When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by,
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can:
Let the world’s riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all His treasure
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that, at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessing standing by,
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches,which dispersed lie,
Constract into a span.

So strength first made a way;
The beauty flowed,then wisdom,honour,pleasure:
perceiving that alone of all His treasure
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature,not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary,that, at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

buffalo head cloud
rawhide drums
saline rollers at tantalus cross
ominous light
forms a short mile away
head lice
and peckers
tap the metal track

shovel train pings
the night quiet
moonlight
shines in
geometric form
arches and skiddles
and skirting reflections
(a vast connection of
grand design)

7 horns
at the passing
(oh that cold metal joy!)
stirring the blades
and ground cover
you better not turn old friend
just nod,
and cut what you need

it’s a bitter run
on the winter line
(with the finest
of wheels
and runners)
hold tight
on the pulley
the canyon wires
are clipping

there’s a gateway
to the copper town
with a key held
by coveted few
you can spot the
riders in their
box cars
watching closely
at the chunnel’s
dark turn

we’d walk
the lines often
(and put an ear to the ground)
the mine town still
and barren
hidden treasures
and pocket *******
settled deep
in a tranquil, stolid place

Plumped rouge with pigment
her lip fills to graze the *******
intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade
autografted with ocular detachment
should a Marquis wish to harness
the song of the morning
within a bandolier of Seine
to ensnare any bustled Persephone
gilted by discharge of ions
into a ménage of torment
through the Porte des Lions.

Hers is the tincture of doxy
caramelized and debrided of naivety,
empowered by the eve of invention,
swollen to curves and grounded in Paris.

Illumination defies pervasion
down to every gear and pulley
she has hushed through mechanization
and lulled by steam,
swaging a cacophony of flickers
encased in glass by the Lady’s watch,
where every rivet of her plate glisters silken
reverberation in cascade,
elegant, caged, and towering,
outspoken in silence,
ever challenging the Champ de Mars.

"Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books.  Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528).  Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.

Classroom Discussion
Raucous noise vibrates across
The surface of my ear
Not daring to enter and disrupt
  The train of thought
   That processes as a machine
    Turning, creating, assembling
     The wheel of thought spinning round the axle

          -------A **** on the rope, a pull on the subconscious

The pulley recognizes the intrusion of an applied force
  The wheels halt, as if rust jeopardizes its advance.

The thoughts scatter, a snapped electrical wire snaking in shock;
a cooper waving current racing back to a reality
through black rubber nerves.

          The noise registers,
confirming the split of a once continuous wire
Insignificant words- not quite processing,
  failing to relay information,
   refusing to form a sentence,
    still trapped in a realm of limbo
                 wanting to return to the rhythm of a reverie.

Slipping, falling
the mind surrenders, the electricity dies.

  Materializing in a classroom
   The cage for intellectual minds
    Discussing about.
From one world to another - act, adapt

The bright scientific lights burn
The eyes of the dreamer
Who creates from the dark,
   Objects exposed, judged, determined.
    No place for the dreamer, who loves
      warping reality.

            Within the metal box this reality is set.
Bars on the window, an indestructible verticality
Plastic seats, beige, blue, cold
Sit this way, look up, right, like that.
You are my animals now speak, raise a hand,
perform a trick, tell me what I want to hear,
Speak my language of intelligence, be my machine.

Yours forever, so I can be single never
If you're a pulley, I'm your lever
When we're separate, we want to be together
We don't know how to value true companionship at times.

This is not to say I pulley you down
And spread your Level to consort with my Ague
Your Bones, better than mine, to my Nerves frown
This Season as a Misbegotten Plague
A Blessing ideal is; Though disappoint
That Everyday Recorder plays again
Of Busy Trough's Effort spares to anoint
The very Oil you inspired since then
Come to think - Oil - its property slips by
And hard it is to keep the Dirt in-check
Though by Creed to be Faithful still - then lie,
As a Well-Mannered Specimen in-wreck.
All-in-all, we only wish for your Youth
To one day Understand the Better Truth.

So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy

my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.

even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath

I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.

when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas

no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.

Remember Him while you are young,
before your days and years grow dim,
before your time finally draws to a close
and you realise that life has ebbed away.
Remember Him before the sun burns out,
before the constellations are turned off
and the dark clouds remain after the rain.
Remember Him on the day the guards quake,
when the soldiers are doubled over in fear,
when the workers stop because they have fallen
and the faces peering through windows fade,
when the doors of houses are closed shut
and the whetstone grinds to a standstill.
Remember Him when people wake to silence
because the birdsong can no longer be heard.
Remember Him when people fear the mountains
and terror finds them wherever they walk.
Remember Him when the almond tree blossoms
and the grasshopper can barely drag itself along,
when all love and desire and passion wither away,
when the mourners come to wander the streets,
because you are reaching your everlasting home.
Remember before the silver ring is melted down
and the golden bowl is smashed into pieces,
before the water jar is shattered at the fountain
and the pulley wheel at the well is broken.
The dust becomes one with the earth again
and your spirit returns to He who gave it.

Nothing has meaning.
Everything is pointless,
an inane transient cloud.
A single breath of smoke.

complex moveable pulley systems
consisting of rope
had hardened his heart:
that moveable block
a native of rocks
a kernel of nourishing corn
pumping starch to starving veins.
his naïve nerves reborn,
new to nature
where nothing is known
but the trumpets of judgement.
a society of contemporaries
with a common condition:
speak your latent conviction
while avoiding exhaustion by speech
(know the limit of the lungs),
so we accept the same transcendent destiny
of intense despair while it lasts
but not for nothing.
when we end up in the ground
do we still dream of the sky?

There's no water
In my well;
No pulley,
No bucket
On the end of a rope,
For you.

There's no water
In the cup
Of poison
I spew.

I'm just talking to my own echo;

Too scared to tell the truth

Too tired to fight for myself

I guess no one could fix me;

As if this curse wasn't enough,

I fall down rock bottom

Yet I can still see all of you.

How your lights shine the brightest;

I envy.

How you can see the light of the stars,

And not the pitch-black darkness

Of the night sky,

I guess I am but an opposite;

You get lifted up,

I get pulled back down.

Being bombarded with temptation
Doesn’t dim the fireworks
That crash like the a Titan gait
Inside my heart
No exposed midriff will propel my drift
As my thirst can’t be satisfied
With the bucket and pulley water they fetch
This carnal passion I feel remains sky-lit
Bright and beautiful
All, because of you

I lose something in this home
I smile, you know? I smile with humans
No, that’s not it
I’m true when I’m hating my creations
And what is becoming of me

Oh, pity me bubbly
I’ll weep all the same
But it’s lousy
My concerns are lousy
Just a boy, a tinkerer
A boy
I’m lousy, man
Not pretty
Pretty lousy

Just hate myself. Purely. Sanctimoniously
Doctors were onto something
A grin introduces myopia
Lousy
Lousy concerns
I’m blessed; better by a margin, right?
I ought to hate meself with more pep in the step
And better teeth
God, I wish I didn’t look like this
How could you build me like this?

It’s funny, you know. I write about the cerebral complexities, those magnified things. I notice the film grains in my eye, but hey, I’m still a ***** to loneliness.
Man, you ought to be lonely!

The only difference between now and then is, that now I blame a God that I don’t believe in. I blame it and that for my misfortunes, the fact that luck is merely a word to me.

God, I want to die
Can you hear me? I seek it, I reek of it
I want to die
I’ve mulled over it with great wit and dexterity
I want to die
Stoicism
I want to die
It’s healthy; symbiotic
I want to die
So lonely
Wanna die
I just want to reach the zenith of the mind’s pataphysical eye, before
Before I die
Haven’t you heard?
I want to die
Cries for help are immature
I am not a child
I want to die
Oi, someone help, with this pulley! 
I want to die
John’s my only friend
At one point, he was quite alright with dying
He’s been gone for a while
And I want to die

Prayer’s too hard of a simple machine,

A pulley of light years’ length

Wheeled by the world

I want to hook, like I can’t see the moon

For the man on it.

by Kim Addonizio*

Address older people as Sir or Ma’am

unless they drift slowly into your lane

as you aim for the exit ramp.

Don’t call anyone *******, *******, or *******;

these terms are reserved for ex-boyfriends

or anyone you once let get past second base

and later wished would be ****** into a sinkhole.

Yelling obscenities at the TV is okay,

as long as sports are clearly visible on the screen,

but it’s rude to mutter at the cleaning products in Safeway.

Also rude: mentioning ****** functions.

Therefore, sentiments such as “I went ***** to the wall for her”

or “I have to **** like a chick with a pelvic disorder at a kegger contest”

are best left unexpressed.

Don’t’ say “chick,” which is demeaning

to the billions of sentient creatures

jammed in sheds, miserably pecking for millet.

Don’t talk about yourself. Ask questions

of others in order to show your interest.

How do you like my poem so far?

Do you think I’m pretty?

What would you give up to make me happy?

Don’t open your raincoat to display your nakedness.

Fondling a ***** in public

is problematic, though Botero’s black sculpture

of a fat man in the Time-Warner building

in New York, his ***-*** rubbed gold,

seems to be an exception.

Please lie to me about your *******

and the permafrost layer.

Stay in bed on bad hair days.

When the pulley of your childhood

unwinds the laundry line of your dysfunction,

here is a list of items to shove deep in the dryer:

disturbed brother’s T-shirt,

depressed mother’s socks and tennis racket,

tie worn by ****** father driving the kids home

from McDonald’s Raw Bar. If you refuse

your host’s offer of alcohol, it is best to say,

“I’m so hung over, the very thought of drinking

makes me feel like projectile vomiting,”

or, “No thank you, it interferes with my medications.”

Hold your liquor whenever it is fearful

and lonely, whenever it needs your love.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m battering.

Divorce your cell phone in a romantic restaurant.

Here is an example

of a proper thank-you card:

Thank you for not sharing with me

the extrusions of your vague creative impulse.

Thank you for not believing those lies

everyone spreads about me, and for opening

the door to the next terrifying moment,

and thank you especially for not opening your mouth

while I’m trying to digest my roast chicken.

Get on with your lifelong crisis
But know the difference between response and reaction
It's all too familiar
Paper covers rock
Rock smashes scissors
Scissors cuts paper
Mask your bad breath
And get rid of that embarrassing screen name
You've served your time to society
Now go search for that cat with the vast collection of tongues
Reanimate the dead and beaten horse
But don't let yourself get bullied or get thrown under the bus
Stand up and use your great stoicism  
Use that pulley powered propulsion system you call a mind

When the sky
falls
I'll look down
At broken clouds
And
The fabric of space
Tore like the fray


****,
Whose gonna fix!?

I''ll be looked upon
Flyboy!

"Just jump on the moon!
Pull the sky in full
With a pulley
And if it's too heavy
Pull me!"

Who want's to be a
Citiczen of earth
When once white clouds
Are now
Covered in dirt

Since I'm
The only guy with wings
You say,
It's easy to see
Me
I should fly
Reweave strings
But I'm no seamstress

It seems stressful
To have duty
On Call
Due to my
Enclave of feathers

Assorted in perfection
Cleverly positioned
To make light
And lift
I take flight
Even when the wind
Blows away
I'm wieghtless

I've waited a long time
To be accepted
Along time
You denied me
Who wants to befreind
The freak
But now you say
It's my destiny
To save you
But I won't
Will you freak when I deny?

Will you cry
Shout
Scream
In the final moments?
Or own it

Like the fate
You made me taste
As bitter
As the first look you gave
When you saw
My disfigured back
You didn't front
Like you didn't notice
The ugly sight
Which would soon
Be your savior

Can't Take No More

Never been so humiliated,
not once ever appreciated.
For years, been holding my tongue,
my bell has already rung.
Tired of taking peoples crap,
one more thing and I will snap.
No more time for chit chat,
I'm grabbing my baseball bat.
Next one who messes with me,
will have one broken knee.
Held in my anger, way to long,
I don't care if it's wrong.
Time to start busting heads,
no stitches or any threads.
Blood will gush from the brain,
ain't got time to explain.
I won't stop til you die,
as I watch your family cry.
Remember the time, when a bully,
now you're hanging from my pulley.
Blood dripping on the floor,
your organs, I will explore.
People are missing, police have no clue,
my basement is a blood bath zoo.
Now that are the bullies are gone,
maybe now, we all can get along.

My life nowadays is a circular motion,,
centripetal force towards studies...
My confidence is like the pulley block system,,
consider both( gravity and vacuum)..
I projected at 45° ,
fear is, being resisted by air...
I'm at work despite,,
being at rest...
Hope I keep the same momentum,,
overcoming the friction!!

Grandma's dress at the end was a sling around her
left leg and arm attached to a rope
and pulley we thought, or I did at five, was fun
to pull on
her exercise
she couldn't talk
but made expressive grunts to garner my mom's attention
when she saw me doing wrong
going into a room I shouldn't have
she was all there except
for verbalizing and being one sided
I liked to cuddle with her  
I still see it all

standing on the edge
of this empty well
looking within i had planned
to end it all, maybe end it well

the deep bottom i see
is dry, parched and old
skeletons of desperate souls
my brothers who jumped before

the well was full once
brimming with the village soul
it quenched the thirst
was more than a watering hole

my body is weak and bone is dry
the thirst is gone
the lines on my face
tell my story wry

the rope still hanging
on the pulley loose
used to bring up water
now it has turned into a noose

Listening to my own noise;

Foolish.

Craving help,

Yet never asking.

As I see your world;

I might just stain it,

Take away time and waste it.

I'm being left behind;

It ain't your fault.

Don't bother.

I'm not worth anything, anyway.

With hapless weight at the other end of the chain,

Fallen down,* forgotten.

**It would be nice if it was at least remembered.

you see i fear the hooligans of this town are doing to me like i did to dad

you see i hated what i did as a child, because everyone was nice except

the bullies who bullied me to get posers out of my television guide

even if it ruined my guide, I don’t want people bullying me in that way

you see young dudes watch TV and adults out for walks

well young dudes go fro walks occasionally and i am in young dude heaven

you see people are trying to pump my body up to make me fight them

I don’t believe in violence and i don’t believe in mucking with cowards who want to fight

you see dudes, i am not a hooligan, i am a family person

you see i hate being told to stop looking at someones baby

especially when i ain’t really looking, and i hate being forced to fight the hooligans

who pick you on the the street and start bullying you for no apparent reason

you see dudes i am a reformed man now, I hated what the men used to do to me

I would hate to be treaed  like my mate because he is such a loser and he is so negative

and he probably brought it all on himself but i don’t want to be treated like him

especially when i am a nice person and i don’t want people to bully me

i had too much of that bullying in school and at the LETS course

and i remember being bullied at fyshwich TAFE, i just want people to leave me alone

whether i can fight or not, I don’t want to fight, so stop trying to fight me

you see last night i heard dad coming into my dream trying to explain exactly what he was doing

but i said, dad work on Betty, because i was just trying to be a normal kid

who was suffering through bullying all my childhood years

well, i might not have showed it, but i hated giving up my posters and i hated being with Lyle

you see he had anger management issues and i hated giving up all my money to Paula

mind you i like helping the poor, but i don’t want to be forced to, only when i have enough money

I hate when the poor drunken louts of this town treating me like a man to bully

if i don’t pay attention, and i hated being tread like a hooligan who has to be an on looker

i prefer if people would stop trying to pulley me, i don’t believe in bullying or kidnapping

I feel people are trying to keep me with the losers and if i don’t go near the losers

like the poster boy and Paula the lady asking for money

I hate being asked for money, I wish i had money, so i can be famous

I hate when people laugh at me, i have been laughed at all my life

I don’t want people to treat me like a little shy boy, or a target to tees

you see they are little wooseys for life, you see i love life

I love life more that any of these mates, ever did, and if i wanted to **** myself i would have done it now, I am not shy

i just don’t want the people at the mall to keep fighting so close to me, fighting is for the hooligans and i am not a hooligan

I was a nice boy at school and i didn’t believe in violence or bullying in anyway

If i could have that time all back, I would say NO, because i hate when people treat me like a ****** push over

i am no push over, and i wish people would leave me alone and stop treating me like a man to a fight

fighting is for the pits,and i don’t believe in violence in anyway

i prefer to be in young dude heaven which is with people who would treat me like a normal person

The rope & pulley are taut;
our arms move to salute
yet our muscles flex slowly, disembodied.
Dyed cloth unfurls in the breeze,
history is carved onto black mirrors.

This is the way of perpetual war -
the flag of state will not be lowered,
nor will it climb to a zenith
to flow like a river in sunlight.