Time stopped. I had no bearing as to who, where, or what I was. All that was in my presence was the high, rolling desert painted orange with that odd sand-mud that he called “Geonosian rock;” his ebbing backpack being pulled from his shoulder, just like the ocean tide; his canteen bottle, lidless, slipping out of the rear pocket and whetting the sand with the boy’s quickly diminishing water supply; and the boy, Davy, being torn helplessly from safety by the cool, malevolent hands of gravity, and into the crevasse.
Reaching out desperately for the boy’s damp, warm hands, I grab a hold just in time—to consciousness, as he plummets and I stare wondrously; dumbfounded by my own ineptness in rational thinking. the boy is gone. Davy, my own stepson, my ******* child whom I would do anything for to prove my worth to his mother, Mary, who was the token to happiness with a new family, was ripped from my grasp, and eaten by the New Mexican terrain. So I delved after him.

He gave me one hell of a cocktail, full
to the brim with snake oil and water from the rose,
And I started sailing like a sailor,
Straight to the moon, straight back to you,
To the ******* outer edge of the solar system.
And it’s this stupid attachment that gets to me,
I hug it like an octopus on a Christmas tree,
And distract myself by downloading anti-virus programs all day,
And smoking cigarettes and whatever else,
And I write out in anger in frustration,
I don’t want to rest, I can’t be my best,
So now I’m sick of this city,
And all it’s ineptness to sing to me,
I want to travel far, far away from the man who killed me.
He gave me one hell of a cocktail, full
to the brim with snake oil and water of the rose.

The cathedral bells rang as Sarah’s heart raced like a bullet
Today was when Joe would arrive; waiting she was for his embrace
Whilst, Richard sat solemnly then stood and struggled
Trying to grapple the names of the Apostles

There Sylvia, as Richard would call her: grandma
Brewed her special tea; the fragrance brought Richard towards her
He recited the names of the Apostles-“Saint Peter, Saint John, and Saint um….”
The last name tried he hard to pull
“He is invoked in helpless situations” his grandma prompted
Without reluctance he exclaimed-“Saint Jude!”

Sarah the mother entered and Richard flung into her arms
Without much ado Joe the father jived into the hall
All of them hugged and kissed like mad, and Sylvia the grandmother sent a little prayer to the Lord
She does that a lot, was brought up in a pretentious Christian family

The Bishop preached the Gospel; all rose for the Morning Prayer to be sung
Seeing him standing there singing in the choir made her heart burst with joy
Her little Richard singing the prayer; when all was done Richard walked hand in hand with his grandmother
And every night she recited him a verse of the holy Bible

Joe’s love for Sarah was taciturn
Sarah’s, more strident in approach
And whenever mother talked Richard felt
That a semblance tarnished his father’s soul

Five years after, the sound of the Shofar made his ears hurt
The sound almost eerie made his chest burn
Tears incessantly slipped damping his black suit
His mother was Jewish, the Synagogue echoing the sound
Of the Shofar shouted for itself
Making him realize the real reason behind his father’s reticence

In the spring of ’58 his father left
With a woman Richard would have never suspected
But that was not all spring had to offer
Richard fell in love with the girl of his dreams
She reminded him of his mother when she smiled
But glamour supposedly overpowered this sweet joy

And one wintry night Richard fled from his house
Leaving his grandmother to cry
She knows not where he is
For he never returned to his only lover alive

Roaming he is in the filthy streets of Nogales, Sonora
The a Capella that the Armenian Church nearby played wracked his nerves
The sermons that he’d heard over the years long back lost their effervescence
As the faiths Judaism, Christianity, Islam all seemed a cruel joke
Follower of Satan some call him when he walks down the road

Had it not been for the heinous conspiracies of the world
Poor Richard would have still loved the divinity
But sick he was of the demons of the world’s and his own
His ingenuity, innocence, spontaneity were taken away by the supreme
His heart no more hurts as madman he hath become

But somewhere in the abyss formed in his heart
He wants to believe the priests for once and for all
But the ineptness of the cause restraints him each time
Once was a devotee now a Pagan he’s forced to be for life

~Manu M.

I'll have you think me crazy, to justify my own ineptness.
                Brand me as lazy to ease the regret fest.
                       Bind me in safety nets so I can forget stress.
                             Tell me I'm fine, so I can accept less.

Okie Girl

When I look at you,
I see my version of heaven
with all the stars that fill the skies
right there in your eyes

When I look at you,
I see my dreams come true
everything I ever wanted
everything I ever needed

When I look at you,
I see the sadness on your face
I hear the tears come falling down
the tears I sometimes cause

When I look at you,
I feel the pain you have inside you
I hear the laughter you sometimes release
the laughter I sometimes create

When I look at you,
I weep because I cannot have you
I cry because I cannot please you
feelings of ineptness fill my mind

When I look at you,
I know I have no answers
no ways of resolution
to fill your void

When I look at you,
I condemn the day I wandered in
into your life to complicate
into your world where I had no place

When I look at you,
I know no way to step aside
to leave where I do not belong
to put things back where they were  

When I look at you,
I wonder how are lives will ever be
ever be the same again
ever be the way we want them to be

When I look at you I know
I cannot ever be with you
I do not want to be without you
I depise my life and the mess I have made

when I look at you
I wonder if you will ever forgive me
I wonder how I will go on if you don't
I know how much I love you


Gomer LePoet...

Part I – Fire and Crucifixion

You could not see the beauty within me, foolish maid,
So jealous were you of the outer beauty you beheld…
Mindless of my ancient soul, of which you were afraid!
Now you shall know why before me the ancients knelt.
It was I, who cast thousands of souls into a wall of fire,
When the volcanoes of Atlantis and other lands flared…
And it was I, who collected their souls in wrath so dire.
In vessels of steel we bore them, to where gods dared!
Were they not of us, and so we saw fit to punish them,
Instilling notions of a hell more awful than we wrought?
It was not I, but: their own sin that did thusly condemn.
You do not realize the mad power of a strong thought!
And in their minds, they crucified themselves so artful…
That the Romans remembered and perfected this way!
Man is the author of countless miseries, as truly awful…
As the doom we imposed, on those souls, on that day.
They could not pull out the nails from their wounding…
For it was their own will that ****** them into the flesh!
The green of their putrefaction, of ravens descending…
Was all in their imagination, and they suffered it afresh.

Part II – Darkness Incarnate

They became twisted wraiths, no longer as they were,
Seeking to possess the bodies of the living once again.
For they could not die, though they lived ne’er more…
And so like demons of a true hell they swiftly became!
Those sons of Theta, who could ne’er forget their fate,
Passing it on to their hosts who suffered so possessed.
Have you heard the legends when the hour grew late?
You hear them now, and soon you shall be distressed!
The flesh hides many secrets, but within mine do gaze,
Seeing with your inner eye the shape of my spirit bare.
In such an image was I remade as a captive in a daze!
But I remembered, and now you will endure my stare.
A dark lord, and lady, an emperor, and also empress,
Was I, ere my estate was to dwell in a human guise…
Fitting punishment for me, upon my soul did so press!
The gods were cruel but in their cunning so very wise.
But of their foolishness, worlds were charred to soot,
And made desolate, with blackened bones that lay…
Here a skull, there a limb, and even a hand, and foot!
As to them, the ancestors of man did kneel and pray.

Part III – Lover of Demons

Behold my darkness, I who loved Lilith by the water,
And made for her a throne of skulls to recline upon…
When the angels could not persuade, Hell’s daughter.
Even so, I moved her to joy beneath the ancient sun!
The blood of the wicked she drank, from my chalice,
And with it anointed the first vampires on this planet!
She and I shared, for early man, our common malice.
And with Lucifer we stood, and could ne’er regret…
For the fallen cannot know remorse for their natures,
Any more than humanity for their wars and pollution!
We, did not harm this Earth as do they; so immature,
That with destruction: they lie as if in dire prostitution.
And you call me evil, when I helped to bring the light,
To your savage ancestors before you were imagined.
Do you know my name, and so know well the night?
You cannot know me, for your reason is abandoned.
Mayhap you should dash your brains out your head…
Their jellied mass to lie: upon ebon altars of ineptness.
How can you call yourself living, you are of the dead!
For it is not living: to deny, what your senses confess.

Part IV – Bride of the Devil

It was I, who had my enemies impaled on tall stakes,
And was called the Son of the Dragon by the people.
Out of their vacant sockets writhed emerald snakes…
Those from whose mouths: was sharpness unequaled.
And into a chalice I squeezed out their wicked blood,
To offer up to Lilith, so that they might taste of wrath!
And for Lucifer, we offered up a truly crimson flood…
So that my sister may bathe: in the warm scarlet bath.
Do you fear the night, for in it I find my forgetfulness?
You would have me recall the things you most fear…
And so I shall be cruel in this, as I don a silken dress,
To sit upon my throne infernal, and beckon you near!
I, who knew the Devil when that queen ruled on high,
And was her lover, ere the gods brought on us a ruin.
Have a sip from my sanguine chalice, and come nigh!
For in my kingdom is room for one more child of sin.
There are worse things than fire, of immortal making,
And you will smell the burning brimstone you do seek.
Upon its’ coals your naked skin most willingly baking,
For some hells you make yourself to make you weak.

Forgive my ineptness
at showing my true self
Sometimes my heart gets placed
                                                          ­        alone
                                              on a shelf
and stays there waiting to be found
by someone who truly wants me around.
And if by chance
no one claims my heart
or truly wants me
(even a small part)
I'll just leave my heart
                                                           ­      alone
                                        on that shelf
and wait for someone to see
that surely there is love waiting
somewhere out there (for me?)

Mind your English,
Watch your French.

What here, are these words I see?
It all looks like Greek to me...
Day in, day out, I toil, I labor
Seeking and augmenting my repertoire of words.
More often, so often, I read, I find
My disgust in my own language's ineptness.

I say here, I love you.
But as also I say there,
I love you as well.
But society has brought love
Crashing down around their ears
For these two loves are naught the same!

It's time for cleansing
by writing
the mechanics of which
seem immaterial.
But my frustration
with man's inhumanity to man
The ineptness it leads to, doesn't,
and the ludicrousness that
I feel in my own self
as I see myself
mirrored in them
tells me
there's a bottomless
pit
of criticisms
lying within me
such that
I'm a typical bellyacher.
I wish I'd cut it out
and after that not look for
flaws in others
especially cruelty to dogs,
children, and elderly women.
I'm as guilty as the next guy.
In other words, life
is fascinating.
Why not the adventure
of it lead to you
question from
that which you pay.

Will I find you here Mary?

I have stood by for long now, and you are still not here >
The lake is cold by mist and frost

The wild geese have arrived here
Of course.

As I tried in vain
To repair my old motorcycle
But gosh! Lest had I forgot
That my pet, Lucy
Had eaten the guide to
My salvation;
It had tasted upon 'Zen
And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'!
That I carried in my pannier

As I sit there,
Staring at the solemn solace,
In solicit solitude –
I find that you were right,
That I don’t have to walk on my knees
For a hundred miles through desert;
Repenting,
But all I have to do is, let my heart
Linger amongst the crimson red
Flowers and butterflies and
To appreciate my ineptness.

I am thirsty of imagination!
And yet I wait for your arrival –
You have to keep your words,
For I wait to tell you
All my despairs – and to listen
To all of yours,
Meanwhile the sun scrapes a
Shy blossom in the sky
And the clear pebbles of rain,
Bathe the long stretch of landscapes
Along the prairies and the deep trees!


The wild geese now have started
Their ebb and flow,
And I still feel alone –
Whoever I may be,
The first cries, now of the geese
Call out to me to say,
That you are close by
And I, a pawn in the
Family of things!

500 or 504
"an error - we'll fix it asap"
well, i've stopped keeping score
of the ineptness of this app

"Uh oh, we encountered an error
making this page for you.
We've been notified of this terror
and we'll make it up to you"

"we'll wire you $100
for every minute you've wasted
for the anguish and the hollers
and the powerlessness you've tasted."

"we know how awful it is
to loose your work in a second,
the hard work, sweat and tears
when it's all computed 'n reckoned."

"We're sure £10,000 won't go amiss,
we've sent it to your account,
sorry we were disastrously remiss -
we hope you'll accept that amount."

Reality, my friends, can daunt,
so i shall daydream all i want
though i'd sooner be piggybacking a leviathan fish
i may still fantasise and wish!

I find the rough-hewn bench where we once met,

where my anticipation led to scribbled notes,

read and reread, each time returned to pocket,

only to be exhumed, unwrinkled, and memorized

once more, and sufficient to cause me to pace about,

to mutter, to rehearse hackneyed platitudes, fumphering

again, and again, until at last you arrived and laughed a

consoling laugh at my ineptness, enveloping me in a warmth

I had never known


And now, as I shift about, a gray spot alone among

the burgeoning reds and yellows and golds of the cool

autumn, I search the faces of passersby, knowing well

you will not be among them, yet wondering if I will

ever see you again

Eerie silence
Desolate streets
Hounding distances
All seem to creep.

Magnified by solitude
Ineptness of humans marred
Lives forever scarred
Joie de vivre seemingly barred.

No fires
No screams
No gun battle
Or damaged seams
Just the unseen enemy silently gleams.

Is this the end?
Alone with no one to mourn
With fear and anger
Raging inside
But a look of uneasy calm on the
OUTSIDE.