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Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
He thwack no metronome to kick oneself
Thwack his **** sucker
With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber
Me and my Dalek doped
And my excrement unsweetened
Copulate in the open without my jockstrap
You shat encrusted to what you deflowered
So at arm’s length ****** from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye
And I bounce a bedevilled backwash
My incredibles are shafted
I’ll **** **** to Arab

We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
I **** **** to myself

I ****** you powerfully
The body beautiful’s not enough to go round
You enjoy spanking and I wallow in *******
And ***** is like a tobacco teabag
And I’m a bijou **** coming the corsets in custody

We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…

Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab
I **** **** to…
I **** **** to…

We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** **** to her
And I **** **** to Arab
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount

Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no *******, ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******

Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant

Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******

Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic

I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ******, peckers and my *******
I got my stuck—out tongue

I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My *****, my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my *******

I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest

I got *****, I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you

I got my *****, my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my *******
I got my stuck-out tongue

I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My *****, my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet

I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest

I got my *****, I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Demi Coleman Dec 2015
Whenever a plane flies over my house it sounds like it's going to crash. Like the wings are too broken and can no longer carry the weight of the clouds that weren't supposed to be heavy. And whenever a plane flies over my house it sounds like your shouts that night. Like your heart was too broken and could no longer carry the weight of loving the quiet girl who didn't look depressed. And whenever I hear those stupid planes I feel the unwelcome pang of guilt that I ever told you of the thoughts that went on in my head, I can remember the stormy day that I told you, I remember because no planes flew over my house and it was because my plane of truth was crashing that day. The imaginary wings my mind created were too broken and could no longer carry the weight of being the pretty girl who kept everything to herself because she was so ****** up that nobody could bear to hear without crashing and I'm so sorry that I made you crash because you crashed on the island and died instead of in the ocean that I crashed in yet couldn't drown in. And your plane crash is a wave that crashes over me, yet doesn't **** me, every time a stupid plane flies over my house.
I'm sorry, most of my stuff doesn't even make sense to me
Andy Chunn Nov 2022
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
Whether by design or luck
Or maybe just because

Summertime in Tennessee
So scorching hot and dry
The family thought a swim could be
Relief so we would try

While swimming came so easy
For most of us that day
But Mom was water queasy
So on the bank she lay

My friend and I, we swam like fish
In the deep Duck River
A day that would make you wish
This fun could last forever

My baby sister was so small
She could barely walk
She toddled and then down would fall
And jabbered with her talk

So Dad had moved into the deep
That’s when I saw it well
My sister ran without a peep
Into the Duck she fell

Momma screamed and I just froze
And out of sight she went
The muddy Duck would now propose
Another life be spent

My Dad had sprung to action
On hearing of the scream
He dived as a reaction
Into the muddy stream
.
.
.
And many years would pass us by
She studied hard and long
Nothing was too tough to try
She never got it wrong

A Ph.D and drug design
She makes the pills you need
If you were really in a bind
And needed meds indeed

She plays piano and reads the books
And knows so much inside
She sews and cleans and then she cooks
With logic as her guide

Accomplishments on every level
Complete and tried and true
But humble, never would she revel
In all that she could do
.
.
.

He came back up and looked around
His eyes began to beg
He dived again and there he found
And grabbed her by the leg

Upside down he pulled her up
And water did pour out
And soon we heard her cry startup
Relief without a doubt
.
.
.

Remembering that day and so
A blessing to repay
That was sixty years ago
But feels like yesterday

I sometimes think of all the luck
That happened just because
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
**, Giant!  This is I!
I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!
La,—but it’s lovely, up so high!

This is how I came,—I put
Here my knee, there my foot,
Up and up, from shoot to shoot—
And the blessed bean-stalk thinning
Like the mischief all the time,
Till it took me rocking, spinning,
In a dizzy, sunny circle,
Making angles with the root,
Far and out above the cackle
Of the city I was born in,
Till the little ***** city
In the light so sheer and sunny
Shone as dazzling bright and pretty
As the money that you find
In a dream of finding money—
What a wind!  What a morning!—

Till the tiny, shiny city,
When I shot a glance below,
Shaken with a giddy laughter,
Sick and blissfully afraid,
Was a dew-drop on a blade,
And a pair of moments after
Was the whirling guess I made,—
And the wind was like a whip

Cracking past my icy ears,
And my hair stood out behind,
And my eyes were full of tears,
Wide-open and cold,
More tears than they could hold,
The wind was blowing so,
And my teeth were in a row,
Dry and grinning,
And I felt my foot slip,
And I scratched the wind and whined,
And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,
With my eyes shut blind,—
What a wind!  What a wind!

Your broad sky, Giant,
Is the shelf of a cupboard;
I make bean-stalks, I’m
A builder, like yourself,
But bean-stalks is my trade,
I couldn’t make a shelf,
Don’t know how they’re made,
Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant—
La, what a climb!
Mike Hauser Aug 2015
I accidentally stepped into the women's restroom
Turned around to quickly leave
Noticed there was no one there
Then turned back around for a manly peak

What the ladies do in here
Has always been a mystery
So I lurked about and scouted out
To let all the other men know what I've seen

First thing right off the bat I noticed
What appeared to be a sofa against the wall
Thinking it a pretty fancy toilet
Not to be hidden in a stall

As curiosity was killing this cat
I went over to lift the lid
The guys will never believe this
A couch is really what it is

No wonder the women take so long
When they say they'll be right back
They all head together to the restroom
To take themselves a little nap

Then over on the counter
I see bottle after bottle after bottle of perfume
I know that girls like to smell nice
But you have to wonder exactly how good

Just then I decided to crawl under the counter
A little more in depth into the mystery
That's when I heard the voices
Coming down the hallway at me

I can't tell you how many hours
I was stuck in that bathroom stall
But I can tell you it felt like forever
As the women jabbered and talked...

...and this being a holiday weekend
They shut the lights and locked the door
Which I guess is okay since I needed a break
And no one's here to hear me on the couch as I snore
K Hanson Sep 2014
Continent bound – water
encircled, I ache
for audible
effortless
mediocrity

Jabbered exchanges
fluid vowels
spill unrecognized and
still lap at
my yawning consciousness
Words now sink
never surface
Drown
unknown
Oral habitudes,
usually uncomprehended
Watered
speech
bubbles up, from
unfathomed
depths I am submerged
constantly
Subsumed
by misunderstandings
William Robinson Mar 2016
I pondered
if there is more to pain?
the installs jabbered to me
the counselor of pain trounced my love
I reasoned
if there is more to pain?
would the pain ever end?
Wk kortas Dec 2016
In my father’s cosmology, God rose late come Sunday morning,
Having wreaked His vengeance by proxy the night before,
And it was a given that we greeted the Sabbath
With whispers and sock-soft tiptoe,
Knowing that his belt (black, wide, thick with implicit warnings)
Hung within easy reach of the bed,
Though sometimes, with no more explanation than
Man alive, what a beautiful world it is today!
Cold cornflake brunches would be postponed
(Our wonder mixed with consternation and rumbling stomachs)
As we would be whisked into the car
In order to sing His praises, our father all but jumping from the car,
Heading toward the preacher at a trot,
Invariably greeting him with Devil’s on holiday, Father,
So here I am
(the church was Lutheran,
Though it could have been a mosque for all he cared.)
He’d sit through the sermon, rapt and at attention,
Alternately scowling and smiling, knitting his brow and nodding,
And then he would corner the incumbent occupant of the pulpit
(He’d have scarcely noticed, if at all, that the leadership of the flock
Often changed hands between our cicada-esque appearances)
Backing him into a wall or against a railing
While he jabbered away, pointing or grabbing a sleeve in punctuation,
Gesturing like some latter-day Prospero, arms ****** Heavenward
To embrace the air, the sky, the whole of the cosmos, amen,
While the pastor’s gaze varied from bemusement to outright horror.
Such occasions were outliers, of course,
Father being much more inclined
To spend his Saturday evenings in un-Christian pursuits
Then stagger home singing a litany of done-me-wrong songs,
And his search for a joyful hundred-proof clarity
Ended before he glimpsed fifty, that being time enough
(So the pathologist noted in his final judgment)
For his liver to become elephantine, his kidneys mere pebbles
(Those effects, be they deleterious or otherwise,
Not listed explicitly nor in the footnotes
Which accompanied the post mortem.)
His wife was due on the midnight plane
That was coming from Beijing,
He got to the airport early so
He wouldn’t miss the thing,
There wasn’t a seat at Wenzhou so
He found that he had to stand,
It’s always tough when you’re sleeping rough
Away, in a foreign land.

He settled down in a corner, set
His back up next to the wall,
Pulled out the pic of his own Mei Ling
In front of a waterfall,
Her eyes smiled into the camera when
He’d taken the snap that day,
But that was before they married,
Now it seemed an age away.

They’d both had to fight her parents when
They saw he was from the west,
They called him a foreign devil, a
Yang wei, and all the rest,
They wanted her wed to a Han, they said,
Mei Ling had answered ‘No!’
She’d made her mind up herself, she said,
And would be his own lӑo pό.

She said she was flying China Air
And that gave him cause for thought,
He knew that their safety record was
The worst in any port,
But he waited patiently by the clock
Til it gave the midnight chime,
Then wandered into reception where
She’d be, most any time.

The Chinese waiting beside him
Milled and jabbered as they stood,
He never could understand a word
But he smiled as if he could,
And then he found they were friendly
Though they nudged each other now,
And some had even approached him with
Their greeting, their Ni Hao.

By half past twelve, there wasn’t a plane
And the people looked upset,
He thought there’d be an announcement,
Someone said, ‘there’s nothing yet.’
At one o’clock there were tears and fears
That the plane would never show,
And then he heard that the plane had ditched
In the waters off Ningbo.

His heart had sunk and he almost cried
But he thought to grieve with grace,
And everyone else was struggling
They were scared of ‘losing face’,
But they all broke down when a man came round
And he said, ‘there’s little hope,’
There wasn’t a single survivor,
Then he cried, he couldn’t cope.

He’d lost the love of his life, Mei Ling
With her beaming almond eyes,
Her jet black hair and her loving stare
But he got a quick surprise,
A man led him to a phone where they
Had called for him in vain,
And from Beijing he heard Mei Ling
Who sobbed, ‘I missed the plane!’

David Lewis Paget
Anais Vionet Mar 20
(There’s a song for this: ‘Confessions’ by Sudan Archives)

I remember it like it was yesterday (it was yesterday).

I arrived on a cool (42°f), blindingly sunny New Haven afternoon. It was as if they’d opened up that troubling ozone hole just for me.
I was as happy as I’ve ever been to be back. It was as if New Haven actually meant freedom.

I’d opened the door to our suite, dragging every bag I own.
After intense hugs, I'd said, “PIZZA - NOW.”
So, Lisa, Sunny and I, after some debate, selected Town Pizza.
Town Pizza’s specialties are those thin, gourmet pies with crust-free cauliflower crust, oil (not environmentally problematic tomatoes), topped with panda cheese and tofu.
In a shocking development, I got the cheeseburger special which I hit like a vape. †

SO, the three of us were there, happily devouring. Not bothering anyone, when this guy stopped at our table to offer us salvation and introduce us to - whatever (yadda yadda yadda)

I didn’t catch the entire pitch; I may have momentarily dozed off.
“No, Thank you.” Lisa said, politely but dismissively.
Not taking the hint, he reached into his cheap shoulder bag for pamphlets and began a new tac.
“Go away.” Sunny said, unblinkingly, but he jabbered on, showing the unaware persistence of long covid - like we were interested or tolerant.

“I’ll show you my bra if you’ll shut up,” I said, with my best deadpan face. Lisa and Sunny shrieked with several kinds of outraged laughter.
He became a statue, like a Twilight Zone episode where time stops for one person. A second passed during which he didn’t blink or breathe. “eheheheheheheh* I toned, like a buzzer.
“Two late!” I gameshow said, shrugging, “You didn’t verbally accept, sorry, I don’t make the rules.”
He shook his head and walked away—with Lisa and Sunny giggling and waving him off stage.
Our mission was accomplished. We’d defended our water hole like lionesses.

A few minutes later Lisa said, “He DID shut up, I’m not in law school, but I think you owe him a flashing.”
“I guess he wasn’t in law school either.” Sunny observed, between bites.
“I’m taking this to the supreme court,” I promised.
“How did the supreme court get to decide every ******-little thing?” Lisa asked, biting her abomination flavored pizza.
.
.
slang and notes…
devouring = eating like barnyard animals
Twilight Zone = More, so much more, than the most creative moment in man’s evolution. *
panda cheese = Ok, I made that up because it sounded gross.
† the author, in no way, endorses vaping, vape-related consumables or accessories
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: ******: considered cheap and distasteful

*our cast*:
Lisa, (roommate) 20, grew up in a posh 50th floor walk-up on Central Park South, Manhattan. She shares my major (Molecular biophysics and biochemistry) and is easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in person (and she’s sensitive about it). Our tastes match, in everything (fashion, media, music, humor) except men.

Sunny, (suitemate) 20, is from Nebraska, she’s a cowgirl (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady whose life is an endless parade of ‘sleepovers.’ Sunny always knows all the best gossip and she’s somehow befriended all the professors.
Anna Banasiak May 2019
Wings of the Wasp

Is it possible to change into a wasp and fly away into the world of dreams? Małgosia sometimes played with children in the courtyard, but on the swing in her garden she loved to follow the land of imagination. Dad displayed her films on the wall. The heroes of tales were her real friends. She found in books life on the other side…
Through the open window were flying intrusive insects. One of them fell into her ear. She woke up and wiped her eyes from astonishment. The room was swaying like a boat immersed in the sea. Pirate ships were swimming around. The girl looked at the picture hanging on the wall, it  changed into a red bird in a flash. She wanted to get up and go for a walk with the dog, but she felt that something strange is happening. Can that be that she slept in dad’s shaggy jumper? She looked in the mirror and remained speechless. She was all hairy and wings were sprouting from the back. Woven from dreams they were glittering similar to the cloth from which she sewed dresses for dolls. She touched them to feel if they are real. In a moment she lifted up, happy. She has always dreamt about flying. It is surely a dream. Mum’s scarf was fluttering from a wardrobe. Setter in dad’s riding boots entered the room.
-I won’t go to the park like an ordinary dog. I want to know Your world. Maybe we will go the amusement park?-she said with an Irish accent.
The girl couldn’t take a breath. Her pet, beloved cuddly toy spoke with a human voice.
-Altunia! Come here, I’ll comb You.
-Talk to me Alti, that’s how I have written in the family tree. I’m an aristocrat. You can make me an exquisite breakfast, this time I’ll eat bacon and eggs with You at the table and don’t pet me without my permission.
-I’m glad that I can talk with You. I’ve always wanted to know what You feel.
I think that You don’t understand dogs. We’re the most sensitive creatures in the world. You can talk with me, because You’ve changed into a wasp in a wonderful way…
She looked in the mirror and she couldn’t believe. She was an insect. She had antennae, bug eyes and abdomen.
She looked out of the window. Trams were flying at the city like dragonflies. Computers and smartphones conquered the streets. Police dogs were directing traffic. The world was light and colourful like painted with multi-coloured pencils. From huge hands growing from the earth like trees doors were opening, birds were flying from them. Suddenly she heard a strange patter. To her astonishment she saw the most incredible species of dinosaurs which she lately saw in the children coloring book. They were eating leaves from the trees and were talking with people about the construction of a new world. Lego bricks came to life, old ages started to mingle with the present time. Knights on dragons were entering the house, pirates ships were built with the high-speed hovercrafts. Małgosia moved her wings and suddenly she found herself in the familiar place. But it wasn’t similar to her kind-hearted kindergarten. It was rebuilt into a space ship. The most incredible creatures lived there.People-Insects and doggy cats were teaching children alphabet and pronunciation, flowers were quarreling in English about the place in the main alley, lamps were perfecting image showing in the best light. She lifted up over the earth. She could fly higher than eagles and planes. She watched a new world from the bird’s eye view: auto-dragonflies, glidery birds and parroty drones.
Suddenly the storm broke. The lightings changed children room into a huge eye of the cyclone. Red, golden, orange birds circled over the house. They flew from the lost planet of eternal happiness.
Wasps in suits were singing the music of Michael from The Jackson Five. They were playing football with Tsubasa. The world was suspended in the colours of the rainbow. The rain of sweets fell into the earth. Irysy and krówki conquered the milky way. Televisions jibber-jabbered at the table, computers advertised “Prince Polo” around. You could see in them how the world would be in a thousand years time and how it was before Christ.
The world was light as a soap bubble. It was flying higher and higher.
-If You’ll be dilligent and You’ll read a lot of books You’ ll meet a nice surprise.
-What ? I can’t wait!
- I’ll take You to a place which once exists and once doesn’t exist.
She jumped with joy. She moved her wings and flew away with her setter to a mysterious land where the river of caramel flowed, houses, schools and kindergartens were built from wafers and gingerbreads and icicles of Italian ice-cream were hanging down from the roofs.
-Look out! If you taste these sweets the land will melt away.
-They look so delicious, that I can’t hold back.
-In grown up life you’ll have to deny yourself not once.
Ms. Pear went in hand with Mr. Apple to the garden over which hanged the cloud of whipped cream. In this land everyone was long-living. They didn’t know troubles and suffering. The King Honey First ruled there, taught his minions goodness, tolerance and wisdom.
-O! If only on Earth it was so beautiful…
-It is only so in the fairy tales.
-You said that imagination has a great power.
-In the world where you are everything is possible. Look only in the mirror.
She looked in the grandmother’s mirror. She saw a train going into the past, inside chairs seemed to look at her with little gray eyes, oranges were dancing like oriental dancers, still life was coming down from the old pictures and as a living wandered in the corridor of the rushing vehicle. Birds settled down in the antique clock, the dog wagged his tail at them, books told forgotten stories. Two frogs jumped to the room croacking that they’re princesses from the green kingdom.
The room went green taking the form of a shaking jelly. You could jump on it like on the trampoline with the ever growing group of royal frogs, walk through the walls and closed doors. It was infinitely incredible.
-Great…I can walk through the walls, I don’t need windows and doors.
-The world belongs to you princess!
Everything is so soft like a chewing gum, objects extend.
-If You want, you can take something to your hand and form something new, only use imagination.
The girl took a piece of picture and formed a flower, she didn’t like it, so she changed it into a bird. In a flash she taught him how to fly using a sign language. Perfect play, better than old origami!
-And now I’ll show You a trick possible only in the Land of Wasps.
They sat in the children bed which at once started to fly.
-We’ll fly into the future.
They got in and glided twenty years ahead. The girl saw herself with the children at the blackboard. She was teaching English preschoolers. She had home and a happy family. She was writing tales about her experiences from childhood.
Suddenly time twirled. The house lifted up and started to rush nowhere.
-In the Land of Wasps every sorrow can be changed into a joy.
-And now I’ll show you a trick possible only in the Land of Wasps.
-I think that this book is wiser more than one sage.
-From now You will always be happy.


Flowery People

Małgosia suddenly found herself in the flowery world cracking from the excess of colours, shapes, voices, thoughts and prejudices. She tasted life with all senses like a well-baked mum’s cake. She was listening more and more to the huge ear of the flowery world. Something started to rattle. Blurred memories, whispers and voices were coming from inside, flooded with light, saturated with colours.
Faces were moving and restless. She was running losing herself, opening pages of the new events, but everything became for her blurry, reality seemed to be inaccessible. She had to pretend that she understands the world of talking birds and insects, but it was too much for her. She walked slowly in the crowd and in the dazzling brightness of the cars, like a little lonely ant and she didn’t feel the part of the surrounding reality. She prefered to look and taste the beauty of the drop of a dew, changing move of face, mimicry, to listen to the whirr of existence.
Flowery People and Insect-People were in great friendship. In this land the sun was always shinning, no one was sad and didn’t know what evil was. Flowery creatures have never been ill, they lived long and happily. The world was an eternal play of imagination.
-O, if only Earth was such a beautiful, paradise garden.
-Suffering is needed.
-Why?
- For people to appreciate more its absence.
Flowery world had one weakness. It existed only when it was dry and hot. With the rain of tears the garden melted and disappeared.
-As you can see goodness and health are fragile.
-What can we do to save them?
-Do good, respect health.


Pigeonholed

Drawery People full of thoughts and memories were the separated world. There were the corners of existence going to infinity. This interior, the richness of colours, shapes and voices made Małgosia into astonishment. She stood close to the coral time which resembled foamed sea hiding its mysteries. She wanted to get inside, but it was inaccessible for her. Drawery people were still searching the stairs leading to the interior. In their kingdom everything was blurring, losing shapes and names. Life played with death, it was music and her echo.
They walked with difficulty, jamed, hiding fears, they were like unwritten pages of the books. Closed they came to life, when someone opened the drawer. Cities were built inside where kings and ordinary people lived. You only had to look inside and small kingdoms, empires and civilizations arised. Pages of the exercise-book were changing into planes and pencils into ballet dancers.
-Don’t touch them, because they’re so fragile that they will break in a moment. Like corals strung on a thread. That’s life of the pigeonholed people.
-I’d like to talk with them.
-Before You have to learn their language.
-The whole world separates us.
-Look out when you clean the desk, pencil case and school accessories, you can hurt its being. Every object has a soul, you have to only learn to see and hear them, not only think about yourself. Pens changed suddenly into the army of soldiers, they started to fight with the sharpeners. She found a sentence on the desk: “fulfill your dreams”. In every drawer a new dream was waiting and a new world to discover, you had to only find the key and the door to the most magnificient tale was opening. In the first drawer she saw little people, everything was diminished there. You had to tiptoe not to afraid creatures little and helpless like children. In the second drawer there was the world of giants, in the next lived animals speaking with a human voice, in the another there were pencils changed into wizards, flying trams, glidery birds. She opened the old, creaky door.
She went to the wardrobe. She took her favourite clothes. It appeared that they could move her into the different time. Somehow she has never liked to wear dresses and tights, but she saw that after wearing them she could travel to another planet and know it inhabitants. In a new world everything was possible. It was sufficient to have a dream and furry wings took her wherever she wanted. She had to find suitable key for the magical desk. It happened that this key was learning a new word. The girl started to read more tales, dictionaries and belles-lettres because she wanted her dreams to come true.
Thanks to the wings she visited all the countries of the world. She was moving in time, she learned history, geography and literature. She discovered how big is the power of thought and imagination. She lived in the land of pure white, everything was fleeting here, it lasted only a moment and then it stopped to be. She traveled there where instead of people walked clocks in hats, they were driving cars, building new civilizations. In this place time was flowing too fast, she couldn’t keep up with him.
-I want to save him. Be always a happy child. Just like in my dreams. Why it can’t be like that?
-If you were a child, you would be really unhappy. Dreams are beautiful only for a moment, then comes reality which can be beautiful too. You only have to use imagination, change bad moments into a joy-said Irish lady.
Suddenly strong wind started to blow. It turned over the pages. In one moment the letters woke up from a dream and started to walk in the city. Some of them wanted to be free and changed into birds. It was strange to meet wandering letters in the street. Suddenly the whole world was filled with the alphabet from the tales.
-People think that they know our world, but it hides many mysteries. In every letter there is a treasure more precious than gold. Who will discover hidden meanings, will be the happiest sage-said the setter.
-Why people don’t read tales and stories, they prefer to close in the circle of computers and televisions?-asked the girl.
-It’s easier. Life written in books is more rich, but more difficult to learn.
-It’s a pity that I’m not a dog, then everything would be much easier.
-O princess, believe me, our world is more complicated than you think. Be happy that you have a loving family and a dog, the most faithful friend.
-Take me to the other land that I would tell children and grandchildren.
-Bow-wow-barked the dog and together they soared.
She landed in the country where ruled the colour blue, yellow and red. When she woke up she was in the place of eternal happiness. Adults didn’t have to go to work and children get up to school. Duties were changed into pleasure. This world was infinite, it was swimming like a river, it was swaying like a pendulum of a clock. It resembled cat’s cradle. Lakes were looking at people like the faithful river. You could see your soul in them like in the mirror.
-What is happiness?
-It’s different for everyone.
-Dogs are happy when they have treats and comfortable bedding.
-Probably we are the most happy when man likes back our fidelity and devotion.
Suddenly the drawers and wardrobes extended like telescopes, they started to look at me and smile. I was sure that they hide the stories of the past years. I learned that dresser was once a princess and coffee table the knight in the Romanian chariot.
Drawery cities were flooded by the tea with lemon.
-I have to save it and clean up.
-You can do it like in life, there is always a way.
Drawery city closed and started to dream for the next years.
-Maybe it will wake up when it grows up.



On the Other side of the Mirror

Gosia remembers how she didn’t want to get out from the house of dolls and children bathtub. She imagined that she hides time to the pocket and changes its course. She was coming back to a little girl listening to her world. Every moment was filled with longing for childhood. Life was closing in the room of play. She felt like a spider tangling the net with the thread of imagination. She created new kingdoms on the pieces of paper, she rambled to the past.
She folded life in the drawers like mother clothes. Time stopped to flow then. Every word, look was a story. Moments resembled the river of her childhood where she felt safe and peaceful, she could be whatever she wanted in spite of the world. She floundered in the water like a heron, she was touching the sand soft like a dream, she was paddling, the water was still, clean like her reflection in the mirror, fear and anxieties disappeared, everything was possible, she imitated the flight of birds, she felt one of them, free and comfortable with herself. The border between childhood and adulthood didn’t exist. She could dream, she didn’t hear the voices of the street, cars rushing nowhere, there was only she and the river. She was looking with joy at the hut from the children adventures. It was built with leaves and letters of memories. She laid on the back and turned her face toward the sun. She was approaching to the footbridge taking her away from adulthood. Green waves entwined her body and soul. She wanted to spread her wings and fly away.
Mom, Dad and dog, it was all her world which provided peace. Time was playing with her, it was looking at her with a pinch of salt when she was changing into a bird, stone, river swimming to the desired goal.
Life seen through the mirror has broken to pieces.
Grown up Małgosia cleaned her room of play. She closed the drawers of the desk.
She got dressed and combed her hair on her own. She didn’t need the Land of Wasps any more…
PLEASE TAKE THIS LIVE YET AIM LESS, GOOGLY EYED, EARTH LINKED, HOTMAIL OF A YAHOO WANTS TO GO ON A SECRETE MSN i.e. mission. SO PLEASE HELP ME >>> JUNO WHAT I MEAN?

     scrawled about 150 years ago with me sharpest nicked n jagged finger nail while temporarily holed up in a dank damp dungeon before being rescued by scrooge.
--------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------
      Light snowflakes danced across fuzzy lunar beams casting moon shadows of absolute delight - at least until morning the morn o Christmas broke.
     Uncle sam and partner in grime (one union jack) joined ranks to rescue me.
     This bro British gentile ben (who likes converted rice) pull went on their beat, which result equals this swift tail lord n harried style scribbling.
     As evident dis lit writ fellow enjoys bending, deploying, experimenting, gripping, illustrating karma (his) thru words.
      That then ***** (epitomized in countless burlesque chaplinesque productions, dickensian tales, oil paintings some from artistic hands of great masters and others from anonymous exquisite painters, et cetera) remembered nothing of his birth or childhood.
     My amorphous gauzy, hazy memories solely comprised fragmented collection of miserable memories, which epitomized living a hellacious hand to mouth hard scrapple existence.
     Past and now present existence seemed a worse fate than death.
     The overpowering urge to survive as one foreigner against depredations of the grim reaper found me daily fending off real and imagined threats against daily/night grind.
      Yours truly dug deep within his bony strength in an effort to mustard every last ounce of strength to avoid the skull n crossbones that tried like the dickens to ketchup with me.
     Although cursed with nefarious fate in tandem with a measly looking specimen of thee human varmint, this then grimy, grungy, rangy, et cetera looking being clung with all the might to his five foot ten inch or so tall and one hundred and forty pound body.
     I tapped into survival skills and summoned willpower to stay alive and bear this heavy cross of ***** poor poverty.
     No matter a hard-core skeptic at heart, this cynic plaintively called for divine intervention to help, this human piece of flotsam and jetsam to cope with living like a junkyard dog - name o Jim Croce.
     In essence, this ignored and shunned vagrant frequently raged against the machine and found figurative and literal lovely bones that picked at mailer demons that tormented his psyche.
     While he traipsed along the boulevard of broken dreams (before the end o September came), a torn and well-worn shoe kicked a of couple pointed items.
     One comprised colorful jagged shard that in a previous lifetime housed some cheap fermented liquor.
      Nothing but crud filled the remnant of what looked like a ***** guzzling hounds favorite drink.
     This solitary sojourner never felt drawn to drown out moi sorrows by turning to the bottle, cigarettes nor drugs (a respect for thyself existed), though an automatic reflex found ma fingers to grab this eye-catching drunkard’s lost memento and wireless device.
     This tangle of webbed, weird wired mesh constituted a dullish metallic uh object generated by ac/dc charges, which turned out to be a heavily damaged MOTORAZR phone.
     Out of some foolish embarrassed instinct, I cradled then rubbed this remnant once containing some amber liquid of the hot ***** shaped stone temple pilots of the dogs.
     In mockery against cosmic consciousness, my mouth jabbered away into the mobile phone.
     No sooner did these chafed, course and cracked fingers slide across the unbroken surface of said bottle in with my cracked, frozen and parched lips uttering some plea, a crackle, snap and pop delivered a lifelike goddess.
     The mp3 player began issuing syncopated beats indicative per some previous owner favorite play list tunes on this electronic contraption.
     This vision and auditory music definitely brought a sobered Judy e shall punch to moi cloudy sense n sensibility flush with pride without prejudice.
     I clapped mine nearly deaf ears and thence rubbed mein kempf gnarled hands across nearly blind myopic eyes.
     A maiden suddenly appeared in plain view.
    Disbelief found me as some pretender to feign acting like a beastie boy to use said cell phone and speak in a matter of fact tone of voice.
     She (in a lilting, melodic and sing song tone) responded with casualness as like a genie appears (alladin like) everyday.
     General conversation ensued (albeit fraught with a bit of apprehension and self consciousness) before the purpose of her presence became clear.
     Immediate difficulty arose to think of one wish to alleviate grievous humiliation and immersion in misery at the dog forsaken hour of 4 after midnight, yet we carried and decamped.
     Rather than blurt out the immediate favorite offering for untold riches, I surprised myself and communicated a desire for female friendship.
     A gamesome gal who would surrender herself for cries and whispers seemed more important than any pile of wealth.
     Awareness and self-actualization about my utter decrepitude appeared as immediate deterrent toward attaining a bona fide sincere relationship.
     Nonetheless, This ordinary and reasonable ambition appeared as a lofty goal.
     Self absorbed in this rambling, jangling and longing of the body, mind and heart, I quickly became oblivious to an imaged or real corporeal presence, which spurred such an outpouring toward this ostracized and unwanted vermin.
     Eyes wide shut loosened tongue in an effort to picture the escape from pernicious malady and crushing blow of an abominable lumpenproletariat existence.
     Lips shut tight prevented the woebegone loss of what appeared as some divine trickster who conjured such a muse out of thin air.
     Upon winding down this unrehearsed recitation, a painstaking effort got made to open the eyelids very slowly.
     Wanton soupy pleasure ala a side order of Lo (mein), and behold when this nattering noodle ling manifestation in the actual guise of a gorgeous gal.
     She stood still as a statue, and remained rapt with attention.
     Provenance and providence found pleasure in prattled patois.
     A promise uttered to remain as permanent lass despite many who considered this writer nothing but a wretched pestilence of earth!
     Those comedy of errors leered at this kingpin of words ceased to punctuate one anonymous life with angst-riddled tragedy.
     Pleasant great expectations found all’s well that ends well.
     My ****** innocence, naivete, and nonchalant Tommy knocking cruise across the byways, country roads, and superhighways of this awesome World Wide Web found me sequestered in seventh heaven.
     This frenzied, mad as hatter Caucasian man found himself pleasantly ensconced with a down to earth woman, who playfully grabbed, man-handled and pinned down this artfully flirtatious fellow.
     Thine force-fed (with but a feeble protest) feasts of feverish foreplay found flaccid flesh to become primed for penultimate probing in the primary female plantation in that verdant tropic of cancer.
     Merry widow and 2000th wife who dwelled in a system with Windows 98 subjected this gentle guy to pleasant uninterrupted interludes of gentle felicitous ecstasy devoid of prophylactics for greater intensity of ****** experiences.
     Each countless caress upon thy body politik sans gorgeous gal begged to be fondled ushering (from the chamber of pheromone secretes) that pined to boot for her lil hills of Rome, which miniature towering inferno of ****** exploits dwelled in my over active imagination.
I walked on down to the travelling show
Thinking to take a ride,
When the barker said, in a voice so low
‘There’s a Dancing Girl inside.’
He opened the flap of the crimson tent
And he tried to wave me in,
I said I didn’t know what he meant,
He replied, ‘What price for sin?’

I said I wanted to take a ride
Not look at a Dancing Girl,
There were plenty down at the local club
In my easy, ****** world.
‘There’s not a thing she could teach me now
For I’ve seen it all before.’
He said, ‘This girl is the Jezebel
Who performed for Kings, and more.’

I waved him off and I carried on
In my search for a thrilling ride,
And spent the evening whirling, twirling
Over the countryside,
But as I turned to travel on home
I passed by the crimson tent,
And the barker opened the flap again
To see if I would relent.

It must have been curiosity
For I turned and went inside,
Into its darkened depths I went
To flatter his wounded pride,
There was eastern music playing low
And I heard a woman wail,
Kneeling in front of an altar there
And the name inscribed was ‘Baal.’

She heard me there, and got to her feet,
And danced like an ancient rhyme,
But underneath the paint on her face
Was the ravage of endless time,
Gold and silver glittered and gleamed
From the very little she wore,
With chains and bracelets jangling as
She danced around, like a *****.

She pressed her body against me then
And jabbered some foreign tongue,
The only word that I thought I heard
Was the one on the altar, One!
The barker stood in the entranceway
And she muttered his name, aloud,
She said Ahab, and I thought to run
He stood in the way, and bowed.

She pushed me up to the altar then
And tried to force me to kneel,
I thought of the Bible story, and
My skin had crawled at her feel,
I fought her off, and pushed her away
The man she called Ahab scowled,
And as I left by the flap of the tent
The dogs by the entrance howled.

David Lewis Paget
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,

boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life

cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,

lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,

gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter

to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better

than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,

her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter

ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
L Begonia Nov 2017
i have watched my best friend turn on to me
a friend, who was barely a friend at all
a friend, who enabled my addictions
a friend, who only half listened

before it soured, i seized the reins
and like a teacup chihuahua behind a fence
he jabbered
he screetched

and now, my toxic friend
you're leaving

i can barely face you,
not because you scare me
but because you fill me with disgust

i am so glad i didn't not become you.
TMReed Dec 2019
Once there was a boy who couldn’t start talking
who stood on the corner each morning,
advertising all the words he knew,
but never selling one.

Who took his sorrow home,
night after night, complaining
of the stories he didn’t sell,
of the words he didn’t say.

Who dared, one morning,
to open his mouth
without a dollar in his hand
and forgot how to close it.

Who talked through the sunrise
through the morning rush,
through the whispers and the foot traffic,
through the sirens and the rotten weather.

And there were shadows who couldn’t stop listening
who opened their ears,
with dollars in their pockets,
and called him interesting.

Who found something extraordinary
who claimed they would listen forever,
but the longer they listened
the less remarkable he seemed.

There was a boy who couldn’t stop talking
who rambled so long
the stories out his mouth
had spun themselves in circles.

Who jabbered until
they had heard all the words he knew,
and the shadows couldn’t stop leaving
and he lost his his voice

There was a boy who couldn’t keep talking
who stood on the corner each morning,
without a dollar in his hand,
out of words to sell, out of words to say.
The following fictitious poetic vignette attempts a feeble tale of one ordinary day in life of anonymous miscreant.

"I don't give a ****
about my bad reputation."

I haint never done nobody no harm,
nor did any animals
(code word for other gang members)
get injured or killed
in the making of a video
(our lingo for done deal).

A decoy police officer
(one named Sergeant Smart)
pretended to be a drug dealer.

Turf wars made clear
the domain each mini kingpin oversaw.

Our base, which included
drop outs, whose parents
did not give a fig whether
their son lived or died
(got pitiless date with death)
drove motive to act truant
or commit a serious violation
warranting expulsion
generated a buzzing business
for social services field attending minors.

Thus here we were at our "den",
when this officer (dressed
in plain clothes) wanted some
(even just a dab) smack.

One badass dude of this pack
nicknamed "Hen Owes"
usually tried to "sniff" out trickery
when a new bro showed up out of nowhere.

Me and the boys could “feel vibes”,
and sense an infiltrator, sleuth,
or simply traitor,
(which last mentioned
a real impish whinny *****),
when we immediately see him.

Between ourselves, we exchanged
specific non verbal signals
if someone ratted on us.

Thar haint nuttin worse getting duped.

A posse member
(if found out got pole axed for revenge).

Usually the beans already spilled
with a caper on our tail,
but the ragamuffin who tattled
would pay with his life.

At this instance, I felt trapped.

No doubt flaunting law groupthink
and figurative cohesiveness
exhibited obvious signs of defeat.

Once no escape in the cards,
each "coyote" barked, howled,
and jabbered like any other teenage punk
when outsmarted by authority
decorated figure head honcho.

A hair brained simultaneous idea
lit up all our brains too ****
this menacing enforcer of the law.

As if on cue, the beefiest beastie boy
sucker punched, and pistol whipped,
and kicked in the groin this ******,
who lied thru his teeth.
      
They all did!

We knew that.
    
The unmarked car
the mutilated body mortally wounded
with a couple/few token gunshots
for good measure got stuffed
in the trunk of the vehicle.

Already headquarters triggered
the slain global positioning satellite
to track location of this rookie.

We subsequently found out,
he attended the same hell hole high school
some years before we
plugged, plotted, planned
to bomb the **** building
to kingdom come.

Since the moniker
"bad company" linkedin
to every f**k'n trouble
maker and threat
to other students in general
and homicidal maniacal
reputation in particular,
thus gave us bragging
(cachet **** reputation)
rights in this underground
world wide web of all gory
blood lust and violence.

Live to be freely mean and die,
or a nasty, short and brutish life
found most every day a shooting gallery.

A temporary bond meant nothing,
(or meeting the barrel of a gun)
if a turncoat wielded a loose silky tongue
spoiling opportunities
to mow down another body.
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!

While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,

nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like ****.

Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,

boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life

cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,

lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,

gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter

to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better

than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,

her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter

ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
Ransacking treasure trove
of maximum headroom.

To remedy a fate worse than death
or contracting one
of several viral diseases named pox
permeate heavy shut tight door
with numerous deadbolts
and sophisticated locks
and impossible mission to out fox
analogous to roach infestation,
who favor nesting within custom made
Roper men's shoes brand name Docks.

Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Das scribe's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned
in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,

now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered

into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,

while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!

— The End —