Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me

Inquest 
Is it better to have 
Loved and
Lost and
Learned the 
Lecture of 
Life; unavailing 

Or be it 
Simple and
Stay
Silent and
Survey the
Selfless shadow of solitary

I have
Yet to
Yield a
Yearning for
Yesterday; I am 
Young

I've been writing of hopes and dreams
Seeking happiness from this life takings
Who is it meant for you're wondering
Is it for me or for the general viewing
Or am I reaching out too short within
Till you forget your very own living

I'm a fool fulfilling inquest of a portrayer
Illusions to soothe the eye of the betrayer
Creating encryptions lock to every scribbles
Even a space I can spare no farther

Lets just **** this rhythm and blues
Death is inevitably thats what i conclude
Now let me make this clear and true
Only through my poems you'll find the clues

But don't be mad if you get confused
For we are twins alike I hint you
Maybe through my riddles you'll produced
Or you could just give up its your calling too
For the end of the day eventually you will
Spent your nights stuck on your own puzzle too

©2014 Maman Screams

The sad thing is
I could have justified my instruction
with the simplest of reasons.
I would not have asked
a harmful or a wicked task of him
and I could have explained that
with perfect clarity.
But in the instant that he asked 'Why?'
my patience failed
and I said, 'Because I told you to.'

The implied threat was sufficient
and the task was done, satisfactorily.

If I had only known
that I would become one in a long line
planting furrow after furrow of bitter seeds
in this young man's head,
each of which would grow
into the toxic blossom of blind obedience
I would have checked myself that day.

But I did not.

And any inquest worth its salt
would line me up beside him,
beside parents, teachers, priests,
drill sergeants, generals, presidents

A line of dominoes
aimed remorselessly
at a smiling young woman with a placard
in a park, in Istanbul.

975

The Mountain sat upon the Plain
In his tremendous Chair—
His observation omnifold,
His inquest, everywhere—

The Seasons played around his knees
Like Children round a sire—
Grandfather of the Days is He
Of Dawn, the Ancestor—

1663

His mind of man, a secret makes
I meet him with a start
He carries a circumference
In which I have no part—

Or even if I deem I do
He otherwise may know
Impregnable to inquest
However neighborly—

On every single night, the heavens rise,
and the ages descend  when your eyes dance.
You ingratiate the barren night skies,  
Like a void star, befallen, left to chance.

Plight yet graceful on the adorned stage
the limitless expectation, recant.
A gift the blessing of the exquisite  
soft golden glazed inquest aspiration,

And in them I witness, the perfection.
The spike that pierces, a sinister sole
a driver of unhinged unworthy worlds.
To grace it with an unhinged perfection.

The heavens have come to set, to see you.
and I arise with the night to seek you.

Adults in their infancy -So scared of death
      walking, not living, the air has no taste billowing into the chest
Un-wanton of cleansed perception to see that life is our greatest gift  
and the time for I love you's kind words
and farewells is now
here on this holy ground I kiss.
      
         Among the most prized possessions the  beauty of this world is not one of them.
       Self dis-serving themselves sitting back watching the wheels spin.
  Feeding odium & abhorrence with sloth and vain pride in
luxuries once unknown and too soon will never again.
  
                        Take a moment my dears to struggle for each breath.
                        Go a pampered day with no water or bread.
                         Go without and go alone & for once pay your debt

                        No pill or prayer will cure this blindness of which you
                               were born and breed
                        Your outrage just suggests
                              That, the truth, to you, is dead.

Indignation is a vanity used by those who choose faith not seeking  truths.
  That and the following, to me,  was illuminated by a great
sayer of sooths
  To understand your  God
  You must first learn those synoptic chronicles
  A thousand  Gods  have told
  For years A thousand fold
You'll Do well to avoid the entanglements of those self  proclaimed        anointed  
  And  obviate  the pique they stir as they **** you even not disappointed
    
    Treasures you seek lie just behind the dark veils of bother you have hand woven to shroud you dominion
     Its no surprise honesty offends and ****** you like a knife
     Such little attention is given to the exigency's  of life
from the lost you take direction
and from fools wisdom
you adopt your school of thought
     Gods cares not what that chump told you
         with smiling  words your soul was bought
    No ceromony exists to convince God to Exalt
                 those that neglect the intellect
                       & from him our powerful thought
             To find a great friend, They first must be sincerely sought

  Mankind long from its womb still suckles the *******
Dispute in that Name brought atrocious inquest and unrest
  Just yesterday we took our first steps
Into some shade and out of the sun
and today we go no where 'less
                                             it's an all out run
   No one will reach their potential if on those ******* we stay stubbornly hung
   Our right of passage is on the horizon and there is greatness to be done.
    Its been made clear our Maker does whats best for us when He does nothing at all.
     Only you can scale your prison wall. You are the warden! And who is he gonna call?
                  Free from loving one, frees you to Love All
                          
                     Now see what I see waiting
                                            (for you)
                       The old ways and ruins made way
                                              (for you)
                         The comfort of fine cotton over head
                                                 (for you)
                            On which the sky bleeds light
                                           As a sacrifice  Each night
                                                   (for you)
                             It seeps into your soul
                                        Sustaining the mind on furlough
                                                     ( free you)
                               Oh woe to those who  choose  not to embrace
                                                       (the gift of you)
                                  To them the inevitable & enviable road
                                                        (bef­ore you)
                                     lies in wait, but the golden road will afford you

When you have an infinite pool of memories some may not be as clear as others but my first sight of her is as clear as aquarium windows
She had eyes that shined like a varsity star on JV, a smile that made me feel innocent, a laugh that sang to the inner child I hid from my coworkers and skin that i somehow just knew was as soft as Jehovah's pillows.
High School was my empire, my company, I was the head of the board, the CEO & looking at her made me weak, extremely weak, as if I was a college grad in my first interview, a warm gummy worm under a steak knife.
A villainous & crooked CEO I offered false dreams, led interns to believe they could earn a permanent position at my side, with really no true intention to keep them around past a short term, ironically one intern would change my life.
Although this is probably known, I have never spoken it out loud. My intentions were utterly negative, to lust and vacate, ignore her grief, & later ask for her friendship as if I had forgotten my deceptive ways.
Upon her accepting the pain I offered disguised as a fairytale romance hidden behind a friendly smile and a fleecy touch I couldn't help but think "I win again" unknowingly welcoming with open arms a loss I would feel for the rest of my days.
The losses that are complete losses are not the ones to fear. Beware the losses that taught you something, the losses that made you better, the losses that are treasures for the next person to cherish.
Can I even consider it a loss lord? Is to lose a blessing a loss or is to have had the blessing even with having to part ways with it a victory in itself? It's this question, this thought that would lead my peace, my morals, my sanity to perish.
A young girl came into my bureau & completely shook the foundation, transformed my rules and morals, flooded a chilled and dreary workplace with unquestionable love, kindness, and innocence.
The most beautiful things in life can't be bothered without retaliation, **** the most gorgeous tree and Mother Nature will scorn you, corrupt a lionizing sky with dark clouds and there's no way to escape the consequence.
Make no mistake she was & still is to this stay one of earths greatest sights, An antibiotic to infected eyes, fruit for the soul, and a nutrient i would inquest and crave for everyday.
Never had I met an intern so full of life, i set out a task she would achieve, achieve, achieve. My effort she matched, my spirit and Enthusiasm she surpassed, anything i put forward she quickly matched like a celestial 401k.
It's not everyday the Boss learns from the intern & the experience was nothing short of an epiphany. Her paralyzing deep chestnut graze taught me to look deeper than just what the eyes revealed.
Her heart was as pure as ****** from the furthest regions of East Asian jungles, a heart so pure it purified and cleansed the heinous of mines, an affection so real.
The most alarming motivators in life are Love & Pain. We are willing to Die for what we Love & circumvent the pains we fear at all cost, until what you love is the source of the pain & we end up so confused by excruciating emotion we are willing to die for pain and avoid the love.
In her absence that's precisely what I did. I played hide & seek with the idea of Love & searched for pain, My soul would seek cuts, my heart craved anguish, anything that periodically felt worse than the regret of that game winning catch I let slip out of my glove.
Needless to say she taught me to appreciate everyone in this Company I called My life, that an intern can impact your empire just as much as a chief financial officer, just as much as your successor that is your pride and joy, your only kid.
We wish to believe we are in control of our lives but are we really? Are you in control if one mortal being can change the direction entirely? All that is certain is that we should love and appreciate however we can. Open your arms, open your heart, and most importantly open your eyes, put a microscope on your life, it's usually the things we subconsciously write off as minor and small that turn out to be so big.

"Imani's Internship" -Dash Pinder

There is a dangerous man I implore you to take heed
He will do anything to satisfy his own need
He will pretend to like you, on your soul he'll feed
When he's got your confidence your heart he'll always bleed
His persona will alter,  his greediness will breed
And he'll resort to ****** when everything's agreed
when he has got everything, he will make you plead
This man must be stopped, don't let him spread his seed
There are too many of his kind and so many of his creed
There is a need for justice, my sisters souls not freed

Praying on my sisters kindness and her vulnerabilities
knowing of my sisters illnesses her medical disabilities
Using underhanded tactics to exploit her instabilities
Relying on her personal assets without any liabilities
To get his hands on her things without any responsibilities
being part of her life to use her house and her facilities
If he didn't get what he wanted, turning to hostilities
Overpowering my sister's state of mind limiting her abilities

When he sold my sisters things his intentions where revealed
Once he bled my sister dry then her fate was sealed
when his plan came to ahead he dumped her in a field
Leaving him to ransack her house and her things he stealed
All of those missing weeks our sisters death concealed
With our sisters sad demise our hearts are never healed
He should pay for his crimes, without the authorities shield
Confess to what he's done and make the ******* yield
Don't succumb to his lies, don't let his influence wield
You better watch out for this man and keep your eyes well peeled

During our sister's inquest the evidence was curved
It was an open verdict the true facts where reserved
We suffered 9 weeks of hell, our point was not observed
Mandy's life was forfeited, her life was not conserved
he got away with ****** didn't get what he deserved
The punishment should fit the crime not anything preserved
No one was accountable justice wasn't served
Convict this man of his crimes, decisions not reversed

Our sister never had a fare chance all she had was pain
He tortured her mentally all for his own gain
Lying for his own ends he was my sister's bane
Causing her physical harm, by his hands she was slain
His part in her death is not so straight or plain
Due to his interference we'll never see her again
His presence at her inquest, his choice was to refrain
Crucifixion is to good he's humanity's biggest stain
Destruction should be performed, on society he's a drain
Justice should be served on that murderer and thief Mr **** Tustain

A wave of thought always encircles you,
A wave of yarn link to civic concern always involves you,
A hope for change always enforces you,
A longing for endeavouring cogent living always inspire you,
Your brashness for a transformation yields this long journey,
A journey for reflexion, inquest, elucidation and communication,
Communiqué for an unfailing thinking and for an effort for human wellbeing!
Now it is the time for us to continue this journey,
A journey of unfurling thought for rationality, fairness and equality!

Here are burdens riddled with subtleties
Mysterious questions of life and death
Mushroomed out of an addictive breath
Artificial intelligence for government subsidies

Yet, beyond earth lie no inquest or induction
Posed on greasy brink of insanity's fallacy
Coming upon junction of humanity absently
Greater guidance larger than sapient deduction

Are we falling through space or are we suspended?
Can't help now, but with forethought will accomplish
Foolish fire to which we pay homage
Lighting a candle for now, for all in attendance

Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.

All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.

So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,

none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.

Since the vortex will be ******* up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.

I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.

An inquest that demands  to be answered
a concealed suspicion that lingers on like a cancer.
Days  after days it keeps on augmenting
the craving propagates,
although the elucidation is still suspended.
it could be  alongside or could be distant
or still an object that craves to be existing,
the separation is crucial with the resolution being more brutal.
But then in the dark nights
its your demons that you gotta fight.

and i will go to her,
either monday, or tuesday,
and ask her:

doctor...
what is the lesser
of the two evils...

drinking less,
or rather, not drinking
at all,
    and only being
able to find roughly
2 hours of sleep
in 50 hours?

or drinking...
ending up waking up
imbued with
a body odour best
ascribed
to a whiskey brewery,
and being awake
for about 14 hours
of the 60 or so available
hours?

     do any of these
hallucinations come
from sleep deprivation,
while all these
        omamy of a
      desperate tongue...
translated into
    a language of despair...

in the newspapers...
the opinion is:
    prison cells are not
schizophrenic hotels...
funny...
   i must be the oddest
variant of a "schizophrenic"...

i was mistook
   a police van for a taxi cab...
lying near to death
from alcohol poisoning
at a bus stop...
a passer-by called
the police,
we exchanged courtesy
with the police-officer...
he was pleasant enough
to put me into
a police van cage....
and he drove me home...

i must be an oddity...
   my reaction to psychotic
anger is like a turtle...

mixed opinion about
my experiences
with the police...
one cadet cuffed me
while i was on my knees
and shouted at me
for ******* in an alleyway
on drunk friday
in romford...
while i just refused
to get up...

          hand-cuffed
one minute,
   hand-cuffs missing
the next...

   it's either i was a good
liar, or wasn't a liar
at all...
  like: what sort of idiot
would lie about
being schizoid?
   for a meagre social
"allowance"
   of 120 quid a week?
**** me...
7 years later and i'm
stretching it...
stretched it as far
to travel to Athens,
through the Balkans,
Poland, Amsterdam
  and back to London...

hence my dissonance
when it comes
to the "question" of,
   "reality"...
             like i ever tried
talking "reality"
  on a scale of inquest by
the physics department
of Edinburgh university...

and then the radio
spews out:
  bruce hornsby -
i start thinking about
the neurotic cage
of the lyrics of
   2pac and the "stealth tax"
of... ******...
        we just borrowed...
and then my reply:
so when
is my chance
to play the tennis back?

   it was never
a harsh: plagiarism...
but in all honesty?
  i felt more free being
hand-cuffed
on my knees telling
a colt police cadet
that: as much as he
was going to scream
at me:
i would not stand up,
he'd have to pick me...
getting kicked
in the *****
at one of those martial
arts classes
for not shouting
HA my making
a martial law chop-suey
walk...
was easier...
   than all these mental
cages...
   fake *******
of saying: 'the "n" word'...
no...
   i'm pretty sure
those people
   are saying: 'the n- word',
   see...
i don't see the "air" quotes...
i see there's a hyphen
in that...
   so...
   it's a prefix statement...
of the already apparent
thought: screaming
for some retribution
of a past,
  which has not currency
for me in the present,
other than...
     bruce hornsby
                              ft. 2pac...
so where's my tennis
moment?

        coolio ft. pachelbel...
being thrown under
the multicultural bus...
    like:
   i might even want to relate...
but being born
into a very monochromatic
society...
  monogomous-in-ethno-centrism...
but...­
   police officer
care for no *****?
   in london,
given the knife crime
epidemic:
   it's more ***** care
for no *****?

    - but i'm cool with that...
white boy uncomfortable
    posit...
         can only ever become
a mental health patient...
who has never been
section, doesn't know what
a mental asylum looks
like...
   know how psychiatrists
employ false regression...
know the chemcial
cocktail...
             insinuations
of: "abused as a child"
   talked about in third person:
talked aloud...

i should have just left
this night with
gyöngyhajú lány...
but then this song came on,
this piano...
  and i thought
about my childhood
friend samuel...
  how i walk across
st. valentine's park
from my house to his,
and from his house to school...
and we'd spend about 3 hours
per day walking
and talking...
  we'd pretend to be
skateboarders...
   and all round
   basic ****-ups...

and seriously: some of the language
is just bait...
   such a base piano
originality...
    being taxed with
      so many words akin
           to 2pac's... sample;
just when when words
are polarizing,
and they're not philip glass,
or krzysztof penderecki,
   seemingly the:
      last chance script.

p.s. samuel,
who introduced me to
old jamaican cream soda...
and...
     how to not
    don a mohican haircut...
and...
           what is ever
come from within
   the circus of memory.

When I do sum the moments of the dial
And spy the bold day to darkness fall,
When I survey youth advance the while
And bister coils to white unfold for all ;
When soaring trees so leave their leaves,
Which formerly did a great marquee make,
And Summers' blooms yet bound in sheaves,
Stillborn in a tomb with webs on the grave;
Then of thy allure do I inquest, I inquire,
If thou among the ebbing tide must go,
Since lovers & beauty do themselves retire;
And shrink as swiftly as they once didst grow;
Then what else against the passage of Time
Can ensure survival, besides a timeless rhyme?

Scarpered for the siren liquor
Shame-seared claret cheeks
Lost to time and regulation
Found by terrified relation
Taught that gravity was quicker
Supine in the streets

Too pie-eyed for interventions
Fuddled buccaneer
Too aware for rectifiers
No relief with pacifiers
Banished now for contraventions
No more welcome here

Therein lies the contradiction
Tricksy elbow-******
You designed this cunning passport
Teamed constabulary transport
Speedy coveted eviction
Purposeful offender

Now we nurse the convalescent
Scarring quips ignore
Dodging pleading, wounding protest
Culpable without an inquest
Feeling without feel-depressant
Pain-drink tug-of-war

Where to put our damaged kindred
Languishing in grief
Ductile truth in glass distended
Remedies are not extended
Therapies are judgement-tinted
Distanced from relief

Imminent familiar wipeout
Nowhere safe to be
Don’t do as the doc suggested
Cede to being bottle-bested
Bottle-lock in private hideout
Throw away the key

When I do sum the moments of the dial
And spy the bold day to darkness fall,
When I survey youth advance the while
And sable coils to white unfold and dull;
When soaring trees shed their leaves,
Which formerly did a great marquee make,
And summer's blooming bound in sheaves
Stillborn in a tomb with webs on it's grave;
Then of thy allure do I inquest, I inquire,
That thou among the ebbing tide must go,
Since lovers & beauty do themselves retire
And die as swiftly as they once didst grow;
Then what 'gainst the passage of time
Can ensure survival, but a timeless rhyme?

I think it's more the current of your being
That pulls you into my embrace
The ink is permanent and seeing
Beyond your eyes and smile like a race
Against the teachings offered then
When I could taste the bittersweet guilt
When I remembered how to count to ten
God's words were fabric in my family quilt

And now I'm being lured away
By yearning kisses and your cashmere love
It means enough that I just with you'd stay
I've given up a lot, too much, above
From where this scene is crystal clear
The angels cry, ashamed of me
Or laugh and whisper words of comfort in my ear
I guess the truth, I'll always fail to see

These moments so awaited accidentally
Of pressing my heart up against your chest
Eliminating arid sorrow gently
Just giving, taking, and forgetting all the rest
And touches, lighting love on fire
I let you drink it off my tongue
Our firm embrace composing infinite desire
Ephemeral reality leaves aspirations hung

And where could I inquest salvation
For both of us, and keep it all
Avoiding lies and slick temptation
Recovering after the fall
Past midnight, stirred by dreams of wishes
A teardrop slips off eyelash tips
My soul just murmurs, breathes, and swishes
Awaits to brush against your lips

They’re bringing the illegals’
crowd to the police department,
And chaos is beginning after that,
The part of the illegals is released
after bribe’s giving
“Everything’s OK”,
with their documents,
everything.
The illegals’ part is falling under
evidende’s records’ will,
The policeman must be
“kind”and “evil”,
“Buxes’’ part from those ones
who have been released
Is given very culturally
To the major operative orderly Officer.
Migrants are indignant at it
Saying: “Our rights are violated,
we aren’t considered To be people.”
The orderly officer
did tell them:
“Have you a complaint?
Write your petition then.
To the department’s head’s temporal acting,
the truth’s in this!”
During every conference
he receives his unpleasant dose:
Сrimes revealing is falling –
the General puts him
in an awkward pose.
The methods of finding a way out
won’t be new in this
He’ll raise crimes’ revealing
by divisional inspectors’ means.
It’s not obligatory
to be super-brilliant,
To tell the truth, to compose a crime’s fact.
The divisional inspector
is taking a homeless
Man empowered,
he’s giving him money for bread
And ***** telling him:
“You’ll say during inquest:
The man threatened
to **** you by this knife’s means, this case.
Will be in summary operations.
That’s great!!
At the beginning
the divisional inspector’s
giving him 1500 roubles for putting by.
The homeless Person said:
“I am friends with Sasha-Blue
who is a victim.
Give me some money
for a pack of “Troika”11, please.”
The divisional inspector
being contented gave him
a hundred roubles more.
The summary operations on the CC’s
Case were given
in the evening.
The divisional inspector is
Learning from divisional inspectors’ head
After his arriving
at the police department
That we won’t let anybody
go home without
any crime’s revealing.
A revealed crime is too little- the police’s head
Is expecting a new crime’s revealing,
even the divisional inspector having
Thought said:
“I am keeping theft in mind,
Let us let others go home, home and”
Only naive Vasya will go with me,
something like that.
They made up their minds thus –
the agreement is in force,
Vasiliy is going to reveal a crime,
of course.
He gave his colleague
a few thousand roubles
for his
Aid in this crime’s revealing
as soon as possible
by means
Of trustful persons
theft was revealed
on that day
I will tell you of those further events,
I feel like it,
anyway.
That divisional inspector was placed
under guard
According to article 286
This story is an unimportant event
Within the country’s limits –
“What’s the ****?”
Will you ask in indignation.
Only policemen often raise
crimes’ revealing’s indexes
in any Russian Police Station.
{2018}

В ОТДЕЛЕ ПОЛИЦИИ

Привозят
нелегалов толпу
в отдел.
И начинается
беспредел.
Часть нелегалов
отпускают
за взятку
– С их документами
«всё в порядке».
Часть нелегалов –
под протокол:
Полицейский
быть должен
«добр» и «зол».
Часть «капусты»
отпущенных
– Всё по-культурному!
Отдаётся
Старшему оперативному
дежурному.
Мигранты возмущаются:
«Права нарушаете!
Совсем за людей
нас видимо
не считаете!»
Дежурный: «Есть жалобы?
Пишите петиции
– В приёмные часы
рассмотрит
начальник полиции!»
А у начальника полиции
своё есть дело –
Некогда до петиций,
Ведь он
временно исполняющий обязанности
начальника отдела!
На каждом совещании
в округе
получает неприятностей дозу
– Раскрываемость падает
–Генерал его ставит
в неудобную позу!
Методы выхода
не будут новыми –
Поднимает раскрытия
участковыми!
Не надо по-правде быть
супер-гением,
Чтобы придумывать
преступления!
Идёт участковый,
берёт доверенного бомжа,
Даёт ему денег
на хлеб и водку!
И говорит:
«В дознании скажешь,
что при помощи
вот этого вот ножа
угрожал убийством –
пойдёт сразу в сводку!»
Сперва участковый
даёт бомжу
полторы тысячи на заначку.
Бомж: «С Сашей-Синим,
который терпила,
дружу
– Дай ещё нам
на «Тройки»
пачку».
Дал ещё участковый довольный
сотку
– По 119 статье УК
вечером
дали сводку.
И в отделе участковый
узнаёт по прибытию
От начальника участковых:
Сегодня не отпущу,
пока не сделаете
«раскрытия».
– Одно мало –
начальник полиции
ожидает новых.
Наш участковый,
подумав даже
И говорит:
«У меня на примете
есть раскрытие –
кража!»
Давайте
всех отпустим домой
– Лишь Вася наивный
пойдёт со мной!
Так и порешили –
договор в силе:
На раскрытие идёт
лейтенант Василий.
За помощь
в раскрытии поскорей
Он дал коллеге
несколько косарей.
При помощи доверенных лиц
в тот день
была раскрыта и кража.
Как было дальше скажу –
не лень
– Тот участковый
по 286 статье УК
был заключён
под стражу.
Эта история
в рамках страны –
маленькое событие
Спросите Вы:
«What the ****?!»
Только в Российской полиции
зачастую лишь так
повышают показатели
по раскрытиям!
{2018}

Translator - I. Toporov

Nauseating persiflage pontification
by aeolists with hollow minds,
it's a zugzwang situation,
so stuck among the prolix.

Panglossians in one ear
pessimists in the other,
a hiraeth longing for hygge,
yet stuck in the social mire.

Nonneutonian fluid vacuum,
imminent immersion of initiatives,
halting inundation of discerning,
heading toward a humming flat line.

Suddenly I adimpleate, with joy,
an archetypal suggestion floats in the air,
I excuse myself from the aretalogers,
and hunt the primordial source.

With legwork and inquest,
here and there on the scene,
I am defeated, misfortune,
alas, absorbed back into the quagmire.

Nestlings

I write best
Close to the vest
I attest
It’s what I know
Best

In my nest
It’s what I
Behest
I write best
Close to the vest

Be my guest
I’ll unload
My chest
Be just like
An inner inquest

I write best
Close to the vest
Just sit tight
I’ll feed ya
The rest

Bill MacEachern
03/24/23

The intimate god,
versus the body of slain faith,
was not ready to bring in the rains.

What quality was the substance
in shadows, while you were
reigniting the inquest?

The space was shrinking
noiselessly. The nest―
was crowded. You would not

place your frame on the wall.
This happened, which
was, not supposed to happen.

The eyes don't blink.
You are looking straight in the
glass of elegy. Why coming and going

of a name should affect the masses?

I

for weeks prior to your death i sat with a premonition
of bad writing and a toothache -
not that i ever thought much about my writing -
or that i would have to think very little of it:
more on the lines of - id est quid est -
                                      mind you - i took my mind
off writing by working in the garden  -
the pergola had to be erected so an evergreen could
be cut down -
and the wisteria that was hugging it
could be cleaved from it and dropped onto the:
prior mentioned pergola...
there was some light cement work on the fence:
a little trench had to be dug so the neighbour's
weeds would not burrow beneath...
                all that since i last saw you -
come late july - most certainly - no... wait...
come to think of it... it was late august...
me and your son-in-law (my father) were driving
across all of europe -
and on the way back i remember the heat on
the belgium france border...
                 it was an immense sensation of
whale lung thrown onto a frying pan of a stoney
beach... or at least: the sensation of stickiness
is how it could be imagined -
                perhaps that's how you can ever
begin to read a bruno schulz's cinnamon shops -
immediately from the first sentence:
that barrage of ultra- something or other:
ubergrammar - no... just that necessary style i am
yet to accustomed myself to...

II

that was 3 months ago - and i'm still learning
that: we live by regrets and memories -
which are hardly sins -
just as i remember, you'd say...
'call me every month and check up on me,
call me up and say "hey grandpa! how's
it going?!" i know we both can't talk
on the telephone - to talk you need to see
hands move, you need a face to peer at...'
that is my regret...
although the last words we exchanged
were about you wanting to buy me the rest
of karl ove knausgaard's mein kampf...
which, 3 months later, i knew you would...

IIIa

i've finally sat down to scribble something
down - if i were using my right hand
and a pen on a piece of paper
you'd immediately recognise my hand-writting
and tell me how unrefined it is:
that i'm chicken-scratching -
that i write like: kura pazorem -
   and i'd tell you: precursor of the next
stage in the process: i'll be typing
through and through...

      you died on the 23rd of october
at 5:30am if i remember, 5:10am
sounds better - circa -
            your wife (grandma) called
circa 11am on the 22nd of october and left
a message - i was out walking
complaining: how i'm not alone enough,
premonition after premonition -
she called in a confused state although
i beg to differ - that you were heaving
your last pangs of life
in a hospice - or that she just placed you
there...
i had my ticket booked for the 24th hoping
to catch you: just yet...
on the 23rd i was told at 8am...
your daughter my mother told me
upon waking, then left the house to pretend
nothing had happened...
i got up, cleaned the house...
i begged a deity or simply ex nihil that
i might cry that i might be left with
a sinking sensation...
by evening i was sitting with a headache
worth a siamese twin and hardly
welcoming the next morning where
i would fly out...
    sketchy: barely any details...
and that's how sorrow, grief, anguish...
began to creep in...
the tears your daughter cried...
i would gentle waver in a pseudo-dance
with her in the bathroom
as she cried into my shoulder
and would later
blow her nose into my t-shirt...
it pained me that i was unable
to release my heart from these piles
of rock...

IIIb

it's the 1st of november: guy fawkes night...
i'm sitting sipping a 30% cherry *****
and pretending to chase it down with some pepsi...
3 months ago i told you i quit smoking,
i lied and i didn't lie:
i continued to smoke 2 a day -
when i wanted to write, when i pretended to write -
and on the odd occasion that i proved
to myself that i was writing: i smoked 3 per evening...
hardly the usual pack a day...
3 months ago when i last saw you
i didn't smoke a single one...
for the last 3 weeks i saw you...

IV

the most vivid image i have of you is you
picking up knausgaard's autumn and reading
an extract about eating apples -
how he never leaves apple cores -
just eats the whole apple so that there's
a pleasure and then a debt at the core:
of bitterness -
i pondered this twice on a walk...
if you leave enough flesh around the core...
three bites along the length of the apple...
and you fiddle the apples seeds
with your tongue and teeth...
there's hardly any bitterness of...
eating an apple like a magician...
hardly any lesson invoked concerning life...
but that wasn't our usual conversation:
you already exhausted your cameo cinema
of memory to the point where
i would remember the surnames /
names of the people in your life...

colonel zydaczek in your days
as a military gendarme...
on parade in warsaw...

V

the intricacy of the hell that is family...
i can't be fooled about how unhappy your marriage
was...
kept for reasons of propriety or some other:
safety mechanism or the best kept excuse imaginable...
what might have been preserved if...
say... if i were the sort of man that was born
into the 20th century -
                many years prior to 1986...
you would have been a great-grandfather for
at least 10 years...
it was hardly necessary to be the only grandchild
but that i was... and remained...

VI

you're dead and i'm still three-quarters alive:
how can i write some solace for myself:
how can death become this spectacular cut-off
point where i can no longer harvest
any memories of you...
you're dead and i'm lingering -
not completely debilitated:
just unsure whether a mountain is this
grand metaphor for something
that is:

today i tested whether grief is an aphrodisiac,
i ****** off to humbert humbert's
fantasy since it was already freely
available and felt no need to go beyond
what was already taboo...
then i took a shadow and i knew that
if on high: herr omni- c.c.t.v. cyclop eye
would not be looking at such details...

you're dead and i'm not going to beg
for rhymes and odes -
to write some miraculous epitaph -
beside cutting up onions today -
tears! finally! tears! i managed to cry
authentic tears once more!
it only took cutting up an onion to do so!
but, with such tears...
no softening of the heart -
heart's still a stone...
and brain is still... hardly a whirlwind of
disposed thoughts
and only: pickled with eye, ear and tongue
extensions:
pretty hoarding fungus chappie: sort of...

VII

i'm happy to tell you the world is still
"happening": whether by concerns for dasein
or a lack of thereof... but the mud / **** flinging has
never been greater...
you took the best of what autumn had to
offer...
a bouquet of bronzes and geld,
of frivolous yellows and burnt orange translating
itself into bold deepenings
of transcending prime artifacts of:
her gown of sweet scented rot: of(f) brown...
you should have seen the light
as it married itself to a fleeting of once
formerly amen of green...
the blistering sky as blue as a aristocracy of
angelic blood: formidable events took
place: i imagine you were in conversation
with someone...

VIII

the ceremony itself was unspectacular...
if the restrictions weren't in place:
i imagine many more people would have come...
three women stood out from
the rest, i imagined them to be your
former lovers...
i stood at the entrance of the church
not wanting to talk to anyone...
closing my eyes i moved from side to side
like a tree teased by the wind...
you were attired in prof. trim of navy
as i was... black can hardly be associated
with mourning or with a funeral...
i chanced upon navy...
grey was also visible...
but black is for paupers / plebs...
something more refined was in order...
navy or a darkening - charcoal grey...
we talked about this: or at least i imagine it
to be so: black is reserved for
priests and for crows...

IX

since your death i have found a return to england,
every time i left you, i left dear mother,
poland,
i guess not anymore...
since the headache of all the formalities:
and your son (my uncle) being so unbelievably
circa 50 years old...
never mind... and your wife (my grandmother)
i landed in england as i only landed
in her ***** only once prior:
the first time -
hardly excited like the first time -
but content that i... don't really have anything
to return to: that feral land...
for the first time i can become
so carelessly formal: expediently pressed
to poker my stay in those black-holes of
a land: you were dying like a patriarch
of former communism when
abortions rights were atheistically pronounced
and liberally secular...
the women came onto the streets
in protests of their rights being removed:
that they would have to give birth
to deformed foetuses...
notably? because by biological deficiency:
they would still have to be born...
since ****** or **** didn't play a role...

barbarous land of catholicism...
and all this time i was like:
so... what's it like then?
i ******* into a tissue and flush it along
with the crocodiles...
am i committing genocide?!
if i were given a fixed amount of *****!
perhaps... but this ***** comes
like glue or salt in the oceans!

Xa

in the prosektorium...
             the dissecting-room... the morgue...
after all... i knew that walking around town
and putting up the necrologue would be easy...
3 x 100ml of ***** bravado and i was:
pirate-chested hairy!
my long coat and all the your pearls of beauty
would start calling me gwandp'ah...
the bureaucratic details of your death:
someone had to identify you in the coffin...
i was expecting something: completely different...
i'm not sure someone can prepare
you: prepare you seeing a dead body...
esp... a dead body attired for a ceremony...
hell... i've seen a roadkill before:
a fox... i kept feeding a fox for a month...
seen a fox up-close...
i imagine a dead body "by accident" is a lot different
to... i've seen a  man knock another man
dead - one blow to the head
and a pancake on the street...
it's a bit different... seeing someone...
so well presented: for: the ceremony...

Xb

upon entry i remember the colour of the tiles:
what a bewildering window-shopping
reference, a sponge of a waiting room,
i don't really knew what it was that it was
supposed to be waited for:
identifying you:
you adamant to not get new porcelain worth
of teeth: milkshake baron you...
slurp up the rest of your meals...
i supposed... you and your missing
prosthetic teeth...
but first came into view your shoe:
which wasn't yours...
but as an extension of your feet
i guess it was...
it was "just there"...
             NUR DA...
                     peeping from above
the horizon of the coffin...
teasing me before i would come
antlitz zu antlitz...

arms folded: immaculately cut fingernails...
a bruise from the igrawka
of dryp dryp dryp...
your sunken cheeks...
your lips stitched together:
yet your sunken cheeks...
your inability to borrow a jaw... strong enough:
that pearl of a pear of your chin...
your frivolous last expectation
of the already lost hair...
of course i couldn't be a pure
atheistic / materialist -
i was a child again: i wouldn't call it
a soul: i would call it
the sigma-of-animation...
the sum-of-animation...
obviously this was missing...
that detail that essence was lost:
the earth implored for the body to be
paid as ransom...

but there you were: face somehow
recognizable: yet returned to the generic
project of the dead, the babes
and all those daddy-long-legs
anorexic models parading exhausted
beauty on catwalks of:
skin a leopard... dress a skeleton etc.

now we have conceived that:
i want to drink to tell the truth...
i will not revise this like some comedy
sketch:
it's not the best i can do:
it's all i can...
let's not pander to critique or a lack
or audience...

Xc

i do remember a "little" detail concerning
you...
you were a philately enthusiast, weren't you?
no wonder only i among the closest kin
wanted to sleep in the room
where you least heaved:
spewed some blood and were
surrounded by books...
and there be postage stamps!
i "stole" 4 albums with a collection of
them... i hardly think of selling them
to pay for electricity...
believe me: sooner i dead in belgian
euros or swiss franks at a dignitas clinic
since i'll be left completely solo
than have to...
sell them to sustain myself...
but as it happens... your wife...
my grandmother... was furiously tasked:
well... tasked me...
with withdrawing the 500zl per day
of all you 7000zl worth...

money money money:
i do wonder what grandma will spend all that
money on...
i don't think i'll want to inherit:
but these stamps are...
well... i have photographs of you from
1965 when you were still a young man...
but you were my grandfather:
i own your identity card...
with a photograph taken circa 15 years ago...

the circus / the church already stated:
you have died you are relieved from
all things temporal...
why the spatial details at all matter:
coordinates "hier" coordinates "da"...
and "sein" and "abwesend"...

you became a brother at the funeral...
you were no longer hierarchal with contest
for power broking future and past...
my brother: not my grandfather...
the priest: father, said so...
       *******' load of hierarchy:
fiddling sputnik violins from kindergarten...
roman catholicism...

grandmother still stresses her upbringing
ever-more...
she still thinks we are vermin-people
and that ****** should have started
with us rather than with the hebrews...
you and i know that's
a ceremony of: no comment...

how would you have detailed this approach:
i know how you would have:
it's not even worth mentioning since
we would already graze upon a superiority
complex with an inability to brush it off
with a laugh...
because we wouldn't laugh...
it would be a a headache to detail:
and i was born with this "other" half
included...

XI

look! we're nearing the devil's dozen...
which comes to the clue:
13: as jesus the hey-zeus!
       proto-paul and the propaganda
of how the hebrews and the wounded greeks
overthrew the romans...
ruled for a bit... and then...
come... the ottoman turks...
sort of... gave head....

XII

we could joke: ich: the plural ownership of they,
ich: haben - that deutsche and i,
one might always expect a dog to bark
come the night...
no no... this all too much detail for all:
the necropolis of poland that's nuanced
egypt - they have to buy up lease
for their graves...
carve out graves without dates of death:
they buy out 2nd mortgages of pyramid
democracy and crux...
the hebrews left pretended to giggle:
hard torn with the ashes...
me buying up history which could
never compete with an anglo-1960s
detail: snippet...

XIII

that i find an oyster wriggling in
the shell that's a skull that's somehow
a chewing gum's worth of a tongue...
this phantom of ***** white that's white
that's also stained with burgundian lashes
of agony of sipping wine
while spilling it over the cranium
of golgotha...
scalped...
learn to detail this new graffiti....

XIV

i talked to Paul before i took toward
the darkness and two ****** pretending
to be virgins upon the mt. of Kierkut...
he asked me how tall i was...
then he stood a step one above the tally
of my count, above me...
to measure up...
  and as he talked i had no face:
he would only concentrate on the region
that was supposed to be an ownership of
my heart...
once... i talked to a nurse on defeaning
tube train...
i was lip-reading...
but this thief: he told me... Piccadilly Gardens
of Manchester...
in the prisons with
the russians... and those that punched above
their weight... would inject vaseline or
whatever might... cushion a "sudden"
disappearance of knuckles to
make a full-fat-pouch of a fist...

poluse... not ******...
this guillotine measured "short" would bemoan
his luck with women...
around us... women walked like
sacred cows...
any old mongol would have... would have...
soud-hampton high on Herra...
this is just after your funeral...
i had to take a walk and pretend to
breathe and own a dog...
my list of excuses writing you
are drying up...
what with the promises of the islamic
republic of the world...
all these untouched all these
unloved virgins of the wriggling harem...

XV

arktyka - antarktyka -
antarktyka - arktyka -
             sąd - sad -
  sad - sąd -
      judgement - orchard -
           arctic - antarctic...

XVI

an... AFFOGATO...
well... that's 30ml of espresso...
and... a scoop of ice-cream...

XVII

what daughters-in-law there could have been:
if... bread was skimmed...
and the milk was...
trickling down from heaving...
stones instead of believing oneself
to be a courtesan of cows...
what promises governed the hebrews...
when... for what was their lot:
and subsequent loot...
the qurun drilled a blackening portal...
the arabs celebrated...
the russians would always inherit
siberia...
estonia was given  snippet
of the baltic sea curated by the danes...
lithuania shrunk into memory and beyond...
germany frau benß fur immer merz...
the huns / gargoyles in southern greece:
i.e. and northern macedonia...
balkan pirouettes of detail:
regained pride...

ah! ya!
ß = "z"
s = s
c = k
z = "c"                 jawohl!

XVIII

herrbittebonbon!
and your finger sticky from all that
SS-toffee...
translation: herr! bitte! bonbon!
which you always were...
the 1939 prior to the "adventures"
of the 20th century...
which sedated the grand yawn
of the british empire come
the zenith last exhaustion of
the 1960s and then some
"tremor christ" quasi canadian
for the finicky "end-of" summary
of a ******* football match-up...

the ottoman Janissaries vs.
the egyptian Mamluks!
   vs. the Mongolian horde!
                 in german it must sound
universal:
ist der straße gerad(e)?
to hell with asking in one's native
spreschen... future bent... nuanced got...
this returned alt vater spreschen...
i come with a shadow that
king arthur combated...

XIX

i would be writing a wriggle of russian:
if i were also writing enough finesse of
diacritical detail(s)
but given this diacritical blank:
dyslexia prone pro-latin english
UMPIRE stutter EMEMEM EM...
i would be: but apps don't work
with cyrillic or ancient turkic...
chopper
čopper... wait... what use is that...
extra P?
            çopper?
hiding the "jew" the god... the mammon...
H - one leg one arm of
the tetragrammaton...

        i don't actually mind...
it's not a conspiracy low i.q. "theory":
the dictates of rhyme and fact...
best posit a revision of
punctuation:
the hyper-stressed: newly arrived at
jerusalem kippah brethren are:
insomniac: "somehow"!

it's more a: huh?!
"they" missed the poetry train
and the hyper-cultural-reinvention
of the 1960s... still stricken-blind by
what... erik lehnsherr (henry hillside)
had to endure...
what are these puffs of blistering
a pyramid a sight... these halves?!

like we'd had to total: amost...
a crew of party poopers...
we were we are... these shadow-deafness
"equipment" best excusing:
           für immer fortschritt!

     tsukunft: in ergets nit...

  so much for hebreq married to germanic...
and not to the neighbour... zunge...
yiddish wasn't born from ****** tonguing
long: oi! oi! lithuanian spears!
the last remains of paganism...
by prior to moscow... blah ah ha ha...

it's not like the jews married themselves
to ****** or russian...
they said their jingle-bells with
pseudo-germanic:
yiddish... didn't they?

**

i've just seen a corpse readied for a funeral...
coffin and all...
walking through a graveyard
at night is... all too easy...
come to think of it...
i want to sleep in one...
my mortal democratic oath:
i can wait...
no matter...
give me two sponges and enough of them
soaked in acid to wait...
allow my tongue to get drunk...
my ears to succumb to deafness...

how you could deviate from german
with a spice of the odd 'ebrew...
you could...
yeah... i'm one part convinced this
secular niqab tactic does work:
as long as the arabs own
all the yachts and the air-conditioning
and all the camel milk and leather...
but... once they show...
entry points for disgruntled
mongolians...
        
        my corpse is waiting
for the 22nd century for all this to become
a promethenian platitude worth
of yawn as any... prior:
or future:
but thank god...
i'll be left without having made
any genetic investment...
perhaps an idea of mine...
perhaps some artifact that i allowed
myself to keep for a transition
period...

der ende!
as it happens... the world is...
my grandfather died...
i have little concern for the better half of it...
i'm cradling a wound of a quarter...
i guess that's how you
contest things passing guised in
matters of a temporal inquest...
however it goes...

drunk this night...
sober... two nights solid tamed with...
the worst kind of sober:
a socially expected sort of horrid;
a 14 day self-isolation presccription;
otherwise? me?
jog-friendly... whiskey and cat's whiskers!
*******! birth of h'america come
november!

empires die in afghanistan:
among the pashtun women.
oh yeah... lived for being fed the soul
of Karen and Mr. Surprise: a Gein Mommy's
Lover Boy -
butz the baconz iz oh soz sizzlez! ya?!

Colour becomes white
Like Doves
Transparent windows of ice
The sun shines down valleys
and alleyways
Crimson in devise

Light beams of orange and green
Send Larrikins tending
To fields of magical beans
To ride upon an insects back
Dressed in robes of inquest black

Tortoiseshell Mottled
Outback Bottled
Wattle Tree
We see the discovery
In magnified photography

Little whiskers
Like astronauts
Like blue defines the out line
of an afterthought

Colours return
In high definition
Sublime eyes
Sneak a second glimpse
of the premonition

Silver and gold
Stories foretold
In the ages of old
Surreal animals
Exchanging gifts
Plugging the holes
Of which become rifts

The delicate curves
of ambiguous reef
The place where wayward
Ships come to grief

The whole world rides
On a Tortoise's back
The illusion of time
Soon shows up in the cracks

Misty rivers
Cascade through valleys
In place of the footpath
In place of the alleys

The earth is a middle age man's
Hairline receding
With a mind like a open cut mine
With a heart that's bleeding

Baring itself to the elements
Delicately flowering
Self-pollinating diversity
In the face of adversity

Our Attention turns to flying
Gracefully
Showing
The birds what to do

it's not that i'm gagging for them, but then again i'm suspicious as to why i don't receive them... where are all the malicious comments, the insidious emails, where are they? i'd love to receive a pigs head thrown at my front door, i'd love becoming an adrenaline junk comment feed filled by load of ******* dressed comments... i mean, my email account is quieter than a graveyard, i keep probing the hornets' nest, and all of them seem stoner lazy... i keep probing and probing and probing... and all i get is an ox's **** back.

maybe i'm just a loveable alcoholic,
that has enough time on his hands
to describe what time is,
given that space has been occupied
by a parabola of einstein,
the the several other impossibilities
of the generalised inquest
as to what is, possible, and as to what is,
impossible.
      i'd be the richest men alive had
i seen the rings of saturn, eye to eye,
but i won't: hence the maggoty stench
of reality overshadowing me...
or that cat's meow loosened inside
my head -
        off the rails -
i tell ye,
    don't buy a *maine **** cat,
they're just like bloodhounds -
easily depressed, and often too clingy -
you'll end up like me,
   with a feline pavarotti in your head,
i've never hear so many distinctions
of meow in a thousand lifetimes -
quarus, the bane of my life,
if you can call it life with him included;
easier listening to a hundred dogs bark than
his meow distinctions,
     a million mice and one piece of
buttered cheese: can we please, please,
please make this guillotine work?!
    i don't want mice without broken
necks... this cat's ******* annoying!
it's like a baby, cries for nine months
suddenly stops, and starts to suckle at the teet...
it's a bloodhound incarnate as feline...
i don't have the heart to tell the ******
to stop his moaning meows...
but the ginger isn't exactly
a charlie's angel worth of revelation!
ugh... grrr...
       next thing you know i'm pampering
kenyan toddlers on the sly...
had this one night stand though,
with this african bubbly...
what did i end up with,
a child male ******* his thumb,
coming to sleep on my hairy chest...
stroking his afro while trying to
imagine tight-knit spaghetti....
and it really felt like: are you hers,
or are you mine?
                   did i mentioned she preferred
to fake a ****** with her thighs?
oh, sure are ****,
the senegal boys were buddying up busy
with the games console,
i was a surrogate white boy with
a ****** reclining on my chest
falling asleep...
                kissing him goodnight,
and, words aside - i like the racial slur
glue, apologies, i'm not a ****** in
this respect, i just love to avoid
choco, and i much respect
the dr. dre - ******, please,
its either dr. dre or it's
you try **** a kenyan lass,
and she throws a baby boy at you?!
******, just say it:
i'm an usher fan...
you ever had a one-night-stand
when you get to lullaby a black baby
on your hairy white chest?
thought so.
**** as a six pack of **** nuggets...

and i really was up for a steak &
kidney pie...
  i didn't sign up for this sort of love,
but given there was the question
of love on the roulette -
"homie" had a white father for a night...
i guess that was me
measuring ****...
    and the access of promiscuity -
like **** did that work...
sooner me it, and the elephant
in the room,
    than the bling readied easy ride of ****.

i still can't forget that little ******,
his oily twirly curls of sub-sahara -
the buttery feel of his skin against mine -
how easily he fell asleep in my hands -
how he didn't discriminate me not being
his daddy...
   his mama who faked her thighs don't
being ****, who i said to: no...
you just pulled your children from the bed
onto the floor...
and there the poor ****** stood,
at 2.am., ******* at his ******-dummy -
naked, me naked, her queenship naked
next to me, her naked daughter on
the floor by the bed like a respecting dog...
hey! reality!
  so i took the scruff into my arms...
laid him on my chest...
    and he took off into the cloth of night...

no, ******, no no no!
i'll say these words like you rap them,
you don't own a nuance in a thousand miles
of the "proper" usage -
    i have the abiding jest to say them,
what this one-night stand experience,
plus, the pakis in england demanded i be
deemed: vermin...
  i'm pretty sure they're behind that
vocab selection...
      sure thing ****...
i'll be king vermin...
                   wanna see my chew?
grit nibbling, teeth that scold beyond
the bone -
  teeth that chatter and gnash,
treating a piece of bone like a corncob -
until they start suckling on the marrow:
the moment when
rats turn into leeches,
is the moment when rat teeth gnash
past the bone and reach the marrow:
suckle that ****'s worth
                 of freckled blood-clots:
vermin does, what vermin is said to be.

as i always state:
learn how to read, or at least to: reread...
   hard to spot the tuxedo language,
when everyone on the most inglorious stretch
of pavement is wearing hardly a tux,
but a straitjacket.
       oh sure, the sharks were always asking
for the gentle touch,
    the lions were always asking for the gentle
touch...
     for some reason, man was always
asking for a touch of sanity.

==============================================
Waves are asking a question to the sea shore, inquest
How many times do we to come here to go back again

Since our birth, we are in a process to get the final rest
Each and every time we come to you to go back in vain

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

superficial overtones...
the Kaiser bites the *****: turns it sour
from all that saliva-glue...
and the French want to rekindle
the glory days of Charlemagne
go down with Napoleon's
overstretched ambitions into
overstepping into Russia...

but at least i tend to my conversational
overtones...
i don't like superficiality of
this love yet to be tasted:
yet so yawn: ah so tender...
give me three proper glugs
of southern comfort on ice
after roughly 4 hours
coming back to havering-atte-bower
doing a lap of hyde park...

and i'll tell you how weird
is feels cycling into central Loon'don
when once upon a time i'd take
the bus... the tube...
and use up some of my legs
in the labyrinth of Bank station...

honestly? cycling through London...
i thought it was much bigger...
the tube enlarges what's made
available...
what is 20+ miles to and back...
the flat serendipity of London
that's almost like the joys of tulips
and the Benelux...
you can cycle for miles...
of note: from Aldgate toward Stratford...
from Stratford to Ilford...
from Ilford to Chadwell Heath:

demon speeding, no other...
i almost wish to own a horse by now...
but then the symbiosis associate
with four legs trotting two legs
lagging, hanging down on the sides
of a torso...

it's unlike heading toward Southend on Sea
or into the nitty-gritty: rolling hills
of Essex via Epping...
plus the thrill of cycling through traffic...
cycling with objects that might torpedo me
to a death...
the thrill of the roundabout...
it's such a cerebral fatty-hard-on
to peddle...

           after all... 29" wheels and i cause
a stampede... of flutes torturing
carl Orff's O fortune: on wheels...
but of no concern...
"they" didn't leave their abode with
a Yiddish...
like they left-off burger-burning
and burning bridges of etymology like
they did in: Hamburg...
did they...

Russian didn't leave many words
for original maneuvering /
    manoeuvring (too many vowels)...
god no god: but the words are available...
those vowel siamese twins
of AE & OE.... one can understand SH
coming together for a crown (Š): caron...
to hide the lesser "goik"...

                /məˈnuːvə/ vs.
[muh-noo-ver]:
hands down... the british linguists heave more
rock of letters than their
h'american counterparts...
if... linguistic reiterations are to be minded...

all these 'postrophes and 'urds
and almost cockney shortenings are
to come to any fruition...
all these Scotch accents with not diacritical
marks all that but not Gaelic...
fine fine clause...
so... why do the Velsh still retain their
Çymru?

to hell with "getting to know" these
natives: sometimes...
ask a rock to move with telekinesis as probe!
blow up Mars... grief a life until retirement in
a swamp you could retract to eat
with it: by a magic wand...
turn into a stew!

yes yes... i heard "correctly"...
  
/təˈmɑːtəʊ/ vs. [tuh-mey-toh, -mah-]
vs. well yeah... katakana:
            トマト
            ポタト

don't get me started on the grand: Toe & Camel...
tow-may-toe...
yes... i get the choke "joke"...

- yore! the burger buns are: burning...
i'm halfway reciting my bob dilly-dan-dan
adventures and i've lacklustre sensations
concerning old age...
i shun it... on the shores
of the Faroe Isles i cling to a mythological
possession of a pebble...

to fathom a a cloud like an
apparition of a swan...
i will detail the youth we shared,
together...
over something akin to a Loch Lomond...
Glasgow begged us to yawn...

no "toe" in a katakana to:
no... "toy"...
it's either a: t'oh (ト)...
or a t'eh (テ)...

and this is what laughter looks
like in ol' ***'
(unlike a spanish giggle
of a german saying yesyesyes
quickly):
                  ハ ハ
                         ア ハ ハ
                                               ハ
                                                    ハ
i expected much more from
the natives: that they might known
their own tongue and its
"shortcomings"...
i truly did...

given they govern a "diaspora"
that's so well connected
and it's sunny in England
but raining toads
in the Vermont of the U.S. of A.
love for acronyms falls short...
no?

Marble Arch looks aplenty weird
when you can fathom the entire stretch of miles
without there being anything implicit of
of "automation"...
of junction...
it's not like me a Beckett with a tail
for a bicycle...
i'd like to see Paris, again...
on a bicycle...
it must feed such a shortening of
a... lessened inquest of interest...

        of course... came the conquest of idea:
enough clones are the a plenty...
of Islam... but there will always be this bothersome one
that will "think" and think it's otherwise...
there's always one and one is
enough to balance out a plethora of equations...

to conquer England is to have a Miami smile concerning
this fickle... bothersome: and "weather"...
to conquer England is to have a
mosque erected in Bradford... Luton...
their cuisine is superior, don' you think?
oh, wait... they are the blue 'indus:
the last mother superior 'inds...

         in the zunge of the natiff...
i too would think "otherwise":
they did have an arsenal of spices
greater than the nuke arsenal of
either the soviets or the h'americans..
we will be glad to be educated concerning
the use of cumin, coriander...
black cardamom bombs of pseudo-whiskey...

toe-may-***!
        tow-m'ah... tease!
                    a clarity of the syllable junctions...
like giving birth to time...
like collapsing into atom
for the purpose of spacing &
coordinating...
like the time Albert Fish stuck needles
into his pelvis before
being electrocuted...

and this might have been an event
to equal the raising of
the Eiffel Tower...
but then again...
if it wasn't the Eiffel...
and there was Albert Fish...
i'd probably remember the *******
fish-wed-lock
rather than...
the congregations of moi-mort-dans-haler...

giggle: at most: through the congregation
of the most, left, available....
these walking add-on abortions...
thee ***-less truant plays of
"lost harem" sods....
my eager ****** lust....
           last >  tréma oh:
   parabolique glisser....

           non! ici, je m'eh tie(n)(s):     (où)
          nein... hier:
ist

Ideal to peruse the vast treasure trove
of lecture material
pertaining to aforementioned title
on the webbed wide world
especially gratifying to watch and listen
as various and sundry
noteworthy knowledgeable instructors
present material regarding
as topic yours truly
(Oh Henry) hankers to master
configuring networks and hosts
nsync with helpful visual aids linkedin with
purporting to master said concepts
easy as kindergartner to learn.

Young impressionable twittering
snapchatting reddit minds
analogous to sponge;
they absorb technical information
without experiencing intimidation,
which panicky reaction, I attest
impedes induces blackened
barbed pangs within mine breast
causing my heart to pound loudly
testing heart (violently wracking ribs)

inducing near bursting of chest
severely incapacitating formerly rapt pupil
to become distressed
reducing means of communication
to grunts and groans expressed,
whereby attempt to grow knowledge
ain't no funfest
as ye accurately guessed
trying to understand
mind boggling concepts

necessitates giving noggin
much needed and frequent headrest
perhaps overwhelming
sixty plus shades of gray matter
subsequently mine surviving kin
get told cause of death courtesy coroner
visa vis aneurysm discovered
after autopsy and inquest
which constitutes (dead serious)
no small subject to jest.

Despite (surgeon general's warning)
regarding unwise to teach oneself,
(and perhaps miraculously enough
become bonafide, certified and deified
as network engineer)
forthwith unnamed old codger
of these words, the person in question
thinking about aspiring to become
a sexagenarian geek
maybe ill advised
to gain technological smarts
even an itty bit
tis best to remain ignorant
and sustain dumbfounded bliss

Truth be told acquiring insight
to feel connected and integrated
with uber generational breed,
(would most definitely
give me a virtual lyft) yes indeed
allowing, providing, and enabling
he/him to experience traveling
as a gender binary male
(no offense intended toward
individuals who consider themselves
linkedin with lgbtqia umbrella
(hopefully my car won't
get vandalized nor keyed)
after I send this reasonable rhyme
thru cyberspace at lightspeed.

Though gung-**
to master intricacies of subnetting,
specifically accessing an excellent
powerfully pointed website
hosting Jeremy's IT Lab
Free CCNA | Network Devices | Day 1 |
CCNA 200-301 Complete Course
a mental impasse deters
that eureka moment.