Those coffee heads
better than
Couch Potato 2 B
wed
One bad chip 3 2 C
Walking dead

Dream chocolate,
Coffee Latte
On the web late
The fourth cup
He knows all the 5 lips
On Live five sips
Her ruffles he's the
fidget spinner whip cream
Sprayed 6 times
Drinking her coffee over the
Brooklyn bridges 7 wishes
Coffee is for brainers
8 sides of the coffee moon


Swinging  Perculator
Streaming all over Adolf
dictator

Like a monkey ***
in cages
High overflowed wages
The pub pix pom girls
Tom like  apud
Coffee like mud with Tod
Eeeee He
  Coffee of God
Two pals I pad


Steaming out mouth
like a hot rod
She is sipping and he is
mouth roaring

Wiped you out
wicker -chair
You mind erased like the
terminator game pair

"I will be back"

Coffee or me__?
That calculator's fingers
Fine pressed coffee
Stirring the Dagar
Superbowl  maneaters
The women coffee lovers
They need another cup

Stocking up Christmas
chimes  ringing
The cafe Jazz chimes

Pazzazz--

6 cups
All gone Girl
666
Not a drop of coffee
Summoned by a spell

Went razzamatazz

The third eye
1-2-3 pouring
The coffee sounds like its
forever snoring 4-5-6

I need a new coffee maker
Lucky 7*
Rock and roll coffee of fame
Tootsie roll truffles

Going Whoopee

Do some French presses or
Roman Cappuccino style
dresses 14 he and he
The Keurig more hugs
She and me

Sugar trail of blackmail
Single served deserved
Party multi-cup you spilled
her beans

Easter feels jumpy
College stud or wimpy
"Humpty Dumpty"
Jitterbugs
Presidential jelly beans
Hot male mugs
Coffee beans

the mountain you can not
top her flavors
He's the hot diver
I will wait to wake him

He fits the"Ferocious Falcon'
Hey pork and beans
The wrong beans stir
Alice, I will fly you too
the moon
They have better coffee
Jackie Gleason
looks worried

He's cupping away from
the lagoon never on a
Sunday to be married

Bring the coffee truly
love flavor
website
streaming
He's the
hothead the chimes
beaming
The boiling bold brave
How it intensified
The heart melting
microwave lucifer

Please wave Sir
The bubbling brew
Chimes R streaming
But Robin's coffee
is steaming classified
What's to be justified

His pacemaker,
she did a whole
new makeover went
snorkeling what the heck
Ringing his neck
The multi-cup  she is
seated
He's the single cup
every morning
Chimes and coffee never boring


Swish swatch stir and spoon
He was born like streaming ***
way too soon

No One Knew His Name
when the woman called nine eleven she said
there is a guy sitting on the stoop
he's dead..
the nine eleven woman, martha, said
how do you know he
s dead we get plenty of calls like tha
t

she said, the woman, said
he
s got flies in his eyes

martha said we are gonna
be right there!

2.two condoms and a crucifix

when the coroner people cam
e he was still sitting on the stoop
still dead his breath no longer
straining the winter air
then they took pix and measured things
rigor mortis already had set in
and when they took th e pix
they showed two condoms and a crucifix
falling out of his pocket into the light of day

the woman who found him so still
she said it is strange
to see such disparate things spilling out of his pocket
he
was still dead and i believe he
s kept his state of being stubborn as he is/was
he remains forevermore stilled

we talked about those three things
two concepts really
two condoms and a crucifix
and we could not figure out which
he loved the most
because we never heard him speak of
anything but god crack *** amphetamine
trinity cooh, ya know?

3. Discovery Indeed

he came from wolf lake mn
population 31
when he left it went down to 25
ten thousand lakes
he could not imagine living there
anymore
but did he know at the end of the trail
what was he looking for?
two condoms and a xfix
my god he said
although he did not ever believe in such
extravagance
just before he went to sleep
perhaps to be still forever more
my god he said
as the soporific hit blessed
whatever was left of his short life
my god he said
although he was agnostic or so he said
my god
he could not have believed had he not heard them words
himself
as he grabbed the condoms and kissed the xfix
or maybe it was the other way around.

4. No ****
sitting on his ***** chair
he put his hands between his legs
reached for the ****
and squeezed:
yellowish stuff strained out between his fingers.

his grandma slapped him, hard

5. Things Looking Up

he lay down on the floor
to look up the neighbor's dress
he saw a pair of legs descend
from pink *******

then his grandma picked him up
slapped him, hard.

6. Harbinger

winter flew in harsh in minnesota,
battered houses, pine trees,
the wide landscape into submission
let the wind run whistling, whipping
subservient snow, whitewhirlwinding
down desolate fields and lanes

one day it got so cold
spit froze before it hit the ground
it made a little noise midair

7. Cold Dogs

one time he saw some fifteen dead dogs
piled by the side of a road
frozen like the rest of the landscape

even as an adult he wondered
what THAT had been about

8. *** Is Child's Play

in the first grade he fell in love with miss renee
the teacher who let him put his head down on her legs
and petted his head while he glowed glowed glowed
he learned to love school and read read read
so ms renee would say Joe, read!
and he would

one time he dreamed he had *** with miss renee
*** was tying something between her legs
a knot of love in her ******

so how did he know about such things
at five? he always wondered about that.

9. Revelation

his fishing pole was gone!
he looked and looked while spring time
raised giant mosquitos that buzzed and buzzed
about his head

he never found his fishing pole
he thought that maybe when you die
and go to heaven
god showed you in a sort of movie
what had happened so you'd nod yer head and say
yeh, i'd never would have guessed grandma

gave it away.

10. Alone At Last

say to the darkness this
emptiness covers all this
suffusing light scrapes away
some pain some excruciating i am
lucid preamble to my nevermores
in plural congruent universes
coexisting rapt in its own
say this is a dream a vertigo
a swirling metaphor for then/now/and again
can days still mean something new
today everyone left
everyone left


staring out the window at six years old
he saw woods slowly fade into the night
he thought they sank
into an oblivious fog

why didn't i go to the neighbors' house

11. Death Becomes The Fisherman

the lakes were all around
they said let's go see the drowned man
so they went to the shore
a boat with two men rowing
approached
you could see a hand and an arm sticking out
from somebody lying on the floor
someone said "hey, he
s waving"
close to the shore
the wind brought the overpowering
stink of death
that shocked him because he'
d not thought of "drowned" as "dead"

they brought the body out
to the shore
covered it waiting for the coroner to show up

mother and sister cried nearby
neither could approach the stinking corpse

he then realized that no matter what
you can't kiss a rotting corpse.

12. Rubber Match

the first time he met a ******
there was no formal intro
he just found it in his father'
s drawer
filled it with water
dumped it on the neighbor
s'
yard

later on he could hear them fight

13.Prurient Discovery

when he was 13 he made love to her
who was 16
and all he could think about
was how gross it was and wet

until he came

then his opinion suddenly
changed

for the

better

14. Death Is

his grandmother was sick
in the MN winter cold home
she coughed and coughed
so she
put kerosene on her back
and chest
he saw she got blisters
he did not want to help
clean them up
so he hid
until she was quiet for a couple of days

he went to see her she was dead
so he stayed drunk for a week or so
until he could not stand the stink no more

15. The Beginning of the End

he went to a foster home
there were 5 other teenagers there
the first night
he went to bed
someone put a pillow on his head
while hands turned him over
held him down
pulled his pjs down
5 guys ***** him then and there

the next day he ran away

16. The End of the Beginning

they brought him back 23 times
on the 24 he met one of the kids
by the lake
stuck a knife under the guys
ribcage on the right side

all the guy did was sigh
and slide slowly down

he pushed the guy into the water
somehow it took weeks to find the body
by then nobody could tell he'd been stabbed

but none of the kids ever held him down
again

17. COOH

alcohol alcohol
its sweet old name tells me all
i need to know how spinning
the world distances itself
in a warm blood red haze
and only a swollen torpor remains
alcohol alcohol
its sweet old name tells me all
i need to know
and not to know

18. Not Late, Just Timely

time 'sss a stone a sash a thunderbolt up high
a rudder a list a lisp a restless meandering
time 'sss a spire a fish still below the waves
a constraint a push a shove a deal a nothing
time 'ssss a look a lock a rail
a sunrise a fall a crack a vial
time 'sss a sock a pen a handgun
a radiant breeze a solid solid hand
two elbows and one mouth

he took his time and time took him
step by step he climbed the stairs of his cognizance
such as it was just this
no hope

i say no hope but no despair either
the world sometimes it's just the way it is
he understood that but what to make
of this breathing hearing seeing tasting feeling smelling
thinking self
he knew not
and in not knowing
he passed the time that isss not
what you think it isss
time 'sss not even a ticking tocking clock
just let it be he said to himself
time 'sss not me
yet time isss me

and he took another ****


19. Luger

his father came back to town one day
the war had been over for a few years then
they told him where he could find his father and he went
and watched his father, dressed in combat rags,
as he counted the fingers of his shooting hand

they exchanged glances and he left

got drunk and did not hear or see his father ever again.

20. Life As A Long One Night Stand

the girls are many the girls are new
every day they seems to look at you
and you melt and then you are gone
in another trip with another stranger
in your bed do not say much
cause *** is just another drug

just cheaper and easier to get
than smack

21. Epitaph

he learned a song and a little dance
at the emergency rooms where he got
the prescription pain killers man he could
lie and act and pretend so much
he knew they'
d really have to give him stuff
cause that'
s the way that things work
in big city hospitals
he re-membered a doc who smiled at him
saying man you'll be dead soon
although you think you are fooling me
the only fool in this room is you

he laughed cause he could not agree more
put that in my tombstone he said
the doc said no, you are gonna do it all by yourself

22. Lost Weekend
-.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.-
-.- -.- -.- -.-
-.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.- -.-
-.- -.- -.- -.-

23. Dashes and Spaces
---- -- -- - - --- --
-- - -- -- -- - - -- - -- -- -
--- - - - - - -- - -- - - - --- - -
-- - - -- -- -- -- ---- - - --

24. Two Condoms

at the end of the road
the road the empty road
the sinuous complex road
the road the heavy road
where lust and love entwine
who knows the end or the beginning
who knows alpha or omega
who the what who the where who even
the hidden sentient how
the nothingness the emptiness
of come and come and come
just emptiness of not becoming
he heard himself saying screaming
at the end of something like a bumpy ride
she was who knows who but she was
you know the hole the whole the mankind whole
the all embracing whole the whole hole
the destination origin
the one and all
he said here i belong elementary
i exist because of this
he pounded pounded in his anguish
of becoming one and whole
he howled his grief intermittent
as pulse wave of heart
the heat of his despair
the only drug that it's living protein
he felt his way
and then was gone from virile crisis
to distant remote self acquiring its orthodoxy of despair
because as he put it once you cannot ever **** yourself
square the circle as it were
so he accepted two trojans
at the bar when a guy in the adjacent ****** said
these are the best and yes
we gotta protect ourselves
and left the couple of rubbers
by the sink
and he would have washed his hands
had he known how
but instead put them products in his pocket
a premonition of some kind of future bliss
tugging the sleeve of his presentiment

carving already a vast innocent tomorrow
while he walked out

he truly did not care

25. Crucifix

at the end of the road the empty road, the road full of lies, deceit and a hunger so great it overwhelmed all else, at the end, the terminus, the appointed hour, at the end of the alpha, the omega, the in-between, the road sinuous road that led down the miriad steps to the steps on a stoop in the city of new york, at the end of a long concatenation of minutes, each ethereal, insubstantial, a construct, a vapid dream or nightmare indeed he sat down one last time with his burden of hours to dream one last warm oblivious cozy, embracing shroud, sweet balm to assuage the freezing claws of grief. in the seedy bar last
night he met a blonde who said, your eyes remind me of a long ago boyfriend, he said well, he musta been one hell of a guy, she said indeed, he died in iraq, suicide, ******* he said that is not right, she said we are all at war, daily intimate war, i think, who said we met the enemy and it's us? he did not know but understood, he said although denial is more than a river in egypt, ha ha, but they both got it since they both craved the same intoxication, the same zig-zag and feint, she said the first time i got drunk i was eleven, that was my first time for *** too, he said the first time i got drunk i too was eleven, the night had fallen i was alone in wisconsin among the wolves of winter howling their relentless wind outside, i found a bottle of the hard stuff, not beer like everybody drank i could not stand the taste it was too bitter, but gin, and i drank it convulsed at first by the shock, then not, just drinking a few more gulps and believed i had found the greatest gift on earth, the greatest warmest kindest confidant, she said you talk funny, but i understand what you are talking about, i know the allure but my hangovers, wow, he said no, i never got one, but. here is the but. i knew a limit, i was never blind blind drunk until much later in new york, she said we each have our cross to bear and laughed and dontcha just wanna do a line now ha ha, and it went on like that for quite a while. when she was leaving she said, you wanna see something funny, yeah he said, she brought out a crucifix and it was indeed jesus, his mouth open, imploring relief from his harsh dad, and he had a gold tooth, blue eyes and dreads, he laughed and said that's quite contemporary and she said wha? you don't think he looked like that? but really who knows what the truth was, he said or is, so they both lifted one in memory of the dear departed one who had caused so much trouble here on earth, but, she said, he did not mean it, here keep it and he did. later on he found his fix it was extra good ****, too good in fact, and who knows, when he sat there with flies in his eyes, his life a dream, invention, make believe, whether any of the episodes were true at all, sob stories to assuage the beast of craving within, get his hand in your pocket and whether, as he sank below the surface of his tortured bliss, he saw his true light at long last.

It’s Friday afternoon. Anna, Lisa, Leong and I are sitting around our common room - sagging actually - after a long day.
“I need a break,” I said, “now’s the time - today, this day -  it's been a long week.”  “Document,” Leong affirmed.
“Sometimes you gotta..” Anna faded out letting an arm flop like a dead soldier.
“Let’s go OUT to dinner somewhere,” I said, “my treat.”
“We can eat for free here,” Leong said.
“We might have to economize someday,” I said, a little annoyed, “but it won’t be today.”
“Can you believe we just came back less than a week ago?” Lisa asked.
“I can’t,” Leong said.
“It’s shocking,” Anna sighed, winding a ring of her auburn hair around her index finger.
“I’ve lived many lives since then,” I admitted.
“On Wednesday,” Leong began, “I was like, I feel like I’ve been here for weeks.”

“It’s coming up on time to leave!” Anna exclaimed.
“And leave for a WHILE,” Lisa undogged.
“I’m VERY excited to leave for a while,” Leong laughed.
“It’s going to happen,” I said, like a prayer.
“Then we can come back and be like, I’m glad to be here” Lisa said
“After you’ve been gone for a while, you DO miss it.” Anna admitted, shrugging.

A hot moment later, I asked Lisa, “Should I use this for a poetry pic?” Turning my iPad in her direction, “Yeah,” she says laughing. “My hair looks like I’m coming out of a cocoon.” I added.
“You know when you don’t have enough pictures for an Instagram post?” Lisa asked, looking critically through the pics we took last night. “Look,” she says, sharing them up to our 55” TV.

After a few, I said, “Lisa and I were talking about this yesterday,” turning to Anna and Leong, a little exasperated, “Lisa, has all of these pics of me with my underwear and it’s like..”
“Wait!,” Lisa gasped, NOT on purpose! That makes it sound.. don’t SAY THAT like THAT,” she laughs.
“And it’s just like.. you don’t need to share those,” I laugh, waving my arms.
“You’re making me sound like a *******..” Lisa snickered.
“I’m not a baby!” I hooted.

“They're not at ALL ******,” Anna noted.
“I’m not saying THAT,” I winced.
“When we're drunk, at home, snapping pix and we’re wearing these little dresses..” Lisa begins, “it’s not like I’m taking pictures of your underwear” she stammers laughingly.
“There are angles and there are angles where you see!” I point at the example on the screen.  
“We were drunk!“ Lisa said, “I wasn’t trying.. YOU were drunk too!” She said, counteroffensively.
“But you were CrAzY,” I laughed.
“Crazy,” Lisa laughed, “Yeah, anyways - why’d you have to say that? You took similar pics.” Lisa added, smiling knowingly.

“No one gets to see them,” Leong said, she’s new to Instagram and Lisa is usually her mentor.
“They do if they’re public,” I noted, pointing to the little icon.
“Shut up!” Lisa snapped, “I EDIT them before I post them - blur things or whatever!”
“Ok, I said, “We don’t need to do this now.. you brought pix up.” I held up my hands in surrender.
“Jesus Christ, merzy, murble flurble,” Lisa muttered, her voice fading out into incoherence.

“But If you wait, save the good picture for a dump - then, it’s too far away to post.” Leong said.
“Well, that’s not true, I don’t believe that.” Anna chirped in, “a cool pic is always welcome.”
“I don’t like dumps,” I said, “I don’t want to scroll through a ton of someone’s pix, it’s tiring.”
“If you’ve A cool pic or even one kind of cool pic, then everyone knows what’s up, Anna offered.
“Ethos 2024,” I pronounced.
“Post whatever,” Lisa updogged, as I dabbed my lips with lip gloss.
“Can I borrow your lip gloss?” Lisa asked me, rubbing her chapped lips.
“Sure,” I said, handing it over. Yeah, we argue like sisters but friendship involves nuance and shared understandings.

“Your parents are back in Ukraine - ya? Leong asked me, “Are you going to Lisa’s? (for Christmas)”
“It’s been agreed,” I confirmed, smiling.
“We gonna tear it UP!” Lisa laughed and we high-fived, smiling in anticipation.

Slang..
Document = true, fact

I’m so siced about the Barbie movie. I just watched the latest trailer. I felt a fluttering in the stummy.

Peter’s birthday was May 1st. “What do you want for your birthday?” I’d asked.
“A flash for my iPhone,” he said. “Your phone already HAS a flash,” I replied, helpfully.
“No,” he explained, “a professional, external flash - they’re much more subtle and variable.”
“What are you going to take pictures of?” I asked. “You,” he said, smiling slyly.
“Me!?” I said, with a wrinkled nose, somewhat alarmed. “You don’t take pictures of ME.”
“Not usually,” he admitted, “but we’re going to Paris and the snaps will look better with a flash.” “Just ME?” I asked, “What about some ussies?” “We’ll take snaps of us, but you’ll have savage new pics for your poetry sites.” So, Peter got his flash and he’s taken a baZillion pix.

“Smile,” click, (iPhones don’t always click, so the click’s a writer’s dramatic effect)
Peter takes bursts of 50 pix at a time and only one in fifty turns out looking good (my opinion).
“Look this way,” click “toss your hair,” click. Apparently salads and my hair are better ‘tossed.’
So now we’re in Paris, but before we can take our tourist pic, I must lean over, like I’m going to throw up and comb my hair forward, so when I flip it back, it will appear fluffy.

“Look sad, look happy, try not to look so drunk, look ****,” he asks. “You’re kidding,” I replied. I exist only in his view finder.
“Just part your lips slightly and look vacuous,” he advises.
“Can I DO both at once?” I asked, as if challenged by a scientific equation.
“Don’t roll your eyes,” he said. Today, he was ‘the serious artist’. I’d never want to be a model.
Finally, I’d had enough constant photography and I just started looking moody. Peter seemed not to notice.

I read somewhere that when you smile, the activated muscles of your face actually improve your mood. Or something like that. Anyway, I’m trying to deepfake myself and smile my way to happiness. I ordinarily think of myself as tough, but lately, I’m soft.

A Yale counselor once told me that sometimes we tell ourselves a story and we just hold on to that version of things until it feels true. I have to stop thinking I’m on the edge of a deep, blue loneliness. I need to get on a metaphysical bike and ride away from my sad-self.

Later, when we’re back at the hotel, Peter was reading in the living room and I was lying on the bed, watching another Heraclee Beach, sapphire and ruby, sundown through the hotel windows. Peter came looking for me. He had a book in one hand, his place saved with his index finger.

“What are you doing?” He asked, lightly. “Want to go out to dinner or get room service?”
“I’m thinking thoughts.”
“What kind of thoughts? He asked, taking a seat on a desk chair he’d rolled over. Now I’m watching his face and he’s watching mine.
“You know how, everyday, at school, we tell each other everything that happened?” Peter nodded. “Which, of course,” I’d continued, “is impossible, but it’s as if we’re having experiences just so we could discuss them later - share them. It’s like, when we aren't together, it isn’t real life.”
“So..” he said, verbally prodding me on.

My voice felt thick, like it knew I wouldn't say things right. “Well, I’m two me’s now, I’m split right down the middle. Before you, things were easy. I was becoming Dr. Me, I had one goal, things were simple,” I shrugged, “but now, there's the me that’s going to be a doctor and the me that needs you.” I can’t seem to take my eyes off his face.

He touched my foot and wiggled it a little. “You don’t have to figure out the future right NOW, Mz overachiever.” He said in his soft, western drawl, “You can’t wrestle the future into orderly submission, like a chemistry test - we don’t have enough data (says mr. physics). Anyway, don’t we have forty or fifty years to figure it out?”
Suddenly, my head felt clearer than it had for days. I chuckled. I may have had my hand over my mouth and a smile was so big it hurt my face.

“You were very patient to put up with me today,” I said, turning slightly and quietly serious.
“You be you,” he said, smiling bigly back, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Then I got serious. “Do you think we can find barbecue?”
“But of course!” he said, in a fake French accent, like Lemiure, in ‘Beauty and the Beast.’

Every blink of the screen,
she sees his affection
through pix elated font forming
into I Love You.

She can feel the radiation
keeping their relationship, alive and electrifying.
The satellites are always on their side.

Her heart beats so fast
to the ringtone of his high-tech heart.
Every keypad pressed
are thousand sweet words expressed.

The radiation won't keep us apart,
signals will bridge our undying love.
Cause, as long we have this electronic gadgets,
I know we are in love.

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands.

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song,
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng:

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold,
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old;

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme,
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime.

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band,
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde’s hand;

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian’s praise.

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art:
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart;

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone,
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own.

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust,
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust;

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare,
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air.

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart,
ived and labored Albrecht Dürer, the Evangelist of Art;

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand,
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land.

Emigravit is the inscription on the tomb-stone where he lies;
Dead he is not, but departed,—for the artist never dies.

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair,
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air!

Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal lanes,
Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains.

From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild,
Building nests in Fame’s great temple, as in spouts the swallows build.

As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme,
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil’s chime;

Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom
In the forge’s dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom.

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft,
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed.

But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor,
And a garland in the window, and his face above the door;

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman’s song,
As the old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long.

And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care,
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master’s antique chair.

Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye
Wave these mingled shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry.

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world’s regard;
But thy painter, Albrecht Dürer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler bard.

Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away,
As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay:

Gathering from the pavement’s crevice, as a floweret of the soil,
The nobility of labor,—the long pedigree of toil.

Ladies of the Net… A warning to male adolescents everywhere…

“Hi Honey….I just got matched with your profile”… At least that’s what I think it said.
Brilliant I thought because I’m available and life round here is, well…it’s dead
“I’m looking for an experienced guy who’s good in bed…  been round the block, but not the clock…
One with plenty of experience and a huge…err…appetite…
for hooking up instead of these inexperienced boys…
They’re all excitable, probably all over too quick…
need someone with poise reserve and a twelve inch errr… Libido?… ego?
Click my pics kiddo and let’s get it on… you Stud!… Well I would!

*******! I’m overwhelmed but let’s not peak too soon…
There’s loads of stuff coming in as Spam that would probably make us all swoon.
So check it out…without fail, “eeeh!”  They’re all there - these ladies of the net - they crop up daily -
Sheila Blige… Tanya Hide… Mandy May,  Bette Sheedus, Lovinia ****…
I’m not sure if these are their real names... But - Phew -
with things like this going on round here we could all get *******!

She says she’s just round the corner, you know like Sompting, Steyning, LA (that must be Littlehampton)… Southwick…Little Haven Halt, Portslade.
We could meet in a lay-by and we’ll get laid… just an innocent little escapade.
It won’t be my fault if you miss this chance…
Just try it - I’ll handcuff you to the bed and lap dance.
Click on my pix, big boy, they all beckon.
Take a closer look at these sonny boy - now what do you reckon?

Well, you’d have to say they do look very alluring in the taster…
so why not just click...
to the next page… see the site… don’t waste-ya time…CLICK!
*******! The screen’s gone blank…
now I won’t even be able to have a __
Knock, Knock, Knock!

"Kevin!!!?"..."Mum?" "Is that you?" "Yes Mum!… Everything’s OK!… I’m just turning out the light… G’night!"

She
so- she
And He_ so
Never ending
She Comma
Do-So
Shop to Soho

Electronics
Like a Saint
Satanic's
His or hers
Nic's and Pix

Never the end
If so_
Yes Sir
The math flame
Password
To end the
dating game
Hot green
tip
pistachios
Like the long sentence,
Your
Nephews

He was
Huh? ,
So compelled
to be sentenced
The time
treacherous
Was so long
At that end is
where
you
belong
Column
his
comma
She comma

Prima Donna
Oh! Donna
A love
should
be in
the
moment
Too
many

Dots?plots/whatnots

You forgot
semicolumn
The head page
Semi-sweet
column
End chair
Kingdom
Knock on wood
Getting
splinters
He used
Plastic
condoms

Braveheart Lion
Twisted sisters
I was
at the
very end
Wella
She -Comma
The money
Higher up
Society Brianna
Barcelona Cafes
Giraffe ladies
boisterous
drama

Begin now
The beginning
Never met her
  middle-section
Which breed?
She-comma
She could
make
Anyone's
bad heart
Drug fix well
The good
heart
Should be ended
Dead end&
the
morgue

Her long tongue
All She_ Rouge
The question mark
All parts dots here and?
What is
next!!!
You hear
the ring you jump
Off the cliff
the text
Meet me
greet him
Chances
are
never
The front
It was
a front
Fine print
you
could
see

Smitten
written deed
And
left her
money

Heavenly
bliss
This
paper
kiss
Did you
miss
Her
signature,

Never a
good gesture
She-devil
Comma,

Never good
ending
movie
Feature

Never ending
Please visit
and come back
Do I need your opinion?
.,,  ...   ??

His eyes are dark and full of defeat and regret
The man says doc cheer up I'm not dead yet
How can he be so calm when he is about to die
Look at me, the man whispers to himself
As he looks in the mirror at his deteriorating health
He tears his eyes away and focuses on the wall
Watching the TV colors dance as he tries to recall
The last time he felt or looked like the faces on the screen
He sighs and he explains, that used to be me
His therapist nods and shakes her head sympathetically
He thinks how dare she act as if I am already dead
When she leaves he painfully kneels by the side of his bed
She must not know the mighty God I serve
But Jesus I give you the thanks that you deserve
Show them oh Lord and heal me right now
You are the only one who truly knows how
He says his thanks again for he believes
That his God has the power to do all things
He lies back down, exhausted from such a day
Feeling in his heart that tomorrow he will awake
When he comes to he feels like the pix-elated faces
For such miracles he has only seen on acting stages
Yet this one is his own and he swells with pride
Looking and the delight and wonder in the doctor's eyes

Keep the cold drops in your pocket
Come in handy to fake sorrowful moments
Standing in a crowd creates the worst solitary confinement
Wicked hearts dug up from the graveyard
On pickets, bait for the hungry wayward
Fog so low, hazed, evaporated into pupils
Relieving the red hot, blood shot, what a clear head
Carrying shovels on their backs
Eat the dirt they shower on you
Sand between your teeth, bleeding gums
Warriors with sharp axe pix instead of guns
The ravenous never sleep
Blood thirsty they want their keep
String em' up high and watch the angels weep

EG TEN /V.S/ BLitZ3D

ROUND 1

EG TEN
For the second time around, I won't be too gentle.// You turds can't rhyme for *****, soft as a noodle.// Get rid of that shirt, Wordman, do us a favor.// It ain't bad at all, its just, one size too little.// Ill break you fools in half, straw snapping like a scarecrow// Cowardly lion come out, Monster Smashed you innuendo.// The reason why you got passed by the first time around// Like a girl post some pix up, cut my **** in half, now u goin down// You and Wordman teams up, who cares! a pair of freakin clowns//

BLitZ3D
let um start off first, either way ur a representation of a man in a hearse /hurt um real bad n rubbed his face in the dirt/the pics that I posted was just a ***** in a skirt/sskkirrt! on this *****, like who you ****** with nerd?/ that's a ****** sweater what u talkin bout shirt?/ an what exactly do you think you rhymed off ****?/ ******* from the start, pulled out and drove straight into the curb/ Asian drivers man, they'll never ****** learn/ a coward vs a lion I guess my warning wasn't herd/ why'd you delete the first battle? you coulda reread my words/ then you'd probly remember to go again would be absurd/ but everyone loves a under dog, makes emotion go reverse/ cause then when you go under dog , the wears not even worse/ an no one teamed up on you,/ I tagged in and hulk Hogan lumped a few/ American Dream, elbow jumped at you,/ then to your defense, in ran gorilla monsoon/ the way I see it, the joker popped both of you,/ a heist on ur thread but that's just my point of view./ sights locked retical red, not a sound with the front mount/ knights drop, clown with a crown, and a jester in bed./ leave um slumped out/ /roar/ I messed with his head/ take my advice and this cypher ...just jump out

Round 2

EG TEN
Let um start off first? Now what the **** was that?// Your no king of the jungle, but a little ***** cat!// A blissful of zits in your face a sign disgusting// BlitZed does not show off his face an ugly duckling// My rhyme is in verse, so fresh with multiple gears on my Hearse// You can't spit for *****, so your *** be going in reverse// A fan of hulkamania? That **** ain't real brotha!.// I bet your next line would be "Hakuna Matata!// You ain't no **** Mufasa, your like that fool Scar hangin out With them ugly *** Hyena// I laugh at you BlitZed, I ******, I flip the script with my skills// Your elbow dropped not fast enough a straight kick up your chest!// This is SPARTA!!!! So jump on out! off to the next round// Welcome to the Writer's Creed, A true MC battleground!//

BLitZ3D
if this is Sparta then ***** I'm Gannicus,/ two swords in my hand while u attack with some shallow ****/ your **** right I'm scar and ull still bow down to this/ u wont get to far hyenas surround in the mist/ Hakuna Matata but theres reason to worry kid/ shoot um point blank an laugh as he say the dots are blury miss/ from his stomach out leaks guts an curry strips/ no lines to connect, his souls in a hurry, drips,/ out his mouth like his mom as she dines in nutty bliss/ bust um quick like his dad, his sister we both miss/ a cute little thing, deaf dumb n blind, snitch/ I think not, i broke her fingers, a tight grip/ dropped her leg and screamed Hogan wins/ layed on top of her and counted to three/ donkey punched that ***** in the head an continued to proceed/ so ask her how much I give a **** about writers creed //

ROUND 3

EG TEN
You claim to be a Marvel-Super-Villain-God-Like / If you are Galactus" I'm Lactose - Bacilli / Fermented like Lactic Acids what I spit!/ A genus of original but your just a make belief/ BlitZed please! step it ^ up a bit higher/ Your dealing with an oldskool underground ****** / None of that Kindergarten *****' of entry level / My words may be shallow but yet sharp as a Razor / Your write- wrist slice the veins blood burst just like a geyser / My word plays undefeated so try a little Monster / I sMashed your Baked Potatoe with chives a little butter / On side some bits of bacon a Cub is now a Lion / If you don't understand, im at work im eating Lunch / Im on break and wasted half of my time you little punk/ But its cool It's all in fun and that's what its all about / In a place full of infected A cesspool full of talent / Respect to my opponent a true Warrior of Poets / A Monster Mash Creator, A Master of Salvation / The bad *** Mr. BlitZed, Will continue this ***** later-/ Here at Writer's Creed, or where ever else you pleased/

BLitZ3D
A mutant, a radioactive contusion./My ***, gave it gas, now im ******* moving./Onto the end, the finish line, a ******* shoe in./Im new an, your old news, news i knew and /screws im loosing, as we pretend this battle im loosing, wrap it up with a few loose ends, /confusing, a thriving city, up an left it in ruins./Black cloaked, hooded druid, IV fluids, /Gat broke, firing pin, out i chewed it, trigger squeezed now, told you id do it./Ten teeth marks on the barrel, yea EG blew it./Face on some blue ****, stiff Elmers glue tip, /sticky grip, stick um up, Richy Rich, Jackson upper cuts, a Rampage, no *****./Bomb on the stage, chickens with no cluck./Took a bomb on stage, chicken heads, my ***** well ******./Salmonella poisoning, chocked the chicken, she likes it real rough. /In an out, left and right, my blade keeps the feathers well plucked. /Goose and a swan, I recognize no duck, bad luck, body covered up in the back of the truck./One G, no UN, i see, just me..no pun./Mission complete, no fun, grey skies, trust me, no sun.. rains not done. /Bars run from bars, bring the heavens down from the stars, impacts bombard/even from behind bars locked cars explode far, gorilla tactics, no holds bared, reload the AR/Re-roll a new cigar, as i retold, another page from Scar/12 bubbles Gage the contents of this unmarked mason jar./I know your popping some corny something, but i wasn't listening./Busy kicking it with Popcorn Sutton, drinking an smoking **** in the kitchen./These lines must be glitching, space-time the fabrics ripping./Physics are ******, i need a new physician./Watch as my feet move, roots grew planted in a quantum position./Like Groot, stomp um like a twig, raging tunnel vision./A ton of incisions, a gun mixed with questionable decisions. /A life for a life, changes nothing, for both sides the death penalty still glistens./the only difference is the same as this blunt. *****, BLitZ3D is still hitting. /Next time i roar a warning make sure you ******* listen... /
battle?
Im already bored with you
.....
I pulled a gun
And a sword you drew

the tarnished amour of the we little she, he and yes, the you in me.

Pix elated images vibratory frequency of the flicker rate,
the resolution in its #x# scale and aspect ratio,

silly how we utter this vibe from the heart, vocal in rounded grounded sounded,
these words, we symbolize, individualize, characterize, initialize, authorize,
these thoughts and concepts of need and purpose, of intent, of desired effect/affect, for reason and yes even a ******* resolution.

Yet is the resolutions we seek through intended deeds and understandings of these choppy rounded uttered babbled bastardized thought into the realm of physical and manifest from the electric thoughts of our seeming lone and lonely worlds of the pitch black of the inner parts of the skull and brain so gelatinous and electro- chemically factory of the mind through the spine and the Ark of the Covenant through the helix of a Jacobs Lattered spiral stair way to heaven , is it really ******* that we have in mind of resolution? or is it te failings of this duality we have created in the love of the out pouring of our creator into this silly illusion of vibrations reflection as our truth Experiences its creations through the very minds eye of our torn , broken and forgiving hearts a blaze?

I say, need not worry of a long sentence where the heart speaks without punctuation, anticipation, nor retaliation for rendered intent, for we utilize what is of truth and all things are of God and only in existence by the living will of Love which is your conscious creator and father, tree from which our seeds of lineage do come and a family tree that deeds us all kingdoms and lands where our hearts rule endlessly and in the glory of free thought and will al in the love of learning  and remembering we never have left the garden and the heart of our creator, see the remote of this reality is the illusion, we are only all and all only the one in the dim witted yet learning love of the consciousness of the one source, our facts an truths self evident on that day soon to come for us all, wt en we snap our heads to the right in a sudden **** to realize  ***, it is truly that simple? it was all that simple? oh my, yes, just as kindergarten, where we learned, Nothing is that difficult, the only thing difficult is the us in interaction with all of existence and the flow of what is already and always has been and never was, the never never of the always has been son. the You in me, the me in you and the we in this most truly intelligent, patient, kind and everlasting life of labored and growing love of the one true creator the all , the great spirit, the Lord, the soul one, so true, the all in all and the us all in you as you witness the beauty of you in the heart of the ever growing and thriving source of all, **** friend I love you too, and you love my *** too, and together we are both silly children and foolish in ever forgetting to believe less of the truth of miracles and the in a blink of an eye reality of the garden of dreams we stand, you there, me here, and nothing but love in the in between.

Not forgoing the risk that you just might fear the reality that you are a big softy and only dislike the hearts and unicorns shooting rainbows from their arses because you find little love in what man has created, well, son, brother, sister, sit down and lets talk for a second, consider this,
all things are created by God and thus made out of pure sound of the love pouring from the trunk of this tree of life, and if you i intend to harm another ******* in the world with one of Gods Creational vibrations with your creations of will and thought , then remember that God superseded your silly ***, by allowing that hate filled intent of harm  is made from love and the intent can be stripped from the truth of weight, pain, burden, causation for another to doubt themselves ( lets be honest, this is the flat truth, you can not cause true harm without the other allowing themselves to believe the creations purpose.) and in that be harmed by a creation from you using the love of God , for you can not create **** nor anything exist outside of the love and sound of Gods being and truth, so, yeah, next time you are hurt by another's actions and deed, remember, you are a creator in this love of God too, and you can strip the intent from all things man and take it to the original truth, Gods love for you as you learn and grow in this bizarre place of day dreams we have fancied ourselves helpless too, **** we can be silly and foolish but, we will never be undone nor destroyed in the image of the face of God for we are all made of the sound of Gods love for all existence.

and thus , if you don't agree, then, thanks for playing , lol, listening that is, and realize you are free to believe what ever, and i too am in this fact self evident, and in this one rule is the only consistent, harm none, least you be harmed. for out of the eater comes meat and from the strong comes a soft hand.
and in that, my friends, is where i stand.

and that is why all the tarnish and stains and marred marks of battles won and lost, will lift and flutter away as cherry blossoms in the wind on a summers windy day. and shine, you will, and counted we do make, for we are here to learn and grade one anothers efforts to stay in line with the core rules, and never, even, are we out of the you in me and the me in you. wink, smile and by the way, thank you for the small things , for they are truly the biggest of things in the cy re of self evident and good.

Badger Crow Moon/ Ricci Dale Moon Scott Oct/12/2015 12:04 PM
Moon Walk ✗☽彡☾✗☰ Trigram Heaven , may we all have equal chance to prove we can harm no one and create true and in love and growth of the Tree of life of Gods loving heart song of us all.

“22½ euros for a Martini,” Peter remarked, when he first scanned the menu.
“It’s not like we aren’t going to get them,” I said, “we’re not going to cheap our way to abstinence." The waiter came and I gave him my card, “Put that table on this card too, please,” (pointing to Charles’s table).

It’s a cool night in Paris and doof-doof music’s slammin’ from a stack of Mackie DJs. It’s about 53°f, but they have those umbrella heaters at every table and other heaters that blew warmer air on the dance floor (maybe not a great idea). Peter and I have a table on the terrace, out under a muted, light polluted starfield.

We danced, we debated the issues of the day, like, when will Taylor dump Kelcie and what were the best Oscar movies? (We chose ‘Poor Things’ and ‘Past Lives’). We ate Steak au Poivre with Red Wine Sauce and then we danced some more. We were having fun.

But when a party turns into ***** mayhem it’s time to leave - or is it? Watching the shadowy edges of things, I asked Peter, “It’s getting CrAzY, wanna go?”
“It’s just getting interesting,” he answered.
I squinted at him, was he serious? I couldn’t tell - martinis scramble my amygdala.
I decided to flow with it. “Ok, freak, get me another then.” I said, calling his bluff, and sliding my glass his way.
As he left for the bar, I glanced at my watch, 2am. It felt like 10 pm to us American east-coasters.

I looked around and Charles and Chinthia (Mrs.Charles) were laughing and chatting away.
‘You GO, old people,’ I thought - not unkindly.
Peter came back, two martinis in one hand, snapping pics with the other.
“Stop!” I barked, holding my hands up like I was fighting off paparazzi, “stop!”
I’ve learned things, like how, in early pics, when we arrive at a party, I look like Mary Poppins - but in end-of-party pix l look like Norma Desmond. Peter doesn’t see it  - but I do.

I sipped at my new drink - It tasted sour and bitter as sin - I made a face. Peter cackled like a villain in a low budget flick. “It’s a Winston Churchill,” he reported knowingly, “they were out of vermouth.”

When the bar runs out of vermouth, it means something. I pressed the walkie-talkie app on my watch and asked Charles, “You guys ready to go?” He didn’t look around but gave me a thumbs-up just before they rose.

My mom and (step)dad have joined us, at Grandmère’s, for this vacation. I was gleeful, at first, but it’s like my mom hasn’t noticed I’m not in high school anymore - that I grew-up in their three-year absence. I get pressed when she thinks I’m slouching, rearranged when my hair’s out of place and shown a pained, icy face if I order a martini.

She’s piercing the membrane of my privacy and expecting obeisance! I tried to explain it, like an adult. “There are multiple value systems,” I gently reminded her. My Grandmère even suggested Peter move into his own room. Luckily, Peter and my rooms adjoin and she put my parents on another floor (in the suite she grew up in).

I’m secretly afraid they’ll be up when we get in, that it’s 10pm for them too and I’ll get ‘the face.’ I told Charles about my situation and he said, “Look, she’s missed you, she’s just lavishing you with attention, she’ll relax,” but his oceanic optimism seems.. hopeful. We’ll see ??

I have this whole world that I want to share.
It doesn't sound like a lullaby but
Sometimes it feels like one.
Sometimes the sun sets at the perfect time and
Dawn begins to look like a rusty image of color.
It begins to set in and dissolve.
It pix-elates and creates an overdose that
Flat-lines and shapes the figures that come my way.  
You make me shift with every move you make.
There is something about the darkness that alleviates.
Something in the way you talk that makes my breath palpitate.

There is something in the air
And its setting across our universal states.
Dust seeps down on the miles that we found
Between us, I cant settle down now that it is dawn.
I want the drunken and drugged Queen's crown.
I want everything that is wrong,
Everyone that is alone singing this lullaby song,
I want every black tear that tears from that witch's heart.
I want a dry dreary summer to settle into and forget
Every bad dream, sad song, primal love, and every instinctual cheap bet.

think I know you
            knew you
before blue jumpers
football with tennis *****
weeping knees and benches
and reeling off hymns
            now look
at them singing the songs
of some not-quite-teen
mute squares of a life
apparently pristine
likes arriving like flies
            before
it was packed lunches
a place named Azkaban
afternoon kwik cricket
colourless pix
on Bebo
            now it's
a slurry of selfies
head-tilt lips-out
meme media excess
digital mausoleum
you've made your home
            so choose
I'll leave you to it
beeline for the Apple store
record what you can't get back
speak up **** your planet
or run

NOTE TO POET, RAT ALUMUGUM:

Dear Sir
I saw your profile
on this site
I love your
profile
and methinks
I fall in love with you
you can send me
email
my email address is:
realhotsexbomb@badmailgirls.com
Write 2 mee
and I slew you my ****, **** pix…
and maybe we can live happily ever after




DEAR REALHOTSEXBOMB:

I want to write to you
and give you all I got
but since the last time I gave all I got
I think it was to dirtybombgirl
my wife sits beside me
at the computer
and makes me read aloud every note
and every item on the screen I see
and she forces my fingers on the keypad
and she says –
her words, not mine
and her misspelling, not mine
and her opinion of me, not mine:
"Get off my idiotic man
u beach!
Don’t you steel him
and his money;
God knows
I've waited long enough
for him to die!
Go find some other sucker;
this sucker is mine!"

Michael, why are you playing so f-king hard to get?
I etched my number into your car, so you won't forget it.
I stalked you day and night just to prove my undying interest.
Did you get the shower pix of you, I intend to post on Pinterest?
I climbed in through your skylight twice, I bet you didn’t know.
I hid in your workplace mensroom, but alas you never showed.
Michael dear, I’m getting vexed, didn’t you see my million texts?
I know that you’ve been busy - that relationships aren’t always easy.
Michael, don’t be capricious, satisfy my sordid misses.
You simply have to wave to me - I’m out here in the bushes.

I have a great piece coming up. This isn’t it, I misplaced it,
but as soon as I find it, I’ll post it. This one is less-than-perfect.

The less-than-perfect summer felt like love.
There were some genuine moments of glamor
and a few new, intense, sense-memories to relish.
It wasn’t easy but we performed that magic called
holidaymaking - things in life don’t just happen.

Ok, some things just happen, like slip and falls,
heatwaves, hurricanes, car accidents and aging,
but the good things, like love, and hotel bookings
usually require a little planning and effort.

On the beach there’s a sense of infinite space,
but it comes with its own kind of circumscription.
You know, deep down, that it’s only summer,
and the paradise offered is slippery and temporary.
It’s the dark side of long holiday freedom, that
the discordant noises of fun soon fade, like tans.

Strips of perfect polaroid pix, will be stuck to my dorm room wall -
scenes that will act as talismans, tchotchke-like reminders of
overly straightened hair, sweet kisses and foolish shenanigans.

So, bring on the less-than-perfect hours of study,
I’ve done it before and I’m just about ready.
Bring on the weeks of less-than-perfect sleep,
It’s senior year, the experience should be unique.
Bring on the less-than-perfect social submission,
I’m a less-than-perfect ******* a less-than secret mission.
.
.
Songs for this:
Don't Forget the Sun but The Explorers Club
Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man

08.18-2:15p

Run not, from racism but to it.
Only through truth can you address it.
Any negative about minorities comes from white writers of media.
Many never known many minorities except when interviewing them.

True or false?
We know one truth whites say more, "I have a black friend".
And most likely one of a slight few.

True or false?

Like the show Cops that hunts crime in poor sector of cities.
Who's amazed?
That some criminal isn't arrested.
It's very apparent that the wealthy side has better lawyers and connection.

True or false?

When you looking at the news?
Notice, who photos they showcase the most?
While crying they trying to get a pix of someone more sick?

True or false?

No which race ride high in pedophiles.
Except that race gets treated with this subject on the down low of main media reports.

Prison treatment building showcase these sick subject very well.
And which race leads within this group.
But  leave it to the news, you wouldn't know it.

And this is truth.

Why?
Why?
Does one race hides behind close criminal files I court?
Afraid of the truth reports.
Cry quick about mental issues concerning their child?
Why?
Because they trying to keep from being embarrassed .

Notice, the most senseless killings.

Run from  truth.
But to it.
It hurts.

Notice, how whites when pushed upon racists ways love to reverse it and say the same about the other groups.
But like the Indians in movies once spoke.

White man law, holds no truth to others.
Who broke their peace treaties the most?
Especially when it came to getting over.

Why?
You never seen whites getting killed by black cops like black males by a majority of white males?
Because many holds truth to not being nothing but themselves.

True or false?

Some put on a weapon and instantly think they are tough.

Come here to mend a broken heart
Come here to make a new start
Come here to set passions ablaze
Come here to turn a new page.
Here the hills wild and verdant
Purge out all meanness within
Here the streams gaily abundant
Wash the mind's dirt to make it clean.
Here the hearts only know to give
Lust not to get in return
Here the tears when the eyes they leave
Not in the revenge's wrath burn.
Take home these pix hang it on your wall
See it when despairs torment
Wear its beacon on the night of squall
To find way under starless firmament.

I babysit the daughter (Ivy) of a doctor at the hospital where I volunteer (to accumulate ‘clinical hours’ for my med-school applications). According to my mom, the purpose of my current existence is to get into med school.

That may sound crazy or theater-mom-ish but she has strong arguments - like Aristotle (all things strive toward full potential), stoicism (there’s a role for all living things) and vitalism (there’s a purpose, in life, beyond survival) - so, who am I to argue?

Straight brag, I’m a certified, Girl Scout Safe-Sitter®. Little Ivy and I will be eye to eye (metaphorically) for three hours today - no phones, TV or Internet - just paints, swings, barbies, a Montessori math game and a new toy called “MyFirst camera” which lets her take pix, and then print them, low-res and smeary, on ultra-thin paper.

I met Ivy when she was 4, now she’s on the edge of 6. She’s got large chestnut brown eyes that match her hair - which is cut in a shoulder length angled-bob. She’s about 3½-feet of cuteness, in her pink ballet-flat shoes. I’d describe her clothes, but she changes about every hour. “What are you wearing now?” I find myself asking the princess or jedi. “Can I help you officer?” I ask the business-like cop in a ballet tutu.
We’re old hats at this babysitting gig.

When Ivy picked up her camera, I asked, “Can I take your picture?” reaching out to take the thing.
“In a minute,” she said, lining me up in the viewfinder. “No,” she said, suddenly turning into a photographer highly critical of my look, “(pose) Like a model,” she directed, before striking, for a brief moment, a perfect, indifferent, hands-on hips pose herself. Kids pick up on everything. I took her direction and struck a pose.

Later, as we painted dragons that looked like flowers, she asked, “Why’s the sky blue?”
When Ivy asks questions, it’s like she’s getting a second opinion or testing to see what I know.
“Blue?” I asked, acting like I was confused. “The sky is GREEN.”
“NNOOO,” she said.
“You’re colorblind!” I exclaimed in alarm, “Does your mom know?!
“The sky is BLUE,” she said, with the seriousness of certainty.
“We’ll see,” I said, like a doubting thomas.
I held up five fingers, “How many colors am I holding up?”  
She looked at me, side-eyed for less than a beat, then said “No.”
We had hours of fun.

Later, when her mom came home, she asked “How’s it going guys?” As she set down her purse and keys.
Ivy looked up from her work, gluing a collage of the day's photos to poster board and said, “Ok.”
“We had fun,” I reported, “I’ve been teaching her some comedy things.”
“Like what?” her mom asked, nonplussed.
Ivy eyed me suspiciously.
“Like when she falls, she should wait for the laugh. She can’t just - hop right up.”

Stormy is back in the news,
Looking for better reviews.
It wouldn't be keen
Not to come clean
On something she couldn't refuse.

People say Trump's a bit harried;
It all happened after he married.
'Twas just a short fling;
No promise, no ring.
But big plans for silence miscarried.

Trump's fine attorney then later,
Serving as negotiator,
Paid Stormy a sum
To make her stay mum
And said, "Good-by, alligator."

As **** star, Stormy might brag
About any man she might snag.
Her story and pix
From twenty-oh-six
Came out this year in a mag.

Attorney and Trump both deny
That anything happened. Then why
Did both of them feel
That Stormy would squeal,
And give her the dough on the sly?

We hear now that Stormy is saying
Their pact to stay silent is fraying.
She blurted out, “Halt!
The lawyer’s at fault.
No longer will I be obeying.”

Stormy is sly, people say.
To some she's a Morgan le Fay.
She said to the press
That she'll take her dress
And test it for Trump's DNA.

It seems as though only Trump's base
Completely ignores his disgrace.
When he is errant
And so **** transparent,
How can he keep a straight face?

Perhaps we will find that no doubt there
Will be more to scribble about. There
IS one suggestion:
Bring up the question
Of how many "Stormys" are out there?

-by Bob B (2-16-18)

When powered up in operation mode
A structure rotates like a merry-go-mad
At the cylinder’s cone, and further back
Uprights rectilineal pulse in place

A slender tube poised for flight, it seems,
All sinister and sleek, ready for launch -
But purposed for what?
                                               Electrification
Of dental hygiene for The People’s teeth

Our Man in Havana has sent us the pix:
The Atomic Toothbrush is our dental fix!