BELOIT CAFE

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS



For Vicki Whitaker



Chapter 1

"Two eggs, over easy, double hash browns, and coffee, black," said Sally.

"Got it," said Leo.

Leo was Leo Lottman. He was also a genius, but he never cared about that. He had been the cook at Beloit Cafe for six years. He had gotten the job just after he had graduated from Beloit High School. He was 4' 9" tall, so had to see the whole cafe through the small crack in the right wall.

"Order up," yelled Leo.

Sally came over to pick up the order and took it to her customer. The other waitress was Mildred. Both had been working there for 10 and 12 years respectively.

Both Leo's parents had been killed in a car wreck when he was a junior in high school and had to spend his senior year with his uncle. He easily could have won a scholarship to KU, but having been socially shunned all his growing up, he was content to live a private life.

Leo got a job at the Beloit Cafe as a cook. He also rented the room above the kitchen. He loved classical symphonies and reading books on American history, as well as other subjects. The only person who never shunned him was himself.

Beloit is a small town in north central Kansas with a population of 3,400 citizens. In it is the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. On occasional Sunday afternoons, he had gotten permission to go there and talk to those girls interested in the history of the United States.

"Oatmeal with raisins, buttered white toast, and a large glass of whole milk," yelled Meredith.

"Got it."


Chapter 2

After the Cafe closed, Leo slowly climbed the stairs to his room.

The first thing he did was to put on Rachmaninoff's PIANO CONCERTO #2. Then he was ready to absorb himself in all things American. He had already read Howard Zinn's A PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. For example, Leo knew that eight men who became President of the United States also owned slaves themselves. George Washington had owned slaves and Thomas Jefferson, the man who wrote "We the People," owned more than 600 slaves. Now he was exploring and enjoying poems written by American poets.

Take, for example, Frost's MENDING WALL, Leo might say.

"The lines I enjoy most are (1) "Something there is that doesn't love a wall" and (2) "Before I'd build a wall/I'd like to know what I was walling out or walling in."

Provocative, Leo thought.

"Or let's examine Emily Dickinson. She wrote a poem titled "I'm Nobody - Who are you?" I think the title tells everything you need to know who she was, a brilliant, but secluded, woman. Lived virtually her whole life in her bedroom. She wrote often about death, probably because she was slowly dying within. I don't think she was ever loved."

"Walt Whitman--let's take a look at him through his poetry. I think Walt Whitman was the emotional antithesis of Emily Dickinson--wide open, not shut as her bedroom door was. I see Whitman as the first American hippie. After you read I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC, read LEAVES OF GRASS.

Leo was getting sleepy. Who wouldn't be after spending hours on his feet?


Chapter 3

"French toast with maple syrup, two lightly poached eggs, bacon, and a cup of coffee with cream," said Sally.

"Got it."

There seemed to be a lot more people coming in to eat breakface this morning. At 4' 9", Leo could see whichever waitress was leaving an order, but could not see the full cafe, which was why he often looked through the small crack to the right in the wall. In a way, this was a metaphor of his life.

Leo was thinking about what he would talk this coming Sunday afternoon at the Kansas Industrial School for Girls. Probably American history, but he was also thinking about a fellow named Tod Howard Hawks and the many poems of his Leo had read and liked on the Internet.

Among a number of Hawks's poems he liked were SOLITUDE AND GRACE, I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN, and SIMONE, SIMONE,
Leo had read all of Hawks's poems, over a thousand of them, as well as his aphorisms and essays. He had also read his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH, which Hawks had posted on the Internet, which meant people could read it for free. Leo admired Hawks's magnanimity, but he wanted to pick 10 more of Hawks's poems to share with the girls.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky, I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize. My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER'S DOWN

I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always high
noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone,
please come to me
and bare your breast
for me to rest
my shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone,
I'm all alone.
Simone, Simone.


Chapter 4

"Ladies, it's nice to be with you again," said Leo.

"This afternoon, I'd like to talk a bit with all of you about the beginnings of our country. After that, I'd like to share with you some poems written by a very talented fellow.

"Our Constitution of 1787 ratified slavery with the 3/5th Clause, thereby making slavery legal in all 13 nascent states. My question:  How can you reconcile slavery with democracy?  My answer:  You can't. Slavery is anathema. It is immoral. It is repugnant. The child of slavery is racism that permeates our nation today. People whose skin is black are still being discriminated against to this very day. The period from 1890 to 1920 saw more lynchings of Blacks than during any other comparable period. The grotesque fact is that eight men, eight presidents of the United States of America, were slaveholders themselves. George Washington was a slaveholder. Thomas Jefferson, our third president, who wrote the preamble WE THE PEOPLE, owned more than 600 slaves. This is how our "Democracy" got started, which I find repugnant.

"Now I wish to share with you a number of poems written by Tod Howard Hawks."

SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky big and blue.
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the tired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to began another day of long labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, a Hereford cow,
is there to care,
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother's milk.

About 60 miles to the north,
and a little to the west,
the sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe;
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theatre.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth sown together by miles of barb-wired
fences spread interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless little country towns
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin and ruler-straight,
flanked on either side by telephone poles
and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren't too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa's growing green
and irrigation's coming in.
Rain's been real good
and the cattle market's really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it's got all the big towns got--
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
The common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.



THE WAY THAT WINTER COMES AT ME

The way that winter comes at me,
as if a stranger from a side street
cold and dark accosting me. I turn
my collar up. He hollers, "You, there!"
Faster I walk, fear chilling me,
a lamp post but a grey ghost in the fog.
This ****, winter, mugs me. He hits me
in the face with frozen fists. He grabs me,
stabs me in the side with knives
of ice, slices at my heart, the home
of hope. Supine, frost forming on
my brow, I pray to boughs of willow
trees:  pines will sing my elegy. My mind
drifts like snowdrifts:  a mitten lost...
fingers, nose, toes frostbitten...
a lake of isolation...a sleigh with no
horse...a blizzard of insanity.
My blood thaws the frozen ground,
then freezes.



GOTHS AND VISIGOTHS

I read of Visigoths and Dark Ages,
nomadic tribes, enormous rage
toward an empire falling,
fires and fleeing,
a desire for being
eternally at rest.
We walk through the ruins
of our empire romantic,
fires still burning,
a yearning so fierce
it's piercing our hearts.
The Franks and the Vandals
and Visigoths dismantle
the art and the ardor
we knew before the fall.
The walls have all crumbled;
that is all I remember.
The Ostrogoths have dismembered
the love we once shared
a millennium or so ago.
I am leaving the ruins
of my own Middle Ages,
turning the pages
of my own darkened soul.
I am solely my sage now,
trying to engage now
the vestige of happiness
the rest of my life.



A STILL LIFE

Pardon me, sir.
May I borrow
your squalor
for a photograph?

I love
the repetition
of those wrinkles in your brow.
Hold it, please.

The contrast
of your black skin
against the white plaster chipping
is marvelous.

When I
get them developed
I'll send you a print,
They'll look great in my portfolio.

Thank you
and your wife
and your eight kids
for this pose in poverty.


A DEEPER NIGHT

In the night
there is a deeper night,
in sorrow, a deeper sorrow,
in your sorrowful eyes more
sorrowful eyes I descry,
the deep night of your eyes
as I lie beside you, your head,
then your head lying on night's
pillow, deeper than a hollow hole
filled with tender tears as you tell me
of the night, the deeper night of your life,
your hair wet with deeper tears
on night's side of your visage
when you had to leave your son
to save yourself and him, a hurt
the still hurts, a deeper night hurt
you share with me through deep night
sobs, deeper sobs, wetting your checks
and neck and night hair, the hurts
the deeper night hurts that robbed
you of yourself and him, of how you
had to go in order to return, the sinuous
path, convoluted and constrained,
to leave the night to be able to come back
in the day. All I could do was to hold you
and let you sob and shake until you finally
saw the brightest sun in your heart.


MOON OF CHERRIES BLACK

Cherries black by water
flowing, berries blue,
the hue of Father Sky.
Bluffs and buffaloes
a long time ago, the
Great Spirit permeated
land and lives. Eagles
flew in hearts of men;
honest words were spoken then.
No token treaties, no entreaties,
arrows flew like truth to hearts
on antelopes. No interlopers,
no antebellum prairie schooners,
no sooner had they come than
bison hooves were no longer
heard. They herded red men
and women and children like
chattel. Wild dogs knew better.


SILVER SPOONS

Some people love their silver moons,
China closets in velvet rooms,
hand-rubbed walnut round pearls of glass,
antique notions to preserve a past,
while others love their silver moons,
orange sunsets, October tunes of bluebirds
sighing through sunburnt skies,
green fields soft where lovers lie.


IF I COULD MOUNT A MOUNTAIN

If I could mount a mountain
and ride it to the sea,
I'd gather up the waters
to make a bath for thee.
I'd rinse your hair with violets,
your ******* and thighs with myrrh,
and as you rose I'd cover you
with strands purple, silver, gold.
If I could garner galaxies,
I'd make for you a ring
and ring it round your finger
for eternity.  I'd call on all
the continents to make for you
a bed, a majesty of meadows,
white billows for your head.
And underneath the tapestry
God wove on Heaven's loom,
with love and lust I'd plant my
seed in your soft and sacred womb.


THE BUTTERFLY SONG:  A Lullaby for Katie

Tell me why, oh butterfly,
do you fly so high.
Tell me why, oh butterfly,
high up in blue sky.

Tell me, pretty butterfly,
with your wings of gold,
are you as kind and gentle
as I'm always told?

Tell me, golden butterfly,
will you come to me
and light upon my shoulder
to keep me company?

And when night falls, my butterfly,
please let your golden wings
illuminate the darkness
until the bluebird sings.


WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO SUFFER?

What does it mean to suffer?
Is it better to buffer ourselves
from turmoil, or does the oil
of hate and hurt serve some purpose?
Are we animals in some circus,
parading like elephants inelegantly,
passing through wire hoops?
We tire, we droop.
Are we poor men in soup lines,
hoping for salvation,
fed with propitiation?
Our faces show no elation:
they grow ashen.
Shall we cash in the bonds
our mothers never gave us?
Love's dearth has thus enslaved us.
Just put us in our graves and
let us live in Mother Earth.


The girls and Leo had a long, trenchant exchange for almost two hours. Leo found it exhilarating. The girls had never engaged others in their regular classes as they had that Sunday afternoon.


Chapter 5

Leo was listening to the 2nd movement of Beethoven's 7th Symphony while
he was reading about the "TRAIL OF TEARS" and President Andrew Jackson.

We, the white people, were the first immigrants to what became known as the United States of America, Leo thought. All the people and politicians can't see that, right?, pondered Leo. Are they simply dumb, or are they being duplicitous? Actually, Leo thought, this was a genocide of what we now call Native Americans.

The INDIAN REMOVAL ACT was signed in 1830 by President Andrew  Jackson. 60,000 Indians of the "five civilized tribes":  the Cherokee, the Muscogee, the Seminole, the Chickisaw, and the Choctaw nations. Over the course of this diabolical walk from the southeastern states to what is now Oklahoma, it is estimated that 16,700 perished from diseases and murderous conditions, as as well as anti-Indian racism. Those groups that "helped" the Indians keep moving along included the U.S. Army and state militias. Forced displacement, ethnic cleansing, and mass murders, among others, kept these human beings moving westward allowing the United States of America to aggrandize more land west of the Mississippi River.

Leo lay on his bed for a long time. He had finished listening to Beethoven's Seventh Symphony and was now enjoying Dvorak's NEW WORLD SYMPHONY. But the longer he lay there, Leo wondered if Dvorak was dreaming of a new, budding world, or whether he was listening to the preamble to a demonic future. Leo knew the hydrogen bomb was like the atomic bomb, only a thousand times more powerful.


Chapter 6

Leo remembered General Philip Sheridan said in the 1860s "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Every time Leo saw Hotah come into the Beloit Cafe, Leo thought of Sheridan and almost puked. Hotah, a Lakota Sioux, was a little older than Leo, and over time the two had become friends. Hotah had grown up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the poorest place in the USA. The drug addiction, alcoholism, and rampant poverty drove Hotah off the reservation, down through Nebraska, and into north-central Kansas where he made for himself a home of sorts for himself in Beloit. What the two had shared was a life of pain and intelligence.

"Leo, hello," said Hotah.

"Hotah, it's good to see you. How have you been?" said Leo. "Just a minute. I have a few more supplies to stock," said Leo.

The Cafe closed at 8 pm. It was 7:45. There would be no more customers. Leo closed the Cafe every evening.

"There, that will do it. Like a cup of coffee?" said Leo.

"Sure," said Hotah.

Leo poured two cups of coffee. "You like your coffee black, right?" asked Leo.

"That's right," said Hotah. Leo drank his coffee with milk. "Pick a table and I'll be with you in just a moment," said Leo.

Hotah picked up the two cups and put them on a table close by, then sat down. Leo joined him.

"I'm thinking I'd like to drive back to the rez and wondered if you'd like to join me," said Hotah.

"I think I could work something out," said Leo.

The Wounded Knee Massacre occurred in the winter of 1890. Hotah's great-grandfather and nearly 300 other Lakota Sioux died in that slaughter. Each year Hotah made a pilgrimage to the cemetery about ten miles east of Pine Ridge to honor his slain great-grandfather.

A ceremony called "Ghost Dance" performed by groups of Lakota Sioux had frightened nearby settlers. A detachment of the U.S. 7th Calvary Regiment confronted almost 300 Lakota Sioux men, women, and children and after a rifle was accidentally fired, the massacre began. Hotah's great-grandfather was killed.

"Do you think we could make the round-trip in a week?" Leo asked Hotah.

"I think we could do that," said Hotah. "My old Honda should get us there and back."

"I've accumulated some vacation time. When do you think you'd like to go?" asked Leo.

"How about next week, say Saturday?" said Hotah.

"Things around here are pretty flexible. I'll ask tomorrow and let you know tomorrow evening," said Leo.

"Great!" said Hotah.


Chapter 7

"Good news, Hotah. Saturday will work fine," said Leo.

Driving from Beloit to Pine Ridge is not like drawing a vertical, straight line. It's a lot of zigs and sags. Hotah had made this trip many times. He could make this trip without a map. Travel time is between 5 to 6 hours. Once they got to the rez, the two could stay with Hotah's relatives, the Brave Bulls.

Saturday morning Leo and Hotah got into Hotah's old Chevy pick-up and headed northwest. A number of small Nebraska towns Hotah and Leo passed through. After crossing I-80, they stopped at a cafe in Philipsburg. Then they traveled through Breadwater, Alliance,  and a number of other small towns until they passed through White Clay, then into Pine Ridge. They had planned on meeting Hotah's older brother, Akecheta, and his two younger sisters, Macha an Whicahpi at Pine Ridge's gas station and convenience store.

Hotah got out of his pick-up, went over and hugged his brother and two sisters, then introduced them to Leo.

"Pleasure to meet you all," said Leo. Akecheta had suggested that everyone come over to his house, relax, chat, then have dinner.

"Well, this is my home," said Akecheta. "Welcome." It was mid-afternoon by now and Hotah and Leo were a bit worn out. They all went inside and found a seat.

"Coke or Seven-Up?" said Akecheta. He took all the orders, went into the kitchen, prepared the drinks, served them, then took a seat. "Here's some chips if you're hungry."

"Glad to have Leo with us. You and Hotah will be staying with me. The girls will be staying with their mom. Our parents are divorced," said Akecheta.

Leo was beginning to unwind. He was used to standing for hours, but not so used to sitting for 5 1/2.

The group was starting to feel quite comfortable with each other. Leo asked the girls which grades they were in and which subjects they were studying. He mentioned that every few weeks or so he met on Sunday afternoons with a group of high-school girls and spoke about different topics. Akecheta, it seemed, was a very good athlete. The Yankees were scouting him.

Turns out, Akecheta also was talented in the kitchen. He excused himself and finished making dinner.

"Anybody hungry?" said Akecheta. "Dinner's ready."

So what was for dinner?

Wasna:  A traditional dish made from dried meat, fat, and berries.
Vegetables and corn:  Wild vegetables such as turnips (timpsila) and corn.
Thahca: Bison meat served as roasted, stewed, or dried.
Frybread.

More than enough for everyone around the table, and delicious.

After dinner, the six sat around and chatted. Hotah and Leo were tired from their day's trip. The next day, the two were going to the Wounded Knee Cemetery. It was time to call it a day. Akecheta took his sisters home. When he returned, he found Hotah and Leo asleep.


Chapter 8

Hotah and Leo got up early. After eating breakfast, they quietly went  outside and got into the pick-up. The morning air was cool.

It would take the two a bit under a half hour to reach the cemetery. There would be no conversation as they headed toward the cemetery. Leo understood this trip was a prayer.

They reached the cemetery. Detritus, not rose petals, greeted Hotha and Leo. It met all who came to this sacred place to remember those who were slaughtered that frigid day--men, women, child--in December, 1890.

Hotha and Leo sat in silence. The spirit of thousands of buffaloes of the past could be felt. No sound but the wind could be heard. Hotha could hear cries, screams from the massacre of a century ago. His tears wet the dry earth.

The sun rose slowly in the blue sky. First Hotha, then Leo, slowly rose to make their way back to the pick-up. Cries and screams slowly abated as they headed home. Neither spoke a word.


Chapter 9

The Badlands were first inhabited 11,000 ago. The Oglala Lakota Sioux originally occupied all of the Badlands;  today they control a small section called the "Stronghold District," still a part of Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.

Hotah and Leo took a number of drives through what is now Badlands National Park. As they drove, they chatted.

"The indigenous peoples have really had it tough," said Leo.

"When we speak English, we call it "genocide," said Hotah.

"All these atrocities...." murmured Leo. "You would think by now that peoples who have superficial differences between them would see them by now as, well, "superficial." Instead, for millennia, peoples who are fundamentally the same find a reason to **** each other. That's crazy, isn't it?"

"I think "crazy" is a sane word to describe the situation you're talking about," said Hotah.

"You know I like to read history. Let's see if I can name a few," said Leo:

"ANCIENT TIMES:  Assyrian Empire (900-600 BCE) known for their brutality against those they conquered;  Roman Empire (27 BCE-476 CE) various atrocities including mass crucifixions and the sacking of cities like Carthage.

"MEDIEVAL TIMES:  Mongol Conquests (1206-1368). The Mongol invasions led by Genghis Khan. Widespread destruction and mass killings;  Crusades (1206-1368). Religious wars. Much loss of lives on both sides.

"EARLY MODERN PERIOD:  Spanish Inquisition:  (1478-1834). Torture and execution of thousands accused of heresy. Transatlantic Slave Trade:  (16th-19th centuries):  Enslavement and transportation of millions of Africans to the America.

19TH CENTURY:  Congo Free State (1885-1908):  Exploitation and atrocities committed by the Belgians under King Leopold II.

20 CENTURY:  Armenian Genocide (1915-1923):  Mass killings of Armenians by the Otttoman Empire;  Holocaust (1941-1945):  Genocide of six million Jews by **** Germany;  Rwandan Genocide (1994):  Mass slaughter of Tutsi by the Hutu majority;  Bosnian Genocide (1992-1995):  Ethnic cleansing and mass killings of Bosniak Muslims by Bosnian Serbs.

21ST CENTURY:  Darfur Genocide (2003-present):  Atrocities committed in the Darfur region of Sudan;  Syrian Civil War (2011-present): Numerous war crimes and atrocities committed by various factions.

"How do you remember all of this, Leo?," said Hotah.

"Photographic memory," said Leo.

For the next few days Hotah, Leo, and Akecheta hung out in the latter's home. It had been a great time, but it was time to head back to Beloit. Hotah and Leo thanked Akecheta for his kindness and generosity, but the old pick-up was waiting patiently.


Chapter 10

Hotah and Leo got home on Saturday.

Leo was scheduled to meet with the girls at the Kansas Industrial School on Sunday. "I need to pick out ten more poems," he thought. Also, he needed to decide on which era of American history he would discuss with the girls.

Leo chose these ten poems by Tod Howard Hawks to read.

WHO WILL BE THE FIRST?

Who will be the first
to volunteer
to be poor, homeless, and hopeless?

Who will be the first
to live
with no love, hope, and will?

Who will be the first
to be
illiterate, ostracized, and forgotten?

Who will be the first
to suffer
enslavement, lynching, and death?

Let me be the first
to say
"This is not right!"

Let me be the first
to believe
"This is not honest!"

Let me be the first
to embrace
what's kind, generous, and caring?

Let me be the first
to love
you. you, and you.



WHAT IF WIND AND WHITE CLOUDS

What if wind and
white clouds blow by
without a sound to be heard.?
What if all hearts and souls
be one without red, yellow,
brown, black and white skins
What if one kiss is a kiss of all?
What if we miss these truths
throughout our hours? What if
love is all that matters as we scatter
through our myriad lives?



WHAT IF A POEM WELLS UP?

What if I sit
in a silent room?
What if I speak
only to myself?
What if I utter
no words? What if
a poem wells up inside
me unconsciously,
no trying need there be.
I think I should type it.


BUT I SHALL HOLD LOVE

For what is the most precious gem?
It is the blue diamond,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest wealth?
It is to own more than any other,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest honor?
It is to have all others bow at your feet,
but I shall hold love.
And for what is the greatest glory?
It is for one to be remembered by all forever,
but I shall hold love.



WE HAVE MINED OUR MOUNTAINS

We have mined our mountains,
we have fished our seas,
we have felled our forests,
we have gathered our grains,
but we have not embraced
the infinite energy of our souls,
which is love.



A NATION, A NOTION

A nation, a notion,
Hegemony or honey,
A cruel ruler or a kind mind,
All for one or some for all,
Aggrandize, or wiser still,
Enough for billions,
Gentle hands for a broken heart,
Lavender love to assuage the pain,
Head on your pillow,
Alone in the dark,
No fear as sun rises,
A nation, a notion,
Take some lotion
And spread it
To dissolve
All borders.



TO SHED MY TEARS

I am sitting on the curb in late July between Al's
Barbershop and Harry's Hardware watching ants
making their way to the gutter where they disappear.
Busby, Nebraska is not a big town--in fact, it's not
even a small town--in fact, it's not even a town. It's
three blocks long, but Ethel's Cafe is open for break-
fast and lunch. And most importantly, it's on the
way to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation located
in the remote southwestern corner of South Dakota
where I'm headed on foot. I've been to Pine Ridge a
number of times. Something calls me there from time
to time. Not sure what it is--kind of like a spiritual
whisper. Only got 23 more miles to get there. I walk
wherever I go--reminds me of Wordsworth's THE
WORLD'S TOO MUCH WITH US. I say I'm going
to Pine Ridge, but actually I'm headed to Wounded
Knee Cemetery, about ten miles east of Pine Ridge,
where so many of the Lakota Sioux men and women
and children were slaughtered, then buried, the
last massacre of indigenous people by the U.S.
Army in 1890. I sit on the ground and cry and cry.
The dry grasses soak up my tears as fast as they
hit the ground.



I WALK MORE SLOWLY NOW

I walk more slowly now.
The miles are longer than they used to be.
I know where I want to go,
but now I forget to turn left and turn right.
Here comes a pretty woman.
I say hello as she passes,
but I hear nothing.
I saw her, but I guess she didn't see me.
I walk by trees and flowers
that used to be green and red
and yellow, but now are grey.
I need to get my glasses fixed,
but I cannot find them.
I miss Shep, my dearest friend ever.
I hear him barking,
but he died a year ago.
I walk more slowly now.



I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU NOW

I used to hate,
but now I love, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You who loathe
and discriminate, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You who wish
that hell be black, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You who'd torture
and even ****. I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.

You are humankind,
but still unkind, I
feel sorry for you now.
I feel sorry you
were never loved before.



I AM REALIZED

Life begins at conception.

For a human being to be able to love, she/he must first be loved, usually by
her/his biological parents, other times by her/his surrogate parents. If the newborn is not loved, she/he will suffer great pain, possibly even dying.

Most human beings do not receive the love they need;  thus, they will
unconsciously compensate usually in one or more than three ways:  accrual
of power, not to empower others, but to oppress them;  aggrandizement of
great wealth;  or achievement of fleeting fame.

If, on the other hand, they are loved, they will love all others throughout their lives, realizing their own personhood, which is their innate sacredness. If they are not loved, they will realize one or more of deleterious behaviors.

When all die, those who have realized their real selves will not have to return to Earth to live another life, because their souls have become pure love that bonds with the pure love of infinity, which is reality that has no form, no beginning, no end. They have become enlightened and will be so forever.

Those who did not realize their real selves will need to return to Earth in  new lives unconsciously to make another attempt to attain enlightenment.

Human life is an illusion, but because of love and self-realization, it remains nonetheless paradoxically the path to the reality of eternal love, which is God.

Know truth by untruth.



Chapter 11

Leo had just selected 10 more of Hawks's other poems to share with the girls this coming Sunday afternoon, but he also had to decide which era of American  history he would discuss with them. Finally, he decided on the genocidal period from 1860 to 1890 during which General Philip Sheridan is alleged to have said, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."

Sunday afternoon came quickly. Leo enjoyed reading the poems to the girls and discussing with them the period from 1860 to 1890. But he was worn out and immediately returned to the Beloit Cafe, walked up the stairs to his room and lay on his bed and fell asleep instantly.

Monday morning, it seemed, also came instantly. By 7 am, Leo was ready to cook, and he did. And it was a long day. Most interestingly, that evening was the first time he saw that lady who came into the Cafe right before it was to close. Even more interesting was that the lady kept coming in every evening around the same time.  

"Have you noticed our new customer," asked Sally.

"Well, I've seen glimpses of her," said Leo.

"The interesting thing about her is that every evening she comes in, she's crying," said Sally.

"Crying?" said Leo.

"Yes," said Sally.

"Has she ever spoken to you, Sally?" asked Leo.

"Not personally, but she always orders the same thing. I think it's Swiss Steak," said Sally.

"That's right. Someone orders Swiss Steak every evening of late. It has to be her," said Leo.

After talking with Sally, Leo walked over to the crack in the right wall to see this mysterious lady. There she was, putting her handkerchief constantly to her eyes. I wonder what's bothering her, thought Leo.

The lady kept coming in every evening at the same time for more than three weeks. Leo kept checking her out every evening. Nothing had changed.

On Thursday evening of the fourth week, Leo did something that he had never done before. After Sally had placed the lady's order--yes, still Swiss Steak--Leo left the kitchen during working hours for the first time and slowly walked over to the table where the lady was sitting.

"I'm Leo Lottman, the cook. I'm concerned about you. Are you OK?" said Leo politely.

The lady was surprised the cook came over to her and asked if she were OK, but internally she appreciated his kindness.

"Your first name is Leo, am I right," the lady asked.

"Yes, you're right," Leo responded.

"It was very kind of you to come over and ask me if I were OK," said the lady. "By the way, my name is Julia."

"I didn't intend to interrupt your dinner, Julia. I haven't even cooked it yet--the Swiss Steak, right?" said Leo.

"My husband was killed in a car wreck," Julia *******.

Leo was stunned. "Oh, my god! I'm so sorry. My parents died in a car wreck when I was in high school," said Leo, his voice quivering. "I had to go live with my uncle. I suppose I need to go cook your Swiss Steak. And, by the way, don't feel you have to rush. I'm the only person working at this time of evening, so when everyone has eaten, I close the Cafe. I enjoyed talking with you, Julia. I hope to see and talk with you again."

"Leo, you're so kind. Your voice warms my heart," said Julia.



Chapter 12

Leo lay on his bed and thought about Julia. Tears and fears, a poem, Leo thought. Leo could relate to those two things. He thought some more. If Julia comes in tomorrow, I want to go over to her table again and just check in, Leo thought. And she is beautiful and nice, thought Leo as he continued to lie on his bed.

Leo had never interacted with a female until this evening. His heart was warmer, too.

He had been listening to Mozart's Symphony #40, which he loved. But as he listened to it this night, this Mozart's symphony sounded even sweeter. He was dreaming, thought Leo, even though he was still awake. And though he had cooked so many Swiss Steaks, Leo was thinking he'd love to cook them every night. Finally, he dozed off.

Morning did not come soon enough. Leo had never felt this way before, but this new morning Leo felt like he had never felt before. There was a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Leo was happy. He had never felt happiness before. There was something in the air that before was never there. This was great stuff, Leo thought...and felt.

Leo was almost running down the steps. He couldn't wait to start cooking. Eggs, hash browns, grits--whatever you want, thought Leo. Sally, one of the two waitresses, saw a different cook, a different Leo, than she had ever seen before.

Service at the Beloit Cafe had always been good, but as this day unfolded, Sally and Mildred had never sensed this level of happiness permeating the Cafe. Nobody spoke out about it, but it was palpable to every customer and staff. What was going on?, everyone thought.

Leo was extraordinary in flipping pancakes and frying bacon. Eggs--anyway you like them. Cereal--any kind you like. Coffee--we have the best. The Beloit Cafe was humming.

This workday was going by fast. The afternoon went by so fast, the staff barely noticed it going by. Leo felt he could run a marathon. Sally and Mildred were talking about seeing a movie together. If there were a dog in the Cafe, it would be running around tables and chairs. It might even have puppies.

Leo had been checking the time all day--about fourteen times. This time when he looked again at the clock, it was the magic moment. It was quarter to 8! And sure enough, Julia walked in and went to her table. As Leo and everyone else knew, there were no other customers coming in this evening and all the staff except Leo were gone. Eureka!  

Leo couldn't wait. After a few moments, Leo walked over to say hello to Julia.

"Good evening, Julia. How are you feeling tonight? I hope better." said Leo.

"Good evening to you. It's nice to see you again. I am feeling better tonight. Thanks for asking," said Julia.

"I'd like to chat with you a bit, but I know you want your Swiss Steak," said Leo.

"Don't worry about the Swiss Steak. It's not going to walk out of the Beloit Cafe," said Julia. "I'd enjoy chatting a bit with you, but tell me if you feel we're going on too long."

"Won't hesitate, but I am now a free man, if you will," said Leo. "My time is NOW my time. Where did you grow up, Julia?"

"I grew up in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I'm not a great skier, but I do love the mountains," said Julia. "Where did you grow up?"

"I'm a hometown boy. I've lived my entire life in Beloit," said Leo, "But I feel I've been many places and done many things, because I love to read and listen to classical music."

"Oh, that's interesting, because I love classical music, too. Probably because, as a child, I took lessons and learned how to play the violin," said Julia. "Who are your favorite composers?"

"Well, I've listened to a lot of classic music by different composers, but if I wer
e stranded on an island far out to sea, I'd love to be able to listen to the works of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart," said Leo.

These beautiful chats continued for several weeks.



Chapter 13

After this many chats, both Julia and Leo felt comfortable in each other's company.

Leo had decided to make a proposal of sorts to Julia.

That Monday evening, Julia came into the Cafe and sat down at her table. Leo came over to welcome her.

"Good evening tonight," said Leo. "How has your day been?"

"Just fine, Leo," said Julia. "And how about yours?"

"Well, the first thing I do every day now is to see if we still have enough Swiss Steaks. I have good news for you, Julia. We do!," said Leo.

Julia laughed.

Then Leo laughed, too.

"I have a question for you, Julia. Are you familiar with Beethoven's third symphony, Eroica?", asked Leo.

"Oh, yes, Leo, but I haven't listened to it for quite some time," said Julia.

"In that case, I have an invitation for you. Would you like to come to my room after eating another Swiss Steak and listening to Eroica? I have it," said Leo.

"Oh, that would be great!," said Julia. Julia never found out that Leo's invitation to Julia was the first invitation to a woman in his life.

"Well, I better start cooking your Swiss Steak now," said Leo.

Leo's heart was beating like crazy.



Chapter 14

Leo gave Julia a lot of time for her to eat her Swiss Steak. When he saw that she was finished, Leo walked over to her table.

"Well, Julia, how was your Swiss Steak tonight?" Leo asked.

"It was as good as all my other steaks have been," said Julia.

"That's good to hear," said Leo. "Are you ready to hear some beautiful music?" said Leo.

"I am now ready," said Julia.

"Just follow me," said Leo.

Leo walked across the room, then walked up the stairs to his door.
Before he opened the door and turned around. Are you OK after your hike?" asked Leo.

"I'm eager to listen to beautiful music," said Julia.

"Beautiful music coming right up," said Leo as he opened his door.

"This is my humble abode, Julia. I only have one chair and it's for you," said Leo. "Beethoven's Eroica, one of the masterpieces! Relax and enjoy."

Leo put Eroica on the turn table and turned the record player on. Leo sat on his bed. His heart was not pounding now. It was exuding serenity.

Beautiful music supplants all other feelings. Listening to Eroica was like relaxing in a warm pool. You didn't just listen to it. The music flowed through you. Finally, the music ended.

"That was so beautiful," said Julia. "Thank you, Leo, for sharing that with me."

"My pleasure, Julia," said Leo, then led her downstairs to the exit of the Cafe.

"Thank you, Leo, for brightening my life," said Julia.

"You're more than welcome," said Leo, his heart pounding again.

Julia walked home and Leo went back to his room, then lay on his bed, and before he fell asleep, thought this had been the best evening of his life.



Chapter 15

Leo and Julia continued their relationship. A number of times, Leo asked Julia if she would like to listen to other classical masterpieces. She said she would. After several months, Leo asked Julia if she would like to go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. She said she would.  After that, they began on the weekends to go see movies. Julia invited Leo over to her home for dinner.
Then Leo and Julia decided to take a week's trip into the Rocky Mountains.
A year later, the two announced to the Cafe's staff they were engaged. A year after that, Julia and Leo got married. And a year after that, Julia gave birth to a baby boy.

In life, you never quite know what's coming next. For Julia and Leo, it was love.

I don’t like Julia Roberts
All my friends know that
But they don’t know why
Sometimes they ask
I just brush it off with a shrug and say, “It’s a really long story”
I’m scared to tell my friends why
I’m afraid my opacity might decrease to the point where I become transparent
I never want anyone to be able to see right through me
But it’s weighing down on me, almost a chip on my shoulder
I think it’s time to share why

I saw Eat Pray Love for the first time when I was a freshman
I had read a few good reviews, and watched the trailer a couple times
The movie was highly anticipated
I rented the DVD and watched it by myself
It really wasn’t that great
I got lost somewhere between the “life-affirming pasta” and the affair with a man seemingly half the main character’s age
I was disappointed

When I was first a freshman, things were changing
I didn’t have many of my middle school friends, or really any at all
I wasn’t sure who to sit with in class or at lunch
I didn’t know who to talk to in the hallway for at least a solid month
I wanted something, anything constant
Some trait that would set me apart and become part of my character
A character I didn’t think I had
Julia Roberts received the short end of the stick
It seems so small and silly
But a distaste for Julia Roberts has tethered me to being someone
Why Julia Roberts? Because it’s not like I haven’t seen any movies worse than Eat Pray Love
I really didn’t have a reason at all
But it’s the lack of motive for hating Julia Roberts that fuels it now
I never had a reason to hate her
I’m worried my friends may think the reason I don’t like her is some elaborate mysterious tale they’ll only get to hear if they’re lucky enough for me to trust them

I don’t want to appear limpid to them, I’d rather die than seem boring
I blame Julia Roberts for that lack of character that left an empty gap in my life last year
I’ve always feared not having enough friends and I blame Julia Roberts
It’s the worry that I’m not interesting enough that keeps the flame burning
I blame Julia Roberts for the uncertainty and indecision that would ever make me too dull

Because who else do I blame?
The only other option is myself
I don’t want to do that
I like myself
I haven’t been quantifiably insecure in so long
I’m interesting enough, right?

I’ve got a super cool backstory explaining the secret reason for my mysterious aversion to Julia Roberts that I don’t tell people because I don’t have to expose all my secrets to be comfortable with who I am because I am interesting enough on my own

But the words plain, average, simple, and typical haunt me
What if my story doesn’t make them laugh?
What if my thoughts are too cliché?
What if I don’t have a good enough reason to dislike Julia Roberts?
They might return me to that friendless stage where I surround myself with people who don’t try to get to know me because I’m not interesting enough
Blaming everything on Julia Roberts hides the faults within myself
Faults that I pray only I can see
And when I don’t like Julia Roberts
I can like myself
So I don’t like Julia Roberts

One day at the Woden special school in 1985 bad things were going to happen for 2 of the students in year 9, you see there was this relief teacher named Bernie Johnson was wanting to kidnap 2 year 9 students Julia Clarke and Brian allan but these students were good and they never got into trouble but Bernie was walking out to the playground when it was his turn to do playground duty and when he saw Brian talking to Julia he put his hand around their mouths and said I will get you and kidnap you and your families will be unhappy because I will have a ransom
For you 2 to be returned but brian said you won't get me and Julia because we are from year 9, meaning we are older but Bernie said yes, but I could give you and Julia a phoney detention where I tie you 2 together and get rid of all your pus and Julia Clarke and Brian allan became very scared as they said to each other we must
Be good in class, so they went into class and unknown to them they were late and Bernie gave Brian and Julia a green card to say see me after school but brian and Julia were very scared for their safety and tried to get out of it but Bernie said
If you don't turn up to detention
I will **** you both tomorrow in school and as the lesson went on brian and Julia were scared of what is going to happen to them when the bell rings and then the bell rang and brian and Julia ran out to get the bus but Bernie came out and grabbed brian and Julia and threw them in the boot of the car and said
Heh heh heh heh you children are coming with me and Brian and Julia were ******* in the car trying to scream and then he pulled over as you saw Greg Keenan who was a year 9 student from Deakin high
And Bernie grabbed him and tied him in the back with Brian and Julia and sang a song
Oh yeah this is the time
I have 3 year 9 kids ******* in the back
I want to ring their parents and make them pay a ransom
For the 3 year 9 kids ******* in the back
And when Bernie stopped he unloaded brian and Greg and Julia and locked them up in his chicken coop and then rang each of their parents and they
Weren't prepared to help so Bernie whipped the 3 year 9 kids till they had red lines across their back and Greg, brian and Julia  were screaming HELP let us go and they said that 20-000 times and one man who was walking heard them and wanted to investigate
But Bernie said mind your own business I make my kids suffer when they are naughty and believe me, they are naughty
And the man left and after 6 hours of thinking he rang the police to check his house and
When they got there they searched high and low and then as they went outside they saw brian and Greg and Julia lying dead in the chicken coop and the police arrested Bernie and
Each family had a funeral for
Greg and Brian and Julia
May their next life be good

Kidnapped



Hi my name is Brian Allan and every day I am being followed by people who
Want to kidnap me, and at the moment I say to them, you can't ever kidnap a
Member of the Allan family, and that made me feel good, till today when my school
Girl friend Julia Clarke was abducted by these same kidnappers and the problem
With that is, that instead of ringing the Clarke household for the ransom demand,
They rang me and I haven't that much money, but really they want to kidnap me
As well, well at least that is what I thought, and I am one step ahead, I deleted
The message on the answering machine and then went out to the backyard, saying
You can kidnap Julia, but she ain't my daughter, so you kidnappers aren't getting
Your hands on this Allan family member.
The kidnappers had Julia ******* in a cave out in Michelago and they wanted me because
It would mean they have the shy young dudes are finally out of the way, and when te kidnapper said that, Julia screamed through her gag saying I am cool, not shy, and you
Are going to suffer, if you say I am shy again, but te kidnapper just laughed at Julia, whole Julia was shaing even if the chains were tied to her very tight.
Every day Brian went to school, he hung with the cool boys, who were Patrick Gloright and Mark Darding and Brian Allan had fun but he was hiding the fact that he was thinking of being kudnapped from them, to increase his mojo and it worked and also Brian Allan said to Patrick and Mark that when this kidnapper gets him that Brian will bring them down with him, because Brian was too scared to be kidnapped with just a girl, he wanted bys with him.
And Suddenly one day when Patrick and Brian were on their way to a footy game, the kidnapper, who recognized Brian Allan decided to kidnap Brian and Pat together, and his
Plan worked like a charm, and then the kidnapper told Patrick that he really just wants Brian Allan and Julia Clarke, and then he told Patrick that he is no longer a cool kid, yes
The kidnapper thought, I have shy couple, Brian Alan and Julia Clarke and hooligan Patrick
Gloright, none of you are getting free from me, heh heh heh heh heh.
Patrick was scared and demanded the kidnapper through his gag to let us 3 go and tree was no way that he will do that and tr 3 victims remained ******* and crying and struggling to get free, while the kidnapper was out having a party for the capture of Brian Allan and Patrick Gloright,meh celebrated while ****** Julia, which made her muscles in her leg tense up and Julia screamed ****, but little did she know that she was in the middle of the bush, where all the free folk are kidnappers and rapists.
Then after the kidnapper was through ****** Jula, he took Patrick and Brian and began to **** them, cause no more are they tough boys, they are two shy little boys, and when the
Kidnapper ***** them both Brian'and Patrick's *****'s were very stiff and they both said us boys are clean cut and mature and the kidnapper said, yes and all mine, I love nice boys
And then he put Pat and Brian Allan back in te cave with **** marks on them, meanwhile the 3 victims had nasty rope burns all over their bodies from, the heavy chains that pressed on their bodies.
The kidnspper didn't want to ring the families for ransom demands because he realised his victims were trouble makers so he decided to drive them around Australia, but the kidnapper looked at the sights and julia Clarke, Patrick Gloright and Brian Allan were used as circus animals, yes the kidnapper decided to **** his victims with an audience who think this is an x rated show, so they think it is above  board, even when the victims screamed, they thought it was part of the show.
The kidnapper took his victims right around the country and then he had emails, saying that
Countries like England and Holland and USA, wanted the kdnapper to take his circus victims over there to make some big money.
It worked like a charm and the kidnapper pocketed all the cash and constantly said to his victims, suffer little teenagers, you aren't normal anymore, I won't **** you, I will just keep you teenagers kidnapped for the rest of school years, and you won't grow into adults, because when I **** myself at the age of 46' when you kids are adults, I will take you to hell with me, ya trouble makers.
After about 3 years of being bashed, *****, whiled and mind you even though, we were kids of the new generation which is nice, we thought that we will never escape, so we planned to look for each other in heaven, cause we are starting to think that they are kidnapped for more reasons than he is letting on, because, we aren't as strong as we used to be, Brian Allan, who was stronger and had evidence with strength from eating vegetables, is now the type of kid he hates and Brian Allan yells out, HELP can anybody save me and then suddenly the police dropped in on the kidnappers little exhibition and they arrested him while Brian Allan had pizza and pasta and meat and two veg to get his strength back and if anybody tried to kidnap Brian Allan again, Brian learnt karate to beat these kidnappers while Patrick and Julia both died two weeks after the rescue because they coukdn't get their strength back and Brian Allan befriended Pat and Julia's families to help them through a hard time in their lives and Brian Allan after 10 years since the rescue was given the Harod Frendly award for helping the Clarkes and the Glorightz through their hard times
And everything turned out fine as julias sister Bernette had a baby boy who she named Brian and the girl she named Julia and Wayne Gloright got married to Yvonne and had 2
Boyd, who they named Brian and Patrick, yes Brian Allan was a hero but had to be aware that of this kidnapper came back to beware because it was Brian, he wanted to ****, not Pat, but Brian visited their graves every night and still has nightmares now, even when the kidnapper was murdered in jail, but that is expected
The end

Soft pads glide over silky pale flesh
Deep pools of ocean green become darker with passion
Every touch brings the storm closer to the  couple
The raven haired God like man looks over every millimeter
Her face flushes at the feelings building inside

Her black waist corsette pushes her ivory globes teasingly near
the point of spilling forth
Dark red tendrils lift off delicate cheek bones tickling her face
Her belly flutters as tiny goose bumps rise upon her arms

The soft padded fingers begin to explore this creature who has walked
right into his trap.
Long lashes lift revealing startling violet eyes
His breath catches harshly
He does not seem to realize he is under her spell as she remains in his trap

Julia's body is burning as Allen's fingers and hands weave an inferno built only by his touch
Her body responds as she feels the moisture begin to gather between her sweet petals
Trying not to move lest she give away the affect he has upon her

Allen watches her eyes noting how they seem to change to grey
His thumb slides across the bud covered by material yet
It cannot hide the obvious desire as the tender flesh hardens and a soft mewl escapes pouty lips

Julia begins to blush as her body betrays her mind
Allen chuckles at her discomfort
His hands and fingers seem to set her on fire every place they touch
She feels his knee **** gently at the apex of her thighs.
Moving slightly his knee grinds against the promise land

Flames fall back as her head follows suit
Sweet moans reach his ears inciting his passion more
Her hips move against his thigh trying to increase the friction
Allen rips the cumbersome corsette and shirt free allowing cool air
to kiss her flesh where his tongue wishes to follow

Pressure builds within the lust filled redhead, she digs nails into his shirt
pulling him closer.  
Allen's tongue swirls around first one then the other swollen bud
Dragging his teeth hard over the delicate flesh
Julia cries out as desire spins out of control.

Allen begins pulling the ****** into his feverish mouth suckling
Then biting as fingers pinch and pull the other
Julia grinds down ******* His thigh not paying attention to the moisture that stains his pants

She stiffens when she feels his hand pull her dress up allowing his fingers
to slide through her dew laden petals
The smell of need permeates the air
As his mouth continues to suckle then bite his fingers slam deep inside her
silky soaked lips

Julia's legs quiver when his fingers fill her well it is almost her undoing her screams of pleasure fill the air
Allen brings her to the edge filling her deep with long thick. fingers
Releasing her ****** he begins to kiss and nip her neck, fingers coated in honey slow down

Julia growls in frustration and he bites her neck hard just as fingers pinch her *******
She holds her breath panting as the inferno increases hotter
Both are sweating now as she begs him to allow her to fly
Allen chuckles whispering "not yet Lil *****"

She grinds down on his fingers trying to take what she wants
He is wise to her movements stopping abruptly until she realizes he
won't continue unless she stops

Suddenly out of nowhere she is turned over his lap where he brings his hand down ten times fast and hard cross her ***
His  knee lined up so each swat digs into her wetness
Crying out she bites her lip willing herself to not release

He pushes her to the ground and starts biting the tender buds while pulling and twisting that hardened flesh that has swelled past it's hood
Pace becomes faster as he growls in her ear to **** his fingers
She does so with wild abandon

His teeth bite down ******* her neck licking the area he bites
His fingers curve up as she grinds
Allen growls out NOW as his mouth finds her lips
Crushing them to his, catching her screams of pleasure
Her well explodes in spasms gripping his fingers hard enough to break

Julia quivers all over from the massive release, blushing as she remembers
her response to all he did
Allen drags His well manicured nails across her blistered half moons
Hearing her moan loudly, knowing he could send her spiraling just by spanking her once more.

Julia ducks under fiery curls trying to escape his scrutiny
Allen knows what she is up to and pulls the silky curls away
Lifting his soaked hand from between gorgeous thighs
Placing fingers between their lips kissing sand licking her juices off
The taste on his lips brings a feeling of decadence through Julia

They will meet again Allen said
Julia watched as he left her there hearing a car start
Now nothing but silence and the smell from her traitorous body

Whispering to the darkness
"Please return to me soon"


Written by:  Jennifer Humphrey
May 23, 2013

Necklace

JULIA: I love the rubies of evening. Don’t you?
TOM: Sometimes. Sometimes the waves crash against you too hard.
JULIA: Relationships of the sea. We’re all sailors!
TOM: Some of us, sad searchers.
JULIA: Do you ever think about heartbreak? A wound?
TOM: I think about romantic movement!
JULIA: Beautiful heartache. Beautiful like the stars at night!
TOM: A concert of tears. Not always sad. But always love.
JULIA: Love. That storm at sea. I wonder.
TOM: Wonder about what?
JULIA: Just I wonder.
TOM: Crashing against rocks. Kisses delicate. Steady compass?
JULIA: Lover bound!
TOM: Navigating together against sand.
JULIA: Foreign winds can shake the boat!
TOM: Steady happiness. Unique only to them.
JULIA: Sounds like that’s how it should be.
TOM: And those rocks.
JULIA: Love at sea.
TOM: Those weary travelers. Some never leaving shore.
JULIA: Some never looking above at night.
TOM: A rainbow tempest!
JULIA: Lover bound!

© Matthew Goff

JULIA: I love the rubies of evening. Don’t you?
TOM: Sometimes. Sometimes the waves crash against you too hard.
JULIA: Relationships of the sea. We’re all sailors!
TOM: Some of us, sad searchers.
JULIA: Do you ever think about heartbreak? A wound?
TOM: I think about romantic movement!
JULIA: Beautiful heartache. Beautiful like the stars at night!
TOM: A concert of tears. Not always sad. But always love.
JULIA: Love. That storm at sea. I wonder.
TOM: Wonder about what?
JULIA: Just I wonder.
TOM: Crashing against rocks. Kisses delicate. Steady compass?
JULIA: Lover bound!
TOM: Navigating together against sand.
JULIA: Foreign winds can shake the boat!
TOM: Steady happiness. Unique only to them.
JULIA: Sounds like that’s how it should be.
TOM: And those rocks.
JULIA: Love at sea.
TOM: Those weary travelers. Some never leaving shore.
JULIA: Some never looking above at night.
TOM: A rainbow tempest!
JULIA: Lover bound!

Julia sways in the same Winter, losing an up hill battle of deep seated Calvinistic virtues and the excitation of *******.
@@@ Julia goes on weekend holiday with her parents in hopes of losing her virginity in some square of Savannah.
@@@ Julia packs a bible, hoping to burn it in a symbolic rite of passage.
@@@ Julia packs a doll, hoping to drop it from a rocky bluff, post de flowerization, a highly political and artistic statement.
@@@ Julia packs the lucky strike cigarettes she took from the family gardener years ago, saved for her first post coitus cigarette.
@@@ Julia fiddles with a razor in her parents washroom. Breaking a piece and tucking it in her fingernail, as she read once that prostitutes do.
&&& Julia plans to draw blood in her ******; the man or men severing herself from the responsibility of a ***** & she severing her skin as tribute to a new brokenness.
@@@ Julia fantasizes her flower's loss to be on a rich man's bed with one or two plainly handsome sons of a rich man.
@@@ Julia desires the experience to be ******, seething with heat and violence.
@@@ Julia prays for this chaos, to shed her modest and humble skin, to become a quiet ***** in this painful flash of light.
@@@

The saints’-bell calls, and, Julia, I must read
The proper lessons for the saints now dead:
To grace which service, Julia, there shall be
One holy collect said or sung for thee.
Dead when thou art, dear Julia, thou shalt have
A trentall sung by virgins o’er thy grave:
Meantime we two will sing the dirge of these,
Who dead, deserve our best remembrances.

“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart”
Julio is Julia’s love
Julio and Julia both are Portuguese
Former for namesake, latter at heart

Julio’s America born
Writer he is but no ordinary
Languages French, Portuguese, German, Spanish
All flow through his soul
Virtuoso is the word they use to describe his artistry
And it was for one of his poems that he won Julia’s heart

Poem was 'Meu Coração'
Recited it was in Lisbon, Portugal
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon
On a sunny busy day; Julia vividly remembered

Today was the day they stole each others' hearts
That is what led to this decision
Of trying a poem for her beloved
But the catch was she was trying to write in English
Her English was even worse than their old Spanish janitor

But she was not one to shy off from challenges
So she tried one more time-
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart
Julio makes me smile
Julio makes me laugh
Julio makes me blush
Julio makes me warm
Julio is my love
Julio is my heart
Julio is my heart”
The poem to her seemed terribly plain but effective
And no matter how hard she tried
It felt as if the words were stapled in her brain

And then she jumped like a kangaroo
As the doorbell rang
Put on her slippers and hurried towards the door
Opened it and leaned forward to kiss him gently
She always knew when Julio was at the door

He was her Julio, her desire, her dream
Smiling at her, his eyes home to the bluest sea
They kissed again and this time more slowly
Letting the magic settle in the air more properly

Julia went to the kitchen and brewed some coffee
While Julio went to shower and as he removed his shirt
He saw a paper on the bed, bent he to hold it in his hand
And the lines on his face smoothened and turned into a nostalgic smile

Julia was busy making espresso Julio’s favorite
When Julio entered , the somehow, roulette shaped kitchen
With a paper in his hand on which stretched Julia’s curvy handwriting
“Oh! Wrote that poem for you I titled it ‘My Heart’
Not very flamboyant, simple like you
Hope you’d appreciate my hard work”
Said she, as if the words were sewn in her heart
Then all of a sudden both erupted into laughter
Laughter filled with a sweet secret each beheld
Lucky enough I was to have known their little secret
Years ago, similar words had crusaded Julia's heart
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon;
On a sunny busy day in Lisbon, Portugal.

~Manu M.

Feeling the need to let my mind just unwrap itself into whatever past present or future place it guides me to.

September 14, 2014 - 7 years ago it was less than a week before my world would forever be altered.

Nothing to prepare her.
She thought she knew what she wanted,
what she was doing;
none of it made sense
and it frightened and intrigued her
all at once.

What splendor lies in the forbidden unknown;
behind the curtain.

Close your eyes Julia,
just keep them closed and this will all be over soon.

You don't really feel him inside you,
on top of you,
behind you.
He's not there.
Not really, not if you don't want him to be.

Dissociate.
You can do it.
Just leave the room.
Can't you see it?

There.
You're getting ***** flat on your stomach.

I know you see him.
You see the anger in his face from way up here in the corner of the ceiling.
It's okay.
Don't cry.
Just numb out.

Think of ****** and of Brian.
Brian.
He doesn't feel like Brian.
Don't think about it.

Don't think about it.
This is your life now.
You chose this.
You deserve this.

Can you breathe?
Your head has been jammed between those pillows so long.

Are you sure she's ok?
She thinks she is but just wait.

He's been clipped.
You won't get pregnant.

I have to let him do this.
He's waited so long.
I have no more reason not to.
The postponing is over.

Pleasing him, her, anyone, always comes before what you want.
Do as is expected, Julia and it'll all be over soon.

You can make this all go away if you want.

Run, run fast into the back corner of the house
where your little room lies.
Stay there till it's over.
Till he's finished.

Don't worry about the warmth inside you,
spreading.

Just remember the balloons on your wallpaper,
that toy box right below the window in that first tiny room of yours.
You look up and see the blue sky
and the clouds twist themselves into animals for you.
The purple crayon loops on the wall behind the door.

The night light, the bear with the stocking cap on.
Where is it?
Where'd it go?
It's dark again, it's so dark and I can barely breathe.

Why are my clothes off?
When did he take them off?
Did I?
How did all this begin?
Where am I?
His bed.

I can hear the fountain outside.
Turn your head, Julia.
It's Friday, the day after the chaos.
6:31pm.
I'm on my back.

This is the first time?
Yes.
This was the first of 2...or 3.

**** is an ugly word.
It sounds just like the act.
It feels ***** and painful in your mouth.

Hate comes easy when I see that print of the pillowcase.
It smells of ****** sweat and clean sheets.

My hair is getting pulled.
"I'm gonna make you mine."
Cringe.
Hold your breath, let him do what he's going to do and just wait.
Stay in one spot and do nothing,
nothing can hurt you if you just lie there.

This isn't really happening.
Go away.
Go away, Julia.
Just run,
run as far away as you can.

You're in bed with a monster
and you don't need to see the life he's steeling from you.

You can be polite. Or you can tell all the Julia’s in the world the things you think about when they’re talking to You.  You could just…  Start. Talking.  It would be delicious and taboo and all that, and maybe a little awkward for all the Julia’s but the mainest thing… It would be impossible to ever. give. a ****. ever. again. You Know This. You Know It Like you Know how many bottles of champagne it takes to even Begin to be enough champagne. This skill is highly prized. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia. Right here. Right now. You can - tch. You’re not even listening to me, are you?  That is awesome.
    I can see it all now… one, two maybe five Julia’s all yapping away in a Vera **** pincer formation and then….! You open your mouth. The stars fall. The Julia’s are like “ What the-? “ and you, Sophia… Drowning the Gallery. Using all the colors you discovered on your expeditions. A Rainbow made of Lions. I can see it. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia Conasta. Right here. Right now. You can even begin with a… You’re not even listening to me, are you? My God! you’re beautiful.
Like a bomb that uses a fork because ground zero was no place be Un-Civilized. In fact. Ground Zero wasn’t even a Place until you got there. And let your Self, drop! I mean to say…. You can be polite. Or. You can be Sophia being sophia. period. There’s a lot of tuxedos at this Event, have you noticed that? When did they come back? And why lord! do they all look terrible?
    How long have I been gone? What the hell is Julia talking about now? That’s Leonard Maxwell and his assistant, April Alcott.  She burns money to watch it burn-Ironically, but she’s not sure if she’s doing it right because if it Meant Anything in the first place, she would be first to have no clue what it meant. So now she nails it, but never gets a prize. She bought a lot of my dark stuff from 5 yrs ago that paid for the flat in Portland. What the hell is she wearing? A rhinestone baby Jesus tongue stud? I love these parties. I hate these parties. I’m Sophia Conasta. Celebrated Artist whose Body of Work has astonished the Hoi Polloi of the Art World, and totally lost right now.
     What is Julia’s problem? Did she lose a Horse? Again? Somehow?Or Something? Open Bars Are Go! I’ll just weave my way over to the Gayest Cabal and Julia will be scraped off like a Barnacle* By GUCCI, and then I’ll be clearly Minus One Julia. That can only be a good thing. And - Open Bar. Breathe, Drink
Genius.

.

Permit me, Julia, now to go away;
Or by thy love decree me here to stay.
If thou wilt say that I shall live with thee,
Here shall my endless tabernacle be:
If not, (as banish’d), I will live alone
There where no language ever yet was known.

How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art
In each thy dainty and peculiar part!
First, for thy queenship, on thy head is set
Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet:
About thy neck a carcanet is bound,
Made of the ruby, pearl and diamond:
A golden ring that shines upon thy thumb:
About thy wrist, the rich dardanium.
Between thy ******* (than down of swans more white)
There plays the sapphire with the chrysolite.
No part besides must of thyself be known,
But by the topaz, opal, calcedon.

Julia, when thy Herrick dies,
Close thou up thy poet’s eyes;
And his last breath, let it be
Taken in by none but thee.

Nobody understands children
Or plays their games properly.
Nobody looks them in the eye
As equals
Or tells them a secret
In return for one of theirs
A real one.
No one cares what they think,
Just how they are, and what people think of them.
They do not exist.
Their opinion is not there.

It’s sad because
In many ways
They’re good at life
And in many ways
We’re not -
We take on too much,
Live unsustainably
And end up
Disappointing all round.

Oh well.

Julia exercised her power
Over the happy family’s
Holiday photo shoot at dinner.

To cage the moment
The adults sent a camera to either flank of
Her and her father.
She was suddenly reticent, shy, they thought.
Her face dancing away from the camera
While she monkey hugged her father
(For some more haribo).
But he would not give in, because he did not have them,
And everyone wanted a picture of them together,
The spotlight was on them now,
He was sweating in the glare of the media circus,
The pressure was mounting, no retreating now.

So when daddy said,
"Come on Julia, smile for the camera!"
She narrowed her eyes
And clung harder to his neck,
An all-encompassing embrace -
Not so much of love, but of
The only power she had –
To hide her
Face.

"What's up Julia?" Asked Dad.

"I'll smile for you if you want,
But I'm not smiling for the camera." She said.

Prologue: The Echoes of the Past

In the ancient forests of Nicholls, Georgia, the whispers of history intertwine with the present, creating a tapestry of fate and destiny. For generations, the land has been a sanctuary for dragons, a place where wisdom and power converge. Here, amidst towering trees and crystal-clear streams, the legends of Tahlindra and Zarnath are born.

Tahlindra, a deep ice blue dragon, carries the weight of a tragic past. Born into a once-thriving sanctuary, her early years were filled with joy and love. However, an unexpected invasion tore her family apart, leaving her scarred and driven by a singular purpose: to reclaim her homeland and restore her family's legacy.

Zarnath, an emerald green dragon, hails from a clan known for their ancient wisdom and diplomatic prowess. His journey has been marked by travels across various territories, resolving conflicts and forging alliances. Drawn by whispers of Tahlindra's strength and determination, he seeks her out, knowing their destinies are intertwined.

As the New Year dawns, the stage is set for a fresh beginning. Tahlindra and Zarnath stand on the precipice of a new era, ready to build a legacy that will inspire generations. This is their story—a tale of love, resilience, and unity.

### Chapter 1: New Beginnings

(Insert an image of Tahlindra and Zarnath overlooking their land as the sun rises on the New Year)

The night sky over Nicholls, Georgia, was ablaze with fireworks as the community gathered to celebrate New Year's Eve. Dragons of all ages filled the air with joyous roars, their scales reflecting the vibrant colors of the display. Tahlindra and Zarnath watched from a hilltop, surrounded by their family and closest allies. It was a time of reflection, a moment to look back on their achievements and the trials they had overcome.

#### A Vision for the Future:
As midnight approached, Tahlindra felt a surge of energy, a magical force that seemed to resonate with the dawn of the new year. She shared her vision for the future with Zarnath—an expanded territory, stronger alliances, and a legacy that would endure for generations. Zarnath, with his calm wisdom, added his insights, emphasizing the importance of unity and resilience.

#### The New Year's Ritual:
At the stroke of midnight, Tahlindra and Zarnath led the community in a powerful ritual to welcome the new year. Dragons gathered around a large bonfire, each contributing a piece of their past to the flames—a symbolic gesture of letting go of old burdens and embracing new possibilities. The flames roared higher, fueled by ancient magic, illuminating the faces of those who were ready to embark on this new journey.

#### Setting New Goals:
In the first light of the new year, Tahlindra and Zarnath convened a council meeting with their allies. They outlined ambitious goals for the coming year—expanding their territory, establishing new trade routes, and fortifying their defenses against potential threats. Each ally pledged their support, united by a common purpose and a shared vision.

#### Building New Alliances:
Tahlindra and Zarnath embarked on a series of diplomatic missions to neighboring territories. Their goal was to forge ones. They visited distant lands, each with its unique challenges and opportunities. Zarnath's diplomatic skills and Tahlindra's charisma won over many leaders, expanding their network of allies.

#### Fostering Innovation:
Recognizing the need for continuous improvement, Tahlindra initiated several projects focused on innovation. They established research centers where dragons could experiment with new technologies and magical techniques. These efforts led to advancements in various fields, from agriculture to defense, ensuring their community's prosperity.

#### Strengthening the Community:
The new year brought renewed efforts to strengthen the bonds within their community. Tahlindra and Zarnath organized cultural festivals, educational programs, and training sessions to foster unity and mutual respect. These activities celebrated their diverse heritage and prepared the next generation for leadership roles.

#### Introducing Turbo and Trouble:
Amidst the preparations and planning, two unique dragons arrived at the community—Turbo and Trouble. Turbo, a swift and agile dragon with electric blue scales, was known for his incredible speed and sharp intellect. Trouble, a mischievous and cunning dragon with fiery red scales, had a knack for getting into and out of tricky situations.

#### Welcoming Jacob and Junior:
Jacob, a wise and seasoned dragon with a protective nature, arrived with Junior, who bore a striking resemblance to their late sister Coyote. Their presence brought a mix of joy and sorrow, as memories of Coyote filled the air. Jacob's experience and Junior's determination made them valuable allies in the community.

#### Bringing in Jeff and Kenny:
Jeff, a dragon with an encyclopedic knowledge of ancient lore, and Kenny, a fierce warrior with unmatched combat skills, joined Tahlindra and Zarnath's ranks. Their expertise and dedication bolstered the community's efforts to build a resilient and prosperous future.

#### Welcoming Ally, Julia, and Justin:
Ally, Julia, and Justin—Coyote's siblings—arrived to join the community. Ally, with her nurturing spirit, Julia, with her leadership qualities, and Justin, the oldest and a natural protector, each brought unique strengths and perspectives. Their presence enriched the community and honored Coyote's memory.

#### Memory Lane: The Night of September 3, 2023:
On the night of September 3, 2023, the community gathered to remember Coyote, whose passing had left an indelible mark on their hearts. Tahlindra, Zarnath, Jacob, Junior, Jeff, Kenny, Ally, Julia, and Justin shared stories of Coyote's bravery, kindness, and unwavering spirit. The night was filled with laughter, tears, and a profound sense of loss and love.

#### The Dawn of a New Era:
With each passing day, Tahlindra and Zarnath's vision for the future became clearer. They saw the dawn of a new era—one where their legacy would inspire hope, resilience, and unity for generations to come. As the sun rose on the first day of the new year, they stood together, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, confident in their ability to overcome them.

### Cliffhanger Ending:
The chapter ends with a dramatic revelation—an ancient prophecy resurfaces, hinting at a destined path for Tahlindra, Zarnath, Turbo, Trouble, Jacob, Junior, Jeff, Kenny, Ally, Julia, and Justin that could either bring unprecedented prosperity or unimaginable peril. The journey has just begun, and the stakes have never been higher.

---

### Chapter 2: Allies and Adversaries

(Insert an image of Turbo, Trouble, Jacob, Junior, Jeff, Kenny, Ally, Julia, and Justin in action)

#### Turbo's Arrival:
Turbo's arrival was marked by a display of his incredible speed. He could cover vast distances in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of electric sparks in his wake. His sharp intellect made him an excellent strategist, and he quickly became a valuable asset to Tahlindra and Zarnath's council. Turbo's enthusiasm and energy were infectious, inspiring those around him to push their limits.

#### Trouble's Introduction:
Trouble's arrival was, as expected, filled with mischief. Known for his cunning and ability to navigate tricky situations, Trouble often found himself in and out of trouble. Despite his mischievous nature, Trouble had a heart of gold and a deep loyalty to those he considered friends. His unique skills made him a master of espionage, gathering crucial information from enemy territories.

#### Jacob and Junior's Contribution:
Jacob's wisdom and protective nature were evident from the moment he arrived. He quickly took on a mentorship role, guiding others with his experience and insight. Junior, inspired by the memory of Coyote, worked tirelessly to prove himself and contribute to the community's efforts. Their bond as brothers and their shared sense of purpose made them formidable allies.

#### Jeff's Expertise:
Jeff's encyclopedic knowledge of ancient lore and magical artifacts made him an invaluable resource. He spent countless hours researching the prophecy and uncovering hidden truths about their history and destiny. His insights helped guide Tahlindra and Zarnath's decisions, ensuring they were well-prepared for the challenges ahead.

#### Kenny's Valor:
Kenny's combat skills and fierce determination made him a key figure in defending their community. He trained tirelessly, honing his abilities and preparing others for the inevitable battles to come. His unwavering loyalty and bravery inspired those around him, creating a sense of unity and strength.

#### Ally, Julia, and Justin's Roles:
Ally's nurturing spirit brought comfort and support to those in need. She organized care groups and provided emotional support to the community members. Julia's leadership qualities shone through as she took on responsibilities in governance and planning. Justin, the eldest and a natural protector, played a crucial role in security and defense, ensuring the safety of their home.

#### A New Threat Emerges:
As the community continued to grow, a new threat emerged from the shadows. A dark force, known as the Shadow Clan, began to sow discord and fear among the dragons. This enigmatic enemy possessed powerful dark magic and sought to disrupt the harmony Tahlindra and Zarnath had worked so hard to establish.

#### Turbo's Strategy:
Turbo's sharp intellect and speed made him the perfect strategist to counter the Shadow Clan'sA Legacy of Love and Resilience

They say marriage is all about compromise. If that's the case, newlyweds Kia Parsons and Billy Bunning are off to an excellent start.

The UK couple had different visions when it came to their wedding cake; the bride wanted an all-white tiered cake with cascading sugar flowers. The groom, on the other hand, wanted to incorporate his love of comic book superheroes into the confection. So they met somewhere in the middle:

Julia Baker of Tier by Tier cake design created the cake for the couple's August 14 wedding in Milton Keynes, England. One side is the traditional-looking cake the bride wanted. On the other side, icing curtains reveal the logos of Marvel characters Captain America, Spider-Man and Iron Man, as well as Batman from the DC Comics camp.

"I loved every minute making this cake, as I knew it would be something that people would be surprised at and appeal to all the Marvel fans!" Julia told The Huffington Post.

In all, she spent 40 hours on the cake. It took 12 hours to make the sugar flowers, and the cake-baking and building took about 28 hours.

Needless to say, Kia and Billy were thrilled with the finished product.

"Julia did such a fantastic job and we were completely overwhelmed by how brilliant it looked!" the bride told HuffPost. "From most angles of the room, the cake looked like a traditional wedding cake -- just what we had wanted. It wasn't until the cake was moved for us to cut that our guests realized there was a hidden extra. Some didn't even realize until the photos went online after the wedding!"

On Tuesday, a photo of the cake began going viral when it was shared by the Life Of Dad Facebook page.

"I was surprised at how popular it was and how quickly the pictures circulated on social media," Julia said. "I have plenty more ideas to work on and I am calling these 'double-take cakes.'"

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses

I have been wanton and too bold, I fear,
To chafe o’ermuch the ******’s cheek or ear.
Beg for my pardon, Julia: he doth win
Grace with the gods who’s sorry for his sin.
That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come
And go with me to choose my burial room:
My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies,
Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.

Display thy *******, my Julia—there let me
Behold that circummortal purity,
Between whose glories there my lips I’ll lay,
Ravish’d in that fair via lactea.

Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.

(via phatphilosophers)

(via phatphilosophers)

(via phatphilosophers)
jeffrey-lebowski:

Untitled by Yayoi Kusama.
Acrylic on canvas, 45.5 x 38.0 cm. Signed and dated 1993
jeffrey-lebowski:
Untitled by Yayoi Kusama.
Acrylic on canvas, 45.5 x 38.0 cm. Signed and dated 1993
(via phatphilosophers)
“
These are the days that must happen to you.
Walt Whitman, from Leaves Of Grass (via violentwavesofemotion)
(via phatphilosophers)
18 HOURS AGO / LARMOYANTE
axiatonal:

Canola Flowers Field, China
axiatonal:
Canola Flowers Field, China
(via awaveofbliss)

(via awaveofbliss)

whatisadvertising:
What would modern technology and social networks look like if they were vintage ads
This is a post gathered Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, Skype, iMac, Nintendo Wii and Sony Playstation as if they were vintage ads.
(via thebronxisburning)
aplacetofindlife:

Someone Should Start Laughing
I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: How are you?  I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: What is God? If you think that the Truth can be known From words, If you think that the Sun and the Ocean Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth,
O someone should start laughing! Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!- Hafiz
aplacetofindlife:
Someone Should Start Laughing

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question:
How are you?

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question:
What is God?

If you think that the Truth can be known
From words,

If you think that the Sun and the Ocean
Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth,

O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!

- Hafiz
(via cosmic-rebirth)

meditationsinwonderland:
Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche, We Should All Be Feminists
How could I not reblog this?
(Source: bakongo)
1 day ago – 234,004 notes

artismyempire:
gentledom:
A wonderful analogy.
What I shall do today.
(Source: boyqueen, via thebronxisburning)
1 day ago – 30,054 notes

(Source: maryhadalittleblunt, via awaveofbliss)
1 week ago – 81 notes
beachsloth:

SYNESTHESIA by Joshua Espinoza
                God watches everyone’s first kiss. Although God used to be an awesome God He’s been a bit lazier as the years have progressed. Long ago God felt that raining frogs on Egypt was cool. People were turned into pillars of salt for looking at the destruction of their towns. Now God isn’t into that whole vengeful thing. Rather He realizes the importance of free will and understands it is more important than any instruction manual.
                Dreams are the ultimate instructional manual. Sub-conscious hates being a sub. Sub-conscious wants to be dom-conscious. Unfortunately such things do not happen anymore. Drinking dreams from people is potentially delicious. Flab is the hallmark of a family man or woman. Their dreams have become realities. Mere impulses of creatures become vaguely self-sustaining then fully self-sustaining. Right in the heart is where the familial love lives. Floaters in the eyes are more than floaters. When one sees floaters they see ghosts. Floaters are ghosts for the vision-impaired.
                Afterlife is big into God. Death brings people closer to God. They live in God’s domain hoping for the best. From on high the angels live on the down low. Beneath angels are the exciting ones, the ones they can and do mess up. Humans are interesting for their ability to mess up all the time and somehow remain completely loved. Every human is made in God’s image. Once people come back to God they realize how much of their decisions were good, how the evil was more than counterbalanced by the good. Living in Earth tends to make people forget how fortunate they really are.
                The world hates leaving people behind. In Heaven everything is fine. From Heaven people can see themselves from light-years away. Such distance makes it easier to see what the right and wrong decision was. Death takes the people away. Online presences remain long after the body has left. Everything has a digital footprint entirely different from their real life footprint. Sometimes it is bigger and sometimes smaller. It depends on the lust for life.
                Kissing is a form of lust. Lips love each other. Lips like locking together. That is where the key to the heart comes from, from the lips. Words flow from the mouths of babes. Life means the words work well but the tones work better. Even babies understand the importance of tone. Words are meaningless. Tones are tender. People wrap themselves up in tones, in the environmental sounds that surround them for that is what it means to be alive: it means to interact.
beachsloth:
SYNESTHESIA by Joshua Espinoza
                God watches everyone’s first kiss. Although God used to be an awesome God He’s been a bit lazier as the years have progressed. Long ago God felt that raining frogs on Egypt was cool. People were turned into pillars of salt for looking at the destruction of their towns. Now God isn’t into that whole vengeful thing. Rather He realizes the importance of free will and understands it is more important than any instruction manual.
                Dreams are the ultimate instructional manual. Sub-conscious hates being a sub. Sub-conscious wants to be dom-conscious. Unfortunately such things do not happen anymore. Drinking dreams from people is potentially delicious. Flab is the hallmark of a family man or woman. Their dreams have become realities. Mere impulses of creatures become vaguely self-sustaining then fully self-sustaining. Right in the heart is where the familial love lives. Floaters in the eyes are more than floaters. When one sees floaters they see ghosts. Floaters are ghosts for the vision-impaired.
                Afterlife is big into God. Death brings people closer to God. They live in God’s domain hoping for the best. From on high the angels live on the down low. Beneath angels are the exciting ones, the ones they can and do mess up. Humans are interesting for their ability to mess up all the time and somehow remain completely loved. Every human is made in God’s image. Once people come back to God they realize how much of their decisions were good, how the evil was more than counterbalanced by the good. Living in Earth tends to make people forget how fortunate they really are.
                The world hates leaving people behind. In Heaven everything is fine. From Heaven people can see themselves from light-years away. Such distance makes it easier to see what the right and wrong decision was. Death takes the people away. Online presences remain long after the body has left. Everything has a digital footprint entirely different from their real life footprint. Sometimes it is bigger and sometimes smaller. It depends on the lust for life.
                Kissing is a form of lust. Lips love each other. Lips like locking together. That is where the key to the heart comes from, from the lips. Words flow from the mouths of babes. Life means the words work well but the tones work better. Even babies understand the importance of tone. Words are meaningless. Tones are tender. People wrap themselves up in tones, in the environmental sounds that surround them for that is what it means to be alive: it means to interact.
(via bluishtigers)
1 week ago – 74 notes

(Source: samsaranmusing)
1 week ago – 78 notes
maymonsturr:

My mantra.
maymonsturr:
My mantra.
(via cosmic-rebirth)
1 week ago – 568 notes
foxxxynegrodamus:

***
foxxxynegrodamus:
***
(Source: lnpfeed, via awaveofbliss)
1 week ago – 1,635 notes
cosmic-rebirth:

Live joyfully, make your life a dance, all the way to the grave.
cosmic-rebirth:
Live joyfully, make your life a dance, all the way to the grave.
(Source: cookiecarnival)
2 weeks ago – 22,305 notes
“The point is not to pay back kindness but to pass it on.”
– Julia Alvarez (via cosmic-rebirth)
(Source: amandaonwriting, via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 275 notes

(Source: diawf, via awaveofbliss)
2 weeks ago – 2,799 notes
bl4ckhippie:

Fly.
bl4ckhippie:
Fly.
(Source: rootsrukkus, via awaveofbliss)
2 weeks ago – 750 notes

(Source: lizzlizzcomics, via bluishtigers)
2 weeks ago – 110,456 notes
meditationsinwonderland:

ॐ flower child in Wonderland ॐ
meditationsinwonderland:
ॐ flower child in Wonderland ॐ
(Source: vegan-hippie)
2 weeks ago – 139,177 notes

(Source: jrich103, via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 4,848 notes

pleoros:
Helminadia Ranford - Guilin,China
(via hungryforworld)
2 weeks ago – 329 notes
designgather:

Oak Room
Andy Goldsworthy
designgather:
Oak Room
Andy Goldsworthy
(via cosmic-rebirth)
2 weeks ago – 286 notes
miguu:
don’t be afraid.
lean into your genius.
let your own brilliance support you.
you are something
we have all been waiting to know.
please.
(via bluishtigers)
2 weeks ago – 339 notes

odditiesoflife:
Amazing Jabuticaba Tree
This is an incredible tree that bears its fruit directly on the main trunks and branches of the plant, lending a distinctive appearance to the fruiting tree. The jabuticaba (Plinia cauliflora) is a fruit-bearing tree native to Minas Gerais and São Paulo in southeastern Brazil. Otherwise known as the Brazilian Grape Tree, the jabuticaba is grown for its purplish-black, white-pulped fruits. They can be eaten raw or be used to make jellies and drinks, including juice and wine.
They are wonderful trees to have and are fairly adaptable to most environments but they grow extremely slow. Jabuticaba flowers are white and grow directly from its trunk, just like its fruit. The tree may flower and fruit only once or twice a year, but when continuously irrigated, it flowers frequently and fresh fruit can be available year round in tropical regions.
Common in Brazilian markets, jabuticabas are largely eaten fresh; their popularity has been likened to that of grapes in the US. Due to its extremely short shelf-life, fresh jabuticaba fruit is very rare in markets outside of areas of cultivation. So if you are ever in Brazil, be sure to try the incredibly tasty fruit called jabuticaba.
source 1, 2
(via hungryforworld)
2 weeks ago – 1,462 notes

(Source: samsaranmusing)
2 weeks ago – 118 notes

(Source: rorycwhatsyourthesis, via samsaranmusing)
2 weeks ago – 130,113 notes
oecologia:

Star Trails over Matterhorn (Switzerland) by Felix Lamouroux.
oecologia:
Star Trails over Matterhorn (Switzerland) by Felix Lamouroux.
(via samsaranmusing)

burningveins:
multicolors:
benskid:
Know where you stand.
Wow
This is kinda creepy..
(via hungryforworld)
“
Do not think you will necessarily be aware of your own enlightenment.
Zen Master Dogen - (1200- 1253) AD (via samsaranmusing)
2 WEEKS AGO
101fuymemes:

COLLECTION OF awesome CLOUDS
101fuymemes:
COLLECTION OF awesome CLOUDS
(via roslynoberholtzerbddd)

itscolossal:
Planetary Structural Layer Cakes Designed by Cakecrumbs
“
Do not resist events that move you out of your comfort zone, especially when your comfort zone was not all that comfortable.
Alan Cohen (via raeraenjma)
(via awaveofbliss)
4 WEEKS AGO / THE-HEALING-NEST
so apt
so apt
(via awaveofbliss)

(via awaveofbliss)
treewellie:

"The area between Kluane Lake and Haines Junction, Yukon, skirting the great cordillera of the Wrangell / St. Elias Mtn. range, is commonly productive of these stacked lenticular clouds … In late summer, as the sun begins to set around 11 PM, it’s beautiful to see these unique clouds, which are higher in altitude than their surrounding companions, catching the last peach coloured rays of the sun."
treewellie:
"The area between Kluane Lake and Haines Junction, Yukon, skirting the great cordillera of the Wrangell / St. Elias Mtn. range, is commonly productive of these stacked lenticular clouds … In late summer, as the sun begins to set around 11 PM, it’s beautiful to see these unique clouds, which are higher in altitude than their surrounding companions, catching the last peach coloured rays of the sun."
definitelydope:

BBQ on the balcony (by fernlicht)
definitelydope:
BBQ on the balcony (by fernlicht)
(via awaveofbliss)

Birth by Alex Grey
Birth by Alex Grey
(via receptive)

(via bluishtigers)

(via awaveofbliss)
“
There is a time and place for decaf coffee. Never and in the trash.
(via 17yr)
(via hungryforworld)
1 MONTH AGO / MIDWESTRAISEDMIDWESTLIVING
surreelust:

Man with His Skin by Peter Zokosky
surreelust:
Man with His Skin by Peter Zokosky
(via cosmic-rebirth)
“
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul,
of the soul.
Rumi, from Who Am I?   (via bluishtigers)
(via bluishtigers)
1 MONTH AGO / VIOLENTWAVESOFEMOTION
xpudding:

xpudding:
(via cosmic-rebirth)

(via thebronxisburning)

(via cosmic-rebirth)
treewellie:

La costa de la luz by Francisco Mingorance
treewellie:
La costa de la luz by Francisco Mingorance

itscolossal:
Mirror City: A Kaleidoscopic Timelapse of Chicago, San Francisco, San Diego, Vegas and L.A. [VIDEO]

(via cosmic-rebirth)

awkwardsituationist:
gmb akash documents the 350 kilometre journey from dhaka to sylhet, bangladesh made by those who, unable to afford the price of a ticket or find room to ride inside, risk death by traveling atop and between train cars
(via suntochukwu)
purpleaggregates:

White Tara The female enlightened being of long life, wisdom and good fortune When I see the signs of untimely death, May I immediately receive the blessings of Arya Tara; And, having destroyed the Lord of Death, May I quickly attain the deathless vajra body. OM TARE TUTTARE TURE MAMA AYUR PUNAYE GYANA PUTRIM KURU YE SÖHA OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SÖHA
purpleaggregates:
White Tara
The female enlightened being of long life, wisdom and good fortune

When I see the signs of untimely death,
May I immediately receive the blessings of Arya Tara;
And, having destroyed the Lord of Death,
May I quickly attain the deathless vajra body.

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE MAMA AYUR PUNAYE GYANA PUTRIM KURU YE SÖHA
OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SÖHA
(via dancingdakini)

(via guerrillatech)
hungryforworld:

Monet’s Garden. Givery, France.
hungryforworld:
Monet’s Garden. Givery, France.

(via awaveofbliss)

(via cosmic-rebirth)
“
Internal and external are ultimately one. When you no longer perceive the world as hostile, there is no more fear, and when there is no more fear, you think, speak and act differently. Love and compassion arise, and they affect the world.
Eckhart Tolle (via samsaranmusing)
(via suntochukwu)
1 MONTH AGO / SAMSARANMUSING
malformalady:

The golden spiral of fungus. In geometry, a golden spiral is a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor is φ, the golden ratio. That is, a golden spiral gets wider (or further from its origin) by a factor of φ for every quarter turn it makes.
Photo credit: Devin Raber
malformalady:
The golden spiral of fungus. In geometry, a golden spiral is a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor is φ, the golden ratio. That is, a golden spiral gets wider (or further from its origin) by a factor of φ for every quarter turn it makes.
Photo credit: Devin Raber
(via deeperthansoul)
polaroidsf:

Welcome to Eden
polaroidsf:
Welcome to Eden

(via bouddra)
“
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of
meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for
your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me

Pennsylvania, 1948-1949

The garden of Nature opens.
The grass at the threshold is green.
And an almond tree begins to bloom.

Sunt mihi Dei Acherontis propitii!
Valeat numen triplex Jehovae!
Ignis, aeris, aquae, terrae spiritus,
Salvete!—says the entering guest.

Ariel lives in the palace of an apple tree,
But will not appear, vibrating like a wasp’s wing,
And Mephistopheles, disguised as an abbot
Of the Dominicans or the Franciscans,
Will not descend from a mulberry bush
Onto a pentagram drawn in the black loam of the path.


But a rhododendron walks among the rocks
Shod in leathery leaves and ringing a pink bell.
A hummingbird, a child’s top in the air,
Hovers in one spot, the beating heart of motion.
Impaled on the nail of a black thorn, a grasshopper
Leaks brown fluid from its twitching snout.
And what can he do, the phantom-in-chief,
As he’s been called, more than a magician,
The Socrates of snails, as he’s been called,
Musician of pears, arbiter of orioles, man?
In sculptures and canvases our individuality
Manages to survive. In Nature it perishes.
Let him accompany the coffin of the woodsman
Pushed from a cliff by a mountain demon,
The he-goat with its jutting curl of horn.
Let him visit the graveyard of the whalers
Who drove spears into the flesh of leviathan
And looked for the secret in guts and blubber.
The thrashing subsided, quieted to waves.
Let him unroll the textbooks of alchemists
Who almost found the cipher, thus the scepter.
Then passed away without hands, eyes, or elixir.


Here there is sun. And whoever, as a child,
Believed he could break the repeatable pattern
Of things, if only he understood the pattern,
Is cast down, rots in the skin of others,
Looks with wonder at the colors of the butterfly,
Inexpressible wonder, formless, hostile to art.


To keep the oars from squeaking in their locks,
He binds them with a handkerchief. The dark
Had rushed east from the Rocky Mountains
And settled in the forests of the continent:
Sky full of embers reflected in a cloud,
Flight of herons, trees above a marsh,
The dry stalks in water, livid, black. My boat
Divides the aerial utopias of the mosquitoes
Which rebuild their glowing castles instantly.
A water lily sinks, fizzing, under the boat’s bow.


Now it is night only. The water is ash-gray.
Play, music, but inaudibly! I wait an hour
In the silence, senses tuned to a ******’s lodge.
Then suddenly, a crease in the water, a beast’s
black moon, rounded, ploughing up quickly
from the pond-dark, from the bubbling methanes.
I am not immaterial and never will be.
My scent in the air, my animal smell,
Spreads, rainbow-like, scares the ******:
A sudden splat.
I remained where I was
In the high, soft coffer of the night’s velvet,
Mastering what had come to my senses:
How the four-toed paws worked, how the hair
Shook off water in the muddy tunnel.
It does not know time, hasn’t heard of death,
Is submitted to me because I know I’ll die.


I remember everything. That wedding in Basel,
A touch to the strings of a viola and fruit
In silver bowls. As was the custom in Savoy,
An overturned cup for three pairs of lips,
And the wine spilled. The flames of the candles
Wavery and frail in a breeze from the Rhine.
Her fingers, bones shining through the skin,
Felt out the hooks and clasps of the silk
And the dress opened like a nutshell,
Fell from the turned graininess of the belly.
A chain for the neck rustled without epoch,
In pits where the arms of various creeds
Mingle with bird cries and the red hair of caesars.


Perhaps this is only my own love speaking
Beyond the seventh river. Grit of subjectivity,
Obsession, bar the way to it.
Until a window shutter, dogs in the cold garden,
The whistle of a train, an owl in the firs
Are spared the distortions of memory.
And the grass says: how it was I don’t know.


Splash of a ****** in the American night.
The memory grows larger than my life.
A tin plate, dropped on the irregular red bricks
Of a floor, rattles tinnily forever.
Belinda of the big foot, Julia, Thaïs,
The tufts of their *** shadowed by ribbon.


Peace to the princesses under the tamarisks.
Desert winds beat against their painted eyelids.
Before the body was wrapped in bandelettes,
Before wheat fell asleep in the tomb,
Before stone fell silent, and there was only pity.


Yesterday a snake crossed the road at dusk.
Crushed by a tire, it writhed on the asphalt.
We are both the snake and the wheel.
There are two dimensions. Here is the unattainable
Truth of being, here, at the edge of lasting
and not lasting. Where the parallel lines intersect,
Time lifted above time by time.


Before the butterfly and its color, he, numb,
Formless, feels his fear, he, unattainable.
For what is a butterfly without Julia and Thaïs?
And what is Julia without a butterfly’s down
In her eyes, her hair, the smooth grain of her belly?
The kingdom, you say. We do not belong to it,
And still, in the same instant, we belong.
For how long will a nonsensical Poland
Where poets write of their emotions as if
They had a contract of limited liability
Suffice? I want not poetry, but a new diction,
Because only it might allow us to express
A new tenderness and save us from a law
That is not our law, from necessity
Which is not ours, even if we take its name.


From broken armor, from eyes stricken
By the command of time and taken back
Into the jurisdiction of mold and fermentation,
We draw our hope. Yes, to gather in an image
The furriness of the ******, the smell of rushes,
And the wrinkles of a hand holding a pitcher
From which wine trickles. Why cry out
That a sense of history destroys our substance
If it, precisely, is offered to our powers,
A muse of our gray-haired father, Herodotus,
As our arm and our instrument, though
It is not easy to use it, to strengthen it
So that, like a plumb with a pure gold center,
It will serve again to rescue human beings.


With such reflections I pushed a rowboat,
In the middle of the continent, through tangled stalks,
In my mind an image of the waves of two oceans
And the slow rocking of a guard-ship’s lantern.
Aware that at this moment I—and not only I—
Keep, as in a seed, the unnamed future.
And then a rhythmic appeal composed itself,
Alien to the moth with its whirring of silk:


O City, O Society, O Capital,
We have seen your steaming entrails.
You will no longer be what you have been.
Your songs no longer gratify our hearts.


Steel, cement, lime, law, ordinance,
We have worshipped you too long,
You were for us a goal and a defense,
Ours was your glory and your shame.


And where was the covenant broken?
Was it in the fires of war, the incandescent sky?
Or at twilight, as the towers fly past, when one looked
From the train across a desert of tracks

To a window out past the maneuvering locomotives
Where a girl examines her narrow, moody face
In a mirror and ties a ribbon to her hair
Pierced by the sparks of curling papers?


Those walls of yours are shadows of walls,
And your light disappeared forever.
Not the world's monument anymore, an oeuvre of your own
Stands beneath the sun in an altered space.


From stucco and mirrors, glass and paintings,
Tearing aside curtains of silver and cotton,
Comes man, naked and mortal,
Ready for truth, for speech, for wings.


Lament, Republic! Fall to your knees!
The loudspeaker’s spell is discontinued.
Listen! You can hear the clocks ticking.
Your death approaches by his hand.


An oar over my shoulder, I walked from the woods.
A porcupine scolded from the fork of a tree,
A horned owl, not changed by the century,
Not changed by place or time, looked down.
Bubo maximus, from the work of Linnaeus.


America for me has the pelt of a raccoon,
Its eyes are a raccoon’s black binoculars.
A chipmunk flickers in a litter of dry bark
Where ivy and vines tangle in the red soil
At the roots of an arcade of tulip trees.
America’s wings are the color of a cardinal,
Its beak is half-open and a mockingbird trills
From a leafy bush in the sweat-bath of the air.
Its line is the wavy body of a water moccasin
Crossing a river with a grass-like motion,
A rattlesnake, a rubble of dots and speckles,
Coiling under the bloom of a yucca plant.


America is for me the illustrated version
Of childhood tales about the heart of tanglewood,
Told in the evening to the spinning wheel’s hum.
And a violin, shivvying up a square dance,
Plays the fiddles of Lithuania or Flanders.
My dancing partner’s name is Birute Swenson.
She married a Swede, but was born in Kaunas.
Then from the night window a moth flies in
As big as the joined palms of the hands,
With a hue like the transparency of emeralds.


Why not establish a home in the neon heat
Of Nature? Is it not enough, the labor of autumn,
Of winter and spring and withering summer?
You will hear not one word spoken of the court
of Sigismund Augustus on the banks of the Delaware River.
The Dismissal of the Greek Envoys is not needed.
Herodotus will repose on his shelf, uncut.
And the rose only, a ****** symbol,
Symbol of love and superterrestrial beauty,
Will open a chasm deeper than your knowledge.
About it we find a song in a dream:


Inside the rose
Are houses of gold,
black isobars, streams of cold.
Dawn touches her finger to the edge of the Alps
And evening streams down to the bays of the sea.


If anyone dies inside the rose,
They carry him down the purple-red road
In a procession of clocks all wrapped in folds.
They light up the petals of grottoes with torches.
They bury him there where color begins,
At the source of the sighing,
Inside the rose.


Let names of months mean only what they mean.
Let the Aurora’s cannons be heard in none
Of them, or the tread of young rebels marching.
We might, at best, keep some kind of souvenir,
Preserved like a fan in a garret. Why not
Sit down at a rough country table and compose
An ode in the old manner, as in the old times
Chasing a beetle with the nib of our pen?

Droop, droop no more, or hang the head,
Ye roses almost withered;
Now strength and newer purple get,
Each here declining violet.
O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;
And to all flowers ally’d in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood:
For health on Julia’s cheek hath shed
Claret and cream commingled;
And those her lips do now appear
As beams of coral, but more clear.

Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."

Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,
I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?

Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,
where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA., friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,
of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.

even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.

So sometimes, I still double back,
To these little pretty things-
Where I entwine my written words
with depictive new meanings.

Happy birthday, I must first say
To my Albanian commerce kid.
When we met, then when I left, I
always appreciated all you did.
Next comes the apologizes, I'm sure you know what for
The fact that you showed up, for me?
Confirms it even more:

Julia Kruja, you're an incredible person- such a beautiful soul,
Its a blessing to call you 'friend', and remain someone you know.
With unconditional support- unwavering sincerity
whichever way things go.
Despite my lack of clarity, selfishness and pain- you're always there to meet with me, make plans again and again.

You instill this worth back in my soul, by treating me the same- removing judgement from your heart,
Regifting hope inside my brain.

Happy Belated Birthday my friend

Why I tie about thy wrist,
      Julia, this my silken twist;
      For what other reason is ‘t,
But to show thee how, in part,
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bondslave is my heart;
’Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free:
But ’tis otherwise with me;
—I am bound, and fast bound, so
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could, I would not so.

the Labor Party is in the doldrums
thanks to Julia's **-hum humdrum
she is a liability out in the electorate
the numbers for her aren't all that great

the caucus should put Kevin back in charge
as he has  better chance of obtaining vote large
but with Julia the prospects are not very bright
she is viewed by the constituents as a blight

the Labor Party isn't smelling as sweet as a rose
as the polls have consistently said Julia is on the nose
the electorate have a penchant for Kevvy boy
reinstating him to the top job would be a tactical ploy

the Labor Party hasn't much time for making hay
the Federal Election is inching closer by the day
bring back Kevin he'll make up for lost yards
with Julia at the wheel a win isn't on the cards

the Labor Party must listen to the voting public
and use a little common sense and a little logic
Julia must be quickly shunted to the side
so the Labor brand can into power again ride

if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah

I walked with the lion
through smoke filled hostels
rolled up my sleeves
and left my shoes on
as she shook me to my knees
oh Julia,
I've been waiting for a girl like you
to light up the hallways of my addictions
to believe me when no one else believes
and you shocked me
right up my skinny veins
stapled conversations
to the inside of my scattered brain
left me stuttering rhymes
about sleepless nights spent waiting for
her
one white horse
without a saviour
find me, find me
shivering and painted with the teeth marks
of a predator  
whose name I scream
as I am sat alone in my car
in the empty parking lots of London
and if it is this time
that my engine won't start
oh, Julia
find me
and let me show you the calculations of my heart