I MIND him well, he was a quare ould chap,
Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod;
He hired me wanst to help his harvest in-
The crops was fine that summer, praised be God!

He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,
Just landed in the emigration shed;
Meself was tyin' on their bits of clothes;
Their mother-rest her tender sowl!-was dead.

It's not meself can say of what she died:
But 'twas the year the praties felt the rain,
An' rotted in the soil; an' just to dhraw
The breath of life was one long hungry pain.

If we wor haythens in a furrin land,
Not in a country grand in Christian pride,
Faith, then a man might have the face to say
'Twas of stharvation me poor Sheila died.

But whin the parish docthor come at last,
Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes-
They looked straight into Heaven-an' her ears
Wor deaf to the poor children's hungry cries,

He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw:
'She's gone!' he says, and drew a solemn frown;
'I fear, my man, she's dead.' 'Of what?' says I.
He coughed, and says, 'She's let her system down!'

'An' that's God's truth!' says I, an' felt about
To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark;
An' in me hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,
I felt the kindlin' of a burnin'spark.

'O by me sowl, that is the holy truth!
There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,
An' Mickie's eyes are bright-the craythur there
Died that the weeny ones might eat their fill.'

An' whin they spread the daisies thick an' white
Above her head that wanst lay on me breast,
I had no tears, but took the childher's hands,
An' says, 'We'll lave the mother to her rest.'

An' och! the sod was green that summer's day,
An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;
But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,
An' sent their cruel poison through the air.

An' all was quiet-on the sunny sides
Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,
An' thim as lacked the rint from empty walls
Of little cabins wapin' turned away.

God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,
An' whin upon her increase His right hand
Fell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blue
For Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.

No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky.
No mines yawned on the hills so full an' rich;
A man whose praties failed had nought to do
But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch.

A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,
Whin, passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,
I saw the mark of Sheila's coffin in
The grey dust on the empty earthen flure.

I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;
Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' **** an' me
Must lave the green ould sod an' look for food
In thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'

An' so it chanced, whin landed on the sthreet,
Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay
Came there to hire a man to save his wheat,
An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.

'An' bring the girleen, Pat,' he says, an' looked
At Rosie, lanin' up agin me knee;
'The wife will be right plaised to see the child,
The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.

'We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!
As nice a farm as ever brogan trod.
A hundered acres-us as never owned
Land big enough to make a lark a sod.'

'Bedad,' says I, 'I heerd them over there
Tell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,
An' guineas in the very mud that sthuck
To the ould brogans on a poor man's feet.'

'Begorra, Pat,' says Dolan, 'may ould Nick
Fly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,
An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure
Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!'

'Och, thin,' says I, 'meself agrees to that!'
Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;
Says he, 'Kape up yer heart; I never kew
Since I come out a single hungry day.

'But thin I left the crowded city sthreets-
Th'are men galore to toil in thim an' die;
Meself wint wid me axe to cut a home
In the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.

'I did that same; an' God be praised this day!
Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure;
An' in them years I never wanst have seen
A famished child creep tremblin' on me flure.'

I listened to ould Dolan's honest words:
That's twenty years ago this very spring,
An' **** is married, an' me Rosie wears
A swateheart's little shinin' goulden ring.

'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a look
At the green fields upon me own big farm;
An' God be praised! all men may have the same
That owns an axe an' has a strong right arm!

Could of filled a thousand times
Up I went, opened that loose pink hole
Must have felt like air between thighs.
-
But you were always wanting more in-kind
Up it went did you feel anything inside
Could say I was small I was 9 inches 2 wide
Keep it coming fill you up, my sacks gave too much
Empty shrivelled bags seeds sewn now only dust
T**ill the next time my **** *** Bucket love.

People think that Dublin, Ireland's fair capital city
Is a place of merriment, overflowing with craic and whiskey,
Whose narrow streets are filled with poets and singers and also
Pretty girls with wheelbarrows selling cockles and mussels;
A city redolent with history, whose gutters run with half-digested Guinness
After closing time, and the drinkers have been hurled into the gutter
By jovial bouncers who can recite "Ulysses" from start to finish
From memory, and where the Liffey, sweet Anna Liffey, flows peacefully,
With only an occasional splash when a pedestrian topples gaily in.
                  
But there is a darker side to famous Baile Atha Cliath, oh yes,
And the following anecdote is a sad but true indictment of the evil,
The omnipresent evil, which lurks in the black soul of the city.
I was trolling along the banks of the old Royal Canal one summer's evening
With my drinking companion, my Afro cousin, Black Paddy McSpigot,
Pausing only to glance briefly at the copulating couples on the towpath
(We were slightly amused by the small crowd watching one couple
who were engaged in the athletic congress of the ****-backed whale
underneath the bridge by Rose Street, a favourite spot for young lovers),
When a terrible shriek rent the air and a horde of renegade drunken nuns
Poured out of a late night underground folk-music drinking den
(the hugely amplified noise of the massed uilléan pipes was deafening
and had probably driven the poor dears into a religious frenzy).

Seeing Black Paddy, and mistaking his gay rendition of "Skibereen"
For an excerpt from the Satanic Mass, they yelled out polyphonically
"Tis the divil himself, so it is, an' all, an' all, let's get the focker",
And without further ado they leaped on him and ripped him to shreds,
Hurling lumps of his poor, poor body into the crocodile infested canal,
Where they were immediately masticated by the terrifying reptiles
(the mighty creatures had been stolen from the Zoological Gardens
by a group of drunken Animal Rights campaigners out on a ******,
and were the toast of the town in every gay bar in the vibrant city).
I cowered in terror at the horrific spectacle, thanking my lucky stars
I was wearing my archibishop's fancy dress uniform that evening
(it was the only way to jump the queue to get into Davy Byrne's Bar).
Dear God, I'll not visit the dear Emerald Isle again in a hurry, to be sure.

This is a beautiful "Barry Hodges" poem.*

Ah, sweet memories of that night in Blarney
In the stout-soaked suburbs of ould Cork City.
How clearly through the mist of alcoholic memory
I recall how we all piled out of Johnny's bar at closing time
****** as a load of proverbial ******* newts;
'Where to now me boys, which bar's still open?'
Shrieked spiflicated Sean O'Shannon
(that's notorious sixteen pints an hour Sean,
the man who won Strictly Come Boozing twice)
As he tottered over to his Pa's new BMW convertible,
Lucky ****** that he is to be son to a Fianna Fáil MEP,
And one not adverse to trousering a Euro or two.

'Sean, me oul' potato, de ye think ye should be driving
With that record-breakin' skinful o' stout
I just seen you put away down your greasy gullet,
Not to mention the quadruple whiskey chaser?'
Enquired loopy Liam O'Lephrechaun as he leaned over
And puked up another gallon of warmish Guinness
Over yours truly as I rolled helplessly in the Ballygrohan road
To the amusement of the gawping bystanders,
Bearing in mind there were a good dozen gobbets
Of half-digested pork scratchings in the froth
Which was causing havoc with my apparel.

So without another feckin' word being spoken
My dear drinking companions and ***** buddies
Left me prostrate and clambered gaily into the waiting car
And roared off into the enchanted Gaelic night;
Singing and smoking themselves silly simultaneously,
So full of the joys of life and the blessed bottle.
And then some ****** stupid American tourist
(doubtless dressed in hideous checked golfing trousers
with a backwards-facing baseball cap on his ugly head,
not to forget his overweight wifey crammed into the front seat
just like a huge white bloated fat-faced hippo),
Came round the next corner in a clapped out rental car
And the two of them got sent to Kingdom-sodding-Come
With a terrible metallic crash which destroyed them completely.

'Oh begorrah and *******, would ye just look at the mess
The feckin eejit's made of me Daddy's Beemer,
And it's his pride and joy so it is to be sure!'
Cried Sean O'Shannon in an alcoholic rage,
As he contemplated the largest insurance claim
In the County Cork for the past six decades,
(at least the largest legitimate one anyway).
Whilst I was trying to get my hipster pants down
To avoid filling them up with beery diarrhoea
Brought on by my involuntary bursts of joyous mirth,
(bejasus, 'twas the second time in the space of a single week
and my new girlfriend was getting a bit fussy about hygiene
bearing in mind she was thinking of taking the veil).

How fortunate old Father Tucker and Garda Sergeant O'Toole
Could both (when they'd sobered up sufficiently)
Testify later from their secure vantage point
In the rear compartment of a nearby parked hearse,
(where they were having a ******* with Deidre,
the filthiest wee **** in the whole South-Western counties)
That the accident was not dear Sean's fault at all, to be sure,
As the other stupid sober yankee ****** was driving at 75
On the wrong friggin' side of the ******' street
Or probably in the middle, come to think of it.
'Sure but Sean's the best driver this side of the Blarney Stone,
And there's no way himself would ever drive under the influence'*
They agreed sagely before going off for another jar or two
And maybe a double knee-trembler with Deidre's fat sister,
One up each of her gaping hair-rimmed orifices.

I.
There was a time,
remember?
My God how you smiled.
Your perfect crooked teeth,
the freckles on your *******.

All of it, designed to keep me.
How I love to be kept.

II.
Some nights, when there is no
noise in the hall, I think of you.
I wonder where you are, if you're
sleeping, if you're laying awake,
as I am, thinking of the other.

Even in this time, where conversations
are carried out blind on airwaves
and in text, I dare not call.
I don't want to wake you.

III.
Ours is an odd kind of courtship,
this dance we do. Around each other,
around city limits and state lines.
Two drifter souls, trying so hard
to find intimacy.
Trying to find one another,
no matter how far our feet travel,
no matter the distance we put between
ourselves. We search for one
another.

IV.
We lived together. Tried to
co-habituate,
remember?
It wasn't the disaster we thought
it would be. So long as we
had each other. So long
as we didn't bother each other.

We feel like we bother each other now.
We keep our distance.
How we love our ******* distance.

V.
I reach out for you some nights.
I try not to tell you that.
My hand, moving
of it's own accord, feels for your
warm body next to me. Searches
the cold, empty, silent sheets for you.
I try not to tell you that.

I don't know whose benefit I'm considering.
I don't want to hurt you, or
destroy us. We are too wonderful
too magical to mess up.
I just can't keep my feet from wandering
away. From bringing me places
I've never been.

I'm not in control of my hands and feet.
Not anymore.
It wasn't always this way.

VI.
Remember?

My skin is p a  l e
My body c o ld
     And in my chest lies a broken heart of fools gold
My re alit  y   I  on ce knew is ha z  y    a nd n on exist en  t
It's grown old
     And I'm becoming tired of being bold
And being told right from wrong
      I'm sinking softly down when I don't know how to swim
  Every inch that I further lose from possibility to stay afloat is lessening my want or need for a life boat
    Every breath I attempt to take fills my lungs with ugly pseudonyms and sends me down deeper into my lonesome underpopulated town inhabited only by fragments of once strong relationships that i held so close to me that I c ould n't  b reat h e, the relationships that kept my entire being from sinking in the first place.
   I'm drowning and I can't see what's even in front of me
       I'm a ship bound by anchor to the wrong bad habits of shedding my   blood willingly to bloodthirsty ravenous sharks in the sea of my minds eye
       This was once a safe harbor for the ones I kept close
  The ones that knew what mattered to me and the ones I cherished most
      Now its a sea full of  gh o sts
Of the people I trusted them the most
    I trusted them to not turn on me or use me like a host
And now I'm the one  dro w ning
I' m    so  sca re      d
   Now when I share my harbor it feels so
    U    n    fa    i r
        They don't understand what I risk give to let them be there
It never harbors in their heart as deeply as it does mine
     The possibility of even defining how hard it is to let these ships safely     pass through this harbor will now and forever never be able to escape  my pale numbing lips
    Only silence
Everything here is just riddled with murderous crashing waves
   Any relationship that enters I try so desperately to save
     And in that attempt
  The harbor starts to misbehave
            The waves destroy every boat or anything that floats
  Anything at all to help me cope with being so alone or the feeling of even remotely being at home.
      My fingertips are numb and cold and starting to fold and I can't feel those things I could before
I just want all of this over
N o    m   o re   dro w n    i n          g
All my life boats have sunk
    Now I'm just stuck
     All these hands and graves are grabbing at me and pulling me down        ev ery   whi ch     wa y  at  the
    bott om of the
oce an
u  nd   er

     al l
th e s     e  
    
h e   a     v y


               waves.

A drunken ould sot named O'Reilly
Drank a bottle he thought of most highly.
On his way to the well,
He stumbled and fell,
And was hoist upon his own shilleilly.

I** walk down the hallway, keeping my head bowed low
No one looked my way, no one said "hello"
So many people, but they didn't know I was there
Invisible I seemed, to all everywhere
Going into class, I went to take my place
Nobody saw me, nobody recognized my face
It kinda looked like I was part of the four walls
Figuring I seemed a ghost, like I was in the hall
I shrugged and closed my eyes shut tightly
Could it be that no one can hear nor see me?
Answers were received for the rest of the day
Nothing I do seemed to make people look my way
This goes to show how unimportant I am

I want(ed) people to stop talking to me

So that I c(ould)an think profoundly of you

I want(ed) to go home so that I c(ould)an lay in bed and think of you

I th(ought)ink about you every chance I g(ot)et, my love I d(idn't)on't want you to know this because I know that you don't

Love is(was) thinking about you even when you weren't around

My love, I analyze(ed) every moment that we've spent together from that first time you held my hand to the last I heard of your soft breaths on the phone on a Monday when you left me.

A** crazy little thing we desired to fall
Believably that it was true
Could it possibly an imagination or just for real?
Dreaming or falling on the right way
Eventually would fade or maybe would stay
Facing the love of your life it sound so crazy
Going back and forth only to see her every day
How love could mean and change the world to you
In denial at first, but **** you hate it & you love it at the same time
Just trying to catch and realize that it was you
Knowing how much it means a lot.
Love? how wonderful it is
Moved you the hard way you could get
No space that you could filled but only her that you give in.
Oblique spheroids that turn us
Questioning if its round or circle
Rapidly is not enough to find someone like you
Searching for love? you don't have to
The love will just find you at the right time
Unbelievable right? &
Very unrealistic to believe.
Wait & be patient, while
X is marking you to cross the path
You'll never know it will just knock out of your door
Zest is along the way!

I replay it in my head

L osing our temper
O verthinking
V iolent words
E xaggerations

Y ou walked
O ut the door
U ncivilly

S till, I wait
T omorrow you might come back
I leave the door unlocked
L isten to our song
L et it play over and over again

I pour another glass

A llowing myself to
L ose my mind
W ondering
A pologizing to myself
Y our voice in my ears
S uffocating my thoughts

W ould it have ended differently
I f I had let you win
L et go of my pride
L ooks like we'll never know

- p. winter

there are no words
for the way my ski
n electrifies when y
our smoke wraps ar
ound our bodies and
sends shivers down m
y spine because you a
re trickling your finge
rs down my ribs and s
ometimes i can not hel
p but think about how
blood felt trickling dow
n my wrists and by the
time you came around
i was so far gone that i
'm more than surprised
about how someone wh
ose smile is always six m
iles wide could love some
one who wants to be bur
ied six feet under and if i
lost the chance to tell you
that i love you, then i don
;t know where i would be
and if i make my bed in a
grave before you do i hop
e you never pick up the bo
ttle again and try to find s
olace because we both kno
w that anesthetics are neve
r any different from poison
s and if your nerve endings
remember my touch and y
our breath gets short but h
eavy when you think you j
ust got a text from me but
you remember that the te
xt will never come; i want y
ou to know that i love yo
u and that you can make it
through anything and if yo
u do just one thing in my r
emembrance then i want y
ou to never ******* drink
my taste away because no
matter how strong you se
em i still think that my p
assing will make you a lit
tle uneasy and a little diff
erent maybe and i wonde
r if you'll cry anywhere c
lose to as much as i used t
o cry on a nightly basis a
nd will you sneak out an
d walk down to the stop
sign where we exhaled a
nd inhaled smoke and we
held each other and ****
man when i laid on the as
phalt i still wished a car w
ould come speeding by e
ven though that's so ****
ed up and this isn't even a
poem it's just a ****** up
story but if you ever love
d me at all, you won't pi
ck up the bottle- you wo
n't take a shot even if it m
eans remembering the tr
igger.

Trip Sitter Poem by Rob Sandman

We’ve all got a friend like this of course,
Istabraq, Seabiscuit the ould warhorse,
Snortin like a whale inhaling at the surface,
Smokes til just lookin’ at them makes your lungs hurt its-
Amazing grace while you’re off your face messed up,
They’re in the corner laughin' - not a hair mussed up,
Not out of place in the place to be,
The opposite in fact a life saver to see,
Always at your back with a friendly shoulder,
A spliff, skins smokes-well timed glass of water

Not immune or a ******- just seasoned,
When you’re lost-beyond all reason,
Lost the end of your sentence?-they’ve got it,
a well tuned part in the heart of the party chaotic,
The calm center of the whirlpool, Deadpool-
Quick with a line, not too cuttin’ but nobodies fool,
trip sitter, designated brain at the sesh,
A little OCD maybe, but  nonetheless,

We’re all thankful with a full tankful
Its gas havin' a laugh knowin' you can bank full-
Confidence in your mates if you trip,

But no mercy with the quips,  quick! zip your lips
If you’re not in full control of the tongue,
They’ll be followin’ the slips and zip down your lungs
You’re a wounded gazelle on the plains and they’ll lunge,
Like a cheetah once you’ve taken the plunge

I’m not talkin of only one person of course,
We all take turns as the tour de force-
goes round
Like a Merry go round sound friends abound
While you’re bewildered the wildebeest takes the crown,
Don’t know about you, but I’m blessed with a few true-
Trip sitters babysitters life fitters diametrically opposed to bullshitters

*Sideplitters with one liners that leave you gaspin’
For air beyond compare got the grasp and flavor
Best savour the moments-they’re all too few ,
Best friends are saviours  who help you pull through,
So lets all give thanks to the big hitters,
Thanks lads and lasses I’m always grateful for me trip sitters!

A collision!
Everyone frantic
All worried about

The people
     Are they ok?

          The damages
               How much to fix that?

                    The traffic
                         How long is this gonna hold me up?


But maybe...


   C  ould we all just stop for a minute and
   R  ecalibrate our priorities to truly
   A  ppreciate the incredible variety of
   S  ounds joining together in perfect
   H  armony as the cars smash into one another?


Go ahead
Call me calloused
But listen:


Squeal Screech Honk Bam Boom Smash Bang Clank
Wham Crack Thwack Rattle Whoosh Hiss Gasp

But mostly
That unmistakable
Hauntingly mellifluous

CRASH!!!

Could you,
Loosen your grip on my reigns?
Obviously, you
Can't see how you're,
Killing me softly
Where am I now? Where do I sleep?
Over and over it replays on my mind,
Reverbirating sound of whips tearing my skin
K**indly put me down, and just put me out of my misery.

maybe
you've-had-it-right
all/  a/    long
i. don't. know.
how.
toslowthislove;
D.  O.        wn.
~~sp~in~
sWEll
some\shallow\attempt
《 》》 to inhale》
your <lips>
in. my.      mouth.
fing er s on
my _ veins
thighs@myshoulders
your )( redolence )(
your-hair
the mellllllttttt
we = feel
your °look°
my
STare
& who w{c}ould
ever
(want to)
For _ Get
that¿
[my] dear

C ould you,
L oosen your grip on my reigns?
O bviously, you
C an't see how you're,
K illing me softly
W here am I now, where do I sleep?
O ver and over it replays on my mind,
R everbirating sound of whips tearing my skin
K indly put me down, and just put me out of my misery.

rightrightleft
                       slip
          slip
right                     left(hook)
dance d  a  nc    e fleshy mote
in starkness sparkle
pearl violence; youyou you you
thought you
c                     ould
touch me butbu bu bbu
but now
              you wither in a sweatish slumber
on this canvas shore
as a sheet of vibrations corona
on the mingled flames of my accurate
d      e    s    
                    truction;
(did you really think you'd win


                                                        
                    
                                                              ?
                                                                                          )

Grow win groan… mark off/28jul2022, upgrades check…
I  said I would, if I believed I could, gain, that actual
ever interest turning every fifty years, on unpaid
Jubilees among the feeble minded,
all of the people, some of the time.
- Interesting times, since ever I was aware
- compounding mistakes as hates, oy vey
- Travail, travel, wanderer drawn away
- Covid positive
by an un-listed wind,
an anomoly
on a nano
scale
- not that either, I lost count, yes
weight as value - {always} a war making ideas heavy,
salt thirsting from inside the wall, the system
makes the body drink so I may think, all is well
with my soul.
Weight-wise, I am alive,
worth then is measured
in might as might may prove choice of - el, yes, well
el, we all nod, we find the sound early to disting-wish

so. way say it, we are right our way, we drink
from our own wells, tanks we make, when we may.
We save on the surface the sheen, squinting eye tech
see in snow pieces of eight,

right
-- self assembling nano tech with a
built
in
programing language. But, I add, in my mind
but, on or off- but on, in breath
the living things are
running programs
built. Built in ifery ever, if the system forms,
the system must be activated or nothing occurs
to you to
bring
life
--- I'm not clear, is right conscience or conscious, with use
of science sense signals set
to know
when
intentional design is a tribe ID-word.
- we designed this thing we are in, or on, or about/
- maybe
(rules against saying intelligent design rule the teacher,
not the peacemaker, being minded to know all the magi-tech,
and more, when it comes to rules
in love and war, life,
per se, ain't fair.
Pay the piper and the mind that tuned the whistle
in my denture
to this peculiar signal)

morought-othephic resonance vector infection- Þ
check
genome editing crisper- thorny issue
check
Þ
humanizing pigs, honest.
craig ventor lifemaker?
He is known
for leading the first draft sequence
of the human genome
- using a mind formed after the bomb.
- there is a mark in time, for each first time.

tools, yeast synthesis, is this a war?
Physical war being planned
against our eukariotic soul mother, brother

is this
from Wonderbread,
an antibiotic problem or mere remaining wrong ideas?
Is it like…
cancer - or Chaucer in the shade, as the lackeys towed that
barque, 'n'**'st that bale, bo andoncha know
nobody steals a $400 bale o' good Montana hay for no reason…
there was a needle in that role,
a piercing maddening cross-referrent occurrence implicated
as interference pre'ferencing prefer not all you wish,
pre-referencing the author's op-own imagined experience…
meaninglessness is hard to market.
- I already read the writing on the wall metaphor
- I know the names I'll find, I just
- can't remember those two.

---checksums all the way down if/then/else
find a way to live.
Identify the man you were, read him in.
When he's his old, he'll seal the exploit.
Cancer decides, for itself,
that's all I can make from the confusion here,

there must be some kinda way outa here

You recall, said the Joker, to The Thief
meaningful work.
Guiding to death.
Shall I solve your meaningless ness, or my own?
Or might I

find the meaning built in,
that black box with the built in
programing language that
Singularity University guy said is so important,
the built in
programing language that
is so important,
the built in
programing language that
is so important,
the built in
programing language that


… interest, drew me, what drew you?
compounding
Life. Me, too.
Divine interest in life, especially the mortal aspect,
as pertains to life and godliness and all,
that came with this acceptance
of dominion, within the bubble I am pre-pressured
with somewhere
- so excited- jumpy-ohshit-spot
- runs
between plumb and puredy **** sure.

Having entered again the as-if realm, that m on the end of real

means money maybe maybe not knot ex-acted
see
a door? a narrow way few see? mmmm
Follow or flee, ennui, as for me,
I believe I've heard treasure is truth.

I dare be, yond all I ever knew, to make answer-able
prayers. I be for no other reason my reasonability
allows, but to trouble the water and watch it settle
- silver screen in the thymus meme-ory device
Sno-globe meditation technique, practiced in secret since…
who knows, but crystal ***** did do something.
People can look at sno-globes for ever,
and never grow weary of the novelty.

For some, simple is good, good is simple.
God is light.
Where light is…not
nothing is.
Evil thing in my mind, you have been certified nullified.

Wind war? I inherited the wind.
I know why the broad Sargasso sea is so still, willo'mywinds
whisper
Peacemakers come from homes troubled in the making.
The fecting up of the Peacemaker, protrudes
effective peacemaking is more
preclusive
unsettling,
Dear Rhea rumbling at more
pressure boiling for her to loose some
air.
Cultures sharing antibodies for old evils.
Once the evils men imagine are exposed,
refreshen the air. Take another hit,
message accepted,
we can handle those
acting-as-if the losers won,

but none need lose, for life, per se,
in the realm of mega-we,
life is seen
most precious by all men.

Some men may dare to despise their own flesh,
(despise means not look at, spek means look at, in many tongues)

however,
never shall life despise some men and look kindlish at others.
Salt, be salt, water, water, you, you
-insert Markov blankness
life has proven itself in you. Be or not is not the quest.
Go, be more alivening, is the quest.
Be a little leaven, a viral bit of peace,
just past understanding,
well within reach.

Be alive, and where you live, make peace so life may
may -be empowered to- make peace so life may
dub thee Troen Ridder
truth-be-told, teller
maker-of- peace so life may
increase abundantly good forever
for no better reason

than if you had your own way we would be friends.

Search for a video of sanctioned war in germ terms
eleven days from minimum

survivable dose MSD

to total ******* and

destruction of both sides, unless
the bubble of all they have learned can be

pressurized, from the insides,…
Thanks, yawn. stretch, sneeze
Pop.

I heard about Alamogordo. Thanks for that, too.

rightnow. what does fear of not knowing a known

feel like, suffering wise, scale of 1 to 10?

How about (odd phrase, eh) we suffer, instead,
the fear of the un
known

Nova Sanctorem sorta stuff. Book learned
spells mispoken by orphans

sifting through the ashes of all that went before,
enchanting, if one child finds a drum,

safe from the fire in the secret place,
child strikes the drum one time

wait
echo

Did your home place echo?
During day, or during night?

In my desert, it is both.
- go to where stories lie at rest.
With this drum and my echos,
we may finish your migration

Walk a mile with me, let me help you
with your bag,
your thing, trip, scene

Remember then?
Enchanting times with different echoes

Ancient, old as dirt, snake clan secret
extreme mental challenge trials.

Now. What's the missing or broken
ness you all are murmuring

how about? May I?

May I understand comprehension of perceptions
in the interest of interesting times,

which, when I was told that

"may you live in interesting times", is
alleged, an Imperial curse,
which, first,
by then, I had all ready taken if-that for
granted as good will toward me.

I considered it diligently
I sought the sweet influence of Pleiades,

I did. Lucky Luciano and the Polish word Lekka

Luck is a factor if luck is originally
onto logical epi stem strateg-ic
clear light, magi-tech-wise.

There is evidence. The rocks bear my significance
-in 2022
If I can, try sign if I can, and no sir not can sir
but breathe sir
censor, sweet sense or else

the most benign of the self-righting models
to embody
the six spins in one bubble.

could stumble and fall and have no means to right,
get the signal, right itself, per se,
if wrong fail of function better next time…ping
we wer- yea, verily ver-ifity confirmed
it-ify-ing evil, first
really.
Life in mere terms,
words live here, we know
Intentional wrong precedes right
in my experience of living while waiting for you.
but once you have a grip on evil
as a thing in your own realm,
under your dominion;

then, don't miss a wink.
sleep tight, don't dis-integrate and wake up crazy.

When Ezekiel saw the model, if he saw the model,
he'd, he 'ould have been well and truly
amazed, aclaimin', in awe, I saw

"wheels within wheels within wheels bubblin'
bib-lin' bubblin' in my soul"

banjo and fiddle, painful for an orphan
yearnin' to learn ttdrr drum that drum

My drum. The drum I found in the secret place
I knew was there, after the fire.

-----
Ah, Christmas, the message with its own,
built in medium to grow in with no competition.

The least suspected are all infected.
That Usual Suspects, all those sick social memes, as if

the war of numbers was a game for cannon founders

Krupp and whom, Red Shield in the ghetto?
I don't think that makes
all the sense in the world.
who was Warburg…{question or mark of timing}

-- we had things between scenes, glyphs, right
let's have a gliph,if we edit- I am this-Þ, as an after thought
Þ is the th sound among certain ancient tongues,
deafness separation and blind singers grown wealth in wine.

The act has formed another wedom,
and we have joined them on fi, okeh, fi-semper
in fiduciary, and rests, in truth compressed
Trust. On the dime
flip. Truth rests.
On this page again, a different me,
indeed, as different time, I'm
certain, fluidity of space, currents

swirling up three dimensions, six ways
measured from now at the center, once,

now at the edge, stretching one point,
to a pivot,
turn around and wonder what we do,
we mortal watchers, consuming life to live…

questing questions ion-
state, condition, or action, quest
quaerere "seek, gain, ask"

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=quest>

Can you think slowly? I can. Several volumes back,
we, discovered Jello-timespace, blinkable
and rubbable dry bubble eyes, murine
is accessible, state conditions or act

as if I were a maker of peace,
on the grandest scale,
would I fret living
for no reason
but one I made up, from bits of others,
made up from matters cogitated to troubled
state conditional actions
made up, fantasized, built to imagine going past,

a mountain of a man, big bad Yohan,
mean, mean, mean man,

I mean it, always.

6-19-2022 2200
- not so long ago, then
Father's day, lotsa laughs,

little error allowed, the fineness,
sorting racist fear from awareness,
the culture does produce to patterns,
common genetics, tend to produce
select models of all the options,
over and over and over again,
a loss
a complete misconception of my reason
able faith, applied, no lies, only big stories,
yes, I cannot remember what was real
and what was what I would have done,

then I remember the gun, I did tell that
guy with the gun
to stop. And he did.

Then the other guy, the one with the
shot gun, he has in my face,
and I am ready,

see, I say, to me today, I am ready

if I were you, you would think nothing
p-- I am too
tired and slightly drunk to care,

of course, the course is parseltongue tested,
listen, hiss, you know, the warning,
I own this space this time,
the serpent says to me,
I laugh and stomp it,
I made that snake,
it was not real.

You know how I feel,
daring, don't give a dam
gonna do another show,

rock and roll reality, believe me,
we have the Sisyphus's, happy
engine wound up and ready,

but Sisyphus quit.
Got to the top and said, that's it
I quit.
And time stopped in that sector.

Go look.
Nothing changes and Sisyphus
is happy as Hell to have nothing to do.

I want something cooler, reader five,
blackbandit-double-ought shot
pick a sigel jelly sidgil  sign damint spel chek
you know what I mean, magic it sigil -right
I guessed that.
My son in law cringes at my cultural crassness.
I think jews come in more recognizable patterns
than cultures that abandoned the marriage restrictions.

"At least --- did not marry a ------" Oy, right, mix race,
half-breed
race as a what, eh?
what we weigh is race, we do not know,
they said we know, but we don't so, no more, race
is a wrong idea,
not right.
The flavor, the leaven and spices and plagues of
cultures, idea - a we of one earth
- call Covid leaven,
- we all been co-leavened
- we all share simbionts,
- earth is our home and our calling is to be good.
- Spirit inspire expire ssssssss
that is a people, idea that shapes a people
cultures, symbiosis chimera are we, carriers
post all we all survived, we are carriers of all it took.


Quiet, the ride, holy silencio, yohan let it be son,
grow old and burn your pages/
slow skip staged events…

Okeh, from the beginning I am the auth-oth- or that
maker up, of my faith, author and glosser, shiner, finisher
on elements at work in melody and har,mmmmoney
echoes, eeeee
we agree, that is no reason to dare see it so,
we are all, by nature's god, double-minded,
doubt not is a trick of the trade,
ɤ thistledo-find a phoneme that fits kid
unify, un yonder run un if un if un if I die I knew
you know, knowing good and evil, was the plan,

nothing was a secret, once in a life time you may know.

Strong…
That’s…
What Everyone…
Sees…

Being Me?

That’s…
My…
Facade…

But no one…
Could ever *See…
Me…

But *You...
I think…

And you’d always…
Talk to me...
Speak to me…
And tell me…

That I’m weak…
Very…
Very  Weak...

And you’ll Cry...
And you’ll Plea…
You’ll Call...
And you’ll Scream...

That…

Mentally…
I’ve Lost…

Emotionally…
I’m Tired…

Physically…
I’m Broke…

And
I...
Would deny your claim...

W**...
Do you Think...
You Are?

You…
Can’t See…
Through my  Facade…

...But…

You…
May be...
Right  Though…

Maybe...

You’ve Once...
Told your  Friends...


That…
If They Look at me…
Closely...


They…
Could See Me...
Breaking…

From the Pressure?


Emotionally…
Literally...

But Baby...
You  Know…
You are  Wrong...


Because...
You've  Forgotte­n…
One  Last Thing...


It's that...
I Am…
But…
A Porcelain Doll...

Shoulder
Shoulder
S**ulder
Should*­er

It's weird because I feel an icy chill in my veins and through out my body but I have this attraction to fire.
I love fire.
The flames are so mesmerizing.
I just cant get enough of it.
I ould stare at a fire for hours.
I think it's my body internally searching for the warmth and power that I lack.

My soul is lost
Entangled with flaws
Noting to exist
Acquiesce with a hissed

Miracle could happen
Albeit what the situation is
Remember all the things have reason
Could only wish to use it in my decision
O*de to humanity express with a deepest certainty

three days of freedom
full acceptance of full self
from friendly ould soul

Ayeye..I   could have held you  longer
If I had held you stronger ...maybe baby youoooo.....
.....Woo ould  have
Kept  me   closer ...to the very heart of ...
What it was that we were part of
When ayyyye ayyybelieved  ...it WAS the start of
Mooroarr than I...I ..I had evVER even con...ceived

Nowow .ow i dont even know how long I have gr..ieved
Or how loONG I will go on grieving  
I neee.ever knew that you were leaving
Leaving me    to my ...heart ache
I just can't take it.... bearing down
Like the weight of the whole world
Is sitting sqaa AIR on my poor shoulders
Baaaack when she held me ever closer to her
hear r r RT
When I heard her say so ,but I wasn't ready....
  ........to let myself ish ness hold hers .

I picked up this ol' guitar
a couple of years ago,
and just started walking
when I had nowhere to go.

Don't know where I'm headed,
I don't wanna join no band,
but I'll see the end of every road
before I die, if I can.

Somewhere down this road I'm on,
someone's feelin' just as alone,
and if I sing loud enough,
this could be more than "Just a song."

[guitar solo]

Now I seen friends and lovers,
and children all pass away,
I felt like an old man
at the age of 28.

When I get to feelin' lonely
and wishing for the life I had,
I sit down on the corner,
strum a while and put out a hat.

I don't know no "Jesus,"
but if you a prayin' man,
put in a good word for me,
wish God 'ould help this traveling man.

[very short music break]

Now I aint say all this for pity,
I don't need nothin' from you.
But somewhere out there's someone
feelin' like I do.

Somewhere down this road I'm on
someone's feeling just as alone,
and if I sing loud enough
this could be more than just another song.

© All Rights Reserved , Patrick W. Hamilton , 04-24-2015

fli》ck》》ed to the ground
smash me down
not\be. fore\ you\ set
my skin on fire
how _  i _ burn _  for _  you
suckmein
sweet s[ed]uction
ling^er^ in your mou^^th
{your breath
my desire}
if only// i were a nasty habit
¥ou €ould. not. break.
itwouldbeenough
to stick; around