A nice cruise from New York, I thought

From down by Pier two-one

I thought I'd head to England

For a good old spot of fun

An Ocean trip, some nice fresh air

Eleven days at sea

I thought this would perfect to

Help inspire me

I'd never been to Europe

So I did some reading first

The history's insane there

The books did quench my thirst

I couldn't wait to get there

To travel all around

And take all sorts of pictures

To show folks what I'd found

On board, I met a punter

A real hard boiled chap

He told me of  "his England"

Not the funny, tourist crap

He asked where I was going

I said "I've no idea"

He told me that he'd show me things

As long as I bought beer

I asked him what he meant by this

He said "Just wait and see"

"I'll show you things...will curl your hair"

"You watch son, follow me.'

He told me of a werewolf

Running loose in London town

He was killing folks in Soho

And they couldn't bring him down

He said "Two nights from now"

"The moon would be real nice"

"A full moon brings out werewolves son..."

"That's your first bit of advice"

I shuddered then, I wasn't sure

If "this England" would be right

But, I begged off from the table

And I settled for the night

My mind was working overtime

Nightmares and dreams came quick

And with the heaving on the water

I woke up to be sick

I went up on the deck to walk

And grab a little air

But who to my surprise was

by the railing standing there

He said " I thought you'd be here sooner

Isn't it a lovely moon?

Just a few more days to go

The werewolf walks real soon

"Let's go and get a coffee"

"I figured I won't get back to sleep"

"And my nerves are really shaky"

"I know I won't sleep deep"

He said "Don't worry laddie"

"I've lots more tales to speak"

"But their stories for the hearty"

"And you son...seem so weak"

I asked him about Whitechapel

He said ...."Oh, Jack the Ripper"

"He murders girls down that way son"

I then peed in my slippers

He goes around at night you see

And picks up girls in the night gloom

Then he takes them back and guts them

In the comfort of their room"

I thought, I wanted jolly stuff

Like palaces and such

This tour of London ****** sites

Well, it seems a little much

I said "I've heard of Harley Street"

"Can we go there for a ride?'

He said "No problem son..

"We might meet Mr. Hyde"

"Dr. Jekyll drinks this stuff

Thats turns him to a beast

The monster's name is Mr. Hyde

It's in London...to the east."

I thought, this isn't what

I signed on to go see

I didn't want the next victim

To end up being me.

I said "Is there a place that's safe at all?"

He said "I can take you by the palace"

"We can go walk up the mall"

I said "that would be perfect"

"That doesn't sound so hard"

He said "Just watch for Moriarty"

"Sherlock Holmes and Scotland Yard"

At this point I got up and said

"I think I'm off to bed"

"All this talk of horror"

"Caused an aching in my head"

I said " I think, I'll just move on

And travel somewhere like Albania"

He said that I must see His friend

in southern Transylvannia.

He said Mr. Van Helsing

Would take me for a tour

And with what I'd see in Europe

I'd forget the London gore"

I thanked him and I went to bed

And I then asked him his name

"Dracul" he said...but call me "Vlad"

"I'm sure we'll meet again"

I changed my plans, went to my room

And I figured "What the heck"

But I have this one last question"

Why was he staring at my neck?
.

"I am accustomed to pain!"
shouts Frankenstein's monster.
Van Helsing desperately pleading to pull him out
of his desperate, life controlling despair.

The life parallels to this scene I have were already highlighted,
in a previous poem, showing my friends to be quite heroic.
Just like the monster portrayed in this movie,
I also struggle with finding hope within the bleak hand I've been dealt.

"How could the world go back when so much bad has happened?"
Sam asks Frodo, referring to the raging war.
He continues, "A new day will come,
when the sun shines it will shine brighter."

How is it, in a world surrounded by death and destruction,
that someone can look to the potential future and find promise?
The optimism stands out, especially considered the source.
Hobbits weren't looked to as leaders, but in this moment, Sam was one.

"I know you play msterious to avoid getting hurt."
******-analyzes Scott Pilgrim, showing talent outside of guitar-playing.
"I know you have reasons for not talking about your past."
Oh, Scott...don't we all?

Scott shows us bravery is not a required part of the operation,
but merely a deep understanding for those around us.
Showing we can't all just run away like Forrest Gump,
but surround ourselves with people who care.

While I doubt people turn to movies such as
Van Helsing, The Two Towers, and S.P. vs the World for advice
but I find it foolish to turn down free wisdom falling into my lap.
So you shouldn't take things at first glance, they're worth considering.

Swiftly so much to sweep
Helsing so deep the love hard to keep
Her words were off balance
Poem stanza Mama Mia all formed
Like a ballerina 575 Japanese Haiku
Designer Pucci Sochi releasing
so piercing garden jailed away

I begged I needed to feel guided
Maid hard-love of slavery
to the requiem the chariot of horses
Jumped like eyes of the demon
She pleaded with what corruption
Planes fired with struggling
Hearts became stronger

The taste was the different side
wicked fun animation
The men were changed
cruel love aviation

Needing the right ammunition
Prince Zar became 666 Stalin
Leadership of blackmail
Lips got sealed with more
love friction
Make your poems roll in
The Trump Tower polls in
Holy Gods Italian Collisuem
Every hour Poem maid

        Requiem

The maid she had his words
Less communication so
***** what transcends
Your life depends?
"Delicious" Monsterous"
Only words "Devious"
maid Beauty and the beast
to digest

Destiny short poems of ecstasy
Oh! My She-locked
No heart or morals all locked
He wanted to steal her poems
Being conned into the heist
Higher walk with the rest

Poem Requiem palace
Hannibal Rising test
Watching her movements in
her lipping

She was home "Cruella" sweeping
Willow tree weeping new maid Priscilla
The Reign suffering minds of madness

Being ruled sweeping tears to clean up



Such wicked dirt Damon the ***** work

knowing to shut up what a ****

Feeling moved around "UHual"

Choked upon on my I-pad appalled

The masquerading social media mind

of Jekyll and Hyde poems


Her getaway poems not to be fooled
Terraced thousands of poems died

All betrayed upon with more deep lies
Important words to keep them alive

Saturday night poems stay alive
Stakeout Apps Presidency
Like a heart snack breakout
This was far from democracy
The "Quickie Requiem" for a
poem tricked over taken away

My best dream


Gripping love slightly in between
Doctor words to heal the King
his beeper the right timing
Save the poem not the Queen

the ninth gate,
or how, even a bibliophile
can have a little
adventure...

perhaps there's a world
out "there",
but there's also the Heideggerean
retraction  from the world,
into Tao...
         or at least, Tao,
with a bit more of a European
entanglement of narrative...
or past 4 summers
to count, exploring
        moth flight into dust
made into sediment
on yawning bookshelves...
as much of a world out "there"...
as there is life in th vicinity,
in a myopic worldview,
almost aquatic...
        via the H. retraction of
dasein... being by a plateau-esque
increment...
rather than the synonym
big bang and 20th century
exponential circus of populations...
epoch of consolidation,
and cultural exhaustion...
since art could not be industrialised
with a focus on originality,
standing face to face with
industrialised "art" of household
decorum... back to the cave it went
to craft a think-tank,
and a safe space...

which begs the question
as to why certain people allow themselves
the chance to exploit the haiku...
rubric rigid, however-many
syllables it takes...
prior to, some Ching Shin Po
drinking heavily during
the night (why would
you ever drink during the day?)
laughing at the moon,
astounded, mesmerised...
terse saying, sealed lips,
never a haiku being intrusive,
never the haiku made into
a jazz standard,
or a because a sonnet rhymes
like so...
                 20 years,
and still waiting for a haiku...
not this, industrialised:
'aving a blueprint,
ergo: mass replica pulverising
tumult...

           tickling-fingers,
using bookmarks rather than desecrating
books by folding pages into pytharogean
origami...
                reading best investigated
as private tele broadcasting channels...
ad intermissions...

       tonight all i have to offer is this...
a bibliophile's tender woven care...
  holding a book, 3 years older than
me... namely 34 / 35...
in pristine condition...
namely... and the pages are still white...
ironic... since the content
of the book is about ghosts...
take a printed 1957
and the pages turn to sepia...
unlike those barons
and stubborn sycophantic
       wine, "conneisours"...
   the pleb turned snob
is harder to find among book
fetishists...
             the oldest in my possession?
a 19th century print...
     amrican...
     in one psychoice instance
i gave the works of Emerson to
Oxfam...
not that i mind charity,
but that I mind Oxfam...
                  
a new breed narration,
if art, for art's sake...
digression being the new form of
narrative... because
i don't remember what i was going to...

ah!

   Duchy Polskie: Wydawnictwo
         PTTK "KRAJ" (Warszawa 1983)
person in question?
the illustrator,
janusz stanny...
and notably the method
of translating a flint stone
into graphic...
                 hell...
a little corner of the world
and nothing as mundane as...
a postcard from the usual:
wish you were here,
and wish i wasn't,
      sending you this ******* postcard
making me look
like an utter plonk...

and what of the commandments regarding
a neighbour...
big town no neighbours...
small town... promotion
into gossip... little talk...
big town no gossip,
suffocated little interests,
plotki... suffocated to the point
when too it's too late,
and the straitjacket comes out...

the forgetful faces
and the dizzying carousel of urban
living...
              if fame is to be worth 15 minutes...
friendships have a life-span
of a dumb mosquito sitting
on the arm of a lucid man...
            teasing this minion
of the antithesis of Belzeebub
before the needle...
   SMACK...
                         pancake.

        the digressive narrative...
or in better grammar without
a doubled -ive...
digression as the new form
of a narrative...
    as such:
      acute amnesia...
    regarding the muse...

               not for any other,
other than the love of the craft...
or how to escape
the Alcatraz... of sitting through
and English literature / language class...

oh ****... would you loom at that...
a rhyming couplet!
   that's as rare as Van Helsing
finding out that... beyond the romance
of the sickly and sweaty sweet Bar-fe-lona...
all vampires are like mushrooms...
kept in the dark and fed ****...
namely... all vampires are albinos.

on the odd occasion of finding a rhyme,
without even looking for one...
esp. not pulverising a reader with it...
every,  single, or, other, line!