I know    
I tell you this instant
I am under surveillance  
my life is being recorded indefinite
every movement
private or ordinary
including this moment
every event
big or insignificant
without my consent
there is no instant
when i am alone
only deep thoughts I no longer own
I am sure
I feel their stare
every hour they dare
can't you hear
the transmissions and communication
that high supersonic pollution
sending a command to their camera the observer
sometimes it’s near and sometimes it’s somewhere further
then I hear them, their inside the interior
I cannot explain
tell you when it came
how I missed them inside
but you now they always hide
what is sharp and clear
is the camera they put in here
right there in the Magnavox television
an ordinary TV became their mission
of course it still works with normal precision
no matter what action I take
it’s now in an unbreakable state
WHAT DID YOU SAY?
don’t look at me in that STUPID unbelievable way
you can’t conceive why
I won't just leave and be free
as much as I hate the show they see
I would rearrange the furniture down to the mantel
or even change the channel
to leave through the front door is not possible
the problems that it will intelle
outside, your crazy it's just short of suicidal
don’t you understand they are watching every intention
each direction
to plan and abandon
a walk out the door would terrorize
  I would be seen by all the eyes
the eyes in the sky
    you can't deny the satellites
catching everything like it's their right
dominating the outside day and night
pointed directly at My hidden front door
don't get me started on the store’s
once the night is in its darkest hour
I have tried to leave regardless their power
walk right out no longer the coward
that is what all the plans are for
I must make it out all my thought’s implore
I extend my hand and keep my eyes on the floor
holding the **** I begin the chore
then as if it were a signal
yes!! a secret signal
something Tucked deep inside to conceal
a dangerous secret
like a man in the shadows wearing the blackest hat
he conceals all the private things from my closet
the phone rings before I can even see the welcome mat
on a stunned level
It's always the same devil
I am obliged to acknowledge the scoundrel
we are immersed in his timing
an old move that is still so very cunning
a silence oh so staggering
my fear disorienting
they are listening
I pick up the phone
ignoring the radio source  
a land line of course
never touch a cellular they are the worst
the G P S will never let you go
cashiers at all the supermarkets will have a window
Strange ladies at the grocer
will be calling me by the name only I know
frozen with fear
the Receiver is on my ear
there is no one there
it's always the same dreaded silence
the attempt to scare me in alliance
must they listening for every performance
I know
it's them again
in here and on the other end
I am telling you I know and it's evident
they are recording my every movement
I am under surveillance
   I know

   Terry D’Arcy-Ryan

Dead leaves fall from a living tree,
captured by a breeze, to gather at my feet
tiny mounds
of earth browns
and ill-colored greens
piled on one another / rustling / serpentine screams

tiny graveyards
un-esteemed;
reminding me of last evening's
public television show (almost
appalling)

a special / they called it
on letters from the holocaust,

a reading / from surviving
members now grey and slowing

as they speak (aging)
in sepia slideshows during their
somber, teary-eyed recollecting;
lifting ghosts and rocks

heavy, from the moss
of their memory
silver photos of nannas, sisters,
brothers and fathers lost
fading details of the war

which time has (and they gladly)
frost, depressing
me with my big screen magnavox,

i remote control a pause...

&

still dead leaves of cemetary browns
and soldier greens,
lifeless and lifted by the wind
without empathy / or guilt of sins

an airy power, a commanding force / unseen
gathering / stems or limbs
of these casualties / of autumn
none following the flight

of concord cold fronts

clustering together / piled / inartistically
at my sandals, toes wriggling
crunching underneath my feet

weathered

death seems simple - like a mindless breeze,
natural and indifferent dust devils

it is the way of things
shifting graveyards of leaves
as if a memorial of use-to-be's
from a roar of sightless tragedies
memorium of wars
tombs of bodies / images of defeat

not so simple or beloved

the nature of such things
in these leaves i see
of thee i sing....

Dead leaves fall from a living tree,
captured by a breeze, to gather at my feet
tiny mounds
of earth browns
and ill-colored greens
piled on one another / rustling / autumn winds
serpentine screams

tiny graveyards
un-esteemed;
reminding me of last evening's
public television’s episode (almost
appalling)

a special / they call it
on letters from the holocaust,
readings / from surviving
members now lost
Gone grey and slowing

as they speak unnerved (aging)
deep sepia slideshows during
their somber, teary-eyed recollections / lifting
ghosts and rocks of faithful memory

heavy, from the loss
of their progenies...
Those silver photos of nannas, sisters,
brothers and fathers
fading details of what it cost
the camaraderie of suffering

which time has (and they gladly)
frost, depressing
me/ with my big screen magnavox,

i remote control a pause...

&

So...
The still dead leaves of cemetery browns
and soldier greens,
lifeless and lifted by the wind
without empathy / or guilt of sins

an airy power, a commanding force / unseen
gathering / stems or limbs
of these casualties / of autumns
Long winters so profound
none following the flight

of cold fronts in blithe

clustering together / piled / artisanal scenes
at my sandals, toes wriggling
crunching underneath / souls

weathered / beaten / down

death seems simple - like a mindless breeze,
nature’s indifferent devil
dust to rust
it is the way of things
We shifting / graveyards of leaves
as if a memorial of use-to-be's
from a roar of sightless tragedies
memorium of wars
tombs of bodies / images of defeat

not so simple or beloved

the nature of such things
in these leaves i see
of thee i sing....