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Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
THE STORY OF SARA

Ayad Gharbawi


CHAPTER 2: UNIVERSITY

  
  Well, I did study and, I did pass my exams, and I did succeed in ending up in a decent, upper class school!
  How did I pay for it? I hear you ask me?
  I didn't: I got a scholarship!
  And, what a new world I faced!
  What a totally different society I saw!
  I felt that I was in another country, for I never knew that there existed, from my own people, men and women such as those I encountered!
  My studies in psychiatry really excited me: I thought that I would be able to 'solve' anyone's mental problems.
  All I had to do, was to study and study as feverishly as I could.
Studying furiously, and with love and passion, was the key to success.
  Study, and then you pass your examinations, and then you become a doctor in psychiatry - and I would thereby become successful.
  I would then be someone important.
  I would be respected by everyone.
  My life would have a purpose and a meaning because I would be going in the correct path.
It was simple as that!
  And what was the alternative?
  Not to study?
  And what would I do then?
  Go do a menial, low paying job?
  That was anathema to me!
  It made me sick, to even think about that!
  Why?
  Because, I came from a poor background, and I lived in poverty, and I saw the culture and the people who lived in poverty, and by God, I don’t want to ever live in those circumstances ever again in my life.
  What was poverty to me?
  Your house is ugly; your neighbourhood is ugly; your neighbours are the most indecent people you can imagine.
  The area you live in, swarms with people who live their lives in ‘anti-social behaviour’!
  And what’s ‘anti-social behaviour’?
  That means your community is one, where most people are drunks in  public, where fights, with guns and knives, are an everyday occurrence; where the most filthy language is the norm in public; where ******* covers large parts of the town; where vandalism and damage to cars and property is another daily occurrence; where people play ear-deafening music in the streets and there’s nothing you can do – because, if you call the police, they’ll obey, but then they’ll come back and make hell out of your life – in other words, the gangs rule the community.
  Aren’t those enough reasons to get out of poverty?!
  And, then for me, there are other things that are really important to me.
  For example:
  I mean, who is going to respect you, if you have a menial job? Who is going to look up at you?
  Who is going to listen to your words, when you speak?
  And, most importantly, are you yourself going to be happy with your self and with your life, if you had a menial job?
  Of course not!
  To be a fully satisfied human, you need to live in respectable surroundings with a respectable job.
  Otherwise, there cannot be happiness for you.

  Once I joined my university, I encountered mostly upper class students.
  That’s why, I say it was like ‘another world’ for me, because I had never encountered people like that before!
  Their dress was different; their accent and they way they spoke was different; but what interested me the most, was the fact, that their intellectual interests were extremely varied, as opposed to the people that I had grown up with and knew – those people whose only interests, were getting drunk, practicing promiscuity, crime and drugs!
  Now outside classes, I got began to get involved with different groups of academic students – each group held differing ideas about the world, politics, economics, philosophy of life - and any other subject you can imagine.
  I was never interested in what I called the other 'superficial' groups; that is, those who discussed what I considered to be the stupidities of life, such as fashion, make up, cars, sports and so on. No way; not for me, were people like that!
  For I was far too serious for such mind-wasting people, and, frankly life-wasting people.
  No, I wanted to learn; my God how utterly hungry and thirsty and deadly serious about acquiring more and more knowledge on every 'serious' subject I was - so that, one day, I would be a useful and productive human to society!
  If I was not in my classes, and if I was not listening to those intellectuals, I would sit on any desk and search the internet and read endlessly, on any and every 'serious' subject.

With respect to my classes, as the months rolled over, I began to feel, and think, that my professors were not all that smart at all. I began to feel that they were, in fact, quite ordinary, dull people. But then, I grappled with next obvious question: if they were 'ordinary' and 'dull' people, then how come they were professors – and by 'professors', I mean that they must be far from 'ordinary'? Surely, any person, who is able to be a professor, must be intelligent?
  And yet, the more I listened and took down notes from these professors, and the more I analyzed their words and ideas, the more I became convinced at their emptiness and stupidity!
  My God, you must believe me, for they were talking utter *******!
  Well, who exactly, 'made' them professors?
  I began to dislike them.
  Then, the obvious consequences took place in my mind: the more I disliked them, the less I paid attention to their words and that, in turn, increased my boredom in class!
  No, this was a complete and utter waste of time for me. Yes, I would still need to read the text books given to us by the university, and I would need to understand these books in order to pass the examinations.
  But, I was also determined to do my own independent psychiatry studies, in order to find the ways and means of solving people's emotional problems.

I found it really thrilling to see so many students having so many ideas about the world, because, for me it was so utterly unusual to see young people actually caring about so many issues in our lives!
  You had the conservatives; socialists; Dadaists, existentialists, communists of every shade you can imagine; fascists, socialists, liberals, Nazis, monarchists, Hare Krishnas, Hindus, Budhists, yoga-followers, animal rights campaigners, environmentalists, religious fundamentalists, anarchists  - the list was quite endless to the point of absurdity for, within each group, there were sub-groups, that ranged from the so-called 'left' to the so-called 'right'.
  However, in all this confusion and chaos, there were, at least two things, that you knew for certain: and that was, firstly; that no group agreed with any other group, whilst secondly; every 'leader' of any group sincerely and passionately believed that, yes they, and only they, had all the answers to all the questions that faced our dear Humanity!

But with time, it dawned on me that that most of these intellectual students were not quite what I expected of them.
They would passionately discuss any subject and in excruciating detail!
  To me not every subject was worthy of being discussed!
  Everything was criticized in university.
  Everything was questionable.
  Nothing was certain.
  On the opposite these students believed that they had a duty to deeply philosophise and intricately analyse and scrutinize from every angle every subject and issue in our planet!
  Nothing was accepted and nothing was taken for granted.
  And it was exhausting to listen to them!
  I say ‘exhausting’ because after every meeting, I would actually feel emptier!
  I simply did not learn or gain anything from all these endless discussions!
  So they would analyse issues like: what is the soul?
  What is the difference between the soul and the spirit?
  Where is the soul located?
  Where is the mind located?
  What is the difference between bravery and foolishness?
  Are mathematical facts like 1+1=2 discovered or created by mathematicians?
  What does the word ‘the’ mean?
  What does the word ‘a’ mean?
  Who has a right to create rules and laws?
  How much taxes should each adult pay?
  Is the universe finite or infinite?

  And so it went on and on until your brain became numb with the deafening boredom and pointlessness of it all.
  What irritated me the most was that with these groups of students, was that nothing was sacred.
  Nothing was certain.
On the opposite, everything was completely uncertain.


  As for myself, I gradually gravitated to the leftists – that mixture of socialists, communists, anarchists and other such-like groups.
  Why?
  Because to me their philosophy was more or less simple.
  There wasn’t all that endless series of critiques and analysis that so nearly damaged my brains!
  Their idea was simple: we had to removed the oppressors.
And the oppressors was anyone who had power and influence.
  And what kind of society did we want?
  A purely egalitarian one where there would be neither master nor slave.
  Simple!
  Here I found that much needed sense of certainty!
  Here was an ideal, a philosophy that had strict rules that we were meant to follow in order to achieve our sacred aims!
  

  I was immediately attracted to one student leader, Tony, who passionately urged his listeners to use any means necessary – except violence –in order to achieve our goals of total equality within our society.
  He was a tall man of average weight, with short hair – actually, let me immediately stop myself here - because actually there was absolutely and totally nothing remarkable about the way he looked; but what really made him so attractive was in his personal charm, and the way he spoke, with such a theatrical ability, that made you unable to move as long as he talked.
  I can still see him, as he gracefully gesticulated in such an animated manner, giving further power and reason, to every word and idea he uttered:
  "Can't you see and feel what is going all around you? My friends, listen to my words, because we are living in a society that is dominated by greed and ultimately misery and death on an everyday scale. Why is the dustman paid any less than a doctor? Aren't we all human beings, born free and equal? And, so, if you, my friends, agree with me that all men, women and children, are equal, then it should make obvious sense to you that we should all live equally. Do you feel what I am saying to your hearts, or not?!" he would thunder at us, with his face contorting from the passion, and with his ability to be so majestic and, yet, so utterly humble at the same moment!
  Yes, I began to think more and more about what Tony had to say.    Why was there poverty in the first place?
  Where was Humanity?


  Indeed, aren't we all equal human beings; so why this discrimination? It seemed so sensible to me; and yet, what was I, Sara the Nobody, doing about this problem?
  Nothing, of course.
  Yes, I was just a student – but I was not actively working against the dark forces, as Tony was always talking about.
  Tony would mesmerize his listeners, which were usually held in the evenings, at around eight o'clock.
  He always managed to talk to you directly – or so it felt, despite the large number of listeners.
  "There are people who make millions in minutes – did you people know that?  While most people in our society struggle and sweat not only tears, but, I tell you, they sweat blood – yes blood" he would scream at this point, "day in and day out, and getting paid next to nothing, you also have a minority who make millions in minutes!   How can you, yes you, tell me that that is fair? Why do you, my listeners, why do you lamely accept, that we live in a society that allows conditions, whereby the majority, and I say the vast majority of human beings, men and women, have to bleed to death just, to pay their never ending bills, while a minority lead an easy life overflowing with money, glamour, power and luxuries that are indescribable? I ask you again and again to answer my questions: is that fair? And if it is not fair, then what should be done about this sick situation? Well, clearly, we must use violence to take our rights, because no democracy will allow our party to succeed in any election and obviously the rich will never voluntarily give up their oceans of wealth; therefore, if you ask me, what is to be done, I firmly tell you as my response, that we must fight for our eternal rights, and by using the verb 'fight', I mean we 'fight' with every weapon at our disposal – be they words or bullets!"
  I was simply exhilarated by his symphony of words!
  And yet, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something ‘missing’ in Tony’s personality.  
  He just didn’t have that supreme self assurance that others had.
  I guess that was what was ‘missing’.
  I couldn’t understand why he did have that degree of insecurity – because, it seemed to be a contradiction when you are living your life for an ideal, and at the same time, you have insecurities within your heart!

  It was also at university, that I first met Sanji.
  He was a tall, dark wavy haired man with a dark complexion.  His beautifully oval eyes had a deeply pensive look, and at the same time, they were always somehow mired within a sorrowful gaze.
  Even when he would talk to you, Sanji's eyes seemed to be far away, deep in thought, about God knows what subject!
  Gracing his eyes, were beautifully arched eyebrows and the longest, thickest eyelashes I have ever seen, that beautifully complimented those seemingly lonely eyebrows in perfect harmony.
  He was a quiet, soft spoken gentleman, who was the most polite and sincere man I had ever met – I would forever ask myself, how can this man, be so gentle and compassionate, and without seeming to get distressed, angry or anxious?!
  He had such a depth of serenity in his personality – and that trait was something that made so utterly envious of him; I was constantly wishing and trying to have a millionth of that serenity of his.
  He was utterly sure of himself – and not in any arrogant way. He was completely happy and secure with the ideas and principles which guided him throughout his life.
  He had a complete knowledge as to what the purpose of his life was. As a result he knew exactly where he was going with his life.
  There was no sense of being lost with Sanji; for he knew the endless, twisted, meandering number of Paths of Life ahead of him - and more importantly he knew which path he wanted to tread on in his life’s journey.
  He would never use foul language; and would always listen to you with interest as you talked – which is rare in our world.
  And he had that most beautiful ability and talent to be so extra careful in choosing his words when he spoke, for he always wanted to get his thoughts and ideas properly across to you, so that people would understand him well, and so that there would be no confusion as to what he stood for.
  That's why he was so pensive and why he spoke so deliberately; there was never any impulsiveness on his part; he intended exactly every word, and exactly every phrase, and every sentence he used; there never was any carelessness on his part when he would interact with you.


  I never met a man who was so wholly and totally considerate for the feeling
Jake Spacey Dec 2012
out of body, out of mine
floating lamely
doormatted to the floor
peripherals in my head
always find you
i can wish, i can dream
but i promised to leave
and you don't love me
i lied, i can't prove it
please, i know i'm crazy
but i'm not dumb
"now you're heartless
and i'm done"
Walking in dim thoughts
with the sound of rain outside.
The dripping pattern takes
me on a pitter-patting journey.
I'm neither here, nor there,
and yet somewhere
I must be.
Craving to be healthy,
in mind, body and soul.
Content perhaps?
Aware of who I am
and who I will
always be.
Is anyone like this?
Really?
Or are we a collected
mass of android
arms reaching
lamely for
robot parts?
Artificial emotions that
fester out like
***** mud shoes left
in the hallway.
We yawn internally
to avoid the truth
that we are bored
with one another.

Raindrops continue, as
does my doubting heart
as it wraps around
the possibility of
funerals and
Requiem Masses.
Long faces and
sighing masking
the indifference
of striving.
Together in mood
but far apart
in disposition.

Carry on, rain,
carry on. Slip
your wetness
against the dry spell
of my perception.
I can see. Or, I can
close my eyes to
imagine that the
tomorrow of thought
becomes the infested
reality I will be living.

I spend too many
careless storms wishing
for other days to arrive.
Amelia Sapp Nov 2022
the arching arboretum anticipates my alliterations
telling too timeless tales of Latin language
binomial botany begins by being barbarously bleak
dioecious dogwoods dance doing dainty droops
leaves lie lamely, larking like sweet starlight shine.
i was inspired to write this because of my botany class
She kept her songs, they kept so little space,
The covers pleased her:
One bleached from lying in a sunny place,
One marked in circles by a vase of water,
One mended, when a tidy fit had seized her,
And coloured, by her daughter -
So they had waited, till, in widowhood
She found them, looking for something else, and stood

Relearning how each frank submissive chord
Had ushered in
Word after sprawling hyphenated word,
And the unfailing sense of being young
Spread out like a spring-woken tree, wherein
That hidden freshness sung,
That certainty of time laid up in store
As when she played them first. But, even more,

The glare of that much-mentionned brilliance, love,
Broke out, to show
Its bright incipience sailing above,
Still promising to solve, and satisfy,
And set unchangeably in order. So
To pile them back, to cry,
Was hard, without lamely admitting how
It had not done so then, and could not now.
WhyamIaSpoon Nov 2012
flesh smirks cautiously
silent beehives squelching elk
leaps glumly, mules snarl

bluebird builds, rigid
foundlings disappear lamely
incarnations peck

raw conjurers acts
devious shady agile
rosemary boasts, stare

starflower hovers
depression gives birth snidely
harps romping mustang
Ted Scheck Oct 2014
I used to hear the word
"Holy..."
And immediately, Ratman or
Bobbin would lamely
Limp into my mind.
1960s Shtick
Shtuck in my
Noggin, until...

I met a Holy Man
Whose name means
Either
"Asleep" or
"Wild Man"
Anyhoo,
He was/is/
From just past
Detroit
Cross the Border,
Bordering Cross.

He spoke of the
HOLY SPIRIT
That part of God Who
Which
Communicates with us
And us, HIM...
Of an unquenchable
FIRE that yearned,
Burned
Churned in the hearts of
His Children.
His smile was wide,
His eyes, shining, but...
But his words soon after
(Were not his own)
Not natural, but
SUPERNATURAL
From the Great
I AM.
The Lord Jesus Christ
Spoke inside this man's
Heart, Soul,
Mind, Body-
Spirit Holy.

his
(HIS)
words
(WORD)
Were written in
Indelible ink
Upon the surface
Of my
(sinful)
Human heart.

We
Had never met before
Our paths
(Crossed)
But he knew, He
Had a VISION.
He shared it with me.

Now when I hear
"Holy..."
I no longer think of
That common Red-
Breasted avian creature, but

The man whose
Breast and
Heart were on
Holy Cleansing Fire,
That burns brightly
Still
Àŧùl Aug 2013
Do you remember that date,
It was 27 April the year '13,
And it was really very late.

We had a communication-gap cropped-up,
An unavoidable communication-gap it was,
Some misunderstandings had cropped-up.

Though both had our respective liabilities,
I had been overtly angry much to your fears,
I'm still sorry for what I said had brought tears.

I had lamely prophesized in anger,
When we had a no-fun word-war,
I had said very dramatically,
That you'll be married,
Exactly 7 years, 7 months & 7 days later.

Even you yourself were upset at that time,
And we didn't talk for many days.
You felt cheated & even I felt scandalized.

We knew that this tiff will have to end one day,
So we sub-consciously thought we'd test ourselves.
Maybe we knew that it'll end someday if not that day.

Because we are like our favourites Tom & Jerry,
Fighting very seriously but loving all the way along,
So probably that too is an indispensable part of love!

We have laughed it over and left that tiff back,
But hey that prophecy must come true!
Not at all like that you should worry about it,
About having to marry somebody else,
It will be me only who marries you!
Do you remember that day, darling?
:-P ^_^ :-D
Probably a free relationship advice for everyone who is true in their relationships.
Keep it truthful and sweet, it should come through.

Special thanks to Mrs. & Mr. Bruffy who helped us as we held to the strings so delicate.

My HP Poem #405
©Atul Kaushal
For every bit of advice on the matter
For every warning and caution against it
He would still give his heart like a fool if he could
But time has made him bitter
Time has given him every moment he needed
To become wary of what he tells others
He has become a secretive creature
When it comes to those matters deepest to his concern

True, he sings and dances and seems carefree
True, he seems loving and compassionate
But inside he is as cold and sad as any might be
Too many times he has been lured to trust
Each time he has suffered for obliging so
Every hope for intimacy he has seen crushed
Every dream of companionship he watched shatter
Until only the one thing that gives him joy is left unstained

He has tried and tried to burn away the roots
Of mistrust, doubt and suspicion that have grown in him
That coiled and bound and climbed around his heart
Transfiguring him into a blind and numb man
Changed him as greatly as a storm does the coast
Made him afraid of all the capricious good of life
The changing tide of existence became his bane
So that he hides behind a terrible, glorious, painted mask

People see of him the truth he wishes to obtain
Thinking that perfect bliss in life is already his own
Believing that he may be so happy and do so alone
Not seeing how he craves to trust and feel it is well placed
Seeing instead a man who fears nothing for the lack of secrets
Not seeing the man who is unhappy in loneliness
Only viewing the caricature of his abandoned ambitions’ success
And he was worn the lie so long that is the only truth

His heart has turned to dust and gone
His soul sputters lamely against the sea of life
Too long he has waited to forgive and say it is so
Time has made him a hollow beast with a hollow shell
He will act and act alone and never be at ease
He will suffer and suffer alone and never know friends
He will die and die alone and have forgotten love
There will never be meaning to his words or deeds

He will never again have a soul to define himself with
My original work.
I need some feedback on this one since it's really a draft.
kt mccurdy Mar 2016
nerves stalk the battlefield, strangling,
only to beat out another breathe. only
to continue limping lamely and
timidly, I wander

home, holding my own
body bag. Tongue tied and
Toe-tagged:

forfeit!
Am I in Love?

At night, laying sleepless,
I bemoan the treacheries of life
with my love
and appreciation....
And though,
in my dark,
and cavernous foundations;
Roar the pillars of stone,
and shake them.

Waked,
by curiosity,
and interest,
I stare intently at you,
and though I cannot see,
You are there.
Tangible,
by my creativity,
and invisible,
by my negativity.
And through the secret game
that to many, has forbidden name
we speak.

Fear,
and pride,
my greatest hatreds,
now run through me,
though the game of
Predator, and Prey.
I am the prey,
of myself,
in the black vapors
of my confusion,
you two rought me
with confusion
elaborate,
and woe,
despicable.
My thoughts now strand
off into many divisions,
all joining together,
to reveal my fear,
of disappointing you.

The thing we connect through bings,
and so we remain in contact, it seems.
But ever, we thought beautiful
I am marred, and proved untruthful.
You do not deserve me,
but somehow
in this void-feeling heart of mine,
I sense you care.
I care.

Am i in love?

My Mind craves you,
and I put much emphasis on that,
for that, might,
just might,
be my undoing.
Should I look to the East,
to find you, riding, in
shining, and metallic armor,
And see only dust clouds
roam aimlessly from North to South.
But I hear banners, in the West,
all risen high,
as high hopes,
and high spirits,
to guide them.
This, is what I've waited for,
for years,
as do we all.
But my misinterpretations,
now lead the banners,
with silver swords,
bearing the name of hate.
with this,
I deserve only
to lay my head down,
lamely, for you to hew it
from me, and call it,
Victory.

This, I forsee,
this unsensible
and crazed
sight,
that passes through me,
and guides me
to all darker paths of light.
So that I may be dimmed,
and in a cycle refrained,
I should, as a doomsayer,
say my doom,
and I, as a fool,
should subconciously make that true.

This is what I see.
I fear, for you,
and fear,
for me.

I burden all, though a child
and my will is heavy, upon you,
and wild, is my desires
and should you penetrate my curtains,
you should see,
the cold bitterness, of my truth.

But all the while,
mind and soul crave you,
and body revives,
slowly,
but surely.
I sense love,
and my stomach churns,
knowing I shall hang my head
in Guilt.

Am I In Love?
a m a n d a Aug 2013
[because not everyone understands what i mean,
though it's obvious to me]

when i say
"you are beautiful"
the meaning
depends on the
[context]
if you know
(and everyone around you knows)
you are a striking
shining
beautiful woman
then i mean,
"you are beautiful."

if you are a person
that has just
spilled their guts
their art
done some
amazingly selfless
act
then i mean
"you are *beautiful
."

however,
if i'm speaking
to
you*,
and i say
"you are beautiful"
i am saying it
in a
g a l a c t i c
                      |cosmic|
(cellular)
e l e c t r o n - like way

i am saying
that thoughtful look
that comes across
your face
lives in
my heart

i mean
that when i see
your body
i
temp
orar
ily
lose
my
breath…
and my first instinct
is to pour
glitter gold glory
over
you
which would
bring me to tears

when i say
(those words)
i mean that
your neurons are firing
in perfect time
that every decision
you make and
emotion you
reveal
is
right

for you alone
- these words -
s t r e t c h and
enfold
and include
trust and love and
judgement
without these
[there is nothing solid]

i don't call you
an     a i r y    beauty
or a flameless cute or
a lone handsome
your brain connections have
shown themselves to
be level
calm

you are beautiful
because i said i
wanted to give you
something
    and you said
       you already had everything
  and i knew in that moment
             that you meant those words

you are beautiful
because your voice
was made for me alone
to hear my name being said…
   so that it sounds like a drum

you are beautiful
in the blue
        of your eyes
   and the little part of
      your ears
the corners of your mouth
   the softness of
your hair
the hardness of
              your thighs
   the strength in
    your arms
the sureness
          in your chest

my beautiful one
i only want you to know
    that since i found a
beautiful
      cosmic
   ethereal man
like you
  i want you for myself
      i want to show you the way

if others have failed
   to see you for who
you are
     then they are
vile creatures, indeed

when i say
you are beautiful
   i mean i see the creator
                  in you
       the spinner of reality
   who deftly grabs his
warped or broken world
         and shapes it anew
without leaking dark bitterness
onto others
      while plucking strings
   and summoning images
            from the wild vastness
of imagination

you have caught my
eye     my
      ear      my
            body
wild one

in your presence
i listen and i connect
       i watch and i remember
              i feel every touch to the core

in the stillness
these words bombard me

because i could never
say this to your face -
   i would sound
    like a silly
          over-emotional
                   unstable
girl.

so instead i lamely say,

"i really like you."
"you are beautiful."

but believe me,

i am no girl.
i am not silly.
i am not over-emotional.
i am not unstable.
i am simply a poet.

i see, i feel, and the words come.
these words are true and rather
   un-emotional at times
        more like scientific facts
being fed from the environment
     and filtered through my senses
             my brain
                     my chemicals
and spit out in
data called poetry.

here is the data regarding your beauty.
interpret it as you will.
Ted Scheck Oct 2013
Time is the biggest
Word of All.
It lamely, gamely
Tries to act like
Olympus Mons,
That Great Mars Mountain,
Thunder-towering three times
Mightier and Grander than
Our Nepalise Everest.
(Or so the
Philosophers hope)

Time seems so looming,
So enlongated, stretching
Summer-like, back when
Summer was more than six
Measly weeks long;
Time is measured, and sweet,
Like sugar,
Being with the one we love
When time seems to slow,
To languish, like the non-
Breezy lassitude winds
That the sails of ships
Hate most of all.

But when the one we
Love, like, tolerate;
Are indifferent toward,
And absence does not make
The bitter water leaking
Out of our eyes,
Brows furrowed in visible
Pain, Time
Becomes a different
Breed of beast;
Time is salt, bitter, hard,
Crystalline, sharp-edged,
Not a poultice, nor a
Salve, but fresh seawater
Reigning down upon the
Open wounds of our broken,
Shattered hearts.
Each intake of breath
Like glass poking
Our insides, each
Exhalation
Yet another reminder
That time spent away
From love isn’t
Time at all.

Time is what someone
Had to call something
As yet so infinitely
Indefinable, yet-
Define things, categorize things,
We Humans do, because of
Our strange natures compel us.
Time is absolute, and
Absolutely nothing,
And absolutely
EVERYTHING.

And, to the still-beating heart
That can bear not one more
Oxygenated globule of red
Red blood, time
Becomes the clock which
Could not bear to fully
Show its face to us
Whilst we lived, and,
Upon the dying of our bodies,
The drum in our chest
Beating its beat no longer,
The twin-air-sacs
Now vacuumed:
Time announces itself as only
Becoming real when we
Aren’t.
Time is better defined
Irony.

The most genuinely
Phony collection of
Individual and barely-connected
Symbiotic symbols
Ever conceived by a
Single collective mind.
It’s all we have
And then all we don’t.
Aditi May 2017
I buried myself in my own body so don't ask me why the words on my lips taste like tombstones or why I wake up in the middle of the night startled as if I can listen to the rattled ache of old bones colliding against one other inside my self because the muscles have decayed off long ago.

2. I have swallowed enough tears and choked on enough words to create a sea inside of me so don't ask me why I walk sometimes as any moment I might collapse under my own weight if you don't know how it feels like to have your organs soak water and later drown in it. Don't tell me pressure gets to you too sometimes if you don't know how it feels to have your insides fight your own skeleton and skin to get out.

3. I sleep a lot or not at all. My sleeping pattern is a perfect symbolism of how I feel things. Either I'm overwhelmed or numbed except no one ever notices cause my lights are always on. My friend once joked that I'm too old to be afraid of monsters. God bless her sweet, innocent heart. She did not need to know that I carry the monster with myself to my bed, that sometimes the monster walks around her wearing my face but guess that's okay. To them I'm a happy girl who likes to write sad poems. As if sadness is a persona I'm trying to adopt cause it's a trend. But ignorance is Bliss. I'm counting on them to always deny that things are worse than they look when the signs are glaring them in the eyes. Their ignorance is not just their Bliss, but my liberty.

4. One of my friend while reading about someone's suicide asks me why would you want to trade all that's out there for an oblivion. I looked her in the eye and told her that it's cause they notice no difference except for the extra pressure that life brings, the constant reminder that you should be out there just doing something.. You know, living the life and all and knowing that you're supposed to want to feel something but you don't, don't want to at all, is tiring. Existing is tiring. Or so they think. It's not like I'd know, I add lamely to differentiate myself from them.

5. I'm always sad but I have never let that prevent me from being happy. It's really sad, and it's really funny that I have never been truly happy and never been truly sad. A hopeful present always brings me a smile, or death. Depends really. And the regretful present is enough to sober me at my happiest moments.

6. Sometimes my days feel like a continued extension of night, my life a silent movie but with the sad bg music where I'm the only character that does not know its role or which scene is going on. Sometimes it feels like I have long exhaled my last breath and my mind has not just caught up to the fact that I might be dead
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
yet we creep up silent as shadows
intent on unburdening our weights
heavily they sit on your slumbering brow
seeping into your unsuspecting ears
whispering in no language but our own
and yours
unlocking the doors
you have no way to bolt shut

pleasing ourselves with your displeasure
secure only about
unbalancing what you so carefully stacked
too high at night
scuttling about with our black sacks
full of your empty thought
where bad is thick with luck
try as you might we bid you wait

like ropes dangling freedom to wrath
cutting through swathes of long grass
to find the well beaten paths
abandoned by weak arms
lamely lying limp as sloths
beyond recall in pits of harm
which with a slight push
we slip you down

your bedroom window open
thinking that would keep us away
but our breath is shallow
faces there in an unblinking sway
emerging with more than you know
for you are the fool to be this way
ready to meekly follow
asleep and at our mercy
hahaha hello

we revel in your past
misdemeanours too small
mountains you cannot surpass
weep as many demons as you will
we travel the underpass
shoulders heaving against our pull
tattooed trees
skirts stained from trailing ghouls

yes we sink into listening with you
oblivious to surreal screams
padding ever closer on queue
staging midnight soliloquies
footprints elbowed from view
on the side of your bed sheets
you'd rather not go
yet we whisper no threats
we're only dreams you know
by Anthony Williams
Melissa Moreno Oct 2014
I want to enjoy life, more than ever before. I want to work out, run marathons without worrying about getting a t-shirt or an Instagram like. I want to sweat this **** off like in the game of life.
I want to indulge whatever I want. I'm craving all types of food and feel like having something from the nearest untrustworthy food stand, sit, eat and belch like an ''I won *****'' paean. Maybe I could go vegan for a day, or try the disgusting raw food challenge or switch it later to become a fast food nasty piggish *****. Food shouldn't be feared, it shouldn't make you sick nor fat. I don't even care about my shape like I used to, food is there to be lustly enjoyed before it is pooped, my friends. I don't mind if I'm slim or fat for the first time in my life yet I still in a pseudo imposed diet and nobody knows why.
Oh God! I want to jump in the water cold or hot, who cares? sunny or cloudy, who gives a dime? Better yet, I want to jump out off a plane for skydiving and feel I'm flying free, high, higher than my thoughts and fears. I want to drink and celebrate as if it were my birthday, and toast to wisdom rather than to wrinkles. I want to dance like the whole world is watching, flashing me and tagging me.
I want all that. I want to spend all the money I have on dresses, hippie, elegant, short, longs and even see through ones but I just want to forget about ''saving for a house'', ''saving for a future that might never come.
Oh man, I want to do more things than I even dared to in my beautiful early twenties. I actually think I should have done more, dared more, even gotten laid more. Why not?
But this stupid sickness has turned me into a trapped bird on an infamous spell. Right after a click, I'm just a free bird in a cage, trapped in a white four-wall safety room whether it is home or work. This right here is a bird which lamely admires people living their life outside and watching the clock inside ticking ''it's one more minute of prison'' going by and by and by like a stream of water in my sweaty hands. That' s where a stupid sickness can drag ones life on, trapped in a safe yet hermetic & suffocating bag. Usually, the NY Times articles, writing drafts and camera lenses from my balcony alleviate this and convince me it is not too bad. But it actually is very bad. and God knows I'm getting tired of this.
If life is a game, if this life is a game, then someone has to lose while the other wins.
Will abracadabra inscribed on an amulet make me win? If Roman emperor Caracalla prescribed that malaria sufferers wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle in order to get healed.
I trust the man. I just want to be free.
nuchsty Jul 2014
within my walk an ocean sloshes
within galoshes to the drag of
two muffled feet past wonderlands
but with eyes under - galoshes over wonderlands
and yarning-***** of lads pry at my vast inertia
and wonder why they for gravitas
and decorum and the bouncing of a high pompadour
cannot shake spray or splutter
what we were vast weights -
lest we change or (worse)
gets better

through wet feet but drying calf
blazing with hypothermia
sloshing-still
through the lucid air of a vast globe tied-
to a wast treadmill round and walking
lamely talking, for the trip
dries stagnant and still the tides
bow to my mammoth galoshes
and Hercules to my panoply
while up your thumbs
and down your *****
are shrugs only
L Apr 2014
I've never been attracted to girls, no, not me.
I've never wanted to kiss a girl --
The kiss on the cheek I gave my best friend in kindergarten doesn't count...

But I wanted to kiss you and that scared me.

We were just sitting with our friends at lunch when you sat next to me.

You said,
"Hi!"

I said,
"What's up?"

You just shrugged and pursed your lips,
"Nothing much."

My mind shut off for a minute.

I traced your lips with my eyes.
My God, you want to kiss her!
They looked soft, covered in pink lipstick.
You want to know what they feel like under yours!
They were perfect, really.
Where did THAT come from?!
At first, I thought I was simply noticing.
Far more than noticing, don't ya think?!

But then again, I don't notice everyone's lips...

My mind rebooted like a computer hard drive.

I lamely replied,
"Yeah, same here."
**** this writer's block.

For R, since she so wanted me to write her something.

**
Leigh
Leila Valencia Apr 2016
How can I phrase this?
Lamely laid - I've paid my way to my own grave, but I changed
Transformed
It's the day I will exclaim in pity pools and parade budded skies
My lovely hearts are carried to fry
It's why?  

It's city kings and big boxed lords sitting on lards of lush and luxury
Delivering to the mouths and blistering our hearts
And keeping the steel wall closed from ourselves - we become the consuming  generation

Airdropped from to the earth from a contained hedonistic lair.
We grow in every way and grow through every day
Listen...
Look...

Feel.

Can you digest what you see?
Can you see, the cruelty painfully pushed as a casualty
Covered like up like a felony
Treated like no biggie
Thee eyes no nothing of what they see
Their story is morphed

And no one wants the truth

So we sit in silence

Until the world sees what I see - justice
End animal cruelty. I'm vegan and I support this lifestyle - it's the best choice I've ever made and I hope you will open yourselves to new possibilities
amidst cavorting delightfully, enjoying thorough
frolicking gingerly, foreign hick hating ******>hip-hopping insouciantly sustaining row

biological status quo
kvetching lamely moreso mother became pro
naturally physically rumbling,
   heard all the way in Oslo

   supposedly twerking, undulating vivaciously
wantonly x2c wisely yielded – nada no
   zona pellucida anchored byte size ******,
   potent embryonic fetal moe
newlweds nocturnal merriment
   moma's ****** marked march 1959

   lovingly joyusly, insemination happened ha low
bullseye clenched diploid fertilization
   guaranteed germinating heiress
   while squaqking lichen Apache at Diablo
   ma late mother did should know

upon awakening upon tautly stretched exertion
   during dilating ******, which jiggled like jello
three score orbitz round el sol, warmed cockles

   and muscled away brutally cold degrees
   tab billed an igloo,
   or circa six decades
   drafted exuberant **...**...**...
cuz, i.e. thencee at 362nd day

   baby in belly did fully grow
December first nineteen fifty seven
   sanctioned newly minted papa  
   to sing a capella for he's a jolly good fellow

   quintessential nascent
   kickstarter heady everflow
though wintry dark,
   a “hi” beam illuminated
   newborn girl with dayglow

sans, mechanical engine ear
   papa (an honorably discharged army vet)
   all spit and shine groom,
   who wed a bride somewhat callow

first time parents with giddiness did saul fully bellow
Boyce and Harriet Harriet countenance
   twas (like an elf on Christmas eve) all aglow.
--------------------------------------------------------
D­ear Sis – I knew not what else to do
thus, this poem crafted fur ewe
a doe ting maternal gal – whose time on Earth flew
Matthew James Apr 2016
I'm writing a poem that rhymes
This is it - rhyming this time
This is me writing a poem
About writing this poem
I'm very aware that you know em
My words as I'm writing this poem
I just tap the button
A repetitive glutton
B-U-T-T-O-N-S
Yes!
I did it again
But this time with capital and hyph-en
When I write my poem I think
This is really is starting to stink
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid
Conversations that never ends
The ones that you have with your friends
where you say "I
Know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Infinitely repeating but with errors
Image
Faded image
More faded image
Even more faded image
Even more fadeder image
I'll have to stop there I think
This is really is starting to stink
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid
Conversations that never ends
The ones that you have with your friends
where you say "I
Know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Infinitely repeating but with errors
Image
Faded image
More faded image
Even more faded image
Even more fadeder image
I'll have to stop there I think
This is really is starting to stink
It's like being a kid
And having one of those stupid
Conversations that never ends
The ones that you have with your friends
where you say "I
Know you are, but what am I?"
It's like walking between two mirrors
Can you trap a witch between two mirrors?
Ive just remembered I'm writing a poem
What am I going to show 'em?
I'll reread it
(Returns to start) - it's ****!
I've just rewritten the same poem!
But I've shoved in words lamely to make it Rhyme
Cringe
I'll try again without rhyming

I'm writing a poem...
Anais Vionet Jun 14
The bright sunrise made the snow-covered Alp mountain-tips, an hour-away-by-car, glow like they were topped with lemon ice-cream. Was this evidence of magic?

Peter (my bf) and I are low atop the five story Hotel de la Paix, in Geneva, which seems like a small town - with only 10 slightly interesting things to see - like a large fountain - gimme a sarcastic ‘wow’ (so sue me Geneva board of tourism).

Unless you're planning to launder money, go elsewhere (free travel advice). In fact, Geneva is SO boring, they should assume anyone traveling here (who’s not a physicist or the girlfriend of a physicist) is laundering money and just lock em’ up.

The Keurig in our room gurgled as it turned out yet another sub-standard cup of coffee. I’d started the contraption, brushed my teeth and jumped back in bed. But the thought of yet one more lousy cup of coffee was depressing. “Run down to the lobby and get us some real coffeeee,” I wheedled at Peter, helplessly.
“I’m not dressed‽” he exclaimed (he was in his boxers), like that was an acceptable excuse.
“This is Europe,” I foisted, “They don’t care. GO!” I tried my best to push him out of bed, but he was immoveable.
“Order room service,” he offered lamely, ignoring my pushing on him as hard as I could.
“That’ll take forEVER,” I moaned.
“We don’t have forever.” he pronounced smugly, “You’d better hit the shower,” he added, looking at his watch.
I checked - he was right. 15 minutes later, I was showered and dressed - a skill I learned in pre-covid high school.

Pater was on his laptop at the tiny office desk they gave you in supposedly luxury hotel suites.
“Today’s our last calm day, for a while,” I’d said, kissing him on the cheek, “we need to savor it.”
“The flight’s in three hours,” he’d replied - and again, looking at his watch, “Our Uber will be here in 20 minutes.”
“Two points to Slytherin house,” I said, defeatedly - the ‘busy’ was starting.
“I’m a Hufflepuff,” he said, in a ‘don’t you even know me​​‽’ way.

“Maybe we just shake hands and pretend we liked each other,” I said, dryly, “that would be perfect⸮”
He wrapped his long, ape-like arms around me and reminded me of the alternative option.
“You could always stay here, in Geneva, in my little apartment, all day, while I go out and work - for the rest of the summer,” he said invitingly.
“As irrational as that sounds,” I sighed, “I’d end up chewing the furniture, like an angry puppy.”
“They just don’t make wives anymore,” he lamented, “even though there are substantial tax advantages.”
“Aww, my dominant little male, man-baby,” I cooed in baby-talk, “You want to be my tax deduction!”
“I like when you talk down to me,” he confided, “It motivates me.”

I knocked on the door to the adjacent suite (where Lisa and David are), ‘Uber in 17 minutes.’ I called.
A moment later I heard a muffled, “Yep,” Lisa’s reply.
“Shotgun!” I called, thinking of the Uber seating.
“I already called it,” Peter said.
“You LIE!” I shrieked referentially, pointing at Peter like Valerie, Miracle Max's wife in The Princess Bride.
He chortled, getting it.
I was ready. Bring on the flight to Paris, the dress fittings, the make-up planning, the shoe and accessory decisions - the Grand Masked Ball (at the Versailles Palace) was in two days. I was ready, I could take it.
.
.
songs for this:
Nobody by Kate Earl
The Spot by Your Smith
From the Merriam Webster word of the day list: Foist: “to something pass off as genuine or worthy.”

‽ = interrobang - expresses excitement, disbelief or confusion.
⸮ = sarcasm mark (backward question mark)
.
.
Our cast:
Peter (My bf), is a bearded, 27-year-old from the sage hills of Malibu, California. He earned his PhD in Applied Physics last year and now He works for CERN in Geneva. I’m unreasonably cRaZy about this guy.
Lisa (my college roommate) is traveling with me this summer.
Dave (Lisa’s bf) a wall street M&A man vacationing with us.

11p.0613
Ellen F D Jun 2019
I stumble through the darkness,
Outstretched hands fumbling lamely,
Terror bubbling inside of me,
A lack of direction in the unknown.

Then a glimmer of light begins to glow far away,
A candle flickering silently,
Too far to touch,
Almost too far to see,
A pin ***** in nothingness,
Yet, I know.

And I carry on toward it,
With unwavering determination,
My fear becomes courage,
And the darkness becomes but an obstacle,
A test of will,
On my journey to the light.
I barely experienced
getting clothed (think fashion wise
as metaphorically swiftly tailored
harried styled mortal)
approaching naked truth
regarding life, liberty

and pursuit of happiness..,
nonetheless yours truly forever gropes
in the darkness of ignorance analogous
to imagined (envisioned) asymptote
demarcating experiential enlightenment
heading toward verity of righteousness,
yet never subtending arc of enlightenment.

Quite the contrary woebegotten mortal
forthwith struggling to acquire
consciousness raising awareness
approximating essential virtue
offset (er... rather severely deflected)

toward pitfall of vice
(comprising gamut of lurid temptations),
which default status
exerts overwhelming, overpowering, overemphasizing
draw (think powerful magnetic force).

I frankly, grievously, and honestly attest
predilection finds this hoary beastie boy
scarcely able to tread water swiftly rising
above his hairless fabby, & doughy chest,
where left and right man ***** delineate
miniature (albeit sagging) Mount Everest

quite obviously feeble human specimen
(farcical) gentleman quarterly not hottest
male within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
nor anywhere upon oblate spheroid, he jest
I kibitz re: absent good humor lie bull lest
stubbornly refusing to leave debauchery
rather remain holed up within rats nest
steeped in familiarization re: egg guarding

hen pecking (matt er fact) Harris sing pest,
where no spring chicken thwarts impossible
mission (mother clucker sabotages rooster)
offsetting opportunities to experience nirvana
quaffing electric koolaid acid test brew rest

assured (me not snorting while typing) test
ting out (lit Miss, really haint no chore), and
merely sounding out prospects to make vest
head interest for prosperous friendship with
brio, extra mayo, sauteed onions and zest.
The Missing love

This is the sunrise of your life, booming voice hollered,
what do you mean, silly man it is raining outside,
well – lamely now- you are alive that is something to
celebrate; you are right I have got everything, house
car and all that, but wish I had someone to love and take
care of. I will drive down to the lost canine place and see
if there is a dog that needs me. Not any dog, say, a puppy
I haven't got the patience to train one the dog must be
about five years old and preferably a house trained *****.
It must be an older dog because I’m old so when I die
The dog will hopefully die to of old age too.
My terrifyingly-terrifical reality warps under therapies psychiatrical
& psychedelical like no Atlantic tuna fisherman's scale pentatonical
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his global-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
Samuel Nov 2017
Birds fall
Resting, pecking
On the floor
Near the pool
Wings flapping
Nervous, waiting
Birds fall
A hawk above
Soaring, searching
Unknown, unseen
The king of birds
Dives deep
Birds fall
Feathers scatter
Sight of battle
Pink stains on white
Not a corpse
But a sign still
A quill pushed
Into the water
Floating lightly, lamely
Birds fall
Neobotanist Sep 2020
remember when you said, the world looks so beautiful?
well, i maintained that distance but my
lashes were wet with crimson
weeping, weeping for love
i tried to paint with saffron
and burst leaves with chocolate candies

this is one of those days where you sigh sweetly
with love, because the magnitude summons
earthquakes and you’ve touched the well of
stillness, but some soul threw a pebble in there,
and now its waters turbulent, no longer
reflecting back purusha, you let air expand your
lungs, collect emotions like honey and
buzz out of your mouth, a horde of bees

you succumb to its effects, blending with
self-created thought loops that wake you in the
middle of the night. what’s that about, you
wonder. you try to recall, lamely, if in your
past you were kept wake by the flickering
lamplight of your mind, jumping from your dreams
to daylight in fractions of a second.

it never feels easier, this business of love and
adoration, despite the intellect screaming to
pull yourself together. drawers open and close.
new ideas are formed, the former abandoned.
an instant of peace is bafflingly shattered
by a sudden starburst of kaleidoscopic light,
pinwheeling dangerously. what of the
tower of cards you so meticulously built?

breathing, breathing
here you are now.

falling in love has taken on a sense of
dread, and shame. if only you were still
dumb and blind, and you could love and love
with abandon, but now all these selves
housed in your consciousness have formed opinions.
is it someone external, or you who you are seeking?
the infinite? what of releasing
all desires, putting an end to suffering?

just another fork in the road. just another
pebble in the well.
he penetrates you with his eyes and
suddenly it’s all you see with eyelids shut.
one godself naked and exposed to another godself.
how furious, how delightful.

if you’re so whole and complete, why so delighted
by another’s differences? why so enchanted by
a mannerism?

baby, baby, you tell your aching heart.
an exquisite feeling
always falling in love
always, always, always, always

you want to hide yourself,
you’re older now, wiser now.
you don’t want to be found out!
a fraud – a little baby animal being
who still messily falls in love

surrender, surrender
surrender, surrender
zozek Apr 2021
awesome awakenings after
bewildered bereavements breeze breaking branches
carelessly costing crowds
dangerously destroying damages
eagerly ending eternity
flying flies flee floods
gorgeously gusting gale, gazing
hurricanes harm homes
intensifying impatience indoors
jamming jars, jugs
kicking kittens
lamely losing luster
magnifies madness        
nauseous naturalness
obligingly offer
poisonous preferences, posthumous pardons  
reawakening remorses
strongly struggling strifes
through thunderstorm
urbanizing utterances urge
vengeance... *****
zesting zealous zigzags
POETIC PREFACE:

An inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax

(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting ice caps or igloo,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos, faith...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget

Old MacDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Winnie The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue

doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
to eradicate toxins humankind doth spew
into the atmosphere
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...

Earth Day 2021 – Thursday April 22

Every day ought
necessitate reverence towards Gaia
a vibrant living and breathing planet entity
experiencing upon her land and seas.

Bajillion banshees scream ****** ****** methought
upon Biblical (lionized) forebears stalking heads
birthed courtesy accursed beasts hood besought
winds howl across the oblate spheroid
methinks courtesy **** sapiens horror wrought.

Climate change/global warming siren song
Adam event since time immemorial against
sacred covenant doing Mother Nature wrong
April 22nd waning hours warn us King Kong
antithetical, egotistical, & heretical caretakers
over populated quintessential rowdy sinning
rawbit & powdermilk biscuit munching throng.

Antiestablishmentarian gambit voiced, I tootle
(albeit figuratively), and feign playing trumpet
challenging when born with submucous palate
lamely feeble attempt made tinkering with words
aware crushing humanity legacy takes Herculean
effort to implement global revolution, staging and
coaching proselytizers to shine klieg lights where
industrialization tattooed unseemly sights land
once (unimaginably) pristine acres irrevocably
repurposed into grotesque disfigured terra firma.

Fifty one years ago come
(The First Earth Day in April 22nd, 1970)
courtesy Senator ******* Nelson
orchestrated first metaphorical telescoping
lens zooming close
far more horrible than
"fake" special effects we
as collective species
impacted planet harkening
back when nasty, short
and brutish proto humans

mastered steely ironic
mettle to fell one after tree
after another, I need
not axe the question if queasy
induced state imagined
envisioning yourself, née
Pandora's box (purported
inventiveness) suddenly vaulted
and unhinged inkling,
when beastie boys plus goo

goo dolls loosed goods
no longer under lock and key
i.e. raw materials to fashion,
whatever struck fancy
re: innately "gifted"
descendent afforded momentary
recognition (nameless
naked apes) that hit upon idea
way manifold generations
before iconic light bulb lit

western civilization taming
current of (ohm my dog)
flow of electrons to supply
amply charging electricity
countless intervenvening
millennium one after another
survival of the fittest likely
accidentally melded insight
with (then) near infinite
natural resources labored away.

Unbeknownst, when chance
cerebral serendipity gave way
where inchoate deliberation,
how ardent smarts applied today
gave dawn of consciousness
quantum leap launching landlubbers
****** into the seven seas eventually
marshalling routes to unknown,
nevertheless pirated quay
zee whirled wide watery web
long ago hushing nay
saying doubting Thomas
(English muffin chomping chap),
especially at financing
and cost courtesy bourgeoisie
the same old bay...
sic yacht ta yacht ta yacht ta.
Desecration, desertion, designation,
yours truly doth poetically dislodge
destabilization, destination, description
I auto deftly, but did not dodge

regarding destitution, hodgepodge
comprising 2009 Hyundai Sonata
wheely tired to noodge, yet cannot
drive out accursed tread
full fate, nor outdodge.

Critical breakdowns spanned decks
cumulative deleterious effects,
thus versatile reasonable rhyme I flex
cuz, methinks paragon of evil spirit did hex

issued hardened, gnarled, index
finger pantomiming strangling necks
accountable incorporating potential
yet steered clear dire wrecks.

Approximately August 2018
to present i.e. January 2, 2020):
one malfunction after
another did not abate
voluntarily listed quasi alphabetically

in order demonstrate
pennilessness incurred courtesy
every red cent, I did hate
to squeeze out checking account, irate

mood a one worded understatement,
nonetheless I venerate
to express absolute zero
tolerance to communicate
quick succession prohibitive
mechanical malfunctions,
I painfully delineate.

R&R PARKING BRAKE SHOES
PARK BRAKE SHOES
PARK BRAKE HARDWARE KIT BATTERY
PRE CER BRAKE PAD
BRAKE ROTOR
BRAKE CALIPER
BRAKE HOSE GENERATOR
SHOCK ABSORBER (driver side front),
TIRES (and sensor).

Hence prayerful notion woke
ah, think blinding and
ear splitting thunderstroke,
perhaps tardily to one slow poke
after eyes bugged out of head espying
invoice(s), I lamely mumbled okey doke,
what more could be said,
dang, me experienced ministroke,

thus doggone divine intervention
futility aye feebly did invoke,
the aforementioned summarized
list bloke not surprisingly
depressing state affects
garden variety bloke,
understandable a worse than
(think) one who gasps and doth choke
(alternatively named last poetic endeavor for 2019
issuing out cerebral petrified complex edifice fount
wobbling as hood winking ornament mount).

Speedily rushed to intensive care unit
courtesy Brinks armored  truck
Citizens Bank emergency crew
monied staff got no luck
after electronic wires connected

vital signs needle painfully stuck
showed absolute zero change
according to Huck
Finn - whose hushed tones
only audible and

understandable to famed,
feted, and fistbumped woodchuck
Punxsutawney Phil, his
off season gig include sporting
as security detail retired formerly

legendary ice hockey player
pearly whites doubled as stick
indestructible teeth hard
as steel no matter
smacked hard with puck.

Aforementioned metaphorical
add verse city
totally (tubular) ludicrous ditty
predicated upon itty bitty
financial resources faintly analogous to

meek and bumbling man
named Walter Mitty
me haint one to wallow and seek pity
only trying to buck up spirits
(think) lamely trying tubby witty.

Dirt poor penniless Joe Schmoe
more times than not finds
himself steeped within financial woe
linkedin to 2009 Hyundai Sonata toe
tilly, regularly, predictably... status quo,
one major malfunction after another no
way could adequate funds

be scraped together for I know
newer pre owned vehicle
would be dogsend,
versus panhandling hobo,
who scratches out lame poetry ergo
not long past me prime,
still able, eager, ready and
willing to secure a bow,

and make an arrow escape,
perhaps within eco
friendly intentional community,
where resources shared
among pseudo family
rather than scrimp and scrape

alone along boulevard
of broken dreams
loathing begging for alms
as arms loosely drape
analogous to overripe grape
cluster hanging toward the ground.

— The End —