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Nat Lipstadt Dec 2016
A minyan is an assembly of ten Jews.  With ten present, the group can perform a fuller service, adding congregational prayers that an individual alone cannot say, and in heaven, received, as if from a 
more powerful, unified voice.

~~~
Satan laughing with delight at the happy news,
unusually proud of his soul-retrieving,
red state minions,
having scored late in the '16 season,
a long awaited prize,
a high priest of music, a hallelujah singer
just come  cross the borderline,
once a mere earth bound legend,
now to be mockingly enjoyed
in this, his legendary peculiar tier of heaven
~
a banner year it was, a cornucopia of new arrivals,
singers, songwriters, composers, conductors, rock 'n rollers,
itinerant blues musicians,
who as a rule, were not the most faithful observers
of the Ten Commandments and its host of detailed relatives
~
body and drug abusers,
of traditional morals, not such big users,
and as for their *** lives,
best not discussed in front of the baby devils,
just quite yet
~
all this made for easy "pluckings,"
as he smiled devilishly, his own ironic sense of humor,
an added delight for the new American Pie
that would forever serenade him henceforth
~
indeed this Leo-nine most new arrival,
intensifies the pleasure,
for deep in this one had waxed the god-spark,
his own fractured demise,
now allowing the cracks of light to be closing,
lessening by an immeasurable fraction
the despised joy to the world
-
then a raucous rustling heard,
a voice unseen but siren penetratingly heard proclaiming:

**** you Satan,
this time you've gone too far!

return unto me them all,
for you have overstepped the boundaries I have constructed
when birthed I the universe so long ago

these children, mine,
for though they were not perfect in their lives,
they perfected ever so much my designs,
the world I granted them,
with their music, voice and hands,
absolving them of all their sins

Surrender to me them all!

my Prince,
my lion, Cohen, high priest of my temple,
my haggard and worn Merle,
the greyed and Frey'd eagle, Glenn,
Natalie, daughter of the Earth King of Cole,
my rose of Sharon Jones,
my Emerson and my Lake,
Leon Russell,
my white bearded russet
who wrote 'A Song For You,'
the Duchess, Patty,
my Bobby Vee,
the first ro see
'the night has a thousand eyes,'
Frank Sinatra Jr., his fathers torch bearer,
my David, my right arm, my Bowieknife carrier,
who fell from heaven and needs returning unto me,
mine own Kanter,Jeffersonian pilot of my Airplane,
my Michael, George,
my Martin, George,
who never sang a word
but gifted us some Beatles,
My black and White Maurice,
who reignited the Earth, with Wind and Fire

all these mine and all the musicians of this year,
they have died, but not their music,
now to join my heavenly chorus,
my musicians' minyan
Second of a trilogy, but the first one posted,
about Leonard Cohen

Kohen or cohen (or kohain; Hebrew: כֹּהֵן‎, "priest", pl. כֹּהֲנִים‎ kohanim) is the Hebrew word for priest used colloquially in reference to the Aaronic priesthood. Jewish kohanim are traditionally believed and halakhically required to be of direct patrilineal descent from the biblical Aaron. The term is colloquially used in Orthodox Judaism in reference to modern day descendants of Aharon, brother of Moses.

Among the few remaining responsibility of a cohen today is the chanting of the priestly  blessing in the synagogue on high holy days in a special tune, instantly recognizable  by every Jew.   When the  Jewish priest chants the blessing, the Spirit of God is presumed to become present in the synagogue, and all bow their heads, fathers cover their children's eyes, lest one witness  god's image. Ironically, the special way that a cohen extends his arms and holds his fingers in a V  shape, was borrowed by another Canadian Jew, Leonard Nimoy, as inspiration for Spock's  greeting.

see en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing

see
//jewcy.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/leonard-nimoy-vulcan-salute-yiddish
Dripping wet
December gets
It frets
The rains have overstepped

It’s not July
No not September
It’s been long August has slept

Winters just checked into December
Changing the air to mode, cold
But the rains have overstepped

Cold and wet December gets
Last it is, but never the least
Brings in joy and festivities

Within a day or maybe two
The rains will vanish in thin air
Pleasant weather and sunshine
December makes promises fair
1st December
solana Jul 2019
i desire for you, so badly, to fit into the fabric of my life. to let me into your deepest fears. to laugh with me when i need to be reminded that life is full of joy as much as sorrow.
even now, i wish you were sitting with me in this house by the sea. but the truth is that you’re not. you’re two thousand, three hundred miles away. even further is your heart from mine.

because the truth is that i tore you from the fabric of my heart. and i’m sorry. i know that no apology could ever bring you back. but i want you to know i am. i’m sorry i overstepped your boundaries. i’m sorry i broke your heart.

you knew it was best for you to leave. whether that is good for me, i still don’t know. but i want you to know that i want the best for you, and if the best thing for you is to not know me anymore, i accept that. i hope this distance is helping you heal.

what i do know is that right now, i am sitting in this house by the sea. watching the waves break over rocks. crashing into each other, too. my wave broke against your rock and retreated back into the ocean. and in the period when our waves superimposed, you reminded me that it’s okay to take a chance on love. that when i push people away with my vicious, vicious words, everyone gets hurt. including me. and maybe some people are not meant to love me forever. maybe some loves are just meant to pass by. but it doesn’t make them any less important.
ShaeZen Jan 2014
All the Wrong
All the Right
the moments of Dread
Out shined by the Delight
The sun
Erupting out of my heart
a feeling so right
So effortless
So true
The only problems stemmed from within you.
I own up to my own mistakes
my own choices
the road to my fate

I think of the rights
and the wrongs
the boundaries that were overstepped,
ignored, and spit on
I can understand how the distance,
the lack of Intimacy,
could drive someone to fulfill their own needs.
But what is unacceptable to me
was the dishonesty.

We were open from the start
or so i assumed.
The talks of what we wanted,
what we were willing to go through.
It was all in line, so all we would have
to deal with was the time.

I couldn't force you open,
i didn't want to at first.
but being 500 miles away,
combined with the hurt.
I realize I overstepped
my own boundaries.
By disrespecting yourself,
i blindly followed your lead.

I have learned from it
I have the knowledge to succeed.
You have been my greatest teacher
I now take my own lead.
The Wicca Man Jul 2016
Gaia sighed. Not a sigh like lovers sigh looking deeply into each other's eyes. This was a sigh of resignation. In all her long life, there had never been a time she felt as unheeded as now.

Yes, there had been a time once, a time of oneness when all her multitudinous inhabitants had coexisted, when species knew their place in the chain of life and cycled through their existence, not always at peace but with respect for one another: the lion hunted the swift gazelle which in turn fed on the fruits of the trees, parasitic birds and insects grazed upon her and they in turn were the prey of others. ‘Yes,’ Gaia thought, ‘there was a time.’

She sighed again. She remembered when humans first came to prominence in the twilight of her existence. To them, she was the Great Mother, the Creator of life. Was it not she who bore all her inhabitants and was it not to her that they all returned to continue the cycle?

Gaia felt old now, old and forgotten. That respect, that devotion was all gone now. She felt the hurt as the careful balance she had sought to maintain was eroded, not by wind and elements, but by the ravages of humans.

‘They have overstepped their bounds,’ she mused. ‘They must be taught a lesson.’

She pondered on that thought for a moment and for a moment felt a surge of effervescent warmth flow through her form. But grim reality broke through her musings and she shuddered at the horror of the reality. Her memories were dim and misty now. She could remember her birth but only just. How she had taken form from the cosmic flotsam and jetsam all those countless aeons ago. She remembered the youthful exuberance she exhibited then and she smiled in embarrassed recollection. No life could have survived upon her surface then for she was wild and wilful, hot and inhospitable, prone to savage outpourings. But she grew, she gained the experience of time passing, and slowly, slowly, her voluble exterior became calm and gradually her form was blanketed in a kindly cloak of life-sustaining gases. The soup of her oceans spawned and multiplied a myriad of lives and forms and she thought of how many she had seen come and go.

The present again broke through her meditation of what has gone before. Now she was approaching the nighttime of her existence and, like the old elephant, one of her favourite inhabitants, she knew her time was near. She had tried so hard to adapt, to compromise but, like a cancer, the human scourge had spread beyond all control. Oh yes, there had been a few voices raised in concern and some, she knew, spoke with all the sincerity she knew the species was capable of. But, those voices went unheeded, listened to by a few but ignored by the many. Gaia was tired. She hurt. Sol bore down on her savagely, relentlessly and she felt her protective shroud growing weaker and weaker as every moment passed. It was now, the time had come...

© David Simons 2001 (revised 2016)
Ok, not strictly speaking a poem but poetic prose (!?). Take from this what you will.
Dark Paradox Aug 2010
Through the darkness in my head
My obsession has once again risen.
While in the throes of madness unleashed,
The evil within, unbridled, free rein was given.

What havoc was wrought and damage was done,
When society’s norms and politeness were no more.
Friendship long cultivated and relished by me
In my darkness, was damaged to the core.

Things were said, I know not what.
Things not remembered, in the darkness in my mind.
Only a message received from one held so dear.
“You overstepped the line, Friend, our ties no longer bind.”

Gone now, forever, someone once so dear,
While in the darkness, the madness, hidden in my mind.
I’ve since asked forgiveness, but the damage was great.
When caught in obsession, in madness, I was unkind.
1/2009
Kenny Brown Mar 2012
Leave now and never come back,
Make your way down to the grimy grotto.
See that looking glass in the corner, go ahead,
Pick it up and stare, Is it the six-winged seraphim
That you’re facing or ****** victor under the pile.
Climb the ladder, but pocket the overstepped rungs.

Trace the line backwards and unearth missing links,
Hmm the consistency is barbed disorderly.
Run, run by my side faithful friend as Prometheus
Steps on the vehicle for tomorrow. They will say,
Oh lord what happened, a ******* Samaritan.
The more recent blackness is overtaken by the
Distant marooning of this celestial being,
After swimming desperately to the island.
Once we reach land I’ll grab the pistol out of
My pocked and pull the trigger, point blank to the
Back of her head.
That shot took a year and
A half to exit the barrel.

Can you hear me down there, it’s been about three
Maternal cycles since I climbed up on this web and
The reflection of the sunlight burns my eyes.
My stomach’s got eight legs and fangs what’s yours like?
Excuse me where do you keep the ether?
I’m familiar with it’s presence being on the threads.
I walk like Easter Island shoreline in a cage.
I walk like living liquid frozen stiff on stage.
Shhh, quite down, listen close and make eye contact,
You’ll hear the speech impediment
Of a boy with a slit tongue, covered in too much skin.
Treading over clean floors after trekking through mud
Is dangerous, you might have to clean up after yourself.
And we all know how that one hates to work.

Why did you eat that when your mother told you not to?

Then callused skin grew soft and the sun began to rise,
I’ll slap you right now, look in the eyes of the wise.
Walk into the council meeting and personify it’s order,
Your ****** is so good it’ll take divine intervention
To open the canal. It’ll even shine in my throat,
Pass the billy goat and locate the proper vocal chord.
Tippin the pH scale with that step, doctor please.
Throw out half the goods and follow Basho.

Joints stretch during slumber.
I peered into my atoms, threw out the
Electrons and picked up a cow tongue at the
Local farmers market.
judy smith Feb 2017
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
Ashley Jun 2018
Mirror mirror on the wall
Tunnel vision on the flaws
In the scale of things it’s unimportant
So no talking but it’s still an intrusive thought

Tried hard to correct it
But nothing was effective
No-one else seemed so obsessed with it, things were desperate
Until the voice crept in

I can help you, trust me, you’re ready

It seemed dangerous
But it said to have faith in it

The secret is to just be empty

Didn’t know if it was wise to listen
But what could it hurt to try?

P1:
And at first it was working
But then things were emerging
Cracked lips and Tired eyes
I’m hungry with no appetite

I’m shivering and shaking, and I tell myself it’s fine, but
You can’t fool your body, you can only fool your mind, yuh

Empty
I just need to be empty
Hide from anybody who’ll prevent me
Just fill up on water and shame
No, I’m not hungry, I just ate

I’ve developed a taste for this
Endure the neverending ache
Convince myself I’m in control and it’s not
All that voice that makes me sick

C:
Inside it’s empty
Ana- I know it’s wrong
I’m looking but I can’t see myself

Inside it’s empty
Ana- I know it’s wrong
But it’s so hard to stop it alone

V2:
Been getting even worse
All the days begin to merge
Just a blurry haze and now it’s
Almost second nature to ignore the urges

Can’t trust my own nature
Every calorie a failure
Gotta push the intake down every day
‘Cause the voice comes back to say

You want to eat?   Bite your tongue

Don’t want to stay an embarrassment
just have to stomach it

They don't know what you want
A tug of war against common sense
don’t wanna believe that I’ve overstepped

P2:
But it’s so overwhelming
And I hope no-one can tell
‘Cause the numbers keep decreasing
This ordeal is becoming routine, check

Arms back neck thighs **** it in and Pinch my sides
The scales are betraying me, the mirror is a lie, yeah

Numbers
It all comes down to numbers
I know it’s wrong but
Just because you know you’re colorblind
doesn’t mean you can see the colors

Fine, I admit I’m addicted
But the hunger feels good, how do I quit this
I know I could die, I’ve seen the statistics
But the voice is with me through thick and thin

Bridge:
I can reach out
To someone not like me
If you ask for help it doesn’t make you weak

I can reach out
ignore what the voice tells me
I can help my mind learn to trust my body
*Credit to JaidenAnimations & Boyinaband
Sethnicity Sep 2015
What is Love?, but the transporter of the Spirit
Neither Fair or Foul the Truth of it is that we Fear It

When a woman of young age doth see what she desires
No heed nor helm in many a realm will cease her heart to conspire

When a  Boy of Mid-spring doth find his heart leaps
A sure depth charge will not sink his Spirit
no matter how much of his life it will seep.

When a Lady of wisdom feels a warmth at her doors
With lean and eye she may search deeper for more
When at last convinced that the warmth is now welcome
She opens the door to embrace the heat and finds herself well done.

The Man of peppered hair all but wound from steel wool
Has found an Affection a usefulness becoming what he once wield
a Tool
See fit to fend off folly by standing his home bound
Only to find himself a pushed over *** and fallen to ground  

A Woman's desire I have been told is found in security
But with so many tales of reckless Love I find that truth to be insanity
The Truth of Love is that it is a Transport of Spirit
No matter the reason or treason of Flesh
The Heart doth live wherever Love keeps it's Chest  

What is Death?, but a Transporter of the Soul
A bookkeeper the grim reaper no bones just cold  
Created of same maker  for which we are composed

Why shiver at night cept for the chill?
A stranger to warm blood? Doth cringe at the reel?
So willing to wrestle yet biting the bait,
bound to ebb and flow since when water did break


Although unknown we bemoan the truth
After we die Death transports us while aloof
Nothing lost nor gained only a chapter of a book
shelved in the cosmos  I am a seeker so try I and look
It wakes me in sleep when I've overstepped the boundaries
and sweeps like the wind and effects all things around me.

Down on Earth we look up above
Afraid of everything we huddle up;
believing the stories of our peers
building our world on foundations of fear.
Wishing to pass in manifest destiny
in our old age or in quiet sleep and revery
but our demise despite our clouded eyes
is that we must live regardless, flesh will die.

So If I die while I'm awake
the Soul Transporter walks me to Father Fate
I will not fight I will not fuss
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
No matter how I go my soul will bust!
Free of the Flesh like Ship to Sea
Allows me grow into infinite possibilities


"Ashes to ashes Dust to Dust
when the roots get buried the trees grow up
Ashes to ashes Dust to Dust
The Soul is forever So the Force we Trust"...
https://soundcloud.com/thesethnicity/soul-transporter
Onoma Feb 2014
Prelude:
From Fullness swathing, wake left
in wake of...truly, there is no passing
but an Emptying of Fullness.
...Needless to say, ecstatically
vibrating...you have all the blessings
silence can muster.



Could, I would...imbed this sky
in memory, self-proclaim its radiant
blankness upon it.
That I may be what I see, already
in memory of me, though I've come
to know and love...that any personal
touch, is yet an impersonal one.
Bless that which was drawn in, and
drawn out...lay the heart entire upon it.
We are the Knowers of things that stand,
and tilt by degree momently...we are
the Knowers of the last leg, lest it
overstep that which it's overstepped by.
Fit for us, as every other--momentously,
equally fit...the call to life is what silence
took as her deepest secret.
Nothing could wrest this burden from
her hands, for she loves it as her self...
therefore restores what she holds forever.


~Om Namah Shivaya~
Mitchell Apr 2014
IX
After drinks, the two of us walk down Columbus street looking for a back alley ******* Hanes knows about. It's 4pm - far past buffet hours - but happy hour is about to begin and that's what we're looking for. Hanes tells me the last time he was there, one of the dancers snuck up behind him while he was at the ATM and pressed the highest possible number on the screen, something like $500. He didn't have to spend it, but somehow, he did. He left there with a sharp distrust but newfound respect for the stripping world. Everyone's got to get there's somehow.
"Ten dollar cover to get in," the bouncer tells us.
"Good God," I mutter, "It's only four o'clock and you're charging us ten dollars?" I feel the gin tickling the back of my throat, bringing a tingling feeling of authority and righteousness. I know I'm wrong, I know I've overstepped by bounds and have no say in how much they think they should charge two men with no women at four o'clock in the afternoon...but I battle anyways. I must.
"Policy my friend," the bouncer returns, shaking his head in understanding, "I'll get in guys in for five."
"That'll work," Hanes says quickly, handing him a ten and brushing past him.
I pat him on the shoulder as we walk in, "You've done a good thing. A grand thing. A respectable thing." I'm drunk and anything that comes out of my mouth I think to be genius. How far I've gone into the rabbit hole is of no importance to me now. The only things that matters is that I'm there and that eventually, somehow, I'll get out.
I follow Hanes to the bar and put down twenty dollars to whatever he orders. Two Budweiser's. Seven dollars with tip. Pretty good. That excites me. There's something invigorating about cheap drinks in a place one would think to get shafted in. I tip an extra dollar and get eleven back. Hanes nods to an open table by the corner of the stage where there's no one but a single asian man and a plate of hot wings. A pint of ice water sits in front of him and he's all smiles. I don't know why Hanes thinks it's a good idea to party with this gentlemen, but I realize I've never actually understood ever what Hanes thinks is a good idea, so I follow suit. It turns out the asian man is a very fine man on his lunch break from the bank. He's had a very long day he says.
"The boss," he explains, "Is not a nice man. Selfish. Fat. White."
"Ah," I say, ******* back on the beer, "Never good." I watch a girl named Twinkle wrap her thighs around the stainless steel pole and twirl. Her hair is the color of fools gold and her eyes tell me she's been doing this a very long time. I ask the asian man his name.
"Bob," he says, biting into a wing, "You want one?" he asks Hanes.
Hanes waves it off and Bob offers me one. "Thank you, sir," I say.
"Call me Bob."
"Righty right," picking up wing, "Thank you Bob."
"They are very spicy, so watch yourself."
"I will."
Twinkle crawls over to us, her **** hanging from her chest, drooping slightly like honey would if you spooned it out of its jar. She wears a silver cross that dangles with her ****, reflecting the dark neon red and blue lights flashing, wavering above her. She can't be more than 25. I feel myself slipping into feelings of wonder and love, but know that is the trick of the club and how they get you to spend money. Quickly, I paint her in reality: a white t-shirt, some blue jeans, and old sneakers - she is painting her room. She looks lovelier doing this, grounded in something perhaps she loves, maybe even a passion.
She crawls up to me and turns around, thrusting her *** in my face. She bounces it up and down with the rhythm of the music, the heavy bass. I watch her tight flesh roll slightly like tanned waves of the ocean. Glitter floats from her skin as I get a whiff of strong perfume: rose petals and dry white wine. I like her taste and throw her a couple dollars. She bounces her *** a few more times, slower this time for me, then turns around to pick up the ones with her teeth. She is good and knows this.
"Wanna' dance?" she asks, winking at me.
"I would love one, but I promised myself I wouldn't," I say.
"And why's that?" She's dangling her legs over the side of the stage. Her knee caps are red and swollen from crawling on the hard wooden floor. I think they should give these girls knee pads or something, but realize that would really take away from the sexiness of it all. They would like naked electricians or plumbers for christ's sake.
"My father told me never to get a lap dance on an empty stomach."
"Your father," she smiles, "Is a very a smart and funny man."
"Wouldn't want all that blood rushing from my head to down there without any food in me."
She nods, "Could be very dangerous. You're funny. Let me know how you feel after you eat...I gotta' get back on."
"Will do," I tell her, leaving a few more dollars on the edge of the stage. I bend them into V's and place them upside down. She sees this and proceeds to bend over, picking them up one by one, showing me everything. She is snake charmer the way she moves her body, making one think it's all for them. I can see now why this place is so dangerous. She saunters off back up-stage, rocking her hips and her *** back and forth like she were trying to put a baby asleep in their cradle. She is very good and knows it.
"That was interesting," Hanes says. He picks up one of Bob's wings. Bob smiles and motions for us to take more.
"I got the endless deal!" he shouts. The music's gotten louder. "Only cost me $10! I got a beer with it too."
"That's a good deal!" Hanes shout back, "Thanks!"
He takes a couple more and places them on a napkin he got from somewhere. Bob motions for me to take a couple, so I do. The sauce is so hot it seems like its stinging my skin from the outside. My eyes even start to water. For a second, everything around me gets that watery sheen where all mixes together and nothing is hard lined. The hard and heavy bass mixes with my vision. In front of me, a blurred body hangs upside down from a golden holy pole. The image stirs some biblical images in my head, like an angel flying down to Earth or even Jesus being crucified, but upside, naked, and a woman. I put down the wings and furiously rub the sauce on my pant legs. If I were to get any of that poison into my eyes, I would be finished, I thought. Blinking hard three or four times, I let the tears stream down my face. Bob sees this and hands me a clean napkin from his table.
"I know," he says, "It is truly beautiful. Don't be afraid of your emotions. Express yourself. It's ok to cry."
"You're crying?!" Hanes laughs, "Why the hell you crying?"
"I'm not! This ****** sauce is so hot it's making my eyes water."
"These women are so beautiful, you're crying!" Hanes throws his head back, laughing. "I've never heard that one before. They'll give you a free lap dance for sure if you tell them that."
"Maybe the cook will," I say, wiping the tears from my eyes with Bob's clean napkin, "There. Back to normal."
"You OK?" Bob asks me? "You good."
"I'm good," I say.
A new dancer comes out on-stage. Bob seems to know her because he puts all of his wings on the table beside him and rubs any sauce that dripped off. He straightens his thin black tie and subtly smells both of his armpits. He definitely knows this one. She's a thick looking asian girl with a smooth, innocent face. Her hair is long, smooth, and black and it reflects the neon pinks and greens whirling above her. Bob leans over.
"She my favorite," he says.
"I can see that."
"Don't tell her nothing though."
"Why?" I smile.
"I don't want her to think I'm a creep."
"You're not a creep, Bob."
"Then what am I?" He asks, furrowing his brow.
"An admirer."
it is a gift, the friend ship, the kiss

on each cheek with out avoidance.

it may seem continental, yet we are

dolgellau. it is a meeting place, yes,

near the church. there are similarities,

yet this is not a metaphor.

we met at ten, talked of family,

one hour led to two, and overstepped

the parking time.

later in the garden, i thought of you.

i cut the paths and thought of you too.

it is a gift.

sbm.
Ryan Jakes Aug 2014
There was a boundary, a clear line, a stop sign
I overstepped the mark
saw the curve of your smile and wanted to taste it
I watched you, the way your lips drew on your cigarette
the way they move when you speak
and suddenly I was there
leaping the wall between us
breaking barriers that should remain.
I threw caution to the wind
and with a stinging slap you threw me in the trash.
Yes.
I admit I was trying to impress..
..when I said to the girl,
"whatya wearing under your dress"
The boys from the hood thought that was good
But it wasn't so cool
It showed me up for a fool
The tool of the time hanging out on the frontline with the guys going nowhere,uncaring,not sharing and the day washing away slipping like soap from my hands.
The sands trickled down and made me look at lifes timer.
I started to frown.

Then I got off my rear put myself into gear and got back into the drag..lit a *** and started humming to the Strumming banjo playing solo on the radio.

And there..outside Mothercare I saw her again.
She was stood in the rain..looking round,looking fat and I like a pantherised cat leapt to her side,offered her a ride...She replied,

"Oh it's you..what do you want and how do you do"

We talked small talk...gave the car a miss and walked long talk.
I apologised,never realised the good and the bad.
I said,
"who is the Dad"
There was a silence to the footsteps where I'd overstepped a boundary but she understood me and said so quietly, "she didn't know"
We walked real slow.

The tears and our laughter caught up with us some time after and now we are three.
I can see this is the way time always meant it to be.
Me.
Always me but now it's one..two..three.
Happily.
Ever after.
Liz Humphrey May 2012
It hurts me to remember how
she and her laughter made you smile.
I wince even now, watching you in my head,
replaying the moment you used your eyes to speak
with her in a way I thought reserved for me.

Friendship has boundaries:
boundaries once overstepped are hard to renew.
I crossed the river
and tried to cross back for both our sakes.
I maintain success. I must. For us.

But thinking how she came so close,
how if she’d chosen you instead,
how if she’d danced you to the end,
laughing all the way,
My constantly crossing rivers heart cringes.
Why do you always do this?
Pull out last minute
Say your heart wasn't in it
How do we get through this?
When you won't walk beside me
When your eyes can´t find me

Tell me what to do because it's out of control
You go from a hurricane to nothing at all
If I overstepped then please let me know
And I´ll leave
If you want me to go

Why do you always make jokes?
When I´m bearing my soul
Like it's your limelight I stole
Why do you see fire when there´s no smoke?
Will you help me put it out?
Or will you keep running out?

Tell me what to do because I'm losing my mind
You tell me that you love me, but regret it each time
If I crossed the line, then please let me know
And I´ll leave
If you want me to go
17. September 2017
alex e Sep 2014
Sometimes stargazing settles the mind; other times it's called destruction of intellectual property. Boundaries lightly treaded over are still overstepped, and left alone once again I am, missing you. And life, O life just passes me by, as I nurse a dark mixture of boredom and solitude alone in my room, working out new pathways to my own demise.
     Hope stopped living here a long time ago. Happiness missed the boat by a smidgen and it's been off course ever since. The directives are the same: "Go forth into the Arctic of your own heart and melt it with the fires of passion". Instead I burned the temperate forests lying just eastward, toward foreign waters I have never seen.
     And now here I sit, boat strategically positioned between my failed objective and the destruction I've wrought, and I ask: "Do I continue and complete my objective? Or do I go home, acknowledging my losses?" Torrid affairs of state are not my cup of icy, frothy tea, if you catch my continental drift.
     Your tender kiss beseeched upon me a plush stranglehold of mixed forgiveness and alarm, almost like you immediately regretted saying sorry for marooning me with a gun, a bullet, and a dream. Unfortunately that gun got me a crab, which got me stones, which gave me the tools to build a liferaft back to home waters.
     And yet again you sit on my vessel, offering me recompense or a boat, a gun, and a bullet. O, how I miss the days of toy ships and plastic sailors.
I've seen his sponsored post on Facebook,
and doesn't he look fine
but he's not fooling me because he's
overstepped the line.
The mark of shame is on you David for you the sun won't shine,yes I saw your sponsored post on Facebook,I'm surprised
you had the time.
You lot are a dying breed,sitting high upon the hog while others snuffle in the dirt and are in desperate need,the word I use is swine though I must admit the little ****,
most certainly looks fine.
Jake Jun 2014
What gives someone the right to cause another pain.
To shout hateful things at me and her.
Because she left you.
And because she chose me.
I understand the pain, but you've gone too far.
Its for her sake I'm not tracking down your home now.
Because she has learned to calm my rage.
I was once in your shoes only a few months ago.
And I'll be the first to admit I may have overstepped then.
But never to this level, I never insulted her or her honor.
No matter how upset I got.
But you intend to go even further.
You want me to pay.
I say bring it on *****.
My demons want to play.
charlie Apr 2014
i used to lie awake at night thinking
about all the things i did wrong that day
about whether tomorrow would be the day you decided
i had finally overstepped the invisible line

in our first summer together
we rode the bus for two hours
your socked feet
propped up on the dashboard on the second floor
the sun was blinding that day
my fingers were sticky
from the chocolate biscuits that were slowly melting in the warmth
you turned to me and said
"sorry for being such a ***** earlier"
i looked at the chocolate running down my fingertips
my throat was dry
"it's ok" i said
"it was my fault anyway"

an old friend called me one day
i hadn't talked to her in months
"we should hang out more" she said
"i miss you"
her voice sounded tinny over the phone line
like something from another century
i stared at the instant messaging window in front of me
you were still typing
had been for a while
"i'm sorry" i said
"i'm busy right now"
"oh" she said
the soft sound of an incoming message sounded
just a little bit like a gunshot

"you know i'm just jealous because i love you right?"
you said one evening
your voice was hoarse from screaming
"yes" i said
"i know"

on new year's eve we went out together
your hand curled firmly around my wrist
when it was almost midnight you
leaned over in your seat
your breath smelled like alcohol
"we're going to be together forever aren't we?"
you said
"promise me we will"
your face was hazy around the edges
around us people were starting to chant
counting down the seconds
"yes" i said
"i promise"
i spent the first fifteen minutes of the new year
throwing up in a ***** bathroom
my knees were hurting from the cold stone tiles
you were waiting for me at our table
"i drank too much" i said
my fingers traced lines on the bottle of my untouched beer

i still think about it sometimes
about all the things i could have done to save you
about how i still failed you
in the end
you stole two years of my life
and i turned it into a poem
how's that for *******
RL Smith May 2014
I'm standing in the queue, swede in hand
a trolley filled with representations of the person I hope to become
fresh, safe, healthy, organic
the sound of fruit and vegetables screaming for my attention
drowns out the sound of you wondering out load how it came to this
the food on my table became something much bigger than it was ever intended to be
there's no such thing as an innocent steak and peas
you casually opened my fridge door for a cursory glance
an uninvited familiarity
my inner private world
until now known only to myself and the ******* the checkout at the grocery store
when I invited you to dinner you looked at me as if I had asked you to father my children
but we had been dancing around in concentric circles of admiration
formalities slipping away over drinks for weeks
could inviting you to cross my threshold have overstepped yours?
I have offered you a seat at my table and a place in my heart
not your last supper
a sacred feast symbolizing the beginning of something more
a time when I know what you like to eat for breakfast and how you have your coffee
when you share your pleasure in your meal with me on the same fork across the table
when tastes and aromas inhabit our landscape
forming our story around the intimacy of food
niklaas Apr 2014
We’ve traded pearls for pigs
We’ve chosen to stand afar in fear of beauty
Behold we stand in ugly
Facing walls that have bars and caged we are within
We traded freedom for liberty
We celebrate and pride humanity at the loss of its glory
We indulge in excess and luxury and yet our souls have never been more deprived
The beauty of right is ridiculed and exchanged at the expense of tolerance and rights
The quality of our class is ******; we are low-low classless
We cant even stick to the rules that govern our own kind
We are debased; we tolerate the whips of our taskmasters
Like slaves, our mentality is deranged from indoctrination’s cup we drank and we are well drunk
What buffoonery, we ***** and bawl after which we crawl back like dogs we eat the same
We lost the North point, we are confused, yet claim to know
We are lost yet we claim to be found and know who we are
We are running a race before even the ‘go gun’ fires
We’ve overstepped our bounds and think we are within the limits and rights
We are trespassing and we think we have visitation rights
We do not have custody rights yet we hold the possession
We want the glory but are not gutsy enough to stand and fight
We choose our preachers and they tell us what we want to hear
We are preaching to ourselves without scripture
We listen to our own voices and call it ‘God’
How far from him we walk while claiming to be living at his feet
Our voices are louder from empty shallow passion that claim wisdom
We are bullying truth, we bruised it over and over again till it went to report us
We would rather lie to ourselves that face the truth, we cant stand how ugly it reminds us we are
We request sick leave and never go for our doctor’s appointment
We plunge into deeper and deeper cave of darkness, we may find out there is no light at the end of the tunnel
We hug and kiss darkness
Bennet Sarkis Oct 2014
When he was born, his eyes were blue.
Blue, like the sky and the ocean,
Free and limitless and unadulterated.
It was almost as if, should you look hard enough,
You could see into his soul.
Pure and untainted.

As he grew, his eyes became brighter,
Reflective of the yearning inside of him,
A symbol of his youth, his childish joy and wonder.
As if that sky had surpassed its boundaries and flooded into the heavens,
As if that ocean had overstepped its limits and doused the horizon.

He grew and grew, and as his body grew so did his heart:
He lived not for himself, but for others.
Those eyes, which opened directly into his sole, were wide with that childish awe,
Open to the sorrows of the world,
The sorrows which others blacked out from view.

A blink of those blue eyes and there he was, on a hospital bed.
Surrounded by people he once knew,
People he would likely forget.
They would come and go, wish him well,
Ask if he remembered the times when he did this, the times when he didn't do that, the times where he should have done something else.

And they left as night fell,
When the nurses came and put him to bed,
Alone, as he had once been, but now afraid, uncertain.
And he cried, for the first time, tears of baby blue,
Neon streaks upon his cheaks,
illuminated by the moonlight.

And by the time he closed his eyes, those vibrant blue eyes,
They were gray.
Originally uploaded to poetry.com
Bluejay Nov 2014
The stranger has chocolate eyes
......and
...........a crooked smile...

He lost his heart a long
..... time ago
............. To a woman who lost her soul.

I wasn't looking for trouble this time
.... But
........... it found me anyway.

He called me Sweetheart, Baby
..... for a while
.......... Nothing ever lasts too long.

We thought we were butterflies
....forgetting
........... that they fly alone.

He was crazy, I knew it
.... Yet
....... That never seemed to matter.

Then one day things went
...... too far
........... when he overstepped boundaries.

He thought it was fun
... to embarrass
.......... girls like me.

Now I'm glad he's gone
.... Because
........... he stole my wings.
About Bryan Phillip Mitchell.

A man who molested his own children and decided to weasel his way into my life at one point as well.
silvervi Jun 2020
No, I don't know
What love is
At all.

I am wondering
And my soul
Is about to fall

What is love
Why is love
And why are we all?

Are these simply questions of a depressed mind?
Maybe.
But also of one that is trying to find

Reasons
To live and to feel and to love.
Again.
More
And more honestly than ever.

Searching is my current state.
It's rather stuck, but does vibrate
Uncomfortably under my ribs
Where the deepest of feelings should be

Instead I am mostly inhibiting my head
But I want to learn to change that
My body needs more of my attention
I need to connect
To reconnect I guess.

I noticed there is a big gap
Between my soul, my head, my body..
It is as if I am existing in parts.

Maybe it's true cause energy is divided
Maybe.

I don't really know much
My focus recently has been very shallow
I guess I lost other people's touch
The human connections with fellows

They matter. Society matters.
This is where love meets me
But rarely.

I did experience hate though
In groups.
No body came to save me

But that's over, isn't it?
Or do I still have to learn to trust?

Am I still so influenced by it?
That I'd rather deny myself
Than to accept
That someone might not like
Sth about me instead.

Why is it so bad?
How to get rid of this weird energy.
How to find a way to be finally free.
I am not even begging for materialistic freedom.
I just want to be able to decide
How my life is gonna be
Where I am gonna be
And in each and every moment
What is actually right for me?

I know I overstepped some boundaries
And I will overstep even more
There are boundaries I overstep unwillingly
And there's others that I knowingly ignore.
A human mind reflects...
Underneath Nov 2017
And so it began.
The end.

We all knew it would come.
We just didn’t know when.
We didn’t know how.
We didn’t know where.
We didn’t know who.

But we all knew why.

If you overstep boundaries
There are repercussions.
If you overstep again,
Three times, four times,
Five, six, seven times,
There’s more.

And we had overstepped
One too many times.

And so
One by one
We all
Started
To
Disappear.

Until we discovered

The End of The End.
Walter Daniel Oct 2020
methods fettered, advantages and breaks
extended, insults and numinous presences of pagans crept
craven idolatry ascribable degrees of rivalry kept
intensified, superordinate to unsatisfiable desires and anorectic shakes
stigmatised, wishes leading to perpetual astonishment, quakes
caused, centuries for a variety of relations acknowledged accept
altered limits, bounds of appropriation are overstepped
and eliminated, forms of every truth from different takes
are completed, esoteric states, totally upheld
a verdict of ****** reasonable risks, general history framed
and shared, shares of fully repeated trades
are allocated, limitedly missed usurious beginnings unparalleled
in cruel relations with transient rules proclaimed
with theoretical ideas, properties of a black jade
From "Aestas, or Walter Daniel's Very Difficult Poems for Readers"
http://aestas.sakura.ne.jp/
Ayn May 2020
One step too far.
One step off line.
One step, all my fault.

One step
And I’m reluctant to return.
...
He walks with me
and he will not let me go
again he clips my wings
just to stay here again

I really thought he would let me fly
but what he told me was do it
you wanted to make poetry a religion
go son of man make it so

He will walk with me
he will hold my hand
and in the pitch of night
he will guide with his light

I have overstepped the mark
gone out of the ball park
and he walks with me
my Lord walks with me


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
John Van Dyke Apr 2021
The darkness and the quiet
Are less frightening than before.
Even, as in the world of Poe,
The shroud, the pall, the tomb
Are looming truths in store,

The thing I fear the most
Is not the end, the sad goodbyes,
Tears, or labored breaths.
It’s not eternity or judgement,
Or even sweet oblivion.

There’s a larger tragedy,
A greater loss to me:
It haunts me even now
While death’s still off a ways,
Waiting patiently.

That you might spend your life,
Your family grown,
Now gray and stooped,
Career complete,
With loved ones of your own

And, looking back, see an empty place
Where other’s lives were full
And feel you weren’t enough,
Arms stretched, Innocent,
Reaching out, a little girl.

I fear your life will pass
Not knowing, or believing
You were cared for, celebrated,
Your young life
The greatest source of joy to me.

In you I saw a thing
I hadn’t seen before.
It touched my heart, and brought
A peaceful inner feeling
Whenever you were near.  

Clumsily, I overstepped
My deeds and words
And gifts, and more...
Felt right, but came out wrong
I failed, you left, and that is that.

My old fool’s error
(I’ve made my share)
Was what I said and did for sure.
Though what was in my heart
Was bright and clean, and pure.

My fear’s that you won’t know
(Or care to know) the joy you brought,
The calm I felt, priceless, but free
But most of all:
That you were loved- by me.
For Jillian
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago

hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint ****** "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief

he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)

invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,

deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions

commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,

butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal

impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"

recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb

firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding

immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.

— The End —