Fishing early morning
On this great big lake
I can’t get a fish to bite
Don’t know what it’s gona take

I tried trolling plastic
Looking for some Eye
When I couldn’t even get a tap
I thought I was gona cry

I went and got some minnows
For ****** I would go
Thought I would get some dinner
But even they are slow.

Sitting here two hours
Not a ****** in my creel
If I try and fish for Perch
Maybe they’ll get real

Catfish on the bottom
Should bring something in
Still haven’t caught my dinner
My patience wearing thin

Running out of options
I don’t know what I can do
I guess I’ll have to buy my meal
When my fishing’s threw
Rew 6/6/10.

In Love

I am the wolf in winter woods.
The lion on the plane.
I am a bounding antelope.
I long to be your hearts true flame.
I am night, I take the sun.
I give you stars up in the sky.
I ask myself most every day.
Is true love another a lie?
I am the buck with mighty rack.
The tender spotted fawn.
Deep inside my heart I know.
It would hurt if you were gone.
You are desire in my passion.
My everything, my all.
Without you here to hold my heart.
So surly I would fall.
My life would mean so little.
Without you by my side.
If you weren't here to hold me.
Where could my sole reside?
Our bodies are our temples.
Mine would be but empty shell.
To live my life without you.
Would be such a livening hell.
My love for you is infinite.
Never will it end.
I am so deep in love with you.
My heart I can't defend.
So I ask my sweet, be gentle.
Love me strong and true.
We'll always be together.
You know how I love you.
Rew
Copyright ©2007

Your head upon my shoulder.
As I awake to mornings light.
With you cuddled up beside me
I just have to hug you tight.
You are the fire in my sole
You are truly my delight.
So when I look at you each morning
It makes my whole day right.
The breath I feel upon my cheek.
The way you gently kissed.
Will not hold me through the day.
In a minute T¿will be missed.
I¿ll dream of you throughout the day.
I¿ll get very little done
You are what I¿m thinking of
You know you are the one.
In a little while I¿ll stop for lunch
And I will dream of you
Then I will come racing back.
When my day is through.
Again I¿ll hold you in my arms.
And look forward to tomorrow
When I awake to mornings light
And once more your love to barrow.
Copyright   Rew 2009

Interesting! The heart is caged, behind so many bony bars. Yet still it can be cut and slashed, then left so full of scars. We all have our turn left bleeding, our souls pouring on the floor. As the one we loved so much, passes through our door. The tears go rolling down our face, dripping off our chin. Every thought inside our head, saying it's the end. The joy in life forever gone, how can love be again? Is there anybody anywhere, who has a heart to lend? Every time I show it, it gets another burn. Why do I refuse to see, why is it I can't learn? Lost upon these desolate shores, I forever sail alone. A very very lonly soul, a heart that knows no home. A tall and raging water fall, seething emotions foam. Not a single drop of love, can to my heart be shone. As the emotion we most live for, strains through endless sands, a sun that lights our sky above, departs for distant lands. I'm now left standing by myself, a lonely broken man. Giving love to someone else, I no longer think I can. My heart broken to many times, now lost forever more. A sweet old man that lives alone, a bachelor to the core. Copyright ©2007 Rew

I just want to touch you
Hold you close through the night
I keep on dreaming
That some day I might
To feel your warm *****
So soft on my chest.
Your arms crossed my shoulders
So snug in our nest
Our legs so entangled
We can not break apart
And sleep like a dance
becomes another fine art
I just want to touch you
Hold you close in my arms
Kiss you so gently
I so dream of your charms
The softness the sweetness
The charm in your voice
.Like no other love song
It’s become my first choice
The first thing I hear when I awake
Also the last
Which to dreamland I take
Rew 3/15/10

A ship upon the ocean
With sails of blue and gold
With a stormy sea of love ahead
I must sail both brave and bold
I must hold aloft my colors
I must  rise my voice above
So that you might hear it
I must call loudly of my love
I must tell you of my feelings
How you penetrate  my soul
I must make you mine my lady
That is my only goal
Waves battering  upon my bow
As I sail into this storm
Though it may be a thrilling ride
My love is not forlorn
For waves will fall
And sun will shine
It will be smooth and clear
My love will last through any storm
So please allay your fear
Your are the one t”was meant for me
Through eternity’s  long grip
You are the love I’ve searched for
You are my sailing ship.
Rew 4/24/10

The touch of a poem
On my ears is so nice
It holds me it’s captive
Truly my vice
It’s rhythm
It’s cadence
Reeling me in
Blot out the present
And show me what has been
They talk of lost love
Long ago gone
They warn me to the next
I’ll again be a pawn
They have no voice
For not spoken
Their penned
They leave me quite spellbound
From beginning to end
This is my form
This is my grace
It is what I call fun
It must be my place
I love to linger
for many an hour
And when I get up
What has bloomed
but a flower
Another creation
From somewhere out there
Just how it came here
I don’t really care
I just enjoy looking
At all the beauty inside
But it was always here
So where did it hide
Why couldn’t I see it
If it came from my passed
If I don’t write it down
Why will it not last

Rew 3/28/10

Reflections in windows
Of my life that has passed
Shadows of lost love
On the payment are cast
Oh how I lament
the losses I¿ve paid
And long for new wisdom
From decisions I¿ve made.
Mistakes I¿ve made plenty
As have we all
When it¿s right in your face
It¿s a difficult call
Life does not wait
If in some corner you cry
You have to get up
Go back out there and try
And if you never find
What it is you may seek
You surly will not
If you don¿t take a peek
If you don¿t look round the next corner
To see what is there
You will not find a thing
And no one will care.
copyright     Rew 2010

I awoke
In the middle of night
Down I sat
Some words to write
Something simple
Came to mind
A word or two
And yes they rhyme
Had to put them down
Before memories laps
It’s the only way
I may be able to grasp
The concept of
these words I write
That pulled me from
my slumbered night
A dream perhaps
A thought of you
That came to mind
And pulled me through
Into this awakened state
Now I must write
It will not wait
Rew 11/27/09

A word or two strung together
A story of my love
A memory from then and now
Time I keep thinking of

The times we hold each other
Soft kisses that we share
Words we offer one another
To show how much we care

Holding hands and walking
Down a sunny sandy beach
Grasping at the sky above
Could there be a star in reach

Good times filled with laughter
How we share each others love
My heart so full of caring
You are all that I think of

My happiness
My joy in life
Sweet tenderness
My lovely wife

Together we shall walk this path
So many never find
Enlightened by this love we share
Until the end of time.

Rew  7/5/13

My passion burns with deep desire.
Inside my chest explodes such fire.
It seers my brain with such delight.
To think of you
all through the night.
Your smooth and flowing gentle touch.
Excites my body Oh! So much.
Your lips caress upon my skin
Sweetly repeating every sin.
Such love and lust flow through my heart.
Cause me to dread the day we part.
Loves burning ember
you left inside.
Will not allow my soul to hide.
It rips and tears inside my brain.
Singing out loves sweet refrain.
Knowing my id can not escape.
My exit gone.
It’s much to late.
Well passed the time to hesitate.
Clearly now I see my fate.
Into this hole I freely fall.
The music of the sirens call.
Pulls on my tortured soul within.
Chasing out all that has been.
I am bewitched.
Now I see
You will never set me free.
Rew 3/18/02

She calls to my senses
My head swims in her song
I am lost in her music
Her pull is so strong.
Her spell has entrapped me
She is stealing my heart
I stay here in silence
As she weaves her dark art.
She captures my mind
with her words as she sings
She tells of the pleasure
Her warm body brings.
The softness the firmness
the sent of her sweat.
She knows I'll fall pray.
She has already bet.
She does not really love me
It's her form of abuse.
For the way that she lures me
she has no excuse.
She knows nature calls to me
she's sure of her craft.
She knows at her magic
she is rarely surpassed
No one escapes her
she's deadly and sure.
For the song she will sing to you
There is not a cure
She's lovely she's crafty
You best run while you can,
or your life will be over
long before it began.
              Rew 6/23/04

breaths of somber stillness
folding thoughts like linens
below feet on the kitchen floor.
I drew a mountain using only
colours from your eyes and I
placed it under this town, it grew
until the streets didn't flow
the way they used to flow
and now I'm left with question
marks following street signs
standing on a corner wondering
where to go from here

not much needs to be written these days,
i hardly ask to peer at the face
of god:
what, with all these full bodied
chinese ideograms or ancient egyptian
hieroglyphs - strenuous like
impromptu hindenburg explosions...
at least with these latin letters:
well: the hebrew revision -
skeletons... endless row of skeletons...
shackles of bone...
i never promised myself this...
but... upon seeing an open coffin
in the morgue: the detail beside walking
around town putting up necrolog posters...
the bureaucratic detail in
what culminates in the whole:
well attired in princey navy jacket...
cuffs and: remembering how to tie:
a tie...
the generic mass at a funeral:
family secrets... oh the bogus lot of:
an unhappy marriage...
only somehow saved by the prefix grand-
some ever summer for several years
from the womb of the daughter...
this unhappy marriage...
only 3 months ago:
i could see the eyes of resignation...
perhaps cancer finally matched up to:
his willingness to let go...
i'm writing this to justify his unwillingness
to live: after all... rosy whenever i
visited him: otherwise purgatory:
skinning of pigs for shoes...
a grandmother's tongue like a sting of a wasp...
it was not for anyone to live:
no wonder he recounted: he decided to
escape into memory...
and it wasn't like upon death:
all of life flashes before your eyes:
once you age and service up half a dozen
years, months, weeks and countless days:
an eternity of hours...
memory become cinema...
i've seen it myself...
to play the cameo...
            but i can't imagine
being married to someone who might
wish me dead or:
that i might die like a dog dies:
in my native tongue: zdechnąć...
which refers to animals...
people: people have the capacity (rather than
the potential) to... umrzeć..
to die like an animal is to
heave the last breath without
the ease of possessing a differential
sigma of all part concerned that
tells any naked eye the difference
between
an animate and an inanimate object...
well... further along...
that's a bad joke...
since most of the time...
something animate doesn't
necessarily have to become subjected
to our observation: filtering the amassing
grey fudge of pedestrians:
which is less... even though animate...
than the inanimate mountain...
then again... the earth is static by
illusion... suddenly broken
by the wind... hurried disillusionment
by a hurricane... hey presto!
i'm standing on a "levitating" orb...
- i promised something...  
ah... identifying a corpse in an open coffin
in a morgue before the funeral...
biting-the-quill-procedures of death:
death... i have to let you know...
is very well organised...
it's very bureaucratic...
hell for all it's insomniac democracy:
"veto"...
it's... impossible to suffer childish fears
when walking through a graveyard...
hours shy post the burial
i sat by the grave like a dutiful
dog and teased my eye with a candle
while burning the ridges of plastic
into a cascade of all things hot, molten...
- my new found source of "debate"?
not finishing a cigarette...
smoking... half of it...
extinguishing it... half an hour later...
with the filter already soaking wet
with wet nicotine from all my drags...
new found pleasure...
it's a ******* mirage:
the idea that there are inanimate
objects at hand for the eye to admire
and meditate on...
a mountain in all its grandiosity...
yes yes... esp. when slap-sticked to
a... magician'******that:
the tetragrammaton has a daughter:
who he calls the annum...
HH: for summer and winter: chiral entities...
Y for spring... W for autumn...
why that is so...
Nero could have told you...
my lyre! my liar! rome is afloat!
the waves are ablaze!
this english tongue would not be
recognised by either greeks or the romans!
yet i'm using the lettering
of qua quixote: qua ape borgia...
pope!         pope!
are all the protestant sovereigns rich?
guess it comes to quest with a question:
the catholic rich ****** of france or
spain... who are the pauper catholics?
by all means: i know all the orthodox
castratos are: grecian and challenging:
take turns concerning either Malta
or Cyprus...
- here's to! here's to not getting my "mojo"
back concerning writing:
it's not like there's a horizon of
a stephen king worth for me to play
jester with... it's not like i'm some clive barker
who explored narratives
and character studies in h'amsterdam's
underground play-toy-play-t'ing...
rubber ole! studding with nails
and a fetish for leather...
while having sioux...
kneecap fold at the elbow:
wave goo'-bye!
             none of that... no...
             meat 'n' tow veg unfathomable...
like testing the vernacular of
testicles of... five men, all blind...
and a whale to make jokes concerning
an elephant...
- now i am extending my "privy"...
i am making myself welcome by ****
and wilt alone...
i am playing solitaire and i am rearranging
chess and dominos of letters:
but all these fattenings that come back
to bite phonetic enclosures
of chinese ideograms and egyptian
hieroglyphics... bloat in my face like
sprouts of mushroom growth
and bulging pockets of **** of gangrene
and sickly sweet acne...
- you know... i expected any other
play on a hiatus... i see old people walk
around and i'm like: coming on 81...
bragging about pushing 120...
when i came back from the funeral
i felt a sense of relief...
there's the concept of the mother-tongue...
as the very central european concept
of the fatherland...
it's not german...
hardly... concerning that he died
a philosopher: i.e. married to an abomination
of a woman...
i'll sooner gamble on horses!
or... how i will have to stand alone...
or walk into the north sea one
day and drown... or head to the civilisation
crown of humanity's deity: the switz land
or the benelux and spend my last
halving of paper with
tsar nicholas II imprinted on it...
for a dosage of euthanasia...

let the africans and the arabs come...
i am tired of having to jest
not suffering from bouts of
lethargy... let them i don't mind...
i'm of the mind concerning the belief
in shadows and in volcanoes...
the larva of the lava needs new:
sprouts!
copper-skinned "i" and R: further! US!
but not from this boring set of
stale ideas!

- a grandfather died: sorry... was i supposed
to be more... more estranged from
the concept of family?!
grandfather is pushing it?
but that Poland has reached
a mythological status entry for past...
hell... England is on par...
concerning Ilford... Gants Hill...
Barkingside... and sooner or later...
Romford...
white-flight... well no **** sherlock!
we're not going to fit onto
the Faroe Islands like a bunch
of hiding oysters!

- again... was this at all offensive
or am i just too grief stricken to mind
the already apolitical "political correctness"
sort of ******* that's reserved
for the retards that: will hardly
envision actual bridges and actual rivers...
no... "society"... is their... ******* disneyland
of concerns!

money is a social construct...
pay 'em in either pebbles or peanuts!
how else?!
- and what of still stalling of bulging
"anger" from a "erectile dysfunction":
glad you asked...
i... simply don't know...
why it works a charm with prostitutes...
but... fails... whenever i have to
date someone from
a mythos of the 1950s: bidding for a
housewife... thank you...
i can... or rather: i much prefer
to cook for myself...
i need no **** or **** in that department...

- because it's that nagging sensation
surround: only recently the parisian police
burned another migrant camp...
not in calais...
in some underpass...
i was in Paris circa 2004 - 2007 and
it was that city of Hemingway et al.,
now... it's the city where
there's a mausoleum of a bonaparte...
if that...
in a sunday newspaper magazine
a book review concerning Idi Amin...
attempted to portray him
in good faith... turns out!
****** gassed... Idi Amin performed
miraculous surgery...

- believe it or now: i'm on my way out...
thank **** and god to boot for
having inherited such fuckery of
grandmothers... and paternal... blah blah...
synchronised fuckery of a Tolstoy's
Anna Karenina opening - with the world
as a whole...
and i... poor ****-wit...
a cameo narrative-ist...

- in this tongue alone: "borrowed":
lent, acquired... why should "i"...
the dumb polacks were graced with a pope?
as instrument... let my fellow countrymen
gloat in a darkness of: that's already
easily manipulated...
saint my *** on a peddle-stool!
- what do i owe... "europe":
exactly what it owes me...
privy to the image of... salvaging...
tank-tops and ******...
even when it was grizzly ritzy and **** on
you:
the same foundation:
how plagued could we have become...
gorging on the same load of
masochism yet feeling no inclination
for: the colonial adventures that
landed "us" on the moon...

how there is a past for some...
but not for others: "my" people ought to
regress to the grievances bestowed
to them by the teutonic knights: failed 4th crusade...
the mongols, the swedes concerning
the deluge...
the ottomans... the ukranian nationalists...
oh.. "multicultural" society... "worked"...
in the polish-lithuanian commonwealth:
so well that what was required
was a foreign king...

i too... own... my body my land...
mythological as it might still be:
leaving school i do know how to dictate
the last of the anglo--saxon king's "whereabouts"
in history... the angevin empire...
the normie 'orms... and europe
can go **** itself...

           why? grief bespoke... i'm on
an "angry" hiatus...
  i write skeletons of letters and i'm peering
at the house of god...
all that's missing is what's hidden in 'ebrew...
i.e. the niqab vowels...
which would make words arrive
back at a reading:
LK S...
        S Y MGHT S
   like so
so you might see...
               - charles dickens called it
orthography... i just call it bad spelling...
i would call it orthography if...
english entertained the concept and use of
diacritical markers...
i.e. ó vs. u...
               does... english (as a language)
even bother to... no... it doesn't...
matter desiring to dictate: ******* stark naked...
a CH from a SH otherwise
hiding the foot of the tetragrammaton
in a caron, i.e. Č or Š...
oh... right... still pandering to the cannibals
of the pacific isles...
- what the **** are we... philandering
as: fiddlin with: as... escapee ******* / tattoo?!
it's not "orthography": mr. dickness...
it's either bad spelling or outright dyslexia...

orthography implores the application of
diacritical markers...
the russians: employ them...
however subtle...
so subtle... but english doesn't permit
an entire letter to be fathomable...
for a compound...
Ч (Č) - CH - you hide the heb' god...
no? no... you expose 'im... no?

    Ш (Š) - SH... oi 'rew! 'rew! i find the wind...
caressing... the Faroe isles most inviting:
i was so very close to the concept
of how...
                  ш + ц ≠ щ
   given ч... i might have wished...

- here;s too giving myself to too much greek
or the hebrew counter: these letters...
the new testament...
here's to europe: yur-op!
my pondering a  burning of a scarf:
the summoning of a wind...
the necropolis hybrid... a skinning
of a... believe them greeks,
believe them hebrews:
sooner or later they become ottomans...
whether asked or being in want...

- such that the closet of your kin leave you
being hindered...
and that all: that remains...
is a **** flinging fest of lobotomy creasure...
you take your pick: whether i've
disused or under achieved
usage of a certain: verbiage - attache...
told the point... the laughing dolphin...
when "arrayed" with a display of
a butterfly's quest...
as one: ibn: might be left demanding:
no camel jockey who afre you...
no yacht... a dolphin giggling...
flapping at makeshift:
feathers...

           i cleave to... a hybrid...
what has to become the genius
of BARR... **** it... capital lettering...
the IRN BRU sod...
the 18--... fuckety-fuckety...
    history impromptu!

hello comparisons BARR "conctra"
KRUPPS...

such that i might drink: h'american
ice-cream / cream soda...
all of that jingle...
bubble-gum what's-not-to-like?!
all the synthetic soda-creamed-up
pie...
all that curated...
bukakke and gloryhole...
and **** on me **** on you,..

- so who's left... *******, pretend one is...
smiling?!
nairobi ping-pong quest old german
boring toothache too?!

i sorta think i've served a purpose...
if it wasn't enough:
well? then i can become most hurried and
harried in giving all the necessary
exaltations...
w.d.y.f.o.
  in acronyms and in a slapping
of hands by the deaf i learned from my youth
in a country i was last felt welcome in.

but please! go on! do... your... ****-most with!
keeping your most similar least involved!
to hell with you!
to hell with you!
i can't sacrifice imploring...
your already disguised hyper-tensioned
phrase for keeping up with
demands for tourism:
your nay bother... you ******* deaf-counter-quip
of a ******* fidget of a forgotten use
of a whip!

strap them to an island,
arm them with a gimp's shame...
yet still they persist in their...
monolingual plebiscite!
the afghan peoples of the ancient world...
no wonder! "afghans"...
that they are.. stubborn
integral follow up to how the french
also didn't.

She calls to my senses.
My head swims in her song
I am lost in her music
Her pull is so strong
Her spell has entrapped me
She is stealing my heart
I sit here in silence
As she weaves her dark art
She captures my mind
With her words as she sings
She tells of the pleasure
Her warm body brings
The softness her firmness
The scent of her sweat
She knows I'll fall pray
She has already bet
She does not really love me
It's her form of abuse
For the way that she lures me
She has no excuse
She knows nature calls to me
She is sure of her craft
She knows at her magic
She is rarely surpassed
No one escapes her
She is deadly and sure
For the song that she sings to you
There is not a cure
I am lost in her song
She has captured my heart
And locked it away
Every bit not just part
She is lovely she's crafty
You best run while you can
Or your life will be over
Long before it began.
Rew 7/16/16 rewrite.

ruh roh raggy
those ranes rust rew rinto that tower, raggy!
there's rire reverywhere!
rook rat rose reople committing ruicide
rosama rin raden and ral-qaeda ron't stop rus, raggy!

The fickle luck of my sweet cunning stunt  
as my tutor says " you're a shining wit    
the prime frier tuck of all cunning runts  
a stabbit Rew, the cooking flue, of linguists..."  
  
I picked Lucy my furry ***** cat  
she who once had the name of Mary Hinge  
her dam was Betty Swallocks she said duck fat  
would get me cobbing throcked and Grapes by the rinch
  
But that weren't so muk'n fuch till sigging fruck  
gross Pat Fenis was a right witch banker  
full of featy sweet and featy swannies  
from Penistone not Scunthorpe, a bush whacker?