Screaming rage, the old pachyderm charges hard
Scattering predators away from the ravaged corpse of her fallen friend

The carnivorous stork and vulture cloud simultaneously take startled flight & retreat raggedly to the nearest dead tree, there to turn and glare with accusing eyes and cawing clamour. The hyenas and jackals scatter from the stinking cavernous maw of abdomen and scramble for the cover of thorn bush perimeter. Their hideous cackle and yapping adding to the cocophany of the noisy horror in this small, dry and dusty African drama.

Wheeling about the old cow surveys the clearing and, satisfied she has seen the vile things off, turns back to her fallen friend, shuffling through the thick white dust, she stands close by protecting.

Unfurling her massive trunk, she gently wraps it's sensitive tip around the scarred tusk of her fallen companion...and standing there, In a long, long sentinel silence...she remembers.......

Standing flank to flank in waters
Cooling spray upon the hide,
Trunks entwined to rumbled chortle
Bull and cow and calf abide.
Striding through the Serengetti
Grasses tall and sweet and green,
Grazing in this luscious plenty
Happiness in joy unseen.


New born calf cavorts, unsteady
Laughing at her rubber legs,
Keep a watch for lion menace
Always lurking for the dregs.
Cow to cow companionship
Builds the basis of the herd,
One reliant on the other
Cuddly calf to bull absurd.


Sunset on the far horizon
Golden glow across the plain,
Trekking for the waterhole
Through acacia tree domain.
Zebra throng with wilderbeast,
Quail and guinea fowl
Run through grasses long and brown
But leopard on the prowl.


Fun time with marula berries
Dropping from the trees like rain,
Staggering drunk pachyderms
Fall about but feel no pain.
Violence in defensiveness
Circled by enormous rage
Calves protected safe within
Roaring lioness engaged.


Quiet of the evening air
A stillness in the herd
Affection of companionship
'Twixt leather hides doth gird.
Companions together
The wise and the sage,
Companions endureth
Through an elephant's old age.


Kilamanjaro crowned with snow
Though plains are cracked and dry,
Prolonged drought has taken toll
And many creatures die.
Trekking from dry waterhole
A million dusty miles
To find the next one caked with salt
Enough to make you cry.


And when the cloud of death descends
A pachyderm must cry
For the memory of companion
Will bring a sadness to the eye.
Remembering their sister ship
Remembering their pain
Remembering shared elephant-ness
Brings good recall again.


Reluctantly a parting made
And fond and distant memories burn,
The taste of Africa prevails
As  skulking, predators return.



Marshalg
22 July 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Silk blocks my ability to see
Soft pads circle my ears shutting me into silence
Music begins to flow coursing through my body
Jumping as hands grasp slender ankles
Fur circles one then the other
Turned around and around so disoriented
A hard bump knocks at the back of my knees
Buckling and graze the chilled feeling they land upon
Gasps escape parted lips
Melodic music seems to beat forcefully with each movement
Chills flow through naked flesh

A voice reverbs in my ears
"Are you nervous ****?"
"Y-y-eees" trembles out thinking it had to have sounded like some little girl instead of the mature woman kneeling here
Morose tones begin to play
Calloused palms greet soft ones
Pulling quick and efficient succulent flesh lays across
a thick padded cushion

The drums beat frantically, I realize it is my heart beat
No music playing last the time, my breathing comes through rushed paniced
Inhaling deeply filling lungs then blowing out forcefully
Soothing frazzled nerves, repeating the breath
Hands separate, one wrapped in something unsure what
then the other, they are pulled straight out
Allowing ample globes of blush coated tips to reveal to any that watch

Crying out at the forceful pulling,  rearranging of limbs
Thoughts run rampant scrambling calm with slight fear and confusion
Body jerks as the apparatus moves beneath my spread flesh
I feel my belly tight as muscles **** and pull tight and repeats
Crying out as booming dark music explodes in my mind
The movement jerking beneath again
Unable to fathom how I look I feel a breeze slither over pale half moons
Finger run along the inside of the restraint as something pulls it further away from the other, then repeated
Chill air hits my heated moist ***** sending goosebumps all over

My body fully supported arms up with back arched exposing glorious flesh
Legs parted wide as waist is supported by the bench
"Who do you belong to"? He asks.
" No Ones"
A slice of fire then a second close by erupts pain across the backside
Teeth sink deep into my lower lip as the same words come through the headset
Senses impaired heighten every syllable
Still ******* air from the first blows as four reign down upon my  
arched back, tasting blood as teeth cut through plump skin

Thick fingers grasp the hairs upon nether lips yanking
Digits knead the skin of my *** soothing the first marks
Feeling the tug on hairs again, squirming as the moisture flows the cavern, body begins to move
Yet again "Who do you belong to?"
"Myself" I say proudly
Again heat, white hot, kisses thee skin
One, two, three, four, five
Labored breathing panics me
Fingers grtip and knead the marks, it is not pleasurable but it hurts not either

Thin pieces dance across my body
I figured out it had to be as flogger
He was an expert, especially with this contraption leaving everything but my stomach bottom of thighs urtterly exposed to the wicked implement
The tongues begin touching all over as I strain to hear and see
Nothing but blackness and morrocan drums playing tribal beats
Lightly stroking, followed by searing bolts of lightening touch silk flesh,
Breathing raggedly, gasping for air, pressure building in the pit of my stomach

As the flogger hits every piece of exposed white
Fingers massage puffy lips that swell to protect the golden pearl
Not hearing him he chuckles knowing he has me
Thump goes the flogger, chains clank as I squirm
Pressing towards his hand wanting to be touched that special way
Pleading escapes, I cringe knowing I have made that mistake
Something slides into my throbbing center, stretching my walls
I know I am soaked as I feel pinches against flogged streaked skin
"Please" I cry
Again he asks "Who do you belong to?"
I form the y sound suddenly changing to once again "Myself"

The implement is left inside my love tunnel
Vaginal walls gripping and releasing
My breath catches hard in my throat as something cool
bites hardened peak,
Breath let's out with a loud moan as the other peak is trapped in the vice grip
Hair is cinched tight pulling the upper body up more
The clamps bite harder
He turned my head towards his as lips touch I feel an excruciating heat soar through my succulent peaks
Tears flow across cheeks gliding down until we both taster the salt

His teeth sink into my lip as the hand twists the chasing, the other the chain to the clips torturing my *******
My velvet reaches out to run across the teeth
He releases the bite as our tongues clash like symbols
***** throbs as it struggles to not drop the object
Pressure still building, traitor body plays to his tune
Rejecting nothing
Balking not at all
Wanting, needing, yearning for this
Our tongues dance as he pulls and releases that murderous pleasure wreaking havoc over the numbing rosebuds
Fiery locks are released
Fingers remove the implement deeply embedded in my sweet honey
Digits slide deeply into my well
Pushing against them yearning for deeper

I feel the pumping in and out
Each ****** grows harder and goes deeper
My hair being used as an anchor
Burning the scalp as it pulls
He must be able to hear the music as each move is punctuated with the caressing noise
The headphones are removed relief flows over as I can hear

He whispers "Who do you belong to?"  He asks again
I feel his fingers pull out causing a sense of loss
Something presses sat my entrance pushing lightly
Trying to glide over the honey
Lifting on tip toes pushing back
Feeling the thick mushroom push into their tight entrance
Gasping for air as he growls loudly trying to fight plundering
Needing my answer first
The tip teasing me without mercy
Pulls and releases my hair

I feel something strange being smeared in my thick juice
The warm presses against my clenched puckered hole
Crying out as he teases both orifices
My body strains tight like a bow drawn for firing
"Please oh please **** me, take me"  
I feel both openings being pushed against more
Knowing he won't do much more unless I give in
He pushes the egg deep into my tight ***
Cries of pleasure float over the music still playing in the room
His hard length still teasing the slippery tunnel
Leaning over pressing my body hard against the contraption
Growling out "Who do you belong to?"
You! You! You!
His **** rams home plundering my overly taut well
Buried to the hilt my cries louder than the night

He begins to move in Ernest
Taking and consuming His
My body being played like a well oiled machine
Slamming into me, our bodies slapping
Skin to skin
Pressure building faster as I was already close to exploding
He knows I am close
Salt from the sweat drips into my mouth
His hand yanks the egg from my *** starting the spasms
Rippling over his rock hard length
His growl rumbles within vibrating upon my back

Pace grows faster, frenzied
I feel juices dripping down my thigh
My love tunnel overflowing with essence
Crying in frustration I scream harder
The machine moves as he pumps in and out
Loud moans flow out as the movement let's him go deeper

The music is crescendoing cannons errupt
As he plunders the chain is suddenly ****** based
A reaction like dominmos begins
Hips buck against his as sdpasms caress his ****
Floods of honey burst free coating his implement
Flowing down my thighs as the explosion rocks through my body
Riding every ****** as his teeth sink into my neck
The shooting **** hits my wall spewing until empty
Laying against my body, his sweat mixing with mine

Both breathless and satiated for a spell
Blindfold and restraints removed
Lifting me up as my legs give out like they were jello
Cradling my head to his chest
He lays me upon silk
Eyes close as lethargy begins to settle
Soothing ointment is rubbed into red stripes
"Sleep Mine". He whispered
" Yes Master" she says sleepily

A smile crosses his rugged features
Finally he had pushed past that wall
She is Mine he thinks
I won't let her forget, took way to long for her to admit
Next time perhaps he would try a cane
Moving her on through
The joys of pleasure and pain

Blue Spruce

Do you walk in a desert the howling wind finds no rest within your tortured breast. The desert scrub can host many realities sadness scraped raw the only comfort rub the wound with desert sand pray its warmth will reach deeper give the hint of comfort long lost on a soul finding it hard to remember kindness and its affects. You wanted only what everyone wants comfort and fulfillment but you have found these have elusive qualities almost ghost like never lasting longer than fleeting moments. Will the road wind filled with expectation only to end in senseless nothingness. How many times can you smile through the tears get up and start again why not change your identity maybe the gods that have it in for you will be fooled give you the blessings that are common to so many. This is not what your day dreams envisioned who ever questioned or dared to think up these black mortifications. You look for a hand to guide but only find those that prize themselves and forget you leaving you even more lost than before. The edges of despair crowd in your mind swirls is their not a promised land for people like me. Maybe a move would be in order a new beginning surely a fresh start will win the day where did I hear that somewhere in the land of the truly delusional you find when yet again you find life shows its power to roll and out of nowhere unseen upheaval throws you for a hard spill. Now you find a veritable waste land but yours is city streets trash strewn among those that walk with empty stares. The hearts silently bleed the well where tears once were formed filled with debris still the echo can be heard from childhood laughter was it that terribly long ago. As it happens on those blessed occasions was it real or a dream you have enjoyed the pleasure of Christmas and the green fir trees that fill the local lots the scent that drifts from room to room the little wild thing setting there all aglow gives the sweetest thrill. What is a blue spruce in my mind I followed this rutted road through the forest green and the mist had settled insulating every living thing with vibrancy this the most wondrous scene the forest truly gleams. Stand among the towering giants what a hush you are bombarded by the silence you are in the greatest ease a freefall into this quietude quiet breathing is all that is heard as wonder destroys every vesture of disquiet and alarm. Your vision intensifies as this endless pleasure mounts your soul grows its edges that were raggedly torn now renewed fully healed. What a fortress this stand of trees a thousand enemies could never surmount this pure airy wood not a king here stands but a poor beggarly soul has found the greatest ****** land bequeathed by nature’s bountiful generosity in any direction even the lofty height held with sterling sites this never could be bought even gold bows its self down to this sacred grove diamonds and emeralds fair no better their worth seems undignified here. The question arises does this place exist a great English writer wrote of the cathedral in the pine yes both places exist the sadness described in the beginning and this wondrous place a wonderful preacher related this story of a blue spruce he encountered in years long gone by it was different than just the run of the mill blue spruce you usually found he inquired of the nursery owner about the shape and color. He was told this one has been grafted by this means it never loses its rich blue color. The point was we need to be grafted into the true vine. The most important guide post to finding this glorious life while on earth is follow the sacred text that says if you truly desire truth on the inward parts you will find it. Many doors are marked holy and blessed but after entering you find only the tormented false ideas of self important men. He is the door and those that enter there will set among angels and the life of the blue spruce will be yours not inferior given to fading to lonely darkened gray but vibrant hues of azure blue your home in that blessed promise laughter and joy your possession forever more.

This will detail the black Christmas day that a young mother lost her three daughters and her
Parent’s time has passed and This Unbelievable tragedy caused Heaven and Hell to square off in
This Young mother’s life this Piece it will show in a limited way how Heaven won she wasn’t
Healed By opiates surgery or ****** analyses but in this blackness without a glimmer of light
Walking Down these lost Corridors listening to the wailing the great physician came he brought
Greater Than balm of Gilgal within the folds of His robe was mercy hope and peace with nail
Scared Hands He took her hugged her to himself sorrow instantly began to recede in his eyes
Were the Sum total of all Tragedies at first it was a pained face but in an instant when He spoke
It was as the word says His voice was that of many waters with the vibrancy of His heart in
Action she could see the waters had become as calm as His face the tranquil harbor where all
Find refuge in the time of trouble and over the course of a year many helps would be added
That would include prayers notes texts e-mails that loves this family and most important of all
God would send the children to their mother as she sleeps and through dreams they would tell  
Her precious parts about their new lives how happy and well they were and a book would make
A crucial difference as it bore down on Heaven gave it clarity and understanding the life that
Appeared to lie in ruin the breath of Heaven blew and redemption was stirred and made
Perfect in her life no longer chaos lying in heaps but treasure carried to safety the fragility
Birthed without end in the Promised Land distinctive and bright by love’s power all is built to
Endure in perfection waters burst forth the dry scorched earth responds with herbs flowers
Trees the blue sky green trees and grass backed by the brown soil a killer combination where
Bad invades and would destroy love ultimate power throws it back on itself where it is
destroyed replaced by joy our promise the true rendering of love and peace so when trouble comes which it will just hold on and Know He is on His way to your side with all you need I want to seal this with another piece that details trouble but gives ultimate hope

Blue Spruce
Do you walk in a desert the howling wind finds no rest within your tortured breast. The desert scrub can host many realities sadness scraped raw the only comfort rub the wound with desert sand pray its warmth will reach deeper give the hint of comfort long lost on a soul finding it hard to remember kindness and its affects. You wanted only what everyone wants comfort and fulfillment but you have found these have elusive qualities almost ghost like never lasting longer than fleeting moments. Will the road wind filled with expectation only to end in senseless nothingness. How many times can you smile through the tears get up and start again why not change your identity maybe the gods that have it in for you will be fooled give you the blessings that are common to so many. This is not what your day dreams envisioned who ever questioned or dared to think up these black mortifications. You look for a hand to guide but only find those that prize themselves and forget you leaving you even more lost than before. The edges of despair crowd in your mind swirls is their not a promised land for people like me. Maybe a move would be in order a new beginning surely a fresh start will win the day where did I hear that somewhere in the land of the truly delusional you find when yet again you find life shows its power to roll and out of nowhere unseen upheaval throws you for a hard spill. Now you find a veritable waste land but yours is city streets trash strewn among those that walk with empty stares. The hearts silently bleed the well where tears once were formed filled with debris still the echo can be heard from childhood laughter was it that terribly long ago. As it happens on those blessed occasions was it real or a dream you have enjoyed the pleasure of Christmas and the green fir trees that fill the local lots the scent that drifts from room to room the little wild thing setting there all aglow gives the sweetest thrill. What is a blue spruce in my mind I followed this rutted road through the forest green and the mist had settled insulating every living thing with vibrancy this the most wondrous scene the forest truly gleams. Stand among the towering giants what a hush you are bombarded by the silence you are in the greatest ease a freefall into this quietude quiet breathing is all that is heard as wonder destroys every vesture of disquiet and alarm. Your vision intensifies as this endless pleasure mounts your soul grows its edges that were raggedly torn now renewed fully healed. What a fortress this stand of trees a thousand enemies could never surmount this pure airy wood not a king here stands but a poor beggarly soul has found the greatest ****** land bequeathed by nature’s bountiful generosity in any direction even the lofty height held with sterling sites this never could be bought even gold bows its self down to this sacred grove diamonds and emeralds fair no better their worth seems undignified here. The question arises does this place exist a great English writer wrote of the cathedral in the pine yes both places exist the sadness described in the beginning and this wondrous place a wonderful preacher related this story of a blue spruce he encountered in years long gone by it was different than just the run of the mill blue spruce you usually found he inquired of the nursery owner about the shape and color. He was told this one has been grafted by this means it never loses its rich blue color. The point was we need to be grafted into the true vine. The most important guide post to finding this glorious life while on earth is follow the sacred text that says if you truly desire truth on the inward parts you will find it. Many doors are marked holy and blessed but after entering you find only the tormented false ideas of self important men. He is the door and those that enter there will set among angels and the life of the blue spruce will be yours not inferior given to fading to lonely darkened gray but vibrant hues of azure blue your home in that blessed promise laughter and joy your possession forever more.

let me first say, i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing
and i don't really know what this is or where to start.

i am comprised of scratched porcelain and bad dreams -
made up entirely of half-hearted attempts at sanity,
countless unspoken "i need you's",
and ever-faltering faith in myself and those around me.

i am not a poet, or at least not a good one, i don't think.
i feel a lot of things, sometimes all at once -
other times i don't feel anything at all, which scares me beyond
a level of which i am capable of explaining to you.

i nearly jumped in front of a train in april of this year. i don't know why.
my feet ventured toward the platform before it had even registered
in my head that they were doing so. i heard my best friend speak my name,
and snapped out of the trance. not a lot of people know about that.

i've been in love a lot of times with a lot of different people.
i have a fear off falling but a tendency to jump from high places.
i don't read books as much as i used to, but i'm working on that.
i'm in love right now and it's really difficult but it's nice. i'm happy.

i grew up with five brothers, so i like to think that made me sort of tough.
(but i cry every time i see a deer or a possum on the side of the road.)
i don't smoke cigarettes anymore, partly because my father hates them,
partly because they remind me too much of someone who liked them more than he liked me.

i write a lot about people who i don't talk to or see anymore. they don't live in my heart,
but the curse of memory is more often than not unbreakable. i call it leftover poetry.
then again i don't consider any of my pitiful mutterings to be poetry. just a bunch of
raggedly strung together words that sometimes rhyme a little bit.

i used to want to die and i wrote a song about it that a lot of people really liked.
i don't want to die anymore. i will never show that song to my mother.
i am much more content with watching people talk than actually talking myself.
this piece of writing feels too personal and i don't think i like it, but i'm pretty sure
Eleanor Roosevelt said something about doing one thing every day that scares you.

m.f.

Do you walk in a desert the howling wind finds no rest within your tortured breast. The desert scrub can host many realities sadness scraped raw the only comfort rub the wound with desert sand pray its warmth will reach deeper give the hint of comfort long lost on a soul finding it hard to remember kindness and its affects. You wanted only what everyone wants comfort and fulfillment but you have found these have elusive qualities almost ghost like never lasting longer than fleeting moments. Will the road wind filled with expectation only to end in senseless nothingness. How many times can you smile through the tears get up and start again why not change your identity maybe the gods that have it in for you will be fooled give you the blessings that are common to so many. This is not what your day dreams envisioned who ever questioned or dared to think up these black mortifications. You look for a hand to guide but only find those that prize themselves and forget you leaving you even more lost than before. The edges of despair crowd in your mind swirls is their not a promised land for people like me. Maybe a move would be in order a new beginning surely a fresh start will win the day where did I hear that somewhere in the land of the truly delusional you find when yet again you find life shows its power to roll and out of nowhere unseen upheaval throws you for a hard spill. Now you find a veritable waste land but yours is city streets trash strewn among those that walk with empty stares. The hearts silently bleed the well where tears once were formed filled with debris still the echo can be heard from childhood laughter was it that terribly long ago. As it happens on those blessed occasions was it real or a dream you have enjoyed the pleasure of Christmas and the green fir trees that fill the local lots the scent that drifts from room to room the little wild thing setting there all aglow gives the sweetest thrill. What is a blue spruce in my mind I followed this rutted road through the forest green and the mist had settled insulating every living thing with vibrancy this the most wondrous scene the forest truly gleams. Stand among the towering giants what a hush you are bombarded by the silence you are in the greatest ease a freefall into this quietude quiet breathing is all that is heard as wonder destroys every vesture of disquiet and alarm. Your vision intensifies as this endless pleasure mounts your soul grows its edges that were raggedly torn now renewed fully healed. What a fortress this stand of trees a thousand enemies could never surmount this pure airy wood not a king here stands but a poor beggarly soul has found the greatest ****** land bequeathed by nature’s bountiful generosity in any direction even the lofty height held with sterling sites this never could be bought even gold bows its self down to this sacred grove diamonds and emeralds fair no better their worth seems undignified here. The question arises does this place exist a great English writer wrote of the cathedral in the pine yes both places exist the sadness described in the beginning and this wondrous place a wonderful preacher related this story of a blue spruce he encountered in years long gone by it was different than just the run of the mill blue spruce you usually found he inquired of the nursery owner about the shape and color. He was told this one has been grafted by this means it never loses its rich blue color. The point was we need to be grafted into the true vine. The most important guide post to finding this glorious life while on earth is follow the sacred text that says if you truly desire truth on the inward parts you will find it. Many doors are marked holy and blessed but after entering you find only the tormented false ideas of self important men. He is the door and those that enter there will set among angels and the life of the blue spruce will be yours not inferior given to fading to lonely darkened gray but vibrant hues of azure blue your home in that blessed promise laughter and joy your possession forever more.

Swollen eyes of sleep depreieve
With giant black bags underneath
Bright red cheeks huff and puff
Raggedly pained air that I breathe

Tear stains appear on my pillow each night
In dozens of crosshatched lines
But I drudge out of bed to wash them away
So that nobody knows they were mine

From here on out- I refuse to sleep
to be forced into nightmares again
Coffee and lights as my main support
Why should I worry my friends?

Her knuckles are white
Clutched in agony
Against my thigh
The muscles in her arms
Contract and then
Expand
Over over over again
At a varied velocity
An unstable rhythm
Of quick short breaths
And exasperated ecstasy

Oh the savagery
I pull her over and mount
Eyes alight with adrenaline
A leg atop each shoulder
Depraved in the most
Lustrous of acts
Oh the savagery
She bites her lip as
Muttered obscenities
Float raggedly through
An instrumental
Accompaniment
Of muscle on muscle
****. ****. ****.

Shh
Don't ruin it

She is quite the specimen
All thighs and ***
A body meticulously
Toned by a lack
Of self confidence
From the view atop her
I almost feel pity
I almost feel sympathy
A hand grabs at my hair
Oh the savagery
She is gone
So far gone
It's a disgusting
Disease
This pleasure
Nails dig into my back
And she is mine
To abuse
I am her drug
And she is nothing
A helpless addict
She is mine to
Corrupt
Mine to destroy
She's begging
For it

In a pitiful display
Of heroism
And hedonism
I oblige her

Shh
Don't ruin it

People assume things. They tend to do so every day, no matter the situation. Why? Who knows. What? All kinds of things. For example, they assume that the happiness I show them is real, when it is only a faqade. My happiness is the mask I use to hide my bitterness, my hate, my depression, my anxiety, my lonliness, my helplessness, and the broken pieces that I truly am. I mask many more things than this. My sanity is the mask I use to cover the fact that I truly am not in the right mind. I might not be insane, but I am certainly mentally unstable. My wholesomeness is the mask I use to hide the fact that I am beyond repair. I am broken in heart, mind, and spirit. My body may be intact, but the soul it masks is broken. It is broken in a million pieces and these pieces are slowly turning to dust - beyond repair. My smile is the mask that hides my tears. The tears that fall when no one is looking. My laugh is the mask that hides the screams of pain that constantly **** me from sleep. The screams echo in my ears and they never vanish until sleep takes over again. The make-up on my face is the mask that covers the tear tracks. My empty, emotionless eyes are the mask that keep my inner despair hidden. The hat, or hood of my hoodie are the masks that hide my scarred scalp. The scars there are from countless hairs being pulled out by my bare hands when I have a breakdown. My pants are the mask that cover my scarred thighs. The scars are from countless nights of countlessly and raggedly drawing razorblades across my sensitive skin. I am completely and utterly masked, hiding everything true about myself like a coward. I even take it so far as to hide my cowardice with a mask called strength. It is better to be masked than left out in the open with nothing to shield yourself, wouldn't you think?

☺♥☺♥☺♥☺♥

The worst will be found toward the end of the book
When you’re scanning the lines of a weighty anthology.
Centuries have shaken what works can be shook,
and what’s old is refined – and I make no apology.

Angst-ridden ramblings, so fashionably bleak
Start appearing somewhere past the middle, I fear
With those modernist psyches, whose raggedly weak
and depressing confessions sling mud in the ear.

Like the scribblers of Suicide, brimming with bile
or the autodestructive self-pitying ******,
whose quaint observations enshrining the vile
are a crime against life – and an art for the loser.

You ideologues, with your axes to grind,
propagandizing causes in militant styles
ought to  stay in the hills, where the struggle is defined,
and spare us the old dialectical wiles.

The Feminist scribe, with her *** for a mouth,
Ever pressing her case, for fallopian reasons
Grows saggingly sterile. Her muses fly south
with the passing of harvests and goddessless seasons.

Absurdists, surrealists, and nihilist mystics
whose hymns to destruction make glory of chaos
should leave the black humor to God and ballistics.
Your poems, like Judas, are bound to betray us.

The Freudian flirt (whose neuroses abound),
And the Jungian shamans (their animas, too),
ought to rest on their couches. Why should they be found
By the wellsprings of Spirit, whose guidance is true.

The art-lover’s lines gild a frame around Knowledge.
Their poems are like an art history course.
As they flit past the idols they studied in college
their name-dropping odes are a grand tour-de–force.

Sixties drug-revelers, love beads a-jingle
And brothers dashiki-clad, howling at Nixon
no longer strike chords in my soul. Not a single sitar lick
nor visions of hippie-chick *****.

You rhymers and rappers of rhythms in sample
Whose words like a kick-drum send shock through old Whitey
Now cease from your chanting. The genre is ample.
Your gangstering paeans are too fly-by-nighty.

Revived Roman legions, who relish things Latin;
Your martial convictions inspire the hero.
But while you are looking for cities to flatten,
remember – old Julius was nobler than Nero.

The theme of World Peace –  this crops up near the ending:
a desperate hope for New-Agers and liberals,
who cherish a dream of reality-bending
Through networking, magic, and energized crystals…

But what can be shaken shall perish, forgotten.
Anthologies show us that truth is enduring.
All praises and laurels shall prove misbegotten.
The Word become flesh is the most reassuring.

So I leave the anthology, closing its cover.
Three-quarters at least seemed like nonsense to me.
Yet still, I admit, I’m a poetry lover.
Let time do its work and in future – we’ll see…

A lost cause that doesn't want to be found
hunter in the wild tracking without a hound
tethered to slavery,toiling in vain for a pound
I'm the loudest noise of a world without a sound
I'm a dedicated preacher without a bible
a hopeless soul still fighting for survival
a journey man desperate and far from arrival
a ready fighter in a ring and life's my rival
I'm a wounded bird soaring with broken wings
the first light of dawn and the chorus it brings
a trampled bud which struggles as it springs
I'm those dumped sad engagement rings
I'm the lonely path that was never taken
the chocking inspiring words never spoken
the many charming promises that were broken
I'm the dead unburied hearts,the ghosts awoken
I'm those thirsty flowers struggling to grow
the wandering souls unsure of where to go
the deadbeat and shattered,those feeling low
the tired refugee expectant mothers escaping war
I'm the hunted nemesis, bullets seek my blood
the homeless who lost their home to the flood
the internally displaced and raggedly clad
everything grieving, dead and living betrayed by the world
I'm the bitter truth that will never be told
the beautiful country and its people cheaply sold
the wrinkled malnourished children trapped in cold
I'm everyone, silent or spoken, black or white,young or old

My breath raggedly escapes my lips
as I let out a fierce battle cry.
I’m being pushed, shoved, and punched
while my heart pulses to the beat of the music.

My hairspray is glue,
and my hair is now an octopus, clinging to my face.
Everyone’s body heat creates
a sweltering pocket; and I am in a sauna,
moist with sweat that isn’t mine.

The quick tempo of the bass
penetrates everything and everyone,
and suddenly the crowd is one
hot, sweaty, throbbing mass.
How beautiful it is.

Suddenly there is pain and light,
and a fist pulls away from my face.
My eye stings, but adrenaline pumps through me
rather than blood, and I am invincible.

Someone picks me up, and I am on top.
Crowd surfing, above everyone.
No one can bring me down,
because here I am free.

Every single day
I walk these
City streets
I'm surrounded by demons
Dressed in overpriced suits
Or raggedly clothes
See they don't confuse me
I see what they don't see
But I don't judge
I just let them walk on by
I don't budge
Than they get to talking
With their slithery tongues
These the people that got Jerry Sprung
The same ones that got old Willie hung
Same ones that had all the Jews in a ditch
Same ones that nailed Christ to the cross
Now ain't that a *****
See the devil is a liar
And everyone soul is for hire
So even if you don't
I see these demons hiding
In normal day attire
I don't need to see
The mark of the beast
I look in the mirror
And I see me
Yet I also see
The man I'm afraid to be...

As I lay among the dead
Lounging in pools of red
My heart raggedly beats
Contemplating ultimate defeat
And vision becomes a tunnel

Then a white light
No fight
Just floating
Skipping, skimming, showboating
And the tunnel shows me what it is

What I am

The city had been as frenetic as my circling thoughts
Everyone shoving by in a hurry
While my heart careened around
Untethered and chaotic and
Terrified
Fumbling for the right beat while you fumbled your keys

A wildfire of opportunity among the grim apartments
We flared to life
Surprised and laughing and
Breathlessly tangled
And for a wild moment
I felt I could stay suspended there in the dizzying heat

We both know I ran instead
Felt the unfamiliar flames licking up my back
And panicked

In my most chilling nightmares
I retrace my steps
Scream soundlessly to rewrite the story
To linger on the sidewalk with you
To stay, just a little longer
Only to watch our phantom selves
Shatter the fragile magic that could have been

In my wildest dreams
I’m still gasping against your chest
My name is still raggedly on your lips
Like a spell
Like a prayer
Like a promise

Apathetic, acataleptic, anthropomorphic abstractions aided an anorectic.
Biology and botany, both broad, but bellicose blossoms bring banality.
Considered communication can conceal certain capabilities- cruelty without causality.
Delirious dreams of divination dwindle during daytime's discontinuation.
Echoing and eerie, ecclesiastical ecstasy eclipses eccentric ebullience in extroverts.
Face-to-face farewells facilitate friendships & fatigue families, familiar in fantasies.
Grace goes gardening, garnishing and ghostwriting, good god, glistening a glittery glaze over.
High, hovering, hallucinating helps habits' hardening and hiding in hazy harmony.
Introduced ideologies, indeed, illustrate ingenuity in idiosyncratic individuals I impersonate.
Jumbled and juiced juxtaposition of jitterbug and jazz justifies jovial jumpiness- jeez.
Karaoke on ketamine, a kettleful of kerosene, kindling kisses, knocking knees.
Last but not least, the lawless laying low are liberated, later learning large life lessons.
Mainly markedly meticulous, maids manage the meagerness of mess, mollifying mothers.
Namely narcotics, not either naivety nor narrow-mindedness, necessitates a nosedive.
Obligations to obtain n occupation only obfuscates obvious obstacles, and oftentimes objectivity.
Pervasive paradoxes parody people's past perceptions, predominantly persistent patterns.
Quick-witted quarrelers query quantifiable qualities, quotations never quivering or quiet
Rickety, raggedly radios ring with ragtime, rainbows remain a rarity.
Sick, staggering students suddenly spill, saucer-eyed, onto streets and scatter.
Thrown together, the tank top, the trousers, tempted and tongue-tied them, totally.
Underestimation ultimately undid the understanding of ubiquitous underachieving underdogs.
Variability in validity and value variance violates the valuer's viewpoint very vividly.
Wandering war-torn wastelands, wayfarers weaken, wait for water, wearily wonder at weather
Xenophobic xylophonist's x-ray wouldn't show his xanthopsia, xeroxed in the xanthic Xs of his eyes.
Your yawning and yelling is yellowing your youthful yearnings for yesterdays.
Zigzagging, zany zookeepers zestfully zone out with zoom lenses, to see from A-Z.

Dutifully watching willows sway
Birds are lounging just beneath the overhang
Rain is gently pouring down the window pane
I sit hear raggedly alternating my vision
From you to it
It to you.

I don't know if you are conscious
I really hope you can hear me.
I stopped using words days ago
I plead to you from my soul.

Countless days and fruitless nights
I spent in chairs, couches and cold floors.
Fluorescent lights beaming down
Numbing every emotion as time slowly passes.

I look and wait
speak to others
hoping you will just chime in
Jealous that my attention was diverted.

No sound just shallow movements of your chest.
Time here is mounting deep within me
patience giving way to rage

I took deep calculations once

before I was 18

1/3 of my life was spent hospitals.

I wish


I would


have



been




the





patient






instead of learning about patience.

What Am I thinking?
You ask,
As I trace the shape of you
Swirling from one contour to the next
Impossibly smooth
Hands on the move
Gripping you tightly
Tight enough to nearly strangle
Pulling you closer
Close enough to listen
Listening for those quiet little sounds
that gently escape your lips
From those lips
The heat of your breath
Breathing raggedly by my neck
My mind escapes into my body
Thoughts replaced by my senses
letting my sensations fill the moment
Not a thought,
Just a feeling.

Some wander through their rose colored glasses
bitterly nonchalant for their lives
passionate about everything in their
non-compliant ways and
unforgiving aesthetics
pleased to accept their parts

I get tired after a few dances back home
feet sore, the blistering skin
a familiar commodity
raggedly hanging irritated
drifting drifting away
onto the lonely tufts
of ancient carpet rags

my nose hits the floor
bludgeoning the tip of that sensitive aquiline shape
nerve jamming straight to the heart
and so does the dream begin
Soaking in the summer nights,
baked in that warm smile
isn't it so odd?
being terrified of an echo blocking me on the head
soon erased and tuned to an alien frequency

then
trapped in a cave
crying into the abyss
the man behind me
his shadow encapsulating mine
comforting monster
I can feel rip through me

and as I run from that i fear
falling down the rocky terrain
hat ripped from my hair
blond glossy tips frosting
the cross mountaintops,
I left my hat in his hands
the one with embroidered sunflowers--
with a scream left eroding in my mouth
from inside to out,
an ancient friend I'd forgotten

sometimes i'll go way back
in the lost annals of facebook
way back to the strange days
right after mom left
and i'll look at all the posts
the few people who knew what happened
posted on her
wall
all "i love you"s
and "please call me"s

please...
trust me
you didn't actually want her to call you
panic attacks aren't fun
they aren't a joke
when you're sitting in the room
in your sisters house
that you've been thrown into
on the floor
gasping for breath
clutching at air
raggedly
you'll wish
you never talked to her
on the phone
please
don't even

and then sometimes when i'm
brave
i'll scroll
and scroll
and scroll
until i get to the days
when we were all together
and everything was
ok.
i'll read all the things i said to my mom
...isn't that funny?
i used to say things to her...
all the nonsense things
wishing her
a happy birthday
talking about
baking her cake
and it all makes me remember
that father's day
in june
right before she left
in a chinese restaurant
how awful it was
how thoughtless the gifts
that mom picked out
and it will make me think
of my older, married sister's face
when she heard
mom was gone
how she came over to our house
where me, dad,
and another older sister sat
empty vessels
filling up with pain
that we still couldn't shake
two years later
i'll remember her saying to me
that she couldn't believe mom would just leave
we'd all been together for father's day
just the week or two before
had she been planning it
even then?
yes.
she had.
she had been planning to leave us
for months
i just wonder
how she could let me love her
when she knew she was leaving
how could she do that to me
how...
how.

today I began to leave my body on the seat of the bus,
so I leaned into the stretch
and pull on my spirit's shoe strings
hoping faintly
that I might feel your hands
reaching
from behind my eyelids.

to tell the truth,
I dream of you far too often
slid between sheets
wet with fever,
and sometimes
my thighs feel sore of running
from ghosts
so I concede to being caught
fingers plunging down my throat
and I gag
on time travel fantasies - but
I've stopped drowning
memories in whiskey, instead
I get high off
the lingering traces laced in my bloodstream.
nightly I ignite my veins to hear you
moaning
and my bed frame
quivers
with the knowledge of your absence.

I've carved the story of us
raggedly into my skin,
a narrative to tell round the campfire of my heart,
where trees parade heavy
with questions I've been whispering
for a decade,
and leaves rattle
made-up answers in riddles.

I play butterfly hopscotch when I can't sleep
due to tsunamic activity
in the aftermath of earthquakes that frequent my bones
as their tectonic shifting shelves the continental plate of you
over
me.

I urge you,
do not grow complacent in my volcanic dormancy.
the compiled magma will
leave you in a heap of radioactive ash,
which will in turn erupt
violently.

take heed.

this is your silent warning swimming in my eyes.

I am too full to hold casually,
marked "handle with caution"
in fiery green,
slyly grinning
as I slip ever faster into entropy.
the laws of the universe are
consuming me,
breath
by
breath,
blink
    by
      b
        l
          i
            n
               k,
     b
    

         y

belated



    good
    bye.

The anxious
Knotting stomachs for decades
Centuries of building nausea
Nerves red and raw
Raggedly exposed
Uncertainty
Fear
And for you
Few
Who
Have not known
Such agonies
Give it time

The wind carries the soul
Toward a heart, it’s own
An apparition of anticipation
Toward the body, raggedly worn

The teller, not the told of
The forgotten, not the forgiven
Time-bleached and iron-hardened
The scourge and scorned

The wind carries the leaf
From its home, into the abyss
A melody of Frailty
From the porch, familiar and warm

The searched for, but unwanted
The secret lover, the obvious fool
Beach-beaten and vine-ripened
The burnt and enlightened

The wind carries me
From the darkness, into the bright
The waiting maiden, fair skinned beauty
Toward the light and a better life.

flatly impassive
mermaids patter raggedly
bleakly, moping pains

i'm drinking my discounted liter of jack daniels: down from £35 to £20... oh... knowing me... i'll get through the liter... while listening to some modern german folk: faun... tanz mit mir (dance with me)...

i've had such high hopes for the man,
Karl Ove Knausgaard...
what? you expect me to write Kierkeg-
with an angstrom?! sure... a "lost" ah..
Kierkegård...

ha ha... volume 4... of his mein kampf...
oh i'll finish this volume
and finish the two remaining volumes...
he really grew into a man when
we started writing about the "seasons":

i too was young once... stupid...
drunk from time to time:
now i'm almost always drunk...
nothing helps writing sketches like
regular drinking:
which you can offset with sobering up
doing some cardiovascular exercise:
no point wasting time sitting in a sauna...
on y'er ******* bicycle, y'ah silly ****!
vowel-catchers... who?!
surd letters in the Ing-Leash zunge!
giggle ha ha but when it comes to
gnosis... it's 'nosis...
so ******* write it like you intend people
to spreschen it... sprechen...
oi... herr zeppelin! you too!
SHEN or HEN?
the Spaniards too! xa xa or ja ja?
or both?
      
i truly had high hopes for the man...
but then in volume 4 he recites...
a vagabond... he & his friends encountered
via their A-level ****... fest...
who once served in world war II...
under a Leif Andreas Larsen (1906 - 1990)...
Larsen of the Shetlands...

who smuggled refugees from Norway
hunted by the Germans
to the Shetlands...
spies & ammunition back to Norway...
a homeless man...
he started calling him a Shetland ****...
phallus... whatever... he was in "dire straits" needing
to ****... so he walked around him and ****** on him...

it was rummaging in my mind...
all throughout this glorious day...
a scenario... should i find myself homeless...
lying in Soho... minding my own business...
and some colt would approach me...
and start ******* on me...
i had this whole cinema in my mind...
i was later arguing in court...
the defence was...
he ****** on me...
i bit into his aorta at the neck
and started to slurp up his blood...
no joke...
all before reading this extract...
  i'll obviously finish the rest of the volumes...
i invested in four... i can stand two more...

this is all before reading what i'm trying to get through:
volume 4...
i too was young... stupid... drunk...
one Hogmanay we ran around clipping
rearview mirrors from cars...
we sported playing golf in the middle of the road...
hell... i threw stones at railway signs
at Seven King's station... i brought fireworks to school...
in primary school i brought in pictures
of the mythological blonde that was Pamela Anderson
(at the time): of course i was ratted out...
given the high compass morality argument:
what if it were my mother?!

what else did i do?
oh right... one time we went clubbing with some
history crew... i was studying chemistry
i stumbled upon Napoleon & them...
a ****-fest throughout...
we ended up walking home...
but i edited the walk home by climbing some
scaffold on Princes St... reaching the roof...
ended up screaming... ha... FREEDOM and throwing
bricks down onto the pavement...

if i'm writing this... freely... so one was hurt...
but ******* on a homeless man?
seriously...
i was walking with my grandfather once...
engrossed in conversation...
he spotted a raggedly dressed man
eating fruit on a bench
in full splendour of a grimmace
when a family walked past...
he must have been gobbling...
physalis... i would be eating physalis...
and my grandfather asked:
who is he?
i replied...
                to jest: fi-lo-zof...
he's a philosopher...
see... i grew up from the ages 4 through to 8
being raised by a father figure that was
my grandfather... my father was away
"conquering" the west...
my grandfather taught me the intrinsic values
of: if you're going to pet an animal...
just make sure you're kind to it...
don't be obnoxious...
and... all homeless men have
the potential of being...
pseudo-Diogenes'...
              
it invokes to little to be kind...
it doesn't require... ******* on someone...
in youth i was a full-on arsonist!
it's painful to read...
esp. when it's written with hindsight...
from the cinema of memory
and not something that's ongoing...
cause me to process "libel":
i've seen psychiatrists... priests? no no...
prostitutes...
i paid for ***... i didn't pay for lies...
niceties...

i miss him for the reasons that we could
correlate.. my favorite quote of his was...
no woman is "ugly"... there are only
neglected women... abandoned women...
and as i cycle past the populace...
i remember two quotes from England circa 1997...
the beast from the east...
(it wasn't about jet lag)
look busy... Jesus is coming...
along with... the most prominent...
marry an ugly woman...
you'll spare two heads' worth of concerns...
not verbatim: the last "scenario"...
but it's true! all the beauties are reluctant to
marry... settle down...
whatever the hell that implies these days:
paying rent for the enrichment of
some Pakistani rent / slave holder?
settle your arguments with your parents...
i live in a vicinity where... "independence" could
be scrutinised... one Nigerian family shares
a household within a two generational timeframe...
another is Sikh... also...
i'm not paying **** to hope i might get
one night stands with hopeless western women!
i'm dying: self-intact... alone...
i hope the cats nibble at me..
what do you think this culture has spawned?
******* geniuses?!
collateral damage and: shrapnel ammo readied
for a ******* shotgun... hey presto!
i'm beyond mad... angry young man...
i'm not young... i've revolved around being angry
for a while... i better age with melancholy...
who's to keep me company?
michel de montaigne...
i suppose my sense of humour is... "wong"...
rong being... the Chinese ideogram doesn't allow
the trill of the R? don't wowwy... neither does
the current Ing-Leash... they seem to have
gotten a tawantula bite on the twill of the "R": too!
it also died in Fwench...
don't mind me... the Wussians are your best,
"next" enemy... i'm siding with the Wussians...
because i can... i have choice...

but it's almost fun being sad-angry...
you find out that you can cite:
cryptic jokes...
i hope i'm doing just that...
if i'm not... what does it matter:
i've written in the moment of the otherwise
forever moment of fatality...
you can't somehow debate fatalism away
like you might with nihilism...
or nuance it...
life is life... death is death...

there's still that... bewilderment i have...
when comparing the Latin of Cicero & Horace
with the "Latin"... Italian of... Giuseppe Belli...
how did... Latin... become... Italian?!
i guess... the cuneiform wasn't submerged...
asked to become non-existent...
among the Muslims... side with the Sh'ites...
the Persians... please please please...
please please please:
a schism so early... so early showing
the corrupt nature of the prophet...
              p.b.u.h: with the exception of Ali's
confessions... no?

eh... but people will be people and follow their
own ways... i don't want to change them...
to me a raggedly dressed man sitting on a bench
eating some physalis... full of grimace
looking at a happy family walking past
was a philosopher... to some other he was
merely a waste of space... blah blah...

give me the king of kings... naked...
that's better...
than the most indefinite of creatures:
mast cast into a role of man's own hierarchies...
elevated by such ambitions that
make him look both rich & both cheap...
give me the negated man...
but nothing of the sort
associated with bureaucratic self-importance
that tramples even the electrician or plumber
as some substitute role of... purpose...
but the world is filled with this...
over-stepping the capacity of people
to replicate...
  of the people who most espouse Darwinism...
they leave so little to the imagination...
the strong perish... the meek inherit...
it's about time i left this world too;
this world is deserving of its fate... this world has to
become... completely... obliterating-ly...
mediocre... it has to!
i don't want to be part of it!
i will not be part of it!
this world deserves what is expected of it:
being deserving of!

the same people that espouse Darwinism
are the last people to adopt it....
nature is... cruel! it abandons the weak!
yet here you are... espousing... ****'s sake..
celebrating it! coercing it!
it sure as **** didn't happen under
the Copernican upheaval...
oh wait... only Wittgenstein ackowledged
it was Copernicus rather than Galileo
who conjured up the "distinction"...

the West... i'm adamant for the Russians
being these... evil genius hackers...
me & the boys are going to have
a massive ****... when this "****" is over...
when she... the western woman:
is properly ****** over...
of course i'll be siding with the Russians...
what's left in the west?!
****-smears and um?
penguins learning to fly!?!
for, ****'s... sake!

i'm doing a  runner... i'm out of 'ere...
thanks for the bourbon...
not thanks to the "idea"...
i'm out... in mind... is not in body (at least):
i... am... *******... done...
there's nothing here: "here"...

Poland  isn't far enough to....  "escape"...
Poland never was...
  i live in England... at best,. then?
dig deeper into oneself...
make "things": a little  bit more curious...
i'm dreaming of
the Kamchatka Peninsula...
like i'm thinking of Nippon...

              i write this with an honest heart....
a heart composed to be:
the size of a pebble...
         i write this... because...
i await my death with... glee.

I let the heater broil my skin.
29 degrees short of a blistering lobster boil
Turning my cheeks two shades less than crimson
Just so I can keep my weary red eyes alert.

Cause even though the night sky may relax
My raggedly overtaxed mind,
Exhaustion still ruins evening’s solitary stillness.

The stiller I sit
The more I wish to slip
Into dreams of yesterday
Dipping into deep and destructive waters of nostalgia
Scabbing over my itchy scratch and sniff pain
With highlight clips and theme songs
From my old favorite tv shows

Wanting to wash away today's pain
With chocolate covered strawberries
Till I restore my belief in the brotherhood
Of faith and purpose
That reason and enlightenment murdered

Mind running engine running
Vents pumping out dragon’s breathe
But the heat does not hurt
The carbon monoxide might suffocate me
But the fire does not burn
Memories keep strangling me
Till I can barely breathe
And the only thing I can inhale is regret
The only truths I know
Are the sorrows I have not felt yet

20 minutes to warm my flesh
To think and scribe the thoughts that others hide
20 minutes then I switch the heat too cold
Crack the windows and my bones
No longer stuck in the past
No longer struggling to come back
I exist in the now

The old soldier I loved,
The young child I endured:
Both gained my friendship
Since we have raggedly matured.

Though clouds of grey
Have swept me away,
Still I oft return
To hear the bark of a thunderbird.

Crimson sheen considers an orb of golden beaming
upon its dust-flecked surface;
Ropy drippings welcomed into its totality, save for the tails
plucked by a soft breeze.
*****, ivory half-arches splotched with blackened patterns
cast their slivered shadows onto the pooling;
Raggedly are they covered by dried out leather slightly caved-in
from the weight of those this gift has come to nourish.