Book One


Prelude:

As Romans before them, they built the city upward—
layer ‘pon layer as the polar caps receded
layer by layer—preserving what they could, if someday
the waters may recede back into the former polar
ice caps; restoring the long inundated coastlines.


Home:

A man sat upon a tall pub stool stroking
his ginger beard while grasping a pint loosely
in his other hand. An elderly gent stood
next to him. The older gentleman noticed
that the ginger bearded man’s pint sat almost
quite near the bottom of its tulip glass.

A woman with eyes of amber and hair
as chestnut strolled through a vineyard amongst
the ripening grapes full of juice to soon
become wine. She clutched a notebook—behind (10)
thick black covers lay ideas and sketches
to bring the world to a more natural
state—balancing the wonders and the merits
of technology apace with the allure ‘n’
sanctity borne to the natural world.

When the ginger bearded man finished the
final drops of his stout, another appeared
heretofore him—courtesy owed to the elder
gentleman. “Notice dat ye got d’ mark
o’ a man accustom amid the seas,” (20)
he inferred; gesturing the black and blue
compass rose inscribed inside a ship’s wheel,
imbedded into the back of the ginger
bearded man’s weathered right hand.
                 “I have crewed
and skippered a many fine vessel, but I
am renouncing my life at sea—one final
voyage I have left inside of me:
one single terminal Irish-Atlantic
voyage t’ward home.” (30)
“Aye d’ sea can beh cold
‘nd harsh, but she enchants me heart. Ta where
are ye headed fer d’ place ye call home,
d’ere sonny boy?”
     “’tis not simply a where,
‘tis a who. Certain events have led me
to be separate from my wife. For five
eternal years I have been traveling—
waiting to be in her embrace. The force
of the Sea, she, is a cruel one. For (40)
it seams: at every tack or gybe the farther
off I am thrown from my homeward direction
to stranger and stranger lands… I have gone
to the graveyard of hell and the pearly gates
of (the so called) heaven; I have engaged
in foolhardy deals—made bets only a
gambling addict would place. All to just be
with Zara. I am homesick—Zara is my
home—it doesn’t matter where (physically)
we are located, my home is with Zara. I (50)
was advised to draw nigh the clove of Cork
and wait; wait for a man, but I was barely
given a clue as to who this man is,
only I must return him this:” the ginger
bearded man held out a dull silver pocket watch
with a frigate cut into the front cover
and two roses sharing a single stem
swirling upon themselves cut into
the back.
   “Can it be? ‘Tis meh watch dat meh (60)
fat’er gave t’ meh right before he died…
I lost it at sea many a year ago.
It left meh heartbroken—fer it was meh only
lasting mem’ry of him… Come to t’ink I
was told by a beggar in the street—I
do not remember how long ago—dat
I would happen across a man wit’ somet’ing
dear t’ meh, and I’d accomp’ny dis man
on a journey, and dis man would have upon
‘im d’ mark of a true sailor…” (70)
    “Dear elder man,
my name is Abraham; the mark you see
represents the control that I have on my
direction—thought it appears the Sea retains
some ascendancy… Yet now, it appears,
the Sea is upholding her bargain—though
a bit late... Do you, by chance, own a vessel
that can fair to Colorado?—all across
this mist’d island no skipper ‘ll uptake
my plea; they fear the sharp wrath of the Sea (80)
or (if they have no fear) simply claim my home
‘is not on their routes…’ i’tis a line I’ve
heard too often. I would’ve purchased a vessel,
but the Sea, she, has deprived me completely
of my identity and equity.”

Zara, with her rich chestnut hair sat upon
a fountain in a piazza—her half empty
heart longing to savor the hallow presence
of Abraham, and stroke his ginger beard…
Everyday she would look out at the sea (90)
whence he left…
     All encouraged her to: “forgo
further pursuit”; “he is likely deceased
by now”—his vessel (what left) scuttled amidst
the rocks of Cape Horn, yet Zara could feel
deep-seated inside her soul he is alive;
Alive (somewhere) fighting to return home.
Never would Zara leave; never would she
abandon post; she made that promise five
years ago as Abraham, ‘n’ his crew,
set out on their final voyage; and she (100)
would be ****** ere she broke her promise—a promise
of the heart—a promise of love. Abraham
said: “You are my lighthouse; your love, it, will guide
me home—keep me from danger—as long as you
remain my lighthouse, I’ll forever be
set to return home—return home to you.”

Out from Crosshaven did the old man take
steadfast Abraham en route to his home.
Grey Irish skies turned blue as they made their
way out on the Irish Sea, southwest, toward (110)
the southern end of the Appalachian Island.
The gentle biting spray of the waves breaking
over the bow and beam moistened the ginger
bearded face of Abraham; his tattooed
hands grasped the helm—his resolute stare kept him
and the old man acutely on course.
A shame,
it struck the old man, this would be the final
voyage of Abraham… he: the best crew
that the old man had ever came across; (120)
uncertain if simply the character
of Abraham or his pers’nal desire
to return home in the wake of five long
salty-cold years—a vassal to the Sea
and her changing whim. Never had the old
man seen his ship sail as fast as he did when
Abraham accorded its deck—each sail
set without flaw: easing and trimming sheets
fractions of an inch—purely to obtain
the slightest gain in speed; the display warmed (130)
the heart of the old man.
        And thus the elder
gent mused as he lightly puffed on his pipe
while sitting on the stern pulpit regarding
at Abraham’s passion to return home
(as he calls her):—maybe dis is d’ reason
d’ Sea has fought so hard, and lied, t’ keep
Abraham from returning home… Could not
bear t’ lose such fine a sailor from her
expanses—she is known t’ be quite a jealous (140)
mistress…
      But for all Abraham’s will and passion,
the old man insisted for the fellow
to rest; otherwise lack of sleep would cause
the REM fiddler to reap his debt—replace
clarity of mind with opacity.
Reluctantly stalwart Abraham gave
in and retire below deck—yet the old
man doubted the amount of rest that he
acquired in those moments out of his sight. (150)

For the days, then weeks, in the wake of their
departure from the port-island Crosshaven,
the seas were calm as open water can:
gentle azure rolling swells oscillated
and helped impel the vessel forward. The southern
craggy cape of the Appalachian
Island pierced the horizon. Like a threshold
it stood for Abraham—a major landmark;
the closest to home he had been in five
salty long years—his limbo was beginning                               (160)
to fade, his heart slowly—for the first time since
he left port in eastern Colorado—
started to feel replete again. The Great
Plains Sea—his final sea—he would not miss
the gleam of his lighthouse stalwart on shore.




Book Two

Oracle:**

Upon a beach, Abraham found himself alone—gasping
in gulps of moist air like that of a new born baby first (10)
experiencing the breathe of life; he felt as if he
would never become dry again… the salt burning his skin
as it crusted over when the water evap’rated
into the air; Abraham took the first night to rest, the
next day he set to make shelter and wait for a rescue
crew; out he stared at the crashing waves hoping for a plane
or faint form of a ship upon the horizon…days and
nights spun into an alternating display of day then
night: light then dark—light, dark, light, dark, grey, grey, grey…

Abraham (20)
gave up marking the days—realized the searches are done—
given up after looking in the wrong places (even
he did not know where he was…) the cold waves and currents took
him to a safe shore away from his ship and crew, in a
limp unconscious float…
From the trees, and what he could find on
the small  island, Abraham occupied himself with the
task of building a catamaran to rid himself of
the grey-waiting.
Out he cast his meager vessel into (30)
the battering surf; waves broke over his bows and centre
platform—each foot forward, the waves threatened to push him back
twofold… Abraham struck-beat the water with the oars he
fashioned; rising and falling with the energy of the
waves; Abraham stole brief looks back with hopes of a van’shing
shoreline—coast refused to vanish… his drenched arms grew tired;
yet he pushed on knowing he would soon be out passed the
breaking waves; then could relax and hoist sail; yet the waves grew
taller—broke with greater power… Abraham struck-beat the
water with his oars—anger welled—leading to splashes of (40)
ivory sea-froth instead of the desired progress
forward; eventually, his arms fell limp beyond the
force of will… waves tumbled him back to shore as he did the
first night upon the island…
Dejected Abraham lay
in the surf that night—the gentle ebb of the sea added
to insult, but hid the tears formed in the corner of his eyes—
salt water to salt water… the next day Abraham took
inventory of damage: the mast snapped in multiple
places, the rudders askew—the hulls and centre structure (50)
remained intact; the oars lost (or at least Abraham cared
not to search); over the next weeks he set to improve
the design and efficiency of his vessel—the first
had been hurried and that of a man desperate to leave;
the bare minimum that would suffice—he set to create
a vessel to ensure his departure from the des’late
accrue of sand and vegetation; Abraham laboured
to strengthen his body—pushing his arms further passed the
point his mind believed they could go—consuming the hearty,
protein-rich, mollusks, and small shellfish he could find inside (60)
tide pools or shallows—if lucky, larger fish that dared the
nearby reefs.
Patiently, Abraham observed the tides and
breaking water; he wanted to determine the correct
time to set off to ensure success—when the waves would not
toss him back to the beach; the day: a calm clear day—only
within few metres of soft beach did there exist any
breaking waves, and those that broke were barely a metre high;
loading provisions upon the vessel, Abraham bid
farewell to the island (out of wont for the sustenance (70)
it gave not for nostalgia) grasping his oars, he set forth
to find open sea—where the waves do not break and set you
gingerly on foreign shore(s); Abraham paddled passed the
first few breaking waves, his heart pounding with hope—he stifled
the thoughts (celebrate when the island is but a subtle
blue curve upon the horizon); as the island began
to shrink in his vision, the sky to his back grew darker…
the waves started to swell—moguls grew to hills—Abraham
stroked up and rode down; the cursèd Island refused to shrink…
if not begin to grow wider… stroke by stroke Abraham (80)
grew frustrated—stroke by stroke frustration advanced into
anger—stroke by stroke anger augmented into fiery
beating of the water!—Abraham struck and struck at the
Sea—eyes closed—white knuckles—trashing!—unsure which direction
he paddled…sky pitch-black, wind blowing on-shore Abraham
bellowed out to the Sea in inarticulate roars of:
hatefrustrationpitydesperationheartache!
Towards
Abraham’s in-linguistic roar, the sky let out a crack
of authority! a wave swept the flailing Abraham (90)
into the ocean—cool water only heated the rage
in Abraham’s mind—his half empty heart only wanted:
to sail home, become whole  again—sit under and olive
tree and stroke the chestnut hair of Zara as she drifted
off to sleep on his chest while he would whisper sweet verses
into her ear… Abraham’s rage, beyond reason, forgot
the boat and all clarity, he tried to swim away from
the cursèd island—scrambling up waves only to tumble
back with their breaking peaks—salt, the only taste in his mouth;
churning his stomach to *****; his kidney’s praying he (100)
would  not swallow anymore… his gasps stifled any curse
Abraham’s head wished to expel onto the Sea—yet she
swore she heard one final curse escape his lips! at that the
Sea tossed Abraham (head first) into his ghost-helmed vessel—
all went dark for hostile Abraham…

Contemplating back
at his rage—knowing the barbarian it makes of him,
Abraham peered into the band inscribed into his
ring-finger and saw the knot tying him to Zara—shame
at his arrogant-uncontrolled-fury sent Abraham (110)
into a meditative exile inside of his mind
(within the exile of the island…) in his mental
exile Abraham spun into deeper despair at his
two failures—even more at the prospect of failing the
vow he professed onto Zara: return home—home from this
final voyage, grow old with her on solid ground, never
to die apart and cause the pain of losing a loved one
without the closure of truly knowing the death is real,
to die by her side white, white with the purity of age…
Abraham’s destitution turned inward—his fury, the (120)
lack of control, the demon he becomes when rage surges
through his muscles; equiping him with untamed strength without
direction or self-possession—so much potential, yet
no productive way to use it… Abraham’s half-full-heart
burned, ached with passion and anguish—all desire
focused on home, his return, but the mind’s despondency
and insistent ‘what-ifs’ kept poor Abraham prostrate in
his mental cave—all his wishing for anger and vi’lence
to force his will, it did more to retain him upon the
cursèd island than bring his heart closer to fulfillment: (130)
his long awaited home…
Out of his mental exile did
Abraham’s irises dilate and contract with blinding
illumination—self-pity is not what make things happen—
it would only serve to anger Zara—nothing other
than I can be to blame for my continued absence; I
am stronger than that!—looking at the tattoo in his hand,
he remembered the reasons for the perennial brand—
the eight-spoke ship’s helm: the eight-fold-path—I must cut off my
desire for anger to be the solution and focus (140)
on the one path to Zara—the mind can push the body
further than the body believes is possible—the star:
the compass to guide me via celestial bodies
to where my heart can see the guiding beam of my lighthouse!

ah hear da dog a snorin and da heavy breathin a da wolf
ah feel da wind a blowin and da chill dats brought in with it
  ah see da tings dey creepin to da shadows where dey creach
ah hear da turtle skootin to da den for shelta from da storm
  ah feel a mighty shakin comin out chru da broken ground
ah see a terrible storm a brewin in da distance waitin out its time

  ah watch as tings dey change an no always for da best
ah see da way dey act when dey done know dey bein watched
  ah know da tings dey be doin now dey tink meh watchin
ah see dey know, dey change dey tings dey do
  ah feal da change she comin and comin for ya know dey change
ah can na keep a runnin away des tings ah went an run to far

  meh guess is da was da right ting ta do
meh goin no betray da love dey sho meh
  meh tinks ah done right by him ah wont betray
ah can feel dah silance an da tension in da air
  ah know da time she comin for meh but ah hope she no to soon
ah see whas goin on an fallin down around meh

  ah no goin to pretend no more, des tings bother meh so much
ah no goin to hold my tongue when ah've been offend'd
  ah no goin ta take tings da wrong way any more too much time be wasted
ah got ta find where ah can stole away from da waves of questions raised
  ah feel des tings but can na change dem no more than change shes wanted

  ah hear da dog a snorin gettin after chasen tails
ah hear da turtle skootin to da den for winter warmth
  ah know how what wrong ah've done has come back round
ah can see she been cryin she wares it on her sleeve
  ah can see u no more smilin tryin headed for da bed
ah know da whistle ah hear come runnin o da trouble, ah stay out

The body of a paragraph of my emotions
my body my story my life
is all twisted
not real
the non feeling within me
consumes me like a disease
the constant meh
meh
meh
reminding me of how good life could be
if i got off my *** and did something
but when one puff leads to another
one day full of puffs lead to many more
the constant meh
meh
meh
i feel my life slipping away
when i dont puff
the world is darker
because I know
that when I smoke
all i feel is
the constant meh
meh
meh
My mind opens
but my actions shut down
I dont know if I can go a day without it.
maybe when pigs fly.

Meh derl'n, meh dere
who laid meh heer,
lait'ly on meh bak
ta stere et theh stars
frum theh windo clere
an mite ev'n been fruhm
mars

Laid here fair an squair
ta tuch an tuch, o yoo
an so much, on theh
uth'r side fruhm meh

Lait'ly dere, throo
a vale of teres) yoo
luff, quake b'nethe
me brethe an awl
theh uth'r stuff
weel cullit quite
like deth meh
dere

Everywhere meh look, all meh see
Is suffering and bare tragedy
Rasta nuh blind, Rasta nuh deaf
Not even ah loaf ah bread pon ah shelf

War, bust we skin, ah left scar
While politician ah drive fancy car
Meh pickanny hungry
Baby madda angry
Everywhere meh look all meh see
Is blood and bare treachery

For survival, youth turn cannibal
Inna dem head, positivity nuh linger
Pick up de gun, tun trigger finger

Guide them oh Jah
Protect dem likkle ones
Dem ah de future
Our salvation, our cure.
Selah...

You have always felt a presence coming from your knife
It called you
To use it

You take the blade
And you cut into your flesh
And the blood comes draining out

You feel as though
You want to drink it
But you refrain

You take the hand that bleeds
You smear your blood across the mirror
In your mind
You want something

Supernatural to happen

Nothing

You look in the mirror
Blood still fresh on your blade
You can almost see a smile

You start to cry
Because life
Is never like the movies
Or the songs
It's dull

How many times
Have you used this same knife?

It's over
Never again

You reach for a brush
And start combing your hair
Life *****

You get ready to take a shower
You go to the bathroom
Take off your clothes
And get in the shower
You decide
You want to take a bubble bath instead

You pour out the bath salts
And wait for it to fill

It's really warm
You place your foot into the water
It stings
You submerge yourself
And cover your body in bubbles
You feel down the outer part of your thigh
And scratch open your cuts that you made on your thigh

It feels rough and smooth
You relax and close your eyes
You're thinking of that dream you had
That nightmare

You start to laugh a little
You feel like crying
You just scratch
And cry softly
Not loud
Just
Softly

You wait there for a while
And you sit up
With bubbles across your skin
Slowly falling down
You reach for the plug
Pull it out
And just sit there
Until the water's all gone

You shiver a little

You get up
Open the curtain
Mirror's fogged up
And you squint at your reflection

You leave the tub
Approach the sink
Naked

Move your hands across the mirror
Squint again

Eww

You grab your favorite towel
And begin to dry off

You start to put the robe back on
And leave the bathroom
There's still a little blood in the tub
Slowly draining away

You walk back into your room
Shut the door
Lock it
Take off your robe
Place it here

Then your thigh is bleeding again from scratching it
So you find a band aid
And place it on your skin
It falls off

Meh

You grab an over sized t-shirt
Place it over your body

Lay down in bed
And check out your texts

Nothing

You kinda almost cry
You plug in your phone
And go to bed

When you wake up the next morning
You don't feel good

Ehhh

Headache
You can't think
You are just sitting up
Staring
At your door
With your robe by it

You breathe slowly
Depressingly
Like you
Don't want to leave your bed

You grab your phone
Check it

Nothing

Huh

You get out of bed
Sit down on the floor
Put your socks on
Then your underwear
Then you take off this t-shirt
Put on a kinda cute shirt
Put on some blue jeans
You forgot to put your bra on
So you take off your cute shirt
Slowly get it on
Wires start poking into your back
You need a new bra

Meh

Put your cute shirt back on

Head towards the bathroom
Walk passed your sister
You don't have any makeup on yet
Maybe you can skip that today

Ha

No

Open the bathroom door
Start applying make up
You mess up on the eyeliner
Have to
Do it again

Half hour later

Your brother's pounding on the door

Hurry up in there

Meh

You start to move slower

Hurry up in there

You turn to face the door

You think
I hope you **** your pants

You open the door
Your brother looks ******
You just walk by him
He slams the door
All angry

You're just shaking your head
You knock on the door
You say
Hurry up in there

I forgot my comb

You wait for him to finish

He opens the door
You plug your nose
And grab some bathroom spray and spray the hell out of the bathroom

You then have to go to the bathroom now
You shut and lock the door
You sit down
It's wet

You want to ****** him now
But you're too tired to ****
So whatever

You finish

You get up
You squint in the mirror
You see a zit

No

You leave the bathroom
Forgetting your comb

You meant to say brush
Not comb

Meh

Yeah
I say that a lot

Walking down stairs
You go to the fridge
No more mountain dew left

******

You shut the door
Making a funny face

Your mom says
Ready for school?

You say
No
Can I stay home
I'm not feeling good

She says
What's wrong?

I don't want to talk about it

She says
What's wrong
sounding out her middle name as well

Whatever

She doesn't like her attitude
She grabs her backpack
Puts her shoes on

And goes and waits for the school bus

She just stares down the road
And waits
And waits
And waits

I could fall asleep waiting

she yawns a little

backpack on the ground with strap in hand
Bus shows up
She gets on

Finds a seat
With nobody
Places her backpack down

And a guy asks
Can I sit here?

She's like
No

He says
*****

Meh

She opens her book
Starts reading

Do you know how she feels right now?

Eh like playin fitba wee meh Dad,
It's so funny and a wee bit sad
'Cause when eh beat him he gets mad.

Eh like playin fitba wee meh wee lassie,
She plays fitba like Shirley Bassey,

Meh Dad canny tackle, he's so mince.
He devs in and taks awa meh pins.

Meh lassie heiders the ba  wee the back o her heid,
Like a fish oot o water
Just before it's deid.

Snarling Cup of Coffee    




I like to start my day with a hot cup of coffee
I pound down the coffee
First thing I do every day
as the dawning sun
Lights up my lonesome room

Yeah, but not just a simple cup of java Joe, but a ******* snarling sarcastic smarmy cup of coffee

I mean, - we are talking about an alcoholic, all speed ahead, always hot, always fresh, always there when I need it, angry, attitude talk to the hand Ztude, bad, bad assed, beats breaking, beatnik, bluesy, bitter, ******, bombs away, capitalistic, caffeinated up the ***, cinematic, communistic, Colombian grown, Costa Rican inspired, Cowabunga to the max, crazy assed, devilishly angelic, divine, divinely inspired, dyslexic, epic, extreme vetting, evil eye, expensive, ****** vision inducing, Ethiopian coffee house brewed, euphoric, freaky, freazoid, foxy, Frenched kissed, French brewed, funkified, foxy lady, graphic, GOD in my coffee, with Allah, Ganesh, Jesus, Kali, Buddha, Christians, Durga, Hindus, Mohamed, Jesus and Mo and their friend, the cosmic bar maid, Sai Babai, Shiva, Taoists,

Zoroastrians, drinking my god ****** coffee in Hell;

growling, gnarly, happy, hard as ice, Hawaian blessed, high as a kite, hippie, hip, hipster, hip hoppy, hot as hell yet strangely sweet as heaven, jazzy, jealous, Kerouac approved, kick ***, kick my ******* *** to Tuesday, kick down the doors and take no prisoners, grown in the Vietnam highlands by exVietcong, Guatemalan grown, kiss ***, illegal in every state, imported from all over the ******* world,

insane, lovely, loony, lonely, lonesome, malodorous mean old rotten, *******, nasty, narcotic, never whatever, never meh, never cold, not approved by the CIA, not approved by DHS, not approved for human consumption by the FDA, not your daddy’s sissified corporate cup of coffee, NOT DECAFE coffee, not your Denny’s truck driver weak as brown water cup of fake coffee, not your establishment friendly cup of coffee, Not your FBI coffee, Not FAKE Herbal coffee substitute, but a real cup of coffee, not your farmer brothers dinner crap, not made in America for Americans, not safe for work, not your Starbucks average expensive overpriced ****** corporate chain cup of coffee, Not pretentious, Not White House approved, not State Department safe, nuclear, Not Patriotic, operatic, Peets’s coffee approved,

paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, *******, silly, ****, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of ***, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the ****** revolution,

Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century,

the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that ****** and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his *** to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical,

Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee   
As I pound down that first cup of coffee
And fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless supplies
Of caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals

I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fear
I turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair

Lying through their perfect blazing white teeth
about the great success the government is having
Following the great leader's latest pronouncements

I want to scream
and shoot the TV
and run out side

Shouting
Stop the world!
I want to get
off this ******* crazy planet"

The earth does not care a whit
about my attitude problem

It merely shrugs
and moves around the Sun
In its appointed daily run

the universe whispers
in my ear
time to drink more coffee
for an attitude adjustment

And I sit down
The madness dissipating a bit
And enjoy my second cup
Of heaven and hell
In my morning cup of Joe

Coffee Revolutions



coffee cup
Coffee led to the American Revolution<span
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against
the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock Market
And started the gossip mills running
Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved
to coffee's magic

I sing my praises
Of the great
glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweet companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart
on fire

Ode to Coffee



Mistress of sacred love
Sacred lady of desire

You start my day
Setting my heart on fire
With your dark delicious brew 

And throughout the day
Whenever the mean old blues come by
You chase them away

With your bittersweet ambrosial brew
Every time I inhale your witch's brew

I am filled with power, light and love
And everything is al right Jack
If only for a few fleeting minutes

I love you oh coffee goddess
In all your magical forms

In the dark coffee of the dawning day
In the sizzling coffee in the mid morning break
In the afternoon siesta break
And in the post dinner desert drink

I love you my coffee mistress
You are my refuge
From this horrid world

And you are my secret lover
Never disappoint me, ever
I've never had a bad cup
Of that I can be sure

Even the dismal coffee
Served at Denny's at 3 am
Is still sweet loving coffee

Even the farmer brother's diner coffee
Excites me and gets me going
Asking for another cup of divine delight

Coffee always is there
It is always on and piping hot
With hidden dark secrets
Swirling in its liquid essence

Coffee is my last vice
My only legal vice left

Coffee does not cheat on me
It is always faithful, always true
It does not turn on its friends

And all it asks in return
Is that you come back
Cup after cup after cup

A good cup of coffee
Is a little bit of heaven
In a cup of dark liquid hell

Coffee is like a drug
But a good drug that does what is should
And never complains

It does not get grouchy
It does not hurt you

It does not make you crazy
But allows the muse to come out
And play with it

Coffee led to the American Revolution
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock market
And started the gossips mills running

Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved to coffee's magic

Yeah
I sing my praises
Of the great glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweat companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart on fire

I love thee
Mistress coffee
And sometimes I think
You love me too

No More Coffee Blues








I love coffee
Always have

And coffee has loved me back
But lately I have soured on her
Soured on the whole coffee scene

On the harshness
of the morning brew
And the promises it makes

As I sip of its nectar
Drawn into its lair

Drinking drop by drop
As the caffeine takes over

Rewriting my every nerve
Turning me into a slave
For its perverted pleasure

Yes I love coffee
But I am afraid

Coffee is a harsh mistress
Demanding so much of me

Promising the sun
And delivering the moon

As I drink her swill
Deepening under her influence

I have the coffee blues
Can’t live without her
Can’t live with her

I try
But tea does not cut it
Not really

***** does not do it
At least not in the morning

Yoga is not enough of a buzz
Nor is the runner’s high

And I am afraid deadly afraid of *******
And speed and drugs and energy drinks

And so I remain a slave to coffee
My only legal drug

As I sip another
and fall under
her seductive spread

Once more failing my resolve
To skip coffee for that day
That morning that moment

I shall never be free of her spell
Ever and she knows it
As she beckons me
Every morning with her intoxicating smell

And I come to her
and drink her brew

And become her slave
again and again

Coffee Ya Du





must drink coffee
have every day
the morning dawns
drinking my coffee as I yawn

Morning cup of coffee 



every morning
I drink my coffee
as I contemplate 
the dawning day

watching the news anchors
blather on and on
drinking my coffee
thinking of life

and my coffee
consumes me
overwhelms me
and at time controls me

after all coffee is a drug
and I am her slave
from time to time

Drinking Coffee in the Morning



in the morning
dangerous mood
felling deranged
watching the news

trigger warning
you are ******* dude
end of the world
the end times come

I drink coffee
in the morning



Coffee *** Killed





His wife has banned my use
by my owner
says he makes too much
of a mess when he uses me

it is not his fault
I want to say
but being a coffee ***
can not speak

and so I am abandoned
thrown out into the trash

and feel very sad
for my owner

who was my friend
he liked me

he keep me going
and I did my job

providing him
with fresh coffee

doing my coffee *** duty
and now it is over

Drinking My Coffee


drinking coffee

drinking my coffee
early in the cool morning
thinking life is fine

everything will be okay
after I drink my coffee

morning coffee



morning coffee

dawning sun 











coffee MGur Poem


coffee

I pray to the coffee gods
every cup of coffee
is like a sacrament to me

I pray as I drink my coffee
that it will fill me
with wisdom

and find peace
with my coffee

as I drink
my devotion

Hot coffee


cup of coffee


take coffee with you
Hot hot coffee, makes my day -

Must drink My daily coffee, as the morning dawns - 

With out my morning coffee

in me,  I feel nothing at all -

Electrified Hot Coffee



coffee is the drug of choice
nothing else will do it
as I drink coffee
Electrified
Hot Coffee

Hot Coffee and Cake


coffee
coffee is the drug of choice
electrified circuits
as I drink coffee
coffee and cake



Coffee Patina



coffee
hot coffee
hot Hellish Heaven
Essence of coffee

ah really hope mah words done fall on deff ears
ah really hope dey hit home and squash all mah fears
  ah really hope mah actions done land on blind eyes
ah really hope dey too hit home an silance all mah cries
  ah really hope mah love done fall on a broken hart
ah really hope it hits home and keaps meh from fallin apart
  ah really hope mah faith done find a fallin soul
ah really hope it his home and leads mah to dah final gole
  
  ah really hope ahm lisnin when dey speak ta meh
ah reall hope wah dey say gets through an saves meh
  ah really hope ahm ready when ahm called to prove
ah really hope dey prove ahm worthy of her too
  ah really hope ahm not da broken hart
ah really hope da pieces can na be taken back apart
  ah really hope ahm faithful when da sole come callin
ah really hope dat sole done do meh in to da dien

we become, what we inherit...
just as the current schism in islam...
there is no talk of wahabi shia...
is there? no! music! ding'ah ah ling'ah ling!
           the ******* tehran banjo!
     iranians love music and poetry is music to them!
what's happening?
                 it's within sunni islam...
well...
             let's go for it:
infantalism given the modern western
woman being... very *******
      sensible...
                     the malbork castle...
sure... but the battle?
     burg grünwald (green forest)...
                  it's really hard to hear the western
narrative with their transgender issues
and find yourself basically *******
out these terms... and being called a child
for it?
            that's ******* western... that really
deserves a slap in the face...
                  they're ******* annoying...
i know i live here... but they're like:
meh meh meh... me me me... meh... me... meh...
     master race *******...
   they're pretending to be the masters!
no wonder some islamic terrorist puts
them in their place!
        i'd sooner be scared by a fire-*******
on new-year's eve than the reaction...
goo goo mmm ha...
                          honestly? watching
the **** these people get up to in their
pornographic depictions?
        i'd probably rather **** a donkey
to hear a duck's quack when it *******...
                but sure... it's
infantile to have some sort of ethnic coordinates...
because forgetting your ethnicity
leaves you with free-radical pronouns...
           but i bow... your problems are
really needed in these days of concerns...
    ******* hell: clap... clap... clap... clap...
    well done!
                i'd rather be a child
with ethnic history posits than this zeitgeist
of modernity making problems
of grammatical terms, with no philosophy
book ever having used grammatical categories...
   wheeturd gonna blow the **** at
some paris venue!
                          there's no point pledging
an allegiance to the west...                  
              oh **** i wish there was some reason...
i just can't find enough reasons
to truly believe in the barbarity of darwinism
and then translating that into: defending retards.
i'd actually defend a ******...
                     but these are ultra-retards...
           i literally have no conscience
  about putting them into concentration camps
where scots teach them grammar;
sure, they get all the food they need, after all we need
them to come out well versed and over-weight!
       concentration camps where they teach them
nothing but grammar...
          i swear that would end up being more sadistic
than something out of north korea...
         but i am a sadistic *******...
and i'm ******! ***! ***! yo ** ** and a barrel
two more!

Oi
Look
Listen
You

Forgive my tone, I'm not trying to smart, rude or clever.
Gender shouldn't not be tender. Hopefully sooner or later it'll become like: Meh..Yeah whatever."

You know how I made you beautiful
Because I loved you?
Well, I've removed the filter
Now you're just meh.

MEH
It’s what we say when we...
Don’t care.
Aren’t excited.

RAH
It’s what we say when we...
Celebrate.
Cheer.

These initials are important,
they represent people.
One, a dangerous disassociative abuser.
The other, a beautiful mind and soul.

The past is MEH, our future is not.
But the future will see RAH transform.
Perhaps to RAK, though my dream is RAB.
To M; you just don’t matter. Meh.

I fell in this hole...
its so dark and lonely...
I try to climb up the sides but I always end up bk at the bottom...
scream for help...
but no ones listening...
walls around meh are starting to close meh in...
I cry and scream but nobody comes...
I start to panic...
its getting darker and darker every minute...
But I look up and I see a light...
I try climbing once again...
I get higher and higher...
But I get to high and begin to have fear falling...
it doesn't stop meh...
I keep climbing...
I go higher and higher...
but the light's getting farther away....
I slip and I begin to fall...
I start to scream...
but a hand reaches out and grabs a hold of mine...
he saved meh...
I look up once more...
not in fear...
but to look a my hero...
The light gets brighter and closer as he pulls meh out...
I cry...
but not in sorrow...
for there is no reason to be sad...
but in relief...
of being saved from my darkness.... <3

i acted cool.
You know, like how they do it on TV.

27 floors up,
your door was unlocked.

i didn't take my shoes off,
that way you could see the bad *** i really am,
deep down.

You know, you told me you loved me.
That's why I came.
i believed you.

Oh, how naive of you, i think back now.

I sat on your beat-down chair,
while you sprawled out on the floor-level couch.

I was terrified,
but the kids on TV are never scared.

He said he loved you.
No one else has ever felt that way before.
He loves you, kid.
You can do it.

Come cuddle on the couch?
Meh, maybe if i feel like it later.

Play. It. Cool.

i slide unto the foot of your ***-stained sofa.
i can feel your feet shaking behind my back,
your toes teasing my sides,
poking in and out between my ribs.

i know what you want,
and i want it too.

Keep. It. Cool. Kid. Keep it Cool.

i feel my hands slip out of your tight grasp,
my fingers inching their way up your leg,
following the dips of your pelvic bone.

What is happening?

The taste of you is so foreign to me.
i've never known the sweetness of another human being.

Let's go to your room?

Kid, it's just like on TV.

Okay, yeah, i guess if you really want to.

i didn't want to take my clothes off.

The world was spinning,
i was seeing and feeling things i didn't know to exist.

What is happening?

i love you.
i love you, i love you.

it's all over,
i leave.
27 floors of shame.

not only don't you love me,

you don't talk to me.

Meh is what I say
When I feel that way.
It’s all in the expression:
That’s the lesson.
I ain’t a troll
‘Cos I say lol.
Our language is growing,
Toing and froing,
Ask old Mister Owen
(Our English Master back in the day).
I play these words
Along the page,
Hoping for a Golden Age
Of growth.
Not revolution, just evolution;
Some may say pollution
Even ablution.
The constitution
Of Progress.

Paul Butters

Contact/receive/text sender

Talking wit meh
Conversing with me.
texting ta meh..
I'ma give ya a bit of me.
like pieces of my heart.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
sips of my soul.
ok...ツ
I don't like ta leave conversations unfinished.
We start so let's appreciate the end
I don't share for foolishness.

Typos and Errors.
Figure it out without sorrows.
huhs...  ¯_(?)_/¯,   fingers, question marks or arrows.
It's easy to see where smiley faces goes.
Texted..Oh man..
Give me creative bits and new pieces.
Show me your unseen faces.
Open your mental deeper places.
I keep confident what's been texted.

Not hip with what's common with people.
Truth reaches deeper than what's deceitful.
So talkin wit meh I want it meaningful.
abbreviated..timely awaited, cutely animated.
The screen is excited when It's been fondly TEXTED.
You are like a Star when ya Text.
So I can't wait ta see what comes Next.
❤ ❤♫ ."¨'"..¸Sharday ¸."¨'".♫❤ ❤

By SelinaSharday Rose 2019. s.a.m ©

"
"nor is this a fact," nor is my syntax the 'true.'
i can't use quotations in the way i'd like to,
to allow the paradoxical to seep through
in the sly act of revising 'this' honestly--
merging truth with falsity, to silently see--
grammar become a means to shatter certitude

"i can't tell the 'truth' with these ["i can't tell the 'truth'
with these{...} very words"] very words"; i really can't...
it's somewhat unfair to communicants, this rant.
let me bolster your trust by not telling it slant:
in fact, it's not poetry, not from this angle.
maybe when you read, this 'this' will be poetic?
meh, i'm relying on telling, not showing. so...
quiet's often better than such entanglement

but this is not about value, it's about truth.
sincerely, i doubt i'll keep those two separate

perhaps... if you pretend i'm a prolix parrot,
who happened through some acosmic accident
to be the transmigrated daimon-soul of Sappho,
or Hypatia, Gertrude Stein or Plath even...
(yeah, i'm like a Cretan for going on): they weren't,
'your gobbledygoo,' or 'Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.'
stripped bare at the Caesareum, being murdered
for the crime of godlessness or female wisdom
spoken in the scapegoat-hungry rule of Rome...
this is not what they were, not the whole truth, at all
and though from winds of ****** she spoke in verse
that her vast poetic fame 'was no delusion:'
and that, 'dead, I won't be forgotten,' i fail,
painfully fail, to trace into a verbal womb
the seeds of those that transformed all, yet now entombed...
for to remember them in me is to revise,
reduce, sadly in that poetic untruth found...

"this" is a gestalt, i guess i'll have to say,
a "figure-ground," a floating 'shape' in some context,
one that you embody too, somehow, not in text;
even through a distant sharing, it's realized
(hold onto the random metaphors you find,
they're probably better than what's in my mind)
and to share this with you now, to hypocritize,
it's lunacy. i mean, the moon, the poetic moon
is not a meme, is not a custom, is not a poetic fact,
in fact, it's not in this poem, and if it were--
being televised with some authentic ontic pixel-space--
here between the lines augmented mOOn for you
it would prove how unpoetic the poem is, and how
very true the moon is, if it were here, right quoteunquote"here"
ineffably punctuated
            -- well, let me try
and fail again to make Erasmus proud:
the quotes would hang about romantic beams
parentheses to echo adjectival spectra streams,
an underscore horizonal and asterisks for stars.
but not these * asterisks,
or those_types of underscores--
better (parentheses) and far more "quothy" "quotes"--
the punctuation would literally ^punctuate^ the sky of my text.
time would stop.                                                            ­                   and that would be poetic.
you don't need to breathe, even; not this 'you,' in this moment
(the one i've failed to capture):
'i will put you on the moon' i say,
'and sit you buoyant by the buddha-astronaut, who,
in answer to the question sprinkles moondust in slow motion,
symbol-guiding realness, my "finger" for solution,
to present to you again, what is present to me now.
the Russian names, the rest of names, the 'face' some say cries, "sweetly,"
as if we could use the moon's sympathy,
or as if we should feel it for the white rock that elliptically defines us,
dances to our rhythm, (the tides, the ****** huntress)
the one that taught us to dance,
the one that taught us to yearn darkly in surreal eclipse
more hopefully for the chance of cataclysmic doom
some Greeks thought it was a disco ball, after enough *****, that Dionysian night,
some Greeks thought it was a disc,
like a coin that flipped just right
to match it's dance about our pearoid earth
in synchrony's anachronistic mirth.
i would lick each Bacchant clean to learn the mysteries of poem
i would lick each Bacchant clean. period. no music or noema known
this 'poem' is not a "poem"
in a very real sense
i did not make this,
nor did i compose or create it.
if you're not following it's ok, i'm barely there myself -- i'm trying to refer to...
the elliptical shape that certain publishers use
to refer to fundierung
the double-founding,
reversibility,
the flesh of passive
the flesh of active
enfleshed perceiving
the common meaning we contribute
but can't attribute to any source we express!
(however distorted) after the fact, yes! --
either all that, or the meaning you get from "this" act
doubly-enfolded, with two pairs of hands kneading the same dough,
two pairs of eyes weaving the same lOOm,
another Indra's net to sew,
in meaning you give now,
the techne of your reader's mind
and the meaning i'd wish to know,
if i were still writing what you are reading,
doing my best to ignore the title
and to write something worthwhile...

i do wish i could show it to you the way i love it in your own poetry,
but you would know that, already, without my love

without my unpoetic lack of facts, my rhymes.
free of poems, free to flout the literary sea.
free to be unwordly, and let the contradictions fly
"

Oon gallee um tonem eh
hallo caking elenta meh
oft alone on windy days
ellon ta ban um tonem eh
gallorn tello en triclon meh
eve in shadows with no sun
give an blem in toomel eh
argen jame oh blem tin meh
playing my mandolin on the moon.

When you think of me
I hope you think of my best not when others have put me through a test. Ignorance is always bliss. Rip the band aid off and leave me to bleed..
You know me,
the best I guess loved you more others less. Trusted you and well we have both failed each other's quests.
So together now let's explore what is it you see what do you adore. What do you hate can you handle more?

A joke, a laugh a gas giggling moment i guess so riddle me this over again
Lets start this midnight quest
Lets begin:

When you think of me
What do you see?
Am I someone weak or strong
pretty or not
Old or young
Good enough
Or less
I putting you through your own test
Someone who's just a thot
Or do you find me hot
**** and *** a blessing in disguise I guess.
When you think of me
What do you feel ?
Love
affection
Happiness
Be real
Haha meh nothing
Or more like
Disappointment and confusion
Am I like a Contusion a bruise on your elbow . Just plain annoying
Truly you know I'm not always mellow


Ah ha got it
Nothing you see
For to you I'm crazy
When you think of me ?
A smile or a frown
Do I let you down
Do I bring you up
I can fix your crown
King or queen
an ace I am
I really do love strawberry jam
Chocolate or chips
Sweet or sassy
When you think of me
Is it fleeting like lightening
Or just a moment that flashes by
A quick glimpse of a smile
a wink of an eye
Or a frown of discernment ?
Better yet a tear of disappointment
Rare to find joy behind those eyes.
Its my fault
****
Great disguise.
When you see me what do you see?
Love
Lust
equality
Pretty face
Nice *** and ****
Or a personality
Ahh not your eyes love-
But deep inside me,
What do you really feel?
When you touch me -
Does it make you smile
Do you feel relaxed
maybe a little wild
Nevermind you might be disgusted

When you love me
Is it because your lonely.
Am I just a body for warmth at night
Are you demons running away when I slide under the sheets to stay
Or do you only care when no one is in sight. Your ***** little secret maybe to embarrassed to diaplay
Affection is like a disease to you.
More like an affliction or two.
Like it once maybe twice but thrice you hate me.. Turn to stand and walk away.
Just a toy for today.

Does Your heart skip a beat in your chest
Is there something there,
In that heart of yours
Dusty and boarded I cant see enough.
I guess my life got pretty tough
Do you see you or just the worst in me
Nevermind the answer
I will tell you what I see.
it is me after all,
Breaking it down like a wrecking ball?
Why me!
question number one I'm nothing special
What CAN I see
I don't compare to your ex's Never claimed to be the best
I know I'm better then your last.
One of a kind made here in the USA
My grade would be an A
I'm nothing more then a jokeTo you and your closest friends
Pick on me point at me make me feel less. **** me off. Let's see what it takes.. To make her
Runaway its a joke
I guess I'm to easy
shes crazy you say!!
We love her
But not really ..
Talking **** sitting next to me
Scoff some more
now I am dying laughing on the floor
a game its become to see
Who hurts the most.
Aye keep it going  
running away you made it work
Who could love me
Me of course

Protective jealous
A rage maybe
I guess its all in what you want
Just not your type
At least on the outside
Or for your heart
The Worst I guess
At least from you to me

A little cuddly
I know
Insecure
Immature
Selfish
No self worth
Honest
Blunt
Elegent
Entertainment of course
Clothes on or off today?
Making me feel like a *****
your not  just any guy
Nothing more then a hypocrite
I love my chocolate pie
I love to watch people
throw
***** looks
******* again
I laugh at you as you throw the hook
Loving life
Its best for us
To bad we would rather choke
Sometimes I wonder
Maybe its not right
Im not Just a *****
My legs don't spread for anyone
Probably to ***** for most
But it's kind of fun.

I hope this isnt the side that you adore
For I can be
Selfish and mean
Callous and cold
Calculating and vindictive
To those who hurt me
Too professional at times
Overprotective
**** it blurred lines
Dont know how to smile
All the time
Resting ***** face
Clean and clear
No wrinkles to erase
Keeps the skin clear
Sometimes I lie because I dont want to hurt you.
Sometimes
I
Am
Too:
Protective
Jealous
Mean
Lazy

I want you to run, so you can't attack my pride.
Hurt me like the rest,
Its the ultimate test
Win or loose
Its up to you
Let's compare
I'll run and hide
I don't like taking sides

I guess I'm a gem when I'm not my worst self
Caring loving sweet and a pretty face to see nice *** and **** a display of art i guess
scared lonely  this world will drive a sane person crazy.
Why do I care
I'm just me.
Someone to always wear her heart on her sleeve
The way to get hurt I do believe
At least its me being real

i Cry and weep
sob and sleep
What's wrong with me
I'm not the worst person can't you see
Lessons learned
But never enough
For I'm changing day to day another moment another way
Another lesson learned
Time to sway far
Yet near
Not loosing myself again dear.
I promise one day I might be good enough.

Until then I hope you get your jokes worth.
Til the end
I try to change daily and be the best me. Not good enough for you I see
You have no pride in me  Locked away in a closet like a prize doll to take out and play with,
Til your done then toss me back..

I'm not just here to please you
I am here to
love and please me
No heart attacks
please
Let's be blunt and real
  leave me here to bleed.
Hatred is a harmful seed
Now enjoy the night
These words are done
Have some fun
******* and the horse you rode in on.
Bleeding the bandaids gone
narcissistic love

Gandalf: a character ( wizard) from the legend that is lord of the rings
...

chapter - 0:



he was walking past the useless lake on a breezy autumn day when the gust of wind brought with it the scent of a thousand abandoned garage bags littering the corner of this semi unorganised semi-civilised halli part of a mega city.

his home was about three thousand kilometres away and a dozen hundred dialects removed from where he chose to pursue his 'higher' education.

a term he took literally and to heart.

he was almost always high, if that's what you call being semi awake and always clawing somewhere deep, both mentally and sometimes even physically.


but as soon as the cacophony of a thousand different bad smells hit his soul, he knew the trip was over.

he jolted back to existence from an escalating thought process leading him to the discovery of a new and a better universe.

he took a deep breath and immediately regretted his decision, almost screaming in horror.

and while he was battling a lost battle trying to defeat an invisible and impossible to contain force of population and pollution,

his smoked eyes latched onto a figure emerging from the corner of his smoked eyes.

he suddenly realised where he was. and it wasn't where he thought he was about two seconds ago.

leaf-less and life-less trees stood where he could swear was just an empty slightly orange and red sky a few milli moments ago  

the lake had turned from blue to a shade of green or was it still blue ?
he wasn't interested at all, so he just gave up reasoning in mid-process..

what difference does it make ?

but suddenly his mellowed mind  realised the threat, and his attitude changed from i-don't-really-give-a-**** to oh-****.

there was something else there too, and he, like a ******* cat- turned around just in time to see what it was,

and the time stood still. he couldn't believe his eyes.

it was    gandalf.

**** it. he was sure. ******* gandalf.
with a ******* stick, his beard and that grey whatever. gandalf.

he took a deep breath again. it didn't hurt as bad as before. maybe it was growing on him. he took another breath just to make sure it wasn't. it wasn't.


and as gandalf started becoming bigger and bigger, he could see his mighty white beard dancing in the wind more clearly. he could sense his aura radiating a wonderful positive force that was almost impossible to describe with a naked eye and with an F  in communication skills.

gandalf was finally a stone throw away from the boy. he could throw a stone at him. he could but he wouldn't. no, he thought about it but no. it wouldn't make sense. it was too insane of an idea too. he wasn't yet ready to accept his true human nature that enjoyed the absurdity of violence.

though he was a hard-core stoner.  ah irony and puns.


instead he took the more scenic route and almost mumbled " gandalf?! what?!?! "


it took the old white man a second to register but he managed a sudden " gand elf, what?!? "

it wasn't awkward yet. but it was india. so it kinda' was.

the boy almost trained in apologising professionally and profoundly, mumbled " oh, no.. I'm sorry.. I just.. you know.. there's this .. dude.. people do cosplays now.. and I was a little high... ahem.. I mean I was thinking.. I mean I saw.. you.. I mean, I swear you're looking like a ******* gandalf.. I mean gandalf ?!?! "


another gust of wind and they both frowned.

gandalf responded " who .. what the **** is gand elf ?!?!"


the boy " he was supposed to be a dwarf like something.. but he become a wizard and tall, you know .. fought a dragon.. and rode giant birds.. ?!?! "


not gandalf " what the **** are you talking about, what is wrong with you, you're not making any ******* sense and I, I'm .. hey, you see.. just saying, I'm very good at making sense, that all "


the boy " so, are you like a ******* teacher or a .. scientist?!? "


not gandalf? "ummm.. well you can say that.. something like that "


the boy " what do you mean, for all I know you could be a perverted ******* who also happens to wander the woods doing weird cosplays and killing people. "

not gandalf " the ****, kid ?! jeez.. simmer down.. that TV is insane, you guys ******* love it.. **** man.. I should have stopped that from happening... and video games! god, they ****.. I should have just killed the lot of you.. " and on went a rant the strange man


the boy " wo.. wo.. whoa.. wait, you're talking like you are better than the rest of us...are you on crack ? what are you even saying you ***... you're more like someone who pulls on broken strings on a hand down guitar on some shady corner of an immaculate subway... you're just a boomer, are you not, mister ? "


strange man not gandalf " well, in a way I am.. I am.. well, I am everything and everyone" he whispered..    a satisfying smile almost breaking out


the boy " the ******* mean ******* ?!? "

this was too much for the old man who was just having a walk and minding his own business

he whispered more angrily his time " oh you punk, you little punk I'll tell you! I'm ******* god, you **** .. yeah, **** it.. I'm not even kidding.. I'm ******* god, yeah!... **** it *****!. "


he took his hand and pointed to the sky and the clouds parted.


the boy couldn't believe his eyes, and almost suddenly the clouds began to form a shape.

he couldn't make it out at first, all he could see was that the old man who claimed to be a god, drawing something in the air.

he looked up and finally realised what it was.

God was drawing a giant duck in the sky.

and as he was staring up in a mixture of disbelief and horror,  the old man spoke loudly " that's you.. you sick ****.. it's your little duck. "


old-man-now-god-went on "... I mean it looks like a big duck 'cause you couldn't see it otherwise.. but drawing to ratio... it's your little duck.. and the whole world can see it now.. and they know it's small.. and not as big as it appears because it had to be big enough for everybody to see.. "


the boy was now going insane. anybody would. people just don't turn up, part clouds and draw ducks in the sky.. that doesn't even happen in movies.



the boy went on- a little horrified of what he had just witnessed " what kind of a god are you, I mean... what in the god's name was that ? how did you do it. ?"


God responded with squinty eyes " which part of i-am-a-*******-God did you not understand.. you.. you stupid mortal. "

from the depths of darkness a flicker of light emerged in the boy's mind, and he realised something very important..


the boy " hey, you can't be god, god won't ******* curse! he's god. " screaming cautiously at the stranger...


God had heard petty arguments and had gone through all that phase of  people taking some time to turn around and warm up to the idea of the literal god in front of them, he'd been over that all his life.

but this was the single dumbest thing he had ever heard since he made the decision to create the universe in a hurry.

God thought to himself " I should have paid more attention. meh. "

one more thing- the boy went on " why are you a he ? not a she ? I mean if you're a god why be ... I mean an old man with a stupid beard. why not somebody hot, and cool... and with a nice body and a face... slightly better... or maybe much better..  you get the point, right ? I mean.. you're god, right ? "

God just stood there and soaked in his own filth.

the boy went on hysterically " oh my... did you hear my answer even before I said it ? did you ? I mean can you ?... and did you ? or was it you that gave the answer.. 'cuz if you made the universe.. you made me too, right ?. "


God was annoyed. like really annoyed at this point and he blurted out " you think I made you ? you think one fine day I woke up and I thought to myself.. oh! I've created this beautiful but empty place full of darkness and the cold, spectacle of fire dancing in nothingness- breathing life in ***** of all kinds circling around the stars and what not.. and you think I was like 'what am I missing ?'... oh yes, right! I'm missing one ungrateful ******* snake with a little duck. "


the boy stunned " God ?!.. No, **** no! "

god almost curios " why would you say that. why did you even speak , why! "


the boy " my duck .. you know.. ain't that ... small. "



God almost smirking " shut up, *****. "


the boy " oh, yeah.. right you... really know how to abuse your own species. jeez. "


God " I didn't make you ... I ******* dropped my dope in the ocean once and you ******* things came out of it. "

he went on " I thought you'd die on your own but nah.. life's too nasty.. ugly and ... you know... it's.. admittedly... quite beautiful. "

time stood still as soon as he said that.

and it was a beautiful moment. both god and the boy trying not to turn red or cry.



" but the sad part is.. " God whispered with the love of a thousand cuddling pandas " you guys found me, I mean... oh my God! that brain thing really worked ... extraordinary! my subordinates tell me ... very expensive.. err... I mean to design... "


the boy " people work for you ? what ?! that's like.. you have a staff ?!.. weird. "


God " *****, i'm ******* god.. I don't have a staff.. I ******* make the staff. and no that's not even an iota of weird.. but you know what's weird ...truly weird, a fact so crazy that it'll blow your mind and give you enough wisdom to tear through the fabric of the world I've made and undiscover all its secrets, science and gossip?!  "


the boy was now as curious as a teenage boy in teenage, he replied " what?! tell me.. is it here on earth ?!"



God " yes, it is my child.. indeed it is! such joy!... and it is also right here where we stand. "


the boy's mind went into an overdrive.. maybe this was all his design.. the almighty has come to show him the path.. out of these woods he's lost in.... and also a path of divinity and happiness.. and also he had watched Bruce almighty a dozen times or so... he was ready.


almost in a poetic voice filled with a general sense of elation.. the boy asked god " tell me.. please what is it pleaseeee ? "


the god smiled, in a way only a father smiles to her new born daughter.. knowing she's going to be paid less, has to go through the cycle of being temporary insane every month ( or that's what female's had been telling him .. it doesn't matter.. you a guy.. you see a woman in pain.. you *******... that's 10 hours of her ******* the life out of you. and you still wouldn't be a good listener or attentive according to her even if you give up in the 9th hour.

the boys repeated desperately " what is it! I'd be a good boy but please tell me pleaseeee! "

and the god smiled. he smiled and pointed to him. " that there , that is it.. that ugly ******* little duck of yours. "


and immediately burst into a laughter more grandeur than any sound in the world. I mean right after radiohead but whatever.


the boy saw his finger and tried to trace it's path. and almost in a moment.. it was over.


he had lost it- he screamed at the creator " you think you can make fun of me 'cuz you a big guy ? you think you can make fun of me because you're the most powerful thing there is and can literally turn me into 50 hands and no ducks... just living life in pure agony.. " he trailed off looking a bit distant towards the ending..

God " jeez. kid. you don't have to be so dark and imaginative unnecessarily.. see, okay I'm sorry... I hurt your little heart...which by the way I have made and do own the materials to.. and that's why you're alive... basically all of you and everything.. now to think of it.. it does make me a big guy... or more than that... but that's not the point. "

he went on " the point is i should've known better... because you know I made it all.  even the concept of being better..  booom! blows your mind ain't it.. chuck it.. and the point is.. I should've known better, so I'm  sorry!.. you can tell people I said sorry but they're not 'gonna believe someone like you "


the boy " **** do you mean someone like me?! " back in his form


god " oh you know... someone with a small...... ******* duck !"

and the god fell down laughing hysterically and immediately as soon he said the words..

rolling all over the soft grass and the boy's face.


the boy had enough- he screamed " **** like you can spend two minutes being a human... who's to tell you didn't have a small duck and then just made yourself one big enough " his voice trailing in the wind


god hadn't been spoken like this since the invention of languages.. oh how much he despised languages..a ******* constant annoying noise in his head specially the bengali.. **** them.

God spoke back " oh, so you think being a snake is better than being the almighty ?! "


the boy " I'm not a snake.. I'm a human.. what school did you got to ? "

God " you can be a ******* rock for all I care ... just be nothing.. you know.. instead of being everything.. the idea of it... it's is rather.. you know... so beautiful. "


and at that moment the boy realised that even god wasn't immune to something that he didn't know.


the god " I'll do you a deal, you be two seconds in my place and I'll be two seconds in your place... and then we'll know.. I'll know the fear of being nothing and you can know the escatsy of being everything. deal dawg ?"


the boy " but.. like two seconds .. awful less of a time to enjoy any kind of escatsy "

God " running late, mate. "


the boy " okay okay.. let's do it "



God smiled a bit and immediately a giant light came down from the sky roaring with a thousand thunderstorms...

wind was growing stronger by the second and it was almost impossible to hear anything... or analyse anything for that matter...

God screamed at the boy " it's going to go in your *** and out of your mouth.. and your soul will be passed to mine.. "

the boy screamed back in oh-my-god-that-face horror barely making any coherent sense.


God rolling on the floor laughing
" jeez. I'm kidding you punk.... that face tho.. so woke.. so woke..."

it took some time but he picked himself back up and screamed at the boy " it's going to happen... three..two.. one.. " and boom


the boy felt what can only be described as the best ****** anybody has ever had.


the god felt like what can only be described as the hardest kick to the nuts in the history of universe.

two seconds after... bam! everything stood still.. like nothing had happened.


both stared at each other for a while..
God went first " so, ... ?! "


the boy " yeah. "


God " pretty tense...yeah.. *******.. I mean.. God!.. you guys are awful to be.. it *****.. I gotta' change that thing... you know... about people taking their own life... and going to hell... I get it... I mean..  yeah.. you know... like whatever."

God went on " how was yours. "

the boy " yea.. pretty chill.. ... "

God " that it, boy ?! "

the boy " yeah. .. mostly "


God " hmm.. woke.. woke... so were you clever enough to do something for yourself ? "

the boy " oh..yeah..pretty much.. nice cars and girls.. stuff.. " his voice cracking with a very refined i-don't-give-a-**** attitude


the wind was still now. butterflies were flying between the blooming flowers and singing AC/DC for some reason. it was pleasant.


god snapped his finger once and said " so.. yeah i should go now... apparently somebody's supposed to take a picture of me in the sky.. gotta flex up.. chow~ "


God snapped his finger a second time and lo behold!  like that he was gone ****!...


the boy stood still for a moment longer. he smiled and walked away.




(4 days later...)



god was in the alps...looking out of the large window wondering how dreadful it is to be human..  

and as he was crawling in and out of different dimensions he smelt something. something interesting.


it was alcohol. ( he's god so it's very easy for him to figure out such little things.)

so he went over the fancy bar and poured himself some *****.. " ah potatoes.. at least they turned out to be just right.." he thought out loud.

and then he proceeded to drink himself to death.. countless times. 'cuz he could do that. he was god.


over and over again. glass being neither full or half or even ******* empty.

drink after drink. and soon late enough he went into a deep slumber because of course god loves a good sleep. who doesn't ?


he slept through the entire life span of many insects and until the breaking dawn.

the first rays of the sun hit the mighty alps as well as the face of this almighty being on a white bed in a red hotel by a blue lake who had forgotten you do your own curtains in the human world.

his first thought was to destroy the sun- it took a lot to not lift his finger.

slowly but surely he regained his infinitum consciousness, and got in touch with the multi dimensional universes sprawling all over every  second in past and future simultaneously... but **** that 'cuz the head ache oh! so painful.. almost made him forgot he could just not want it and it won't happen.

God did not enjoy most human banalities.. but he did enjoy a rather a peculiar one...even more than drinking and kissing death. the one of peeing.

and he had to ***. bad.


God, with a hint of a smile lifted his finger and boom he was right by- where the deed is done in a civilised community. he imagined what would people think if they came to know why he's always more often than not a 'he' than a 'she'.

he was in his stark boxers, standing almost naked with a smile on his face enjoying the rush.

pink floyd started playing out of the thin air. an autumn's calm spread through the veins of this sudden universe. I kid you not, shahrukh khan was there with his arms wide open.

slowly the god began the almost holy ritual.

pull down the garment. admire. take it out. admire. do the deed, keep admiring. put it back. sigh. very well organised and neat.

so god took a deep breath, looked at the alps one more time, looked down with a smile on his face, and slowly pulled down the garment... his consciousness in a rush.

and then god screamed. there was a duck.

Mai  jee raha tha adhoora aaj tak,
Chahiye the saath tera mujhe har waqt,
Maangta tha tujhe paane ke hazaro mannat,
Iss baar Khuda ne sun li thi meri yeh ibadat ,
Aaj hai mere paas ek behen, joh sune meri har baat,
Ek behen, joh jhele mere bachpane ko har raat,
Dil se keh raha hoon, meri behen meh kuch toh alag hai baat,
Maa baap ne sabh kuch diya, par kuch cheez thi adhoori,
Aaj tum aagayi **, aur voh cheez ** gayi hai poori,
Meri pyaari behen, tum ** itni nek,
Mai fakr se keh sakta hoon, tum ** laakhon meh ek, Laakhon meh ek....


Pratyush.

Poem and mope
Are the same word
Built differently.

Most things,
That I create,
Are, of course,
Purely meh.

All I am asking you for
is a hint to your metaphors,
What's written on the papers you tore,
'Cause I always seem to want more
All of them, even neithers and nors.

Another thing I want to enquire,
If you're in a place that's oh so dire,
and need a shrink who's free to hire,
Any work I have, meh, I will retire!
To spur you on, all humour & satire.

If you give me but a glimpse into your world,
Cross my heart I'll show you mine unfurled.

Pour a little nonsense
from the tip of this
smoking stick of sage
ash bash begash  

sprinkle some silly salt
on my slug rug
give it a tug

the cries of the
self proclaimed adults
go unsung from sharp cheddar

goat cheese sings it like a breeze
bleat bleat sheep sell tears on the cheap

catch the blue butterfly that'll
pop into dimes

locks of love explode into chimes
and it's the dialectic of paradigms

thesis
antithesis
synthesis
sin this is
I guess
lol nah

pawn rook queen this is chess
bless it and mess it up to start over again
the king is in a constant state of
falling to the board

tick tack finger
speed up and
linger there

watch the ayahuasca vine grow in spirals similar to the dancing strands of DNA

base pairs are antennas of consciousness leaking through the silk screen press
I guess

two cupcakes told me that
teamwork is pretty sweet

take a bite and tell me if you like
the frosting on the cake I bet
you won't like the dough though
if it's half baked

Time to write a poem with some shameless rhymes
I don't know why
Perhaps to pass the time?
I don't get structure
What the hell is verse?
Which line am I rhyming with?
For no reason at all, purse.
Okay, that rhyme was pretty cheap
Almost as bad as the next one
Which is something about sheep.
This is too easy, rhyming this with that
Hey, who's your favourite super hero
Mine dresses like a bat
I kid, I kid...
Wolverine almost never dresses like a bat

writing is hard
some days I can sit and pour words out of my mouth
i can write for hours and hours
thousands and thousands of words
but other days the words just don't come

There aren't any words to say today
nothing important is happening
no intense feelings to describe
not even apathy
just boring
old
regular
stuff

poete lets meh eksress mah felings. et also lets meh leyt oot meh emotoins two

I love you. It's a fact. But the way you treat me...
I don't know anymore...
He treats me better than you do,
I like him too...

You are my love...
but with the way things are going...
I don't know anymore...
so:

NOTICE ME SENPAI!!! >///~///<