Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and

Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and

revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial!  Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,

neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ******, exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,

perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and

pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,

song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,

India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.

I want to go back, back to my New Orleans
This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana
But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime
The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets,
Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys
Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses
Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter
Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt
In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow
is to be ridiculous.
In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs.
As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in
the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street
And in any semi-deserted street
To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way
The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets.
An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past
A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day
An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well
A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging
A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled
Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush  over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small
I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee,
And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.

His strong hands gripped me everywhere, he knew my sensitive places.
My eyes shone due to my intense obedience and humiliation.
I started to perspire in an excitable way.
My legs began to shake.
I could feel his affection through his endless kiss.
I felt intimidated.
He loved me.

I can still feel his indomitable hands around me, he knows my vulnerable spots.
My eyes glisten from my potent passiveness and embarrassment.
I break out in nervous sweats.
My legs are trembling.
I can feel his devotion in an infinite smack.
I feel terrorized.
He's attached to me.

They ask me over and over again,
"What boy hurt you to make you this way?"
And I laugh.
Because they are too ignorant to understand
Liking girls does not require a previous pain,
Or being touched by a hand you thought you could trust
Love has no ****** preference
And love has no gender
So I am forced to ask them,
"What girl hurt you to make you that way?"
They look at me puzzled
And they don't understand
Because their normal only has one definition
And that is theirs.
They don't understand that maybe,
Just maybe,
I deserve love in which ever way makes me feel the butterflies in my tummy
And makes my hands perspire in the pocket of my hoodie
They can't seem to see
That I have seen more love in the curves of her back
Than they will ever see on their knees.
But no matter how much I tell them that there is nothing wrong with me,
That no boy hurt me,
They persist.
They no longer ask.
They just plainly state,
"A boy hurt you and made you this way."

There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government

mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts

degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed

protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia

bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,

opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination

and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.

Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My era’s obscuring mirror          
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.            
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.

Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurd, Kurdish, translation, mirror, shattered, magnified, dictators, monsters, jagged, shards, sweat, perspire, leak, bleed, extrude, protrude, glass



The Lonely Earth
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The pale celestial bodies
never bid her "Good morning! "
nor do the creative stars
kiss her.
Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred,
might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor.
She's a lonely dusty orb,
so very lonely! , as she observes the moon's patchwork attire
knowing the sun's an imposter
who sears with rays he has stolen for himself
and who looks down on the moon and earth like lodgers.



Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there's nowhere left to nest, no refuge from their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don't think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.



Bi Havre (“Together”)
possibly the oldest Kurdish poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I want us to be together:
we would eat together,

climb the mountain together,
sing songs together, songs of love,

songs from the heart, sung from above.
I want us to have one heart, together.

Many words in this ancient poem are in doubt, so I have excerpted what I grok to be the central meaning.



And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:

Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!

A slow-melting lump in my mouth
So sweet my teeth perspire,
(Coated succulent like sin)
The layer viscous like desire,
The crowns rotting from within.

if i remember accurately he puts hand between her thighs she gets wet her body tells him she wants him she puts hand between his thighs she feels hardness his body tells her he wants her a little blue pill and KY lotion don’t convey anything except maybe we’re too old for this sexuality was once the most defining intention in life but not anymore when youth perspire it smells **** when elderly sweat it’s malodorous yet in another breath old people are more appreciative know the hurt humiliation of neglect invisibility they secretly harbor passions beyond contemporary standards old age is ground zero for truly authentic perversity desires unfulfilled in youth



i don’t remember when the disenchantment began was it part of some greater change Dad’s illness death leaving Chicago my dog’s passing 9/11 or simply old age at some point my life stopped feeling like adventure all the crazy dreams aims aspirations cravings longings insatiable hungers wild experiments beautiful women everything slowly fading away leaving only ghostly empty disenchantment a profound sad knowing the world is never going to heal get better the whole brutally honest realization greed corruption poisonous toxins overpopulation think tanks planet candidates anger hatred atrocities will triumph i know i must not listen to this voice inside me these feelings of disenchantment if i can learn to heal myself and try my hardest to love forgive others than i will succeed in this harsh existence no matter what the world does



in my garden grows an abundant jalapeño patch i share it with my postman Fernando he picks ripe peppers for his wife Barbara she makes salsa with the jalapeños then Fernando shares Barbara’s salsa with me anyway Fernando served 6 years in the Marines and is of Mexican descent he recently told me a story about a holiday he shared with 2 fellow Marines at a ******* beach in southern Spain Fernando described a seashore bustling with many women exposing their ******* all of a sudden Fernando spotted this amazingly gorgeous long legged female wearing nothing but flimsy string thong she walked into a cantina the 3 Marines followed Fernando's buddy set up tripod behind amazingly gorgeous long legged woman and started shooting Fernando explained she turned enraged yelling at the Marines i commented to Fernando his Marine buddy ought to have first asked consent he replied we knew we should have but who gives a **** we’re Americans everybody knows Americans are ******* when people from other countries find out you’re American they deliberately treat you like an *******



October is pivotal April May June July August September mornings shine bright early dusk comes late then suddenly October bursts on scene changes everything mornings grow darker days end sooner October is the culprit this month 5 Fridays 5 Saturdays 5 Sundays old dog painfully arthritic legs climb stairs sound of waves crashing against shoreline distant stars in night sky cooler breezes blow whiff of death in air harvest your wheat oats barley cook your squash last of corn tomatoes eat your pumpkin pie swig your cider you know what’s next now familiar footsteps tread on path come to take you home back to place before the beginning you’ve got to pick up every stitch must be the season of the witch



Mom spoke about memory a fogginess she says comes over her she began by admitting she realizes how she camouflages so people won't notice how bad she truly is because they might not want to be with her she says it does not scare her it is just part of getting older she recognizes it in her friends Mom says she very much wants to remain independent she knows her house how to maneuver in it she feels angry she didn't sell the apartment when the market was better though she loves her home does not want to ever wind up in residence for the aged does not want anyone living with her she is used to living alone doesn't like idea of a caregiver in the house this passage is difficult for her in a new way somehow i think the difficult challenge for us all now is how to help Mom manage on her own and continue to empower her with dignity she is a brave woman turning 90 in late October woman descending a staircase

Tiredness,
The slow drag of life walking by.
This all ending never beginning,
Time after time.
No gumption or motion,
To bring forth arising devotion.
To perspire and prepare for the upcoming road ahead,
No energy left.
Feeling dead,
So tired and exhausted.
Rather stay in bed.

Here Kid take this what is it? whats it look like? its a prayer book thing yes so take it and hide it under your jumper why? just hide the **** thing so Benedict hides the  black book with red ends under his jumper and follows Anne into the grounds out of the French windows Anne crutches herself across the grass and makes towards the round white table and chairs and plonks herself down in a chair tossing her crutches aside Benedict sits down in the next chair looking back towards the nursing home do you think we were seen? seen doing what Kid? walking across the grass no doubt liberating Sister Dumb-arses prayer book no Anne says Benedict turns around and stares at her dont keep looking around Kid or the penguins will guess youve been up to no good me been up to no good it was your idea to take the prayer book but youve got it Kid not me but you said take it and you did well done Kid Anne says smiling she rubs her leg stump and pulls the blue skirt down further what do we do now? Benedict asks looking at Anne tempted to turn around and look behind him sit tight Kid sit tight but I cant hide the book under my jumper all day he says pass it under the table to me so he passes the prayerbook to Anne under the white table and she opens it in her lap he looks at her his stomach tightening guess whose it is? Anne asks he shrugs dont know its only Sister Bridgets how do you know? has it got her name in it? no they dont own personal property its just that it has this prayer card in it with an image of St Bridget on one side and a prayer on the other and on the top shes scrawled Sr Bridget in her bird-**** hand writing God shell go ape he says looking round at the nursing home what do we do? shush Kid what do want them to know weve got it? he stares at the building imagines the nun galloping across the lawn towards them her black robes billowing behind her like Batman turn round Kid youll look suspicious he looks round and stares at her sitting in the chair as if butter wouldnt melt in her mouth on a hot day where are you going to put it? he asks out of the sight of their eyes she says where though? she pulls up her blue skirt and tucks the black prayer book in her navy blue underwear and pulls down the skirt and brushes out the any signs you cant keep it there he says why not my knickers she says are they going to search me there? she says now just go get my wheelchair and  we can go visit the sea out the back gate he sighs and wanders back towards the home trudging across the lawn leaving Anne sitting in the chair like some royal queen on her throne she lifts up her skirt and adjusts the book more securely just as well I wore the passion killers Mum bought me she says to herself and lets down the skirt again and sits staring towards the home as she sits a few of the kids come out and make their way to the swings and slide they know her and avoid her like a plague a nun comes out too Anne stares at her its Sister Lucy a young one green as grass more ****** that the Blessed ****** herself Anne says under breath the nun walks towards Anne her hands inside her black habit how are we today Anne? the nun asks smiling my ****** leg aches Anne says o dear the nun says looking at Annes leg visible under the table have you seen Sister Paul about some pain killers? no not yet Anne says anyway its not this leg its the one not there my stump leg o I see Sister Luke says staring at the unseen stump beneath the blue skirt I could pray for your leg if you would like me to the nun says might help Anne says putting on her pious pose its hurts so much I feel like crying she allows tears to dribble out of her eyes(shes an expert of conjuring tears out of her eyes) o my dear child the nun says coming around the table and placing a hand around Annes shoulders Ill ask Sister Paul about some tablets the nun says thank you Anne whimpers feeling the prayer book move slightly as she moves in the chair she tries to adjust it with her hand to a more secure position Benedict comes across the lawn pushing the wheelchair he sees the nun and his eyes enlarge and he senses danger have they suspected Anne already about the missing prayer book? he wheels the chair behind Anne the nun looks at him arent you a good boy she says yes hes my best friend Anne says smiling through the glassy eyes the nun smiles well I best get back Ill see Sister Paul about those pills the nun says and walks off towards the home that was close Benedict say she didnt mention the prayer book Anne says she just came about me and the ****** leg and offering prayers o I see he says gazing at the stump area thinking about the stump of her leg hes seen many times are you going gawk at my stump all day or are you going to help get in the ****** wheelchair? o right yes he says and helps her get from the chair and into the wheelchair holding it steady at the back make sure the prayer book doesnt slip out of my knickers Kid she says as she rises from the chair and plonks into the wheelchair she moves the book to a more comfortable position and pulls her skirt down pass her knee just as they were about to move away Sister Bridget comes across the lawn towards them like a rhino on heat hang on Kid here comes the penguin wait wait the nun says raising a hand Benedict pauses pushing the wheelchair and stares at the approaching nun keep cool Kid Anne says under her breath act innocent as the Pope at a nudist colony Benedict feels himself perspire the nun stands in front of Anne in the wheelchair a prayer book has gone missing the nun says gazing at Anne has it? Anne says in an innocent tone yes it was taken from the Common Room shall we help look for it? Anne asks have you seen it? the nun asks no not that I know of whats it look like? Anne asks as if butter wouldnt melt a prayer book is what it looks like the nun says eyeing Anne with her suspicious eyes black cover with red ends no cant say I have Anne says Benedict looks away at the trees behind of them at the avenue between them and you Benedict have you seen it? the nun asks staring at him her eyes over him like maggots he shudders no sister not seen it at all he hates lying to  a nun he feels as if she looks into his soul and at the minor sins lurking there like naughty children then the nun looks down in Annes lap gazes at the outline of the leg stump not hiding it are we? the nun says hiding what? Anne says my stump? no I tried hiding it but its always there each morning I wake up the nun screws up her eyes and peers at them both no I mean the book where is it? no idea Anne says Benedict looks down at Annes lap where have you hidden it? the nun says havent seen it Anne says one of the children says she saw you take it the nun says me? Anne says you cant take the word of child I believe what the child tells me Benedict looks at the outline of the leg stump the child says you have it about your person she saw you from the upper bedroom window the nun says sternly must be mistaken must have seen me rub my stump they always watch me rubbing it so nosey the nun sighs and gazes at Annes lap and at the stumps outline show me your leg stump? the nun says hands on her hips Anne pulls up her skirt to reveal the stump Benedict looks too wondering if the book outline could be seen under the knickers the nun looks away where have you put it? put what? the book the prayer book the nun says I havent seen it Anne says as innocent as she can muster innocence lies will get you to Hell the nun says and walks off across the grass like a bad tempered bear what now? Benedict says Anne takes the book out of her knickers and hands it to him warm and scented what do I do with it? he asks shove it on that other chair under the table and were off to the beach so he puts the book under the table and pushes Anne off in the chair off out of reach.

The sky wept
the sky wept
the sky wept
the sky wept
while I leapt,
while I leapt,
well I leapt thru fire.

Gasp sigh perspire.
give me your tired
huddled and heavy laden
that loud light holds us up high
in his left hand and will be *******, man.
we'll be *******, man.

Harvest moon incited madness
granjero in a gas mask
destined
to manifest the liberation front.
watch me kiss the sun.
thirtytwo one, I am done.
canvas demon,
lower the lights &arise.;
like who wouldn't wanna kiss the sky...

Miss 'My,my,my' meet
Major fleet week
now yall dance and drink
each other's blood
doesn't that sound like fun
isn't it so sweet

wonder some
praise the priest
***** mothers ******* sons,
my lachrymose lack of passion
weighs a **** fantastic ton,
I wish someone would come &
divvy me a dole
of fresh faced inspiration
and vintage faded soul...

I am mobile homosapien.
I am not your friend
simply a lazy ally,
I reside in the unfunny pages.

Dated and bathed in flame,
given back to the air
where I came from.
humdrum funk,
under the ugly sun
feelin lovely in the slums.

Undone undone

Please Goddess of the Golden Spark
I'm lost and have no idea where to start
Please Goddess of the Golden Spark
This is why I pray to you

The coffee is ice cold
My father is getting old
The walls are growing mold
And my beer is warm and going flat

I'm suffering from a headache
I feel so out of place
Self-conscious of my pace
But I feel I should ignore all that

Yes Goddess of the Golden Spark
My light for when it's dark
Yes Goddess of the Golden Spark
My maxim that always gets me through

Light up your torch and lead the way
Forget tomorrow and live for today
Disregard what the peanut galleries say
For they're incapable of understanding  what you're doing

Do anything and everything, be inspired
Work until you perspire
And reach your deep desires
A task you won't retire even if you've reach your goal

No Goddess of the Golden Spark
The Coyote howls it doesn't bark
I won't neglect, I'll do my part
Opportunities endless, mistakes I know there will be a few

So yes, I know the world is infinite
The sun will shine and the moon will rise
That yesterday is gone and tomorrow has yet to exist
Then we are to discover the unknown

Oh Goddess of the Golden Spark
May today be marked
Oh Goddess of the Golden Spark
Though these times may seem stark
I now embark of my travels
A crusade to find land and sea of new

Our bare, brief escape begins at the dance.
Steaming, smoking animals moving chance
that this ***** dancehall can yield loving.
Drug crazed pickers rev up their machined
Six string-ed orchestral Gibson guitars;
Yow! All the hipsters are making the scene
just now arrived in their late models cars.
Adults aping adolescents boldy down
drinks, belch bad beer and sweetly perspire
while you seething, hot and so sensuous
put my hand to your breast showing your fire.
Baby let's dance! Let's have our fun!!
Our brief escape has just begun.

The Camel’s **** is an ugly lump
  Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the **** we get
  From having too little to do.

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
  We get the ****—
  Cameelious ****—
The **** that is black and blue!

We climb out of bed with a frouzly head
  And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
  At our bath and our boots and our toys!

And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
  When we get the ****—
  Cameelious ****—
The **** that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
  Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large *** and a shovel also,
  And dig till you gently perspire.

And then you will find that the sun and the wind
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
  Have lifted the ****—
  The horrible ****—
The **** that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo,
If I haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
  We all get ****—
  Cameelious ****—
Kiddies and grown-ups too!

'Tell me a story', she said and I said,
go to bed it's late, but wait,
here's a tale about a place called 'Windscale'
but they don't call it that anymore since they had that problem with the nuclear core.

I wish there were fish off the Cumbrian coast or at most some colours other than grey,
back in the day before they set up the plant when the sea was fertile and the fishermen would perspire and pant as they pulled in the catch it was a fine place to be,
then they killed off the sea,
dead!

'Tell me a story', she said,
I cried me a river instead.

Sparkling sweat beads dripping
Down his shining head and wetting
His shirt that's sticking to his fast ticking heart.
The stranger was a strange encounter
For the tea vendor at the counter  near 
 the Indian railway station.
He looked out if there were any rain
There wasn't any and couldn't restrain
"What makes thou to perspire so much?'
The man stood slowly gasping and ordered a tea
And bumped on the banana bunch
While turning to sit on a bench.

The vendor at the counter
repeated same question:
what made thou perspire so?

" O the mad rush
from station.
To retrieve the cash
bag"
He paused and said,
"my wife left at ***
End of filling the car
With rag tags
and bob tails".

She and her mother
Had  to catch the train
in time
And to be seated in fine
The only  scheduled train
half past seventeen.
I dropped them though
very relaxed.
As it were conceived
Twenty minutes ahead.
Was it not ideal with an aged
One to move unbothered?
"Then tell me why art thou sweating?"
Take the tea and be seated.
The curious vendor
came out of counter
Placed the tea on the bench
near him and sat beside
To listen to the stranger.

I waved good bye to my wife
then she asked for the cash bag
and sensed she left it at home.
No time to think
I jumped into car and shot off
Zooming in terrific zigzag
Through a flood of swelling traffic
Ten minutes remaining
My  car stopped with a crushing break
At home. I jumped and  grabbed the bag
from the side of the garage
Where she left it.
Put my hands to the shoulder tags
Perched on my two wheeler thanks
To God. I gushed out like a wind
dealing and wheeling
steering like youngsters
Rushed to the station yard
Dashed the scooter forward
Caught an auto rickshaw
The Surprised driver pull started
I  commanded to drop me
At the station entrance
Just three hundred feet distance
And threw a hundred rupee pittance
The train was hooting to commence
I did not see the couch number
Running  I asked a runner by
For B2, "to B or not to B you C"
First board the tail
and move forward inside the isle.
Without waiting for detail
I ran gasping like a runner
And in the other corner
Aghast my wife speechless
At my ghostly shape and beastly pants
Caught the costly bag from my  hands
And saw me dart the moving exit
Some one voiced me to sit
A while and rest.
The train left in disgust.
"Alas! You relax. At last
You are a winner! Right? Take tea"
The man curious though patted
And told to encourage him.

"No! Not. I am a loser!
A snake bite
Following a lightning strike!
I was gasping and sitting
On a chair on the platform
A man in black suite stood
before me, a snake with open hood
over me who ran like lightning Bolt.
"Show your entry pass",
his voice bold and told
"Or pay a fine hundred fold
The cost of a platform ticket"
I paid the bitter fine.
Is it not a snake bite behind  
A lightning strike?
Wiping out the sweat beads
with a piece of cloth he stretched his hand
For a cigarette!
The vendor helped the man to light it too
and watched his face glow up
Behind a whirling puff
Of smoke and a hot sip from tea cup.

Storm Rider(sample the doors)
start with "Riders on the Storm" softly repeated x4)

Try catch me-leap from ground to sky,
light up the night as I fly,
Tip to tip mischievous-watch me salmon leap-avert your eyes,
The Celtic Dragon Storm Riding tonight,
feel the static on your skin lets take flight…
Vast vista’s fistula’s in the earths core,
fly with me you wanna feel more?,
cut core to core claws - millivolt amped,
up to attack lay down my stamp,
Earth tremblin’ rumblin' humbling when I catch the spark,
revered by Tesla - hear me Arc…
Another mic blown - booth in chaos,
I stand firm - you're reeling as you're reeled in tossed,
like ragdoll physics my rhymes rip timelines,
Faultlines and default rhymes?
Never,I’m too clever,agility reveals your fragility,
Claws rip and drag you down …to a sea of tranquility…
Hush now ,shush now,
hear the susurrus as I leave you nonplussed
phase you back to your body  trans warp jump
tachycardia spasms chasms torn by talons,
pounces crush tons to ounces as I flex my neck…
hasn't changed since Wu told ya’s”Best protect ya neck”

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...

Feel me breath blowing like a gale - the Gael without fail,
I inhale and exhale flames of hell,
hellbent- time to repent
you’re scurrying in gullies while I seek your Scent,
SNIFFFF-grrrrrrrr that’s the sound of doom,
from the Emerald shore to the Pharaohs tomb,
No room to escape the breath that melts steel
rabbit in my headlights feel my claws life steal,
oxygen and nitrogen erupt to seal your fate,
debate-berate, get estate in order,
one Molten blast of fast rhyme its over.
scorchmark against a granite wall,
burnt to a crisp by the firestorm from hell,
well welcome to hell do you feel the heat?
Sandman slim dragon never fears defeat,
20 years here  spittin’ in the underground,
Now its time to vacate my space hear my sound
A no go area,gates of Mordor,
dragged by the Dragon to your place of ******,
claws like claymores rake your face,
prepared to ignite,take flight-seal your fate...

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah, the firestorm
Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah, the firestorm
Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...

Call me Nukker ******, you're due to be Slaine,
one scaldin' verse melts down your brain,
searing breath - death bursts unprepared heads,
Streets run red with the blood of the dead.
Feel the headwind....blowin' as I exhale.
My fetid breath tastes stale as you inhale
lucid juices sluicin in the Wyrms Den,
just One spark you're gonna BURN then!,
wingspan of an Antonov best back off!,
forked lightning blasts ground - as I take off,
fly head on to the heart of the Hurricane,
calescent death as I stake my claim,
rider on the storm,your attempt? - luke warm,
spells incandesce without stress as they take form,
the Serpent serpentine's through the night sky,
take eyes off mine? - your turn to fry.
don't cry it's fate, conserve your hate,
you perspire before your expiry date,
a Deer in the deadlights I'll open the gate,
to the next realm, next challenger calcerated,
another Champion obliterated,
ardent first to set foot on my Isle
now you're here you feel febrile,
feeble feverish attempts cut short clean sliced,
by the Firestorm Dragon with the eyes of Ice.

(Soft-"Riders on the Storm" rpt x2 Chorusx2 end.)

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by.

I don't want to be in your bed sheets.
And I don't want you tangled up in mine,
I made my bed this morning.
I don't want you in my bed sheets,
Tangled up in them
Entwined
As if they were the vines of lust,
Binding you to the mirage of Us
The vines of love are coated with dust,
It's dangerous.
It's slippery.
Wet like the ocean as soon as you dip in me.
They say the ocean is deep and within it lie secrets...
Kiss me farewell and dive to the bottom of the seven seas just to keep it.
I don't want to go swimming in my bed sheets.
Then they'd be drenched from the high tides of expired desire
I don't want to wring out the deception that you perspire
I don't want to make my bed again.
My laundry is clean.

So familiarize what having to swallow this pill is like
It happens all the time, they take your heart and steal your life
And it's as though you feel you've died because you've been killed inside
But yet you're still alive which means you will survive
Although today you may weep because you're weak and
Everything seems so bleek and hopeless
The life that you're seeking, it begins to seep in
That's the only thing keeping you from leaping off the motherfreaking deep end

And I'm pulling for you to push through this feeling
And with a little time that should do the healing
And by tomorrow you may even feel so good that you're willing
To forgive them even after all that **** you been put through.
This feeling of resilience is building.
And the flames are burning quick as fire would.
Through this building. you're sealed in
But you're fireproof, flame retardant, you withstood it.
And as you climb up to the roof, you're just chillin' and you look down
'Cause you're so over them you could put the heel of your foot through the ceiling.

As time passes, things change everyday
But wounds, wounds heal
But scars still remain the same
But tomorrow today's goin' down in flames
Throw the match, set the past ablaze

So feel the fire beneath your feet
As you barely even perspire from the heat
Exhale deep and breathe a sigh of relief
And as you say goodbye to the grief
It's like watching the walls melt in your prison cell
But you've extinguished this living hell
Still a little piece of you dies, you scream..

Soft and firm, gentle and fierce,
A parting breath smothers on skin.
Wild and wanting, surrendered and stroking,
Fingers are searching and home.

Quiet, now listening, anticipating, wishing
Until the spell breaks beneath lips -
Blushing it comes, blooming it bursts
Against symphonies and rhapsodies
With melodies heaving, heavy, unheard.

Gasping for life, holding more tight
To another so fragile, human, finite
Stealing, giving, alternately taking
An appetite destructive, delicious,
Desiring, raging;
Flesh upon flesh, ragged, receiving.

Twisting, bones resisting,
A common ground with no space between
Reaching and holding, pressing and pulling,
Synchronized in silent sweet rhythms of time
Warm, willing, fantasies thrilling, perspire
Lovely and lucid, writhing, conducive
As dancing flames to the fire.

Thoughts are melting to muddle
Into puddled pools of passion
Dripping, swirling, flooding, licking
The innermost walls of the cowering mind
Bodies and hearts are pulsing, repeating,
Beating and bruising, until each breath
Is ******, divine.

Drug; he controls my brain.
He stirs an irresistible blend of chemicals in my body and convinces me to fall for him; he increases blood flow to the primitive areas of my brain and activates the circuits responsible for love and desire.

Adrenaline; he balances my stress.
He keeps my heart strong and healthy as thoughts of him and us dominate me and excite me, prompting me to get tachycardia (fast heart rate above 100 bpm) and my blood pressure to rise.

Dopamine; he regulates my focus.
He stimulates desire and triggers pleasure in me; I remember everything about us, then forget about my surroundings; I am motivated to please him, then I daydream and become unable to stay on task.

Serotonin; he stabilizes my mood.
He charms and induces me to perspire and relax, crave and distance him, lose and gain sleep, feel pain and relief, get happy and upset, and decrease and increase my immune system functions.

Medication; he forces my loveswept cells to go haywire.
He has cured my lovesickness, shooed away my regrets, helped me move on from my past, boosted my (self-)confidence, made me look forward to tomorrow, and offered me a ticket to bliss.

Oxytocin; he enables me to produce lovestruck hormones.
He affects my moral molecules as he attracts my undivided attention, pushes me to trust him, raises attachment and empathy, brings psychological stability, and encourages me to want to be closer to him.

Vasopressin; he causes me to secrete lovetastic chemicals.
He renders me monogamous and continues to have me hooked onto him; he makes me thirst for him, display amorous behavior, defend him and us, and maintain a strong partnership.

for so many years
a wall stood in Berlin
separating families
instigating fears
Trump wants to do this again
this time on American soil
like Mexican migrant workers are what’s wrong in this country
and aiding the less fortunate is the greatest of sin
we eat of their sweat, feast on their toil
and blame them for draining the economy
this land was theirs before manifest destiny
the injustice makes my blood boil
I really am thinking the man needs a lobotomy
watching him spew insanity from the pulpit
driving the frothing crowd of idiots into a frenzy
these hypocrites turn their backs on 30:19 Deuteronomy
a den of wolves is no place to raise up a kit
and this anti-hero is about to feed the masses to the fire
his election will be the true end of America
and we will all drown in the proverbial ****
but I think you should vote for him as the earth is already down to the wire
climate change and fukushima have us all in the cross-hairs
the incoming asteroid to end all life and the oil dollar crash
enough to make this ole doomer perspire –

What is a fear of death beyond ones fear of whence they came? You are not alive, if you were not dead prior. Our confusion and misconceptions are signs of something unsightly within society; an idea of cause and effect. There is no cause, and there is no effect, at least not beyond the ***** conclusions of the human mind, which is, in effect, all delusion. We're neither fools or saints, and it doesn't matter what you wear, where you're from, of what you believe in. We are all one in substance and one with the true and natural matter of the universe, when we're ****. Also, trust me. Being **** is only rude because our crude minds have altered the context of *** and what's beautiful. Disgust or attraction from ones naked body is a sign of our losing touch with reality. Do you prefer the looks of one tree to another? If not, should you care if whose **** is your girlfriend, your mom, or your brother?
This doesn't mean you should be sexually attracted to the latter, and not to the former... but one must understand the difference between nudeness and *****, because *** is beautiful, at least when it's normal, and raw.

*** is no sin, and nudeness no vice; sexists don't win, and nudists don't fight.
So pass me your bullets, artificial like clothing; put down your guns, a production of loathing.
Insecurity flourishes in Converse and cars, in defining whats right to Prime Ministers and Tsars,
So lift up your fists and break all of your fingers; allow all the pain inside your hands to linger,
Make doubly sure your trigger finger can't fire, otherwise that same finger may make a peace lover a liar.

Are we all higher than the primal sweat we perspire?
Yes; when we find it in our hearts to inspire, and not expire the souls of ourselves and of others;
To realize we are all but sisters and brothers,
Living as lovers,
In love.

~


Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions out in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed

Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Presenting a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face

Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing
Prancing in pansies they hide

Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move

Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek

Pampering piccolos play the piano
Pure as a pelican’s prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air

Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores they perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire

Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you

No hope brought nor thought! Not from the dope or the pope! Or the imaginary rope, tightly around my throat. As I boast, as I note and quote! These bright, white halls and walls surround me in dumbfound! Stare crazy, frenzy, hazy and lazy... A squire in dire! A squire in fire and need! Shadow’s greed, conspiring too feed in desire, on my admire, inspire, perspire and wires. Stare crazy, frenzy, hazy and

lazy... Hey, they say I’m insane in the brain! Despite the real pain of the sprains and strain! Despite these wires I feel in my veins. In spite of the constant, existent, insistent and persistent rain. Stare crazy, frenzy, hazy and lazy... Forgotten directions, recollections and revelations.
Insecure affections and seducing reflections. Stare crazy, frenzy, hazy

and lazy... Once more adhering, enduring, fearing the nearing, the infection, the rejection and injections! The ongoing detention and retention! Stare crazy, frenzy, hazy and lazy... At times I dread in my head! Those crimes and prime rhymes that sing of dreams, gleams, themes and things are not as they seem! Stare crazy, frenzy, hazy and lazy…

I venture outward
Past those devoured
Through endless hours
This adventure tower
Holds uncensored power
In higher spires
And liars' desires
Ending when I perspire
In a fire retire

I must live
When lust gives
A chance at love
I glance above
A dusty cloud
Through a crusty crowd
To see love must be found
In transcendence
And dependence
So I must trust
And ignore rust
To import thrusts
Of night's passion
Despite fashion

Time vortex
More or less
As time runs out
I must decide what it's about
Others help with that decision
They help by making incisions
And letting time bleed
My emotions they read
For their corporal greed
I tried to plant a seed
But their environment is frigid
Despite my attempts to bridge it
I become detached
From my potential catch
By days and years
And waves of tears
That stave off peers
Until I'm an old man
Feet buried in cold sand
I'll say that I tried
Once I'm used to the lies

As I sip succulent absinthe
from the mouth of a cyan sea,
I succumb to a seductive grin
and sell my soul to thee.
 
There it is, a dappled smirk,
on your sinful lips as well,
and now that you are willing,
we have a tangled tale to tell.
 
Come now my sweet euphoria.
Caress me in your kiss.
Send me a twisted alibi
and wrap me in utter bliss.
 
I am the tainted murmur,
I am the nimbus quick,
and as one, we are miasma,
to the sickest of the sick.
 
Your skin a sweet oasis,
my hands a greedy verve,
the sense of touch engulfs us,
and we muster up the nerve.
 
No couple more visurient,
none filled with more desire,
no passion burning brighter
than that which we perspire.
 
We slow from our nirvana,
and slumber into mist,
dreaming of how it all began
with one etherial kiss.
 
By: Kevin Kurt Nepomuceno

I met a man the other day,
About 6”2 from about 2 feet away.
He was tall and dark and wise and uncanny.
And he sat with me and said,
“My name is Sanny.”
And he told me his life story.
He said some of it was boring
But the music in his voice was roaring.
He was excited to tell me about his day at work that day;
How he got that promotion
And then gave it away.
He said the other man deserved the trophy.
He worked so hard and played the goalie.
I didn’t ask a question.
I didn’t say a word.
I wasn’t going to tell him I thought he was absurd.
But he could tell from the look on my face
That I had grown up in a society of disgrace.
He looked at my thesis
And gave me some cautionary pieces.
He asked me what I’d like to be:
A lawyer, a doctor, a singer, the queen bee?
I gave him a look of perplexity
And he explained to me the power of certainty.
He said,
“One day, you’ll be something.
Because I see you studying here everyday.
It’s almost disgusting.
Now don’t get me wrong girl,
You’re not unpleasant.
But because you spend your days and nights in the words of your textbook,
You’ve become a scholastic peasant.”
And I could’ve been offended,
And requested he mend the words he proudly defended.
But his words kept whirling
Into the coffee-scented aroma that was swirling.
He told me his goals.
And how he’d challenged his superior roles.
He never asked me what my name was,
Because it didn’t matter.
He had seen my sunken eyes
And my complexion begin to batter.
He told me he grew up in Bosnia
And noticed my insomnia.
He noticed the way I looked up to people only because I was short,
And he said that I needed to acknowledge that I am my own resort.
He says he has a wife and a family,
And that he always feels the need to be manly.
But he looked at me and said,
“I’m sure you could lead for me instead.
I can see it in your eyes,
You want to be the one who flies,
And word to the wise,
Even Superman
Woman,
Cries.”
And he glanced up at me—
The first time anyone had.
He told me when someone sits down to enjoy the beauty of life,
It’s not so bad.
Dead in the eye,
He told me,
“You be bold, you be beautiful, you be brave.
Don’t let anyone tell you how to behave.
And when life gives lemons or a fancy promotion,
You think about what you’ve got and experience the lovely commotion.”
For a girl who always had a remark to bark or an input to inspire,
I was speechless, and needless to say,
Beginning to perspire.
I had become the product of my youth,
Which I buried in the textbook of the uncouth.
I hadn’t said anything ******,
But I had become a statistical number
Of those who take tests and write papers and waste their precious slumber
On ACTs and SATs and MTV and Tumblr.
Deep in my awakened blue eyes,
He witnessed the thoughts unraveling like a sneaky spy.
He implanted a plant of unrelenting growth.
Within a matter of minutes, he taught me how to **** out the most
Of the world on which I place my intellectual bare hands like an ambitious cloak.
He told me to stand up,
4’11,
4’10,
And all.
He told me I had a short figure,
For a brainy leader so tall.
He told me he was fifty-six and six foot two,
But he watched the way I learned from the world and wished he could walk a day in my size 6-shoe.
He then stood up and extended his hand.
I said, “it was nice to meet you.”
And he answered, “Someday, you will realize you’re more than four foot ten and you can
Be the one who aspires to be more than a fan of everyone else’s own life span.
And I hope they all look you dead in the eye and show you how much they care,
You look like one who breeds too much potential to simply sit with your coffee and homework and iPhone and wasted youth on that boring chair,
To let the thoughts you have roaming in this free wifi and G-D given life not to share.”

staying the night
up high
in rainclouds
& I feel safe now
when I look down
the wide world
is so small.

we are all
tiny specimen
divinely dissected
subdivided into
lively sections
by wants by fires
by greed by needs
& secret desires;

one nation
under god’s feet
tired slaves perspire
unnecessarily
for possession
& obsess over  
what they each acquire.

it is you, it is I,
and we are
frighteningly alike.

my attention’s quite untidy
all the time
my mind gets redirected
it walks like hell
& talks like heaven.

I am not well
I never have been.

but this hex is a blessing,
it’s too **** precious.

we are spilling
into the ocean
over the edges.
The Land is dead and
has been, days now.
I find it kinda pleasant &  
I wonder if
they’ll ever
get around to
disinfecting the nest
of decaying flesh,
before it infests the rest,
y’know, the ones that got left.

rot is a pox
spread by proxy
& is not bonded
by neither
lock nor key; that’s like,
‘**** what you got
**** what you be
**** what you thought
what you think
what you see.’

*******,
**** me,
**** everyone,
**** everything.

it’s lovely, it’s lovely.

I even think it’s kinda funny,
I laugh at nothing.
Oh, the irony