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"locations" poems
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die.  Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.   Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them. Here then is what I might call                                                   My Reverse Bucket List Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere    Barcelona, Spain    Venice, Italy    Oxford, England    Jerusalem, Israel    Luxor, Egypt    Varanasi, India    Hiroshima, Japan Pompeii, Italy Other locations    Galápagos islands, Ecuador    Great Barrier Reef, Australia    North Woolwich, London Churches    St Paul's Cathedral, London    Sagrada Familia, Barcelona    Coventry Cathedral    Córdoba Cathedral, Spain    Blue Mosque, Istanbul Other structures    Taj Mahal, Agra    Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland    Royal Festival Hall, London    London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time).  Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.    Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)    Bayeux Tapestry     "Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England    "Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil Events    Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife    St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)    Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997    Oberammergau passion play, 2010    Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
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Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
Bucket List? -- Not Me!
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die.  Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.   Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them. Here then is what I might call                                                   My Reverse Bucket List Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere    Barcelona, Spain    Venice, Italy    Oxford, England    Jerusalem, Israel    Luxor, Egypt    Varanasi, India    Hiroshima, Japan Pompeii, Italy Other locations    Galápagos islands, Ecuador    Great Barrier Reef, Australia    North Woolwich, London Churches    St Paul's Cathedral, London    Sagrada Familia, Barcelona    Coventry Cathedral    Córdoba Cathedral, Spain    Blue Mosque, Istanbul Other structures    Taj Mahal, Agra    Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland    Royal Festival Hall, London    London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time).  Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.    Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)    Bayeux Tapestry     "Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England    "Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil Events    Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife    St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)    Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997    Oberammergau passion play, 2010    Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
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The failed seduction by drunken discussion and skunk fueled consumption, leads to a compunction dysfunction suspended in animation the digital tides of expulsion catapult me into a an eschewing propulsion and the limitations of re-imagination. As far as I was aware I was imprisoned in nothing more than the realms of Skype and FourSquare but for the Feng Shui of trapped energies and google-mapped memories adorning the locations of complacent hallucinations amid the dark fibre communications with a female of Nordic persuasion. The compliments and comments and poems I sent were lost to the myriad of random intent I was attempting to be clever and metaphysical she on the other hand was PHD level and psychoanalytical ergo my metrical composition was utterly lost in a conversation on metaphorical reproduction and the magic and mysteries of osmosis and the application of modification by transduction. The moral of this tale - if indeed there is one - is if you are going to Skype with a mentally superior type do not before hand have a blistering smouldering grass pipe with a flagon of ale lest you be a gibbering earthling destined to fail.
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Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Failed Seduction by Drunken Discussion
first I smell myself. the deep bass tonality of my musk, hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy, my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing, under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings then I smell herself. sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait, scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned, some flavors come over me like modest waves, others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves, where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure then I smell our sharings. lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper, a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed, the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts, decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula, word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh then I smell our combinations. the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled, the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins, the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt, appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us, our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity, at its most pungent peaking, for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water and the sophistry of French soap, the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo, together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry, your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more, for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of only love poetry that crested high above the trite Friday, March 29 2019
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Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
The Aroma of Us
first I smell myself. the deep bass tonality of my musk, hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy, my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing, under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings then I smell herself. sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait, scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned, some flavors come over me like modest waves, others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves, where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure then I smell our sharings. lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper, a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed, the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts, decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula, word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh then I smell our combinations. the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled, the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins, the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt, appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us, our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity, at its most pungent peaking, for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water and the sophistry of French soap, the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo, together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry, your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more, for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of only love poetry that crested high above the trite Friday, March 29 2019
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The jaguar of your tongue Slithers and stalks to desolate locations Unburdened by the guilt of temptations Burning deep in the gullet of desires Forsaken by the drawings of cave paintings Clawed ragged breath discipline Polaroid flawlessness beneath the Blood Moon One wild summer
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Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
Jaguar
MEMORIAL DAY May 26th, 2014 **************************************************** To all of you that have ever worn "The Uniform", the uniform of safety and security, the uniform of pride the uniform of freedom, the uniform of liberty THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ********** THANK YOU Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From: The American Revolution (most of us have roots to our founders) The Civil War (North or South) World War I World War II Korea Vietnam Cambodia Laos Panama Nicaragua The Falkland Islands Somalia Yugoslavia Bosnia Kuwait Iraq Afghanistan Pakistan The Persian Gulf ** areas and battlefields such as (not all locations are listed with no dis-respect) Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA. and many many more, you are all heroes and role models, not for a nation, for the world, not for American Patriots, for all humanity, not only on this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come. You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us. ****************************** Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are. Sincerely, Warner C. Baxter Jr. American Patriot Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A. God bless America
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May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
MAY 26TH 2014
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy ~~~ the divers’ recovery, diverse, shipwrecked salvage from different locations, auctioned to the highest bidder, tho the excised excerpts are exceptional, none come to do the bidding, for the provenance of words belongs to all, and to none ~~ “so oft we trifle words, expel them from the country of our body, without passport and earnestness, as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler, day tourists, to be treated as leavings, refuse for daily discardation, barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance, but leaving not, a mark of distinction” “the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few, like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am, evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings, how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty to love the crafted content of our human essence to better comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit” “murmur me, with soft downy charms, these words discovered recoursed and intended well to pointedly offset and contradict their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering, tear tongue me with calming, lapping word  wages, hymns harmonious and fine homilies, a call, a request, a bequest to sedate my shrill life “some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally, aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes, making me speak in tongues I do not recognize, but fluently possess, no wonder there, the memory place fairly empty, room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery                                                          ­ of the vaguest of dearly departed skin is not the only mot shed,                                                 sloughing of woeful words” “speak them slow and distinct, for they arrive slow to you, a trickling of refugees for your sheltering, harbor them as full companions, protected by natural law, provision them well, prepared and ever ready for a quick departure, moor these words at the embarcadero, for the next restless leg of endlessness, which they themselves will inform you will last longer than eternity, long after there are no humans to speak them”
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Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
“diving into the depths of my words”
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy ~~~ the divers’ recovery, diverse, shipwrecked salvage from different locations, auctioned to the highest bidder, tho the excised excerpts are exceptional, none come to do the bidding, for the provenance of words belongs to all, and to none ~~ “so oft we trifle words, expel them from the country of our body, without passport and earnestness, as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler, day tourists, to be treated as leavings, refuse for daily discardation, barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance, but leaving not, a mark of distinction” “the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few, like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am, evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings, how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty to love the crafted content of our human essence to better comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit” “murmur me, with soft downy charms, these words discovered recoursed and intended well to pointedly offset and contradict their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering, tear tongue me with calming, lapping word  wages, hymns harmonious and fine homilies, a call, a request, a bequest to sedate my shrill life “some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally, aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes, making me speak in tongues I do not recognize, but fluently possess, no wonder there, the memory place fairly empty, room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery                                                          ­ of the vaguest of dearly departed skin is not the only mot shed,                                                 sloughing of woeful words” “speak them slow and distinct, for they arrive slow to you, a trickling of refugees for your sheltering, harbor them as full companions, protected by natural law, provision them well, prepared and ever ready for a quick departure, moor these words at the embarcadero, for the next restless leg of endlessness, which they themselves will inform you will last longer than eternity, long after there are no humans to speak them”
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‘Apocalypto’ is a film set in a Maya civilisation and consists of a story that takes place in one tribe and how a passing tribe affects them to a degree of destruction. The story unfolds in a linear way of storytelling which is basic but still effective. From director Mel Gibson, the director of ‘Braveheart’ and ‘Passion of the Christ’. An underrated director of sorts but a great one nonetheless. Overlooked due to his acting career, he has been holding back on us as a director. The characters are set to be living a Mayan life and go about their days behaving as such but are rather generous and civilized for such an old race of people. They live peacefully and secluded until they interact with another tribe which brings about their downfall. And the way in which a Mayan civilization might go about solving problem as common as a natural disaster. Through sacrifices to the God's as a way to solve problems and mass results. Very accurate to the Mayan culture as well as the entire movie taking place without one word of English, all dialogue being said in the Mayan language. Another credit to the film. The directing style for this film is beautiful and flawless to say the least. No shaky cam used or hand held cam either. All fluent movement of the camera to create a great story, one that flows naturally. The use of camera angles is creative and different, using tilted angles to convey a certain mood and straight framed shots to convey another mood. The performances stand out as a huge positive, the actors who I have honestly never heard of give Oscar worthy performances. Mel Gibson uses unknown actors as not to compromise the film by the status of the actors. These actors and actresses give a hard performance based on body language and quiet moments, the enduring task of learning to be emotional through a foreign language. Which is why I would guess Mel Gibson used local actors who are more aware of the Mayan language than American actors. The set design is truly Oscar worthy in this film. The Mayan temples and tribe lands are captured perfectly in the sets for this film. Well build and suited towards the amazon environment. As well as good filming locations, using the wonders of the amazon rainforest as an advantage. In final thoughts, I believe that Mel Gibson is a stunning director with an eye for detail and a beautiful visual director. A director that can produce great work. ‘Apocalypto’ to me in the near future will become a period piece masterpiece. A tale of survival and dedication that will live on through the ages. Rating: Film - 8.4 Personal - 8.9
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Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
'Apocalypto' Review
‘Apocalypto’ is a film set in a Maya civilisation and consists of a story that takes place in one tribe and how a passing tribe affects them to a degree of destruction. The story unfolds in a linear way of storytelling which is basic but still effective. From director Mel Gibson, the director of ‘Braveheart’ and ‘Passion of the Christ’. An underrated director of sorts but a great one nonetheless. Overlooked due to his acting career, he has been holding back on us as a director. The characters are set to be living a Mayan life and go about their days behaving as such but are rather generous and civilized for such an old race of people. They live peacefully and secluded until they interact with another tribe which brings about their downfall. And the way in which a Mayan civilization might go about solving problem as common as a natural disaster. Through sacrifices to the God's as a way to solve problems and mass results. Very accurate to the Mayan culture as well as the entire movie taking place without one word of English, all dialogue being said in the Mayan language. Another credit to the film. The directing style for this film is beautiful and flawless to say the least. No shaky cam used or hand held cam either. All fluent movement of the camera to create a great story, one that flows naturally. The use of camera angles is creative and different, using tilted angles to convey a certain mood and straight framed shots to convey another mood. The performances stand out as a huge positive, the actors who I have honestly never heard of give Oscar worthy performances. Mel Gibson uses unknown actors as not to compromise the film by the status of the actors. These actors and actresses give a hard performance based on body language and quiet moments, the enduring task of learning to be emotional through a foreign language. Which is why I would guess Mel Gibson used local actors who are more aware of the Mayan language than American actors. The set design is truly Oscar worthy in this film. The Mayan temples and tribe lands are captured perfectly in the sets for this film. Well build and suited towards the amazon environment. As well as good filming locations, using the wonders of the amazon rainforest as an advantage. In final thoughts, I believe that Mel Gibson is a stunning director with an eye for detail and a beautiful visual director. A director that can produce great work. ‘Apocalypto’ to me in the near future will become a period piece masterpiece. A tale of survival and dedication that will live on through the ages. Rating: Film - 8.4 Personal - 8.9
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MEMORIAL DAY June 1, 2015 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To all of you that have ever worn "THE UNIFORM" The Uniform of safety and security, The Uniform of pride and liberty THE UNIFORM OF FREEDOM THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THANK YOU Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From: 1776 - 2015 The American Revolution The Civil War (North or South) World War I World War II Korea Vietnam Cambodia Laos Panama Nicaragua The Falkland Islands Somalia Yugoslavia Bosnia Kuwait Iraq Afghanistan Pakistan The Persian Gulf ~~ War Zones and Battlefields, such as: Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA. and many many more, (not all locations are listed with no dis-respect) You are all Heroes and Role Models, not for a Nation, for A Peaceful Planet not for Americans, for all Humanity, not only today this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come. You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are. Sincerely, Warner C. Baxter Jr. American Patriot Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A. GOD BLESS AMERICA Semper Vigilo
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
MEMORIAL DAY
This time the revolution will not be televised We will not give them a chance to corrupt it with their lies It will spread instead by word of mouth In the dark of night At odd morning hours In the brilliant blaze of the sun At odd locations The revolution will go undetected Until the ranks become the masses And the masses become the majority No color No creed No race Just anger The shouts of independence The shouts of freedom The clenched teeth and clenched fists Will scream that we’ve had enough That our stand is here and now The revolution of possible change The revolution of tomorrow and the day after The revolution of now The revolt against government chains The revolt against corporate buying and selling The revolt against misinformation and misdirection The opening of eyes and voice The screaming of the silent majority Protest In the streets On the internet In their heads Docile no more Grab your pens Let loose your tongues We are going to war
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Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Steal This Revolution!
THE GHOST TRAIN On the train that rides alone along this track of skin and bone, find locations to us unknown - the Ghost Train comes. Sitting, staring, watching paths of lives unfolding, to me just laughs - the Ghost Train comes. Darker now the tunnels come, feelings gone and nothing done. I look for signs of where I've been; but cannot see because eyes are dim - the Ghost Train comes. I'm on this train for life I think but Ghost Trains aren't real just minds out of sync. I look outside, the door is open, my brain all rattled, slow and broken. I step off now the train has gone. I reflect inside of what I've done. For nine years I rode that train, I lost true love and half my brain. And what I've learned is one **** thing - don't live your life to love one thing. For me, a little lives inside. Still taking people for a ride So when you decide to take a train, take the track that is true and sane. Please don't live a life in vain - The Ghost Train. This is the age of the train.
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Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
The Ghost Train
a malignant cancer spreads in prime agricultural land the Santos Company gas wells ever expand the waterways and aquifers sullied with material not healthy the corporate entity aspiring to be more wealthy campaigners outside fences at drilling locations wanting to stop the company's sick infiltration the fight to preserve the family farm has been unheeded company profitability must be well seeded a state government not listening to scientist's info seemingly it is more interested in the gas field's revenue flow as time goes by the waterways and land will become sicker all in the name of the Santos brands noxious sticker
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Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
Noxious Sticker
All of sudden reality happens Ruining my mind that's already jumbled "where the hell did i just go?" I ask to myself no one listens Obsecurity is still in me Recognizing situation where i have been Looking up the sky it's already dark Worrying something, i need to get up Home, i need to find home Stepping forward to pass the crowd The longer i go, the quieter it's so Taking my glasses off because its fogged Focusing my lens but the blur shows sigh Now melancholy does it again Lack of knowledge about locations Lack of someone to be asked for And there is no light to guide me on Vision, direction, companion I wish i could make them clearer But in reality, they just disappear
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
Torturing Reality
Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of  vacation ******** what trickles down, affecting a life situation White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion? Millions inside the boxes of convention Justified superficial, backhanded salutations Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention Pulled by a string of instant gratification Finding freedom’s temporary If ever, long term locations Constricted, system of classifications The socially admissible connections, Not to mention gangs of corrections Flowing through the previous, my own generation For the infinite hours One after the other Trade integrity for the illusion of power Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward Face the souls sold on Wall Street, Remember those from Twin Towers Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured Held at gun point, then forgotten years after My children will one day look to me for the answer What’s society, this twisted maze we live in? I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question And don’t ever allow me again not to mention Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions Some incapable of that level of retention As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation Kiss police *** only to go to the station Before the thought of who signed the citation Treated as if it were a felony violation Our basic rights according to our nation Arizona & Co for minority elimination Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations vi.i.xi
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Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
Statute Of Limitations
Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of  vacation ******** what trickles down, affecting a life situation White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion? Millions inside the boxes of convention Justified superficial, backhanded salutations Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention Pulled by a string of instant gratification Finding freedom’s temporary If ever, long term locations Constricted, system of classifications The socially admissible connections, Not to mention gangs of corrections Flowing through the previous, my own generation For the infinite hours One after the other Trade integrity for the illusion of power Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward Face the souls sold on Wall Street, Remember those from Twin Towers Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured Held at gun point, then forgotten years after My children will one day look to me for the answer What’s society, this twisted maze we live in? I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question And don’t ever allow me again not to mention Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions Some incapable of that level of retention As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation Kiss police *** only to go to the station Before the thought of who signed the citation Treated as if it were a felony violation Our basic rights according to our nation Arizona & Co for minority elimination Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations vi.i.xi
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Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s... Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!! NO... Away In A Manger... !!! But PLENTY of DANGER... !!! In... Peoples Behaviour... !!! Because Corona’s Brought Flavours... When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!! That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!! So Some Peoples Behaviour’s... Beginning To Tailor... Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!! Because of DICTATORS... Who Have Now Endangered... !!! MORE THAN... Livelihoods... Now Lives Have Been Took... That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!! So Behaviours Now Look... Like They’re Ready To Cook... MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS... When Leaders Send Feds’... To Now Fire BULLETS... !!! At WOMEN On Front Lines... Who Now STAND AGAINST... Racism And Violence... That Lead To Black Deaths... !!! By... Taking of Breaths... By Some YES Policemen... !!! They’re Behaviours ATTEST... To Delivering STRESS... To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!! So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!! About Treatment We Get... !!! But... Protest Behaviour... Has Got... INSTIGATORS... Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!? And... CONTAMINATORS... Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!! of Behaviours Now Caused... By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT... ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?! Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE...................... Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ? What Do They Stand For... ?!? Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made... To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ? I Mean... MASSES of People... Who Seem READY For WAR... !?! In... Different Locations... It Seems That Behaviours... Are Now Fighting For... MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!! IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK... That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?! When Clearly Behaviours... Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!! But THESE MANIPULATORS... Have Their Perpetrators... of Behaviours That Walk... With Talk That Is FALSE... !!! From These CORONA Wars... To These CLOSED Corridors... Where Decisions Are BOUGHT ! I Dunno Anymore... ?!? If We’ll Ever ENFORCE... Behaviours Like Jailers... For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!! ESPECIALLY When... They Are Leaders And Lords !!! Instead of Behaviours... That... DESTROY The Poor... !!! We NEED CASTIGATORS... And... Coordinators... Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!! Instead of These FAKERS... And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!! Who Drive These Creations... of Thoughts That I TAILOR... To Speak On These Subjects... Like Peoples’... .... “BEHAVIOUR”....
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Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
“Behaviour” ... A Poem written By Big Virge 25/7/2020
Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s... Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!! NO... Away In A Manger... !!! But PLENTY of DANGER... !!! In... Peoples Behaviour... !!! Because Corona’s Brought Flavours... When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!! That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!! So Some Peoples Behaviour’s... Beginning To Tailor... Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!! Because of DICTATORS... Who Have Now Endangered... !!! MORE THAN... Livelihoods... Now Lives Have Been Took... That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!! So Behaviours Now Look... Like They’re Ready To Cook... MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS... When Leaders Send Feds’... To Now Fire BULLETS... !!! At WOMEN On Front Lines... Who Now STAND AGAINST... Racism And Violence... That Lead To Black Deaths... !!! By... Taking of Breaths... By Some YES Policemen... !!! They’re Behaviours ATTEST... To Delivering STRESS... To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!! So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!! About Treatment We Get... !!! But... Protest Behaviour... Has Got... INSTIGATORS... Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!? And... CONTAMINATORS... Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!! of Behaviours Now Caused... By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT... ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?! Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE...................... Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ? What Do They Stand For... ?!? Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made... To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ? I Mean... MASSES of People... Who Seem READY For WAR... !?! In... Different Locations... It Seems That Behaviours... Are Now Fighting For... MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!! IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK... That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?! When Clearly Behaviours... Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!! But THESE MANIPULATORS... Have Their Perpetrators... of Behaviours That Walk... With Talk That Is FALSE... !!! From These CORONA Wars... To These CLOSED Corridors... Where Decisions Are BOUGHT ! I Dunno Anymore... ?!? If We’ll Ever ENFORCE... Behaviours Like Jailers... For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!! ESPECIALLY When... They Are Leaders And Lords !!! Instead of Behaviours... That... DESTROY The Poor... !!! We NEED CASTIGATORS... And... Coordinators... Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!! Instead of These FAKERS... And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!! Who Drive These Creations... of Thoughts That I TAILOR... To Speak On These Subjects... Like Peoples’... .... “BEHAVIOUR”....
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I walk along Pacific Avenue Santa Cruz, CA I walk down past the nice parts to the bus station near seedy bars and a sandwich board reads Cafe Pergolesi one block with an arrow pointing It's not too early to scout locations It's the location of my opening scene I approach, and I see, it is still alive in this summer evening people outside and in a trod upon, worn and comfortable air various levels to the porch even ash trays on the tables like Vegas, everyone is welcome Inside, this is no Starbucks You don't see a line clearly where you must order and pay like a theme park or a hospital or a slaughter house where you are funneled It's not too clean But it's filled with comfort Huge couches beckon A Victorian house One people lived in with spaciousness and windows Real air permeates the place An ATM is casually smashed between a couple of tables but no one cares you can't mass produce this wonderful mess A friend's band CD blares through the speakers badly recorded a barrista in carefully torn fishnets sneaks a break on the back porch with her cell phone I buy water and a cookie and settle into a huge worn chair Every room has a different theme But I want comfort I pull out my notebook and write I have a shopping list of scenes And I add another one for this place Would they let me shoot here? I don't know But I think I could live here It's so non judgemental People buy things But there isn't that corporate pressure There are no special names for dumb things just small, large, cookie, beer This is cafe bliss
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Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
Cafe Bliss
I walk along Pacific Avenue Santa Cruz, CA I walk down past the nice parts to the bus station near seedy bars and a sandwich board reads Cafe Pergolesi one block with an arrow pointing It's not too early to scout locations It's the location of my opening scene I approach, and I see, it is still alive in this summer evening people outside and in a trod upon, worn and comfortable air various levels to the porch even ash trays on the tables like Vegas, everyone is welcome Inside, this is no Starbucks You don't see a line clearly where you must order and pay like a theme park or a hospital or a slaughter house where you are funneled It's not too clean But it's filled with comfort Huge couches beckon A Victorian house One people lived in with spaciousness and windows Real air permeates the place An ATM is casually smashed between a couple of tables but no one cares you can't mass produce this wonderful mess A friend's band CD blares through the speakers badly recorded a barrista in carefully torn fishnets sneaks a break on the back porch with her cell phone I buy water and a cookie and settle into a huge worn chair Every room has a different theme But I want comfort I pull out my notebook and write I have a shopping list of scenes And I add another one for this place Would they let me shoot here? I don't know But I think I could live here It's so non judgemental People buy things But there isn't that corporate pressure There are no special names for dumb things just small, large, cookie, beer This is cafe bliss
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1515 The Things that never can come back, are several— Childhood—some forms of Hope—the Dead— Though Joys—like Men—may sometimes make a Journey— And still abide— We do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor, Their Routes are fair— But think enlarged of all that they will tell us Returning here— “Here!” There are typic “Heres”— Foretold Locations— The Spirit does not stand— Himself—at whatsoever Fathom His Native Land—
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The Things that never can come back, are several—
Art is food for the heart and like food it is often hard to find. It might come from a source that is renewable, yet how many have forgotten that the brain is even usable. The inspiration we seek comes from inside our own mind where the fairies wait, having fed on our own experiences, wishing to unwind. But as full as they may be, one can clearly see that they cannot make art till they jump on our heart in hope of making it start. They first have to tickle it with their little feet before it can even begin to produce an audible beat. Maybe giving an idea for a visual treat or a literary feat. These fairies each come from different locations as imagination is not limited by any dimensions. In the world of creation, pain has long been a mighty fairy-nation, the muse of separation, the dictator of desperation, the soul's frozen animation, a generous, fugly frog of inspiration. So next time you feel blue, channel that blue stream into a pen and you may start to feel better again. Blow a kiss to that frog, clearing the misty lake from fog. There is no call for divination, simply let the frog jump in celebration all over your pond(ering)'s stagnation and it will stir the waters in its elation. Embracing pain not only does wonders for creation, it also helps dull that cruel yet just sensation.
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Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
Fairies and a Fugly Frog
Her hands always quick to throw. Spit the first words. Throw the first punch. Relationships aren't perfect. Mine was far from. Words biting deep into my soul. Tearing me apart bit by bit. I was a doll in her games. Her hands constantly put up one me. Non consensual things. Yes **** still applies in relationships. All the people would come to her house. Watch the door while we roll this. Watch the door while we crush these. I was nothing but a pawn in her games. Sneaking ***** into my drinks. Calling me nothing at nights when I couldn't sleep. Holding me close only to destroy me later. A.C. Long gone. Down a road very bad. A road of **** and ****** Going to collage to be a psychologist until she fell into the arms of the monster. The monster she hold so dear. The monster who changed her. The monster clenching her soul. This monster can be injected, This monster can be smoked... this monster is impossible once it gets a hold. She became the monster. The one I was afraid of. Started off small then bigger. Drugs won't affect you unless you do them, A common mistake people say. No, never once did they affect me. Or at least I can say. But that was a lie. Depression, eating disorders, self harm, emotional abuse, physical abuse, trauma, hallusionations, trust issues, fear. All lay deep within the hands of the monster. The monster chokes the good memory out of me. The monster put me on a leash. Home by midnight. Locations on my phone. Who is he. Why are you not home? A controlling girlfriend. Talk to no one. Only her. Her whom was held dear by the monster. The monster took the form of a black blur. The one that sneaks up when you least expect it. Yet she was excellent at hiding it. I'm fine. Nothing is wrong. What's wrong with you. Why do you question me. Keep your mouth shut or things will get bad. Tape over my mouth because god you don't want to see her mad. Clothing may have hid my bruises. The emotional pain still apparent. All because my girlfriend held a contract with the monster. The monster held her at night. And that is what the hands do.
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Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
What hands do
Her hands always quick to throw. Spit the first words. Throw the first punch. Relationships aren't perfect. Mine was far from. Words biting deep into my soul. Tearing me apart bit by bit. I was a doll in her games. Her hands constantly put up one me. Non consensual things. Yes **** still applies in relationships. All the people would come to her house. Watch the door while we roll this. Watch the door while we crush these. I was nothing but a pawn in her games. Sneaking ***** into my drinks. Calling me nothing at nights when I couldn't sleep. Holding me close only to destroy me later. A.C. Long gone. Down a road very bad. A road of **** and ****** Going to collage to be a psychologist until she fell into the arms of the monster. The monster she hold so dear. The monster who changed her. The monster clenching her soul. This monster can be injected, This monster can be smoked... this monster is impossible once it gets a hold. She became the monster. The one I was afraid of. Started off small then bigger. Drugs won't affect you unless you do them, A common mistake people say. No, never once did they affect me. Or at least I can say. But that was a lie. Depression, eating disorders, self harm, emotional abuse, physical abuse, trauma, hallusionations, trust issues, fear. All lay deep within the hands of the monster. The monster chokes the good memory out of me. The monster put me on a leash. Home by midnight. Locations on my phone. Who is he. Why are you not home? A controlling girlfriend. Talk to no one. Only her. Her whom was held dear by the monster. The monster took the form of a black blur. The one that sneaks up when you least expect it. Yet she was excellent at hiding it. I'm fine. Nothing is wrong. What's wrong with you. Why do you question me. Keep your mouth shut or things will get bad. Tape over my mouth because god you don't want to see her mad. Clothing may have hid my bruises. The emotional pain still apparent. All because my girlfriend held a contract with the monster. The monster held her at night. And that is what the hands do.
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We sat together, upon a hill with dew on grass, against a tree with glowing city lights ahead of us We waited patiently for night fall to stand witness to the beautiful starry night The wait lasted a while but it paid back. It paid back through the beauty, the awesome power, and the sight of the stars. These stars were unfathomable even while we stood witness to them. The city lights took notice of the star filled night sky and dimmed their lights ever so low Making visible the huge spirals of the Milky Way emanating a white glow but so peaceful, oh so peaceful it calmed the entire human soul The night was still so young so much had yet to happen. She sensed the serene silence understanding our time was complete. The world would wander and locations would change but our experiences would remain.
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May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
A star filled night
Every summer evening I spend at home I know it is 9 o'clock by the familiar song from the beat up ice cream truck that creeps through Canton. The truck is plain and grey- no pictures of smiling faces or advertisements for snow cones, just those high pitched notes repeating over and over and over. It never stops. No children sprint, ecstatic from sweaty row homes. No cones are coveted by sticky fingers. Who is this man who drives up and down our streets luring us in with a familiar jingle I can't quite place as I pace around my living room? Perhaps he peddles magic potions or prescription drugs to expectant inner city addicts, stopping only for those with that telling shaky stammer. Or maybe he transports illegal immigrants huddled behind his tinted windows to obscure locations. The only thing that is certain is that it is 9 o'clock every time I hear those notes. Does he laugh at us as we glance out our windows, considering a late night treat but always disappointed as he drives away?
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Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 9:44 AM UTC
The Mystery of the Ice Cream Truck
Two blue birds singing a different song throughout the night, Two trains mapping the locations and destinations of the other with whistling chants, Two cunning spirits colliding messages over and over, Him and I are two hearts, paralyzed in fear of losing When, all the time, each of us just want to know love and trust And most fervently: deeply know the other.
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Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 1:00 AM UTC
Two
My body ached I felt bruised Stretched to the limits I felt physically abused. My insides were moved To different locations It felt unreal It was a surreal sensation. My back hurt My bones shifted I felt sick The pain persisted. I felt like being ripped From the inside out They watched and waited As I continued to shout. Oh! The pain! Oh! The discomfort! I lay there out of breath As I pushed with all my effort. One last great push It will soon end I screamed I shouted Then stillness Silence fell My head plopped back I felt like I was under a spell. The silence was broken By a piercing wail It sounded like an angel And you were unveiled. Nothing ached anymore There you are My little angel My little shining star.
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
Surreal
The bullet was made by an expert discovered when removed. At the autopsy of a young guy one of several just arrived. Not a gang war it was known but a ****** working alone. The public scared out of their wits the police under pressure. Three dead this boy the latest victim attacks in varied locations. Was it by somebody from the military an expert with a unique ability. No clues was not good to hear the public afraid to be here. Tall buildings made them easy targets when would the next strike be. Though summer the temperature cold through information they trolled. As another victim was gunned down more evidence was found. Two teenagers saw a man with a case get into a city works van. Contacting with what they had seen a new image came on the screen! Every law officer was instantly alerted a face found to fit description. An ex soldier with traumatic stress caution the critical word. Quickly a sighting was received the entire force relieved. A gun battle ensued policemen hurt not killed in the line of duty. A swat team eventually shot him dead in a disused ammunition factory. News soon spread of the snipers demise the gloom factor began to rise. You can never argue with a bullet! The Foureyed Poet.
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Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 1:20 PM UTC
******