Maybe I could write a book all

Stares of people creamy tons
Eating dark bonbons
Find your nitch and call
The silk milk  switch
The"Cat Eye"
People come and go
But the sunset stays
The play up or play
down the love of life
An eternity of hearts
of your wife
The family

The boy ship ahoy
(Patch-eye Pirate)
Robin Almond Joy
And she just loves
them Tomboys
all lacey eyes

Masquerading
"Almond Eye's
flavor of soy
Lactose tolerant

Paintbrush deviant
He is so creamed for her
Dark sunset stimulant
Come on drink it all

Inside of my mind do
you dare to wink
and call

Take a look?
Are we losing
our scruples
Coconut milk
Smiles and dimples

A mystery of
illusions  more darkness
of confusion
The plain ordinary people

So on and then on?
Met our confusion of people

Right on # target_

Are we still creamy
stir it on

Darkest sunset
way beyond
Soothing so distant and just
like that
gone___

We cannot click on
anything creme
De La Creme
The computer magnet
like a crazy clone,
all lost being alone

Staying obedient trying to
find the way
(No God) what
No Man?
The cream in your cafe
The Prince
She's the angel dust
hair rinse
((Garnet))

Creamified sonnet

Dark sunset Jade Hornet
on so on her lips so on etc
They met the sunset
head on right time
She's on
All Laced
He's on
What a kisser
Is right time on?
Did he miss her?

My heart was on
the line

Robin birds of throbs

Losing so much time

being robbed deplorable

Like an abysmal

Disgraceable hum
Shady money sum
Banging drum yum
Dark sunset color gum

The dark silhouette
asylum

The sin or the sunset

Being straight jacket
Suzette

Minds breakdown
Heart Silk Crown

"Pennywise clown'

*** in the Cat milk
movies

Remembering the
The seventies

Peace signs and
Groovies

My sunset dreams
depleted

Was this the book
I needed to
be completed

How I armed myself
Finger lake creamy

Fate and time stood out
Dreammmmy_

My brain was fried
scrambler

But sunny side was up?

At midnight rambler

The Brooklyn Bridge
sunset heart dividers

Cosmic globe riders
Dark spell mentors
Spilled the creamy
Goddess of darkness
robe

This ancient Roman sunset
The lover of Darkness
Lace me the darkness hour

The tower high rise sunset
bad spirits gave us
wits to live it

We have it made what
we see
Sometimes Illusions
Creamy silk hands and
The rock bands
How her Darker?Cream
Saw the sunset in between
lips met

Face to face they land
Her place lacy demands
Her spell eyes of a bet
Her lipstick on his collar
She was ready to set
He see's the specks of colors
Through her headset
He yearns for her to
holler__

The peek reddish
Sushi-pink
The darkest of sunsets
"Freshly Raw' she sipped his
Sunset drink

When our light will come
will be
protected
Forevermore patiently

The darkness became us
the goodness

Of a better time of rising

sara left me on the 14th of may,
while my mentor laid dying,
while my debt went unpaid.

over routine coffee and cigarette,
she watched the flimsy fabric
of my flesh
catch flame.

she floated away
to ricochet off summer lions,
whose pride lies between their
worn thighs.

i planted heavy.
aged a century in a week of
wine, infomercials, and hospital
calls.

every mutual friend i asked
about sara's condition,
told me to leave her be,
cast me in creep status.

my beard grows gnarly.
my smoldered remnants
held together by cobwebs.
and everything i ever loved
is on its deathbed.

Blazed is the trail made by their mistakes
 
The high road created for all our sakes
 
Explorers of lands that were once uncharted
 
Now the cartographers of the paths they started
 
We are the proverbial parchment upon which they sketch
 
Vicariously imbuing their wisdom within each etch
 
The end of their journey is where we begin
 
For the trail ahead must be blazed again

I study her withering hands every time I'm around her
they are becoming so thin... all her veins stick out like snakes
her fingers are all crooked--
broken tree branches fighting against the wind
eighty years of working her flower beds and scrubbing floors and
baking the best meals and desserts that only a grandmother can prepare
and my grandpa, I have never loved a person as deep and as securely as I love him  
saying you have a hero borders on icon-worshipping but in this case he's solid
he is the absolute best and absolute most loyal man I have ever had the pleasure
of knowing
he married my grandma at eighteen, and
eighty eight years of wars and he never took one sick day off of work
he sleds down his long, winding driveway to pick up his mail in the snow
he used to pour water in my hands and tell me that if I could catch it,
I could catch the entire universe right there in my palms
I tried for years

I study their hands because I want to remember their greatest parts
arguably, that could be every inch, but their hands have shown
such strength, boldness, fight, hard work, dedication, love, and tenderness
maybe this is wrong but every day I practice saying goodbye in my mind
so that when they pass, I am not so crushed that I cannot move on
they have been my saving grace too many times for me to thank them for
so I just say I love you, you're my reason for existing, and then I
carefully etch their hands in my mind so that never for a second
will I forget the great work they have done here

Prelude

This happened after Layla-Majnun were separated by Layla's dis-approving parents, family and community when these two LOVERz realized that true eternal LOVE had happened between them
After that - Majnun had become a mad wanderer singing songs about/for/of his Eternal LOVE for Layla
And on this side – Layla was given by her family a life of every comfort she desired. But Layla's heart was worried for Majnun’s well being.


Layla's Family Response:

Many a times Layla cried longing and missing Majnun
The family of Layla could not see Layla sad and sorrowful
To cheer Layla up the family often told her they loved her so much
They tried to cheer Layla with her favorite flowers and decorated her room with lots of beautifully scented flowers
They got famous singers from around the world  to come in the evening and sing songs in front of Layla to make her feel happy
They saw that Layla was part of every occasion and functions, every party family had. They organized events just to keep Layla feel good and make her part of every gathering
Everyone overtly LOVED Layla and respected her
Layla’s family often made many sweets that Layla liked
The family took Layla to excursions, far and away to the meadows and the mountains, to the springs and the oceans, to the forests and oasis - so that seeing nature Layla would forget Majnun
They often complimented her - How beautiful she is…; How nice she sings…; How well she is behaved…; and how intelligent she is…
Whenever Layla was in little good mood and when she talked a little, the family sat around her to eagerly listened to what Layla had to say
The parents of Layla made sure that Layla was not kept alone for a single moment. There was someone or the other - friends, mates, children or relatives surrounding Layla to give her company
Many a times Layla's parents invited guests who would bring Beautiful gifts and souvenirs for Layla from distant foreign lands
There were mentors, coaches, teachers hired to teach and upgrade different skills that are useful for Layla
The mother of Layla often told “Sorry” to Layla for not allowing her to meet Majnun. Though the sorry was sincere. it did not cheer Layla's heart because the dictate always remained: "Majnun is not the right one for you Layla"
In the house of Layla it was made mandatory that family members while leaving and entering the house would always say good bye and give a hug to Layla to make her feel so SPECIAL
Every now and then inside the house - there were religious sermons preached, religious scriptures read. The Maula and Maulavis recited verses - the morals, ethics, codes were taught; faith, belief, worship, prayers were made integral part of their life to make Layla feel devoted to God. They thought – when Layla understands Allah’s LOVE there won't be any need for Majnun’s LOVE
The family invited Layla's friends to play - indoor and outdoors games to get her involved in some sort of hobby so that it would keep Layla busy and thus forget about Majnun
Some days if Layla did something on her own - the family members would praise her every little efforts and celebrate it to create an atmosphere of happiness around her for every little achievement in Layla’s life
The family had created that “Halo” around Layla's image in the village/ town. She was known throughout the land as the most decent, gorgeously beautiful, well-educated, noble, kind fun-loving girl. Everyone in their town LOVED Layla. All these were done so that they could find the the most suitable richest PRINCE for Layla to get married to...
To make Layla feel good and confident the family often asked her opinions and included her in all family and business decision making
To make Layla feel attached to something else, the parents gifted her with - a dog, a cat, a rabbit, a pigeon and other exotic birds. So that by LOVING them Layla will forget Majnun
They also filled the house with all sorts of books that  interested Layla. They thought while reading the good books - Layla will forget Majnun
Not a week went where Layla was not gifted and adorned with - diamonds, pearl, stones, gold and silver jewelry

Each and every person who came in touch with Layla was so nice and sweet towards her, just to make sure that  Layla is kept busy with things in LIFE. The whole idea is to keep Layla involved in different things of work and life so that the LOVE for Majnun is completely forgotten amidst enjoyments of chasing success, career, work, wealth and a partner etc.


Layla's Sorrow:

But Layla was different…!

Layla had everything a girl wanted
Wealth, education, family,
Friends, relatives, company
Fruits, sweets, flowers
Game, animals, toys
Trips, Travel, occasions
Festivals, events, get-togethers

But

Layla's heart kept beating for Majnun
She was always worried of Majnun
"Where will be my Majnun wandering today?"
"What will he be doing right now?"
"Did he get some food to eat?"
“Did he sleep well..?" etc.

If anyone on the village street
Got a little bit of news of Majnun
Layla ran out to listen to what it was

If someone was reciting
The new songs Majnun had sung today
Layla carefully listened to those lyrics
And wrote them in her secret dairy.
She read them again and again
In the candle light of solitary darkness

With tears rolling from her eyes

Day-night, afternoon-evenings
Waking, sleeping, eating, sitting
Layla only thought of her Majnun

Blessed with every luxury of life
Yet Layla felt so helpless about
Her inability to go to meet Majnun
So that Majnun can see…

Layla's eyes, Layla's face
Those lips, that smile
The smell of Layla….
The way she looks at Majnun
The LOVE in Layla’s soul
Pouring out for Majnun

Layla's knew very well that
Majnun's only dreams was having
One glimpse of his BELOVEDz Layla

This cruelty of the world & everyone
That they and their norms
Stopped Layla to reach out to Majnun
This broke Layla’s heart into pieces
It killed Layla from inside more
Than it killed Majnun
In his longing for Layla

That was Layla's sorrow...
This is Layla’z sorrow

End Note:
Only the one who feels LOVE,
Only the one who know LOVE
Will understand Layla's sorrow
Of seeing the cruel punishment the world had given
To her LOVERz Majnun
By making him an useless mad wanderer
- Who only chants Layla's name
And sings Layla's praise

Being cared for
Here's the  adored door

Inside playing he pours the hearts

So like him the ricochet
Deeply love so cultured
My pearl crochet

Deeply cared about I got you
under my skin
I win your love ticket

The spool of
wool hit the floor
To the extreme
The sensitive mind

  And his feeling like the escapee finding
the higher
religion keeping that in mind
The everlasting  to be cared for or
not to be never lasting like someone
lost its hunger fasting

Waking up deeply recharged or
reproducing to
her neverending fairytale

Much deeper than 69 eye love shades
Deeply cared for beyond his loving
It comes and fades
Like Monopoly  "Godly Sun-Seeker" keeps
passing us
The game of life charades
Like Persian babies their
button nose deeply cared for to cuddle
The warmest meows hug and save

Like flour to sparkle, it deepens
like our mix, a love needs
to be worked on 
 do you really
care to fix?

But sending all the details
the lines soften pale pink rose
I felt your red fire putting
out the coldness fire and ice
To be saved on time
Like the fire chief,  
Acted like a French chef what
a love roue of the hose

Like silk my millennium  milk,
He held my finger but not
to sulk he said buckle up
What firmness and tightness
arm to arm wrestler such
bulk

Never to swear but a little lie 
  Wouldnt hurt my delicate
pinky finger
In her loop with her fur
deeply
Stepped into her mink

He's the frontman
Fresh cut lemon
Yellow sunshine
happy medium

I was wearing my hair middle parted
The picture slide the made man
Tied back my hair was deeply
Smooth talker well conditioned
With what conditions all recollections
But three strikes when you care for
someone you  don't fall out of love

  This world loves to be pampered
Cared about not scouted
All hole marks in the road badly routed
 With tons of work with the question mark?
The sign stayed with her
Deeply care about?

Like a play date let's pretend
You're both a handful
Like beer malt lips
Engraved love in the barrels
To feel deeply loved  he acted
Like the riddler

The beach her eyes were waiting to be reached
Sunset playing the fool marionette overly preached

So I  Bette
Beneath her wings
In the middle of their wed to be isles
The Green Gables emerald rings

Miss spinster-Sara Lee cake
His jeep was all she could take
How it ended up
In Greenwich Village then shipped
To Mystic Seaport Connecticut
The movie cut Cape Cod Massachusetts
The four letters in his pocket
Deeply 1 care 2 about 3 love 4

Needed a jump kickstart
Her breakfast  start of the day
 deeply cared for his way
He stumped over her honey
bunches of oats lips

The website
Go, Daddy acting love silly
The hot fun in the
International city
The UK that's OK
Mr. Bo Jangles spoiled deeply
*** in the City single
Deeply getting hurt
The Sin City

Did he see her progress
All over Twitter
He was so suited but lost
his tie twinkle tweets
Do I really live my life to dare
or deeply care?
I am ****** British give me
my English breakfast teas
for keeps
The King ain't got that swing
She acts too much like the Queen

The Royalty of love sanity
The heaping fine grain sugar spoon

(Duke of Earl gray) Deeply love Thee
But always came way too soon
She is the domestic cat going frantic

Great discoveries, and that's that
  Internships tug-cash or the hogwash
our colleagues  
The deep end "Crazy Eights
On the tenth physio natural
phenomena convent

All the Kingman no swords holding her
wrench
and knight horses unfortunate events
One day creation camel ride for miles
Reaching higher levels of toxins
and morons
Or teaching MLM  you asked for it
"The millionaire lost minds"

Were human TLC tender loving care
Like some playdough to the rooftop
Of Mentors, did they care
Who we deeply care about family
But more concerned
about the rise of money inventors
Even if life really *****
Oh! Fiddlesticks

The Moaning of life
Bring the Idiots aboard
The ***** of the night

He kinda ducks by the end of
your ***-light
Flex-body deeply cared for
Rumors and all philosophies
The shower like you was slashed
Left you bone dry without the cash
The thrill is gone your lovesick

She-devil  coffin red nails split Twilight zone

  The stars were in your corner
He deeply cared for you he was
your health kit
The Botanical Gardens

Like a figment of your imagination
Se demure you needed a
Florence Nightingale flower cure
To lift your depression to smile
You thought someone cared but all
misinterpretations

All misconceptions and misdemeanors
She takes so long putting on her
French lip glide Chanel liner
What could be ever cared for finer
Deeply digging holes like a miner

The solar rhythmic pointed finger
to the stars

So systematically
making a wish
just like everyone else
To plan your game
the game makes the plan
You deeply cared for delivery
Was I the care package

You weren't someone
just anybody like
A city dump garbage

Deeply wanting and waiting
So merely or rarely was it coming

Deeply seeing the next generation
The spectacular sunrise
White wicker twin set swing
Your heart pulls back but it was
so close to swinging forward
Moving towards your
accomplishments
The mess was all ****

"You have the exceptional mind like the beautiful mind"

People, you came across friends
Also, contributors  not the enemies
The country and the continents
Deeply cared for landmarks
The monuments how you love
her birthmark taking her hand

The Godly land such will command
moonwalker deeply cared for
All watered deep soul of lovers
The world of hands and
words became
such an impact

You felt like the creature so extinct

Dark terrorism creeping
Across the world in flood
Lacerating peace of  mind
And soaking us in blood,
Indiscriminately mauling
Targets they perceive
Will further their ambition
Of global dominance and greed.

A mother tears her bodice,
Her moans, a hollow sound,
Her family caste about her
Shredded by a mortar round.
Little children in the playground
Mothers shopping in the mall,
Mullah’s kneeling, praying in the mosque
A car bomb kills them all.

How’s it hanging Tony Blair,
Have you enjoyed your breakfast yet?
Felt inclined to visit far Kashmir
In your speedy, private jet?
It’s murderous in Kashmir
And has been for a while
For, still, India and Pakistan
Throw lethal bullets, bombs and bile.

And Beruit is as dangerous
As the Lebanon can be,
Iran is building maelstrom
Feared by Jews eternally.
The I.R.A. Still loathe the Brits
Koreans hate the ****
The Russians distrust everybody
(Especially Chechun rats.)

El Queada is stateless
They attack across the board
From Washington to New York
To Indonesia’s tropic shore.
America’s a fortress
But still fighting foreign wars
Whilst China sits inscrutably
Nursing Tibet’s cuts and sores.
Islamic fundamentalists
Throw Jihad to Israel
And Israel tears at Hammas
Did they steal the Holy Grail?

The beauty of a little girl
Her skin as smooth as silk,
Expression in those calm brown eyes
Is as innocent as milk.
Because she lived in Gaza
Her tomorrows are depraved
By an A.K.47 shell
That despatched her to her grave.

Who are the good guys?
Who are the bad?
What part of this unholy mess
Is anything but mad?
All invoke the righteous stance
God is on our side!
Each engage this hideous dance
And foreign God’s deride.

Ripping, skinning, blasting, killing
Terrorists do lurk,
Spreading fear across the globe
Intentionally, is their work.
Taking citizen’s by the throat
And slashing with a blade
To leave their mark indelibly
On countless corpses laid.

Dogma, ideology
The mantra is obscene
Because the minions who perform these tasks
Are usually quite clean,
Their mentors are the instigators
Enmeshed within the code
Of obsession, faith and bigotry,
All adhere to this dark road.
Obsessed with racial hatred,
Obsessed by loathing greed,
Obsession ruled by God alone
Jihad, Fatwah decreed!

Pray tell me noble man of prayer
Where is your God in this?
Pray tell me any one out there
HOW DOES THAT GOD EXIST?

Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
6th March 2009

For a poet
they are
necessary angels.

Poems do not
leap complete
from the head
like Zeus'
Children.

They are built
like cathedrals,
apprentice
and master,
practicing craft,
keen-eyed
over centuries.

Mine are the poets
I have read,
studied, dissected
and read again
and again
over 40 years.

Gary Snyder,
Richard Brautigan,
Leonard Cohen,
Wendell Berry,
Jim Harrison
and far too many more,
but just as important,
to name.

Eventually,
from their voices
came my voice.

Make your own list,
invite them over.
They will never tire
of teaching you.

If you are diligent
and listen closely,
you will learn
the craft
and sing in the voice
you belong to.

Hard work, learning,
practice and devotion:

all it takes to be a poet.
   ~mce

He was a young lad and in the fourth grade
Struggling hard for the grades he made.
Everything he tried seemed to vanish in the air
For he could not read and there was no one to care.

The teacher made fun of the young boy’s plight
No compassion, understanding, was ever in sight.
The days were filled with doubt and fear
He was told to repeat grade four next year.

Starting the fourth the second time around
A new school, a new teacher, made his heart pound.
For the world to see, on the card it came
The very first day he had to spell his name.

J - E - E - R - Y came out of the pen
The letters did appear to be correct just then.
The teacher bent close and whispered in his ear
“One E and two R’s, I think you meant dear.”

He fell in love with the teacher that day
She knew his heart and just what to say.
She knew the pain that the young boy felt
And all the embarrassment the past year dealt.

Miss Hagness, the angel, had come to his aid
He sensed her love and was no longer afraid.
Like the gentle Shepherd, reaching down from above
She taught him to read by her affection and love.

He went on to college to prepare for a life
Giving to help others with trouble and strife.
Pastor Jerry’s the Shepherd of many a heart
With love and compassion from the fourth grade did start.



===============================================
Teacher­ Part II
The story told in verse is about my pastor. It is about the struggles of a lad who was ridiculed in school because of a reading disorder called dyslexia. It is about how the system would have let him sink into oblivion but for the personal interest of a young teacher who came into his life the second time he went through the fourth grade. A teacher who had compassion in her heart for the boy and helped him discover the talents that lay hidden deeply within him. The talents that allowed God to develop within him, developed a compassion for others and a giving of himself first as a youth pastor for many years and then for the first time as a senior pastor.

It is also a story of how indifference toward others can lead to destruction of a young mind to the point of total loss of self worth. It is about the deep wounds that can be inflected by the harsh words we speak. Such words can never be retrieved from the abyss of time. How many times do we fail to see or ignore what we see because it does not conveniently fit into our schedule and in the process, contribute in the destruction of a life?

If we are teachers, mentors, leaders, or just breathing, we can share the pain of others to ease their burdens and encourage them in the difficult times. As we share the pain of others, we gain the right to share the joy in their triumphs and successes.

The story came from a message delivered on Sunday morning May 1, 1999. The poem wrote itself from the words spoken in that message. Can we do anything less than what the young teacher did for the boy? As God leads us, let us listen to the still small voice. The voice may be the voice of a child pleading for help, the voice of our Father directing each of us in the path we must travel. Be ever aware of the opportunities that God lays in our path. Maybe just doing only what is required and not seeing beyond ourselves we miss seeing the potential of a young mind. Could this be the greatest disservice we could do to our Father?

Oh God, give me the wisdom to see the promise and potential in others and be led by Your hand in molding the young mind.

It is written, “Though you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me.”

Last I read, the Alpha said Jesus gave us Wine, Bread and Fish. The Way, Light and Truth was spread for nothing in return, a moving Church made wide, stead for each. Today I see business in Church all made part of some tradition, no valid permission...just a twisted perception of the less in the lurch and the rich in the mission. All due respect, I've seen Priests get lured by church female adolescence, truth. Priests are mentors especially to juvenescence, no wonder now church feels like a fashion parade courtesy of young essence, youth. Our Kids are now spiritually weak, they think going to church cleanses the sins for the following week. Adults say they've tried, but I see God holding a cane...whoever rebuked my Aunt's burial, pray you're not first in the lane. Where do we run to when Holy places are not such an Oasis? When white man doesn't travel to the moon with you? I don't know your faces...just mine, Black Jesus and Yahweh as basis...

With a blistered heart
From unnumbered breaks,
A cloud of unshed tears
From untold betrayals,
I reenter the world
After an eternity or more
Of self imposed asylum
From a world of superficial bliss.

A world unchanged!
A cruel untended garden
Of deceptive beauty
And unkind thorny roses.
Lovelorn shadows,
Masquerading venomous claws
With beauteous flamboyance
And undesirable attraction.

Lethargic feelings,
Dousing my desires
With drowsing memoirs
Of countless emotional abuse,
Causing momentary spasms
In cerebral regions
Parading nocuous images
In the plenitude of projected beauty.

Scarred beyond immediate cure,
I recede from said world-
Too adverse for tender hearts
Back to hibernating moods
To nurse evergreen cuts
Cuts so deep, so lethal
Only the indolent strides of time
Can attempt to stitch!

Awaiting prophetic moments
Moments with mirage qualities
When in-love I can fall again
When a damsel I can trust again
When my heart can beat again
For one with pure intentions
Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors
But virtuous in biblical ways...


© Raphael Uzor

I was just 13 years old when Vincent Van Gogh took me out to a wheat field and shot me in the chest. He said I'll let you in on the easy way out because eating yellow paint just doesn't help but god, doesn't it sound poetic? He said he craved ***** things in a letter to his brother but when the paint didn't make his art any better he used bullets and blood instead.

I was just 16 when Sylvia Plath opened up the oven for me. My snow boots turned to puddles and the smell of cookies muddled with the gas filling up my head. She said putting words to paper just doesn't hash it and a poets mind is nothing but ashes so better to let the thoughts burn.

I was only 18 when Virginia Woolf tied stones to my hips and led me adrift into open waters. Gasping while my hands struggled to stay above the waves she told me that this was the only way and that stories were just stories. She could write a million of them but never escape the loneliness of being unable to evaporate inside the pages.

I was 21 years old when Ms Monroe told me it was as easy as falling asleep and swallowing some seeds that would feed and feed until they felt like yellow paint. Easy down the throat like the men that she'd known who now tear at my curls. She said wanting to be loved comes at a price that money just can't buy and pills will always be cheaper.

I am 25 years old and have carried their woes down my arms and legs like Marley's chains. All the gun shots and flame rots and drowning spells and yellow pills have beckoned me with promises of a happy ending. They convince me that all artist's lives end the same but I know that they don't have to. So—here I still stand, clutching their art in my hands, braving a world that they were too good for.

TEACHERS ARE MENTORS AND ROLE
MODELS IN OUR SOCIETY TODAY
PASSING ON WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE
IN THE MOST CARING WAY


IN THIS TURBULENT WORLD THAT
OUR YOUNG KIDS FACE TODAY
THEY NEED MENTORS OF STRENGTH
SO IT IS HARDER FOR THEM TOO STRAY


FOR THERE ARE PEER GROUPS
THE INTERNET SNAP CHAT AS WELL
THERE IS THE INFORMATION OVER LOAD
AND FUN STORIES TO TELL


GONE ARE THE DAYS OF ROMPER ROOM
MR SQUIGGLE AND THE FLOWER *** MEN
NOW OUR CHILDREN AT SCHOOL
HAVE TO LEARN AND DEFEND


BUT SOME LUCKY STUDENTS HAVE
COMPASSIONATE TEACHERS THAT ARE NEW
WITH SKILLS AND WISDOM
THAT THEY SHARE WITH YOU

I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space
A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face.
A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream,
Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.

It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory,
Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary.
Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle,
I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.

With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet,
I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit.
Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose
Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe

As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes
And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly.
I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this",
As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.

And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack,
Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack.
Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago",
And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.

Liberties Undying Flame
I’m going to write in the shadow and stream of Abe Lincoln we can’t be our hero but we can strive to be like them. First and foremost honesty they say it is refreshing. Well I was kept from writing all day went thirty miles to go out to eat. Finally at eleven I was too tired to write well actually I didn’t have anything to write. So I took a fifteen minute nap then set in the chair until five forty five first finally coming up with this then writing it in my head now to put it down. It has to do as the title says with streams those that stream into your life from others. When trying to find a story that could be the jumping off place I got out the book pedaling to Hawaii. Sub title a human powered Odyssey. Stevie Smith a Paris bureaucrat decides there has to be more to life so he chucks everything and begins his quest to use only human power to circle the globe by pedaling no sails or motors just human exertion. Richard Branson writes this on the front of the book.”If you believe, as I do that we all have something extraordinary within us, this wonderful book will inspire you to begin your dream and follow it through”
In life’s constant free every flowing tide these mentors come in timeless rhythm they surmount all obstacles carry back with them to the sea the waste the debris you unwisely collected not knowing this collection the enemy has brought to seal your life against God given streams that are the very substance of life changing dreams. They were found in neighborhoods and streets the common paths but these were fixed by divine design he was adding mental and physical attributes that fit perfect into the mosaic he had envisioned when he thought of you. One neighbor scruffy mean hostile your first thoughts what a sad waste but then you saw the beautiful daughters and the upstanding sons. Then your question Willard why have you tried so hard to perpetrate this effective lie your lesson don’t look on the outward but be perceptive take the time in this harden shell you can find beautiful secrets to tell he was just a dark color in the whole it blends to form the richest hues for in you mercy will ensue the lost and forgotten who have long trodden a chilled and lonely path among stone and thorn will once again know the clear air and paths bathed in warm sunshine. There are rarest finds if you’re willing to walk the extra mile your own life you will enrich so many others so carefree have come to find waste and spoil
Then the farmer who held on to the past long had the tractor replaced the team of horses but remember the harmony living flesh man and horses when he spoke talked to them they willing obeyed leaned into the harness how there magnificence gave a thrill to your heart then the silver plow knifed the earth black soil rolled over the side of the plow how did common earth transform into a black wave even more compelling than the grassy sod that moments before ruled with a quiet flare. The leather creaked against the strain I could swear it was singing. In this moment retold jack and that team are again in fields wide made with straightest furrows the golden seed to be laid in this temporal grave tomorrow rich harvest the families table spread labors highest honor paid.
The mothers the fathers along these thoroughfares coursed humans greatest gift they with ordinary means rearmed a nation with bloodlines and lifelines to continue a way bought for from blood spilled on sea and land to keep us free. The truth if you could remove lies deadly snare from people’s minds the religion they practice is the contrivance of slavery to make the few rule the weaker with this blight abolished they could see we are the same as them we only desire good for family and the larger world.
This is the strong hold of any nation Brother G.T. Haywood a black pastor in Indianapolis went to his church locked the door for twenty one days he sought God for black and white people his city and nation the benefactors of his love and devotion at the end of this prayer and fast he emerged and penned this immortal song. I see a stream of crimson it flows from Calvary its waves is washing over me. The city fathers credited this man’s influence for saving the city when Detroit was in ashes he had long gone to his reward but his life and spirit lived on. Mr. President you could learn a lot from this man your aid using the foulest language isn’t funny you have a sacred trust live up to it.

They say facebook is a crime
For people who a have lot of time
But I’ll say I don’t have lot of time
Does that mean for me it is not crime?

You can’t learn to cook,
If you got facebook.
But if you cook
You share it on facebook

Fun wall,
Super wall,
You write everything that happened in the shopping mall
But why can’t you just say it ,by giving me a call

Chit, chat, chit, chat
You talk about what happen to that little brat
In the end, they can do nothing
All you can do, is keep on chatting

Uploading photos
Thinking maybe  should add a few more logos
You post, they comment
Still you won’t be content

Update your status
Will not make famous
Sometimes you will feel hapless
Forget it,but just don’t be careless

So much notification
But it’s not the place to find real motivation
It’s the mentors’ with great education
So it’s not too late to reach a better destination

Lisa and I went to a reception, yesterday evening, for students who’d landed summer fellowships at a particular hospital in Boston. (Yeah us!) It wasn’t formal, so I wore a crimson cropped sweater, a beige circle skirt (with pockets!) and beige Sarto soft-leather ballet flats.

I’ve disparate feelings in these situations. I was excited - this was a goal I needed to achieve - that next notch - and my mom might even smile.

At the same time, I felt like an imposter. ‘If these people knew the trouble I’m having with physics this year,’ I thought, and ‘I know my sister could do this - and my brother - but can I?’

I try not to let my nervousness show, because the stories you tell yourself can hold you back.

The reception was small, there were only four students, their mentors and a few hospital and Yale people. As we signed in, we got name tags and tote bags with the hospital logo containing fellowship info. There were picture posters of the hospital all around and an intro video looping on a large screen TV. They took some snaps.

Several tables along one wall had coffee, sodas, water bottles and finger snacks - which I guess you’d call canapes - and melon ***** of all colors. The centerpiece though, was a big silver, smoked salmon with a lemon stuck in its mouth and a wreath of parsley about its neck - all on a bed of lettuce, surrounded by various crackers and French bread rolls.

I was working my way along the tables, because there were honeydew melon-***** and they’re a personal weakness. Honeydews aren’t in season now, so I was full-on, honeydew foraging. I’m sure I looked like a starving homeless girl who’d somehow gotten in and was trying to eat for the week.

A slim, attractive, black lady in a very stylish dark-gray beaded jacket & sheath dress, had stopped as if transfixed, staring solemnly at the salmon. As I drew next to her, my plate half full of honeydew *****, she said, “It’s a fitting memorial.” That hit me as so funny - I laughed embarrassingly - spitting half a melon ball under the table. She started laughing too - we were like two sillies at church. Her sad face, the way she’d said it - you had to be there.

After a few minutes, the hospital administrator gave a little general welcome, ending it with, “Now it’s time to meet your mentors.” The fish lady turned out to be my mentor. She was still standing next to me - she turned, offered her hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Rebecca.”

Her voice made those simple words seem warm and inviting. She looks to be in her early fifties (but I’m a bad judge of age), her short black hair was peppered with gray and white like she had just come in from the snow. We became instant old friends, cracking each other up.

Dr. Rebecca’s (again, I’m not doxing anyone) specialty is neurological surgery. She’s a Baltimore girl - born and raised - who attended Johns Hopkins from bachelors through medical school. Of course, I mentioned that both my siblings went to Johns at some point - Brice being a sophomore in med school there now.

Besides four years of medical school, Rebecca completed seven years of neurological surgery residency (yummy). “A doctor never really finishes school,” she said, “things constantly change and there are new specialties to master,” but I knew this from my parents.

“The plan is for you to shadow me this summer,” she confirmed, “and gain some clinical experience.” I nodded enthusiastically, saying, “Yes mam.” We talked for about thirty minutes and, as we parted, she gifted me a copy of ‘Skandalaki’s Surgical Anatomy.’

“If you want to be a surgeon, you’ll need to know anatomy better than God.” She’d said. “So start now. I made some notes for you in the index - we’re going to lean into this,” she finished, tapping the book, and giving me a wink.

I was walking on air as Lisa and I made our way back to the residence.
It’s going to be the BEST summer.

As I kid I watched in wonder at the sight.
The shining goblet of Grape Juicy Juice,
Candles, flags, robes, and glorious gold-tipped bibles.
I loved the songs, the community, and the people.
Faces and arms raised to press up to the sky
Like they could literally feel the hand of God.
It was everything I'd been missing at home.
It was home cooked meals, smiles, and togetherness.
It was leadership, mentors, and pop rocks.
I joined AWANA at age 8.
We read the scriptures, played games, ate snacks,
And enjoyed the bath of warmth that God's love gives,
With the intensity and guilelessness that only kids can have.
There were no difficult questions and everything had an answer.
Until I got a little older.
The questions got harder and the words got harsher.
My mentor, Denise, loved me. I know she did, in her way.
But she didn't understand why my family never came with
To church or on my spiritual journey.
It was my responsibility to save their souls form eternal hellfire.
"Don't you love them? Don't you want them with you in paradise?"
Of course I did. I tried to tell them
But their expressions were condescending,
Like they knew something I didn't about the world.
But God wants to save them. God loves everyone.
Or does he?
Slowly there was less talk of love and forgiveness
More of sin, atonement, and apologies.
"You lied to your mother, Victoria?"
She rapped my hands with the bible
And looked down at me with disappointment in her eyes.
"You know God wants you to be sorry, but it's not enough."
She drilled it into me in increasingly violent ways.
The manifestations of my sins and their atonements became more.
More physical and more mental.
More and more rules piled up.
More and more sins piled up.
More and more lessons and meetings occur between us.
I read the entire bible. I memorized verse after verse.
I became passionate about helping others,
But instead of soup kitchens and fundraisers
We spent more time outlining everyone who would burn.
Gays, feminists, other religions, different denominations, Me.
"You don't deserve God's love and yet he gives it to you. Are you grateful?"
"You can't preach or teach, you will find a man one day who will help you."
"Hold out your arms."
Until one day found me sitting on the edge of my roof.
Wondering what it would be like if I was in hell.
Wondering if I was gone would anything be different.
Wondering how I could prove myself.
I climbed back in through the window and picked up a hammer.
The one my dad used, but never to fix things, before he left.
I laid down on my bed and slammed it into my ribs
Once. Twice. Three times.
Tears ran down my cheek
while I gasp quietly.
*Is it enough yet?

As I sit in pure delight
At my mentors desk I write.
Haven’t had but a handful of words
Together we shared in the past few weeks.
I been afraid I had rubbed his feathers the wrong way
But today I found out everything is ok
Because he asked me to stay
Looking out from the office and through the hall
I peer out the front double door.
Getting a true sense of what my life
Can become if I stay on the path
And I follow the heavenly one.
Patiently I wait left all alone
Waiting for the lady to make her rounds with the green slips
And to show her face, the one with the butterfly
On the nap of her neck she will bring two slips today.
In this motel today we have two new guests
They slept together in there cold room all weekend long
One zipped shut in a bag, the other wrapped up
In a ***** fitted sheet wearing a hospital gown
How sad it looked as it was stretched over his face and then his feet
Exposing his left hand and his lower legs like being in a cotton canoe
This was the second time I saw two at once
My first guest I got to meet had an odd name
And today there’s another with just the same
On a first name basis I want to know them all
These works are for them when they fall.
How honored I feel sitting in this home
As if it were one of my own
I love the trust for I feel I am a lucky one
I am learning things faster than the speed of light
And I’ll always carry them all long into the night
After the final exam and a node of the head it is check out time.
Tonight I will make myself a cotton canoe

(CARSr. 7-02-12)

Flashbacks of a juvenile burning curiosity like the charm of a snake, outside looking in...And all the setbacks between the two sides luring the tediosity to take some straight on the side while school is in.
Big ups, the cotton wool is pulled over our eyes, how do you shape-shift between freedom and destruction?? I pick you up through the rotten like a fool even though I know inside I can't escape a stiff one, while you lead them down that path of destruction. The comfort of Noah being a drunk is naive, I delve in your chemical name called Spirits. That's why you're a demon drug like how Eve and Adam were beguiled into this subliminal game and lost the Sphinx. Master of inebriation, you're probably the cause of an Old Man's flaws or the reason why we lost our Love for...The Answer to Liberation, seeing Old Timers and Mentors slip and fall on odour tavern floors...
Excuse me and watch your step, tomorrow they might think I'm on drugs coz' of your transgressions. Exclude me and watch you're back, you never know...they might just think I'm a **** coz' of your aggression. Exorcise in solitude and stop disturbing the peace between families and friends. Our Sisters are now exercising fortitude in the fog, curbing their dreams by imbibing in fantasies and trends.
Pains to see Good Men possessed out of success and in denial...
But then again Real Men will profess out of such stress and be the Lion.

Hear that...craziness cunning hard for a kiss of ***,
"You wanna forget your troubles?"
I say Cheers to that blaziness coming hard...you can kiss my ***,
"Give me another double".

Invite me to a masquerade held in a large hall
Most guests would be in suits, those you can see
Almost all are dark males, all quite are tall
All can't dance , because all of them are me

Few in this hall are some of my peers
One of me in a mask basks in their wonder
To them this mask is wise,and one without fear
The face behind though is foolish a coward and a blunder

Few in this hall are some of my enemies
One of me in a mask delights in their distaste
To them this mask promises violence with energy
Behind is the face of exhaustion and no anger to trace

Few in this hall are some of my mentors
One of me in a mask  indulges in their praise
To them this mask is one of potential and future
Beneath lies the face marred by failure and laze

Few in this hall are some past lovers
One of me in a mask savors their longing
To them this mask is a story with a knight and a tower
But beneath Is the face of a lier gifted with talking

Few in this hall are my fellow Christians
One of me in a mask flaunts his humility
To them this mask is of true religious commissions
The face behind long faced spiritual sterility

The last in this hall are my family
I face them with half a mask of strength
To them the strong half mask, and the true half face of apathy
The half mask hides a face exhausted with it's life's long length

PALLAS,
a Titan,
and
STYX,
an Oceanid,
begat
ZELUS,
--a companion of
ZEUS--
who, in turn,
begat human zeal.

NYX,
the night,
(who many
do fear)
begat
ERIS,
--a companion of
ARES--
who, in turn,
begat human discord.

Closely related in theory
to the good in
DISCORD,
the competitive creator
that drives human development,
ZELUS
and
ERIS
are mentors of
GRAFFITI.

I tell you this
to spell out
what message
is missed in
GRAFFITI
--
WHY
ARTISTS
STRIVE.

if i write a million billion zillion words a day
will some sound nice?
will they work out right?
will my mind create a masterpiece some night?

or will brilliance elude me
like camoflauged prey?
can greatness be chanced upon
or do i have to beg for it?
do i have to pray?

can statistical likelihood produce
from sheer quantitative mass
some lyrical combination
to surpass mere mediocrity
rise straight to first class?

or do i gotta go back and ask
the teachers and mentors
i left in the past?

i took off too fast
ignored their words and advice
bout how to think
how to write
how to talk
how to act
how to not be enticed
by distractions in life

how to not roll the dice
when the odds are too stacked
how to work **** hard
to stay on track
how to make smart goals
if you're itching to rise
by hitchin your ride
to the business of guys
and girls with vision

that's what i was taught
what i heard
what i learned
what i forgot (then recalled)
what i once spurned
to spark my downfall

but i have returned
and rediscovered myself
remembered the others
who raised me
who made me
my parents
my brothers
all those who inspired
all those who required
daily sacrifice

to feed the fire
to push me higher
to bring on success
to make me my best
which proves to the rest
if you don't perspire
chance don't mean ****

now we gotta admit
we all need an assist
but if you want greatness
you gotta work for it

Behind the glamour and blinding light
of the vast entertainment industry.
With these so called beautiful happy folk
is there a sordid and bleak underworld?
As each one thinks they are certainly the best
surely time is the true quality test.

Vast sums spent to create the perfect image
the creators shown as almost godly figures.
All trying to grab the money and true fame
how many fall by the wayside in this quest?
In hard times the public have so little cash
to splash out on an even bigger bash.

Television pushing the seekers of their fortune
while the mentors strive for their own goals.
A false image is created for these large audiences
who need a focas and images to contemplate.
Performances that for some take a high cost
as the hopefuls fail the dreams lost.

There are of course winners and losers.
but as you watch and read the news.
Filled with the exploits of these artists
spending and living lavish lives.
That most of us can only ever visualize
what really lays behind the lies?

The Foureyed Poet.

jump, skip, hop, then POP!
August 2, 2011

So here's a playful tune
to make your body swoon.
Shake and bake those hips
pucker up and lick your lips.
Because tonight, we're dancing!

da lada dee da daaa laaa la laa ohhhh

I love the way you move like that
jumpin' 'n jivin', you're one cool kat.
So now we're getting down
laughing so much, are you a clown?
In our serene meadow, together, we're prancing!

Lemme catch you off guard, sweep you off your feet
this is the most romantic way I could think of for us to meet.
Now don't get me wrong, I mean I dress to impress
but girl, for you, I'd much rather wear less.
If you know what I mean, hiding my eyes glancing!

Excuse me mam, but I don't mean to be rude
or have you think my humor is too crude.
But for a special lady, lady, lady, oh so cute
I'll give it my my all, gotta take aim, then shoot.
Gotta get, gotta gotta, give you my all, all my romancing.

Boop boop be doop buh bahhh tra lalalahhh

Baby, so I've got you now forever maybe.
Squeeze you so freaking tight, 'till your soul leaves.
Enters my body and we intertwine, as it mentors.
Me and teaches how to be we.

koo koo cuh cahhh shoop doop la lahhh
Jump, Skip, Hop, then POP!

There is a voice of comfort,
a poet of the truth
chords interwoven in every crack,
to lighten and to sooth.
Silken syllables singing
like distant thunders' clouds
to the lonely, humble ones
whose candles soon burn out.

A blessing from a being,
bestowed between the bad
who sat upon his whispered throne;
beaten, black and ironclad.
The boon from a saint of satin tongue
to those humanity fit;
humble thinkers, meek and strong
of kindest hearts and fathers' wit.

There is a voice of comfort,
for all who soon pass on.
When the darkness closes in
to where you thought you belonged.
It will pass you on with dignity,
mirror mentors of the Minoan
"Hineini, Hineini. Here I am,"
sings the ghost of Leonard Cohen

Salvation means different things to many people
Reared by a single mother
Abandoned by a deadbeat absentee dad
I am confused and angry
Now am I supposed to feel them
I have no mentors
Or anyone in my life
That cares enough to teach me
How to be a woman
My life didn't come equipped
With an automatic pilot
For a successful life

What I had growing up was
Religion
Not beliefs but principles
1Kings
2Kings
James
Ecclesiastics
From Genesis to Revelation
To the 1 and 2 Chronicles
Corinthians, Peter, John
From sunrise service
To afternoon fellowship
To young to realize
That mother's salvation
Isn't mine

Sitting in church
8 hours each Sunday
Praising the Lord
At the top of my lungs
To the top of my voice
Being baptized at the age of 5
Well before I even understood why
Didn't make me a saint
No amount of bible study
Ushering or participation in church
Could save me
Or the congregation
From sin and all evil

The chasing of the wind
Repentance
What was the point in asking
Seeking and praying
For forgiveness
Yet not changing ones ways
Or taking on bad habits
That were sinful
There was no point
Everything is meaningless

In New Brighton,
in the Wirral they gently laugh at
anyone who thinks the Beatles
could be bettered
Still to this day I think
The Big Three's " Some other Guy"
was the better version.
In Stoke, dear Staffordshire
they apportion YMCA mentors
to the homeless teenage kids
who haven't yet navigated
the logistical hub of the new Potteries,
yet can only dream of open spaces
where weeds will flourish
Trentham Gardens being  one.
Each of us would agree
there's a nuance in self preservation,
only recently carried to extremes by the vitriolic
of the late Summer Riots
whose fiefdom cry
"preponderant re-distribution"
turned England over.

I'm at that point after the debate season where
I'm all exhausted and nostalgic because
it's too late to do anything this season
too early to worry about next season and
all my senior friends graduated and
I'll never see them again.

Even scarier is the revelation that this will be me next year.  

What started out as a pleasant diversion
something to do on weekends
has become my social life and my education, and,
to a larger extent than it should be,
my identity.

I will miss playing truth-or-truth
(like truth or dare, only with more difficult decisions).
I will miss making friends because
I can't walk in heels
or mispronounced a word
or I like someone's tie.
I will miss our stupid inside jokes and debating
(and beating)
cute boys, waking up in a new city every weekend.
I will miss long car rides staring at the moonlight
illuminating the patterned clouds,
my headphones in and my best friends sleeping
packed closer-than-comfortable on each other's shoulders.
I know I have another year left, but
a lot of people who made debate what it is
have either graduated or will be graduating this year.

I miss my friends, my mentors, already.
As they leave, the threads that tie me to my city
fray. Already,
a year before it will finally be my turn
to face that door that leads into the unknown of
adult life, the door through which
many of my closest friends have already walked,
I have utterly lost any reluctance
to pass through it.
One friend after another has left
this tiny valley I call home,
and most of my best friends live outside of it.

One more year.

I now understand the way the seniors I looked up to
didn't seem to notice me
or pay me the sort of attention I paid them
when I was busy idealizing and looking up to them --
it's not that I don't care
about the younger kids on my team or my school,
or that I don't appreciate or believe in them,
but they are not a part of my future.
They are not a part of what I will become.  

I face that mysterious door, fighting my way
step by step
through mounds of paperwork and college applications
all for that intangible future
more fresh and beautiful than anything here.
I will go.

And those cute little incoming freshmen will not follow.
If I am to face forward, I must necessarily fix my eyes
on my future, not theirs.
They will do the same in time.

I can't bring myself to obsess over the past
and beat myself up over the relationships
(debationships?)
I should have developed but didn't.
There's no point. I don't mean to sound nihilistic --
in fact, just the opposite.
My future is manifesting itself slowly,
inexorably and inexplicably before me.

Am I making decisions, or is fate
shaping my loves and hates and opportunities?
I don't think it matters.
I choose to gaze at my future as infinite opportunity,
infinite joy spread over infinite possiblities.
As that joy becomes tangible, it also becomes more finite,
but from where I stand I see everything ahead.
I can finally leave everything I have been tied to
and prove to myself I am myself.

To those who are graduating this year:
even if I barely remember you,
if you were a brief conversation
or a random my-friend-dared-me-to-hug-you,
you are awesome.
Our brief, random, enlightening moments
of shared human contact have made me who I am.
I can't explain how much it means to realize
that you're not alone,
that some people care about the same things you do
and care enough to reach out and teach.

To those of you who have time left:
make the most of it.
Talk to the shy kid in the corner;
She's the sweetest.
Talk to the kid who reads Game of Thrones between rounds;
He has the funniest stories.
If you have a cute opponent, ask for their case
and write your number on it.
You only get one shot at this,
and it goes by too fast for you to hold back.
My best memories have come from the most dangerous
and strange decisions --
walking around a dark campus
with a couple of people I barely know,
picking "dare" in truth or dare,
smiling at strangers.

To those of you in the same class as me,
looking forward, bound to your past and present:
thank you.
Thank you
thank you
for existing and being kind to me and regaling me with your stories and emotional problems and memories.
Thank you for not letting me stay depressed
and dragging me outside of myself.
Thank you for making me care, one way or another.
When I stand at my high school graduation
in my school's garish purple and gold,
I will be thinking of a dozen other people
in blue and red and orange and green.
I will be thinking of the people
who made life too precious to spill out on a knife,
too beautiful to be captured in the pages of a book,
too unanticipated to get bored or cynical of.