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Michael John Aug 2018
i

there does seem to be a lot of nosey parkers
things can rapidly become darker
a momentum of their own
soon,again,be traipsing across broad

fields of fresh bone..intellectuals are
usually the first to go the written word
suspect decadent art the smooth hand
and on till we are all looking over our

collective shoulder..work worshipped
lord what we believe in the name of
collective security and a bigger better
future..!?

ii

the goldfish in our park pond however
seem very happy together
they patiently wait their turn
and take a small bite as required..

they know they are many small smaller
all the various colours and the big ones
but there is the sun and there is suffice
they will circle love and say ola..

*
inspired by executing society
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Why is it that drinkers of wine

All fancy themselves connoisseurs;

As they sniff, swirl, sip and spit-

They’re all Robert Parkers I’m sure.


They talk about bouquet and fragrance,

hints of chocolate they find in the wine.

I sip on the wine and I’m puzzled

as I never find chocolate in mine.



My brother’s a beer connoisseur

Pour ten different beers in good light.

Though he may drink them all to be sure,

He distinguishes each upon sight



“There are different shadings of gold

and some give you more head than others.”

-Who would ever imagine that beer

would have something in common with lovers.



So go have your new Beaujolais

You Francophile drinkers of wine

I’m sure Orson Welles would have told you

They’re selling it way before time.



Back at the bar named McCullagh’s

They’re playing pool in the back room

Uncle Jimmy is schooling some suckers

It happens once in a blue moon.
From the time my older brother was little he has had the knack of distinguishing beer from the natural variations in color and presentation. He learned at Uncle Jimmy's tavern. Alas Uncle Jimmy and his tavern have passed into memory but he has retained this unique talent.
Foul-mouthed parkers
Young and grown alike
Made for a productive day
A troublesome night

The residents to my right
Slandered behind me in fear
And that is when I cracked wide
Into a body of screams and tears

I cried
'Stop! Stop!'
'I can't take any more!'
My heart turning to glass
'I just want to be left alone!'
'Is that too much to ask!?'

This tragedy may not have been
If I had simply smiled their way
But all I did was drown them out
Until this fateful day

Little did I know
That they were watching me all year
Trying to find a way
To console me and my fears

But not once did I wish them well
Or turn to them for help
And so I brought this crushing ordeal
Entirely upon myself

And I cried
'Stop! Stop!'
'I can't take any more!'
My heart turning to glass
'I just want to be left alone!'
'Is that too much to ask!?'

This tragedy may not have been
If I had simply smiled their way
But all I did was drown them out
Until this fateful day

Then they held my hand
And reassured me on their knees
That they have someone dear to them
With the same troubles as me

Still this tragedy may not have been
If I had simply smiled their way
But all I did was drown them out
Until this fateful day
This may be my most emotional poem yet as it is based on a recent ordeal that befell upon me just a few hours ago; my first emotional breakdown since last year.

Feeling isolated by the delinquencies in my town as well as overhearing hurtful slander from my concerned next-door neighbors (what I perceived to be verbal threats of violence behind my back), I refused to take any more. I opened my front door screaming and tearfully begging them to stop talking about me and leave me alone forever.

This may never have happened if I had just been willing to trust them even the slightest. But I didn't trust them at all. Instead, I remained bitter and distrusting towards them thus bringing this ordeal upon myself.

Shortly after my first emotional outburst in a long time, one of the neighbors (a kind and understanding woman) knelt down on my doorstep to comfort and reassure me.

She informed me that she was hoping to find a way to comfort me ever since I moved in near them last year. All they wanted was for me to feel happy and safe living next door to her. But all I did up until now was push her and her family away from me.

She reassured me saying that she had a nephew with troubles similar to mine. More importantly, she promised that she and her family would genuinely mean me no harm as long as I trusted them from hereon in.

And so, after what seemed like a whole hour of total relapse, I finally agreed to trust them. Nothing may change significantly overnight, but I'll do my best to trust my neighbors from now on.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
john porker was a friendly man who was being tortured by voices of his youth

like his mates would say, trying to be a young dude, when he was trying to live his life

and his father was a very strict person who wanted him to be an adult at the age of 8

john hated it, but the young dudes also wanted john to be an adult as well, and if he doesn’t

they will come and bash him up, john said, you just try and bash me up, if you do, you’ll be fucken toast

tomorrow morning, the young dudes said ok, but be careful or we’ll bash you.

this made the porters very angry, which made them want to wrap john up in cotton wool, which john hated

john went through his life going through stage after stage, which forced him to break the cotton wool and

attempt to argue with or bash his parents, saying he can look after himself and his father said, we are doing

this cause we love you, john, john threw his fist at his parents saying i can look after myself, really i can

and then told his dad we better stay away from you, for you are an aids carrier and this made mrs parker

very very concerned for her family’s well being, saying oh no, our special little guy is having a few problems

we must help him, and his father said, let him help himself, he thinks we hate him, and john said leave me alone

i really do hate you protecting me because i can look after myself, mr parker said, you are a fool john, you really are such a fool

and john told mr parker to *******, mr parker slapped john across his face saying, john, you are a flaming fool

and then john got up and brought his father to the garage and banged the door on his fathers head, and his father said

be careful, you realty hurt your daddy, john ran up to his room and slammed the door very hard and his father followed

him and when he got to the door, he knocked on the door very hard, but john said, go away you great big old fogie

and mr parker went for a walk to escape this whole mess john is putting on him, and all the outside hooligans said to john

your father is like us, now man, you’re not, so stay in your room, you see mr parker got home in 1 hour and john started

up again, and was sent to his room, what are the parkers going to do with john, dunno mate!, these fights happened every

time mr parker tried to discipline him, it’s hard to medicate him, because john is very violent, he said to his dad, i want to

stab you in the back, but the big question is, where’s the knife.
Jonathan Foreman, Daily Mail (London), August 18, 2013
The 16-year-old girl’s once-beautiful face was grotesque.
She had been disfigured beyond all recognition in the 18 months she had been held captive by the Comanche Indians.
Now, she was being offered back to the Texan authorities by Indian chiefs as part of a peace negotiation.
To gasps of horror from the watching crowds, the Indians presented her at the Council House in the ranching town of San Antonio in 1840, the year Queen Victoria married Prince Albert.
‘Her head, arms and face were full of bruises and sores,’ wrote one witness, Mary Maverick. ‘And her nose was actually burnt off to the bone. Both nostrils were wide open and denuded of flesh.’
Once handed over, Matilda Lockhart broke down as she described the horrors she had endured—the ****, the relentless ****** humiliation and the way Comanche squaws had tortured her with fire. It wasn’t just her nose, her thin body was hideously scarred all over with burns.
When she mentioned she thought there were 15 other white captives at the Indians’ camp, all of them being subjected to a similar fate, the Texan lawmakers and officials said they were detaining the Comanche chiefs while they rescued the others.
It was a decision that prompted one of the most brutal slaughters in the history of the Wild West—and showed just how bloodthirsty the Comanche could be in revenge.
S C Gwynne, author of Empire Of The Summer Moon about the rise and fall of the Comanche, says simply: ‘No tribe in the history of the Spanish, French, Mexican, Texan, and American occupations of this land had ever caused so much havoc and death. None was even a close second.’
He refers to the ‘demonic immorality’ of Comanche attacks on white settlers, the way in which torture, killings and gang-rapes were routine. ‘The logic of Comanche raids was straightforward,’ he explains.
‘All the men were killed, and any men who were captured alive were tortured; the captive women were gang *****. Babies were invariably killed.’
Not that you would know this from the new Lone Ranger movie, starring Johnny Depp as the Indian Tonto.
For reasons best know to themselves, the film-makers have changed Tonto’s tribe to Comanche—in the original TV version, he was a member of the comparatively peace-loving Potowatomi tribe.
And yet he and his fellow native Americans are presented in the film as saintly victims of a Old West where it is the white settlers—the men who built America—who represent nothing but exploitation, brutality, environmental destruction and genocide.
Depp has said he wanted to play Tonto in order to portray Native Americans in a more sympathetic light. But the Comanche never showed sympathy themselves.
When that Indian delegation to San Antonio realised they were to be detained, they tried to fight their way out with bows and arrows and knives—killing any Texan they could get at. In turn, Texan soldiers opened fire, slaughtering 35 Comanche, injuring many more and taking 29 prisoner.
But the Comanche tribe’s furious response knew no bounds. When the Texans suggested they swap the Comanche prisoners for their captives, the Indians tortured every one of those captives to death instead.
‘One by one, the children and young women were pegged out naked beside the camp fire,’ according to a contemporary account. ‘They were skinned, sliced, and horribly mutilated, and finally burned alive by vengeful women determined to wring the last shriek and convulsion from their agonised bodies. Matilda Lockhart’s six-year-old sister was among these unfortunates who died screaming under the high plains moon.’
Not only were the Comanche specialists in torture, they were also the most ferocious and successful warriors—indeed, they become known as ‘Lords of the Plains’.
They were as imperialist and genocidal as the white settlers who eventually vanquished them.
When they first migrated to the great plains of the American South in the late 18th century from the Rocky Mountains, not only did they achieve dominance over the tribes there, they almost exterminated the Apaches, among the greatest horse warriors in the world.
The key to the Comanche’s brutal success was that they adapted to the horse even more skilfully than the Apaches.
There were no horses at all in the Americas until the Spanish conquerors brought them. And the Comanche were a small, relatively primitive tribe roaming the area that is now Wyoming and Montana, until around 1700, when a migration southwards introduced them to escaped Spanish mustangs from Mexico.
The first Indians to take up the horse, they had an aptitude for horsemanship akin to that of Genghis Khan’s Mongols. Combined with their remarkable ferocity, this enabled them to dominate more territory than any other Indian tribe: what the Spanish called Comancheria spread over at least 250,000 miles.
They terrorised Mexico and brought the expansion of Spanish colonisation of America to a halt. They stole horses to ride and cattle to sell, often in return for firearms.
Other livestock they slaughtered along with babies and the elderly (older women were usually ***** before being killed), leaving what one Mexican called ‘a thousand deserts’. When their warriors were killed they felt honour-bound to exact a revenge that involved torture and death.
Settlers in Texas were utterly terrified of the Comanche, who would travel almost a thousand miles to slaughter a single white family.
The historian T R Fehrenbach, author of Comanche: The History Of A People, tells of a raid on an early settler family called the Parkers, who with other families had set up a stockade known as Fort Parker. In 1836, 100 mounted Comanche warriors appeared outside the fort’s walls, one of them waving a white flag to trick the Parkers.
‘Benjamin Parker went outside the gate to parley with the Comanche,’ he says. ‘The people inside the fort saw the riders suddenly surround him and drive their lances into him. Then with loud whoops, mounted warriors dashed for the gate. Silas Parker was cut down before he could bar their entry; horsemen poured inside the walls.’
Survivors described the slaughter: ‘The two Frosts, father and son, died in front of the women; Elder John Parker, his wife ‘Granny’ and others tried to flee. The warriors scattered and rode them down.
‘John Parker was pinned to the ground, he was scalped and his genitals ripped off. Then he was killed. Granny Parker was stripped and fixed to the earth with a lance driven through her flesh. Several warriors ***** her while she screamed.
‘Silas Parker’s wife Lucy fled through the gate with her four small children. But the Comanche overtook them near the river. They threw her and the four children over their horses to take them as captives.’
So intimidating was Comanche cruelty, almost all raids by Indians were blamed on them. Texans, Mexicans and other Indians living in the region all developed a particular dread of the full moon—still known as a ‘Comanche Moon’ in Texas—because that was when the Comanche came for cattle, horses and captives.
They were infamous for their inventive tortures, and women were usually in charge of the torture process.
The Comanche roasted captive American and Mexican soldiers to death over open fires. Others were castrated and scalped while alive. The most agonising Comanche tortures included burying captives up to the chin and cutting off their eyelids so their eyes were seared by the burning sun before they starved to death.
Contemporary accounts also describe them staking out male captives spread-eagled and naked over a red-ant bed. Sometimes this was done after excising the victim’s private parts, putting them in his mouth and then sewing his lips together.
One band sewed up captives in untanned leather and left them out in the sun. The green rawhide would slowly shrink and squeeze the prisoner to death.
T R Fehrenbach quotes a Spanish account that has Comanche torturing Tonkawa Indian captives by burning their hands and feet until the nerves in them were destroyed, then amputating these extremities and starting the fire treatment again on the fresh wounds. Scalped alive, the Tonkawas had their tongues torn out to stop the screaming.
The Comanche always fought to the death, because they expected to be treated like their captives. Babies were almost invariably killed in raids, though it should be said that soldiers and settlers were likely to ****** Comanche women and children if they came upon them.
Comanche boys—including captives—were raised to be warriors and had to endure ****** rites of passage. Women often fought alongside the men.
It’s possible the viciousness of the Comanche was in part a by-product of their violent encounters with notoriously cruel Spanish colonists and then with Mexican bandits and soldiers.
But a more persuasive theory is that the Comanche’s lack of central leadership prompted much of their cruelty. The Comanche bands were loose associations of warrior-raiders, like a confederation of small street gangs.
In every society, teenage and twenty-something youths are the most violent, and even if they had wanted to, Comanche tribal chiefs had no way of stopping their young men from raiding.
But the Comanche found their match with the Texas Rangers. Brilliantly portrayed in the Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove books, the Rangers began to be recruited in 1823, specifically to fight the Comanche and their allies. They were a tough guerilla force, as merciless as their Comanche opponents.
They also respected them. As one of McMurtry’s Ranger characters wryly tells a man who claims to have seen a thousand-strong band of Comanche: ‘If there’d ever been a thousand Comanche in a band they’d have taken Washington DC.”
The Texas Rangers often fared badly against their enemy until they learned how to fight like them, and until they were given the new Colt revolver.
During the Civil War, when the Rangers left to fight for the Confederacy, the Comanche rolled back the American frontier and white settlements by 100 miles.
Even after the Rangers came back and the U.S. Army joined the campaigns against Comanche raiders, Texas lost an average of 200 settlers a year until the Red River War of 1874, where the full might of the Army—and the destruction of great buffalo herds on which they depended—ended Commanche depredations.
Interestingly the Comanche, though hostile to all competing tribes and people they came across, had no sense of race. They supplemented their numbers with young American or Mexican captives, who could become full-fledged members of the tribe if they had warrior potential and could survive initiation rites.
Weaker captives might be sold to Mexican traders as slaves, but more often were slaughtered. But despite the cruelty, some of the young captives who were subsequently ransomed found themselves unable to adapt to settled ‘civilised life and ran away to rejoin their brothers.
One of the great chiefs, Quanah, was the son of the white captive Cynthia Ann Parker. His father was killed in a raid by Texas Rangers that resulted in her being rescued from the tribe. She never adjusted to life back in civilisation and starved herself to death.
Quanah surrendered to the Army in 1874. He adapted well to life in a reservation, and indeed the Comanche, rather amazingly, become one of the most economically successful and best assimilated tribes.
As a result, the main Comanche reservation was closed in 1901, and Comanche soldiers served in the U.S. Army with distinction in the World Wars. Even today they are among the most prosperous native Americans, with a reputation for education.
By casting the cruelest, most aggressive tribe of Indians as mere saps and victims of oppression, Johnny Depp’s Lone Ranger perpetuates the patronising and ignorant cartoon of the ‘noble savage’.
Not only is it a travesty of the truth, it does no favours to the Indians Depp is so keen to support.
Seven lives gone and only two left for Tom,
Tom as in cat and not jewellery
although I thought that might have fooled me.

Two being the double of one
makes Tom a happy cat.

I'm tired
worked late
thought I'd have shuffled off Seven
and moved on to eight
but here I am with
toast and jam
a cup of sweet tea
glad I've got two lives
though I'd much prefer three.

Actually
Tom doesn't really exist
I made him up
Tom's fourth on the list
of names that I use to
confuse
nosey parkers.

That's it
I'm done now
going to sleep
don't want my writing
to keep
you awake.
Chris Slade Jul 2020
Campers that Camp
Parkers who Park
Clampers that Clamp
Players who Play
Dampers that Damp
Breakers that Break
Stayers who Stay
Sneakers who sneak
Lovers that Love
Layers who Lay
Dreamers who Dream
Day Dreamers who Day Dream
Flouters who Flout
Shouters who shout
Pouters that pout
Wreckers who wreck
Screamers that Scream
Reamers that Ream
Redeemers who Dream and Redeem
Screamers who scream
Creamers who make cream
Streakers who streak
Readers who Read
Bleeders who Bleed
Tearers who tear
Shearers who shear
Sharers who share
Darers who dare
Carers that Care
Trenders who Trend… That’s trending
Menders who Mend... they're mending
they’re Fixers who fix!
They’re Doers who Do
Not Doubters that Don’t

Senders who send’a
a’ huh huh huh!
Thank you very much!
I haven't go t a clue what prompted me to start this... I'm usually quite pragmatic and write about real things, real life and not the 'ethereal'
KV Srikanth Jun 2021
Speed of lightning
Philosophical in thinking
Put it down in writing
Life saving for generations

Father from the Opera
Placed him before the camera
Acted in 20 films
From new born to adolescent

American by birth
Hongkong nurtured his growth
Street fights in his daily route
On his way to studying in school

Grandmaster Ip Man
Martial arts legend
Teacher of Wing Chun
Took him under his wing

Enrolled for a study
His favorite subject philosophy
At Washington University
Met Linda lee


Founded a new system
Called it no system
Jeet Kune Do just a name to list
The art of the intercepting fist

Ed Parkers Tournament
Performed in front of an audience
Showcased his talent
Greatest Martial Artist of all time title given

One inch punch
Sent other masters flying
Mastery and dexterity of Martial Arts
Capability and Competence
He imparted

Different styles should compete
Only then the real test of a fighter complete
Deservingly called the the Father of Mixed Martial art
Its founder Dana White swears that he is god

Cast as Kato
Second lead in a series
Green hornet had a short run
He was so quick his scenes had to be shot in slow motion

Small parts in Marlowe
Followed by Longstreet
Espoused his theories
He had discovered through his practice

Started Martial Arts schools
Superstars as his pupils
James Coburn Steve McQueen to name a few
Kareem Abdul jabbar and Stirling Silliphant joined the queue

Had written scripts
His pet projects
Studios Didn't allow him to star
Could not get a star to star

Fought many battles
Couldn't break through prejudice
Humiliated and insulted
He would never be accepted

Career threatening injury
His entire back in jeopardy
On the road to recovery
Will never be the same opined the medical fraternity

Brandon & Shannon his progeny
Son & daughter completed his family
During the time of the back injury
They helped him overcome his adversity

Hollywood closed its doors
Wanting a movie career
He left for Hong Kong
The rest as they say is history
For once, I would like a ruler.
A really big one, large enough to span all time,
or my time at least – which isn’t too much to ask.
To draw a straight line through life,
and make it all fall in, drill sergeant style.
Free me of all the jumps and bumps,
dancing about the hurdles which
slow me to halts,
as if life were a blob of mashed potatoes;
surfing through its smooth white clouds,
like a true California girl.

For once, can it be a tunnel?
No more mazes of roads and streets,
avenues, crescents, highways and lanes.
To close  my eyes, raise my hands,
and push my bare foot into the pedal,
unafraid of the walls of people.
For it all to be a bowling alley
with the railings up and a ramp to slide down.
To shamelessly ride with pink, bedazzled training wheels
and a lemon learners plaque
to blind all nosy parkers up my ***.

For once, wouldn’t it be nice if it all could line up,
so I could be, for once, entirely happy.
Simply, life plays out in aspects of good and bad. For once, wouldn't some uninterrupted good be nice.

— The End —