764

Presentiment—is that long Shadow—on the Lawn—
Indicatives that Suns go down—

The Notice to the startled Grass
That Darkness—is about to pass—

"Oh father, let us hence--for hark,
  A fearful murmur shakes the air.
The clouds are coming swift and dark:--
  What horrid shapes they wear!
A winged giant sails the sky;
Oh father, father, let us fly!"

"Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
  That beating of the summer shower;
Here, where the boughs hang close around,
  We'll pass a pleasant hour,
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,
Has swept the broad heaven clear again."

"Nay, father, let us haste--for see,
  That horrid thing with horned brow,--
His wings o'erhang this very tree,
  He scowls upon us now;
His huge black arm is lifted high;
  Oh father, father, let us fly!"

"Hush, child;" but, as the father spoke,
  Downward the livid firebolt came,
Close to his ear the thunder broke,
  And, blasted by the flame,
The child lay dead; while dark and still,
Swept the grim cloud along the hill.

Our hands held each other
Yet, I missed you anyway

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
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-.- -.- -.- -.-

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

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.

you could store water
in the wells dipped deep
into my neck where
your grip once was.
your hold is too strong,
its weeds choke my lungs,
steals my own words
to replace with your own.
I was your garden
and I felt your hands
uproot my ugly, but you
took the flowers away too.
I stand now, an arboretum
of almosts and painful potential.
you leave me barren so
I have nothing to offer,
nothing of my own.
I wait to claim back
myself, all that I have,
and I am almost ready.

A stone terrain waits

A landscape deserted

Devoid of real

Or imagined explorations

For it turns inward

At a tangent that

Precludes inquiry

It has an articulation

Of slow deliberate movements

Where particularized

Geology has painted it

Cut off and disconnected

By an estrangement of creation

Other existences only serve

To magnify its sense of isolation

Its blank uncaring non-geometric

Dimensions of observable

Unquantifiable location is obscure

And unrealised

Producing an immediate

Initiated sensory experience

Of unreleased silent appraisal

But why does it wait?

What for

Does it anticipate or foresee

Some expected prediction

Of apocalyptic presentiment

Is it recalling color?

Or is it experiencing

The present like floating in a dream

Alas there is no clue

To its tilted yet frozen expectancy

A stone terrain waits

As the Sun has its place
In the clear, halcyon sky
Your mind resides here
Please don't resist to comply
Intercept each divagated thought
Interconnect with my waves
Vibe with my presentiment
Upon each other, we're slaves
"Hooked" on each other's hooks
As our conscious rocks and cradles
Sharing minds as we flutter
Animated fantasies, but no fables
I think the way you think
You coast adjacent to my vibe
Our mental surrounds each other's
Mine and yours, a dear circumscribe
We entwine as a tightly woven braid
Entangled upon a common bond
We savor of our intuitive thoughts
Your every move, I'm surely fond
Enriched with pleasurable closure
In summer's embrace, we wallow
In this psychological playground
My angel, your position is hallow
We're two minds that amalgamate
Gratified with not one discrepancy
Only our mutual brains keep subtle
A deep, infrangible, sweet telepathy..

© Michael P. Smith

I.

This is a poet of the river lands,
a lowdown man of the deepest
depth of the valley, where gravity gathers
the waters, the poisons, the trash,
where light comes late and leaves early.

From the window of his small room
the lowdown poet looks out. He watches
the river for ripples, flashes, signs
of beings rising in the undersurface dark,
or lightly swimming upon the flow,
or, for a minnow, descending the deeps
of the air to enter and shatter
forever their momentary reflections,
for the river is a place passing
through a passing place.

The poet, his window, and his poems
are creatures of the shore that the river
gnaws, dissolves, and carries away.
He is a tree of a sort, rooted
in the dark, aspiring to the light,
dependent on both. His poems
are leavings, sheddings, gathered
from the light, as it has come,
and offered to the dark, which he believes
must shine with sight,
with light, dark only to him.


II.

Times will come as they must,
by necessity or his wish, when he leaves
his enclosure and his window,
his homescape of house and garden,
barn and pasture, the incarnate life
of his desire, thought, and daily work.
His grazing animals look up
to watch in silence as he departs.
He sets out at times without even
a path or any guidance other than knowledge
of the place and himself as they were
in time already past. He goes among trees,
climbing again the one hill of his life.
With his hand full of words he goes
into the wordless, wording it barely
in time as he passes. One by one he places
words, balancing on each
as on a small stone in the swift flow
in his anxious patience until
the next arrives, until he has come
at last again into presentiment
of the Real, the wholly real in its grand
composure, for which as before
he knows no word. And here again
he must stop. Here by luck or grace he may
find rest, which he has been seeking
all along. Sometimes by the time’s flaws
and his own, he fails. And then
by luck or grace he will be given
another day to try again, to go maybe
yet farther before again he must stop.
He is a gatherer of fragments, a cobbler
of pieces. Piece by piece he tells
a story without end, for in the time
of this world no end can come.
It is the story of eternity’s shining,
much shadowed, much put off,
in time. And time, however long, falls short.







Wendell Berry's most recent books include It All Turns on Affection: The Jefferson Lecture and Other Essays, New Collected Poems, and A Place in Time, the newest volume in his Port William series.

love and self respect twined into the rope
surrounded by a toxic cloud of vagueness.

I am the riff-raff of my own heart

my own dishonesty to myself has increased the remorseless presentiment in my soul
my reactions drowned in vain
as he whispered the words that i have so often used on all the wrong faces

my heart was taped together with duct tape
...still some pieces were missing
my heart was not "ripped in half"

it was set a blaze, tortured and hung
left looking in the mirror at its own worthless reflection...

...how can a heart like that ever love again?

Imposing despondence annexing hypnogogic state escapes;
                             dominating
                  Precariously constructed walls;
                                stifling
      Presentiment projected, callous shadow castles;
                              towering
       Looming structures of concentrated contempt;
                              ensnared
              A solitary luminescent casement;
                     revealing radiant retreat
      Evanescent relief...
         Enticing evacuation from encasement;
                          a Dusty Miller
Flourishing amongst debris and ruin
The first sign of life...
                                                   in years

love and self respect twined into the rope
surrounded by a toxic cloud of vagueness.

I am the riff-raff of my own heart

my own dishonesty to myself has increased the remorseless presentiment in my soul
my reactions drowned in vain
as he whispered the words that i have so often used on all the wrong faces

my heart was taped together with duct tape
...still some pieces were missing
my heart was not "ripped in half"

it was set a blaze, tortured and hung
left looking in the mirror at its own worthless reflection...

...how can a heart like that ever love again?

Imperative perception
It was all far fetched, a time when I searched myself in others
No one can ever give me the moment of clarity and serenity
An eternity of peace within oneself, an embody of higher self
This place of ultimate truth and surreal objectification
A reflection of timeless lapses, the laps of completeness
The storms were a taboo, the recurrent flying unquietness
The un-resolving trips and flares of unpolarised magnetic currents
The escape to pristine moments, prestige throughs and peaks
A vision from the drowning sea, me sinking in the whirlpool
I mirrored my own reflection to yours, my 'I' to "you", your 'I" to "me"

Melodious Creeks
The moment called now is my only lullaby I can hear
A whisper so harmonised and crystallised deep in the seabed
A candle light of moment of truth in a rotating crystal ball
The chaos in the jungle have escaped to the peaks of the mountain
Uninformed lands with uniformed pebbles, the shattered glasses
Demons that stood ***** as they pierced and taunted a being

Why did it take so long?**
Lets go the springs and streams of pain, the unending past
It's not a feeling, or logic, its a way of human existence
An entwinement of anthems embellished with peace

Presentiment
***** the barred barricades for me to see your pastures
I can feel the darkness that embodies your soul and mind
A thunder in the unending jungle, jiggling in kingdoms
Reject my sharp vision, I cry your tears as you do mine
I stare at your blur as you submerge in the deep waters
The blackening tunnels with no escape reject my eyes
The icy layers squeezing to escape in your sorrows
The narrowed aisles have become the only island you cruise
The trajectory of our blood realigned in our future sins

Found self?
Listen to the strings adjoining in the basements of the cliffs
The line balancing on the centrifugal pump as it impels to shrouds

Of choices?
Predetermination and judgment of other as I lost a piece of my time
In this territory, I stand at the borderline of my devotion in battle
Holding my rifle and connecting to life and all; me a solider of love
Parading in the landscapes of inhibitions and thought processes
A soul I hold is my only liberation to live fully and autonomously
Eyes wide open, mouth wide ajar as we rise and survive doing our best!

To have an affair ... is different than to cheat
cheating is bad but the affair has it beat
My affair, not one that had been planned
It's something i'm ashamed of ...
I musn't ... I cant.
the pushy counselor pressuring me to talk, let it out, she predicts that it'll fell good ...
she has no idea what's about to come out of this messy confession. an affair, coming from under the trunk of this hood.
i'll be the first to testify of it's illusion
opposite of its face value,
misery and loneliness will be the only winner.
Like dying and going to the medium place where utopia does not exist, contingent to utopia's disappearance it only makes sense that hell would delete itself as well?
haven't we longed for the day when there'd be no such thing as hell? Then we'd be free?
Life's twisted humor,
everything has an opposite, an article of faith
being positioned isn't possible without opposition to accompany its lifeless soul,
It preys on the thriving, takes from the present, holds the living hostage as it meets up with  fear and justice, freedom and sadness. birthing the first of many to come,
dicontentment is born and swooned and rocked, fed and held, growing so strong
these thoughts in my mind ...?
you see,
i thought were mine were mine that I could actually be SAFE for ONCE the only place i am safe and free of interference, has been compromised...
discontentment has spread like a wildfire this morning, the remains the evident unsupervised testimony.
and as conciousness demanded an invite inside my mind, I insisted i would clean and make space first, denying my insistence of alone time.
i opened the door, my body quickly analyzed a familiarly foreign emotion,
My mind, the mitochondria, could detect a feeling like this in a crowd of a million waldo's,
This home has felt plenty of drive by emotions all of which fall sorrowfully short,
Relief, one  emotion i've never known well, but good enough to  consider an aquantaince, My higher self, the God dwelling in me
is only awaken by my ego's alarm going off at the maximum volume alotted,
My ego has always disappointed me and always will, a true representation of its impulsiveness no awareness of self control
Demons survive,(yes survive) the lowest level of vibration due to it's subsisting unvarnished truth,
shame and survival are the vibrational levels of those who die,
living and surviving,
"He who is slow to wrath has great understanding,
and unlike my actions, he who is impulsive exalts folly"
God says it himself, a fool will never see the gates
those pearly gates, I pray, will be a presentiment that the abuse i've endured on earth has always been accounted for.  I pray my damaged,not to mention, and terribly fragile sixteen year old learns to stand up for herself.
I'm sorry for the fear I put her through and all the criticism, My God i don't even think it's normal the tight leash i set before my, adolescent at the time
I snap out of what seemed like a continuous paralysis where i cant stop vomiting out my emotions.,
"I feel .... not good amie,"
Of course this is your ego denouncing its reign, you better believe it's stopping it's feet like mad,
I get what you're getting at Doc, but that's not the case for me,I work in recovery so i know how tough it can be to let go of ego's control.
If it isn't you ... tell me more about your sixteen self, what happened to you? why are you sorry to her? How did you hurt her?
the real inquiry to be at is, was that you that hurt her? you an innocent teeny bopper,
I know you don't see yourself as innocent,because you felt all grown up,
or maybe you've felt misunderstood since a child which is it for you nisey?
she notices the sting of silence,  must've been chilly for a princess like her
she probably has never known a cold night, i think and quickly think better of, once i feel the green-eyed monster creeping up, my enemy, the one i resist
so with that said it is the one that pursues, I know it is because I delight in it that it has an extraordinarily special control over my ego
"Or maybe, my sixteen year old snapped I am exhausted of justifying my actions to people who never listened"
I am the party that shame and depression loves to crash late at night, whenever they spot out happy with their
laser beam focus and their macular degeneration"
God acting as an Implantable Miniature Telescope,
as I unleash my arsenal of scriptures, he sits with his mouth pursed, his pursuit to relinquish his pain and hate, written all over him, his body vocalizing all the hate he refused to articulate through linguistic expression as his special form of punishment, wrapped specifically for me
I give the gift a home and take it as an
accolade of the abuse my ego thinks i'd win for staying.
water and oil.
needless to say, these enemies are not holding one another hostage, instead their proverb differing in hindsight,

Their moral compass, primarily, astray from the "good" commandments".,
the same commandments seen as good, although there is no such thing as good or bad, obviously i've had one too many philosophy lessons,
Now like every great philosopher I delight in inquiry,
It used to bother me amie,
surpising to those who know me as goddessnisey, my altar ego that is ingenious in its successful attempts at imitation of my authentic self, minus the flaws, has people fooled,
My inauthentic self, the one that needs to know everything before trusting, the one that misses out on opportunities because she let's impulsiveness govern her actions.
To that little girl, I owe the grandest of apologies, I'm talking like the kind the cops owed rodney,
the one's that took hold of me,  Covered me in shame and loneliness, .
dolizing
finally got on top and now it's my *****, only thing is
now habituated by their entire nation of people go by the saying birds of a feather flock together, they do not associate, because they are opposite.


Where did this relationship go i ask amie, my,newly discovered personal guru, that i'm paying a **** load to vent to,!?
like the housing of my body I am inconsistent
personification live in the flesh, as absolute irony and it's downer cousin named realistic, tag along to keep this broken law of language a secret,(only writers will get what im saying)
GASP* a breath of fresh air  reveals itself in the highest light promising that if you choose your freedom, and reveal your secret, she will personally bring you freedom and peace.
neighboring discontentment,  I am a survivor of fire at it's wildest,
Like an incurable error the pilot finds in the computer's main frame,
I am that pilot as i begin to confess, called it a day...
beckoning for professional help
but they were not my doing
long time enemies and both close to me,
old-time cliches they love to preach ....
"you'd do best to keep your friends close that way it
distracts your enemies from the intentional tenure you have on them."
weighing my options i decide to speak, silence is death, im smarter than that
I just can't tell you how sorry i am, I told him
not because of what i've done
but because i'd do it again
His mouth was closed,
But he wasn't quiet I could hear him,
The sound of his heart begin to slow,
and for every woman out there, this is when you know...
heart-break is real.
He refused word of mouth but that did not forestall the howling of his heart, an injured wolf
true to character, injured, no forced deal.
His eyes spoke everything that his genetically encrypted ability to stay poker face, failed to exceed at
it took for him to shut his mouth, and just listen as he'd promised
we may need a doctor over here stat,
I know once I've told him that if given a choice ,
Him or her ...
he'd end up disappointed .
he had a way of upholding his secret self hate from childhood,
just like us all, carrying across our baggage, picking up more and expecting to climb mountains.
converting it into tortuous rituals and facades, he wears it across his chiseled countenance so well, you'd think this is who he is.
My problem is , so does he...
I tell HER about him all the time, in hopes that the buddhist teaching will be the key
They say what you hate is a reflection of what you resist in yourself.So i know he'd maintain face, at least until I got on with the confession,because I'd do the same,
that's the honest painful truth... an artifact in this raw and true moment, The highest self in me has decided I am ready
for yet another piece of wisom,
every year,
a new piece watching as if they were refereeing the play offs.
then i realize, this is the play offs I am the main star and I have the ball, the therapist told me herself, it's my turn to talk ..
worry filling the abyss in the center of me, as nervousness takes over my anatomy, triggering negative feedback and certainlymy body breaks down in an immediate cry for ventilation,
Then it dawned on me, I am the negative feedback , an excuse, a sad one.
Catlystic I am it's true, negative feedback, the return of part of an output signal to the input
blaming my conditional love on a lack of attention on your part ... wow excuse me for the foot,
the one i put in the door when you begged for my explanation and my honesty,
putting out the foot has been the biggest aid in our demise, I know how bad i hurt you,
that's the thing about a fleshy soul,
we tell our stories through our eyes.
so worried of what others think of me that I can't focus on
That's what's important to you isn't it? saving face i wanted to yell, but preserved for another time, when yelling could raise the stakes far past what I could gamble.
when we sat to write with a pen in hand,
a private affair began.
I' was afraid,
afraid that this would happen,
fate would force a baby shower that would give birth to the haunting of my heart, my secrets befallen.
As the doctor proceeds to clip the umbilical from my median,
seperating the blood i've shed with the body that is supposed
to house vital fluid but  nowholds senseless emotions.
l a gallery of clips and photos like a drawn out trailer that gave away all the parts you pay for,
  no way to express myself, choosing introversion over conversation... what a bore.
I was afraid this would happen because I know my death is timely,
gambling in these neck of the woods could cost you your family, primely... of course,
some of your loved ones may understand, either way
the other literature sorcerest's don't resist to spill the main course, guess what it's YOU.
This secret could tear me apart and feed me to the sharks,
parallel to satan, its only objective is destruction, insisting i like the dark,
a spell cast upon me of course I hate the dark, this secret can't get out or my friendly facade will melt like a witch dead in a pool of salty raindrops,
slowly burning the witch, as water was foreign,
life without literature is surely foreign to me,
my partner will be sorry if he makes me leave her
tantums, panic attacks and more take her away and a blur will ride her vision and taunt her in her maturity as the blur grows stronger
she will have amnesia
and once my partner finds out that she was feeding us, not aiding in our demise, reconstruction is to come.
like a newborn, failure to trhive, the difference between you two ? I need one to survive
My mind no longer would focus on anything else ..
this affair started between a muse and myself
He understood things without having to say a word
To talk to him all i needed was a pen and a journal.
all faithfulness adjurned.
It was a poetic journey as we entered another element,
a renewal of spirit and soul,
My partner and i would have to call it quits.
A "no trespassing" sign was posted and the door shut
Locked with no key, just us alone
no one to bother me.
It is in this affair that he has given me purpose
on my previous relationship i have closed the curtain
to have an affair is different than to cheat
poetry is the mistress
and has him beat <3

When hardened hearts ignore the plaintive tears
Of those who are invisible yet present,
They disregard the strugglers' hopes and fears
And make a situation more unpleasant.
Many suffer hazardous conditions
And work that earns a pittance but still brings
A lifestyle that won't **** their true ambitions.
How dare we think that they all live like kings!
Imagine living daily with the terror
Or harsh presentiment--with stress and pain--
Of knowing that despite abuse or error,
Your hands are tied, for you cannot complain.
Your life becomes a sad catch-22.
To keep on going is all that you can do.

Imagine fleeing poverty and war
And frightful acts of cruel persecution.
Your life at least is better than before,
But you await a permanent solution.
Your kids are now American at heart,
But jobs and college cause much consternation.
You work two jobs; you try to do your part;
Yet there's the constant threat of deportation.
When people turn their heads and look away,
A blaze of cruel injustice wildly rages.
The ones affected most can have no say
In how to fix what's NOT worked well for ages.
Solutions lacking heart are cold and numbing
And demonstrate how ugly we're becoming.

- by Bob B (2-23-17)

In my hands rest words I couldn’t bring myself to eat
they rose up my throat like a tree roots itself into the ground
I plucked the leaves from my mouth
and wrote my simple query,
“who told me I could not stay?”
“who told me I must go away?
then left them in the air to float
amongst quandaries of maple and oak
wrapping my head in black webbing
and taking off my shoes as a presentiment
and a gesture of compliance
as I wait for the day

With overdue hunger, she decides to eat and drink until she is satisfied. After eating he flees her house hating her, with the presentiment of being able to see Antoinette's swan. He goes out in search of her after her adored beautiful maiden. Trying to hide her impatience, he goes to the Municipal Theater without being able to find her. And there he goes to many places, that after visiting them, when he was walking down the main street when he was window-shopping, he gets distracted and finds a childhood friend, Fernando. He greets him and expresses surprise to him for a long time without seeing him --- He tells him that he was fine, that he was coming for a walk, after some invitations they had made him, and Ludwig asks him what he was working on --- To which he answers who administered the estate of his parents. And in spare time to the arts --- Fernando tells him without being surprised that he was still the same. They continued their conversation until he suddenly sees Antoinette in a gallery, crosses, and stands next to her. Then he looks at her through the glass, she turns and looks at him --- he tells her for so long without seeing him, for two weeks in that Park. He tells her, she was right, and her memory has not deceived her, I am Ludwig Garroch, and I want to invite her to someplace, where she wants you. She accepts and they go to a restaurant there. This one was very old, a very sad mandolin music could be heard in the distance.

Antonieta ...: How good I feel! It doesn't happen sometimes that you want to enjoy moments like these more often.

Ludwig ...: Of course, but now I beg you to tell me about his debut in San Lorenzo.

Antonieta ...: Logical, but the way I feel now makes me want only this freshness, like that curtain that is moved by that breeze, that's how I want to feel.

Ludwig ...: The truth is that I feel the same, so I leave the reason for the conversation to him.

Antonieta ...: First, I want you to know that I remembered you a lot. It was so surprising that day in that place. Ludwig ...: Yes the Prehistoric.

Antonieta ...: How, why does he call it that ...?

Ludwig ...: Well I approached you, civilly next to the hot spring, as if it were something of strong attraction. I could also smell her feminine charm, which in my opinion made me feel that way since we were in the immensity of that forest, which is reminiscent of the beginning of the world, as boisterous and wild as the park that burned in sulfurous heat. There is nothing I can do but get into this hidden piece of country.

Antonieta ...: It actually looks very old and wild like that. In any case, I find it very beautiful, although only that day I could enjoy it. Before I only saw from the outside, I didn't go in, the truth is that it scared me.

Ludwig ...: Now that we talk, I am more pleased to hear it.
Antonieta ...: I also think like this, that is to say, I feel very comfortable, Oh another thing! It is time for you to treat me as Antonieta and nothing else.

Ludwig ...: As you wish, it will be more comforting for me to be able to trust more in you and in the friendship you have given me.
Antonieta ...: It's an event, so let's toast to this.

They drank all the wine that in successive times guided him through the luxury of good feeling, good and frank dialogue. That wine was an elixir, it was the magical carrier of love. At the end of the toast, they got up. He canceled the due and they left. As they walked down the street they spoke with enthusiasm. He tells her if he prefers that he take her to her house or if she wants to go alone. She tells him that it was okay for him to accompany her. That way Mom won't worry about seeing her arrive alone at this time. Ludwig tells her how happy she was of her and that he wanted to see her again. She answers him that yes, that there is no need to worry so much and that she did not want to be complacent, but she had to be more optimistic --- Of course, she did not know that he was losing her balance, that she could hardly imagine her. They arranged to meet the next day, and Ludwig gave him her address ...: Sea Horse 966 East. They arrived at Antoinette's house and set a time for seven p.m. -Back in the favorite of his famous places of pleasure, her house, this night is more hospitable than ever, even a new species of flower was born in her homeland visiting him. Looking at the starry sky with its esoteric entities, with its dazzling features, she imagines being in the Ionosphere and looking down at the beloved Earth still with the chill of the ice of space on her back.

This is how he thinks how he is going to miss the lost imagination far from his reach. But before going to sleep, she remembers his close friends who made her remember affection and concern. She could barely reach her hand up to her face and cross herself. They already came to declare the omnipotent dream that he would accept it without quarrel, he would only obey something inescapable.

The Sleeping Voices ...: “You sleep like the one who has slept, who has not been insomniac, we will cover your ashamed conscience and we will give the living of immortal affairs.

Today more than ever we have reclaimed your soul to the place of consecration, where the detachment of Deist energy is stamped on the memory. Thus pure and concentrated the Faith will be granted to you, that if you want to call it from God, thus it will be in the first category and we will only be confined to assist you ... ”As it is proven, the wise man can think and act like a fool, but the sleeping voices They are from spiritual and intellectual pride, so you will omit vague thoughts. On our day, at the end of February, he has awakened in a hurry to how much can be done, leaving leisure inactive, (They retire) Ludwig wants to eat something and Sara comes in saying ... What do you mean ...? --- Ludwig says you ... What a surprise ...!

Sara ...: I've been waiting for you all these days, why haven't you gone to see me ...?, It seems that you've fallen in love again.

Ludwig ..: Look, I was going the other day but I don't know what happened, I was going to go anyway.

Sara ...: Ungrateful, why don't you get up ... !, I invite you to lunch, today I prepared fish especially for you, what do you think ...?

Ludwig ...: Very good Sarita! I'll take a bath and we'll go.

Sara ...: I see that you have fixed your redoubt, it already seems more home.

Ludwig ...: It was time, don't you think? Well to the water. He jumped into the pool, bathed, and dried himself in the sun. They drank orange juice from his trees and went to Sara's house. On the way, they talked about Debra, about her if she had written to him and he said no, that she would not return to the Green City. He tells her that fate kept treating him like a hungry lion's prey, but that he was glad that he was away from romanticism. Help is unconditionally offered by embracing each other's postures.

Sara ...: My poor Ludwig is human to err, and since we live surrounded by them, we will continue to suffer injustice.

Ludwig ...: I no longer want to feel my legs so heavy, and although oblivion is rebellious with me, I will take any element and make a message for everyone. That I do not go with resentment or hatred of any religious creed, I will only react as that I have learned from humans. And so, if I am to cry for Debra when she is gone, I will remember how I loved her and I will not see the vain smile full of hypocrisy, I will only squeeze her in my arms arrogant of expression and I will wish her eternal good. They got to Sara's house, had lunch, and then she left. She later went to Fernando's house, in the sea house. She remembered that she left him alone that day when she found Antonieta, she was sorry a lot but the good thing is that she was going to see him again. During the journey, she remembered her childhood time with hers, her friend, or hers, Fernando de Ella. He leaves his City, which had him tied to feeling, to nostalgia, to the rebirth of the new Sun that made him happy and renew his concerns. He only walked along the white road, and to the stream that in summer he does not feel running, and now he was thin and determined by his estuary. The flowers that always vitalized him now undressed him without being able to escape the eclipse that warmed him and invaded him with complacency. The sea was the great mirror resource of the sun, and the scene of the flimsy ground with the enigma of the abyss, with the biceps of the fisherman that empties his entrails and gives the overvaluation of the respect he deserves.
Upon arriving at Fernando's house, he knocks on the door and Dn opens it. Andrés, the father.

Ludwig ..: Good evening, I'm looking for Fernando.

Mr. Andrew  ...: Good morning, he went to the city to fix the matter of his passage, but he said that he would return around six o'clock. Do you want me to leave you a message?

Luis ...: Yes please, I'll wait for you on the shore of the beach, until sunset. Ah, tell him to carry the flute!

Mr. Andrew ...: Very well, I tell you. Are you by any chance the son of Gerardo Garroch ...? Ludwig answered in the affirmative, telling him that two years ago he had died. Dn. Andrés gives him his condolences, deeply regretting his person. They say goodbye and turn their backs as if wanting to resume the conversation.

When moving away from that beach house, Dn. Andrés made a sign to him, waving his hand, to which Ludwig answered with his arm raised. Very close to the shores that acclaimed him, he felt anticipating the summer that would renew him. He stretches his dorsal ulna and asks the neighboring giant ... Have I ever been angry with you, the salt giant and I hope it continues to be so? I am a nomad who is not calm ...! He stands and runs across the water ford looking at his shadow, breathing with pleasure and effort. So they continue with great pleasure, to see themselves healthy and that he is healthy. He prepares and exercises his heart in a long race. After running inside he is shaken by inspiration.

The way you blossom is infinitely attractive
This indescribable sentiment
Tells me to be truly proactive
And find the secret behind a presentiment
which tells me you are my other half

Daily, I think about you daily
Crazy, I think I am crazy
I feel the purest love in my heart
I have never felt a love of that sort

The way you look at me is so sweet
Lately I can't even sleep
I have been distracted all the time
Daydreaming about you my sunshine
I dedicate you all my rhymes
Maybe I will make you laugh
But my poems have been waiting
For someone like you baby
I feel you could be my other half

'The truth of things'
the purveyor's statement
his point of view
his own presentiment-

truth in the absolute-
who's the authority?  ambivalent
is the closest definitive
philosophy's perennial predicament!

Ha!

Human (rat) race doomed!

Foregone conclusion hashtagged,
linkedin, predicated, et cetera, cuz
overactive derrière of yours truly
(no names mentioned, nor fickle
finger of fate pointed), and writer
of these words and one among many
riders (he adores) on the storm –
referring to brewing, looming, and
quaking potentially severe economic
fallout shattering The "debt ceiling"
or "debt limit"recommends ye dear
unknown (anonymous) readers bid
thee toodle loo  to civilization
and its discontents.

So much for hyperbole!
    
How axiomatic, ironic, quixotic, zoologic
that thee unavoidable ****** urge occurred
while in the midst of writing about that
vitally important ****** function, which
for any other Tom, **** or Harry would
be safer endeavor at least within their home.

That margin of err rear harmlessly doth
NOT exist within the rented domicile
of this twenty six plus years a married
(lighthearted) middle aged man.

What requisite non-forceful,
essential, dutiful call visiting
the ***** to purge the body electric
of supposed waste matter
(quite efficient machine ****
Sapiens anatomy), regarding
said expelling solid, loose, liquid...
thru **** ought to rank as
minimally risky private business.

Imagine matter of fact saunter
to the loo fraught with Uriah heaps
of danger that could imperil
the very existence of (in this case)
myself, and the rest of humanity.

Upon attempting to amble
very short distance, (perhaps
half a dozen paces), an
immediately deleterious,
hellaciously luminous, and
perilously serious threat
(unsurpassed even by hooliganism  
signature destruction forever
enshrining Gothic or Vandals –
if such peoples lived today and
occupied this apartment unit),
loomed as a far more impossibly
harrowing mission any combination
of maximum strength (Excedrin
would be superfluous) supposed
major natural disasters all rolled
into one frightful maelstrom.

Oft times the powerful need
to relief thyself disallows any
preparation H(abiliments), thus I
am forced to make a quick dash
to the toilet, BUT between
the cozy comfort of this easy
chair and the durable material
designed to suction even the
baddest, biggest, boldest BM
belies a trail and mountain
far more of wicked bewitched
crossing then say the now defunct
Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant.

Though this comparison may seem
like an exaggeration, the higgledy
piggledy hewn heap of fetid foul
fermenting faecal matter poses
dangerous, death defying diabolical
(DO NOT ENTER) dump.

No other option existed for me
to eradicate, expel, exorcise, et
cetera potential ***** matter except
to strike out toward barrier reef
of noxious, odoriferous, pestilential,
queasily revolting sky high (declared
SuperFund Site) to  enjoy simple
pleasure, whereby Gluteus Maximus
dispenses with human toxins.

The urge to let loose a stool sample
overrides any time to pen loving
note to surviving family members,
which (two darling grown daughters
seem like foreigners (or survivors
on a desert island) as each precious
Punim pursues autonomy countless
miles, whereby the eldest then
a Junior at The University of Pennsylvania,
and the youngest offspring plane
and simple sailed about seven
years ago to become
seasoned student abroad.

Though a tenant at this subsidized
(and quite agreeable accommodations
nestled within Perkiomen Valley,
Pennsylvania), no exaggeration necessary
to describe daily cataclysm perchance
spelling doom and downfall of this
dry husband and loving father to deux
progeny, who would hate to leave said
special offspring behind under
the sheltering sky.

Thus every onset to traipse
so few feet to flush out
thine flotsam and jetsam,
(when stream of ***** sprays
like a hose) to pay obeisance
and homage to modern
plumbing, the flash of mine
lxiv years zips thru me
memory, particularly when
carefully, gingerly
lumbering ridiculously slow
(lest mishap finds ambulance
siren wailing destiny of this chap
(most likely pronounced
dead on arrival), whereby tell tale
sigh of turgid tummy
would automatically inform doctors
that obstruction preventing quintessential
rear supply tubby
undisputed venal wickedness.

Tis at  unstoppable twitches
to defecate, (which sharp
saber rattling ****** spasms)
denote common urgent irrepressible
need arising within bowels),
when mental gallows humorous arises.

Such an embarrassing ending
(post eerie er) demise re: conclusion
to my rather ordinary life – (visa vis
being constipated, deprived
or hindered freeing offal,
would put to shame “windbag”
i.e. google as  proof positive
of blocked means to eliminate waste).

Also in tandem (though very
slightly tangential to above
distressful horrible likely presentiment,
this xMan bemoans being
swept off my yam bic pent
tam meter feet (literally)
by gigantic hands of she
(thee divine Gaia, who now
scatters defecated detritus
damning ability to access
commode constitutes reflection
on remaining Norwegian
Bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.

How trajectory of one measly
mortal primate webbed
whirled wide eyed schleps
along boulevard of broken dreams
(he may as well live planets,
galaxies or universes apart
worlds) ever shared
an intersecting vector
with another continues
to confound this crossword puzzler.

Again that sneaky sobriquet
irony doth mettle with
steely goatherd drivers
goes Pasteur ****, where gin
till lit tee lives.

Long story short described below.

Circumstance found this then
quite content solitary
son of the soil invited
to admirable, estimable, inimitable
estate listed as “Glen Elm”
within  National Registry of
owned properties within
Collegeville, Pennsylvania.

Garrison Keillor slated guest of honor.

He possessed je nais se quois
ability to tell tall tales,
whereby audience members
became rapt with seduction,
usurpation, and wide eyed yearning
to lean in so as to hear the suspense,
which increased in magnitude
in direct proportion as
his home spun voice became softer.

Unbeknownst to this
poor country bumpkin, when
he took bathroom break
during impromptu intermission,
a gal in her mid thirties
livingsocial with her parents
within the Mainline
(very wealthy enclave of residents
within southwestern Montgomery
County, Pennsylvania)
agreed to follow Jewish tradition,
asper prearranged marriages.

Though neither of  Semitic peoples,
nor the least bit familiar
with one of the oldest Religions,
thee family, whose youngest daughter
hinted of spinsterhood, their
open minded kindred ideas
generated exception to  
dictum remaining steadfast
to pinpoint “a nice Jewish
Kosher Boy”!

As frequent attendees
at this Leiper Mansion and
storied magnet for literati,
the accidental chance encounter
found thyself and unfamiliar gal
(fate decreed as thy bartered bride)
happened to be awaiting use of water closet.

As tends to be the predilection
of so called fairer gender ***,
this petite and attractive dame
introduced herself, which subsequently
found us becoming more
curious about the other.

The natural order of two
heterosexual individuals
(one male, the other female)
allowed basic instinct of
attraction to engender
fledgling friendship, that quickly
leapfrogged into
a sexually intimate dalliance.

Without any precautions
qua birth control inevitable
outcome of hitting
the figurative bullseye linkedin while
listening to the rhythm method occurred.

This reality determined
tepid reception courtesy
future parents in law to marry gal,
whose youngest daughter's
future child I fathered.

Even from this fairly commonplace
getgo dynamics wildly described
along seismograph of 10.00 earthquake,
one category 5 hurricane,
and an F5 tornado thrown in
for good measure for measure,
these tidbits totally hyperbolic,
thus equal much ado about nothing relative
to the interpersonal juxtaposition
of our quite rapid tête-à-tête,
that continues (to much lesser degree –
analogous to subsiding
storm of the Century 21) to this day.

After surviving approximately
two and a half dozen plus years,
(the marital inflictions
unquestionably more harrowing,
strangulating, and threatening
life and limb) battle scars
(many broken bones begot
by innocuous shuffling to
bathroom) populating neary
every square inch of this
ordinary chap deserves a medal of honor.

I heard a knock upon the door.
“A knock so late at night?”
I felt a strong presentiment
That something wasn’t right.

Toward the door I inched my way
And stood with bated breath.
I opened it, and there I stood--
Face to face with Death.

He said, “Don’t let me bother you.
It isn’t TOO late, is it?
I was in the neighborhood
And thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Death, be gone! I am not ready
For eternal sleep.”
And quoting Frost, I told him I had
“Promises to keep.”

“Once you’re gone, that won’t matter,”
He said. “And furthermore,
The only thing that matters is
What’s happened heretofore.”  

“That’s not true,” I told him. “There is
Always much to do.
Karmic causes and effects
Bring constant revenue.

“By revenue I do not mean
Individual worth;
I mean how our actions help
To benefit dear Earth.”

“Poor thing,” said Death. “Everything
Must pass. Don’t you see?
All that you have done dissolves
Once you come with me.”

“Oh, you are so wrong,” I countered.
“Every worthy action
Has a positive effect--
If only just a fraction--

“And those effects live on and on.
And, no, they do not die.
There’s more to accomplish here,
So, therefore, pass me by.”

And so Death turned to walk away
And gave me a reprieve.
I guess he wasn’t so dead set
On forcing me to leave.

Maybe he’ll find someone ready
To go, with spirits beaming.
Or else he’ll try to drag away
Someone kicking and screaming.

-by Bob B (8-8-22)