It’s true. There are things I always rethink over.
I want to talk about this life, and the numbered corners
We back into, as each one before becomes a blur
I need to find those escaped outlawed words
Those thoughts that are dreams that are life I never said
Or ever read
In the newspapers full of despair & odes to the dead

Here I am, again. Scratching my head..
Solitary confinement in the tip of my pen
I hope I can hear the rain on a tin roof again.
I want to rescue each petal of this tired rose
Been told they hate getting wet, maybe they should close
Perhaps that’s a tangent better left to the prose..

I want to discuss the melody the earth plays as it spins
One day the clocks will melt, and time then will win
I want to pick these roses, struck by a thorn or two
I’ll rescue the weakest and give them all to you

I want to speak for every part of me.
Pronouncing the syllables of my arms through my neck
Feeling that same stutter I can’t ever forget
Or enunciating the words of America
It sounds like the inflection of grief
She’ll lead you to where hearts now lay limp
As all of her feels the pain in her feet
Composed of beings accepting defeat

But I can tell you about my motherland, or the hardness of her hands
As she struggles at the top, or the bottom of the can
Can do little more without much help to survive
First world problems? How about just keeping this life.

It’s ok if you’re lost. Go ahead, misunderstand.
Don’t tell us to work harder, poverty wasn’t planned

America, my other parent, imposed many countries
But Nicaragua is in tune with my heartbeat.
Now, how many secret wars are we fighting?
Like you’re ******* Genesis, the beginning of country
Well this is not why God himself sent me.

The great immigrations to one, emigrate with frustration
Looking for a better life, not just land; a nation.
We’ve graduated, far past the burning of witches
Although love may have been present, it was absent in ditches
Dug for the masses all over the world
Tell me the numbers don’t make your toes curl.

Like the owned. the bedraggled one in the line
Each of us in some way forever confined
To the cuffs of dark pigment or hair
The accent that these tongues flick out in the air,

I wanted to talk about the sky at jet-packed speeds
The broken men and that mystery
The wonder hiding on the other side of the reef
Or how certain dogs are not dogs, but a four legged beast
We put our ideas on those who can’t even speak
Judging and pointing deflecting our peak
Of feeling internally smaller and weak.

I want to talk about the man who hit on me last week
And the secrets that I have no real reason to keep
Perhaps tally up the hours and days without sleep
Or the relative meanings of victory or defeat.

I want to talk about the boy who was shot next to me
And the eyes on the girl who got away this past week
And now these heart valves have sprung a leak

There’s a reason I passed that spelling test in 4th grade
It’s a pact that me and some other nerd made
This test for some homework was the almost real trade
But then I studied anyways, suddenly was afraid
To be a real cheater at such a young age
So I waited until I was tired and baked
To cheat off of Tee Kay in the 8th grade.

I wanted to talk about the wonders of our skies
We see breathtaking birds and flutterbys take flight
Or how about the negative connotation with night
Instead of endless wonder, it’s dark, dead and trite.
Only letting the positive notions be awarded to light.

I want to talk about the things we all know
Like when someone asks you “what did he say?” at the same time as you
Following the first line in the show

Or

Wait, I forgot what I came into this room for.
I am now in my phonebook, what now?
--Swinging door.
Falling and yelling about what was left on the floor
Forgot that fearless child with instinct to explore.

And of course what about Fidel, the betrayal, conclusion
All in all, that epic Cuban Revolution
Or how we are scared to research the real scale of pollution
Settling for ignorance, unwritten, accepted solution
(I’m not a tree hugger, I’m a writer arranging each word just to lose them.)

How about what lies from sea to shining sea
And the immigrating souls giving testimony
To those who do, and will never know me
Each sea runs through the other
Like the veins in your body
And we all sadly add to our planet earth rotting

I wanted to talk about the first moment a hand brushed my cheek
My muscles finally gave in, tense to shameless defeat
The ridiculousness of the odd days in a week
Or how every sound in my almost mute world goes to the same beat
And the hook is brought to you by the bird’s tactful beak
And the beautiful colors the sunset uses to light up the streets

I want to spill each morsel of knowledge I’ve stolen, and the little that was free
And that I’ve learned from those before the ones that came before me
Being all of natures beautiful things.
Yes, did a bell mentally ring?
If you are alive, then you are one and more of all these
Even more beautiful with those scrapes on your knees
Standing with blood down your leg forgetting the dirt and disease
Carried away with the breeze through the trees

I can tell you those unspoken unwritten words from lost poetry
But that would be like asking you in the theater to scream
At that alien’s awkwardly shiny green screen moon beam

But maybe you should go out and growatree
Johnny the Appleseed Infantry
Or something to remember the free.

Discovery: Victory is only for the relentless
Walk up to a great oak, give thanks; we are rootless
Master ignoring those who labeled you useless
You decide what you are, and there’s no need to prove this

The heart that is mine beats with the rest that are beating
Trying to prevent a few scars and stitches from bleeding
Past error and self is no new acquaintance we’re meeting
Enjoy this life on a stage, I promise good seating

Fighting to clench onto every painful recollection
Every past hopeless pothole of the moments of rejection
Letting go is the key; allow me to mention
Freedom was, is never any man’s invention.
I’ll talk about the concept of our intentions
Hopefully you have good mental retention
There is one truth, and for some no redemption

I’ll give you one more line of ADHD poetry
I can put it short, and maybe even soerty
Some say  farfetched, or insurrectionary
Holding life’s weight at times sans what was necessary
Wide eyes at my inner strength, each arm is tearing
Felt each torn ligament swollen and flaring

Yesterday someone used the word evolutionary

I always write 'I am' before 'revolutionary.'

Sound of a pen clattering
Admonishing beauty of arts rendering
Lines of rhyme rhyming
Mixed with rhythm rhythming
Like a poem life flowing
Like a drama life pushing
Like a prose life rushing
And then comes representing
Unrepentant life projectoring
The literati's lyrical lyricalling
Recalling the gods of writing
With written words calling
Calling calling calling coming
And hence societal ills hiding
Bad leaders, leadership running
Disillusioned souls troubling
Marginalised masses crying
And crime rate like jet flying
Bombs like pure water exploding
Politicians still stealing and looting yet fearing
Fear! phobia! fear embracing
Minimum wage hurting Governors like bee stinging
Unemployment destroying like earthquaking
Half baked graduate graduating
Our education unseriously provoking
Undefined boundaries exposing
Immigrants immigrating
Police, Soldiers, customs, Road safety, etc all corrupting like they feeding...
Inec election in chaos resulting
Nigeria a name of peoples's confusing
NEPA, WATER, ROAD, HOSPITAL unrealistic absurding...
Corruption! corrupting!! corruptioning!!! Are we starting or finishing? Building or destroying?
The lyric of the literati busy deconstructing...

Give me one good reason that an illegal immigrant is a criminal.

I have tried to do research. I have asked people why they think immigration is such a threat. I have tried to find out why native-born people think themselves superior to humans like themselves who live in other countries. I have tried to research what an illegal immigrant has done in their search for a better life that makes them a criminal. I have asked people if they know just how difficult it is for an immigrant to come to America legally. I have asked people why, because their family immigrated here generations ago, they see themselves as having the rights to kick out the people immigrating now. I don’t understand how we can place our well being above other people’s, because we were born into it. I can't understand why we cover our ears when people call for help, and when they finally are able to make it through, we kick them back, claiming we are deaf to what they go through.

I can’t find one ******* reason why we should base human rights on where people are born.

it pounds with the fervor
of 100 million idiots
screaming in unison
make America great again…
as if greatness
were so trivial
as to be allowed reentry
into the fattest nation
globally –
making America great again
like in the 1950’s
when racism and bigotry
were right as rain
where white is might
and Jesus stood with the nation….
for shame
make America great again
like when industry had children
working 15 hour days
for pennies
while toxifying the land, air, and rivers
beating the poor into submission
with clubs
and immigrating based on skin color
for shame….
make America great
again…….
like slavery?
manifest destiny?
corporate empire?
world police?
Like Donald Trump as President?


making America great starts by accepting
each other
as equals.
Period.

a tale of two households
and i'm escaping the outside world
and allowing an islander type
of world around me
and armed with an island
and the life there
i go back into London: adrift to some
otherwise lost England
an Ikea England
it is so demeaning to have been married
and living with one's parent's
5000+ miles apart
and intitially it was all so stereotypical
a world peace and reggae
music i remember my first time
smoking marijuana with more
memory free
memory that escapes the coupling
of the res extensa to the res cogitans
to fight over the world
or the self
but there are good laws in the natural kingdom
of ideas
how the crow unearths a nut
in a tortoise french kissing a snail: i think
i actually left a wound of typo
in that word: snl... i sssnnnlllyu
and there's even a sober answer
and you know you've been to these gallows
before and in these gallows
you can say:
before Marx became a Manifesto Man
and the Mannifesto Man became a Mephistopheles
and that man
became that man because
of that because-men then came the become-man
not the over-man the superman
the because-man and become-man
my name is Mr Boss Mann
and i won't be supervising
i will be working a part self paranoia role
i will be working sparingly
now people in the work place
might know i'm immigrating a second time
and i am immigrating a second time
and it's not
emmigrating
with wife and kids to Australia...
i am immigrating into an already
pre-packaged deal
a wife and a kid
and that is leaving me with
periods of the day where
i am drunk-sober having blackholes
in my day
and my confinement of the prose in cogs...
the basic loading mechanism helped
because you can actually see the computer
and the natural world
and see wiring
only wiring
cut open a skull see a brain of man
then think of warp-speed
images needed:
jellyfish... starfish...
which is not an ontological question
of need to disagree to agree on
i don't think anywhere in culture
is the need for that sand to stall defending castle
heart
and there's the constant sea of
the natural laws that say:
our laws of the continent
and learning to ride a bicycle
learn to ride a horse
then i get to learn how to drive a car
and then my grandmother
who can't swim
or ride a bicycle
my father who didn't drive
my wife who can't ride a bicycle
and i'm here left
with TANK and sloth
movement
and just heading into the crowd
of complete unknowns
just that memory
of something something...
there's water in the tank and there's
the history of man
and i don't need to be a painter
after being an artist:
i can become a philosopher
and that's like painting
but it happens so quick to use painting
as something as grand as the building
since these people were
painting the world outside:
unlike poetry: skeleton of the bureaucratic
implores:
that painting be a window
in a burning house
that is makes mince beef from a steak
when reality is stop-searched
and left becomes right
and right becomes left
and the kingdom come 2nd come is no more
and the tide recedes
because the Apocraphy has been opened
and the Canons no longer resound..
what final nail in the coffin?
i witnessed the same argument
i witness the same argument
in the kitchen
and it's like i am the pearl
and i'm sitting in either a throne
my father is
sitting on the throne
but i am reclining on a sofa
being all actor-ish... with: i can't do it!
i can't! i can't do it!
it's not like i need another drink
because falling asleep sober
gives me better coordination
in the rules of pedestrians vs the rules
of driving tanks
wouldn't be involving the conversation
on horses...
even as mechanics with jeans
and tights underneath
and the common thread of man
the band of brothers with the trans-gender
rodeo like Narcissus
was included among the Ancient Greeks
the blissful child of Egos and Eros
Aphrodite and how a harem of saints
for conversation was either the man
crucified as in heaven descended over time
this religion that is never associated
with anything religiosity implied:
concerning the Figure that was Socrates...
i was watching a bit of BLACK MIRROR
and i think i thought myself into it
not that i'm paranoid but
in the medium of COGITO
the fight of the res extensa with the res cogitans
is like the heaven and hell
fat free retelling of the storie...
it truly is: there is no heaven or hell:
but there is a thing vs. thing
and in that vs. a
litany of potential short-crumb butter words
to get through...
and in it i saw it was not even curfew
hour
and i thin k    that's almost like being in some sort
of Army of the Temporal Mothers of Grace
and that would be like
The Jesus and the Mary Chain
if you wanted to start a band...
i like people
who hang on to me for a while
are a subscriber for a month or two
and then disappear
as if i will be either:
easily plagiarised
or imitated
or proven real or unreal
but the song remains the same...
the water is improved under certain circumstances
like bouts of tickle-head-abbreviations-of-dehydr.
dehydrated...

water
teeth (guard)
blinders for early hours
a gorge
with unfathomable reasons
to give the religious
nudge:
or perhaps here inspired
then needing to work covertly
i can see accent of words
in details and perhaps it's
hard to call me the Patriarch
in thinking as Abraham was stalked
by creatures like me
of the Elders of Enoch
the angels that were born to the gods
we invented were born thus
but we only had one god
that which, who appealed to us in words
some of us found in Hebrew:
and the Hebrews
while some of us among the Latins...
is it a wonder that St. Matthew went to find a Sophia:
a bride
in Ethiopia and was murdered...
so Christianity wasn't born from
the salvation of man
and continue Christianity via
the way of the woman.... first generation Uncle
Jesus...
no... it was to the slaughter with them!
no single Christian follower within 1 *******\
generation of Christ
started a family!
not one! not that i know of!
but please! invent one for me!
the religion went straight to the Eunuchs
who burried the Nag Hammadi library...
i think we are living in a time of the Birth of Christianity:
the REbirth of it:
not the Second Coming
but the Second Coming Zeitgeist:
the... imagine how if your reality was
covered with the reality you keep of the Bible...
it has been over 2000 years...
and you're still reliving it...
at least the Jews aren't reliving the Story of Exodus
because from Exodus all Stories are Born
in the World...
res extensa...
as the Genesis Stories are Born of
the all Mind:
COGITO          which we attach ourselves with
to somehow satiate the body
after the most exciting part was
pretending to drive a car
and bake ******* mayo babkhi at almost 10pm
and then celebrating with a shot
of 25% *****:
tinged with cloves, pears and pigmas.. those strange lemons...
pigvahs...
              but one last cigarette
and before curfew i have 20min to smoke a little
one out the window
and no need
i feel maybe a Polish and HAwaiian version
of a bigger parapet...
a recliner a balcony to walk out onto in the morning
and have my coffee...
no care for the view
but the view inside me
that would be a novel idea...

but give me one but one follower of Christ
who died unlike Christ?
all died like Christ...
but that became the false Christ
upon the death of the anti-christs:
the Apostles were the 12 Antichrists
that were born from the fact
that none could
settle down with a wife
have children...
none of them...
all died the martyrs' death... for what?
lessons in life that couldn't be made
into the replica of father
and thus given ant a proper critique
but the ant replied:
although to the queen most tended...
if but one apostle settled down and raised
a family from the teachings of Christ:
wouldn't it have been done?
but what is the last book of that dreaded
work:
the book of Revelation
and that's a madman's plotline
if but one Apostle Raised a Wife...
St. Peter didn't settle down
with wife
so one wrote something and the others
plagiarised it
and out came a "mysterious"
new testament from the old testament
with the Four Gospels the Four Letter of the Apaocalypse
and the Four Horsemen
and it's truly a mockery of the Old Testament...
as need to be written:
on Good Friday... coming to a close...
as needs to be written about having...
a serious ******* talk about Christianity...

Seeds from afar ride natures winds
Of ever so many a kind as one
Wild flower seeds among the exotic
During windy nights during days of sun

From where it blows to just where it goes
Seeds immigrating where ever thus to fall
Spreading beauty far and wide this way
All being subject to natures natural call

From mountain ocean shore valleys too
Growing often thus being as one together
Constant changing gardens of life on earth
Within natures imaginative different weather

Nature provide the showers as each adapts
Grows a beautiful flowers before never seen
Each now becoming one learning to survive
Often another gift of nature ever so supreme

Later it too has seeds that spread as they did
Later academics give it the steangest name
Without the slightest idea of its originality
As by this all knowing academics claim

terrence michael sutton    
copyright  2018

Good Grief


After a dark night

Came a sad mourning.


Woe desolation despondency,

There is no good grief.


Grever:  To Burden

I had a heaviness of heart.


Remorse regret pining

Bereavement took its toll.


A knell lamented and sorrow

Cast an even darker shadow

On the blues of my tormented soul.





ps


I am fully convinced that what I

Have gone through this last year

Was a grieving process for an

Array of life’s occurrences all of

Which came upon me at the

Same time. Retiring, moving

From France to Ireland to look

After my mother, my mother dying

Selling the house, immigrating at

71, moving back to Europe but

This time homeless, Developing

A malfunctioning Thyroid added

To a Prostate problem. It was

A recipe for disaster and all during

The confinement of Covid. Plus

The sensitivities of the alcoholic mind.