1331

Wonder—is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not—
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt—

Suspense—is his maturer Sister—
Whether Adult Delight is Pain
Or of itself a new misgiving—
This is the Gnat that mangles men—

it was on a hill of a clever neighborhood
the errant flow well guised beneath the clay
upon reach of the summit
she is all that can be held
her pull far too magnetic
her skin, akin to milk poured by Luna
her hair is the black of midnight
on the eve of the new moon
she sits facing inquiry with her injured one facing her
on a rounded copper colored chair
placed curbside
Sophia speaks then
a monotone misgiving
that pours out
as a sly pompous
indifference

We made all possible preparations,
Drew up a list of firms,
Constantly revised our calculations
And allotted the farms,

Issued all the orders expedient
In this kind of case:
Most, as was expected, were obedient,
Though there were murmurs, of course;

Chiefly against our exercising
Our old right to abuse:
Even some sort of attempt at rising,
But these were mere boys.

For never serious misgiving
Occurred to anyone,
Since there could be no question of living
If we did not win.

The generally accepted view teaches
That there was no excuse,
Though in the light of recent researches
Many would find the cause

In a not uncommon form of terror;
Others, still more astute,
Point to possibilities of error
At the very start.

As for ourselves there is left remaining
Our honour at least,
And a reasonable chance of retaining
Our faculties to the last.

What was I thinking wasting my time with you
I can’t wait to shed my skin
I can’t wait to give to it to the wind
You ****** my soul and left me thin
I can’t wait to shed my skin
What was I thinking letting you in
You took my heart and left my head to spin
I can’t wait to shed my skin
Seventeen years wasted, gone like the wind
Just like a scorpion it hurts, when you sting
I can’t wait to shed my skin
No more tears I won’t give in
You’re a Narcissist, I won’t let u win
I just can’t wait to shed my skin
Filled with feelings of misgiving
I won't fall for your gas-lighting
God please help me to shed me skin
I Pray, I Pray for a new beginning

When we find ourselves
bewitched
by the once-again
betwixt a barest bare
season (of not-there)
and the rock-hard
reason (for there-is), let’s

Place the lemon-sour wedge,
where it can be tasted
with expectantly peppered
peeks and the snowy soft pines
for a gifted we we’ve been
too white-elephant
wary to unwrap.

There’s a transplant
future. We pretended
it (to-be
forever sutured to our bristly back-
then), and it meets the it
it was beneath a scrub-brush
Christmas tree we’ve stowed

Carelessly in the cramped space
where our sameness
lets crawl the other. Tinseled,
pre-assembled, past-
their-prime-time specialty
brands of static
clinginess have diminished,

But not-enough,
as the persistence of any-man
attraction shows,
would if it could bring
Whitman’s samplers
of sentimentality
to cuddly bear on a leftover

Choice (What’s-next,
warmed over and over). We
will stick to it,
fuzzy ornaments
on the crackly loud, paper-
thin present. We didn’t give
up but we did give away

Boxed-up angels
in exchange for one red-ribbon
day, its frilly bow tying us
so tightly to
the pressed-down rule
of our highest of highly
evolved thumbs.

I want to love you

But the world feels like a bigger space
Bigger than an uncertain future
Bigger than us
Like a crossroad with no directions
and I'm a car at full speed with no brakes

I want to love you

But do I really want to?
When the voices outside my head are so loud I can't even hear my own
Like four corners of a wall
Closing in 'til all I see is a life where everything from dust to majestic castles has to have your name written on them

What about my name?
What about the dreams I will myself to dream every night when I finally stopped hating own reflection?
Those dreams didn't include you

You are a ship
Forever moving but constant
You cross seas with your own world inside of you
I'm just the waves you cut across
A mix of still bright blues and gloomy thunderstorms
I have no direction
I'm all over the place

I want to love you

But, really, what is love,
If I lose grip of everything that holds me tight
If I make graveyards out of gardens
And break people's hearts the same amount of times I break my mine

I want to love you

With a love people lose sleep over for
A love that makes the empty space and cold pillows warm with childlike hope
A beautiful kind of love
Genuine and pure like your eyes and your intentions
I don't know if I can handle it with calloused hands and a bitter heart

I want to love you
With all the love you deserve
But how can I
When love is a tall building
And I'm scared to death of heights

it's a misgiving feeling the thought of you leaving*

An airport terminal stretch of time
between the metaphor in my head
and the rhyme of your feet
stepping quietly on up ahead.

You said you'd be back within weeks,
business takes days, it's a climb
to the highest peak, you said
whilst walking through the gates.

It's a misgiving feeling
the sight of you leaving
you bag in tow down terminal's row
passport control, doors out,
disappearing

At helm while directing
in a muddle I seem lost

Caught in sort of vortex
my own demons I accost

A belief in old prowess
subsistence still directs

Belying any of the doubt
enroute which interjects

Almost at a tethers end
with upshot not in sight

The day brings new hope
each night begets a fright

Every jab at my foresight
pierces my real zest anew

To trudge upon unknown
and walked by far and few

Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
                                      (Seneca, Letters 130.10)

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!

Mirror! Mirror!  On the wall
Though art the cause of many a fall
What with them endless hours adjusting and re-adjusting
Visages to desired perfection mindless of the misgiving.
Wearing masks in a variety of color
In a bid to entice a bachelor
With whose heart she’ll most disconcertingly hold ransom
Anticipating a blossom
Of a methodically engineered relationship
Minding her speech lest a Freudian slip
Nips at the bud
Her good “fortune” exposing her as a fraud.
Perfect imperfections, perfectly mirrored
By an imperfect mirror…**absurd.

our thoughts are the ribbons
wrapped around the words like a bow
like a present of misgiving
that only the giving could bestow
it's hard to live with the living
when we die with what we know
it's the wit of the unwitting
it's the only gift we show

I fell inwards into the shards of my inner self,
My thoughts cut upon the reflections of what
Was once full but worn parts fractured.

My soul was a rainbow of tainted emotions,
Gleaming off the spectrum what had been
Whole, now falling deep into oblivion.

Landing in shallow thought, I waded till all
Was still. I saw myself as only I envision, fists
Glanced upon the impression and i sank in.

I looked into the reflection that was my own,
Seeing inside, I threw pity upon it reflecting
Back I saw that my misgiving were a waking dream.

Silhouettes of perfection
mirrored in the moon's reflection
As they dance across the plain.

Sheets of grass are crisp with dew
From the condensation
caused by the concentration
of their gaze.

Blind to the life they draw
they are stopped only by thunderous applause
from the voyeurs of their strain

Horns shattering the silence of an intimate exchange.
Excited by the very motion of the living.
The color of their exsistance change.
Any misgiving and the other will find where fury preys.

Live like an unappreciated stranger
in your own house.

Become the careless talk at family dinners
about the disappointing child
and pretend like it was all a joke
and slowly lose yourself with every
echo of drunken laughter.

Look into the eyes of someone you love
and realize how you can't feel anything
other than dread.

Become the lustful thoughts of someone
you can't love
and watch them cut themselves
into pieces for you, when
in the end
all you can say is a pitiful "thank you,
but I'd rather be a lonely wreck
drifting across the sea."

Ask yourself to be found
in a map with no direction
and with nothing but your
faulty heart to guide you away
from home.

Pretend like the music
disappears into the background
of the screenplay your life has become
and the screen slowly turning black.

Find the dread
in your own heartbeat.

Take off your clothes
and see how you sewed every misgiving
into your skin like a story you
never want forgotten
and marvel at how bad your stitching is-
can't even hold yourself together.

Hear the sound of the rain
and wonder why
the grey clouds of your heart
never go away with the same.

HARLEM BLUES
Lingering perfumes float through the night air,
Life was a drudgery for him and no one cared!
With neon lights blinking and flashing every-
where!
The jazz band in the saloon played a soft tune,
And the lady there sang the Blues and also
crooned!
Now the solitude of the night gets to him,
As he drops down into a corner seat where lights
are rather dim!
Signals the waiter as he lights his cigar,
And orders a large whiskey and soda, having
come down so far!
He remains enthralled by the lone singer’s
voice,
He must spend this ‘blue night’ all alone, -
since he had no other choice!
The singer now comes pretty close to him,
And he could see her white teeth dazzle and
gleam!
But when he looked into those dark eye lashes, -
Sad memories from the past before his eyes
flashes!

He had been a clarinet player of some renown,
But his wife couldn’t tolerate its piping sound!
His habit of playing the pipe at mid-night hours,
Made her to desert him for their marriage had
gone sour!
The 'blue notes' in the saloon soon comes to an
end,
But the music goes on simply to entertain!
The singer now invites this loner to her room,
He accompanies - trying to forget his loneliness
and gloom!
She pours out two drinks in her upstairs room,
And places his head gently between her *****, -
Which makes him to swoon!
The ‘blue notes’ still plays on in his mind,
It is then when she pulls out a clarinet from
behind!
Seeing him surprised - she laughs out loud;
He stares at the clarinet with misgiving and doubt!
“Don’t worry darling I had met you wife,
She had shown me your picture and told me about
your life!
From my childhood days I had loved the clarinet,
It turns me on before I go to bed!
So play the pipe gently as I get into my slip-on,
And we shall make love right into the morn! ”
He picked up the clarinet and played it so
tender and so light, -
The music echoed through the lonely Harlem night!
                      -By Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

(While reading up the History of Jazz for composing my Jazz Story Part Two, I received an inspiration for writing this fictional poem for you! For reading thank you!)

Ban the burka or the bomb?
Ban the turban or the gun?
Ban the Bible or the gore?
Ban the Torah or the war?

Ban religion, ban belief
Ban San Frontièrs, ban relief
Ban the poets, ban free speech
Ban the people born to teach

Ban the children, ban the old
Ban the meek and ban the bold
Ban the weakest, ban the strong
Ban the music, ban the song

Ban the freedom of the sea
Ban ideals of liberty
Ban your birthright, ban free will
Ban excitement, ban the thrill

Ban all things with no misgiving
Ban the joyous gift of living.

I had a little headache yesterday
But "little" headaches leave me in ill humor
because I know (and very often say:)
"I don't get headaches! It must be a tumor!"

When I get aches, it fills me with misgiving.
For any symptom, even though it's vague,
I've known this much: as long as I've been living:
Each little pain must be bubonic plague.

I never had a tiny ailment yet
But I was sure was going to cause my death,
And every case of pimples that I get
will shortly make me end up like Macbeth.

A doctor said the malady I fight is
Called terminal acute dramaticitis

dag 11/10/2013

Passing misgivings
There are moments in once elderliness when
the flowers of the mind, the silver of remembrance
is but a cracked black  & white film.
Old age and wishes blend into a golden patina of
illusion, disappointment  seeps in melancholy
lower the tired head and doesn’t let it look up to see
the sky or sense the wind or rain.
This tristesse where has the laughter gone, the charm
of friendship and the beautiful women are
but ghosts in a threadbare past.
The squall doesn’t linger colours become visible there
is no time not to enjoy what's left in the time glass.

I used to eye her more than books.

She had good looks
and for me
in the library
she killed the dullness of patience
the stifled air of silence
with her lips' hidden smile
that was quite a diversion
from pouring over yellowed pages
all the while.

In the garden I sought my chance
but she resisted any advance
telling me it's not her
I needed to be in my mind
but a job I must find
for couldn't be raised a family
merely loving in the library.

I think she gave me love
when I needed a job
but by the time I earned the bread
she was already married.

Once I thought of her as Miss Giving
but now as I look back
I have serious misgiving.

Problems solved
Pills to swallow
Skills evolved
Soul is hollow

Defy the odds
Keep on living
Blame the gods
For misgiving

Take a drink
Brief escape
Begin to sink
Self *******

Take a puff
Float away
Call my bluff
Stray or stay?

Nostril snort
Eyes awakened
Time is short
Moments taken

Eat your veggies
Long strange trip
Brain pain wedgies
Sail with the ship

Last meal,
A sip of wine?
A waif of bread?

Bargain deal
Friends to dine
A beautiful spread

Ability to feel
Final sunset"s shine
Fully satisfied and fed

Last movie reel
Last grape on the vine
This raisins finally off to bed

Each past fortifying moment
tends
to be concluded
by a bitter fall.  
Once I awoke
from my
empty dreams.
Standing there,
you were in the distance
with your will
to pervade
all areas of my life.  
as I dwelled,
you descended yourself
close
to my reach
as I clasped at
only the amount
of which I could
apprehend.  
I was fully aware of
your strong inclinations.
Believe I wanted
nothing more than to
emulate every touch
your heart felt.  
But mine was so
incapable of
saturation.
My tender attraction
to torment
fastened me in my
chair of
possessiveness
I was
so faithful to.
My dawdling
from confusion
was so misgiving
until
everything was falsely led.
Your hostile anguish
I comprehend now
so clearly.
So time faded what
was unwanted and
I have this memory
relaying a
message  
I am too aware
of now to discount.
Days are just numbers and
distance can
dispose in the past.
And it’s this second chance
I can’t do without.
And this devotion I’ve recovered
from the deep depths
that’s been with me all along:

My subconscious hope was the epitome of you.

You gave us this world with opportunity and every ability to build paradise,
Yet we blame You for all tragedy , evil, pain, and unnecessary suffering;
You are the culprit, we charge, and dare imagine you with heart as cold as ice,
With never a glance in the mirror to reflect upon our failures with any misgiving.

So we shake our fist, trample Your words of wisdom and the help You offer,
Content to live as our own gods in the self-made illusion of human grandeur,
While our world careens toward disaster, as in foolish rebellion we take cover;
Your tears falling in the rain for Your children and creation in immortal danger.

How is it the fool says in his heart, “Surely, there is no God, no higher power,”
When with lost divine likeness and shattered image, truer it is there is no human?
More like empty shells with vacant eyes, we walk this earth enslaved by the hour,
Ever too proud to turn to You in the light of Your Love, redemption to summon.

As the green fields of desire turn to dust,
And the shining armor is covered in rust,
Cynicism catches reality with her embrace,
While hope takes one last bow in grace.
All that is left is a harsh, crooked grin,
Served by despair who knows he’ll win.
Though his diamonds will leave you shivery,
He is now your finest piece of jewelry.

When taking that frightening leap in tears,
You hear the cries of devotion so near.
In the dark, misgiving cradles your head,
They are dying, these words you left unsaid.
Faith is the light trying to break through,
Yet the choir of doubts still leaves you blue.
Anger and bitterness will claim what’s yours,
Forcing patience to leave these shores.

Looking upon someone you wish you were,
You turn your head away from the blur.
Sweet affection held your hand for a while;
Now regret will walk you down the aisle.
But you request oblivion to stroke your mind,
Yet his stubborn being is not too kind.
Emptiness however is such a fine gentleman,
In him you find your trust to be genuine.

I often wonder if you know the stars of my heart shine for you.
The golden trees shimmer as the sun sets gently underneath the horizon.
You pull on my heart strings much like that of your bass guitar.
There is an orchard in the meadow behind my house and seeing the drooping flowers, I am sorry I did not water them like Mother told me to
Your smile could illuminate New York during a black out, much like you illuminate my soul.
My past is a dark cloud that threatens rain, and I long for a day when an umbrella will not be a permanent accessory
The winter winds are frigid, but you roll past like a smooth, summer breeze.
I laugh away my misgiving when inside, they eat up my last bits of happiness

i wanted to be more than life stuck in these bones,
but they're intent on running.
i thought i'd be content with settling down
but i think they are hunting for something.
i can see myself moving from city or town
though its hard to feel more than motionless
when about a month maybe more
is all you'll make an appearance for.
i'd like to feel more than simply life in these bones
but right now they're only good for aching.

matching socks hide away my weak feet for a while
but it doesn't take long for the absence of skin--
reminding me my brittle feet are breaking,
creaking, wary under the weight of heavy bones.

my hands feel empty.
but doctor's say nothing's missing...
i know i'm losing something to distance
you can hear it if you listen.

i keep replaying the sound of your whole life splitting
its way from mine
a misgiving sound for a while i'd been wishing
not to listen to, but i
decided to make it into an alarm clock instead
to keep me from dreaming too big, because
nothing scares me quicker from sleep.
i'm relearning how ferocious
your memory could be.

and only when you look you will see
inside your reflection--half of what you should be
not a would-be, but a could've-been
stuck with ******' half-life personalities
singing for their expiration dates,
cracking under your empty gravity.
breaking, fading, floating away from reality.
it took too many broken bones
to realize how unbroken we weren't supposed to be.

myself personally, i think there's no sense in
looking in the mirror
when i see no more beauty there.
i could let loose these slippery bones
and collapse on the floor.
and i figure to stay here a while, because
i can't sleep inside silence anymore.
city sounds don't cut it, so
i let your memory whisper faintly to me
but not so gently, more in line with a taunt
composed of words like,
"you are the thing that carved the me
out of me
so of course i had to set myself free."

but you can keep talking to me
and choke out all the mystery
this is near to death--
it's half misery, half meant to be.
it's all left me.
you haven't been living the right way
and it's left my body empty,
boneless.
it's let my body empty-out;
crooked tendons pining towards you.
a sorry skeleton, crawling,
unable to keep it in the ground.

Perhaps it was her voice itself, clear and simple,
Unalloyed by any classically trained fol-de-rol,
Or possibly the nature of her faith
Displayed with such clarity, such transparency
By that very instrument,
But in any case, she had utterly bewitched the populace
Of the place known as Ahwaga by her distant cousins,
And when she stood on the Delaware & Hudson platform
The next morning, they had cheered her lustily,
All but begging her You must return to us,
But the train had lost its footing on a sharp grade
Mere hundreds of yards before making the station at Deposit,
And she was lost in the carnage and conflagration.
The townspeople she had said her farewells to that morning
Were distraught, their feelings a mix of grief
And an odd sense of culpability, a nagging misgiving
That perhaps this was an omen, some augury
Denoting that their own faith was not up to scratch,
And so they had taken her back to their own burgh
To bury her in a manner befitting her piety
(She had been travelling with siblings,
But they acquiesced to the plan, though how willingly
Not wholly apparent at the time,
And made no clearer through the ramble of time)
And so she was laid to rest in a plot
Surrounded by ornate fencing, her grave marked
By an obelisk pointing unambiguously to her Heaven,
And it is said that, on autumn evenings
When the breeze rustle the dying leaves just so,
You can hear the spirits of her Mohawk brethren
Come down from Quebec, murmuring songs
Telling of the spirits living in the trees and hedgerows,
Spoken in the ancient tongue
Of the languid, unhurried Susquehanna far below.

These feelings I have are bewildering
The questions endless
Why what who where when how
Answers are not forthcoming
Who have I becoming
What is happening to me
Why do I have these feelings
When did this seep into my soul
How am I to deal with this
This is not me
I don’t routinely burden myself with sentiment
Emotions are foreign to me
I don’t know where to turn
I turn to the almighty
I hear no answer
Why lord I need you to hear my sorrow
I know you keep silent and that your silence is piercing
You omniscience is perpetually
I am lost and I give myself up
For I am not equipped to handle this
I love her to every end of my soul
Why she is but a women
Beautiful wonderful caring loving and perfect
I shouldn’t care but I do
Why I do not know
I seek answers I find none
Does she love me but hide it
Does she not love me and cant handle it
Are we meant to be
Has she found another
Am I good enough for her
Does she deserve me
My heart says yes
I would do anything for her
Forgive any misgiving
When she doesn’t speak to me I yearn for her voice
When she is not near my body longs for her presence
When she is near my heart craves her touch
When she speaks to me my heart breaks when no love comes for her lips
My entire being implodes when she ignores me
I wish I didn’t feel this way
I pray that I should forget
But every fiber of my soul refuses
This is not me
My rational thoughts escape reasoning
Thus I turn to a higher motivation
I turn to the lord at the expense of my good sense
I cannot not accept we are not meant to be
I will toil and labor as hard as heavenly possible
To make my prayers a reality for hope without work is dead
Insanity becomes me when I use this judgment
I feel torn between faith and logic
To accept the faith I must deny my own humanity
To ignore my over worked emotions is to banish my love
I wish I could
Typically I would why is this different
This is not me who am I
I long to know her in her entirety
I desire to be with her through any burden
Where is she
What is she doing
Does she dream about me like I do for her
I am writing the most despised thing in my nature
But there is nothing else to do
My insides are upturned
I have no where to turn
What is happening to me
Does she not love me
Does she desire me
I cannot take this pain
So I turn to God
He provides no resource but still I turn
I cannot do it alone
I don’t just want her I need her
I am not complete with out her
I would do anything to have what I once did
I do not believe she doesn’t love me
But have no evidence to the contrary
And with no evidence I am ****** into abyss
Help me o lord
I don’t want to care but am powerless not to
Help me
I want her to be my partner
I long for her to be with me all the days of my life
I desire for our children to play while we sit watching in unfathomable bliss
Am I worth it
If not I fear I will die alone
I would do anything for her without any concern for my own well being
I will go through any trial and tribulation for her
As a result I must believe this is part of those trials
PATIENCE THE LORD SCREAMS AT ME
My love desire and humanity screams contrary and make my efforts arduous
But I will do thy bidding for her
She shouldn’t be that important to me yet she is
WHY
The only answer I have is because we are meant to be
I hope this to be true Help me lord
I pray with my eternal soul to the heavenly father to bring her loving arms back to me
But until that fateful day I am required to wait
I must stay in pain until the lord brings my love back to my heart
No vice no hurdle no complication is too difficult for me to triumph over
I shall be patient my lord for that is your instruction
I just hope that it is not in vain for I will be further disillusioned
She must come to me of her own free will or it would be untrue
So I shall sit and wait for her to come back I just want to survive
Until then lord guide me walk with me help me and comfort me and give me strength
For without you I would not be able to cope with the true love that I lost

--something about “this is what love feels like”
-- or “this is how love is supposed to feel”
questions; “how do you feel?” and nothing but silence.
cold and old
growing
frozen toes
warm water, you and me, can't wait
always wet, drying
slowly in the night
mildew grows
and we mold more than the
cracks between my bed and the wall.

Talking to you is a cuddle puddle,
a misgiving kiss, a hit hit triple miss
apology, I can't tell you what I think
because they're awful things. And when I say
things so sweet
I feel like you're falling out of love with me.
I'm a vulnerable mess stuck in a guess
and I guess and guess wrong
-there's that word again
wrrrr were brrrr buuurrrrr
your skin is ice, so nice
mine is tucked and full of rice
nothing else but kitchen help
you hold me from behind
won't look me in the eye
thinking of someone else.

Nothing's wrong
(get over it).

I'm checking myself out
like in a grocery store
for the panicked and
newly born, freshly torn
lovers that still don't know much
about each other.

A few conversations held close to heart
easily dissected, something to relate to
when you're feeling lonely, or just drunk
nauseous, leaving early because it's too much
for beginners to start with.
And if you're just beginning
then you better start
learning how to learn.

I cant help but privately lament for those who
share that piece of my autograph because
It's a senile old thing
Hardly used and
rarely left untouched by monikers
Composed of four misgiving syllables
And now being sadly echoed
By a dumbfounded lover
Who really should of known better than
to fall in love with a girl
whose names a lie

So you like to listen with ears that gander..
To the miraculous sound dance upon the veranda
Through a ferocious pound of advanced verbal stamina
Banging out precocious power like political propaganda
Whilst Sanding down atrocious Towers of satirical working man hours
Miles of hanging around with flowers that gave us powers and led us to pipeline dreams
We thought we was Mario and Luigi it seems...
Cross pollination from a hybrid nation
Brought up on Nintendos and playstations
To then sort out endo and thc equations
Buttercups and Daisy chains utter such hazy frames for stutter much wavy brains that pucker up for glazey games...
A beautiful mistress coming with cuticle dizziness can be fruitful in optical misgiving ness
Goddess awareness was always the fairest nest
yet the one I always invest in is high hats and snares
Always there to ingest a rhymes saps and wears
More playful than a caress of sly ******* stares...
Apples and peaches of bums with succulent pears
Meet battle sound features on drums of reluctant fears
Whilst Cattle bound Creatures hum decedent sneers
And Snapple drowned preachers hear irrelevant prayers

Bionic biopics from ironic orifices
Leave subsonic tonics drawn for moronic sonnets...iconic comics form sardonic harmonics for all the polyphonics with bees in their bonnets
As the Flutterbuys scuttle buy you and I as I utter why do the good girls always make me cry
Yet the bad girls get me high
As they wind and grind
with nature's sweet sunset vibes
it's always a pleasure I treasure to take this fair weather  ride
Whereas the good girls just make me sigh and I wonder why I cry when they say goodbye
maybe good isn't something for the likes of you and I
these are the wonders of why try in an age of Wi-Fi
So we'll stick to our fly by drive by guise of rampage rides through each other's insides..

So come and gather at the miraculous sound dance on the veranda
Go run and gather up haphazardous fondants for a poetic stanza
The sun can hammer us with glamorous fragments for a consciousness Bonanza


A break in the pores is a take from the draws  as something is coming to you from a cause
A screed and a scrape off the times the mind's been in need of a gauze
From the marks she adores from her kitty cat claws
From crimes that hear a applause for the kind of sports only a blind horse could  report
So Don't be mortified or horrified for being glorified through a poet's eyes
it means you've fortified the tortured side of a fantasist sky
which is now where you lie as it's hard to deny you've been immortalized….
  Ooh yes see..that is your prize

Entombed within the golden locks,
a struggle of two personalities that
coalesce beneath the shimmer of
                                 dusk and dawn.

Never do either ever see the features
portrayed beneath the flesh of others.
Corporeal forms foreboding there existing
                                time haunting memories.

When the curse was woven in sullen
contest, not knowing that this would
knit there time to the fabric of each other’s waking breath.

But when night did lynch daylight then
the other awoke, feverishly needing to
tend to the others demise. Not realising
                                 golden locks unlocked.

It was only when the other stared deep
into the pool of reflection. They saw the
other looking in fright, but neither one
                                behind just reflections.

Now the truth has been attuned to their
existence, they were as one through the
shadow and light to undo a misgiving
                                    from a birth right.

Each has seen into another knowing.
Where there misgivings have given them
reflection, and now they have a purpose
                                to set things right.

et go the bird that doth not fly
Release the prisoner whom do no harm
Let run the horse hast he no legs

Does not the heart beating within thine own chest
Scream to be released from its cage of bone
Does not the soul held within the walls of flesh and blood
Plead to be set free free of its fleshly grave

Can not you hear the crimson tide of blood and bile
Gurgling in your ears to flow upon this baron land
Does not the pulsating between your fleshy lobes
Beg to explode gray matter into space so cold

Use your head your really dead this is all an illusion
Think about it this cant be that which really isn't there
Nothing for your eyes to see so is it dark in there
Nothing for your ears to hear so have you gone def

Do you really feel the pain burning deep within
Is your insanity driving the living mad from your rantings
Are you paranoid theyll dig up your pallid bones
Will there mournful cries drive you from your grave
To haunt the men and children of your disdain

Will the love they had become anew in your rotting heart
Will the freedom they held become your captor
Relentless as it may be but your pain is for eternity
Youll never harm another as you have done before

Youll stand at the gates of hell and time anguishing in misery
Youll beg of fleshly fiends to do your biddings no more
All the while you remember the lifes you stole
From those you were to week and embarrassed to ****

Believe in that which cant be seen
Remember that which was told of you
Your only mortal but time and death
Will take their toll and come calling at hearts door

Death has come with its misgiving
Blood has boiled in your veins
Hear the whisper of the living
As the screaming of the dead
See the blood that leaves its stains
As the making of your graveyard bed.