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jake aller Aug 2019
I don't get it
I don’t Get It 
Mr. Speaker
I admit I don’t get it

How does prayer
Stop gun violence?
Prayer did not work in Texas.

26 people were murdered
 while praying.

God if he exists
Obviously does not care
About the poor people
Who died in his church
Because a mad man

Got a gun
And no they were not praying
To be delivered from death
No one deserves to die like this

So my prayer to you
Is simply this

Get off your rear end
Rally the country
And do something

About gun violence

That’s a prayer
I hope works

Dear Speaker Ryan
I want to tell you something

The dead don’t want your prayers
The dead don’t care that you pray for them
They are dead after all

And you and your so-called Christians
Are to blame
You refuse to do anything
Anything at all

to stop the carnage
In our streets

The U.S. is flooded with guns
And more are sold every day
Millions of people don’t have health coverage
Millions are barely surviving

And your answer
Our dear great compassionate Speaker
Your answer 
Is Prayer works
Government action does not
You act as if the gun violence
Plaguing our country

Was like the weather
Beyond our control
So here’s my prayer for you

And your colleagues
When you die
I pray that God
Will send you

And your friends
Straight to hell
Where Satan and his demons
Will use you for target practice

That’s my prayer to you
And as you know
Prayer works
 
Mr. President
You are wrong once again

You said that the tragic events 
in Texas
And Las Vegas were not “gun situations”

But rather were mental health problems
And that in Texas
if there had been no gun controls
Perhaps fewer people would have died

Mr. President

I know you a smart man

The smartest man in the world


According to you
So please contemplate this fact

According to the latest findings

It is a gun situation

In fact, the reason the U.S.

Has so many gun deaths 

Is because we have so many guns

45% of the worlds guns in fact
And 33 percent of the world’s shooters

Are Americans killing other Americans
And most of them 

the majority of them

Are White men killing other people
Not Islamic terrorists


Most are in fact

Self-proclaimed Christians
So Mr. President

When will you come to your senses
And do what 90 percent of the public wants


Enact nation wide effective gun controls?
And tell the NRA
 
they can take their blood money elsewhere

When Mr. President

When will you act

When will you take charge
And become a President of the people
Instead of the President of the NRA?
 Like (0)  0   


← Previous1 2 345…75Next →
Virginia Beach Massacre Never Again
Virgina Beach 

In a night of horrific scumbagery violence

Rarely seen in this jaded age of ours

Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific scumbagery violence
I
In just a few short minutes


Nothing more than that
 
In just a few moments

All 12 victims were murdered
By a disgruntled employee


Every one he knew was shot

And killed for no reason
Caused by the demons

His soul was so infected

Murderous demonic voices

All in his head

Screaming **** them all 
**** them all


Screaming none stop violence in his head

All the time
Causing him to start shooting 
everyone he saw


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were

Everyone must die 
screamed the demonic voices in his head
No one can be left alive


Everyone must die

Virtually all must die 
in his internal video game

Everyone must die


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were
Again just another day

Gone horribly wrong


All across America
In
every town

No where is safe anymore
Virgina Beach massacre

Virgina Beach massacre

Just another
Average night in America

An Active Shooter
scumbagery violence

Rarely seen

in this jaded wild world
Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific
scumbagery
In just a less than 30 short minutes

Nothing more than
In just a few short 30 moments

All the victims
were murdered while at their daily 
work
wrong place wrong time

act of a demotic deranged madman
voices screaming ****
The voices scream
death to all humans


All must be killed
The voices scream over and over
All must die now

Just another night in America
Land of the Brave
Home of the free
More Guns for Everyone in the World

The NRA has decided

That the best solution to global problem

Of rampant violence and crime everywhere
Is for the rest of the world


To become like the U.S.

Where anyone can buy a gun

As an armed society is a polite society’

And so the President i
s about to announce

A global campaign against gun control restrictions


As these restrictions
are an undue burden

On the rights of the US arms manufactures
To sell their guns 
everywhere in the world


As everyone wants what we have to sell

The best weapons in the world
Instead of trying to limit the damage


That unrestricted gun sales

Have done to the U.S.
Our President, our great leader

Wants to sell more guns

Everywhere in the world

And there are eager buyers

Lining up around the world

Eager to buy the best guns

The world has ever seen

We want to export

The gun madness

That has infected our society


Leaving behind so many dead bodies
The dead were not consulted

For they remain dead


They do not vote
They have no voice
For the guns silenced them

For good
 just as the guns intended

Just doing their gun thing after all

Humanity has evolved
From stones to arrows
To guns
T o nuclear, biological weapons

And the U.S.
 While proclaiming itself
A champion of Human Rights

Remains nothing 
but a country 
Of gun runners
 Merchants of death
And destruction
NRA Please Stop Talking

Another day
Another mass shooting

Another incident
of domestic terrorism


another gun man
killing people
because just because
 he can
and he wants to **** people

The NRA 
And their stooges

Come out

Flood the airways
With their noxious
Poisonous weasel words


The NRA says
Mass shootings

Are like the weather

You can’t control them
You can’t predict them

And you can’t prevent them

Just have to accept

It is all god’s will

Guns don’t **** people
IF guns were outlawed

Only outlaws
 would have guns

Only solution 
Is more guns

For everyone

An armed society
they say 
Is a polite society


Support for gun control
I is
socialist/communist/fascist/anti-Am  erican/anti-Christian nonsense
The beginning of tyranny


If only the Jews had guns

The holocaust would not have happened

Jesus would want us all
 
to be armed 
with machine guns
To protect us against the evil doers

It is the Christian thing to do


To blow away evil doers
With heavy arms


In America
Land of the free

Home of the brave
We can’t do anything


At all
About the mass carnage

Unleashed by madmen with guns

Who walk among us

Searching for their next victims
Any restriction of the right


To bear arms

Is tyranny at its worst
The nanny state run amuck

Talking about gun control

After a tragic event
Is

just not the appropriate time

We only need prayers

and meaningless thoughts

Universal background checks

Too onerous
Registering guns

Too burdensome

Researching gun violence

waste of tax payer money
banning military style assault weapons
r

Restricts my right 
to blow 
away

Bambi the deer
with a M16

the NRA will keep talking

talking and talking

preventing anything

from being done

and we will have another

Mass shooting event

Before the day is out

So my plead

This day
To the NRA
A
and their stoogies

Talk is cheap

Your comments
Are not helping

If you can’t

Be a part of the solution
Just stop talking

Please stop talking


And let the rest
Of us  figure out

How to stop

The madness in the streets
And stop the carnage


So NRA

Please
 just
 stop
 talking
 Now

military assault weapons 
are locked up

yet in America

the land of the free

home of the brave
 
everyone and his cousin

must have their gun

guns for everyone

cries the NRA

that’s the solution

The president
a 
and his supporters

deny the obvious
guns **** people
That’s all they do


it is a gun thing

you would not understand
Guns just do
what guns gonna do
**** people

Mr. President

You can take your words

your empty platitudes
Your empty promises
Your prayers 

straight to hell

and back

where with any luck

Satan will use you

as target practice
Chief of Staff You are Absurd

the President’s chief of staff
said the other day

it was absurd

to suggest that the president’s words

had anything to do

with recent mass shootings

yet is it absurd

to see the lengths

to which the President’s supporters
will twist and turn

spinning awa
y
the inconvenient truth
President Trump 
is a racist bigot con man

who some how
 conned his way

to become President
he call immigrants criminals, vermin, animals

invaders infesting the country
the El Paseo shooter 

said that he went to the border

to shoot the invaders

and said
 that he was a big Trump fan
it is not absurd
 to connect these two huge dots
The President’s words
 
have real world consequences

Yes Mr. Trump is a racist pig
a
and his supporters
 are being absurd

to suggest otherwise

 
36
 Jake Aller


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Jake Aller
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https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com

John (Jake) Cosmos Aller

Novelist, Poet, Foreign Service Officer 

Tel: 703-436-1402
Email: authorjakecosmosaller@gmail.com

John (“Jake” ) Cosmos Aller is a novelist, poet and former Foreign Service officer having served 27 years with the U.S. State Department in ten countries - Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada,  Korea, India, St Kitts, St Lucia,  St Vincent, Spain and Thailand. and traveled to 45 countries during his career.  Jake has been an aspiring novelist for several years and has completed two novels, (Giant **** Spiders, and the Great Divorce) and is pursuing publication.  He has been writing poetry all his life and has published his poetry in electronic poetry forums, including All Poetry, Moon Café and Duane’s Poetree. (under the name Jake Lee).  He is looking forward to transitioning to his third career – full-time novelist and poet after completing his second career as a Foreign Service officer, and his first career as an educator overseas for six years upon completion of his Peace Corps service in South Korea. 



He served in a wide variety of positions running from Consular management, Fraud investigation and managing the consular overseas computer support desk, to economic and political reporting positions, international labor diplomacy, commercial diplomacy - promoting American business overseas- international organization diplomacy serving as the deputy permanent representative to the Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific, to management positions including program management, evaluation and contracting management, and environmental and science diplomacy including promoting renewable energy solutions.  He taught courses at the Foreign Service Institute and overseas in Bangladesh, India, Nepal and Kathmandu on consular fraud and consular Systems issues.

Senior program evaluator overseeing the implementation of the Department's evaluation program enabling the Department to develop a robust program evaluation system.
Coordinated training program training over 200 people in three years
Launched community of practice (CoP) web page (word press) with over 300 participants, greatly expanding the ability of State program evaluators to conduct program evaluations.  
Conducted meta-evaluation of completed foreign assistance evaluations insuring that the Department’s evaluations provided critical program improvement data.

Deputy Political Economic chief, - Bridgetown, Barbados 

Served as the deputy political economic chief covering political, economic, labor , environment and science and commercial diplomacy efforts in the Eastern Caribbean. 
Received labor officer of the year award for work in setting up regional training programs in occupational safety issues, and meeting with labor leaders in all seven countries greatly expanding our labor diplomacy outreach; 
Initiated two American Chambers of Commerce organizations, 
Conducted fund raising in support of  Embassy’s July fourth celebrations, the first time held in multiple countries, raising $100,000 over a three year period; 
Conducted training programs in all seven countries demonstrating to hundreds of locals on how to access U.S. Government  export financing programs . 

CA/FPP Deputy Training Team Coordinator – Washington, DC,
Taught consular fraud prevention courses at the Foreign Service Institute, and in Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Pakistan, greatly increasing knowledge and skills in fraud detection. 
Launched Lexus Nexus public record database access for consular officers worldwide, therefore dramatically improving consular fraud prevention efforts, 
Initiated first interagency Fraud Working Group coordinating fraud efforts among Departments of Homeland Security, State, and Labor.  
Received Cash Award.
Deputy Consular Chief, - Mumbai, India
Oversaw American citizen services, immigration visas in fifth largest operation in the world and fraud prevention programs greatly improving management of each.  
Supervised and mentored 15 junior officers and 50 local staff resulting in each unit receiving group cash awards. 
Received two cash Meritorious Honor awards for my work helping American citizens facing crises including helping American citizens whose family members died in India, or were arrested. 
Organized task force that dealt with aftermath of worst earthquake in 50 years.  

Read more →
8 stories • 1 lists • 1 lists • 5 groups

My Poems (224)AutorankLinks
I don't get it
I don’t Get It
 

Mr. Speaker

I admit I don’t get it

How does praye

Stop gun violence?

Prayer did not work in Texas.

26 people were murdered
 while praying.
God if he exists

Obviously does not care

About the poor people

Who died in his church

Because a mad man

Got a gun
And no they were not praying

To be delivered from death

No one deserves to die like this

So my prayer to you

Is simply this
Get off your rear end

Rally the country
And do something


About gun violence
That’s a prayer
I hope works
© 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
Read more →
 Like (0)  0   

Dear Speaker Ryan

Dear Speaker Ryan
I want to tell you something

The dead don’t want your prayers

The dead don’t care that you pray for them

They are dead after all


And you and your so-called Christians

Are to blame

You refuse to do anything

Anything at all
to stop the carnage
In our streets

The U.S. is flooded with guns

And more are sold every day
Millions of people don’t have health coverage

Millions are barely surviving
And your answer


Our dear great compassionate Speaker
Your answer
 
Is Prayer works

Government action does not

You act as if the gun violence

Plaguing our country

Was like the weather

Beyond our control

So here’s my prayer for you

And your colleagues
When you die

I pray that God

Will send you
And your friends

Straight to hell
Where Satan and his demons

Will use you for target practice

That’s my prayer to you

And as you know
Prayer works
 
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
Read more →
 Like (0)  0   

It’s a Gun Situation, Mr. President

Mr. President
You are wrong once again

You said that the tragic events 
in Texas
And Las Vegas were not “gun situations”

But rather were mental health problems
And that in Texas
if there had been no gun controls
Perhaps fewer people would have died

Mr. President

I know you a smart man

The smartest man in the world


According to you
So please contemplate this fact

According to the latest findings

It is a gun situation

In fact, the reason the U.S.

Has so many gun deaths 

Is because we have so many guns

45% of the worlds guns in fact
And 33 percent of the world’s shooters

Are Americans killing other Americans
And most of them 

the majority of them

Are White men killing other people
Not Islamic terrorists


Most are in fact

Self-proclaimed Christians
So Mr. President

When will you come to your senses
And do what 90 percent of the public wants


Enact nation wide effective gun controls?
And tell the NRA
 
they can take their blood money elsewhere

When Mr. President

When will you act

When will you take charge
And become a President of the people
Instead of the President of the NRA?
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   


← Previous1 2 345…75Next →
Virginia Beach Massacre Never Again
Virgina Beach 

In a night of horrific scumbagery violence

Rarely seen in this jaded age of ours

Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific scumbagery violence
I
In just a few short minutes


Nothing more than that
 
In just a few moments

All 12 victims were murdered
By a disgruntled employee


Every one he knew was shot

And killed for no reason
Caused by the demons

His soul was so infected

Murderous demonic voices

All in his head

Screaming **** them all 
**** them all


Screaming none stop violence in his head

All the time
Causing him to start shooting 
everyone he saw


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were

Everyone must die 
screamed the demonic voices in his head
No one can be left alive


Everyone must die

Virtually all must die 
in his internal video game

Everyone must die


Regardless of who they were 
or where they were
Again just another day

Gone horribly wrong


All across America
In
every town

No where is safe anymore
Virgina Beach massacre

Virgina Beach massacre

Just another
Average night in America

An Active Shooter
scumbagery violence

Rarely seen

in this jaded wild world
Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific
scumbagery
In just a less than 30 short minutes

Nothing more than
In just a few short 30 moments

All the victims

were murdered while at their daily 
work
wrong place wrong time
act of a demotic deranged madman

voices screaming ****
The voices scream
death to all humans


All must be killed
The voices scream over and over

All must die now

Just another night in America
Land of the Free

Home of the free
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   

More Guns for Everyone

More Guns for Everyone in the World

The NRA has decided

That the best solution to global problem

Of rampant violence and crime everywhere
Is for the rest of the world


To become like the U.S.

Where anyone can buy a gun

As an armed society is a polite society’

And so the President i
s about to announce

A global campaign against gun control restrictions


As these restrictions
are an undue burden

On the rights of the US arms manufactures
To sell their guns 
everywhere in the world


As everyone wants what we have to sell

The best weapons in the world
Instead of trying to limit the damage


That unrestricted gun sales

Have done to the U.S.
Our President, our great leader

Wants to sell more guns

Everywhere in the world

And there are eager buyers

Lining up around the world

Eager to buy the best guns

The world has ever seen

We want to export

The gun madness

That has infected our society


Leaving behind so many dead bodies
The dead were not consulted

For they remain dead


They do not vote
T
hey have no voice
For the guns silenced 
them
For good
 just as the guns intended


Just doing their gun thing after all
Humanity has evolved

From stones to arrows

To guns
T o nuclear, biological weapons

And the U.S.
 While proclaiming itself

A champion of Human Rights
Remains nothing 

but a country
 
Of gun runners
 Merchants of death

And destruction
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   

NRA Quit Talking

NRA Please Stop Talking

Another day
Another mass shooting

Another incident
of domestic terrorism


another gun man
killing people
because just because
 he can
and he wants to **** people

The NRA 
And their stooges

Come out

Flood the airways
With their noxious
Poisonous weasel words


The NRA says
Mass shootings

Are like the weather

You can’t control them
You can’t predict them

And you can’t prevent them

Just have to accept

It is all god’s will

Guns don’t **** people
IF guns were outlawed

Only outlaws
 would have guns

Only solution 
Is more guns

For everyone

An armed society
they say 
Is a polite society


Support for gun control
I is
socialist/communist/fascist/anti-Am  erican/anti-Christian nonsense
The beginning of tyranny


If only the Jews had guns

The holocaust would not have happened

Jesus would want us all
 
to be armed 
with machine guns
To protect us against the evil doers

It is the Christian thing to do


To blow away evil doers
With heavy arms


In America
Land of the free

Home of the brave
We can’t do anything


At all
About the mass carnage

Unleashed by madmen with guns

Who walk among us

Searching for their next victims
Any restriction of the right


To bear arms

Is tyranny at its worst
The nanny state run amuck

Talking about gun control

After a tragic event
Is

just not the appropriate time

We only need prayers

and meaningless thoughts

Universal background checks

Too onerous
Registering guns

Too burdensome

Researching gun violence

waste of tax payer money
banning military style assault weapons
r

Restricts my right 
to blow 
away

Bambi the deer
with a M16

the NRA will keep talking

talking and talking

preventing anything

from being done

and we will have another

Mass shooting event

Before the day is out

So my plead

This day
To the NRA
A
and their stoogies

Talk is cheap

Your comments
Are not helping

If you can’t

Be a part of the solution
Just stop talking

Please stop talking


And let the rest
Of us  figure out

How to stop

The madness in the streets
And stop the carnage


So NRA

Please
 just
 stop
 talking
 Now
another gun stop © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   


← Previous12 3 456…75Next →
guns **** People
Guns **** people
g
Guns do **** people
it is not mental illness

it is not video games
it is not a million other things

it is simply this
a gun is a weapon

a weapon designed to **** people

That is what guns do
guns don’t care

they do as they are told
If you pull the trigger
t
They will **** the victim

that is what guns do

that is why 
in a civilized society

military assault weapons 
are locked up

yet in America

the land of the free

home of the brave
 
everyone and his cousin

must have their gun

guns for everyone

cries the NRA

that’s the solution

The president
a 
and his supporters

deny the obvious
guns **** people
That’s all they do


it is a gun thing

you would not understand
Guns just do
what guns gonna do
**** people

Mr. President

You can take your words

your empty platitudes
Your empty promises
Your prayers 

straight to hell

and back

where with any luck

Satan will use you

as target practice
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (0)  0   

Chief of Staff You are Absurd

the President’s chief of staff
said the other day

it was absurd

to suggest that the president’s words

had anything to do

with recent mass shootings

yet is it absurd

to see the lengths

to which the President’s supporters
will twist and turn

spinning awa
y
the inconvenient truth
President Trump 
is a racist bigot con man

who some how
 conned his way

to become President
he call immigrants criminals, vermin, animals

invaders infesting the country
the El Paseo shooter 

said that he went to the border

to shoot the invaders

and said
 that he was a big Trump fan
it is not absurd
 to connect these two huge dots
The President’s words
 
have real world consequences

Yes Mr. Trump is a racist pig
a
and his supporters
 are being absurd

to suggest otherwise
another gun poem © 2 hours ago, john Cosmos Aller      
 Like (1)  1   

Mr. President Words Matter

Mr. President Words Matter

Mr President

Words matter

your words matter

your words of hate

your words of division
your words 
calling fellow human beings 
****, vermin,

invaders, animals 
matter

they matter a lot

and is it little wonder

that people listen 

to the hate you sprew forth

and some deranged people

take action 
on your call 
for action
against the invaders 

on the border


they march to the border

to **** the invaders
your words matter

Mr. President


and your false words
of regret
fool no one

the damage has been done

the hate has been spread

just as you intended

and you 
have the gall 

to call yourself
A Christian
you are the anti-Christ

you are not a Christian

so please quite pretending

to be what you are not

please man up

accept your responsibility

set things right

apologize

the dead though

don’t need your prayers

they need action

they need leadership

and you are the president

so please start acting

like you give a ****

and if you do so

perhaps 
you will find

people will follow you
but please
 quite the words 
of hate


the words that hurt
and quit calling immigrants
 invaders 
and vermin
 

they are human beings

they are deserving of respect
this I ask of you 
In Jesus’s name
even though I am not a Christian
another day, another shooting

Another Day Another Shooting
another day in paradise
just another day in Americal
Land of the free
Home of the brave

and gunshots,
lots of gunshots
more guns for all
cries the NRA

yes another day
another gun battle
another white man
who just wants to ****

the President sends his condolences
Thanks the law enforcement 
for an incredible job well done
It was horrible

Hate has no place
in our country
and we will take of it 

and do what ever we can do
condolences 
nothing but false words
empty words 

lots of things to do
it is mental illness problem

but he fails to mention
the words gun at al
not at all
and tomorrow and tomorrow

but he at least finally 
said 
hate has no role in country
nothing but prime BS
in my humble opinion

he did not mention 
white supremacy
his rhetoric had nothing
nothing to do 
about this at all

and so tomorrow
I will turn on the TV
and we see
nothing at all

and the dead
will remain dead
the guns will fire again

nothing will be done
welcome to America
land of the free
home of the brave
poems about gun violence
km Dec 2010
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions.
It’s born out of the head of ignorance,
it resides in the heart of the blind.
It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body,
until fully enslaved by inaction.
It turns agents into sun tanners,
activists into office workers,
outlaws into accountants.
It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws,
it places crowns on faceless leaders.
It slaps a smile across the *****, the beaten, the neglected,
the racially profiled.
It mutes news casts,
veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings,
glorifies the paycheck.
It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb,
corruption, and death proof.
It allows sleep at night,
it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet.
It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear.
It insures, “birds like to be caged,”
and “pain is just part of the human condition.”
It whispers these misconceptions
like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress.
Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy.
Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control.
Progress has forgotten it’s maker,
just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee.
Contentment leaks from the Western world
and infects all those around it.
When you are no longer content
you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life,
and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before.
When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
May not be printed for other than home use.
onlylovepoetry Mar 2019
~for Wendy ~

with my almost two years old poetry advisor,
who loves her Sunday rituals, an extra sabbath,
of waffles and Shrek, kid’s gym and artistic endeavors,
cozying up with Nana and siblings in a big old bed,
snacking and chewing on the good silk sheets

as always, she and and I go off to have an intellectual conversation,
letting the older ones to do kid stuff, while we converse and debate
topics of nature vs. nurture, the weather vs. climate change,
and the future of everything, unbeknownst to everyone else

which is greater, love or honor, she inquires,
sensing my thoughts are preoccupied with matters of honor...
as she strokes my itchy, scratchy day old face,
insuring her having my full attention, while
taking advantage of my loving weakness

grandpa:
honor over everything my opening gambit,
while she coyly harrumphs in response,
one can love without reason for such are
our natural souls programmed,
but honor needs concentration and contemplation,
and if done right,
then love will surely follow!

She-Woman:
ah ha! once again you sidle up to nurture,
cause love is too inexplicable,
old man, old man, did I not love you before
any season of reason crossed my brow,
and my vocabulary consisted of just
more, no, toy and hungry

what did I know of Aristotle, logic, codes of conduct,
the definition of honor yet abstract,
while love is nature’s illogical construct,
coming first without restrictions,
while honor is malleable and
property of the eye of the beholder

grandpa:
wise beyond your tears, you are, and unquestionably correct,
but while coming first, love cannot last,
until cover-coated with honor,
for honor gives us the because, and locks down the why,
honor gives the insight, the rationale, the rules of how to say
yes and no, when love is tendered and an R.S.V.P. is requested

She-Woman:
absent experience, for now will concede,
but be warned this is not over,
fo you have not brought me a definition of what truly honor be

grandpa:
honor is the housing of love, and though you granted me your favor,
comes the day that you will demand proofs that
what was unearthed & unearned
is now earned, a course in credit, a baccalaureate in life’s lanes,
when to heed them, when to crossover, when to say I do, I do,
no to someone else alone, and yes to your honorable self

She-Woman:
adult double speak, I suspect, and you will rue the day
when forced to concede, with a wrenched
‘child, I do not know,’
meanwhile change my diaper
after I karate chop your knee

Grandpa:
yes child, but know,  two of your requests/notifications are
honorable acts and/know real love can be ONLY be exchanged
tween honorable humans
see photo for her  in position preparing to strike

3/3/19 9:45 am
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
iPad Love

4:49 AM, and by the light of the silvery moon
and our iPad screens turned down low,
we snuggle side by side, our fingers glide so softly upon each,
each of our own devices, this technique,
it could be an app, teaching how to caress a human being.

No need to tell you in sound, out loud,  
how you turn my heart upside down,
I'll just post a note of appreciation on Facebook,
you will see it faster, and besides, you got your earphones on and
could not hear my sweet nothings if I screamed them in high definition.

The newspaper arrives on the electric "doorstep" -
no longer will do we venture outside in
pink bathrobes and curlers, or boxer shorts,
a legal gesture of neighborly disdain.
Americana, losing another icon, as well as  
insuring the unemployment of thousands of newspaper deliverers,
boys and girls, on bicycles, their first job, now obsolescent.

Your feet, so cozy and warm, touching mine,
the sensation, lovely and fine, duly recorded in a poem
that on my iPad I scribble, as my typos disappear, out of sight.
your ear, I nibble, something you hate and I love,
but electronically, it's done with no fuss or muss, and
I don't even have to move!

Sadly, I can find no app that will bring the warmth
of a cup of coffee to my night table, and the gun metal casing of
this invention is chilly, but still Steve, with almost God like vision,
you brought us closer in ways prior unimagined.

So baby,
shut it down,
turn me on,
make me warm for real,
glide your now practiced fingertips on my grizzled cheek,
whisper a phony "ugh,"
cause I know, you will read
this iPad love poem
and cherish us for evermore.

Nothing, something, even as thin as my iPad 2(!)
will come between us and the holiness, the uniqueness of
the human touch.

2011
Mahatma Jones Feb 2015
Paris is burning.
Tar streets boil in ecstasy as cobblestones shudder in fear.
The city is ablaze, a cataclysmic uproar,
multitudes of disheveled artisans carrying scorched canvasses,
singed paintbrushes and smoldering memory kits,
each individually packaged in flesh encased animal bags.
Flames leap from every heart,
racing down fire escapes into the arms of loved ones
who fret in the streets below.
Sidewalks hiss "Pleeeeassse"
then explode in a thunderous
"OH NO!"

Paris is burning.
Her watercolor tears, not out of sadness
but out of habit.
Rainbow stains for sinners and gentle madmen alike.
It's the end of love.

Paris is burning.
City officials, wearing smoke scented jackets and incandescent alibis,
(both in dire need of laundering),
tell ethnic jokes to the starving hordes of pressmen and reporters
who clamor impatiently outside.
A thousand horrible deaths search through the rubble
for possible survivors, insuring that there are none.
"these two rabbis walk into a bar, see.."

Paris is burning.
Centuries, like antique floral wallpaper,
turn brown, then curl at the edges,
rising in a spiral of thick, black,
gargoyle infested smoke.
It's the end of love.

Paris is burning.
C'est l'aroma fantastique in the air,
ah, but what is it? Escargot? Et vignon, flambeau, of course,
charred bouef, roast canard a l'orange, merci beaucoup;
Don't forget the '59 Cabernet du Normandy,
sipped slowly at a favored cafe but no, wait,
what is this, no.
It has all gone now, up in flames, all up in flames
merde..
so, you go to eat at the new McDonalds,
at the foot of the Eiffel Tower,
built in nineteen eighty-four
by a group of devout new-worlders and,
in the spirit of goodwill and brotherhood
that generally pervades these types of events,
shipped to France in a peaceful exchange
for another sculptural wonder,
the Statue of You-Know-Whatitty.
The enormous expense of this
gargantuan publicly funded project
was explained to the funding public as
a "social experiment", a test
to resolve, once and for all,
which of these two nations
is technologically superior to the other,
by determining which of the icons of modern civilization,
the fast food chain or the statue,
will best endure the ravages of time,
but alas, now,
as both the Tower de Eiffel and the Arches of Gold
are melting into one grande candle du ****,
France, it would seem, is up by one.

"Paris is burning", I thought,
"it's the end of love.",
when I first noticed the young hitchhiker standing by the road,
both lovely and lonely as life itself.
"Get in", I muttered, whilst the Louvre exploded
and was incinerated in the
thermonuclear meltdown at Chernobyl;
the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame were defeated at Waterloo,
and Quasimodo was traded to Cleveland for two femme fatales,
plus a hero to be named at a later date;
Joan of Arc got burned in an insider trading scandal;
Marie-Antoinette gave head to the Reichstag when
Napoleon deserted;
Descartes was discarded along with some rocks, worms and trees;
while the Seine simply evaporated,
and, two weeks later,
fell as rain over Nagasaki.

You see, my desire for her was so overpowering,
I would gladly have burned down any city
that she might have asked me to.

"Have you heard?",
I asked, as she got into the car,
lightly brushing my thigh with her hand,
"Paris is burning.
It's the end of love..."
(c) 1983 PreMortem Publishing
Donald Guy Jan 2014
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.

My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.

In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.

I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.

I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.

In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
palladia Dec 2013
some information cannot be found – you can only originate it. facts are often recycled in attempt to clear a logjam that has prevented us from finding ourselves. when i look at the billions of directions my life could have taken, you have to admit we're a very tough bunch, because, who else would have tagged along at this point? we're a recipe for disaster, but that's alright, because we already racked everything. we're bottlenecked. we're deadlocked in ourselves, and there's no way out.

strength cannot be given – it is only self-acquired. we can think of ourselves as vessels of change, but it won't be gifted to you. it has to be done by yourself. it's a real grabber. and once we take it to heart, it works.

axiology—the study of judgments. choice is so vital in postmodern culture, there's a whole branch of study attributed to it. should i take this opportunity, or should i decline it for another? should i rear success with my horns, or wait ecstatically for it to poke me? should i recline, take an easy ride, or work for it? – no matter which outcome, you're still going down the drain because you haven't established the most important part (yet).

i am struggling to understand economics, as well as applied mathematics. wall street certainly does not hang easy for me, but there is more to discuss than stocks and bonds. society has put us in stocks and keeps us in ******* – that’s wall street for you! there are still certain mysteries, such as you cannot put a negative number inside a radical. and all parabolas will have a reflecting twin, no matter how you look at it.

i fell asleep to a black and white movie, and it was still playing when i awoke. however it was in colour. i rubbed my eyes and sat there dazed until i concluded i was dreaming in colour. i woke up again and it was over. now i think that i watch the same movie, but colourized in my dreams, and that i can dream reality, while that reality is a dream within itself.

much reflection has been cast upon theoretical and unchallenged interest in scholars, for example. some presume we can only perceive one – ten-thousands of the universe but of course this can never be proven along with life's destiny and life's purpose, and indubitably, life's meaning. much dark and invisible matter perhaps comprise the rest, but the threads of an unroped cosmos are far from being knitted. can you prove your eternal existence by way of religiosity or science? Jesus rose on the third day and so did the interstellar medium situated in the midheaven. i sleep with a book of philosophy under my pillow, and i'm not in the least ashamed. Alexander the Great slept with a copy of the Iliad, and Mary Shelley, her late husband’s heart. at least philosophy doesn’t stain.

total uproar soars through the galaxy when i begin to think. the terror strikes, and i cower discrediting the truth. my trine is Jupiter, Saturn, and the sun. i’m an Aries, like the one of Judea. constant virtue is what i can believe but i speak in the revolutionary sense. i can enhance my life as long as i am able to try. there is always room to improve a man and i attest to that.

a literary device isn't useful at all until applied in context. an ambition isn't fully good until it is launched. Newton was right, after all. a body is motion will stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. you are an artist as long as you keep your creative process going until somebody threatens you. then you hide. you establish a force field, which protects you, and you trudge on, because all that matters is your art, in the end. it's everything.

think... Ω-style. one day lofty things won't take pleasure looking at you, because you’ll be confronting them head-first. machtprobe, a german word for showdown. like the one you'll be taking with yourself if you don't buckle down and unravel your weaknesses.

this morning i woke up and stared at myself in the mirror. i was depressed at the condition of my life and my position in the world. my reflection stared back and held up its ******* at me, saying "what are you going to do about it?" not knowing how to answer, i fumbled around possible responses, but it kept going, "it's not that simple, isn't it? life can be tricky when you've got no motivation. it leaves you in a rut until one morning you wake up, depressed about the condition of your life and your position in the world and your mirror's reflection holds up that *******, insuring you're completely aware of the awaiting consequences." it finally shut up and i stood there contemplating its message. "how bad do you want this?" were its last words i heard before i knew that 'initiative' was the one i would soon fall in love with and meet at the chapel to wed.

"either you take it all the way, or you're gonna go astray." it's either one or another, a choice that we have to make. and i don't my reflection to pose a threat to my self-esteem again, so i'm gonna take it all the way...because really. how bad do i want this?

i don't want to have a shoot out with myself again. so when you ask, i'll just tell you algol sent me.
I've been fostering this one for a long time: my ruminations that I've collected over the past year. It's a mini-autobiography of my life over the past year and what I hope to change in the future. It's those New's Years resolutions we keep for about a week and then banish until December 31 the next year. And now I'm taking a stand again and want to reclaim myself from the miserable ruts I fall into. So, it's more of a personal poem, as a sort of get up and go for the future of myself and my art. And I cannot fall back. Think: "how bad do you want this?"

This poem is written in anti-traditional form: no rhyme, meter, lines, or verses. It's more of an essay, because I am especially fond of writing them, when the topic is left up to the author to describe.
Steven Fortune May 2014
I.   Warning

A boundary of warning issued premature
to a lad settled on adventure
will plant definition in a red
corruption code of ketchup on a
post-picnic bib orphaned to the wind
like a fictional friend's home continent's flag

The vision-fielding velocity of neighbours'
arrows augment the sleep-shearing flares
of the father's eyes in the centrifugal
bullseye of his boy's current-green nursery
so close to swelling wide as a planet
now a marble left behind in favour of
a shrunken moon's spheric promise
of an otherworldly adventure

II.   Island

Subservient to boundaries of none but its own
the loner of landmass nurses its nautical mischief
through the employment of sensual labour in darkness
sizing them up to encompass a knowing glow
for the enigmas of bare-faced daylight

The premature thirst for adventure
attended to by the drink of sanctuary
poured from the skew of its welcome-mat shore

III.   Neighbours

Game and Disappearance serve
the Monarchy of Volume under code names
of Hide and Seek undertaking missions in the name
of circumstantial viceroys: decibels
scanning search parties through the x-ray of silent night
for the orchestration of the morn

Tweeting birds equate an army horn
rainbowing the insurgent black sky
with adventures in crusade-recital grooming

An airy beach of reeds is looming
in the coastal fog bracing to embrace
the route taken on the faith of melodic compass

IV.   Discovery

No labourer of mortal being beats the sun
out of bed not even the little one
succumbed to slumber in the bony shadow
of the instrumentally inscrutable contestant
to the claim of composition by his
solar brother's sacred nursery rhyme
insuring the rest and energetic rise of time

This adventure-hearted child heard no battle cry
in what the rivals of his bearded babysitter
dubbed The Sound Of Panic
just the anthem of a little conqueror beneath
a bucky smile of approval on the heels
of a swim befitting of an older lad but not
the aura of exhaustion conquering
the eyes of a goal imagined and achieved
and the smiling gratitude duet in return
from the dutiful and loving neighbours
lulled to their reunion reed field
in anticipation of a father's target met
with a son's accuracy in tow

11 26 11
Inspired by chapter seven of The Wind In The Willows by Kenneth Grahame...it is also the title of Pink Floyd's first album.
1434

Go not too near a House of Rose—
The depredation of a Breeze—
Or inundation of a Dew
Alarms its walls away—

Nor try to tie the Butterfly,
Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy,
In insecurity to lie
Is Joy’s insuring quality.
Kunbi Dec 2020
I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name
Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame

My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear
Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear

My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear
She never came back for me, but watched as I derail

Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion
Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion

                           ♚
                   Kunbi Dia
“I spent a lot of money on *****, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered. ” George best
John Hosack Dec 2010
Ambiguous propaganda seeps paranoia
into crevasses of budding knowledge,
spawning hordes of diffident souls
that cower behind the Aegis
of altruistic motives.

Self preservation clings
to pragmatic love
and delayed satisfaction,
while enthusiasts of law
leech gold from delicate
words left unsaid.

The expense of insuring hope
dooms creative anomalies
to tedious and ceaseless
indentured servitude.

And the day split-lip parasites
swarm like Death to claim souls,
the only cure
will waste away final days in
an attempt to prolong them.
Diana Mar 2014
You've caught me in a constellation. Stars surrounding us as the galaxies intertwine themselves in our hands and stardust settles in our hair. I don’t think we’re flying, no, we’re just kind of floating. Sustained in space without gravity to pull us down back to reality. Your skin is glowing as the pale moon illuminates you, your aurora embracing mine as we become one. Our hands are interlaced and our legs tangled up. I kiss your chest and I feel your heartbeat on my lips, insuring me that you are, in fact, here in this very moment with me. There is no time, nothing to pass us by. We simply exist in the now with no past to haunt us or future to worry about. Your breath leaves a chill to run up and down my spine, goosebumps rising and falling in time. Whispered words left in each others ears meant to flutter hearts and bring solace to souls once lost. At this moment, nothing has mattered more to me than your eyes and your hands and the way your lips move when they speak and you tell me the same thing, that right now I’m all that matters to you. It’s something I never completely believe but it’s so sweet to hear, making me feel as if I do matter, at least to you. We’re floating in space, no direction or objective. Our heads lost in each other as we fade away into the blackness that is not really as black as it seems. It’s more like a deep blue that is not found in the sea. Who knew something so dark could be so comforting. But it’s not really dark, because I’m here with you.
With assistance of the Holy Spirit,
compelling achievements will be seen;  
supernatural strength is available to…
overcome the nonsense of human routine.

As His responsible Christians today,
we must mature and have understanding
of the authority and power given us
by Christ, to address Life’s demanding.

When we have not, it’s the direct result
of not asking for… what we really need.  
Working from our natural strength fails,
and we will be trampled by sin’s stampede.

The fleshly combination of impure motives
and one’s selfish, wrong timing for results  
will keep one ensnared in Satan’s traps-
insuring the onslaught of ongoing assaults

that interfere with one’s divine purpose.
Prayer remains a violent, spiritual force
that interrupts the enemies’ plan against us.
We have a High Priest who keeps us on course-

One Who understands our weaknesses, infirmities
and the God-given abilities for Kingdom victory!
Come boldly now, to the heavenly throne of Grace;
enable your faith with prayer and learn to see

that Faith only works by the power of His Love.
Be anxious for nothing, with real thanksgiving
and let your specific requests be known by Him.
Only in His Name, can we achieve… greater things!
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
John 14:12-14; Jam 4:1-2,5:13-16; Heb 4:15-16;
Gal 5:6; Mark 11:22-25; Phil 4:6; Luke 10:19

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
(Start)
Divinity void at birth, grace gifted through a parents love, bestowed without warning, maintained without fuel. Security measures drawn, placed on potential porcelain tombs, and entrances unfit for entry. Soft spot guarded with a proficient level of tenacity, insuring life, and the maintenance of its quality.
(Stability)
Speech found, dolled out first in small dosages, replicating familiar terms. Footing discovered, despite quaking legs, still unsure of their design. In combination, a wonder tumbles forth, and empowers its creators with a sense of responsibility, and the need to secure a path in the world for their embodied prosperity.
(Dissolution)
Understanding drawn on a newly clarified society. Building and grasping onto fictions established to promote grounding and self-sufficiency. Day in, day out, the world expands, never contracts, overcomplicating itself among the generalities of everyday life, and everyday struggles. On the other side comes a curiosity in the form of confusion, demanding a translucent pictograph of intention and purpose.
(Reimagining)
Class starts with every other date, then expands until it consumes all but weekends, providing young, attentive eyes, with simplified understanding, all while slowly working to whittle away at the delightful fancy once taken up for the sake of fun. Aligned thought found in fellow participants working their way to the front of the feeding line, struggling to maintain the self as different views collide. A decade later, time to move on, and be separated from acquainted normality to draw from a new pen, and learn from a new set of rules.
(Disintegration)
Social circles established instantaneously, as a coping strategy for life in the wild. Evolutions of ideals and traits occur overnight, percolating to the surface before necessarily ready, as expansive thought draws away from fact, and onto experience, merging itself with a blue print stripped from an old socialites attic. Transgressions worth more than grades, as misconceived youths wander about for momentous occasions, misspelling and speaking in their retelling.
**(Re-entry)
Tempered blues played over megaphones in the high school gymnasium, as latent minded aristocrats, mocking and forging the appearance of Asperger’s, time out the cadence to meet without accord. Catatonic assembly line of carbon based replicas march in a circle, out of tune, winking at policeman, politicians…profits all the like. All this, while Aesop’s fables are shared to the collective of misty-eyed teens, in a speech of many words, but little point…Children, caged, redeemed, and finally reincarnated to match the product line being loaded into trucks, awaiting shelves; the new, meek breed of paper holders who once believed that education carried worth.
Liv Sep 2014
We have that secret way of traipsing around each other
Dancing at the outskirts of each other's minds
Carefully caressing the others heart but trying not to let them notice
Very carefully, ever so subtly, insuring the other that the feeling is mutual
Ryan Galloway Jun 2015
How do we judge
Patterns of love
For I have found myself
Trying to look
Past the water wrinkled pages of my tired book
Having just used it as cover from the pouring rain
Stepping into this crowded café
And immediately being struck
By the sight of you
I quickly divert my glance away
Yet finding my sight slowly circling the room
Slowly coming back around to
The arresting sight of you
Having realized that I had already given my order
Defaulting to an autonomous response
Showing that my mind was currently preoccupied
I hastily hand over a five
Having missed the exact price
As I walk away I look your way again
And of course I don't pursue
Sitting myself across the room
Viewing the setting in which I would be resting
Insuring it was visible by you
Quickly looking at lighting
And the surrounding set dressings
Of a slightly worn couch in front of a hearth
I set my book down
Making sure it was obvious from across the room
Hearing my name being called
I turn to gather my mindlessly ordered coffee
I see a glint in the baristas eye
Having seen me organizing my setting
And my quite obvious glancing
She called another name
And rising from her seat
The girl I had been admiring
Arose and let her eyes rest on mine
Bringing this suddenly heavy question to my mind
How do we judge patterns of love
And if it's possible to achieve at first sight.
wolflet Apr 2019
It's in my hands now
For years I have sat back
Watched other fumble and fall
I have learned and grown
Yet I am still the only one
Who sees the blatant errors
In front of our faces
They are not being fixed
but danced around
Like tiptoeing to a problem won't
Stop it from radicalizing
these issues have been lelt to fester there is no other option
Other than to radicalize ourselves in protest
To insure the change will happen
To insure the future will be better
Nat Lipstadt Aug 4
My First Anniversary…
(August 3, 2024)

This title, this poem, a wholly unexpected,
never thinking this path,  
this particular tango existential
would/was needed,
to be added to
my dance card

an early exit, a poem unplanned,
second chance was not a poem in my long
list of titles awaiting a turn to be written

a year ago,
they sent me to the surgeon,
who had prepared, with no hesitancy declared,
informed that we needed to start
all over again,
my poor heart
was waxing and waning,
and I was currently stuck on
the dark side of the moon,
with no jitney making stops theron

by the way,
the accumulation of damage had attained
a level where heart was
nearly exhausted,
( I believe he mentioned 98%)
that attention must be made,
how about
tomorrow we asked,
he laughed no can do,
but the day after would be ok,
and was I an earlier riser,
a coveted 600am slot available,
my name could be penciled in…

One tear ago, 
 wheeled me in, cracking jokes,
thinking what’s the big deal,
laughing hardest
was me,
for my motto was always leave them
(oops, poor choice of words) laughing…
fear was not in my lexicon, nor in my heart,
nor was
a ferry cross the
Rubicon

so many changes, so many poems 365 days later,
the life marked by many a Cain scar,
the big one, a pencil thin ****  hesty reminder,
plus assorted scars scattershot all over, where the “borrowed” veins and arteries, like pieces of twine, mighty fine,
(no, I never slashed a wrist, though it looks like it)
moved to different places,
repurposed, for I was now a used car
but with an extended warranty…

do not think on it much, but as markers come and go,
you think:

oh! I’ll never forget this trip, event, celebration,
and a week later your mind has nearly deleted it from the
critical events memory synapses, just another
day in the blah blah blasphemy
of a insignificant man’s unremarkable life…

but when I shower, the scars rise to the surface,
all over my body’s map, they come out shouting,
“look what I did for you,” from places weird,
they tingle, insuring my never ending surprise,
at that Olympic trial,
they raced, earning a piece & place
on my gold, overall medley team medaling,
or meddling
(when I tease them…)

so, let us bring this to a close, one man’s life,
ain’t making much a difference to most everybody else,
but the question that needyfor asking,
have you changed, how have you changed?

Less than you think, still write you poems with head and heart,
with humor and wit, sweet revelations, reverent with feeling, somehow a
bit original, leaving you laughing,
or maybe even better, smiling…

my mistakes all shared, and my burdens, some shared,
some too dark to be ever revealed, and I’m guessing I’m pretty
((much😉))
the same as I was before, older, not much wiser,

but these days, I surprise myself, for I sit outside
overlooking the wide waters surrounding,
embrace the sun at its earliest morn appearance,
love me the whipping snap of the
sound of great continuous wind gusts,
all the while surveying the world,
while winds are flowing all over me
like vibrant caresses, excavating my creases,
the ancient and recent
lineage
upon my face,
and sit in utter peace
thinking about everything,
and never tire,
staying for longer than a man has a right to do nothing
but to
reassess,
evaluate,
judge,
convey…
and
always
refresh
and confront
today’s

tally…
music
“Blue” by Joni Mitchell
“Older” sung by Ben Platt
Thomas Jun 2016
If you think that your passwords are   Un-hackable, change them anyway...

In a recent study it is shown that women are 80% more likely than men to use the word "password" as their password. This gives hackers a #1 target. Along with "password" other easy combinations follow "1234" "4321" "123456" etc...

So what do we do to prevent pervs from getting our credit card password and buying all the stuff off of any perverted website...
Think about your password really hard, write down what it is on a private file "in/out of the computer", never ever have the same password for anything.

What is our government doing to make sure that they don't get hacked?
The governments preventative measures to insure that there is no "cyber terrorism" they have hackers hired to literally hack the U.S. Government. Then if they get through (which happens a lot) the government then immediately fixes it.

The way the government is insuring and enforcing security in the country is failing, due to the amount of "supposed" and "legally" obtained land around the world, the more they collect the less smaller the number of people you have to protect the area. The amount of money going into the country itself is much less than what is invested into international military involvement. Why spend so much?
Because Americans have a lot of pride, they think that the world owes it to them because their so rich. Yet the U.S. Has a debt of $19.3 trillion dollars.

Every year the US government spends $598.49 billion dollars, why? Since the US loves to put its big shiny boot into everyone's *****, a lot of people start disliking them, so the US ready to **** it's pants builds up a military that makes them look tougher.
A rant that may not make any sense.
O Lord, I know and see that I’m powerless
to fight against circumstance’s mountain;
meet needs; anoint me with oils of gladness
as those, who mourn -before God in Zion-.

Rest Your mantle of praise upon me now;
allow me to recuperate my strength and sing
mightily of Your goodness, grace and mercy.
For You alone, dominate my heart’s strings

with the knowledge of the scarlet thread,
that binds my Life’s existence to You;
enlighten my spirit with more of Your Truth,
insuring that enemy traps… I will eschew.

Give me ‘beauty for ashes’, soon and suddenly;
from my sadness and hurt, I will have victory!
I will never possess a spirit of fainting,
since I’m His child, on a spiritual trajectory

that insures my ability to overcome troubles.
Avoiding bitterness from my experiences of pain,
I’ve felt the healing force my soul required-
found alone in the power… of His Holy Name!
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Isa 61

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Benjamin Wilks Dec 2013
Glued to the T.V.
When you explore the mouth of a tiger and don’t find a genie,
But meet the teeth of a beast who is grinning out feed me.
Is this the world my teachers praised and reminded me of?
****, no wonder I’m glued to the T.V.
Drug called control and getting off it isn't easy.
When addicted to it you become a victim to it, insuring a stormy life
And words aren't making it breezy.
****, no wonder I’m glued to the TV.
Rather not hear the complaints of feminists,
Or pay attention to images of slit writs that only provoke me to reminisce
About some stupid **** that didn't apply to me but I wished it did, until it really did.
No tears shed, whenever I’m glued to the TV.
Religious fear implemented by the hypocritical, demented spirits who will spit at you
And write the lamented.
Not the desired destination for eternal resting, but hell in a daydream is so interesting.
Anybody who walks on holier ground would have stood and questioned
But I’d rather be Constantine than a teen that complains constantly.
****, no wonder I’m glued to the TV.
It should be against the law to escape into another’s mind,
Or have your dreams influenced by another’s.
“Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, we’ll find out some other rhyme,
But let’s put on Loki’s mask to and joke of each other’s crimes.
Inspired to do so,
Glued to the TV.
Aaron E Nov 2019
If it's a distance empty from the A to B we can't decipher.
lined along with bricks and mortar, stick and stone left how we like em.
How do efforts scurry through assuming light could bless the shadow
nose to sky with hopeful glances honing in on roads of gravel.

Growing disillusion suits a lofty breadth of chest to beat on
knowing in the end a setting sun eclipses better eons.
Apropos of nothing and devoid of any hopeful signal
known to try imposing gold on weathered stone, and broken spindles

Drew the yoke upon a sect who we prescribed a disposition
drawing red each sordid line, insuring they'll be sent to prison.
Never free. The harvester assumes the fruit have grown impatient
failing here to see them printing license plates on new plantations.

Maybe in the future we'll refuse the craven role, observer,
graduate to breaking through, return the lives we stole with fervor.
Maybe while elites are keen to trim the fat and clip the losses,
we'll discover links they hadn't seen, between our little boxes.
The path was long and arduous
And night began to veer
O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates
Its' shadows breeding fear

Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round
Tombstone crosses where
Hissing its’ frustration
Loudly in despair

It sought to nourish fears
The shadows did create
Searching everywhere to find
It’s soul-less night-time mate.

Moonbeam light kissed the Night
Claiming shadows as their child
Together then in lock-step
They bent on running wild

And there, where he awaited
Their cold inspiring touch
With doctrines of all Evils
Firmly in his clutch

The blackness in his heart,
Thumping ‘neath his frock
Soon it’s rancid maladies
The Wind would there unlock

Thoughts of what’s to come
Then twisted lips to smile
Revealing stained and yellowed teeth
Trapping breath so rank and vile

‘twas then The Prince of Avarice
Rose and stood *****
The world would soon be his
To ravage and infect

His eyes of snake, both bespake
Behind their reptile lids
The embrace of the doctrine
For no Evils it forbids

The Wind increased its’ howling
Icy fingers pushing fro
Arranging fallen hopes
Into a dead rouleau

And you and I so un-suspect
Of pending alchemy
Believing we were safe inside
Cocoons of normalcy.

Our naiveté so firmly grasped
Caused us to belie
The chaos we knew not …
‘twas there, and drawing nigh

As Wind fingers touched him
He yelled out his decree:
“ The Prince of Avarice shall reign
And destroy Democracy!”

His school of ghouls, dunce and fools
Clamored to his side
Greed having won the day
Was about to take It’s ride!

Greed, first blessed the banks
And Wall Street did rejoice
The Prince of Avarice then silenced
All protestor ‘s voice

With lies and propaganda
All fabricated well
Then all the bankers rang
The borrowers death knell

Morgan Stanley, AGI,
Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs
Raking in what Greed gave out:
Billions in green-backs.

Glutted bankers,
Through laughter Greed had honed
Uncaringly showed the world
A prediction - their prodrome

Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes
Insuring that which failed
But jobs the cost, as homes were lost
And not a banker jailed.
b e mccomb Nov 2016
now i wake up at
five a.m. insuring i've
sufficient time to paint
my face on kind enough

my hands
smell like coffee
i taste blood
from blisters breaking
down and around
my smallest joints

(in control
stay in control
i have to stay
in control)


smile until my face
aches in a kind of
competitive way
because my pain will
bring no gain if i can't
seem nicer than the next girl

(i keep saying that i'm
dead inside but the irony
of the joke is that i'm actually
too alive to want these thoughts)


and i'm sure if i told anyone
that anxiety keeps me wide awake
and depression keeps me asleep
they just might not believe it

(i don't think it sounds
reasonable to say i've
got a physical and chronic
pain in my head from the
pressure of my darkest
most brutal thoughts)


when i was thirteen
i told myself never
ever to use my mental
illness as an excuse

so i plunged forward
through depression deserts
anxiety avalanches
forests of fear
tired old towns
migraine mountains
warped wastelands and
suicide swamps

and just last week
i realized my downfall
in not letting my pain
tell me when to slow down

when what i would not
allow to be my excuse
became my
disability.
Copyright 11/19/16 by B. E. McComb
Are your ears being tickled?
Is your soul’s carnality being fed?
Are you running on the wrong path?
Are you blindly being led?

What is your theology?
What do you really believe?
Where will you spend eternity?
Does The Word match… what you perceive?

Continually, out of your mouth,
the desires of your heart flow;
understand your true motivation;
move beyond the Church’s status quo.

Be humbly filled with The Spirit
and receive God’s holy unction;
ask for your vision, insuring…
that your gifts properly function.

God is examining your heart,
against Truth’s only baseline!
Are you devouring the Scriptures
or feeding on some… toxic doctrines?



Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
1 John 2:18-27; Matt 12:34, 15:11; Ecc 11:9;
Psa 51:17; Heb 4:12; Luke 6:45

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
The sky split, cracked open through sheer force. A spectre’s mind is hailed away to a foreign shore, nestled amongst unsolidified generalities, binding it to the aftermath of time’s relevance. Hope came in a voided sun, imploding in the sky over Bethlehem, and through its transparency, a vision of the end was brought forth to this unjust land, where filth rules supremacy, and dominion is granted for a grandfather’s pittance. It displayed the market value of a soul through a diminished stance, collapsing on the shore as violent waves crash and beat the resonant senses held within.



Contemporaries held in fear, chucked and pushed down back alleys, ending up under the pier, vandalizing a vanquished peer, awkward glances insuring no one is near. Washed away with the evening tide, passed up to the coast after a lifeless ride. Broken down, drifting with the stream, token now, drifting with the dream.
Naturalized and neutered before a board of advisors, composed of highly unsanitary elders, pieces of flawn stuck to the chin, picked up while eating from another’s bin. Dictated and deemed to seem all right, recreations shown on daily late night, refracted and turned into a joke, remuneration held as big brother had spoke. Patience restored as order forms in line, hastened into place by fluorinated wine, individuals return to their lives, and negligently pass over recent lies.
An important message for Christ’s saints,
is to guard hearts from becoming downtrodden.
Attacks started immediately with Man’s creation,
knowing that Adam lost the first estate of Eden.

People must not lose sight of their Godly identity,
during this critical age of holy dispensation.
The Great Commission is still relevant today,
for bringing souls unto the revelation of Salvation.

Eternity is a serious subject that no one,
imbued with the Holy Spirit, should take lightly.
Avoid messages of subverted ideas about the Kingdom;
continue in a Truth-filled life… that shines brightly.

Your belief system demonstrates the way you think;
therefore, daily renew your mind with The Word.
The power of speech yields a degree of influence;
be sure to understand what you’ve learned and heard.

The love of Christ constrains us to spend time with Him;
we’re to repeatedly lift up our voices in prayer.
Cultivate your ongoing relationship with the Lord,
insuring to diligently remain… within His care.

Though we have not reached the fullness of time,
we must remain alert to avoid eternal damnation.
Allow the Holy Spirit to lovingly reveal Truth,
so you may embrace the Kingdom’s fullest dimensions.


Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 28; Phil 2:1-11; Rom 1:16-20

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
To be the man I want to be,
that I know I should be.
Father, friend, husband, lover,
these are the things which escape me.

I look at you, at her, him,
in eyes I see within
my failure.
The way you look upon me,
wishing I were someone other—
our mutual hunger.

Each night I pray,
forgiveness, guidance, love and understanding.
The very same I myself
reluctant advancing.

My cheek stings by correction's notice.
Loving him, to love my clan.
To ask him, is to beg man.

An apology, not in word but in deed.
To seek and uncover a new self,
not insuring soul redeemed.

Rather to show than say,
my sons, wife, I am sorry—
tomorrow is
a new day.
There in the road lay a free-minded crustacean.
Turned out to be no more than a wayward piece of insulation.

.
.
.

“Please allow me to introduce myself; I’m a man of wealth and taste”
Turned out to be no more than a man cleaning up basic waste

.
.
.

Good morning fool…
I said to myself.
Reaching for the uniform on the bottom shelf.
Spent a few minutes putting it on,
Insuring the curtains weren’t fully drawn.
Stood a minute posing before the glass…
A man bellow presented himself as a colossal ***
So I dropped a loogie just over the edge
Poor aim left it hanging from my window’s ledge
                              
                            ­  .
                              .
                             ­ .

The streets were swarmed with the innocently vain,
Looking for regal alleyways to make a social gain.
Marching through the “Slickers” campus,
Watching the bobbing of books holding tidbits on the hippocampus.
.
A new year comes.
The freshman student runs.
Princeton ushers in a new breed;
Teaching that blue is the only blood to bleed.

                                                         ­   .
                                                            ­.
                                                            .

­As I stumble towards the school,
Can’t help but feel I’ve been made to feel the fool.
Snickers jab at my waning pride.
Preppy children always seem so snide.
Overhear a remark mocking my attire,
Said by an ascot wearing boy filled with mire.
Left the path for ivy coated building.
An hour later, the day’s dwindling.

                                                     ­                                 .
                              ­                                                        .
       ­                                                                 ­              .


A teacher stands at the front of a classroom.
A man at the back sweeps with his broom.
The professor,
Proceeds with his lecture.
Spreading misconceptions on malformed events.
The man at the back cleans the covers on the vents.
There, a question is put toward the crowd.
The janitor in the back answers aloud.

                              .
                         ­     .
                              .

I shouldn’t have opened my ******* mouth!
Who cares if bigotry’s still relevant in the south?
People glare in mocking jest.
Blankness sits on the faces of the rest.
I’m only here to pick up the trash,
A job I use to make some extra cash.
They all have money for a proper education.
There’s no time for me, and my financial situation.

.
.
;
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
no, what really got to me was that i wasn't allowed to practice my Christianity, even with abandoning all Catholic bureaucracy with a confirmation not had... i could have forgiven the brain haemorrhage, even though i should have been taken to a hospital while it happened and told to not use marijuana ever again to lead up to a 7 year psychosis... now i'm drinking each night to stabilise my wrath... you know the hardest thing to stomach practising Christ's lesson about turning the other cheek? the complete and utter apathy and added ridicule when you take it to the extreme of having a culprit you know live out Cain's life, free, no prison, no exacting of law, free-roaming true forgiveness faked by popes in prison cells forgiving criminals, under the full eye of the law, nothing godly about it... but what makes the criminal worse is this petty nibbling ridicule of Christians... they're the ones insuring themselves, and counting domino after domino of hurt... ******, at 115 kilograms, you better know judo... i'll broomstick that glee off your face like i'd eat a chicken nugget. or as it happened at the Olympics today, world champion Poland v. Iran (e-ran, or i-ran, you get the picture), 18 - 16 in the fifth set... there's a joke running in Poland, all about the Anti-Olympic scuffle... Harold Norse's poem i'm not a man - the beard and the braids... how this suicide bomber comes to Warsaw and gets braids on his beard and plums under his eyes and kills no one; funny, don't you think?

after that ****** book is finally published,
i'll head over to Richmond, or some other affluent
part of London and leave it somewhere someone
might pick it up, i decided on zero graphics,
meaning it be like the Beatles white album
with the words: Πoετικ Oπτoμετρy printed
on a white cover, with my name and signature
to mind - ever so often phonetic encoding become
skeletal, how bewildering that the Chinese
kept the ideogram from the times of Pharaohs -
and yes, i sometimes don't believe in Darwin,
with the way they treated Anaxagoras -
i think of the Forest Gump tribe in meddling
things up - among us it's so hard to involve
a question whether than evolution was as uniform
and coherent as expressed from the starting point
of a chimp revelling in more or less universal
behaviour akin to his physical attainments -
very much missing in man - either the Musketeer quote
or nothing at all... a dog like his owner is resemblance,
a friend carried away from being foe in
resemblance too - but i chose my friends unwisely -
the embittered loathing of life from a genetic point
of view, while i took to it in acceptance,
then of late experiencing a complete and utter
waste of trying to experience empathy totally corrupted -
i doubt we evolved, if evolution only means
the Christian elect, and the Hebraic chosen -
i guess it must feel like a night in Las Vegas trying
to talk for the entire human race...
no wonder atheism is supreme in that venture:
i can look at my **** floating as an ice-berg
in the toilet and speak Shakespeare to it,
but will that attract a crowd of listeners? probably not.
so according to the Chinese, keeping the ideogram
was not such a bad idea if encrypting sounds,
shoo xi chow min xaxa was not such a bad idea,
ideograms prevented more invasions than the great
wall of China... it was fattened up, that encryption,
it wasn't see-through skeletal as what was worked up
using the Hebraic standard... א... αλεφ - it just became
bones on bones*, or mass graves, or multiplicity, or algebraic
chi (χ) - the intersection, hence the engraved multiplying
capacity of more nouns, and more nouns, and nouns,
and more nouns, when the phonetic encoding for
the intersection came, we could hoard more riches
of naming things... in this i believe are animals
evolving... but within a framework of
day-to-day, we're not improving, collectively,
the trial of Socrates for one, the profanities surrounding
Anaxagoras - in the collective talk of things
when evolution arises from singletons it's untrue,
outcast, gone, no ditto never ever again -
evolution is talked about in a pluralistic tongue,
it's this autocratic inclusion of everyone on
the same level... that's fine when there are exceptions
on a purely physical criterium, spectator sports,
but on the mental level, without stadium
psychology of roaring and clapping?
you're in trouble... evolution involves progressive
uniformity and no individual out-performing,
but out-performing each other is demanded
when there's an evolutionary plateau,
meaning that the collective requires a physical
differentiation, a spectator sport, and that's applauded,
it's actually demanded...
but reach an evolutionary plateau where there are many
prior-established economic or political systems
believed to be defunct and unnecessary, and you
get an individual rebellion that criticises such
institutionalised systematisations - you run into trouble,
once trying for a viable individualisation,
no no longer a process of: but a stability as
the prior not-mentioned individual attainment.
when the fear of expressing language language in a complicate
way outweighs the presupposed complication of
the ten mathematical "letters"... that's
when it gets interesting... because then people
cannot conjunction casual inference of talk
with an abstract expression of talk... of v. v.
an abstract inference of thought with a
casual expression of talk - not quiet the square you
were expecting along the synonymous and antonymous
lines, were you? see how writing proposes geometry?
i could have written something different...
something akin to a poetic rhyme; it's harder to find
a rhyme using philosophy, and contradict that
it's necessarily a rhyming quartet not rhymed
as designated Gemini couplets.
An important message for Christ’s saints,
is to guard hearts from becoming downtrodden.
Attacks started immediately with Man’s creation,
knowing that Adam lost the first estate of Eden.

People must not lose sight of their Godly identity,
during this critical age of holy dispensation.
The Great Commission is still relevant today,
for bringing souls unto the revelation of Salvation.

Eternity is a serious subject that no one,
imbued with the Holy Spirit, should take lightly.
Avoid messages of subverted ideas about the Kingdom;
continue in a Truth-filled life… that shines brightly.

Your belief system demonstrates the way you think;
therefore, daily renew your mind with The Word.
The power of speech yields a degree of influence;
be sure to understand what you’ve learned and heard.

The love of Christ constrains us to spend time with Him;
we’re to repeatedly lift up our voices in prayer.
Cultivate your ongoing relationship with the Lord,
insuring to diligently remain… within His care.

Though we have not reached the fullness of time,
we must remain alert to avoid eternal damnation.
Allow the Holy Spirit to lovingly reveal Truth,
so you may embrace the Kingdom’s fullest dimensions.



Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 28; Phil 2:1-11; Rom 1:16-20

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
john p green Jan 2016
Took ma to the movies
Was in 3D at that
Awesome start to the new year
Till the very next day
And that's when I thought
Sure the movie was great
Afterwards a nice walk
Yet there was a part of it
I took away from her heart
Such a simple plastic wrapper
Meant to protect plastic glasses
Didn't protect itself from me
As I threw both ours away
Now one thing I need mention
Was that neatly tucked in ma's
Insuring safety of a memory
Lay her fresh placed ticket
Just as careful as she put it
She ever slowly pulled it out
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
There has been no interbellum.

We, the committee investigating the threat
that has resurged, or refluxed from the gut,
we offer in conjecture objects of affection.

Biometrics bind us to knowing our BP & HR,
to the most precise degree… insuring some
shall live far too long,
and be granted executive rank,
after all common sense would tell a man,

step down, admit the fact, we ought not
mess with the message,
entrusted to our care,

we must be two minded, when we form
bonds that have been known to hold
family ties religiously, as ifs we know,
familiar spirits, whispering peace
from war, in true confusion
we needed liberty,
oh, we really needed
to be free to take from those who had,
survived since the Clovis Culture
disintegrated
into travelling teachers,
trading stories for stories, bundled
recollections of what the other knew,
- and and not and gate design
- discerning between soul and spirit

all the ones whose signs we see on stone,
with arrows showing they went from here
into the whirlwind,
and we are standing where that was planned.
A touch of otherwise reality, if ever escaped HelloPoetry, for a season
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2018
The choice to stop was mine.
The addiction itself was a different story.
Doctors don't write prescriptions for this kind of stuff.
The cold sweats associated with anger.
The beginning is the hardest part.
Admitting temptation.
I was addicted.
The situation had ended but I kept obsessing.
Knowingly risking health.
The way you feel, the way you taste.
I couldn't afford to lose you as well as myself in the process.
Properly insuring another substance for another.
The cost of Medicare.
It was my decision, my choice.
Your voice a constant peer pressure of finding bliss.
If only for a minute.
At some point I ignored my own voice.
Reaching for you again.
I acknowledge that it was my responsibility.
Blaming everything around me, even you.
In this brief moment, common sense wasn't so common.
Not anymore.
Forgetting that actions have consequences.
For every second I ignore you.
You whine, you cry.
Becoming my chronic illness.
The enabler to what ever complaint.
It's hard to quit.
Finding every excuse except the right one.
She was the highway.
I was the traveler.
Weary in search of exit.
This road becoming longer and longer.
The lights becoming more and more distant.
Each exit in-between stops having fewer establishments.
Additional signs appearing with more temptation.
The cold sweats are back, this anxiousness to reach for something that I know isn't there.
This addiction to hold you, crave you, taste you.
This urge to love you as much as I did.
This persistent itch that I can't live without you.
Doctors don't write prescriptions for this kind of stuff.
The warning labels causing more harm than good.
Reminiscing on times that I shouldn't.
The choice to stop was mine.
To love someone that doesn't love you back
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2017
Inside there lays a sort of guilt.
Insuring that the electric company does their job.
The only problem is most nights there is never anything worthwhile watching.
I often question the receptacle, the thought of changing cable providers.
I thought of saving myself, turning the tv off and going to sleep.
But where's the fun in that.
Watching colors run frantically across the screen.
The flick of a button brings a different hue.
A different click of the screen lock checking for notifications, plugging my phone back on the charge.
By passing all the channels at least twice before finding a show that fills the 30 minute gap.
The hard part of favorite shows is that most time they come on when either there's not enough time. Or someone spoils the ending.
Either way here I am looking for something to devote my time.
And here I am, seeking
Some kind of reassurance that you'll return after the infomercials.
My new favorite show.
You

— The End —