,
      Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
    And leaps the terrible death,
    With fiery breath,
      From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
      Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
    Rebounds our heavier hail
    From each iron scale
      Of the monster’s hide.

“Strike your flag!” the rebel cries,
      In his arrogant old plantation strain.
“Never!” our gallant Morris replies;
    “It is better to sink than to yield!”
    And the whole air pealed
      With the cheers of our men.

Then, like a kraken huge and black,
      She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack,
    With a sudden shudder of death,
    And the cannon’s breath
      For her dying gasp.

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,
      Still floated our flag at the mainmast head.
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!
    Every waft of the air
    Was a whisper of prayer,
      Or a dirge for the dead.

**! brave hearts that went down in the seas
      Ye are at peace in the troubled stream;
**! brave land! with hearts like these,
    Thy flag, that is rent in twain,
    Shall be one again,
      And without a seam!
Third Eye Candy Apr 2015
***** our fingers, we do. on the porcelain and the rampions.
we are twisted into crapes, the shape of which
are halcyon, though we refrain from them.
We are ' something else '.
the salad is the farce and the painting; yes !
the gruel and the cinders in the mock turtle soup
of our living quince and the meddling
of our every-ness.

clink our eyelids. we do. on the lamp-stand in the Hampton's
we are gifted and innate. the grey twitch
accounts for them bones we contain from sin.
We are " something felt "
the ballad is the Art and the Nothing;
yes ...
the cruel, is the mender, in our lost little group
of unseasoned  heckling and
our Winter's
truth,

and absinthe.

But there's Something Else.
and Nothing

Less....

than Atlas.
Craig Dee Nov 2019
Born Clarendon Square, 1875

11th year, father and hero dies

Mother's moniker, The Great Beast

Carries proud 'til rest in peace



Scripture's words so clearly lies

One off the wrist and women's thighs

Such morals never suit The Beast

On original sin, so does he feast



Red light women, gonorrhoea

Inhale and hold, but have no fear

Bow to none beneath the sky

Affliction, addiction, getting high



Poetry, prose, philosophy, chess

Science, literature, quite the quest

Majestic Monch without a guide

Dispel the darkness deep inside?



A new Sunrise, The Golden Dawn

To most, The Beast is but a thorn

From all the hate, he does defend

"I shall endure until to the end"



A crashing bore, The Golden Dawn

Such petty games, reject them all

Traverse the world and left in awe

In India, sombre spirits soar



The Savage Mountain scrapes the sky

Never scaled yet still must try

Brash bravery, they do not lack

No savage spoils, men beaten back



Convenience ties Beast and Rose

Affection hankers hard to show

Rosa Mundi and Love Songs

One lake of molten joy, one pond



In Egypt, Prince invokes the Gods

Great Horus comes, the Equinox

Aiwass speaks, so Beast does score

A new Aeon, Book Of The Law



On Nepal's peak, his peers they die

Attempt descent beneath dark skies

For such a loss bears all the blame

To climbing clique, ne'er the same



With Godhead now is unionised

As hashish opens the Third Eye

Meagre means and thus provides

Tankerville's peace is bonafide



A∴ A∴ heart, see how it glows

Tree Of Life they seek to grow

A flower's bloom begins to fade

Whilst sadly withers in the shade



The Beast now pens The Book Of Lies

His Scarlet Woman within resides

And for *** Magic does devise

"Contra Naturam", come inside



World War One, it rakes the Earth

While Wilhelm is as Jesus birth

Did The Beast truly betray

A country that had held his sway?



Thelema Abbey, hear its call

Lewd libertine within these walls

Loveday discovers only death

Benito brings its final breath



To man, a prophet is declared

Thelema's message, for to spread

Magnum opus, now complete

Of France, fair punishment is mete?



High on Hell's Mouth, his heart it breaks

But both black ink and leap are fake

War once again now rakes the Earth

Will Blackshirts bond Thelema's church?



War service scorned by N.I.D.

The face behind the Victory V?

Olla: Sixty Years of Song

A final book, the last swan song



Hasting's last battle is now lost

The Great Beast feels the final frost

"A Black Mass", many tabloids cry

Cold ashes now in Hampton lie



Amoral man, your heart did sing

Black ballads of the blackest dreams

Listen and there's still the screams

Of Thelema's ghosts, it seems





Copyright © Craig Detheridge.

2015 - 2017.
This piece is based on the life of the infamous Aleister Crowley.
Born to a Christian family in 1875, he rejected their teachings and those of the bible, becoming a ceremonial magician and founder of The Church Of Thelema. Crowley was a prolific writer on many subjects such as philosophy, politics, and culture as well as Thelema. He was also a published poet and playwright and was an accomplished mountaineer.

Crowley was once described by tabloids of his time as "The Wickedest Man In The World".

It took me several weeks to complete this piece due to the research I carried out on Crowley. There are lines within the piece of which the meaning is not immediately obvious.
This piece has previously featured elsewhere on the net including my own site at https://originaldarkpoetry.wordpress.com/the-great-beast/
CHAMPIAM Sep 2013
Echoes of lost dreams and lost hope of
Mans search for love. As you may have already
Observed any man can say I love you. However
True love comes from the heart and not
Idle words which just fly out unedited.
Oh I hope that you can see my message. These are
Not just idle and useless words. But when you
Say I Love You. Let it be true and from the heart and not just some
EMOTIONS.
Chris C Hampton
Connor Jul 2015
Starlight
                                           fluttering over
                               the great euphoric episode of
                                                Victoria!
Cosm­os being packaged in the mail,
on its way now from Britain,
Sitar dancer on the inner harbor
jingling end time tunes to the ears
of the grateful.
Today is WEIRD!
Everyone is shaking hands and waving from Summertime fields,
                                 laughs escape the rooftops,
                          Owls begin to wear brighter colors.
                                Near August, post three day
                                  Northwestern Monsoon
                                THUNDER    R a-T-T-linG
                                          Double Decker
                                          past romances
                              on highways approaching
                                        The BC capital!
Articles topic the Utopian evidence
of the current generation
nearing Post Capitalist society.
All peoples smile still!
(Wouldn't that be something?)
Telescopes discovered Kepler 452b!
Another world, very much like our
own (I wonder if I'll see it one day)
Round-frame black hole glasses
Enamel downtown in golden tint,
solidifying this happiness!
                            The day is a colorful child
                            bestowing chalk drawings
                                 upon the asphalt.
            His Years 'round the garbage corner now.
                     India crafts a crown of laurel
                           For the innocent youth!
Sin predates them by centuries and wars, ***** and outta-lucks, paycheck to paycheck psychological warfare with the Western planet!
             But they're predisposed to the silent decade of
                                   internal purity,
              that BIG BIBLE BOOK has granted em'
              A get outta hell free card for some
                                 ####   a-years.

(While Virginia Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel 2011 mind-flash nostalgia permeates in my adult brain.

While North Carolina Top Sail Atlantic
sea salt stings thru my nostrils,
body boarding few miles away from
boardwalks with a nighttime view of
Milky Way Forever! (Age 14)

While Seattle shimmers aluminum skyscraper lights, Emerald City Winter where outside my hotel window I focus on
the Space Needle distantly blinking
the spirit of
Edward E. Carlson and John Graham, Jr.
up up up to Dharmakaya!
That improv performance near Pike Place Market with Charisma, Julie N Severen! SPONTANEOUS WISECRACKS BEING PAID TO BE SPONTANEOUS WISECRACKS.

While Seminyak, Southeastern Orient, Is hailed with cloud-formt waterfalls, and I watch, containing the inexpressible joy of that particular moment. Mind relapsed to whispers of Dakini,
(Contentedness possible in adulthood after all!)

                                   Celestial energy rebounds
                 thru all entities on the sidewalk including myself.
                  delivering metaphysical felicity to all future loves
                   who find occasional joys in the cycle of living.
                         Who make more of themselves than
                                 tying their shoes to sleep.
a smart cap of sophistication
we **** are emancipation
finger through the garbage...
minus the minus the threat of pollution
copy each sand of a miracle
a place where Hampton Beach is king
Shake it or bake it so hard to fake it;
light up it's scream
filter through its scene

pillows marsh with a pillow
their smell of fried doe
their boardwalk elf
dodge the waves
it's plain to see

picking close to its degree,
smiles on their shell
open body to tell
Kevin's store...
Lobster...
a sip or two through a cocktail
tell you which way to go

walk miles and miles on their pier
radio,
brutal front...
cascading water slider
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Living Gods

My God we’re Gods,
see no matter what we do we’ll leave behind a legacy,
working forward with the tools we’ve got,
without getting worked up or caught up realizing that everything’s only energy,

which is why we take in stride the fact that we’re modest aristocrats,
I mean after all how much money does one man need,
I mean we’ve got millions which is plenty enough to live on,
plus we’ve got friends who literally have billions,

I mean I don’t even need that much,
I mean I’m more motivated to feed the needy than dominated by being greed,
plus billions is a lot of money I’d even wager to say it’s too much,
& I don’t want nor need that kind of responsibility,

I mean I don’t even need all the money I already have,
don’t really care about jewelry or cars or the name on name brand tags,
I just want to be with good friends in good weather eat healthy & live comfortably,
plus I’m not impressed with how much you take my interest is more about how much you give back,

because true wealth is about having good health in body mind & soul,
& giving back to the world in kind is usually a good sign of that,
plus I see God’s work more in the Philanthropist than in the Evangelist,
& we’re Gods which is why I give every dollar I make from my art back,

I don’t need the money I mean I make more on the interest in my saving than I spend on living,
plus I’m not having kids & I’m giving everything away to charity when I pass anyways,
so when I die please burn my body send my ashes to the sky & donate my money to worthy causes,
& don’t ask why just realize or at least accept that it’s all part of The Prophecy that I am and it’s great,

because honestly,

we’re Gods,
& I don’t mean that in any way that’s blasphemous,
I mean that in the past there was Isis there was Mercury & there was Horus of course,
& we’re the modern day incarnations of greatness shining so bright they can’t ignore us so they ask for us,

see the truth is that we are the new Buddhas & you could be the new Zeus ‘cause,
energy never dies it just changes form as it always has for all of infinity,
& I honestly used to wonder what my roll was,
but now I see I’ve been nominated to be the scribe that writes these verses faithfully,
so I type away on my laptop instead of throwing back mad shots,
because someone’s gotta scribe these vibes so that our legendary lives’ will live in Eternity eternally,

& now that I’ve got that out of the way let me get back to what I was saying,
about how we’re Man Gods not at all unlike the Pharaohs that used to exist in Rome & Egypt,
which makes sense & is appropriate given that one of the kids at the event I was at tonight,
wore threads that were from the King of Morocco only difference is there’s wheels on our chariots,

and our horses are under our hoods,
but we still have Tridents as our emblems,
that’s a Maserati reference not that it makes a difference,
because when we die our bodies all return to the same essences,

saw another guy at that event,
which was at a house on The Hampton’s biggest estate property,
he wore the Caduceus around his neck,
which is the symbol of the God Mercury,

it was then that it occurred to me,
or rather was reaffirmed to me,
that we are all Gods which is not at all odd,
given the position that we sit in currently,

& I asked him,
if he knew what the symbol around his neck meant,
& he replied as he stared at me with stars in his eyes “Of course I do,
it’s the symbol on the staff of the God Mercury.”, to which I answered, “Yes”,

& then he said he made music,
after which I told him I write books to leave my mark,
& mark my words he’s going to be famous and so will he shout out to Billa,
because for those that are chosen to be shown the path is already known in the stars,

so if you want to know where I am just look up,
& you’ll know I’m always close as long as you can see the sky,
& when I’m gone you’ll still have these books Love,
because art is the only thing man creates that stands the test of time,

plus  these body’s we have are not all that we are in this life,

we are Love & we are Light & although we might look like mortal kind folk,
that’s only our disguise so we can hide from immoral rivals see we’re actually Immortal Idols,
& we try to stay humble but it’s tough to stay modest to be honest,
when you’re Gods & Goddesses that feel so good you can’t hide the smiles,

smile,

my God we’re Gods,
see no matter what we do we’ll leave behind a legacy,
working forward with the tools we’ve got,
without getting worked up or caught up realizing that everything’s only energy…

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

Hamptons July 2018
"They'll ask how you lived without things, when you really lived your whole life without knowing they existed. Deprived some may say, but you've made it 20 years without it, and somehow you think it doesn't matter.

They don't really know you before this. That your childhood consisted of running through parking lots, visiting the same park and still finding it like new, now laters hot flamins, peach soda and hoping you'll get to grandmas house that weekend. Brain still being mocked by the Eric B and Rakim your dad always blasted on any road trip.

They've never been to Hampton street or seen the cars drive by with their bass booming harder than ever playing the trap music that invades your house and makes your window shake to the rhythm.

That's where I'm from.
And somehow we both ended up here in buenos aires. Although I never left the states, never made it to the big city. Never got there.
Where I'm from we're hood rich and this just doesn't happen.
Deprived they'll call us, but i never saw a frown even when we pinched pennies.

Mama explained "there are rich people, and those just making it." We always made it and I'm just glad mama got me here."
Big Virge Sep 2021
So As You Go Through Life...
And Become MORE WISE...

It Gets Hard To Deny...
That Our Human Kind...
Indulges In Tribes...
And Divisive Vibes...

From Ancient Times...
To The World Today...
We Continue To Fight...
And Divide In Ways...
That Really AREN'T Great...
And STILL REFUSE To Unite... !?!

It’s A SAD Thing To See...
That Some Humans Feel...
That They DESERVE To Be Seen...
As A... SUPERIOR Breed... !!!

Because of Their SHEEN...
Or Because of... Money... ?!?

When These Things Just PROVE...
That Divisions RULE Their Attitudes...
And How They Move From Being At School...
Where Youthful Crews Divide Into Groups...

To Groups Online...
Who Divide By Lines...
That AREN’T So Nice... !!!

Some Divide Because Rhymes...
AREN’T What They Like... !!!

While Some Seem To Divide...
Just Because of... PRIDE... !?!

JEALOUSY And ENVY...
And By Being... Sly... !!!

So Choose To Hide Behind...
A Code That Invites...
Their Lack of Vision...
To Lead To Division...

So They Choose To Use Scripture...
Like A Form of CONSCRIPTION... !!!!!

Because They’re CONDITIONED...
By... Divisive Thinking... !!!

It’s A HUMAN FLAW...
That Begins To GNAW...
As Well As... BORE...
Just Like WILD Boars...
When They’re At WAR... !!!

Or Just Like WILD BISONS...
When They Are Fighting... !!!

... BUTTING Heads...
Like Evander And Tyson... !!!

And Let’s NOT FORGET...
How That Lead To EAR BITING... !!!

You See.....

... All This DIVIDING...
Has INSPIRED My Writing...
This Piece To Suggest...
That THIS NEEDS To END... !!!

From EGO Driven Poets...
To This Need To Defend...
Some RIDICULOUS View... !?!

That We Need ALL These Groups...
Instead of ONE BIG TROUPE... !!!

Which Sets A Standard...
That Leads To Factions...
And Tribal Fights...
That Fuel The Minds...
of... FBI Types... !!!!!

Like That HOOVER Guy... !!!

Who Then Contrive...
To Use DIVISIVE Factors...
To Make People DIE...
Way BEFORE Their Time... !!!

That’s Right Like Black Panthers...
Like The CHAIRMAN...
... FRED HAMPTON... !!!

So Divisions SHATTER...
And Create Chapters...

BLACKER And SADDER...
Than POETIC TRAGEDIES... !!!

THEY CREATE CALAMITIES... !!!

WITHOUT JANE or Doris Day...
But In Ways So INHUMANE... !!!

That They DISGRACE The Human Race... !!!
That Claims To Be... SO GREAT... !!!

But NATURE... IS This Way... !!!

From Lions And Their Manes...
To The Prides That They Maintain... !!!

So Maybe That’s Just How...
Humans Are Meant To Get Down... ?!?

To Embrace Tribal Ways...
Like Those From African Plains...

But Should We Not Have Learned...
By NOW... That UNITY Serves...
A Much GREATER Purpose... !!?!!

Than To Get On Peoples Nerves...
Until They Choose To HURT...
Or End Up Doing WORSE... !?!

That’s Why I Write These Words...
of Honest... Simple Verse... !!!

In The Hope That They Will NURSE...
And HEAL... Divisive Herds...

It’s A Dream To Want To See...
UNITY For... Humanity... !!!

That May NOT EVER FIND...
It’s Way To ALL Human Lives... ?!?

So These Poetic Lines...
Define A DIFFERENT Fight... !!!

They Fight For Humans To UNITE...
And To Fight For What I See...
As Being What Is RIGHT... !!!

For Humans To Now Recognise...
That It Really Is Time...

For Us All To DENY...

All These.....

..... “ Divisive Vibes “....
So many people talk about the idea of unity, but the question is, is it a realistic ideal to truly believe in, and if it is, why aren't we, as the human race doing so by now ???
Simon Clark Aug 2012
(Song title from “Sunset Boulevard” by Lloyd Webber, Black, Hampton and Powers)

I wonder how it feels to have the perfect year,
Full of love and comfort, laughter and cheer,
Without crying and without shame,
No anguish and no pain,
Safe from the thunder and the rain.

I wonder how it feels to have the perfect year,
Full of joy and smiles, sunshine and cheer,
Without anger and without hurt,
No coldness and no dirt,
Safe from storms: no need to revert.
written in 2009
19 year old woman killed in fatal car accident on 76th and Hampton.

5 blocks from my home.

I drove past the scene.

It was someone I knew. A someone that always spoke when she saw me, a kind heart. She was beautiful with youth and so many knew her as she will be remembered.

It's scary. It could've easily been me. I'm scared. These car accidents are becoming more fatal, these bullets are losing names, we're losing faces. God is calling us home so rapidly I'm terrified. Is the world ending? How am I still here.

I woke up and prayed.

— The End —