Everybody in Russia loves Vladimir Putin.
In the years since he muscled his way to the top of the tree, he has established himself as the Champion of all Russia!

In the degradation following the collapse of the USSR, national pride in Russia spiralled down to an all-time low, there was little to be proud of. The satellite nations fled to independence abandoning the Rodina,  Agricultural and industrial production fell dramatically, law and order diminished dangerously. The economy shrank and the order of success in business depended largely on connection with Government and/or the Mafia. The Oligarchs became monstrously rich, the average Ivan monstrously poor. Life savings were rendered worthless overnight by the plummet of the value of the rouble. Russian society polarised from the ecstatically happy, filthy rich to the chronically unhappy, beggared poor.

Russian leadership staggered from Gorbechev’s democratisation through Yeltsin’s alcoholism to Andropov’s sudden death…. enter the fray Vladimir Putin.

Putin tightened the reins.
He organised regular payment of wages and salaries to the movers and shakers, the police and the military.
He changed the rules of doing business within the nation and made investment opportunities within Russia available to outside interests.
He took charge and commandeered discipline within the ranks of central Government.
He set about correctional treatment for the terrorists/freedom fighters in the Chechen Republic and elsewhere.
He raised the expectations of the common man and gave the people an element of promise for Russia’s tomorrow.
He invaded and took back the Crimea as legitimate Russian sovereignty.
He garnered the roaring support of the six million ethnic Russians domiciled in the Eastern region of the Ukraine.

Putin now stands, bare chested, astride Russia. He faces a hostile but cowed West with pale, blazing eyes and a ******* bulge in his trousers.
He is widely idolised by Russian women and admired by Russian men. He is their champion; he is believed to be their key to the future.
His nation is currently under severe trade embargo and economic sanction by Europe and the West which is hurting the strained economy right across the board.
The declining price of oil is adversely affecting Siberian oil profits and making further shale oil exploration uneconomic.
He enjoys hugely profitable Siberian natural gas pipeline sales to the Southern neighbour, China, but they watch the unfolding political landscape with careful, calculating tiger eyes.
Putin is regarded by Europe and the West as an unpredictable, serious threat who should not be unduly provoked.
Undeniably, the West, in their sour lipped manner, would be happy to see him and his Russian bear, fade quietly and permanently into the obscurity of the frozen wilds of the far Siberian tundra.

But if Vladimir Putin plays his cards well, he could actually bring the Rodina all of the benefits, glory and rewards that it seeks.
However, should he overplay his hand here, he may well crash and burn….and in doing so, could bring Russia’s dreams and aspirations crashing down with him.

Marshalg
Auckland
15 November 2014

In the shadow of Everest people are dying
Crushed in a chaos embirthed from beneath,
Emerged as destructor of temple and Taos,
Emerged as an innocent killer... bequeathed.
History crumbles as heavens roar mightily
Ghorka is dead in an avalanche of rock,
Beggars and potentates crushed  in the brickfall
Dharahara’s fall leaves men gaping in shock.
Shuddering mountains in avalanche of free fall
Wails of the stricken as quaking defiles,
Gold topped pagodas and statue of ancients,
Sculpture of lions now a rubble in piles.
Khathmandu in the clasp of calamity
Nightmarish forces arisen from deep,
Grasping the earth in their grip of profanity
Monstrously tearing the bedrock from sleep.
A techtonic ****** of Asia by India
Nepal’s Himalayas ****** to the sky,
Inconsequential, this plight of humanity
Nature proceeds as poor Nepalese die.**

M.
ANZAC Day 25 April 2015

Every morning when I am making tea,
I wish most fervently,
To become an electric KETTLE.

It most certainly won't  matter to me,
I'll accept it most gracefully,
Be I of ceramic or METAL.

For one moment I'm dancing with glee,
The next sobbing most piteously,
These wretched hormones don't SETTLE.

Once I whistled so daintily,
Now I  breathe so monstrously,
No longer a rose PETAL.

I may boil, then boil most furiously,
Then click off automatically,
Before I sting like NETTLE.

Splutter, bubble, gurgling I be,
Then cool and calm..so peacefully ,
There I ..in fine FETTLE!

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Our wilier webs
woven with the distractions of self-absorption
can come to feel
cheated if we use them
only for halfhearted games of catch
and eventual release.
He’d overlooked that part.
Then there was an obligation to prey
who so willingly strayed upon the taffy
pull of his sweet and sticky strands.
The scrunch up of their wee faces
squeaked, “We deserve
to have our glued-down expectations
met with a most gruesome expertise.”
He’d just wanted to watch them
struggle a smidge,
at first.
It was a test if this muscle the scribes
ascribe as rightly plagued by pangs
was in him
perhaps despicably defective.
With each tripper-by trapped
the examinations grew
more tortuously complex,
and when none raised even
the slightest murmur of a palpitation,
he gave the web its dripped-dry due,
at last.
“The murderous truth will out,”
they say. It did, monstrously.
Now his bound but gagless masques
are always well-attended.

More towers must yet be built--more towers destroyed--
Great rocks hoisted in air;
And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlight
With gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . .
And so he did not mention his dream of falling
But drank his coffee in silence, and heard in his ears
That horrible whistle of wind, and felt his breath
****** out of him, and saw the tower flash by
And the small tree swell beneath him . . .
He patted his boy on the head, and kissed his wife,
Looked quickly around the room, to remember it,--
And so went out . . .  For once, he forgot his pail.

Something had changed--but it was not the street--
The street was just the same--it was himself.
Puddles flashed in the sun.  In the pawn-shop door
The same old black cat winked green amber eyes;
The butcher stood by his window tying his apron;
The same men walked beside him, smoking pipes,
Reading the morning paper . . .

He would not yield, he thought, and walk more slowly,
As if he knew for certain he walked to death:
But with his usual pace,--deliberate, firm,
Looking about him calmly, watching the world,
Taking his ease . . .  Yet, when he thought again
Of the same dream, now dreamed three separate times,
Always the same, and heard that whistling wind,
And saw the windows flashing upward past him,--
He slowed his pace a little, and thought with horror
How monstrously that small tree ****** to meet him! . . .
He slowed his pace a little and remembered his wife.

Was forty, then, too old for work like this?
Why should it be?  He'd never been afraid--
His eye was sure, his hand was steady . . .
But dreams had meanings.
He walked more slowly, and looked along the roofs,
All built by men, and saw the pale blue sky;
And suddenly he was dizzy with looking at it,
It seemed to whirl and swim,
It seemed the color of terror, of speed, of death . . .
He lowered his eyes to the stones, he walked more slowly;
His thoughts were blown and scattered like leaves;
He thought of the pail . . . Why, then, was it forgotten?
Because he would not need it?

Then, just as he was grouping his thoughts again
About that drug-store corner, under an arc-lamp,
Where first he met the girl whom he would marry,--
That blue-eyed innocent girl, in a soft blouse,--
He waved his hand for signal, and up he went
In the dusty chute that hugged the wall;
Above the tree; from girdered floor to floor;
Above the flattening roofs, until the sea
Lay wide and waved before him . . . And then he stepped
Giddily out, from that security,
To the red rib of iron against the sky,
And walked along it, feeling it sing and tremble;
And looking down one instant, saw the tree
Just as he dreamed it was; and looked away,
And up again, feeling his blood go wild.

He gave the signal; the long girder swung
Closer to him, dropped clanging into place,
Almost pushing him off.  Pneumatic hammers
Began their madhouse clatter, the white-hot rivets
Were tossed from below and deftly caught in pails;
He signalled again, and wiped his mouth, and thought
A place so high in the air should be more quiet.
The tree, far down below, teased at his eyes,
Teased at the corners of them, until he looked,
And felt his body go suddenly small and light;
Felt his brain float off like a dwindling vapor;
And heard a whistle of wind, and saw a tree
Come plunging up to him, and thought to himself,
'By God--I'm done for now, the dream was right . . .'

The mist clouded my sight
The dress I wore was white
I was lost I could tell
So, I followed the **** of the tower bell
The wind swooshed past my face
It was a mystifying maze
I was cold
All I had was the warmth of
your love                          
My hair was damp
You switched on the table
lamp
The branches creaked
Under my feet.
At some distance the water cascaded
The trees in front of me faded
The insects were buzzing
The paper on your nightstand were rustling
The woods whispered
The birds no longer chirped
I am still looking for peace.
Our photo frame on the mantelpiece.
You burned it down
I tripped on the frozen ground.
I knew I was losing you
I could no longer feel you.
The scratches on my elbow and knees
The frost on the leaves.
I feel like I’ve heard and seen this before
I cannot take it anymore.
These sounds are noise to my ears.
All I see are my fears.
They screamed at me monstrously
I can’t handle this cacophony.

I.

He’s
put on
the ****’s watch,
a peaked tower
who stands at far reach
to throw shadows with square
limbs. Loose-draped in rough
skins, he’s wary
of Dawn’s creep,
its lies.
He
sips fire
to fillip
flagged spirits, fix
the one-hundred eyes
rung monstrously about
his uncrowned head. Sleep
comes as well-timed
jaunts, its blinks
rolling
round
in thin-
lid cascades;
these hoodless winks
non-stop projecting
scenes from green grazing fields
where he keeps a girl-
beast, the jealous
prop of fast-
fading
robes.

II.

She’s
ill-changed
by blind rage,
a punishment
brought down for baring
another’s intentions—
his wont of too much,
never sought for
or seeking.
Her sleek
nymph’s
lines were
well-drawn till
smudged and pulled wide
they broke open, spilled
a dark spotted bulk, she
awkwardly carries
on spindly legs.
A mind’s led
circling
back
to gnarled
trunks that clutched
at blackened soil.
The tether’s chain, forged
silver with heavy links,
stretches taut to cut
circumscribed arcs
through bitter,
dying
blades.

III.

He’s
foggy
as he spies
morning ride in
rosy on the curled
back of low-rising mist.
Its errand breezes
were sent to spell
a lyric’s
deceit—
blow-
whispers
to drowse him
with wedded tunes.
Needle-sharp leaves spin,
making olives hum, while
their twigs clatter-knock
dull drums and lull
fifty pairs
to close.
What
was kept
is loosed with
thunder-less flash—
the quickening catch
that foils Argus by writ
mischief and wraps him
in its coiled tale
of never
slipping
free.

IV.**

She’s
twisted
and drags clanked
metal tangles
behind, while ahead
lie the first halting steps
of her re-formed path-
ways. They spoke out
a blurred wheel
beyond
the
sentry’s
fallen bulk,
but malodor
beckons to its sky-
enthroned mistress who tasks
cloud-effacing pests
to descend and
buzz-beat words,
erstwhile
known,
to non-
sense. The winged
confusion goads
Io, who released
from cowed thoughts will make mad-
apparent wanders.
She’ll chase earthbound
love and birth
mortal
time.

A monstrously graceful and gracious disgrace
A malicious tyrant with a burning vengeance,
The Satanic betrayal of a people so down and out,
The atrocious ****** of a defenceless citizenry,
The barbarous Lucifer of our era.

When we thought our nation had gone to the dogs,
You religiously rescued it and plunged it further beyond,
When we thought our motherland was dead and buried,
You exhumed her, mutilated the remains and fed them to crocodiles,
******* child of the product of our soil.

Our guides are painfully turning in their graves,
Monomotapa, Nehanda and Kaguvi,
Lobengula, Mzilikazi and Joshua Nkomo,
A collection that epitomizes peace and order for their descendants,
Patriots that sacrificed their lives for their offsprings’ wellbeing.


But Grace, time is always of essence,
What goes around, certainly comes around,
Has it ever occurred to you that God is for us all,
And he is not asleep,
When he hands over the button to us, what are you gonna do?

Startling, simply.
***** form of white;
Pillar of morals
Tied to fables
That are taller still
Than even he.
And yet the sight
Takes wind from
The watcher.
Rapt eyes stroll
Languorously across him.
Form unconcealed
And no appendage
Draws undue focus.
Stale cupola air
Becomes spring in his repose.
His smirking dead eyes
Mock spectators.
He leaps and vaults
Through the deadened vaults,
Then furrows his brow, opens his mouth.
Mute shouts ring terribly here like slung stones.
Were he out in the elements, the earth itself might
Gape monstrously to sputter out, "Startling, certainly."

I remember, it was summer. I handed everybody my homemade pizza sandwiches. The smell of crispy baked bread with warm melting mozzarella cheese and sweet rich ripe tomato sauce. My friends and I were on a road trip full of leaping laughter. Laughter that grew six packs in our cheeks. Highways I call home. Songs we sang that came to life. We called ourselves the six pack. Driving an endless road down Lilly-stocks green fields and corn crops, jokes are made that make the day spark with amber. Hugs and kisses made our heart explode. The hugs and kisses that our parents no longer gave us anymore.

“You can run away with me any time you want.” We kept singing to the good and bad beats tuning out the radio as our voices warmed the air. Making the best of them, and making the air fresher than it actually was. Smelling no more than a flower in disguise. The girls lip gloss smiles and the boys lose leather seats shined. The girls laughed and chained while the boys sang their favourite songs. Their voices lit up the day more and continued a jubilant bumpy road. I remember my boyfriend putting the car in park. We all jumped out onto the warm concrete as we had our running shoes and gear ready. We walked in the forest and jumped over big streams of spring water. He held my hand and kissed my cheek. A perfect world on a perfect day. A photograph that would last a million years. Love and good times was our culture. We sang to the beat of our hearts.

“Cruising down the highway with my friends, top down and we're all on our way to the beach. And everyone keeps laughing at those cars we are passing, as we're ******* down that funny, funny ****. Oh yeah… oh yeah! We're rolling up to sand, take your shoes off, man. We are skinny dipping underneath the sea. And it's a chicken fight clan, throw your dukes up, "wham!". We are splashing in the water to the beat. Oh yeah… oh yeah! Crossing sandy dunes, hot day, mid-June. Naked kids, running wild, and free. It's summer time fun, relax and stay young. You could be home, with Oprah Winfrey. The water feels nice, dive deep down under. The ships, and treasures make reef. Just one of those days, had a blue, perfect wave. Come out, and join. You'll see. We are lying in the sun, when you’re done find a towel. Now we're thinking of where we're gonna eat. Back corner table, order lobsters and Black Label. Raise your glasses, here's to living out our dreams.”
We all ran with full stomachs down the beach to unpack in our clean house cabin. We all clunked on the couches and flicked the television on. My boyfriend Billy was laughing about bad pranks on the beach with his two best friends Dalek and Tanek. Nelly’s dating Dalek and Quinns dating Tanek. My two best girlfriends. Chatting away we heard a shattering noise. We all give each other looks and rush to the startling noise coming from the bathroom.
“It’s coming from that vent.” Billy pointed and looked at me. A huge metal vent with blue spirals. The vent shook the wall and the vent cover fell off. Billy saw a green creature run down the vent and took his flashlight. “I saw something! There! Down there!”
“Yeah let’s go in there and catch ‘em!” Dalek dramatically spun.
“There is no way on earth I’m going in there!” Nelly poked Daleks shoulder.
“Yeah, there could be..” I took Billy’s flashlight and held it under my face. “Aliens!” I said deeper in a jokingly manner. Everyone knows Daleks consternating fear for aliens.
“Aliens?” Dalek blankly stared and fearfully jumped in to Taneks arms. Billy wrapped his arms around me.
“No way on earth you’re going in there without me Betty babe.” I snatched his flashlight again and crawled into the small space. “That’s not a good idea though, come on Betty, come back.” Billy worried.
“I’m just looking!” My voice echoed down the humongous vent as I suddenly slipped. “Billy! Help!” I slid down the vent and rolled on my side as Billy shouted.
“I’m coming Betty! Wait there!” Everyone decided to follow and by the time I saw Billy, Billy and I heard the girls screaming and the guys laughing down the slippery vent.
“We stick together!” Quinn fainted in Tanek’s arms.
“Yeah, now who’s gonna get the magical rope and magically bring us back up?” I knuckled her hair roughly.
“I’m freaking out guys. I don’t want to be here. It’s *****. It’s rusty. I like these pants! Dalek! Why’d you push me down?!” Nelly heated.
“Shh! We can’t wake the aliens.” Dalek gulped and held her head tightly to his chest.
“There it is!” Billy shouted. The wrinkley green face ran out a different vent outside.
“We’re okay guys, look. We’ll go outside that vent, there, and we’ll be okay.” We crawled in relief and I was the first person to fall. I fell in the sand as well as everybody else mocked.
“Damit Dalek, I can‘t believe you got me into -” Nelly choked on the sand. The green alien appeared and spoke.
“Greetings!” it giggled. “I’m alien here harvest your brain.” It chuckled. It spat a big laugh and spoke again “Just kidding, my name is Jungalo. I see you’re in danger. You shouldn’t be here.” I look up into the bright sky light as I shadow my eyes with my hand. It’s definitely not human. But a male creature I assume. He stands awkwardly with a cup of fresh sardines in his awkward hands coming from the purple lake as the wind whistles. The warm peanutbutterflies flutter in the peanut fields. Millions and millions of peanuts. The green alien walked us down the trails of snails and over a few bridges. The lake’s shore was covered with sardines. Jungalo grabbed the purple well water took a bucket full of sardines too.“Hey there Jungalo!” The purple kids shouted from a distance; little goats apparently allergic to fish. I tried catching the peanutbutterflies to eat, because Jungalo said they tasted good. The creatures tasted scrumptious. We stumble across the rocky trails and jump into his tree house. Not any old regular tree house. A door on the tree that has a staircase. An underground house. Jungalo puts the sardines in the *** and lets it boil. I find these white fluffy candy planted around the tree. It’s shaped like a mushroom but we call Jungalo says their marshmellowshrooms, AKA double M shrooms. I love the feeling and smell of them so I pick them.
“Don’t! Don’t! Put that down!” The little green alien’s awkward fist monstrously hit me and I fell to the floor. Not just that, but I blacked out.
*
My breathe escaped and I jumped off the couch. I looked around the living room dizzy and unaware of my surroundings. The wooden floors were scratched and there was tomato juice spilt on the carpets. I had a feeling that tomato juice wasn’t the only thing we consumed.
I was too frightened to move. Seeing the empty bottles laying everywhere, I fell to my knees once more and weakly fell back into my sleep.
A food I once ate. In my kitchen when my mom baked. My taste buds had an overrate. To the flower and powder in my mother’s cake. On and on I express about things that make no sense. But I still move my lips to the beat of the tense. Riding up and down the hills of confusion. Maybe there could be a lack of resolution. Make it count, make it count. My mother in blue says. I’ll remember her words for the rest of my days. Take a nap, take a nap for goodness sakes. I’ll warm you the light to discourage the shapes. I love you darling, never forget. The tears I cried when I had my baby brunette.
My eyes slightly open. Where am I? With my feather head, I stand up and see Billy. I wobble and try shaking everyone up. Nobody moves. I stumble to Billy’s face and try to wake him last.
“Please wake up Billy!” I shook him and topple beside him. I try getting up even though my paralyzed legs try to stop me. I grabbed cold water from the kitchen and dumped it on his face. I watch him moan in pain and sickness.
“Billy!” I had enough energy to pull him to my chest. He looked up at me and spoke.
“Betty, what’s going on?” He grabbed me.
“I don’t know. I think we need to call for help.” I held his shoulder
“Are you kidding? We’re not doing legal things here Betty. We have to wake everyone up and we have to go home.”
“Billy I’ve already tried.” I teared. Billy tried moving everybody hard but nobody even flinched.

We heard hard loud knocks one after another behind the front door. We glance at each other quickly and clumsily walk to the door. Billy opened the door. A woman dressed in white stood there which pinched my pupils. It waited patiently just around the corner, peeking out from over the horizon. Death.
“Don’t be scared. Come with me.” She turned around as her wings fluttered like the fins of angel-fish. “Don’t worry you’ll see her very soon.”
My mom flashed before my eyes. "You're beginning to drag the ones you love down. Maybe you should just fall, and leave the world and lose it all. Maybe that's what you need, to finally see, I loved you through it all. It may feel like God went north, and left you to be. But all you need to know, is you have everything you need. It's just a blink of an eye, until the next time we meet. I'll hold you 'til the end, I'll hold you 'til you're free.” She hugged me.

So,

I took these ideas

Planted them into your mind

And watched as they grew into

A monstrously beautiful thing


A discovery

That would keep you with me

For as long as I wanted you to

For as long as you were able

Until you slipped back to sleep; to reality


And while your evaporating imagination

Produced, and created, things that

Would otherwise be impossible

I looked upon you

And gave way to shame


We grew old,

You under the idea of eternal love

I under the guilt of eternal culpability

And the world we created; the world that we would come to fear

Would become the only reality we knew -

Bare rose colored lips spitting Minnesota slush.
You thrash expertly with an accelerating fury,
Like a volcano spewing molten lava,
Cursing upwardly.

You stared up from the cold rock ground.
Monstrously,
Savagely.
Seventeen steps away from me.
You beat Satan’s rooftop with fists full of anger.

Aggressively,
Ferociously,
Now ten steps apart from me,
The beating orange ball made your fury grow.
With a rising intensity.
Now five steps from me.

Your lavish brown hair finally resting on your shoulder
Cautiously,
Patiently,
One hand away from me.

Crackling windows and
shattered power lines
low and grumbling.

A tree spreads its wings
and uproots itself from the soil.

Downtrodden shacks stand tired
at half staff, barely paying attention.

***** roads
dirt roads
trodden
untrodden
my humble abodes

They've hammered
a rusty nail into
the northern star
and hung an advertisement there -
It's the brightest shiner in the sky

Weeping willow weepin'
Done crying, now a sleeping fellow

frozen fingers ask for change
Never really Done crying
done trying
Never really Done

A house
split down the middle
rusty rouge and a battered blue

A solemn lady
saunters with a stop sign

Pine tree pines to the left

Pensive pencil pours
pickled thoughts to paper

Pied piper pries
sleepy eyelids

pulls sick stories
pulsating pupils

monstrously
melodious musings

making meal of my darkness

In a pale light the sense is made alike,
W/in a lucid trance between time and being
            The world is halted,
and the psyche is free to roam its unprecedented, formless
Labyrinth of secrets and of
questions,
         Answers are sparse,
But the ambition of men
Tearing monstrously at the
delicacy of these phantom
         quantities
is what keeps the answers hidden,
      And lingering in a patient limbo

Disillusionment is the price for having your head in the clouds,
For youthful idealism,
When dreams aren't concise.

I used to feel so enticed,
Seeing how a pigmented nail polish,
Could give a pallid hand a sophisticated finish.
But these days there is no novelty.
My cuticles are sliced,
In the places where the paint wasn't precise.
Teeth monstrously disregard the life of the flesh, making a mess,
Now that my nerves have every reason to take out their stress.

Aunts and grandfathers go out of their way for us when we are little enough,
Just to remind us our faces are beautiful enough to rule the world.
Of course we believe them, with faces like blank canvases,
When they say that blossoming will only make things better.

Before long, boys have painted us with scarlet letters.
Their only warrant is our existence.
By eleven, we disassociate and find our old face distant.
Old before our time. Tired and haggard.
You don’t need to point it out when our flaws come out to play.
We know already- but hey, you can still remind us of lumps on our noses, stomachs, and chests.
As if it's gruelling enough just to get through the day.

Didn’t we all see our futures in silver screen angels?
Or a centre-stage princess?
Blind to her hidden talents, so baneful.
Did it ever occur to you,
That our idol queens,
Were more enthralled by lines of coke in their dressing rooms,
Than the magic of living our dreams?

Follow their footsteps, I dare you.
Flip a coin between thriving and doom.
And let us wonder why our aspirations have lead us to death’s doorstep.

I don't know
That I've ever been so
Loved.

Big city dreaming
New faces and chasin'
The pavement that I kick up
With bare Alabamian feet
Toes that leave intricate marks behind
FaceTime my old life in coffee shops
As my new life sits next to me
But it all sits next to me
Holds me close, so dear.

We drew pictures tonight
I think mine encapsulated the interior of my
Chaotic, monstrously colorful mind
We all hold hands together
Talking quickly and with such passionate intensity
We wanna make a difference, feels so good
We shed our skin, our art, our everything
Hustling during the day to get by
I try to remain positive in my darkest times.

A girlfriend of mine shared my post
And referenced me and a group of people as lost
And I know she meant no harm, she's one of the bravest
But it scratched away at something in my gut
That made me feel tired, hurt, and so stupid
But I shed my skin
I shed my skin.

One of the boys and I drank whiskey
As we drew the pictures and examined
The idea of man and woman
So innocent, so platonic
He asked me just now for a picture of my profile
Because he is looking for interesting faces to draw.

All my life I've twirled in pretty dresses
Arm in arm carried and loved, love
I see and examine the way other humans look at me
And I wonder and see through a different lens
Now the self awareness I hold so true.

I grate ginger tea
Messages fill my inbox or replied comments
Baring the sweetest, most sincere words
Urging me to keep going
And for probably the second moment in my life
Only
I believe them.

Lets bookmark this moment
In April, when this time last year
I dreamed and longed for newness
Kicking the pavement there
I compared it tonight
To running out of rope
A metaphor just so easily
Falls from my lips these days
Sometimes I speak and surprise myself.

I've been thinking a lot lately
That women
We, us, women
We are the closest thing to heaven
On this earth.

I look at you often, always have, enticed
and seduced more, than you’ll ever know.
Your sight overwhelmingly sooths me, lifts
my spirits up high, closer to you as I wonder,
where you end and begin, where you meld

stealthily with my being.

Stretching my inadequate body to reach,
unable to touch you I feel, the gentle caress
of your ethereal otherworldly skin, all over,
around and within, me. Enveloping my shape
you suggest, metamorphoses to come

as we blend.

You, unable to utter a word, speak, so loudly
to my deafened ears prevailing vibrations echo,
in the warmth of my veins. Your muteness penetrates
unhindered my listening consciousness compelled
to give in to the richness of your horizon filled,

with promises and potentials.

Recognising my essence in one of a thousand
sceneries you majestically create, making me
feel special, proposing I am unique, till the moment
I believe, keeping the secret all to myself, unwilling
to share, to lose, to acknowledge the truth.

As I grow in your pervasive shadow however
you scold my limitedness, monstrously obliging me
to accept, you are not mine, we are not exclusive
and I alone, am not unique. No reserves to passions
shared, with many more. I look at you and feel so far.

I cannot even reprimand your betrayal, admiring
your mightiness and bounties as you love, protect
and embrace the entire human race, inviting me
to rid of greed, of wanting you all for me, until
I realise, you are me, and together we encompass

the whole of humanity.

You are not together,
          and we are not apart.
Call me home,

Think of me as a juxtaposition of jumbled giant words/Feeding monstrously in (where and how,in) I please,
      And please me darling,
For this is the last night we get until
You
      Give
             Up
                  That
       Mask. (A circled mess) quarrying deeply
From the plush seas of bed.

It's not what I say or declare
but for others to judge--am I
good or bad, or neither
then what?  the why of things in life
is too often shrouded
in deep mystery and is monstrously vexatious
the heart has reasons of its own and is unimpressed by logic-
the question of what is or should be is perennially contentious

the crackling string of voices
running, streaking through
the clamor of trees, creaking
through  the night's chilly breeze,
I see, I see that I don't know
where I am going,
only that trailing the stars
with set of blazing graze
crashes into the divine sky,
perhaps that is where the
the voices are spilling from,
those monstrously loud chorus
of staggering heart beats,
clambering with lunar-soaked fire
as I search for a home where I can burrow,
to pick the earth form my fingernails
on conclusion of a long, long day
to know that the small paradise
is a home which I belong

IT rained ruinously down the streets went the
raging day's temperament
The dog's barking and snapping at the droplets
of regretful tears that grew into monstrously
huge violence
A hailed cab stood no chance and a failed
businessman took his clothes off and dove
headfirst into the gutter of despair
The young mother with her stroller hoisted
her sails and allowed squally wind to
pacify the cute cuddly cherub
\no other thing existed.  The world
was all empty pending the eleven o'clock
news./

Unpredictable -- as is nature.

:: 09-29-2018 ::

I opened the cabinet where all the plates were.
They were all the same color and shape
with the same cracks and chipped paint.

One by one I threw them all onto the ground
until they shattered into oblivion.

I gathered some of the scraps and cradled them like a baby,
glued some back together,
and I told them it was going to be okay,
that I had been crushed by the foot of a giant too.

But when I woke up,
there were no plates.
Or bowls, or cups, or forks, or spoons.

So, I dug a hole in my bed and sank into it, deeply,
landing in the grass, sprinkled with dew.
No twinkle of stars, no sunshine or snow,
no bird wings flapping or croaking frogs,
or busy highways or empty neighborhood streets.

A bitter-sweet orange lay next to my arm.
It was bruised too, and a little soft.
I dug my nails into its stomach and clawed its insides out
and devoured it monstrously and unforgivingly.

But then I remembered the plates.
My shadow was leaning against the house with them inside.
Did they belong there? In that cabinet all these years?

But when I woke up,
I was in my bed
And the plates were downstairs,
in the cabinet,
where they belonged.

I thought the the burning
sensation beneath my lungs
were feelings of content
and a little bit of elation,
but what happened
to my gracious heart—
it leaps, for you,
but not in that way.

It springs down into a pit
of—no, not despair—of
despondence.
I no longer crave
for your touch
or your hug
or your lovely kisses;
I no longer crave
for your empty hands
that held my broken pieces.
I no longer crave
for your thoughts
nor your attention—
I no longer crave
for your everything
yet still, here I am:
thinking great heights
of  y o u
and how I still
longed for you to
look at me in the eye
and say, "I miss you."

Do I miss you, truly?
Or is this just pain
seeping through my eyes
in forms of tears
that cascade monstrously
down my soft features?

And so I finally can say “goodbye”
to monstrously distressing twenty-sixteen
reflecting back with inward shrug and sigh
on happenings that never should have been.

But I have lived through all that could be thrown
by Nature with insouciant disdain.
retaining sensitivity alone
that I have sought to disregard in vain.

And now as these last few hours pass away
I sit with solitary glass of cheer,
ready to greet the dawn of a new day
that is the harbinger of a New Year.

And I reflect however bad may seem
the slings and arrows of life’s jesting style
it does no good to rant and rave and scream;
such immature response is juvenile.

Better by far embrace the positive
though hard to find in the twelve months now gone,
there’s always much denial to forgive,
and clemency comes easy when alone.

So let me cast aside self-pitying malaise
discarding too the self-indulgent sorrow,
and echoing the mundane Scarlett phrase,
I’ll put it from my mind until tomorrow