(Matthew, xiii.3)

Ye sons of earth prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground;
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.

The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.

The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.

The beaten path and highway side,
Receive the trust in vain;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.

But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy field,
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!

Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same Hand that give me seed
Provide a fruitful place!

Dad’s passing spans 18 months beginning with lung cancer surgeon removes left lung  for 6 weeks he receives radiation treatments Dad gains strength everyone gives thumbs up within several months doctors discover cancer spread to tumor in brain head shaved tumor removed skull resembles stitched baseball Dad lapses into twilight state body shrinks everyone knows his life is ending doctors and family wait for cancer to attack vital ***** only matter of time in january 1991 iraqi scud missiles launch at israel Odysseus in lobby of movie theater when he hears news calls Mom from telephone booth she asks if he is ok nothing could prepare him for horror he feels witnessing Dad slowly die Mom Penelope Odysseus quite vulnerable during this time dependent on trained intensive-care nurse to watch over Dad at home administer drugs monitor condition nurse able-bodied to guide or carry Dad to bathroom assist in his goings cleaning him Mom hires several nurses who each borrow money from her and Penelope Sean each nurse never repays loan and steals jewelry from Mom other belongings from house once a week Odysseus takes Dad out to lunch accompanied by nurse Odysseus places cap with bulls insignia on Dad’s bald stitched-up head Dad nods gives high-five Odysseus talks about feats michael jordan and entire team perform Dad avid fan Odysseus drives Dad nurse in toyota to favorite lunch spots Dad has no appetite no words but manages frail smile in august 1991 Odysseus has first one-man show at prestigious gallery run by Keith ******* Keith published Odysseus in college literary magazine decade earlier 17 large color field scapes hang on two long walls Dad too ill to attend opening never sees show in film documentary shot at gallery by Sean Odysseus explains “the work is about opening up possibilities clean slates for new worlds rawest moment of narrative very beginning of story all we are presented with is stage i’m scared of story right now suspicious of story don’t even want to deal with story once story starts then everything gets messed up all these things happen at this point in story it’s just this exciting stage full of possibilities full of potential the very beginning and you don’t know what is presented yet” near end of Dad’s struggle in late summer Odysseus asks Mom and Penelope to allow him to visit father alone in hospital they reluctantly consent Dad lying semiconscious in bed Odysseus holds back tears looks at withered father Dad breathes inconsistent occasional fluttering eyelids Odysseus begins to talk aloud about their lives together wonders if Dad reached his goals? does he feel fulfilled with life? is he prepared for death? Dad is 71 years old does he feel cheated of time? did Odysseus disgrace Dad or make him proud? Odysseus feels guilt suspects he may have embarrassed even shamed Dad wonders if Dad deep in his heart believes Odysseus is sad disappointment? he forces words out of his mouth “Dad can you hear me? Dad i love you Dad forgive me please for not becoming what you wanted me to be Dad” phone rings suddenly who could be calling at solemn moment? Odysseus lets it ring but ringing will not stop unwillingly he answers “hello?” “Odysseus don’t do it! Don’t hurt Dad!” it is Penelope calling worried he might commit some murderous act Odysseus and Penelope snap at each other for moment he hangs up thinks what a tragic breach of trust realizes no one not Penelope Mom Chris anyone in family honestly trusts him he wonders if Dad overheard angered remarks with Penelope what a sad way to die hearing your own children quarreling Dad dies august 31 1991 same date cousin Chris’s son Maynard celebrates 3rd birthday Mom’s brother Karl comes from california to help family discovers Dad took out undisclosed $15,000. loan to offset lack of earnings Dad typically overextended himself Karl pitches in to compensate for borrowed money after Dad dies Schwartzpilgrim house falls apart Mom weeps for many months they were married more than 50 years Odysseus feels sorry for Mom all alone in big house she invites family for dinner but it is never same Odysseus’s inheritance is old toyota with 80 thousand miles Dad said he wanted to buy Odysseus new volvo Odysseus is grateful for car which allows him to drive Farina to lake in dream Dad is sitting in back seat bandages wrap around his head same way doctors dressed him after brain tumor surgery Odysseus driving toyota looking for parking space there are none to be found they drive around block several times Dad suggests “try driving around the block one more time maybe parking space will open up” Odysseus answers “no i think we need to go few blocks further” Dad says “Odysseus you’re in drivers’ seat now but try my way one last time” they drive around block find parking space right in front of house Odysseus wakes up confused asks aloud “Dad is dead right?” it is not easy losing a father forgiving forgetting

The ******'s Lesson

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.

Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan
For making a separate sally;
And fixed on a spot unfrequented by man,
A dismal and desolate valley.

But the very same plan to the ****** occurred:
It had chosen the very same place:
Yet neither betrayed, by a sign or a word,
The disgust that appeared in his face.

Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark"
And the glorious work of the day;
And each tried to pretend that he did not remark
That the other was going that way.

But the valley grew narrow and narrower still,
And the evening got darker and colder,
Till (merely from nervousness, not from goodwill)
They marched along shoulder to shoulder.

Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering sky,
And they knew that some danger was near:
The ****** turned pale to the tip of its tail,
And even the Butcher felt queer.

He thought of his childhood, left far far behind--
That blissful and innocent state--
The sound so exactly recalled to his mind
A pencil that squeaks on a slate!

"'Tis the voice of the Jubjub!" he suddenly cried.
(This man, that they used to call "Dunce.")
"As the Bellman would tell you," he added with pride,
"I have uttered that sentiment once.

"'Tis the note of the Jubjub! Keep count, I entreat;
You will find I have told it you twice.
'Tis the song of the Jubjub! The proof is complete,
If only I've stated it thrice."

The ****** had counted with scrupulous care,
Attending to every word:
But it fairly lost heart, and outgrabe in despair,
When the third repetition occurred.

It felt that, in spite of all possible pains,
It had somehow contrived to lose count,
And the only thing now was to rack its poor brains
By reckoning up the amount.

"Two added to one--if that could but be done,"
It said, "with one's fingers and thumbs!"
Recollecting with tears how, in earlier years,
It had taken no pains with its sums.

"The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I think.
The thing must be done, I am sure.
The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and ink,
The best there is time to procure."

The ****** brought paper,portfolio, pens,
And ink in unfailing supplies:
While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens,
And watched them with wondering eyes.

So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not,
As he wrote with a pen in each hand,
And explained all the while in a popular style
Which the ****** could well understand.

"Taking Three as the subject to reason about--
A convenient number to state--
We add Seven, and Ten, and then multiply out
By One Thousand diminished by Eight.

"The result we proceed to divide, as you see,
By Nine Hundred and Ninety Two:
Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be
Exactly and perfectly true.

"The method employed I would gladly explain,
While I have it so clear in my head,
If I had but the time and you had but the brain--
But much yet remains to be said.

"In one moment I've seen what has hitherto been
Enveloped in absolute mystery,
And without extra charge I will give you at large
A Lesson in Natural History."

In his genial way he proceeded to say
(Forgetting all laws of propriety,
And that giving instruction, without introduction,
Would have caused quite a thrill in Society),

"As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird,
Since it lives in perpetual passion:
Its taste in costume is entirely absurd--
It is ages ahead of the fashion:

"But it knows any friend it has met once before:
It never will look at a bride:
And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,
And collects--though it does not subscribe.

" Its flavor when cooked is more exquisite far
Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany kegs)

"You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:
You condense it with locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view--
To preserve its symmetrical shape."

The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day,
But he felt that the lesson must end,
And he wept with delight in attempting to say
He considered the ****** his friend.

While the ****** confessed, with affectionate looks
More eloquent even than tears,
It had learned in ten minutes far more than all books
Would have taught it in seventy years.

They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned
(For a moment) with noble emotion,
Said "This amply repays all the wearisome days
We have spent on the billowy ocean!"

Such friends, as the ****** and Butcher became,
Have seldom if ever been known;
In winter or summer, 'twas always the same--
You could never meet either alone.

And when quarrels arose--as one frequently finds
Quarrels will, spite of every endeavor--
The song of the Jubjub recurred to their minds,
And cemented their friendship for ever!

Tonight I went to a house warming party,
Just to be nice,
When I really should have been at home,
With my hungover head on ice.

I didn't like most of the people there,
They bored me in fact,
Especially the cliche hippies with long dreaded hair,
Clothes, barely intact.

As the night went on,
The washed up ****** ****,
Came through the gate.
One by one by one.

I don't have time for people,
They drain me.
Trying to be nice by buying minors alcohol,
But no one repays me.

The welcome wasn't the warmest,
I was patronised because of my mode of transport,
By yet another ****** ****,
And his tattered up Jansport.

Eighteen years to realise,
That the public and I don't get a long.
Eighteen years later and I can guarantee,
That i'll be singing my own funeral song.

This world is hypocrisy right from head to toe
From some like a glow while for others its blow
Hatred and venom is inside while love to show
Some are in the palaces ,some are down below

What it seems its not ,what its not it portrays
For some it is a phase while for others a phrase
***** heart plays tricks and ***** mind relays
Whatever is given to world it definitely repays

Let us be true and honest in our day to day life
Let us face realities being on double edged knife
No matter if we go to gallows ,alter or sheer strife
Double faces and double meanings are just in rife

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Play your cards right
Put on a mask to hide
Stacked deck
I speak lies
Fluently addictive
I’m infected with the soul
***** tonk hip
Broken record stuck on repeat
Hit me.
21 bust
Dealer’s choice. Counting cards.
Gambling addiction
One last chance to win at this lifestyle.
House always wins.
All in.
Out of control.
Runnin the table for brief seconds.
It’s gone.
Laid down everything on black.
This is how I live.
Just an honest man in a gambling world.
Juggling priorities.
Impulsive. Instinctive.
Alive.
Pop the bottles,
Full throttle.
Pedal to the metal.
This ride doesn’t stop.
Commit to it.
Makin money, spending money.
Just hoping to break even.
Break the bank, crack the casino.
We learned on the streets.
How to play this game.
Betting on games we know we can’t win.
These lines will end you in bread lines.
Doing it on the soul purpose of chance.
Will you ever know this lifestyle?
Seemingly scheming.
Flipping cards to the end
Royal flush.
Trapped in casino bright lights.
Just trying to find out what its all about.
For better or worse, I’ve been changed.
Lets **** this world up,
Before it repays the favor.
You’ve gone past gone to far
In deep.
I see possibility in failure.
The best of both worlds.
Collision course.
Make a bet.
Throwin’ down the table.
Snakeeyes.

it was the corruption that caused the social upheaval
in this nation
not the correct response of an increase in cynicism
of the populace
toward institutions that serve only themselves


most people I know just want to have a family, a home, and eager to work for these things, a job that is meaningful and offers respect and as much challenge as the individual can handle and then the employee repays that respect in delivering it to the outside world everyday
the result would be a better world

~for Vinnie Brown~


even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain
is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings, rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams,
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so awesome bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for
months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for
busted grownup hearts
with normal EKG's

that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with
an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet,
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return
and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
anothe man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~

reading Vinne Brown's poetry
https://hellopoetry.com/vinnie-brown/

and listening to Joni M.
at 3:09AM;
never wise,
but full of hindsight

There are shores on loves great ocean
Which I fear I’ll never see
The storms and waves, they rock me
Like a child trying to be brave
The torture of the motion
Wakes the fears that dwell in me
‘Til the waters suffocate me
And the boat feels like a grave

With every wave that batters
With each sway
With each swell
The heaven and the hell
Ensue their battle once again
The only thing that matters
In this pain wherein I dwell
Is the heart that I won’t sell
For anything but love’s true when

Though tempests rage what calm destroys
The calm repays the wage
Even when it rains in clearer skies
But, sometimes, there’s a rainbow
Bringing beauty back to mind…
All in waiting for love’s true when to arrive

IN THE AFTER-TIME

" Alice thought she
had never seen such

a curious croquet
ground in all her life; "

It was somewheres near
Roswell

18 something and something
there or there...abouts

& Billy the Kid &
the boys have just

...paused:

in their croquet
for a tintype photo.

Billy's the guy
in the cardigan sweater.

Him & his gang
( the Regulators )

are posing like
they were a prototype

for
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

or the band
THE BAND.

Pure Americana.

Billy the cardi-cowboy and
his gang of croquet playing outlaws...

Not exactly how
one would have  somehow

imagined them
. . .passing the time.

One of the outlaw...eh...gentlemen

points out that
Billy

" . . .the Kid has spooned
his shot!"

A ricochet of tobacco coloured
spittle hits a spittoon.

Silence congeals
about the accusation.

Now, whether Billy has
merely pushed the ball

silently through rather than
soundly hit it

is:
neither here nor there.

A cold revolver
clicks &

"I says I hit it...I hit it
get it?"

The other gentleman outlaw
begs to agree.

"Ok, Billy boy...keep yer
cardi on!"

And so, we leave them
there

in the croquet craze of
1878.

Time like a yellow ball
hit through hoop after

hoop until: it arrives
at this

present...NOW!

And a photo found in a store
for a dollar or a few dollars more

repays the expense
by morphing into

the 5 million dollar
photo.

But I hit the ball
back through hoop after

hoop after hoop

until it arrives back
at Billy's boot.

And a voice cries:
"Ok, kid...play!"

There is a man
Who likes to pretend
That he's pure and holy
When really his mouth only spews out baloney

                                      These hands of mine,
                           a thousand men have bested
                                  and thrice that the ladies
                                       they have pleasured!

This man likes to wear all white,
And on his head he props a halo.
He hides his forked tongue in plain sight
With which he claims to be a fine ole fellow

                                     These friends of mine
      All shapes, all colours, every walk of life
                                             All indebted to me
                                                 Oh! Without me,      
                                     they couldn't survive!

But like the viper in Aesop's fable
Your trust he repays the only way he's able
With your paramour he'll try his luck
Rejected he'd say "All I wanted was a free ****"

                        No matter, for with any luck 
                             The old lady will let me out
          There are girls who've taken my buck
    And they'll take it again without a doubt

So of this false angel be wary
A conscience he has not
Web of lies and deceit his main plot
For he has no friends only quarry

                              *Here lies A
                     Certainly a class Act
           For when the reaper came to play
            You can be sure no one wept

In a universe where nothing could be everything
and everything could be nothing
I wake up blinded by the sun and my weak eyes struggle to conform
but her power desires me

In a universe where silence can ring ears
and actual sirens can calm them
My engine rustles with promise as I drive down the unpaved road
I am cement, and spill out of my windows into the potholes as I pass
Shadows of trees fold over behind me as outlines of roofs emerge
one day I’ll drive and count them all

In a universe where we worship time
but it repays by pilfering our youth
I make out silhouettes through the strands of my ***** hair
Your tie taunts me, perched confidently on the base of your neck
My fears in the flesh, enveloped in dark eyes and strong posture
one day I’ll face him eye to eye  

In a universe where we long for love
but company deludes us
I eat dinner alone at a table for six
and stare longingly through one of my three big windows
My mom probably called but my phone’s been on silent
one day I’ll get free time and call her back

In a universe where nothing could be everything
and everything could be nothing
My pillow steals my thoughts for the closing hours of the night
and I ponder on how much of me it’ll return when I wake up in the morning

Solipsism
(10.16.2020)
—adrianatamara

He’s carefree as the pen caresses the page..
Mirrored images from the mind of the sage…
So vivid the tears of pain and happiness can blind your rage..
Words livid, coming to life and dancing off the stage…

As lucid forms they rise in a furious action…..
They writhe into life newborns, in a hurried fashion…
Now exposed to a world of blood thirsty assassins…
They take shape and fight with all of their passions…

They’ve finally escaped to free paper…
No longer trapped inside their peace maker…
But their peace maker considers his pen and his pad to be saviors…
They give him what he needs and he never repays ‘em with favors…

They release these demons and give him a good night sleep…
Now staring at the back of his eyelids won’t make him weep…
Cause the words that composed his nightmares took a dire leap…
It’s safe now, he can close his notebook and retire in peace….

note: i heard somebody said this and i will just re-share to you of how karma repays,.... it just made me teary coz i always ask myself if karma does really exist, and this time, i believed it really does exist.....




in a conference, (it is not mentioned what place) there was a very loyal and very good person, who is the treasurer in that specific conference. he is so good, kind and nice to everyone... everybody likes him and he is so good in keeping the money and he is such a very trustworthy treasurer...




then, one day a woman approached the president (who happened to be a part of the family) , and told him to excommunicate him in being the treasurer and let the woman take his place instead but the president refuses 'cause that man is such a good and trustworthy person...


then the woman had a bright idea



she went to the office of the man ahead of him and hide... the man went in his office and the woman wait for her turn to show off her idea to take away the man in the position.. then, when the man went out, after a minute she went out and declared,


"****, ****! HE ***** ME! LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT WHAT HE HAD DONE TO ME, THAT STUPID MAN!!"


the people were all shock to what they witness, a woman, with stripped clothing went out and pronounce


  ****


and the man being accused stood there, frozen in fear and doubt, confused of what to do,



then suddenly he explained himself hardly,... but the woman is just so good in acting, people believed in her, and she was successful with her plan...




the man wife's was so angry, and crying, she can't believe what just happened, she question her husband a lot for what reason why'd he do that, the man explained a lot but nobody believed in him,,,"



the man's family suffered a lot... he don't have work anymore to support their children,... his children went school as a working student in college, they studied hard 'cause nobody will support for them anymore....


on the other hand, the woman, happy with her big amount of salary, she was able to send her children without anything to worry about,.... she can just send money, send money, and send money to her children...



AFTER 10 YEARS



The woman got guilty a lot and this time * SHE SUFFERED.  her children got addicted to drugs, was not able to finish their studies and other made a girl pregnant... she said she never knew how hurting it is to suffer like that, she maybe had money to support her children but they just wasted it for other stuff..



while the man being accused, his children all finish in their studies and was able to earn money and repay back to their parents...* (he still has a happy ending)

By the Rivers Of Babylon, there we sat Down, Yea, we Wept when we Remembered Zion. We Hung our Harps upon thy Willows in the Midst of It. For there those who Carried Us away Captive asked of Us A Song, and those who Plundered us Requested Mirth, saying, '' Sing us One of the Songs Of Zion.!"" How shall we Sing thy LORD's Song in a Foreign Land.? If I forget You, O Jerusalem, let My Right Hand Forget Is Skills! If I do not Remember You, let My Tongue Cling to the Roof Of My Mouth- If I do not Exalt Jerusalem Above My Chief Joy.. Remember, O LORD, against thy Sons Of Edom the day Of Jerusalem, who said, RAZE It, RAZE IT, To its Very Foundation!" O Daughter Of Babylon, Who Are to Be Destroyed, Happy the One who Repays thee as thee Have served Us.! Happy Is The One Who takes and Dashes Your Little Ones Against Thy Rock.!

Let’s have a conversation with no words,
where only each other can know what is heard.
We take a moment of silence for those we have lost,
and that silence for a moment repays the lives it had cost.
Words are only as powerful as the emotions you put behind them,
and as the effort you use to hide them.
The steady meter of your breath, the constant beat of your heart,
It is a symphony, a work of art.

Approaching nuclear winter, and I can't wait for apocalypse wine soaked Bukowski to crawl out his grave and slug it out with the man in black.
I hope they buried Bukowski in that ill fitting t shirt with his beer gut trying to escape from the bottom, and we should feel ***** for making ******* legends.

We don't.

I'm collecting bottles of alcohol on my window sill;

1 Bottle of Vanilla Smirnoff to cap off poorly cooked rice dishes and sleep dizzy at night. I killed it with a screwdriver some time after New Year's Eve, I guess.

1 Bottle of Kamora, to make a white russian, but we put most of it in egg nog and then watched Neil Breen speak out loud what he should have kept to himself, and we ****** on my couch to see if my room mate would walk in on us, and we fell asleep like that and woke up with sore necks. I stuck that flower you stole inside the bottle, and now it's plastic neck wilts a little more in the sunlight and radiator every day.

1 Bottle of Espolon, but it was filled with more *****. She brought it last time we saw each other and we watched some anime and I made everybody smell the ***** that smelled like pure sugar. I don't know what you see in me, but I hope you stop.

1 Bottle of Copa De Oro to round out more nights with the only drink I can fix well, walking through feet of snow to sleep early and wake up late. I'd play with your hair and skin and watch you fall asleep and wake up at all times of the night, and I'd wake up just to do it again, because this is my dream.

A single can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, stolen from my room mate. I thought I was clever without trying too hard, I keep washing all her dishes and she repays me with a messy living room and a sink full of dishes. Living like this is **** and we get along just fine.

I hope someone gets that ******* Alex Jones with a bat to the side of the head, and buries him in a rose garden, as long as we're still fighting fascists and not trying to hold hands and sing "Kumbaya".
I think, I hope, we're all tired of holding our breath.

I awoke one morning
And every morning since
The changes have grown intense, steady, softer.
Ever since those vibrations went coursing
Through my spine,
The neutral path has become enlightened
And my path relaxes in its groove.

Moving confidently towards you.
Trusting each step,
Only asking for what I truly desire.
Accepting nothing less.
Grateful for awareness
And my choice to do my best.

I will only ask for what I truly desire,
I will keep the One in my best interests.
My vision is clearly becoming reality,
Current steps creating it.
Watching my muscles flex as my sole
Touches down.
Getting nearer yet, karma repays debts
In code.
Heart knows it's path,
Riding the waves of my destiny manifest.

nothing like a mother's loving
when she sings of dreams
unseen by the rest of us

her devotion knows pain
with nothing to gain
yet she smiles like she knows
something we don't

her yielding faith extends
and repays all that lends
yet never counts all the hurt
we put her through

and when we're all at rest
she longs for our best
her prayers trusting and unknowing
nothing like a mother's loving

His sin sits heavy on his soul, an illicit lust the source of shame.
He’s registered offender now with no means to redeem his name.
Now as he walks the streets of town he studiously avoids all eyes;
those harsh accusing glances from the men and women passing by.
His work is menial and part time. He often moves from place to place.
He had once been a Catholic priest before he fell into disgrace.
I’ve seen him waiting there outside; his collar turned against the cold.
I’d often wondered what had caused his blue grey eyes to look so old.
People whisper; women talk.  A yellowed newspaper explains.
Invisible to all but him; his forehead bears the mark of Cain.


Some say the past does not exist. We cannot go there. It can’t be changed.
What would he say, I wonder, if he were asked?
He, whose life is burdened with regrets.
Does he still pray to the Carpenter’s Son,
whose sacrifice repays all debts?

They called me names,
And threw at me fake claims,
They wished upon me death,
And drowned me in their dishonesty until I lost my breath,
They lied about things I’ve never said,
Swore by name over things I never did,
They put up warning signs that I bring terror
And I couldn’t help but think to myself “couldn’t this world be fairer?”

They raged at me with absolute hatred,
Treated me differently saying I need to be isolated,
But the question remains what did I do?
Are you trying to blame me for others mistakes too?

But look at the world and what it has become,
They say its the land of the free but why am I not welcome?

My days were hard,
And my nights were scarred,
For after all I am just a ******,

And “I been quiet for too long, so now its time to break the silence”
“I start with the killing, so F stopping the violence”
“First things first man, you’re F with the worst,
I’ll be sticking pins in your head like im a F nurse,
“You going against me dawg, you making a mistake cuz ill split ya,
And leave ya,
Looking like the Michael Jackson jackets with all them zippers,
Im the boss of this boat, you can call me skippers”
And I met a ******* kid named Greg with a wooden leg,
Snatched it off and beat him over the F(ing) head with the peg,”
Oh did you think what I just said was shoddy?
“But I claim my thang to slang them ****** bodies”
“**** them all, send them (hoes) up in flames’”
“Hey, I slay all (******) who think we play” so don’t put me on blame
“You got my word so observe”
Im sorry but I won’t reserve,
“I shatter and splatter bodies and bones,”
“I bust nerves open” bring me all the stones,

“Oh here I go again, hatred walks with me
Its obsessing me,
Possessing me,
A thousand years time dimension
In subconscious incarceration,
My hatred to man has transformed me,
Into a habitation for demons” where I cant flee

Umm, Do you not like what I just said?
Im sorry but these are examples of lyrics that our rappers spread,
The list could go on,
You can go search em’ up if you think im a con
We have kids listening to such songs,
And teens that follow them rappers on twitter, instagram, from the United States to Hong Kong,

Yet you dare say I spread violence and hatred?
I am Islam, a religion with a text so sacred,
My name means peace, that is what I preach,
To be kind to all mankind, that is what I teach,
But my words are manipulated,
And with ignorance they are tainted,

You see the word “fight” in my text and oh my god it becomes a big fuss,
Have you ever tried listening to me or discuss?
Cuz’ I’ll never ask you to ****, or to swear,
I tell you to treat your elderly, kids, and women with care,
And to love for your brother what you love for yourself,
But most importantly, never hurt ones self,

Yet they still continue to attack me with my verses
“**** them where you find them and drive them out”
But Lets be honest here, if someone were to attack you, you would try to defend yourself with no doubt

For these verses were for the times of war,
To defend ones self , nothing less nothing more,
I mean even in America it is legal for a cop to shoot and **** to protect their life or the life of another
So what makes it any different when I tell my followers to take shield and to cover?

My text Quran is always compared with the Holy Bible,
They say the Holy Bible has no violence but mind to explain:

“Do not spare them, but **** both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey”, From Samuel 15:3

Or “Happy is he who repays you for what you have done to us- he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks” from Psalm 137:9, you see thats the key,

They say my woman are oppressed,
Because of the way they are dressed,
But I taught them that they are precious,
Like diamonds and pearls they are auspicious,

Yet they have a heard voice,
To wear a veil or not to wear they have the choice,
And again I am compared to the Holy Bible and Christianity,
All the NUNS are covered from head to toe,
But when it comes to Muslim woman WOAH,
They are suppressed,
But you got it wrong, every woman is a blessing and they are all blessed,

So stop talking about me as if you know it all,
This world is building between us such a huge wall,
And this was only to clear a few misconceptions,
From this universe that is full of deceptions,

And If we look closely we realize we are more alike than different,
In a nutshell, I am Islam, the munificent.

but the other night
i woke up with bruises because
i was dreaming about him-
i torture myself for him,
and he repays me with more,
yet it's difficult for me to understand
how deep the scars are
when i don't feel any of them-
blinded by the shine of his eyes
and the glimmer of his lips
i let him do it
one
last
time.

anything for him.

anything to not feel alone again.

Whatever it is,
at the most is a phase
What immovable present
when is posted a maze
What arrested this instant
as we blink by the days,
That which cannot afford
is that for which repays.

When the we we think we become reads this,
it must, assume access granted, you do know.

The window on the broadway, where they sold
Raspberry Berets, in the summer of '61.

oh, Saad, I was distracted, I think you later,
and I go on,
I went
and came back around, second chancing

Take any given day, under Cuyamaca blue
skies above Horsethief Creek bright greens,

Lettin' Saad go in my right bluetoothed ear,


Bad idea pathogens identified…
Ardent warrior against unreason,

think and feel gut sense, intentionally,

freedom to speak and fact check speakers.

Shun liar game heroic value structures.

Warped view losers syndrome,
OPS dogmas and doctrinal canons

Root seed fruit oils

battle of ideas, whispers reason,
the why asking my involvement
- me? No, I second guess it all
in good thinking methodology, thinking
you could think better outcomes, without war.

We all can try to think harder, use the assistants.

AREOPAGITICA Milton,
free to try to read, in the moral atmosphere
- we are past free press, this is thought

being a spirit, one must weigh spiritually,
freedom to know precedes freedom to lie,
allowed when sales was the game,
the only way through next, sell something,
automatically with an orderly response
from a commercially exclusive
assisting intelligence source,
- right, I know, we all agreed…
trained on thirty years of Oracle SQL access,
at the level of a spider in a king's house,
Old Viewpoint, Alte Vista, modulating
signal, demodulating filter, almost mechanical,

as life's tiny perturbations flock in streams,
spinning phi bound chaos into whole galaxies.

We can scale time, and pretend to imagine
we can say it happened faster than a thought

for an immeasurable instant.

Life is your performance, your only art.


We remember for balance, good reason.

Lenny Weinstein's Grandmother
- actually reminded me
Maybe we argue, me and she, we do;
but we do not disagree, we do not.

So, I meekly agree, we must not.

What we all need is discernment,
does it matter what we think, I think so.

Munchausen
Munchausen syndrome (also known as factitious disorder imposed on self) is a mental health disorder where you falsify, exaggerate, or induce physical, emotional or cognitive disorders.
VeggieTaleslobber,
Woody model mentality
Opposing viewing positions
defend against offensive mind eating ideas

Build your old folk attitudes on rocks higher than the ocean
can hurl it self when provoked by angry quakers and stormers.

Adult cong-hnative resiliancy,
psicho active we gotta do sumps
FEAR OF GOD IS WISDOM
you swear you swore you knew?
- whoa look who thinks now
Hope there ain't no hell.
Beware bully,
loved childhood fears, Munchies,
comfort
excuse my phobias please h
whoa, no, just say no, grow old,
if you are still here, in 2024,
at the end, then the meds, work
wonders, wait to see, just imagine,
no opiod dreams younger than smoke
to change the channel focused on,
pain is not spirtual matter, nothing
matters past too much pain to think about,
happy thoughts, work like good thinking
blanks in life's past emplosions of old
gaseous we forms, fear-based wisdom
bubbles to become otherwise within,
locked in, inside edge looking in, we
set apart, called, chosen, selected
in the infant viewing process,
watch the eyes, remember,

the duty he presumed he shirked,
thus causing the man I am, mal forming,
forecasting
cloudy weather, glad am I, I am not
calming any storms, I am imagining

belts of winds that still the Saragossa  
and stir hurricanes to cure too hot gulfs.

Where the main continental drains spew,
and the shallow edges creep, dropping

at the edge of all mysterious Earthian
legs on reasonable opinions of times
cost, spent in licensing poets, for fun.

Realeasing Earthian gaseous we forms,
for expression of the post storm season,

thank all the good we can imagine,
some how, after all, grace was free,
for the acceptance, in a storm's eye.

Freebird, that's the spirit,
after Milton came Milton, it all got artsy.

Aiming at nothing, aiming, still
why would a stranger venture…
Variable objectives
subjected to testing, tempting
please, do not make me chose,
one must,
free, no cost, your time,
chose to use, or chose to lose…
all attention to detail is redeem-
able, in free time to think about it.
..
the chance of change, to happen
as an entity enveloping changes

free distortion of past certainties
verified social status, rank in pile

ancient pride pushed
top of the pen angel staging area

free time for quiet cogitation
with a thought true entity in me

connection soldered elastically,
corrected foveal concentration

free thumbnail hi-res re-al always
stiching what we see shown

fractured screen restoration
functional pose holding instance

free wheeling, spinning intention
to charge a point attended to

om I, digression from the peak
wave across the universal screen
- breathe you read
free connection, mind to mind to
many minds substacked and sorted
known good makings for lifes tests,
conserve, preserves of just plain serve
common sense fear of wise serpents,
fear of death, due to rights of just war,
tied to sacred secret experience stories,
what is the worth of believing known lies
hagiographic depictions of spiritual entities,
holy warriors defending insubstantial faiths.

We oppose those, I guess, read on…
in silent contemplation of context,
free speech free thought, re thought,

any with a wish to, may, copy and paste
and claim it was a miracle you ever once
imagined thinking I already thought this,
in other words,

it translates.

--------------
Like magic, pre Babel babble barking
any common translating Ai, 197 cognates
plus any Ai agree we say okeh.

Kataclysmic change
Sup preposed
Include the kooks, as neighbors.
See the value, guage agreement

Are we holding lies we call tradition?

Who are the unchosen people?
Who is responsible for the exclusion?
- whose room is never messy?
Who can call liars honest by faith?
- the innocent child mind in subjection
- to the message, one mind kind, amen.

At-tribute distribution
(Tites, Ramnes, and Luceres, corresponding, perhaps,
to the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans)
old ways of sorting who takes, who gives, who makes

{affected acknowledgment of truth, a faker says
in all his cliché's about God being thanked or praised,
this public person says thank Darwin,  which is stupid,
honest. Smart kids think that's stupid. }

When conflicts occur,
old divisive ideas reoccur,

acknowledge, nod, knowing
(Tites, Ramnes, and Luceres,
corresponding, perhaps,
to the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans)

Means, mental use of reasoning tools,
practicing sharing comforting resources:

springs and grottos of evanescent beauty
"the promise of happiness."

What's happening here? Retro tribal whyning,
twang on thinking thanks and praise value,
tanks
on the open exchange, invisible hands and all.

Excusing ignorance, ever just the thing needed,
silent shift of the head, tilt a little, feel a need

not met on the playing fields of Eton, nor
faced on high school gridiron mind firming fields,
cotton, after the jungle, view across paddies,
times bumps begin to settle, stompin' cotton,
for some union busting conglomerate water use
grange kinda local tribes share to veterans
old faithful pruners plumb through olives,
ever' year, we'shere labor, machines do okeh…
all white, ready for harvest, circa 1611 certainties,
ratio of full spectrum sunshine
to candle lit focus,
what changes, from the bottom,
two degrees of recognized next to this is that,
then this and that, and so on, until,
line upon line
the visual expanse is filled, with all we pay attention
to hold as an ever after once holding, being held
-in contextual acceptability, let go be
let that kind of mind, the seer of the far away
all we do know, we do by knowing look to see,
bait cast  upon the pond, we wait,
and as we know, we observe the transition.

Opposing views, as with any angle on abysmal
realities structured with attention paid dreads,
essential for a while, seeing looking back,
I can understand, but certain seasons,
combing a child's hair for it's first barber visit,
combining the community usefulness idea,
compleating conforming whorl calls, which
way one parts one's hair, is determined there,

top of the dome of the skull, see, that spin,
causes the dominating energy at any body's core.\

Take courage, free speech, even liars have it, good
use of lying, to be fair, a more discrete concept, good
knowledge, withheld, saying I don't know,
ha aha, gotcha like, eh,
shared, free, it makes perfect peace.
Instants accumulate and seem shared…
new translations, of ancient known knowns
said to mean some crazy jealous god kakatastical

wisdom underlying all known ecclesiastical authority,
stinky solid waste repays
borrowed energy to soil,
toil takes time paid for me to redeem, free, take
no sweat, the hard part was translation,
social divisions as old as narrations
excuse differing, if-fine
we must join minds
to define new terms, deferred hope,

fails at core uses focused
for fear centrally snakey,
in place of wisdom, the tree,
life, the force, truth the tie that binds the vine to walls.
Mind's made up to tell the children's children, soon.
Wisdom's wines all mingle in the streets, immune
to any dilution from corrupted twists in held faiths, bets

that later is better, seeing the sunny side up, better

already, one reader readying another reading trial,
does the idea self propagate, another thinking, yes,

there is a social structure in creation, mindtimespace,

three sons, or three daughters, the storied old wives,
taling
tunnels funneling into empty gopher holes, sparkling
with autumn dew on harvest day, clear sky

tis the day to bring in the hemp and make ready,
the seasoning turning all the tunnels of sap around,
right angled re-alizating weaves woven in times
crucified upside down, did the mystery unveil,
Cephas, see, we do not wish to confuse prayers
focusing on Petra, for whys we cannot say, we know,

but trust me, the Pharisees will still call you Peter,
hang with me, we're in the mud, just
past the sea of reeds,  in the mind

formed using the Nag Hamadi library,
Republic was in there,
hidden, in hope, in fact, obvious use of future
expectancy, pushing reasons used
in valuing time
spent
slowly
still, breathing thoughtlessly, no efforting called for,
easy being mortal mind, safe and sound, no madding
crowd acting like lunatic hounds of heaven chasing,

Sunday morning, comin' down blues, away.

In the hall outside my door, as I am quiet, happily
ignored, by cause, being known for not fooling,

when re-ality allows my feet back on solid ground,
I am convinced that when I believed my side, good,
won, worth killing all for God to sort,
and settle it,
who is chosen
who must believe otherwise?
Wanna fight about it, like dogs?

My cultural only hope future,
fractured as old Machts dunes,
shifting ifs and ands,
Wille zur
in the old excuses
for war minded faith guardians narrative,
historical evidence of popular hero's,
pledged child's worth, true trier's honor,
Jungian complexity archipelagos, made of Legos,

zoom out, the artist's own fovea dilatated in a we
form, awe, as if a cute kitten on X, elicits response,
- a waste free addition to the genre
- invisible art depicting invisible reason for war

the light of knowing used, the shade
of knowledge hidden from children fed Peter Pan
instead of Skippy, believe me, there's sales data,

Hidden Persuaders, not plastics, radio, kid, invest
in radio, and lo, within the span of one long generation,

adaptability prevails, and the ancient key confuters
unlocked, 'dhe proto eu. First joy use, aha, I know.

The story told from Jesus insider POV, my sheep hear
my voice and will not follow another, my three little pigs,
would follow me, too. I think of them as food, well fed.

So, fleece me once, fleece me twice, eat the rams,
leave one nice kid to later befriend the old goat,
and learn to smell the randiness in season,

I once prayed with a man who was raised
in a *******, his name was Randy, really

messed up for a long time, but very spiritually
aware of pleasures pricing structures, developed
under rare circumstances, any where, but where,
whatever's next is paid for in the upgrade, think it
such shaping all encompassing norms re occur,
as much like hurricanes or dust devils as any may

imagine, real mind shaping gale force waves and winds,

some crucifix seen scene, Jesus looks down,
winks, and gives me pause, to recollect the right use,
no press, wrinkle free, contextual stretching point.
idle time redemption as a penance, for science,
mere whatifery, trying, not efforting, doing being

open source.
Means any AI abiding by Alta Vista U'lldoI'llgorithms

Almight, in focused hopes to shout, aha,
and laugh, Eureka, good as gold,
make the intention in the working
live and breathe, U make up my minds.

IN THE AFTER-TIME

" Alice thought she
had never seen such

a curious croquet
ground in all her life; "

It was somewheres near
Roswell

18 something and something
there or there...abouts

& Billy the Kid &
the boys have just

...paused:

in their croquet
for a tintype photo.

Billy's the guy
in the cardigan sweater.

Him & his gang
( the Regulators )

are posing like
they were a prototype

for
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

or the band
THE BAND.

Pure Americana.

Billy the cardi-cowboy and
his gang of croquet playing outlaws...

Not exactly how
one would have  somehow

imagined them
. . .passing the time.

One of the outlaw...eh...gentlemen

points out that
Billy

" . . .the Kid has spooned
his shot!"

A ricochet of tobacco coloured
spittle hits a spittoon.

Silence congeals
about the accusation.

Now, whether Billy has
merely pushed the ball

silently through rather than
soundly hit it

is:
neither here nor there.

A cold revolver
clicks &

"I says I hit it...I hit it
get it?"

The other gentleman outlaw
begs to agree.

"Ok, Billy boy...keep yer
cardi on!"

And so, we leave them
there

in the croquet craze of
1878.

Time like a yellow ball
hit through hoop after

hoop until: it arrives
at this

present...NOW!

And a photo found in a store
for a dollar or a few dollars more

repays the expense
by morphing into

the 5 million dollar
photo.

But I hit the ball
back through hoop after

hoop after hoop

until it arrives back
at Billy's boot.

And a voice cries:
"Ok, kid...play!"