Pretty Pictures; as you are embracing me
Lost in an earthly mood of tranquility
Evident than the shadows fusing my feet
Obscure like pretty lies melodically
Pretty Pictures; sailing, forever will be

Rhapsodize; vividly crossing in my mind
A face of cherubim winged up the sky
Cascading through visions abrupt
A star shoots afar than any distant eye
Longing endless of her passionate touch

We are novels, with so much stories to tell
Red laces, stamps of gold, a lush lullaby
I was the house you painted white
Agitate the deepest hues, then we'd fly
Midnight kisses, Dawn then traded goodbyes

Blithe; for we need nothing to pretend
The clearest blue water, a heaven's scent
To the grass wading courteously
Cloud nine's hanging then lifts my feet
Showering up above washing all anxieties

Pretty pictures; like ribbons untangled
A touch of silk as my heart would lilt
Inner feelings frolic then they'd tremble
For in you the excitement is always a thrill
From the simplest to a goddess divine
Pretty Pictures; moments as you were mine

This will be the best poem
I will ever write.

Who's to say if it will be my last, but one thing it is not is a first attempt at finding the right words to convey to you.

And finding the right words
has never been a challenge for me,
but ******* if you aren't giving me a run for my money presently, insufferable me with bleeding
tongue resentfully.

I say that word with an intrepid disposition, because I do not resent the person, but the action: The act of unwarranted silence.

I'd like to think you have a limpid conscience of the beautiful woman you are, at peace with yourself, when at the present time you are consumed with future maybes and counting seconds. So maybe adding myself to your equation was selfish, and brought complications when thinking about anything linear, considering all of the variables.

There was only intention to
rhapsodize the zealot I met on a mutual wavelength, a double helix we all share that some of us forget about, yet here is the reversion, the Neanderthal, the ******* who grew a beard to expose himself, looking at this whole experience all wrong.

Instead, there is Royal Purple Prose to look as extravagant as you are stunning.

Now all that's left is cognitive dissonance to later become
addictive retribution.

An ego too far removed from God, flowers or tea
A dragon burning the hearts and minds of the people
A monster with insatiable lust for evil
The arbiter of destructive nationalism
The hero of those who thrive on vicarious pleasure
Who see themselves in the exploits of strangers
Waving a flag of perceived greatness
Because they are unable to find themselves
Unable to impact the culture
So they become the mob instead
And though pulsing through time without form
It is the ego of the mass that looks for its mate
And he is waiting like a spider
But not to devour them
But instead to instruct them
And teach them why they are angry
And who to blame
The pain, jealousy, rage and heartbreak must be given a voice
But they did not speak
Instead they listened
It was not time to mourn the past
It was time to avenge themselves
No mist in the forest would soften the ground beneath their feet
No rainbow in the sky would soften the metallic sounds of treads
No gentle stream would soften the grinding of fox holes into dust
No
They did not look to nature for their purity
It was him
HIM!
Exclaiming yes, yes, yes, YES!
YES!
We hate them too!
THEY are to blame!
THEY are not like us!
THEY must not become us!
We are not them!
YES!
We hate them too!

And so he smiled
It was time to begin
As far as he could see
Water
The surface begging to be rippled
But it was so very shallow
He could walk anywhere he wished
And then dive into the portal
To change their nature
They didn’t want to **** anyone
Not really
But he had to make them want it
BADLY
And so he waded
So very easily
Every step accepting his suggestion
Accepting his premise
Accepting his anger
He could skip rocks across it
Float upon it
But never drown
For unlike them he knew to stand-up
While they lay face down
Prone
Not knowing they could save themselves
Instead they allowed him to rescue them
On his terms
And the time came when their fears rose
Like a Soufflé
And it could not wait
It had to be served

There were no walls to be built
Instead the boundaries were to be pushed outward
Like the shock wave of a fission parade
The order has been given
The suspension of humanity must begin at once
There will be no innocent victims
For once the order is given they will  die
All of them
The innocent and the guilty

The cold air was just enough to cause dilemma
A wrap or scarf
The natural light was all that was left
Dreams were made from such moments
Especially when there is nothing left
And nothing worth remembering
Except eyes cast upon
Psychopaths
Moral destruction
Patriotic lunacy

But the past had happened
And the future had not occurred
He knew
It was not his country
But he was sent
The pawn
Representing the hopes of all
The former slaves
The  weak
The infirm
The aged
But he knew why he was there
He knew the murders of Malmedy
The word had reached him
The story had ended for him
He had become a cold-blooded killer
It only required their faces
He thought of the unborn world

“I would **** every poet before they are born
For who would rhapsodize about my dilemma
Invoking the Valkyries as if this legends nobility guides me
As if Valhalla waits for me to take my place in the great hall
Yes I would **** them and their mothers
For they are no use to anyone except their own comfort”

He wanted to think of children playing
And laughter
But it made him weak

He wanted to think of revenge
And laughter
But it made him feel revulsion

He wanted to think of why it was that he was here

History recorded that lives were no longer necessary
Except during the trials that became folly and propaganda for good
Like drowning rats they would turn on one another
Suddenly life had meaning
As long as it was their own
Then they gathered as time began its rehabilitation
For though life no longer had meaning to those they murdered
The past must be re-written
The  fatherland became light
Death became honor
Prisoners became justice
Denial became duty
A cyanide capsule became remorse
For he had become a tragic and heroic figure
The perfect myth
The penalty became the reinstatement of the law
The quarter they did not give swiftly strode into the room
Cloaked in robes and white wigs
Vengeance the first casualty
Man-kinds outrage failed them
But it was time to re-arrange the world once again
In the reflection of prosaic words of scales leveled no matter the accused
Where all men are equal
Where all men are made in the image of their creator
Where all men are safe
Because that is what we want to believe to be true

But he could only see blurred images

A crucifix
A female figure
A scroll
A medal

Unspoken tears are why men drown inside themselves

War is why men harden their hearts

What is overwhelming can never be true
Even if you are the one who did it
You were once a baby
You have a mother
This is not what you were taught
But you became death

Why do they think I am a hero?

We are assembled here
this May evening of 2006
to celebrate our own
Leading Lady of
American Letters.

The tall, slender author,
her classic looks
so reminiscent of
ladies in an elegant
Victorian era salon,
reads one of her
earlier short stories
at the Free Library
of Philadelphia.

She speaks with such
feeling and precision,
we close our eyes
and envision her
youthful heroine's
anxiety and naivete
in that familiar setting
of an upstate
New York town.

Later, in another room
of the library,
I will meet her
too briefly at a
book signing.
She stands to greet me,
smiling so pleasantly
and asks, "What do you do?"
in the friendliest way.
I reply "I'm a
proofreader," somewhat
embarrassed at my
flimsy Dickensian
credential.

This was my own
personal brush
with greatness
and I find myself
tongue-tied with
hero worship.
She is gracious
and fragile, exquisitely
feminine and warm and
I would learn I was
not the only groupie
in the library throng
that evening -
a multitude of fans
lined up to meet
the literary icon.

Joyce Carol Oates,
as her critics
rightly rhapsodize,
is a force of nature,
a uniquely powerful
writer whose brilliance
rests not just in the
singularly American
landscapes she paints,
not just in the
idiosyncratic
characters who people
her storytelling,
but in the creation
of rich personal
moments of intimacy,
of revelation and insight;
she makes us witnesses,
eavesdroppers, to her
characters' deepest
thoughts, longings,
her voice reaches out
to us from the pages,
a voice as poignant
as a mother's in the
gloom of night,
reading to her children
just before prayers
are murmured and
sleep tiptoes in.

The path of
literary greatness
leads us to her heroes...
James Joyce, Emily Bronte,
Thoreau, Faulkner,
Flaubert, Hemingway;
like each one of these
celebrated wordsmiths,
she is an iconoclast,
an original...
unique,
incomparable,
our own
quintessential
national treasure.

Oh why do you complain so ignorantly
Oh why do you agonize so self adoringly
Oh why do you hide behind your
my -s  - cries -ties  -chimes
-spies  -guise  -why-s -hives
theorize and disguise
with  big vain eyes and lip bites

why don’t you instead
analyze
recognize
tranquilize
and surrender just
to neutralize

so that
you can
minimize
and fly
to skies
and glorify
wise
fireflies
exquisite
butterflies
and get their blessings
to ionize
don’t you know yet
all elevated beings
use their wings
to alter
dimension just
while  I
crystallize
and womanize
for you
so that
as we energize
our vaporized
do carbonize
seeds
that will stabilize
unionize and re-rhapsodize
the universe
with our
glorious lullabies

upon becoming a nestling sans nest,
i decided to make a half-baked plan of mandates,
stating how i ought to quest, trough to crest.
egesting the presently unpleasant facets,
i adopted a policy of empirical puerilism.
now a newly groovy pluvi-dendrophile philomath,
a counterbalanced feng shui caricature,
promptly finding rapture bereft of culture.
plundering the dysfunctional,
worshiping the digressive.
anything is adjustable,
everything can be lovable.
finding bravery in regret,
forever simply vincible.
basking in the ebullience,
bringing passion with my presence.
learning to rhapsodize my sentience,
projecting admittedly confusing ontologisms,
concerned with not much else than pleasance.
my means of conception have become my heaven,
and with no evidence of the clandestine,
i simply stepped in.

Fancies calcify in waiting,
under floodlights, Seconds crawl,
while the ancient belfry crumbles,
crack a cold one, watch the fall.

A Jiffy and a Nothing-flat
argue ‘round their fell remains.
Jiffy visions stories flying, high-
rises surging from the flames.

A motley crew of Moments,
fitted blind to rhapsodize,
scaffold fickle aspirations.
“Venture higher!” Jiffy cries.

Cresting ‘bove the clouds
ol’ Jiffy pipes a story more
‘til that whisk of wiser wheezing,
downs the tower, floor-by-floor

Collapsing ‘to a shower,
Moments dance in reckless spiral,
share the balmy hands of vision,
kiss the lips of sweet denial.

Delusions topple in a breath
under floodlights, Seconds crawl,
while the idle spire shatters.
Crack a cold one. Watch the fall.

A day like this will make me display my poetic flair for someone chained to my soul was born who happens to be you
I want to rhapsodize about you because back in the day only you struck me with feelings
The rhythms of the beautiful moments we shared never seemed to fade away
I cherish the vivid memories each and everyday
To be human, I had to watch your demeanour
No wonder the butterflies always docked at the  pit of my stomach
Test this love using litmus and you will find it to be true
I wanna listen to your mellifluous voice even in my dreams
Say the world and off we'll go
We only had hop scotch, hula hoops , cat and mouse chase games to **** the boredom
They all seemed to make our bond grow
You now have a hankering for reading and writing
Hoping this piece makes you happy too
Happy birthday to you dearest

HOPE

The White House has lost its Hope.
Will Trump be able to cope?
Did she rhapsodize
His little white lies?
Is he at the end of his rope?

-by Bob B (3-2-18)

TRADE WARS

When Trump has a bad day,
All of us have to pay.
A trade war because
Of tariffs? Where was
His babysitter? Away?

-by Bob B (3-3-18)

DOSSIER #2

We hear that a SECOND dossier
Has recently come into play.
The word "collude"
Gains certitude
More and more every day.

-by Bob B (3-6-18)

HUH?

Some evangelical preachers
Prove to be rather odd creatures.
Judicious thought
Is something that's not
One of their outstanding features.

Although Trump's values collide
With theirs, they're still satisfied
That as chief of state
He'll make us great
For he still has God on his side.

-by Bob B (3-16-18)

TRUMP CONGRATULATES PUTIN ON HIS “VICTORY”

Advice often falls on deaf ears
As Trump crosses brand-new frontiers.
Best wishes to Putin
Don't make for smart shootin'.
He ALWAYS confirms our worst fears.

The man just cannot resist
Putin, who’s first on his list.
Will no one say why
Putin's his guy?
Melania ought to be ******.

-by Bob B (3-22-18)

DACA

Trump might seem to talk a
Great deal about DACA.
Often he’ll dare
To say Dems don’t care.
What a bunch of ****!

-by Bob B (3-24-18)

INTERVIEW WITH STORMY DANIELS

In Stormy's concise interview
Not much was revealed that was new.
Does IT seem to strike
You, too, that it's like
Experiencing déjà vu?

-by Bob B (3-26-18)

Form here to eternity...
A wave of surmise, and sakes, if decency
With a rolling heed, and the calm we needed
With the hath of a naked moon, roses in history...

Look, and see...
Tomorrow on a painted lip, taken to a wishes heart
The threshold of ****, and show your mind me
Another whether about, or with however's reach we knew would start...

A timid race, sharing the panic
And the **** of agony, for the hurting touch
Of what once was a marvel, and now a season so tragic...?
Luminous atrophy in the hands of earning, for another youth, all too suicide for much...

Finalize and seldom, to rhapsodize again in endless opinion
The archaic horses of numbing freedoms, music in the heavens?
Worth once more, and the lauded harmony we win
The childhood of anger, we appreciate with pining's heathen...

Suppose for once:
Compassion's legend of lover's let in a leap, as if the industry of hope
Sacred sincerity taken to an intuition and yearning, of golden sorts, worth begun
Looking one more time, for a friend with a head for a daydream's call, and a nefarious joke...

Kings in wiser halves and starts, stops of indecency
Fateful so a final lip, soul's liberty in ably love, to finalize hunger?
Among the sky and the blame we make, for a salt to find all's history...
Welcome to the star, say we, that said good bye to a bitterness we know you have sung:

Pretty privilege, and the courage that knew you, so well...
The imagination we chose, with the terror of strength, in hours
Asking from heard to epitome, and the adding of common risks, like a bell
We see your cause is real, if not in a mentioned world, so lover's...

Had the time of their lives, if not a delicate balance with reason's shudder
Of a cold shoulder, a shrewd navel, and a legend of jewels
That have it to say, the count of cares, and the gifts of leaders
To a flame, of when a head full of seclusion is pulpable, without angst to spare the rule...

i. Hydrangea Pt. 1
Curtains of rain hang upon hills of indigo
as moonlight shatters the cloud drift
and decorates a river below.

Lapis and sapphire, orchid and mauve,
towering in midnight
where shadows solemnly rove.

Timeless waits her countenance
gazing to the sea.
A love locked in grace,
a wind cloaked tapestry.

ii. Marigold
Teal lace adorns her auburn flame
as hands brush through a stream.
Minnows dance beneath the mossweed shawl
as dawn ends another dream.

I’ll speak a million words of warmth
in winter's frigid hold.
I’ll paint fragments of the sky
and her sun of marigold.

Twilight falls over breaking waves
as Poseidon whispers a gale.
Forsaken within the dome of stars
she’ll guide my furling sail.

I’ll weave a million threads of stone
and cast the mountains aloft.
I’ll prophesy a million years
in her cradle silken soft.

iii. Larimar
Kol dodi echoes in the labyrinth
where I’ve lingered for all of time.
The dream, the presence, the illusion;
have me so delicately entwined.

Molten firmament of flaming larimar
hovers o’er the pool in rays of summer sun.
Still my silence calls.

iv. Hydrangea Pt. 2
Sculpting the afterglow in her hazel eyes.
So long I’ve yearned to witness the world rhapsodize.

Carpet of stars hang upon peaks of icy white
as specters trod the marina
singing couplets for the placid night.