Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don't say God !
And heaven knows you've had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied
You're wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel's flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas' flag:
A winter psy-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o'erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens' gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future's spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, ***** snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.

I live inside myself
my own little world
I read my own books
and poetry
and listen to my own music
sure, I absorb others material
as much as I can
but I am only a lurker
looking over the Earth
silently
from my dark little island
gazing over seas
both digital and real
wondering how the others do it
Are they just good at pretending?
Are they really not as insincere
as they all appear?
These feelings, or lack thereof
are thrown up like smoke signals
from the fire inside me
hoping another
might see or hear
with eyes, ears, heart, soul and mind
that are almost mine
to rescue me
from this strange illusion
of my own creation

Ooh you got them
Those eerie
Lurker eyes
Eyes we expect
To peep
With feet
We expect
To creep
No doubt
Corners and vans
Are where
You hide out
No doubt
Your thoughts
Are insidious
Maybe you
Should stay away
Ya creeper.

She draws your eyes at first when you look/
Her soft hair falls like water drawn by electricity.
In the corner spines try and strangle books.
Or some sort of bone- might not be a spine.
But they are forcing them shut. Such crooks.  

Creeping in the corner of the warmer side of the room
Is a man who stares like he longs to be her groom.
I assume he’s the focus that your not supposed to notice.
“Don’t try and draw meaning! It’s useless to do so”,

Cries the voice in my head as I try and make my thoughts slow.

I shall just gaze emptily. Theres plenty to please
my eyes without meaning rotting my brain like disease.
But theres need to unravel why he glares at her crimson.
Why crimson? Why Crimson? I have to listen.

“ Perhaps his face is the blood that runs through us.
A symbol of lust? Love? Or Mistrust. Lets discuss”/  

I must shut this noise at once. Enough.
I can’t start tying this to myself or my own health.
Ignore what is felt, focus on the symbols with context.
Think of what is in front of you not what might be next.

“ But whats next messed before. ******* it right up.
The man had been hexed in folk tale made up!
She stole the symbol and painted him to creep up.”

Regardless, Lets part with these thoughts and just focus.
Theres locust that leap beneath her feet we didn’t notice.
Now Locusts can be hopeless but also denote somewhat biblically.
Perhaps this plague lurking is his misery? Represented Physically

“ By a woman on a hill painted with locust covered feet.
A crimson man behind her sat creeping perched on a seat.
In the corner theres a pile of books with titles you can’t read.
And spines try and choke them but instead they somehow feed."

And all this by a woman who I know could not see me.

These poets online
My friends list, you old rascal
You're sure looking fine

This constant presence of you.
It's been a year or more.
You've seen the ugly bits,
The confused frayed edges.

All my lies and hedges,
a time to sit and ponder
On whispers of who I am to people.
Your sweet ****, my sweet heart.

That old whickering tremble
How did I get this lucky?
Bundled up in sweet cliches
Characters of my inner dialogue come to life

May I return to being an individual?
Once I find where I buried my Trust.
All the games and masks?
To conduct a minefield exposition.

My thoughts are so clean and linear
with you, I'm afraid you're synthetic.
A dog bites, it's tail
No one loves a lurker.

There'll come a time
when you'll have to stop hiding,
lay down your mask,
and come face me.

You are a curious fleshy navigator
Explorer of mind and world

You are a synapse searcher
A hemisphere lurker

You are a voiceless idea
An unopened potion

You are beautifully blurry
An ambiguously cryptic existence

You reach my extremities
A nice warm flow

You burst from my body
The only existence I know

Spawn from the darkness
with venomous tongue,
spewing mystery, enchantment, delight.

Lurker of shadows
destroyer of dreams,
coward weaving your lies in the night.

A desolate heart
a lost, wounded soul,
your dark radar sensing new prey.

Debauched voice crying out
come to me, i'll set you free,
another soul murdered this day.

Coward of the shadows
cloaked in deceit,
always outside of their sight.

Honesty torments you
truth your opposer,
your demise awaits in the light.

what's wrong with wanting to be in love?
I want to fall in love -is that such a bad thing?
we've been told that one does not fall in love ever when they are looking for it; but who decides that? who says that I can't find love?

is love suddenly not going to be love anymore because I was looking for him? what if we were looking for each-other? love can not be forged -the act of love can be, but love itself, cannot.

why can't I search for love? why do I have to wait for him to find me, or pop up out of the blue? Why can't I look down the path and scream, 'Love, I am coming for you. You're what I want and I will search everywhere until I find you.' Why does love have to be some mysterious lurker? why can't I notice love as a gust of wind before he becomes the full blown tornado?

Whats wrong with looking at someone you admire and thinking, 'hey, I think maybe I could fall in love with you' and actually, truly, believing so? You can't forge a feeling -so why not look for the spark? If it's there it's there, if it's not, it won't be.

So ***** all who tell me to stop looking for love,
because when I find him I'll be able to say,
'thank god I finally found you,
I've been searching for you my whole life.'

NJ2016

Pardon me in my own symphony of madness
A tool of my own sadness, oh boy what a feeling that is
It’s not poor nor is it ****, so I suggest you sit right back and enjoy
For humorous attempts are only to take joy, creating pure fun
So here I got the run of the bun, Yeah it surely is nice to live
Lessons of the positive, dropping on the mind like intellect
I hear ye, dearly elect….Without any rhyme or reason
The one who may create the least treason…Holding onto your seats
Cashing in on all your receipts, Tickets of winning numbers
No longer living by the warm timbers, Refreshing to say the least
Some may call it very beast…Of me to rummage through moods
Many have given their perfect attitudes, Learn then let live…Breathe
A jewel encrusted knife kept within its sheathe, I promise you’ll never go cold
The tale can be told, in many ways
Spread out over many days, although why tend to boredom
Leading us not into whoredom, deliver us our daily bread
Thy concrete kingdom come along with street cred, as heaven’s mouth is open
At last it becomes very Zen, Living to learn
Rights under a government mule are hard to earn, no sense taking them for granted
Always being doubted, keeping a watchful eye
The lurker leans toward using the skills of a spy
Soon our story will be drawn to an end
Appending my wrongs as my rights come to a bend
Rendering my sins under microscopes as they unbend
Entering the light, being dunked in pools as I ascend

I offer my eternal homage

To the conflagration of spheres and jaws

For too long you’ve been sealed from my realm

By fear and by ancient laws

-

With this offering of flawless life

I grant you passage into my plane

Let this earthly shell be your tool

I give my blood, my soul, and my brain

-

Oh, great lurker at the threshold

Let your will be known

So omnipresent, so perfect, all knowing

May all power be yours to hone

-

The all-in-one shall again return

To bleed the universe dry

With the knowledge of the rift intact

Your feeble race and all others will die

Lurker of the shadows,
Beholder of the truth,
Would you still come to the tree
That bears no fruit?

                          Such curious wood
     Such a semblance of weakness
                However I still approach
            *As I am no beholder, but I a
                                                   seeker

Halloween horror grips the soul
that tries to flee the demon witch;
it's a trap set by a gargoyle droll
who's a lurker that digs the ditch        

to hold the corpse of a black raven,
slashed by Frankenstein's wife.
It was a delicacy she'd been cravin'
'fore Mr. F. faced uncertain strife.    

The spell was broken at midnight,
not 'fore blood colored moonlight.

Every rose has its thorn
Every child has been born
Every cars got a horn
and Everyone's gotta mourn

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and while I sit here just growing older
I want to be just a bit bolder
all I want to do each day is hold her

I need to stay focused on the future
Not on making some lurker
Not on making a blooper
I just wish it would please come sooner

Will you be in it?
I'll do what the Lord see's fit.
I've found my home run hit
I won't regret one bit

The weight of the world
on my chest as I watch it swirl
makes me spin, makes me twirl
I hope that it won't make me hurl

The pain of the past
it just seems to last
please heal like a cast
please make it come fast

Then again I'm doing this right
I need to make this my last fight
You're helping to make my life bright
I don't want you out of my sight

In the end, it's all up to time
as I sit and make this silly rhyme
I hope you forgive me of my crime
and bring on the peace sublime

"Teenage angst has paid off well
Now I'm bored and old.
Self-appointed judges judge
More than they have sold",

There's no right side in any war,
I'll go back to being a lurker.
I may erase my past from memory
but I can't retract the actions
that haunt me. All I can say is
what I'm sorry for. "Serve the
servants, oh no.

Serve the servants, oh no."
That legendary separation was such a
bore. It may not be worth mentioning
but I enjoy the apparent irony of the world.


I'd listen to Teen Spirit all day long
while I waited to move on.

They say love is a many splendor thing
The fireworks, bright lights, the biggest surprise
But I don’t think splendor is everything
Love is a silent lurker of the night

It is in the rainbow after the rain
It is in the words of a poet’s hand
It is in the moments that will remain
Unnoticed, until someone understands.

Love is in the thoughts of ‘how was your day?’
Your eyes, the way you light up when you smile.
Love is in the black, the white, and the gray
It is in the journey, it takes a while.

Love is in the music but nonetheless,
Love is also beautiful in silence.

There are many different walks of life
some are twisted, some are nice
and some are just plain cruel.

A Baker with a wheat intolerance
An actor without a part
A farmer who’s afraid of sheep
A banker with a heart

A politician who cannot lie
A Doctor with a cold
A clumsy loud mouthed loose lipped spy
An origami exhile – out of the fold

A discharged army general
turned red faced personal trainer
Or the local park bush lurker
who’s found his nitch as a social worker

The violent ******* criminal
released from behind bars
now spends his weekdays
putting tickets on parked cars

But the worst walk of all,
the most hopeless and empty
is to sit ideal at home
and watch daytime tele.

Every morning a beaming carmine penetrates my brain
unbeknownst to their perilous call
a smiling bird and a white heal all.

Violates me at my eyes
from green chasing lies
from wicked placed disguise.

Pencils of light at three trips
Here's the stalker of stalkers that haunt my pre dream routine.

Every evening a lustrous crimson punctures my lungs
unbeknownst to their unsafe swath
a quiet bird and a paper moth.

Vexes me at my eyes
from yellow following lies
from haughty placed disguise.

Pencils of light at three trips
Here's the lurker of lurkers that submerge my pre dream routine.

Every night a hazy velvet pierces my heart
unbeknownst to their loving provider
a dead bird and a snow drop spider.

Visits me at my eyes
from red moving lies
from stoic placed disguise.

Pencils of light at three trips
the finest sliver of silence you can imagine.

Caper paper thank me later
Finish just a crime or two
Rhymer diner just on timer
Ears are perking let em brew
Smirker lurker sheer tear jerker
Not knowing what or how to do

Go quietly go peacefully
Into the night; into
those dark places
Go alone. No witnesses.

Approach the troubled lurker
In the decrepid corners of your
Broken being. Follow his lead.
Keep it silent; keep it secret.

Fall, drive, swallow, cut
The numbness out
Leave your soul. Leave a note
Kiss the ones that tried to love you.
But dont look back.

Disappear. refuse to try.
Im giving up. There are no
Winners in this ether.
I will be a fool no longer.

Some would burn the home
To end the vipers lurking in the walls;
Take no care for ruining their shelter,
Panicking and distraught, destroying helter-skelter.

Some would attempt to live in peace
While the lurker steals their sleep.
Thinking vipers are just natural things,
Allowing them to rule their lives like kings.

Some would study the serpents to know
Where they hide; where they go...
Then **** them when they leave their lair,
And plug the villains' holes.

like a switch she flips ,
her soul is the brightest  
she' fickle
eccentric like is her mind
her eyes radiant
with a lurker past
that fuels anger
there's a dim in words
for a  girl with vigilance

sausagegate 10.10.18

welcome to the lurker
hopefully curiosity is the thirst
no meal on this frankfurter
cow and pig blood and eaten cold is  bloodwurst.
lewisF and paranoia not lonely
one flew over the cuckoo's nest the tease
just had my pizza with extra pepperoni
followed by the dried Chinese.
are you being tickled
no more clues to take
your pork has been pickled
i am poetry not a tubesteak.
not pointing finger or hand
clues won't landjager
with rylan after me moving to cumberland
the CCTV footage did stagger.

It had dissipated.
To tiny dots.
Until...

one day
it was about persuasion
that thing that ponders
or entices your mind

Come Hither
My Sweet
Saccharine
Succubus

looking toward the call
of fluffernutter folly
it was inevitable

Truly The Thoughts
‘Twere Thwarted
‘Til

... the lowly lurker
lay waste
onto the ether
of Madness

Gone are the merciful gallows, and gone
Are the deep cuts of wayward shadows
That accompanied the aftermath
Of a day’s work,
Now all the crass fellows
Are in the dirt, perhaps hollow
And departed from their history, but before
There were those who waited, mourning
Their blind innocence in the stalls
Where men of misery would whisper
Through the scabs on their lips
Calling out to one another, “you ****** fools!”.

Here, they spoke of the ‘thirteen steps’
And the ‘one life’ that regressed, told so
To humble each and everyone
Of their grossly enamoured necks,

Such precision could never be ******.
No, “it is justice” says the man
Who smugly wields the golden hammer
And those rodents
Who demonstrate the title; ‘lucky-lurker’,

And when the rope is snipped
The mortality of men shall drip, like
An untethered shower head
Perpetually tugging with the clean hand
And the only farewells that shall be said;
“Mother Justice, he is dead”.