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Meena Menon Sep 2021
Flicker Shimmer Glow

The brightest star can shine even with thick black velvet draped over it.  
Quartz, lime and salt crystals formed a glass ball.
The dark womb held me, warm and soft.  
My mom called my cries when I was born the most sorrowful sound she had ever heard.  
She said she’d never heard a baby make a sound like that.    
I’d open my eyes in low light until the world’s light healed rather than hurt.  
The summer before eighth grade, July 1992,
I watched a shooting star burn by at 100,000 miles per hour as I stood on the balcony  
while my family celebrated my birthday inside.  
It made it into the earth’s atmosphere
but it didn’t look like it was coming down;
I know it didn’t hit the ground but it burned something in the time it was here.  
The glass ball of my life cracked inside.  
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks.  
I saw the beauty of the light within.  
Nacre from my shell kept those cracks from getting worse,
a wild pearl as defense mechanism.  
In 2001, I quit my job after they melted and poured tar all over my life.  
All summer literature class bathtubs filled with rose hip oil cleaned the tar.  
That fall logic and epistemology classes spewed black ink all over my philosophy
written over ten years then.  
Tar turned to asphalt when I met someone from my old job for a drink in November
and it paved a road for my life that went to the hospital I was in that December
where it sealed the roof on my life
when I was almost murdered there
and in February after meeting her for another drink.  
They lit a fire at the top of the glacier and pushed the burning pile of black coal off the edge,
burnt red, looking like flames falling into the valley.  
While that blazed the side of the cliff something lit an incandescent light.  
The electricity from the metal lightbulb ***** went through wires and heated the filament between until it glowed.  
I began putting more work into emotional balance from things I learned at AA meetings.  
In Spring 2003, the damage that the doctors at the hospital in 2001 had done
made it harder for light to reflect from the cracks in the glass ball.
I’d been eating healthy and trying to get regular exercises since 1994
but in Spring 2003 I began swimming for an hour every morning .  
The water washed the pollution from the burning coals off
And then I escaped in July.  
I moved to London to study English Language and Linguistics.  
I would’ve studied English Language and Literature.  
I did well until Spring 2004 when I thought I was being stalked.  
I thought I was manic.  
I thought I was being stalked.  
I went home and didn’t go back for my exams after spring holiday.  
Because I felt traumatized and couldn’t write poetry anymore,
I used black ink to write my notes for my book on trauma and the Russian Revolution.
I started teaching myself German.  
I stayed healthy.  
In 2005, my parents went to visit my mom’s family in Malaysia for two weeks.
I thought I was being stalked.  
I knew I wasn’t manic.  
I thought I was being stalked.  
I told my parents when they came home.  
They thought I was manic.  
I showed them the shoe prints in the snow of different sizes from the woods to the windows.  
They thought I was manic.  
I was outside of my comfort zone.  
I moved to California. I found light.  
I made light,
the light reflected off the salt crystals I used to heal the violence inflicted on me from then on.  
The light turned the traffic lights to not just green from red
but amber and blue.  
The light turned the car signals left and right.  
The light reflected off of salt crystals, light emitting diodes,
electrical energy turned directly to light,
electroluminescence.  
The electrical currents flowed through,
illuminating.  
Alone in the world, I moved to California in July 2005
but in August  I called the person I escaped in 2003,
the sulfur and nitrogen that I hated.  
He didn’t think I was manic but I never said anything.
I never told him why I asked him to move out to California.  
When his coal seemed like only pollution,
I asked him to leave.  
He threatened me.  
I called the authorities.  
They left me there.
He laughed.  
Then the violence came.  
****:  stabbed and punched, my ****** bruised, purple and swollen.  
The light barely reflected from the glass ball wIth cracks through all the acid rain, smoke and haze.
It would take me half an hour to get my body to do what my mind told it to after.  
My dad told me my mom had her cancer removed.
The next day, the coal said if I wanted him to leave he’d leave.  
I booked his ticket.
I drove him to the airport.  
Black clouds gushed the night before for the first time in months,
the sky clear after the rain.  
He was gone and I was free,
melted glass, heated up and poured—
looked like fire,
looked like the Snow Moon in February
with Mercury in the morning sky.  
I worked through ****.  
I worked to overcome trauma.  
Electricity between touch and love caused acid rain, smoke, haze, and mercury
to light the discharge lamps, streetlights and parking lot lights.
Then I changed the direction of the light waves.  
Like lead glass breaks up the light,
lead from the coal, cleaned and replaced by potassium,
glass cut clearly, refracting the light,
electrolytes,
electrical signals lit through my body,
thick black velvet drapes gone.  





















Lava

I think that someone wrote into some palm leaf a manuscript, a gift, a contract.  
After my parents wedding, while they were still in India,
they found out that my dad’s father and my mom’s grandfather worked for kings administering temples and collecting money for their king from the farmers that worked the rice paddies each king owned.  They both left their homes before they left for college.  
My dad, a son of a brahmin’s son,
grew up in his grandmother’s house.  
His mother was not a Brahmin.  
My mother grew up in Malaysia where she saw the children from the rubber plantation
when she walked to school.  
She doesn’t say what caste she is.  
He went to his father’s house, then college.  
He worked, then went to England, then Canada.  
She went to India then Canada.  
They moved to the United States around Christmas 1978
with my brother while she was pregnant with me.  
My father signed a contract with my mother.  
My parents took ashes and formed rock,
the residue left in brass pots in India,
the rocks, so hot, they turned back to lava miles away before turning back to ash again,
then back to rock,
the lava from a super volcano,
the ash purple and red.  


















Circles on a Moss Covered Volcano

The eruption beatifies the magma.  
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.  

My mom was born on the grass
on a lawn
in a moss covered canyon at the top of a volcanic island.  
My grandfather lived in Malaysia before the Japanese occupied.  
When the volcano erupted,
the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.  
The British allied with the Communist Party of Malaysia—
after they organized.  
After the Americans defeated the Japanese at Pearl Harbor,
the British took over Malaysia again.  
They kept different groups apart claiming they were helping them.  
The black sand had smooth pebbles and sharp rocks.  
Ethnic Malay farmers lived in Kampongs, villages.  
Indians lived on plantations.  
The Chinese lived in towns and urban areas.  
Ethnic Malays wanted independence.
In 1946, after strikes, demonstrations, and boycotts
the British agreed to work with them.  
The predominantly Chinese Communist Party of Malaysia went underground,
guerrilla warfare against the British,
claiming their fight was for independence.  
For the British, that emergency required vast powers
of arrest, detention without trial and deportation to defeat terrorism.  
The Emergency became less unpopular as the terrorism became worse.  
The British were the iron that brought oxygen through my mom’s body.  
She loved riding on her father’s motorcycle with him
by the plantations,
through the Kampongs
and to the city, half an hour away.  
The British left Malaysia independent in 1957
with Malaysian nationalists holding most state and federal government offices.  
As the black sand stretches towards the ocean,
it becomes big stones of dried lava, flat and smooth.  

My mom thought her father and her uncle were subservient to the British.  
She thought all things, all people were equal.  
When her father died when she was 16, 1965,
they moved to India,
my mother,
a foreigner in India, though she’s Indian.  
She loved rock and roll and mini skirts
and didn’t speak the local language.  
On the dried black lava,
it can be hard to know the molten lava flickers underneath there.  
Before the Korean War,
though Britain and the United States wanted
an aggressive resolution
condemning North Korea,
they were happy
that India supported a draft resolution
condemning North Korea
for breach of the peace.  
During the Korean War,
India, supported by Third World and other Commonwealth nations,
opposed United States’ proposals.
They were able to change the U.S. resolution
to include the proposals they wanted
and helped end the war.  
China wanted the respect of Third World nations
and saw the United States as imperialist.  
China thought India was a threat to the Third World
by taking aid from the United States and the Soviets.  
Pakistan could help with that and a seat at the United Nations.  
China wanted Taiwan’s seat at the UN.
My mother went to live with her uncle,
a communist negotiator for a corporation,
in India.  
A poet,
he threw parties and invited other artists, musicians and writers.  
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation at my joints that he had.  
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.  
In 1965, Pakistani forces went into Jammu and Kashmir with China’s support.  
China threatened India after India sent its troops in.  
Then they threatened again before sending their troops to the Indian border.  
The United States stopped aid to Pakistan and India.
Pakistan agreed to the UN ceasefire agreement.  
Pakistan helped China get a seat at the UN
and tried to keep the west from escalating in Vietnam.  
The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.  
When West Pakistan refused to allow East Pakistan independence,
violence between Bengalis and Biharis developed into upheaval.  
Bengalis moved to India
and India went into East Pakistan.  
Pakistan surrendered in December 1971.  
East Pakistan became independent Bangladesh

The warm light of the melted lava radiates underneath but burns.  
In 1974, India tested the Smiling Buddha,
a nuclear bomb.  
After Indira Gandhi’s conviction for election fraud in 1973,
Marxist Professor Narayan called for total revolution
and students protested all over India.  
With food shortages, inflation and regional disputes
like Sikh separatists training in Pakistan for an independent Punjab,
peasants and laborers joined the protests.  
Railway strikes stopped the economy.  
In 1975, Indira Gandhi, the Iron Lady,
declared an Emergency,
imprisoning political opponents, restricting freedoms and restricting the press,
claiming threats to national security
because the war with Pakistan had just ended.  
The federal government took over Kerala’s communist dominated government and others.  

My mom could’ve been a dandelion, but she’s more like thistle.  
She has the center that dries and flutters in the wind,
beautiful and silky,
spiny and prickly,
but still fluffy, downy,
A daisy.
They say thistle saved Scotland from the Norse.  
Magma from the volcano explodes
and the streams of magma fly into the air.  
In the late 60s,
the civil rights movement rose
against the state in Northern Ireland
for depriving Catholics
of influence and opportunity.
The Northern Irish police,
Protestant and unionist, anti-catholic,
responded violently to the protests and it got worse.  
In 1969, the British placed Arthur Young,
who had worked at the Federation of Malaya
at the time of their Emergency
at the head of the British military in Northern Ireland.
The British military took control over the police,
a counter insurgency rather than a police force,
crowd control, house searches, interrogation, and street patrols,
use of force against suspects and uncooperative citizens.  
Political crimes were tolerated by Protestants but not Catholics.  
The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.  

On January 30, 1972, ****** Sunday,  
British Army policing killed 13 unarmed protesters
fighting for their rights over their neighborhood,
protesting the internment of suspected nationalists.
That led to protests across Ireland.  
When banana leaves are warmed,
oil from the banana leaves flavors the food.  
My dad flew from Canada to India in February 1972.  
On February 4, my dad met my mom.  
On February 11, 1972,
my dad married my mom.  
They went to Canada,
a quartz singing bowl and a wooden mallet wrapped in suede.  
The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.  
In March 1972, the British government took over
because they considered the Royal Ulster Police and the Ulster Special Constabulary
to be causing most of the violence.  
The lava blocks and reroutes streams,
melts snow and ice,
flooding.  
Days later, there’s still smoke, red.  
My mom could wear the clothes she liked
without being judged
with my dad in Canada.  
She didn’t like asking my dad for money.
My dad, the copper helping my mother use that iron,
wanted her to go to college and finish her bachelors degree.
She got a job.  
In 1976, the police took over again in Northern Ireland
but they were a paramilitary force—
armored SUVs, bullet proof jackets, combat ready
with the largest computerized surveillance system in the UK,
high powered weapons,
trained in counter insurgency.  
Many people were murdered by the police
and few were held accountable.  
Most of the murdered people were not involved in violence or crime.  
People were arrested under special emergency powers
for interrogation and intelligence gathering.  
People tried were tried in non-jury courts.  
My mom learned Malayalam in India
but didn’t speak well until living with my dad.  
She also learned to cook after getting married.  
Her mother sent her recipes; my dad cooked for her—
turmeric, cumin, coriander, cayenne and green chiles.  
Having lived in different countries,
my mom’s food was exposed to many cultures,
Chinese and French.
Ground rock, minerals and glass
covered the ground
from the ash plume.  
She liked working.  

A volcano erupted for 192 years,
an ice age,
disordered ices, deformed under pressure
and ordered ice crystals, brittle in the ice core records.  
My mother liked working.  
Though Khomeini was in exile by the 1970s in Iran,
more people, working and poor,
turned to him and the ****-i-Ulama for help.
My mom didn’t want kids though my dad did.
She agreed and in 1978 my brother was born.
Iran modernized but agriculture and industry changed so quickly.  
In January 1978, students protested—
censorship, surveillance, harassment, illegal detention and torture.  
Young people and the unemployed joined.  
My parents moved to the United States in December 1978.  
The regime used a lot of violence against the protesters,
and in September 1978 declared martial law in Iran.  
Troops were shooting demonstrators.
In January 1979, the Shah and his family fled.  
On February 11, 1979, my parents’ anniversary,
the Iranian army declared neutrality.  
I was born in July 1979.
The chromium in emeralds and rubies colors them.
My brother was born in May and I was born in July.

Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.  
They made swords out of obsidian.  





Warm Light Shatters

The eruption beatifies the magma.  
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.  

My dad was born on a large flat rock on the edge of the top
of a hill,
Molasses, sweet and dark, the potent flavor dominates,
His father, the son of a Brahmin,
His mother from a lower caste.
His father’s family wouldn’t touch him,
He grew up in his mother’s mother’s house on a farm.  
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation spot on my right hand that he has.

In 1901, D’Arcy bought a 60 year concession for oil exploration In Iran.
The Iranian government extended it for another 32 years in 1933.
At that time oil was Iran’s “main source of income.”
In 1917’s Balfour Declaration, the British government proclaimed that they favored a national home for the Jews in Palestine and their “best endeavors to facilitate the achievement” of that.

The British police were in charge of policing in the mandate of Palestine.  A lot of the policemen they hired were people who had served in the British army before, during the Irish War for Independence.  
The army tried to stop how violent the police were, police used torture and brutality, some that had been used during the Irish War for Independence, like having prisoners tied to armored cars and locomotives and razing the homes of people in prison or people they thought were related to people thought to be rebels.
The police hired Arab police and Jewish police for lower level policing,
Making local people part of the management.
“Let Arab police beat up Arabs and Jewish police beat up Jews.”

The lava blocks and reroutes streams, melts snow and ice, flooding.
In 1922, there were 83,000 Jews, 71,000 Christians, and 589,000 Muslims.
The League If Nations endorsed the British Mandate.
During an emergency, in the 1930s, British regulations allowed collective punishment, punishing villages for incidents.
Local officers in riots often deserted and also shared intelligence with their own people.
The police often stole, destroyed property, tortured and killed people.  
Arab revolts sapped the police power over Palestinians by 1939.

My father’s mother was from a matrilineal family.
My dad remembers tall men lining up on pay day to respectfully wait for her, 5 feet tall.  
She married again after her husband died.
A manager from a tile factory,
He spoke English so he supervised finances and correspondence.
My dad, a sunflower, loved her: she scared all the workers but exuded warmth to the people she loved.

Obsidian shields people from negative energy.
David Cargill founded the Burmah Oil Co. in 1886.
If there were problems with oil exploration in Burma and Indian government licenses, Persian oil would protect the company.  
In July 1906, many European oil companies, BP, Royal Dutch Shell and others, allied to protect against the American oil company, Standard Oil.
D’Arcy needed money because “Persian oil took three times as long to come on stream as anticipated.”
Burmah Oil Co. began the Anglo-Persian Oil Co. as a subsidiary.
Ninety-seven percent of British Petroleum was owned by Burmah Oil Co.
By 1914, the British government owned 51% of the Anglo-Persian Oil Co.  
Anglo-Persian acquired independence from Burmah Oil and Royal Dutch Shell with two million pounds from the British government.

The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.
In 1942, after the Japanese took Burma,
the British destroyed their refineries before leaving.
The United Nations had to find other sources of oil.
In 1943, Japan built the Burma-Thailand Railroad with forced labor from the Malay peninsula who were mostly from the rubber plantations.

The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.
In 1945. Japan destroyed their refineries before leaving Burma.
Cargill, Watson and Whigham were on the Burmah Oil Co. Board and then the Anglo Iranian Oil Co. Board.  

In 1936 Palestine, boycotts, work stoppages, and violence against British police officials and soldiers compelled the government to appoint an investigatory commission.  
Leaders of Egypt, Trans Jordan, Syria and Iraq helped end the work stoppages.
The British government had the Peel Commission read letters, memoranda, and petitions and speak with British officials, Jews and Arabs.  
The Commission didn’t believe that Arabs and Jews could live together in a single Jewish state.
Because of administrative and financial difficulties the Colonial Secretary stated that to split Palestine into Arab and Jewish states was impracticable.  
The Commission recommended transitioning 250,000 Arabs and 1500 Jews with British control over their oil pipeline, their naval base and Jerusalem.  
The League of Nations approved.
“It will not remove the grievance nor prevent the recurrence,” Lord Peel stated after.
The Arab uprising was much more militant after Peel.  Thousands of Arabs were wounded, ten thousand were detained.  
In Sykes-Picot and the Husain McMahon agreements, the British promised the Arabs an independent state but they did not keep that promise.  
Representatives from the Arab states rejected the Peel recommendations.
United Nations General Assembly Resolution181 partitioned Palestine into Arab and Jewish states with an international regime for the city of Jerusalem backed by the United States and the Soviet Union.  

The Israeli Yishuv had strong military and intelligence organization —-  
the British recognized that their interest was with the Arabs and abstained from the vote.  
In 1948, Israel declared the establishment of its state.  
Ground rock, minerals, and gas covered the ground from the ash plume.
The Palestinian police force was disbanded and the British gave officers the option of serving in Malaya.

Though Truman, Eisenhower and Kennedy supported snd tried to get Israel to offer the Arabs concessions, it wasn’t a major priority and didn’t always approve of Israel’s plans.
Arabs that had supported the British to end Turkish rule stopped supporting the West.  
Many Palestinians joined left wing groups and violent third world movements.  
Seventy-eight percent of the territory of former Palestine was under Israel’s control.  

My dad left for college in 1957 and lived in an apartment above the United States Information services office.
Because he graduated at the top of his class, he was given a job with the public works department of the government on the electricity board.  
“Once in, you’ll never leave.”
When he wanted a job where he could do real work, his father was upset.
He broke the chains with bells for vespers.
He got a job in Calcutta at Kusum Products and left the government, though it was prestigious to work there.
In the chemical engineering division, one of the projects he worked on was to design a *** distillery, bells controlled by hammers, hammers controlled by a keyboard.
His boss worked in the United Kingdom for. 20 years before the company he worked at, part of Power Gas Corporation, asked him to open a branch in Calcutta.
He opened the branch and convinced an Industrialist to open a company doing the same work with him.  The branch he opened closed after that.  
My dad applied for labor certification to work abroad and was selected.  
His boss wrote a reference letter for my him to the company he left in the UK.  My dad sent it telling the company when he was leaving for the UK.  
The day he left for London, he got the letter they sent in the mail telling him to take the train to Sheffield the next day and someone from the firm would meet him at the station.  
His dad didn’t know he left, he didn’t tell him.
He broke the chains with chimes for schisms.


Anglo-Persian Oil became Anglo-Iranian Oil in 1935.
The British government used oil and Anglo-Persian oil to fight communism, have a stronger relationship with the United States and make the United Kingdom more powerful.  
The National Secularists, the Tudeh, and the Communists wanted to nationalize Iran’s oil and mobilized the Iranian people.
The British feared nationalization in Iran would incite political parties like the Secular Nationalists all over the world.  
In 1947, the Iranian government passed the Single Article Law that “[increased] investment In welfare benefits, health, housing, education, and implementation of Iranianization through substitution of foreigners” at Anglo-Iranian Oil Co.
“Anglo-Iranian Oil Company made more profit in 1950 than it paid to the Iranian government in royalties over the previous half century.”
The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company tried to negotiate a new concession and claimed they’d hire more Iranian people into jobs held by British and people from other nationalities at the company.
Their hospitals had segregated wards.  
On May 1, 1951, the Iranian government passed a bill that nationalized Anglo- Iranian Oil Co.’s holdings.  
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.
In August 1953, the Iranian people elected Mossadegh from the Secular Nationalist Party as prime minister.
The British government with the CIA overthrew Mossadegh using the Iranian military after inducing protests and violent demonstrations.  
Anglo-Iranian Oil changed its name to British Petroleum in 1954.
Iranians believe that America destroyed Iran’s “last chance for democracy” and blamed America for Iran’s autocracy, its human rights abuses, and secret police.

The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.  
In 1946, Executive Yuan wanted control over 4 groups of Islands in the South China Sea to have a stronger presence there:  the Paracels, the Spratlys, Macclesfield Bank, and the Pratas.
The French forces in the South China Sea would have been stronger than the Chinese Navy then.
French Naval forces were in the Gulf of Tonkin, U.S. forces were in the Taiwan Strait, the British were in Hong Kong, and the Portuguese were in Macao.
In the 1950s, British snd U.S. oil companies thought there might be oil in the Spratlys.  
By 1957, French presence in the South China Sea was hardly there.  

When the volcano erupted, the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.
By 1954, the Tudeh Party’s communist movement and  intelligence organization had been destroyed.  
Because of the Shah and his government’s westernization policies and disrespectful treatment of the Ulama, Iranians began identifying with the Ulama and Khomeini rather than their government.  
Those people joined with secular movements to overthrow the Shah.  

In 1966, Ne Win seized power from U Nu in Burma.
“Soldiers ruled Burma as soldiers.”
Ne Win thought that western political
Institutions “encouraged divisions.”
Minority groups found foreign support for their separatist goals.
The Karens and the Mons supported U Nu in Bangkok.  


Rare copper, a heavy metal, no alloys,
a rock in groundwater,
conducts electricity and heat.
In 1965, my Dad’s cousin met him at Heathrow, gave him a coat and £10 and brought him to a bed and breakfast across from Charing Cross Station where he’d get the train to Sheffield the next morning.
He took the train and someone met him at the train station.  
At the interview they asked him to design a grandry girder, the main weight bearing steel girder as a test.
Iron in the inner and outer core of the earth,
He’d designed many of those.  
He was hired and lived at the YMCA for 2 1/2 years.  
He took his mother’s family name, Menon, instead of his father’s, Varma.
In 1967, he left for Canada and interviewed at Bechtel before getting hired at Seagrams.  
Iron enables blood to carry oxygen.
His boss recommended him for Dale Carnegie’s leadership training classes and my dad joined the National Instrument Society and became President.
He designed a still In Jamaica,
Ordered all the parts, nuts and bolts,
Had all the parts shipped to Jamaica and made sure they got there.
His boss supervised the construction, installation and commission in Jamaica.
Quartz, heat and fade resistant, though he was an engineer and did the work of an engineer, my dad only had the title, technician so my dad’s boss thought he wasn’t getting paid enough but couldn’t get his boss to offer more than an extra $100/week or the title of engineer; he told my dad he thought he should leave.
In 1969, he got a job at Celanese, which made rayon.
He quit Celanese to work at McGill University and they allowed him to take classes to earn his MBA while working.  

The United States and Israel’s alliance was strong by 1967.
United Nations Security Council Resolution 242 at the end of the Third Arab Israeli War didn’t mention the Palestinians but mentioned the refugee problem.
After 1967, the Palestinians weren’t often mentioned and when mentioned only as terrorists.  
Palestinians’ faith in the “American sponsored peace process” diminished, they felt the world community ignored and neglected them also.
Groups like MAN that stopped expecting anything from Arab regimes began hijacking airplanes.
By 1972, the Palestine Liberation Organization had enough international support to get by the United States’ veto in the United Nations Security Council and Arab League recognition as representative of the Palestinian people.
The Palestinians knew the United States stated its support, as the British had, but they weren’t able to accomplish anything.  
The force Israel exerted in Johnson’s United States policy delivered no equilibrium for the Palestinians.  

In 1969, all political parties submitted to the BSPP, Burma Socialist Programme Party.
Ne Win nationalized banks and oil and deprived minorities of opportunities.
Ne Win became U Nu Win, civilian leader of Burma in 1972 and stopped the active role that U Nu defined for Burma internationally
He put military people in power even when they didn’t have experience which triggered “maldistribution of goods and chronic shortages.”  
Resources were located in areas where separatist minorities had control.

The British presence in the South China Sea ended in 1968.  
The United States left Vietnam in 1974 and China went into the Western Paracels.
The U.S. didn’t intervene and Vietnam took the Spratlys.
China wanted to claim the continental shelf In the central part of the South China Sea and needed the Spratlys.
The United States mostly disregarded the Ulama In Iran and bewildered the Iranian people by not supporting their revolution.

Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.  
They made swords out of obsidian.


Edelweiss

I laid out in my backyard in my bikini.  
I love the feeling of my body in the sun.  
I’d be dark from the end of spring until winter.
The snow froze my bare feet through winter ,
my skin pale.
American towns in 1984,
Free, below glaciers the sunlight melted the snow,
a sea of green and the edelweiss on the edge of the  limestone,
frosted but still strong.    
When the spring warmed the grass,
the grass warmed my feet. 
The whole field looked cold and white from the glacier but in the meadow,
the bright yellow centers of those flowers float free in the center of the white petals.
The bright yellow center of those edelweiss scared the people my parents ran to America from India to get away from.  
On a sidewalk in Queens, New York in 1991, the men stared and yelled comments at me in short shorts and a fitted top in the summer.  
I grabbed my dad’s arm.

























The Bread and Coconut Butter of Aparigraha

Twelve year old flowerhead,
Marigold, yarrow and nettle,
I’d be all emotion
If not for all my work
From the time I was a teenager.
I got depressed a lot.
I related to people I read about
In my weather balloon,
Grasping, ignorant, and desperate,
But couldn’t relate to other twelve year olds.
After school I read Dali’s autobiography,
Young ****** Autosodomized by Her Own Chastity.
Fresh, green nettle with fresh and dried yarrow for purity.
Dead souls enticed to the altar by orange marigolds,
passion and creativity,
Coax sleep and rouse dreams.
Satellites measure indirectly with wave lengths of light.
My weather balloon measures the lower and middle levels of the atmosphere directly,
Fifty thousand feet high,
Metal rod thermometer,
Slide humidity sensor,
Canister for air pressure.

I enjoy rye bread and cold coconut butter in my weather balloon,
But I want Dali, and all the artists and writers.
Rye grows at high altitudes
But papyrus grows in soil and shallow water,
Strips of papyrus pith shucked from their stems.
When an anchor’s weighed, a ship sails,
But when grounded we sail.
Marigolds, yarrow and nettle,
Flowerhead,
I use the marigold for sleep,
The yarrow for endurance and intensity,
toiling for love and truth,
And the nettle for healing.
Strong rye bread needs equally strong flavors.
By the beginning of high school,
I read a lot of Beat literature
And found Buddhism.
I loved what I read
But I didn’t like some things.
I liked attachment.  
I got to the ground.
Mushrooms grow in dry soil.
Attachment to beauty is Buddha activity.
Not being attached to things I don’t find beautiful is Buddha activity.  
I fried mushrooms in a single layer in oil, fleshy.
I roasted mushrooms at high temperatures in the oven, crisp.
I simmered mushrooms in stock with kombu.
Rye bread with cold coconut butter and cremini mushrooms,
raw, soft and firm.  
Life continues, life changes,
Attachments, losses, mourning and suffering,
But change lures growth.
I find stream beds and wet soil.
I lay the strips of papyrus next to each other.
I cross papyrus strips over the first,
Then wet the crossed papyrus strips,
Press and cement them into a sheet.
I hammer it and dry it in the sun,
With no thought of achievement or self,
Flowerhead,
Hands filled with my past,
Head filled with the future,
Dali, artists poets,
Wishes and desires aligned with nature,
Abundance,
Cocoa, caraway, and molasses.

If I ever really like someone,
I’ll be wearing the dress he chooses,
Fresh green nettle and yarrow, the seeds take two years to grow strong,
Lasting love.
Marigolds steer dead souls from the altar to the afterlife,
Antiseptic, healing wounds,
Soothing sore throats and headaches.
Imperturbable, stable flowerhead,
I empty my mind.
When desires are aligned with nature, desire flows.
Papyrus makes paper and cloth.
Papyrus makes sails.
Charcoal from the ash of pulverized papyrus heals wounds.
Without attachment to the fruit of action
There is continuation of life,
Rye bread and melted coconut butter,
The coconut tree in the coconut butter,
The seed comes from the ground out of nothing,
Naturalness.
It has form.
As the seed grows the seed expresses the tree,
The seed expresses the coconut,
The seed expresses the coconut butter.
Rye bread, large open hollows, chambers,
Immersed in melted coconut butter,
Desire for expansion and creation,
No grasping, not desperate.
When the mind is compassion, the mind is boundless.
Every moment,
only that,
Every moment,
a scythe to the papyrus in the stream bed of the past.  

































Sound on Powdery Blue

Potter’s clay, nymph, plum unplumbed, 1993.
Dahlia, ice, powder, musk and rose,
my source of life emerged in darkness, blackness.
Seashell fragments in the sand,
The glass ball of my life cracked inside,
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks,
Nacre kept those cracks from getting worse.
Young ****** Autosodomized By Her Own Chastity,
Nymph, I didn’t want to give my body,
Torn, *****, ballgown,
To people who wouldn’t understand me,
Piquant.

Outside on the salt flats,
Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, pleasure and fertility and
Asexual Artemis, goddess of animals, and the hunt,
Mistress of nymphs,
Punish with ruthless savagery.

In my bedroom, blue caribou moss covered rocks, pine, and yew trees,
The heartwood writhes as hurricane gales, twisters and whirlwinds
Contort their bark,
Roots strong in the soil.
Orris root dried in the sun, bulbs like wood.
Dahlia runs to baritone soundbath radio waves.
Light has frequencies,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet,
Flame, slate and flint.
Every night is cold.

Torii gates, pain secured as sacred.
An assignation, frost hardy dahlia and a plangent resonant echo.
High frequency sound waves convert to electrical signals,
Breathe from someone I want,
Silt.
Beam, radiate, ensorcel.
I break the bark,
Sap flows and dries,
Resin seals over the tear.
I distill pine,
Resin and oil for turpentine, a solvent.
Quiver, bemired,
I lead sound into my darkness,
Orris butter resin, sweet and warm,
Hot jam drops on snow drops,
Orange ash on smoke,
Balm on lava,
The problem with cotton candy.

Electrical signals give off radiation or light waves,
The narrow frequency range where
The crest of a radio wave and the crest of a light wave overlap,
Infrared.
Glaciers flow, sunlight melts the upper layers of the snow when strong,
A wet snow avalanche,
A torrent, healing.
Brown sugar and whiskey,
Undulant, lavender.
Pine pitch, crystalline, sticky, rich and golden,
And dried pine rosin polishes glass smooth
Like the smell of powdery orris after years.
Softness, flush, worthy/not worthy,
Rich rays thunder,
Intensify my pulse,
Frenzied red,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet.
Babylon—flutter, glow.
Unquenchable cathartic orris.  

















Pink Graphite

Camellias, winter shrubs,
Their shallow roots grow beneath the spongy caribou moss,
Robins egg blue.
After writing a play with my gifted students program in 1991,
I stopped spending all my free time writing short stories,
But the caribou moss was still soft.

In the cold Arctic of that town,
The evergreen protected the camellias from the afternoon sun and storms.
They branded hardy camellias with a brass molded embossing iron;
I had paper and graphite for my pencils.

After my ninth grade honors English teacher asked us to write poems in 1994,
It began raining.
We lived on an overhang.
A vertical rise to the top of the rock.
The rainstorm caused a metamorphic change in the snowpack,
A wet snow avalanche drifted slowly down the moss covered rock,
The snow already destabilized by exposure to the sunlight.

The avalanche formed lakes,
rock basins washed away with rainwater and melted snow,
Streams dammed by the rocks.  
My pencils washed away in the avalanche,
My clothes heavy and cold.
I wove one side of each warp fiber through the eye of the needle and one side through each slot,
Salves, ointments, serums and tinctures.
I was mining for graphite.
They were mining me,
The only winch, the sound through the water.

A steep staircase to the red Torii gates,
I broke the chains with bells for vespers
And chimes for schisms,
And wove the weft across at right angles to the warp.  

On a rocky ledge at the end of winter,
The pink moon, bitters and body butter,
They tried to get  me to want absinthe,
Wormwood for bitterness and regret.
Heat and pressure formed carbon for flakes of graphite.
Heat and pressure,
I made bitters,
Brandy, grapefruit, chocolate, mandarin rind, tamarind and sugar.
I grounded my feet in the pink moss,
paper dried in one hand,
and graphite for my pencils in the other.  



































Flakes

I don’t let people that put me down be part of my life.  
Gardens and trees,
My shadow sunk in the grass in my yard
As I ate bread, turmeric and lemon.
Carbon crystallizes into graphite flakes.
I write to see well,
Graphite on paper.  
A shadow on rock tiles with a shield, a diamond and a bell
Had me ***** to humiliate me.
Though I don’t let people that put me down near me,
A lot of people putting me down seemed like they were following me,
A platform to jump from
While she had her temple.  

There was a pink door to the platform.
I ate bread with caramelized crusts and
Drank turmeric lemonade
Before I opened that door,
Jumped and
Descended into blankets and feathers.
I found matches and rosin
For turpentine to clean,
Dried plums and licorice.  

In the temple,
In diamonds, leather, wool and silk,
She had her shield and bells,
Drugs and technology,
Thermovision 210 and Minox,
And an offering box where people believed
That if their coins went in
Their wishes would come true.

Hollyhock and smudging charcoal for work,  
Belled,
I ground grain in the mill for the bread I baked for breakfast.
The bells are now communal bells
With a watchtower and a prison,
Her shield, a blowtorch and flux,
Her ex rays, my makeshift records
Because Stalin didn’t like people dancing,
He liked them divebombing.
Impurities in the carbon prevent diamonds from forming,
Measured,
The most hard, the most expensive,
But graphite’s soft delocalized electrons move.  






































OCEAN BED

The loneliness of going to sleep by myself.  
I want a bed that’s high off the ground,
a mattress, an ocean.
I want a crush and that  person in my bed.  
Only that,
a crush in my bed,
an ocean in my bed.  
Just love.  
But I sleep with my thumbs sealed.  
I sleep with my hands, palms up.  
I sleep with my hands at my heart.  
They sear my compassion with their noise.  
They hold their iron over their fire and try to carve their noise into my love,
scored by the violence of voices, dark and lurid,  
but not burned.  
I want a man in my bed.  
When I wake up in an earthquake
I want to be held through the aftershocks.  
I like men,
the waves come in and go out
but the ocean was part of my every day.  
I don’t mind being fetishized in the ocean.  
I ran by the ocean every morning.  
I surfed in the ocean.  
I should’ve gone into the ocean that afternoon at Trestles,
holding my water jugs, kneeling at the edge.  














Morning

I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.  
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.  

Morning—the molten lava in the outer core of the earth embeds the iron from the inner core into the earth’s magnetic field.  
The magnetic field flips.  
The sun, so strong, where it gets through the trees it burns everything but the pine.  
The winds change direction.  
Storms cast lightening and rain.  
Iron conducts solar flares and the heavy wind.  
In that pine forest, I shudder every time I see a speck of light for fear of neon and fluorescents.  The eucalyptus cleanses congestion.  
And Kerouac’s stream ululates, crystal bowl sound baths.  
I follow the sound to the water.  
The stream ends at a bluff with a thin rocky beach below.  
The green water turns black not far from the shore.  
Before diving into the ocean, I eat globe mallow from the trees, stems and leaves, the viscous flesh, red, soft and nutty.  
I distill the pine from one of the tree’s bark and smudge the charcoal over my skin.  

Death, the palo santo’s lit, cleansing negative energy.  
It’s been so long since I’ve smelled a man, woodsmoke, citrus and tobacco.  
Jasmine, plum, lime and tuberose oil on the base of my neck comforts.  
Parabolic chambers heal, sound waves through water travel four times faster.  
The sound of the open sea recalibrates.  
I dissolve into the midnight blue of the ocean.  

I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.  
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.  
I want hot water with coconut oil when I get up.  
We’d lay out on the lawn, surrounded by high trees that block the wind.  
Embers flying through the air won’t land in my yard, on my grass, or near my trees.  





Blue Paper

Haze scatters blue light on a planet.  
Frought women, livid, made into peonies by Aphrodites that caught their men flirting and blamed the women, flushed red.
and blamed the women, flushed red.
Frought women, livid, chrysanthemums, dimmed until the end of the season, exchanged and retained like property.  
Blue women enter along the sides of her red Torii gates, belayed, branded and belled, a plangent sound.  
By candles, colored lights and dried flowers she’s sitting inside on a concrete floor, punctures and ruin burnished with paper, making burnt lime from lime mortar.  
Glass ***** on the ceiling, she moves the beads of a Palestinian glass bead bracelet she holds in her hands.  
She bends light to make shadows against  thin wooden slats curbed along the wall, and straight across the ceiling.
A metier, she makes tinctures, juniper berries and cotton *****.
Loamy soil in the center of the room,
A hawthorn tree stands alone,
A gateway for fairies.
large stones at the base protecting,
It’s branches a barrier.  
It’s leaves and shoots make bread and cheese.
It’s berries, red skin and yellow flesh, make jam.
Green bamboo stakes for the peonies when they whither from the weight of their petals.
And lime in the soil.  
She adds wood chips to the burnt lime in the kiln,
Unrolled paper, spools, and wire hanging.
Wood prayer beads connect her to the earth,
The tassels on the end of the beads connect her to spirit, to higher truth.
Minerals, marine mud and warm basins of seawater on a flower covered desk.  
She adds slaked lime to the burnt lime and wood chips.  
The lime converts to paper,
Trauma victims speak,
Light through butterfly wings.  
She’s plumeria with curved petals, thick, holding water
This is what I have written of my book.  I’ll be changing where the poems with the historical research go.  There are four more of those and nine of the other poems.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
12 Monkeys
17 Girls
127 Hours
2 Days in New York 2012
2 Days in Paris 2010
2001 A Space Odyssey
360
A Beautiful Mind
A Bridge Too Far
A Few Good Men
A Single Man
A Perfect Getaway
A Serbian Film
A Very Long Engagement
A.I.
Absolute Power
Adaptation
Airborne
Air Force One
Airplane 1
Airplane 2
Albert Nobbs
Alex Cross
Alpha Dog
American Beauty
American Gangster
Amorres Perros
Amour
Anchorman
Andy Warhol's Bad 1977
Andy Warhol's ******* 1964
Andy Warhol's Eat 1964
Animal Kingdom
Annie Hall
Anti-Christ
Apocalypse Now Redux
Apollo 13
Arachnophobia
Apt Pupil
Armageddon
Babel
Backdraft
Bad Company
Bad Education
Badlands 1973
Barton Fink
Basquiat
Before Night Falls
Being Flynn
Beneath Hill 60
Beyond the Black Rainbow
Billy Madison
Biutiful - Spanish
Blade 1
Blade 2
Blade 3
Blade Runner Final Cut
Blades of Glory
Blood Work
Blue Valentine
Breach
Broken Arrow
Born on the Fourth of July
Boyz in the Hood
Bullet
Bulworth
Brothers
Caddyshack 1 & 2
Career Opportunities
Carlos The Jackal The Movie
Carne by Gaspar Noe - French
Cashback
CB4
Charlie Wilson's War
Chelsea Girls 1966
Cherry
Chinatown
Ciao Manhattan ft. Edie Sedgewick 1972
Cinema Paradiso
City of God
Clear and Present Danger
Closely Watched Trains - Czech
Contact
Corpse Bride
Courage Under Fire
Crazy Stupid Love
Dark Shadows
Dave 1993
Daybreakers
Days of Heaven
Dazed and Confused
Dead Presidents
Defiance
Desperately Seeking Susan
Despicable Me
Detachment
Die Hard Quadrilogy
**** Tracy
***** Harry
Django Unchained
Dogtooth - Greek
Dogville
Doubt
Dracula, Bram Stoker's
Dragonheart
Dream House
Drive
Drop Zone
Dumbo
Dune Extended Edition
Ears Open, Eyeballs Click
Easier With Practice
Easy Rider 1969
Edward Scissorhands
Empire of the Sun
Encino Man
Enter the Void by Gaspar Noe
Eraser 1999
Eyes Wide Shut 1999
Face Off 1997
Fallen
Fantastic Mr. Fox
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
Fight Club
Fill the Void
Fish Tank
Fitzcarraldo
Five Minutes in Heaven
Flickan 2009 - Swedish
Flubber 1997
Folks!
Forbidden Planet 1956
Fracture
Friday 1995
Friday After Next 2002
Frost Nixon
******* Amal - Swedish
Full Metal Jacket
Funny Farm 1988
Funny Games
Fur- An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus
G.I. Jane
G.I. Joe Retaliation
Gangs of New York
Gangster Squad
Garden State
Get Rich or Die Tryin'
Ghostbusters 1
Girlfriend
Girl, Interrupted
Glengarry Glen Ross
Gomorra - Italian
Great Expectations 1998
Greenberg
Grindhouse Death Proof
Grindhouse Planet Terror
Groundhog Day 1993
Grumpy Old Men
Grumpier Old Men
Gummo
Gus Van Sant's Last Days
Half Nelson
Hannibal
Havoc
Haywire
Heartbreak Ridge
Heat
Hell on the Pacific 1986
Hesher
Hitchcock
Holy Rollers
Hook
Honey I Shrunk the Kids
Hyde Park on Hudson
I Am Curious Blue
I Am Curious Yellow
I Heart Huckabees
I Stand Alone by Gaspar Noe - French
If Looks Could **** 1991
I'm Not There
In Bruges
In The Line of Fire
Inglorious Basterds
Inland Empire
Innerspace 1987
Innocence
Interview With the Vampire
Jacob's Ladder
James Bond - Diamonds Are Forever 1971
James Bond - From Russia With Love 1963
James Bond - Goldfinger 1964
James Bond - Never Say Never Again 1983
James Bond - On Her Majesty's Secret Service 1969
James Bond - Thunderball 1965
James Bon - You Only Live Twice 1967
Jane Eyre
Jeremiah Johnson 1972
JFK
Joe Versus the Volcano
Johnny English 2
Julien Donkey-Boy
Juno
Just Cause
Kapringen aka A Hijacking - Icelandic
Ken Park
Killing Season
Killing Them Softly
Kindergarten Cop
Kingpin
Koyaanisqatsi
Krippendorf's Tribe
Kiss the Girls
La Vie En Rose
Last Night
Last of the Dogmen
Leon: The Professional
Leonard Pt. 6
Les Miserables
Lie With Me
Life of Pi
Lincoln
Lions For Lambs
Little Children
Lord of the Rings Trilogy BR Extended
Lord of War
Lost Highway
Love and Other Drugs
Love in the Time of Cholera
Love Liza
Lovers of the Arctic Circle
Mad Max 1979
Mad Max 2 1981
Mad Max 3 1985
Major Payne
Malcolm X
Man on Fire
Manhunter
Maverick 1994
Meet Joe Black
Melancholia
Menace II Society DIrector's Cut 1993
Mesrine 1 Killer Instinct - French
Mesrine 2 Public Enemy - French
Milk
Minority Report
Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol
Mister Lonely
Money Train
Moonrise Kingdom
Moulin Rouge
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
****** By Numbers
Munich
My Sassy Girl 2008
Naqoyqatsi Life As War
National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
National Treasure Book of Secrets
Never Cry Wolf
Never Let Me Go
New Jack City
New York I Love You
Night on Earth 1991 - Italian
Nixon
Not Fade Away
Notes on a Scandal
O Brother, Where Art Thou
October Sky
Olympus Has Fallen
Ondskan - Swedish
One False Move
Out of Africa
Outbreak
Palmetto
Paris Texas Criterion 1984
Passenger 57
Paths of Glory 1957
Perfect Sense
Peter Pan
Philadelphia 1993
Pinocchio
Pirate Radio
Platoon 1986
Pleasantville
*******
Project X 1987
Proof
Quiz Show
Rabbits
Revolver
Robocop Trilogy
Robot and Frank
Rolling Stone's Gimme Shelter
Romance and Cigarettes
Romeo and Juliet 1996
Sahara
Saving Private Ryan
Schindler's List
Searching For Bobby Fischer
Secretary, The
Seven Years in Tibet
Sgt. Bilko
Shame 2011
Shine
Shooter
Shopgirl
Sid and Nancy
Sin City
Sky Captain and The World of Tomorrow
Skyfall
Slackers
Sleepers
Sleeping Beauty 1959
Sleeping Beauty 2011
Sleepy Hollow
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Somewhere
South Central
Sphere
Spread
Spy Game
Stand Up Guys
Stay
Summer Hours - French
Sweeney Todd - The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
Synecdoche, NY
Syriana
Talk To Her - Habla Con Ella
Taken 1 & 2
Takers
****
Taxidermia
Tetro
Thank You For Smoking
That Thing You Do!
The Adjustment Bureau
The Age of Innocence by Martin Scorcese 1993
The Bad Lieutenant - Port of Call New Orleans 2009
The Basketball Diaries
The Beach 2000
The Believer
The Beverly Hillbillies
The Black Dahlia
The Blue Lagoon 1980
The Book of Eli
The Boxer
The Constant Gardner
The Conversation
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Darjeeling Limited
The Dark Knight
The Dark Knight Rises
The Day of the Jackal
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
The Fifth Element
The Flock
The Flowers of War
The Fountain
The Getaway
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo 2011
The Golden Compass
The Good Shepherd
The Good The Bad and The Ugly
The Goonies
The Green Mile
The Grey
The Help
The Hudsucker Proxy
The Hurricane
The Hurt Locker
The Ice Storm
The Ides of March
The Illusionist
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
The Impossible
The Informers
The Invasion
The Iron Lady
The Island of Dr. Moreau
The Jackal
The ****
The Killer Inside Me
The Kingdom
The Legend of Bagger Vance
The Lost Boys
The Lost Boys The Tribe
The Lost Boys Thirst
The Machinist
The Mask
The Man Who Fell to Earth 1976
The Master
The Mechanic
The Money Pit
The Naked Gun 1
The Naked Gun 2
The Naked Gun 3
The New World
The Pelican Brief
The Place Beyond the Pines
The Prestige
The Queen
The Raven
The Reader
The Red Balloon
The Right Stuff
The Road
The Rock
The Rocketeer
The Rules of Attraction
The *** Diary
The Saint
The Shawshank Redemption
The Silence of the Lambs
The Skin I Live In - Mexican
The Soloist
The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Thin Red Line
The Town
Transformers Trilogy
The Tree of Life
Tron Legacy 2010
The United States of Leland
The Usual Suspects
The Way Back
There Will Be Blood
There's Something About Mary
Three Days of the Condor
Three Kings
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
To the Wonder
To Rome With Love

Tombstone
Total Recall 1990
Trainspotting
Trash Humpers
True Lies
Two Lovers
Two Weeks in September(Brigette Bardot) 1967
Tyrannosaur
Unbreakable
Uncle Buck
Unforgiven
Unleashed
Unstoppable
V for Vendetta
Varsity Blues
Vertigo
Vicky Christina Barcelona
Videodrome
Virtuosity
Wag the Dog
Wake Up Ron Burgundy The Lost Movie
Walkabout
Wall Street 1987
Wall Street 2010
Wanderlust
Water World
Wayne's World 1 & 2
We Are The Night
War Witch
We Need to Talk About Kevin
Weekend by Jean-Luc Godard - French
Weekend 2011
West of Memphis
What Doesn't **** You
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
When Harry Met Sally
Where the Wild Things Are
White House Down
White Material Criterion 2009
White Oleander
Who is Harry Nilsson?
Wolf 1992
Womb
You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger
Zardoz 1974


Documentaries & Music Videos


BBC - Life in Cold Blood
BBC - Planet Earth
BBC - Rolling Stones Crossfire Hurricane
BBC - Great Bear Steakout
BBC - Ice Age Giants
BBC - Insect Worlds
BBC - Life on Earth 1979
BBC - Lost Cities of the Ancients
BBC - Operation Snow Tiger
BBC - Penguins: Spy in the Huddle
BBC - Polar Bear: Spy on the Ice
BBC - Richard Hammond's Miracles of Nature
BBC - The Life of Birds
BBC - Wonders of Life
David Blaine Collection
**** Proenke Collection - Alone and Solitude, The Frozen North
Encounters at the End of the World 2007
Nanook of the North
National Geographic Wild Kingdom of the Oceans Giants of the Deep: Whales
Shine A Light - The Rolling Stones
Vladimir Horowitz - Der Ietzte Romantiker
Vladimir Horowitz - Live in Vienna 1987
Vladimir Horowitz - The 1968 TV Concert
Whale Adventure with Nigel Marvin

My life is filled with endless apologies

Sincere and heartfelt promises that are shallow and empty


It's not a conscious thought
The words aren't spoken with known deceit or intentional mal-intent
But somewhere in my brain, buried in my subconscious, I know...
A self-sabotaging automated programming constantly running
And regardless of my cognitive actions or conscious thoughts, desires and intentions
My automated programming will find a way to inevitably run its code, follow its routines and execute its prime directive

And that's not a cop out
They're still my actions
Conscious or subconscious
Actions resulting from subconscious "thought" are those I'm too ignorant to see or too weak to change in that moment

I don't know what's worse
The subconscious lies and heaps of horse fertilizer, day in and day out, I shove down the throats of those who cross my path
Or the incessant feed of regurgitated words, phrases, thoughts, ideas and worst of all.... hopes.... that is being forced through my digestive track only to be excreted by my body and re-absorbed by my central nervous system

Hope

The worst trick of all

And it always works. Without fail
Why?
Because it psychologically and emotionally preys on everything I want to be
The Hope that THIS TIME I'll get it right
THIS TIME I won't FAIL
All those things inside of me
All of my
......
Potential
.......
This time it won't be wasted
This time I'll come through. You can count on me!
I promise!
This time I'll be on time
This time I won't be late!
This time I'll meet expectations
This time I'll EXCEED expectations!
This time I won't let people down
This time I won't....
                                 .....
                                    ..... let
                                               ME

                                                      .­....down

Hope

The saddest and ultimate cruelty of lies
Created by the Devil to prey on the weak and gullible
If Hell is living your worst day over and over again for eternity;
Then repeating the same detrimental behaviors over and over again for life, sustained in this perpetual motion by something so simple and harmless looking as "Hope" must fall at the Devil's hands

A wolf in sheep's clothing sprinkled in fairy dust
The worst of thoughts and beliefs are kept alive by Hope
Hope is a disease; a psychological virus
A damaged idea spreading from person to person, hijacking their system, and infecting their thoughts
For Hope is not a singular idea, isolated in seclusion, yet ultimately wrapped up and packaged out with other ideas
No, Hope is the vehicle that all thoughts that follow must ride in and by which be delivered
It is the Uber for ideas that follow
And like an unscrupulous and unpitying Uber driver,
Hope takes your brain to a secluded spot against its will and does as it so pleases
But unlike survivors of such horrific events
I, like a wide eyed doe in the headlights
I continuously expose myself to the exact same scenarios
over
and
over again

But not to worry

Eventually,
Hope will lose its magic
And the void created will be filled

By,

Regret,
Resentment,
Animosity,
Self-doubt,
Self-loathing,

And worst of all,

Denial

Denial is Hope's evil twin

The not so secret malicious trickster who, even though wears his emotions somewhat more clearly, is still capable of a lifetime of successful pranks

But unlike Hope, Denial doesn't always reveal his trick if the tricked has yet to become aware of the ruse
Instead, Denial will let them build
Stack upon stack
A colossal suspension bridge built and supported on Denial
And when I, with blind faith, cross that bridge
Putting everything and anything on the line, without question
That's when Denial delivers its reckoning
And in one all encompassing swoop it swallows me whole and any resemblance of "life" with it

Hope and Denial
My Atlantic and Pacific Oceans
and Me, a tiny island
Flanked on either side by the endless majesty of each
And like this planet,
I too,
Am a sphere spinning
A tiny island against the enormities of the the deep blue
A shipwrecked survivor
Floating on the driftwood of my subconscious
Left to the will of my environment
A helpless passenger on this ship of life
Constantly spinning between Hope and Denial
Some days calm and serene
Others, tormented by storms
Monster waves,
Flashes of lightning,
Ear shattering crackling explosions of thunder
And howling winds so fierce they must be the breath of God

And regardless of what scenario lays before me,
I'm left repeatedly with the same "choice" and same action

Enveloped with fear,
Hanging on for dear life,
Like a helpless and horrified child.....

On the verge of soiling my pants
Written: May 28, 2018

All rights reserved.
Mahalea Isis May 2014
Fighting back tears, it pains me to hear
The word that always lingers throughout my thoughts
The word that makes me cringe in sadness
The reason I don't wear dresses that are strapless
The reason I could never be an actress

My confidence is lacking, the word is attacking and hijacking
My mental and suddenly I'm adapting
To the rage burning in my heart like everlasting matches
It burns me to say it, but I say it all the time
To remind myself of why I will always have to lie
Cause when people ask me questions, I always say I'm fine
Even though I want to lie in the puddle where I cried
And drown myself slowly, but not necessarily die
Just come back alive, more beautiful this time

Pressured by society and everybody by me
That being pretty is the goal cause in the real world no one will lie to me
Nowadays a girls dream is to be able to drop jaws
Be admired and complimented and leave people staring in awe
Be stunning, not even perfect, but have minimal flaws
Why do insults flow easily and no one thinks it's wrong?

Ugly
The word unflattering itself
And us as insecure, are disgusted with ourselves
And sometimes we break down in the mirror yelling for help
Cause who is truly happy when they wish to be someone else?

Ugly
Scars lacing our bodies
Speaking loud enough when our thoughts get a bit foggy
People stare at these memories and tell us we're crazy
It decorates the pain like a poisonous pastry

Ugly
Why is it that we constantly hear
This word that some might consider their biggest fear
It's embarrassing, degrading, it weakens us deeply
I wear all black and walk through the hallways discreetly
I want no one to notice who I am anymore
I have locked my true self behind bars and steel doors
Cause I have a secret wish that one day maybe I could be adored
But my reflection isn't the reason that I am so destroyed

It's ugly
That word has broken me down
That I cry anytime there isn't anyone around
And it's amazing to see how many people are self conscious
Over this word which in itself is monstrous and obnoxious
Nowadays I wonder if anyone has a conscience
Cause if they did, why would they continuously spread all this nonsense?
You can't brush it off like its stupid and it isn't constant
And like it doesn't turn people from confident to rotten

Ugly
One day hopefully, I'll break out of this mindset
Cause it's kept me from doing things which I now seem to regret
It's kept me from happiness and the feeling of tranquility
And dragged me to the hell where lies depression and hostility
And now I long for a day where it will all happen so suddenly
I will look at my reflection and will say

"I'm not ugly."
Wrote this a couple weeks ago and sadly I'm still struggling with my insecure and confidence issues, as I have been for years. It's difficult always being self conscious but I don't know how to change. It's a constant battle within in myself. But oh well.
Rockie Mar 2015
Planes crashing
Towers exploding
News covering
Tears forming
Men falling
Videos created
Uprise roaring
The whole world
Watches
Waits
In baited breath
Death all around
It started with a hijacking
Or maybe a bit before
But we are resilient
Brave
*We shall NOT be brought down screaming
I am currently studying a poem based of off 9/11 and formed this in my head while reading it. Although it doesn't quite capture the true emotion by this particular event, I hope it gets that across.
Emanuel Martinez Jan 2013
Concrete full of blood
Skies, smoke-filled clouds

Poison, don't you see
INDUCING VOMITING
Of every freedom you hold

Incubators, landfills
For
Food deserts
Soul Scavengers
Bullet and knife showers
Parentless parents
Starving children
Hotbeds for addiction

Metropolises
Harvesting humans like ants
Where democracy manufactures
Oppressed consumers out of the masses
Majority starving for death

Poison, don't you see
INDUCING VOMITING
Of every freedom you hold

Those borders you revere
Hijacking your body and mind
Legislating no burning of the flag
Where they clean their blood-drenched hands on
Can you tell what side your on
When you agree, they hold a different nationality

When can there be actual solidarity?
Profets of freedom, alienating OUR power to be
When in doctrine, legislature, and policy
Hierarchizing who deserves to be free

In contempt, not compliance
In pain, not numb
Reactive, not inactive
Burning, boiling, shivering
Out of injustice

Poison, don't you see
INDUCING VOMITING
Of every freedom you hold

How can you keep suffering,
When you face the truth
January 22, 2013
lxvingsxdistic Apr 2019
Have you noticed,
The scars on my hips?
Have you noticed,
The blood dripping from my wrists?
Have you noticed,
The bruises down my thighs?
Have you noticed,
The way before now, I never really cried?
Have you noticed,
The fake smile playing on my lips?
Have you noticed,
The way my laugh trips?
Have you noticed,
The way I no longer care, about the things I once loved?

No?

Then do not come to me.
Do not cry to me.
If you are lost,
Do not expect me to find you.
If you are broken, do not expect me to heal you.
If you are tired,
Do not expect to rest on my shoulder.
If you are alone,
Do not expect me to stay until you grow older.
If you are going to lie,
Do not lie to me.
I am going.
I am going far away.
I am hijacking the highway.
Hijacking the highway straight to Hell.

I'm sorry world.
I wish I could have been a better person.
I'm sorry my demons,
for not putting up a better fight,
I was never a worthy opponent.
But at least you won, right?
I am taking my final breath.
Axle Avatari Apr 2016
Ones and Zeros
In the online digital world
Every boy and every girl
Are villains and heroes
Who knows which?
Son a of a *****
 
The truth is lies
Wrapped up in disguise
We want to believe
Electronic love we receive
Is not there to deceive
The flirting
The sexting
The online molexting
**** pic rejecting
 
Encrypted ascii code
Sent through internet nodes
Wireless whispers transmitted
Thoughts of endearment committed
Fact are conveniently omitted
Lies are ruthlessly submitted
 
Straight jacket
Packet hackers
Hijacking a loving heart
Holding it ransom is their art
Scourge of the community
Harassing
Surpassing
Any level of dignity
 
Players and haters
And the masturbators
The downright crazies
Acting like timid daisies
The cheaters
Defeaters
And quite possibly
Wife beaters
 
The losers
The boozers
Mentally abusers
The popular sexter
Who may not be a her
Quite possibly a guy
But will vehemently deny
 
The whiner
Data miner
The ******* seeking minor
The scammer
The Christian Damner
Super **** grammar
All thrown in together
With the digital picture collector
 
And still we’re looking all around
For love to be found
In a world of made believe
That anonymously deceives
We are ones seeking zeroes
Running into villains dressed up as heroes
 
Hearts shredded and deleted
Retreating and defeated
Yet somehow we try again
Hoping for something less than pain
We are all a little bit insane
Playing the online dating game
One’s and Zero’s
Forgetting my name as it slips off your tongue
You Slaughter my soul and leave it for prey
Abandoning my love just another casualty your way
You massacre my mind hijacking my heart
Just another cadaver in your disease
The devastation you have provided me with can’t slip away
I’m immobile I have been through a defeat
Sabotaged all that I once believed
I Surrender I no longer continue to breathe
full moon hijacking
thank you for taking me from my ego
letting me breathe in your fragrance
you are the goddess
saving me from myself
rest is health
love is wealth
am i swimming
or drowning in your beauty
please shoot me
and let me drift freely
upon the bow of your ship
i sip tea and lick
the sweet sweat from your brow
i am hungry in the garden of the earth
the storms have come and gone
and they've dragged away the prisoners
that never brought us any harm
shakti saved me
and held me
as I worshiped the offering
of fruit and spice
a present so intoxicating
that its only given thrice
Some poems walk with me,
Some poems simply talk to me,
Some poems reach out to me,
Some poems scream and shout at me,
whilst some poems eventually grow on me.

Some poems slow dance with me,
Some poems enchant me - they are
breathtakingly mesmerising to me,
Some poems captivate me after hijacking me,
Some poems rip my heart out
and break every single piece of me.

Some poems absolutely impress me,
Some poems couldn't care less about me,
Some poems embrace every inch of me,
Some poems share my soul with me.

Some poems inspire me and motivate me,
Some poems **** the very life out of me,
Some poems resonate with every fibre of me,
Some poems switch a little light on for me.

Some poems will forever live inside of me,
Some poems twist themselves and lie to me,
Some poems are open and honest with me,
Some poems...are just like people to me!

By Lady R.F (c)2016
Mira Lamb Aug 2014
We gather here in the square, for what we believe.
There are shots and bangs but we still remain.
We stand together, all are united.
If death shall come, I will still stand firm.
Until our voices are heard, we shout – we shout!
A place of pride and dignity.

Dealing with the same tools as the one before
We left before it was finished.
“This is a warning! Leave! Go home!”
We will stand as the pyramids strong and forever.
They try to sweep us away like sand,
but firm we will stand.
The battle is in the images.
The battle is in the stories.
The battle is in the scars upon your back.

They want to take back the square
Our backs toward the sun
When we finally bow down,
we all bow together in prayer
but just as suddenly, we turn on one another.
Anger and arrogance –
hijacking our revolution.

They crush us with their wheels
but they cannot crush our souls
The stand becomes a war
The good become traitors,
and traitors become heroes.
I wrote this after watching the documentary called "The Square" about the Egyptian revolution that began early in 2011
Bob B Sep 2018
We hobble along with outrage fatigue
And watch as nothing ever exhausts
Our Machiavellian leaders' use
Of the media to win at all costs.

False story lines prevail.
To hell with accuracy and precision.
Sowing distrust of higher learning
Solidifies their paranoid vision.

Watch how their destructive disdain
For expertise gains vitality
As people's opinions and feelings stomp
On any form of objective reality.

Watch as they rewrite history;
Notice how data can be erased
As they become suspicious of much
Information that's science-based.

Language becomes weaponized:
Hyperbole, salacious lies,
And slippery superlatives
Celebrate truth's demise.

Party loyalty: that is key.
All that matters is the sale.
Hijacking democracy
Becomes the goal: the holy grail.

Mobilized by grievance, they
Inflame fear and anger. They hope
That we will find scapegoats to blame
When we are at the end of our rope.

A general illiteracy
On issues that affect our lives
Keeps us all in doubt while they
Create fake news and sharpen their knives.

Ah, how they want you to fear
Government, which is ironic,
For they themselves are government.
Look at their smiles, cold and sardonic.

Give equal weight to both
Sides of arguments, they say.
That's how they can justify
Bigotry and lead us astray.

While extremist views go mainstream,
Blurred lines make life hazy.
Keep watering narcissism,
And you will see it grow like crazy.

Their careful manipulation of language
Proves how much their rhetoric's swollen.
The people find it hard to accept
That basic freedoms are being stolen.

As we lament the death of truth
And wonder how it came to pass,
Before we cast blame we must
Peer into the looking glass.

-by Bob B (9-28-18)

°Inspired by "The Death of Truth" by Michiko Kakutani
SE Reimer Dec 2014
~

the stores here are crowded,
and everywhere i see
the signs of the season
selling Christmas to me;
the lights, sights and sounds,
flashing colors abound;
on every channel the music,
their ads and their movies.
on every corner selling trees,
their seasonal drinks
to quell the freeze.
we'd not know it’s Christmas
without them telling us so...
at least that's what it seems.
and even that word,
they've seemed to steal,
taking Christ out of Christmas
so their wares they can sell.
it's enough to lose my place
to choke on my song
the words stuck in my throat
it’s all gone so wrong.

so, their “X” i hoped to replace
and in my haste to remand
i made my demand,
“take the ’X’ off of Xmas,”
i shouted;
“put Christ back, in His place!”
but my kneee-**** reaction
mixed with failure to search then
made me blind to the facts
so instead i besmirched them.

then a truth i discovered,
just yesterday,
and now that i know,
i'm embracing the "X"
as should every good Christian.
for it was the "X"
those Greeks knew best;
it carried the "chi",
putting the ”X” there in Christ;
it went something like this- Χριστός.
and the marauding i’ve fought,
the hijacking i thought,
it was never taken;
it was never gone, at all,
it’s been there all along.
so i’ll admit i’ve been wrong.
for “X” marks the spot,
an intersection of sorts,
where the sacred meets the profane,
a collision of Able and Cain.
and just as Christ born to man
and new life He began,
with my faith now restored,
i can return to my song
and sing of Christmas,
the Christ child,
and Xmas
again!  

~


post script.
with inspiration from the following at Dictionary.com.:


Here’s a holiday surprise that only the dictionary can provide. Do you find the word “Xmas,” as an abbreviation for Christmas, offensive? Many people do.

You won’t find Xmas in church songbooks or even on many greeting cards. Xmas is popularly associated with a trend towards materialism, and sometimes the target of people who decry the emergence of general “holiday” observance instead of particular cultural and religious ritual.

But the history of the word “Xmas” is actually more respectable — and fascinating — than you might suspect. First of all, the abbreviation predates by centuries its use in gaudy advertisements. It was first used in the mid 1500s. X is the Greek letter “chi,” the initial letter in the word Χριστός. And here’s the kicker: Χριστός means “Christ.” X has been an acceptable representation of the word “Christ” for hundreds of years. This device is known as a Christogram. The mas in Xmas is the Old English word for “mass.”  (The thought-provoking etymology of “mass” can be found here.) In the same vein, the dignified terms Xpian and Xtian have been used in place of the word “Christian.”

*As lovers of the alphabet, we are transfixed by the flexibility of “X.” The same letter can represent the sacred and the profane (“rated X”).
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
1991

I realized
We were both born
in rotting soil,
plastic toys fed
by Arabia's oil.
Eyes closed,
ears behest
to broadcasts, we,
could NOT protest.

That was the beginning
of our mass destruction,
but cribs offsides,
we slept soundly,
thanking our stars,
proud to be Americans.

10 years dormant,
the lyrics laid,
enough to stick,
but their irony to fade.
Until grade school,
recess goaded,
as burning buildings
on our side exploded.
The imminent threat preloaded,
in airports we shed shoes,
forever coded.

The broadcast — our center
was the theorem
that planes, oil, and Arabs
risked everyone's freedom.
But when we raised hands,
to ask why, teachers said
hail red, blue,
and especially white.
We forgot our roots,
because the Ellis Island trip
was obviously cancelled.

So we read headlines,
instead of Orwell,
the day 911
called for a police state.
Trusted the government
and ****** Muslims,
the day turbans
meant hijacking planes.
Pledged allegiance
disguised as freedom,
the day war
was declared
on Saddam Insane.

Our flag revealed
a sham feeding flames,
angst-ridden
teenagers
we became.
With raised middle fingers,
instead of hands,
to Green Day lyrics,
**** Amuricans.

Because only idiots
press a red button twice,
when mass destruction is the price.
And only villains
make children orphans,
while victims drown
in New Orleans.
And only gluttons
eat caviar with silver spoons,
tainting forever
a nation's youth.

Entrenched in dunes,
we boarded blind,
to debt,
death, and
jaded minds.
Blamed by perpetrators
in dollars and change,
for a guerrilla war
fought in vain!
Voted Obama,
with Osama slain,
and soldiers withdrawn,
we hoped for change.
PLEASE, we cried,
JUST STOP!
We are CHAINED —
to a bulldozer
that has NO BRAKES!



So the broadcast said recently:
We are losing control
of the Middle East. And
Al-Qaeda is far from weak —
ISIS: THE PHOENIX OF HUMAN GREED,
We just turned off our TV's
and looked up,
the kids who gave up,
thanked Musk — our atlas,
not yet shrugged,
whose vessels of stars
will rocket toward Mars,
from this godforsaken
civilization
built on hate.

And when you tell me, ***,
"We were both born in 1991,"
I can only sigh,
and breath sympathy,
for our dark history.
Thank you Justin for inspiring this poem. I am performing it next Tuesday at Da Poetry Lounge in LA so any feedback is appreciated :)
kenye Nov 2013
Girl
I wanna *******
In your glass house
As we skip rocks
slipping our tongues
into something more comfortable

something less cynical
than the effect
we have on ourselves
in a mirrored conversation
constantly
reflecting back
our insecure subconscious

So come on
let's get physical
Feel the frustration out
It's hijacking your
central nervous system
don't let it control
coax me to the back bedroom
and I'll show you how to ground yourself

Break glass
In case of emergency
We just need a release
Yenson Jul 2019
I know what you are even before you speak
see what you are plainly no need to figure you out
pigs hijacking a mind is akin to bacon hijacking a plate
over-salted obsoletes in rank tasteless unfashionable hurrah
seeking relevance as the diners reject your laden unhealthiness
pigs eating pigs in traditional fare as others await you in hospitals
chips on shoulders chips in your gobs what else but potatoes-heads
our bacon and mash stewing because of brown in gravy go smashing
our cooked and ready meals says we are hijacking a mind and mixing  
the flour without color, soft, airy, weak, insipid, bland and malleable  
only meaningful and useful when diverse ingredients are migrated in
puffy doughnuts now hijacking mind in a psyche war in their oven
the red fire burning mixing brown, black and yellow coloring's
mud pies joining jammy-dodgers in imaginary sponge bake
what a comedy like when King Alfred burnt the ole cakes
but these are mere serfs, vagabonds, thugs and hooligans
the frustrated ******* with hot ovens and small cold *******
hail the republicans and hot war, figuring out a psyche lynching
them, the pathetic bacon with chips and puddings from Dorks-shire
Hey! come eat all ye gullibles, the pigs from Animal Farm are serving
Ashley Feb 2014
Some blades sting
as they slice through skin;
laced with backhanded
compliments, a withering glance,
and the steady hand of
an executioner, they aim
to demolish, stick by stick
of explosive hatred.

Some blades have poisoned tips,
dipped in a brew so wicked
that it lurks from vein to vein
and blacks you out, strikes you
from existence by hijacking your senses
and drowning them with intense,
heady emotions like loneliness, and fear,
and fiery anger.

Some blades are disguised as a handshake,
one that grips and cracks your bones into splinters,
shards of what once was dignity
and pride. A grip that convinces you
to admit that you are nothing, that you are
less than, that you are inferior.

And then there is the blade,
tipped like a pen,
upon which I ****** myself. This
blade, unlike the others,
is choice and stupidity and release.
It is a forfeit, a crushing defeat
that the writers succumb to. It is this
blade, ink pouring from our pumping aortas
to our gnarled, stained fingertips
that dance across a page, that charm
our own minds with the drowsy lullabies
and delusions of omnipotence so that
we can spill the deepest, blackest pits
of our shriveled peach hearts
and spit them out into the universe.
A million voices collide and create the void
where we all end, where we all begin, and
forge the path of self-destruction it takes
to fish out a handful of temperate words,
biblical verses, even historic epics
to release ourselves of our woes
and of every singular thought.

Some blades are caused by the average,
the ones who would not ****** a dagger
through their chest, not even
for the truth.
But our blade, the wicked fiend,
sweeps through every bone and ligament
until she reaps what is due;
the words you're reading,
my thoughts scattered out
for you.
You’re hijacking
my dreams and
forcing my reason to
walk the plank and
yet you hide your
jolly roger behind
a beautiful curtain
of handcrafted
self doubt and
insecurities.

It’s almost a cruel
joke that I’ve already
cut my wings to
daydream with the
stars, wishing for
sleep, but never finding
an ounce in this endless
sea of silent background
noise spiced with mint
and sage and bergamot.

I just hope that
my words will keep
me company enough
to not be lost among my
ever shifting thoughts and
anxiety driven panic attacks.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2015
~for mark john junior~

the spigot turns counterclockwise,
oft I wondered why,
is it the magic way to make
things rise...

'pon occasion, the water shuts off,
turn left to right or vice versa,
no juice no bath and life starts
to stink, especially under armpits

and you think
how many love poems does one soul
in his lifetime possess,
and can I do better than my last...
if at all

sometimes you stare at a blankenship
ocean adrift, pirate hijacking victim,
no grub, no paddle or map,
but an empty water bottle

baffled you ask it
to point north,
laughs at you, asking,
"am I a compass,
or you,
a complete ***,"
a seismic groan out loud,
registers on
Florida's hurricane wind watch

how come this to be
meteoric loss of metaphor bridging,
search the Internet for the ******
of poetic inspiration, and an
error message delivered:

"plagiarize, or better luck next time sucker"

patience, football, thy women,
will in time realize the artful truth realized:

"Creativity is allowing oneself to make mistakes; art is knowing which ones to keep"

Scott Adams (creator of Dilbert)

so
go forth,
make mistakes plenty,
keep some good,
the pink ones fyi, my fav,
look that quill in the face,
and give the lazy ******* some lip,
reminding it,
it gets paid and ink drinks,
by the word
The Trumpoet Feb 2017
Oh Donny and Arnie got into a battle,
begun by The Donald who started to prattle
on something so urgent... important... momentous,
which is: Arnie's ratings on this year's "Apprentice".

So Arnie said, "Trump - What's your priority,
a show you produce or the presidency?"
Then Donny said, "I'll show you how much I care"
as he made a dog's breakfast by hijacking prayer.

So Arnie said, "Donny, you ignorant *****,
when it comes to careers, perhaps we should switch.
You take on the ratings as job number one,
while I sit in the Oval and get something done!"

Of course, this whole thing's a ridiculous act
on the part of The Donald, so he can distract
all of us and the press and the whole internet
from the seemingly fascist agenda he's set.

So let's make a vow not to speak of this stuff,
and let us not heed this celebrity fluff.
Let's not make muckraking the thing that we do...
But now I have realized... I've just done it too!
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/Skz53RmFRYg
Written February 8, 2017
J Christmas Jan 2019
Amillion steel pin ****** divine
each day closer to death we climb
crystal shards bejewel the sky
While
The Cities beneath me
Kicking and crying
But all I hear is goodbye
-
Unreason not able
Why are these ****** Not stabled
Just wanderin
Thru this fable
stubbed my toe
on your god of stone
That litters this river
We all flow
So
Let’s dance in this
Technicolor bliss
And never ending showers
of little lead gifts
human disinfectant
for where the slime live
Where the slime live
-
Broken bones remind the soul
of the all violence that’s been sold
All the while racing toward
that ever after
We once called home
No more
boiling jealousy
envious bedroom eyes
hideous tongues beguile
Thick salavatory lies
Lifeless imbeciles
Revolving doors
carnivorous smiles  
covetous masturbators
**** Gazing while
Justice is *******
Coming a little premature
Serving our just deserves
oh my libertine
How I loathe to
See you In chains
If their speed is good enough for 6 yr olds
Then it’s safe enough for me
HEY!!!!!
I want my! I want my! I want my
methamphetamine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
-
I got too many middle fingers
Shoot straight from the cuff
Humans might lose the race
Oh well, close enough
Outlawed truth and reason
But here, I just took a dump
Never waste a good crisis
My Re-elected incumbents
Gotta Fill Them Prisons
Protest prices ‘cause
Dollars fill the fists
Along the streets uprisen
HEY!!!
Whats the policy on returns?
I’m just not happy with this
Oblivion
-
broadcast opinions
Regimental TV
Coerced confession
global stupidity
Yes, I’d like to report a hijacking
0f another species
Endangered or
Polluted at best
Just Don’t forget to breath
Oh yeah, you’re dead
Copyright2018 John D Christmas
Commuter Poet Apr 2016
There’s moisture in the air
One that speaks of spring
The trees are responding
And I hear the songs of birds

As long as I hear the songs of birds
Then I know
Life is there still
Miraculously

Life is a reflection
Everywhere there are glimpses of the self
Shades of the great universe

Channels carve their way in and out
And dust is deposited

The earth remains
Eroded yet somehow replenished
By the forces of nature

Air becomes matter
To replace death

Materials gathered from the farthest reaches
Of the universe
Make life

We are nothing but children of the universe

Plants rise up from the earth
Filling space
Each and every one
Offering nourishment to thousands upon thousands

Birds fly wisely
Rhythmically
To show the way

Humans stumble
This way and that way
Wishing to be kings and queens
Cowering at fate

Those who have given up on life
Take their lives
And take the lives of others

'Never give up!' said a wise man
'Never give up!'

The future must glow!
The future must resonate
With hope for every young person!
The bloodshed must stop!

Though blood
Escapes from the womb
Of humanity
Ceaselessly
And the fine lines between
Balance, renewal  and loss
Widen

Though blood flows too fast
Hijacking days of rest and recovery
Friendship and camaraderie
We must never give up!

We must all fight now
But only
For peace
12th April 2016
Anais Vionet Oct 2023
25
It’s Monday afternoon, the first day after Fall Break. Several of my suitemates are here, relaxing a bit before we hit the dining hall and then scatter, like debris from a bomb. There are a zillion things to do on campus, on any given night. Lisa and I are going to a seminar, Anna and Sunny are going to a Uni play and Leong’s going to see a documentary.

Leong was hunched over a cup of dark tea, reading ‘J-14’ magazine. “Do any of you guys think Travis Kelce is hot?” She asked, not looking up. Leong subscribes to several ‘teen’ magazines, like ‘J-14’, ‘Girls' World’ and ‘Girl’s Life.’ She says that Yale is her chance to be the ‘American teenager’ she could never be at home (Macaw, China). We’d make fun of her if we didn’t all read them after she finished, and they were lying around.

“No,” said Lisa and I about the same time as Anna and Sunny said, “Yeah,” to varying degrees.
“Did you think he was hot before he started dating Taylor?” she asked, pushing the enquiry even further. “No,” said Lisa and I repeated in unison - we had this down now.
“He wasn’t on my radar,” Anna admitted. Sunny said, “Yeah, same here.”
“Why do YOU think he’s hot?” Leong asked Sunny (who’s fem-facing).
“I can appreciate a hot guy,” she said, sounding a little defensive, “as someone who could draw hetero interest.”

Then Lisa reported, from head down in her textbook, “Your mouth retains the DNA of everyone you ever kissed.” She looked up and asked me, how many guys have you kissed?
“You mean politely kissed or Deep-kissed,” I asked back, tilting my head, sticking out my tongue and slobbering it around, like a dog eating peanut butter.

“They mean French-kissed,” she replied, rescanning the last paragraphs as I calculated.
“So, the five guys I dated, but we used to play ‘spin the bottle’ at parties too.. so.. 25?” I said.
“You ****!” she laughed. “I have my truth,” I updogged, “How about you?”

“I’d forgotten ‘spin the bottle,’ Lisa admitted, recalculating.. “Yeah, 25 sounds about right.”
“Leong?” she asked Leong. “Two,” Leong answered instantly.
“Anna?” she asked Anna, so Lisa was going completely around the room with this survey.
“25 sounds right” Anna answered, “including spin,” (the bottle).
“Sunny?” Leong asked Sunny. “A HUNDRED,” I said, hijacking Sunny’s answer, and everyone chuckled. Every Friday night Sunny brings a different girl home to ‘spend the night.’ It’s rather impressive.
“A few,” Sunny answered, shrugging nonchalantly, “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“I’ve got a calculator,” Anna said, “if you change your mind,” holding her phone up like an offer.
Our seminar: "The Evolution of Protein Dynamics and its Exploitation for Enzyme and Drug Design" *****This was actually a very interesting talk. They figured out how to inhibit 'protease' enzymes (catalyst proteins) which *** cells need to develop in order to mature. Protease blocking prevents the *** virus multiplying. ******* genius.*****
Anna & Sunny’s play: University Theatre, ‘******* A’ by Suzan-Lori Parks
Leong’s documentary: Paywall: The Business of Scholarship Film Screening

** The DNA stays forever theory has since been debunked - the DNA lasts about an hour.
125
Money worth stomaching
Boxes folding stacking
Plain clothed cops and
Cars worth hijacking
Annoy me and all they do is pass me
Like i am in a James Hugh's movie
Forget it or go through me
Jhennesy Feb 2014
What do I take with me as I walk out that perverbal door?
         The butterflies I have kept hidden in my hope.
         My disintegrating resilience, slowly chipped away by your verbal thrashings and controlled blaming.  

The hijacking of  emotions.

I pack away what remains of my self esteem.
Delicately wrap the shattered pieces of my truth.
          To be replenished and reconstructed with sober eyes
                                                                ­                     and a revived mind.

I ask for the lessons yet to be learned.
And the love yet to be unconditional.

Left behind is my forgiveness without expectation.
My resentments without guilt.
My shame without implication.
I no longer need them to define me.

My apology is next to the many things left unsaid.
A silent acknowlegment of my regrets and carelessness.

We can each take the memories that remind us of a happier time.
When ignorance was euphoric and accepted.
Floating above reality in a kismet of our own creation.

Finally, we can each lovingly share the life-force that has made it all worth something.
Gabriel burnS Aug 2017
She keeps hijacking the most pure
Of my metaphors
I wonder if she
Sells them in slavery
To him;
Forced into prostitution
To the ****;

Who sells their own children
To their lover/business partner?
My only weapon is now
Saying the truth out loud

She offers him stolen
****** expressions
as sacrifice
but they were mine
I grew and nurtured them
I fostered and guarded them
And she took them away

They were merely thoughts
in my garden with osseous walls
I showed them to her,
gave them her tears
and her smiles,
gave them her names;
She picked them and ran,
claimed them not even
all for herself…
but for him…
the foreign body

This is merely one
in a line of treacheries
and I will no longer
allow her to fall
any further
into this monstrous
scar of transgression.
they die like fish out of the water... for you cannot replace a bird with a mermaid... and each ecosystem has its own equilibrium... the context is fragile and volatile...
Poetic T Dec 2015
Within each gap I pass away eviscerated
Upon the souls of past breath. for I am reborn
Within each gasp that is taken from me.

Consumed each one consumed upon the breeze
Traveling incognito one of many that falls on
Silent breezes. Hijacking a part of an exhaled me.

I am but a breath in the continual cycle of life that
Is torn asunder and consumed with out jest, a moment
Taken never replaced until silent upon death.
Taking my leave, I'll never return
Laugh if you wish, despair or mourn
Either if fine and either is moot
I've broken the rules and dug out my roots
My life was determined in absentee
I'm trashing your world now, so that you see
How dangerous it was to mishandle the Fire
My abused wild mind is like a live wire
Planning a ****** of everything known
Lost seeds of patience you'd carefully sown
Hijacking the towers of social abuse
It went on for centuries as a delayed fuse
I'm taking my leave now,
I've nowhere to go –
But anywhere's better
Than this line toe to toe
you can't escape society. nice to try sometimes tho
No bandage could cover the wounds.
No love could cure this heart.
The world has not technically stopped.

But it has, down deep, inside of me.
A flame has been extinguished,
My voice, left incapable.

Each muscle, each breathe.
Lapsed into a numbness so ******.
My heart beats, against the walls encasing it.

Holding it there, steadily,
in case it tries to break free.
Like the caged animal it is.

The throbbing in my veins.
The pounding beats of my heart.
So powerful they invade my thoughts.

Hijacking the only thing I have control over.
The only thing I have left.
But they're unceremonious murderers,
Entrapped, could defeat.
Kenley Mar 2018
Please take a seat
In the back of my head
Stop hijacking my thoughts
And wishing me dead

Hand over the reins
I'll take it from here
You will self destruct
And you're insincere

I look to the future
I welcome the new
You served no purpose
And I am stronger than you
Hijacked by the side of myself
That can’t stand to see you cringe for
Your love must be so frail that the
Simplest error could cause rupture,
An earthquake toppling structures built
On unfirm foundations, say that you won’t
Make that face at me. I must be
Mad to believe, but I’m never
Mad at you, of course, that
Would mean needs and I feed
Myself, thank you very much, I have
No requirements of you, truly I do
Not.

But.
What might you do if I were to ask, to
Beg, task you with the burden of
Supporting me, see me for what I am
Past sham and charade to the scared
Child, wild and wide-eyed, terrified,
And violent, but ever so silent. Quiet
As a squashed mouse held too
Tightly in hands so mightily clenched
I can’t wrench my voice free from
This giant holding me, fingers not pliant
But plaster, an alabaster carving starving
My throat of speaking, it’s protecting me
By deflecting my own thoughts onto endless
Mirrors and I’m stuck in the funhouse echo chamber
While you remain safe, un-doused in my
Hose of half cries for help. ‘Hear me, please’
I manage to whisper from what feels like
The grave though I’m floating out of body.

Catch my thread and tie me down, fly
Me like a kite you once loved, watch
and I'll dance in the wind knowing I’m spiked down
By you, and whenever I choose, you shall
Reel me in and steal me away from the
Harsh gusts, I need not be battered by
Everything, even though I know I can take it.
I make it my duty to be put through all,
A tall order even for me, but ‘no more’, I plead.
This time, I’m asking myself, not you.
This time, it is me I must appeal to,
seal my self-inflicted wounds with kisses,
Square my hips and say with brave and trembling lips,
‘I need you. --
I need your help.’
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
Let the radicals go,
it's a bloodthirsty code
we can never understand,
an evil hatred,
masked-fanatics hijacking
Muhammed
will eventually
give them enough rope
to do themselves in.
What are we doing to ourselves?
Why all this conversation of artillery
Which lure souls out from their bodies
Drilling out red sweat from skins
Selling lives to death because of a natural gift.

What are we doing to ourselves?
We keep hijacking people dreams
Before it's born into reality
Making many old to hope in mediocrity
Grooming the glowing youngster to grow faithfully in vanities.

What are we doing to ourselves?
We had caged the mankind in us with our stained hands
Making bare the devil in us to imprison our fate
Now living like cat and mouse in the same house
In the name of money, power and fame.

Our heads, what are we doing to ourselves?
Often setting traps in the name of policies
Sweating to resurrect the dead, ignoring the living
Blinding our eyes when hands are stretched
Weeping blood, peeling kneels just to get a help.
Why do we always leave ourselves to live and die eating promises?

What have we done to ourselves?
Our children are dead out of our negligence
In anger, our youths wedded to weapons to take vengeance
Vengeance painstaking taken against themselves
For the witty guilty are never found, they are ourselves.
This poem is picturing what we have turned our world into using my  country and indeed my continent as perimeters.
Antiestablishmentarian inherent malevolent violence
wracks human species, a most brutish and nasty beast.

An embittered nihilistic teenager
grown haggard and old,
hence not surprisingly yours truly
crafts pseudo dystopian reasonable rhyme.

An evangelized atheistic adherent,
I aver evolutionary theory
posits prelapsarian Eden
of astonishing plentitude
gone to hell in a handbasket.

Ever since human species stood *****
exhibiting prehensile appendages did allow
cupped fingers upon brow,
whereat vista unveiled to succor chow.

Dawn of consciousness begat
superstitious vagaries daunting
present day Democrat
and/or Republican to issue fiat
denouncing extremist militant uprising
raging across Capitol Hill habitat.

2021 presidential inauguration
today January twentieth
(broadcast right now)
augurs horrific repeat January sixth,
when bedlam and mayhem
rocked Washington District of Columbia,
where hoodlums ran amuck lionizing violence.

Lawlessness bled constitution white
marauding bands of hooligans
bombarded, desecrated, fueled,
harmed, jackknifed, leveled, nailed,
pummeled, rioted, terrorized, vandalized...
with glee and spite
yielded windfall regarding

headline grabbing newsnight
motley film crews recorded
gangsters scaling storied height
(cue spiderman/woman)
think rescuers quick
as greased lightning they did alight.

If only real and/or
fictional life action heroes/heroines
came to the rescue
to avenge forces of evil,
where virtue dispensed,
and trumpeted courtesy better angels.

Meanwhile indefatigable defenders
of human rights
dole out just desserts
upon the heads
of self styled lawless brigands
militaristic thugs hell bent
to wreak havoc
upon cradle of liberty
including complex edifices
linkedin and embody

blood, sweat and tears
of freedom fighters
arrayed against merciless
demonic forces upending
foundation upholding enshrined
nearly divinely inspired principles
quantum leaps since
early man/woman trod
across terrestrial firmament.

I experienced exhilaration
upon witnessing confirmation
genuflection, liberation, restitution
espoused by Joseph Robinette Biden Jr.
forty sixth president of United States.
SN Apr 2016
Going
From June to June
Losing
Peace of mind
Altered hearing
Body no longer remaining
Still

Losing love, lives, other than mine
Taken
I see from behind a screen
Bitter overlay on reality
Everything gets taken
Circumstance on a side far from mine

Going
From June to June
Small road ahead
Traffic coming in
Remembering and forgetting
Remember to forget

Her death and his one coming
Their lives out of touch with yours
The noises and the rushing and the pains
From elbow to leg to toes
From mind to eye to skin and bones
No longer your own

All the imagined deaths
The cancers, bloodclots
Or the hand of your own
Chapters you try to close
Swell like tumors hijacking the dream
Your paradise was a nightmare
Reality not real

Sweep in like the tide from the sea
Erase the imprints you left
Retrace your footsteps
She calls, I listen
She calls
'Come back to me'
I listen
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.i've had enough... i'm hijacking this linguistic ****-show, formerly identified as the English-language.

don't talk to a drunk
in an attempt of
sobering his opinions,
without first engaging
in his dialectic.

god knows...
he might start
  
   spreschen
          deutsche,
   bis sie
.

and whatever antagonism
exists for the English,
you can only counter
it with a Zeppelin...
covert for:

              saying something
in German;
i see no other way
to manage this country...
thank god and the almighty
that i didn't bed
even one of their women /
lawsuits...

    thank god, and the almighty...
given...
why would a god bore himself
with an omni-
prefix in all the existing realms...
when...
his creation is grounded
upon luck, or chance,
i.e. gambling?

what a waste in terms of
making an observation,
being summoned
qua omni: as being all,
powerful, cited,
    etc etc.
   more like the ******* tickle of
qua et cetera...

ein, oder zwei
     wörter im deutsche...
das ist, alle;
    jetzt,
   das ist von etwas nutzen
.

— The End —