Why dost thou wound and break my heart,
As if we should for ever part?
Hast thou not heard an oath from me,
After a day, or two, or three,
I would come back and live with thee?
Take, if thou dost distrust that vow,
This second protestation now.
Upon thy cheek that spangled tear,
Which sits as dew of roses there,
That tear shall scarce be dried before
I’ll kiss the threshold of thy door.
Then weep not, sweet; but this much know,
I’m half return’d before I go.

His scaly skin slides across my tender flesh.
I never wanted this, but I asked for it.
His boney hands pull my hair
as his skeleton fingers slide across my delicate lips
and force their way inside my mouth.
"Hold your tongue, girl. Protestation will do you no good."

I close my eyes in desperation, waiting for the end.
Above me, below me, in me, I feel him.
Bruises blossom, dark beneath my ivory skin,
He feels no need to be gentle with a girl like me,
A girl who would sell her soul and body to survive.
The demon takes his pleasure and leaves his mark, ensuring his swift return, for his prey can no longer hide.

'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening

how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many

when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen

caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair

cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved

pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation

silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign

shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance

then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates

shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers

their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches

voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations

oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks


"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"



Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg

.

But who else will have peace in their palm
When they lay it across
My ribs
At night.

Who else
As they slumber beneath
A blanket of freckles and
Dreaming eyelids,
Will whisper into the dark air
With a gentle cadence of breaths
The particular softness that cradles my heart
And lets me

Close my aching eyes

And rest.

I woke up too early, when outside the sky a pearl hue and the curtains ghostly white, a dreamy mist hung over my covers, I did not want to be enslaved by the unforgiving hour of first light, but my eyes had peeked anyways, and I felt this deep burning desire to run before it consumed me.

2. It consumed me. My meager thoughts begged to perform, we couldn’t stop seeing beasts in the hunt, the moon curled up in the corner of the page, this tight feeling in my neck, my *** squeezed tight, and my stomach gurgles. I’m hungry and there’s no food and there’s no money. There’s leftover wood and paint.

3. Too ignore my hunger, I knelt down by my bed, at night where I imagine a pornstar playing with herself, so I could not fear the animal, or the ravenous beast. And I started to finish painting on the wood.

4. It’s been so long, I’m so afraid, please God, let me realize how beautiful I am and not destroy myself.

5.  I can’t imagine eating anything, there’s nothing I’d like except maybe chocolate ice cream and strawberry wafers. Only desserts could ease my protestation, while I’m still young, 23 spoonfuls of sugar for the seducing rush, and how could any one fathom submitting to its unbridled passion and understand why roses sob in pairs at the sight of plucking a rose petal by petal for vain love.

6. I paint this picture without knowing what it means, if it does mean something, could it be something, I paint this picture from my skinny life form to avoid slumber and exile hunger. I am nothing but a waitress in a swamp city.

Absence, hear thou my protestation
    Against thy strength,
    Distance and length:
Do what thou canst for alteration,
    For hearts of truest mettle
    Absence doth join and Time doth settle.

Who loves a mistress of such quality,
    His mind hath found
    Affection’s ground
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.
    To hearts that cannot vary
    Absence is present, Time doth tarry.

My senses want their outward motion
    Which now within
    Reason doth win,
Redoubled by her secret notion:
    Like rich men that take pleasure
    In hiding more than handling treasure.

By Absence this good means I gain,
    That I can catch her
    Where none can watch her,
In some close corner of my brain:
    There I embrace and kiss her,
    And so enjoy her and none miss her.

He came, reluctantly pulled by his head
At the hands of a masked man,
Using large metal,
Salad Tong appearing forceps,
Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s
Cervical embrace, into the glaring,
First Light of intended living and breathing.
His head now misshapen,
(To return to normal they assured,)
His little body more blue than pink,
Umbilical cord around his neck,

Absolutely ridged, not moving,
No sound did he make,
appearing more gone than here.

My own breath did cease until to my relief,
His tiny arms and hands did give notice
Of life, followed soon after by a fitting
Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to
The light, the air, the rude process
That had brought him there.

One moment at peace, safe and warm
Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming
Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's
Do dream, then abruptly ripped from
All that peace, out into all this!

At that moment I too wanted to join in,
Echo his howl, his guttural protestation,
I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance
Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air.
For me, as if at this moment of his birth,
I too was being reborn.

My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy,
I struggled to regain my own lost breathing.
Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes.

I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed,
As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor,
My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts,
Expanded then to boundless.

The tender masked women in white,
They with shining, smiling eyes,
Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry,
Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into
My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time
In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son.

At that precise moment, some purposeful mental,
Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped,
And I, WE would never be the same again.

WRITERS BLOCK, WHY CAN'T I SPEAK?

I've been thinking lately,
But the thing is, it's only thinking,
Speaking is becoming a rarity,
Because my voice has lost clarity,
The visions that resonate deeply,
Within the iris and cortex are simply,
Pictures that I am painting,
Using only my imagination,
The same tool that had begun,
To rust, and mold, and decay,
Into a vast vortex of nothingness,
Which would hold and lead astray,
A positive being into malevolence,
But this is the set precedent,
Due only to those whom settle for it,
Because complacency,
Ruins whole communities,
But this community is not a hood,
This community also not a suburb
But a street that cannot be freed,
You cannot struggle through it,
While trying to feed your baby,
With old food bought via EBT,
It is a street without a name,
It doesn't go two ways,
It's not bi nor ****, it is multiple
Inter global, and international,
It is the spark that starts life,
Coos the fires that fuel dreams,
Fires that give off thermal energy,
But also spiritual energy,
As it rips and roars through,
Internally, within my body

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

I'm talking about the word of mouth,
The power of a piece of glass,
Falling deep into the depths, down
Sinking into darkness,
No longer shining, but reflecting,
Because shine comes from within,
But that light has dimmed,
And it has gone out into the world,
Searching for a new hymn,
Accompanied by a new tomorrow,
Because the glass had begun,
To shift it's drift in the middle,
And as it fell it only showed others,
It's supplanted it's own fears, tears,
In order to reveal to you, you
This revelation coming from sacrifice,
is suffice to entice,
A parallel mind to intertwine,
It's views and thoughts up a vine,
Becoming a great interconnect,
A train station for thoughts,
Not allowing for it to be kept inept,
As it makes it's stops and it's mark,
Across the universal plantation,  
Revolution will be fiercely fought,
Whether through riots or protestation,
it's all up to you,
But the wills of a collective group,
Will always overthrow the wills of a few,
for this is my temperate love,
Derived from my temporal lobe,
Occipital visuals are critical,
To reach a pinnacle that bares individuals,
that live reciprocal,
Towards ideals and ideas potential

I CAN'T MAKE CONTACT!

No one is hearing me, thoughtlessly
Because no one is listening,
This includes me, sadistically,
As I have yet to speak,
Due to the passages searched,
And a worth claimed of its worth,
My sandy grains will not form,
Together to create diamonds,
But will act more so as pollution,
"Why pollution when you haven't even spoken?"
This is the problem, it is not speaking,
Communication is a basic foundation,
Foundations form the largest infrastructures known to man,
Family, Business, Religion
And these are all inflamed by love,
Love of others, love of God, love of self,
it's this help that propels,
It propels lives forward,
and encourages the brave voices to be heard,
and act as many birds
To soar against the crushed sky,
To hold the thunder accountable lending more context to your content, the expressions expressed,
The words that flow like air conditioned through a vent,
A coup d'état that circumvents,
The issues, issues with my tissue,
Because the idea of not being able to speak... Makes my skin crawl

From the inside out

Moving between my legs,
Left, right
Moving between my sides,
Left, right
Moving between my arms,
Left, right

And finally falling from my mind,
Past my brown eyes,
To reach my throat then run,
And glide off of my tongue

Crushing your previous ideologies.
Blasting through your intuitions,
Destroying any technologies,
Devastating your direction

Words pass through me
Words enter through you
Worse pass through me
Words enter through you

The streets have shots
Well I have writers block

And at the moment,
I can't think
And at the moment,
I can't speak

I just want to know...
What's happening to me?

Missing girls possessions
Parents obsessions

Doll, clothes, shoes
the parents mull over
they’ll never recover

She’s being missing two months now
still her parents row
“I want her back, NOW”

Recrimination
protestation
Desperation
DESPAIR

Her mum has a frame
with a snip of her hair
she takes it out
and feels it with care
Its her treasure
nothing else can measure
Remembering

Her dad has her favourite book
he keeps it in a secret nook
often compelled to have a look
Remembering

Every morning they run to the door
to meet the postman
first name terms now “Dan”
“Sorry folks, nothing today”
they go inside and pray

She’s no longer headline news
everybody has their views
about which they opine
often over a glass of wine

The parents separate
Can no longer operate
Both consumed by guilty memories
suspicious of each others queries

they no longer gel
trapped in private hell

They need to mourn
but as long as shes still missing
there’s hope
that’s how they cope

I can’t imagine their sadness
hanging on verge of madness

"Not my president!"
The protesters incant
As they take to the streets.
We hear them loudly chant,

"Not my president!"
In cities nationwide
Their voices all in unison
Become amplified.

"Not my president!"
The marchers hold in disdain
Recent election results.
The ongoing refrain

"Not my president!"
Echoes across the nation,
As demonstrators express
Their cries of protestation.

"Not my president!"
What makes democracy great
Is we have the right to vote
And the right to demonstrate.

(11-10-16)

ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation
    Against thy strength,
    Distance, and length;
Do what thou canst for alteration:
  For hearts of truest mettle         
  Absence doth join, and Time doth settle*


While she sits in her chair
vaguely following the conversation
she also drifts away in time and inclination
to care for the important things we discuss
in many ways she is beyond those cares
her decision has been made
and we but sound and fury
isee she is now more complete
and composed than of recent days
for her there is hope in the path she takes

i cannot begrudge her the choice she has made
as she said her age and medical disposition
means she is already walking that road.

but as daughters do I peer forward even now
and feel the lack of her grace in daily events
Even today as we make plans, her abscence
whilst still being here is a vast gap of darkness
that we all avoid with plattitudes and brightness

In our private hearts we do rail against the
happenstance injustice that befalls the matriarch
we struggle with the alteration to the long march home
we come together to watch as we fall apart in small
and large measures...

In our minds we pledge the best,
in our hearts we pray for speed
We know she has forever etched
herself into our bones and being
but we quietly sorrow at her growing
absence...apart from her memories
and leavingd


 *His mind hath found
    Affection’s ground
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.         
  To hearts that cannot vary
  Absence is present.

You drag me
deep into a drowning pool of silence
where a cold wet death awaits,
where no answers ever come,
where you hide all the old familiar nightmares
where every protestation is ignored,
where peace of mind goes to die,
you let your thoughts constrict,
and with scalpel and skin
you abort all pure creations,
in your drowning pool of silence.

The oceans and rivers
Waterfalls

The Wind as it roars
In protestation

Trees
Bending in angst

The Earth buckling
Regurgitating man's
Insanities

Storms raging-
Tornadoes and
Hurricanes

And the Bee's

They weep
In silence

A thousand reasons to remain in bed
And avoid the coming day
A thousand reasons to bury my head
And keep out of harms way
A thousand voices shout aloud
All to sway my thinking
A thousand wisdoms calling out
Just as I am sinking
A thousand ideologies
Beliefs enforced through system
A thousand refugees to roam
From those who would forsake them
A thousand dreams or nightmares seen
To counter or to chase
A thousand strains of new disease
To cull the human race
A thousand prophets chanting out
Their lore’s sent from above
A thousand children left to die
Outside the realms of love
A thousand homes of worship and prayer
To celebrate our saviours
A thousand faded works of art
To document our failures
A thousand ****** up truths be told
Not met with protestation
A thousand TV gods are borne
And bathed in admiration
A thousand tears these eyes have cried
To wash away the stinging
A thousand choral soft refrains
Peace be found through singing
A thousand floods and droughts to come
Before the world stops turning
A thousand thunderbolts crash down
To keep the whole world burning
A thousand screams my ears have heard
Of tormented siren’s wail
A thousand raging seas to crash
Before it’s safe to sail
A thousand cities sprawling out
Of cold and grey construction
A thousand cities blown apart
Collateral mass destruction
A thousand throngs of humankind
Scattered during war
A thousand hardships to endure
Until they roam no more
A thousand lies to be told
By those in high positions
Thousands living food bank lives
In poverty conditions
A thousand pounds for the 98
To feed their family nest
A million dollars meted out
Just to feed the rest

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

The light began to dim because
the oil was running low and the
morning came a creeping up
as if I didn't know,

never meant to be the stranger
I am Tonto to the Sunshine Ranger.

Invincible
I am the storm
reap me, read me
in the early morn.

In spite of me
I write of me
my protestation is but
the denunciation of
previous wrongs

and the megalo' in me
dressed as Romeo
sees the spotlight on me
as I put on
the one man show.

Behind these masks
there are certain deeds and tasks
of which I shall not mention.

Against the rule of
Isaac
Balzac
vitamin A and
Prozac
I would tack this to the end
but the end is yet to be and
in this the truth could be
nothing more than
ripened Brie
( nice to spread upon your bread,
but fit for nothing else)

I would be a Jane
but I am John
also a Christian
and how do I carry on
this thread?

What I see inside is
beyond me
as fathomless as a
bottomless sea
I never understood
how could I?
the third eye
is blind.

Between the cemetery
and the library
a sign that reads,

here lies my poetry
RIP.


.

I get so tired of one religion
tearing down another.
It seems so cheap to me -
a protestation better muted
in favor of a simple act of helpfulness.

They say,
creativity is good for the soul,
they say music
soothes the savage beast.
they say, they say all the want...
who cares about them,
are not children children
and adults adults?
Is there no difference between right and left?
And here I'm supposed to write about the lack of poetry,
or at least time for poetry.

Everyone held a balloon
that day.
A balloon full of their words from their poems.
And with a flick of your tongue,
and smirk of your face,
you popped the twenty something
balloons in your faithful audience.
And the words came crashing down
on us.
They flew around us
like a swarm of bees.
We were deflated.
We were popped.
And all for what?
More creativity?
More art?
More learning and knowledge?
Something of more worth?
But what is worth more than original poetry?
No it was for someone else's idea.
Someone else's poetry that our own were
sacrificed.
"Next class." was all the reply to
my face that looked as sour as a lemon crushed between
the knife of reality and the table of dashed hopes.
But when the muse calls,
there is to be no stopping her
there is to be no interruption.
She does not come when beckoned,
only when inconvenient.
And so I ask...
where did poetry time go?
Why did you interrupt the muse?  
This is not a protestation,
nor a declaration,
for the nation
of poets with their notion
of to the muse they give their devotion,
and to change that motion,
led to a commotion,
and she disappeared.

The first protestation
was a moaning dove
couldn't agree more
was my reaction to a
renaissance of rumpus.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B804bBxIVpA

After extorting pound of flesh
lifetime humiliation drummed into captives
hammering indelible nightmare
no amount of therapy can expunge.

Lifetime trauma inflicted perpetrators wage
dead bodies littered makeshift triage
death and destruction
exhibit super fresh killing fields,
where sally forth set pathmark
to abominable gut wrenching
ghastly hollow hellscape.

Haunting horrid macabre scenes assault,
batter, clobber, et cetera the senses
death construed as mutual
(of Omaha) collateral damage
fallout populated by zone of dead bodies
littering apocalyptic landscape
rendering spooky morbidly fascinating,
especially from safe vantage point
bajillion miles away
whereby yours truly
hunched over his Macbook Pro laptop

glanced the headlines without further delay
aid convoys moving into Gaza Strip
a tepid hip hip hooray
impossible mission for
overactive imagination of artist
or writer to capture bedlam and melee,
scaring up heavenly sight
for grim reaper soirée
repository for skull and crossbones
as arid (extra dry) winds hasten desiccation
whistling repartee (even from afar)
faintly resembling mourning of Zalay.

Countless hungry ill clad masses beg
the question regarding
purposefulness of mortal kombat
screaming in agony against cutthroat
belligerents who gleefully gloat
laying waste besieging
ship of state and emergency lifeboat
senselessly bombing spelling
likelihood for peace on earth remote
silencing the lambs and yellowthroat!

Methinks spouting protestation
against loosed strife,
courtesy demoniac **** sapiens
where talking heads strategize foo fighters
pointless exhalation of breath
sabotaging, shortchanging, siccing,
squashing, subjecting, et cetera
innocent bystanders ultimately hastening them/
they to untimely and unfair nasty,
shortish and brutal death
linkedin to personal choice of deity
and attendant religious shibboleth.

and in Pennsylvania a federal holiday.

"...I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the republic for which it stands. One nation under god indivisible with liberty and justice for all...."

Ever since setting foot in the classroom
at Audubon Elementary School
(circa mid ninety sixties)
first thing in the morning
witnessed all the students
holding their right hand
over their heart
as a form of respect
for Country and Flag
and uttering the above words
in quotation marks.

Now as a grown adult
(not quite three score years)
since initially being inaugurated
into my country tis of thee
acquiescing without protestation
the blood, sweat and tears
signified courtesy stars and stripes,
though now I feel squeamish
blindly, fervently, obediently...
uttering those thirty one words.

Awareness about the ****** history
delineating when "discovery"
of forty eight contiguous states
usurped by roving band of explorers
since soured sentiment to experience
native obligatory patriotism.

Rather yours truly
a passive activist
exhibiting quiet riot mien as
rebellious nonestablishmentarian
Pennsylvania doodling Yankee...

dismissed as anomalous ill fête
recognition came rather late
in his life, yet he cannot
craft literary endeavors
at a fast enough rate
to appease the sudden
pleasantly unexpected spate
of request, which hesitation
on my part cannot wait.

Pacifist bard of Perkiomen Valley
regaled at Alpine Fellowship conclave
regarding erosion of Democratic rights grave
alarming usurpation of power - Republicans
each and every one a nasty and brutish knave
intent to pronounce decree sentencing
every **** sapien to pave
(courtesy their lovely bones)
back breaking laborious ****** path
trumpeting, signaling and attesting slave
versus master linkedin relationship
essentially scuttling emancipation proclamation
lifetime of human *******
forced to pledge flag of servitude
amidst wreckage broken souls
washed away courtesy totalitarian wave.

Foreclosure on purported inalienable rights
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
though hard won freedoms crimped
foregone conclusion demanding
fealty and loyalty to sovereignty
therefore necessitates electorate
to stage coup d'état
and overthrow autocrat
ideally thru peaceful modus operandi.

Though aforementioned verses hypothetical,
mine overactive imagination
can easily envision governmental,
née societal debacle
witnessing yours truly,
an extremely shy
Norwegian bachelor wannabe
gobbling up ample powder milk biscuits
to acquire courage to protest
(no matter the temperature
seasonably cool today June fourteenth
two thousand and twenty three)
and stand firm against
one unnamed political party
aiming to upend voting rights,
thus disenfranchising
most economically vulnerable people
(predominantly) persons of color
to cast their vote for representation.

Absolute zero chance for change
unless even those risk averse
(such as one garden variety wordsmith)
to protest without resorting to violence
and staking a claim to denounce
opposition against exercising
freedom for citizens
to elect eligible candidate.

I too would join aspiring bravehearts
(each of us participants
tightly grasping an amulet),
not looking for fame nor fortune,
only martyrdom and sainthood ha,
nevertheless able, eager, and ready
to risk life and limb
in an effort to preserve
(even at expense getting into a jam)
principle figurative bulwark buttressing
buzzfeeding land of milk and honey myth.

Throughout American history
many patriots as well
as indigenous tribes bled,
the latter viciously tracked down
nsync with ominous dread,
no matter how fast they fled
taking refuge courtesy
sympathetic and empathetic abolitionists,
who silently motioned at (hiding) in hogshead.

Outspoken voices helped spur
Emancipation Proclamation and
subsequent manumission
diametrically opposed to bedrock
attitudes, ideologies, prejudices...
kept in check by scare tactics
thus disallowing formerly shackled
to experience full fledged freedom,
whether enjoying opportunities

available to the leisure class
or exploring inherent potential
to amass learning
and become financially successful,
which suppression of free will,
(within parameters of self expression -
artistic, literary, musical et alia)
gives credence to notion of white privilege
automatic guilt linkedin with skin color.

Each generation of oppressed,
especially those who break the color barrier
subjected with bigotry
(ofttimes subtle mistreatment)
challenging well earned freedom
rightfully bequeathed from forebears labor.

The ghosts of Africans,
who suffered pre colonial rule
(namely European exploitation)
robbed of their national identity
will forever haunt the offspring,
whose forefathers/mothers
brutally suffering desecrated haven housing
rightful autochthonous men, women and children
livingsocial within their own Lake Wobegone.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.