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Cee Feb 2017
It's a shame when you have a good thing going
& people want to intervene.
They don't want you to have
They get jealous & mean.
Their lives are not going well
They have nothing at all.
Instead of enjoying watching you prosper
They pray for your downfall.
They see you happy they will rather
Ruin what you have.
They see a crack in your foundation
They will be so glad.
They try to end your happiness
When God gives you favor.
They try to destroy your blessing
Before you could even savor it.
Meddlers are people whose
Lives are a mess.
They hate to see others happy
Until you're broken they won't rest.
They'll smile in your face
While twisting the knife in your back.
They're relentless in destroying you
They're always on the attack.
They'll whisper in others ears
Trying to tear you down with words.
If you have a meddler, in your life
Cut them off, kick them to the curb.
Meddlers are the lowest thing
The Devil contributed to this earth.
Once you come in contact with them
Your life will be cursed.
They live in misery
& dabble in destruction.
They are all about hurting those around them
With deceit & corruption.
I had a meddler in my life
Their actions destroyed my family.
We tried to help the meddler out
They were so smooth with it
That we were too blind to see.
We didn't see in time
What were really their true intentions.
They had us fighting amongst each other
& did I forget to mention
How we took in a meddler
We allowed them in our residence
But they came to us under
False pretences.
They said they needed help
& we tried to be there.
But they destroyed my family
& they didn't care.
They tore a wedge between us
We fought all the time.
They just watched us destroy ourselves
& stood on the sidelines.
They took pride in watching
Our family dissipate.
They liked watching us crumble
They watched our family deteriorate.
Now my children miss their father
They are in so much pain.
The father leaves
But the meddler remains.
God don't like ugly
& that meddler showed their true colors.
They ruined a family
But they'll soon discover.
God will give me strength & in his grace
I'll continue to grow.
My faith will not waiver
My inner light will still glow.
I'll let that meddler enjoy this victory
Because I truly don't care.
I've got God on my side
So meddler beware.
I'll never wish you any harm
I want your life to grow.
But remember this meddler
You reap what you sow.
So if you can't get ahead
& you're always in a bind.
Remember Romans 12:19
The Lord said "Vengeance Is Mine"
Resplendent rose, luminous green,
Lucid paradisaical palette,
The jewel delivers
It's dyed, distinctive sheen
Graciously, unassumingly

Casting a pink and emerald crewel
Coalescing into traces,
Cuisine for sunbeams
Brushing nature's easel --
Bedecking the constellation lighting on earth,

Realizing among tureens:
Scalloped edge profusions offering
The spoonbill waif
Sweet adrenaline,
Fueling it's sojourn in the atmosphere.

Bird of prey, humming minstrel,
Airy, iridescent meddler
Between red blooms,
Distant gem's sparkle
Gracing redolent, languid afternoons

Cloaked in shimmering velveteen,
Beating velocious wings, remaining still.
Copyright 1997 JB Marshall
mEb Nov 2010
Divest me in lowest twang possible
You're a virus ov benevolence
Clod dockets and nightly shrivels
You're Ideology's ravaged havoc

All slates ov mind embellish at one time
Scandalmonger, a repetitive meddler
I am, you are, a beast like endeavor
Two noddy's going rabid
To divulge and disclose; we're savaged
Trek of dearth and surly in combined minds
Withered, wizened, burnished, refined.
Sophia Granada Feb 2018
Walking along the side of the mighty sea,
In the shady overhang of the cliffs that ever hem it in,
I came upon a pool of black blood,
Which spread infinitely far out into the water,
And touched the sun low at the horizon there.
Looking up, my eyes found a crucified man,
Upon whose shoulder perched a fearsome eagle,
Its beak stained with brown and black crusted blood.
His torso was cratered, nearly hollowed out,
Bleeding as hard as a fresh wound.
His head lolled, and sweat beaded on his pale brow,
But when I went to loosen the chains that held him there,
His eyes snapped open, and he said to me,
"You will find if you go out of your way to help
In matters like these
That you will be worse off for it."
He closed his eyes again, and waved his chained hand at me to go.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i always wondered what
je ne sais pas might sound like in german...
   ah, **** it, let's put
this prosthetic limb together,
you never know, a siamese twin
might just pop out to steal the show...
ich      (je ne sais.... ah.. ha ha ha!
i was thinking of je ne sais qua...
ok ok... je ne sais quoi, quo-oh-e...
    e. e. cummings, come ere!
fiddle this violin to a fine tuning
that a deaf man might 'ear)...
and when language does indeed
as diabolical as this, you really should
stop using Poles as antibiotics to
German then Islamic fascism...
or kidding yourself that it's really
just a pardonable dream you're having...
so the prosthetic limb is coming...
  no point schmoozing me with
anything else... oh please please:
just dance the one legged tango a while
longer, i'm working on it... honest...
  look here... je, ich
   ne, nein, nein-stimme... no steam:
bog **** choo choo!
     meaner: neinschtimme -
   kinder dicht... why would i say kid-tight?
well... ballerinas begin their careers
at an early age... maybe that's why...
   otherwise? dunno...
let's feed this alcoholic cold-sweat -
finding the tutti-frutti hyper-delusion,
trying to say much more than the sound
of knocking on a door can ever provide...
that's one way to go about it, for sure...
and every part of me wants to be a serious
novelist, and be sober, and chop wood,
but then every other part of me
wants the poetry, and the drinking,
    and the scarcity of the adventure...
  to feel, having only slaughtered one pig,
that i was able to feed a billion ching chongs
in Beijing...
           china... ching chong...
a focus on the prefix ch, and the suffix cha cha cha?
no? different joke, on a different continent...
   i swear there was this guy from Bethlehem
who also made the same conclusion...
     can't remember his name...
you know, like: two fish three loafs of bread,
you can satiate a coliseum...
   ah! delirium! that's what alcoholics experience
sometimes... i love delirium...
      it just shows you, that if you're really
serious, you can experience many more facets of
alcoholism...
    hidden gems... and if you're really
hot-headed, have enough crassness about
to write about it...
    delirium... when other drugs have the after-effects
of paranoia, alcohol prescribes you delirium...
   in polish slang also called a delirka...
   but i'm not drinking purple denaturat /
ethynol substitute to chanel no. cinq...
    or should i say: çank?  yep, that ship sank
once it gave a smoochie to an ice-berg...
                                 hail Titanic! ave Titanus!
but i really was trying to find
je ne sais quoi (qua... ******* French,
excessive spelling and a gob that later
says much more throng... and that nasal
cavity needs fixing, seriously -
  but they write so beautifully,
and later slobber it with their local...
or should i say: locál! or perhaps: locállé?!
depends how you make do
with a syllable dissection) -
so how would it go? the je ne sais quoi in
Swabian?
   ich tun nicht was kennt...
              well... there are worse things than
mutilating a language...
      you could do worse, like mutilate a body...
   like in that film...
   with colonel sisi... the last king of scotland...
ah, what's his name? that guy
reminding me to never travel to uganda?
    yeah, had a wife, she cheated on him,
so he cut off her legs and arms, and sewed them
back onto her torso so she really ended up
with a confused pair of cranium hemispheres...
    and i'm the mad one...
just because i drink and have a vocabulary
equivalent of diarrhoea...
       but, so it goes...
   i'll never say the correct way of saying
je ne sais quoi in Swabian... because je ne sais quoi
is a complete package... like faux pas is
a complete package, like carpe diem is a complete
package... like coup d'état is a complete
package... like déjà vu is a complete package...
    there's absolutely no way to unravel it
or furthermore: translate it...
      a German once complimented my language
on the cushion-like effect of the word
  kurva...  *****... he loved the trilled -r-
and the waterfall of -va / wa wa... va to english speakers;
and so he did, relieve himself of stress
saying the word... and with such malice as
to no hurt anyone... and what's happening in
english? social-cool, prescriptive dyslexia...
        one step away from really, i mean
really being o.k. with watching **** and all
forms of perversity, and not o.k. with seeing
the correct spelling of the word ****...
      yes... mm... so ******* agonising seeing
a correct spelling...
                                   i better gouge my eyes
out having seen that....
or that case of ultra-proximity...
     kręt                        vs.      skręt...
kręt (a pathological liar, on a building site in
England usually called a Romanian) -
skręt? a rollie... a cigarette, you know the type,
you buy the tobacco, you buy the papers,
you buy the filter... and you actually roll
a cigarette... a variation of the word skew,
i'm sure... kręt does actually mean a meddler...
a swinddler...  and if you having been exposed
to the reality of a construction site in england...
you should see the ******* that's written
in the toilets...
     i really shouldn't have gone to university,
i wasted my degree in chemistry to merely drink...
**** good wine though, home made juice...
   hyper! hyper! hyper-ventilating on the silence
that's gathering around me...
  and if you ever spotted a lightning bolt
and never heard a thunder... you're bound
to be as itchy as me -
and by the way: the karma term for a German
in Poland is: schwab - or szwab...
              of shvab... it's getting dizzy... pfoo...
bilinguals can't be proud polymaths...
         i'm seeing alternative spelling in different
linguistic geo-political zones.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
title: at <H. 20>
body:
troop movement
w.
ammo shortage:
abandon
   <H. 20> position.   502 bad gateway bypasses have become more fun than looking for google-whacks


i once tried to be this dad-rock sort of guy:
a massive fan of the stuff from the 1960s and the 1970s...
but... the more i explore the 1980s...
i'm finding out that... in all honesty?
sure... the 1990s grunge scene etc.:
not to mention TOOL... Fugazi... etc.
   but... hmm... well... there's a war on...
no one knows how far its going to go: or how
it might escalate...
          i'm not going to take sides: or write with
moral overtones regarding what is good
and what is bad...
i've heard the argument that moral judgements
are not right: to mediate this conflict as
a third party... or just as a person...
moral grandstanding: Ukrainian flags on profiles...
pouring Russian ***** into the drain...
just drink whiskey...
                          this stems from the Pariah Principle...
i'm just guessing to giggle a little:
the doping scandals finally got to ol' Vlad...
because it was funny when Mo Farrah pulled out
at some point... as did Bradley Wiggins...
started making income from adverts...
           yeah yeah: no, doping of athletes is not
systemic... all over the world...
   i guess some countries just have better doping
schemes...
   and while Russian was kicked out from
the mighty club of the G7 that was for a while G8...
i guess no one likes being left out...
no mention of China expanding the club into
a G9 or India for that matter... G10...
            plus... if the whole world spins the narrative
that you're evil... Russian subversion of American
politics... you're going to one day wake up and be
like: o.k. - fine... i'll be evil...
             aren't people liable if they slander someone
for no good reason / proof? can't someone be
sued for slander? i always thought the Russians
to be evil geniuses... but that softens the blow:
they're smart - in a malicious way because:
hell... what's there to do in a Russian winter...
you can only **** so much and drink so much *****...
so you get into hacking... for fun...
        but it's not Ukrainian politics was ever pristine...
i remember the days of the Orange Revolution
when Poland was involved in Ukrainian politics
for a while... long ago i said to myself...
it would be useful is Ukraine was allowed to join
the E.U. - just after the "famous five" joined back
in 2004... obviously i have no proof that i said something
along those lines back then... i wasn't writing then...
blah... politics... as ***** as money...
   i rather think about... how i managed to get
a ******* to want to meet me outside of the brothel...
rent a hotel room for the night...
pay for dinner... get a free **** all night... talk...
improve her English... learn some Turkish in return...
and music... i rather think about music...
i was going some ironing in the afternoon...
and i realised... of all these old vinyl records
that i brought back from Poland from my grandparents'
house... the ones my parents collected...
i was stuck on Maanam's Nocny Patrol (1984)
for too long on repeat... let's see what else is there...
oh... the original New Order Low-Life vinyl (1985):
**** me... an object that is older than me by
a year... well i did already know that New Order
emerged from the collapse of Joy Division...
well... the suicide of Ian Curtis... the precursor of
Curt Cobain - post-punk... well what came of that...
i never liked punk... more into psychedelic rock...
prog rock... but like i said... 60s and 70s music...
it grew on me... then... i grew out of it...
the whole boomer schtick of: we had the best music
your music is ****... give me a break...
- and it's not like i could get into Joy Division either...
i tried... it would be much easier to get into
65days-of-static if i were going to be perfectly honest...
or boards of canada...
      i tried... but... you can't let a tragedy go to waste...
so with the emergence of New Order...
and never looked into them... blue monday... faith...
but never looked into entire albums...
gateway album... Low-Life...
   and then it hit me... this is really the proper alternative
to The Cure... the Smiths... Depeche Mode...
i must be having this post-punk phase...
               at one point youtube was spewing out
post-punk suggestions all the time for me...
as if in the good old days of youtube being the best
jukebox on the internet...
plus... on a vinyl that's 36 years old...
oh: with the older vinyl you can hear the imperfections...
"imperfections" or rather the crackling...
newer vinyl doesn't have that crackling...
now i have a few good hours in the bag of going through
the entire New Order discography...
again... this conflict... i'm not even following it...
i've built-up a media burnout after all the repeated
news about Covid... i followed it at the start...
until... people started clapping for the NHS...
i switched off... i' already switched off regarding
this conflict... i'll make that dreaded hippy statement:
make love, not war...
  well... i'm on it... perhaps if i could be a mediator...
i'm not going to use moral language...
i'll just show people what life can be life...
do some ironing... put on a decent vinyl from the 1980s
plan a *** marathon in a hotel room...
with a girl you have no qualms over the "body count"
as some guys look for frigid nun types...
ah... what a mandible beauty...
            elsewhere... yeah... people are fighting...
but people are always fighting elsewhere...
- and it's not like nothing is being done...
over 1 millions refugees fled to Poland...
      i went into a forest and found something symbolic...
a branch of wood in the shape of a Cossack sword,
the shashka...
             i think my extended family might have
been affected by the UPA genocides during the Second
World War... mind you: the Ukrainians cheered
when the Nazis invaded... mind you: such wounds
should run so deep in me... it's ridiculous...
i should, maybe, just maybe: have the English attitude
toward the Norman genocide of Anglo-Saxon nobility
after Hastings from a purely historical point of view...
but then again... i knew a woman: my great-grandmother
who had to give opiates to her new-born daughter
(my grandmother) so she wouldn't cry when
they were running and hiding on the front...
  or how my grandfather remembers his uncle lying dead
in the back garden after being shot by the Nazis...
or how he would run up to two SS-men in their infamous
Hugo Boss black and shout: herr! bite bon bon!
and they would give him sweets so sweet that
his hands would be stuck together... etc.
           there is a lineage... memory... it's almost like
one person having many hosts... you can't exactly cut it
off... but... how ridiculous western democracies look
now, for their former criticism of Poland not taking in
enough refugees... really?
just like Turkey didn't take in enough authentic
Syrian refugees? oh... the type of refugees that drove
the trucks of peace in Nice... or performed
the Bataclan attacks? the Cologne *** party?
no Ukrainians on rubber-inflatables crossing the Channel
from Calais? i get it... the wrong sort of hue...
well... i guess old grievances can rest for a while...
you must really try your hardest not to be called
racist... but then one day you'll wake up
   like a Russian... after being called evil, foreign affairs
meddler... Olympic cheat and be like...
**** it... i'll own that slander... i'll just act upon it...
hmm... Dinosaur Jr. - but that's more grunge
than post-punk... no no... post-punk is something
very beautiful... it gets mixed up with the term Indie...
like... the Smiths are probably considered Indie
rather than post-punk... but i think they're post-punk...
god... i hate punk... probably as much as rap...
- and it's sort of a crying shame...
Russian, back in 2007... was such a welcoming place...
obviously my then Russian girlfriend
timed trying to get impregnated without my knowledge...
how does it work with women?
the highest chance of getting pregnant is just after
a woman's period: i'm not a woman, i don't know...
she was supposed to be on the pill...
hey, unprotected ***... well... she was rich enough
to not need my money, just my genes...
but the people were so welcoming...
i'd put the Russians on par with the Scots...
oh hell: her father was a timber oligarch out
in Siberia... she had multiple flats scattered around
St. Petersburg and even Moscow...
i look at it as follows: being a ***** donor doesn't
really cut it... what, just reading a man's profile:
window-shopping for *****?
obviously she wanted the relationship
to get to know the character of the man...
rather than some objective rubric: education X,
employment Y... but character? in person?
in practice? well... that's Z(ed)...
               well... if i'm not going to the type to
shoot bullets from a machine gun...
i might as well be shooting something else
somewhere else...
                              is that the conclusion you come to
when she calls you... tearful... in a happy way
and says: 'i think i'm pregnant!' - i think therefore i doubt...
i don't think that applies to how women
use language...
years later when i visited her... hmm... toys scattered
all over the apartment... hush-hush atmosphere...
she invited a lot of people round...
i think she was still with her newly wedded
neuroscientist: would be dumped months later...
married some poor Scotch schmuck...
well... at least she's keeping a tally...
    she might get to no. 5 and finally be like:
                     well... that was a good enough party...
no ***, just watch t.v. with me...
   oh hell no... i was exposed to Marquis de Sade
"too early" in life to somehow ******* without
a proper hard-on...
              well... first shot with the Turkish girl...
second one might hit the mark...
who knows... but this one photograph she sent me...
there's this young pretty thing sitting
in the background... a nice looking bump...
hmm... the last time i was there....
and shot a load into a ******... must have been...
oh... 4 months? 5 months?
what happened to that ****** with the payload?
women are such subtle creatures...
i might just be living in La-La-Land...
             but your mind sometimes goes out to lunch
in a non-demented way...
   it's not like people are transparent with each
other... it's not like we don't have our secrets...
secret avenues that other people never hear about...
it's not like that doesn't happen...
maybe the less i know and the more i speculate...
the happier i am... whether it's true or not...
i like to think that women like for a full beard
a hairy chest and a hair stomach, a 6ft2 100kg posture
is something that's worth salvaging...
freely given, on a whim: because... eh...
   i'm not a fat 4ft9 stinking Mongol who left a lot
of people in Pakistan with a surname: Khan...
and he done that by ****...
                                 spectacular... life...
and as long as i'm in a working environment and
i treat the... less lucky guys with candour:
with a camaraderie... what could possibly go wrong?
obviously everything...
                     but if they don't know jack ****...
and i keep them at a mutual-respect length...
ah... no open flirting with female coworkers...
at work... i feel so fake at work sometimes...
   at least in the schoolyard there was open banter...
at work i have to force myself: all the time...
            i just want to be left alone... do the shift...
*******... go back into seclusion and scribble down
thoughts to remind myself: i would never say as much
with my mouth as i "say" with the use of my
itchy-finger-tips... it's staggering how rhetoricians find
talking so easy... what's the old suggestion?
they enjoy the sound of their voice?
must be... i drift... mmm hmm... 1980s post-punk...
feels good... now that New Order discography to sift through.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
when the celestial judges
organized and codified the
planetary laws, the moon
appeared online but
only in the month
of June

it seemed they,
the judges,
were literary bent,
and had an an
affection for
simplistic rhythms and rhymes

yet the moon,
feeling slighted,
demanded an audience,
asking for redress,
demanding a larger share of
the celestial apartment complex

"Why do the sun and stars
appear nightly,
and I am kept on ice
for eleven months?"

the august bodies debated,
orbits examined for
interstellar larger consequences,
and then concluded and
herein responded:

"Tho the sun appears daily,
it is dismissed and tucked away,
like a baby for a good night's sleep,
to survive its infernal heat

the stars, give light too,
a special twinkling,
but it is a cold, dark one,
that only arrives after
being in transit for
millions of miles,
thus exhausted,
they are many but minuscule,
and many invisible to the
untelescoped eye

But your wish will be granted
with conditions thus:

"nightly you will appear,
and your beauty will be
magnificent, celebrated, and
duly poetically recorded

but for this boon, moon,
you will supply the gravitational
push and pull for poor cousin
Earth

drag its waters to and fro,
an exhausting job,
unglamorous, even by
Earth's inhabitants cursed
who will see you as
a plotter, meddler in their
global and planetary voyages

but like the sun,
your portion, but half,
like the stars, your light,
will be white, cold and hard,
but lacking in sparkle that
makes the stars so delightful

even your appearance nightly
will be occasional incomplete,
sometimes you will be quartered,
even halved, even slivered,
and once a year
the sun will eclipse your  
entire lunar glory!"


the moral of the story,
if you think moon and June,
make a good poetic rhyme,
you gonna end up
working a lot harder,
pushing and pulling,
dragging your best good stuff
from where the sun don't shine
I woke up and wrote this down, cause the moon was haughty and got caughty showing up in the morning sky, and subsequently was grounded, for a month!
You should see my stupid grin, I think my face just cracked..
Amber Rose Feb 2014
Whirlwind words spun by
miss Meddler threading my life
like a knitted benvolent blanket.
A rush of excitement, all in the moment
Not really comprehending the extent
of your less than marvellous meddling
and my feet dangled at the veneer.
A zenith, a choice finally offered
but not wanted nor desired.
Gourab Mukherjee Jul 2016
The lady sets her eye on a kaleidoscope
To travel from her unsettled past
She hears the world with lots of hope
Got her eyes painted with lust
Lips demonstrated the passion of love
Ear rings charmed like a windchime
***** tortured mentally deviated
Craved her revenge on a porcelain wall
Sets her rage through a molten peace
Hangs around a grape vine
To rescue her emotions
Voice ego spirit was high
Like the mountains in the dark sky
Moon was her name
The chaos got ashamed
Waited in the midnight
To trail
Chased the meddler
Beneath the Holy bell
Cried out 'Oh Lord'
Serve me justice
On my divine soul

Gourab
Tatiana May 2019
It seems you've been struck with the meddler's touch.
I can see it in the way you move.
Constantly looking over your shoulder
cringing when you see nothing
not that you wanted to see something.
It's a relief overshadowed by fear
that someone will mess with emotions so dear.
They'll make metal melt and become malleable.
They'll do the same to you if you're valuable.
Melt you down and mold you into something you're not
they'll meddle with the metal and give you a medal
for participating in their meddling
and leave you to cool down when you were hot.
You're right to be wary of strange sounds
just be careful not to turn all the way around
for they're not behind you, they never were
the meddlers are in front of you
messing with your future.

Now you're something that you were not.
Now you're something that you were not.
©Tatiana
All that's left is mettle

Mettle
Gourab Mukherjee Jul 2016
Neither I had respect for them
hardly I knew what were they
Breached my concerned motivation
Ultimate freedom from eternal salvation
I opposed it day by day
It still finds me in a new way
I hardly remember that lady
who passed me a disease to smoke daily
Curiosity what at all pays
The green leaves forever stays
It was a surpassed obligation
I tried to survive through meditation
Purely surprised with the effect of unknown potion
People call it "HALLUCINATION"
Being a stranger to myself
Hardly I opposed for a help
Meddler was the "MARIJUANA"
through which I attained 'Nirvana'
Suddenly after a strong realization
Succumb to temptation
Found a heavy drift towards it
Literally transformed into a revived kid
Found myself a vagary
With no sweet in this new jaggery
Lame with the new thoughts
And, still carrying on...

Gourab
Dr Peter Lim Aug 2018
It had nothing
to do with the night
my imagination went wild
in illusion I dwelt
reason took flight--
there was no mystery
only the rhythm between hours
the unyielding weight of veracity
the river  water was what it had been
the trees bore the same leaves
flowers drooped in natural sleep
upon the dawn to reawaken
dew would fall on the grass
time knew when to pass
the intrinsic remained--

I was beside myself
the subject and object
the perceived and the perceiver
the observer and the evaluator
the dreamer and illusion-creator
the meddler and puzzler
the experience--translator
the ultimate author
of my own blight

verily it had nothing
nothing at all
to do with the night.
Philipp K J May 2021
Covid from Hell's unknown cellar
Meddler, the men's mercy killer
Out of fear the Heaven's plenty
Hell in due course will be empty
Sends the war team killer thriller

Breaching ozone shred their horns
Rolling down the human zone
Blow their clones on human forms
To fill their lungs with white venom
And with tattered souls return home

The Soldier scouts; browbeat with frown
Shouts out 'go corona go'
Candle lights to frighten Covid
Showers of flowers to brighten David
I've dethroned, Corona gone

The havoc done; still the battle's on
Missiles and trials go on 'midst groan
People throng around clouts at rallies
Whilst the dead are gutted  at gullies
And their kids and kin bemoan

Leaders toil to tally the spoils
Cadres boil in corporate veils
Corona blitz with double mutant
Smite the poor and the self content
Whilst the captain camps the perils

Trioxygen shield climate change
Science challenge devils
exchange
Covid muffled, the Hoax wax in
Whilst death rolls in diabolic spin
And deliver the  sucker punch
AN ACUTE ABSENCE OF WEATHER

( for my little brother Brian )

tomorrow arrived too late
to save you
you had become

the past tense
no longer present at your own life
time had abandoned you

the world turning its back
on the sun
staring into the night

a darkness
without stars
the far away barking of dogs

a somewhere
that's nowhere
where even the weathervane

doesn't know which way to turn
the acute absence
of weather

*

Because of his stature in the world and his skill at making his way through its faults and falls...he had become the BIG BROTHER simply because of who he was. Only now in death does he once more become my little brother. I became a mere meddler with words...a peddler of poems.

When he was truly my little brother he once asked me one of those childlike questions that adults or even slightly big brothers find impossible to answer.

Lost in himself he asked of me" "Is there weather when you die?" I didn't know how to answer it then or...now.

On the great barn that was his shed he had placed a weather vane and we still look at it to this day as it searches for the answer to this question.

I had told him then that: "Whatever...there would be weather."

I suppose he could now answer his 7-year-old-self's strange little question.

— The End —