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Kanishka May 6
I think I stopped living today.
I never thought you'll abandon our ship for real but here I am now,
All alone and opening my arms to the demons.
I'm not fine.
Paul Hansford Nov 2016
Ganges, dawn, a luminous haze
over the water. The bathing ghats
are busy with the faithful. (But India
is inconceivable without faith.)  
The robed bathers, raising river water
to the sun, pouring it back
to mother Ganges, are they worshipping
the sun or the river?
For them God is everywhere
and everything.  Water, sun,
the river and the twinkling lamps floating on it
are part of one consciousness.

The burning ghats too (such quantities of wood
stacked ready) are beginning their day.
The funeral party approaching in respectful haste
have a job to do. They build their pile,
move the body to the wood,
start the fire. I watch, but not for long.
This moment, so intimate, so public, reminds me
I am an intruder here. The ashes
will return to Ganga unwitnessed by me.

Away from the river, the vendors of tea
do their trade among the stalls. Monkeys,
cheerfully pilfering, are chased away
half-heartedly, for they are Hanuman’s representatives,
and they, with the sacred, garbage-clearing cows,
are part of the one consciousness. In this land
all are “the faithful”, everything is God’s creation.
In this poverty is richness.
Varanasi is the Hindu holy city formerly called Benares. The "ghats" are a series of steps leading down to the river, and are divided into areas for various purposes. Hanuman is the Hindu monkey-god.
jane taylor May 2016
hitherto i naively challenged
my decision to enter an ominous existence
a vicious maze veiled in obscurity
inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation
of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation

the torment’s ache so unfathomable
i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival
and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard
i magically spun threads of my shredded soul
into a mangled ball of mental lacerations

then stealthily in the opaque of the night
i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide
and deluging myself in the ebony water
i buried the battered ball
now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss

it sapped all my strength to hold it under
drowning in the wave’s of sea motion
stinging salt alive on my pours
gasping for air i surrendered my grip
releasing my marred orb of élan vital

capitulating to the sand on the beach
i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll
unraveling it glistened against the white sand
an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight
mirroring the stars against the coal sky

in the lustrous lunar midnight
reflected back by silver moonlight
littered with specks of fluorescent insight
astonished i drew in my breath as i read
words interlaced in the untangled web

the wounds are there
creating a looking glass
peer in
and you will heal
your own consciousness

©2016janetaylor
Passion Pete Sep 2018
I've molded myself into something terrifying.
At night I linger, worn and lost.
Inconceivable mirages wash ashore
of past memories locked away and sent drifting down the river.
I sit in desolate stillness,
As the river rewinds flow
And the bottle returns to me
we defied
societal op orders

usually it goes hello
then eons of pretense
merry-go-round
exquisitely painted masks
marveling at each other's *******

but we tripped
some secret passage switch
falling through corridors
landed abruptly
in the phosphorescent core
and tagged the pulsing walls
with lines visceral

it's a backwards procession
and we keep eating asphalt
imagining simple things
seems rather inconceivable
like tea...

and when I do imagine
it's usually a pantomime
of exaggerated expressions
giggles and holding back tears
from all that can never be said

it's safe to say
I'm lost
and confused

somewhere between

me
and you
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me

and the more I heard the faster I turned

as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
      best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes

passports are even faster

I never had problems
   with band-aids
       the bank
the insurance company
      the healthcare system
never turned down
      for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
      or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
      and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
      and the faster I turned

then I learned
   about certain specifics
      certain policies

with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government  
       syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
       even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
       has more than one stanza?  
really there were four stanzas?

MY country ‘tis of ME
      and it was making me feel *****

learned that no one
      voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
      o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
              were ordered
      to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
      certain death

then I watched a cop
       shoot a kid in the back
              in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******

baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore

I hit the brakes hard
      on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
      of turning
I slowed down way way way down
      stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
be more than words

> As published in North/South Literary Canon
Magnetized, re-energized.
Memorized
the sound of your laugh.
You were
Living below the ghost of my past,
Repairing the cracks
and holes punched into soft walls surrounding what was
once a home.
{Could my heart be inhabitable again?}

The vibration of my Voice grows clearer & stronger when you're beside me

I think with more clarity,
I speak with more certainty.

feel an aliveness within the silence that we share.

I never want to miss you, I always want you near.

I feel a calm strength within you.
An iceberg, reaching
depths beneath
the surface inconceivable.
I feed the fire -
that brings summer back ---
Warm the ice with my hands.
(Melt! Release ! From a frozen trap)
...  Snow
Floods down the mountains as a rainbow
Flow
Let go
You know
You've got my soul.


I feel
your smile without opening my eyes.

Let's spend some time
Looking at what we've found
Learn to help each other unwind
Let go of Mind
And just listen to the sound
Of the not so distant waves
Watch the signs sail on by
Only we decide
which option to follow.
What's it all mean,
Love's great mystery.
What it means to you,
what does that mean to me? .
.

-Hayleo Liz
11.30.2018
#hayleolizpoetry
#hayleoliz

Hayley Elizabeth Redinger
Jerry Vital Sep 2018
I came to you like a lost sheep
But you shorn my hopes away
Until I started to weep
Leaving me filled with dismay

I gave you my benevolent smile
In return, you gave me your atrocious stare
That makes me want to exile
Away from your care

I thought meeting you would feel special
But I ended up feeling more vulnerable
Making this encounter superficial
And inconceivable

You attempted to make a jest
But your intended jest was a real damp-squid
And no matter how hard you tried your best
Your personality still appears insipid

So with this unhappy encounter
You got to excuse me if I'm a deserter
Because away from you I gotta be
To be with those that can help me
cmp Nov 13
We suffer most like thee though we do so not uniquely or discretely to later put thee psyche at ease

we're descend to instruct not guide or pacify thee though obvious failure derive from our shared direction being not of path

just as what may befall be not of fell tru this why no mortal to arose toward second life era be this why thee designed me

tru we often spoke though thee seldom heard or spoken back to me
true we often laughed though thee recollect no enjoyment with me

yet still whenever ones will of ire or ailment we promptly serve to aid thee

much like gravity what comes up maintains ones daily adaptability above ground

much like lite what goes down be of inconceivable phenomena of which inevitably circumvents impasse between thee and us

set tru why we ever embrace thee, thee enlist us, us harbor all that incline to be of thee
taboo-boon-one-13
It feels like thousands of needles are stabbing my body,
my soul my heart
when I think of
you and I
always being apart.

I miss you sister,
like I don't want to believe, 
 can't even come close to
percieving any reason
for you leaving.
How can this ever build me -
whenever it's done
breaking me down?
Flower petals scattered on the ground.  
Your essence of effortless
pure beauty astounds.
The most Divine woman around.

Why !

  Sister, will this catapult me
into action?
÷.÷
I bust windows
and run in through the flames, 
 as I endlessly scream out your name,
at the top of my cracked voice, swallowed by the chaotic noise
of
Our house -
 on fire ,
the whole world
on fire,
burning,
and crumbling
  splintering,
The pain numbing.

inconceivable destruction,
a vortex of melting wind,

& to what end?

What  could stand after this storm,  
for those who survive,
what all heroic wonders
will your memory inspire?
÷°÷

. My Aquarian angel,
if you believed
this is what it would take
to bring in the new age.
I know you would do it.  
And you would Without any fear.
(Oh my darling!)
If only
I could
have met you on that pier,
if only
I could
have helped you
see crystal clear.

You are so perfect ,
you are so needed- HERE! !

angel,
every drop of advice
you ever gave me,
I promise to heed it.

How can i do this mission without you ?
how can anything be put right
when it has gone so incredibly, irreversibly wrong?

I'll miss you're voice in every song
I ever sing,
every Melody I ever bring
will be for you.
I pray to God you hear it too. .
. .
Every time, Magic Maya, this one's for you, every time.
Every single time.
I'll always miss you, please come through , I'll see you on the other side, Goddess Divine.


Hayleo Liz
Hayleo Liz Poetry
Hayley Elizabeth Redinger
Devon Brock Oct 27
It is not inconceivable
some smeared and blind thing,
like hail or perhaps some top spun
cue ball, maybe some blunt
beaked bird wary of our passage,
or a bullying stone,
unchaperoned in a spiraling sandbox,
or a slap to the back of the head
by the swift palm of a correcting mother
for some thoughtless remark -
a child's tongue unrestrained...

A child's tongue unrestrained,
naive, precessed, tethered
and dragged, star-eyed and still
reeling because I said "hell"
in Hecht's men's department
on a Thursday, because I didn't
want peas, because I wanted
pudding and said "hell"
and she smacked me,
just stiff enough to tilt the axis,
just enough to shake loose the leaves,
freeze those vanilla puddings.
Yes, that must be the reason for winter,
the start and wobble of all things northern,
cold-shocked by the sun's glancing blows.
SE Reimer Mar 17
~

when eve’ning calls
the day to end,
and steals away
beloved friend;
naught for holding,
naught for love;
only yearning,
for what was.
once where pillows,
cradled heads;
swallows tears,
wept on their bed.
once the soil,
on paths two walked;
turned to dust,
beneath a rock.
within each tear,
the salty sting;
a silent sob,
the daylight brings.
lips that spoke,
in loving notes;
that kissed each dawn,
with healing hope;
mem’ries now,
a silent voice;
whispered prayer,
a stifled choice.
these the trail,
of loving well;
leavings of
a lover’s tell!

~

post script.

“brother-in-law”... when a beloved sister loses her battle, what becomes of that word?  do the words drift apart as the hyphens are disbanded?  and what of the light that once added brilliance?  is it forever fractured?

thirty-nine years is a trail long walked; a tale colored by hues both light and dark.  a loss such is his, is to me inconceivable; i believe i would choose death instead.

~
*** he talkin bout?/
.
you're lost in ur clout /
.
Witches turn ill/
.
gnostics must be killed /
.
the chill/
.
was from the real/
.
Smoke from ur lips/
.
tales of the crypt/
.
blood worshipping/
.
in contrast to the worshipless/
.
cerebral cortexing/
.
inconceivable ****/
.
addicted/
.
lost in my mist/
.
conflicted/
.
they steal from the creative/
.
these texts are changing/
.
I am every single mason/
.
born the bravest /
.
christ is tasteless/
.
blameless/
.
no shape *****!
.
so wicked /
.
how you feel constricted/
.
restricted/
.
can't witness the victimless/
.
arithmetic from letter to numbers to sound crown shatterer/
.
untouchable caliber/
.
***** damaja /
.
destroyer of memetics/
.
you still lost under credit/
.
im debtless /
.
train your temptress to slay the overcredulous, prophetic method
.
they spoke of me in the past/
.
They 4eva learning my craft/
.
your magik wont last/
.
.
i will forever BLAST!/
.
gatekeeper of your drafts/
.
impervious to your satanic laughs with a graphic mass

His voice created land that could not be challenged/
.
clans bow to my lance/
.
Conversational pedagogical stance

Discerning epistemology dance/
.
a life passed dichotomies advanced, without chance/
.
most certainly, you perennials worship me/
.
in black  in white, from blue to burgendy/
.
infinite soul currency/
.
more green, than your reptilian Queen's bloodstream/
.
unpossessable/
.
more mentionable/
.
detestable to the uncredible/
.
indeed /
.
Your are repentant due to your arrogance and greed/
.
he speaks, so you can see/
.
listen to me just LEAVE...../
.
unstoppable atrocities/
.
with a velocity to have those lost mocking me
.
you not watching me or listening/
.
i am competitonless/
.
you’re victimizing/
.
no sides,  no sizing/
.
no pride,  no dying/
.
no lying/
.
stop your bloodclot crying!/
.
the truth is/
.
the truth is truth less/ war brute to ur dualistic booth, too smooth/
.
like a victory when they think you lose/
.
their loss is a priceless cost/
.
I know Eye/
.
i show eye/
.
thats how I expose eye/
.
Their loss is a priceless cost/
.
I know Eye/
.
i show eye/
.
thats how I expose eye/
Outside Words Dec 2018
In the year 3131
They come to devour our suns
Terrible, godlike, interstellar giants
Inconceivable beyond all reason and science.

Humanity and all her colonies,
Divided amongst the galaxies,
Finally united once and for all
For our race dare not fall!

To eliminate the threat of annihilation
We constructed planet-sized stations
That house massive and powerful guns
To protect and defend our vulnerable suns.

As our fears vanished behind us
Those in control sought to rebind us
For systems of authority never change,
Not even with pervasive freedom in range.

With the powerful distracted by their lust,
For control over every speck of dust,
There emerged a demented cult
That believes our race is at fault,
And beings that come from above
Do so out of divine, parental love.

These naive and delusional zealots,
Inspired by avarice long embellished,
By a ruthless society lacking empathy,
Have developed an ever enduring apathy.

Seeking to destroy our only defenses,
They mount violent and ****** offensives,
Their rugged, disorderly fleets crucify
As humanity is unable to reunify.

However, there is another cooperative effort,
A last stand, self-organized endeavor,
This vigilante group battles cultist detestables
They call themselves The Solar Sentinels.

Bound by a principled, passionate collaboration,
The Solar Sentinels defend all people and nations,
Engineers and military minds come together
To ensure our survival and prosper, whatsoever.

Now, one existential question remains:
Will humanity break free of its chains,
Awaken, realize that we are all one,
Disregard old orders and save our suns?
© Outside Words
Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018).
Nate Helwig Dec 2018
Jealousy, a final decree.
Admittedly a fallacy submitted formidably... impervious?
She'll move onto sea.
Move on from those who can't see.
They'll show us what it means to see.

Presently a mistaken alignment of aliment, yet so indicative of the deceptive.
An intervention of emancipation requires degradation of the love that relegates, brainless.
Vindictive of the culture, fault, to penance, too addicted.
Barbie style, she heads an isle of the vile whom are consumed by denial.
Normality brushed aside with the hand whom highlights brushed, melting eyes.
Life, an achievable yet inconceivable lie shrouded by personality.
Subjective to the respective hospitality.
"Aint no love for thee..."
I just hope, some day, there will be love for all. Until that day, there is no fault for being one who can't belong. We are the great, bar the hate for today is the day you show us what makes you, you.
Jade May 26
Ghost Writer cries.

But you can't hear her.

Sometimes,
she can't even hear herself.
Or, at least,
she chooses not to;
she chooses to ignore
the sob caught in her throat
like a pill that's washed
down the wrong way.

Ghost Writer attempts
to swallow her sob
which then catapults
to the depths
of her stomach
where she can
never
reach it
(where she can never
fully tame it
to silence).

When Ghost Writer
studies her image
in the mirror,
she can't quite comprehend
the sight of her reflection.
The intricacies of
human life become blurred,
almost inconceivable.

Head tilts in
bemusement--
"so what ?"

Lashes flit against
shrinking pupils--
"these eyes are
vortexes of dream."

Breath respires from
mouth to mirror to fog
to--
"I am not real..."

Ghost Writer's body is
tethered to the earth,
but her soul dwells elsewhere.

Heart pleads,
tries to convince her
of her own existence,
pounding with the force
of a Goddess' blood
against skeleton-key ribs.

But heart cannot
get through to her.

Heart is padlocked,
too far removed from subject,
like the monkey's heart
that "hung" in the
rose apple tree.

Phantom heart
for Phantom Woman.

But it is unclear
if Ghost Writer is the monkey
or the crocodile's wife
in our fable.

Ghost Writer is hungry,
but for what exactly
she hungers for,
she does not know.
She only knows that
she is barren
like the eye sockets
children cut out of
white bedsheets on Halloween.

The colour has been stripped
from the canvas of her creation.

Ghost Writer is
an unfulfilled masterpiece
(something will always be
missing).

So she picks up her quill
to make sense of
this senseless emptiness.

She writes and
she writes and
she writes and--
"How prolific!" they say.

Yet,
all of these poems and
not a friend to her name.

Ghost Writer
sleepwalks through
the terror of this
loneliness.

She goes to grasp
the fingertips of those
she once knew--
those who once cared
(supposedly).  
Anchors to ground her
to the reality that
threatened to strand her.

A mass of beating vessels--
proof that, as long as they
are in her presence,
as long as they can offer her
the tentative connections
of their friendship,
she, too, is alive.

But when she reaches for them,
they pull away,
seamless as the air.

Ghost Writer breaks,
haunts the desolate
alleyways of her psyche
with the plagues of
her insecurities.
Self-esteem erodes
until she devolves
into her worst nightmare--

nothing.

Ghost Writer disappears
(this time without redemption).

She leaves no souvenirs behind
to perpetuate her memory,
no tangible mementoes.

She leaves behind
only that which
will not be destroyed,
by fickle, selfish hands:

She leaves behind the
Poetry.

For even long after the
Vanishing Act has
resolved itself to the relics of
what has  been lost,
Ghost Writer shall
always have the last word.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience.)
Shay May 6
In a place of absolute bliss

I can sense your arrival
Unlike any other

I can see you approaching with a glisten in your eyes

Alas,
You have evolved
Yet another height

Never to be expected by many

Your smile the purest form
Like that of a child

Your strength inconceivable
How tall you’ve grown

I see you
I see me

For it is me that has mutated to the essence of the authentic self

Untainted by the world
Yet from this world

I can see your glisten
Radiant as the stars in the galaxies

Unknown to men

Illuminating beyond all beliefs
As I stand and leap forward to gaze into a closer look

Let me see you
Let me see me

Now I’m captivated
In hypnotic state of soul

Never to be released

For this is all I know.....
All I ever want to know.
Trust the process
Sketcher Apr 12
An hour goes by, and a raindrop falls,
I look up to the sky, while receiving no calls,
No texts from my lover, because she’s sound asleep,
So, what happens to me, I get lost in a dream…

I walk into school ten minutes after seven,
I sit down all alone and then I am beckoned,
Over to a kid who wants me to teach lessons,
Based on Japanese culture in a matter of seconds,
Cause school’s about to start and he didn’t study,
I couldn’t care less, I’m like, “Bro, I’m not your buddy.
Stop bothering me and stop trying to act funny,
Go ask your Asian sister, that *****, Mrs. Chun Lee,
She’s a smart Asian girl, so go ask her for advice,”
He just glares for a second and then he leaves my side,
I see my girl walk in the room and I’m quickly tongue-tied,
No words come out my mouth, but the mouth is open wide,
In-between inconceivable mumbles I kiss her,
But words aren’t enough to express how much I’ve missed her,
I feel so clingy wrapped around her like it’s Twister,
The guy from earlier walks by and has the ***** to diss her,
I slowly get up from my comfortable position,
Right hook to his face to remind him his decision,
Lacked any compassion and my perfect precision,
Broke his glasses in half, now in school that’s called division,
My math teacher walks by and quickly gives me an A,
The bell rings and my girl says, “I don’t wanna be late”,
I say, “But, baby… first period is our date.”
Too my surprise she takes my hand and says, “Okay”,
We walk to the dugout and find a bench to sit,
She sits on my lap and I feel her ****,
Keeps my hands warm, but not as warm as this:
She undoes her buckle and I go towards the ****,
Slipped under jeans and underneath the *******,
Feel her up everywhere, yeah, every nook and cranny,
A little bit of teasing, because that’s what she fancies,
After ******* quick, I ask if she can scan these,
Two big ***** and my six-inch ****,
She buckles her belt, gets up and checks a clock,
We got forty more minutes and now she’s looking shocked,
Cause I whipped it out fast and she eyes it like a hawk,
Cause it’s throbbing and hot and ready to be used,
I’m sitting there wide open, ready to be amused,
Like a magnet she lurches, and she’s quickly fused,
Mouth to ****, I said, “Slow down!”, but then she refused,
This girl has got it down and I’m soon to ***,
It feels so good that my mind goes dumb,
I start thrusting my hips and her eyes spun,
Back in her head and she’s choking on gum,
That’s exactly what it sounded like at least,
Until I convulsed a few times and then I ceased,
Cause I came and that **** had sprayed and then leaked,
Straight down the throat and my girl, she had shrieked,
A gurgle of a shriek, but a shriek nonetheless,
But you could see in her eyes that she had no regret,
As a matter of fact, she looked practically possessed,
Possessed with satisfaction upon my request,
We were both ready for round number two,
I pulled my pants down, she took off her shoes,
To take her pants off so I could abuse,
Her tight twitching **** with five-star reviews,
She hovered a second and slowly lowered down on,
My quickly recovered **** and then went to town on,
The **** like it was the only thing she could count on,
To bring her joy in this world, but then I turned the frown on,
Her face… well it was more of a hungry pout,
I steadied her body and told her all about,
Slow *** and its greatness, but she had doubted,
That it was that great, so she rerouted,
To rocket speed and I grabbed that ***,
I never thought that hips could move this fast,
I’ll tell you one thing though, this ******,
Could never in one thousand years ever surpass,
Any other experience, but I say that every time,
Cause *** with her is sure to be sublime,
Then after we finish, she likes to climb,
All over me while I tell her she’s mine,
Snuggles after *** is the greatest thing,
Cause you’re out of energy and just want to cling,
Closely to your partner and that’s all during,
The cooing and protecting and the safely securing,
Of my baby in my arms, it’s just the greatest,
Right after this happened, school was canceled,
I had to make sure my baby was happily handled,
I took her out to a movie and candlelit dinner,
At the end of the day I felt like a winner,
Her parents invited me over to spend the night,
I happily accepted with surprised delight,
They sent us too her room to get out of their hair,
And at this point, I was finally aware,
I was sadly dreaming, and my baby was still in France,
This figment of my imagination can’t get in my pants,
Sadly, I woke up misconstrued a few minutes later,
And thought to myself, definitely one of the greater,
Dreams I had in the past few nights,
Most of my dreams have been full of frights,
Nightmares come more often than not,
Now I had dreamt of my baby, I had got,
A taste of whatever was soon to come,
I laid back down, this time feeling numb,
Missing my baby with all of my heart,
Felt like I was being pulled apart,
Piece by piece with a small pair of plyers,
Fell asleep again and had a dream of a fire,
The fire burned everything including my baby,
This was a normal dream, the dreams that I hated,
I woke up quickly in an irritated sweat,
Got out of my bed which was soaking wet,
With sweat and *** and tears and drool,
I was unmotivated and out of fuel,
I walked to the closest road I could find,
Sadly, my mental health rapidly declined,
A car came at me and I thought it would stop,
But I was hit and dead without a second thought,
After this happened, I woke up again,
I was twenty-three years old. I swiftly sprung out of my sheets and studied my surroundings. I was in quite the stunning house and in the bed I had leapt out of, lay my silent sleeping sunshine, the love of my life, Mia. Now I had to ask the significant questions… am I still in a dream? In this specific reality, is Mia my girlfriend, wife, or perhaps a close friend that happened to stop by and passed out in my bed? And the most important question of them all… where did the poetry format go?
Pretty visual if I do say so myself...
Postal Leo Jan 31
Tries to disappear, to a world of drama. Shocks real people far to much, end that **** with a comma. Confused by reality, diluted by hate. Wasn't given a real chance, no no, just told he could be ******* great. And he talks big ****, and acts real hard, cause he's afraid of dying. But I'll bet you twenty-five and a subway ticket he spent all last night crying. You don't gotta talk mad, for me to believe that you can punch my lights out. If you talk big game, what can you really be all about. Nothing, and let me tell, there’s nothing to make me angrier, so thank Saint Peter, that your protected by the power’s that be, is, isn't, and forever will sing!

As the world ends, and the chess board clears, fat man sings, then chugs a few beers, I’ll still exist, left behind by the rapture. No heaven for me, God’s light will never be captured. Yet I look around, and still see all of you. Even his people, have no clue what to do. Because all of us are with fault, unworthy of his plan. So he’s remaking the flood, just to deal with man. No rainbow to stop him now, he’s to go all out. And in heaven he’ll stay alone, his personal hideout. For he threw the souls back down to earth, he grew tired of them, but ghosts aren't real, cause I've never seen one man. Just saw a vision of the woman, who was meant to be my wife, hung upside down, taken her own life.  

So, as we waste away my dear, let us promise to never leave the other's side. For I refuse to be responsible, for your acts of mass homicide. In a kiss we bind our tongues together, now able to determine truth from lie. And now, just like late Sir Montague, I drink the poison, die. And then reach for the sky, see a man in blue, don't want to die. So scared of getting shot, it makes some grown men cry. Am I part of the system, of “systematic oppression”? I hope that it doesn't exist, and my kids learn the lesson. For it’s to late for me, i'm all out of ideas, and hope, and love, and anything to keep the world moving.

Tell my father, I'm sorry, I was disappointing. But let him know, he has a soul, worthy of voicing. Tell my brothers i'm sorry for being a bully. Making them backed in a corner, make em tumble down a gully. Dear sister, im sorry, i never understood our fights. Two top dogs always trying to say their right. If i, could turn back the clock i would. Because together, we could have owned the block, the entire neighborhood. And mom, we have had many a word. But i feel pride to call you mother, the same a gnat would a bird. And I all hope that you accept the one i choose. But I think still lose.

The world becomes unfamiliar, and i become filled with doubt. Not knowing who i truly am, something you know nothing about. When it all becomes against you, and your completely filled with fear, you begin to lose hold of everyone you hold dear. Then maybe you'll have an inkingling of what it’s like to be me, alone, afraid, all hope is lost, and you would make it better, at any cost. It’s just called emotional distress, and i'm under complete emotional duress.How can you find me this way? Acting like i got drunk, without a party underway. If I’m so lost without you, what's the point of sobering up? I think have nightmares of you, because your the reason i end up at the bottom, of a red solo cup. But in my nightmare’s there's a light that begins to destroy the darkness. Does it have a name? Is it coming for my carcas? Am i even of importance, to it’s omnipotence?

How does one even discern the inconceivable mass that is knowing all, being all knowing, rather, not being free, and never again having the chance to learn anything. It’s a, sad state of affairs that we’re in, when you have nothing else to live for expect living itself. Breathe. What does it mean? H20, science terms, and a few other things. But if you bridge away from your omnipotence, and look into the human mind, you’ll find, breath, means to live, live fast, strong, hard, and quickly. And that’s something omnipotence would never get you. Human emotion is far too complex to ever truly understand. Therapists, they make what we call, educated guesses, and listen to you speak to find the root of your problem, but beyond that….
I got a bit heated with this one, i suppose. Please suggest tags. Feel like this is one i want to update, so, look out for that.
Rose Apr 27
I hate how very few people understand the kind of love I have for him.
It’s a strange love.
A love I can’t explain.
It feels like the ocean washing up on the shore in the bright sun.
It feels like sand between your toes on a hot day.
It’s new and it’s bold and it’s inconceivable.
It’s unrequited.
It’s painful.

— The End —