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Simon Clark Aug 2012
In the mood to have a drink,
A glass of champagne,
Watch Big Ben count down the time,
Until the New Year enters in,
Party Poppers popping proudly,
Magic music motoring,
In the mood to have a dance,
A dance to enchant,
Watch the fireworks explode,
The clock meets the midnight hour,
Party Poppers popping proudly,
Magic music motoring.
written in 2006
Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.
Kara Rose Trojan Apr 2011
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.

A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.  

Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.

How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for slap-sticked power.

By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Doltish vulgarity among the begrimed-glitch and old-grown-boring Jive.
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.

A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.

Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.

How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for high-brow, White-men polemics

By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Based-vulgarity amongst the begrimed-teeth-******* and homegrown-Jive.
Still Crazy Oct 2015
every word birthed and in format,
crafted by this mans poor
life motoring skills,
is the sole fault of his fault lines,
all taken, this responsibility

but the good that transverses the
arteries and veins of his profferings,
fair credit shared now and then,
for those that listen to these,
his poetic heartbeats,
raise him up to more than he can be...
Yenson Jan 2019
I drove it in with hard solid passion
her whole body shuddered and I felt her thighs
parting further, yet my hot sword again heaved internally
and filled out more in that velvet tunnel, making it even tighter

she moaned, oh she moaned and wrapped folded arms
round my shoulders firmly pulling me even closer.
I paused to savour my girth throbbing in wet hot tight jelly
a million nerves ending tingling to tingles from sugar walls
a warmth like no other enveloped our bodies rising to our brains
my length was hitting a yielding ending making her scream more

lifting my hip I started firing ions and sweet sensations
as she lifted her firm solid hips to meet my thrusts
a fire dance of immortals, a duo speak of raw energy
slickly intermingling in a fire pit of molten hot candy
she moaned and groaned, simpered, howled and groaned
and our bodies grind and booped, and again and again

taken over by a compulsion to push and pull and seek deeper
she drew me in and I lengthened with every push and trust
I reached soft ends only to push further and find a little
more yield and a sweet velvet glove is polishing my sword
while hot whispers fling out endearments, or moans quietly

my tiger, wild untamed, claimed my body and growled
loudly, bearing his teeth as sweat ran down my forehead
I was in my stride, the rhythm was in motion in the ocean
my fevered brain told me, make this a long ride
give it to her like she's never had it before.
I can go on for as long as it takes, I answered back

I bent my head and my full lips found a ******
I need a drink from that full circling soft balloon
she raised her face and slipped warm tongue in my mouth
her hand behind my neck held me firmly locked in sweet kisses
her hips moved in unison with mine and slippery sounds played
I was lost in ecstasy, my sword throbbed in full beaming glory

Suddenly her hip became stronger than mine
she slammed into mine and started screaming
she moved with faster tempo and i felt a pulsating grip below
that started attacking my hard sword, squeezing, pulling
I had to change gears, I drove even deeper, she was flaying
and threshing, her thighs trapping my thighs tightly
Oh..oh...its multiple she hissed wildly, come with me
come with me...oh..come together with me

My hips rose higher, and then higher some more.
your command is my wish.... sweet lady, I whispered
I put the engine in gear five, revved the pistons
and slammed on the tottle, I was motoring in Monaco now
I heard a banshee screaming somewhere. I heard myself howling
while the sweetest fire started scorching my sword
and sipped out a torrent of high octane molten hot honey
our naked bodies clashed, medged, disengage and reconnected
in an exotic freestyle wrestle, yet below we were glued in sync
a blast, the big bang with stars and glitters and a vice like grip
it seemed to last forever and I swear I heard celestial choirs then I slowly descended from cloud nine and then the rolling slowed down.

I hope this is just a pitstop my brain hissed at me, I am ready
to go again, please note, brain added.

Please let my lovely lady at least recover a little, I chided brain.

She clung on to me, we were drenched in sweat
she was shaking, shuddering and trembling all in one
then tears fell from her eyes mingling with sweat on her face
her cheeks were flushed, she glowed red. tousled hair fanned
her face in wet strands, she looked ever so beautiful

She gazed into my eyes, stroking my wet cheeks
she was still panting as I was too
You are amazing ...she said, I do love you so much, she added..her hazel eyes sparkling,..... You are simply the best!

Resting a palm on her full soft right breast, I blew her a kiss.

You are beautiful and you make me amazing.... I replied.
I love you too, my darling.........
Sweet memories, why all should be done to isolate this animal........
Our women are not safe when this monster is let loose.....hahaha
To the good times!!
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2014
(For Sia Jane)

once he wrote:

"Writing is more important than any of the individual senses that feed this (writing) addiction. Without sound, sight, touch, smell and taste, I can (still) live quite well."

and she loved this,
for well she lived this ideation

so textual emendation
for this girl,
one of god's human poems

irony kick in the head,
truth driven home by body of late,
crossed and staked,
weeks pass, I cannot taste or smell,
eyesight distorted by streaming eyes, no matter,
sight, sees only a decrepit man lousy
repeating repetitiously older spasms of writing,
all this time he is one
who touches nothing lest he infect the world,
with something other than joy...

all thanks to some insidious bacterial invaders
and one or two Lifetime Movie Channel dramas
playing out in full color in his own sad reality

so let me amend my prior write,
for this time, I make no overly boastful claims,
for I could pen nary a verse all these hours,
that was deserved of your affection...

write I could with any one of the five,
if four were repleted, deleted, none elited,
but one is
this man's de minimus

need at least one to function,
to master the bronco impulse to create...
don't matter which one,
which orifice writes the code,
all sensory inputs end up residing
in your heart and soul

but gotta have at least one in order to
express my love for love...

and if I can't do that,
then experience shows,
no way can the being supersede its
thrumming, hum drumming, existence,
motoring along highways circularized
of watching old tv shows

if I lose my hands I will write with
elbows, nose or toes...

my tongue cut, my mind will love more,
its recollection of your taste, delicious twice over

blinded and bereft, my mind's eye
will do double shifts, get paid overtime,
for reliving connecting your birthmarks

my jesting muted, my seers closed,
my nostrils sealed, even terminated,
dare you think, that I cannot hear or
smell my thoughts,
of the pleasure of a world in which
loves existence demands we heal the sick at heart,
so we can
extend love to ourselves and others
beyond the mere limitations
of our corporeal senses....

one, but one, all I need,
any one,  in order to
sense who I am,
to love, and be loved,
therefore,
to write
Sept. 7, 2014
but what if forced to choose one sense above all?
Once he wrote:
what then, weary reader,
is the supposed Laureate's approved analytical tool?

Taste

Each letter, a morsel in your mouth,
Each phrase, a fork full of pleasure,
Each stanza, a full fledged member in a tasting menu,
Perfect only in conjunction with the preceding flavor,
and the one that follows,  and the one that follows.

Taste each poem upon thy tongue and then pass it on,
you know how....

Each word, whether chewed thoroughly,
or lightly placed upon a bud for flavor,
needs the careful consideration of your mouth.

Feel the light pressure of the tongues tip upon the roof of your mouth
and the exalted exhalations of air rushing past thy cheeks
as you messenger breath from your chest to be shared with the world,
over the poem's interpreter, your tasting lips.

As I lay each word down, a brick by brick edifice construct
of mine own design, I am sated, fulfilled only,
when with I see your lips move as you savor my words,
my taste you share, and we are closer for it.

Deaf, dumb and blind, all such travails can be conquered, assailed,
but when I cannot, no longer anymore taste
my poems upon thy lips, then I breathe no more.
XvA Jan 2015
An pleasant night...Amore mild ,than wild.
You..zoomin,stumbling,moving alright
for my most,minimised sets of vision insights.
Made in...moved in for meeting without no consciences of moonshine.
We Smiled..it shined,tough to deny the uprise..the valued climb.
Where everything seems to rhyme.
Or was i at the center of meltdown on my melting point.And you kept mesmerising.
It took a'while to memorise..you were too mazed to measurise,to my surprise.
Or was it you,on the monocyclic ride in &off; my mind.And i'd still moo down like an moonbeam ,my way.
Morphed down,above some waves...moss hags, mrches across our way,the muted disguise.
Dis-mantling apart my motor cortex and hers as well.
Motoring,defflexing us far away
Misprized off,what we hold of
we were misplaced...mislayed so cruel,the perfect mishap.
Waving off,from the monstrance of our  retraction
irreticulating without no demise
Avowed i stood by..Upon those marks,beyond the maze of multiplicated edges
'Hope they'll know..Coz we knw weGA
Dedicated to moon :
Keeping that in mind..drew my work out to all the peoples out there and here as well
..enjoy. Thank you
P'POV (trivia:32 Words Starting with M are used in the verdict and adding to it ,the letter m has also been repeated for 53 times.
Mitchell Apr 2011
Passing up through the stairs unencumbered ensnared
Through these walls there is nothing left
Only the feeling that I have sorely mistepped
Was there fervor in the cup of nines?
Was there magic all the while inside?
Destiny shouts out loud at the roving crowd
Dead on the Earth and a walking around
Telling me something as I stare far away
The world is a real place with real disgrace
Caught in the whirlwind of evaporation
I took the notes, I took the boats, now I'm floating fast
Knowing now that it will never last
Too hear these voices inside of my head
And these fast faces passing by headed to bed
I'm thinking of their reasons of sizzling in being
Where the streets have no names and the sign posts are twisted
Lost with no dollar signs so I keep on a drifting
Where time has no handle on me, only the body
With the teller handing out bank notes, can't say that she wrote
And the whine of the train whistle taking me home
To a place way back that I no longer know
With heads that seem familiar but are actually not at all
With the creeping wind breaking and I won't make it till Fall
There were ways to win a woman that were elegant and bold
Now there is too much, every minute is being told
We are not supposed to know these things with these tricks
The Man has its magic, to know all is tragic
Saluting in sorrow knowing that I can no longer borrow
Shifting my gaze high towards the cracking yellow sky
A wind roars woefully all the while knowingly
Music moves motoring toward a horizon creaking and showing
To lose a love is to lose a way of life
Hours spent in head bent, knee buckled strife
How have I tossed myself into this place, this mischief?
To belong in a world that has never seemed like home,
I feel inside the guts a twisted and shifted
Low low low these hours do pass by and slow
Help me see the light
Help me be alright
Cooped within ancient bodies,
this inhabitant dwells amongst an elder net
of crabby, crotchety, curmudgeonly claque
of old folks, only a portion of population I met
which achey, flaky, kooky motley crue
disgruntlement fed as peevish pet
aye be earnest asper my assessment,
but some (quite frankly) getting ready and set
to lay down their limb mitt less lives,
even those who survived harrowing encounters as a vet.
-----------------------------------------------------------
­quotidian gossipers punctuate air waves while:
sitting, riding, quartering, puttering, operating, navigating,
motoring around on scooters (the sole means of locomotion

for many elderly residents),
whose sole occupation incorporates:
zapping, yelping, yakking, whining,
weeping, verbalizing, venting,
uttering, undulating, thundering,
squawking, squabbling, screeching,
rumbling, rattling, quibbling, quarreling,
prattling, pestering, okaying,
offending, needling, nagging, mumbling,
maligning, leering, lampooning,
kvetching, kibitzing, jesting, jabbering,
irritating, insinuating, heckling,
harping, glomming, gabbing, fulminating,
fretting, exclaiming, emoting,
denigrating, damning, carping, cackling,
bragging, begging, agitating, acting  
analogous to bad *** kids itching
for playground foo fight during recess,  

which comparison might be apropos
since majority of energy and time expended
complaining about nobody's business
concerning this, that, or another tenant...
thee management not exempt from
badmouth outbursts), where nondenominational
AARP qualified members congregate
within what constituted former auditorium
of repurposed elementary school,

hence quite some years ago (an honorable
NON GMO gluten free cheerful toast made,
instituting batter use then building standing vacant)
a bona fide unanimous dogmatic, heroic,
linguistic welcome sans titular viz zit head
where alumni of alluded alma mater, ivory fiery,
classy academic solvent atomic structure
became amalgamated, appropriated,
assigned a new life, whereat fob dost
electronically activate innermost recessed sliding doors,
principally, quintessentially, resoundingly availing maw
formerly entrancing students into
Schwenksville Elementary School,
though some years ago repurposed
with barely a trace constituting current subsidized
how zing facility re: Highland Manor,

the residence of thyself and missus
(approaching third month anniversary),
whereat I dune hot give a rats *** if aimless
airless baseless banter, ceaseless chatter,
dubious dabbling, et cetera if this solitary
ruminate thinker the subject de jure
of parlayed people portraying
penultimate purposelessness.
(no braggadocio! modest rodomontade scored triumphantly!)

Unbeknownst to me, a generic human ape,
an unpleasant surprise
     swished down like an ominous cape
awaited and near smothered me drape

ping that October morning, where no escape
presaged via frisky black cats
     chasing shadows on fire escape
crossed my path after walking under a ladder
     where ice **** ravens didst jape!
**********
Wheels of injustice applied via de
fender, sans Johnny Cochran forced ee
year splitting amidst general public fee
ver rush to absorb disbelief shell shock hee
ret tickle non guilty conviction from key

ping popular culture spell bountious lee
really exhausted viz three ring me
dee ya circus (June 1994 – October 1995) pre
vail ling obvious evidence irrelevant, thus re
deeming O.J. Simpson to strut guilt free

from emotionally charged trial. I awoke
as usual and performed customary bespoke
oblations vis a vis half-hour plus choke
hold asphyxiation meditation, okey doke
shuteye discipline followed daily to evoke

calm, cool, and collected trance zen dental
bliss before motoring on with gist of gentle
lee presented vignette, though me mental
state did not shift gears into a rental

modus operandi, but only partially new
trawl eyed , cuz the then fiancé (one mew
zing chic chick i.e. Abby Robin Zison), Jew
dish us lee spent the night
     at our transitional grew

some domicile) immediately nsync to report do
tuff lee (at the Goddard School)
     raced like a Chew
Bach ha's Dickensian protagonist back up Badoo
two flights of stairs. Like eponymous Aloo

men hum mushing spry feline woman out bitta bing
bitta bang (clanging like hells bells) ding  
donging, she immediately flew back fling
all four feet eleven of her harried style jing

ling in an agitated state she set foot to go bob  
bing out the door intent
   (as iterated) driving to her job,
and in combination pantomime
   and words crisis did lob

asper like a bot to me,
     she attempted to communicate rob
bing her unsuspecting fount of thespianism
   tub air gritty modicum
   of rationale from putrid slob

name of Leslie (the lunatic landlady)
     thine paramour conveyed clarity mouth ajar
after surmising urgent news
     required automatic action to un bar
driveway, where I parked car,

the previous night surreptitiously venal far
from rational rapscallion most definitely har
bored an axe to grind, and locked Ford Escort par
**** shinned within chain linked fence - war

fore suggestion got made
     (from future bride)
to confront landlady,
     and sternly insist and mildly chide
corrective action taken,

     yet this storyteller defied
said suggestion, and brainstormed
    with betrothed asthma guide
averting compromising neither of our pride

and prejudice respective, sans stevedore
managers would not let us slide
gnome hatter, how we could not
     escape deprecation
     no matter how much we tried.

Prior to heading off to bed
     the prior night, I deigned
to express likelihood to landlord/owner
     thyself and pseudo spouse needed to find

another place to live. The major reasons
for vacating premises? Her grind
ding cigarette no ifs, ands
     or buts smoking mind
less ness ranked (on par
     with chimney didst wind

     burning wood smoke
at full blast) as primary source
     of revulsion did provoke,
and aye came across with homespun folksy
sensitive mien, as a simple country bloke
I expressed honest sentiment at being
extremely averse (where hacking awoke

     the future wife)
     from second hand carcinogen(s)  
     extant within cancer sticks. Asphyxiation deafen
knit lee found me choking half to death even
putting towel under the door, or

     additionally keeping
     bedroom window wide open,
the malodorous nicotine wisps ambled - pen
     knit trait ting, wending, curly cued,
     and filtered thru fabric with mischievous yen.

No matter, the twisting tendrils of tobacco found
their way into ole factory nasal cavity ground
zero, sans health conscious holistic being hound
did, what constituted one deranged dame
     the SPCA ought to impound.

Another factor fueling foul accommodations yin
     wanna know offset fine tuned win
Dixie yang,
     which odoriferous torture constituted

     nauseating odor of cat *****
and litter boxes smelt worse than sin,
cuz, they never got cleaned of feline ***** matter
     near visible as a unsightly dangerous shark fin.

Upon summoning effort
     and energy to communicate
bona fide concerns, she responded
     and didst denigrate

with contempt fiery madness irate
psychotic malicious venomous vile
     as dead body snatcher mate
and then insidious wheels

     of malice with tongue flames
crackling, popping, and snapping
     from out her reptilian pate
     began to turn more sharply

     amidst ghoulish clatter and path
     of destruction on her tabula rosa slate
with more danger than
     along axis of evil tete a tete.

She madly paced back and forth
     across maligned envisioned aisle
a small patch of uncluttered space in main foyer
     witnessed seething rage wherein

     carpeted floor boards,
     an imperfect circle shod feet didst dial
no doubt internally
     plotting vengeful strategic guile.

Castigations, fulminations, and insinuations ague
gulled out her mouth
     noxious fumes left exit pronto flew
ludicrous lacerations
     from fiery dragon lady did spew

while yours truly soundly slept
     and without incident dreamt edenic view
she unwittingly trappings to annihilate  Xandu
some personal vendetta. After I washed, dressed as a zoo

keeper headed downstairs,
     the malicious scheme she did hatch
out back became a living reality,
     an empty house doors hooked with latch

(Samir, the other occupant) left hours earlier no match
to tangle with wicked witch absented premises natch
eerily echoed every footstep trod one patch,
after another
     patent leather slippers paused to scratch

an niche 'pon second landing
     (to confirm a strong hunch)
that nary a soul heard nor seen,
     probably out to lunch,

no raving ranting banshee
     demented drunk as punch
No zombie like entity appeared from the “DO
NOT DISTURB” sign affixed
     outside sleeping area, aye did scrunch

brow to compress insight,
     where mangy catatonic felines
     shared coterie holograms suddenly jumped out
     from virtual reality cat n' app cradle
     swishing tails shorn like cat o' nines

mewing obscenities (within/ out
     computer screen, ominous signs,
sans phantasmagoric phantom) lurking
     like a lunatic swing from vines.

Nonetheless, I continued to tread
     down dimly lit said
lower level with glimmer
     of optimism to bolster lead

din heavy mood crossing fingers
     spare set of skeleton keys
     (with cross bones and skull head)
nearly always left tantalizingly
     dangling in unused door latch, twas cred

double wish, thus spirit within me soared
and just as quickly sank to abyss of psyche moored
     sensation felt like poured molten lava oh Lord
Guess what? No such luck. Oh,
     she definitely would not a ford

carelessness, and took precautions okay
hiding temptation to make a getaway
Well…I stepped outside
     to assess situation. Blimey cray
zee myopic eyes forced to glean deadbolt
     found gate shut tight, thence a feeble bray

escaped parched lips, when lo...vix
teased and cross myopic eyes,
     no doubt played tricks
holy glory. Ah, a handsaw
     carelessly got left and altered mix
matched tool chest in plain view, a sudden fix

but prior to acting on the plan, quite do able
I made a few telephone calls
     first telephonically cable
hub rate, and firstly contacted employer

     told tale more unbelievable than a fable
thence to local police
     in order to file complaint against
     goon bonkers malicious monstrous label

quick as the brown fox
     jumps over the lazy dog
escape attempted perilous hell grog
ghee nightmare commenced after placing

     phone back on cradle, whence nog
     'gin set fingers to twitch busily
     sawing into one steel link,
    (an effort aye did slog)

thru to break at one linkedin steel segment
barricading trusty Ford Escort
     so this fellow could hightail with pent
up adrenaline out of nefarious
     steely web and test a mint...,

     whence surge of adrenaline
coursed from head to toe,
     my heart pounded not so gent
lee ready to burst from chest,
     and palms perspired profusely
with unexpected accursed of evil incarnate
     vis a vis hell bent agent

provocateur ready to pounce
     and deliver violent
retribution, which blows
     from blunt heavy object,
   would invariably render me unconscious
   courtesy of cerebral rent.

For better than worse, a kind face
of destiny smiled from countenance grace
sing unseen karma
     smiled smooth as sateen or lace
upon my essence as shaking hands

     furiosly moved saw handle
     back and forth dozens of times until…
THE CHAIN BROKE AND SET ME FREE
     now fickle finger of fate
     got me ought ta this place!
Joseph Flores Jun 2018
Motoring.
Listlessly.
Evening crawl.
Halogen blue-blur.
Spit-shines clear.
The asphalt highway.
That goes no where.

Solemn moon.
Pale and dull.
Leans against the rock people.
Walking the desert.
In disguise.

Quiet winds.
Deaf and aphasic.
Feed the alluvial ribbons.
That perch the stoic.
Introverted.
Black Apache elevations.

Cliffs of blened sandstone.
Surrender without a fight.
To the oily, alien sky.
Slumbering in the night.

Silent partner.
Nameless horse.
Sandscape still.
Geological corpse.

Lifeless.
Barren.
Thirsty too.
My Valentine's Day.
Without you.
The bus driver is only doing his job-



he says i am out of my zone



come on mate- take a look at the rain-



i just want to get home



never mind- its not too far to walk



as this sudden shower comes steaming down



London Bus lookin all shiny red new in the rain.



so i take cover and hudde on the pavement



and write this poem- as rain spilling over the cracked asphalt



,washing over me toes, into paper wrapper river in the gutter-



search and return to the gushing thames



in drab doorway i see pregnant mother



with dripped make-up and cigarette-



a bloke runs past into the Tote-



theres a stench of Old Holborn and alcohol



The cool dread hipster blackman soundshop-



pumpin out da reggae sound all round



an chillin there inside snug



an outside da rain drippin down.



headless wooden mannequins in windows



indifferent and dead to the scene



model outdated displays



of yesteryears east end Fashion



The screech -grind -halt-



of braking trucks and cars



taxis and buses



and halt heave hum, go off and on



phrases like jazz



emitted from the traffic hissing



on the wet steam road



passing the plain low gates



and walls of modest eastend brick



Little pockets of Istanbul-



vending exotic skewered tastes



empty cardboard boxes piled high on the pavement-



sickly sweet old vegetable odours



curiously shaped paprikas- purple sweet potatoes



- halved pumpkins, ginger aponkenam, breadfruit,



Karla, Kassava and Jamaican mangoes



Ol' Carribean Mama she price the purple p'taters



an mumble she grumble onward, homeward



past the asian butcher selling cows feet



fifty nine pence for two



sad looking cadavers of chickens



comically -hung by their feet



boney alien headless n sad



and blood spurted and smeared



and dried on a cardboard box-



so rich an odour of spice and death-



what words to use



yams and hams and potted jams



shelves stacked with imported cans



grinding horror of the butchers blade



splintered marrow bone in broken bleeding box.



brown Black plantain bananas-



fat black boy in trainers and baseball cap-



kicks a discarded apple about in a puddle-



Illegible torn bills and posters on posts



walls and naked wooden doors



of cracked paint peeling in the rain



Unnumbered identities of unknown ethnic origins



scattered uprooted far travelled communities



stirred in the stew of this eclectic london Crucible



shuffling by under unhappy umbrellas-



an unenthused housewife in tracksuit pushing



twins to the child support centre-



wishin she'd married a bloke with money



north africans in bright kaftans



saunter surreally in the full cool, attitude of summer



somehow the Tottenham and Celtic suporters



seem more misplaced in this scene-



people with gaunt girocheque expressions



huddled in Pub over pints



awaiting the Worlds End



To my left number plates while you wait



keys cut school of motoring special rates



then a right into finsbury station out f te rain



and the scene fades.
The bus driver is only doing his job-
he says i am out of my zone
come on mate- take a look at the rain-
i just want to get home

never mind- its not too far to walk
as this sudden shower comes steaming down
London Bus lookin' all shiny red n' new in the rain.
so i take cover and hudde on the pavement
and write this poem- as rain spilling over the cracked asphalt
, washing over me toes, into paper wrapper river in the gutter-
search and return gushing to the Thames

in drab doorway i see pregnant mother
with dripped make-up and cigarette-
a bloke runs past into the Tote-
theres a stench of Old Holborn and alcohol

The cool dread hipster blackman soundshop-
pumpin out da reggae sound all round
an chillin' der inside an'snug
an outside da rain drippin down.

headless wooden mannequins in windows
indifferent and dead to the scene
model outdated displays
of yesteryears east end Fashion

The screech -grind -halt-
of braking trucks and cars
taxis and buses
and halt heave hum, go off and on

phrases like jazz
emitted from the traffic hissing
on the wet steam road
passing the plain low gates
and walls of modest east-end brick

Little pockets of Istanbul
vending exotic skewered tastes
empty cardboard boxes piled high on the pavement-

sickly sweet old vegetable odours
curiously shaped paprikas- purple sweet potatoes
- halved pumpkins, ginger aponkenam, breadfruit,
karla, kassava and Jamaican mangoes

Ol' Carribean Mama she price the purple Taters
an mumble she grumble onward, homeward
past the Asian butcher selling cows' feet
fifty nine pence for two

sad looking cadavers of chickens
comically -hung by their feet
boney, alien headless n sad
and blood spurted and smeared
and dried on broken ****** cardboard box-

so rich an odour of spice and death-
what words to use?
yams and hams and potted jams
shelves stacked with imported cans
grinding horror of the butchers blade
splintered marrow bone in broken bleeding box

brown black plantain bananas-
fat black boy in trainers and baseball cap-
kicks a discarded apple about in a puddle-

Illegible torn bills and posters on posts
walls and naked wooden doors
of cracked paint peeling in the rain

Unnumbered identities of unknown ethnic origins
scattered uprooted far-travelled communities
stirred in the stew of this eclectic London Crucible
shuffling by under unhappy umbrellas-

an unenthused housewife in tracksuit pushing
twins in double pram and wishing-
she had married a bloke with money

Africans in bright kaftans
Saunter surreally in the cool, attitude of summer
somehow the Tottenham and Celtic suporters
seem more misplaced in this scene-

people with gaunt girocheque expressions
huddled in Pub over pints
awaiting the Worlds End
To my left number plates while you wait
keys cut school of motoring, special rates
then a right into Finsbury station out of the rain
and the scene fades.

Mark Hurlin Shelton   London 1987.
(alternately titled: jump starter for clunky, *****,
quirky, xyz mechanic wanted in tow tow -
chassis what I mean?)

As the proud graduated
honorably rolled 2009 Hyundai
Sonata vehicular property
belonging to a mister
and missus Matthew Harris
(fifty shades of gray

if that makes any difference),
I experience nervous
rack and pinion quaking
shimmying, whining, and zipping
also twittering, shuttering,
linkedin kickstarting powertrain

even before chugging,
huffing, puffing, spewing...
like magic dragon along boulevard
of broken automotive debris
regarding upcoming
emission/inspection

due before stroke of midnight
August 31st, 2019
last year this time...
aye yie yie...
oil my pan, a major overhaul
comprising driver side suspension

engendered shock,
I...could not absorb
even now, yours truly strut er ers...,
and doth recoil scary undertaking
smattering of months thereafter,
(I wheely cannot engine ear

recalling exact amount of time)
what in the name of... car nation...
then... driver side rear brake assembly
required replacement
giving said owners run off
Golden Gate Bridge for their

newfound moneyless rendered situation
(ex post facto new battery got installed)
sorry to zap at greased lightning speed
and (mane lee) take lion's share
of social security electronic deposit,
(what with fuel tank filler ups,

and insurance - no matter
Nationwide always on my side)
understandable decent folks
would prefer to steer me
off cliff side, but
my dear friend SEPTA

doth not cam into hinterland
namely Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
thus imposing prohibitive dollars
tooling them around
mainly medical appointments,
cuz at ten plus years old,

and odometer clicking away...
mechanical malfunction,
could diesel lee, axle dent tully
risk life and limb,
thus park my exhausted words
this fellow gas guzzling,

motoring, rotating tire
screeching hot rods...
ole clunker auto know,
but hates tappet cob Bosch,
and get cha piston off...,
but tread carefully,
and curry big stick shift.
Joseph Flores Jan 2018
Motoring...
The road radiates.
Evaporates.
Orange Marmalade over
A sweet asphalt wafer.

Pure cane sandbeds.
Sedimentary candy canes.
Granulated sugar dunes.
In waves of Lemon Meringue

Suzie-Q tableau...
Caramel Mesas.
Chocolate Buttes.
Confectionary fantasia.

Butterscotch freshlets.
Cinnamon arroyos.
Flash floods churn the flavor.
Over and over.

A creamy sunset.
Horizon on the fly.
A scoop of Rainbow Sherbet
Melting in the sky.

The desert as a sugary delight.
The sweetest ever heard!
"But, it wasn't me." said the Desert..
"It was my evil twin, Dessert!
Warren Jun 2019
As I walk this path,
With its winding turns and twisted intent,
I can’t help but keep glancing behind.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for,
Maybe checking that nothings creeping up on me,
Maybe hoping to see something that I’ve lost,
Or someone,
Or maybe I just like the familiarity of my past,
I look to the side and see a vastness,
Shapes and colours,
It kind of blurs as I push on so I slow down,
The shapes take forms,
Strangers,
Some vaguely familiar,
**** - I’ve walked straight of the path,
My feet are covered in some dark sticky stuff,
The more I try and kick it off the more mess I get in,
What to do,
If I walk back I’ll waste time,
But I’m not sure if I’ll pick up the path by carrying on ahead,
I’m walking to the side to cut onto the path and still go forward,
I refuse to go back,
I’ve spent too much of my life back tracking,
Where’s this **** path,
Let me get to this tree and see past it,
Whoooaa,
Who are you,
You look lost,
Your welcome to follow me,
I’m heading back to the path,
I’m sure it’s up ahead,
Just keep up,
We must be close,
This is definitely familiar,
There it is,
Yes,
See I told you,
Hey -
Where did he go,
At least I’ve found the path,
But now I’ve lost too much time,
I need to speed up,
Now I’m motoring,
All these twists look the same,
Exactly the same,
Wait a minute,
**** it - I’m running the wrong way,
This isn’t  good - there must be a short cut,
I wish I’d just gone back the first time I got lost,
Wait,
Will you look at that,
The black stuff on my feet has left footprints,
I could of just followed them back to the path,
Truth is I didn’t even notice them,
To busy stressing about being lost,
So frustrating,
I give up,
I’m stopping,
I’ve had enough,
What’s the point,
I’m staying here,
Im Just going to sit here quite happy,
Chilling,
Bored,
Suppose I should move really,
I’m not achieving anything,
Right,
Let’s stick to the path this time,
Wait,
This is where I started ,
Your joking,
What is the point of any of this,
This time I’m doing it properly,
Paying attention,
Eyes down,
Concentrate,
Why did I even leave,
All this for what,
Because I wasn’t happy where I was,
I wish I’d stayed,
Now I’m lost,
And I don’t even know where I’m going,
It better be good when I get there,
Wherever there is,
Can’t be any worse than where I’ve been.
Maybe I’d be better going back,
Sivakumar May 2020
When every day is a Sunday
where home is the whole world
Then time and space remain the same

What happens?
time has to be spent in some guise
you binge watch
you cook
you Sleep
you read
you eat
you speculate

your hobbies overdone
your to-do list remains empty
you get bored
you get feared
Suddenly time has become surplus
Space has become limited

Are you free now than ever
or Tied even tighter?
the past looms larger
the future seems bleaker
there is nothing new in the news
your compound is now your city walls

Seclusion and sanitisers have rightly
become the order of the day
gaining pounds and e-courses are quietly
accepted without any say
yes, social distancing keeps men away
originally, mobile phones were doing that anyway

Slow days and with no change,
time and space have become really one
Einstein is right once again

Many businesses have become online
But none seem to fall in line

The rotations have stopped
the buses, the cars, the trains
the machineries
the schools, the offices, the factories
The only thing that runs are days,
But also -
the TVs, the phones, the internet,
and the social media is extra busy

Everywhere there’s waiting -
queues for essentials
students for classes
travellers for destination
purses for spending
But nothing is happening

Cars didn’t vroomed
suits weren’t worn
nor shoes got dusted

Corridors are empty
Roads have become bigger
as the traffic got smaller
Highways got to go nowhere
Markets and malls are getting colder

Has The great run of Modernity halted?
Is Civilisation taking a breather?
has History paused?

But how long
None of us know

Still our hearts say
Finally, one day
Things will be back to normal

But on that day
would man have unlearned -
his shopping
his motoring
his dining
And all his material ostentations?

Would have this bare period
taught man to live a life that’s unhurried
That Thoreau & Wordsworth learnt in the woods
To live a life with just the essential material goods
A golden return our pristine roots

Would have man learnt to live a simple life
learned through these hard days?
Or would he rush to his former ways?
Will the world on that day be as normal
as it was or
will that day bring a new normal?

- R.Sivakumar
teachnew@outlook.com
I bore witness and/or assimilated, gleaned,
and nursed implacable thirst for knowledge
courtesy reading factual narratives,
historical fiction, or biography
that since the advent of **** sapiens
avast number of civilizations
and their discontents
(throve and languished)
their legacy peppered
with historical achievements
particularly military exploits
punctuated equilibrium
by false sense of security
under_scored with relatively
long periods of peace
concluding with convulsive denouement
videre licet self destructive elements of style
sophisticated weapons of mass destruction
contrarily at the apotheosis of
scientific, mathematical, artistic...
adjudication, beautification, communication,
demystification, exemplification, fortification,
gamification, horrification, identification,
jollification, lubrication, magnification,
nazification, objectification,
pornification, qualification,
ratification, sophistication,
testification, unification,
vilification, yuppification,
and zombification for starters.

Absolute zero rhyme or reason
how antithetical characterization
against sense or sensibility such as
actualization, brutalization,
cannibalization, dehumanization,
eroticization, fanaticization,
ghettoization, hierarchization,
idolization, jargonization,
keratinization, literalization,
mythologization, nuclearization,
optimalization, politicization,
quantization, realization,
secularization, terrorization,
urbanization, vulgarization,
and weaponization.

While mulling over acceptable words that ended with either ication and/or subsequently ization, an attempt (albeit feeble) attempted to select multisyllabic words that mirrored the political landscape amidst the webbed wide world in general, and in the United States in particular, and unwittingly found me putting on my thinking cap to identify linkedin references to literature and mythology.

Though written approximately one hundred and sixty five years ago, the famous quote from A Tale of Two Cities is the which begins, ''It was the worst of times, it was the best of times'' The opening line, nearly a paragraph long, shows the extreme contradictions of the time and warns that the revolution could happen again.

Along the same vein yours truly (me) tapped Google for the following tidbit.

Ancient goddesses of vengeance, the Furies (or Erinyes) pursue and punish those who have sworn false oaths or betrayed sacred laws. In The Eumenides, they seek to punish Orestes for having killed his mother, Clytemnestra. They are monstrous to behold, and frequently work themselves up into fits of rage.

The above two examples of storied
illustrating imagining, intimating foreboding
just occurred to me out of the blue
spontaneously coming to mind
as handy dandy blues clue
to captcha the essence
of fraught perilous political winds
a worse fate than "Death and taxes"
a phrase commonly referencing a famous quotation written by American statesman Benjamin Franklin: Our new Constitution is now established, and has an appearance that promises permanency; but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.

No purposeful intent predetermined what I wrote
impossible mission to slay the invisible monster
looming at large donning windswept hair
trumpeting growling sounds from his throat
spouting misinformation he blithely
invents and whenever convenient doth self quote
without fail lambasts Democratic contenders
with flat out lies, I cannot help but note
barging as some self important
egotistical obstreperous maniac
flapping his gums yacht ta yachta ya
motoring mouth sturdy as a keelboat
soulfully bellowing **** the torpedoes
make America great again – what a  hoot
never giving pause that such a supposed
nostalgic age never existed
except maybe when primordial
poetry soup awash with many an eukaryote
a generic term that describes  aqueous solution
of organic compounds that accumulated
in primitive water bodies of the early Earth
as a result of endogenous abiotic syntheses
and the extraterrestrial delivery by cometary
and meteoritic collisions, and from
which some have assumed that the
one celled organisms
equally gifted to shoe away
what would become pesky Republican
within a bajillion years one nasty brute.
Norbert Tasev Sep 2020
How fertile, sniffing now is the serenity. Maybe this is the proud or sublime time of enlightenment, is it so sublime, strange? You can chat here only with mythical signs, hand signals and the quietest! Together they are here: young scholars, wise-looking prophets - monks who have remained with intention and tradition even in recent times. Together they watch the immortal immortality of the letters!

Then they come when the day is over soon and too suddenly over! The inexplicable ancient secret of books rests in letters embedded in letters; offering himself towards complete immortality! - perhaps it is really in this holy place that the remaining ray of hope, its light: The immortal, eternally thirsty thirst of enlightenments?

The greedy and insatiable thirst of the Enlightenment is now foaming the Knowledge into big sips to fill the still shoreless and uninhabited mosaic pieces of the brain! And man should always distinguish between immortal lines, eternal thoughts: Destruction and Creation!

To find answers to life's recurring and summary questions, and not just to answer questions with unending questions! The eye beetle, like bustling, motoring ants, is purring the silent, speaking camp of letters! And while an uncomfortable neon light with its unfriendly glare rays constantly injures the retina like a needle: The point is, let's continue - yes - on it, more and more, and more! Anyway, the latest knowledge is always discovered first, and only then does the suffering past come together from its crumbs!

And even if it is superfluous to prove it, the individual truth, because it is an evident one - something should be done responsibly to make the operation of human wellheads understandable here!

— The End —