Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.  And they finally found the solution.

abiti da sposa corti Abbiamo sicuramente avuto la nostra parte di sorprendenti dettagli di nozze grazia le pagine di LSP .ma abbastanza positiva questa è la prima volta che abbiamo incontrato un cervo muschio.E 'uno dei molti dettagli moderni realizzati da The Horse Scrittura insieme con la pianificazione da parte in ogni caso e fiori + avorio verdi



di Lily e Società che dimostra rustico Wyoming gioca bene con un piccolo pizzico di mod .Date un'occhiata a ogni ultima immagine catturata dalla splendida Carrie Patterson Fotografia proprio qui.nella piena galleria .
Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsTentedStylesModern

Qual è stata la tua visioneè ematrimonio erfectè?

Zee e ** incontrato a Jackson Hole e sempre discusso incredibile come un matrimonio a Jackson sarebbe.Per mostrare la bellezza di Jackson Hole ai nostri tanti amici e viaggiando da Georgia .Texas famiglia .e molti punti in mezzo era sicuro di essere incredibile .Volevo essere certo di mantenere le cose eleganti .ma abbastanza semplice da non distrarre dalla bella vista .

Quali sono tre dettagli unici che infuse nel vostro arredamento ?

mia madre e ** fatto tutta la pianificazione di noi stessi .che è qualcosa che entrambi amiamo fare !Cerco di emulare mia madre quando si tratta di pianificazione del partito e il layout .Ha il sapore più meraviglioso e l'occhio per la decorazione .e io sono così molto grato per tutto il suo aiuto durante la pianificazione .

Alcuni dettagli unici che infuse nostri cor désono :

I due Avorio Elk e Moose .la nostra torta nuziale Faux Bois con i miei genitori ' figurina Staffordshire in alto .gli alberi Aspen e le tovagliette Moss e fioriere .Mi è piaciuto molto anche il nostroè entler Luogo Carteèed i nostri numeri del tavolo .I nostri numeri della tabella sono stati etichettati in animali diversi ad ogni tavolo che rappresentava tutti i diversi vita selvaggia a Jackson Hole .

Qual è abiti da sposa 2014 stato il momento più memorabile ?

Durante la cena .il nostro fotografo Carrie tirato Zee e via per le fotografie al tramonto .Abbiamo camminato attraverso lo stagno .più vicino alle montagne e il nostro primo minuto solo tutto il giorno .Guardando indietro attraverso lo stagno alla bella tenda piena di persone più speciali nella nostra vita è un momento che non dimenticherò mai .

Che canzone hai fatto il tuo primo ballo a ?

Il nostro primo ballo : Crazy Love di Van Morrison padre / figlia Danza : Isnè èShe Lovely di Stevie Wonder

Cosaèse qualcosaèhai fatto fai da te ?

Mia nonna ha fatto la biancheria per i tavoli da cocktail .I quattro grandi Fioriere e la scaffalatura dietro ogni bar sono stati costruiti da un amico in Texas .Le tonalità appeso sopra la nostra pista da ballo abiti da sposa 2014 sono stati realizzati su misura solo per il nostro matrimonio .Avevamo laè èharlie Joseph 'ècappelli di carta fatti per i server di indossare durante il passaggio su cani e patatine fritte a tarda notte

Fotografia : Carrie Patterson Fotografia | Event Design : . The Horse Writing | Pianificazione : in ogni caso |Floral Design : Giglio E Azienda | Catering : Bistro Catering | Località : Jackson Hole Golf \u0026Tennis ClubCarrie Patterson fotografia è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Carrie Patterson Fotografia VIEW
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Horton’s Bend
Dave Davis-2013
Treat the earth well,
It was not given to you by your parents.
It was loaned to you by your children.”
Native American Proverb

Chapter 1
During the early part of the 16th century, the Spanish began their expeditions into the New World in their quest for riches in the form of gold and silver. It was a time of great competition between explorers attempting to be the first to expand the Spanish Empire. Famously Ponce de Leon discovered La Florida in 1533 which allowed geographers and map makers to better outline the coast which de Leon hugged during his travels. His perception that it was an island misled geographers for a number of years. Historic documents do describe a quest for a body of water which was known for a restoration of vigor but the Fountain of Youth was not a focus of de Leon’s. Upon learning of La Florida, further expeditions were made ready. Hernando de Soto’s exploration, which began in the vicinity of present day Tampa Florida in 1539, was a four year journey which provided more information about the strange new continent.
Other expeditions filtered their way into the southeastern United States. Expeditions such Tristan de Luna de Arellano traveled into the interior southeast from 1559 to 1561 including the chiefdom of Coosa in Northwest Georgia and Juan Pardo who led two expeditions into the present day Carolinas are also chronicled.

What a strange world it must have been having stepping into what they must have considered an undeveloped and tangled landscape having been at sea for months prior to their arrival. These new comers were warriors riding into a land of what they considered savages ruled by mighty chiefs. The chiefdoms were purposely distanced apart in order to ensure a semi peaceful relationship with nearby chiefdoms. Each principal chief or cacique lived in areas surrounded by earthen mounds and fortified walls with hand dug moats. These rulers were presented with gifts of corn, exotic materials from foreign lands, and other tributes by their subjects. During the past seventy five years, archaeologists have reconstructed the past life ways of these people through their excavations of village sites and burials. Coupled with the work of dedicated historians, we now have a better understanding of how these native peoples lived and died. We will never fully understand their world.
Theirs was a hermetic world which was provided all that was needed. Respectful of the land and its gift of life giving resources, the native peoples were dependant on the land which figured prominently into their spiritual being. Their needs were meager as they did not desire wealth or the need to satisfy a gluttonous royalty. The principal chief’s rulings were simple and they obeyed without question. He and the other leaders asked only what the earth would provide. Their only loyalty was to the ethereal gods and to the cacique who communicated the will of the Creator. In times of famine or strife, theirs was a community that continued to be self sustained as it had always been from birth to death. They must have considered that dark times had arrived with the new strangers. These interlopers were not here to commune but rather to bring greed and lust to their land.

Native American groups surely were frightened by the sight of an entourage of the bearded new comers. Dressed in quilted shirts with bright colored sashes with tall hip boots, their appearance had to be most curious to the natives. The presence of never before seen animals such as the horses bearing the soldiers were cause enough for the Indians to scatter from their villages. The horsemen wore the heaviest armor consisting of chain mail or if preferred a breastplate of sorts. Their weapons were a long lance in conjunction with a small shield. The foot soldiers wore peaked steel helmets along with quilted shirts armored with small steel plates and were equipped with sharpened steel weapons such as short double edged swords, halberds, and crossbows. Matchlock guns were also a weapon employed by the Spanish explorers. They were close combat weapons which would have to suffice since heavy artillery could not be used in the thick and tangled environment.
The Spanish found the New World to be a land of hardships when they depleted their supplies of foodstuffs between chiefdoms. This land proved not to be a place of abundant riches but rather difficult terrain for pedestrian journey. In order to supplement the Spanish took the stored food supplies that Indians had readied for winter. As Old World warriors, they had no hesitancy to threaten or harm when supplies were needed. Word of their arrival brought both fear and awe to native groups who were duped by the rich lies and gifts of the metal objects that was so foreign to them.
While the devastation of Spanish contact impacted native lives, it should not over shadow the rich history of these people. Prior to contact, they were thought to be involved in the construction of a society emerging from the chiefdom level. Their capability to understand astronomical constants, their ability to sustain an agricultural culture, and the art produced attest to a vibrant society that was merely unfortunate to be caught up in a dynamic European expansion that was inevitable.  
Their story is more than that of European contact as they dealt with pestilence, political instability, drought, and dwindling resources in large communal sites. It comprises a much larger picture from a story long forgotten in a language that will forever remain unknown. History is filled with the tragedies of conquest but this story does not end with the Spanish invasion of peaceful natives. It does not end at all because their spirit was stronger than any intrusion by the strangers. While much suffering has occurred from this contact, there was one group who managed to avoid conflict and quietly retain their heritage. Unfortunately time has left a ragged history with gaps that are not fully understood by those who seek wisdom from the past. No matter. Their intentions regarding history were never as strong as their passion for the land.

On an unknown date during the 16th Century in Northwest Georgia, a group of Spanish invaders made contact with a group of Native Americans who believe in the sacred ground they call home.



Chapter 2
Ronnie King sat on the tailgate of his 4x4 pickup and drained the last of an ice cold Budweiser that had been waiting on him all day. Ronnie kept a cooler full of cold ones for quitting time although he usually just drank the one beer before leaving for home. Working as a foreman on a timber crew, he was soaked in sweat and enjoyed just taking a moment to reflect on a day’s work. He always felt like a man who could tote a chainsaw for eight hours and deal with the elements was a man by God. The sun would be setting soon and he would talk to a few of the boys before they headed to the house. It also gave him time to unwind a little bit and to pick off the ticks that seemed to always be attracted to him. He sure hadn’t forgotten that bout of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever that had contracted a few years back. He remembered well how dizzy he was that hot afternoon. Some of the boys had chuckled but nobody scoffed at his 107 degree temperature when he was checked into the hospital. Anyways this was the best part of the day and he always got to thinking about his life.

Ronnie loved his job and wondered how others could ever work inside all day. Hell, even if he was paid more he couldn’t really see the benefits of extra cash compared to working out in the woods. More than once he had paid attention to deer signs and had bagged some bucks that were the envy of his fellow workers. It was just a great deal to be outside. Sure he ached pretty good by the end of the week and knew arthritis was in his future but it gave him a great opportunity to do what he really loved: look for Indian sites. Ronnie had been just a boy when he found his first arrowhead down on the floodplain of the Coosa River which ran through his grandfather’s farm. That thrill was one that never got old for the young man. Those who are observant and willing to risk the mud never knew what they would find after a good thunderstorm on a freshly plowed field. As Ronnie grew to be a teenager he already had a collection of artifacts that the local museum drooled over. Other kids that were Ronnie’s age were busy playing football or were involved in some school activity. Ronnie was different and had little interest in neither scholastic nor collegiate pastimes. Once he finished his chores at home,  he headed for the river.

When Ronnie graduated from high school he got a full time job working at Patterson’s Logging. At 18, Ronnie was a tall man with a full beard and was often mistaken for someone much older. He never was a big talker or one to boast. Many at school thought him slow but that was where he fooled them and the teachers too. No reason to give your all since they would expect more anyway. Besides what would he do with trigonometry? He loved the outdoors and spent quiet evenings along the river banks staring at the ground in search of the history that he loved. Teachers didn’t spend much time on how Indians lived during the time that the mounds were being built. He enjoyed books at the library much better than any of the school books. In particular, he loved the book Sun Circles and Human Hands which had wonderful pictures of burials dug up during the WPA days. He did take the time to learn how the Works Progress Administration had been created in the 40’s and created jobs to work on the large dam projects that brought on some of the earliest organized archaeological projects in the United States. At night he would look at Sun Circles and gaze at the pictures of the excavated burials and all the exotic grave goods that had been buried with the interred over 500 years before. The well made pottery vessels had always been one of his favorite artifacts but he had never found a whole ***. Having spent time with different books loaned from the library, Ronnie know the difference between pottery sherds dating to the earlier Woodland Period and those that dated to the later Mound builders or what the archaeologists called the Mississippian Period. He also enjoyed the ornaments and jewelry found in the burials. The designs in the shape of woodpeckers, rattlesnakes, and strange squatting men with eagle claws were carved into shell gorgets that were found around the necks of the nobles of the village. He realized that not all graves contained abundant artifacts as some simply were just a prone or flexed body that must have been a common person. Ronnie knew that there had to be some schools here in the south where you could learn to be a paid archaeologist but who had money to go to college? Besides, they might want him to give up what he found. What right did a museum have to something he had found? No, that didn’t seem right at all.
Patterson’s Logging worked all over a tri-county area and allowed Ronnie access to private property that he could never get permission to walk over. There were a dozen men who worked for Patterson not including Patterson’s boy, Ricky, who had helped Ronnie get hired. Ricky and Ronnie used to do a little cat fishing on weekends. Kicked back with a six pack on a boat ramp, the boys used to fight off the bugs attracted to the lantern glowing bright in the middle of the night. They talked about girls they’d like to get a hold of and wishing they had money for a nice pickup. Ricky’s daddy made pretty good money but most of it was ******* in chainsaws and equipment for keeping the logs steadily flowing to the saw mill. Ronnie never told Ricky but he was **** grateful to be working on a crew at Patterson’s.

A couple of the men who worked for logging outfit were from Cedartown which was located south of Rome. They didn’t speak to anybody very often and pretty much kept to themselves. Ronnie didn’t know them but had heard them called Jarvis and Ladge. The crews had finished logging a section near Armuchee Creek where some county workers had been using bulldozers to prep the area for a bridge project. It was time for lunch so everybody got out their lunchboxes and sack lunches. Jarvis and Ladge ate quickly and headed out to the disturbed area to walk it over. Ronnie had already figured on going out there too but they had beat him to it. He just went ahead and watched them looking for a few minutes. Finally Ronnie headed out and walked around a little distance from them. They glared at him at first but didn’t make a ******* contest out of this patch of dirt. Having walked around staring at the fresh soil for a good ten minutes the three were somewhat close to each other so they stopped and everybody wanted to inspect what the others had found.
Ladge had found a few good sized flint chips and a broken tip of a point. Jarvis looked at him and said “Buddy you ain’t found **** look at this piece of pottery!” He held up a large thick rim sherd which had pinched marks all around the curved rim. “Nice one Jarvis” whistled Ladge. “That’s a Mississippian sherd, Jarvis” offered Ronnie. The others stared at him until Ladge said “Boy this ain’t Mississippi! You in Georgia.” Ronnie didn’t want to be a smart *** to the older men so he said “I been reading in some books on ancient Indians and the pictures showed pottery that looked just like that one that was near 500 years old.” “Huh” Jarvis mumbled “Well what do you think about this bird point?” It was a small triangular point no bigger than a thumbnail made of black flint. Ronnie hesitated a moment and told them “That’s a nice one but you know they didn’t hunt birds with those don’t you?” The men just shrugged and Jarvis said “That’s what I always heard them called……that the Indians used a blow gun and blew them through it”. Ronnie was a little more confident but with a little caution said “That point was used on a bow and arrow…..you know how most points you find have a stem on the bottom end?” Both men nodded with interest. “Well those were used on spears but this type was used on a bow….bout the same time as that sherd you found”

Ronnie thought he might be scoffed at but both men just shrugged and one mumbled “Well I’ll be ******”. Ronnie then realized that Jarvis and Ladge’s interest was just in one upping each other and it was something to do besides talking to the other loggers. “I’d like to look at one of them books you been reading…..I got something I found and want to know more about it.” Ronnie’s interest was peaked and asked “What does it look like?” Jarvis tilted his head a little while looking over at Ladge and said “Just bring that book of yourn’s when you can.” Ronnie took the hint and all three realized it was time to start on the next parcel of the project.
As the work week continued, the three usually sat together and formed a group of their own talking about artifacts away from the others. Ronnie brought one book in but it was from some work over in Alabama and didn’t have what Jarvis was looking for. One Friday after work, Ronnie was about to head home when Jarvis and Ladge asked him to take a ride down to Cedartown and look at their collection. The two had a little cabin out off of Chubb Road with a rusted 49 Ford sitting out front. A metal trash barrel smoldered in the front yard. Ronnie walked in the cabin and had to choke back holding his nose as it reeked of sourness. These two ol’ boys were true bachelors who were not ones to throw out clothes until they fell apart. It was just sometimes they didn’t feel like picking up anything from a pile that had lain in a corner for a couple of weeks. Jarvis walked to a chest of drawers and opened it and asked Ronnie to come take a look. Ronnie looked in the drawer and saw a collection of artifacts typically found in the area. The material ranged from large Savannah River points dating back some 5,000 years to more of what the boys had termed “bird points”. Ronnie picked up a partial *** with check marked stamping and smiled. “This is a nice one….I’ve seen fragments like this on the Oostanaula.” He added “It’s from what is they call the Woodland Period”. Ladge smiled a big toothless smile and proudly proclaimed he had f

"Soyez muette pour moi, Idole contemplative..."

I came home and found a lion in my living room
Rushed out on the fire escape screaming Lion! Lion!
Two stenographers pulled their brunnette hair and banged the window shut
I hurried home to Patterson and stayed two days

Called up old Reichian analyst
who'd kicked me out of therapy for smoking marijuana
'It's happened' I panted 'There's a Lion in my living room'
'I'm afraid any discussion would have no value' he hung up

I went to my old boyfriend we got drunk with his girlfriend
I kissed him and announced I had a lion with a mad gleam in my eye
We wound up fighting on the floor I bit his eyebrow he kicked me out
I ended up ******* in his jeep parked in the street moaning 'Lion.'

Found Joey my novelist friend and roared at him 'Lion!'
He looked at me interested and read me his spontaneous ignu high poetries
I listened for lions all I heard was Elephant Tiglon Hippogriff Unicorn
        Ants
But figured he really understood me when we made it in Ignaz Wisdom's
        bathroom.

But next day he sent me a leaf from his Smoky Mountain retreat
'I love you little Bo-Bo with your delicate golden lions
But there being no Self and No Bars therefore the Zoo of your dear Father
        hath no lion
You said your mother was mad don't expect me to produce the Monster for
        your Bridegroom.'

Confused dazed and exalted bethought me of real lion starved in his stink
        in Harlem
Opened the door the room was filled with the bomb blast of his anger
He roaring hungrily at the plaster walls but nobody could hear outside
        thru the window
My eye caught the edge of the red neighbor apartment building standing in
        deafening stillness
We gazed at each other his implacable yellow eye in the red halo of fur
Waxed rhuemy on my own but he stopped roaring and bared a fang
        greeting.
I turned my back and cooked broccoli for supper on an iron gas stove
boilt water and took a hot bath in the old tup under the sink board.

He didn't eat me, tho I regretted him starving in my presence.
Next week he wasted away a sick rug full of bones wheaten hair falling out
enraged and reddening eye as he lay aching huge hairy head on his paws
by the egg-crate bookcase filled up with thin volumes of Plato, & Buddha.

Sat by his side every night averting my eyes from his hungry motheaten
        face
stopped eating myself he got weaker and roared at night while I had
        nightmares
Eaten by lion in bookstore on Cosmic Campus, a lion myself starved by
        Professor Kandisky, dying in a lion's flophouse circus,
I woke up mornings the lion still added dying on the floor--'Terrible
        Presence!'I cried'Eat me or die!'

It got up that afternoon--walked to the door with its paw on the south wall to
        steady its trembling body
Let out a soul-rending creak from the bottomless roof of his mouth
thundering from my floor to heaven heavier than a volcano at night in
        Mexico
Pushed the door open and said in a gravelly voice "Not this time Baby--
        but I will be back again."

Lion that eats my mind now for a decade knowing only your hunger
Not the bliss of your satisfaction O roar of the universe how am I chosen
In this life I have heard your promise I am ready to die I have served
Your starved and ancient Presence O Lord I wait in my room at your
        Mercy.

                                        Paris, March 1958

My mother always told me
not to play with fire
and to avoid evil friends
who want to conspire
listen to my conscience
set my heart aflame
be obedient,
kind like Jesus
Him I acclaim,

for reflecting
the Lord's Image,
satan does flee
where God resides
in hell's where the demons
should be because where
Jesus' Kingdom is,
we are there ...
it's also at hand when
we lift hearts in prayer.


© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved

Brian the cool vinnies bloke


you see brian allan was looking for something to do, to get him from being street trash

and a very nice lady named rowena said why don’t you work for vinnies, and brian said why not

and the next day, he was given an interview with helen, who was the boss at vinnies, and

she thought it would be great to have someone to do the bins and vacuum the floor before the start

and after 4 weeks of being there, brian thought he would like to be santa claus, and had to make uo

a proper reason for doing it, so brian said, i like the idea of giving the kids, who hate shopping with parents

a treat and helen thought she will make gingerbread men, to tickle the childs taste buds a lot,but helen was

in a bind, because i haven’t got a beard and she suggested i spray paint my real beard, but my parents were against that

because it would go against everything that santa stood for, but brian got angry with his parents and told them

that if they spray painted his beard, there will be no smart alek of a kid to pull his beard off, and as brian said that

his father yelled out, THAT’S ENOUGH, thinking i cared nothing about the kids of this city but that offended brian a lot

and made him hit his father, and this got brian really hyped up on being the best santa claus in canberra, and then

when brian explained to helen that it was causing a stir with the family to spray paint the beard, helen decided to

get a fake beard for me to use, and on the first day i played santa, i offered some of the adults gingerbread men

and they said, save them for the kids, and one little girl, who had the same resemblance to my eldest niece, said

i was a fake santa, and the santa at the mall was more real than i was, and some of the vinnies ladies brought their

own grandchildren in to get their gift from santa and i did my first year of santa, despite some smart a lek of a kid

attemptng to pull my beard off, but i was too smart for him, and after christmas was over packed my santa suit away for the first time

and then i met david who did the shoes, and i found him very good to talk too, you see i said when he dies he will be the

shoe shine man in heaven, but he sounded like he hated the idea, and he liked to joke around with stephen and mable and

i vacuumed the floor and then went outside to empty the clothing bin, and i did this all the time, ya know every day, and i had ken and brian

to help me, but brian thought it would be cool to bang on the clothing bin, while i was still in it and i told helen and she said

you should speak up for yourself, because i seem to let people walk all over me, and really i can’t be bullied by this so called brian

character, and then i started something new, you see i thought, it would be nice to to cook lunches 3 days a week at the new mental health

building, called the rainbow and i learnt how to do creative writing as well as meeting the messiah and a man named barry, who was a

really cool poet, sort of reminded me of my father, mainly because of his poem sounding like banjo patterson and henry lawson, and barry

was a lover of fitzroy, and supported the brisbane lions afl club, and i went to the club i do the bbq for, to watch the game with him and

he left before the end of the match and, i continued to go about my merry way, cooking meals at the rainbow and going on trips with the rainbow

having sing-a=longs and one man, warwick, swam 45 km at once and helen got a fire engine and i sat in it, and a star canberra raiders star

came to vinnies and signed a ball for me and my second year of santa claus went well also, i wrote fly burgers also that year, which was

funny and when i read it out, everyone was laughing along with it and they clapped it, and i read out the fact i missed scott macdonald also

and i went to queensland that year also, and when i got in my santa suit, i was visioning i will tell the kids i am an australian santa and instead of

living on the north pole, i lived right here in canberra but my parents who were strict on keeping kids imaginations flowing, hated me disillusioning

the kids minds, you see here is a poem about the aussie santa

ya see g’day mate i am the real santa

i don’t live at the north pole

i live in canberra australia, ya know the hot place, around christmas day

ya see ya know christmas is great as i do my gigs at vinnies

and as a treat i give out gingerbread men and lollies

you see christmas is fun for all ages dudes, yeah it’s fun oh yeah that’s right mate

i hope you don’t do ya santa gig way to ****** late


you see i thought i was given this gig, to bring the cool into santa

and one year i was doing my gig with an orange soda

who loves orange soda, i love orange soda

is it true, oh yeah it’s true ooh ooh ooh oh yeah

and in the following year, i was feeling fine, and my psychiatrist reduced my medication and that pushed me straight to the psych ward, where i thought

i died, and the psych ward was the gate to heaven and that ended the cool vinnies kid reign but i came back and i was more interested talking with david

and doing santa claus and that year i was checking tapes, but that only lasted 5 months, because there were getting more tapes coming in, i couldn’t keep it up

and santa was the thing, and because i was a good worker, suddenly everyone wanted me, but that was because of my manly charm, and helen left and glenn

came in and he had this little jingle, brian brian brian everything is fine, brian brian brian he’s a friend of mine brian brian brian makes the carpet shine?

you see his name is brian brian brian, and glenn sang that song to me every time i did the vacuuming at the shop and then after a few more santa gigs, glenn left and

paul s came in after vinnies had no boss, but i was still santa claus there and paul s was the official photographer for my santa claus gig, and that made me feel cool

and now, i am not santa anymore, but i really enjoyed the attention.

i became the jumpin' jack flash in november '77.
there was slush in new york city and the bums at the piers
still burned trash in metal barrels you could see from over on coney island even.
just like kerouac said.

in the daytime foolish kids picked weeds in central park
and called them flowers. they got laid by stringing charming words together as they gave them
to the thousand daughters of manhattan's old monied men,
the wall street hacks hanging from the teats of the
great & frenzied cash cow of capitalist interest. the milk
came slow that winter.

one week, early december when the slush gave way to furtive snowfalls
i took a bus to patterson, NJ
for a few days, drank a lot of awful coffee writing obscenities in my journal but speaking
them aloud in the restaurants and bars and so
was deemed just like everybody else in patterson, NJ.
drunk & high, helicopter tours, stuffed with bread and half-truths.
and when shortly my irish luck ran out i raced back to the big smoke
in a drop-top mercedes driven by a man whose thick accent i couldn't quite place.
whose only serious question was whether i knew anyone
who had good coke.

in the city it rained for three weeks straight and
david byrne, in some bowery apartment wrote a song called 'flood'
which was never released on any talking head's album
but lingered in his brain as a reminder of the three weeks
he spent cooped up, eating saltines and dancing to the rhythms of the thunder and rain outside.
totally alone with his mind & a bass guitar. tina weymouth, naturally, was furious.
the bass was the last thing she had left in a band she half-started. and david had stolen even that.

but that was tina weymouth, that was new york.

Semantic satiation
is when you repeat
a word or phrase
so much that it loses
all sense of meaning

Grim Milestone
sounds like the protagonist
of a paperback thriller series
by Patterson
or one of his ghosts

Grim Milestone
sounds like the title
of a Goosebumps book
about a killer street

Grim Milestone
sounds like a gloomy rock
on a lonely corner
whose only purpose in life
is to tell people
they’re on the wrong path.

Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone
Grim Milestone

I keep thinking
that maybe, if I say enough
my heart will ache less at the words
when we pass the next one

I am scared!
Scared of this world

Robert Godwin Sr
Alyssa Elsman

How many more have to die?
By my kind,
By their kind,
Because they blame some other kind
What ever happened to just being
kind?

Daniel Parmertor, Russell King, Jr., Demetrius Hewlin

Where were you when the World Trade Center went down?
It’s something everyone alive then will always remember
Never Forget! was our brand motto for American Pride

Krystle Marie Campbell, Lü Lingzi, Martin William Richard, Sean A. Collier, Dennis Simmonds

And now, the death of another is so commonplace
That we forget what and where.
It’s no longer personal enough to register where in our lives that it struck us
Only note that another life has been struck down
Add another tally to the equation
And still it does not add up

Trayvon Martin
Tamir Rice
Samuel DuBose
Delrawn Small
Philando Castile
Terence Crutcher
Heather Heyer

We are completely desensitized
And decentralized
We keep ourselves disconnected
(because we just can’t absorb,
Take,
Process it all)
It’s not us
It’s not me
It’s somebody else
Somewhere else.
Until it is
Then we care
How much can we take, before we break

Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton Doctor, Clementa C. Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman Singleton, Myra Thompson

The tragedy is the comedy
We laugh so we don’t cry
Sakia Gunn
Richie Phillips
Nireah Johnson, Brandie Coleman
Glenn Kopitske
Scotty Joe Weaver
Jason Gage
Michael Sandy
Sean William Kennedy
Duanna Johnson
Lawrence "Larry" King
Angie Zapata
Lateisha Green
****** August Provost, III
Mark Carson

I can’t say I’ve never thought of committing violence.
Hell, when my ex-wife cheated, it occurred to me
And I can’t say that I have never hit another
I’ve been a kid
My whole life is designed just to grow up
But, I’ve thought of killing myself far more often than the thought to harm anyone else have ever occurred to me
Because my problems are mine;
My fault,
And I am not seeking some scapegoat

Keenya Cook, Jerry Taylor, Million A. Woldemariam, Claudine Parker, Hong Im Ballenge, James Martin, James L. Buchanan, Premkumar Walekar, Sarah Ramos, Lori Ann Lewis-Rivera, Pascal Charlot, Dean Harold Meyers, Kenneth Bridges, Linda Franklin née Moore, Jeffrey Hopper, Conrad Johnson, 1 unnamed victim

I am not going to deny that being a white male hasn’t allowed me to sidestep a whole level of *******
One day, angry white males will be the minority
And we’ll have no one left to blame, but ourselves.
If we don’t **** everyone first
If we don’t **** ourselves first

Michael Arnold, Martin Bodrog, Arthur Daniels, Sylvia Frasier, Kathy Gaarde, John Roger Johnson, Mary Francis Knight, Frank Kohler, Vishnu Pandit, Kenneth Bernard Proctor, Gerald Read, Richard Michael Ridgell

Jonathan Blunk, Alexander J. Boik , Jesse Childress, Gordon Cowden,
Jessica Ghawi, John Larimer, Matt McQuinn, Micayla Medek, Veronica Moser Sullivan, Alex Sullivan, Alexander C. Teves, Rebecca Wingo

The earth has already decided that we are a plague upon it
Maybe climate change is the natural response to the abuse of our gifts

Nancy Lanza, Rachel D'Avino, Dawn Hochsprung, Anne Marie Murphy,
Lauren Rousseau, Mary Sherlach, Victoria Leigh Soto, Charlotte Bacon, Daniel Barden, Olivia Engel, Josephine Gay, Dylan Hockley, Madeleine Hsu, Catherine Hubbard, Chase Kowalski, Jesse Lewis, Ana Márquez Greene, James Mattioli, Grace McDonnell, Emilie Parker, Jack Pinto, Noah Pozner, Caroline Previdi, Jessica Rekos, Avielle Richman, Benjamin Wheeler, Allison Wyatt

What is this world going to teach my son?
That he’s better because of how he looks?
Or what I’ve taught him:
You make yourself better.

Jamie Bishop, Jocelyne Couture Nowak, Kevin Granata, Liviu Librescu,  P
G. V. Loganathan, Ross Alameddine, Brian Bluhm, Ryan Clark, Austin Cloyd, Daniel Perez Cueva, Matthew Gwaltney, Caitlin Hammaren, Jeremy Herbstritt, Rachael Hill, Emily Hilscher, Matthew La Porte, Jarrett Lane, Henry Lee, Partahi Lumbantoruan, Lauren McCain, Daniel O'Neil, Juan Ortiz, Minal Panchal, Erin Peterson, Michael Pohle Jr., Julia Pryde, Mary Karen Read, Reema Samaha, Waleed Shaalan, Leslie Sherman, Maxine Turner, Nicole White

I work as a data analyst
So, I ran the numbers
But, these are more than numbers
These are people: sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, lovers.

Stanley Almodovar III, Amanda Alvear, Oscar A. Aracena Montero, Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, Alejandro Barrios Martinez, Martin Benitez Torres, Antonio D. Brown, Darryl R. Burt II, Jonathan A. Camuy Vega, Angel L. Candelario Padro, Simon A. Carrillo Fernandez, Juan Chevez Martinez, Luis D. Conde, Cory J. Connell, Tevin E. Crosby, Franky J. DeJesus Velazquez, Deonka D. Drayton, Mercedez M. Flores, Juan R. Guerrero, Peter O. Gonzalez Cruz, Paul T. Henry, Frank Hernandez, Miguel A. Honorato, Javier Jorge Reyes, Jason B. Josaphat, Eddie J. Justice, Anthony L. Laureano Disla, Christopher A. Leinonen, Brenda L. Marquez McCool, Jean C. Mendez Perez, Akyra Monet Murray, Kimberly Morris, Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, Luis O. Ocasio Capo, Geraldo A. Ortiz Jimenez, Eric I. Ortiz Rivera, Joel Rayon Paniagua, Enrique L. Rios Jr., Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, Christopher J. Sanfeliz, Xavier E. Serrano Rosado, Gilberto R. Silva Menendez, Edward Sotomayor Jr., Shane E. Tomlinson, Leroy Valentin Fernandez, Luis S. Vielma, Luis D. Wilson Leon, Jerald A. Wright

I did research to try to find all the victims since I became abruptly aware 16 years ago
There are too many
I could not discover a single database that contained a comprehensive record
No one can keep track of it anymore
I know I’ve missed people
I know there are 1000’s of people now missing people
Even 1 was too much

Hannah Ahlers, Heather Alvarado, Dorene Anderson, Carrie Barnette, Jack Beaton, Steve Berger, Candice Bowers, Denise Salmon Burditus, Sandra Casey, Andrea Castilla, Denise Cohen, Austin Davis, Virginia Day Jr, Christiana Duarte, Stacee Etcheber, Brian Fraser, Keri Galvan,  Dana Gardner, Angela Gomez, Rocio Guillen Rocha, Charleston Hartfield,  Chris Hazencomb, Jennifer Irvine, Nicol Kimura, Jessica Klymchuk, Carly Kreibaum, Rhonda LeRocque, Victor Link, Jordan McIldoon, Kelsey Meadows, Calla Medig, James ‘Sonny’ Melton, Pati Mestas, Austin Meyer, Adrian Murfitt, Rachael Parker, Jennifer Parks, Carrie Parsons, Lisa Patterson,  John Phippen, Melissa Ramirez, Jordyn Rivera, Quinton Robbins, Cameron Robinson, Lisa Romero Muniz, Christopher Roybal, Brett Schwanbeck, Bailey Schweitzer, Laura Shipp, Erick Silva, Susan Smith, Tara Roe Smith, Brennan Stewart, Derrick ‘Bo’ Taylor, Neysa Tonks, Michelle Vo, Kurt Von Tillow, Bill Wolfe Jr.

and NOW I’ve run out of lines and time to read off all 2,977 people who died in 9-11
Isn’t that a tragedy?

Paramus? I bought a desk in Paramus. Don’t remember what it looked like.
There were ***** men outside the store. Or maybe they were Mexican?
They played a Skiffle beat as I haggled for that couch I was getting.
“When I’m dead and in my grave. No more good times will I crave.
When I die they’ll burry me deep. Way down on old Chelsea Street.”
Title was “Freight Train”.Think that one was by Nancy Whiskey You said Rutherford you’re from or Roebling?Ya, that Lonnie Donegan could sure make a song The song those Mic’s in front of the store I got the hutch at in Oradell was called “Face in the Rain”, went, “When I’m dead and in my grave. No more good times will I crave. When I die they’ll burry me deep. Way down on old Chelsea Street.” Wait what were we saying bout’ Paramus?
I mean Patterson.

181 to 200 of 3251 Poets
«891011»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by  
Joelle Biele

To Katharine: At Fourteen Months
Veronica Patterson

Marry Me
Rick Campbell

Heart
Mary-Sherman Willis

The Laughter of Women
Sharmila Voorakkara

For the Tattooed Man
Max Mendelsohn

Ode to Marbles
Jonathan Holden

Car Showroom
David Tucker

The Dancer
Today’s News
Marianne Boruch (b. 1950)

It includes the butterfly and the rat, the ****
Some dreamily smoke cigarettes, some track
Trish Dugger

Spare Parts
Carrie Shipers

Medical History
Love Poem for Ted Neeley In Jesus Christ Superstar
Steven Huff

Safe
Lee McCarthy

Santa Paula
William Kloefkorn

"I stand alone at the foot "
Jackson Wheeler

How Good Fortune Surprises Us
Steven Orlen (1942–2010)

Three Teenage Girls: 1956
In the House of the Voice of Maria Callas
Steven Schneider

Chanukah Lights Tonight
Jessy Randall

Superhero Pregnant Woman
Anne Pierson Wiese (b. 1964)

Inscrutable Twist
Columbus Park
Regina DeSalva

Snip Your Hair
«891011»

It was the eve of a black obsidian night
full purple moon and stars shone bright
  the howl of one lone wolf filled frigid air
damp cold mist needed down outerwear.

The screaming banchee's breath vapor
was noxious green befitting the caper
  of scaring all children by his loud noise
of trick or treating little girls and boys.

A massive link ink wrought iron fence
surrounds eerie mansion in suspense
  Frankinstein pushes thru spider webs
while a monster exercises quadriceps.

A ghost wanders in Cemetery's grave
and a pumpkin avoided an autoclave
  the doors began to creak very loudly
a Raven and Owl sang quite proudly

Slick sleek ebony crows sit atop a roof
while another swoops, soars like a goof
  do listen, you can hear their shrill echo
tombstone-songs by mummy's gecko


© Carmela M. Patterson

Suddenly the world stood still
Erupting goose bumps chill
Piloted by those who terrorize
Twin Towers they'd jeapardize
Emotions of shock, disbelief
Mourning, moaning and grief
Bombed by aircraft killing all
Extraordinary sorrow ... pall
Resultant heroes came to call

Eleviating pain where they could
Lifting to safety as they should
Everyone who could be saved
Venom's evil could not be staved
Even would we wish it to be so
Numbers trapped perished tho'
They will be forgotten not ever ...
Honored in tribute, remembered forever.



© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

For Thou alone my heart sings
O Lord of Lords, King of Kings;
how can I love Thee as I ought,
Thy love I have so long sought.

When I contemplate Thy goodness to me,
I am in awe and enveloped in humility
that Thou O God from infinity
saw fit to create one like me.

My heart overflows for love of Thee
like swelling waters of the blue-green sea,
like the roaring waves splashing ashore;
it is Thee O my God whom I adore.
Permit that I may love Thee evermore.

When my earthly life comes to an end,
my sinful wounded soul wilt Thou mend?
May I one day behold Thy radiant Face
and reap the joy of inestimable grace?

How I pray this will be so, O Lord,
as to Thee alone all Praise I accord;
to be in Thy company one of these days
hearing choirs resound in Praise
to Thy Holiness and Grace
in that heavenly Place
and behold, I gaze
upon Thy most
beautiful
Face.




© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

Maguire & Patterson
never came to terms
with it, died without
a testimony, they did.

Open casket, stiff as
pokers and bald as a
pair of boiled eggs,
they are!

The dampness got to
them it's endemic, but at
least they get their last wish
to be cremated, they will!

Monday morning and here they wait
proffering their passports - pleasure cards
submitted to scanning for our next date.
Returning regular regards.

Brave Ben Hayes benign war hero
veteran of bellicose books
stalker of the cinema's front row
lover of library ladies' looks.

Miss Patterson reads the romantics
that free her from kindly caring
and meddling medical antics
that prevent her feelings flaring.

Finally here comes Francis
who craves crime and thriller novels
demented detectives dangerous dodges
devoted while the narrative unravels.
Then there's me. I'm normal.

I remember the days of driving back from SAT prep. It was on the other side of the river, your side of the river. On those unholy sundays I was filled with a listless longing. I ambled at the gas station
or maybe that stoplight on Patterson Ave, seeing you for a second in the face of a stranger. At dark I rode with the windows down dedicating songs to the night, all in your name, the reverent word.  

You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

I avoided crossing the bridge back to where you were not. Where ribs of artificial light fell over me
from the lonesome headlights. Those songs fading out around the impenetrable night. And I, slinking down, felt that quell of hope ebb away as the idea of your face became more like a dream.
You were untested, you were perfect. Your hair stuck up and you wore a grey zip jacket.
I marked every glance in the school hallway, my blood struck by those dark roving eyes. I mentioned your name with those first sips of ***** on my lips. I still taste you there. In that blooming period, springtime, when I felt a beckoning towards a becoming of sorts. I saw myself the way I’d be in the impression of your mind, a man’s idea of me. I think I knew our souls were similar,
maybe just by the way you walked or closed your eyes sometimes. I found you in everything, I filled you into the empty spaces.
I loved you then, as a stranger.

Freshly baked
  Italian bread aroma
    permeated Sunday mornings
      in my old familiar neighborhood
      we'd inhale the heavenly scent
    drawing in deeply as we briskly
  entered the shop to buy
      a steaming hot loaf




© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

When we met I knew you were kind
there was a gentleness you exuded
we were drawn, one to the other,
and it was good, comfortable

friendly conversation, blue eyed smiles
turned up lip grins, chuckles ...
shared dinners delightfully enjoyed, savored
medium rare, tasty faire feast, fondue
and you ... you whom I have come to know

lighthearted glow, I wonder ... does mine show?
Yours does in your every glance my way;
being cuddled by you feels like
a warm blanket ... I don't want
to experience numbing cold again

unsure if either of us wants to take it
up a notch or two from deep care
to true lasting love ... I must admit
the thought frightens me a little...
maybe it holds some trepidation
for you as well, therefore, perhaps ...
we should leave things as they are.



© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved

All the way down here in Wiskokee
We live like it used to be
Nothing really changes much
Not since Mr Patterson’s arrival in 1863
I wouldn’t say we’re backward folk
We just are happy with our seat
Out in the wilds of Buckinghamshire
Where there’s all the fish you can eat
We don’t do big banquets
Nah, we don’t do fancy *****
We just do bread and water
No-one goes hungry at all
We don’t think much to going out
We don’t think much to the Internet
We just live right and true
And catch what we can in a net
We don’t think much to crime
To us it’s all really the same
We just go using a gun
To go hunting us some game
We don’t think much to hygiene
Why would we want it any other way?
When we’ve lived right for years
Up to our knees in mud and hay
Perhaps I’m misunderstanding
Why you’re kissing this guy you’ll never see
We just like the quiet where I live
And a simple life is enough for me!

6 | 31 Poems for August 2016

Here I stand, gradually disintegrating just so I can remain whole.
It’s interestingly sad to see how many people that are alive feel dead to me.
Your kind words are smooth like a fresh cup of latté but I need something stronger to battle this heartache.
Got nothing to read except the words I effortlessly wrote last night and a few James Patterson novels.
Time is wasted so I patiently wait for the clock to get sober eventually.
The sincerity of my words is embedded in the movement of my metaphors, similes, adjectives and verbs.
I love waking up whole to the bonfire of a warm and loving soul.
But you will eventually grow tired of me, somehow they all do.
Everything is slowly falling apart, I just wish I had full control.
All I can do is sit and helplessly watch while the debris flies over me.
Here I stand, gradually disintegrating just so I can remain whole.
I love waking up whole to the bonfire of a warm and loving soul.
But I hope that you never grow tired of me unlike how everyone did.

Aged arthritic gnarled yet standing stoically still
like a proud old man, Poplar provides passage
between bent legs ... an aroma of moist soil
permeates early morning's mist from eve's
rain drench ... stroll's sneaker **** splash
is no issue with appropriate apparel.

Pop ushers us onto the path, visibility dim, yet
disperses with each careful step ... sounds
of wing flap, caws, squirrel skitter, twig snaps
auburn fox, fleet of foot, flashes color in his run-by

windowless gray stone structure, doors open
bids a visit ... green garden gloves, trowel,
galvanized bucket, planting shelf indicate
recent care ... outdoor garden rose laden,
scents transcend the soul, red, yellow,
white, peach, pink hues heavenly

further on mists begin to lift as sun breaks
through dividing rain clouds ... azure sky
widens slowly to fully bright, beautiful
clear view enthralls, nature nurtures

the walk back is drier, crunch caked caper
I playfully kick it onto your sneakers
then run ... you let me run to Pop first
then you and I, hand in hand wave
goodbye to the old man.




© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

The apartment in which we lived when I was small
in Los Angeles, California when I was not at all tall
  our landlady, Mrs. Appleton, would oft come to call
   she and mom were friends ... I could barely crawl.

The windows were opened on lovely sunshine days
soft breezes blew white curtains in billowing sways
  with fragrances of honeysuckle and rose bouquets
   wafting through rooms like perfume scented sprays.

We were not rolling in money and were quite poor
yet it was nothing that mom and I couldn't endure
  she managed her meager finances well to ensure
   we had all our needs met, her factory job secured.

The kitchen we had was substantial small, clean
a country sink, a stove and a roller wash machine
  clothes were hung in our yard on ropes of green
   we watched sunsets through the open door screen.

The apartment I remember is often on my mind
my mother's sacrifice seemed sublime at the time.




© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

When I was small I loved You little
then my soul You began to whittle
thru growth my spirit oft felt brittle
I would repent ... pray for acquittal

each minute I found I loved You more
interceding was never a chore
upon my knees deep within my core
I hoped for Your celestial rapport

as I spiritually matured
my soul was safe from satan's detour
I stretched toward You who reassured
that forever with You I had procured

in my aging sage wisdom was sewn
soul was a temple for You alone
in loving You, life was a steppingstone
I took Your hand, now see Your Throne.



© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

In love's
electricity
hearts dance
to a horizontal
Rhumba




© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.

When my friend told me one-worded poems don't exist, I looked her in the eyes and said "Kevin."

Kevin loves to read
Kevin loves to read James Patterson
Kevin extremely studious
Kevin beautiful ocean eyes
Kevin gorgeous smile
Kevin didn't even need braces
Kevin dangerous
Kevin took my heart without warning
Kevin "you're crazy Melissa, I love it!"
Kevin mysterious
Kevin don't tell my parents
Kevin 20 isn't that much older!
Kevin sneaking out
Kevin 3am at the park
Kevin kissing like a movie
Kevin kissing
Kevin kissing
Kevin kissing a girl
Kevin a girl that isn't me
Kevin told me he loved me a week before
Kevin says it was a mistake
Kevin what kind of woman
Kevin would I be
Kevin to take you back
Kevin it's been hard
Kevin my breath
Kevin my light
Kevin gone
Kevin new girlfriend
Kevin she's the size of my pinky
Kevin she's the one you kissed huh
Kevin stop saying you miss me
Kevin stop contacting me
Kevin you don't still love me
Kevin you have a girlfriend
Kevin and it isn't me this time
Kevin she's actually your age
Kevin she's also not as fun as me
Kevin I need to move on
Kevin I'm not being the other girl to the other girl
Kevin once a cheater
Kevin always a cheater

April Seventh, 1928

Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.
Luster searched the rough, amongst the grass, doing his own bidding.
"Here Caddie," a man shouted before he hit.
Images came back and I entered a fit.
Weeping and wailing I stood, a 33 year old male.
Soon to be reminded of being hooked on a nail.

My sister Caddy treated me well, though mother won't agree.
She thinks I'm pampered by the girl sneaking down a nearby tree.
Caddy ruined the family name.
Or so mother says, but I don't think she's to blame.
The girl lost her scent.
The Compson name is on the descent.
Caddy held me. She smelled like trees.
And not the kind that make one sneeze.

Maury was supposed to be my title.
My uncle's indiscretions made its worth idle.
So i was given something new to be called.
As Uncle Maury's and Mrs. Patterson's relationship stalled.

Miss Quentin picked up after her mother.
Looking absentmindedly for a wayward lover.
She sat next to a man with a red ascot on a swing after supper.
Luster wandered up and picked up something rubber.

...

I have no sense of how things occur.
My illness makes things easy to obscure.
The ticking of a broken watch beats on.
I, for ignoring such nonsense, have been deemed wrong.
Colliding events of different times.
Blurring together dateless lines.

Mom was always a questionable figure in my life. She has inspired me but nonetheless not every parent is perfect, not even in the eyes of their child. I can remember at a young age of eight, I asked mom, "Mom, how will I know when I'm mature?" Her response still echoes in my head when I come to a stand still situation. She said "You are mature when you realise that going into your room and slamming your door does not make your problems disappear and they may be lurking in the room with you or right outside of the door". Obviously at the tender age of eight, I had no idea what she meant so I decided to give my own interpretation; "so there will be times we need to get a new door?"

Since I grew up without a father, Mom was forced to work to take up the bread-maker role and provide for my extra interests and any other things since I wanted to grow up slightly interesting. So "James Patterson books that you're probably going to read once and costs $50 sure son, I'll buy it for you". "Guitar lessons for your clumsy hands so you can woo the ladies? sure". I wasn't spoiled, don't get me wrong. I worked with my Aunts cafe (they are extremely successful; I think it's ripping off her employees and sacrificing the blood of a thousand babies or something. You get the picture; even though they are family, they aren't exactly the best people in this world. Then again you might argue success is the outcome of severity).

My mother was also the one to give me the talk (yes, that one with the bees,butterflies, magic liquids, ***** and elephants) , I could recall the embarrassment I felt from that moment. To clarify, I wasn't exactly old (about 12-13) nor did I have the maturity of a child but the conversation went a little like this -

      "Hey, do you know how to use a ******? To keep you safe in case you are ever... if you ever ... want to engage in intimate activities with a girlfriend".

      "Yea, mom I'm good. It's just like wearing a hat".

      "You know, if you put it on your head you will probably get someone pregnant".

      "Mom, I didn't mean I'm going to wear it like a hat, I'm going to wear it where I should be wearing it".

      "Don't fill it up with water and pretend its a water balloon before too and don't blow it up like a balloon".

      "Why are you telling me this mom? Sounds like you know someone who did it before?"
        
     Mom with a giggle and starts to sidetrack to an anecdote of the past; "Yes actually, when you were little you thought they were balloons. You were so small and adorable, who'd known so many years pass".

     "Ok thanks Mom, I got it. I don't think I'll ever get a girlfriend in this life though, seems a like a lot of work. The flowers, the gifts, the talking. I don't even know how to talk to a girl".

     "Simple, you talk to a girl, by talking to them like anyone else...Do clean up your language and don't be too stupid though. It's ok to show people you care about that you care, no matter who they are to you".

Now earlier I said, questionable, that's because she at times can be a hypocrite. I recall asking her at about 15, -

"is it ok for me to cry? I mean it feels strange, there's this something I can feel. I don't know how to describe it, but I don't know whether to cry or to scream or to just ..."

"It's ok for a guy to cry, it's ok for anyone to cry. The biggest importance is that you know to wipe those tears and keep going. Tissues work but I would recommend letting it roll down your cheeks and you'll realise, all you are doing is making yourself look more miserable and it's really not going to change much".

"Did you cry Mom? Like when ... passed away?"

"No. I didn't shed a single tear".
                    (Obviously she was lying because I had heard her on many occasions on my fathers funeral day sometimes every third year or some years in a row. We live in a small house where the walls are thin).

Mom being the only person I know to ask for advice. I approached her with question on love, when I was about 17 after somehow finding a girl who said she liked me.

        "Mom how do you know when you are in love? Or how do you know you should love that person and what if they don't love you back?"

       "Simple, love is when you miss the presence of someone in your life. Love can be between family. Love is thinking of them even when you're suppose to be doing other stuff. Love is caring how they are or how their day goes. Love is like seeing a light at the end of a tunnel filled with roses".
(Roses have a significant meaning to me, I always place Roses at the two most important people in my lives, one is my father, who altered who I have become, and the other is my greatest friend. Roses aren't something I give away, I have never given a rose unless it came straight from the heart. I know, you're probably thinking it's just a flower. It was the flower that my father first purchased for my mother , it was the flower that was at the wedding reception, it was the flower that I had placed on the casket and it's the flower I give to people I know I will always cherish with my heart).

Mom was remarkable, I would have not been happier with any other mother. There are times we fight but we always mend things.

I remember staggering home drunk, unable to fit the key into the lock and face reddened by the number of friends who kept telling me "just another one".
About a week later, my mother who doesn't drink except an occasional beer to fit into the mood of a party sat me down and asked me how many things did I drink that night. I started listing drinks, thinking she would be proud (stupid teenager brain, I know)... " So i had a shot of some vanilla ***** thing, but I was already drunk at that point. I had some absinthe thing....Oh i had some wings. I had about four beers. I think I had hot chips. I think I also had some Hennesy but it might have been water".
        Her face reddened and for that second I thought my neck was due for a snapping, nothing happened. All she said was -

          "At least you knew to eat, but don't drink too much. I raised you this old all alone, I don't want to have to lose you to something as stupid as alcohol. Also if you want to drink, just don't. Not until you are 18 anyways".

One more fight I could remember which happened quite recently was the passing of my great grandmother (god bless her soul; r.i.p), I remember being upset at my mom for not telling me about great grandmas passing, especially since it was during Final examination periods and she waited till after. Which in retrospect I had no idea why I was mad, just failed to realise it must have been harder for her than it was for me.

There was this one time, when I was about six, a boy in my class, lets call him Peter had teased me about my dead father. Kids will be kids and kids will also be cruel. I came home that day after school asked mom.
            
                   "Mommy what do you do if someone you don't like talks about you?"

                  "When I was a kid, I knocked a girl down and stepped on her neck but you shouldn't do that because when you do that, his mom will surely get upset same way I will get upset if someone hurts you".
                
Ignoring what she said , six year old me shoved Peter to the ground and placed my shoe on his neck screaming things, I obviously must have heard somewhere
               "You're lucky I'm sparing you".

Since this was still before school , my mother witnesses this, pushes me off the kid and makes me apologise and checks to see if the boy is alright. My mom told the teachers on me, and I don't remember the consequences but I can recall she told me to talk with Peter after the apology. Peter forgave me with his open heart and became my best friend from 6 till 18 ( at 18 we had a falling out but we've been best friends for long enough for me to cherish and forgive him for everything. We just never grew closer ever again. Plus congratulations, he's getting engaged :)   ).

             Thank you Mom, for raising me to be the man that I am today. I still struggle speaking to girls ( I didn't speak to a girl till I was 14, so I am sure I have some social issues but I try to make things work), but Mom you've taught me everything from driving, to shaving, to cleaning up after myself, to knowing how to respect people and understanding that sometimes things need to be talked out and that's all that's required. We don't say "love you's " in our family but deep down in my silent heart, Mom just know that I love everything you have given or tried to give me and thank you for letting me live the life I have lived. Bye

You are a contradiction
You teach poetry and the art of English
You are such a good teacher
You scare the heck out of most people
You look so menacing
You talk so odd
You have so many rumors about how cruel you are
I don't think you're cruel
Just strict
At my age, that's what we need
But you are a good person
Kind to those who are the same to you
I think you are one of my favorite teachers ever
Thank you, Ms. Patterson

It all began
with injustice
when the innocence
of a child was stolen
and set you floating
like a butterfly
to sting
Liston
Patterson
Frazier
Foreman
and so many others
who failed
to knock you down

But when your wings
were clipped
you stood
like a man
and given the choice
between jail or war
you chose justice
and won your
greatest battle

by unanimous decision

07/04/2018

nothing compared to the unabashed, intoxicated fun we had at three in the morning on independence day when we sat on the front porch at the patterson's house and played the music our parents raised us on. we sang to every word without fail, a constant cloud of smoke lingering above our heads and the fire in the middle of the circle reflected in everyone's eyes, everyone was glowing, everyone looked ******* beautiful. i told jj to play "pour some sugar on me" and he asked me if i really wanted everyone to sing, but he didn't need an answer. he knew he had to do it. cal took a swig from a bottle of camarena and grabbed my hand - we whipped our sunbleached curls in rapid synchronicity and for four minutes and twenty seven seconds, the only thing that mattered was our music and the neon explosions in the sky.