One
What’s your ethnicity, or your race?
Are you
Mexican, Filipino, Hawaiian, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Alaskan, English, Irish, Polish, Scottish, British, Brazilian, Cuban, Spaniard, Australian, Canadian, or Jamaican?
Are you something I have not listed?
Are you a combination of multiple ethnicities?
Do you not know who you are?
Still not sure what you identify with?
Or do you not consider your ethnic culture?
Do you prefer to leave behind your roots, only sticking to one true race?
Is your race
Human, Robotic, Alien, Animalia, Plante, Fungi, Bacteria, Futuristic, Untamed, Unreal, Tideborn, Winged-Elf, Elf, Earthbound, Soul, Ghost, Zombie, Magician, Wizard, Troll, Vampire, Dragon, Unicorn, Werewolf, Mysterious, or even too epic to be identified?
Though, this question itself shouldn’t really matter
For, I do not care what the color of your skin,
The identification of where your ancestors have been
Or even who you were then
I’d treat you the same

Two,
What’s the weather like in your mind?
Is it cloudy and unsafe?
Can you bear to let another thought fill up the cloud in your mind?
Or are you still intertwined,
With the thoughts you’ve let yourself get so lost in?
Is it filled with happiness, sunshines and rainbows?
Are bunnies hopping around a sea of flowers?
Can you see the sunset in the horizon and are you capable of clearing away the sad blue skies
Is it safe for me to live in there?
Because, I want to be your thoughts,
I want to show you the sun
So,
Would you mind me living in your mind?

Three,
Are you lost?
Do you wander?
Because being lost is recreation
When we continue to lose ourselves
We tend to recreate the person we are.
We tend to go near and far
We are lost wanderers in this world we call home
So if you’re lost in your thoughts,
And if you’re lost in your world
Let me guide you to a recreation of yourself
And maybe you’ll love being lost as much as I do.

Four,
What’s your world like?
Is it like the world we live on?
The world we take shelter upon?
Is it filled with misery and mayhem?
Or is it filled with peace and tranquility?

Five,
What do you see?
Can you see the darkness that surrounds our hearts?
Can you use it to strengthen the reason to basket in the light?
Do you see the destruction humanity hath brought upon the world?
Can you see it?
Or are you too blind to realize that tranquility and peace no longer exist?
That those are just delusions your mind hath made up.
That the word of the Lord has been bent and now is broken by the people you rented your beliefs to.
That the world is now in turmoil,
And soon,
Oh so soon
It’ll be destroyed by the greed you were to blind to stop

Six,
Do you regret something?
An action you have committed,
An action you have done.
Did you let all the chances slip away?
Did you let her get away?
Because I have done that
So many times I’ve stopped counting.
For if I had kept track
It would have filled up a novel entitled How to Lose Someone (and How to Repeat it)
And so many times,
I have wished I could take it all back.

Seven,
How many wished did you make?
And how many of those wishes came true?
How many falling stars, 11:11’s, eyelashes, and fountains did it take to get it through your mind that wishes don’t come true?
That without a little bit of effort,
Wishes are just meaningless words you’ve wasted your breath on.
Because for every wish I made
Reality slapped me in the back of the head,
And told me it wasn’t going to be true.

Eight,
Have you fallen in and out of love?
Did you regret falling in love in order to fall out of it again?
Did you count the ways you can tell your lover how much you loved them?
Or did you cower in the corner?
Too afraid of something, like rejection, that never existed.
Did you misplace you love?
Are you single but your heart belongs to another?
Someone in which you cannot have?
Isn’t that just how the love life works for the wicked?
We love so much
And our hearts give away,
Yet no one is there to give us theirs
So we end up the heartless
Or even the broken hearted.

Nine,
Have you cried yourself to sleep at night?
Allowing the tears to rock you to sleep
The gentle sirens of the sorrow really do know how to sing a saddened lullaby
And sometimes,
You do not awaken feeling happy,
You may just feel even more ******
But the days you fall asleep with tears in your eyes
You may find that the day has only begun
When the morning sun
Shines on

Ten,
Would you like to tell me a story?
For I have already told you mine
I would like to hear yours.

I am of human race with ethnic culture of the Philippines and Mexico
The weather in my mind is a bit bi-polar but I believe it’s a liveable one.
The world I live in causes me to get lost that I believe I’m just a wanderer
What I see are my regrets
And boy do I have a lot
I’ve made so many wishes that I have lost any hope in having it come true
And dear sir,
I believe that it is true
That falling in love, I continued to fall out of.
But I’ve lived my life like this that I do not know how to get out of it.
I’ve cried myself to sleep at night
But mostly tears awakened me.
Sunshines have come and gone
But I still a wait for the morning sun
So will you tell me a story?
Start with the beginning and end to some where
I just want to know
How much our lives can click into one.

Tis I am just a man, a boy if thou want to sayest, a foolish lad; who hast hurt his blessing of a queen.

Tis I am just a man, a sinner, a prehistoric bringer; of sorrows
Where bird's dont sing.

O' wretched man I am; overlooking this perfect flower, she's arrayed as a petal neath the tropical hours.

O' im just the rain that brings the flood of many woes.

I wish, O' how I wish, I couldst pour all contentment and merriment into her lonesome soul.

Tis she's the rainbow, I the dusky storm. O' how her glow maketh mine day's liveable; O' how her voice is opulent galore.

If only she knew, she is mine better, mine best; mine breath of yellow dew.

Though I've not shown her the worth that she is; mine trials and tribulations hast become
mine abyss.

Though I shalt get through
This passage of gloom.

With God All is possible;

Even being set free from this tomb.

Tis I am just a man, a boy if thou want to sayest, a foolish lad.

Who if couldst wouldst start all afresh; re-giving mine love, and to get all mine best.

How a simpleton ive been;

To not seest heaven's eastern gem, glimmer her perfect wing's, for mine foolishness, these word's shalt I sing.

(Goes into song form, words "I love you jane, please forgive me" sung in spanish, greek, cebuano, tagalog/filipino).......

(Spanish)
Te amo jane,
por favor perdoname.

(Greek)
Se 'agapó Jane,
Se parakaló synchóresé me.

(Cebuano)
ako nahigugma kanimo Jane,
palihug pasayloa ako.

(Tagalog/filipino)
Mahal kita jane,
patawarin mo ako.


©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane nagley dedication (agapi mou dedicated)

I hope nobody trusts you again
like I did you

I pray you never hurt another person
like you did me

You carved into my soul
And have taken peices
They will never grow back

Dont ever say that you want to help
because you will just hurt again
you will destroy
and you will ******

This is the perfect story
for a broken heart

you made me feel good
and I just dont understand
how you killed me

I told you everything
and you continued to destroy what was left
and turned me into this

a grumpy
unwanted
suicidal being
Who you illusioned
believing all was good
while you tore me apart
and extracted my heart

I hope you never have somebody
like I thought I had in you

I hope you get what I got in you
because your time is due
you earned that

I hope nobody trusts you
because you will hurt them too

You will tell them what they need
and when its time for you to work
you will never be there

Give us that fake smile
the one that used to push the clouds away
but I know now
that the tornado is coming our way

you make things seem okay
seem liveable
just to gain your unholy power

Hurt is a childs dream
compared to this terror

I have lost all hope

you told me you will help
the only thing you helped
is to ****

Never talk to me again
I cannot bare your lies

the corner of my fetal
mind paste
what about the skin of demons
the shadow that turns away
a slow placid individual
hollow from everywhere the caution of snow-wheels
cling to manifest
the picture burning inside an apartment for rent
outside walls carried memory of days
eyes and bones demand face
what if nobody’s here
the idea  
myself as sunshine with so much to offer easier
what is the difference
the sentence that defines
unbelief the chain
breaks I wish
dilate the never-belief
wondering effect paste my ***** on your voice
an animal feel i cannot deal with your sense
an unborn skull
the wallowing feet under cypress
skies of fleece and miniature dogmas
slices of fragments red purple green crows sound
the deep drum beat i accept
where i fall
a flashing voice collapsing towards the inside
throwing punishment the idea that i am foliage
corresponding thought process that machines never
agree
pale doledrum insomnia my hands
the lines of another car
the breath of being manipulated
killing instant
the shoehorn a new salt visiting magnolia
a knee high minute falling upside
my carpe diem **** fist theory
and all day i plead for the corrosion to move within you
the system eating itself into oblivion
i announce it when ears are in rooted to the floor  
i had a dream of a jesus picture on a fanbelt  
curved ***** **** on the outside  
apocalypse on my lips
fumes down on the floor
a few hours’ days
gone
i am stripped
speechless walking home
for me
can this be your silence pregnant with strange
looseness in its belly
stars fragile your arms
pins forced into throat calming
touch faking the ***** sounds of avocado
thursday lust
driven into soiled ground
crumbling face in another room they lay your hands on
me
a fragrance of wings missing
an unexplained
dense and unchanged
kind of melting from you
i give in
the shoulder manufactures what is real to the sound
life is liveable
nothing accepted when offered
the thought process of engines
an angry naked shout
the underbelly of hanging
to what i show you
baking soda explosives
cake walk fixations on the vaginas of modern andromeda
i hope to never be lost with your sanctuary
dog sized emotions
a world punching out its timecard from the slot
a season for betrayals
the mantra of your dreams
dead enough to explain myself
a sunken cheek caring for the sun
a sweet lullaby placing of hand
the round syndrome between the
****** thighs
the strings attached are anything but labeled
upstairs is another passenger
first name last name
instead
mute all that is here
ashes
unnecessary you
the collective harm of all those images which if excluded contain
the replacement address of my kidney being
molested
or is it the usage of hiding
anything
dove’s postage junk mail
what you’ve seen before
the cost of being asked two days late
my fluorescent teeth the talk of spit blood
and ****
magnification of insects
the body moves
fondled colors blend
a ******
the ****** the cortex of beethoven
no answer yet  
on the verge of letting
go
wall of trees
a crowd of tongues the simple denial of light
my envelope seed
in cornucopia grinding
teeth machine a pullover switchblade
wake up from me
given the distant sun wrapped in
****** on clothes my miracle
tomorrow
  your fingers in me contemplating the ounces
of an inch thick sore
calmly anything in surrounding
distortion a weight of idle hands
needles
the acid belly
fortress within
your tourniquet
the victim of my believing in you
silent dead motionless
butterflies cradle the eyes
in the slit of dawn’s early malice
complacent and mind full
the choke hold is apparent in you
i wanted it
heart and throat convulsions the situation derives in itself
the wondering thought
your sickness dives among our ***** oiled mouths
spread like a homeless saint
save your self from the outside of me
as i look up you dissolve
the undeniable number of times
i spent inside you
it beats on
one short felt breath
my time is gone
everything’s alright
on my back
seeing unreal reasons for wanting
a crawling thought a
slip off the hand
grinding small animals the
door opens still life asphyxiation
the roundness of my echo
inside this explosion I ask for
blind allegiance to your *****
the simple duration of lust and gasping
acquaintances I have had
but all in tiny dreams that
eat away at my intestines
and rows or birds wait for their turn at me
for empty boxes cold whispers
and dead words
are what is left

Are you just going to stand there and
Watch me peel this garlic, she asks.  
I shrug with a slight smile.  

Beer to my lips, and I catch her moving
The way a dancer does when she doesn't
Dance.

What is art?
This.
The juggling of seconds that contain

Something more than all of those
Without her.
We could be on a midsummer

Balcony in Venice, or
In a barley field in Provence, mid-
Kiss and laughing so soothingly the

Sun doesn't even feel like it takes.
Red skinned by sun-down, sipping
Local wine and asking ourselves

How the Hell life became so
Liveable. But she's in my kitchen, *not
Dancing across the worn down linoleum

With a freshly peeled piece of garlic in
Her hands, and I just found the key to
The treasure chest that contains

All the reasons I have to keep
Breathing instead of not
To.

The house that I rented was falling down,
I picked up the place for a song,
There weren’t many rooms that were liveable,
The plumbing and wiring were wrong,
I lit up a paraffin lantern there
To lighten the dark and the gloom,
But while still exploring, I thought I heard
A voice in the upstairs room.

I hadn’t been up in the loft ‘til then,
I’d not even mounted the stairs,
The rooms were a midden of broken toys
Of lopsided tables and chairs,
I carted the worst of them out the back,
The fire that I set lit the gloom,
Again from a window above me there
Was the voice in the upstairs room.

I couldn’t make out a word that it said
It grumbled and mumbled and moaned,
I stood and I listened and scratched my head
And to tell you the truth, I groaned.
I didn’t know what lay above me there
A squatter, a thief or a ghost,
A thief didn’t matter, a squatter I’d scatter
What worried me most was a ghost.

I went and I stood by the bottom stair
Looked up, with a feeling of doom,
The voice was whispering somewhere there,
‘You’d better be leaving here soon!’
‘The only one leaving this place is you,
Whatever, whoever you are!’
‘The only way you will be rid of me
Is by putting the lid on the jar.’

I plucked up the courage and took the stairs,
Was running, but two at a time,
The dust was heavy and thick up there,
Whipped up as I started to climb,
A haze was suffused in the room at the back
Where the window was beaming in light,
And there at a ghostly harpsichord
Was sitting a woman in white.

I stood stock still as she started to play
Bach’s Little Prelude in C,
The notes hung quivering, shivering in
The haze of the air by me,
I saw right through the woman, the dress
And the harpsichord to the wall,
There was no substance that I could see,
No substance to them at all.

The music stopped, she was looking at me
And she let out a long, loud sigh,
‘I’ve only played for two hundred years
To some visitors, passing by.
It’s never the same as it was at court
With the crinolines, bustles and lace,
And most have fled when the music played,
Without ever seeing my face.’

I looked at the jar on the mantelpiece,
A Funeral Urn with its store,
And ash was spilling, leaving a trace
With the lid that lay on the floor,
I bent to touch it and pick it up
But the woman had let out a cry,
‘I pray sir, never replace the lid,
For then I would surely die.’

I placed the lid on the Funeral Urn,
Turned back to look at her face,
The room was empty, the harpsichord
Had gone, not leaving a trace.
There was no sign of the woman in white
And the haze had faded away,
I turned and slowly descended the stairs
With a feeling of vague dismay.

For weeks I scrubbed and I tended that house,
Installed all my goods and wares,
But often found I was listening for
The sound of that voice upstairs.
So I crept in there on a winter’s eve
And I slipped the lid off the jar,
Went silently down the stairs again
Still listening, from afar.

The harpsichord struck a strident note
And it woke me up in my chair,
Then suddenly she began to sing
In a voice that was sweet and fair.
I only cover the Funeral Urn
If the vicar is passing by,
But sometimes sit at the head of the stairs
Just to hear the woman sigh.

David Lewis Paget

Benedict watched Christine;
she was applying lipstick
to her lips, gazing at herself
in the bathroom mirror.

She mouthed her lips together
as he had seen his mother
do many times as a child
to spread the lipstick evenly.

That looks better, he said.
She eyed in him in the mirror.
Least I can do to make myself
liveable again. He smiled.

Her hair was brushed, not
messed up as was per norm.

Maybe you’ll be ready to get
out of the locked ward soon,
he said. She lowered her eyes.

Brushing hair and applying
lipstick doesn’t mean I can
forget that *******, she said.

Still have problems inside
my head. Maybe they’ll stop
the ECTs, he said, give you
pills or such. She pushed
the lipstick in her dressing
gown pocket, walked out
of the bathroom on naked feet.

He followed her to the window
of the lounge where other
patients sat or stood and
peered out at the snow.

I want to be out there,
feel that coldness, that air,
that biting chill, want to be
alive, want to feel, she said.

Benedict smelt the scent
of old soap, sensed her fingers
touching along his arm, her
breath made mist upon the glass.

They can stick their ECTs,
she muttered, they do nothing
for me except mess with my head.

He allowed her finger to run
down his skin, to move about
his wrist, smooth the scar where
a blade once ran, touch his
lips waiting again to be kissed.

The worst sight I can see is a blank page;
the white sheet void of any substance but unspoken words,
because these words seem to drown me
and poison my lips with an itch
that echoes through my fingertips.
There's no space to hear
and there's no sounds to see,
and yet this is when everything fits.
It's like a driving force, an ache, and a pain.
Its hurts and stabs and wails to be satisfied,
but when it is it smiles and swims and flies.
It moves with the rhythm of my heart,
it doesn't fill the space but how can it fill itself.
Despite the melancholy feeling it can leave me with,
there's something quite therapeutic in
the swish and sprint of the pen as it glides past.
A whirlwind of calamities.
But good calamities.
I pick up the pen.
I am breathing and suffocating all at once
and its like opening your eyes for the first time.
A whoosh of self-confidence injects itself into my veins
and seeps through my scalp.
There's no other point in time,
except for when the letters sing,
that I feel so true,
and so wholly me.
It is in this moment that my head
is sitting on a roundabout
and laying on the grass underneath a willow tree.
What is that life that explodes onto the trees beneath my hands?
Its a vibrant detonation of every colour imaginable,
every thought thinkable,
and every life liveable.
Nothing and everything is written.
The pen slips from my grasp.
Its spell is over.
Now, I feel alone.

-Anisah Mariah

Lets plan a trip to mars..
Terraform all its scars..
Make it liveable for us all..
Change the red star blue..

Lets build a vessel that can take us there..
By the hundreds or by the thousands..
A new planet for us to share..

All this amazing effort for an elsewhere far from here..
If we are willing to do such colossal efforts..
Why don't we do it to the planet we already have here..

E A R T H: It can be saved...

It will seem as though life
Is not liveable without me
As the years pass,
But remember I am there with you.

I am the wind grazing
Every blade of grass.
I will take your hand
And guide you through

The moments of doubt and pain.
I will be the warm breeze
Caressing your cheek,
Encouraging you to smile through the rain.

When you miss me most,
And I will not be there to
Watch the changing seasons,
Bring back all of
The treasured memories,

For your tears are falling
For all the wring reasons.
God took my hand
And set me free,

Do not shed one more tear,
The angels have wrapped
Their wings around me.
When you feel as though

Your laughs have formed
Into teardrops,
And your smiles have
Faded away,

I am always with you.
In your heart I will forever stay.

Running to a quiet place
Filled with silence
Lavished in peace
Not hoping we'd end up in miss

Time is better reversible
We'd run somewhere liveable
Not stuck in this hazy space
Forever till reaper pace

We've lost way
Not knowing where to flee
Nor how to evanesce
We are lost in a maze

n.e

I'm a poor father, that is to say my yearly income is nothing to brag about.  According to our government as of last year, I am now above the poverty line, so I realize there are many out there struggling more than I am.... too many, theres no reason for poverty to be so common in todays world.  I have my 9 to 5 life (though its not actually those specific hours),  I have a car to get me from here to there and back again and thats all it is, I live in a house that isn't impressive to look at, it's liveable and functional, and most importantly I have a little boy to take care of.  He's my only child, but he has a half sister and a half brother, so he's not an only child.  He's  almost 8 yrs old, unfortunately and fortunately since his mother and I went our separate ways I've gotten to spend half his life with him .  A week with me, a week with his mom, thats been his life since he was 6 months old.  Over the years I've grown  closer and developed a much stronger bound with him  than his mother has.  I taught him to read, add, subtract, multiply, divide, and write.  Reading time has been a major part of our life,  we've read hundreds and hundreds of books (and theres probably a few of those books we've read a hundred times each).  I've encourgaed him to exercise his brain daily, both for mental dexterity and creative agility.  I won't claim I taught him to draw or anything like that, like all kids he just picked up crayons and makers and pencils and brushes and went at it.  As he got older I gave him suggestions and "helped" if he asked but mostly I just watched and encouraged.  Nothing is more important to me than his health and happiness.  I took part in bringing him into this world because I wanted to be a father, I wanted to raise a child,  I wanted the challenges and responsibilities, I wanted the joys and the heartaches, the sleepless nights and the sleeping in, late night binges and earlier morning breakfasts....all the things I thought would be wonderful and amazing.  As great as I thought it would be, and I thought it would be beyond my wildest dreams,  its been so much more than I could have imagined.  I know as a parent I'm going to naturally want to brag and say what an amazing kid he is.  So I am. He is an amazingly beautiful little guy,  his heart is already too big for this world.  He's as kind and compassionate and empathetic, it's easy to forget his just a kid sometimes.  He's not perfect, he's silly and goofy and acts just like any other boy his age.  He makes mistakes, he runs in the hall and plays in the bathroom and talks during quite time and gets too excited and doesnt always listen the 1st or 2nd  or 3rd time and stands in the corner every now and then.  But he's a good kid with a good  heart and at this point in his life a better person than most of us (a more common trait in children than I think most "adults" would care to admit).  There's been no greater privilege in my life than being his dad.  We love each other, I'm not going to try to claim more than any other parent and child love each other but at least as much as any other can.  For the last 2 or 3 years (I can't recall the exact first time) he's been wishing and asking to just live with "dad".   It started off with cute expressions like "Dad, I wish I could be with you a million days and only have to see mom one day.", to crying "I don't want to go back to mom's, I want to stay with you.", to asking "Why can't I just live with you all the time?".  And every time, I sat down with him and explained that wouldn't be fair to mom and mom loves you just as much as I do and me and mom agreed to share you equally and deciding on who he wants to live with is a "Big Boy" decision  and he would have to have a "Big Boy" talk with mom one day, but he had to know that telling mom he wanted to live with dad would hurt moms felling so maybe we should wait until he was older.  However, mom wants to move somewhere were it wouldn't be possible to keep up the other every week and now we're in court...
It wasn't an easy decision to make, lawyers are expensive, outcomes are unknown until its all over.... I didn't have to ask where he would choose if it was his choice, but I did.  I've witnessed the heartache in his eyes week after week our last few days together for years now.  I know if I just let him go he would be devasted and heartbroken.  Now here we are waiting... my lawyer is hoping by christmas we'll be done.  Every now and then he asks, "What if mom wins?", and I have to choke down the tears and stop myself from crying and sit him down and put on a brave face and tell him "At least we tried, we just have to do our best, and no matter what happens always remember  we love each other and nothing will ever change that."  I wish I had a better answer... and every now and then I wish it was the other way around, that he would be happier at moms or at least just as happy.  It would be easy to let him go if it meant he would be happy.  There's nothing more beautiful than your childs smile, nothing more pleasing to your ears than their laughter, no greater privilege than keeping their minds, their hearts, and their spirits healthy. To teach them to be kind and generous, to show them no matter how little you have you always have enough to share,  to protect their innocence, to give them magic to belive in... to let them be children in the short time they have to be so.  As they grow through their childhood, encourage the things they love, push their minds and hearts towards the things that make them smile, give them the tools to develop discipline and a good work ethic.  There's no stopping time, and time will always steal some of everyones innocence, but we can teach our children to hold onto at the very least the ghost of their innocence.  Show them its not the size of their house, or the price tag of their car, or how many figures and zeros on their paychecks that makes them rich or successful, but instead it's the amount of love in their hearts they have to give to the world that will either make them rich or poor.  On paper, on the surface of my appearance, I'm just a poor father, one of too many on the world,  I drive a car that goes but has no vroom, I live in a house that won't ever end up on the pages of a magazine...  But that little guy of mine, what he's given my heart, what his smile does for our home.... There's  no on richer, no one living in bigger or more beautiful castle.

Lead turns into a lighter here,
While corruption blackens the fuse,
Nothing hospitable,
The buried Now are liveable to the factors of badge and gruel!

Exuberance of pallets line ten down each row,
What a sight to see being so chained down.

Cardiac pains,
Silent to creep upon Stiller's,
An encore for real life movies,
Yet this mine friend, is the dominant thriller!!!!!

Bland supervision ruins ones child play,
What beauty is on the outside?
Doth thou remember oh bill paying citizen?

Now where doth thou stay futile servant?
Pervertist,
Comrade to systematic function!!!!

Colleagues betray thou for midtown luncheon?

Do many perturb you to greatest of all lengths yet?
Didst thou trade in dead money for thine new raincheck?

Predecessor's are predatory, tenants of hatred filled temples.....
Art thouest them?
Or art thou thyself?
Thy theatrical artista!!!!!!!!!!

Among the many inummerable qualities i admire about women...the one quality which really strikes me the most is that they are such good listeners...they always give you a patient hearing.They always hear what you have to say and understand or at least make an effort to understand what you're trying to express.I feel a certain sense of safety with women...i feel i can talk to them about anything without being judged or mocked or taunted.The real strength lies not in the body but in the mind and when it comes to that i have absolutely no qualms in admitting that women are country miles ahead.A woman can bear the greatest of pains and fight the biggest of battles.Each and everytime i interact with a woman i keep discovering a quality or a trait which i want to imbibe in myself.I want to be as strong and as compassionate as a woman...i want to be as selfless and as forgiving as a  woman...i want to inculcate within me every single quality which makes a woman unique and deserving of all the respect and admiration.Women are by far God's greatest creation...they enrich our lives in various forms...sometimes as a mother,sometimes as a wife,sometimes as a daughter,sometimes as a sister and so on.Honestly it is the presence of women which makes this planet so much more liveable.

When you want to be with somebody even in your dreams
Know that your heart is no longer just yours
It has become a captive to the charms of someone special
Wake up and open your eyes
You've been bitten by the love bug!
It's an amazing feeling isn't it?
A little confusing at first
It takes you a little time to realize what's going on
You meet and interact with someone and after a while a part of your brain and heart keeps telling you that you want to meet this person again
Whenever you see or talk to this person..
..you feel different
..it's a feeling you feel only when being with this person
..your heart starts singing a tune you've never heard before
..you just feel super good being around that person
..you heart blushes at the mere thought of that person
..your mind always wanders to the thought of that person
You don't plan for this to happen
It just happens.....
And once it does
You just start viewing life from a different perspective alltogether
And what an awesome feeling it is when that love is reciprocated!

Love just has this incredible power to uplift your spirit and arouse your soul
It beautifies your heart and soothes your senses
It adds meaning to your life
Love...an emotion which makes our life in this harsh world somewhat liveable

And I became part of the flow,
Flow of love, rainbow and water that keeps singing the song of eternity ...

And it was sheer agony that compeled me to jump into eternity,
Eternity that keeps flowing as the continuation of life...

And it was absolute madness that ignited creativity,
Creativity that makes life liveable despite brutal realism...

And the saga continues...

Religion and a poet
When I was nine years of age I came to see religion
as a fairy tale and as we know the bible is written
by many scribes during a time, some of them were wise.
I like the Old Testament because it is full
of blood and thunder, the New Testament is a construction
a clean-up of the real thing making palatable for the squeamish.
I think the creator of our world as an overarching intelligence
that when the job was done left its way.
The creator is neither good nor bad for it has no interest in
the world besides creating it, so it is entirely up to us
to make the world a liveable place, alas, so far we have failed.
Mankind have dreamt of extending life long after
its natural cycle even if unseen by the pulsing living world,
that is how some transcribers constructed Paradise so
we can exist into the indefinite and beyond.
To be and not to make no sense other than easing
the fearful heart and comfort the transition into death,
at this point my thoughts were interrupted, my wife
came and told me to do the dishes

I try to keep it all together
But everyone is dependeding on me
Everything depends on my sucess or my kindess
I can't do this I can't breathe this air, or look at myself in the mirror when I hate who I see
when I know that I can never stop being the girl that everyone hates
the girl that everyone talks about behind her back
the girl that everyone glares at and stares at
this girl who is selfish and stupid and insolent
this cruel, harsh, greedy persona is now permanent
shes lost in her ******* mind because the world is just as bad
she wants to ******* die, to sleep and cry
to let go of her sanity and just fall, fall, fall down into deaths arms
because my sickness just makes everyone's life harder and less liveable
I just wish I wasn't born as "me"
I wish some other unlucky soul had the burden of being this skin slashing human
But it fell upon me

Moment.
Heavenly wanting acknowledged.
Doorway.

Thirsting Lips Un-liveable
Opening
Unsatisfied Desire
For Release
In the Search for the Infinite

I act as if the words I write down had power over me.
And when I do I always wonder...
What it's like to be blind and invisible?
Why is our life not liveable?

I've got a pocket full of tomorrows
In a pair of jeans with a rip
They only trickle out so when asked for time to borrow
I don't mind stopping even a little bit.
They tell me the stress of a job
Is worth a barely liveable wage
Something tells me I'm being robbed
Too tired to even sit and write a page.
Talking to myself as a child about the real
He says I shouldn't shake a hand on such a raw deal.

The same kid dreaming of a Tall-tale Town,
With a train blowing up cotton candy clouds,
I bet most people don't remember that now
Writing in physics class about a nonphysical town.
Now I write to slow time to think myself whole,
Time just being the distance over the speed
Sitting light years away, letting my story unfold
Until I drag myself back down to take the lead.
The stories may appear to some eyes with less fantasy
But I keep trying to write lines that defy gravity

There's a world out there flowing through the moon and sun
I won't stop dreaming until that world is done

Your sweet vanilla scent lingers around my skin.
Your beautifully pampered skin touches my soul.

I am mesmerised by the fact that it happened at the same time;
How my heart wanting you more and more.
How my mind aching for your existence in me,
By every second that passes, by every tick of the old swinging clock that passes.

Baby, please know that I need you more than I need the air to breathe.
As cliche as it sounds,
As melancholic as it seems,
You are my want and need at the same time.

Call me greedy, selfish, arrogant for wanting the whole of you, just for me,
As I am such a sucker for your love,
Wanting, needing, demanding, requiring,
Every drop of your worthy love,
Growing flowers, making the life liveable,
For I need you as my air to breathe,
For I need you to survive this cruel world.

Dumbfounded, speechless
who. You and I were
there,
we did not see the Who Horton heard on TV
Related to this argument was Wertheimer’s concept
of Pragnanz (“precision”)
in organization;
when things are grasped as wholes,
the minimal amount
of energy is exerted
in thinking.
To Wertheimer,
truth was determined
by the entire structure
of experience rather than
by individual sensations or perceptions.

From <https://www.britannica.com/biography/Max-Wertheimer>

Dynamic living history, reaches to to -Toto, here, Toto

cognitive revolt
piled on the new left right brain uses
sorting and finding worth
stacking and digging

having being
active dynamic being, thinking this can
go on and stay on
ever after if we accept the mortal limits
stories mental

this is like that was, only now, not then

the motion is time, time moves

field- corn or force? field cybernetic
Norbert Wiener- Warren McCulloch - Grey Walter
men who math
The Human Use of Human Beings

how do we instruct ourselves

we have knowledge, knowing is a knack we have

co-gnosis mind you, is something we do, abstractly
pulling
right from wrong.

--- Acadamia, the elite among learned-edu
matrixilated hacked't adams henrys
on the grid of ganz gestalt, das whole enchilada

LOUD - like Owsley's Wall of Sound - broken
by feedback, and
we can imagine that, we
can depict it
as seen on TV, my generation, the actual Archons,

the few sold first, first realized the end means,
now
in the course of human events, this is the realm
of all possible things,
and nothing remains
impossible, no joke, once everything

is swallowed whole, nothingness is not a
ganz gestalt aspect in the whole truth and
nothing but
the truth…. shooeee, too deep for me, I plea
and
pass. Psst, come and see, if this gocognosticism
functions as funk, was imagined, what
is that
thing they say, jive, is jive, is being jive
being good
or being good for nothin', real evil, nothin'.
you ain't
nothin' Ha

Reader be ready, steady, gone on to dis
cover -we all got songs we oughta remember

easy links to certain rhymes in the common tongue
of our time, we pidge-on bits of rap and old TV
add some Johnny Cash,
ev-boo'nighknown, ring o' fire, dance
redun
this is the Goethe flow, I suspected could exist,

P.K. ****, and Wallace of Infinite Jest, each
thought this act might follow wholes
of any perceptual samenesses,

the depth of an exploratory shaft, certain
sense of suggestible camera obscura,

tiny, pin-hole in the dusty velvet curtain,
shine, see on me, I feel, I see,
left eye
right eye, two things converge and doubtless,
both sides know, right
in front of each of us, is a blind spot,
what
is that absense? Is it a story wishing it were told,
or a fact you can follow to your gravest self,
if your will is such that, some how,
you must

well, maybe, we can help. AH, that is cheating yes.
Have you learned to lie to the devil,
did you ever meet him, her, it, one of them

spirits spoken of in spooky-geistliche,
olden days, and olden ways,
witchers with wands of willow, not of copper,

splash. dead rat
aqua dulce memories, these
bubble from a spring,
these feed a cistern of my own cleansing, done right,

I used bleach, Purex Bleach and an old straw broom,
I scrubbed any bit of drowned rat from that cistern,
I rewove the rips in the screens,
I called it completely clean and crawled out,
with bucket, and broom, empty
cistern echo, boomer
memories are the last in America, pre-TV

think about that a minute,
see if there ain't something in it, this us, we are
this classified mindset, set between '47 and now


for shared time cones merging now
way out there, eons ago, geo speed.

--- you had a hard time, I see, I had an easy time.

When were you worldly minded?
--- same general time as you, if this is 2021 tech
we are'n maybe weren't meant to be so loud,

there are reasons we did not learn some things
in school. Talkin' 'bout my

generally speaking, world wide, now, first time ever,
the aged
around the entire liveable band of post cataglumic last
time long ie live-life-able
I
enjoy the effort, let the dam break, the cleansing
right, as usual, is done.

Last time, the end was a surprize, this time,
this is the end, and it runs on to heat death in
the coolest of times to be alive
and
and have history to backup the *******…
are you
really
experienced, skritchy skritch skritch,

well,
I am, and, this has been my last show, re done
as a musical in mindfields back home.

Shout out as they say, Truth known is addictive

-- so where did these knowers post conjectors
as to how next is any worse? Hello Poetry, okeh,
tell the Alte Vista spiders we found
the joker who lied to the thief.

But we live
in the mundane
doing the simplest tasks
is the ineluctable grain--

life is liveable in waking hours
as long as there isn't too much to complain
we wake, we labour, we love, we hope
the same routine greets us again and again-

why visit or converse with the philosopher
would there be any gain?
we would be blinded in the maze
and perhaps agonise in existential pain

rather we should in gladness abide
let our language be  gentle and plain
when gratitude and simple joys abound
life's music comforts in cheerful train.

i grew up around the time when you'd still
want to watch movies...
that's not to say that Knives Out is a bad
movie... certainly not as quirky as
the Royal Tenenbaums...
it's actually watchable...
i get it... there are only a few actors
out there where their voices come prior
to their faces...
Gene Hackman... Jeremy Irons...
Jack Nicholson...
Cary Grant...Cate Blanchett... some other
notable mentions...
but i found out that: that i just don't have
the attention span to watch a movie...
i can barely make it through
an entire football match... but a movie?!
it's not like i've been hiding
a problem with a.d.h.d. -
3 hours cycling: i can digest... conquering
my mind: ****** it with my body
the route: in reverse: from Collier Row...
to Chigwell... Loughton... Buckhurst Hill...
shyly toward Wanstead and onto the straight
via teasing Manor Park...
Epping Forest is overrated... it's a swamp...
no sequoias...
i can concentrate on a book...
i'm still trying to resurrect my grandfather
to keep his dementia sacred
in repeating the same stories...
while i'd wake up at 5am in winter
and read a book...
why i still haven't read Rousseau is beyond
me...
seems i wasted reading on
Kierkegaard... or someone...
i'd love to watch a movie...
from beginning to end...
i'm keeping the Lighthouse stashed for some
proper timing...
shot in black & white...
well... it's not the Seventh Seal...
although... Bergman's movie about a magician
was far more entertaining than Wild Strawberries...
but "we" grew up in a time when
watching a film adaptation of
high fidelity was something...
when the record shop was Mecca...
i had a girlfriend for whom i made a mix-c.d. for...
she would go to work on Oxford St at
the Mark & Spencer and listen
to this one song i put on the disk...
King Crimson's Epitaph...
i guess Oxford St. at 6am in the morning:
on a sunny morning:
come to think of it:
even Dundee must look liveable when
the sun is shining...
this beautiful ****-up of a city
that's London... if i go somewhere monochromatic:
mono-ethnic i feel a sickness that's
never going to be comparable...
i need to suckle off this... Babylon...
we actually made mixed-c.d.s for each other...
thankfully it didn't become a relationship:
that tired "thing" of... paying taxes: naked...
raising children...
i've listened to the arguments
of men who married young...
my "secret weapon" blah blah...
what sort of man would i have become
if i didn't marry... early... or at all...
i can tell you what sort of man i have become...
i read some philosophy books...
i grew a beard...
i cut my long hair from a hippy monstrosity
into something that looks: up-kept:
respectable...
if i were 35 married with children...
i was dropped a phrase into the inbox
of my ex... i said: she had the saddest face on earth...
i forgot to mention ol' Henry VIII's struggles...
a meat-grinder... of a machine...
5 babies down... no sons... only daughters...
she grew-up in a household with a father
and two brothers...
it must be sad: i suggested...
to be so fertile... yet without a son...
she didn't get why i said she looked sad...
exhausted... from... pooping out
one daughter after another...
nothing to truly mould... no?
regrets... but today i'm oblivious to them...
i have a comfortable warming
blanket of whiskey & cognac...
it almost trickle a sense of sophistication for me
to deal with...
as much as i'd love to buy flowers...
a bouquet of a single pink rose...
let's not overdo the hopes of...
i rather be left intact & curious...
than... somehow barren & oddly: happy...
since melancholy is a statement
of the aura... it's fiddling with: nascence...
well... what a word:
i guess i'm immune to the woke-brigade...
if some are "woke": then i'm: slept...
or.. nascent...
but it can't go without "question":
******* virgins is a terrible idea...
the incel community shares the same
metaphor logic of Islam...
something about a gem in a shop that sells...
jewels... keeping the one pristine gem
intact... hidden...
but... aren't you... selling?
******* virgins is a terrible idea...
give me 72 i'd ask for
72 rottweilers primo...
                 king crimson: starless...
the phantom of the film... MANDY...
the neon demon was a disappointment...
the soundtrack wasn't...
oddly enough i know what ******* a ******
feels like... the cockerel shrinks...
needle... thread... what's being protected is...
a thin skin layer of cobweb...
takes enough practice to lubricate it...
why is purity somehow: so... circumstanced
as important?
they're not exactly Sri Lankan rubber
of bicycles wheels...
i've heard this saying once before:
in passing...
don't marry a very attractive woman..
and as i cycle i pass some examples of breeders...
most of the women are: utensils...
by standards of beauty...
such a waste... all the beautiful ones...
like flowers of every spring... like every generation:
go into prostitution or *******...
the last date i was on
happened after a night out in a club...
she thought...
in the park i downed a bottle of wine...
we went to a bar... i drank some more...
she lied about a prior engagement...
with some friends...
oh look... no convert...
i don't do dating... it's so...
stressing shadow...
                  one pink rose is enough...
if she isn't buying...
better a lubricated ****...
in praise of prostitutes...
                 we're naked: first... we're naked:
last... we keep it... gesticulating at our
desire for cleanliness...
why wouldn't i praise them?
second-hand... what-what?!
               who the **** is some don juan
looking for a nunnery?!
i'm looking for a woman
that might reveal a leather armchair!
might reveal: make alias revelling in it...
without: lies...
i abhor lies...
maybe that's why i adore prostitutes...
she could have slept within
the confines of Solomon's harem:
if... there were as many Solomons
as there were his concubines...
bitter-sweet... as much wisdom as is allowed...
Solomon had no edge over David...
can you write...
a maxim... when a psalm if dawning?

sure... it would be nice to be ******:
to be licked in the funny places...
but i rather churn my own raspberry ice-cream:
and have a concept of "friend": kept to a minimalist
concern...

Johnny Cash made a pact with
Mr. Nairobi... a music producer above all others...
Rick "ricochet" Rubin...
slap on tender paws:
the kangaroo skip-jimmy...

bother me... the scent of the brothel on the tip
with an opened bottle of bourbon...
who the **** was asking for a nun?!
sure as **** i wasn't asking for one...
one of whoever you are: were?!

- that i can grasp the nakedness:
flesh market...
i can own... pigtails i can own...
the breath...
i relieve myself from having torn:
towing ambitions of mother...
grandmother... sister... daughter...

less lament for what i could be...
less lament for:
lament in itself...
              i'll pluck my eyes out...
watch the traffic... cater for the moon:
bloom:
rift and itch...
wholesome...

what would i be... married...
i would most certainly not have
read: any philosophy books...
thank god...
i don't earn enough to pay taxes..
hello unicorns!
hello... waste.
terrible idea for a date...
beginning with...
whoever had the most:
please stand up...

don't feed the gluttonous beast
of envy... of male "prowess"...
a bicycle overpowers the legs
overpowers the need for car:
and a passenger...
lift me: dead...
toward the breath... the air...
the nuance...

in the shallows... on the grounds of
counting pebbles...
among prostitutes...
if i were: somehow: too...
a barber...
a... labrador... a bartender...
but thank god the **** feels so good
that... it doesn't require a date...
all that leash...
praise them all that i can...
because the ones that become
wombs... proper.. mothers...
are... invisible... creatures..
creatures, that they are...
in the least...

               women that would hardly
want to make a Sunday afternoon
into... making...
some homemade raspberry ice-cream...
i don't want to love someone
on a leash: donning a muzzle...

it would be so much easier
if i were just: outright... gay.

A New Planet
For me, it is too late
But had been young I would
Have done my utmost to find another planet
Liveable for humans.
Think of it a planet without border
Not carved up into countries and rivalries
And threats from states with big land.
Just one continent where anyone could travel
Where they wanted no passport controls
Or unsightly walls.
A planet without religion to upset the peace
And of course, no political parties
No rules set by the mighty, the authority
Who divert rivers without asking the people?
In short, a planet for the people and
Animals in the wilderness.
Alas, since humans are settlers.
they will take their flaws along
and in time ***** it up

Thanks, dear writer,

 such an inspiring and beautiful article---may I add a bit?

Life is an ever-unfolding wonder but we have to open our hearts to it.  It's not enough to have a heart, but a heart that's capable of love, humility and compassion. We are droplets in the fathomless sea of humanity.Life is about choice and we build and walk on the path we create.Happiness that seeks but its own limits us--we can only be truly happy if we put aside our selfishness.  

This might be a desirable anthem:  let happiness spread through the world and dwell in every heart,let us help banish sorrow, suffering, loneliness and poverty, and make the world a safer and more liveable place.For such a short life that's accorded to us, we, each of us, nevertheless have the potential  to play a humane and constructive role, wherever we are.

The next revolution is not in technology but in the moulding of our heart-if we have the will and the humanity, we'll be equipped with the 'moral technology' to move forward to create a better world.

Many thanks for your article

We see it as its meant to be
Not as it is

We be it beyond belief
to make it liveable