I've got the luck.
The luck to find you.
Be with you and become star struck.
You're this mystery of constellations.
Tropical Zodiac of which I attract.
May and June is when you were born.
But who you are inside, you seem so torn.
If I stick around long enough I get to see all the sides to you.
Too many to count. I've stuck around too long.
We always start off great.
Amazing chatter and interest.
Attraction like fire burning late.
The days are getting shorter.
My time more precious.
Its you I want to spend it with.
I just have one question.
Are you a Gemini? Don't answer I know this one.
We've been intense tonight.
You looked into my eyes.
And the world just felt right.
We kissed and passion you were over-run.
We just had *** and I was the best you'd ever done.
We just told each other we were in love. Feelings too intense to keep to our selves.
You suddenly went cold and disappeared. Like a beautiful dream irrecoverable in the morning.
As surreal as you came you left.
You've hurt me more times than I could take.
You've left me feeling like, with my life there's nothing more I can make.
You're a Gemini.

We the citizens, who live as refugees,
We keep earning & see if our life is turning,
To the price rise, we lose savings,
Still we remain rock-bottom in standard of living.

We belong to the middle class,
Whose life always a breakable thin glass.
Our life remains completely unsettle,
Every second, life tests our mettle.

Life chases us with pressure, failure and useless lecture,
We are nurtured with a fear of future,
Happiness remains just a leisure,
Live with the unsecure & unsure present for a secure future.

We keep us busy and function,
We fear, when there arrives a function,
Towards happiness, we run as a pilgrim,
For the corporates, we become a mere victim.

We run like an athlete for salary, food and target,
For this globalized world, we are just a market,
Like hungry dogs, we wait for increments,
We keep running with bitter disappointments.

We live in own house, only in our dreams,
Our hearts cry with hopeless screams,
Failures remain our tutors,
Inability has turned us the irrecoverable debtors.

Our appearance has a rich look,
We have untold hidden burdens,
That keep us shook,
Keeps us forbidden and fear-ridden.


Low class think us rich,
High class always want us to be their *****,
Politically neglected by the rulers,
Economically exploited by the rich powers.

We exhaust ourself for subsistence,
We remain victorious and satisfied only in our existence,
We lose our life to sustain in competence,
We run our life with a mere persistence.

More than the high class and low class, we suffer,
Our lives never progressed as governments differ,
All see low class with empathy and sympathy,
To our difficulties, we are looked with apathy.

On rich, we are not jealous,
Towards our aim, we are zealous.
Never think we are nothing,
We truly have nothing to lose.

We take risks to make history,
Our path is nothing less than a mystery,
You never allow us to come up,
But we are not going to give up.

Hello High class,
Never pretend to live like us, to exploit us,
Gone are the days, we remained fools,
You will stand a day as the super intelligent fools.

Before, we are hungry for food,
Now, we are hungry to rule,
Before, we feared to live,
Now, we are ready to win the world.

We are nothing! We are nothing
We have nothing to lose!
We won’t stop until having nothing could do nothing to us.

I have a dream! I have a dream,
To the racial discriminators, said Martin Luther King,
I have a dream! I have a dream!
To the evil-creating economists, I warn and ring.

Globe witness hunger, inequality poverty and unemployment
The world turns out to be bitter,
To all of you, I write this letter.
To create a world relieved from these and turn better.

I am a mad aspiring economist, a fool,
Searching for the right tool,
You turned the world with full of mess,
People are left with nothing less.

To the world, you gave theories,
Pushed us into a vicious cycle of injuries,
About your theories, you boasted,
It has created a few ruling and bloated.
Most of you worked as economic hitmen,
Turned victim laymen to fighting gunmen.

To the realities, your theory is distant,
Served no solution to the dying peasants,
To the few, we remain a psychological slave and servants,
Tuned our lives to a depended migrant.

With your development lecture,
You have killed the entire nature,
In the name of ventures, corporates turned vulture,
Hunted and looted our generations’ future.

We lived a self-reliant community,
You killed us with imposed liability,
Our lives are now placed in intensive casualty,
The word that remains imagination still is equality.



We lost our humanity and identity,
In your eyes, we are just a market and commodity,
Your play with scarcity, was a mere futility,
We finally became a society, filled with atrocity.

Your useless lectures of development,
Put us under frightening & irrecoverable unemployment,
For a few, you got us into a deep-rooted enslavement,
So, now for you instead, we make a replacement.

To my questions, you neglected and ran,
In your eyes, I am foolish stupid common man,
To you short-sighted range,
I say I will bring in a change!

Today, I may remain lower and mere viewer,
A day will come, where you will stand to answer,
Writing a new rule, I would seize your beloved positions,
This will be my lifetime mission and ambition.

I say with all my limited experience,
I will put a test to all your conscience,
Are you just a fat-big corporate’s hand?
With people will you always stand?

I am not an economist,
I am neither an egotist,
I proclaim! I proclaim!
I am a revolutionary economist,

I know you will fit me a label,
I am sure I will be an economic rebel,
A rebellious economist.

I dream a world without huge inequalities,
I dream a world free from imposed liabilities,
I dream a world without poverty and disparities,
I finally dream for becoming an economist with no ambiguities.

Bombs are falling in Aleppo,
the evil failed man that rules,
killing his own people,
Innocent noncombatants,
sheltering in their homes,
Crushed and buried in the
falling rubble of a dictator's
vengeful hate.

None but the volunteer
White Helmets digging
with bare hands to save
and unbury them, most
victims, irrecoverable pieces.

Occasionally, miraculously
some are spared and saved.  
Through these valiant selfless
efforts.

Oh Syria, you are bombed and burned,
while the world fiddles an obtuse tune
and turns its collective back on desperate
human cries for assistance.

Today it's 5th September,in our country as we all know,it's celebrated as Teacher's Day.And,in my life I'm so much indebted to my teachers that I can hardly repay it or even can explain in words that what they gave me.From very early childhood I've a teacher,since I've sense I come to know that lady as my Mother,my basic education is her credit obviously,even now-a-days,when I'm in abroad.In such a unfamiliar world far from family friends,I feel so blessed I'm.In our Life as long we alive,our basic or moral education is the pillar which built our mindset or our character,rather than guide us the whole way along.And,here's the point I'm really feel myself blessed,the lessons of Life,she taught me in that Childhood,I really can't deny her debt.And,next to my Mother here I'll go for the persons beyond family-friends-relatives,who're not there always with me in the war of life,in the struggle of existence,but their presence is inevitable.After my Mother the persons taught me the mantra of Life are my Teachers.Throughout my Student Life I've met many & so many teachers as all of You.But among them very few are there,and that few are the people who made me whatever I'm today,irrecoverable debt,indebted forever.........................!!!!!!!-05.09.2013

I've seen many in this gender;
Tying their essence
to another's existence,
Trying so hard to please and impress;
leaving them disappointed and depressed

I've seen many in this gender;
Reduced to drudgery and slavery
lose themselves and bravery
Regarded as a mere piece of meat
beaten and trodden under their lover's feet.

I've seen many in this gender;
Run away from public sight
afraid to men, it would be a slight
Holding back salient potentials
thinking to the world, are not essential.

I've seen many in this gender;
Used mainly for pleasure
taken to have no place or future
Treated in utter disdain
left to suffer innumerable pain

Yet I've seen some in this gender;
Awaken from their slumber
though few in number
leave beautiful memories and irrecoverable marks
refusing to be silenced at the back

So to us of this gender;
I believe there's more to you and me,
More than what the society sees.
Dare to be among the few that leaves their shield
Dare to be among the few that rises and not yield.


Chi Obinna

Some call me a genius.
Some call me insane.
My friends say I'm a tragedy.
My parents say I'm just a little eccentric.
Tell me what you think.
I am nothing but a puppet.
Being handled and tossed around.
After awhile I'm just set aside.
I'm diverting at first, almost enjoyable, but, in the end, a bitter pill to all.
I apperceive no need to breath.
I have to necessitate my lungs to swell with air, then to shrivel, and epitomize the essence of life.
That's where my eloquence comes from, or it's the insanity. I'm not sure.
In my frigid, obscured, irrecoverable mind, insanity is eloquence, eloquence is tragedy, and tragedy is beauty.
I exist for the darkest of romances, the most distorted of lives.
It brings me what's closest to a sense of your "well-being".
I hate, therefore, I love.
So if I love hate, then, I love circles.
That's what my love is, a circle.
The grasps of reality, though persistent, quickly overwrought and became transient to me not very recently, but not too long ago.
I will abruptly tear down and rip to shreds any mark of social normality in or around me.
Now, will you decide whether I live or die?
Or shall I for you?

i am sick and tired of people
trying to get to know me,
trying to figure me out,
trying to show me i'm better than i believe,
that i'm nicer than i make out to be

i'm not

you can't romanticize me
into being some kind of anti-hero,
into being some kind of lost soul who
just needs saving
or a hug

no, no hugs
please no hugging
i'll break your arms
physical contact? i can only accept that from a
limited few, on rare occasions.
it sickens me.

some people are imperfect and flawed,
irrecoverable,
and they own it.

sometimes you just have to accept
that some people are pieces of ****
and they like it that way.

i like keeping you all at arm's length,
at the very least

who'd ever want to let down their defenses
in front of
strangers

with grenades disguised as encouraging words
and guns disguised as empathy,
or sympathy...

i won't let your petty, loving instincts penetrate my armour

*******

just let me be my own villain,
and you can learn to hate me

as much as i do and don't hate myself

Reality isn't what it seems to be
it isn't touch, nor sound
it isn't a taste, nor is it visual
reality is what is perceived
what is believed
what is understood to be true
even when the memory is not
when the heart makes up its mind
and the mind draws up its own conclusion
then that is reality
even when its wrong, unjustly created
what is real? what is not?
why what one person sees isn't the same
as what the next person saw? felt? heard?
is one of them wrong? if so, than how is it proven
or how is it dis-proven? video tapes and voice recorders
can only prove or disprove the event.
not the feeling that was felt, or the mental strain
that was placed. How can something feel so right
to one person, yet complete tear down another?
one thing felt so good, yet it was so bad for you?
there is no spoon, nor is there a hand to hold it
for as your mind bends to the force of your own thoughts
the labyrinth that it creates spins your reality into something
different, irrecoverable, irrevocable, irresponsibly
I stand here, looking terrible in your eyes, and with love
mirroring the effects of the icy stare
I stand here, looking terrible in my own eyes.
this is reality
unfixable? unforgivable? unimaginable?
maybe
but if there is a chance to fight the reality
to bend the spoon
to show you that my reality is not your reality
then...maybe
for this is real, with two different realities

i once gave all my secrets away.
i gave all my hopes and dreams,
                                       even the horrible things.
i loved whole-heartedly,
                  one fragment at time.
                                       i did do that once in my life.
burn.

i attempt to unravel, undress
these barriers now standing-between
                  
you  a n d  me.

i fear the parts i gave along the ride,
are presently no longer mine
to own,
              they were stolen somewhere-
                                              upon the irrecoverable road.
i search subdued secrets
                                   and invisible inclinations-
only to find,
              what appears to be,
this tattered tangled                                                 twisted mind.
                is diminished by
                                         long-lost-leftover             love.
                                                             stale but           dispensing
hopes and dreams,
                                     even the horrible things.
so long as you promise
to keep them somewhere safe

i promise                                         one day,
                to open locked gates-
                                              and give to YOU
                                                                            all my secrets away.

The location of the biological clock is complex.
Situated somewhere  between my body
and everyone else's business.
Turning my womb into a property
everyone feels free to voice their opinion on. 

As an elder woman turns to me and says:
"Now you're the only one left! Surely you'll be next." 
Pressure disguised in encouragement. 
One I am hesitant to slander, so I walk away, 
politely, as if it were just a simple fender ******. 

Remarks and expectations thrown at me.
Everyone's opinion picking scabs to wounds 
inside me nobody even knows exist.
Irrecoverable lacerations I will carry with me 
until the end of my days. 

Tik Tok goes the clock; perhaps it was a knock?
The message always the same: "Hurry up or you'll fall behind." 
I slowly reach for the instrument measuring my time,
I tempt my fate a little while longer 
by reluctantly snoozing my biological clock.

When the loss falls
upon you like the darkness.
And in your heart
it seems irrecoverable
and all is forever lost.

Then remember this.
Even when the mighty stars
supernova in cataclysmic
exploding destruction..
Their energy
cannot be destroyed
but will only change state.
As it joins the expanding
universe.
To become a part
of something more
beautiful.

One moment
cancels out another
signifying a loss
something that's past
could never return
the next kiss or embrace
is not the same
each a form
an inscription
a touch-on
like none other
once having emerged
disappears into nowhere
irreversibility is the unchanging theme
of time--

each tide carries
the water forward
leaving the rest behind
a gust of wind
sweeps across
insubstantial, lost
irrecoverable
in empty space
leaving no trace
nothing does
itself repeat
replication
and recurrence
would never be wrought--

ah, my dearest and most-loved
it's the moment now
to which we are together bound
as a word
is said
as our eyes
exchange
a message
as our heart
is locked
in secure passage
we'll not be left in doubt-

as the moanful nocturne
reaches out
and its last notes fade
and sink* away
in the night's whereabout
we will know
for sure
the telling is over
the curtain has fallen
a new chapter
must follow--

if this brittle transiency
you understand
as you hold my hand
it would be bliss enough
as in silence we remain
unfazed, unmoved, unruffled
mindless of what's to come
in the sureness of our faith
that would withstand and defy
any awaiting future outcome--

courage would be ours then
to reign in and reap for keeps
whereupon our long-cherished dream
would have crystallised and bloomed
a bright light would be beckoning from afar
amidst the gloom of the shivering night
we, though weary,  would have arrived safely
after the long-tested travail and trial
Via Dolorosa would its farewell have bidden
all that our heart has longed and searched for
would at last have found its unmistakable haven.

Six months
of denying our existence.
“I’m so proud to say you’re not in my life;
I don’t know what I’d do with you.”
You’re the empty chair at the table,
… the cold side of the bed,
… the dial tone on the phone,
… the omnipotent absence
I’ve built my life around.

Six months
of no commitments, no definitions,
because you can’t define nonexistence.
We are a wordless nothing
consummated on a bed
of verse, novels, and music -
the only acceptable means of expression,
because you can’t speak in a wordless nothing;
can’t love or live in a wordless nothing.

Six months later
you’ll wake with bloodshot eyes,
frantically searching for
… the mind you lost
… the body you broke
… the heart you tore out.
Irrecoverable offerings to someone
whose existence was proven by their absence
and defined not by what they took,
but by what they made you want to give.

The First Time

*She was not a fresh faced
honey girl from my class.
Nor a woman who
took money to rid
college boys of their virginity.
She was experienced
and older than me
But lovely.
It did not happen
fumbling in the back of a car.
Or lay in the grass of a meadow
under a moonlit sky.
It was in her small walk up flat
up three flights of dimly lit stairs.
I can still feel my legs weaken
In anticipation of the unknown.
Inside the untidy table
had a full ashtray
A half bottle of red wine.
A Picasso reproduction
Gargoyled from the wall.
She was full of experiences.
That I could only imagine.
She pulls a strip of condoms
from her night table.
The bedroom window
open wide.
The summer breeze
whispered inside.
Hush Hush
It’s your time
It’s your time.
She took me softly.
Gently almost like a dream.
I cried out as my boyhood left me
draining into her
in its irrecoverable loss.
Outside the breeze
had turned to wind
Blowing my uncertainty and doubts
far Into the night.
She was my teacher
and I her avid student.
Later the door closed
as I left her.
Her memory now
Indelibly burned on my soul.

1: a sentimental yearning for a reality that isn't genuine

2: an irrecoverable condition for fantasy that evokes nostalgia or day dreams

She was not a fresh faced
honey girl from my class.
Nor a woman who
took money to rid
college boys of their virginity.
It did not happen
fumbling in the back of a car.
Or lay in the grass of a meadow
under a moonlit sky.
It was in her small walk up flat
up three flights of dimly lit stairs.
I can still feel my legs weaken
In anticipation of the unknown.
Inside the untidy table
had a full ashtray
A half bottle of red wine.
A Picasso reproduction
Gargoyled from the wall.
She was full of experiences.
That I could only imagine.
She pulls a strip of condoms
from her night table.
The bedroom window
open wide.
The summer breeze
whispered
Hush Hush
It’s your time
It’s your time.
She took me softly.
Gently almost like a dream.
I cried out as my boyhood left me.
Draining into her
in its irrecoverable loss.
Outside the breeze
had turned to a cool wind
Blowing my uncertainty and doubts
far Into the night.
She was my life teacher
and I her avid student.
Later the door closed
as I left her.
Her memory now
Indelibly burned on my soul.

Some losses are Natural
Yours is too!
But,the cruel truth is
It's irrecoverable!
None can fulfill the gap
There's no way!
Even the Superior
Can't do!
You're immortal
Man is mortal
So you leave us!
But,your soul is evergreen
A true Artist you're!
You'll never die-
We'll keep you forever
In the core of our Heart!
Will never let you go-
Still miss You
Love you lot...<3...!

She was not a fresh faced
honey girl from my class.
Nor a woman who
took money to rid
College boys of their virginity.
It did not happen
Fumbling in the back of a car.
Or lay in the grass of  meadow
under a moonlit sky.
It was in her small walk up flat
up three flights of dimly lit stairs.
I can still my legs weaken
In anticipation of the unknown.
Inside the untidy table
had a full ashtray
A half bottle of red wine.
A Picasso reproduction
Gargoyles from the wall.
She was full of experiences.
That I could only imagine.
She pulls a strip of condoms
from her night table.
The bedroom window
open wide
the summer breeze
whispered
Hush Hush
It’s your time
It’s your time.
She took me softly.
Gently almost like a dream.
I cried out as my boyhood left me
Draining into her
in its irrecoverable loss.
Outside the breeze
had turned to wind
Blowing my uncertainty and doubts
Far Into the night.
She was my teacher
And I her avid student.
Later the door closed
As I left her.
Her memory now
Indelibly burned on my soul.

She was not a fresh faced
honey girl from my class.
Nor a woman who
took money to rid
college boys of their virginity.
It did not happen
fumbling in the back of a car.
Or lay in the grass of a meadow
under a moonlit sky.
It was in her small walk up flat
up three flights of dimly lit stairs.
I can still feel my legs weaken
in anticipation of the unknown.
Inside the untidy table
had a full ashtray
a half bottle of red wine.
A Picasso reproduction
Gargoyled from the wall.
She was full of experiences.
That I could only imagine.
She pulls a strip of condoms
from her night table.
The bedroom window
open wide
the summer breeze
whispered
Hush Hush.
It’s your time
It’s your time.
She took me softly.
Gently almost like a dream.
I cried out as my boyhood left me
draining into her
in its irrecoverable loss.
Outside the breeze
had turned to wind
Blowing my
uncertainty and doubts
far Into the night.
She was my teacher
and I her avid student.
Later the door closed
as I left her.
Her memory now
indelibly burned
onto my soul.

The mid-summer heat
seared the sand like fire.
She walked by me
stopping at my Cabanas shade.

May I she asked?
So young
lithe and beautiful.
Of course I say
but the breaking waves
and sea breeze whisper
Danger......Danger...Danger
Beware …Beware …Beware.

I have not yet tasted
the pleasures of a woman.
Can this be the time?
The time for me.

My racing heart whispers
quietly.... softly
hush hush ...be still.
The salty sea breezes
are whispering

Let it be… it’s your time
…Let it be.

Later I writhed under her.
Between heaven and the sand.
My hand holding hers
As she led me
through the door of manhood.

My boyhood left me
draining into her
as I cried out
in its irrecoverable loss.

The waves rolled relentlessly
breaking on the shore.
Undulating to her rhythm

I feel her soft gentle gifts
aching inside my body
is this it .......is this it?
My soul asks

Then the roar
of the crashing waves
on the rocky shore.
The tender moment
As close as two
humans can be.

Emotions older
than time itself.
I hold her
as a woman and lover.
She rises from me
almost shyly
and says
Thank you.

A seabird cries above
Don’t leave , Don’t Leave.
But her footprints
are washing away
in the foam.

Just her indelible
memory remains
Imprinted forever
like a tattoo
on my young heart.

I miss walking in
the fire of your
Irrecoverable, inconceivable, consumable
Love

When I peered into my soul

I saw nothing but darkness

An assumed emptiness

However I came across an enigma

A rift in my mind emerged

My thoughts in a sudden state of insecurity and suicide

An ineluctable pool of depression and anxiety

What I thought was a dark void of nothing

Was a tar pit of confined emotions

Feelings and thoughts unquestioned

Locked away to be dealt with “later”

The facade of my mind had been degenerating over time

The damage irrecoverable

Passing by my reflection

Such a poignant moment in time

Who was this fragmented girl?

...Awakenings
By
Jude Kyrie*

The summer heat
seared the sand like fire.
She walked by me
stopping at my Cabana.

May I she asked?
So young lithe and beautiful.
Of course I say
but the breaking waves
and sea breeze whisper
Danger Beware Beware Beware.

I have not yet tasted
the pleasures of a woman.
Can this be the time?
The time for me.

My racing heart whispers
Quietly softly be still.
The salty sea breezes speak
Let it be it’s your time
Let it be.

Later I writhed under her.
Between heaven and the sand.
My hand holding hers
As she led me
through the door of manhood.

My boyhood left me
draining into her
as I cried out
in its irrecoverable loss.
The waves rolled relentlessly
breaking on the shore.
Undulating to her rhythm

I feel her soft gentle gifts
aching inside my body
is this it is this it?
My soul asks

Then the roar
of the crashing waves
on the rocky shore.
The tender moment
As close as two humans can be.

Emotions older than time itself.
I hold her as a lover
She rises from me almost shyly
and says Thank you

A seabird cries above
Don’t leave , Don’t Leave.
But her footprints
are washing away
in the foam.

Just her indelible
memory remains
Imprinted forever
like a tattoo
on my young heart.

She was not a fresh faced
honey girl from my class.
Nor a woman who
took money to rid
college boys of their virginity.
she was older than me
but a very very sweet lady.
It did not happen
fumbling in the back of a car.
Or lay in the grass of a meadow
under a moonlit sky.
It was in her small walk up flat
up three flights of dimly lit stairs.
I can still feel my legs weaken
In anticipation of the unknown.
Inside the untidy table
had a full ashtray.
A half bottle of red wine.
A Picasso reproduction
gargoyled from the wall.
She was full of experiences.
That I could only imagine.
She pulls a strip of condoms
from her night table.
The bedroom window
open wide.
The summer breeze
whispered
Hush Hush
It’s your time
It’s your time.
She took me softly.
Gently almost like a dream.
more as a mother than a lover.
but exactly how I needed.
I cried out as my boyhood left me
draining into her
in its irrecoverable loss.
Outside the breeze
had turned to wind.
Blowing my uncertainty and doubts
far Into the night.
She was my life teacher
and I her avid student.
Later the door closed
as I left her.
Her memory now
a gift in my heart and
Indelibly burned on my soul.*
©

June was a disastrous month, with no direction but home,
as if it, home, was magnetized, and every escape/avoidance
attempt was refuted, and the irrevocable demanded my time,
my presence, in the city, where all my troubles lay pus~festering
lesions,  yanking me from my refuge, my peace of mind tattered
with bacillus interruptus

She called June the month of clusterf—ck, accurate and uncharacteristically, unlike her, a violent, ***** epithet

but correct.

July, the month that the gods of Cesar jealously rule,
bring Les Surprises, and the pattern recommences and
the mind surgically thinks calm yet knows no peace,
and sleep is contaminated, the dreams violent and
repetitiously, ******… a sure sign of the tumult within…
the eerie and  the unstable interrupting my writing,
breathing and ever constant denial of the peace afforded by
successfully lying to myself…

a minor action bring flaming, flashing warning lights on
my human dashboard, seemingly unconnected, but perhaps
a single sensor has gone detective… for the uncorrelated
stability of this vehicle, my anti-skid system have been triggered and the dread check engine light is ominously continuously yellow…implying worse is yet to come, before the finality of…red

symbolism us everywhere; inescapable, unavoidable and
irrecoverable and perhaps, alas, the worst - irreconcilable!
all this is the slowest excoriation of excruciating…and it’s
everpresent, omnipresent, like an angered finger pointing
a constant thunderbolt of guilt, which points transfixedly
at me…with the sneers of thunder preceeding its electricity

last year, around this time, the heart was near to dare explode,
with no overt warning that was paid proper heed, now I pay
and pay but there is no specialist available to cure, let alone,
properly diagnose what’s ailing me…even though I know
exactly, I cannot openly confess the origins of My Malaise

I recover old poems, mine, that delve into the mysteries of
solace, and they should  offer comforting direction, but the
sticking place is strong within my chest and all topical
creams cannot penetrate sufficiently to offer relief, let
alone, let alone, let a l o n e, provide an effective curettage of
removal…

symbols come before my eyes in formulas I do not understand,
which renders them worse than useless, for if a formula cannot
begin or end with = sign, what good is it, what good am I,
and now post-reparation, my heart speaks to me volubly
with such troubled sadness, I am nearly and dangerous
close to being a being who is nearly *frightened unto death

So many attempts I take
But,it's all failure!
A **** failure
Yes,I'm wrong!
So crazy I'm
To rediscover You!
You're lost
You're irrecoverable!
So me too
What about my existence!
In absence of You
Whatever I'm!
It's for You
It's all about You!
It's
Just for You!-01.06.2013

Watching my dreams die and turn into scattered dust.
Covered in mortifying shame and sinful lust.
My soul wandering, slithering around broken.
The angels have me lost and forsaken.
These tears and sorrows are my chains.
I am bleeding inside from these chest pains.
It's myself I resent the most.
It's myself I blame the most.
How could I be so weak and vulnerable?
Seems I'm not at all worthy or lovable.
Yes, the amount of self pity is considerable.
But I somehow find it comforting and it's comfortable.
Being constantly intolerably miserable.
So undeniably alone it's unexplainable.
Inner peace seems so far and unattainable.
The depth of the damage inside is irrecoverable.
What haunts me most is that I am the one responsible.
The desire to perish and leave it all behind is unstoppable.
Is it possible that redemption and light is possible?

fortunately thwarted courtesy
mine tall tale telling flair.

Mine irretrievable brilliant masterpiece...
all for naught after mental cogs and wheels
I did apply creative juice metaphorical grease
regarding tour de force pièce de résistance writing
forever lost to the annals of human history.

So much for escaping to paradise island
(Garden of Eden) and experiencing zen
Impossible mission to earn untold yen
concerning prosaic poem/ poetic prose titled
The old battleaxe and her henchwomen
irrecoverable linkedin to sinking feeling
hours, days, weeks... all spent for naught
dharma *** - me got doled out unfair

injustice though scoreboard (tabulating
when yours truly acted immoral) oddly even
Steven after I repented against
marital infidelities nearly cost priceless
paternal love of daughters, whereby
their father experienced
suicidal ideations thought
to drown his sorrows
overdosing on fen-phen.

A transcendent awakening
occurred within noggin of one simian
a clothed outlier caged within human zoo
predicated upon his overactive imagination
inextricably favorable ratings did woo,
albeit ephemerally savored renown, and true
value viz his great Magnus Opus,
whereby riches couped courtesy
brief brush with fame and glory
found countless people lined in queue

(and moment of morning glory
subsequently slipped
thru gnarly butter fingers
symptomatic of nervousness
exhibited courtesy an aspiring Nehru
case in point my pal Joey, a kangaroo
dear reader pardon
tardy greeting regarding helloo
cuz decided against formalities,
a nonestablishmentarian he doth eschew
no ghostly chance I merely utter boo!

Unlikely I scared
the living daylights out of you,
nor would that be intent
regarding self taught amateur
practitioner of voodoo
I rarely if ever cast spells,
nevertheless yours truly
still under probation
and peer review
so breathe easy, cuz Matthew
Scott Harris would hate
to tarnish reputation of Guru,
that charming humble fellow
he taught me wizardry.

double negative meaning golden years
joie de vivre of married life unknown
during our sputtering rancorous courtship
when skirting within danger zone
witnessed countless ruptures
courtesy selfish wordsmith,
who authored these words.

Circa ~ late spring/ early summer 1978
twas at behest of Harriet Harris,
thus due credit mother dearest
who tried, to bribe, coax, exhort...
(protracted effort not all in vain),
cuz her second of three progeny,
and sole son i.e. (me) to
commingle, frolic, immerse myself
quintessentially ushering yawping zeal,
cuz general disposition courtesy yours truly
heavily trended toward solitude,
limiting interpersonal opportunities
minus those crafted,
videre licet overactive imagination (mine).

I took immediate affinity
(think duck adapting to water)
to milieu of contra dancing
and soon became popular with the gals,
surprising myself how enjoyable
untrammeled pinteresting linkedin hoopla
delivered je ne sais quois joie de vivre,
(the most fun one could experience
without taking off their clothes),
me no exhibitionist by a far cry!

How fitting and proper
to state we (thyself and spouse)
met (for reel) and jiggered mine johnson
at Thursday night contra dance
Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19119
(initially held at Church
of Saint Martin-in-the-Fields,
Saint Martins Lane, Chestnut Hill,
Philadelphia, PA 19118
scads of years past
(actually more'n deux times deuce
score earth's orbitz around
or quattuor decades ago),
whereby the missus claims,
she espied (yours truly
then as) young lad
(bookworm type fella)
with boyish good looks
and golden locks
emblematic of Samson,
who would be envious (ha).

At four foot eleven Delilah,
the petite prospective missus
(plus her waist length brunette tresses)
ball of fire stood out amidst
madding crowd drew attention (mine),
yet she vociferously, vigorously,
and vehemently still claims
initial awkward overtures
ascribed to Zison assertiveness.

Yours truly, he blatantly admits pranced as novitiate
devoid of interpersonal finesse and polish to whit,
a mere neophyte in a nutshell
hankering to sow wild oats that's zit.

Whereby our relationship got off to
(how shoal I say) rocky start
gallivanting with thee lass,
who would eventually
take me (grudgingly - ha)
as her respective lifelong sweetheart.

Unbeknownst to yours truly,
pent up unleashed testosterone
experienced disquieting alarm
adequately adept equipped with strong arm,
I tapped into secrete Lucky charm,
(albeit surreal environment
cavorting amidst madding crowd)
helped cultivate feral latent impotent
animal husbandry to farm
long fallow fresh unadulterated field

jabbering innocent blather,
brazenness embarrassingly proliferated,
but provocative behavior
smote ego (mine)
not with irrecoverable harm,
analogous to angry bees didst
adequately buzzfeeding naiveté
beehive ving like metaphorical swarm
(smartly stinging me) think freshly cooked
cockles and muscles clammy and warm.

I eventually acquired figurative ropes
regarding dating game
basic primal version
(at that time apps unnecessary)
nevertheless, call of the wild
thee woke former slumbering
beastie boy needed receptive body to tame,
he thus availed himself as lame
crash test dummy
feebly acquired social skills
bungled how to romance a capricious dame
readied himself to aim.

Aye celebrate thy life partner
with balance and swing
proffering courtesy turn
exhibiting gratitude occasionally
while with linkedin elbows turn a circle
punctuating spontaneity with do-si-do.

July 25th marks wedding anniversary
delineating, demarcating, denoting,
where the missus supposedly
filched mine bachelorhood,
whereby justice of the peace
Judge Henry Schireson,
(who still maintains an office
925 Montgomery Avenue, Suite 100
Narberth, Pennsylvania 19072-1913)
accommodated us as we became newlyweds
pledging our troth that hot July twenty fifth,
I try to recollect any vestige
constituting distinguishing,
under_scoring outstanding details
sifting thru hazy memories of past.
Today references when more' n force gore
and seven years ago
tha youngest daughter of
William and Sylvia Zison
found her lifetime beau (zoe)
pea ping over a paperback
(at present aye got nada clue of the title),
unbeknownst to him,
he would be
doing lifetime penance as a husband
and father, no longer

able to keep his head underground
like an ostrich or emu
foisted into marriage
when flagellated cell
didst ova whelm,
and subsequently flue
max, a panic prone
pencil necked geek
soon to learn goo
goo gaga, and brushing up
on Horton Hears a Hoo

learning to swaddle
airtight as an igloo
though a devout atheist gentile,
he attests genealogical lineage
linkedin many a Jew
but unfortunately only
scant details this groom knew,
hence he fabricated
while flushing in the loo,
which sketchy family tree
did include roomy, loony,

goofy, and cookey
offshoots, (essentially deadwood
pruning hooks never took down),
hence weak human DNA stock
freely germinating cow
wards less bright than
cloven hoofed bovines moo
ching and sometimes
tasting ****** Semitic brew,
especially espying bear naked lady
even yours truly

hollered yabba dabba doo
tasting verboten fruit
predestined to sire daughters
after enjoying despacito
while playing flugelhorn spitting
sputtering semantic glue
whereby biological totally
tubular fates loosed full bore
obligatory, yet paternal loving chore
foisting dada track detour
invoking fatherly delight

as fate found me to explore
the joys and sorrows
engaging das mister Harris
chieftain, sans family of four
attending, diapering, and pampering galore
which necessary task
aye could, nor would
be able to ignore
from which pier rill us
infant sea bay bee
launched jarring

insightful growing pains
attendant 'pon requisite
summer re: autotomy offspring,
when tears streamed
down cheeks as more
declarations of independence
meant nudging flight while pouring
heartfelt love shorering, and anchoring,
viz Harris blackstrap -
molasses survival skills,

thence giving progeny Thor
row lee - wharf fare
levying my best ******
gluten and MSG free
emotional bulwark whar
renting channeling concurrently bolstering
your preponderent swell alcove
harboring shipshape bon voyage.

Expediting distilled
when in the quarts of hue man ovens
this neptune salad days
steps outside summit Presbyterian Church -
and Westview Streets
near Weavers Way,
where yarn not gonna believe,
our traditional Jewish
wedding vows as merely imagined
courtesy fictitious Norwegian Jewish
bachelor farmer wannabe

so please pardon perfectly praiseworthy
precise preferential prevarication
page turning suspense
filled vaulted sepulchral air
ushering the veiled spouse to be
while afar off trumpets did blare
(arranged by
well known matchmaker Harriet Kuritsky)
creating the ambiance
analogous to a renaissance faire
yet contrasted in that this bachelor

and other men related to me
segregated with females and males
at a set distance away
i.e. not physically near
dictated by mandates
of Hebrew coda
stemming from Moses biological tree
which, separate quarters
ample enough to spare
until the proper toll of the bell would peal
accompanied by unified yippee!
After Rabbi Boyce officiated
for the groom and bride,
the crowd exalted with cheers
of L’Chaim with chutzpah
oompah sizzling and hot.

Klezmer musicians played schmaltz
which accompanied hoopla
as couples did waltz.
All the while family, friends and relatives
blessed the new groom and bride
although highly orthodox,
the men removed respective skullcap
more commonly known as yarmulke
some plain others dyed
women and children broke out
in traditional dance and song
while other did clap
exemplifying Yahweh to deliver mazal tov
and shalom as spiritual guide
to the pronounced husband and wife
who pledged their troth in a snap.
Toward conclusion
of typical Jewish wedding,
a full goblet of kosher red wine
got tossed in the air
this (in conjunction
with crush of emptied wine glass
sacred apex rite
of passage communicated a sign
and marshaled the crowd
to begin a local Jerusalem exodus
symbolic and clear.
As the newlyweds blissfully
and radiantly strolled arm in arm
and exited the Synagogue,
the euphoric and excited crowd
did house tossed handfuls
of uncle Ben’s unconverted libertarian rice
grown from norwegian bachelor farmers
on nearby organic whole foods farm
a chauffeur waited
to shuttle newlyweds to honeymoon location
passersby waved and bowed
and local fire department
rang a false alarm.

Bridled  with jungled thoughts
In missing your words and acts
feel lost, irrecoverable strange sort
Unknown hustling bustling world
never know the pain held in depth ...
Does whistling wind whirl around you..my world?
Make you realise me and my pain.!!