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Khoi-San Apr 9
highly rated
well recommended
nothing to do with size and much to do with depth and quality of a relationship that is
DivineDao Mar 2016
Somebody has to invent
a secluded discovery of self
bonfire pyre the onomatopoetic
first initiatives regarding

lust love liberated arts
put the non pun material into stranger feelings
artistic   liberty    loves     last

rascal rear view open window rewined front replicability dashing windbathed laughing heads roaring roads to . . . . . .

Tea at five and toast happiness
           is Highly

recommended    na
recovery from a stunning poetry overboard
plummenting fascinations
overwhelming meaning motions u ndulation*s
I had to go and see my Doctor
For I was feeling rather dõwn
He took one look and said to me
You need to go out on The town.

He asked are you a heavy drinker
And do you drink alot of wine
I said whisky is my tipple
My preference every time.

He asked if I drink it often
I replied every single night
He laughed and said don't worry
That's perfectly alright.

He asked me what's my favourite blend
I said the Scottish highland malt
That's what they recommended
So the drinkings not my fault.

He asked do you eat much greasy food
Now that's something I can't deny
He suggested cooking frozen chips
They take less time to fry.

I asked Doctor what's your verdict
Is there anything you can do
He replied go out and have some fun
We are humans and our years are few.

So i am glad that I saw my Doctor
Now I am happy and I'm pleased
So go and see your Doctor
He will put your mind at ease.
I have a blood presure check tommorow
If my blood pressure is the same as last month
It will be a blood test.this poem is my way of dealing
With going to the Doctors.The sad news is my imaginary Doctor
Has taken early retirement, I don't no why.
Pixie Ellis Apr 2018
Dear Cute Boy At The Party,

It was nice meeting you. Again.

I bet you didn’t know you were the first person I ever flirted with. I bet you didn’t know I prepped for this date for a week. I bet you didn’t know how much my heart soared when you asked me out.

Thank you for telling me that I have a cute laugh. Thank you for telling me how much you wanted to see me again before I even left. Thank you for walking me back to the station.

It was nice talking to you.

I know when you complained about the chair, it was just an excuse to sit next to me. I know you want L to like you back. I know you deserve someone who treats you better.

It was nice that you finally messaged me, a week after the party.

But I bet you didn’t know how quickly I accepted the fact I’d never see you again. That I’ve already wrote you two poems and that I’m sat listening to the songs you recommended to me. Thank you for making me realise that the right guy will come along, but not right away. I thought I’d just be that girl at the party who’s name you can’t remember, or face you can’t place, but I was wrong.  

It was nice meeting you.

I‘m excited to see you again next week.

— p.d.e
I went out on a date with cute boy from the party, last night.
Paul Hansford May 2016
"Found poem", all the text lifted from a tourist pamphlet picked up in Crete, only very slightly edited.

There are daily buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge,
which is called Xyloskalo.
Buses say on the front "Omalos" and depart
from the central bus station.
By taking any of the morning buses you get to Xyloskalo
after one and a half hours.
At Xyloskalo there is a tourist pavilion
where you can get meals, drinks,
and which has only seven beds for staying overnight.
For those wishing to spend the night
on the Omalos plateau
there is another possibility, that of staying
at Omalos village itself, five kilometres before Xyloskalo,
where are two cafés providing several beds. From there
you get any of the morning buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge.
The length of the gorge is sixteen kilometres, and you need
five to six hours to walk through it. There is plenty
of drinking water all along the gorge. Tennis shoes
or walking boots are recommended. Camping,
overnight staying, smoking, hunting,
cutting and uprooting plants
are forbidden.
At the mouth of the gorge is Aghia Rouméli village,
which provides restaurants and accommodation.
From there you take boats
either to Sfakía (duration: one hour) or to Soughia
and Paleochora.
Remember that the last boat to Sfakía is at 17 hours,
which connects with the last bus to Chania at 18 hours.
Duration of the bus trip: two hours.
I just love the Greek names, and the slightly unconventional English of the text.
This poem is brought to you by the following:

Stick 'N Yank
The do-it-yourself Brazilian wax kit.
Guaranteed to leave you bare down there or your money back!

Recommended only for those with high pain thresholds. Keep out of the reach of hippies.

Cosmic Wafers
Blast off any dull lifeless party with the snack chip that's the equivalent of drinking a six-pack of beer. And it's gluten-free!

Remember to snack responsibly.

My First Hornet's Nest
Forget ant farms. Your kids will have an even better time learning about these flying insects, up close and personal. They can hang it from a ceiling, a tree, or underneath a car!

For ages 10 and up. Hornets sold separately.
Inspired by fellow HP poet BLT.
Note: none of these "products" actually exist...yet.
agrios Jun 30
and im
on my
can of
soda i
had two

ive thought
of you five
times in the
past 60secs
i dont know
if you truly
love me but
i will pretend
you do until
i know otherwise

im not tired

im not sad

i cant think

do you love
me like you
love them?

whats it like
to be in their

im listening to
the song you

still on my
third can of

im so afraid
to tell you that
i love you
Dawnstar Feb 5
On that bleak frontier, thousands suffered
For the Emperor's cruel project;
Men with hollow stomachs making endless mounds
To fashion his recreation hall.
The monster was alike to its creation:
Heartless in the handling of generals.
When Li Guang, an expert strategist,
Fell into the hands of barbarians,
He played possum and seized a horse,
Riding for nine miles to rejoin his men,
Spitting arrows at his pursuers.
After bringing his troop safely home,
He was recommended for execution.
...Woe befalls he who settles there,
Where exhausted horses go to pace,
Where the crows are the only ones eating.
Should the rice harvest fail, a soldier will go
To the red northern gate and die unmourned.
The fruits of the south are sweet in all seasons,
But the fruit of the Long Wall is ruin and death.
LearnfromBOBD Dec 2018
OluwaFisayomi my inamorata
If ever two were one, then surely we are.
If ever I love you dreamboat, yes I am’
I prized my love more than the whole mines of gold,
And all the wealth that the rich does hold’
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor like a recommended lens’
Our love for each other is clear, that no man can repay.
The heavens reward our truthfulness, I pray.
Then while we live in love let’s serve God,
That when we live no more, we live forever up’
Where are the stars that show us to our love, And we gon’ live our whole young old lives away In the joys of a living God’
Your body and soul are divine,
With a lovely fragrant with heavenly wine’
So kiss me Temi with your cold dry lips,
So I can hold you tight and sing you hymns’ Not what you think, but give me the love that so free please’
To my one and honey dreamboat
My life
like this.

Step 1.

Anticipate your audience. (Hi Pam)

Prove it with prudence

Unrelenting self-improvement.

Involuntary inducement (if it's slam)

Step 2.

Recite. Relapse. Reconvene. Review. Recommended.

Be always

obscenely you.

Step 3.

Edit you edict. Transform. Improve. Reprove.

Step 4.


Step 5.


Step 6.


Step 7.

Permit free interpretation.

Wait on high


what happens

upon the sea of words and waves of wisdom and rhythm.
Nnaemeka Mokeme Nov 2018
Victory over victory
means excellent
and good success.
Smiles over success
can be contagious.
It is a good sickness
to share with others.
It's infection is
really encouraging.
This is the only
disease ladies are
willing to show off when
their men contacts it.
Doctors recommended,
pharmacist orders it,
and nurses injects it,
wives are thrilled by it.
It is a bitter drug
worth taking.
One capsule daily
dose drives poverty
fever away,
and keep ailing
mediocrity at bay.
It attracts mosquitoes,
that's  parasites free.
Without it nothing
worthwhile works out.
Success is everything.
It has an attitude,
It has a voice,
a very powerful one.
Put it into action and
all doors opens,
goes to war and
settles disputes.
Can unlock every door
that refuses to open.
It answers all things.
Children are trained and
groomed to have it.
Pursued by everyone
by any means necessary.
Great risks are taken
because of it.
Those of the dark side of
life kills because of it,
anything can happen just
to possess it.
You are nobody
when success
eludes you.
Even nations goes
to war just to keep it.
To be powerful and influential,
it must be in your abode.
To be successful is awesome.
But you must plan and
work hard to have it.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jordan Rains Apr 2018

I was napping
Woke up all of a sudden  
Don't know why I feel like
Something bad is gonna happen
Now I need to find my pen

Been battling anxiety & depression for few years
And there's more that you probably don't wanna hear

No one knows how much pain I bear
All they see are the fake smiles I wear

Somedays all I want is someone near
Sitting next to me and I hope they would say
Don't worry! Everything is going to be okay
Today is not the end, tomorrow is another day

You know, when **** happens
I am not able to find what I had once

Both good and bad moments I had tons
Now it's just darkness

And that's why I write
To bring the light into my life so I can fight
my enemies who are hiding in the darkness of the night

And one day I might run out of ink
And when it does, I don't think
there will be much left of me
And the leftovers will be swept off to the sea
of bipolar depression, mania, and anxiety
Man! I don't want that for me

Truth is, I just wanna be me
Like this, on a writing spree
So, I can stay forever free
And rest under the shades of poetry

So here I am
At 3 in the morning
Awake as night, trying to fight
All the demons inside my head
So, I can move ahead
And leave my enemies mourning and trembling, in dread
And end this chapter once and for all- dropdead!

I know it's easy to say
But the reality is somewhat different
There's only one way
And when I look ahead, I only see the end
I simply pretend to be happy all the time
The only time you get to see the real me is when I rhyme

At nights, anxiety and I are a team
For me, sleeping is like a dream
You know what I mean- that **** never happens
Because racing thoughts never slacken
And when my days blacken
Uninvited thoughts come to my mind
They pull up the roller blinds
Letting darkness enter my mind
I close my eyes but they make me blind
And when they hit rewind
I go back to my past to find what I left behind
And what I always find is more thoughts intertwined

I always find it hard to fall asleep
I even tried counting sheep
But **** it! It never worked, I just keep
thinking about things that I don't wanna think
I told all of this to my shrink
Because of this ****
I'm not able to keep my life in order
Even he doesn't know why I developed this disorder

Somedays I can do many things
Somedays I cannot do anything
Somedays I feel like a king
Somedays I feel like I'm nothing
Somedays I cannot even do the simplest thing
Feels like I'm always on the brink
Slowly shrinking to nothing

Anxiety hoodwinked me into thinking
That I'm a distraught soul
And my life stands for nothing
but pain, stress and worrying thoughts

I know I worry a lot
Even about the fraught relationships I've got
I'm not able to hold all these thoughts

I'm slowly slipping off like a broken rope
I'm tired, I tied a million knots
but there are novemdecillion thoughts
So, a couple of pills I pop
Still no hope, I'm an undying mope

It doesn't matter how many battles I've fought
This time I lost, I'm not a dreadnought
Don't know how many more rhymes I need to jot
down to stop my mind from getting trapped in nomadic thoughts

I'm cutting my veins on both my arms
Death clouds on top of my head- my blood flows
There are blood spots on my bed top
Wait a minute!
What the heck am I writing?
Is this a death note?

Next morning, the dead wakes
With ******* headaches
My mind and heart are having a debate
I hate me when I can't think straight

My mind is a prison and I'm the inmate
I don't wanna repeat my mistakes
I doubled the pills I usually take

While making decisions, I contemplate
Every possible outcome I calculate
But I'm extremely anxious, I change lanes
Followed by the unknown, no nameplates
They tailgate, I'm in a dire strait

Au fait with this mess but I conflate
Everything I've got, I don't take things the way they are
But I have to go very far
Oh, wait! I think I'm carrying too much weight
Need to stop hauling freight
Before I break down, I need to hit the brakes

Somehow I reach my office but I'm late
It's like a disaster waits for me at the front gate
And as I step in, I'm gifted with more
I slowly open the door
Feels like this day I've lived before

I'm shambling towards a dangling bait
All I can do is keep on rambling. Wait!
Have no idea what's written on my fate
I don't know why my heart is beating at a faster rate
I'm not able to concentrate
Even the simplest thing I complicate
I hope there's someone who can relate
to all the tales I narrate

So, here I go again
I sent a text to my friend 15 minutes ago
Why didn't I receive a reply yet?

Maybe the network is slow or maybe the text didn't go
I should check my phone now; Oh no!
It has been marked as read 10 minutes ago

Did I say something wrong? I don't know
Maybe I did or maybe I didn't
I check my phone hoping new notifications it will show
But it didn't; I think something's wrong

Should I text a hello?
So I sent a few texts in a row
My mind's in overdrive as more thoughts start to flow

Maybe the phone's battery's low
And like this, I go, there is no stop
Oh god! What should I do?
Feels like everything is falling apart

This feeling is not new
Still, I'm worried to go through
I wish there was a how-to guide
to peacefully & happily live your life

I just wanna be carefree and happy
But I know, it's never happening
Maybe the day I die will be
The happiest day in my life


My mind is on overdrive.
I can't let go of this anxiety clouding my mind.

Incessant worry all the time.
People telling me "it's okay, you'll be fine."
They don't understand how anxiety affects my mind, my body.
My whole life.
Most of the time I just want to crawl in a corner and hide.

Irritable and restless, my mind begins to race.
I can't concentrate.
My breath runs short and I feel like I can't breathe.

Peace and quiet is what I need.
But the world keeps spinning around me.

My face turns red.
Inside, I feel a sense of dread.
I tell myself to quit while I'm ahead.

Just let my worries go.
I wish it were that simple.

Every day is a battle
when you are fighting against yourself.

I have an inner struggle
buried deep inside but hide it well.

I bury it so deep,
no one can tell.

I am in a brawl with my demons all the time.
No matter how hard I try,
I can't escape the darkness of my own mind.

I feel trapped.
I feel alone.
I feel like no one can hear my screams.
Too often I get lost in vanishing hopes and unreachable dreams.

Happiness dangles in front of me like bait
dangling in front of a fish.
I wonder if I will ever experience true bliss.
Or if it will always be hit and miss.

Happiness likes to tease me.
I try my best to live freely and be happy.
Anxiety and depression take over every time.

My mind is never pleased.
I can never fully be at ease.

My brain is self-destructive.
Always beating itself up.
I just want to tell it to shut up.

I wish there were a switch I could flip
to turn off the anxiety in my mind.
If only shutting off my anxiety was as simple
as hitting a light switch.

We can't all get what we wish for.
I accept my anxiety as part of me.
I manage it, I live it every day.
There are days where I really struggle.
Others where I'm okay.

If you're okay, take a walk in my shoes
Let me tell you a secret, only a few people knew.
Now it feels like a lifetime ago.
It started because of my depression and anxiety.
When I was a teen I used to cut myself.

I never told my parents,
that I used to take a razor to my wrist.
It was a feeling I couldn't resist.

The razor called out my name.
Every bad thing that happened in my life,
I was to blame.
Cutting myself was a way to escape
To a temporary place where only I could go.

I could give myself the pain I deserved
for everything that I did wrong and those
that I hurt.

Cutting myself gave me temporary relief
from all the pain I harbored inside.
From time to time, I took the razor to my arm.
I was already ******* up I didn’t think it would anymore harm.
I hide it well, covered my arm in long-sleeve shirts. So, one could see a trace of my hidden pain.
I wanted to keep it tame.
Under wraps, so my life wouldn’t continue to collapse.

My whole life was a charade, one big lie.
I faked smiles and happiness.
Yet deep inside, I wondered how long I would have to go on like that.
I eventually stopped because I realized I was only adding to the chaos of my own personal hell.

And on a night where I was dark and depressed.
At my bitter end.
I downed a bottle of prescription pills.
Luckily there were only five left.

I felt the pills lurch deep within my body, begin to leave side effects.
I was on edge and wondered what would happen next.

Taking five times more than my recommended dose.
Almost left me comatose.
I learned my lesson.
I will never do that again.

Sometimes I tell myself anxiety is the price
I must pay for all the mistakes I have made.

I know that isn't true.
The thought fades.
But my anxiety remains, locked in place.

Anxiety is like having a demonic voice
In the back of my head.
It fills me with worry and self-doubt.
Tells me I am better off dead.

I get so frustrated.
I don't know if I want to cry or shout.
Sometimes I do both.

I vent to others and let it all out.
Yet I don't feel like they truly understand
unless they have experienced mental
Illness themselves.

Anxiety is an illness, but it is not like the cold or flu.
Medication can help it, but it will never truly go away.

I don't want to be dependent on pills.
My whole life I have tried to handle
depression and anxiety myself.

This might be the time to ask for help.
To realize I'm not alone
Mental illness is a solitary battle but there is hope.
born in 1975
40 odd beat  
song now old
enough to buy a cold

cold drink

We're hitting funk levels that shouldn't even be possible.
recommended algorithm
for your ears only
We're hitting funk levels that shouldn't even be possible.

come band
funk funkier,
summon Brown
back from the dead.

Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
what’s your count
Feel this beat
Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55,

seek me the vodoooo advice
quick turn to  23/16
probably overhearing
overhearing what is truly not there 

it's my juju baby

over the speed limit
sound so slow
150 BPM
we’ve gone over the speed limit
billion BPM
and a

direct line to NASA
monitored funk levels
from outer space

audio crackcocaine
legal be it \
speed deep beat

band come
come come


Brown sermons
back from the dead.

James loves  
brown brow
tall dark seregeti

Mandingo beat

Khoudia Diop Repeats
If they got any funkier,
they'd summon James Brown
back from the dead

Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
what’s your count
Feel this beat
Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55,

Warning: Do not turn the speed up to two.
double WITCHED

If speed is increased, wash eyes

Khoudia Diop Repeats
wash your eyes
ice cold


speed of sound
quicken your pace
release your soul

seek me
the vodoooo advice.

levels of funkiness been
never imagined

born in 1975
40 odd years ago.
song now old
enough to buy a cold

seek me
thee vodoooo advice.
I have beaten about
this beat before.
Luz Hanaii Apr 11
When introverts ruled the world,
Everyone went home after work on Fridays.
Traffic improved on the streets and highways.
Road rage was a thing of the past.
Poetry sites exploded with new members.
Sales of books and video games went up.
Studies in philosophy, psychology, art, music and writing went up.
Socializing and gossip at work subsided and production went up.
Abusive empty charterers were cited.
No loud music or parties that keep neighbors up were aloud.
Conversations were no longer one sided.
Those who rarely spoke finally were heard.
Classrooms had more participation, rather than the usual
loud mouth students taking over, making the shy students quiet and withdrawn.
Being an extrovert became frowned upon requiring therapy to learn to control any spontaneous outbursts of loud talking and rash energetic forms of behavior.

Introverted experts wrote articles and books on how to educate and control constant chatter and the desire to outshine others.
Anxiety went down for the introverts and also the use of alcohol, tranquilizers and sleeping aids.
On the other hand extroverts became bored and had to learn ways to keep themselves happy and amused.

Psychologists saw many extroverted patients, who suffered from boredom, frustration, sadness and suicidal thoughts.
Therapist recommended the extroverts to meditate, take new hobbies, crafts and poetry to keep themselves sane.
Many also had to take classes on hesitation, over thinking, being more in their heads and how to conduct fewer but deep conversations over shallow ones.  Extroverts had to find secluded places in order to conduct themselves in a loud manner with other extroverts.

Only introverted presidents and government officials were chosen.  These new presidents and government officials were sensitive, intuitive, empathetic and conscientious towards the well being of the citizens and the earth.
Wars were only read about in history books.
The peace and quiet that rained on the planet was such a welcome relief for the introverted citizens of earth.
Please take no offense dear extroverts, this is all just in fun.
Had a hard time sleeping so I started writing last night and it got a little
too long for a poem.
Leslie Offerd Mar 31
I am at double Four-double Four
Thirty-Fourth Street,
I could use a lift of sorts.
I would like to remain nameless,
my condition certainly is not.

My being seems out of place;
I have tried to keep focused.
The last group of days
have blurred together;
meaning lessens by define.

A bent key, I hold in my hand,
the remnant of a jagged world
unfulfilled by expectation;
of which I no longer fit.
Learned techniques fail me.

I was given this number,
by a caring friend;
said it would lead me
to truthful people.
Deemed credible I choose.

How I have hope, which is never lost!
Without reluctance I continue -
to the recommended anonym auditor;
tranquility listens further
to me
Beana Feb 2
You know your life is crazy
When getting eight hours of sleep is like
a daisy in a field of dandelions

You know your life is crazy
When you get eight hours of sleep and think
you must be forgetting something

You know your life is crazy
When you think getting eight hours of sleep
on a weekday is too much

You know your life is crazy
When you think getting the recommended amount of sleep
on a weekday means something is wrong
because it's just not normal

You think your life is crazy
When you walk around half dead from tiredness
But is it really crazy when everyone else around you is the same?
Dan Oct 5
The First World War destroyed anything beautiful that existed within the human spirit
You cannot simply walk away from industrial mass slaughter unaltered
You cannot hide it behind decades later mass slaughters of equal importance
You cannot hide behind getting excited for next mass slaughter
WW1 may have been the force that killed anyone’s feelings of honor or bravery in war
And that’s almost as great a tragedy as all the bloodlines severed
War and violence and conflict will always be with us
It is deep within all animal DNA and no matter how many daisies are put into the barrels of rifles you will never escape it
There is a great tragedy to violence but at times there is a beauty and there is a necessity
When the Soviet forces finally breached the walls of the Führerbunker
Don’t you think they were smiling?
Reality is never black and white
It is shades of tragedy, shame, beauty, and glory

It may be seen as “Eurocentric” of me, among other things, to carry WW1 with this weight
It was not a purely European conflict of course, but the main theater was
Besides, I am descended from Europeans, and some nights when all is silent I wonder if I can hear my ancestors weeping
Or are they screaming?
We as a species have allowed our greatest inheritance to be squandered
Pure wild nature
We have sold it for same Starbucks coffee shop in every college town, Kroger, and corner of New York City
We sold the forests for New York City
Are some sins unforgivable?
In the place of the old growths we build buildings of subjective beauty
Subjective beauty always bows to objective beauty
Yes, there is objective beauty
Buildings that are built in the Brutalist style are subjectively beautiful
Forests, undeveloped fields of flowers, the rushing flow of a river
To argue otherwise makes you a liar or a coward

Unironic nihilists have none of my respect
They simply do not deserve it
If you want to be taken seriously find something greater than yourself
Something outside yourself
Something that came before you, exists above you, and will be there long after you are not
That’s why I chose God and Nature
Some see these as interchangeable
I do not but I’m not here to split hairs
The problem with modern society is we have become ironic nihilists, which is almost as bad
Everything becomes chalked up to subjectivity
We crack jokes about how it’s all meaningless and eventually down the line we believe it
This is a pathetic cope
The meaning of our lives, like the objectively beauty of nature, has been bought or stolen
You were not born to consume product
You were not born to work and make things of cheap plastic
You were not born to enjoy next superhero movie, twice a year, every year, until you die
To our ancestors our lives now must seem like decades long suicide pacts
I want out of this state of unliving
We were born to be physically strong
We were born to create things of beauty
We were born to meet hardships, embrace conflict, overcome them, conquer them become something superior to what you once were
Just please
Don’t be a nihilist

I try to take my multivitamin and multi mineral vitamin every single morning
Maybe a fish oil pill or two throughout the day
I have become consumed with the idea of getting more sun on my skin
I have been consumed with the idea of improving my gut bacteria
I want to talk about these things without sounding like Patrick Bateman
To improve your inner flora it is recommended you replace processed and fried foods with sauerkraut, kimchi, yogurt, kefir, or something along those lines
I know sunshine and sauerkraut aren’t going to fix your depression or rid you of your years of trauma
But there’s no shame in trying
On Friday I bought a full 16oz jar of kimchi and proceeded to eat the entire thing in less than 24 hours
I will never apologize
I will never feel shame

I scream all of these things into a bathroom mirror when I am alone
I wrote this poem for myself
I wrote it for all of you
I want out of this soul crushing alienating techno industrial hellscape
I want the nightmare to end but I’m in too deep
If I melt down my cell phone, crash my car into an empty Wendy’s, and make it my moral and ethical duty to take down the power grid, I may get expelled from grad school
I might get arrested
I might just be forgotten
So for sake of legality I cannot endorse looking up how a cheap bandsaw can cut down a cell tower
I do no endorse bringing the technological nightmare to its knees for the good of all living things
I do not endorse arson, even when no one gets hurt
It’s a mean world out there
I only endorse breaking free
Any way you can
patty m Oct 11
In the the Forest of Time and Whispers there grew a wondrous tree hidden among all other trees and here and there were caves and odd rock formations . Old and bearded-gray this tree had survived ten thousand summers.  Nothing very much happened until one particular day.  Somewhere deep beneath the ground tunneling upward was a little worm.  Not an everyday worm but a worm consumed with the desire to learn as much knowledge as possible and to put that knowledge to good use.

Was it accident that he rose above ground where the wise tree's roots were being chomped by carpenter ants whose aim it was to bore through and take down the tree and the entire forest if it stood it their way?  Now our little worm had once lived in a castle and had been blessed to see the most wondrous of all things, BOOKS.  Books were rare, and only the very rich could possess them.  He wasn't sure how he learned to read, he only knew that he could and when volumes were left open, he memorized them line by line.  Once he was reading when the Princess Beatrice came in.  Not wanting to be caught he tried to hide, but to his consternation she saw him and worried that this worm might eat or ruin the parchment pages.  So after countless years of study he was thown out the window by a servant, landing somewhere on the side of the moat outside the castle walls.  How sad the little book worm was. But it seems he was destined for something more important.  Upon seeing the ants attacking the old roots of the tree he searched around and found a Maple tree. Begging in his biggest worm voice, he asked for a little maple sugar on a fallen leaf.  "Why should I," asked the Maple?   The worm explained that carpenter ants were particularly found of sweets and loved honey and syrup best of all, and if he could spare a bit, he might be able to save the old tree, in fact he might save all the trees and the animals and birds who lived among them.

He had a plan if he could just obtain the needed ingredients.  He would make a glue and swipe it across some fallen leaves and then coat them with a bit of maple sugar.  The ants wouldn't be able to resist it and they would become stuck to the leaves and the tree would be saved. So the Maple agreed and the worm worked all night hoping he remembered the recipe correctly.  With the help of some birds, and a rabbit all was put in place.  Soon the ants swarmed to the old tree ready to bore his roots which would have been disasterous, when suddenly they discovered something too wonderful to resist.  The scent of that maple sugar was like manna from heaven and quickly they all found their way to the coated leaves and became stuck fast.  Unable to move the entire swarm was imprisoned and soon died or were eaten by critters or birds.  The tree bent it's limbs and thankfully caressed the little worm imparting whispered secrets never before heard.  A bound of undying friendship was made that day in forest of yore.  Only the very fortunate were allowed to hear their varied conversations, or strategic moves.  The worm gave the tree something he didn't have previously, flexibility and a true conversationalist and an avid debater and a binding friendship was struck.  The tree bloomed over night and his beard was no longer gray but black, as if he had regained his youth.  Some say it was the fruit of knowledge he bore, others say apples but with a delicious flair having a taste of something totally enchanting and spicy.  The worm too changed, becoming very learned, and he too grew to larger proportions and sprouted limbs, arms and hands and even legs and he had a very professor like voice.

The forest flourished and soon there were villagers who swore by the worm's remedies.  Soon word spread, of the miracles that had taken place there deep in the forest.  The princess Beatrice was so saddened by the illness of her father that she grasped at any straw.  Un-chaperoned she ventured out in the guise of a lowly servant to see if the stories were true.  How she prayed it was so and that there was a cure that could save him.  The birds were the first to see her, and not even her poor disguise could hide her beauty, so they guided her gently over fallen logs and around bogs, to the sacred place in the hollow. There she spied a very scholarly worm, sitting cross legged on the root of a magnificent tree, deep in conversation.  She bowed downed before them and begged for their help, all pride forgotten in hope of saving her father the King.  The worm recognized her instantly, but she didn't recognize him, for he had grown in stature and wisdom and possessed a very scholarly demeanor.  But the worm was kind, as was the tree, for friendship had softened their hearts.  The worm listened to her tale of woe and then there was a great discussion.  An elixir was recommended and love and patience too.  The worm offered to return with her to the castle so he could see her father and make further recommendations.  It was in the castle, watching the worm turn the pages of a multitude of books that Beatrice remembered who he was and felt her spirits drop at her own cruelty.  But the worm was kind and in a few weeks her father was returned to health.  They wanted to make him chief physician of the land a very notable post, but the worm missed his friend and wanted to go back to his home in the forest.

And so it was that the forest was then put under the protection of the King and all his heirs and theirs, and theirs of generations that followed.  The kingdom thrived with the knowledge of two, one of books and one of secrets no one knew, and they lived some say they still do, deep in the shadowy heart of the forest.
SJG Nov 18

Oh, a mystic dive into the night wreck,
Long lowering into the sea at night,
With the ghost of old Europe rifling by.

And the monster at the bottom of the ocean
Is already defeated. Don’t worry, child.
Just count forty-thousand sheep and go to sleep
Under the protection of the all-night light.

Don’t let your bad self sidle by.
Learn to love that guy.

And don’t feel depressed unless you feel depressed;
Sometimes the mornings are the worst first thing
But there’s always the worst second thing
Or the worst third thing around the bend, friend.

The terrorists of theory are standing by high windows.
The palaces excommunicating weirdos,
Their loose tongues waggling gospel fire.

And, man, keep stepping on toes.
You’re an ambulance waiting to happen.
You’re so ******* fine.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’ve gotten so far.
Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’ve gotten so far.

Trapped in a body that doesn’t matter.
Junk shop clothes will still be with you
When you decide to get fatter.
Your frozen pizza will thaw.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’ve gotten so far.
Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’re getting so far.

Bureaucrats of the revolution and poor technicians of desire,
The fascist in me is deader than ever, a hearth without fire;
And whatever’s left, a lit candle melting into a pool of hot wax
Under a furious sun.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’re getting so far.
Don’t let me down. Come back around.
You’re getting so far.

Escape the tyranny of morons,
With their cheap seated beliefs,
Their dog whistling and dead eyed truck rallies.
Their provocations veiling their mothers’ scorn.

Just learn that nothing here matters.
Winning or losing does not matter.
Don’t be swayed into that violent mob.
Don’t take the bait of despots in flux.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’re going so far.
Don’t let me down. Come back around.
You’re going so far.


Marx and Beckett held my head,
And placed nice clean sheets on my nice dry bed.
And they read me a story, but I fell asleep;
Oh, my baby doll darling,
Oh, the things you won’t keep.


A crack. The smashing of skulls on silver platters.
The sons and daughters of hungry ghosts in the half-light
All roughed around and battered.
Big ideas rain upon a helpless little fawn.

Don’t cry, because Argentina’s on camera.
She’s lovely and you’re flattered.
She’s lovely for all time.

Plastic shovels degrade on a rocky shore.
Are those phantoms upset that they must walk
These silent coastlines forevermore?
Did extinction come because we were evil,
Or did it come because we could not believe
In good or evil anymore?
Where will poetry stand in the fire, the front or back?
Should poetry be retrieved by inhuman hands?

I love my family.
I love my friends.
I love the people who told me,
It doesn’t matter where you stand in the end.
And if I could, I would make a living
From celebrating them.
And if I could, I would take this blow-up pulpit to sea,
Then sail it to Sacavém.

The image of reality projected everywhere
At the expense of reality itself.
Casios mass-produced in factories; songwriters as well.
And if you’re unfortunate enough to love me, baby,
Then poke one or two more holes in your belt;
Because I’m as good as words.


Angeles, yours to keep,
Mountain high, river deep.
Try holding on to nothing,
But nothing slips.
Oh, Angeles, more than this?


I draw a chalk circle around me.
I think of a number.
I see your face in the flames.
I give that number to your heart.

When that ghost flies into the room,
We’ll have some words.
We’ll talk until our positions oppose
Our original sides.

We’ll talk about going back in time
And living again as a boy.
We’ll talk about becoming so mean.
We’ll wonder if our beds have been made,
And how we’re both more or less already dead.

Already dead. It’s buckets of fun.
Already dead. It’s the grasping of something
That can not be stowed.
Already dead. The falling of the moon
And the disintegration of the sun,
And of course, the neutral snow.
Already dead. Already dead.


So, tank up. Get right.
That shining colossus in the sky
Has faded from sight.
And what’s art – your concerns?
Whatever ails or aids you,
Use it tonight.

Sheep’s liver. Beef tongue.
The gall bladder of a particularly aggrieved foal
Flops out into an otherwise deserted field.
And what’s us? Who’s they?
Don’t relate because they relate to it,
Or pretend to, or whatever they say;
Don’t jive around the issue in fear of shame;
You love some of music and you love some of life.

They said they had the inside lane over me,
I’d like to see them try.
They, like I, are caught in the status machine,
And nothing’s worthwhile until its monetised.

If you want to be oblique, be oblique.
Be cryptic, distant, formalist, and insane.
Your heart is a yolk? That’s cool,
My heart’s a yolk as well and framing it that way
Makes me feel swell.

They presented the wrong hypothesis over me;
I couldn’t write.
They, like I, buy and sell ideas until the ideas
Bend to the realm of most money;
Ain’t that nice?


Try to make ends meet. Every star is dying.
And the word on the street is a whole lot of crying.

Sample the fauna
With norma-sub-a-culture.
New ways of living are gross;
But the way things were ain’t exactly great.
Licking dinner plates.
Tickling the ivories until our fingers lock shutter shut.

Looking into your eyes was like a present
A birthday present from a ghost.

An idle fancy
Of a beautiful twisted fantasy.
A gun in the mouth.
A toothpick in the back pocket
Of a diabetic pig.

Love lights shine from heaven;
Seven operators (seven!)
Going wherever the Svengali goes.
Oh. Oh. (Oh.)


Made a killing in the post taste years,
My fears were their fears,
My qualms were their qualms
And we would quash them collectively
While I received money.

Now, my observations are the wall.
My ideas are what the latest ****** keep kicking against.

But once I was beautiful.
Once I was right.


And the garden will speak its last rites
And I almost won’t cry.

And the sadness will be like compost
With roses growing so bright.

And the gate will be fixed
With a fresh lick of paint alright.

And on each other we shall depend.


Stuck watching the same fifteen minutes of Ice Station Zebra,
Waiting for the future, waiting for the future to call around again.
A temporal nostalgia, a frozen dream,
Every image could be our new best friend.

And I lie awake in Ice Station Zebra.
And I lie awake in Ice Station Zebra.


Hey, green eyes. Hey, dark blonde hair.
You can lie as long as you mean it, I guess.
You can walk yourself down the aisle,
And you’re better marrying yourself alone.
Start dreaming again. Start dreaming of the sea.
Start dreaming of a head free of loose fuzz
And faceless waste.
Start working because you’re getting old.
Start floating fascinated by hummingbirds.

I wanted to see you because I wanted to see,
I wanted to see you because I wanted to see,
I wanted to see you because I wanted to see you alone.


Say what it is.
Say the fragments as they go.
Up the tube to the watching room you never see,
But it’s another somewhere at least.

And while hell is winning,
The autodidacts have no place to begin;
Their frames of reference shaking in the wind.

And while hell is winning,
The future and the past are two open empty doors;
The ghosts of your life blow wilder than before.

Drawing an incantation across the boiler room walls.
The echo of activity upstairs,
Does not interest me anymore.

And while hell is winning,
We mannequins look blankly to our feet;
Amongst the carnage of the abattoir floor,
The ghosts of our lives whirring louder than before.

And while hell is winning,
Capital is all that stands, and all our states care to defend;
The ghosts of our lives speaking loudest in the end.


I heard the Parisian intellectual wing
Are holed up in their lamp-lit rooms
With no way out,
Just writing screeds against the structural failings of reality.
And sometimes, some nights,
They catch their reflections beneath their mirror lights,
And they don’t, they don’t see themselves quite right.

Adopting a higher law can be fatal,
Especially in the throes of a manic episode.
A fear of music may be well-founded,
Particularly in drawn out gentrified scenes
Where they’ve up-hiked the entrance fees for dreams.
Dreams. Dreams from racketeering ceremonies.

They’re kissing up the neck of the wreck with too much feeling and poor working memory.
They want him crossed beneath the legs and nailed to the waves, my baby.
They’re thinking it might be fruitful, at least cheap,
To grind us down until we’re enough to keep
With the dreams of ******* ceremonies.

Death by longing loves
With not a positive alternative to hold you back.
Just crack your whip against the pavement
Like you’re in the midst of an August heatwave.
Language of bad descending dreams.
Word sudokus for the kings and queens
To glance over stark intentions and starker mistakes.

I heard the medical world could: Knock. You. Out.
So take whatever’s left in your purse and spend it on Saturdays.
Adorned by candle light, hope those lost coastlines
Will see us right. I love you. I love you.
I love you like a tundra waiting for acid rain.


How’ve you been holding, my baby?
Haven’t seen you much here lately.
The news all the time tells me lies upon lies.
And it’s not like I believe,
It’s more that I don’t care how or why
People far away congregate to do everything aside from what’s right.

And suffering? Where should it all go?
Industrialists drown the world in exchange for gold.
Oh, so you already know, huh?
It doesn’t matter when, and it doesn’t matter if we stay friends,
Because I love this place like a house party
Where the hosts struggle to have fun
Because I’m one of those guests that nobody really knows
And stays way too long.

The hosts all the time tell me lies upon lies,
But my taste in music is better,
And I’ve read more into the literature
Than a cursory glance through the introduction
Or a retweet of a paragraph stolen from context
To impress a girl living three seas away.
The hosts all the time tell me lies upon lies,
But I love this place because I’m still its baby,
It hasn’t been so sweet on me lately;
Its hosts all the time tell me lies upon lies,
But I know what is wrong and I know what is right.
And I love this place like only a failure can,
I love the quiet before everything bad which happened happens again,
And it’s back to breathing uneasily in the dark
For another couple hundred years, Sam.

The future’s pulling into the station, Bambi.
Promise never to leave without me?


Gauge the temperature, Bambi;
What did you have in mind when they were reading
Your last rites from previous scenes?
There is a community our algorithm recommended
If you’re tired of keeping it all in.

You thought art would break the shackles of youth,
Not another something telling you what to do.
Artless writer who never learned to sing, oh-oh.
You’re not a monster. The public can sing along.

Where’s your side-eye, Bambi?
Did it turn its gaze back on you?
You could be working for 26 hours a day in the ideology mines
If any of this mattered to you.
You’re not a monster. The public can sing along with you.
You’re not a rock star.
You’re the gravedigger, exhumer, recently fired hip priest, oh-oh.

I heard back from Yale, and the sleeping demon has bones,
The sleeping demon is not pleased with you.
The seven-headed beast is dead-drunk,
And the ***** of Babylon is wondering where in hell you’ve exactly gone.

You thought art would break the shackles of youth,
Going by what the Ferris wheel told you.

You ain’t a lifestyle. You ain’t here to be placed in a scene.
Beneath better work is something like this.

You are expectations too stupid to ever stand.
I understand!
You are expectations too stupid to ever stand.
I understand! Oh-oh-Oh.


I thought the future would be
Standing in queues for the groceries
On the peaceful side of town.


I opened a black hole into my room,
Ephemera came pouring out too soon.
I don’t know what is wrong or right
But still, I try.

Eagle feathers around my head.
Two rebellious springs sharpen my bed.
I don’t know how to get through this alive
But I still try.

The fear of the love, the fear of the light.
The fear of the love, the fear of the light.
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