Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rickie Louis Feb 2012
Imagine grass,
tall bright green grass.
Each individual blade,
Swaying freely in everlasting fields.
Harmonious, peaceful, simple.
Now imagine,
a lawnmower,
loud,
demanding,
ruthless.
cutting down,
grooming,
and controlling the grass.
No more does it sway freely.
Religion is my lawnmower.
Chris Voss Nov 2012
They say,
the Scarecrow stares straight
and never blinks
he thinks, but never speaks,
just listens to the writhing vines of bindweed:
Turn the earth, sweet arteries.

They say,
the Scarecrow was once a man.
He had hands that knew
perfect flavor of skin
And had red, winding veins of his own.
But that was a long time ago.

They say,
the Scarecrow blistered his tongue
on blunderbuss barrels;
Spat bullets.
Waged war against himself,
and lost his speech when the time came
to beg for forgiveness.

They say,
That by August, the Scarecrow's
Blood forgot to boil,
or simply didn't care anymore.
That when he found love fleeting
it was indifference, not hate,
that desiccated his chest
like prairie drought.

Dear Hollow Martyr who fears not
the white heat of sparks
or dry-weather wildfires.
Stand devout in your inertia,
bleeding apathy like canyons bleed echoes.
After all, it's all you've got to offer
except dead stillness, they say,
so callous it keeps the crows away.
We are our brother's keeper!

There are moments that cools the heat of hell,
And there are moments that touches the heart of heaven.
How then would it feel if a moment captures both?

We are our brother's keeper!

There are a million joy dancing in the ***** of gifts,
But how would they be fulfilled when hidden away in tight fists?
Speak not to me of having just enough,
For enough is the first name of a brother's keeper.
Forsake not the roar of suffering bones,
That calls to your heart,
Nor the cry of dying flesh,
That screams horror to your looking eyes,
For the goal of an open palm is to touch a soul.

We are our brother's keeper,
Shan't we make a save,
And keep the goal with open palms.

#El_Magnifico™
Laura Robin Nov 2012
She strides down the street,
Holds that cancer stick up to her mouth,
Takes a deep breath in,
Filling her lungs with lethal smoke,
Gradually rotting away her
Interior.

Her heart beats out of her chest.
[A heart divided between two hearts.]

He’s waiting at the street corner
Between the alley of lust and the
Path of ignorance.
She sees his silhouette in the
Distance, a dark apparition.
Her heart leaps out of her chest,
Towards him,
Reaching for him,
Propelling her to him.

She had absolutely no control over the matter.

The other man she loves is home
Alone, waiting for her too.
Moments ago, he
Held her in his arms,
Kissed her goodbye,
Told her to hurry back soon.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too” - the words
Suddenly conveyed
No meaning to her.
She told him she was
Running an errand, when,
In reality,
She was running away
From him.

[A heart divided between two hearts
Can never really be a heart.
]

His love suffocates her.
His love drowns her
In its constancy,
In its predictability.
With him, she feels like a
Bird with its wings ripped off.
Held captive, in a wire cage.

[A heart divided between two hearts
Can never beat the way it should.
]

How can a woman with two men
Who love her
Feel so
Staggeringly
Alone?
Who will love her until their
Disintegrating hearts turn into
Simply dust.

[A heart divided between two hearts
Can never really keep from rupturing,
Infecting the body with its own poisons.
]

So she lets her underground lover
Envelop her in his arms
And kiss her until both of their lips
Are numb,
Until they both want more.
Until they cannot restrain themselves.

His love releases her out of her
Cage, allows her to fly once again.
The passion of these moments
Will never be forgotten.
His love brings the roses back to
Her lifeless cheeks, brings life
Back to the void inside her.

And, his love allows her
To fly back home, once again,
Straight into the arms of the
Man who is her keeper.
NanaJustice Jan 2015
When I was little my aunt told me a story about this little girl who was just  like me. Heart so pure, smile so bright . In the end she would always call me her little time bomb.
see am a contradicting ticking time bomb , I could make my enter surrounding change with my next move . with that known I did me, not caring about who's around or who will get hurt as long as am happy my timer will never stop.I  had no emotion  towards anything or anyone for I knew if I stop my time will run out and everything  around me will have to bear that pain ,so I made it my responsibility to reduce that pain reduce the amount that surrounds me so when that day comes when I explode and no longer breathe it's OK, for I will be remembered  and not only for what I  had but for what I gave and the way I did.
My biggest fear is oblivion  but am inevitable! I must end and to know there was a time before me and there will be a time after me scares the crap out of me cause people will not exists and no one will be left to remember me .
That day , that cold winter day you passed me and smile barely even noticing me but my timer went 0-100 and I could not ketch my breathe and as you come out of sight it stop . I realized that day you where my time keeper .
Then came spring when we shared our first hello and for the first time my bomb stop ticking and I had feelings , my emotions ring, my heart beat normal for a change at first I loved it , but then I started to break for I started to lose you  and even dough I knew, my heart would not let me forgot you, you stored away my timer some where I could not even see .
Am a bomb without a timer am child without a soul, am a tree without leaves , am and ocean without water .
am a child and your my womb am asking to please let me go let me explode and cease to exist , I will no longer be a pain in your *** no longer be that guilt in your heart I will no longer hold you back please just set me off my timer is in your hand , any minute now am ready to go.
I no longer live with the fear of oblivion  for the timer who keeps me and the lover who lost me , the boy friend who never knew me, and the friend that saw right through me , will be the ones who will remember me for now I cease to exist
Yes its you
WHEN that Aprilis, with his showers swoot,                       *sweet
The drought of March hath pierced to the root,
And bathed every vein in such licour,
Of which virtue engender'd is the flower;
When Zephyrus eke with his swoote breath
Inspired hath in every holt
and heath                    grove, forest
The tender croppes
and the younge sun                    twigs, boughs
Hath in the Ram  his halfe course y-run,
And smalle fowles make melody,
That sleepen all the night with open eye,
(So pricketh them nature in their corages
);       hearts, inclinations
Then longe folk to go on pilgrimages,
And palmers  for to seeke strange strands,
To *ferne hallows couth
  in sundry lands;     distant saints known
And specially, from every shire's end
Of Engleland, to Canterbury they wend,
The holy blissful Martyr for to seek,
That them hath holpen, when that they were sick.                helped

Befell that, in that season on a day,
In Southwark at the Tabard  as I lay,
Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devout corage,
At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry folk, by aventure y-fall            who had by chance fallen
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,           into company.
That toward Canterbury woulde ride.
The chamber, and the stables were wide,
And well we weren eased at the best.            we were well provided
And shortly, when the sunne was to rest,                  with the best

So had I spoken with them every one,
That I was of their fellowship anon,
And made forword* early for to rise,                            promise
To take our way there as I you devise
.                describe, relate

But natheless, while I have time and space,
Ere that I farther in this tale pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to reason,
To tell you alle the condition
Of each of them, so as it seemed me,
And which they weren, and of what degree;
And eke in what array that they were in:
And at a Knight then will I first begin.

A KNIGHT there was, and that a worthy man,
That from the time that he first began
To riden out, he loved chivalry,
Truth and honour, freedom and courtesy.
Full worthy was he in his Lorde's war,
And thereto had he ridden, no man farre
,                       farther
As well in Christendom as in Heatheness,
And ever honour'd for his worthiness
At Alisandre  he was when it was won.
Full often time he had the board begun
Above alle nations in Prusse.
In Lettowe had he reysed,
and in Russe,                      journeyed
No Christian man so oft of his degree.
In Grenade at the siege eke had he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.
At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,
When they were won; and in the Greate Sea
At many a noble army had he be.
At mortal battles had he been fifteen,
And foughten for our faith at Tramissene.
In listes thries, and aye slain his foe.
This ilke
worthy knight had been also                         same
Some time with the lord of Palatie,
Against another heathen in Turkie:
And evermore *he had a sovereign price
.            He was held in very
And though that he was worthy he was wise,                 high esteem.

And of his port as meek as is a maid.
He never yet no villainy ne said
In all his life, unto no manner wight.
He was a very perfect gentle knight.
But for to telle you of his array,
His horse was good, but yet he was not gay.
Of fustian he weared a gipon,                            short doublet
Alle besmotter'd with his habergeon,     soiled by his coat of mail.
For he was late y-come from his voyage,
And wente for to do his pilgrimage.

With him there was his son, a younge SQUIRE,
A lover, and a ***** bacheler,
With lockes crulle* as they were laid in press.                  curled
Of twenty year of age he was I guess.
Of his stature he was of even length,
And *wonderly deliver
, and great of strength.      wonderfully nimble
And he had been some time in chevachie,                  cavalry raids
In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardie,
And borne him well, as of so little space,      in such a short time
In hope to standen in his lady's grace.
Embroider'd was he, as it were a mead
All full of freshe flowers, white and red.
Singing he was, or fluting all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide.
Well could he sit on horse, and faire ride.
He coulde songes make, and well indite,
Joust, and eke dance, and well pourtray and write.
So hot he loved, that by nightertale                        night-time
He slept no more than doth the nightingale.
Courteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,
And carv'd before his father at the table.

A YEOMAN had he, and servants no mo'
At that time, for him list ride so         it pleased him so to ride
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen
Under his belt he bare full thriftily.
Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low;
And in his hand he bare a mighty bow.
A nut-head  had he, with a brown visiage:
Of wood-craft coud* he well all the usage:                         knew
Upon his arm he bare a gay bracer
,                        small shield
And by his side a sword and a buckler,
And on that other side a gay daggere,
Harnessed well, and sharp as point of spear:
A Christopher on his breast of silver sheen.
An horn he bare, the baldric was of green:
A forester was he soothly
as I guess.                        certainly

There was also a Nun, a PRIORESS,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
Her greatest oathe was but by Saint Loy;
And she was cleped
  Madame Eglentine.                           called
Full well she sang the service divine,
Entuned in her nose full seemly;
And French she spake full fair and fetisly
                    properly
After the school of Stratford atte Bow,
For French of Paris was to her unknow.
At meate was she well y-taught withal;
She let no morsel from her lippes fall,
Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep.
Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep,
That no droppe ne fell upon her breast.
In courtesy was set full much her lest
.                       pleasure
Her over-lippe wiped she so clean,
That in her cup there was no farthing
seen                       speck
Of grease, when she drunken had her draught;
Full seemely after her meat she raught
:           reached out her hand
And *sickerly she was of great disport
,     surely she was of a lively
And full pleasant, and amiable of port,                     disposition

And pained her to counterfeite cheer              took pains to assume
Of court,* and be estately of mannere,            a courtly disposition
And to be holden digne
of reverence.                            worthy
But for to speaken of her conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous,
                      full of pity
She woulde weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.
Of smalle houndes had she, that she fed
With roasted flesh, and milk, and *wastel bread.
   finest white bread
But sore she wept if one of them were dead,
Or if men smote it with a yarde* smart:                           staff
And all was conscience and tender heart.
Full seemly her wimple y-pinched was;
Her nose tretis;
her eyen gray as glass;               well-formed
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;
But sickerly she had a fair forehead.
It was almost a spanne broad I trow;
For *hardily she was not undergrow
.       certainly she was not small
Full fetis* was her cloak, as I was ware.                          neat
Of small coral about her arm she bare
A pair of beades, gauded all with green;
And thereon hung a brooch of gold full sheen,
On which was first y-written a crown'd A,
And after, *Amor vincit omnia.
                      love conquers all
Another Nun also with her had she,
[That was her chapelleine, and PRIESTES three.]

A MONK there was, a fair for the mast'ry,       above all others
An out-rider, that loved venery;                               *hunting
A manly man, to be an abbot able.
Full many a dainty horse had he in stable:
And when he rode, men might his bridle hear
Jingeling  in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud, as doth the chapel bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.
The rule of Saint Maur and of Saint Benet,
Because that it was old and somedeal strait
This ilke
monk let olde thinges pace,                             same
And held after the newe world the trace.
He *gave not of the text a pulled hen,
                he cared nothing
That saith, that hunters be not holy men:                  for the text

Ne that a monk, when he is cloisterless;
Is like to a fish that is waterless;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloister.
This ilke text held he not worth an oyster;
And I say his opinion was good.
Why should he study, and make himselfe wood                   *mad
Upon a book in cloister always pore,
Or swinken
with his handes, and labour,                           toil
As Austin bid? how shall the world be served?
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therefore he was a prickasour
aright:                       hard rider
Greyhounds he had as swift as fowl of flight;
Of pricking
and of hunting for the hare                         riding
Was all his lust,
for no cost would he spare.                 pleasure
I saw his sleeves *purfil'd at the hand       *worked at the end with a
With gris,
and that the finest of the land.          fur called "gris"
And for to fasten his hood under his chin,
He had of gold y-wrought a curious pin;
A love-knot in the greater end there was.
His head was bald, and shone as any glass,
And eke his face, as it had been anoint;
He was a lord full fat and in good point;
His eyen steep,
and rolling in his head,                      deep-set
That steamed as a furnace of a lead.
His bootes supple, his horse in great estate,
Now certainly he was a fair prelate;
He was not pale as a forpined
ghost;                            wasted
A fat swan lov'd he best of any roast.
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.

A FRIAR there was, a wanton and a merry,
A limitour , a full solemne man.
In all the orders four is none that can
                          knows
So much of dalliance and fair language.
He had y-made full many a marriage
Of younge women, at his owen cost.
Unto his order he was a noble post;
Full well belov'd, and familiar was he
With franklins *over all
in his country,                   everywhere
And eke with worthy women of the town:
For he had power of confession,
As said himselfe, more than a curate,
For of his order he was licentiate.
Full sweetely heard he confession,
And pleasant was his absolution.
He was an easy man to give penance,
There as he wist to have a good pittance:      *where he know
Marla Jun 2019
The moon changes subtly
Whenever we gaze away,
As our worries evolve swiftly
And our joys stay the same.

Perhaps she is a beacon
Baring light for our souls,
Enticing us into her depths
With glimpses of the heart's gold.

Blessed enchantress,
Affixed in a gentle way,
Dragging all from ached misery
And harboring us in her supple bay.

Reject ye thy sun's beating rays
& dispel lightning's spiteful bright tase,
Look only to the night sky as it glistens
If you seek to bask in nature's grace.
The Heart's Gold is more a subject of the soul than it is of heart.
Michael DeVoe Feb 2010
I'm a soldier in the nightlight revolution
I'm fighting the nightmares that haunt your dreams
The monsters in your closet
And the Boogeyman under your bed
One outlet at a time
I'm a silent alarm that vibrates your covers
When older brothers come in after bed time
To cover your face in shaving cream
Dip your hands in popcorn bowls of warm water
Or just slap you in the face
Sometimes they're not that subtle
I know when there is a tooth under your bed
Or reindeer on your roof
I've got a motion detector to keep step fathers at bay
While your mother's asleep
I'm his grave digger and his crypt keeper
Taking his skeletons out of the closet
And laying them in the middle of the floor
That man won't call on you anymore
I'm a hug when all you need is a handshake
And a hold-you-all-night when all you need is a kiss on the cheek
I don't do half-***
When things go bump in the night I bump back
Never fear to close both eyes when you sleep
Dream of fairy tales, Prince Charming
Dream of Maid Marions
Waiting for your touch
Don't fear the reaper he fears me
I am a soldier in the nightlight revolution
Armed with so much more than illumination
I crawl through the cracks in the closet door
Make their shadows cast pictures of rainbows on your wall
The Boogey Man runs from Chuck Norris
Chuck Norris runs from me
Please rest easy
Let the night take you for all it has to offer
Through star lit skies and rain filled clouds on magic carpets rides
Ocean floors and clown fish in little yellow submarines
Rain forests with koalas and parrots and panda bears
Son never fear for what the night brings near
The nightlight revolution is here
Throw your dream catcher away I will hand craft each one
Take the lavender out of the window sill
Don't leave the door cracked
You've got me
I'm here
We're all here
Soldiers of the nightlight revolution
And we will not sleep til you're awake
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Ella Gwen Jul 2015
I feel like the white lion
stuck in a cage for the rest of my days
feet set to tread a path barred and dusty
from all of those who trod before it.

The only excitement, the jangles of
keys from the keeper who runs to
throw carcass of rabbit, turkeys
through my bars for me
to render sustenance, incomplete.

I fear the white lion
hear my lonely roar and wonder
at such talons, canines now stolen
and feet dismembered, claws ripped
from their shackles, top-of-the-food-chain
fear desecrated.

And a genetic time-bomb too
ticks under my skin and theirs
as I sit and I listen to the lies
your children now share.

My line also ends, a mere stutter
in the sand, as the tides flow steady
and the last lion lingers.

And I am, too, held high like a beacon,
a warning, a message spanning
centuries, look, children, look!
See the mistakes of your ancestors.

See how her coat shines so very bright
that it reflects all seven colours
of the light? See how lonely and low
the last of a manipulated, mistaken,
misconstrued species can go?

She was drawn from her mother
mixed with her father, no she doesn't need him
and the others, why yes, all left
are her kin!

How wonderful, how quaint, you
know only ten now remain?
None in the wild of course, where
their life cannot sustain,
better here locked under our
constraints where we have
so much wonder, so much recreation
and education to gain.

And true, from this bleak place
they can never migrate
but look at her, no where else to go
this man-made mistake.

Don’t worry about the pacing,
the maddened, gleaming eye
the freedom they miss
out there? They would die!
And they know no other way
than this.

I know she looks sad, but
that’s just your feelings projecting,
they’re just animals, my darling,
you’re innocent, shouting in consternation
save her in the name of conservation!

But we are all white lions
all now endangered, our steps
are no freer, our lives all
subject to external changes and we
cannot move but for the cage
they have constructed, their
lives are impacted but our
wonder is not deducted.

I feel like the white lion
this ambassador of our greatness
this one mistake, so very clever,
engineered to engage us, these lives that
were wrought solely to entertain us.

I feel it, their future entwined in mine
and in humans across the ages.

Meaning of life designed, its sibilant message
dangerous, a dumb animal wandering
a set path, disregarded, destructive, aimless.
Russell Douglas Feb 2010
A Verse In Time: A Trickster’s Alchemical Approach to Memory in Three Waves

(Warning: The following collection contains depictions of three waves
of the psychedelic experience—particularly with God’s allies, Los Aliados, the mushrooms—and like the psychedelic experience each wave possesses its own waves within itself.  Ride with discretion.)

.

Wave I: The Allies’ Nursery Rhyme

The Allies
came to visit
and take me
on a trip.
No need for boat
or bus
or plane
or even rocket ship.
The galaxy, as they explained
resides inside your mind,
The portals to the universe
are windows you call eyes.
Instead of always looking out
you should try to look within.
The ending you have always feared
is exactly where you begin.

Yes, all the spans of time and space
exist in you behind your face
and yet you cannot understand
that nothing is a race.

Oh wait, please be careful with that mirror
when we are here and you draw nearer.
Don’t let the face of everyone replace your face with fear.
You are Horus, Mary, Jesus Christ, Cervantes, and Shakespeare,
and all the men from beast to mice, from oceans down to tears.

And so they pried behind my face
and pushed me on through outer space
and soon enough I understood
there never was a race.

It all exists right here, right now—
the past, the future, the grass, the cow,
the vast, the nature, the cash, the house,
the king and the savior
the beast and the mouse
are all your creation,
your relation,
your spouse,
your Path,
your Bible,
your ‘Gita,
your Tao.

It is all
of your moment,
It is all
of your now.

For you are the mystery
of that which you seek.
You invented the minutes, the hours, the weeks,
the deserts, the rivers, the valleys, and peaks,
your digits, extremities, elbows, and knees.
You created the cure, you invent the disease.
The labyrinth is you and
You defeat it with ease.
To master the Minotaur just follow the string
Discover the dinosaur, discover the king,
discover this grandiose song that you sing,
and uncover the truth of the message you bring
when you ring bells or

Stroke piano keys
and make the doctor sweat.
The pranksters shifting shapes again,
it’s time to make a bet.
With silly laws of threes and fives, this riddle I repeat, replies
that by the time the rhyme is over, the trickster will arrive.
Gliding up in cycles by, the prankster grins and winks his eye.
He fabricates a fluffy fix with fuzzy snow white lies
to bring the doctor to a six then down to four inside
and bring the tempest to a wave
on which the four can ride.

Do we glide?
Do we slide?
Do we fly really high?
Do we bobble and sink
with the rise of the tide?

I remember the brink
the cellular stride, the following leap,
the primitive mind
I remember the dirt, the water, the fire,
the wind and the ether,
the passion, desire.
I remember that art
can never expire.

Do we depart?
Do we retire?

The answer is yes,
The answer is no,
The answer’s the same wherever you go.
It’s never too fast,
it’s never too slow
and you are never the last to not really know.
For the sun always shines,
the moon always glows,
the old always die,
the young always grow,
The seeds that you plant
are the trees that you sow,
from the bees and the ants
to the bulls and
black holes.

It is all
in your stance.
It is all
in your
soul,

When you follow your dance
the bliss
takes control.
Take your place
in the play
and master
your role.
The Aum
is your home
it’s inside
of your dome,
Whatever
you wonder,
Wherever
you roam.

And so it flows behind my face
the universe of time and space
Now I understand that time
is invented as the race

Yes, you are Borges, and Buddha, and Krishna,
and Lorca, and Vishnu, Dickinson, Lennon,
Eliot, Gandhi, Marley, McKenna,
Campbell, Picasso, Alpha, Omega.
You are your enemy,
your stranger,
your neighbor.
You are the peasant,
the king,
and the savior,
the mandala man,
the cosmic *******.
You are the taste
You are the flavor
and you are
the wave
the unwavering
Creator

Even us
as they explained
merely extend from you
A mirror to the macrocosm
for you to gaze into.




So when you get lost
within your lies
and cannot find
your rhyme,
Gather inside with your
Allies
and master
the maze
of
time.


Wave II: Contemplating The Allies’ Advice

Thunderbolts of cackling giggles
shutter through your vitals, shaking shoulders
and squirting tears from squinting eyes.
Exciting when dimensions hidden creep into your line of vision,
morphing mapping iridescence with a fleeting fuzzy phosphorescent
undulating elfin presence following your every contemplation.

Concentrating on a caterpillar crawling up the wall
how curious, this furry beast has fingers not to fall.
He folds into his fuzzy form, a sleeping bag to keep him warm,
a little home as still as lead.  He hibernates and contemplates,
waits and waits and transmutates into a gilded butterfly
that flutters through my head.

Violet translucent landscapes bleed through grass and trees,
focus on a precise place of time and space and witness the birth of the human race.  Projections made in fuzzy fourth dimensions quickly fade
if your gaze should wander.  Positioned to ponder,
you plunge into prepubescent wonder as a shooting star splits the sky wide open revealing heaven and everything under the sun is tune and the sun is eclipsed by the moon.  And once again, the music comments chronologically on your moments, as if all these notes and lyrics were cataloged to sync with the scenes of your epic voyage.

Destroying contemplation again, the sea ***** the wind through the trees
and blows a blue marine breeze through your hair.
Do you dare take the time to recognize the punctuality of the gale?
Should your frail and fragile mind be dangled from a line
to flap and fluff and figure out the nature of the rhyme of our mother?
You are your brother, your keeper, and your lover.

All the lines align and oscillate in cadenced flow,
the more you see with your mind the more your mind will know.  
A ****** brain may strain and throw a fit
if faced with the tricky truth of the third eye
Surprise! Who knew that Jesus Christ could sprout from cow ****?
Can you believe it?  Wow, Bob, wow.
Where do you think we got: ******* and holy cow?
Heaven is the here and now
and every time you try to leave
you lose what you have found.

(* All words in italics come from    
   various songs, films, works of        
   literature, etc. and are not the words    
  of the author.)


Wave III: Los Aliados Wake

An apple carries a story deeper than the tree,
More nourishing than the luscious skin,
More central than the seed.
for the apple gave original sin
and knowledge from within
and fell upon the head, announcing gravity.
Have you ever heard the tale of Johnny Melon seed?
(The apple is global, so I wonder why,
what could be patriotic of pie?
Is it not just a strudel,
a pastry disguised?)

The colors we create
distort. manipulate.
The fools who follow fear
are doomed to find their fate
between their ears
where the colors seem
to blend and stream
and almost disappear.
To wonder why we’re here
all colors must appear
and merge into the blinding light
that obliterates our fear.

All your dreams, your fantasies, your symbols, and beliefs,
all a compass pointing you to endless mystery.
The treasure that you seek
resides inside the Self,
A jewel within the rock,
A book upon the shelf.


I bought the ticket,
I’m taking the ride.
I’m spiraling miles through the bowels of time.
I’m spinning and laughing
and losing my mind
and finding
it always returns
just in time.
It’s right where it left me,
so I’ll leave it behind
and return when
I’m ready
to relish the ride
with a bite
from the apple
of my
holy
third
eye.
Morgan Mercury Jul 2013
This has all just been a game
one you can't win,
but you're forced to play.

The game keeper has got your
beloved ones around his finger.
A king in a devil's costume.
He calls the shots and makes the moves.
And it can be 'game over' for them
with just a roll of the dice.

In a ring of fire,
that no water can put out,
I watch suicides all around me.
A jump from up high, a shot to the head,
a dive in the water never to be seen again.

In this game there is no survivors but
there is one victor.
He sits and waits for us to fall.
He sits and stays watching the heroes die.
Watch them fall like flies
into the never ending hole in the ground.

I'll be watching my own death tonight.
I'll be dead before the day is done.
I'll be running with the demons at sunrise.
I'll because a slave to his kingdom
because that's where they all go.
Deep though the hole centered on the ground.
Supernatural
Dean Winchester
Tate Morgan Jun 2014
I am my life's sole keeper
in the garden of my dreams
Within it dwell the great hopes
along with all my schemes

Why for me only the hard way
has taught my mind since youth
Does it seem could be no other
than a fact and cold hard truth

I chose the road that I tread
from my bold disdaining action
I would never listen to another
except to my own satisfaction

Lucky that he knows me not
for my sadness hides regret
As they who think to know me
know less the nearer they get

My son how I do love him
touching most his dreams within
But all I want for his heart
is to not go where I've been

Tate

Original musical version with our pictures
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/474060/
For Tatertot
How often we look back on the road that wound through our lives? Only to find it would have been much better if we had taken the easy way. But perhaps some of us are destined to blaze trails yet unknown. It was so with me. And yet I can't but think how much I wish something different for my own son. None of us wish our children to hurt others .Nor do we want to see them in pain.
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh ****, he was asleep, this was a dream!


IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018
A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment, living a life of privilege.
CK Baker Jan 2020
Two Anna's hummingbirds, dance at the door
under the pane, in a mid-morning pour
whispering winds, voices through chimes
a whimsical picture, woven in rhyme

Perched on a limb (just a few yards back)
a pileated pecker, with breast of black!
foraging sparrows, partners in crime
picking out seeds from conical pine

A weighted blanket, and dark roasted brew
sipped on a rocker, with the daily news
the stream keeper watching, fluttering high
dipping and darting, at (wild) passers-by

Baseboard heaters, comfort the room
four months to go, to the April bloom!
the afternoon passes, in dense gray fog
a sliver of sunshine, catches a log

Into the evening, a soft glowing light
gusts on the water, gulls take flight
crows at a distance, nestled in trees
branches swaying, to a south-east breeze

Patterns of nature,  the rhythm runs deep
those rich forest gems, to the soul they will creep
an archway to heaven, with guiding raccoons
look over yonder…the quiet tan moon!
These 2 lovely hummingbirds really did put on a show today!  In the middle of winter nonetheless!
Just like a Disney special!
Absolutely delightful!
Sabbathius Jan 2016
Around around, these stairways down the void
This relic hid, it must not be destroyed!
I keep the candles lit to guide the way
They follow straight behind in silent pray

It is my one and only task, my role!
It is the purpose of my very soul
I sweep these beaten steps in every side
Await arrival of new ones to guide

Whoever they may be, I welcome all!
And do my best to keep them standing tall
When finding hard to keep a steady pace
They trust the healing powers of this place

When languish weighs enough to shed a tear
Their spirit-selves depart and spawn in here
This realm provides the means to cure their ills
Without the need of dulling pain with pills

Proceeding slowly on this soothing trip
In state of trance, descending further deep
Forgetting lies, betrayals, plots and schemes
Embracing peace of mind in midst of dreams


*Keeper of the Mourners Haven by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.oh yeah, huge fetish fan.... gamer youtube commentary videos... like the quartery... no... ****... the quartering... it's like... ****, i don't even know what's it like: a magic mirror i'll never own, having dropped out on PS1... and telling my cohabitation ςentries (obsolete now, ******?!) to by an iMac, for its properties of not succumbing to PC viruses... PC viruses... a thing of the past... late 90s early 00s... with **** sites linked to Trojan horse bundles... a man with ******* can't *******, so what the hell is he supposed to do? just watch the poor ******* looking for their missing ******* in the excesses of female genitals... oh... wait... they found... and took revenge... but it's never M.G.M., always the F.G.M. bit of the equation... like the kippah was never, "really" translated into a tonsure, oh yeah, that **** floats, that's a real keeper that is; wankers. what?! i'm doing **** with the hand twice a day, but i have the supposed, "excess" skin on my ******* emblem... or little Richie, whatever... i have it... my male circumcised counterparts... sorry chief... you're the one that has to look for extra skin.. oops?! do you say oops on such matters? i never know... but the new age gaming experience is so much better... this antithesis of NPC styled games... and the fact that they're. "free"... but you later learn that you have to pay extra? the longevity increases exponentially... what's your payment method, if you're poor? patience... you really learn to wait, which expand the lifespan of a game... it's like: **** it, a free game, where i also get to polish cliche virtue? compared to paying £50 for a game, i might finish in one sitting? i'm about to to take a ****, play a game, or read a book? hmm... clueless among the Seattle folk... play a ******* game! well, you know... if you don't have a fetish fulfilled with someone readied to expand upon me wearing a ******... might as well watch commentary videos of gamers... same high... albeit no hard-on.

censoring female *******
with bright lights?!

**** me,
good that i managed
to go to an Athenian
strip-club,
a Polish,
  & and an East London
brothel...

psst... Amsterdam...
oh right...
who the **** travels
to Amsterdam for
the **** these days?

last time i went i went
into the red light district
to feel unabashed,
certain that...
a plump Puerto Rican
was waiting for me...
and she was...

****? Amsterdam?
what's this...
the year 00s?
i don't know...
you tell me...

so they're censoring *******,
cleavage from
video games?

   i have a censorship
experiment for you...
you know what the current
would be like
if everyone finally discovered
that
Theresa May is not Margaret Thatcher?
pandemonium!
not all women can be
a Maggie Thatchie...
who would have known...
you need to be a daughter
of a of a grocery store owner,
or whatever working class
background she came from...

with ol' Thatchie the whole
Brexit ******* would
run the course of,
two words:           *******!

where was i?
oh, right, censoring *******
and cleavage in gaming avatars...
you know how i censor that,
"delicate" matter?
i just think of a cow's fore udder...
or... is
that a cleavage... or
a *** on your chest?

there you go... limp **** through
and through...
and then i start thinking
of the dewlap...
to be honest, i don't know how
you'd serve that...
is it fatty? then i'd deep-fry it...

good thing i visited an Athenian
strip-club,
an East London brothel,
and Amsterdam's red light
district...

          and all done...
without a S.T.D. to mind...
mind you, ******* these days
is quiet ethical,
i would have more chance
catching an S.T.D. on the dating
app circuit than in a brothel...

beside wearing a ******...
i always wanted to experiment
with a latex body-suit...
excess rubber...
or whatever the hell it is...

so much for freedom of speech...
but wait a minute,
do i have to reiterate
that i didn't say this,
and that you didn't say this
either?
          this is phonetic
encoding, this is not speaking...
well...
then we know what
the Cartesian res extensa
(extended thing) actually is...
writing,
writing as an extension
of thinking...

          in this scenario...
a thought, that has been washed
in heretical fires...
having transcended
thought's association
with the moral-θ (theta...
looks like English has
a new pronoun,
trans even the already in
place transgender pronoun
category)...
      θ 'ink beyond any
association to a moral 'ought.

*now if you excuse me,
i have a bottle of Russian Standard
i have to finish,
and two bottles of just fine, fine
English cider to interlude with.
Edgeless days are the hardest
to let pass you by
as you stare at all the pretty things
Just out of sight.

There sits, heavy in atmosphere,
On these days of no ends,
A timelessness
in the most tragic way.

All your toiling
begins to feel useless,
and errors make a mess of this.
Your anger - Instantly boiling

Futile barking.
Damning non-existent gods,,
And then a mocking laughing-
Since you are alone.

Because, of course,
You are alone,
Chained to the room
They're paying you to
|
When the crushing
Endlessness to your day
Could be so easily been remedied
with conversation or, some play

And now those gods
are laughing.
And you wish to be alone
                     From yourself.
Of long, hard days of work.
The Fairy Tale of the Warrior Prince

Once upon a time, long, long ago, far, far away there lived a Warrior Prince at the edge of the Magic Forest. The Warrior Prince once rescued the fair maiden Shelby and the fair lady Di, Shelby’s grams, from the Evil Mystical Wizard who lived on the far side of the magic forest. After settling the fair maiden and the fair lady into his castle where they would remain safe until his return, he set out to do his one and only job; guard and protect the magic forest.
He liked guarding the forest during the day because it was quiet and peaceful. But in the dark night, the great magic came to life and even his trusty horse became on edge. The bushes and trees took on eerie shapes that seemed to move. The night noises were loud and frightening. It was not like the beautiful forest noises of the day. At night the trees became witches and the bushes became trolls and animals. They would claw and scratch at his legs as he rode his horse through the forest.
It was at night when the largest magical creature appeared. It wanted to take over the magic forest. That creature’s whole purpose was to steal all the magic from the Magic Forest. The creature had been made that way by the Evil Mystical Wizard who wanted all the magic in the land for himself. That is why he kidnapped the fair maiden Shelby and the fair lady Di in the first place. He knew of their magical powers. The fair lady Di had the magic of touch. She could feel if she knew a person from another time and if they were good or evil by the touch of their hand or by looking into their eyes. She could see if love had ever found a home in their heart. The fair maiden Shelby had the greatest magic of all; the magic of sight. She could see into a person, see their life and what was to come. These magical powers coupled with the powers of the forest would make the Evil Mystical Wizard unstoppable.
The warrior prince had no magical powers of his own but was highly respected by the magical world because of his willingness and ability to protect them. He thought of them as family and would fight to the death for them. The love in his heart was a pure light of goodness. He knew if the Evil Mystical Wizard took over all the good magic in the world, everyone he loved would suffer greatly to the end of days. He pledged to fight for them to the end because of his love for them. It was his greatest power.
One night as he rode his beautiful horse through the magical forest, he heard the fair lady Di cry out in grief. Riding toward the sounds of her cries, his heart sank with the visions that flooded his mind. The fair lady Di had been restless and not able to sleep so, as many nights like this before, she went for a walk in the magic forest. The forest had always been a place of calm for her. It was a place where the hurts of the world would quiet and fade away. She could feel the love of the magical world around her. She could still the fears in her heart.
On this night as she walked along the forest floor she came upon a beautiful unicorn. It was waiting to bless her with his own magic of love. As they stood and stared at each other, she could feel the magic of his love flow into her heart and settle deep into her soul. She knew he was giving her his magic of love but didn’t understand why. When the transfer ended, she stood in awe as he bowed his head and told her, “You are the keeper of love. You always have been and always will be. My time is ending and my magic needs to live on. It will live in you and you will do great things with it.” Fair lady Di started to ask, “Why me?”… when the wind started to blow.
The clouds moved across the moon and lightning struck a tree somewhere deep in the forest. Just as the moon peaked around a cloud the thunder crashed and the creature was standing in front of them. The fair maiden Shelby was in her bed and could only sit up in fear as she watched the sight play out before her eyes. She saw the creature inch closer to her grams saying the words “Love must die.”
The fair maiden Shelby could only do one thing. She sent her sight to the magic of the forest hoping the forest would see that if love died, the world died too. As she watched, she saw two small magical creatures of the forest pull her grams back and away from the fight that played out before her. The creature moved forward and the fair lady Di thought her night would end. She closed her eyes and felt the wind blow through her. She let go ready to float away to a world without pain. As the crashing noises grew louder and the wind blew harder, she felt unknown hands pull her to safety.
The fair lady Di opened her eyes and watched as the unicorn fought with everything he had to save her from the terrible creature of magic who only sought to end love, to end her. The fight was long and hard but in the end, the beautiful unicorn stood no chance against the powers and strength of the terrible creature of magic. As the unicorn fell to the ground and his breathing slowed, the fair lady Di ran to him. All the creatures of the forest tried to stop her but she pushed them away. She had so much love for him and needed him to only feel love as he floated away to that world where there was no pain.
As she reached him she laid her body across his and poured out every ounce of love. Through her grief and pain, she gave love as his last breath left him. She cried. The wind blew, lightning flashed across the sky and the thunder crashed high in the heavens. Just then, the Warrior Prince came through the forest walls into the small opening of the forest center. He pulled his horse to a sudden stop at the sight in front of him. His blood began to boil. There was the Magic Dragon with a cruel evil grin on his face. He stood over the fair lady Di with her face buried in the mane of the lifeless unicorn. She was crying and pouring all the love she could into him.
The fair maiden Shelby watched with her inner sight and knew what she must do to save them all. She emptied her sight to the whole magical world and focused it into the center of the Warrior Prince. She showed him all the good he had ever done for the ones he called family and those he loved so dearly. Through the magical world he touched in so many ways, she showed him their respect for him, their gratitude for all that he had done for them and their unconditional love for him. Through her sight, he found the strength to fight the greatest fight of his life: The fight against the Magic Dragon who was there to destroy them all.
The Warrior Prince wasted no time as he pulled out his sword of courage and truth. He fought long and hard but, even close to death himself, he would not give up. With each swing of his sword the evil he so feared died a little more. Swing after swing until he pierced the heart of the great beast. Upon the death of the beast, the magic of the world returned the magic of the fair maiden Shelby to her. The magical world knew only one willing to give up her powers to save those she loved could be trusted with such power.
Very battered and bleeding, The Warrior Prince walked over to the fair lady Di, held her close and let her pour her grief and pain into his heart and soul. When she calmed, he lifted her onto his horse and brought her back to the castle where the fair maiden Shelby waited for their return.
When the Warrior Prince slayed the Magic Dragon and ended the magic that had been instilled within him, it also weakened the Evil Mystical Wizard. For the wizard had given all his power into the dragon and was confident the dragon would succeed in taking over all magic in the world. By the Warrior Prince destroying the dragon, it also ended all and any magic the Evil Mystical Wizard had or ever would have again. The Magic Forest, The Magic of The World, The Magic of The Fair Maiden Shelby and The Magic of The Fair Lady Di was finally safe. The Warrior Prince, he also learned he had a little magic of his own and had only needed to look inside himself to find it.

Writing Copyright © All Rights Reserved
2017 Brianna Love/SA/DBMA
I have gone back and forth on publishing this story, in many ways, it’s very personal.
“The Fairy Tale of the Warrior Prince” was written three months after the death of my dad. My dad was young and though he was a hard man he loved his family and my granddaughter loved her great grandpa so much. This story has many truths in it by the way of story metaphors. My granddaughter, five at the time named all the characters and I used many of her thoughts and feelings. This story was a way for her and me to work through a grief that surrounded us. Each character in the story is real, they each played a part in our grief. I wrote this story because of my love for her and her love for him. When we were walking away from his grave that day, my sweet granddaughter turned around and like on cue every person stepped back to let her have her view. We all witnessed the most amazing and beautiful thing, she turned and said the very words I have always said to her. “Dream Sweet” “I love you grandpa” and then blew him a kiss.  Children’s love is unconditional, pure and the most beautiful love I have seen and felt.

I know this story is long and many don’t like long reads but, a dear friend told me that I would know when I was ready to post it and that’s when I should.
KHY Jan 2019
Sin is a real evidence keeper
Expose it to your equals
Or it will eat you
the garden’s keeper is the one who knows
the time of fruiting and the ways of light
the meanings of the lily and the rose

to all who pause to watch as each plant grows
in its true place as firm hands set it right
the garden's keeper is the one who knows

when to stay calm and just when to disclose
the secret word that guards from every blight
the meanings of the lily and the rose

that in their beds do far more than repose
for the pure delectation of our sight
the garden's keeper is the one who knows

the proper manner of setting the rows
to mimic motion and to arrest flight
the meanings of the lily and the rose

are not in words still less in strikes and blows
against the passage that leads into night
the garden's keeper is the one who knows
the meanings of the lily and the rose
1737

Rearrange a “Wife’s” affection!
When they dislocate my Brain!
Amputate my freckled *****!
Make me bearded like a man!

Blush, my spirit, in thy Fastness—
Blush, my unacknowledged clay—
Seven years of troth have taught thee
More than Wifehood every may!

Love that never leaped its socket—
Trust entrenched in narrow pain—
Constancy thro’ fire—awarded—
Anguish—bare of anodyne!

Burden—borne so far triumphant—
None suspect me of the crown,
For I wear the “Thorns” till Sunset—
Then—my Diadem put on.

Big my Secret but it’s bandaged—
It will never get away
Till the Day its Weary Keeper
Leads it through the Grave to thee.
Emily B Jun 2017
I tried, Lord,
I tried.

I protected him as often
and with what
little strength I had.

He punched me
in the stomach
when he thought
the neighbor wasn't watching.

And his eyes said
plain enough
that he could **** me
before mom got home
and I would barricade
myself in my room
til she pulled in the driveway
and act like every
thing was fine.

When dad died
he called the funeral home
and threatened
everybody.

I can't keep him anymore.
Even if
his blood cries to me
from the ground.
And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.

9 And the LORD said unto Cain, Where [is] Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: [Am] I my brother's keeper?

10 And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.
CK Baker Oct 2017
A slow walk up Centennial
and I still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the Turkish blend and dust pack

A novice mixed duet plays
Brahms on broken strings
the erhu and overcoat
veiling a blue heeler and sphinx

Maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home Bedford Falls;
the flavour and character and social circles

Annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins

Dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto

Night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
Apteryx Jun 2011
Envy lies naked on a rose --
Blindly, on bed;
Tonight, -- we bind to shed
Ourselves from purpose
And dread
That sough us from hearing, --
Fearing...
The silent touch of Moire.

It lies darkly on thy posture
Of many a figure
And requiem for my mockingbird, --
Those of many a love of my mockingbird,
(The Reaper
And my keeper
Of my very own
Requiem for a mockingbird)
Alone, all alone
We bind to shed...

Alas! Now Death
Comes as Nepenthe for my mockingbird,
(The only love
I've come to unravel the love
Of my mockingbird)
Now, breathing from her now, the breath
Of my heart leapt
Out from a mockingbird
And slept
As my eyes bind dead...

This is a requeim for a mockingbird, --
The Reaper
And my keeper
Of my very own
Requiem for a mockingbird,
Alone, all alone
We bind to shed
Ourselves from purpose and dread
That sough us from hearing, --
Fearing...
The silent touch of Moire...
(c) 2010
Mark Toney Oct 2019
(Dedicated to my Father, who was totally paralyzed
for 7 years before he died.)

I awake in the early morning darkness
Frozen, motionless, immobilized.
My eyes straining to see into the black void
Looking for any sign of my keepers
Listening for any kind of movement
Phantom images dart around me slowly at first,
Then multiple images spring from every direction
My heart racing, my breathing rapid and shallow,
Byproducts of fear and imagination
Running amok in the dark

My eyes focus on tiny lights incessantly blinking,
Reassuring my heart as the phantoms vanish
My ears register the intermittent beeps
And steady, determined droning
Of contraptions that populate my space,
Their sole purpose to prevent the outcome I crave

My nose catches whiffs of iodoform odor,
Penetrating, pungent, overpowering my sense of smell.
A cruel replacement for what once was
A weekly parade of fragrant flowers
That excited what few senses remain
The brightly colored blossoms
The sweet, fragrant smells
The delightful sizes and shapes
But the beautiful flowers have withered,
As concern for my plight has waned

I watch as the determined, dynamic sun
Deliberately dilutes the darkness,
Revealing the magical birth of a new day.
Is that delightful birdsong I hear?
The beeping and droning are maddening,
But I know there’s birdsong outside my window
I can’t wait until the moment arrives!

As if on cue my keeper appears
Busily going about her assigned tasks
My eyes following her every move
“And how are you doing today?” she asks,
Staring at me as if I could answer.
But I lie frozen, motionless, immobilized
In my mind I replay my daily reply:

"My existence is a never-ending cycle of
Penetrating. . . pungent. . . whiffs
Beep. . . blink. . . drone. . . beep
Blink. . . drone. . . beep, . . . blink
Drone. . . beep. . . blink. . . drone
Penetrating. . . pungent. . . whiffs
Dawn. . . daylight. . . twilight. . . night
Daylight. . . twilight. . . night. . . dawn
Twilight. . . night. . . dawn. . . daylight
Night. . . dawn. . . daylight. . .twilight
Penetrating. . . pungent. . . whiffs
Each boring minute an hour.
Each hateful hour a day.
Each wretched day a year.
Each torturous year a lifetime.
Ad nauseum. . .ad infinitum. . .ad mortem?"

Offering no response to my unspoken thoughts,
My keeper dutifully takes my vital signs,
Temperature, pulse, respiration, blood pressure,
Records the results, then walks to the window
My favorite time of day has arrived!
“We must open the window to freshen up your room.”
As the window opens my spirit soars, and my ears capture
The lovely birdsong, as well as other living sounds,
Along with a veritable potpourri of smells.
I can only imagine what is happening outside,
And I do imagine it as best I can

I close my eyes and try to make out each note,
Visualizing the source of each incredible sound,
Be it bird, animal, human, or otherwise
Who they are, what they look like,
What they’re doing, what they’re thinking,
The blinking, beeping, droning is finally drowned out!
With every breath, I savor each smell
And, with eyes closed, as I visualize
What’s happening in my mind’s eye,
A wonderful peace envelops me. . . comforts me

But, alas, this day will be crueler than most
Another keeper, a newer keeper, enters my room
“Oh, she’s fallen asleep” he whispers,
He closes the window, shuts the shades,
Then quietly leaves, shutting the door
I SCREAM A LOUD, LONG, PRIMAL SCREAM!
... in my mind
As I lie frozen, motionless, immobilized—   
Paralyzed
5/15/2018 - Poetry form: Free Verse - Dedicated to my Father, who was totally paralyzed for 7 years before he died in 1985. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Jim Davis Nov 2018
He came as an orphan
June 26th, 1865
Having seen
the death of his mother
Chased and speared by a hunter

First African elephant
in Europe
At the London Zoo
All alone
in all of Europe

How he broke and wore his tusks
In the iron of his enclosure
In night pain from toothaches
From many rotten teeth
Caused by his only grass hay diet

Given whiskey and beer to calm
Shared with his keeper
Matthew Scott, a difficult man
With no close friends
But with a deep empathy for animals

Who drank whiskey
with Jumbo
Into the late, lonely night
Jumbo liked whiskey, beer
and lots of sticky buns

A problematic elephant
With a Jekyll and Hyde character
Sold for 2,000 pounds
To PT Barnum
as a star attraction

Jumbo tearing his chains away
Then sitting like a mule
Until he knew his keeper
Would also ride the boat
Across the big pond

Barnum’s Scott
Made a deal
Queen Victoria wasn’t happy
Her children had sat
And rode upon his back

Jumbomania in America
Accompanied his arrival
20 million saw him alive
Brooklyn bridge opened in 1882
A year before Jumbo arrived

Then 17 May, 1884
Twenty elephants
marched across
All the way to Brooklyn
led by Jumbo

The bridge vibrated and rebounded

In St Thomas, Ontario, Canada
was his suffering demise
The day the circus train came to town
Tom Thumb and Jumbo
Were waiting to get loaded

Perhaps bumped in the ****
By the speeding freight locomotive
Internal bleeding
and a slow death
Tom Thumb only a broken leg

Jumbo in a slow death
Scott in a slow death afterwards
Having witnessed
the last breath
Of his best friend

Photographed (a recent novelty)
just after his death in B&W
Poor dead Jumbo
Scott at his head
Weeping inconsolably

Although PT Barnum
In pure PT Barnum invention
Says Jumbo ran headfirst
Into the freight locomotive
To save his keeper and Tom Thumb

Jumbo died
at twenty-four
still young
and growing
in size and girth

His stuffed mounted skin
burned at Tufts University
except the unbroken bones
plus the end of his tail
“And this is what remains of Jumbo”

Yesterday, I saw wild elephants on the banks of the Zambezi river
near Victoria Falls
Tomorrow I’m hoping to touch Jumbo’s bones in New York City
And walk the Brooklyn Bridge

©  2017 Jim Davis
Jumbo in Swahili means Hello

Written on an UAE Emirates flight from South Africa to New York.  With all credit due for words and most phrasing to David Attenborough’s documentary.  
“Attenborough and the Giant Elephant”

A few years ago, I heard Barnum and Bailey stopped having elephants as part of their shows!
I really wondered why!
Now I really know!
It's 2719 and I'm reincarnated again
how many times do I have to come here
no no I have work to do
just send out a body keeper

Oh yes my sweet ones, hush
can you hear my heart beat for us
if I die for her, you will die with me
it's not fair I know, but it is our destiny

Send out a body keeper
save as many as you can
the fire is burning our wings
but we must fight, so send them in

This time displacement
every now and then
when my lord
will this ever end


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Emily Aug 2010
You wooed my mother
And impressed my sister
Both difficult things to manage.
Now you are risking your good standing
To ask her permission
For us to share a home.
She will know then
That we share a bed
That someday we hope to share a life
That you want me to stay forever.
But I respect you, so much.
Regardless of what happens,
You are my hero-
You are my knight.
I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck
moving away from me
beyond anger or failure
your face in the evening schools of longing
through mornings of wish and ripen
we were always saying goodbye
in the blood in the bone over coffee
before dashing for elevators going
in opposite directions
without goodbyes.

Do not remember me as a bridge nor a roof
as the maker of legends
nor as a trap
door to that world
where black and white clericals
hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators
twitching their shoulders to avoid other flesh
and now
there is someone to speak for them
moving away from me into tomorrows
morning of wish and ripen
your goodbye is a promise of lightning
in the last angels hand
unwelcome and warning
the sands have run out against us
we were rewarded by journeys
into desire
into mornings alone
where excuse and endurance mingle
conceiving decision.
Do not remember me
as disaster
nor as the keeper of secrets
I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars
watching
you move slowly out of my bed
saying we cannot waste time
only ourselves.
Another night of television hell I was in the middle of a hell of a block.
And withoout the funds my usal cure of hookers and *******  wasnt a open
road so to speak.

I was lost I wondred the streets like  ****** in need of a john.
When through the darkness it appearded a well lit haven in the middle of
a thoughtless storm.

The cinema cafe drinks and films  hmm from looking at the marquee seems
there wasnt much to choose from .
It read like a preschooler had puked apon the board.

There were sequels, and prequels,  gay vampires that walked around in the day,
Weirdos who flew around on broom sticks and loads of treenage **** minus the ****.
Dear lord! I had to get to the bottom of this problem.

The pimple faced kid at the booth asked me in a squeeky yet firm semi manly
voice can I help you sir?
Yes my dear crater face whats with this **** you call films here ?
Umm I dont make em sir there just whats popular.

The greezy faced hampster had a good point in what he said that is.
cause other than that I had no clue what he was working with really what do you think
I am some kinda pervert?

Let me ask you something do you like this **** you sell tickets to?
**** no dude its garbage for halfwits and retards  and some people from Canada.
Who the hell wants to see that **** from twilight  play snow white?
Let me ask is that a adult film?
Duh no ******* we dont show thoose here.

Would you know were I could see thoose films?
Im doing some umm research on human sexulality  it involves alotta big words
which i cant spell so i'll spare you the details  just point me in the right direction
and nobody gets hurt.

Dude they havent shown thoose kinda movies in theaters for years.
Oh yeah and theres this thing called the internet once is way better than writting on your
cave walls.
Kids there really great *******.

After some back in fourth who gives a **** or really reads this ***** banter.
The man with the pizza face finally hit his limit.
Look *******!
I dont make the **** ,I dont watch the ****!
If you gotta problem take it up with the studio exects in Hollywood.

You gotta point there sparky give me your keys!
What! No.
Give me your keys or else.
Or else what grandpa  your gonna hit me with your walker.

No you silly *******.
Or else I'll shoot you.
Ya see young man that should wear a iron mask.
You may have a I Phone
But I have a handgun  and  that always wins the debate no hand em over.

After a brief moment of the little ******* ***** crying and begging for me not to **** him.
Really he watched to many TV shows I wasnt gonna **** him besides.
Im allergic to prison and it wasnt even a real gun what a *******.

I was off in my borrowed car  to the land of bad ideas and great **** jobs.
A place more fake than barbies dream home minus that dickless tool she always
hung out with  not that I played with Barbie's but she does have some really kickarse *******
and im a big fan of ******* hell what great writer isnt?

It was a drive that seemed to take forever  but finally i pulled up to the front gate
of Warner Brothers studios.
The little weird looking gate keeper looked at me and said .
can I help you sir.

Yes please direct me to your leader strange gaurd troll.
Uhh sir this is a closed lot only people with passes can enter.
Well what if i know the secret word?

Who told you about the secret word?
I had him with that one.
These Hollyweird vampires couldnt have enough brain power to
keep some pass on them.
Okay whats the secret word sir?

I had to think deep and from such a shallow mind that was asking alot.
What could it be it had to be something that rang true like snorting a line of
coke of Katy Perry's  ***'s.

Dear lord I had it.

Brad Pitt ***** donkey *****.

The man looked at me in utter shock  I wasnt sure if he was gonna let me pass
or try to pull me out my slightly worn odd smelling borrowed car.
Alright sir it's lot 69 hahaha  yeah I know im demented.

Right next to the lot there filming Winds Of Change **** The Musical!
Staring Johnny Depp and Bogo the ***** chimp.
****** i wish i wasnt busy  that chimp seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders.
Well when he wasnt jerking off and eating bannans while throwing his poo.
What a talent indeed.

I found myself in the studio people running every which a way.
It was total confussion   seemd like no one had a clue what the hell they were doing.
Hey ******* shouted some weird little man in a chair who the **** are you!?.

The little red haired man must truely be dellusional.
How could someone not know Gonzo?
Well sir just who the **** are you? I replied.

Well im Ron ******* Howard *****!
Hmm never herd of you are you a director or something?
What!!!
Ever hear of Andy Griffith  or Happy Days?
Oh yeah your that little dork that hung out with that cop yeah what a snitch.
I was playing his son *******.

Dam well seems this ginger finally explained to me why that man always had him around
it all makes sense now i just thought he was some kinda pervert.
Course seems like he had picked up some bad habbits from that Fonzie guy
never trust a man who calls the restroom his office but what a man does with
another man in a ***** restroom for plesure or profit is his own bussiness.

Look *******  what the hell do ya want?
Lets start with a gallon's of nothern light maybe some top shelf hookers some good music.
Maybe a couple hits of some lets say nose candy maybe turn off the lights and see what happens.
Im just saying sometimes ya gotta let nature take it's drug filled course.

Im not talking bout from life dip **** i mean what the hell are you doing here?
Oh **** sorry there  carrot top.
I wanna see the person in charge that green lights all this remake **** you souless
morons put out and call entertainment.

The little red haired devil was silent as he explained to me no one ever saw the
studio head it was like meeting Santa Claus or ****** or being in the pressence of a unicorn
really whats the diffrence.

He warned me of the dangers of meeting such a great mind yet like I do with
most people I simply shook me head and agreed much like i do with
women im trying to sleep with duh like I care about her tweenty seven cats.

Finally after learning I wasnt taking no for a answer he lead me to a room
And in this room was a screen and apon the screen appread a face.
Who dare question the mighty head of the film studio!!

The voice was loud  still it had that comfoting quallity that you just have to love in
a windbag *******.
Umm me.

You well who the hell are you?
Duh ******* im the long winded ******* writting the story.
Oh well what the **** do you want?

Sir I wanna know what the hell's wrong with you people.
Look im a drunk but i could never be drunk enough to pay a fortune to watch half the **** you call entertainment between remakes and films based on gay *** stories about vampires
and dudes who run around the woods calling themselves werewolves.

You mean you actully saw twilight?
The voice asked me on the verge of laughter.
Duh i see a bunch of hot chicks  going anywhere im following without asking
much like the mindless drones that watch that ****.

Sir your a sad sad man.
The strange face on the screen vanished out from the curtan appeared
what looked like *** it was Bugs Bunny !!

Bug's!  
What's up gonz?
****** i always knew you were real much like Fergie and spanish fly.

Gonzo i know half this **** ***** but its because mindless idiots love studip ****.
Look you were once a popular writer and you cant even spell.
Ouch now go ahead mighty furry samuri.

Ya see whatever makes money we put out and really stupid young girls much like your teenage
wife love that **** and being perverts like yourself wanna get laid you'll take them to that ****.
Bugs are you saying it's all about money?

No **** *******.

We talked drank watched backroom casting couch tapes of early starlets like
Harrison Ford no wonder he was so good with that whip.

It was magic minus the  money loving **** mouse that'll sue your ***.
Bugs I gotta ask you a deep question?
Shoot there Gonz .
Is Mickey really just a cross dresser calling himself Minnie?

You are messed up in so many ways Gonz.
We laughed swapped ***** stories  like the time Bugs slipped
Daisy some ****** and got a ******* in the magic castle  while goofy watched.

What the **** is Goofy?

Gonz .
My furry amigo said to **** if I know.

Untill next time kids stay crazy

And remember if you wish apon a star  ya better make sure to whom thoose copy rights
belong to truley are.
Cause thoose rich ******* will sue your *** .

Cheers

                               FIN?
She caught my dreams
with a net like
a broken winged firefly.

She stored it in
the mason jar
of her heart.
xx Jan 2015
I'm afraid of losing you
So I'd rather lose my breath
I'd die if you knew
So I'd rather tell it to myself
I can't be enough
So I'd rather love you this much
I'll never be so brave
So I'd rather have your back instead
I can never make you stay
So I'd rather keep you in my heart
492

Civilization—spurns—the Leopard!
Was the Leopard—bold?
Deserts—never rebuked her Satin—
Ethiop—her Gold—
Tawny—her Customs—
She was Conscious—
Spotted—her Dun Gown—
This was the Leopard’s nature—Signor—
Need—a keeper—frown?

Pity—the Pard—that left her Asia—
Memories—of Palm—
Cannot be stifled—with Narcotic—
Nor suppressed—with Balm—
THERE is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw meat ... and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me ... a silver-gray fox ... I sniff and guess ... I pick things out of the wind and air ... I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers ... I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me ... a snout and a belly ... a machinery for eating and grunting ... a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun-I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me ... I know I came from saltblue water-gates ... I scurried with shoals of herring ... I blew waterspouts with porpoises ... before land was ... before the water went down ... before Noah ... before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me ... clambering-clawed ... dog-faced ... yawping a galoot's hunger ... hairy under the armpits ... here are the hawk-eyed hankering men ... here are the blond and blue-eyed women ... here they hide curled asleep waiting ... ready to snarl and **** ... ready to sing and give milk ... waiting-I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird ... and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want ... and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes-And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart-and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where-For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and **** and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
The night was dark, in a brooding pall
With thunderheads at its core,
But only the sound of heaving swells
Were heard to break on the shore.
The headland dark where the Lighthouse stood
With not a glimmer of light,
It hadn’t been lit for a hundred years
But a beam would stream that night.

The sea was grumbling in its deeps
Cast heaps of **** on the sand,
Much like a drunken Cornishman
Disgorging his contraband,
The swell, built up as the squalls came in
Made the sea erupt from its depths,
Casting an age old Barquentine
Up high, on an angry crest.

Shook free from its hundred year old bed
Untangled from miles of ****,
The Barquentine with its forty dead
Had finally now been freed,
A flag that carried the fleur-de-lis
Hung limply down from the mast,
And tangled up in the rigging was
The body of Captain Jacques.

An aura shone round the Barquentine
In a pale, blue ghostly light,
Caught in a time warp, in-between
They rose as a man that night.
They gathered up on the rotting deck
Each cannon, covered in rust,
And glared at the lighthouse on the hill,
A light that they couldn’t trust.

A wraith of a woman, stood that night
By the keeper, looking down,
The face of a woman, creased in fear
As the Barque had come aground,
She had been the wife of Captain Jacques
Had been left ashore, and fled,
Up to the keeper of the light
Where she shared his meagre bed.

‘I didn’t think he’d be back so soon,’
She’d stood by the light, and cried,
‘If he finds us both alone up here
It’s better that we had died.’
The keeper held her trembling form
As the storm built up that night,
‘I’d never allow him to bring you harm,’
He said, as he struck the light.

The crew looked up at the Lighthouse
And they heard a woman scream,
From up on the headland, deep in fright
As the keeper lit the beam,
And Jacques looked up, and he saw his wife
Lit up by the sudden light,
‘My God,’ he cried, ‘that’s Jacqueline,
There was infamy that night!’

The pair looked down as the men had leapt
To shore, with their swords held high,
They’d waited over a hundred years
But knew that their time was nigh.
He’d struck the light when he saw their ship
Head in to threaten his *****,
And watched as the ship had broken up
In Eighteen fifty-four.

There are nights when the light of former wrongs
Returns to visit the shame,
To balance eternal justice for
The centuries, left in pain,
The ghostly sailors dragged them down
To the Barquentine, at last,
And as the sea had reclaimed the ship
They hung them both from the mast.

David Lewis Paget

— The End —