And so it came to pass that I was offered a floor in a room in the elevator winding mechanism shack which was on a corner of the roof of the Edicifio Ganem. This was an elegant nine story tower that had been built in 1948 in the middle of the old city in Cartagena de Indias in Colombia. The rent was a dollar a day and I was entirely responsible for me and mine. The elevator worked sometimes; if it did not it was a long slog around and around and up and up the interior staircase till one got to the top.
The views from the roof were superb in all directions. The sunsets were shared with God.  When the trade winds blew it was “cool” meaning the breeze evaporated your sweat. It was never less than 90 degrees whatever season of the year. In the rainy season it rained and for those people from more temperate countries the rain was a wonder.  On one occasion I was caught out in it and survived only by steepling my fingers over my mouth so that I could breathe. But it cleaned the streets wonderfully and even washed the cucurachas away in the drains for a while until they returned no doubt well refreshed after their swim.
There were drawbacks of course, chief amongst these were these same cucurachas which are the insect kingdom’s equivalent of ninja warriors. These four inch invincibles could sprint, walk up walls and across ceilings, swim and fly. They were also difficult to **** since their carapaces were thick and shoe resistant. I found in the end a delicate touch with a mallet was best. If one hit too hard the body would burst and a mess would ensue; not hard enough and the nuisance would scuttle away.  Once killed the body would be kicked aside and the night staff cleaner ants would move in and eat the husk clean.
Again being entirely responsible for me and mine meant that I had to buy my own bedstead. Iron of course with iron legs and metal springs and a mattress all brand new and all hopefully bedbug free. The iron legs would each stand in a can of kerosene which was the ant and cucuracha moat. I was late to this concept of insect defense and only adapted it when I woke up one night with a cucaracha in my mouth having a drink.  I sought advice from my “landlord and ”landlady” and was told to go to a man in the mercado - market -  who sold empty cans; I had always wondered about this obviously niche trade and was very happy to go there and be advised on the right width and depth to create the necessary defence. Four cans and a litre of kerosene and I could sleep free from attack.

In the day,
I feel the end coming,
No wind blowing,
No insect humming.

The horizon stretches,
toward the pink and orange sky.

How I wish I could go there.
How beautiful to die.

But living...
As a coward,
wallowing,
Day by day,
hour by hour,

Swallowing our fears,
Then for a safety we drink them down some more.

These calloused fingers show the work of mankind,
But when there's nothing left nothing matters but this mind.

The senile society we work for today,
Killed me dead on the spot with bio-terror serenades.
The fire in the sky lights my hopes ablaze,

They are ashes now,
The desires of this day.
To myself I wouldn't bow,
a god in disarray.

An empire of one man,
One freedom,
one gun.

By day this infinite power,
By a day that is an hour.

And this empire has one man,
One coward.

I have been witness to many things
You must fear not what cold winter brings
You are young, but the reason this bird sings
To you, sapling, this bird clings
Let go of your evergreen hesitations
Your leaves will fall in wondrous presentations
Followed by gazes of beautiful validation
Your stems a sign of majestic acclimatization
While your trunk grows larger and far more in tune
Your leaves will broaden to as large as the moon
To each passing insect and all birds here soon
Your pits to catch water as a natural spoon
You see, young sapling, you are a delight
Do not see winter as a source for fright
Each tree in this forest has seen the same plight
But all have continued their journey for light

Today, tempers rose like the winds
before a storm, but the birds got real quiet and
hushed the squirrels. The leaves shuttered
as if deep in a terrifying dream. Meanwhile,
all around, the world went along peacefully.
Never mind leaf-dreams,
they cannot see the future, only the present.
A storm passes without note; strike three and
I’m out in the fresh cut-lawn air, feeling
like there is nothing else to do, but there is.
Today, I feel like an insect, greedy
for the nectar, even when I smell the insecticide.
I resurrect myself in the goodbyes, the subtle
painless endings, like saying goodbye to the wind.
Today, I tried and tried to make sense
of something I wasn’t meant to understand, and when
I started writing it all down, all I got was black
lines in pasty silicon soup. Insight existed,
but I rushed by too quickly to pay
attention to the weight of the matter.
Today, I passed a tree and a giant branch fell,
while the air stood still. A girl passed on her bike,
the branch hit the ground as I fell into the wind.

i exist
i exist
i exist
i bleed blue blood in a bucket. i am a sleeping child for seven years. then i am a molting insect. pain. i have no mouthparts. i am beautiful. i only live for a single night to breed as an adult. i am a mother. i can taste the melancholy atmosphere. everything dies eventually.

'All nature seems at work ... The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing ... and I the while, the sole unbusy thing, not honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.'

My fingers can’t trace the origin of the age old euphemism
Its roots planted firmly in childhood paired with sitcom cliches
A conversation never had with my mother

I learned the moment he touched me
My mind buzzed as the sweetest nectar kissed my lips
Arms turned to wings and we flew away

The age of fourteen
A baby learning where babies come from
Innocence poured out like an overfilled glass of milk

When he left I was a hummingbird
Heart at 1260 beats per minute
Fading in and out of anxiety

He was the bee
Flew to the next delicate flower
and ****** her dry like a parasitic insect

Always told to be weary of disguised villains
Old women with apples
Wolves dressed like grandmothers
Never of the natural behavior of pollination

Dark were the days immediately prior to my rebirth.
It was at this peculiar time that I realized the potential of endless thought and kicks.
The strain of giving and taking and finding the time to be free within our minds.
Drink from the actions of others, and your reactions to things that may not be there at all.
And with this creation spirals.
Endless circles and boxes. To abandon expectation is to be free.
And to realize the notion that creation and trailing inspiration is free and easy and limited only to what we have not yet perceived for references sake.
I would rather live in pain than not live.
From each rebirth, this is what will save me.

Reaching out for the time when love was not such a filthy word.
And when cities were undauntingly small.
I am not so saintly as to resist habit.
I have the same fantasies again and again.
This wine tastes like bile but I continue to drink.
And here I must face the sad realities.
The two great monsters and the ends of this town lay dormant, but present, and stare each other down.
We can exist above this charade within an insular dimension.
Blinkers on. Hats off to us.
From each rebirth, this is what will save me.

A rare moment of absolute clarity, although I do not know the cause.
Is it escape from fear? Or the complete realization of my fear of death?
But its liberating.
A vision of all of the things that I could achieve.
Its not dark.
Its blinding light.
I plan to exist inside this.
And from each rebirth, this is what will save me now.

Feverish were the days before I lost it completely.
I strive to surprise.
I could never have imagined a reaction so pleasant and so true, however confrontation never did suit.
On the edge of a precipice, and a dark one at that.
The uncertainty concerning my own actions is tantalizingly distressing.
Maybe I'll go.
Maybe tomorrow.
In this rebirth,, I've lost what would once have saved me.

And so they're leaving me behind.
But who knew we could go so long without sleep.
And this insular spectrum is a quagmire of guilt and filth, Population One.
So maybe I'll fall.
Sink.
And ultimately, typically, drown.
Exactly like the specter that occupies my nightmares.
It was at this time that I realized perhaps I did not require solace.
From each twist of the spirit.
From each crisis.
From each glimpse into the face of the supernatural presence.
From each destruction and from each rebirth.
I do not wish to be saved.

Onward with a maverick as acting muse.
A Brave New World.
A brave new identity.
We drank poison for breakfast again.
It's the sound of the Bell's and feedback from before we were born.
After much argument, we arrive together.
As a single insecure unit.
A giant trembling insect.
And we both wonder if our voyage into the strangely familiar was worth our energies.
I fell.
And this was the fate that received me.
I asked for revolution.
I received only murmurs.

I often wish I were a caricature.
So I drink up like a ***** and call myself vain.
And now I feel like death cooled down.
It's rickety and transitional.
I need escape and asylum.
I Must Not Turn Around.
This state of flux is torture and consumption.
I will listen to the same sounds over and over.
Becoming completely self absorbed.
I wonder if I'll always remain the same.
Or if I'll substitute.
For once, a new universe.
There is only superficial light.
Mere crackles and cackles outside.
It was at this time that I came upon the realization that I am identical.
I could not tell one pig from another.

So I shuffle back behind the curtain.
It's safe here, for now.
Concealed by distraction.
Keep the screaming child at bay.
I collapsed on the bridge.
Four walls are stormed.
The absurdity of changing colour and the god-like relevance of this was like an electrode to the brain.
For a while we sat still.
It was at this time that I chose the most difficult avenue.
From this rebirth I'm putting myself in the hands of another. This will not save me.

I'm struggling, I'm scared, and I'm sorry.
If I expose myself, if I stick out my tongue would you do the same?
I am quite prepared to gaze into the eyes of the monstrous spider.
And accept one world over another.
Its the clambering back and forth I cant stand.
An ascent into Purgatory,
Chaos,
And finally, perhaps, Madness.

The cold stone towers
Cast shadows across
The barren desolate lands
Throwing darkness for miles
In the quieting times
Of the sun’s farewells.

The hard steel gates
Stand in stark contrast
To the openness of the sky.
Shut tight as a clam shell
Barring even the insect
And the wind from entering.

The tall brick partitions
That loom over the world,
Halting all time in their
Intimidating presence,
Keep the caged birds in
And the foreign spies out.

But a small breeze blows
Across the empty plains
Starting up a rumbling
As the walls began crumbing
And the fortress walls
Collapsed in wards
Showing that they were
Made of nothing more
Than dreams for posts
And sugar for mortar

The protection falls
Tumbling to the ground
Baring my **** body
To the growing crowd
To see all my scars
And my deformities

The winds from the plains
Give me apprehensive chills
As I wait to hear compliment
Expecting only cruelest jeers.

Not death

Breathe slow

Past coil

Jealous?

We don't know

Sad as plain sight

Fake intents

Misdirection and dense

Regrets for tomorrow

Until the demon runs

Mind will be blank

Conscious without reprimand

Disgracing self

And projected shadows

Into millenium of words

That trick only inside

Gross and perfect

Figured somewhat insect

Fear of movement

Ready to read

Never to explore

A monster that is a bore

No true faces

Just stolen ink

Anger in three ports

Without the eyes to close

Ever so unsubtle

Render one cold

With love as slow as shell

Until they grow the verdure fungus

the purple insect
shivers on a wet mushroom
morning sun will rise


cicada thunder
my summer evening dream song
give me the black moon

They looked behind the mushroom
Turned every leaf over to inspect
Gathered all the little people in a row
every bird, the mice, each little insect.
"Have you seen the Easter eggs" they were asked
They all smiled and said of course not.
Someone knew where they were
The Elf walked the ranks like a Sergeant Major
Looking for a sign on their polka faces.
No, they knew nothing,  Of course they did.
"Where is the Easter Bunny" the Elf cried.
"Bring the fellow here to me!"
The Bunny with guilt written across his face
shiffled forward passing the basket to the
ladybird as he presented himself to the Elf.
"Nothing to declare, you Majesty" said the Bunny
"Dont get funny with me" suggested the Elf
I can smell a plan a mile away Sunny Jim"
The insects giggled a bit under their breath
as the Elf frog marched towards them
"Know something do we" ..then the birds laughed.
They laughed so much the fell over.
The Magpie stood firm and confronted the Elf
"We know nothing" and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The Elf failed to see the funny side and winced.
The Ladybirds had giggled their spots off
The Butterfly was whizzing in circles dreaming
Then it was spotted.  The basket had been spotted.
Crammed with Easter Eggs and delights.
And it had one wish.  To everyone.  It said
"Happy Easter".  It did.

When insect wings are glistening in the beam
    Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright,
  Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,
    Wander amid the mild and mellow light;
And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay,
Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.

  Oh, sun! that o'er the western mountains now
    Goest down in glory! ever beautiful
  And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou
    Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,
Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high
Climbest and streamest thy white splendours from mid-sky.

  Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
    Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues
  That live among the clouds, and flush the air,
    Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.
Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard
The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.

  They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide,
    Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won;
  They deemed their quivered warrior, when he died,
    Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun;
Where winds are aye at peace, and skies are fair,
And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air.

  So, with the glories of the dying day,
    Its thousand trembling lights and changing hues,
  The memory of the brave who passed away
    Tenderly mingled;--fitting hour to muse
On such grave theme, and sweet the dream that shed
Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead.

  For ages, on the silent forests here,
    Thy beams did fall before the red man came
  To dwell beneath them; in their shade the deer
    Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim.
Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods,
Save by the ******'s tooth, or winds, or rush of floods.

  Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look,
    For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase,
  And well-fought wars; green sod and silver brook
    Took the first stain of blood; before thy face
The warrior generations came and passed,
And glory was laid up for many an age to last.

  Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze
    Goes down the west, while night is pressing on,
  And with them the old tale of better days,
    And trophies of remembered power, are gone.
Yon field that gives the harvest, where the plough
Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now.

  I stand upon their ashes in thy beam,
    The offspring of another race, I stand,
  Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream;
    And where the night-fire of the quivered band
Showed the gray oak by fits, and war-song rung,
I teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue.

  Farewell! but thou shalt come again--thy light
    Must shine on other changes, and behold
  The place of the thronged city still as night--
    States fallen--new empires built upon the old--
But never shalt thou see these realms again
Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by savage men.

I have seen, somewhere, a beautiful green beetle.
It would not be so bad to be breathtaking
People would open the window, smiling
And let me flutter through.
But though I sometimes think I shine,
Fact is, I’m just a worm,
A segmented soldier of the dank, damp earth
Fated to be trampled, waterlogged
Poked with a stick, eaten by a bird
Or simply, unable to find the path
Lost, panicking, grazed by gravel
Trying to find my way home.

Watch this thought walk up the wall.
Watch the creepy crawly creature creeping higher.
His waste trails after him, sullying the paint.
Before long the whole room reeks.
Watch him watch you now as he sits on the ceiling.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
watching your thoughts walk circles around the room?
You used to entertain yourself with lofty notions.
You used to write to some of the thoughts down.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought form a cocoon.  
Watch the sleepy drawling creature sleeping soundly.
He is gestating, growing, becoming while you just sit there.
Before long he’ll be something more than you.
Watch him and listen to the sounds of change.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
in envy of a creature who’s life barely lasts the whole thing?
You used to entertain yourself with clever colleagues.
You used to fool around with funny friends.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought hatch from its slumber.
Watch the bouncing, buzzing beasty birthed.
His wings spread out and he flies down from the ceiling.
Before long he makes out of the open window.
You ask yourself: is this really how I just spent my day:
imagining a life instead of living my own?
I used to write poems, and I thought they were profound.
I used to tell myself that they might mean something to you.
Now, look at you looking at me looking at nothing in particular,
and try to find something to say.

FIVE HAIKU (8th COLLECTION)

1

I saw a green snake
no time to think of its name
I just ran away

2

Moss grows on the fence
on which rests a tiny bird
the camera clicks

3

Insect sounds at night
a glow-worm flutters about
flowers droop in sleep

4

Goldfish in the bowl
blowing bubbles all the time
does it sleep at all?

5

At the gambling house
all eyes were on the machines
many sad faces

Can this be the time once more
Of utter giving up of our control
The simple folliwing of commercial madness
Our desire for the day when food and wine
Have to be gathered about us like the defences of yore
Headlong we run from mid-summer until
We are exhausted in body, spirit or credit
The desperate worry of what to buy whom
Or when to order the especially fattened bird for your table
The ridiculous overspending on presents
When time could be the finest present you could give

Yule tide is a special period for Druids and all pagans alike,
The wonder of simplicity of reflection of our past year
The elements of sleep as mother earth regenerates herself
Resting often under the warmth of a blanket of snow
Gathering of families and loved ones
Blessings of the solstice as the wheel of the year turns
Once more into the light as the sun begins it's journey
Returning to the northern hemisphere
Our birds and native animals preparing for the winter
Storing their food, digging deep as they look for vitals

Likewise the land is resting,
The soil teems with dormant life, every insect and worm
Every root, form and bulb
Slowing right down as the degrees fall to freezing
The frosty and rime ridden mornings giving the flora
A lift of white dusting and sparkling light reflecting
The weak, beautiful winter sun
Heaves itself onto the low glancing position
Just making it to the tree tops before retiring once more to sleep
Leaving glorious swathes of orange and red
Painting the sky as it falls and rises.

Yule tide comes as all seasons, times and periods
But once a year in our short lives
The earthy sounds, the images and emotion
The smell of the newly fallen snow and woodsmoke
The foraging birds and squirrels
The warbling and tuneful song of the blackbird
And the tut tut of Mr Robin resplendent in his
Bright red waistcoat bobbing around in the crisp frost
Our lifetime of Yules is a wonder to enjoy,
I know as I look from my window where my heart is
As the distant tree bare in it's winter shroud speaks
To me as a friend and anchor within this beautiful planet.

call the cops.
they cooking rocks
in a shanty town compound
its just how they get down
most denounceable settlement
heroine needles nettle men
shredded by early elements
surely only pure irrelevents
no evidence of life
that reflected
anything intelligent
they were like
hell with it;
preferred not
to confer the
elephant in the parlor
though of pachyderm stature
he still delicate & he starvin.

attention ya'll.
there's histrionic
insect larva writhing
inside dying bodies
of constants.
wanting nothing but to be alive
to watch the sky ***** lights
contrite with wasting time & space
decided to face what made the comets
atum & adam & atoms.
dizzy sassed her,
kiss me ***
slapper
pass the days faster
calmly
this was a disaster
it sounds so wrong
but
how else
do you say it.

it seems
there is no
safe explaination
that demons &
godless heathens
still hold faith in unseen reason
aurical feelings
bottomless meanings &
improbable teachings
exploring the being
& being anything
more than whimsy

As no one approches
To help the poor girl,
I decide to give her
Some of my time.

I extend my hand
To help her up,
But she looks at me
And slaps it away.

"How could you
Think I'd want
Anyone's help?
Does it look like
I care for it?"
She spits at me.

She dashes off,
The pedestrians
Stare at me,
Laughing with
Their insect eyes.
The faces of doubt
And of foresight
are among them.
Whispering to me
" we did warn you"

All I wanted to do
Was to extend a
Hand of kindness.
I meerly wanted
To connect to her,
And see her happy,
But all I saw
Was mistrust
Brought about by
Too many nights
Crying alone.

How unfortunate
A person can be
To see all with mistrust
What does this say
Of our world.
This, too, seems
Just plain wrong.

The day flickers like a filament
before fusing into night.
Another day struck off from life.

Night and day
all will unfold the same way
the owl will prey a mouse
a woman will chant and pray
scent of incense will fill the house
the drongo will blend with the evening
and with melancholy seek one last insect.

The enveloping darkness makes me unseen.

Nothing stops
the earth will continue to spin.

The Cross, the Cross
Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;
Right into the marrow
And through the bone.
Along the back of the baby tortoise
The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge,
Scale-lapping, like a lobster's sections
Or a bee's.

Then crossways down his sides
Tiger-stripes and wasp-bands.

Five, and five again, and five again,
And round the edges twenty-five little ones,
The sections of the baby tortoise shell.

Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Then twenty-four, and a tiny little keystone.

It needed Pythagoras to see life playing with counters on the living back
Of the baby tortoise;
Life establishing the first eternal mathematical tablet,
Not in stone, like the Judean Lord, or bronze, but in life-clouded, life-rosy tortoise shell.

The first little mathematical gentleman
Stepping, wee mite, in his loose trousers
Under all the eternal dome of mathematical law.

Fives, and tens,
Threes and fours and twelves,
All the volte face of decimals,
The whirligig of dozens and the pinnacle of seven.

Turn him on his back,
The kicking little beetle,
And there again, on his shell-tender, earth-touching belly,
The long cleavage of division, upright of the eternal cross
And on either side count five,
On each side, two above, on each side, two below
The dark bar horizontal.

The Cross!
It goes right through him, the sprottling insect,
Through his cross-wise cloven psyche,
Through his five-fold complex-nature.

So turn him over on his toes again;
Four pin-point toes, and a problematical thumb-piece,
Four rowing limbs, and one wedge-balancing head,
Four and one makes five, which is the clue to all mathematics.

The Lord wrote it all down on the little slate
Of the baby tortoise.
Outward and visible indication of the plan within,
The complex, manifold involvedness of an individual creature
Plotted out
On this small bird, this rudiment,
This little dome, this pediment
Of all creation,
This slow one.

(Scene:)
The Victorian house painted brown with red shutters, a porch that’s large, a white porch swing and a purple rocking chair on this porch. Where grandmother Daisy may sit when the day is sunny or rainy. The house is on a side street covered up and down with trees so green that even in the coldest weather the leaves look as if they are still blooming. This place is called Applewood Road. To see the dark black paved road late in the fog covered night, there is a bright Victorian street lamp. A woman named Daisy the granddaughter of Nelly, who has spent most of her life going to college and having to struggle with learning and finding a place to belong.

Lawyer: writing to Nelly telling her of her grandmother’s death. Giving her news that all her grandmothers’ assets and property are hers.

Nelly: realizing she does not need to stay at college.

(Narrator):
  Due to this unexpected news Nelly has decided to quit college and move to her grandmother’s place. When she gets there she sees that on this property there is the house and a smaller building that could be turned into something else, so she decides that she will as the new owner opened an herb shop called Crystal Fairy.

Nelly: [places fliers around the town.]  I will be open for ten hours every day at Crystal Fairy selling my plants and herbs.

(Narrator):
This being Nelly’s first day opening her business, she sees that she only has three customers.
Enter Lorelei: she brings her purchase up to the counter

Nellie: oh, lavender! Do you know the properties?
Lorelei: I just saw it and the smell reminded me of a perfume my mother wears. Why is it useful for something else?

Nellie: yes!  It helps with cuts, bruises, and also functions as an antiseptic.

(Narrator): Ollie enters the store. Looking around at the plants.
Ollie: looking at the lemon balm plant. I think I’ll buy this one, going to counter.

Nelly: you wish to buy this?

Ollie: yes!

Nelly: Very well. Do you have any questions about the plant?

Ollie: yes I do.  What are its healing properties?

Nelly:  it helps with anxiety, insomnia, wounds, insect bites, and an upset stomach. It also speeds the healing of cold sores,

(Narrator):
In the back on the far left side of the shop there is an older man wearing plain black pants with a red shirt; he is looking at the plants on the shelf to his right. His name is Samael. He turns around and looks in Nelly’s direction.

Samael: this plant called chamomile what are its properties for healing?

Nelly: Samael this plant can be used for infusions and salves to relieve indigestion, colic, skin inflammations or irritations to the skin.

(Narrator):
Samael turns away because he sees the other patrons waiting to pay their bills and wanting to leave. Knowing soon that he will be all alone in the store with Nelly you can feel the tension building from him and the excitement rapping its way around his mind because of what he is thinking about. Just at this moment Samael plans out his plot to ****** Nelly. Samael looks around to see what he can use as his ****** weapon, he finds a heavy ceramic-clay bowl that he intends to use. To hit Nelly over the head. He makes sure the store is empty and that Nelly has her back turned so he can lock the door. Once the door is locked he pulls down the window shades. Once this is done he turns in her direction while her back is still turned.

Samael: [hitting nelly over the head]

Nelly: ouch!

(Narrator):
She falls to the floor!  Samael starts talking loudly.

Samael: I’m going to rip her blouse and jeans apart.

Samael: [Tatter… rip………]

(Narrator):
He wants to show her how much he loves her and to show her that ignoring him and his presents will only ensure their relationship.
Nelly: [staring at him with utter fear].

Samael: [he pulls a blade out from the back counter and puts it to her face].

Samael: I’ll cut your pretty face then no one will want you or look at you. You will have to come to me for comfort I’m the only one who will understand.  

(Narrator:)
Nelly looks up at him crying and pleading for him not to hurt her, that she does not even know him so what could he be talking about? Suddenly Samael reaches for her and strikes out at Nelly’s face, leaving a bruise that causes her to scream out in pain.

Nelly: [ouch!] Please don’t no more.

(Narrator):
There is a sudden silence as Nelly realizes that Samael is crazy and nothing she says or does will make a difference. As Nelly remains on the gray tile floor of her shop with Samael hurting her, she gets a sudden burst of energy, and she starts to fight him to break his hold over her.
Nelly: looking around where she lays for something to use as a defensive weapon.  That will allow her to free herself, to get to the green wooden door of her shop.

(Narrator):
Seeing a statuette of a flower in a *** Nelly grabs for it. She slams it into Samael’s face. Gaining her feet, she runs to the door trying to open it in order to scream for help.

Nelly: [screaming at top of her lungs].

Nelly: [ha………]

Nelly: help! Help! Somebody help me please!

(Narrator):
Samael stopping her, throwing her hard against a red wooden shelf. Then taking this same statuette he hits her even harder than before, only to realize that he has just killed her. The sound of Nelly’s fall so close to the door causes the neighbors near her property to turn the lights on in their homes.

(Narrator):
Samael: [seeing the lights turning on in the neighborhood becomes scared. Running for the metal door in the back of the store, he takes off down a dark alley way. Just as this happens, Lorelie, a neighbor and friend, opens the store’s front door. Coming inside, she steps forward to turn the store lights on. Suddenly seeing Nelly’s body lying on the cold tile floor with her head smashed in, her body at an odd angle because of the way she is laying and blood pooling around her, she also sees strange foot prints that don’t belong, and then she screams.]

Lorelei: oh! Oh my god! Oh what has happened?

(Narrator):
Lorelie’s screams cause Ollie, who lives across the street, to come running over to the store. When he gets to Lorelie’s side he sees what’s wrong and starts looking around trying not to disturb anything. As he is looking around trying to find out what has happened to Nelly he turns to Lorelei.

Ollie: Lorelei call detective Walter he will help find Nelly’s murderer

Lorelei:  pick up the phone calls detective Walter

(Narrator):
Ollie continues looking around the store. He finds the ceramic-clay bowl broken, and the statuette believing that in some way they are the answers to Nelly’s death or at least a start. Turning back towards Lorelie, he sees that Walter is coming up the street with Beatrice, his partner. Ollie goes outside to meet them. The detectives come into the store called Crystal Fairy, seeing the dead body of Nelly. Like Ollie, Walter starts looking at the scene around him noticing specific things. The turned over book case, the broken bowl, and the busted statuette, but most of all the back door gets his full attention because that’s where the ****** footprints lead. Leaving Beatrice behind to ask questions

(Narrator): enters Walter

Walter: [following these footprints outside and down the back alley. These prints lead him to a house’s back porch. There he sees more ****** prints and comes to the idea that the person who is responsible for Nelly’s death is inside.]

Walter: going into house [squeak- silent slam]

(Narrator):
Inside the house looking around, listening for any sounds and sudden movements. A sudden sound catching his attention, he looks up to see a cat jumping from a window.

The cat: [thump, bang thump again]

Walter: [making his way down the hallway and up the stairs, sees a door to his left with lights on.  It opens with a slam.]
Sound of door: [crash…]

(Narrator):
Samael rushing out at Walter with an iron bar.

Samael: [swinging the bar. [Swish……..] missing]

Walter: [stepping back, moving out of the way].

(Narrator):
This causes Samael to stumble and fall down the stairs, crashing to the bottom.

[Enters Beatrice]
Beatrice comes through the front door she sees Samael and goes to check him out. Walter and Beatrice pick him up off the floor, waking him up; this causes him to start confessing to what he has done.

Samael: [tells them that he was only trying to show his love to Nelly, but that she wouldn’t listen and thus he had to **** her so he could have her to himself. He didn’t want anyone else to love her or for her to love anyone else either].

(Narrator):
The detectives hearing this confession look at Samael completely surprised that he would confess so easily and without having to be drilled about the truth. But what gets their attention is how he confesses.

Samael: I love her; she would not see me or love me back. I just want her to see me.

Beatrice: So you frighten her and torture her, then **** her.

Walter: Beatrice, he’s crazy can’t you see that. We’re wasting time.

Beatrice: I know he’s crazy. I just feel sad that he could be so stupid and think that killing someone shows feeling for them. Poor woman, she was so young.

Walter: From what I could get from the neighbors, Nelly had just moved here after her grandmother’s death due to inheriting everything. Her life was just getting stated.

Samael: I love her; I’m the only one who can.

Walter/Beatrice: Will you shut up already! We get it. You love her so you killed her.


                                                                The End

Eaten Alive by Nothing

Surrounded yet alone,
Wasteland of desperation and despair,
Reaping rotting fruit, bloats, gnats, flyblown,
Longing, loneliness is never fair,

Lanterns and candle light to keep you warm,
Dancing shadows morph to devils,
Slitting despair bleeding, breeding ticks that swarm,
They feed and breed into hungry weevils,

Burrowing through chest to feed on carrion of rotting heart,
Also feeding on air from lung,
Heart along in solitude from ventricles shredded apart,
Alienating through truth, be still my lashing tongue,

Friends are always around,
Right until you need,
A lost letter of emotion sent outbound,
Lost but never found, devils take the lead,

Numb, in slowly boiling water like a frog,
Past scars of trauma a curse,
Can only feel so much before a clog,
Until you become cold, psychotic, or worse.

Break out the old smokescreen mask,
Smoke, laugh and smile,
Survivals your only task,
Foot in front of foot until your first mile,

Decaying down to skin and bone,
Each mile a greater distance,
Always harder when you’re alone,
Exhausted, running from the devils persistence,

Until a day you want to be alone
Quarantining spread this plagues fate of hate,
Feeling like happiness is just a loan,
Someone finally listens, too little, too late,

You hug your dark cloud,
With a thirst water doesn’t sate,
Ears covered, anxiety so, so loud,
Take a shot, a smoke, anything to placate,

An infested body no one wants close,
Insect army of traumas and abuses,
Each growing into a lethal dose,
At least for now, I still have my uses,

Astral Souls
A Chapter by Eclipsing Moon-blood red


musings on the connection and joining of the reincarnated souls each new time...how many linked souls or spirits does one determine are in one original soul


Warning
This Chapter is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.


I select Mature because I refuse to subject younger minds to transcendental thoughts...





Astral projection is more real at this point in my life than the daily occurances in my so called normal life..to know me is to know there is nothing normal about Me.

   Projection to Me is the natural state of existance of soul beings and the travel to assist others is done subconciously and consciously in my daily and nightly moments of tuned in

travel in the Astral level...meditation is my natural way of entering this state and complete quiet and ****** movement is not required..when My spirit tunes into a spirit requiring thought of mental healing or just discussion on that level I "tune in" to the reality of that space in time...and that spirit and merge with the spirit and experience it with them.

   Clearing the spirit of a soul is required by the joining with them ..and letting them experience Astral thru Me ...while I calm them internally in their physical form...many traumatic injuries can be treated in this manner..by taking over the pain and healing the body from inside...pain is only karma needing balancing and occurs to promote the understanding of situations...best assisted by allowing a spirit to be in the body of the teacher/friend to see what the lesson is.



Post script:

I simply did not follow that line in the process..ty for mentioning the responsibilities it brings...I'm gonna post that on the reviews as I've answered several questions along the same order..you will notice I said it is karma and involvement in karma is responsibility...I never attempt to alter personal lessons with out consulting with the entity...pain is for karmic teaching..I do not aleviate it unless I must to remove a certain type of situation...such as a broken leg in physical life that is very painful and no pain medicine is around..the blood pressure can get way too high in certain situations...so yes..i will intervene in certain death situations if My guides concur...it is only then that WE would decide that action...it is far from simple as Kerry commented...I sent her an explanation on that...responsibility wise it is a heavy karmic responsibility and I claim no god complex..if I dont share with enlightened beings such as YOU..then I am at fault for keeping it secret...I assure you it does not seem God like from here...kinda like deep doodoo for spirit help...I would never wish that on anyone....I am still searching...Yes always will be ,,a physical body is a trust ..an endowment to care for...if the difficulty were my personal choice and mine alone to decide...I would resign the honor...but it is not...The laws of Dharma And Karma require Me to choose to learn ...until My time ..this time..is over...teaching and learning is MY responsibility...clear as a singing bowl's ring...OmManiPadme Om.





Guided Meditation



On closing my eyes I see a insect ...it takes on air around its body by trapping it in its hair follicles..it then dives slowly into the depths and goes..down ...down...down..until it reaches a hidden rock cave..where it goes in and deposits its air bubble..on exiting it repeats this process and traps more air at the surface...only yo go down ..down..down..again ...time after time...repetition is my focus and it is soothing to my mind..it gives it a focus to relieve the tension...I stay until the focus ..removes My fear...to be contd.






prev chapter

My foggy mouth tries to hide behind rain-smacked glass.
She says goodbye with complacent stares
and with the sudden flash of an umbrella.

The red of her dress doesn't belong in my life.
Each of her strides carry my resentment and weariness,
alongside the melting grey of the Seattle skyline.
So, I don't yell for her or imagine our lives,
as the windshield wipers sweep her image, out of sight, but not out of my head.

I return home, the half I was for decades.
The tread of my shoe mashing bluegrass,
digging up seeds and insect carcass, with every step.
Storm-soaked magazine subscriptions lay on the porch,
and her name is tattooed on every one.

The dog lays on the carpet, ears and eyes perking up at me.
And he knows he's truly alone, because I'll depend on him.

Eggshell kitchen cabinets are jammed with her:
Vermilion, saffron, and burgundy glasses hold
half-empty hangings of golden flat draft,
keeping her day-old, dried saliva smothered on the edges,
like transparent ocean waves dying on a glass coast
and buried in the bottom of the sun-pierced vortex.

What I couldn't realize is that the cup was me:
marked in so many ways,
letting decaying memories burrow and stay.

short little story I wrote, and it was published in Inkitt!!!!**

I’ve always played the piano, ever since I was a little girl. I started taking lessons from my neighbor when I was seven years old, and on my tenth birthday my family moved- in the living room was a lovely wooden grand piano. My favorite songs to play are soundtracks to plays and old movies. I imagine myself in the starring role, with bleach blonde hair and bold red lipstick. If I close my eyes, I imagine myself playing my piano and singing to the audience. I’m lousy at singing, Mommy says it’s my age. My voice gets weak when I try to sing very high, and I’m not much good at singing low. But I picture it anyway.
When I do math homework, as I am doing right now, the numbers turn to music notes and the symbols to dynamics, and I get caught up in the fantasy- I pretend my pencil is a baton and I am conducting an orchestra, the audience applauding me after we finish and take a bow.
“Dottie.” Mommy stands in the kitchen, looking at me. I look down at my math homework, and I have not written anything down. My pencil was too busy leading my imaginary symphony. She turns back to the onions she was slicing, satisfied that I’ve come back down to earth. I could never imagine having a life like hers. Mommy doesn’t work, she stays at our house while my brother and I are at school. She does all the cooking, the cleaning, the darning, the ironing, the consoling, and every other thing I could think of. I have too many dreams of music and movies to stay in one place like that and dedicate my life to my family. If I even have one- the idea of having kids makes me feel icky. But Mommy seems so happy. She is smiling right now, humming along to “Dancing Queen” as it plays on the radio behind her. She has a college degree, in business. I’ve seen the paper in the frame in her bedroom. In has her name on it in big curly letters.
I look down at my math homework again, but a bright red ladybug is crawling across the page. It is cherry red with little black spots. I often wonder if bugs remember their home, or get homesick. They travel so far and explore so many different homes, it must be impossible to find their way back. Or maybe bugs are just bugs. Mommy says I am “over-analytical.” I think ladybugs are the friendliest insect (if anybody’s counting.) It crawls over my fingers and into the palm of my hand, unshielding its delicate little wings and flying into the air and onto the windowsill. It crawls back through the open pane, and out of my little world. How I would love to be a ladybug.

a bee drowns amidst
expansive hyperbole
it sang an anxious plea and
she deigned to give it new wings

the sun falls on her as we sit
and drink coffee in front of
East End Market and speak
amicably about the tumultuous
events that've occurred this past week

i tell her how my heart fluttered
when she paused to save an insect
most write off as a nuisance even
as they gorge themselves on honey and
despite the fact that without bees
the world would also lack
fruits and veggies and
nuts and seeds to grow
new fauna from the fertile
soil of this ambivalent earth

without these enigmatic evolutionaries
who pollinate this planet
and permit humanity to persist
in spite of our knack for
cultivating catastrophe
our ecosystem would collapse
in complete and utter defeat

now it seems that i'm the one
floundering in sea foam green but
i'm not sure if i'm worthy
to hold the gentle hands that
save tiny bees

The Frog That Took A Giant Leap For Their Kind"  
 
Forever being laughed at for not being able to leap  
Always last in the frog army sport, called ‘Jumping over the Jeep’
The little jump frog was embarrassed to belong to such an army  
So he packed his things and headed off on a long journey  
He crossed all over, the large wetlands of Florida USA  
Even made a makeshift home, made out of some hay  
After feeling a very warm heat, from about a mile away  
He came across some steps, but when climbing, they began to sway  
Frightened by a loud bang and an almighty explosive roar  
He hopped inside the nearest room, via a big white door  
Then, all of a sudden, he felt his feet, effortlessly lift off the floor  
Floating past a small window, he couldn’t see the earth, anymore  
After a while, the room hit the ground, with an almighty thump  
Looking out, he saw a strangely dressed man, pray and then jump  
He followed the man and went on down a few gigantic steps  
After making his biggest ever leap and without special effects  
Luckily, the frog was caught on camera, so became the first of his kind  
To reach the faraway moon and take a great leap, if you don't mind.  
 
 
 
"The Hare That Looked Out Of Place"  
 
The local country fair had arrived in town  
But one animal was looking angry and down  
For the farmworker had placed the hare at the fair  
With another breed of animal, without any care  
He looked out of place, while sitting in the dog pound  
To the hare it felt more like a very scary hunting ground  
One child yelled out, "That's a very small doggy, Mummy"  
No it's not, said Mummy, but it'll make the dogs meal taste so yummy  
She ran to the ticket seller and said, "There's a hare out of place"  
He said, I think your hair is fine madam, but here's some gel, just in case  
When the farmer found out, he ordered the workers to quickly catch it  
And to make sure there's no more hares where the dogs will sit.  
 
 
 
"The Sheep That Escaped From The Bars"  
 
The large family farm was not really up to par  
Because the farmer would keep the sheep behind an iron bar  
They wanted to escape from behind the metal brass  
And wander about and eat more of the fresh green grass  
Eating packaged food was not treating them well  
But they were getting upset tummies and not feeling that swell  
So they hatched a plan so they could graze on the vast land  
A billy goat agreed to fetch a plank of wood and give them a hand  
In return he would get all the leftovers of the sheep's fake food  
So one by one they took the plunge and escaped for a better mood  
The goat had a ball opening and then eating so much more  
And the sheep could be heard for miles, laughing Baa-Baa galore.  
 
 
 
"The Monkey That Lost His Grip"  
 
His name is Chip and he just can't get a grip  
He has to hold on tight for the entire round trip  
His friends in the troop said he wasn't very hip  
Always having to wear a parachute with a safety clip  
He tried to branch out one day, but fell and hurt his hip  
Then one day he got up early and decided to leave without the equip  
Now the monkey named Chip was so brave and he ran with a skip  
And he swung from branch to branch without any major slip  
His friends were in awe of his huge lunges and gave no more lip  
So from that day forth, everybody said he had great grip to do his solo flip.  
 
 
 
"The Cheetah That Wished For No Spots"  
 
Cleaning his teeth using long green grass as dental floss  
The healthy Cheetah often wished he had no more spots  
He was tired of hearing, while playing Hide n Seek, the sound,  
Of his animal friends yelling, "We give up, for you can't be found"  
He thought, maybe he could wash away his camouflage dots  
By soaking himself for a while, in some warm water and soap in pots  
It might be a long shot to remove those game wrecking blots  
But at least his friends would have fun playing in Africa's back lots  
No said his friends, you were born with all of them  
And after all, your spots make us all different, Amen  
So stay like you are and we will find you one day  
But never ever try and wash those unique spots of yours away.  
 
 
 
"The Zebra That Painted Her Stripes"  
 
She looked in the river and saw her reflection  
Her skin colour made males look in another direction  
For her colours were not really that bright  
With her body stripes painted in black and white  
So the next day the lady zebra decided to get a makeover  
By getting colourful paint and brushing it all over and over  
Now she felt like a beautiful diamond of a gem  
And maybe others would take notice, especially the men  
But the day she went back to her favourite watering hole  
Everyone thought she belonged on a merry-go-round pole  
Then it started pouring down, the hail and the wet rain  
And washed off all her colourful paint down the drain  
She wasn't that sad when she heard the laughter of other zebras  
For she was now world famous, from all of the tourist cameras.  
 
 
 
"The Mouse That Was Forever Getting Trapped"  
 
The poor little mouse was forever getting himself trapped  
He couldn't stop from smelling the cheese, even when wrapped  
His concerned mother told him to visit a hypnotist  
To try and help him get off cheese, you get the gist  
If he gets trapped again, he might not be able to tell the tale  
Because if the help he receives fails, his face will turn pale  
So let's hope this short tale of some very sore mouse tails  
Helps the other obsessed cheese loving females and males  
Can the poor little mouse keep away from the snap?  
Let's all hope that he doesn't forget, after taking a quick catnap.  
 
 
 
"The Panda That Got Bored Of Giant Plain Bamboo"  
 
Sitting under the tree eating gigantic bamboo stalks, sat a cute Panda  
But eating one thing all day long was boring for the cutie named Sandra  
So the workers at the zoo tried to change her diet to see what it would take  
They tried strawberries, oranges, pizza, meatballs and even rib-eye fillet steak  
But none of this food worked, to make Sandra the cute Panda, less bored  
The workers were confused why the delicious food was simply ignored  
She started to lose weight and became very agitated  
Quickly the zoo staff asked for help, but really they had to be educated  
For pandas only eat bamboo and not much of the world's fine food  
By just adding a bit of spice would've changed her boring mood  
They hurried back to the zoo kitchen to prepare a spicy dish  
Chopping and stewing and even adding a few drops of relish  
Sandra loved the change in her daily food of bamboo  
And was happy again chewing on her new tasting food at the zoo.  
 
 
 
"The Owl That Didn't Give A Hoot"  
 
When the sun went down and the moon came out  
Some owls could be seen in the trees hooting about  
But a strange noise one owl gave, was worse than a toot  
For the owl, for some reason, didn't give a hoot  
This strange sounding owl instead, made more of a screech  
A sound that the English owls have never been able to reach  
For this different style speaking owl, is on holidays from afar  
And his spoken language is so unusual to ours, by far  
The other owls wanted to know how to screech like this alien bird  
For they were so bored, with only knowing how to speak one word  
So they all took quick language classes to learn how to French speak  
And their guest also learnt to belt out a bit of a hoot, from his foreign beak.  
 
 
 
"The Spider That Stood Too Tall To Crawl"  
 
A large daddy long leg spider named Paul  
Had such long legs he stood too tall to crawl  
He looked like a gigantic monster, standing way up top  
All other spiders who saw him, would come to a complete stop  
Frozen in their tracks, insects would free fall and dive  
And go so low between his legs to hopefully survive  
The spider himself would get a face full of cobwebs  
As he walked so tall into his own hand made project  
Enough he thought, and off he went for a professional opinion  
The doctor said, he had a name for his rather tall condition  
It was called nothing at all, you are like this on earth  
For all daddy long leg spiders are like this since birth  
So he was told to bend down more often, stretch and do some exercise  
And to watch out for that high floating killer insect spider pesticide.  
 
 
 
"The Elephant That Couldn't Make A Trunk Call"  
 
While playing a game of elephant soccer together  
Using a coconut for a ball which was as light as a feather  
The elephant herd had finally ran out of pace  
One player named Noel didn't stop until he fell flat on his face  
When he got home later that night after his great fall  
He tried, but couldn't make his routine long distance trunk call  
But nothing came out and he went into shock  
Noel the elephant thought he had swallowed a rock  
So off down the road to the local doctor he went  
Also complaining about his loss of his favourite flowers scent  
The doctor first said, it could be all in your mind  
But after shinning a light he saw what it was, well down behind  
For it was the coconut the herd had been playing with before, with Noel  
After a tickle on the trunk, Noel shot it out and somehow scored a goal.  
 
 
 
"The Koala That Was Always Bare"  
 
Kyle the Koala loved to just sit in the trees and eat his leaves  
The tourist would come and take photos without having to pay any fees  
But he once took a peek at one of those friendly tourist's cameras Polaroid  
He saw some family pets wearing fashionable clothes and was rather annoyed  
For you see, Kyle then noticed, that he was always totally bare  
Dogs with jackets and cats with gloves, but he had nothing at all to wear  
So he decided to make all of the paparazzi pay for their shots  
When he saved enough money, he dressed up with the lots  
He purchased some pants, a hat and T-shirt and a colourful woolly scarf  
He felt more natural and not as bare, but mainly because, he made all of the tourists laugh.  
 
 
 
"The Rabbit That Stared Into The Light"  
 
When Warren the rabbit went out on the town  
He wore a lucky tail, pinned all the way down  
Hiding from cars, buses and motorbikes driving past  
Then hurriedly crossing the road, hoping not to be the last  
For if you were left behind, you'd be all alone to cross again  
And be able to have the strength to not look into the lights of the men  
But on this night he kept on staring straight into the light  
His mother always told him, to wear sunglasses at night  
The car stopped and out stepped the driver and along with his passenger  
Warren couldn't move even a bit, luckily for him, it was just a messenger  
The driver picked him up and placed him on the other side of the road  
Thanks, he said to himself, next time I might've got no respect, like that man showed.

cloud mountains
rise above the plains

a veil of gray
sweeps the horizon

wind brings
the scent of rain

cars rush past
heading for the city

breathe in deeply
just plowed soil

just mowed field
listen

distant thunder
insect rattle

grass rustling
cars roaring

we live in troubled times
blind unbound

deaf to calm
solicitation

time's relentless
propulsion and hissing

churning pressing
my family is waiting

I turn back to my car
both sated and shaken

reminded to breathe
to see to be filled

even for a moment
to be grateful

that grass and field
soil and wind

and gauzy far-off rain
will defy our clamor

and complaint
and will remain


Tom Spencer © 2018

Is there somethig you're hiding
Underneath that skin?
A black heart maybe
Millions of black sins.

Is there something you want to say
Through those lips which dare to quiver?
Some nervous thoughts maybe
Some to cause a tremour.

Is there something you're afraid of
Although you always look so strong?
A little insect maybe
Or a ghost, if I am not wrong.

Don't just bury it beneath
The stars also do this
They shine and we adore it
But we know we can't touch them
Just say it
Before the tornado comes
And snatches away your world.

Is there something you know?
Is there something which you're afraid to show?
Are you evil or are you kind?
We'll only know when we'll find
Who you are, what you do
The universe plays this game with us
Please don't, tell us
What you hide
You need to confide
Or else the secrets die
With you
Before you even know..