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Who owns CNN, NBC, MSN, FOX? Some facts...
So ya think we have a "free press" eh? Check out who owns who, and who owns what you think...

GENERAL ELECTRIC --(donated 1.1 million to GW Bush for his 2000 election campaign)

Television Holdings:
* NBC: includes 13 stations, 28% of US households.
* NBC Network News: The Today Show, Nightly News with Tom Brokaw, Meet the Press, Dateline NBC, NBC News at Sunrise.
* CNBC business television; MSNBC 24-hour cable and Internet news service (co-owned by NBC and Microsoft); Court TV (co-owned with Time Warner), Bravo (50%), A&E (25%), History Channel (25%).
The "MS" in MSNBC
means microsoft
The same Microsoft that donated 2.4 million to get GW bush elected.

Other Holdings:
* GE Consumer Electronics.
* GE Power Systems: produces turbines for nuclear reactors and power plants.
* GE Plastics: produces military hardware and nuclear power equipment.
* GE Transportation Systems: runs diesel and electric trains.
==================================================

WESTINGHOUSE / CBS INC.
Westinghouse Electric Company, part of the Nuclear Utilities Business Group of British Nuclear Fuels (BNFL)

Whose #1 on the Board of Directors? None other than:
Frank Carlucci (of the Carlyle Group) - Those who have seen Fahrenheit 911, or any other Bush-Investigation flick knows the Carlyle group well.

Television Holdings:
* CBS: includes 14 stations and over 200 affiliates in the US.
* CBS Network News: 60 minutes, 48 hours, CBS Evening News with Dan Rather, CBS Morning News, Up to the Minute.
* Country Music Television, The Nashville Network, 2 regional sports networks.
* Group W Satellite Communications.
Other Holdings:
* Westinghouse Electric Company: provides services to the nuclear power industry.
* Westinghouse Government Environmental Services Company: disposes of nuclear and hazardous wastes. Also operates 4 government-owned nuclear power plants in the US.
* Energy Systems: provides nuclear power plant design and maintenance.
================================================== ==============

VIACOM INTERNATIONAL INC.
Television Holdings:
* Paramount Television, Spelling Television, MTV, VH-1, Showtime, The Movie Channel, UPN (joint owner), Nickelodeon, Comedy Central, Sundance Channel (joint owner), Flix.
* 20 major market US stations.
Media Holdings:
* Paramount Pictures, Paramount Home Video, Blockbuster Video, Famous Players Theatres, Paramount Parks.
* Simon & Schuster Publishing.

=============================================
DISNEY / ABC / CAP (donated 640 thousand to GW's 2000 campaign)
Television Holdings:
* ABC: includes 10 stations, 24% of US households.
* ABC Network News: Prime Time Live, Nightline, 20/20, Good Morning America.
* ESPN, Lifetime Television (50%), as well as minority holdings in A&E, History Channel and E!
* Disney Channel/Disney Television, Touchtone Television.
Media Holdings:
* Miramax, Touchtone Pictures.
* Magazines: Jane, Los Angeles Magazine, W, Discover.
* 3 music labels, 11 major local newspapers.
* Hyperion book publishers.
* Infoseek Internet search engine (43%).
Other Holdings:
* Sid R. Bass (major shares) crude oil and gas.
* All Disney Theme Parks, Walt Disney Cruise Lines.
================================================== ====

TIME-WARNER TBS - AOL (donated 1.6 million to GW's 2000 campaign)
America Online (AOL) acquired Time Warner–the largest merger in corporate history.
Television Holdings:
* CNN, HBO, Cinemax, TBS Superstation, Turner Network Television, Turner Classic Movies, Warner Brothers Television, Cartoon Network, Sega Channel, TNT, Comedy Central (50%), E! (49%), Court TV (50%). * Largest owner of cable systems in the US with an estimated 13 million subscribers.
Media Holdings:
* HBO Independent Productions, Warner Home Video, New Line Cinema, Castle Rock, ****** Tunes, Hanna-Barbera.
* Music: Atlantic, Elektra, Rhino, Sire, Warner Bros. Records, EMI, WEA, Sub Pop (distribution) = the world’s largest music company.
* 33 magazines including Time, Sports Illustrated, People, In Style, Fortune, Book of the Month Club, Entertainment Weekly, Life, DC Comics (50%), and MAD Magazine.
Other Holdings:
* Sports: The Atlanta Braves, The Atlanta Hawks, World Championship Wrestling.

================================================== =====
NEWS CORPORATION LTD. / FOX NETWORKS (Rupert Murdoch) (donations see bottom note)
Television Holdings:
* Fox Television: includes 22 stations, 50% of US households.
* Fox International: extensive worldwide cable and satellite networks include British Sky Broadcasting (40%); VOX, Germany (49.9%); Canal Fox, Latin America; FOXTEL, Australia (50%); STAR TV, Asia; IskyB, India; Bahasa Programming Ltd., Indonesia (50%); and News Broadcasting, Japan (80%).
* The Golf Channel (33%).
MEDIA HOLDINGS:
* Twentieth Century Fox, Fox Searchlight.
* 132 newspapers (113 in Australia alone) including the New York Post, the London Times and The Australian.
* 25 magazines including TV Guide and The Weekly Standard.
* HarperCollins books.
OTHER HOLDINGS:
* Sports: LA Dodgers, LA Kings, LA Lakers, National Rugby League.
* Ansett Australia airlines (Since bankrupt), Ansett New Zealand airlines.
* Rupert Murdoch: Board of Directors, Philip Morris (USA).

(Phillip Morris donated 2.9 million to George W Bush in 2000)

Gotta love the free press!!
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.
Alan McClure Jan 2012
Halfway up a mountain
on an ice-bound January day,
I sought to reliquify
a few calorific assets.

I am no fool -
I had been carefully investing
a portion of each meal
in certain holdings
(mainly around the waist).
Of course, I knew the safe route:
balanced diet, carbs, fruit, veg;
but a venture nutritionist such as myself
pays little heed to such extravagant prudence.

Fried breakfasts looked like offering
a quick and reliable payoff
and sure, for a while it worked.
But guess what:
Just when I needed the big windfall,
nothing.
Not a sausage,
if you'll pardon the pun.

"Sorry," a regretful body explained,
"I know you'd think you could call on your investments
"at the drop of a hat,
"but actually they're kind of clogged,
"a bit like your arteries."

Wheezing, waiting
for the mountain rescue helicopter,
I spared a rueful thought
for the taxpayer -
the reluctant buyer
of my safety.

You might imagine I owe something in return,
but I watch the news
and I reckon
I'll get away with it.
Third Eye Candy Feb 2013
you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous  steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.

felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.

a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough,  slowly
to your beast
of a couch:

there, to remain unholy and due South.

there, to remain unknowing
by all account.
The walls lay in ash.
Soldiers stood brash.
A southern army torn apart
By a Yankee driven heart.

A national wake.
Honor burned at the stake.
Men of like birth,
Forced back to Fort Worth.

Unity broken.
Idiocy outspoken
Maintained holdings in an old life.
Grasping onto a bigoted knife.

Division formed over pride,
Childish remarks seeming snide.
Violence comes with few delays
Sparks up through debate about gays.

No one ever likes to lose.
That doesn’t mean one must corrupt the news.
Accept the nature of a simple mistake.
And end this 149-year wake.
Filmore Townsend Mar 2013
walking into smoke shop,
hoping to find a girl named
Expectations. hoping she'll
have legs, eyes, all the usual
contrived sights. careful, con-
trolled tiny burns. no one's
blowing up the bridges.
no one is trying for attention.
hoping to catch it strutting like
a Bird of Paradise. strutting
isolated, too lazed to clear the
grounds. too lazed to give too
much of a **** for attraction.
lips broken by the winter wind,
lonesome travelling with
Expectations aside. she's waiting.
hoping. to rise, to strive, to arrive
at finality. and then onward. and
then **** Expectations after.
gripping hands, mine alone,
forcing friction to dry qualm'd
sweats. to remove embarrassment
of inaction in inexperienced persons.
citing her, citing everything
foreseen and predict'd. all in
hopes at removing consequence,
but Expectations' voice threw tog-
ether a string of words unbecoming
of her vocabulary. they were unbe-
coming for a girl in that place of society.

walking out, rebuffing time and ad-
vances. fighting this mortal fight for
invincibility. to be of highland descent.
amending to Expectations on the side.
amending for waste of sacred days. lights
cast where darkness was. and these thoughts
enlightened by Son of Vonnegut on his
northward journey for Nirvana.
spitting blood, searching for immortality.
******* Expectations. *******
up life in the blood-lust. throwing a second
pair of shoes in the trash. waiting to ask
questions of persons un-wanting when questions
unwanted ask'd by persons of a cloud'd past.
and the infection is in the heart, is in the soul,
is in the lungs. with each words' passing from
putrid mouth, with each word infect'd in entirety.
pushing into the world meaningless
****. these un-embodied words are only a
passing lip-service, and have never relfect'd -
never realized - on the recant'd lives they've
run thru. nor the current running. recanting,
redacting, refracting - a disease of distraction.
Expectations lurking by ruined road.
that chance to rise, to strive, never
let her more than some inch of give.

holding prejudices, clinging with
desperation. held by throat.
sacrificial lamb found through
re-imaged scapegoat. watching
hours fleet, awaiting death
of muscles strength. awaiting
ravenous claws at pit's bottom.
Expectations peeking through
slit'd fingers, avoiding direct
contact of vision. learn-
ing to forget promises.
her eyes shine hazel.
learning of life, roots grind the ground
as scapegoat - throat released - gnarls hair
in fingers. feet force avalanche of scree
falling in eyes of ones attached ravenous claws.

silent with-holdings. Expectations
with hand over heart. spitting blood,
and whoa. something's not right.
Expectations *******, partial nakedness
and truth of truth. tears of mud caked
mountains. weighing down, and stare
never longer leaves the ground. and
blood turn'd stone, spitting worlds
with creationist vigor. making some-
thing for sake of nothing and feet
fall to repetitive rhythms. Expectations
falling, Expectations *******,
Expectations' hazel-stained eyes.
anastasiad May 2016
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Metal Laser Cutting Machine
John MacAyeal Jan 2014
Look at him
Carrying
A book
Like he hopes it will get away from him.
A textbook for a hated class?
(I try to read the title on the spine, but can't make it out.)

Look at her
Clutching
Her purse
Like she fears someone will grab it from her.
(I wonder if whatever it holds is worth all that tension.)

Look at them
Holding hands
Like they know neither of them will get away from each other.
Kaye B Anderson Apr 2014
Could it have been the self concious views?
The lack of choice- No room to choose?

Could it have been the need for emotion?
The outbursts? The commotion?
Were the cogs rusting? A lack of motion

The cogs of time rusting...
Time not moving with the speed of light?
Could it have been that one was moving faster, then other-
Timing not right?

Like a Cheetah and a Deer holdings hands,
Could it have been tempting chance?
The chance to be amazed at the beauty of this picture,
Then not be surprised with the outcome- An act of nature.

Mesmerized with lies that are there to charm.
Cheating fate, Causing harm.

Could it have been...
That you left me because I was no more an object of your desire?
Or- Could it had been that all along,
I was *playing with fire?
katewinslet Nov 2015
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Jowlough Apr 2011
I do not love you,
Like the way I did before.
Things have changed a lot,
as it opened passages and doors.

As I struggle to fix things,
please conform, please understand.
That Pressure's never a friend,
not a good mixture nor a blend

With time, oh so precious,
can we give it a ride?
as If it's a wave,
that we can smoothly slide,

as if we can just abide,
like a mind that's open wide,
do you still want to sip,
into a drink that's half-flipped.

and hanging is a fact,
that I am constantly changing,
I am not the same man,
do you find it discouraging?

I do not love you like before,
Certainly I am true.
Not like yesterday,
routine's not accrued.

*For I love you more,
as each day pass,
thank you for showing me,
that you're a class

Holding a lot of functions,
truthful and postive,
I felt the urge
I felt the caring

I see the truth in you,
as I let loose on my holdings.
you've believed in me,
when no one's doing,

You've given way all,
for free and with atttitude,
Now I am blissed,
Now I am loosed,

Like a new born baby,
you've made me fresh and celebrated,
I saw the effort,
A love to be celebrated.

I love you girl,
Sorry if I just started fully,
Now I'm looking long term,
to get with you happily.

I don't love you
Like the way I did before,
because my feelings have grown,
I'll love you, deep down the core.
(c) 4.42011 - I Don't love you, like the way I did before - jcjuatco
the white noise is calming  due to the interruption of sober silence
depriving senses, seeming like aphasia, looking through peripheral to see
all but what was was straight in the clear, sight insufficiently corrupted
painful holdings and a hand punched into the car door beside me
screaming about the difficulties, a voice that cracked like stained glass
suddenly given a voice, to only express furthermore misapprehension
a voice that spoke words
that  could  be seen forming in the air above  
the words that wrapped around my body and clung like static
pulled me like a rope twisted leash, forming circulating rusted lesions
across a  protruding collarbone
stare down deep into the roots of a tender willow  tree
look down, and avoid the expression on that face
and the truck that was unnecessarily  punished
now pretend you have aphasia, pretend that lesions don't **** slowly
and pray your face doesn't end up like that car door
Q Mar 2017
There was a fork in the path and I chose right
And right was the wrong way to go
I could ponder the holdings that left had to offer
But the wrongs of right are all I know.

There was a fork in the path and I chose the less taken
And it seems it was abandoned for good cause
I could regret and bemoan my decisions now
But I am impossibly and urgently lost.

There was a fork in the path and I deviated from the map
Not a single person told me I'd gone the wrong way
And now I meander down roads not meant for me
Looking for shelter, a place to stay.
A boy aged young
With a soul of many
Walked down Dreadful Lane
Bravery a plenty
He walk with merry
Where others became insane

No doubt in his heart
He saw a large house
Walking down Dreadful Lane
With large spider legs
And no regard for life
This had made others insane

The boy just smiled
Waved his hand in hello
And continued down Dreadful Lane
It was a busy street
With creatures and teachers
All who were completely insane

Angry snakes slithered slowly
Cockroaches of infinite holdings
Scurrying down Dreadful Lane
Eyes with no home
the fires of souls
The dead madly insane

The bats covering the birds
The grass perfectly parallel to the rain
Flying down Dreadful Lane
A carnivor seven
And the body of nine
Where making six insane

The blood on the trees
The teeth in the curb
Riddled through Dreadful Lane
Screws screaming from the pain
Masks laughing from pleasure
And the boy was still not insane

Still with a smile
He waved fairwell
As he turned off Dreadful Lane
But on the next street
He was surprised to meet
The girl who would make him insane.
Stephanie Marie Nov 2012
The ones with words like love, lust, or
Broken, dust, forgotten, and worst of all,
The ones with I’m sorry or
I miss you. That’s ******
Poetry. To read those words or
Feel those emotions and continue
To repeat them on thin lines of fabricated meanings
Because you have no way of escaping
Or are too much of a coward to admit them;
Writing for emotional advantages or
Disadvantages, to persuade others
Or yourself. That’s ****** poetry,
The clichés and hand holdings, dripping with
Redpinkblack ink, and I’s dotted with hearts.
Just to pretend that for a second in time
They made you feel
Poetry. But it’s not true. You
Did not feel those words, those words
That have hammered the ideals of
love.
Society has us falling for ******
Poetry. Beware of the useless
“jargon” created by ones “love”
For you. It’s all the same.
Now dear,
All I’mtrying to say is I want
You, but not your ****** poetry.
Martin Bailes Feb 2017
Because in my day dreams
& in a heartbeat,
the Coke brothers
would be re-educated
digging deep wells
in Flint Michigan
till they found pure
clean water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because in a heartbeat
I could be far worse
than that & perhaps
in some ways it's a
good thing I'm not
the boss.
Bastardized holdings in a new world order
Standardized error retained as a border
Manipulate the idealist into a moral hoarder
Tabulate the results, and encourage disorder
Poetic T Jan 2016
The paint warped upon sight, like tears
Over time falling silently to the decayed
Cycle below. I felt its bleak wine pealing's
Upon my fingers And tasted its age.

The aroma of so many  memories of what
Was before of all that touched upon its
Brass holdings and It screamed in defiance
Shut so many times, now unending closure.

It wanted to be open to the world not
Subjugated in locked form. Its motions
Were static locked in an unending cycle
Of nothing. It was tearing flakes upon the floor.

It wanted to creak upon the breeze to feel
The wind to scratch at its rings of now slain
Of forgotten time. its creaks are its needing
To be open to the world once again.
RJ Days Nov 2016
must recognize our Form
in the mirror,
see our Face, and make our reflection
as we kiss it, though it regularly sickens
Us.

I

We are still Us, though
that probably means little if it ever did;

We have been amended beyond recognition
from centuries of lobbing
off limbs, appendages, stitching clauses
like bandages then forgetting about them
if we ever shower,
disfiguring the pale torso of our Body
politic, naked and middling before posterity
grotesque genitalia dangling
hopelessly, and useless
between marble columns
unable to unite in congress assembled
erasing pluribus unum;

We're our Legs, buckling under obscene weight
now cloture’s invoked, the question ordered
on history with yays and nays,
discourse long reduced to the nuances
of blusterfuck;

We're our Buttocks, passing gas
bills, denying a snowball’s chance of
melting in frozen hell or on house floor,
and our Brain, lobotomized
better half yearning “Yes, we Can…
…ada” beckoning the coasts, blue dots
on blue dot ever browning;

We're our Fists, clenching gavels
while advising Mother Earth to **** up
because even without her consent,
reality’s adjourned;

II

We're our Skin—yes, our Skin—, thin-
ly veiling contempt insufficiently concealed
by layers of spray tan and unmarred
by blood sweat tears of our foremothers
and our Brow, not sweating more perfect
when it's so easy to turn and follow storybook greatness,
when our Fingers, callused from tweeting
Little Bits of *****,
which though once again retitled
and re-released, remains a classic,
completely unrevised;

We're our Ears, nostalgic for the crack of doom
and we're our Tiny Hands, unable to help themselves
from popping a Tic-Tac and grabbing
onto those titillating, dusty buttons
on the hydrogen jukebox;

We're our Eyes, heavy
as a defeated queen
with makeup running, blessing us
all for this operant foray into madness,
ever observing how our Arms, which
(torches now extinguished)
flail in confusion amid incalculable darkness
still hoist our pitchforks low and
our Tongue still grievously petitions
for more deplorable words amid
hallucinations of victimhood;

We're our *****, *******
on progress, except
which—failing to rise to the occasion—
nonetheless manages
to flop over and strike once more: a dis-
chord in common defense of
fragile white male privilege
always showing, never growing,
general welfare and tranquility flushed down
the toiletbowl of history
hoping those old turds never
resurface, still ignoring the stench of injustice
and the chipping of gilded porcelain;

We’re our Lips–which neither Broadway hits nor
newspaper clips nor high minded pleas alarmed,
and with Dr. Franklin’s warning notwithstanding–
We are our Lips on treacherous steps which will be
all executive power herein vesting;

III

We're our Palms, grasping rope amid air
saturated in deathly vespers, which tugs
down-up toward unearned heavens;

We’re our *****, pretending to be
our Mouths which chide & otherize, while
our Shins expose their cuts to ****,
bullet-holes welcoming the swift infections
in what dank sewage now pours from open
Overton windows, broken along with
any pretense of civility; ultimately,
the only thing we could shatter;

We’re our Holes, shamefully enjoying
the prodding and poking caresses
of anarchy, be-
moaning un-
Equal Protection law & order bestows,
depriving life, liberty, property
when our Hearts, weary of
the long hard due process, supremely
malign centuries’ holdings;

We’re our Immunity, sovereign it be
fighting all insults foreign and domestic
and our Voices rising in lamentation
for what we’ve lost and what we’ve barely kept;

We’re even our Hair, unkempt, distracting us
from enduring corruption of our Blood;

We’re our *****, too. No, never mind.
We never had any. But She did,
and class despite the strength
of glass;

IV

We’re all that still, and our Souls'
politic too, fractured much asking
what Un-
ited States we’re in;
September 17, 1787 – November 8, 2016. Not a bad run, I guess.
Minutes, seconds and hours
Fleeting and innocent
Conveniently avoiding our grasp
They beckon to us
Separate us from our holdings
Declare war on our values
Alluring, provocative
Raising our pleasure
By supplying a deadline
A moment of finality
A time of reckoning
Reasoning
True love
Divided by passion
MMX
Kaleidoscopic holdings drawn on from tumbling affairs forge indignant beliefs in the minds of those trapped in the spinning, weightless meanderings of an archaic and broken system designed with the sole intention of scattering and misinterpreting the grandest illusions life has to offer.

Voided of emotion, and self-respect, the paces of lost clergymen slow, as the prospect of death, and consequential eternal life, grow heavy on the soul, burdening the individual with corruptive notions of value and worth, crippling and manipulating the concept of existence until it becomes no more than a sacrificial placeholder for faith and faith alone.

…In the beginning, man created god, and what an awful error in judgment that proved itself to be…

Poisonous words in the form of prayer, spew forth from the mouths of anointed men, selected for their passive obedience, displayed in the wake of advancement, convoluting and clouding the acceptance of the self, promoting, and proclaiming the right to act as gate keeper to the doors of oblivion, as though they possess some unknown measure of good and evil, omnipotent in the face of the laws of man.

A charitable act of aid comes at the cost of the recipients soul, as churches buy up rights for those deemed morally conceited, holding no one, but a forgotten creator, to blame for the disgraces and disappointments projected onto man, by man himself, only to register, very briefly, for the opportunity to promote salvation, and its slipping worth, all in the hopes that such extrapolated thought may produce a golden tickets of sorts, granting one passage to the holy land, where one can remain unbothered by the wandering souls of unbaptized infants.

Poking holes in contraceptive thoughts, using pin sized ****** extracted from the backside of small boys, prodded and sodomized by glorified rapists who mask horrendous deeds in the guise of holy writ, condemning the act of gratification through the means of oneself, simply with the intent of diminishing an individuals potential in finding some form of earthbound nirvana, believing that such an experience could cloud and corrupt man’s view of god.

For a system designed with the intent of salvation, it becomes confusing, and appears at odds with the message, when most only see perpetual damnation, banning bummers in an act of spite, seeking out wars for the sake of a territorial fight, miles Christi, a paradox it seems, one stripped from Walt Disney’s bigoted dreams…

Ephesians 6:14-17New International Version (NIV): 14:Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15: and with your feet fitted the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16: In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17: Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God.
"The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion because if a mother can **** her own child, what is left for me to **** you and you to **** me?"...Mother Teresa...Hell's Angel (Christopher Hitchens)
Cary Fosback Jun 2011
Most often I slip into dreaming a reality
Surrounded with absurdity
And abstract absolution and functionality.
A world filmed in silence,
Where the black and white future reminiscence
Of untold horrific and haunting hand holdings
Are my only bane.
Where I can look into a pair of gleaming eyes
And find with every tic a surprise
That makes my unsettled heart arise
Without any sort of promiscuity or lustful
Over glazing on the perfect soufflé
And then with not even a hug given as a subtle warning
No forerunner to an upcoming silence and mourning.
Morning. Open eyes and wide lids. And forming
In the crevice of the mass, a single droplet
That rains readily into a queer laughter
As satisfaction slyly slips back into the fade

It’s a dream to keep the silence close
With those that, to me, mean the most
Looking longingly and knowingly with only tones
Of bare skin and cloth separating the souls,
The heart, and the passion

Once again, it’s the end
And it comes to an end
And the moments die
And you wake up
To an apocalyptic goodbye
Tripping on the fumes from an oxygen tank
Loaned out from the local lenders bank
Grass lit dreams of focused thought
Drifting off, apparently, on the spot

Confidential whispers while waiting
Reverse synesthesia heard in a painting

Chivalrous misconceptions of past life holdings
Spruced up to latch onto misplaced moorings
The intake pulsed with the remnants of entombed regrets
Final draw, for a flattened pack of cigarettes
Catching semiotic holdings from a cow-licked brain ****
Matching periodic scoldings, from a plough of picked-plain art

Filled prescription left for digestive tracts dissolution
Milled conscription cleft as congestive cracks merge in illusion

Temporal reconstruction, as the Adderall seeps into place
Federal distribution, as the admiral heaps the case
Welled as the spineless listen to a cautionary thought
Held as a timeless vision of a stationary plot

Pillbox running on fumes, causing fresh hysteria to solidify
Paradox coming, dawn looms, pausing thresh, staging an area to demystify

Later, new levy forbids pawing fear, spoken rotten, a deloused baiting sound
Cater to heavy lids, drawing near the cotton housed waiting ground
Michael W Noland Jan 2013
From across the room i watched with gloom in hand

Trembling of the soon to be lost temper of my severed tranquilities, swiveling on my spleen

Fueling the surrendering of my dreams for one squeeze to lead them all

Fear only stalled in my cause for alarm

No harm shall come before the storm

No spawn of thought beyond the forlorn

Here to see
See nothing
Nothing to see
See something

Something amiss
Amiss of the somethings
Some things are best
Best left unsaid

And unsaid is where they burned

Turned out
Out turned
Turned doubt
Doubt turned

Confidence

Confidence with delicately sculpted prominence over loose targets

Scurrying like varmints

Not to tarnish the cries for help

6 flashes for silence, and a taste of hell

By demon be driven, as we all sell when pressed against hell with the means to end it all

Let the chips fall where they may, as in jail i can prey on bigger things, and emerge a king

Solitary confinement will refine my shrine to stardom

But the martyrdom of *****, is quickly forgotten

Spoiled rotten in self indulgence

Emboldened in molten rage

The pages folded before fading away

In cindered fairies playing with my pain

Falling

As Jagged glass from window panes

Empty walls
Walling in the wisdom
Wisdom calls
Calls for blood
Blood from all

I merely heed the call and fall fashionably

Rationally broken in the cities hold on me, in claustrophobic scolding for my holdings in heavenly weapons pointing to the cure

I expect nothing but the allure of spatter, patterned out to the tune of my doubts, coagulated in lieu of the claps, looping through the traps of no take backs, and collapsing to my synapses crackling in the rain.

Smash my brain, in suicide by cop,  I jump atop the bridges that i burned

I turn the other cheek

Just to wink at the weak

Before i leap

And never learned
No no no.
Please do not leave me.
Keep your eyes closed.
With mine.
Taste from cups of horrors.
The angular rotting flesh.
Take the mean street to visit Bach.
Lay your head and pound your chest.
Well from below.
And saints on deathbed.
I'm tearing down a wall.
Staring at a stillness.
The florist from the sun.
You're breaking your back.
And the crowd sings of unison.
Trumpets.
Peace filled holdings.
Grass in a locket.
Remove your mirrors.
Youth, grow old and free us.
From your peace of yesterday.
The lake is raised.
The sun is stained.
Ruined.
Watching from a funeral.
Cry in the morning.
And sleep on the evening.
Hold close a breeze for a blanket.
Bend and lead.
Sleeping by the intercom.
While you graze and worship me.
Not yesterday.
God.
I know you wanted love.
The twelve dollar stain flickers in my mind.
The walk home and the creaks in his heart.
Dreams of litigation.
Night's separation.

A reality in between.
Tragedy.
It's not the way to pilot a ship
By standing on its hull
It's AI is busy screaming
But the view from above
Is unbelievable

I found the ship, parked in my
Backyard; a thing of glory and
Invisible, at least to my neighbors
Bringing its ladder down
In silent, smooth as only a
Bullet fired could, almost fired
It was machine quick, and smooth

I'm not the type to jump
Bring conclusions
Incomplete to situations
Boring, and mundane
I'll figure it out, think quick

Invention; that's my cup of tea
Brought to me on the ship
Intelligent as it is, it's just a
Boat, big; sailing stars
Instead of seas
Between worlds
In the stars

Is it too much, having this task
Being responsible for what
It brings with it, holdings of time
Brought with the shaping of it all
I stand here to see it
Braced against the ship
It, held up by nothing at all
Saanvi Oct 11
Candlelight
drinks my blood from the vine.
Your soft glow
suffocates me at midnight.
Holding close to my chest
I harbour your love,
Your beauty still dazzles me to my core.
Pretentious blues, ugly truths taking flight,
castles built and then ruined by arrogance.
It's you it's you,
it's all for you my love.
Even though I can't compare to your touch.
I know I know
I know I might be nihilistic,
but baby I know I love you.
Please forgive my ugliness.
Please redeem me, free me
from your holdings.
Believe me, relieve me.
Your love will strangle me alive, bury my bones dead my love.
If you need me, need me,
then say so.
Otherwise I might sniff out the candle.
I want to stop dancing with you in the light of the half moon.
But it's you it's you,
it's all for you my love.
Even though your gentle caresses leave bruises on my hands.
I know I know I know
I might be a pessimist,
but you look so beautiful
In the candlelight.
And what is beauty, if not destruction.
I have killed myself over ugly truths.
Might as well I die in glory, take my chances, be remembered for greatness,
like the tragic romance of Romeo and Juliet.
If your love kills me tonight,
that's alright.
It's all for you my love,
You look so pretty in the candlelight
drinking my blood.
I am just an image like a flickering candle waiting to die......
Sour Patched Kid Aug 2015
I took your
Favorite food
Favorite artist
Favorite ev'rything

And buried it deep.

I took your
Haunting holdings
Haunting thrashings
Haunting ev'rything

And buried it deep.

I took your
Lasting laughter
Lasting impact
Lasting ev'rything

And buried it deep.

With such depth I dug
With hopes to never repeat
I'm reminded nightly
In dreams and restless sleep.

Like telling words I choke on
A secret, seething, breathes
I gathered all your mem'ries
And
I
buried
you
deep.
carvermon Feb 2021
A billion dollars I have gathered
That’s the billionaire’s way
The bit that I’ve earned
a tiny fraction of that
(only so many hours in a day)
Instead of hard work
I work around rules
that once described the way
that one who worked hard
spending effort and hours
could secure that hard day’s worth of pay

Many have struggled
to build the wealth I’ve now juggled
into shelters and holdings and banks
I could carelessly burn it
‘cause I didn’t earn it
But those who did,
I guess,
deserve thanks
Poetic T Mar 2016
Glazed in white this porcelain skin you entrap me in,
I am sundered from the beauty that clings in detestation
My beauty like a crystallise will be fragmented from here.

Slate crevasses like a web clinging to the surface entwine
Aloft as they perch on every part of its superficial holdings
They edge ever deeper till all that was pearl now descends.

Cascading into oblivion where like autumn leafs magenta tears
Descend like ruins that now like coal wisps fade to nothing.
Now there is exemption from what manifested in thought.

This lingering lucent thought given form, but never seen,
Light permeated off its featureless misgivings a kaleidoscope
Of emotions ran free touching all surrounding, static now standing.

There stood a moment of porcine imprisonment ,featureless
Yearnings to touch, but then a tear of crimson detached and a
Rose web did start to ascend from where it collapsed below.

The circle of what would be what was only a matter of time
Created where form became static then birthed in non caporal
Form touching those near as it had yearned all that time before.
the black rose Jun 2020
i'm done holding in
& holding onto lines
so thin that they break just by my stare alone...
& ive been told,
my eyes were cold
but are they deadly?
& ive been told to fix my tone of voice,
though my tone of choice is mute.
how hard can it be to speak truth while staying silent?
while in a crowd of violent sounds
on 3D grounds
where they make crowns of thorns
for those whom come to warn of mass destruction.
i'm letting go of "things"
& maybe, i’m adjusting?
betterdays Jan 2016
this day is beyond warm
less sultry, more stifling
the heat, holdings it's breath
awaiting the gathering of  the cummulus

the boys have gone, with polesand lines
and a box of milling maggotty enticements
to cajole water beings out of their depths
into the gasping heat of the day


my mother sits  in between making
sheep into woolen rugs and concoctions
of woollen froththe keeps the tea cosy,
before the drinking,
switching the tv channels
between the small ball sports on offer
like stone fruit, there is a glut
of tennis and cricket
and she gorges with patriotic fervour

I lie in, reading, making internal lists
of what should be done, but will not be
too hot, far too hot, the little tuxedo devon
lies in the bath room
stretched out on the cool slate tiles
and i wish for the life of a cat
one with out lists incomplete....
Poetic T May 2016
Her cremated hands held the cherub
of her ingrained expression on lipless
holdings. In basins of white did she
linger sight beyond hers, showing all
the creation of depraved meetings.

The child was silent, motionless in
Its satin sinews that covered all but
its unadorned features, yet weeping
was expelled as dark shades wept
Charcoal tears upon nothingness.

Her hair tightly held back, obsidian
in nature like a tomb stone of neatness.
A mothers love, of that which is an
aversion of ill conceived conception.
Purgatory welcomes its inception
Jack R Fehlmann Mar 2015
I Don't Know If You Know This...
I steal from your Holdings,
Little looks here and then
between
looking for you
and looking elsewhere
Lest you hold in those eyes
Entirely my wants
And yet again, this heart
Love...
By point of light
and bathed in generous color
Finding your eyes
whilst unaware and smiling
Amazing.
These,  my secreted plunder
Stay very real and Tangible
To my dreams when drifting
Reason waking,  to be more love
And to tell you daily
One hundred,  more,  constantly
I don't know if you know this,
I love you completely
frozen and at a loss
again,.. amazing
Work in progress...  To my love Suzy...
Ghazal Feb 2017
The purple lights up the dinner table,
Mocking me a little for the mess I made,
Ah, the conjugal suicide of forgotten
anniversaries of first meetings or
first conversations, or first hand-holdings,
I still don't seem to remember
As I try and find sleep on the couch tonight,
Oh, my bundle of organised chaos,
My lover of trivial celebrations,
My collector of silver and purple lanterns,
Do you think I can't hear you impatiently turn?
Did you really think you could sleep soundly?
Do you think I don't know it is for me you yearn,
The outcast, the culprit, forced into exile unfairly?
I can foresee the very moment you'll press into the sheet,
The instant before you'll resign that you can take it no more,
I can sense the very second you're biting your lip,
I know you thought-deep, there's no deeper I can go,
And in that beautiful, eternal pause,
Between bite of lip and sigh of concession,
Between stubborn resilience and renunciation,
We'll both wait, tugging at the palpable tension,
Which is the test of my punisher's power,
And for me, a premonition of the sweet taste of love,
That is about to follow, just the moment after.
Slober knocked back to a cadence measure.
Turning in tune with the illusion of leisure.
Stand at fault, holding the gun.
Cryptic followings at the point of a pun.
Deny and defile the logic of man.
Floating backwards catching a cancerous tan.
Indescency accepted as common form
The policies for which are quick to swarm.
Holdings in life, seem to diminish.
Removed suddenly of their veenered finish.
Left aside as needless want
A proxy value for those too gaunt.
Picked up again by mimicing lepers,
Balling their eyes out as communication severs.
Catching a reflection in the glint of an eye.
Turning quickly, as not to pry.
Beholden, clearly, to a bare ideal.
Something tangible to which one would kneel.
Beckoned forth in a fleeting glimpse.
The man has not been heard from since.
Erom elims Oct 2014
Share the world I'm alive
haunting brain archives
Thrives till dust then at dawn hearing your vocals
Vibrate luminosity across the smokers domain stuck
Freezed into the glaze of your mind
Own senses draped
self-spilling emotions on reality tap
Screen vented this day
the unknowing longing
To converse about
the gleaming at gorgeous eyes
Minding me intrinsically cumbersome under my skin
An image engrained into my head
Writing for the quintessential relaxed ears
Mind breathing without ageing thoughts
Breaking my weak twigs knees
Wanting your eclectic self-yearning
Nothing more
Byzantine accomplishments  
Cemented on bricks buried on the floors
Passing artistically
Butterflys invade my consciousness
Then drifting back on wheels swilling untitled
Lonely human actions
Collecting copious mental photographs sloshing Amongst my neurons dreaming
Once more of a singers delighted painted green
Leavings as she bounces the surrounding scene of her european leaves juxtaposed
I remain still unseen with this non-emoted
Feelings ghost bound holdings
Gigantic bugs my ****** host as you fade away
From earth perceptions
Left burning wrapped beatnik-esque sunglasses
Reverberations haunting
My cranium nearly dejected frustrated
Shyness awaking my tripling typing monstrosity admirations

— The End —