The scene takes place in Portland, Maine
Don’t be surprised in what will remain
Our story begins at a very sophisticated affair
Where there is an event beware
Everyone was having conversations with one another
However over in the corner two gentlemen in argument are displeased
Something is about to released
It was Jeffrey Osborne, an Oil Tycoon and his business partner
They were in a deep discussion
Osborne abruptly dashes off
Osborne is scene walking to his car and is stabbed in the back
The killer quickly moved after the attack
Suddenly screams could be heard from the street
Now it will be justice on the beat
But the question is what started it all?
Osborne was planning on selling his part of the business without his business partner’s consent
The business partner was mad with greed and felt Osborne had no right to proceed
Matters just continued to get worse
All eyes on how much of the fortune that was worth
I searched for clues myself
I was determined not to wait for somebody else
There was evidence on the floor with an address
There was someone else who actually caused this distress
It was Osborne’s mistress more or less
If anybody deserved the fortune cut, it was her, Theresa Slaughter
Slaughter helped make Osborne who he was
At least that is what she thought
Yet I know who killed Osborne and I had my sought
I stated to Slaughter you would have gotten away with it, but you knew Osborne didn’t want to have anything to do with you
So you killed him with having an alibi just to draw attention from your true motive
By then the Police arrived and Slaughter was taken away
A ****** carefully solved on this day.

There’s a rooster
that runs around trying
to ****
every hen,
goose,
guinea,
and
sometimes Super Dave Osborne
will even make a pass
at a close-enough finch.


Occasionally Super Dave ****** off
the Rhode Island Red.

Red measures twice
the height
and weight

of Super Dave Osborne.

Gertrude, Stradbrook, River and Roslyn,
off of McMillan, my thoughts froze on Osborne
A drive through the Village on slippery streets
Bought records, drained pints
                        swallowed down summer nights
Back home in Wyoming--think I'll be fine
                         'til some night, filled to gills
                          trip through streets with a stranger
                          and sing "One Great City"
                          through swollen closed throat

And I remember...

Confusion Corner, commuting through cold streets
Watched you drive as the daylight died
I narrow my Focus,
                                     you eased into traffic
The Assiniboine ran and was watched by Riel

January.
Johnson's Terminal.
London Fogs.
Took Yellow Dogs for long walks
and Exchanged now for then. Snapped pictures, again and again.

Snow up to my hips
Spent a night at St. Boniface
We cased a cathedral, your friends seemed to like me.

Lines ran from reserves, over oceans and borders.
Your hair ran down shoulders, brown waves for a blanket.

Winterpeg, Manitscoldout
Portage & Main
Shivering, smiling
at a Tavern Uniting with friends,
'til we took the King's Head...
We took the King's Head.
Long live the king.

January.
Magic Thailand.
Curry soup, curried thoughts thawing,
melting, falling from pickled brains,
                      through lips chapping

I donned my Tuxedo, chopped down Seven Oaks...
Your Catholic heart spoke
     reached out for St. James.
     St. Vital answered behind Fort Garry's walls...

Our hearts, they were neighbourhoods
And the streets were all salt.

Blistered paint on your blue '02 Focus

To the City Center of the continent's middle
Form a Perimeter
Frame a city
Bullseye, center, a Gold gilded Boy
he leans into sky, as they sing, as I hear.
The road North Ended--November, it was.
I think, one year prior, in Robin's Donuts
front doors swayed, on hinges that sighed metallic,
I caught your eyes--organic, unplanned--
               through fog frosting lenses
Caught them, held on
               Held your deep brown
               In my gunmetal blue

Seasons will chase--haste to follow more seasons
White streaks to green
and the Red River runs.
When they score at the ballpark,
"Go Goldeyes!" the cheer sounds
Cheer. Cheer!
The Guess Who still ****,
but the Jets completed their round trip
"Go, Jets, go!" so the cheer goes.
"Cheers!" Cheers like bells.
             Bells
           Pealing
Peeling like your sunburnt back
            Bells
          Ringing
           Striking
Bells singing long
Bells sounding loudly from Grace Bible Church
  baptizing Baltimore as it kisses Osborne

Bells ringing. Round sounds.
Round rings for fingertips touching
Bells
Round sounds that hang on my neck
and sing me to sleep every night--
remind me how badly you wanted those bells
                I denied you.

They sing "Left and Leaving"
             and show me old scars
          they ring and peal and strike
                         and sing
                         unending.

I remember March of 2008
Dropping my toque in the mud-and-slush street
            We took Pembina Highway
              Ate Vietnamese.

I remember...

Confusion Corner,
Commuting through cold streets,
Watching you drive as the daylight died
In your blue '02 Focus
Ease us back into traffic,
The Assiniboine River.
And Louis Riel.

So tell me...

Comment-allez vous, ce soir?
Je ne suis pas comme ci, comme ça.

by Jesse Osborne*

To feel something into entirety
is to die 1000 continuous deaths
and hope one of them
is a birth.
You’re a reincarnation of time
and rugged lip.
I’m a sphinx,
or a gladiator.
Whichever came first.
******* is not your answer.  
Nor did you discover it.
Don’t **** him for the fun of it.
Appreciate the way water runs
down your bare skin in the early morning hours
when only the street vendors
are awake.
Breathe their souls as your own.
Choose touch
before word.
Use flesh as a surrogate.
Climb up into your heart
and experience what it means to
be inside your body again.
To come down
simply means
to awaken.

with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in different
ways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savannah
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.

This writing might be a little twisted it’s just where I am I’m in a Nott in my soul and in my physical body
Knees that feel like the little bones are breaking then the other night I did the big no no I worked until
Four in the morning I got up before it was just my toes that had that numb feeling like stone
Well now the whole feet are in this shape so Neoprathy goes wild but the piece was important and so is
This one I was doing a job in California the rescission threw me out to do work of any kind it was like we
Followed the people that did bad jobs basically ripping people off but as I went up to the house this
Elderly lady came around the side of the house she had this tape and gauze around her neck what she
Said next had me riveted she was quiet but trembled when she said they surgically cut my throat and
Tomorrow they have to cut the other side she was so frail and truly had fear with torment I just
Blundered up on this horror that was controlling her life friend we all are going to face this one day I’m
Disturbed by the report of Sharon Osborne having to have a double mastectomy that she had done as a
Safe guard from getting breast cancer because she has the gene that causes breast cancer fear I know
She has a great family a support system that is stellar but in private moments the fear strikes deep I
wrote a piece on breast cancer I’m going to add it on to this piece I guess I’m rattled and I’m trying in my
Flaying way to set up a safe guard against this kind of terror I ran this gambit with my cousin and brother
In -law my cousin I would consider a pretty tough customer twenty two years he was the sheriff of a
Small town but you have to run back in his life as a teenager he said this after being raised in a Christian
Home as soon as I get eighteen I’m out of here he kept his word for some thirty years he never came
Around the church he lived it up smoked like a fiend had to have open heart surgery the black picture
Of his life he took the brush out of the saviors hand now he lived the good life decent upright but he did
Those things that brought trouble on top of trouble the next thing wasn’t his fault but a guy trying to run
From one town to this town without brakes and get them fixed there he ran into my cousin’s police
Cruiser rear ended him ultimately from injuries sustained he had to give up his job he had multiple
Operations that done nothing to relieve the pain he faced what the lady did in California they had to cut
His neck open in the back clear across to do a procedure in the midst of all of this he was struck with
Leukemia he stood in church and said he was scared they did the cell implant from his brother but he
Came to a prayer meeting not a church night and he made his way to an old fashioned altar broke
Through to God he found the fountain that ever sustains and gives life the following church night he
Stood up and said I am not afraid anymore and I have had severe pain for seven years and had to take
Powerful pain killers tonight I am pain free at the altar all of those years of mistakes were cleaned and
His feet were now centered on the paths that lead to glory all seemed to being going well he was just
In the hospital for routine help then they entered the room and said were sorry you are filled with
infection there is nothing we can do God called him home he died three days later but he found the
only answer for fear and torment someone needs this

Kylie
A song bird with a broken wing the cancer like the archer’s arrow pierced the breast the spirit widens
Under storm laden skies from inward hush and silence an opening umbrella of prayer provides a shield
The buffeted retreats to sheltering rocks and finds the hidden stream within depths blessed bindings
In warmest recesses your steps guided by the unseen over and through this dark passing new findings
With down cast eyes you continue the dark streets the home of the sick and the broken pain unspoken
You came upon these deep downward steeps from the flood lights and euphoric accolades of fame
Before your lyrical melodies were joyful expressive now will carry weighty and knowing sterling acclaim
Mined from troubles hard unrelenting walls finally the richest golden ore through your feelings pour
A little ease by the mystical dreams when sleep restores still withdrawn faces in the moonlight so pale
For a time at heaven you rail to costly you barter all that is thine to own backed by a great pink brigade
You fight with unstoppable courage you lead the march you find ground unvisited you go on without fail
Beaconing to legions behind encouraging you carry the burning torch showing the way through the dark
This my only desire I stand in this human body frail knowing my limitations but from the fight I call you
Don’t be afraid and never say give up to many are depending your touch glorious women you defend
Say in song the mystery you found in a city all alone you met sisters not age defined all filled with youth
In your face I see the unexplainable the untraceable a strength born from conflict a secret knowing
This is dedicated to Kylie Minouge Melissa Eatheridge and all breast cancer survivors

(The Greater Prairie Chicken: a grouse of open grassland, is known for its mating dance. Males display together in a communal lek, where they raise ear-like feathers above their heads, inflate orange sacs on the sides of their throats, and stutter-step around while making a deep hooting moan.)

So how you gonna keep ‘em
Down on the farm after they’d seen Paree?
After “displaying together” in
Their own private lek--
Communal though it was.
It’s May in Hemetucky.
I just got back from my
Twilight constitutional,
As Truman called it.
Harry—since I was born in 1949—
Tribute for my first Commander-in-Chief.
The moon was misted,
More than half full,
Myself half in the bag,
As they say.

As you know by know,
I live in one of those gated,
Golf-coursed, over-55
Lunatic Asylums,
A communal lek, as they say.
I’m stutter schlepping around the block
In my pajamas remembering that big sign,
So full of promise--ACTIVE SENIORS—
A veritable sexually promiscuous
Welcome Mat.
I made an assumption, you see,
That children of the 60s grown old
Would relish a life of legal **** in a
Gated sanctuary with hours upon hours of
“Let’s Hide the Pepperoni.”

I knew I missed those years,
That era of bra-burning &
Birth Control.
“*******,”
Wonton ******* & *******,
A bowl of Won-Ton carnality:
Wild abandon, mature ladies,
Their ******* in a ***,
At the bottom of their purse,
(Thank you, Joan Osborne)


Joan Osborne - Right Hand Man Lyrics | MetroLyrics
http://www.metrolyrics.com/right-hand-man-lyrics-joan-osborne.htmlLyrics to 'Right Hand Man' by Joan Osborne. Let me use your toothbrush / Have you got a clean shirt? / My ******* in a *** /at the bottom of my purse / I walk. (www.advertise/right-in-the-middle-of-*******-poem.com)

Yet, I languish here
Here in the now,
Having shown my cards too often.
After 10 years here no woman
Takes me seriously,
Given my unserious reputation,
Not to be taken seriously.
Which explains why I spend
So much of my time in Italy
Lately.

They could practically be heard arguing throughout the whole diner, but they were oblivious to their small audience of onlookers in the heat of their conflict. Tori stood there with her hands on her hips as her husband, Hank, made himself clear that he was upset. He was sitting up at the counter on one of the barstools eating his chili. On the other side, Tori poured herself a much needed cup of coffee.

“You’re a waitress, not Mother Theresa! A mother with two hungry mouths!” he bellowed out to her. “That’s less money that goes into our pockets! What the hell were you thinking, Tor?”

“Was only helping a poor guy out!” she shot back. “He looked hungry and—big deal—so I bought him something to eat! So forget it, Hank, cuz I’m not sorry!” She remained defiant in her stance, unapologetic in her Good Samaritan role. Her boss never allowed her to give free food away, so the food was on her. It was a hot dog and fries, one time, some bacon and eggs, another.  She got the man bagels, donuts, toast, oatmeal—whatever she could supply with his usual cup of coffee he ordered. It was obvious from the word go that he had little in his pocket, and he could barely put a tip on the table—usually a nickel or a dime, sometimes a few pennies. He wore the same shabby tee shirt, flannel shirt and bummy jeans. And those pitiful shoes—with his dingy white socks poking through at the big toe of his right foot—that was pitiful.  So what if she had two young children? Nobody was going into the poor house because she bought a poor guy a few meals.

“Well, stop buying him food! No more!” Hank commanded. Tori gave him her best you’re not the boss of me look as he put his spoon down and walked over to the booth towhere the man with unkempt, silvery hair, and an untrimmed beard, sat.  That was his usual spot, and that was Tori’s booth to cover.  

The man just stared at him, not seemingly startled by the younger man who boldly confronted him. “Hey, look!” Hank said, lowly, yet sharply, “Straight up and no *******. Get a job. Get a life. Just quit taking advantage of my wife. Got it?”

It didn’t seem like the intimidation was working. The man just stared at Hank, his deep, soulful, brown eyes could penetrate right through him, and Hank wanted to shift his gaze away. He didn’t though, for that wouldn’t have given him the menacing upper hand. “Well!” he demanded, fidgety and frustrated, “What’s your problem?” The response was simply the same silent stare and Hank blurted out through clenched teeth, “Don’t take nothing no more from my wife!”

Unexpectedly, the man placed his hand upon Hank’s and said, “My son, don’t be angry. Sin no more. I give you my blessing, and go now in peace”. Hank quickly pulled his hand away, his face burning with embarrassment. A few guys at table nearby snickered at the sight of the pair.

“The guy’s nuts!” Hank got up and moved back to the counter. “What does he think? He’s Jesus or something?”

“Hank, quit stirring up drama or you gotta leave! You’re gonna drive out business!” Al chimed in. Al was in the kitchen helping the cooks in the back to get out orders. Now if anyone had a right to kick Hank out it was him. He owned the place.

Hank, still enraged, pointed his finger at Tory and promised, “We’ll talk later!” He quickly stormed out. Tory was not to be dictated to, feeling vindicated for her kind actions.

Well, everyone thought the man who tried to bless Hank was harmless, off kilter, maybe, but harmless. He didn’t seem to cause any trouble, and he minded his own business—only spoke until spoken to, and it was always with grace. Was there something special about him? It was only Tori and fellow waitress, Bonnie, who put more stock into this than anyone else would.

“And what if he is God?” Bonnie asked.

Al scoffed, trying to keep the conversation at a low minimum.  “You sound just as loony as he is”

“Well? And what if he was?” Tori backed up Bonnie. “Or maybe even an angel! You know they can come in many disguises! Maybe God is trying to test us to see if we really give a ****. Did you ever think of that?”

Al shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Test us?” he asked back as if Tori had no sense at all. “You’ve watched too many TV shows!” He raised his hands up in a grand fashion of showmanship, knife in hand,” Or maybe I’m not the owner of Al’s Diner, but I’m really God myself”, he mocked.  “So, as God, my dear little children, I command you back to work! Come on, now! Chop, chop!” He started to shoo everyone away. “How you think we are going to feed the masses, huh? With loaves and fishes? Customers! Customers! Get those orders moving!”  

The smells and sizzling sound of hamburgers on the grill were enticing to the senses. Tori and Bonnie went back to busily retrieving orders, and Al went to chopping some tomatoes, but soon he was playfully tapped on the shoulder.  It was Amber, another waitress who never seemed privy to the conversation.  “You remember this song?” she asked him, singing the tune in an off-key way, “What if God was one of us, just a slob like one of us….”

“Just a stranger on a bus, trying to make his way home…” Tori sung along, cheerfully moving about, adding a pretty, more melodious tone to the song.  

“Exactly”, Bonnie exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Like God’s gone undercover!”

Al rolled his eyes, for he thought he made himself clear he was done with this talk. But he couldn’t help but get a kick out his quirky waitresses. “Sure I know that tune—a few decades back—blonde chick—what’s her name?” he asked, smirking.  

“Joan Osborne”, Bonnie proudly stated. “Cool song, too. Makes you think a bit…at least for me.”

“And so why not ask him who he is?” Joey asked. “He’s got a name.”

It was like everyone forgot Joey was in the room though he was busily busing tables and sweeping floors. Tory, Bonnie and Al stopped what they were doing and intently looked at the teen. He seemed to ask a sincere question.  Al burst out laughing. “Now someone’s talking sense, and chalk it up to the kid with good wits. Yeah, Joey, these ladies just want to exist in fantasy land. Go, Team Al!”

Joey shook his head and said, soberly, “Not taking anyone’s side. I just think he’s got a name and he’s got a story behind him…and it isn’t what you think, Tori…or even you, Al.”

Al waved his hand to dismiss the whole thing. “Yeah, his name is probably Ralph, or something. Even then, I bet Tory would believe he is the Almighty right there in the flesh!”

“I would!” Tory shot back. She looked at Joey and answered, “Maybe you do think I’m as bad as Al does, but you’re too polite to admit it…but…yeah…I did ask him his name.”

“And, so?” Al asked, pretending with wide eyes to be full wonder, like he was clinging to every word, anxiously. “What’s his name?”

He was simply finding humor at her expense, and Tori wished she never said a thing. She reluctantly replied, “I am what I am.”

What?” Bonnie asked. “What does that mean?”  

Al replied, “I am what I am! Well, that sure don’t mean Popeye, sweetie!” With a comical, gravelly voice, he did his best Popeye imitation, “I yam what I yam and that’s all I am!”, squinting up one of his eyes he teased Tori, “Got that Olive Oyl?”

Bonnie and Joey laughed along at the sight of him, and Al added, “Look! I may be practically an atheist, but I’m not ignorant to the bible. That’s just what God said to Moses when he asked the same question!”

Tory defended the poor man that she so proudly helped. “So what if he does think he is God? He’s not doing anyone any harm, is he?” Al completely ignored her, so Tory to turned to Joey, and asked again, “What harm is there in it?”

Joey slightly smiled at Tory, trying to remain respectful to her beliefs, and said, “Truth be told, I don’t know much about God. I’m not a churchy person. He pointed over at the poor man in the booth and said, “I just know if God existed, it’s not him.”
  
Tori was saddened by Joey’s words. It was not that because he didn’t believe her ideas were feasible—that maybe God was testing them—but that he didn’t even know if God existed. The youth nowadays—who did they have to look up to?  Who guided them? The internet? Their cell phones? So many people seemed to have walked away from their faith or had none at all. And Al reminded Tori so much of her own dad. She grew up in a home without religion. Her mom had a vague notion of God, but her dad was a huge skeptic that had the same mocking spirit that Al had. Neither her father or Al were bad guys, but there were no miracles in their worldview. There was nothing divine, and everything was so ordinary and practical.

But Tori always felt awestruck by the world, nature and the animals, a curious minded child. She was the one who had that childlike faith—even now as a grown woman—and she yearned to know God, personally, not just know about Him. She just had to believe that this world and the universe were not all just for nothing, not at all a happenstance, not a just a brief journey on this earth and then that was it. It was after searching and yearning that Tori went to her friend’s church, and soon became a Catholic. She might have been alone in her family in this endeavor, but it gave her life more meaning.

Tori would look at the figure of Jesus upon the crucifixion and oddly was comforted by the sight of him that might bring others revulsion or doubt—the nails piercing his hands and feet, the thorn of crowns, the blood, the tragic sight of his lifeless body so cruelly tacked up upon the cross.  She raised her own two children to know God, and Hank’s lukewarm feelings did not match hers. He wasn’t much help in that department at all. But she knew by looking through the bible that true life was about helping other people, that God loved the poor and the downcast. To find your life, you had to lose your life. To feel exalted, you had to humble yourself. To give your life, to save someone else’s—well, that was the greatest gift you could give. That means you gave it all.  She might not have been the smartest person in the world, but she didn’t need to be bible scholar to figure such things out.  

Well, it would be a while before Tori would see her special customer again. But one day she ran back into the kitchen and told Al, excitedly, “His name is Bill!”

Al shot her a strange look, and then he got the connection. “Oh, so that’s God name?” he said jokingly.

Tori pulled him by the arm and took him out front, summoning Bonnie and Joey over, too. Bill was sitting in the same booth he often did, but there at the counter stool sat a petite, sixty-something-year-old woman whom everyone was about to meet. “Al, Bonnie, Joey, this is Bill’s sister, Mary”, Tori introduced her. “She shared with me about Bill’s story, and I think you should know, too.”   She looked like Bill, but had black dyed hair and was better put together. There was a warm and gentle way about her that intrigued Tori. And she sat there to shield her brother by keeping him out of the conversation, for she didn't want to upset her brother by mentioning something that might cause him pain.

Actually, they all were intrigued by her story.  Mary had told them that Bill once had a family, a wife and two sons. He couldn’t keep a steady job, though, and he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. His wife divorced him years ago and moved out of state with their two boys. His sons never tried to contact him, and he hasn’t seem ever since. For quite a while, Bill lived on his own, but he didn’t take good care of himself. He was living more poorly than ever—not eating right or caring for himself, erratically taking his medication, and so it wasn’t a surprise that he lived a deluded life. “He does strange stuff like that, think he is God”, Mary admitted to Tori. “He’s been made fun of a lot for acting that way, and it’s my job to watch over him and see that he is safe. So now I help take care of him, and he lives with me. Bill’s always been too proud to accept my help, but the doctor says being with me will help to give him a better life”. Mary was a widow, and she didn’t have much money herself, but she did what she could to protect her brother.  

Al looked embarrassed, knowing now the truth about Bill and realizing he was making fun when he should have known better. Mary gave Tori a huge hug. “And thank you”, she said to Tory, “for looking out for my brother, too.”  Everyone, even Al, was deeply touched by their embrace.  

“You know that Tori is a saint”, Bonnie bragged on her behalf to reiterate the same sentiment. “There should be more people like her.”

Tori remained humble and disagreed, “No, I’m just doing what we should all do in this world. If anything, it teaches me that we should all see God in every opportunity.”

Al whispered into Tori’s ear and told her, “You want to give him something to eat again, well now don't bother paying for it. It's on me”.  She smiled at him like was ready to give him a big hug, and he added, “Don’t think this makes me all buying all this God stuff—or anything”.

“And why not?” she asked.  

He replied with his own question, the ultimate question that people have been asking for ages. "Why would any god allow a man to suffer like that? Just look at him! How could that happen and you still think there is some guy in the sky that's all warm and fuzzy, like some invisible Teddy bear?"  

"Oh, you mean so how can God be loving, fair and merciful?", she snapped back, hurt that Al would make faith sound so childish and idiotic. Tori thought a moment, and simply replied, "I could ask the same question. Is life fair? Is it just wishful thinking? Actually, all my life I've wondered such things. The difference between us though is I don't know all the answer any better than you...but I still believe."

Al waved his hand away at her, "Whatever..."

"Wait!", Tori commanded him as he walked away. Al stopped and turned to face her like he was more than through with this conversation.  She said, "Maybe if us mere mortals did our job on earth of helping others, it would better a whole nother story. You'd probably have a different point of view, Al."

She didn't expect Al to have some bolt of enlightenment when it came to God, but before he went back to the kitchen he left her with words she wished he didn’t say. “All those people way back then…all those prophets and saints…supposing they were around today. You think they'd they stand up to today's world? I don't. Wouldn’t they on meds, too? I'd say we wouldn't see them any differently than we'd see Bill.”  Blindsided, she never did know how to follow up with all that. Al just knew how to rain on her nice parade.

Joey never said anything about that day, but when Bill came in again, Tori surely took special notice of them sitting together for a while. When she passed by the table, Joey was watching Bill walk around, and she quickly noticed the new black and green athletic shoes on his feet. Even on him, they looked sharp.

”They fit alright?”  Joey asked. Bill nodded, and shook the boy’s hand. He never said anything about it, but his silly, old grin—along with a few missing teeth—was priceless. He truly was happy to get those shoes. The old ones, with the hole in the toes, remained on the floor to be pitched out.  

Tori had to ask Joey, “You bought those for him? That’s so sweet of you!”

Joey smiled. “I just never could stand those beat up, old shoes”, he replied. “They are a good brand, but didn’t put me back that much. I’m not making a big deal about it, though. I’m not even going to tell anyone I did it. Only telling you, because you asked.”

“Makes you feel good, doesn’t it? Like it really makes a difference”.

“Yeah, it does. It’s like buying God a pair of shoes.”

Did he just say it was buying God a pair of shoes? How odd to hear that from Joey, but how that statement impacted her, and Tori would never forget that.  She gave Joey a peck on the cheek and a hug. He was like a little brother to him. She didn’t feel old enough to be a mother figure, but she felt some kind of sisterly feeling for him.

Joey went on to explain, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about Bill, lately. He lost his job, his family—he lost everything. No, he’s not God, but I was thinking…though I don’t know that much about religion or God, I thought that if you do

She stunned me when I first saw her looks
Never seen like her even in books

An angel who dropped from the sky
To say to me "Sam! Hi!"

She instantly got my full attention
And I at once shown no pretention

She lives now in the corridors of my mind
You won't find a lady so gentle and kind

Now I miss her as I miss the air when I stop breathing
She lives in me, so God help me her seeing

Sam Burton (C)


Today is Friday, Oct. 10, the 289th day of 2014 with 82 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.



Quotes for the day:



"Correction does much, but encouragement does more."



Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



"The first requisite for success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem incessantly without growing weary."



Thomas A. Edison



POETRY

Israfel





Edgar Allan Poe



In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit -
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute -
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.



BEAUTY AND HEALTH TIP

Strengthen your nails



Before you go to bed every night, use a nail-strengthening cream on your nails (and under, if they're long). This also keeps them hydrated, which is essential for healthy nails.



Trivia

Where did the name “Revlon: come from?



Nail polish distributors Charles Revson and his brother Joseph, along with nail polish supplier Charles Lachman, who contributed the "L" in the Revlon name, gave birth to the Revlon cosmetics company in 1932. Starting with just one nail product a nail enamel unlike any before it the three men pooled their paltry resources and developed a unique manufacturing process. Using pigments instead of dyes, Revlon was able to offer to women rich-looking, opaque nail enamel in a wide variety of shades never before available. In only six years, the company became a multimillion dollar organization, launching one of the most recognized cosmetics names in the world.



How many atoms are there in the universe?



Astronomers believe that the universe contains one atom for every 88 gallons of space.



How do animals influence the weather?



Living creatures create tiny weather systems called microclimates in their nests and burrows. For instance, bees fan their wings at the hive entrance during hot weather. This makes a cooling draft blow through the hive.

VOCABULARY



Splenetic

adjective



:


marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite



Examples:



I know David was in a bad mood all day, but the splenetic tone of his reply to Brenda’s question was not necessary.



"If he were 10 or 15 years younger (or at least looked like he was), [Charlie] Sheen would be perfect as the splenetic, screed-spouting anti-hero of John Osborne’s 'Look Back in Anger.'" — From an article by Ben Brantley on the New York Times Arts Beat blog, May 26, 2011



Did you know?



In early Western physiology, a person's physical qualities and mental disposition were believed to be determined by the proportion of four ****** humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. The last of these was believed to be secreted by the spleen, causing feelings of disposition ranging from intense sadness (melancholia) to irascibility. This now-discredited association explains how the use of "splenetic" (deriving from the Late Latin "spleneticus" and the Latin "splen," meaning "spleen") came to mean both "bad-tempered" and "given to melancholy" as well as "of or relating to the spleen." In later years, the "melancholy" sense fell out of use, but the sense pertaining to ill humor or malevolence remains with us today.





Courtesy of Merriam-Webster, Inc.



JOKES



Female Comebacks



Man: Haven't I seen you someplace before?
Woman: Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore.

Man: Is this seat empty?
Woman: Yes, and this one will be if you sit down.

Man: Your place or mine?
Woman: Both. You go to yours, and I'll go to mine.

Man: So, what do you do for a living?
Woman: I'm a female impersonator.

Man: Hey baby, what's your sign?
Woman: Do not enter.

Man: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Woman: Unfertilized.

Man: If I could see you naked, I'd die happy.
Woman: If I saw you naked, I'd probably die laughing.

Man: Your body is like a temple.
Woman: Sorry, there are no services today.

Man: I would go to the end of the world for you.
Woman: But would you stay there?





Seminars for MEN




(Prepared and Presented by Females)

1. Combatting stupidity

2. You too can do housework

3. ***: Learn when to keep your mouth shut

4. How to fill an ice tray

5. We do not want ****** underthings for Christmas: give us money

6. Understanding the female response to your coming in drunk at 4am

7. Wonderful laundry techniques (formerly titled, "Don't wash my silks")

8. Parenting: It doesn't end with conception

9. Get a life; learn to cook

10. How not to act like a ******* when you're obviously wrong

11. Spelling: Even you can get it right

12. Understanding your financial incompetence

13. You: The weaker ***

14. Reasons to give flowers

15. How to stay awake in public

16. Why it is unacceptable to relieve yourself anywhere but the bathroom

17. Garbage: Getting it to the curb

! 18. You can fall asleep without it if you really try

19. The morning dilemma if IT is awake: Take a shower

20. I'll wear it if I **** well please

21. How to put the toilet lid down (formerly titled "No, it's not a bidet")

22. "The weekend" and "sports" are not synonyms

23. Give me a break: Why we know your excuses are bull

24. How to go shopping with your mate and not get lost

25. The remote control: Overcoming your dependency

26. Romanticism: Ideas other than ***

27. Helpful postural hints for couch potatoes

28. Mothers-in-law: They are people too

29. Male bonding: Leaving your friends at home

30. You too can be a designated driver

31. Seeing the true you (formerly titled, "You don't look like Mel Gibson when naked")

32. Changing your underwear: It really works

33. The attainable goal: removing "****" from your! vocabulary

34. Fluffing the blankets after flatula! ting is not necessary

35. Techniques for calling home before you leave work





The Bacon Tree



There are two guys who have been lost in the desert for weeks, and they're at death's door. As they stumble on, hoping for salvation in the form of an oasis or something similar, they suddenly spy, through the heat haze, a tree off in the distance.

As they get closer, they can see that the tree is draped with rasher upon rasher of bacon. There's smoked bacon, crispy bacon, life-giving juicy nearly-raw bacon, all sorts. "Oh my, Pepe" says the first bloke. "It's a bacon tree!!! We're saved!!!" "You're right!" says Pepe.

So Pepe goes on ahead and runs up to the tree salivating at the prospect of food. But as he gets to within five feet of the tree, there's the sound of machine gun fire, and he is shot down in a hail of bullets. His friend quickly drops down on the sand, and calls across to the dying Pepe.

"Pepe! Pepe! What on earth happened?"...

With his dying breath Pepe calls out...

"Ugh, run, run!... it's not a Bacon Tre! e...

Scroll Down...













...it's a Ham Bush"





HAVE A SUPER NICE FRIDAY and a GORGEOUS WEEKEND!

"Oh Lord Jesus," breathes the mother, as the old man tinkers away at her ice cream truck.
And her sons play in the yard, unaware their breakfast hangs in arms of the old man.
I whisper my own plead, observing from my porch,
"Oh Lord Jesus."

there is a credibility gap
where your mouth is
the words coming out
are what a man says
from behind a mask
with his hands shaking
as he robs a bank
with a cucumber in a bin bag

Silver ribbon Assiniboine
a sash for a city--a Ceinture Fléchée
tied into the Red just off Highway 1
          You leak into the topsoil
           in the place you call home
          and come back up a street map
          with fingerprint roads

I remember the way you'd trace these out on my back
with fingertip pencils--cartographer's hands--
Bird's Hill and Lag' and Portage and Corydon
     laid 'em down in my veins
     just under my skin

Where are you tonight, in your smiling Great City?
Crossing the bridge and inhaling the skyline?
Or walking the river in my iced over thoughts?
Maybe walking, mid-tempo, around KP mall?

Those hipsters in Osborne Village
          and Wolsely
had nothing on us, did they?
                    Cooler than Main
                              on the 1st of the year

I trickled away
                    and I leaked into topsoil
enjambed between rhymes in apology poems.
An Irish Goodbye; a blip on the radar
stopped flashing to fade off the map of your streets.

Our voices still echo, our spectres still haunt
Dollaramas and sidewalks, Tim Horton's and pubs
Our hands still lace up--at least so in theory
Perimeter Highway's still traced on my back.

          Here's hoping our avenues
          meet again soon.
          Here's hoping that luck can outrun shortcomings
          one more time.

Leading fashion stylists and casting directors have been directed by clients to avoid doing business with Trump Models, a company that promotes itself as “the brainstorm and vision of owner, Donald Trump”, several sources have told the Guardian.

Trump Models refused to comment, but according to its Twitter feed several models had made it on to the catwalk. News of such directives comes during New York fashion week, days after the president used Twitter to condemn the retailer Nordstrom for dropping his daughter Ivanka’s clothing brand, claiming poor sales.

According to one leading casting director who spoke to the Guardian on condition of anonymity, directives to avoid using models represented by Trump Modelsbegan last fall, before the presidential election. They then spread by “word of mouth”, the casting director said.

The effectiveness of any de facto boycott is hard to gauge. Trump Models, founded in 1999, is not considered a big player in the fashion business.

“It’s not a great agency, so it’s not such a big loss,” said the casting director, who was not authorised to speak on behalf of their client.

A French fashion stylist, who also requested anonymity, said she was reluctant to engage with a business that would put money in the pocket of the Trump family. When asked if they would use Trump models during fashion week, she replied simply: “Nooo!”

“People certainly look twice if a Trump model comes for a casting,” said another leading American stylist. “But a boycott wouldn’t necessarily be a big loss to the business.”

A third stylist, a prolific veteran in the industry, said he hoped there was a boycott on the Trump agency but added that “if there was a girl I wanted, I wouldn’t mind if she was represented by Attila the ***”.

On Thursday, the fashion website Refinery 29 reported that hairstylist Tim Aylward had vowed to stop working on jobs that involved “talent” from Trump Models.

Trump Models once represented first lady Melania Trump, and currently represents dozens of models from all over the world. It also runs a division for “legends”, including Paris Hilton and Carol Alt.

The agency, which claims to be at “the forefront of cultivating a wide range of innovative and vibrant talent which personify the trends of the fashion industry”, has faced claims of mismanagement.

Last year, Canadian model Rachel Blais told CNN some managers at the agency had encouraged her to skirt US visa laws. “As a model, one of the things you learn quite quickly is that … you shouldn’t ask too many questions,” Blais said. “If you want to work, you have to do as you’re told. Yet you’re kind of aware that it’s not legal.”

Last year, Canadian model Rachel Blais told CNN some managers at the agency had encouraged her to skirt US visa laws. “As a model, one of the things you learn quite quickly is that … you shouldn’t ask too many questions,” Blais said. “If you want to work, you have to do as you’re told. Yet you’re kind of aware that it’s not legal.”

Blais was also one of four women who described their experience with Trump Models to Mother Jones. The women said they were forced to live in squalor in a crowded apartment in the East Village of New York City.

The women said the apartment contained multiple bunks, for which models paid $1,600 each, and housed up to 11 people at a time. “We’re herded into these small spaces,” one former model said, saying the apartment “was like a sweatshop”.

The then vice presidential candidate Mike Pence told CNN he was “very confident that this business, like the other Trump businesses, has conformed to the laws of this country”.

In court papers filed in 2014, Trump model Alexia Palmer said she was promised full-time work and $75,000 a year. She sued after earning just $3,880 and some modest cash advances for 21 days of work over three years.

“That’s what slavery people do,” Palmer told ABC News in March 2016. “You work and don’t get no money.”

Trump attorney Alan Garten said allegations of being treated like a slave were “completely untrue” and said Palmer had simply not been in demand. The suit was dismissed. Laurence Rosen, a lawyer who represented Trump Models in the case, told the Guardian his firm “is not handling any other lawsuits or claims concerning model representation, nor am I aware that any such lawsuits or claims have been asserted” against Trump Models.

Shannon Coulter, of the Trump boycott movement #grabyourwallet, said Trump Models had not been added to its list of Trump-owned or affiliated businesses because it was not a consumer-facing business.

“What we’re seeing is that the Trump name is becoming truly toxic,” she said. “It seems that people can’t get away from the Trumps fast enough now. I think those casting directors and stylists are making the right call not doing business with them.”

Coulter rejected the suggestion that a boycott of Trump Models might end up hurting the working models it represents, rather than the owners of the business.

“When you chose not to do business with a company,” she said, “you chose to do business with other companies that do have employees, too, so I don’t put stock in that.”

Amid continued questions about Trump’s relationship with his business empire and how it fits with federal ethics regulations, Trump-owned fashion interests have suffered adverse publicity.

On Saturday, retailers Sears and Kmart removed 31 Trump Home items from their online product offerings to focus on more profitable items, a spokesman said. The collection includes furniture, lighting, bedding, mirrors and chandeliers.

Last week, retailer Nordstrom followed Macy’s and Neiman Marcus in dropping Ivanka Trump products. That prompted a furious response from Trump, whotweeted: “My daughter Ivanka has been treated so unfairly by @Nordstrom.”

Nordstrom justified its decision, reporting that online sales of Ivanka Trump products fell 26% in January year on year.

Within the fashion industry, there is speculation that while the performance of Ivanka Trump’s line was disappointing, it was not enough to merit being abruptly dropped.

At least part of the reasoning, they speculate, was pressure from other brands and labels carried by Nordstrom.

“We would not base a decision on that. Our decision was based on the performance of her brand which had been steadily declining over the year. We had discussions with Ivanka and her team and shared our decision with Ivanka personally in early January.”

However, Coulter said it was likely Nordstrom had faced pressure from other suppliers. “The Ivanka Trump sales were down but it’s possibly not the whole truth. There are studies that say boycotts work at the brand level, not the sales level, so probably both forces were at play.”

White House counselor Kellyanne Conway later urged the public to buy the Ivanka Trump brand – and faced widespread criticism that she had overstepped ethics regulations. The White House press secretary, Sean Spicer, said Conway had been “counseled”.

On Saturday, Trump said on Twitter that the media had “abused” his daughter.

In New York, protests against the Trump presidency have rippled through the fashion industry’s market week. Calvin Klein played David Bowie’s This is Not America and a Mexican immigrant designer for LRS Studio showed underwear that carried the message: “**** your wall”. Public School’s Dao-Yi Chow and Maxwell Osborne sent out red Trump-esque baseball hats spelling out: “Make America New York.”

Senior industry figures, including Vogue’s Anna Wintour and LVMH chief executive Bernard Arnault, have, however, held meetings with the president. Vogue plans to feature Melania Trump on its cover.

Designers including Dior and Ralph Lauren have dressed the first lady. Others, including Marc Jacobs, have said they will not.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses

From the top of the Terminal,
your size was splayed out,
a grey **** carpet for the Red River Valley.
And The Forks right beneath
                      our weary walkers' feet
was a thick drop setting up in the center
of your ash grey forehead.
Traced a thumb down Taché and St. Mary's
to the peak of your left cheek on Fermor.

Your traffic light glance blinked us
                    right to a stop
as blue bomb thoughts and temperatures dropped
at the base of our minds
and your wide, widow's peak sky
formed a cold iron bruise 40 minutes past 5.

I've held your muddy diamond eyes
in mine, how many times?
And you'd sigh, sometimes
         from your North End scar,
but the Assiniboine bends around Wellington Crescent,
a stifled, spiced laugh from the failed rebellion
of your Province's youth.
          And you know I'm no novice
to the uncouth barbs of the Winter,
'cuz you wrapped asphalt arms
                                       nice and tight
'round our shoulders.

Osborne & Morley for an A-frame embrace.
The face of a city, its wrinkles a sketch
of laugh line drives for donuts and coffee.
Crows' feet stretched through The Exchange.

We followed your grin
                from
corner to corner,
from Richardson Airport
to Transcona Yards; one earring a lifeline,
the other, steel bones.
From your St. Norbert chin,
to your twin St. Paul crown,
we would wander,
kiss your River East temple
                  then call it a night.

I have names for every smile you gave me:
Vi-Ann in the Village,
The Toad in the Hole,
St. Boniface Cathedral, that first time
in deep snow.
                 I want you to know,
               you frozen Great City,
your terrible beauty is written on me.

Each side-slanted grin I shared with your sidewalks
               encircles my history now,
                          even still.
Fill an eye with 5 years
                of joyous, drunk laughter
which seeds your purple sand sky with fog ghosts.

Still-frame your patchwork, frostbitten face--
the Perimeter Highway's a jaunt-angled toque;
                                           keeps you warm--
I still wear you
           when late Autumn light takes me back.

'Done up like a kipper'
by
Osborne the stripper
who is a right wrong 'un and we're left in a bare drum and no one can save us,not Labour or Jesus,because
we are taxed to the hilt,they have built walls that surround us they dog us and hound us until they catch us and latch us once more to the imperial measure.
I measure the length of the cut of his cloth and it measures quite well until the division bell sounds and once more he hounds me and when he has found what I owe
he blows me away until the next budget day when there's nothing to commend because we're all at the end of our tether.

They should still be singing stories, babe
about the fun we had.
Yeah, from the top of The Leg'--
throw an arm around your Golden Boy
dance them feet across the copper.
If those songs could take us back, I swear that I
               would live out my days
               inside of those strains
               I'd keep my word this time.
                              and I
would arc across that place with you--
off The Leg' through Osborne Village,
through boutiques and record stores and maybe they
  would hear us laughing at The Toad in the Hole.
Or we'd speed north, past Kildonan Park
'til they could hear us out in Lockport.
Hear us shout at Dubuc & Des Meurons
               while they're waiting on their bus
     to cut the frosty dusk with condensed exhaust
               we could laugh right in their face.
                      I'd live inside those strains.

If they were singing about us from the top of The Leg'
we'd stream across St. Boniface Cathedral
and some young someones
running through hip deep snow in the cold
would pause and hear us.
We'd stir their soupy breath in the night,
sifting through our history.

If they forgot the words, it wouldn't matter.
Our verses: soft breathing, our choruses: laughter.
the sound of us moving through Exchange District taverns.

I want for them to start singing us songs
and I want a pint with you at The Yellow Dog.
No more 4 years of regrets and no more sad talk.
Just you and just me and maybe a walk through the city.

I dreamt of love in the time of vast journeys
I dreamt of death in an aura of secrecy
I dreamt that the miscarriage of justice would be uncovered
I dreamt that every line I wrote would ascend heavenward

I dreamt of partisan politics defeating the world order
I dreamt Cameron, Osborne and Johnson
were in court for crimes against humanity

I dreamt that dreaming was banned under a new set of laws
I dreamt I carved a turkey and couldn't recall Christmas’s name

I dreamt I was on Safari in the Kalahari Desert
I dreamt people realised that they did not control the future
and love held sway

I dreamt the reality of the weather was beyond us
I dreamt that we meant something
I dreamt lying in bed was comforting
I dreamt that film Riot Club was altogether fiction

I dreamt the next sunset would be my last
and enjoyed my last day as no other.

I was told the Isle of Wight
was like going back twenty years in time.
The Red Funnel ferry took us
to this enchanted island,
described as England in miniature.
There was this relaxed feel
of people not pushing for the burn,
extending to the mannered staff
at Osborne House,
who couldn't be more helpful
and the Waitrose counter girl
providing the creme de creme
of friendliness.
The chief steward of the ferry
lifted our spirits
I vowed to Vectis to return.

An involuntary spasm
of the diaphragm
and respiratory organs,
with a sudden closure
of the glottis
and a characteristic
sound like that of a cough.

Rather mundane topic
lest one cursed
with said minor inconvenience
that subsequently manifests
into protracted health crisis.

I write much hiccup ado
about nothing, which
involuntary explosive release
comes clear out of the hiccup blue
nary a sponge bob
square pants handy dandy blues clue,
where in tarnation
this uncontrollable bout
jarring the Jimmy Neutron body
electric all's well
that ends well hiccup do.

Why such physiological
spasmodic trembling
undulating weird phenomena
uncontrollable peculiar singultus kickstarts,
where one of many
extreme measures now suggested
such as ramming cloven hoofs
down the gullet wool shear
lee be in vain
to bring closure of glottis hiccups ewe

you wool sheepishly  
moost likely find annoying
as this hiccupping buck feels few
breaths short of taking
another potential drastic action…
like hiccup swallowing glue
as an extreme solution
wide whirled, webbed series
of being held hostage
resorting to asking Horton hears a Who

to stomp his elephant legs
(also known as hottentot bread)
atop thee abdominal chest
(me not ribbing ye dear reader)
despite impossible mission
to escape, thus truncating mein kampf
and additional fail safe measure
being trundled to an igloo
serving as ice cold emergency room
of a mockup hospital or calling

on the ghost of  the late veterinarian
James Herriot to scare doggone
such hiccup caterwauling
catering to gentile
or skeletal anorexic
hunger artist appropriately named Jew
Lean, thus, time and again
when said hiccup affliction
holds me hiccup hostage
ye dear stranger knew

seeking cure twill drive me towards
considering additional outrageous
acts of desperation
such as sticking ma head in the loo,
which bizarre reaction
on par with holding
out an appetite
until famished for moo
goo guy pan mixed
with delicious bowl of new

dulls steeped in broth,
an island delicacy renown on Oahu
even this atheist would ask
for salivation praying in a pew,
whereby sound of silence
echoed by hiccup right on queue
when nary a burble
until reaching amen hiccup rue
stubbornly persists,
no matter resorting

to consider extreme unction measures
at suppressing explosive strew
wing upsurge of diaphragm,
accursed diabolical solution
holding breath until
turning blue in the face  
simultaneously forcing air thru
alternative orifices such as:
nasal passage and/or mouth, ears
or out derrière as last ditch effort.

Oft times physiological phenomena  
faintly resembles bobbing up and down
analogous to the celebrated
jumping frog of Calaveras County
seriousness one best not undervalue
with a snort
lest ye surpass one poor soul
when an accident
on June 13, 1922,

Charles Osborne  
(experienced 20 to 40
involuntary diaphragm
spasms per minute)
hiccupped nonstop,
which condition persisted
for more than six decades,
only ending in 1990,
a full 68 years after it began.

Osborne's plight remains
the longest attack
of hiccups confirmed
by Guinness World Records
invariably accompanied
no doubt by a voodoo
Practitioner…until…at last whew
hiccups stopped  mysteriously
as they started
bringing relief
to him who analogously felt like
caged primate in a zoo.

Once again someone writes the word
While others say how absurd!
But I will always remind the world
That one day the freedom flag will be unfurled

Why must this song be heard again and again?
Dylan, Osborne and Bono, a message they send
Beaten down, poets tire of the world's ambivalence
Actions and not words will bring us deliverance

You always have the power and desire to ****
Destroying our world and souls, you never have your fill
You perpetuate your greed and your evil nature
Mankind, once again, weeps and prays for a savior

I don’t want to die anymore for your ambition
We are all chained pathetically to this human condition
You almost succeeded in brainwashing my mind
But in the end you will be surprised to find

That the meek truly have the souls that live
And to the hate makers, the underworld shall give
A flood of fire and pain swelling up from below
And you will suffer for eternity as history will show

I know my judgments are wrong as the book clearly states
But my words are echoed by many as mankind hates
The helplessness that envelops our ultimate destiny
So we sing again and again about your atrocity

You ask who am I to be so angry?
I have not suffered as have many
And I say yes this is quite true
But your lies need to be brought into view

One person with a mind that says “Enough!”
Can spring the world to action and make it tough
On those who lie and hate in the face of our humanity
It is time for all to step away from the cavity

Of fear and bewilderment of men who are wrong
So see the power of truth in another mad song
And let me help you point the finger at my insanity
I’ll save you the trouble of destroying my credibility

For I have the warming machine and drive it for miles
I’m sure this revelation will bring the smiles
To the face of those who say “look at him”
We only **** to protect his need and whim

For living as an American with his right to be free
Why are we wrong to provide him his sanctuary?
But no! I hate what I have become
Soft, detached, spoiled, my mind coming undone

So in my self-loathing I bring judgment with me
I’ll accept unworthiness as a mantle to pillory
But you can no longer contain my mind
I am leaving your ability to intimidate behind

I am no longer impressed by all of your gain
Your power, glory and way of life only causes pain
In the sense that you bring the world no relief
Your consuming and acquiring nature only causes grief

It seems I martyr myself in front of God each day
Judging you and giving comfort to those you slay
I want to delegate it all to someone like Jesus
But it's hard to ignore how you deceive us

Turning the other cheek is for better men than I
It is time for deliverance, we will no longer cry
It is not a message that I reject
It’s just that you do not deserve the respect

Have I given you the moral superiority?
Because I do not speak with God’s purity?
What did you expect from the sheep you control?
Another Gandhi, King or Mandela to foil?

Your inhuman need continues to achieve your aim
I act crazy giving you someone to blame
For deviant behavior that requires your solution
That masks your true self and the evolution

Of your subtle and sophisticated way of survival
Insidiously maintaining your ability to suppress our revival
You see three steps ahead and control the message
You put your arm around me which I know is a presage

Of your plan to gently move me on my way
So you can continue to smile and make us obey
Your message of fear and patriotic chains
The only thing that concerns you is disposing our remains

I am driven by my two children
Of which life awaits to rid them
Of their innocence and wonderful thought
It makes me sick knowing they may be bought

This message has become filled with hate
I must depart before it becomes too late
For me to recapture the joy that is in my heart
So, soon I will begin to start

The recovery of God’s message of love and peace
I will likely allow you to lurk and fleece
Me of my mind, soul and future place
In America, the idea that time cannot erase

Because someone like me will come to the fore
To say “that is wrong,” we will open the door
To a brotherhood of man that respects each human being
And champions freedom, love and is capable of seeing

That those who are too clever for us will always remain
In the world to rule and drive our earthly train
Of money, power and greed for their enjoyment
While we starve and look for gainful employment

So, I say yes, my hate and love is a dichotomy of confusion
But my words have helped me reach a conclusion
I want to be meek and good to all the others
So forgive my glare as I return to my brothers

As I simultaneously judge and forgive
Know that I will never sleep and allow you to live
With impunity in the ways that mankind abhors
My words will always be there to identify the ******

Lest I encourage others to act as you have heard
You must know that I do not reject God’s word
I merely remind that my emotions are weak
I do not invite anyone to hurt as I speak

I have decided in my own arrogant string
That controlling the man in the mirror is one thing
But to allow another to hurt an innocent being
Is just as wrong as the judgment you are reading

An Encounter on Muleshoe Bend

Chapter 1 – Meeting Mr. Russell
September 2015.
Walking past the upper geyser basin, I stop for a moment to watch the rising sun give way to a buttermilk sky. Its late Fall in Yellowstone and I’m headed to the Madison River to wet a line before winter sets in.
My eyes scan the field dotted with cow elk and the ever elusive bull over looking his harem from the cover of a quaking aspen forest. He keeps a close eye on me as I cross the field towards the river. The cows continue to graze without moving and my eyes are now focused on a tree that’s felled across the Firehole River. I see what appears to be a person straddling the fallen tree that extends over the entire width of the river.
As I move closer to the river my thoughts are confirmed as I see a man sitting on the fallen tree with one leg propped upon a branch right there in the middle of the river. His horse, grazed in the adjacent field. His shoulder length hair and beard were snow white; he was dressed in buckskin fringed pants and buckskin shirt and wore a wonderful hat that had a turkey feather stuck in on an angle.  I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out to him, “Hey old timer good morning to ya”.
He immediately shouts back “Good day to you sir and I’m no **** old timer”!
I walked hesitantly to the edge of river as he puffed on his clay pipe and said to him “Hey, ah, sorry if I offended you, I certainly didn’t mean to be disrespectful”.
“Make no never mind of that” he replied.
I climbed out on the tree next to him and extended my right hand,  “Hi my names Tom Murphy”.
He kind of half heartedly shook my hand answering “My names Osborne, Osborne Russell”.
I said “Well Mr. Russell it’s a pleasure to meet you”. “This is one hell of a view you have from this tree”.
He said “Well I’ve been coming to this very spot for over 150 years!
“150 years” I exclaimed, “How old are you” I asked.
He acted he like didn’t even hear me. He looked at me with these piercing blue eyes and asked “What’s your business up here son”.
“Well I hope to catch a few trout today sir and you’re welcome to join me if you like”.
“OK he said, I suppose I should keep an eye on you just in case we run into those ornery Nez Pierce Indians”.
I kind of chuckle to myself and say “Ok Mr. Russell, If I’m going to catch any fish this morning we better get a move on”.

END CHAPTER ONE

30% off all print books on Lulu thru the 24th with coupon code of LULU30

some of mine are there, including:

~ shuteye in the land of the sacred commoner [& other poems]

~ MOON tattoo

~

poems, from:

[ally]

the robotic jaw
lifting otherness
from a hole
in a body cast

no litter
of bewitched
kittens, no wild

crop
of soundlings
angry

at the wrong
life

~

[tocsin]

the singlemost mother has heard of a skin cream can turn one into darkness.  

a bar of soap that reads palms…

-

on display for the poker face of birth, you are the vision footage dies for.

-

you have this father
leaves
no stone
unseen

this brother

haunted
by surplus
aftermath…

-

before it was an ear, it was where

she scrubbed  

~

[On contact]

hold kitten
like a rifle.  pop

a paper sack
at your father’s

ear.  ah, your father

who was made to kneel

for two
maybe three
things

(god, shrapnel) a flying saucer

from the wreckage of his church

~

[purlieu]

a bruise, a school

of fish.  a caterpillar

crossing

the floor
of hell.  a thought

sick
to a son’s
stomach, a winter

glove
in spider’s
nightmare.          

~

[notes for eggshell]

beneath the tethered astronaut of his dream

the impossible boy
misses

something small

the human ear, its recent
brush
with whale

~

[domain]          for Katherine Osborne

falsehoods
I was sure
to say
to a horse, things like
god is sending
his middle
child
to collect
a drop
of my daughter’s
blood, or

it’s a sin
to be
1989, things I felt

I owed
the horse, that were
horse-like
in their stillness, that went
nowhere
when nowhere
was

come fly
or flat
earth

the dark’s
*****

Who is in charge of broadcasting who's in charge of the TV?
Is it an escaped mental patient or a convicted escapee?
Where sick of recycled programs where sick of reality
Your ripping of the public for your own personal payee
We're still paying for repeats these programs should be free
Why the **** are we still paying for the TV license fee?
Stop showing the same programs and hear the publics plea
It is just an insult to our arses sat on our settee
The people who are in charge their all just a wannabe
Commissioning old programs from all the left over debris
You may support your schedules I really don't agree
Cos all that we get are repeats from Dave to ITV

The stations are atrocious the programs are mundane
No more reality or repeats please would you refrain
Stop with all the same shows stop showing them again
A thousand times we've seen them its driving us insane
Consider scrapping most shows throw them down the drain
And spare the paying public from constant program strain
We don't want no more game shows I hope I'm being plain
Too much focussed on reality your making these the main
Stop conning all your viewers and causing so much pain
With in show competitions for your own financial gain
And ****** TV voting the contestants are too vain
All of the public phone calls are nothing but a stain

We don't want to turn to boredom with all of those Big Brothers
Not interested in One Born Every Minuet or expectant mothers
Kitchen Nightmares and Hell's Kitchen Gordon Ramsey's foul mouth smothers
The Great British Bake Off and Masterchef the same as all the others
Pawn Stars was misleading it had no *** or scrubbers
Don't want people on Love Island selecting different lovers

Who cares about the rounded lives of bearded Mountain Men?
No interest in crap inventions or rich Dragons in the Den
Wife Swap and ******* Pawn nothing to do with ***** hoes
Loose Women and 4 in a Bed I was expecting different shows?
The Wright Stuff with Mathew Wright well really its just wrong
The same as This Morning and Lorraine they've been on far too long
Apparently your a fat ******* if You Are What You Eat
If I want to see Nightmare Neighbours I'll look out on the street
Make your ******* mind up and Say Yes To The Dress
Stop buying so much food so you can Eat Well For Less
Hoarders houses are not wanted, don't show us the inside
Is it really such a secret if you Don't Tell The Bride?

How To Look Good Naked what kind of purv is Gok Wan?
Ogling middle aged naked ladies well. . . just because he can!
*** Pod may have been good but we never saw a thing
What's the point in a *** program without the ****** zing?
Lord Sugar fire's Apprentices he doesn't make much sense
When contestants are not hired yet there is no real suspense
People risking their own lives driving Ice Road Truckers
I've really got no sympathy for those stupid mother *******
Pierce Morgan talked Life Stories why is he such a *****?
Or is he just an arrogant ****** you can take your pick
The Crocodile Hunter Steve Erwin his fate was a stingray
If he'd been a bit more careful he'd still be here today
We where shown full frontal nakedness in Naked Attraction
It could have had more potential with it bit more interaction
The Only Way Is Essex well that simply is not true
If I don't want to go to Essex then what will they do?
There was never any Cash In The Attic if this was the case
There would be no need to sell their things in the first place
Who do You Think You Are I'm surprised there on this show
What kind of mindless people are they if they don't ******* know
I don't want crap singers on the X Factor or hear The Voice
Sod those ****** Pop Stars your not giving us much choice

If celebrities wanted to get out of the jungle then why even appear?
Is it because they are not main stream and its good for their career?
Its a boost for run down minor celebs, well what the heck
Instead of voting them off cant we vote off Ant and Dec?

Judge Judy and Judge Rinder are basically the same
Just a rehash of the Peoples Court isn't  that quite lame
Stop using the same format for shows that you can tame
I suppose that's all we'll ever get stop playing the same game

Top Gear and Fifth Gear are almost the Same Wheel
Say no to the House Doctor her designs are too unreal
get rid of The Hotel Inspector and Dickinson's Real Deal
We don't want Dancing On Ice there is no real appeal

Why Escape To The Country where they prisoners before?
The Kardashians and Osborne's we don't want them anymore
Strictly Come Dancing we're sick of that dance floor
Don't want to see Grand Designs there no good if your poor
Cant Pay Well Take It Away what are we paying for?
It's the same as paying the licence fee it's nothing to adore

Sixty Minuet Makeover it's enough to make you weep
Impossible to achieved do you think we're mindless sheep?
Homes Under The Hammer, it's not what I would keep
Antiques Trip and Road Show will send you right to sleep
A large percentage that are made are made on the cheep
But I've noticed that the licence fee is still so ******* steep

There are to many senseless channels with program limitations
What happened to the good shows the ones with good creations
Better programs years ago when we only had five stations
It's only my own opinion and own personal observations
Maybe it was a time when producers took their medications
When writers admired their work and had more dedications
More devotion for the programs, no love for abominations
So re-evaluate your programming and stop these infestations

ludicrous and lime she's bought my wine
then usher on the farm or circus daemon
was house carrying a whim to heart
where climes are thought that fighting down the hatch  
where rumors are frothy in those diamonds caught
wish only tout cookie once thunder crash has melted speed
but any counters that claim violence is deniable here
and viable to an Osborne scene but wading in traffic
as a country lane shade its spree and what lies in air was a roadside
fair in bloom on Sunday afternoons in Tamaqua boon pillared spoon

WIKIPEDIA: Torture of Vietnamese citizens under the C.I.A.'s Operation Phoenix
Methods of torture used at the interrogation prisons included:
****, gang ****, **** using eels, snakes, or hard objects, and **** followed by ******; electric shock ('the Bell Telephone Hour') rendered by attaching wires to the genitals or other sensitive parts of the body, like the tongue; the 'water treatment'; the 'airplane' in which the prisoner's arms were tied behind the back, and the rope looped over a hook on the ceiling, suspending the prisoner in midair, after which he or she was beaten; beatings with rubber hoses and whips; the use of police dogs to maul prisoners. Military intelligence officer K. Milton Osborne witnessed the following use of torture: The use of the insertion of the 6-inch dowel into the canal of one of my prisoner's ears, and the tapping through the brain until dead. The starvation to death (in a cage), of a Vietnamese woman who was suspected of being part of the local political education cadre in one of the local villages. The use of electronic gear such as sealed telephones attached to both the women's vaginas and men's testicles [to] shock them into submission. According to one former C.I.A. officer few of the detainees who were interrogated survived—most of them were tortured to death, and those that survived the torture sessions were generally killed afterwards. The torture was usually carried out by South Vietnamese with the C.I.A. and special forces playing a supervisory role.

WEB ~ Homosexuals are over-represented in child *** offenses: Individuals from the 1 to 3 percent of the population that is sexually attracted to the same *** are committing up to one-third of the *** crimes against children.


Some homosexual activists defend the historic connection between homosexuality and *******: Such activists consider the defense of "boy-lovers" to be a legitimate gay rights issue.

******* themes abound in homosexual literary culture: Gay fiction as well as serious academic treatises promote "intergenerational intimacy."

MALE HOMOSEXUALS COMMIT A DISPROPORTIONATE NUMBER OF CHILD *** ABUSE CASES ~ Homosexual apologists admit that some homosexuals sexually ****** children, but they deny that homosexuals are more likely to commit such offenses. After all, they argue, the majority of child molestation cases are heterosexual in nature. While this is correct in terms of absolute numbers, this argument ignores the fact that homosexuals comprise only a very small percentage of the population.

The evidence indicates that homosexual men ****** boys at rates grossly disproportionate to the rates at which heterosexual men ****** girls. To demonstrate this it is necessary to connect several statistics related to the problem of child *** abuse: (1) men are almost always the perpetrator; (2) up to one-third or more of child *** abuse cases are committed against boys; (3) less than three percent of the population are homosexuals. Thus, a tiny percentage of the population (homosexual men), commit one-third or more of the cases of child ****** molestation.

Many pedophiles, in fact, consider themselves to be homosexual. A study of 229 convicted child molesters in Archives of ****** Behavior found that "eighty-six percent of offenders against males described themselves as homosexual or bisexual."

******* Themes Abound in Gay Literature ~ The late "beat" poet Allen Ginsberg illustrates the seamless connection between homosexuality and *******. Many know Ginsberg as an illustrious "out" homosexual poet: fewer are aware that he was also a *******.


Homosexual marriage isn't illegal anywhere. It never has been and it never will be. Homosexual marriage isn't legal anywhere. It never has been and it never will be. It's not marriage as it defies the definition of the word marriage. Marriage is the act of normal ****** *******: the goal of which is to ******* ***** into a lubricated ******. A normal couple can annul a marriage contract if it's attested that normal ****** ******* has not taken place; the marriage is voided if it has not been consummated. Introducing an apple up one's ****** is not illegal, nor is it legal. ****** apple insertion (R.A.I.) is not within the canon of law. The law doesn't specify this activity. The overwhelming majority of endeavors have yet to be codified. Here are several human activities that are simultaneously not legal nor illegal as they are beyond the consideration of law: calling you dog Kitty; shutting an eye during a foot massage; lending your sister a cowboy hat; scratching your elbow with a pencil...

Arrived for my annual physical
Sat in the doctor's office for 30 minutes
Finally called to the window to consult with the clerk
Who informed me that I had no appointment.
Interesting? I told her that I was there for my annual physical which I had scheduled over the phone.
"Ah, that is next week" she informed me.  
I was a week early
The good side was that all my paperwork was filled out.
I had another week to develop new ageing symptoms,
An opportunity to have more thoughts as to what to discuss with the doctor
One week to improve my eating habits, reduce cholesterol, exercise more and
I have a whole seven days to do it.
After I left and was listening to the radio I heard an interview by Bobby Osborne who wrote the song "Rocky Top."  
Bobby is in his 80's and the interviewer asked to what he could attribute his old age.
Bobby answered "Alcohol, drugs and exercise."
The commentator says don't you mean avoiding those and Bobby answered "Yes."
Well, Bobby, I think I will just continue the alcohol and the exercise
Both in moderation.
Maybe my memory will improve and I will get to my doctor's
Appointment next week.