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eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hound hog dog crossed bayou levee last night all right what did you say if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right i heard what you said the first time why you got to repeat eph you see kay you ******* ****** **** what? what did you say you ******* ****** **** heard you the first time you **** a **** a ***** a ***** hello stop end begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate what? what did you say begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate quit ******* repeating yourself  you ******* ******* hello stop end begin believe conceive create eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right

the renown physicist dressed in brown wool suit brown leather laced shoes white shirt burgundy knitted tie wild curly graying hair climbed the stairs walked across the stage stood at the lectern adjusted narrow support pole height reached down into brown leather briefcase retrieved his thesis concerning the relative theory of everything tapped microphone composed his posture made a guttural sound clearing his throat looked out at packed full auditorium it became evident to the distinguished audience the renown physicist’s fly was open and his ***** hanging out it was unanimously dismissed as a case of professorial absent-mindedness

all the creatures of the earth (excluding humans) convened for an emergency session the bigger creatures talked first grizzly bears stood upright explaining demand for gallbladders bile paws make us more valuable dead than alive sharks testified Asian fisherman cut off our fins for soup then throw us back into the sea to die elephants thumping heavy feet stepped forward yeah poachers **** us for our tusks rhinos concurred yes they **** us for our horns wild Mustang horses neighed about violent round-ups then slaughtered processed for cat food whales complained of going deaf from submarine sonar tests then sold for meat many dolphins sea turtles tuna swordfish sea bass smaller fish swam forward pleading about getting caught in long line nets barbed baited hooks over-fished colonies chimpanzees described nightmares of being stolen from their mom’s when they are very young then used in research labs for horrible tests song birds chirped about loss of their habitats land tortoises spoke in gentle voices about being wiped out for housing developments saguaro cactuses dropped their arms in discouragement masses of penguins solemnly marched in suicidal unison to edge of melting icebergs polar bears and seals wept honey bees buzzed colony collapse disorder bats flapped about white nose syndrome coyotes and wolves howled lonesome prairie laments the session grew gloomy with heart-wrenching unbearable sadness sobbing crying then a black mutt dog spoke up my greyhound brothers and sisters and all my family of creatures i sympathize with your hurt but it is important to realize there are people who care love us want to protect us not all humans are ravenous carnivores or heartless profiteers a calico cat crept alongside black dog and rubbed her head against his chest an old gray mare admitted her love for a race horse jockey who died years ago a bluebird sang a song suddenly lots more creatures advanced with stories of human kindness Captain Paul Watson Madeleine Pickens Jane Goodall a redwood tree named Luna testified about Julia Butterfly Hill the winds clouds sky discussed concerns by Al Gore lots and lots of other names were mentioned and the whole tone of the meeting changed every one agreed they needed to wait and see what the next generation of people would do whether humans would acknowledge the cruelties threats of extinction and learn grow figure out ways to sustain mother earth father sky then the meeting let out just as the sun was rising on a new day

there is a cemetery in Paris named Père Lachaise buried there are the remains of Jim Morrison Oscar Wilde Richard Wright Karl Appel Guillaume Apollinaire Honoré de Balzac Sarah Bernhardt the empty urn of Maria Callas Frédéric Chopin Colette Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot Nancy Clara Cunard Honoré Daumier Jacques-Louis David Eugène Delacroix Isadora Duncan Paul Éluard Max Ernst Suzanne Flon Loie Fuller Théodore Géricault Yvette Guilbert Jean Ingres Clarence Laughlin Pierre Levegh Jean-François Lyotard Marcel Marceau Amedeo Modigliani Molière Yves Montand Pascale Ogier Christine Pascal Édith Piaf Marcel Proust Georges Seurat Simone Signoret Gertrude Stein Louis Visconti Maria Countess Walewska and many other extraordinary souls it is rumored at late dusk their ghosts climb from graves gather drink fine brandy from costly crystal glasses smoke fragrant cigars and once a year on November 2 party hard all night culminating in deliriously promiscuous ****** **** it’s difficult to know what the truth is since the dead don’t talk or do they
Colt Jul 2013
Bury me in Paris, when my heart stops and my eyes open wide,
next to Beckett or Sarte & de Beauvoir, ménage à trois.
Bury me in Paris, where the tourists go,
on the Champs-Élysées, or near the home of Picasso.
Bury me in Paris where the Seraphs scoff and roll their brown eyes
and the saints sell paints on the edge of the Seine’s grime.
Bury me in Paris between the pavement and le Métro,
take my body to whatever stop, just go.

Bury me in Paris on a winter’s night,
beneath the Louvre pyramid light.
Bury me in Paris with Lady Liberty in tow,
make my bed next to de Balzac, next to Marceau.
Bury me in Paris at the foot of l’Obélisque
accompanied by pharaohs, exhumed.
Bury me in Paris, leave me there, I guess,
in the hotel room overlooking the Arc. I, fully dressed.

Bury me in Paris while listening to Robespierre’s final scream,
the silence drowned out only by the guillotine.
Bury me in Paris, Montrouge, your angel calls to me,
that one who serves macarons at the head of the Tuileries.
Bury me in Paris, with the Angel, unimpressed,
next to her, I, in eternal rest.
Bury me in Paris, toss me off Bir-Hakiem, splashing,
or under tour Eiffel in the springtime night, waking.
Bury me in Paris, my body yearns to be free and true,
but if I am to die in New Orleans, bon Ange de Montrouge,
Bury me there with the jazz worms, singing:
“Angel, come to me, come to me, Angel, come.”
Sitting on that Bowery curb,
Jackie Coogan,
Years shy of Uncle Festus and
The Addams Family,
Clasping his hands on one knee,
Wearing blue denim overalls &
A raggedy, red
Turtleneck sweater,
Jackie: the kid in "The Kid."
And Charlie’s inimitable face,
Inhaling his ****** moustache.
Nobody squeezed more out of a
****** expression than Charlie,
Back in the day when
Actors told their stories physically.
The Silent Era:
A Marcel Marceau world back then,
Economical when it came to words.
Richard Riddle Apr 2015
Neighbor: "Hey, what did you get Amber for her birthday?"

BF: I gave her a blank CD and told her it was a rare, pirated copy
      titled "Marcel Marceau's Greatest Hits."

Neighbor: "And?"

BF: "She liked it."

Neighbor: That's scary!


copyright: richard riddle 04-12-15
Amber Dexterous is written strictly for entertainment purposes.Amber Dexterous is fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, is purely coincidental. Marcel Marceau is a "mime."
Mike Hauser Apr 2015
He told what he thought, a funny joke
She got mad with that Uncle Sam bloke

His sense of humor was awry
So she smacked him in the eye

Jesting lies in the art of delivery
To get it right Sam needed smart livery

But smart these days doesn't seem to be the way
In America or any other place on the planet's lay

For Sam's joke to translate well to her funny bone
He should've employed a Marcel Marceau megaphone

But what occurred instead was the sound of thunder
From the bad joke from America to the land down under

Laughs didn't abound in a generous supply
Her tempest did storm with an endless cranky cry

But in the end it all turned out right
Poets through it all and friends in a genial light
This poem was brought about by a bad joke I used to comment on Elizabeth's Facebook page...
It definitely got lost in the translation! But amends have been made and as a result we were able to write a poem together about it. Poets through and through! Thank you Elizabeth!
I.

Ô soldats de l'an deux ! ô guerres ! épopées !
Contre les rois tirant ensemble leurs épées,
Prussiens, autrichiens,
Contre toutes les Tyrs et toutes les Sodomes,
Contre le czar du nord, contre ce chasseur d'hommes
Suivi de tous ses chiens,

Contre toute l'Europe avec ses capitaines,
Avec ses fantassins couvrant au **** les plaines,
Avec ses cavaliers,
Tout entière debout comme une hydre vivante,
Ils chantaient, ils allaient, l'âme sans épouvante
Et les pieds sans souliers !

Au levant, au couchant, partout, au sud, au pôle,
Avec de vieux fusils sonnant sur leur épaule,
Passant torrents et monts,
Sans repos, sans sommeil, coudes percés, sans vivres,
Ils allaient, fiers, joyeux, et soufflant dans des cuivres
Ainsi que des démons !

La Liberté sublime emplissait leurs pensées.
Flottes prises d'assaut, frontières effacées
Sous leur pas souverain,
Ô France, tous les jours, c'était quelque prodige,
Chocs, rencontres, combats ; et Joubert sur l'Adige,
Et Marceau sur le Rhin !

On battait l'avant-garde, on culbutait le centre ;
Dans la pluie et la neige et de l'eau jusqu'au ventre,
On allait ! en avant !
Et l'un offrait la paix, et l'autre ouvrait ses portes,
Et les trônes, roulant comme des feuilles mortes,
Se dispersaient au vent !

Oh ! que vous étiez grands au milieu des mêlées,
Soldats ! L'œil plein d'éclairs, faces échevelées
Dans le noir tourbillon,
Ils rayonnaient, debout, ardents, dressant la tête
Et comme les lions aspirent la tempête
Quand souffle l'aquilon,

Eux, dans l'emportement de leurs luttes épiques,
Ivres, ils savouraient tous les bruits héroïques,
Le fer heurtant le fer,
La Marseillaise ailée et volant dans les balles,
Les tambours, les obus, les bombes, les cymbales,
Et ton rire, ô Kléber !

La Révolution leur criait : - Volontaires,
Mourez pour délivrer tous les peuples vos frères ! -
Contents, ils disaient oui.
- Allez, mes vieux soldats, mes généraux imberbes ! -
Et l'on voyait marcher ces va-nu-pieds superbes
Sur le monde ébloui !

La tristesse et la peur leur étaient inconnues.
Ils eussent, sans nul doute, escaladé les nues
Si ces audacieux,
En retournant les yeux dans leur course olympique,
Avaient vu derrière eux la grande République
Montrant du doigt les cieux !

Jersey, du 7 au 13 janvier 1853.
Ottar Mar 2014
there was a day, like any other day,
in a military place and military time,
where an exercise was as close to war as
Marcel Marceau speaking about pantomime,
we the engineers were to build a bridge,
there was no margin for error, the length
had to fit.
The coded message sent and the math did not
agree with the winter reconnaisance, see?
It was spring and the creek had blown back
the banks, in such a telling way that we
                                      had to say
in clear, "it's got to be long, it's got to be long"

we measure time in much the same way
what have you got to show for the time you have
been allowed, out to play,
run with that rope and when it stops,
so do you, your life is through,
birth and youth are all that sadly some get,
others have had a century and will live more, I bet,

the emPHAsis is on the wrong syllABLE,
bring not your curriculum vitae to the table,

I want to know, how many
hours in a row, have you smiled?
Found something lost or captive,
returned it or set it free,
I want to know have you ever
hugged a child and let them decide
when to let go?
I want to know have you knelt beside
a person in despair, put one hand
on their shoulder and caught every tear
that they dropped in your other hand,
and gathered them
up,
and threw them into the sky and cried,
Why, oh Why, this one?
why not me instead...
    
I want to know if you have ever woke up laughing,
when you went to bed crying, or
thanked God for living when you thought you were dying,
At length, I want to know if you know how vital you are
to the rest of us, with out you we all fail the test,
that make us humanity,
that make us community
common unity
poetry.



©DWE032014
Hmm... on second thought
lemme join anorexic club
until rib cage protrudes taut and visible
doubling as drum to drub
synchronized within heart of darkness,
especially when electrocardiogram exhibits
absolute zero vital sign,
cardiac arrest translates
as cessation to lub dub,
hence yours truly

declared dead as doornail,
coroner report deems arrhythmia
directly linkedin to deliberate Machiavellian flub
courtesy the missus attempt to poison me
actually aborted cuz nanobots
loosed upon body gripped with rigor mortis,
a minor inconvenient truth
cuz odorless and tasteless deadly toxins
rendered me convalescing
from bout with death, an oxymoronic
former slenderman gourmand.

temporarily deceased
until said microscopic robots
avidly analogous to frenzied
figuratively hogtied pigs
buzzfeeding at a trough
creating porcine hubbub
invisible nanoids (0.1-10 micrometres)
accomplished programmed task
whereby fatal microbes they did scrub
away leaving me fit as a fiddle.

No matter she thoroughly, painstakingly
and lovingly didst strew
haphazardly she threw
leftovers together,
this blustery march like
November twenty six figuratively view
wing the remaining thirty plus days
of two thousand twenty one
thoroughly cooked in microwave until...
poor excuse for my meal appeared
with consistency of shoe leather.

Think the missus not afraid
of Virginia Woolf keen to experiment
treating me like the Gingerbread Hag would
questionable resultant glop pantomimed
for my guessing pleasure
never in bajillion years
as amateurish Marcel Marceau charade
performance courtesy the spouse,

an entrée she gave - yours truly
immediately sought to evade
me subsequently evincing
horrific puckered mealy mouth
as though I swallowed hand grenade
figurative exploding oral cavity
feeble futile gesticulation inveighed.

Thus, methinks himself wise
to don cooking apron
please do not ask why
trumpeting self as master chef boyardee
so move over wife and allow husband to try
his hand (using skill - let) me prepare Thai
and/or other Asian cuisine dish,
cuz when free to potschke

(To fuss or "mess around"
inefficiently and inexpertly), I haint shy
to blend (indiscriminately) ingredients
ofttimes yours truly barley able to ply
boiling water since significant other
does not give this garden variety
and generic, gimlet eyed
gourmandizing guilt free
Earth friendly gumption goaded guy.

Every so often yours truly
gets so hungry, he could eat a horse
(yours truly jest kidding hoof course)
truth be told, I only eat one meal per day
all day from son up to son down, me a force
tubby reckoned with,
who if he gives way to vice
event chew wooly experiences remorse.

Hum glad to share mine reasonably rhyming hook
twenty six letters linkedin amidst
various combinations, formations, permutations,...
allows, enables, and provides a look
into the mindscape of Matthew Scott Harris
doth show himself with steely dangling
nonsense with sense and sensibility he forsook.
(on second thought lemme join anorexic club
until rib cage protruding taut and visible
doubling as drum to drub
synchronized with heart that goes lub dub).

She painstakingly lovingly doth strew
haphazardly she threw
leftovers together,
this snowy December seventeenth
two thousand twenty
thoroughly cooked in microwave until...
poor excuse for my meal appeared
with consistency of shoe leather.

Think of the missus not afraid
to experiment buzzfeeding me
questionable resultant glop pantomimed 
for my guessing pleasure
never in bajillion years
as amateurish Marcel Marceau charade
performance courtesy the spouse,

an entrée she gave - yours truly
immediately sought to evade
me subsequently evincing
horrific puckered mealy mouth
as though I swallowed hand grenade
figurative exploding oral cavity
feeble futile gesticulation inveighed.

Thus, methinks himself wise
to don cooking apron
please do not ask why
trumpeting self as master chef boyardee
so move over wife and allow husband to try
his hand (using skill - let) me prepare Thai
and/or other Asian cuisine dish,
cuz when free to potschke

(To fuss or "mess around"
inefficiently and inexpertly), I haint shy
to blend (indiscriminately) ingredients
ofttimes yours truly barley able to ply
boiling water since significant other
does not give this garden variety
and generic, gimlet eyed
gourmandizing guilt free
Earth friendly gumption goaded guy.

Every so often yours truly
gets so hungry, he could
(not neigh sayimself) eat a horse
(yours truly jest kidding hoof course)
truth be told, I only eat one meal per day
all day from son up to son down, me a force
tubby reckoned with,
who if he gives way to vice
event chew wooly experiences remorse.

Hum glad to share mine reasonably rhyming hook
twenty six letters linkedin amidst
various combinations, formations, permutations,...
allows, enables, and provides a look
into the mindscape of Matthew Scott Harris
doth show himself with steely dangling
nonsense with sense and sensibility he forsook.
(a poetic partial fiction
blended, diced, fricaseed,
marinated, mixed, pureed, sautéed,
stewed... with fact)

Hmm... on second thought
lemme join anorexic club
until rib cage protrudes taut and visible
doubling as drum to drub
synchronized within heart of darkness,
especially when electrocardiogram exhibits
absolute zero vital sign,
cardiac arrest translates
as cessation to lub dub,
hence yours truly
declared dead as doornail,
coroner report deems arrhythmia

directly linkedin
to deliberate Machiavellian flub
courtesy the missus attempt to poison me
actually aborted cuz nanobots
loosed upon body gripped with rigor mortis,
a minor inconvenient truth
with earthling in the balance
cuz odorless and tasteless deadly toxins
rendered me convalescing
from bout with death, an oxymoronic
former slenderman gourmand.

Temporarily deceased
until said microscopic robots
avidly analogous to frenzied
figuratively hogtied pigs
buzzfeeding at a trough
creating porcine hubbub
invisible nanoids (0.1-10 micrometres)
accomplished programmed task,
whereby fatal microbes they did scrub
away leaving me fit as a fiddle.

No matter she thoroughly, painstakingly
and lovingly didst strew
haphazardly she threw
leftovers together,
this blustery march like
November twenty fourth figuratively view
wing the remaining thirty plus days
of two thousand twenty three
thoroughly cooked in microwave until...
poor excuse for my meal appeared
with consistency of shoe leather.

Think the missus not afraid
of Virginia Woolf keen to experiment
treating me like the Gingerbread Hag would:
questionable resultant glop pantomimed
for my guessing pleasure,
never figure out in bajillion years
as amateurish Marcel Marceau charade
performance courtesy the spouse,

an entrée she gave - yours truly
immediately sought to evade
me subsequently evincing
horrific puckered mealy mouth
as though I swallowed hand grenade
figurative exploding oral cavity
feeble futile gesticulation inveighed.

Thus, methinks himself wise
to don cooking apron
please do not ask why
trumpeting self as master chef boyardee
so move over wife and allow husband to try
his hand (using skill - let) me prepare Thai
and/or other Asian cuisine dish,
cuz when free to potschke

(To fuss or "mess around"
inefficiently and inexpertly), I haint shy
to blend (indiscriminately) ingredients
ofttimes yours truly barley able to ply
boiling water since significant other
does not give opportunity
to this garden variety
and generic, gimlet eyed
gourmandizing guilt free
Earth friendly gumption
generic goaded guy.

Every so often yours truly
gets so hungry, he could eat a horse
(yours truly jest kidding hoof course)
truth be told, I only eat one meal per day
all day from sunup to sundown, me a force
tubby reckoned with,
who if he gives way to vice
event chew wooly experiences remorse.

Hum glad to share mine reasonably rhyming hook
line and sink cup hated
twenty six letters linkedin amidst
various combinations, formations, permutations,...
allows, enables, and provides a look
into the mindscape of Matthew Scott Harris
doth show himself with steely dangling
nonsense with sense and sensibility he forsook.
from the Harris-Walz front
where liberal minded socially progressive
electorate doth agonizingly grunt
targeted in crosshairs scoped out
eager and ready to be mortally wounded
courtesy notorious big headed
(and bigoted) infamous
for bearing arms
as if going on a hunt
as attested to him and recorded for all of posterity on March 14, 2019 at 3:05 EDT by Analysis colunist Philip Bump, (a national columnist for The Washington Post; before that he led political coverage for The Atlantic Wire. One of the paper’s most read writers, he focusses on the data behind polls and political rhetoric), he recorded one of the most famous and insightful lines Donald Trump offered on the campaign trail in 2016 came during a stop in Iowa, shortly before that state’s caucuses.
“I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and wouldn’t lose any voters, okay?” Trump said, mimicking firing a gun with his fingers. “It’s, like, incredible.”

"Blast it!!" I am gunning for the glib gal
versus MAGA sugar daddy
gesticulating his arms akimbo,
whose lowball unflattering unprintable
pet phrases for Kamala
indicative of a short, and nasty brute,
whose vile (hints) might be excusable
if he suffered epileptic seizures grand mal
drops names of ruthless dictators as his pal,
who sport trademark coiffed hirsute
allocating, designating, ginning, jumpstarting,
and mandating excessive monetary resources
for his poofed hair courtesy project 2025
and then when confronted becomes immediately mute
and does a spot on rendition of Marcel Marceau
engaging in ******* with a *******.

"Arms akimbo" is an adjective or adverb that means having your hands on your hips with your elbows turned outward. For example, "She stood there akimbo". The word "akimbo" comes from the Middle English phrase in kenebowe, which means "at a sharp angle". The word was first recorded between 1375 and 1425, and may come from the Old Norse phrase i keng boginn, which means "bent into a crook".

After watching some
of the Democratic National Convention,
mainly the first and second nights,
I felt tears of joy rapture
welling up inside me
after listening to such
brilliant, fantastic, nuances
sounding out monologues
utilizing English language
to maximize stellar oratory,
which lengthy list of speakers follows suit:

On Monday, delegates heard from former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, first lady Jill Biden and the president himself.

Tuesday's session featured addresses from former President Barack Obama, former first lady Michelle Obama, Sen. Bernie Sanders, Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker and others.

Wednesday night heard from former President Bill Clinton, Gov. Josh Shapiro, former Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Walz.

Here's the full speakers list for Thursday:

Minyon Moore, chair of the 2024 Democratic National Convention Committee
Invocation by Everett Kelly, national president of the American Federation of Government Employees, and Imam Muhammad Abdul-Aleem of Masjidullah Mosque of West Oak Lane, Pennsylvania
Presentation of Colors by the Illinois State Police Honor Guard
Pledge of Allegiance by Luna Maring, a 6th grader from Oakland, California
Rep. Veronica Escobar of Texas
Becky Pringle, president of the National Education Association
Randi Weingarten, president of the American Federation of Teachers
Sen. Alex Padilla of California
Marcia Fudge, former secretary of Housing and Urban Development
Rep. Ted W. Lieu of California
Sen. Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin
Rep. Katherine Clark of Massachusetts, House Democratic Whip
Rep. Joe Neguse of Colorado
Mayor Leonardo Williams of Durham, North Carolina
Rep. Raja Krishnamoorthi of Illinois
Sen. Bob Casey of Pennsylvania
Sen. Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts
Rep. Jason Crow of Colorado
Rep. Elissa Slotkin of Michigan
Rep. Pat Ryan of New York
Rev. Al Sharpton
Members of the "Central Park Five": Dr. Yusef Salaam, member of the New York City Council, and activists Korey Wise, Raymond Santana and Kevin Richardson
Amy Resner, former prosecutor and friend of Harris
Karrie Delaney, director of Federal Affairs at the ****, Abuse & ****** National Network
Lisa Madigan, former attorney general of Illinois
Marc Morial, president of the National Urban League
Nathan Hornes, former student at Corinthian Colleges
Tristan Snell, former New York State assistant attorney general
Gov. Maura Healey of Massachusetts
Courtney Baldwin, youth organizer and human trafficking survivor
Deb Haaland, secretary of the interior
John Russell, content creator
Rep. Maxwell Frost of Florida
Rep. Colin Allred of Texas
Joint remarks on "A New American Chapter": Anya Cook, Craig Sicknick, Gail DeVore, Juanny Romero and Eric, Christian, and Carter Fitts
National anthem by The Chicks
Kerry Washington
Joint remarks by Meena Harris, Ella Emhoff and Helena Hudlin
D.L. Hughley
Sheriff Chris Swanson of Genesee County, Michigan
Rep. Lucy McBath of Georgia, joined by Abbey Clements of Newton, Connecticut; Kim Rubio of Uvalde, Texas; Melody McFadden of Charleston, South Carolina; and Edgar Vilchez of Chicago.
Gabrielle Giffords, former member of the House
Performance by P!NK
Sen. Mark Kelly of Arizona
Leon Panetta, former secretary of defense
Rep. Ruben Gallego of Arizona
Gov. Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan
Eva Longoria, actress and film producer
Adam Kinzinger, former member of the House
Maya Harris
Gov. Roy Cooper of North Carolina
Vice President Kamala Harris.

Shoot! Thar haint no other candidate
within a bajillion miles
worth celebrating with unbridled fête
cuz the other contestant
(hands down) ranks as ingrate
man dragging fetters shrilly mutters,
the opposition mumbles,
no you don't get away with freedom
them words to ****, cuz
against peace mongers
this republic for liberty,
which country stands under
the grateful dead
someone must liberate
the ship of state
one must steadily operate
even courtesy motley skeleton crew
captained, governed, and trumpeted
by weird Wharton wimp
linkedin to leitmotif reprobate
with lips he doth undulate
poisoning the fresh air
and poll looting the audiological
and visual realm of vulnerable listeners
courtesy radio and television waves.
Computer technology a dog send
boot also a source of woe,
cuz prohibitive costs charged by technicians
to troubleshoot Macbook Pro
just recently sought out
self teaching methodology
perhaps oddly enough
even tapping into pantomime lessons
(mastering "art of silence"
such as the estimable Marcel Marceau)

found yours truly accessing youtube videos
replaying tutorial(s) until I experience
cognitive understanding like ya know
geared for the common
government issued Jane or Joe,
whereby I would not need
to dish out plate fulls of dough
to help improve functionality of said laptop
subsequently kudos to crow
perhaps acquiring understanding
to acquire knowledge
and subsequently purchase a bungalow.

Rather than succumb
to frustration or angst and allay
premature ejaculations of anxiety
(telling myself Rome
didn't get burned in a day),
I must constantly stave off dismay
allowing, enabling, and providing
yours truly (me) to learn
and not drive analogous

to crash test dummy
(potential dire straits mindset
of foo fighting beastie boy
incompatible with central
processing unit of mine
in tandem with heat sink)
need be synchronized
regarding adjusting learning curve
aligned with pinpointing apropos
online lesson plan

amidst plethora of youtube videos
constituting information super freeway
so as not to career
into zone of discouragement
pacing mastering concepts
without feeling rushed
to make headway
lest rage against the machine
or worse yet inveigh
against accursed limited aptitude

heredity decreed, though still smarting
courtesy poor academic track record
I decry still struggling
and most likely will forever hold contempt
toward Matthew Scott Harris
experiencing horrible education
within Lower Providence school district
such maddening sentiments maintained
until mein kampf finds unnamed mortal
on his deathbed, where head doth lay.
They call in now and then
to collect
the bones of old lions and
the wrecks of old men,
I wonder
what do they do with them?

The growling is lost to
the roar of the winds
and the passage of time
becomes then the mime,
the
Marcel Marceau
and the silent dream.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2020
if my life was scripted by a guy ritchie
or a tarantino...
oh god: it would happen so smoothly:
i would never:
but always fake it as an n.p.c. -

ol' grandfather died and i finally resolved
to never ever like writing:
and this pain is a crease:
i wish it was a goosebump...
but as b.c. socrates said it:

find yourself a good wife...
and you'll be happy...
ol' grandpa didn't find a good woman
in my grandmother...
he became a philosopher...

my luck lies with prostitutes...
now the sketch, sketching over a sketch...
i tried that path once:
the gamble...
invested in being swept under
a carpet with the bugs and dust...

now i approach the song i heard
at an open mic night in edinburgh
once... neil young's old man...
and only recently:
      cumberland gap: hence the reference
to guy ritchie...

there are instances of dementia patients
living out their last best preserved
in care homes...
3 months...
blitzkrieg shock a day before
he died: ****** gwandm'ah calls
up...
who does that?!

             i apparently own a phone
i can only make calls with:
i am not to receive them!

"my god he loved that woman!"
beside a god
the mythological sophia:
patriarch ***** of abraham:
but what of this mythological woman?
this mother this sister
this grandmother this ****-buddy...
this word-on-word 69er...

it's hardly a mystery:
it's not like death played poker with me
over the debate of 3 months:
such is family...
once upon a time...
before the subsequent diadems
would disperse -
before the little town was swallowed
by: dying and the nomads it spawned...

no luck with women:
my father is the only exception...
which probably implies my mother
is the exception too...
but even now my father is being strained...
and as ever: i'm mediating some flimsy deal...
but i guess luck with women is
hereditary...
promise me the one in a blue moon
lover!
promise me none of such "things"
just a horse with stirrups!

pain as a numbing sensation from:
it's impossible to feast on details...
and i will not rhyme, rhyme...
i will write my heaving lost...
   i have no more...

but if my life was scripted...
oh... i just imagine the litany
of the omni- god being true: of a god not
taking sides:
how we're still not landlocked
by a reference to the 20th century
sheep-count for the slaughter:
how now, only now...
just as ever: we hear the heroism
of some marcel marceau...
who was never going to be one of
these newly converted readily waiting
for the gestapo max jacob types...

i sometimes wish i would have
invested in that siberian banshee that
st. petersburg's doll and buggy and trolly...
esp. after i heard her: ways...
obviously as toxic as it might
have taken turn:
i'd compete with bottle and brothel
as she would have skidded off
for some m.d.ma. and some buckle &
friendly ****...

thank anyone for this morning
how the newspaper was brought home,
then the muddied walk through
the bower wood...
that my feet take me walking
and i obey: a dog of chess...
   and then back for coffee and a revision
of morning going out
again for some buns...

by the afternoon i found a new walk
and will undertake it come tomorrow...
at the entrance: a couple were looking
formidably anti-
        a forwarding of feet onto it...

come: let us steal the moon as
the scythe it appears when it reaches
its sharpened crescent slit of a gaze!
Donall Dempsey Mar 2024
SILENT AUTOGRAPH

meet Marcel Marceau on street
he mimes an autograph for me
the empty air his  page

*

Outside the Gaiety and there was the mime himself not as Bip but as an elegantly suited Mr. Mangel.

Not having the French to ask him for his autograph I mimed the gesture on the air and he replied with a great flourish of his equally elegant hands...handed that particular piece of air back to me.  As if he were painting on the air. I took it back from him with an equally grand gesture and a bow and he bowed back.

His posture and his gait were immaculate and he walked as if he was poetry.  He had such poise and  such a beauty of motion like music perambulating. He beamed at me and I think he thought I was I miming on purpose but it was only because I hadn't got the French and had to reach for gesture. He mimed applause for my desperate effort....so I had it from the master himself.

"The mime expresses the visible in the invisible and the invisible in the visible."

He referred to mime as the "art of silence" and he performed professionally worldwide for over 60 years.  I was lucky to see him in action and to meet him in person.

I still have that particular piece of air and I have kept it always.
I can show it to you if you like but you have to be careful not to breath a word on it.
Yenson May 2020
sing me the rhythms of the saints
street lives spare me your jailhouse rock
boil your heads in your weeping west rains
ain't you just blinded losers 'n schmucks in the flock
posturing & miming like Marcel Marceau in mad pains
chewing 'n puking white house blues of hill-billies that *****
like they know **** of love when ya papas dan scoot off on da midnight train
and ya mamas are sneaking down the alleys with Hank 'n Marvin for some rucks
go get Nev for its time to flame the cross and go badger-baiting in the Plains

— The End —