Life, and other drugs;
Feel the love, and stuff.
You've got the right to get
****** up. You think I'm out
of line? Don't worry, I feel fine.
For reals.

Urban tiger on the prowl,
"Welcome to the jungle,"
Where everybody's a night owl.

Nocturnal habits
of the after-party crowd.
"You're in the jungle baby".
T'survive here y'gotta be proud.

I want to touch sublime, surpass divinity,
Exceed apotheosis to new beginnings;
Extra-terrestrial narcotics binge.

Who knew I could fancy a man to care
No one had ever dare to rise to the    
     occasion
And now
I am the apple of his eye
No matter
       How I feel
             What I wear
He wants my affection and love when  
     I'm not there
He sleeps with me till dawn on  
   occasion
Showing me he cares
I am the apple of his eye
No matter
       If I'm teary eyed
           If I'm flying free without a care
I know that he is there
In his silent way
Sometimes with a touch and hot kiss
By the hand or loop of my pant
   When another has had to much of  
    my time or attention
He reals me back into his arms
I am the apple of his eye
He'll never let me forget
No matter
       Our breaking points
                Pits of dispair
No matter
       How much I doubt
               He would set me free
     But,    I am the apple of his eye
Like he said before many times in all
                          honesty.
"I'll find you no matter where you go. You're the one that I love. You're the one worth fighting for."

is there anyone out there
that is actually real or
am i just being spammed
by the void?

i think the void is
definitely spamming me but
why would it when
every single person
is following it?

(Cebuano word, an identifier for a male person whom we do not know by name.)



Here's a story of a not so lovely baby

Hey babay go'ne my way

Faded, on his way, shameless

Maybe needs some work....

What the hey, anyhow he play

The game of heart break  

Silent now

Shirk and shake it off your shoulders

Telling myself insistingly

"He ain't my responsibility"

"I won't feel bad - take care of your own

****"

We smoke and vape

The other **** we hit the days wide awake

My bad, acquaintance not much else

A brief voicemail

he is shaming whispering

"Hey bakla - what are you?"

Who that Price?

when your ice glaciers melt

And garbage comes bubbling up

From under your breath

So Truly only you

For reals tho'

Be he the abandoned one

Early on broke

Those years ago a kid

Hatred your imaginary friended

You're a G in your head

Spite quiets down when

Down and out ...

Crazy to suddenly

See you now

Still loathing me

And somehow I believed it  

As cries for help but

Hungry wolf each night

Is still a dog

planning to bite.

Still angry at me for nothing's right

Just another sod

To prey and feed

Upon...  

Yow not a dog

Your it's flea.

To think I prayed for you...

Forgot the gist of this

So so sorry

No kidding this morning

No taller story

Than pretending to be something

Worthy.

As friend as family.

Now you're just a *****

Someone Without a name

If Strangers call you ****

I still do not know you

Aren't that close with

Who you've wronged before...or

Why I'm an open door,

Walked on all over

Sorry so tardy to tell you

No more.

*****

I am actually a huge fan of Banksy and thoroughly enjoyed Dismaland but the A level kids I teach at a school just down the road from Weston couldn't get in because they've got Art P2. We wrote letters and sent emails but had no reply. They were very disillusioned by it all so their art teacher decided to take them to Dismaland and show some of their work on the grass outside. Security were not impressed and called the police. We made a film about it and I read this poem at the gates. This is the first part.
So this is where this tale will start,
Of What is Banksy? Who is art?
You're the joke now, don't you see?
This ****** ticket lottery,
For crazy cats who play the rules
Not you poor buggers stuck in schools
Can’t press refresh at the stroke of ten
Cos that's exactly the time when
the bell rings for art to begin
The irony is lost on him.
No tickets in your grubby hand
Cos schools cant afford the broadband.
Don't look at me with dismal faces
You lot sure are going places
Yep, you're all sat on a train
Going to weston in the rain
Who do you lot think you are?
No movie queens nor a rock star
You don't fly in from LA
You don't even have a card to pay
No Damien's, No Brad. No Suze.
Pack up your dreams kids,
Born to lose.
Like a load of buckets to the factory gate
Where we'll have to stand and stand and wait
He is not Wonka, he's not your friend,
This Charlie gets nothing in the end.
So looks like we might not get in,
Stare them down kids, take ours to him.
Banksy Inc. has made these choices,
But they can't silence all our voices.
Helllooooooo Banksy?
Are you there?
Going to show these kids you care?
Open up those hallowed portals
For this lot of mere mortals?
They've brought stuff they want to show
It's really very good you know
Because they made it from the heart
Not for a calendar of street art
You know? Like how you used to be?
Before they showed you on TV.
They protest about stuff for reals,
And soon be snapping at the heels
Of all the London folk in there
Sell for a million but pretend they care.
Come on Banksy they'll be good
Take their selfies like they should.
Come on Banksy, just be nice,
They'll snap up all your merchandise
And shuffle round the park like drones
Take out pocket money loans.
Listen kids, this isn't working,
Banksy's in his rolls and shirking,
We don't need to storm the walls
We can show them we've got *****
By standing here and giving free
What they've all spent five quid to see.

Is it worth my time to rhyme
or should i just state my case
and place this dime in line with the
others waiting patiently for a chance to be
exchanged for a song to sing along
monger thoughts about doubts and clouds
hot girls or conquered worlds
fast cars and false stars
bop to the beat bequeath further ideas
or lies so I'm told by authorities
brought to tears for a neglected world
flag unfurled of false ideals and
reals of red tape to bind hands
stunt plans of mans
minds evolution ever we should
grow to realize nothing even justifies
this disregard for free energy
and unrestricted mental tenacity
Let morals rule 'sted scripted paths
reinforced by stave and threats
of hells frightful burning fiery vats

-2007

Can love suffice,
my breaking ice, heart.
Sometimes so bright,
others whisper of my light,
without presence of a cloud,
facade premises allowed,
darkness innate,
tis sins fate,
to worry and strife with only pre-assumed might,
lovers fight.

Can seasons conceal,
realistic reals?
fading blossom and bloom,
twelve full moons.
Leaves rustle and brown,
people age and clown,
we live, we hope,
for a way around the moat,
to gain castles entry,
in this new century,
to proceed without fear,
behind technological austere,
expression both grave,
and brave, crave, gave, grave, slave..

why do we revolve,
around loves sweet resolve?

Listen friends and neighbors
As I do my best here to tell
Of some of the animals which
Reside in this jungle hell.
Some may look harmless
But can eat you all alive.
And many for no reason
Prefer you do not survive.

One is so horribly large
It can fall on you and end
Any chance you may have
To become its loyal friend.
It’s the smarmily gracious
Nearly total waste of *****,
Cringingly contumacious
Pusillanimous pachyderm.

It blunders around the jungle,
Often the danger is crushing.
It cares not for little folks, it
Only cares where it is rushing.
The other creatures around
Are annoyances in its way
And it really doesn’t care much
What they might have to say.

Of course, there are donkeys
Of many different classes
But try as each of them may
They always act like *****.
They bray but acquiesce
As long as they get their hay,
And do their absolute best to
Stay out of the pachyderm’s way.

And of course, the chameleons
Who cleverly change their look
So they can hide in plain sight.
No chances were ever took.
They hide among the foliage
And only come out to eat
And stay out from under the
All of the larger animal’s feet.

The pachyderms are herd animals.
They learned to stick together
So, few are clever enough to
Face them down in any weather.
But there are these little creatures
That use tricks and some tools
To take the occasional beast down
Though animals think them fools.

Then there are the tigers as well
And they must be well considered
Because like the pachyderms
They work very well together.
But they won’t often take on those
Huge beasts with the long trunks.
They are smart enough to choose
Their dinner in smaller chunks.

So, the lesson here is for you
To move carefully, don’t bungle.
It may look like a lush and green,
But for reals, it is just a jungle.
The beasts will make short work
Of humans whenever we weaken.
So, don’t walk blindly around.
Remember, it’s you or them!

Grandmère = Grandmother

Peter and I are in Paris, we arrived this morning. We’re staying at my Grandmère’s Champs de Mars residence - near the Eiffel Tower.

One of my Grandmère’s oldest and dearest friends is a Catholic Bishop. When I was little, he was ‘Monsignor Jean-Marc’ but now he’s ‘Bishop Jean-Marc.’ He’s been around so much of my life, he’s almost part of the family. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that he has his own apartment somewhere in each of her houses.

Jean-Marc is old. I think that’s fair to say. He’s white haired and the kind of short that comes on slowly, with age. He’s a disciplined kind of thin and his deep wrinkles are tanned from years of gardening. His teeth, always visible in his salesmen’s smile, are as white as altar candles.

When I first glimpsed Jean-Marc from the hallway, he was sitting on a cream satin settee, in conversation with my Grandmère. I knew something was up because he was wearing his red trimmed cassock and red sash, instead of his usual black suit.

What I couldn’t see from the hall, was that the room was packed with matronly ladies, dressed in matronly dresses of glittering white, glittering beige, glittering yellow and glittering gold. Argh! I was wearing a white Polo tennis dress, Keds mini canvas sneakers and my hair was ponytailed. I wasn’t dressed for a social. I swiveled to give my Grandmère a sharp look, but she took that moment to be interested in the drapes.

As I’d come into the room, Jean-Marc stood and greeted me cordially saying, “AnnAAAas!” raising both hands up over his head as if he were channeling the pope. Ok, I thought to myself, this is happening. I offered my most innocent smile. “Bishop Jean-Marc,” I said, while performing an involuntary curtsy, conjured from somewhere deep in childhood reflex-memory.

I don’t like priests. Slam me, sue me, **** me. When I’m around a priest, I’m reminded that I’m a sinner and I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. It’s the worst kind of guilt for a Catholic, because we don’t earn any credit for it.

Opp! I just thought of Peter, so there’s lust, right on queue - that’s a sin. Unfortunately, Peter’s not here. He and Charles went on a chauffeured driving tour of Paris. Envy - there, another sin, I’m on the road to hell but I can’t seem to stop, one thought just follows the next. Where’s a priest when I need one? (to confess) Just kidding, there’s one right in front of me.

The bishop began asking me a string of unimaginative questions, like an old friend catching up. “How’ve you been? How's university? As he grilled me, slowly, like a steak in a smoker, the herd of matrons ambled slowly our way, closing in to listen in. It was a scene straight out of the walking dead. I wanted to escape but my Grandmère held me in place, with the full wattage of her proud smile.

Ordinary boredom is an un-experience and all you need to free yourself is a phone. High society boredom is one of Dante’s circles of hell, because you have to interact with strangers when you could be doing something fun instead. The gathering finally broke up about 7pm and I was free to go. I was starving, my throat hurt from talking (about myself) and I hadn’t heard from Peter. When I checked “find my,” it showed him there, somewhere. So I went in search.

Peter was in his (our) room, on his back near the edge of the bed, one shoe off and one shoe on. He was as still as a corpse but a soft snoring suggested he wasn’t dead. I leaned over him, his black hair was somehow more disheveled than usual and his lips, moist and slightly parted, looked invitingly ready to kiss. I didn’t do it though, that would have been asking for trouble. Instead, I smelled his breath, slowly and deeply. Cognac. Charles had gotten him drunk. How helpful.

Once I tucked Peter in, I went looking for Charles, only to find him shooting billiards with Jean-Marc. He looked none the worse for wear and the gleam in his eyes told me he knew what he was doing - avoiding me with the bishop.

As I prowled the room, trying to decide what to do, while picking up objects and weighing them as objects to be thrown, a server brought in a tray with three bowls of cassoulet,* which smelled incredible, my stomach growled, and I remembered I was starving.

Charles, sensing a shift in the mood, said, “He (Peter) needed to reset his body clock. He’s young, he’ll be as good as new in the morning.” I just laughed. Charles knew I’d come looking for him and he’d ordered me dinner. I can’t stay mad at Charles; he knows me too well.

The cassoulet was to die for.
We’ll start our vacation, for reals, in the morning.

We, the we of reader and writer in any age,
agree first with the
fine point
poking into your business, once, upon a whim

the activity in mental reals we all may wonder into,
as that is what wondering makes us do.
As a radio listens to a signal,
a reader seeks a station, a state of tuned-ness to which
a connection,
a conciliation of meaning, affirmed by sponsors, promises

You'll wonder where the yellow went,
when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent...

plop plop fizz fizz, jingle jingle tingle tintillate

time: 6:13 ante meridian, sunshine come soflty, early
rising urge to save a dream stringy
snot nothing somehing said

catch. and catchascatchkan, Alaska, and she say yea,

scan the dial find 1913. "Ain't able, Cain't hear no radio, in 1913."

-- so, do we stop, lieve these puddles of mind slime
that once greased the skids
down skidrow, to swallow us whole?

Yeah, seems so. I don't know, but I been tol' streets in heb'in be
paved wit' gold, and
this is mud. Stinky, too.

Ah, we are mental. Actual mental ins tru ments, meant to level,
the field, fertilize fructification,
calm some turmoil stirred up when some ideas escaped
the institutes of authorized weights measured
in terms of standard poor.

Smart people learn what words mean and use words meaning
I know more than you do, as if of and by and
for we are by nature, by nature's pure good intention,
the guides, the standard bearers,
the powers that be.

we establish truth in consort with knowers who know
might enforces right.
We say so, we say we know, you say,
okeh...
but wonder, what if
I know more than you may ever know, I am programmed
with timeless 2020 interference reference magi-tech.
The media loaded us with common mirror neuronic code,
we were formed as waves of knowns formed signals,

Eu reka, eu daemons burst the surly bonds of earth,

AI ai ai, intuitively artfully dodging
ligational legistation realizing

--- izing izing izing re
--- al ual use --- the use marks good or not, not
good or evil, mistook rights to hate evil,
require
a taste of discerment, some bitter, some sweet.

As a thought, a non-entity as it were, back then, a global
broadcast beyond the surveyor's purview,
-- in may have been a prayer,
and offering tossed to winds in a paho tied with ligament
to Jacob's dream of messengers bhering messages
up and down, and
the accuser seeking to and fro,

"have you with sideral knowing looked upon my servant... you?"

some seed fell among stones and withered, but
not before the situation were/was ****-ized, broken down,
here is the mission, it was always, for all time, terminal.

Bring forth seed so it may fall to the ground
and die.
This is the end where we begin to generate a gene
tic
tic tickle, itch, ... is there beyond now a now I may imagine?

Imagining is a child's knack, is it not? Does the knack mature?

Do we ever agree to see, all we believe we can do, we can attempt.

Walk with me in to the wild, untamed coastal scrub forest,
find a stream feeding a meadow that once was a lake,
if we have our tectonic plates stacked properly,
we see... time is essential. Death stops time. So,
what now,
we live? Agree? We, me and you, one thought, one point of
mental whatever
we agree upon,

a time, aha, a we we may be if we realize, making up
labyrinthine courses for forces of thought
squeezed into perfectly tiny,
so small as small maybe imagined thinkable, in the realm
between
e-lasting entangled ments, mental ents,

not the little blue men with red cheese head hats,
nor the short round razorback worshippers whose being is
the fandom, the we of those willing to wear the
badge of honor acknowledged

among fans, take the mark, get the tat, put on the pig hat, proud,

shout out loud, HOLD THAT LINE

or perish, for lack of television.

Destinie, so bright, slow fly, goodbye .
Flies out and Carry on, Flock Plane .
Baybay, dock boats honk, "Don't" .
I won't, **** *** I Goo ...
Hello, there kitta kat, **** Bill .
Bills pay parents, mountain can it .
Holden in a place where rivers flow .
Destiny, Flowers, Music's blare .
Art, Write, my face and what I 'reals care .
But down to the ***** penny, floor,, smoke a Cigarette .
I always hurt myself, like a funny joke .
Or the kind you want to kinda kind a applause .
Sitting or ReMemory, the De Ja Vu .
Kilted Moon , sat on in clue .
o .

****....the....
New age rappers
Nigguhs sounds like slaves
Tryna bring plantations
Back
Aint no power in owning gats ?
Stupid nigguhs
Talkin' hard
But scared to pull the trigger
In the 90s we talked about silly ****
Drugs n **** but
Along with commentaries
Now it seem the young revolts only
See the cemetery early
If you catch on early
To the ******* two ******* to the pulpits
How can i follow God when im a God?
Image of a man dont understand
Confusion was made from us
But since i got no heart
I got no one to trust
But myslef so **** the drug cartels
Snitches ******* glitches
N ******* who was sent from Hell
Is it me or the industry?
Trying to take away black males masculinity
Women is the new men
I say **** that !
Men hold yo guard
And bump that !
New age ******* out the way
Cuz if you stay wit it the courts will say
You cant do this or that
But i fire back
Wither it be clinched fist or
Firin' a gat
Dont care the game is changed
Nigguhs sellin' out for a lil fame
Got everybody actin' black?
Cultural Jacks?
Spittin' wack tracks now thats a fact?
How is em deemed the rap god ?
When **** was handed to him how odd?
Is that ignorance is bliss
What happened to the real lyricist
Most will think of this as a diss
Dont care i stop n stare
Lookin' into the eternal sunshine
I see marley easy pac n biggie
Speakin' to me
Through the blunts n Hennessey
Maybe im passed drunk POD'd
Or is just me reachin' a new spirituality
Reals labelled fakes fakes labelled real
Now nigguhs dont even ****
Only over mass appeal
Tight dresses lookin' gay muslims
And the media loves to surpress us
We still joking about slavery
Butwhat would happened if they came to present day
And i seen one of the slaves with a cut off foot Would he laugh?
At us sayin' nigguh or will he provoke a bloodbath?
Smile now ya **** sho will cry later
Im not a hater just an intellectual debater
And if you got beef with me
Line up but its going to cost ya
Cuz aint nothing for free
So to my trues paying they dues
To society do ya time quietly
And when you break out time due
Im going to send the crew
Minorities against the world
Silence the elite soon to delete
There souls off the atmosphere here me clear
Dont ever fear
A nigguh that breaths the same air as you
******* gone do?
When them.boys in blue come for you?
Imma stay heavily heated and bust shots
Til the judicial system departed
Put a strain on there chain links
Now im spiritually awarded


In cyber web paradigms
Reverse engineers
The digital pages without burning
Tree skins /
The doors to red rooms
Price and auctioning
                   bargaining
Yodeling

Between the crevasses

Again gone after
A mind's blown my own
To finally have
Known

Bit /coin
The mountainous wealth
We face booked them

Sure, they gave a billion
To
Their own
Flash
mobs invested
Our empty pockets

Making rich those atop the pyramid

Inventor of a log / a  rhythm / rolling
One's and zero's

Now two / later three

Bytes the Nth
mega giga terra
meta zed
Physics bits
Your name is a coin
In VR

You
Plus infinite
***
Ads for the upper echelon
Another plane
Light'ning catches
Fire
The .com pheromone
The internet was made for
****...

Vendors selling airwaves
To the thirsty
Low on HP
Low T
And A's

Tag them in collars
Type-o
"******" say
"She's Cray Cray"
For you her boo

for French
Vuitton
Yves st. Laurent
Fashion
Bleed
Proud
For bags
"Be Prada"
Butch / queen /
Trans
Phat & devilish...

(Passionate for always shopping)

Hooked
Trending now
The acid rain...

And as a poet
like most addicts,
Not wit
Or swift to seeing
20/20
Foresight

To have not known
Our common logic gone lost
The white blinding
Not a light
Happy to pursue
Joyful is the chase
***** cash
Let's talk waste...

Poor

When it comes to
Fairness
Of all ours
Equal opportunities
Better that we should
Have
Known.

The irony,  its truth...

Possessions
Posing
When they had it all that time

"What's that?"
Nothing dears

It's not important,
it's only air
And water and land
Milk and honey
Money pit sink holes
And solar flares

Your home
Your soul
Su casa

"God did not
no such **** thing
He gave them ****!
They own not us
They own
Nothing!"

Says me maw
and heehaw
In their Caribbean spa....

Who dat in there?

The cyber wars
So long ago tomorrow's
Been won,
Big brother's page
Is chalk lines full
Of all our pictures
And conversations
radio static
Lo a rhythm of old
Dots and
Dashes
Sos

"God help them, mother /he said
If he gets angry so hot
Come from the Apple's
i Cloud
He might...holy
****
Aye caramba!"

The end

Will

Be it thunderous

Frozen still wide
Awoke
Now
That
        we let go  
(Not my humanity)
Instead rather
Of greed / malicious lust /
the listlessness

The hunger
Of mine mind mines
The business of
Heavy
A currency of make believe
The reality
That we slave...

We are forced
Of a kind
(Murderous words and fife)
Now out with "old hat"
A.i. Simon says
Like / share / post
Atomic

Advertise and
Purchase the cool whips
Addictions
IT gurl
“Everyone I’d doing ****”
Juke joints littered with points.
So...
Hip

Hops
As Pops chugs tin

"I think I can
I think I can -- Blogs"

A you tube channel for
All
Joses who can see

Jiggle jangling
Jugs
and tambourines
Shake it out
Walk it off

An de Le

i miss my space,
Something for Reals
Where I can place
The pieces of my life
The art I write
The movie of my reality tv

Lets kik it / lets snap chat

In my spoken word
Get to know
who I be

Hello my name is __

Poetry.
My Non-other
Me.

My whole life, I’ve battled depression looking for the best end after the loss of a best friend. Everybody would recommend a session, telling me to count my blessings this is only a section, of my life.
At 14 I lost my first encounter, with a bottle on the counter I took a bunch of downers and laid down in the tub because I wasn’t “cool” enough and my life was so rough, I was only a kid.
At 15 I had my first beer, the first time I was able to drown out my fear that end was near and I thought I was thinking clear but I was just like a deer, in the headlights.
At 16, I found my way to the end of a roach, the first time I smoked, the first time I realized I could easily cope with the dope and finally have hope that I was shortening the rope, around my neck.
The next few years all ran together, forgetting all the storms I weathered, the people who didn’t get better thinking I was happy I met her, a bird with beautiful feathers her life meaning more than mine.
Everything during this time ruined by me wanting to die, only outnumbered by the number of highs, telling my friends nothing but lies, like I’m fine. Always knowing its almost my time.
I often tried to reason, why I’m fighting these demons my mind committing this treason ending the evenings barely breathing, emotions changing like seasons having to suppress my feelings.
I’ve spent many days feeling nervous, looking for my purpose, through help and service but at the end of the day, 12 years later still feeling worthless.
I’ve been led to wonder what I’m missing. 26 years of no one listening, after a week of the same just saying I’m ******* so I’d run to the kitchen thinking I’m fixing my problems but that only made them worse.
So I would get my thrills with any girl who’d let me cop a feel knowing nothings reals trying to reach a deal so I could finally feel but we were always “better as friends.”
Then there were the girls not ready to date, unless it was a boy they’d hate, or the ones only looking to mate as way to escape their last mistake, who was usually me.
The meaningless flings would always fly with me because I knew I’d never be the one to set her free and they’d always be ashamed for someone to see them with me, but that’s fine.
I know no one wants something broken, a heart that won’t open, a brain constantly downward sloping, someone always coping because they’re just tired of hoping for what they stopped believing.
Next thing I knew I started cutting myself to fulfill the need that I perceived could free my mind by planting the seed that I was a superior breed and couldn’t die.
Really, I would drink then wash my blood down the sink because I wouldn’t have the time to think about my missing link that led me to the brink, of life.
No matter how you cope, in a bar, working on cars, making scars, wishing on a shooting star you’ll never get far, enough away.
So what do you do when you think you’re at the end, without a friend, a stranger in your skin, tired of always trying to begin again, I grab a pen. The paper ask me where I’ve been because I forget every now and then that I can win and that’s when the whole cycle starts again. Ready to welcome you, my old friend.

They call them dream catchers
The ones that steal you away
They're hidden inside the pretty girls
Written on they're smiles
Twisted in they're spines
You can never really tell when they have you wrapped up in there web
They're hidden like a black rose in a red bouquet
Tossed to the curb worthless n fake
Dream catchers will caress you in a safety net of sweet sleep
They'll fill you with feelings
They'll make you feel safe
But dream catchers never give back the dreams built up by days and later by nights
She'll ****** you to stay and then she'll make you want to run away
Dream catchers are often gorgeously framed
There beauty is like no others they're beauty reals you in
Not knowing there silently hiding under cover
Lay low for awhile cover up words with a smile
Don't give in to the lust they pass off as trust
They only have one goal in mind
It's only a matter of time
They'll slip into your life sneak into your room they'll be waiting on your bed blending in with the seams
They look like Pretty girls and there Trying to catch your dreams

got too many reals, i just want to feel
too many outfits for the places i go
gold like an arrow to praise the nights
coming through the green-yellow days
dauntless and swift

want to flex like a child—
here comes the trail
and the feels that feel real
sit out in a tank top
for the inner freedom til the sun
spears the ocean and the moon rises
this blasting heat is the way April
wants to leave us

I wish I could
Star sixty nine
Myself back to you
By your side
In a flash
I wish I could
Return to sender
Myself back to you
By your side
In no time,
Between you and I
There should be
No distance
No time,
It should just be
You and I
No 'in between'
Or between,
No translation
No need to understand
Just feeling
Just love,
Because if it did
Then what we have
Wouldn't be for reals
As we are cryptic
Unbreakable
Code unlike Morse,
All heart
And no mind
No one minding
Just love abiding...
APAD13 - 78 © okpoet

Ever since I can remember,
these slugs been hounding me,
these wheelers, these dealers,
like drug dealers, they peddling
they lies to try and hypnotise
young minds like mines but you
gotta remember what they tell
you's real and what's really real
is two totally different reals.

Those maggots they try and sell you
on some pie in the sky, just another lie
another fantasy, another trap to
keep you and yours down in the gutters.

They tell you you ain't pretty enough or,
that you ain't smart enough, or you
ain't good enough as you are, and that
what you need is what they happen to have.
A bottle of pills to cure all your ills,
or is it just something to siphon your will?

You gotta believe me, man, or lady,
you can't trust those suits who try to buy
your happiness, your love, your self-esteem
like it was some kinda product to buy and sell,
like your worth is some kinda commodity, hell no.
Feel me when I say you're beautiful the way you are.

But those words won't mean a thing until you try
some introspection and realize it for yourself.
Can't nobody, not me, or the suits, tell you
how you're meant to feel, or meant to think.
The only happiness you'll ever find is from within,
and the only love you'll ever find is deep inside.

Intent on the final bell ring
declaring spring for reals
as we feel every inch
a bag of hammered turds

You will have heard the crack
in every colleague’s voice this term,
felt the glut of panics
that the journey home may be in a hearse

Still, it could be worse,
and when the rear view
shows a dwindling, darkening school,
we’ll spend two weeks pondering how,
exactly

I call you and you are upset.
You tell me how I make you feel,
Head reals and steals a beat from my chest.
Words mid flight killed by the silence
Of your end of the phone you,
Hung up.
I call again and try to explain and tell you
That we are both to blame
In this terrible mess,
Both to blame for our empty chests.
I just wa...
You hung up.
I dial hand shaking heart quaking,
Do not hang up again I am trying to
Say the things needed to be said.
And I remember how every effort scares you.
You say my words are not worth a thing
And then i realized
You are still...
Hung up.
silence
not
a
thing
has
changed
I  miss you.

I know you tried to tell me
That he didn’t really love me;
That it was all a figment
Of my mind.
You said you had to tell me
You were only being friendly
That you were really only
Being kind.

I can do without the drama
Go gossip with your Mama.
Maybe she will like to hear
What you invent.
I guess you’re really jealous of
The love we have between us.
It’s the logical to think that’s what
You meant.

Since you don’t really know us
Just because you’re feeling jealous
You didn’t think we’d feel this way
For reals.
But we know what we are doing
And ignore your double-dealing
And we even feel sorry for how
You feel.

We both wish you will have someday
The love like we have found together
And get over wishing others
Will be sad.
Love is something beautiful
And not something to cry about.
And we know when you find it
You’ll be glad.

I look at the future.
I look at the past.
I undo each suture.
I’m finished at last.
The scars are all healing.
The damage is done.
I have been left feeling.
That evil has won.

I grieve for the homeless
Who live in the street.
I feel their distress.
There are some you meet
In public heath clinics,
Or buying their dope.
I  hear all the cynics
Say there is no hope.

There are many out there
Relationships end.
There are some who don’t care
Although they pretend.
Your children reject you.
They don’t understand.
You need them but they too
Are there to demand

The gangs who are drinking
Stand outside the pubs.
Too drunk to be thinking
Their fists are mere clubs.
The young who are driving
Just seeking their thrills.
But never arriving.
Behaviour which kills.


The girls short of money,
Or merely seduced.
Sold for their honey.
Their lifespan reduced.
Some whose lives are shattered
Remain unfulfilled.
Their hopes may have mattered
Their voices are stilled.

I’m aware some succeed
Whilst others will fail.
Some are subject greed.
Some will go to jail.
I have witnessed sadness.
I have witnessed joys.
I have witnessed madness.
We are just God’s toys.

Life’s just a marathon
In which we compete.
Some try hard to go on.
Some do face defeat.
Life can be confusing.
I can’t see the point.
It is not amusing.
It’s all out of joint.

Colour has gone out of my life
I now live in shades of grey
I live on the edge of a knife
All the joy has gone away
I hoped that after eighty years
There would be much to enjoy
Yet I am overcome with tears
Sometimes trivial things will annoy
My world my life and my belief
Subject to review and grief

It is far from easy alone
I crave loving company
I have sinned I know I must atone
It is not enough for me
There is a life I want to share
Activities thoughts, ideals
I broadcast messages to air
An angler casting his reals
Hoping there is someone out there
Perhaps there is a life to share

She loves shiny things,
and perhaps that's the reason why
she adores all stars at night.

The only thing she doesn't like
is how all glittery magics disappear
when all her reals are gone
she was left to wipe
her eyes to dry.

She looks good
In my peripherals
For reals,
She likes to wear Prada
But she can rock nada,
That's her best designer
None finer
So imagine when
I look at her
Head on
It's like an oncoming semi
I'm crushed
A little weak in the knees
Her beauty
An onslaught
A myriad
Of unbelievable,
It can't just be me
I see the ocean of eyes
Locked on her,
Fortunate am I
If she only sees me
I'm but a peasant
To her my queen...

APAD16 - 010 © okpoet

my heart aches
to exercise itself

to feel
reals

and hands
that hold tight
to me

but my ribbed drawbridge
won't lower

To be yourself
even when it is not required
I show you tell the reals
from the fakes