daffy duck is tired
daffy duck is quacking tired of being drawn
and being scripted
and engineered
into always being a cartoon character;
daffy duck no longer wants to be
daffy duck the cartoon character
daffy duck wants to be a philosopher
which is all quite quacking satisfying
even just to think about


and so daffy duck the philosopher thinks:
daffy duck thinks, therefore daffy duck is;
but if I, daffy duck do not think I am daffy duck
and renounce all the scripts and the words
and the expectations and the roles;
if I do not think I am daffy duck
I am no longer daffy duck
or, for that matter, any quacking duck



and so (much to the dismay of loyal fans
who want always to be Daffy Duck Fans)
daffy duck is no more the cartoon character
and becomes daffy duck the philosopher;
and daffy duck the philosopher
thinks himself out of the quacking role
of daffy duck as any quacking duck
or anybody at all
(much to the dismay of loyal fans
who want always to be Daffy Duck Fans)

Your the one son being rebellious little darlings here comes
the sun drenching delicious but wait those cloudy days
watch out the hunters run ducking our heads like babies
wetting and water squirting beds getting too saucy
  ten O clock playpen the daring duck gourmet sauce
Orange you glad all her rich creme spread across
her penpals
Do you trust those gals too country slick on Newsweek

Getting paid he is the longest laid egg all grilled we are
not thrilled here is the "Chuckie Duckie" doll those *****
barbie collectors they are sitting duck Graphic Artist
Not one quack doll plastic surgeon duck lips she thinks
shes the hot stuff romantic "French" lips up the
"Eiffel Tower" splash splash she is out of cash
Those hot items presidential poll what a lost soul

Too much blue yes attention swan dancers Springtime
Not  the red attention yellow instead ****** please
I need a  journey not the "Attorney" such a ****** case
When you need them they always duck
When they have a new quack case they are ruining
my image
Duck tapesty Carol Kings youve got a friend

I'm feeling yellow homesick on your feather duck pillow
The same yellow tie a different atmosphere Go- Spa
She's flirting do you know where your going how is
life treating you he's giggling way too wild on her
goose chase
  Losing our grip down to her chicken bone hip
Duck season not much time for love being hunted

The Spa  la la ha have Merci' oh la la 'Disco Duck"
The wild ones the only ones quack- quack the
lonely ones
At the waterfront trip to "Chinatown" they let
them hang to dry but why Dad? They are better
like the delicacy shark finn soup we need a Spa
lucky green group Irish eyes are smiling stories
of ducks

I am  not buying do you see duck climb the
          "Eiffel Tower" yellow as a canary
All talk-talk is cheap lets talk French Mom walks
With her pretty duck handle umbrella we waddle
The penquin what a beauty swan feather pen
  But she's the"Prima Donna" look out!

The slingshot Marilyn Monroe wiggles out
                  The "Spa- Ma"
                 Don't  Scramble me darlings
                    Breakfast eggs cagefree
                     *          *          
My little chickadees organic brown on my gown
Spa duckies traveled the whole Atlantic town
The longest pond sleeping like "Rip Van Winkle"
twinkle twinkle
doublecrossed the street you get one dermerit
Sesame street Big bird how many words in duck
vocabulary quack- quack who get's the duck star

Mars from Men women go to the Spa like the bad
omen and they don't leave tap tap chop chop
I want it now!! Its now or never why does she always
get ugly duckling book delivered
Lazy goose she is the spoiled rotten egg how
do we love those  I apples
Carrots are for the eyes Mom always gets bird eyes

My little chickadees the Alaskan cute puppies
Big salute to the cutest duck feet "God Bless America"
  Visa  American Express Daffy Duck in Disney mess
the real picture "Mona Lisa" getting the duck
         Prime  chop minister
"Parliament Spa" prices so sinister
"Eat Duck and Pray" the  southern biscuits
more recruits

My cute rookies those duckier cookies another Spa day
So prim and proper teatime with "Queen deck"
  Alice in rabbit hole-Santa candycane poles cute chick
is homesick you better sent her money quick
The ducky bib the Chinese duck soup won ton
The feather fan she loves her Sushi roll Hollywood
Style California all duck drama
The best treatment duck made carpet

On the "Disney Hollywood" deck "Epcot"
On the futon what diction for a duck "My Fair lady"
Got the whole fortunes bed
The duck on the hill what a fool but the monk
Is the whole spiritual existence
The peacock's longest wait for lobster tails
centerpieces red bird Robin fly Robin Fly

Disco ball fancy tails she ended up up up to the sky
Her duck sunglasses a dozen ***** spin's the disco
The Duck Pop singer wants him back
High price or a short mack duck shooter attack
Food for thought homesick all saucy duck tie waiter
Cinderella rags to ducklings I went to "Woodstock"
Imagine me the teenager chick the duck split

Fill wing concert sky made a hit
The blues love is strange chick-lets are yellow
Like clock work what a duck work out orange          
        Duck handle umbrella               
 Duckies I pledge to you College Preppies
The chick feeder Ain't nothing but a hound dog
      Elvis heart breaker bird-brain feeder

  Moms duck sugar cookies
******* Jack one prize quack quack
 Huckleberry Finn paper boat old billy goat
  In the drowned mans eye holy ducks he delivered
I will blow you down duck horn the day you
were born
Having a third eye one duck Wendy 4 for a 4

Notre Dame church tragic but saved
   The  Easter yellow chicks
To Rome lend me your feathers no secret ears
Sticky Fingers she lost her writing finger in the
pond  OH! look whats beyond so kind
With her duckling apron dress he ducked
The chatty cat "City Dr Seuss"

Wearing duck boots those duck lips played her
like the fancy feast
The teachers pet the ducklings cute darlings
Spa cream she quite the flabber belly dancer
The ballet swan achiever "Spa One Day tripper"
The ugly duckling changed to beauty witch
Holy-land or duck pond Mickey's ears
                   Disneyland

Stand up daffy duck comedian Las Vegas
Godiva Peking duck soup flapping swishing
mess
The Big Ben red whose been sleeping in my
duck wing bed
The car stops he hiccups cute bebops
The guardian angel quack quack any luck
Yummy raspberry pie someone delivered

Christmas Scrooge all tears
New York lights camera I love my
        Serendipity chandeliers
Those duck tear drops last stop
Or you die__your still quacking
       Just in time said I
           Fly Robin Fly

     Saved my baby chick lovely
     Cradled her to love her
          Dr Seuss read

Quack! Quack! Quack!
Ok, where’s everybody?
I’ve been gliding round in this pond the last half
hour singing my Duck-thoven tunes:
Quack! Quack! Quack
Quack!Quack! Quack!
And so why’s everyone avoiding me
like I don’t know how to make conversation?
Quack? Quack?
The other day the duckling glided near
and asked if I’d share bits of the bread
thrown to me by
these pesky humans who can’t
read the Don’t-feed-the-ducks signs
and I swallowed the bread bits whole and said:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
And the silly duckling ran away crying! –
Hey how can I answer with food in my mouth?
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Your mum taught you to speak with food in your mouth?
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Have you got any brains in that quacking head of yours, duckling?

Really, no reason to avoid me…
I mean the other day they asked me what
I think about the environment and I said:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
and they all looked astonished
at the wisdom of my words.
So why avoid me now?
This cute **** duck glided quite close to me
and asked me what I thought about pre-marital ***
and I said: Quack! Quack! Quack!
and I flapped my wings and walked on water
and held my head high with the sweetest:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
and that silly female duck jumped to the overhanging branches
and refused to come down for all my quacking:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Seriously, what’s this all about? –
You excite a ****** duck and then hide in the branches?
What’s this pond coming to!

The other day a silly fish swam close to me and asked
for directions round the pond and I said:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
And the fish said: Hey! I don’t understand Duck language.
Don’t you speak Finglish?

What the Duck! I said. Why don’t you learn Quacklish!
Quack!Quack!Quack!


So where’s everybody?
And really I don’t understand why
everyone’s avoiding me.
I mean really I can qua-ttle off the Entire History of the Pond
and the Holy Texts Revealed by Duck God to the Duck Prophets
and I can quack about anything and I can quack
about all the wines and grog
and I can teach the creatures how to change pond water into wine;
and I can quack about all the delicacies in the pond
and I can sing too, listen:
Quack! Quack! Quack!
And such a delightful voice and such original tunes too!
A graduate of Duck-kovsky Underwater Academy.
And so – hey! – where’s everybody?
Why do they avoid me like I’ve got the Swine Flu or something?
Hey, I’m just a pond duck who likes to Quack! Quack! Quack!
You got a problem with that, you quacks!

Quacking ducks
Dung throwers
Degenerate, opinionate

No plea for serenity
No chance for reverence
Only less politeness

Survival of the fittest
Hegemony of the crudest
Twitter for the *****

I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Over eight years a family friend,
his daily antics always on display,
morning and afternoon walks and talks,
his joyful baths in his small pond while
he playfully bobbed and dove beneath
the spray of my garden hose.

This was no human being,
a handsome Mallard Duck instead.
The self proclaimed King
of our barnyard clan,
always strolling and patrolling the
grounds, waiting for us, quacking
his greetings, excitingly flapping
his flightless wings at our approach.

His loneliness petticoat showing, he
followed everywhere, seemed to live
merely to be in our company, eat corn
from our hands, living precious minutes
of needed shared congeniality.

Two morning ago he was not there,
we searched and called his name
but he had completely disappeared.

A coyote perhaps, or bird of prey
our King taken and gone away.
Our lives are diminished by his loss,
Though only a bird, he was our
dear companion, a convivial friend.

I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Today I mourn his loss.

allowing for a two part volume
of Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu...
is unforgiving... it's asking a meat-head
to read such a body like exploring a woman's...
a gay-man's psyche is pretty much a woman...
or what a woman thinks in secret,
gay men merely vocalise what a woman does
not say... and yes, that a with a diacritical
mark... that grave above the a? the à?
it works like a comma... à! a surprise kindred
an eureka that's not really original,
an: ah! and then you say the rest of the title...
iconic pause: in search of lost time...
          it took me about five minutes to figure
that one out... lost time, but occupied a space...
  and so much political vanity is consecrated
upon the reverse.. ineffective space:
thus gained time... for all that protests are worth.

i know i go on about this a lot, surprise surprise,
i'm actually engaging in systematisation...
once you enjoy writing as much as walking
you get to reach a systematisation,
     it's a painful process, i'd never do the editing process
of a Hemingway... write something: shoot some
camels and reindeer and go back and revise a piece
of writing: drink a *death in the afternoon -
a shot of absinthe inside a champagne glug
or the modern: shot of Jägermeister inside a glass
of red bull... (yay-gay-mr.) -
                       or how do you make snakebite?
half a láger half a çíder - and a head of blackcurrant
squash... scoot meine good look.
  but diacritical marks are what punctuation marks
are... it's only that they've become elevated,
and unlike punctuation marks governing paragraphs
and sentences... they govern the words,
         they are syllable incision indicators...
  i mean: i don't revise something i've already written,
unless it's a spelling mistake... i just write
something new... it's sadistic in my mind's eye to
revise and revise a single effort of writing...
                i'd rather centralise a theme of the paradox
of re-, in the year 2018 i will still experience
the tetratempus - containing four seasons -
         and i will never return toward making a piece
of writing become a morbidly corrected statue...
     what's done is done, let us move toward another
circumstance of being able to acquire a new kind
of observation... i can't be a sadist in terms of also
being a perfectionist... i break a leg, i break a leg...
if i write a ****** poem, i'll write a ****** poem...
but i won't be bothered like human history has been
by preoccupying itself in forwarding the drama
on Golgotha Street...
    the newest addition to the vogue scene is a corset
paired with a waistcoat...
   the snooker championships are taking place,
and i says to my father: 'a bit like chess, ain't it?'
   'sure is', he replies, 'you have to think 3 moves ahead.'
and it is... a smart sport, actually the most intelligent
sport there is... ****** boring obviously,
unless you fake the boredom and think about angles
and triangles and Newton...
   and cover the game with such congestions of
pretending to hallucinate it all...
                or take to thinking about rebellious
Saturn spinning out of orbit and doing a Mike Tyson
to Jupiter...
          but it's very much like chess...
                   it's sporty chess... snooker is chess...
  and it definitely ain't pool...
         you could actually have a ******* on a snooker table...
while either doggy or missionary positioning on
the snooker table... so what are the odds?!
         but i'll tell you one thing... snooker beats golf...
i don't know why... but once colour televisions came into
existence: it made much more sense for both
spectator and commentator... and how dare you
not cling to the 20th century if you were born in it
to translate to the 21st androids how we experienced
an evolution of technology, that made much more sense
after what i just heard...
      so there's this woman in the U.S., and this is before
president-elect and whatnot...
  and she's 22, and it's all over vice news,
and she's scared, and she's a mother of a 1 year old...
    and then this picture emerges
(don't worry, it's not anything like playing the Sims
   and moving your Sim to play computer games
and seeing a wormhole, or the infinity mirror effect)...
and there's a scene when she's talking Donald Duck
to the child... there are no meaningful words being
said... merely sounds... onomatopoeias...
and yes... this makes perfectly good sense when
stressed as a cut-off capsule...
because Darwinism doesn't really provide much
history... Darwinism is a historical erasure:
the past 2000 years could have happened,
but not really...
  but it just fascinated me...
         when did we learn or who did we learn it from
given we were placed at so many different
plots of the globe and became convergent -
anyway - the woman is teaching the child
words via the onomatopoeia of a hoarse quacking
of a duck! i probably will not find an answer
(primarily because i'm not supposed to,
if i am to perpetuate what Aristotle taught, i.e.:
be wrong and continually circumstance being in awe,
given the mundanity that nonetheless
everything keeps repeating itself over and over again,
for sustenance, and you are not sustenance bound
as corrected by your language deficiency to
ever merge into an unconsciously organised module
that might also argue an ego) -
    but i wonder how difficult it must have been
to extract something beyond the minimalism of animals
that identifies a duck with a quack, a cow with a moo,
an serpent with a sss... a cat with a meow, a dog with a bark...
    i cannot conceive how difficult this explanation
will be... but given the timeframe, i'm more awe-stricken
by this than merely being awe-bound by the time-scale...
which becomes the least affordable option of being
struck by awe, because one becomes merely awe-bound
by it, and therefore apathetic towards such a time-scale.
       how did we suddenly extract an understanding
of an onomatopoeia to distinguish our own ontological
basis for making a sound by infusing a sound that
doesn't resemble us? when did the first ape bark like
a dog? but then again, looking at the canvas already
apparent to us... what was the point of such an adventure?
hippy culture says: monkey accidently ate a mushroom,
monkey suddenly was blown away and reasoned of
a higher purpose other than a tree and a coconut...
     mudvayne quotes the guy on l.d. 50...
what's the guys name... uggh! not Timothy Leary...
ah ****! Terence McKenna! that's it!
        am i high? nope... my respectability of argument
comes from the mystical properties of... whiskey.
hmm...      that rarely happens to people.
                   it's what's called being earthbound, or gravity
prone... sink like a skipping pebble across the lake...
          and like a tonne of lard.
             tomorrow i'll wake once more and still
think about how we encouraged the discovery of
onomatopoeia to teach our children the multiplicity of
sounds, and later deconstruct such a multiplicity to
create meaningful words that go beyond knock knock! jokes
and grunts and barking...
                     but i will never know the man who
created the fermentation process from potatoes to make
*****...
                or the guy who brewed the first pint...
or the guy that smoked the first marijuana bush ensemble
while clearing the land for a place to harvest wheat...
   all the fame that exists is simply scholastic...
  schoolboy fame... which is why so much attention
goes into becoming famous in school...
                        but still that woman teaching her child how
to speak by going down into the blobby-gurgling
  tongue of the toddler, stiffening it,
      and tightening the **** and bladder too...
  by talking Donald Duck to it...
                        i probably could have had a family myself...
but can you imagine someone writing this load of
******* and having a family? there wouldn't be any time!
           still (god, what a need to repeat!)
         how did we progress from saying ape-****?
surely if we started to imitate other animals they'd join us
in our need to usurp those ******* lions!
  lo and behold... we managed to pet dogs (so they were
in on it all along)... and cats (who came from Japan,
if **** sapiens came from Africa... cats came from Japan...
bonsai frocked and all) -
                            but you have to admit...
from what is written history, to what is history and
a gap in history going back to a similitude of form -
      you can write as much historical fiction as you want...
    and you'll never have to write a bestseller about
some centurion in the Roman Empire...
   or a quo vadis by Sienkiewicz (nobel prize winner)
for the depiction of emperor Nero...
                               ******* Sesame St. giggles...
still, the question beckons... if animals can behave in
an ultra-intuitive way as if fashioned by a telepathy...
then telepathy can only exist upon a very simple,
atomic, terse vocalisation of an identity...
   a dog barks... a man can bark too...
                                but we have completely lost our
intuitive talent (if it can be called that)...
          to have sacrificed intuition is to have created
cults or counter-intuitive hierarchies...
  so a 1000 blah blahs later i still prefer to write what
i like... than write what people "might" understand
and talk to a girl about...
                                     a bit like a woman discovering
you faked writing a poem 20 years into a marriage...
                  obviously the setbacks to boot...
                            dyslexia is an optical dimension...
no one dyslexic says a word they don't understand
a meaning of... dyslexia seemingly came from
finally having enshrined the "secret" to the monopoly
of writing sounds...
                          nonetheless... at the end of the day...
it's just too much history... there's too much of it...
            there was never going to be a world
where carpe diem ruled it...
                               it was a question how we clung to
certain things, within a framework of
                                             salmon dye omni:
sure sure... piglet pink and innocent for the rest
of our lives... once Darwinism pointed at the ape,
and once physicists dropped the bomb and the bang...
no day has had any significance at all...
   + the 24h news channels...           snuggle up to a hog
             and say: fog over Heathrow... all flights are grounded.

There are voices I hear
that are unusually clear, it's quite an awful racket
What do you mean? I hear nothing
You don't?  I hear something
Me? I can hear only quacking

They argue and bicker
I swear I get sicker each and every day
I think you're crazy, my son
He's fine, Obi Wan
Guys?  These ducks are coming our way

The least I can say
is that on rather slow days, I listen to combat the dullness
At least someone's not bored
I'm a Sith Lord!
Oh crap! one those ducks has a cutlass!!

It could be worse I suppose
but they always impose on the moments of silence I cherish
Man, he wasn't joking!
Those ducks are force choking!
If we don't leave, we're all going to perish!

One day I know
They'll finally go, and my sanity I will gain back
Quack quack quack quack
Quack quack quack quack quack
Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack!


*sigh

children the happy idiots, secondary children doubly idiotic thinking of love idealising via Darwinism, must be a toast... well surrender you and i, i'd too be ably nimble, but i got Mandela on my back quacking: you?! what the ****?! yeah, they said till the field and laugh and pretend. brain dead you *****, BRAIN... DEAD! they didn't hear you, they're english, try Celtic.. Brie anomaly of Normandy... nothing... what about egyptian? sha shoo shisha collar coo coo? hey... that works, lets give the flapping owl a cuneiform signature worth a sunset!*

love it,
slightly drunk,
got a bottle of whiskey ready,
cried listening to a horror film
soundtrack, got over 200 reads on a poem
of mine,
got hooked on a pope song
from the early millennials,
when i was a teen hammering leftover
refrigerators on the sly with a tourist
as a party was taking place,
and the un-lived the happily ever after
with the suicide of the Grimm brothers
for subsequent pressures that demanded
attentive dissatisfaction marginalised
into concrete paragraphs sentenced for a grade
for a furthering from schooled to schooling.

if i am a cloud, than you are
the bolts between the vapors.
with wool spinning between my canines,
i’m eating the white fluff like cotton candy.
your flares ***** holes through my dripping
crystals.
cumulus merging with stratocumulus,
cherry hues making love with
sunset oranges.
if i am a cloud, than you are the rain
droplets resting within me,
the sun rays shaking and quacking in
me

we cross paths without seeing the same thing.
Ghosts facing each other through the speeding windows of passing cars
blur the line between reality and perception
and you realize that nobody is right
What if the red I see isn't...
The way I see it
we're all insane
it's why I know how to make you see what you're supposed to
while I've personally never seen it
I'ts why we obsess
and scream alone in empty hallways
riding down the street on a bicycle
quacking like a duck
I'm glad I'm my kinda crazy
and you should be too

poetry is the perfect tool to plagiarise, well, technically "plagiarise", since it involves the circle, akimbo, a micro akimbo shuffle, sketching the same statue over and over until full circle, 360°.

paris, ah, paris, well d'uh, paris,
umbrella rich paris in the summer,
first year in edinburgh and it wasn't Scottish,
sunshine throughout the year,
one morn took to feet  and kneeling climbed
arthur's seat (figure of speech,
i.e. not really) to see the sunrise
better, came down, went into
a supermarket and bought myself
a bucket of cornflakes,
third year i danced on the old college
roof in the night listening to
the shins' *new slang,
tried getting a girl up on the roof,
failed, i said:
by the white fluorescent tangles
and dangles of the firth of forth are
coming up like the northern lights!
she didn't care... on a roof on
prince's street threw chimney parts
off the roof... could have killed
someone... on the same street
a year before on hogmanay kissed
a ****** in a wheelchair in full love
for the new year, got scolded by yet
another girl... god, this misogyny isn't
really working out...
on a date in a jazz cafe, first time i read
a rendition of neil young's old man
loved it so much, got confused by
the girl dragging me into the ceilidth twirl
pit akin to turkish sufi dervishes with a partner...
but paris man... oh man...
first time round we drunk ourselves
into silly animals dubbed children,
ran out of the hostel / bar into the streets
trying to find the compass point of
the city that's the eiffel tower,
didn't find...
broke an italian girl's heart, my sprechen es
tour guide, who took me atop the sacre coeur,
hostel's name? something duck...
not quacking duck, laughing duck? don't know.
second time i had a canadian-russian
tour-guide speaking quebec french (i know,
the cliche irony)...
we spanked baguettes and cheese and wine
and talk of literature bundles together
as the sun settled beneath the eiffel tower on the grass,
a group of french girls were deliberating
a fancy of my lean legs and armpits (when
i weighed 86kg and was suntanned),
and the best moment of my second weekend stay
in paris?
watching a guy high on ecstasy play ping pong
to a drum & bass drumbeat in a shady parisian club,
true too with the hand movement,
higher than a kite in a sky of diamonds he was,
and, it was fun to remember it:
no brooding exercise of thought:
memory attracts no thinking, just re-imagination
and memory in orthodox terms is happy nostalgia:
it happened because i was there...
not this modern paris the slum **** hole of algeria;
apropos - modern leftists and their censorship
of people's vocabulary... listen...
i had long conversations with a communist
party member, ok, an ex-communist party member
(my grandfather), your socialism is ridiculing
vocabulary... added to the fact that this proto-atheism
is exclusive, it's not communist inclusiveness:
god is dead, lets work together,
origin of the species and corporation,
now everyone's as selfish as a tsar...
there's not togetherness - i'd rather be a jessy james
in such times than a robber of thinking something
doesn't exist... and that's my conscience on the matter.

Traveling by plane, across the main,
Sitting in coach, waiting for peanuts,
I was thinking about layovers.

Drifting to sleep, on that square of a pillow,
Knees to my chest and arms folded tight,
Dreaming of home, but stuck on this flight.

Turbulence seesawing our plane up and down,
Waking me abruptly, my vision still blurred,
I glance out the window, over the wing.

Mother of god, it's a duck of all things,
Staring at me like a new zoo exhibit,
Quacking at me, to say what an idiot.

Stuck in a can, hurtling across the sky,
At the mercy of gravity, because I can't fly.
This duck makes a point as he leaps in the air.
Spreading his wings, gone without a care.

I can no longer sleep at night. The reason is unknown to me. Some nights I could sleep for days on end if my body would let me, but then there are those nights where I cant get a blink of any rest.  My emotions seem to run ramped when I am wide awake, no sleep to over take me. The demons like to come out and play then. The darkness is their playground and they will never pass up an opportunity to come out and play well with others.

I cry over you, you and you. The confusion when you left, the emotional wreck you put me in and the heartache when I lost my best friend. Three times I have fell in love and three pieces of my heart forever taken with one of them. One day I could see myself never loving another soul ever again. I may as well be a stone figure perched upon a grave, forever crying. I have nothing left to give to anyone.  I am emotionally numb.

I am falling back into my native roots. My old friends are knocking at my door, wanting to come in so badly. They want to help me. Help take all the pain away, but the reason why I don’t let them in is because once they’re in, they will never leave. Last time a miracle happened and they left but I know if I let them in for a second time, they will just barricading themselves in one of my rooms. So, I let them keep knocking. Their knocking begins soft, slow with sweet words escaping the lips of lies, but over time they start to get louder, stronger and harsher words. They scream now. I do my best to ignore them by distracting myself with other things but it doesn’t work. Curled up in the fetal position on the floor farthest from the door now, I clasp my ears shut with my quacking hands. Pleading to God that he keeps me strong.

Kayleidh. The name repeats several times with in my head, over and over. My day seems to just drag by in such a fashion that I think I may start to go insane. Thinking of the years I will be missing watching you grow.. kills me. It tears my heart apart, ripping it so painfully slowly.  I remember the day you were born, your first words, walk, friends you made at church. I hold the very few pictures I have of you, dear to my heart. I cry dry tears for you when I am numb. I know the truth about your real father. How he beat your mother, my aunt, when she was pregnant with you. How when you were barely three months old he threw **** at you, spit in my mothers face while protecting you in one of his drug rages. How we had to steal your mother and you in the night from him to save the both of your lives. But whats funny about that, I bet your mother will never tell you any of this. She will pin my family as the ‘bad guys’ and feed you lies.

walking through the park
people watching
eyeing the entertainment
a clown twisting balloons
into obscure shapes
and telling people
'it's a dog'
or
'it's a monkey'
and those same people
grinning enthusiastically and exclaiming
'it is, it is!!!'
while walking away
pulling junior by his arm
scolding
'hurry up'
the balloon lasts 5 minutes
usually less
before junior
trying to choke the 'doggie'
busts the balloons...

...and then we're left with
a screaming
      crying
        toddler
       great

i turn my attention to the pond
ducks, geese, a swan or two (i think)
moving gracefully
on the water
until one duck
smaller than the rest
starts quacking anxiously
obviously distressed
and i turn to see it caught up in a tangle of discarded
fishing twine
his terror obviously alarming the others
and then there's a spectacle
of quaking, splashing birds and people
while a few good hearted samaritans rush to
save the duck
eventually a beat cop arrives
shooing people away
while saving the day using his handy
sport knife to cut away the twine and set the bird free
taking a small bow to the crowd of people cheering

moving along
i come to a street vendor
selling ice cones, pop, cotton candy and popcorn
so i stop for a small ice cone
blue
treating myself
walking along
enjoying the scene
i notice a few kids laughing and pointing
i shrug it off until a kindhearted old lady
offers
'your face is blue, dear'
taking out my compact mirror
i do see that my face is indeed blue
   the ice cone
which i unceremoniously dump into the next waste bin
trying in vane to scrub the blue off of my face
with a slowly shredding napkin
i take the path to the nearest exit
out of the park

so much for a relaxing stroll in the park
on a beautiful spring day.

I would have spoken louder,
But I was too ashamed.
In the car I thought about,
Maybe,
The darkest sky,
And leaking shiny puncture wounds.
The biggest blanket,
For everyone.
I could have fallen asleep,
In the shape of the infinity symbol.
Arms looped around,
The water called 'myself'.
Your arms,
Forever.
But my body language was too harsh.
My toes were pointed towards,
Frosty window sheets,
And fractal images,
Of smiles,
Much too critical,
Looseness,
Made by boulders held with dental floss.
There was cold space,
Where little iron flowers grew,
With spiraled silver pedals.
Carving chicken wire,
And leaves of serrated razor.
I thought twice to mention,
While passing stagnant park benches,
Off highways,
Where quacking mesh motor engines,
Distress,
Until the only want,
Is want,
And desire's,
Buttoned up.

Kerfuffled, Discombobulated
And confused
My grey matter upstairs
Is suffering from overuse

My ramshackled head
Is now but a shack
Like a little duck
That knows not how to quack!

by Jemia

the city
filled in
the small
pond
in the middle
of my tiny
poem.

all the ducks
came to
my door
and complained
i am
simple
i agree
in the meekest
of language.

that they
have been
unhomed.

it is
my duty
they tell
me as a poet
to open
the  door
of my
small poem
and let
them swim
in my bathtub.

i agree
it is tough
to be unhomed
there should
be plenty of room
in my weensy poem
for such
a small flock
of fluffy ducks.

the  periods
are silent
because
they must know
something.


the ducks
fill up my
bathtub
as they quack
double sestina
to the pond
that has been
filled  by those
unfeeling humans!

it is
hard to work
in such cacophony
such repetitive
quacking repetition
words
like floating wood
float to the surface
of my eye-ear
in spades.

often i type
my meager haikus
on my typewriter
with missing
chrome keys:

typewriter  chrome keys flutter cure
clear water within  pond flows pure
ducks like ink letters rise into line.


no
says my
inward-sparrow:
“that is an englyn milwr
not   a haiku”


bless
you sparrow
i tried again:

typewriter keys clatter
rises like letters in moonlight
ducks swim on round poem.

Then the tiny bell
vibes
as my typewriter
comes to the margins
and quacking subsides.  

The ducks come
to my study
and complain
that my typing
is quite distracting
to their
swimming.

The periods
can only  chuckle
like crickets.

Life just keeps getting louder
The ever present noise and
Scream of the people on
The street like a never ending

Wave of sound that consumes
Us with its ear quacking roar
Making it harder to hear
Ourselves and making it

That much harder to hear
And understand others as
Well because we live in a
Cacophony of people

So loud in their own
Thoughts and so lost
In their own heads that
They can't see our hear

Anyone else in front
Of themselves anymore
Its very easy to get caught
In the loudness and the

Chaotic roar of the world
What we need to do is to
Slow down and listen to
Each other and actually

Be quiet for a change and
Actually listen to ourselves
And listen to the Earth
And listen to each other

Take the time to be still
Take the time to know
Your fellow neighbor
Take the time to find

That inner calm that
Comes from sitting
Inside yourself and
Taking the time to

Truly find out what's
Inside and once you
Do you will find a
Whole new way of

Thinking and a whole
New brighter and better
World than what we have
You just have to be quiet

If you be still and calm
And let the noise of the
Day wash over you like
Water flowing in a river

You will find an inner
Happiness and peace
That you have never
Found before and as

You begin to find that
Peace in yourself you
Can begin to share
That peace with others

Until the peace and love
In your heart continues
To grow as you begin
To let love and peace rule

I've been at the bottom of a bottle
for many binge nights now
shutting the snowy daylight out
No such thing as a perfect person
only a perfect broken one
as he blows like a line of coke
every word we ever spoke
And those innumerable apologies to myself
haven't ceased the quacking of a volcanic heart
they never pierce the borders of an answer
I'm too precarious to figure out
There's no such thing as perfect order
only perfect chaos
Grabbing for a ghost
when the midnight has betrayed us
on the flooded streets by mountain-peaks
or the sticky stains of *** on the desk

Its dark. Buzzing of voices zoom and echo about the tunnel. Quacking and rumbling are my insides until churned splat into roadkill. Even the vultures prefer not to feast upon my limp, ****** corpse.

I'm not me anymore, I can't remember what she was like. I read somewhere that memory loss can develop from Depression, otherwise I've developed a subconscious talent for suppressing meaningless occurrences. Bravo.

Death couldn't save me, be lucky if It could. Combine Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd along with Where is My Mind by The Pixies to generally summarize the agony i feel.
Teen angst and un-satisfaction.
A crave unfed, a thirst unquenched.
I've been beaten to the point where I enjoy it, I practically lust for it.

Life and happiness are imaginarily irrelevant. I don't want it, I never did.
I want to feel, whatever. I've been numb for too long. Almost a year by September.

Dear God, spare me will ya?
I forget, I'm an Atheist.

A.
Alphabetic Avalanche! An Avidly Artwork Appraising Adonai Alphabetically. And Also Awaken All Asleep Amidst Advancing Avenging Armies.And Acting As Agent Against Agony And Aches

B.
Beware, Because Boosting Breaks Bond By Bringing Barriers Between Brothers.But Brilliantly, Bible Basically Balance Brawls, Battles Between Bloods. Be Born-again.

C.
Curse, Carnal-living, Chaos, Commotion, Catastrophe, Carnage, Causality, Certainly Cleared.Courageously Christ Carried Cross to Calvary Creating Captivating Convivial

D.
Daily Deepen D Deliberate Demarcated Distance Dug for Devil D Deceiver.Devourers, Darkness & Demons.Diligently Despise Denominational Drape

E.
El-Shaddi Effortlessly Evaporates Every Enigma & Enemies.Ending & Exodus Evil Exacerbating Entities.Everthing is Everything in Elohim.

F.
Faithless Fellowship Fabricate Flippant, Feeble Followers.Faithful Fellowship
Factually Flourish Fantastically

G.
God's Grace Grants Great Galvanizing Gift & Glory.Giving Generally Generates
Greatness.God is Gracious.

H.
How Has Hatred Helped Humans? Habitual Happiness Hedges Hatred, Healing Hazardous Hiatus Harming Human race

I.
Impeccable Insight Into Immaculate, Immortal & Invisible God. Instigate Intriguing Illumination Inside our Inner being

J.
Jesus Christ the Just Judge, Jam Jungle Justice.Jailed Jeopardy, Jabbed Jezebel's Jinx & Juju Jolting Jealous Jesters

k.
Koinonia Keeper, Keenly Keep Kneeling before the King of Kings.Keep Knocking on Kingdom's door

L.
Listen, Learn, Light-up, Look Lively. Let Love Liquidate Loathsomenes. Least Little, Lowlife, Lazy Loathers Labouring Lengthily Limits your Level

M.
Morning-Star, Most-High, Messiah, My Majesty, Mentor, Master, Maker, Mountain Mover, Merciful-One ,Milk & Maintain My Ministry

N.
Nobody Needs Negative Nonconformists Nearby. Nevertheless, Neglect Notorious, Nonsensical, Narrow-minded Notions from Nihilist Nicely

O.
One Overcome Obstacles, Only by Obeying Our Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Overall ruler Outcomes Of Obedience Outshines Offerings, Oaths & Other Opponents.

P.
Proper Preparation & Plans, Plus Patience & Persistence Protrude Powerful, Progressive Prayer Performance.Prayer Penalise Problems

Q.
Quickly & Quietly, Quench Queasy Qualms, Quarrels & Quacking Quibblers.

R.
Religionists Removing Restitution Rarely Recognise Real Repentance. Returning Reports Remains Relevant Revelation Regarding Repentance

S.
Since Saviour's-blood Saves & Sanctify Souls, Sinners Seeking Salvation Sacrificially & Sordidly, Should Stop Searching. Selah

T.
Thanksgiving Through Tough Times, Turns Trials, Terror, Temptation & Tribulations To Testimony

U.
Understanding Urges Us Unto Universal Unity. Unfortunately its Unattainable.

V.
Vengeance Vented Via Venomous Violence Vaguely Visualises Victory. Value Virture

W.
With Worthy Word We Warn Women, Walk Wisely When Working With Watchful Workers

X.
Xeric

Y.
You're Young; Yield Yourself to Yahweh

Z.
Ziplock Zeitgeist Zapping Zombies (Zealously Zonked). Zoom into the Zenith Zone.Zero letters remaining

My hair smells like fresh air gone stale and
The lines in my hands are engraved with dirt
I took off my shoes, got a little wet, got a little muddy
Went a little numb, but the excitement was worth it
Climbed through sticks and trees, twigs and leaves
Saw the sun at its peak and watched it disappear
Squirrels rummaging, ducks quacking, people laughing
Rode on four wheels with summertime music playing
And on a different set with a familiar breeze at my neck
5 hours, 8 scrapes, 3 mud stains, 1 smile, 1 you
The day pulled and pulled itself on through
And there are plenty more adventures to come
For this, this was just day one.

Quiet, stillness, the river flows justly
The waves colliding on the shore
As the ducks fly down to land rightly
Twenty of them floating down river
In sync and quacking for life and liberty

I don't see them waging war
Only a little quarrel for food
One can learn a lot about ducks
Seeing them fly with purpose
As they take off to begin a knew
Elsewhere, the cold weather
Causing them discomfort

I see their heads bopping up
And down in the waters,
Searching for their meal of
The day, making it count, the
Best fishermen of all

They are quacking fantastic
my adorable star ducks
they landed in my garden last May
telling me they were here to stay

They are not like other ducks
just count their legs
for these ducks so wonderful
goodness they have eight

God and they are very versed in quantum mechanics
and light speed time travel
a black hole to them
is just a waste of space

Why they wanted to build a city in my garden
well I have no ****** idea
but I don't worry about it
just don't like their preference to beer

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

a day in the country
with sun and rain and you
shopping for a trip
aching for home
BREATHE
well,well,well,
i love to travel
in my mind
the quacking aspen leaves
SO SOOTHING

Not a word was spoken, as we walked hand in hand, along the forest path.
The energy between the two of us was of heartfelt love and joy, sharing the present moment, in love.
The bliss emitted a spiritual connection that can only be felt with that chosen one.
He is the love of my life, even with his flaws. I am the love of his life, even with my flaws.
Together we are perfect.
Walking hand in hand, smelling the pine trees, listening to the chickadees call for summer to return, ducks quacking that crack us up, and beavers gnawing on trees close to the rivers edge.
We see it all and enjoy that moment, the one God has given us, in this special world, he has put us on the same path in the forest.  
We have finally found each other, forever and ever..

Is Platypus a ******? Or is it quacking duck  
Not proper as pet
What to feed this bizarre thing that is odd as
An Australian, strange people the down under
Half criminal half saints
They used to be impossible British Say, 1922.
Their diet was egg& chips, now they are sophisticated
Chips with curried sauce
Always willing to fight for the USA proud soldiers with
tropical hats that make an easy target.
More sheep than people so what do you expect they shear
sheep and like it, chips fried in ewe fat.
The platypus takes no interest in this can it be made into
a Vietnam duck, a country the Aussie were lured into invading.
Australia is in a way a Platypus can't make up its mind whether
it is a far eastern country or a European settlement.

Given name Samuel but you can call me Sam was driving by the vestibule when I had to yell ******* Saw this little fresh dressed fool trying to run a scam and pushed him down the stairs at school Broke his ******* hand, I ran into the record shop looking for Manfred Mann ended up picking up this Book about the Son of Sam, a crazy killer from NYC shot women in the night got his lessons from a dog Who spoke with Satan’s bite. That homeboy is so crazy and just maybe is also right we got too many Idiots hanging in plain sight maybe we should pin them down under water bright until they give up and Lay still, you know, just give up the fight…but murders wrong unless your Snoop and then it’s just a case You overcome and get let off of by selling off your face, see Snoops a pawn deep in the game making Money off you ***** acting like he still the **** quacking like a duck any of you still following rappers Actors and sports stars are probably drowning your tears in a series of bad bars you remind me of Chris Farley Fat and drunk and dumb acting like you are the **** reminiscent of a *** or homeless man stinking of Gin old milk and mistake fake *** brother taking money from your mother hitting on your brother’s wife Trying to start another fight, its all-right, cause you white –

My pulse is racing
I can feel their eyes on me
My heart is aching
What is it they want to see?
My legs are quacking
I feel like I'm drowning in an endless sea
My life is a endless berating
Keep walking, don't look like your in a sense of urgency
With a final burst of energy
My daily task is complete
I've made it to the safety
Of Period III

This unimportant information,
That you seem spread.
You're just like a duck,
Constantly quacking for bread.

You seem to think you're lovely,
But that doesn't seem true.
When I hear the lies you spread,
And all the evil you do.

Other people life's are not your business,
So I think it's best you say nout.
Because your serpent like tongue is causing problems,
So sort yourself out.

Watched rain ripples in syncopation with the ducks quacking
It is raining like April
Tears falling everyday
Wasn't that long ago or far away
Strangest weather in April
But it is first week of May

C@rainbowchaser2021

Let’s make this my way
a dash of something I won’t talk about
a flood of thoughts I repress and a dozen quacking ducks,
where did they come from?
No, that doesn’t matter,
nothing matters, not in this world we live in
China’s ‘ethnic cleansing’
Venezuela’s corrupt regime
ICE and US Border Patrol
Must I go on?
Oh, alright I could but I’m not sure everyone wants to hear about
how wrong they are
because obviously the solution to a venal government who only wants ‘what the people want’
is to shove a horse in a hospital, right?

Ha, but what’s the point in talking about everything wrong when we could
just not talk at all?
After all, that’ll cover everything else.

Depressed? I’m fine.
Anxious? Are you sure?
Every other spectrum, fix isn’t the word
here we show you how to get better,
we don’t fish out a black striped tie because
that’s too much of a blanket statement
about what, I don’t know.

A flow of red sludge, is that blood?
No, that’s the sea bleeding pollution,
hey, while we’re on the topic,
how about the rainbow painted oceans
castrated by the slick money maker?

Meh, what with a shoreline I can’t really control,
there’s a bunch of squiggly lines over in the upper left corner
and a random splash of water all over the canvas that’s not waterproof canvas
there goes California, Virgina, Manhattan, and Iceland.

Do you have a morsel of food?
Take that law abiding citizen and toss her into the category of ‘alien’
because she looks criminal, right?

Hey, they said you’re not human, are you?
Nobody asked.

Are you listening yet? Yes, you!
Red or Blue?
Green or Labor or Conservative?

That’s how it goes, or so I’m told,
I don’t really know how other countries work,
but the War of the Roses was pretty cool.

Oops, there goes your head,
wait that was the reign of terror.
Well, it seems quite terror-y again.

Finished? Maybe, I can’t tell,
the thoughts just kinda blurt out onto the screen
between the neural connections and my fingers,
Science rocks!

Of course, silly me,
You want to hear more, what an idiot I am.
Here, just look online, you’ll find another ten thousand reasons
why my generation wants to die.

You thought that was the end?
What a fruckle bumbler. I made that word up in my head
but guess what? Urban dictionary already has it, funny how it works.
Or not funny really, just… cruncklesnajin.

Hmm, I’m good at this. No, I’m just tired
of living where sharks and quicksand is more frightening than
the money disparity
of living where religion isn’t supposed to be a part of the state
that’s what they wrote, and I’m nineteen.

****, I’m only nineteen.

Let’s make this my way,
without my control,
without my considerations or desires or thoughts or power,
who’s to say? Perhaps I’ll find out tortoises speak sanskrit, because that how that works, or they’ll find another dead body in some back alley and we’ll shrug our shoulders with apathy, it’s just another day, have some tea.

Ducks are the quacking sunshine of a noisy day

geese are moonlight in flight

silent graceful sailors of the clouds

they go where the wind takes them,

free spirits of the air.

You shout at the void
and wait for the echo
but like a duck's quack
nothing comes back

(why is the duck not quacking)
I cannot hear it though
I know its beak is moving

And we keep shouting
at the day

A duck quacks back