Law,
All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin?
Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice
Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste,
Did not equity say that none is above the law?
Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy.
Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights
Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity,
Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins?
I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you *****.
Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives?
Power-driven termites making uncountable promises
Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests.

Equity,
All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded?
En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare
Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind,
Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile?
Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy
Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants,
Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments?
I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way.
Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow
Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted,
Is your nature as humans so inhumane?
Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny.

Justice,
All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption?
Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice
Thereby making equity a widow without a husband,
Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity;
Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them?
Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions
Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you,
Are you not guilty of molesting the law?
I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice.
You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption
Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again,
And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma.

Karma,
Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma?
I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money.
Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity,
Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law?
Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness,
You that preach the law, are you true to yourself?
Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants
Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands?
Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants;
Mind you that someday the law will rise again.
All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law,
Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?

there was a little centipede a disabled chap was he
one leg it was missing just below the knee
he made a little crutch from a twig he found
so he wouldnt fall as he walked around.

he looked very funny with his little stump
everytime he walked you could  hear a thump
now he has a false leg he threw his crutch away
he still roams around to this very day.

Working in an office with a lot of girls mainly
Suddenly it was that time of year again... Christmas
And the Office party it was looming
As I went toward the pub where we were having our gathering I was feeling nicely laid back and relaxed
Primarily because I'd just been to another pub beforehand and had a few quick scoops/ drinks
Now I was bolstered, all pumped up, I was like a Boxer ready to step into the Ring.

Our pub it was festooned with decorations, lovely colours and glittery things
They were hanging out of the ceiling and stuck on every wall
Above our table a big jovial Santa Claus
Looked down, beaming at us all
As I sat down one of the girls asked rather suspiciously "Where were you?"
Holding up my alibi, a little shopping bag with some items in it
I told her, lying beautifully of course,  that I had to go down the shop to get some things.
As I sat there I noticed the atmosphere was a bit subdued, people weren't talking much
I said to myself, this... this won't do
So I took it on myself to take the lead, I'd be the one to spread some Christmas cheer
So suddenly I blurted out "Wh..Wh..What does Santa say... after drinking a bottle of *** ?
"I don't know" they all said, "what does he say".
I paused a moment for dramatic effect...then I hit them with the punchline...he says "Yo ** **!"
They all looked at me blankly
You don't get it, Yo ** ** and a bottle of *** is the famous pirate song from Treasure Island
Santa's catchphrase is **!**!**!
He drinks the *** and suddenly it's Yo! **!**! (Jeez I thought, I got to explain my own jokes)
Still there not impressed, one shakes her head, another raises her eyes to the heavens, another comments "A silly joke"
But really I don't care, I say to them
I suppose you don't want to hear my Snowman joke then
"O Go on", they say, "get it over with"
It's a bit risque I warned them
What do you call a Snowman... standing outside the window of a Brothel ?
"A hot Frosty", someone said
No! ... The Abominable Snowman.

I say to myself, well at least I tried, I made an effort
I done my bit, now I can sit here quietly for the rest of the evening
Some of the girls have now started to talk amongst themselves
One girl sitting right next to me who I hadn't spoken to in awhile
She suddenly inquires after my wellbeing, she asks"How are you?"
I tell her O! You know me, I'm just... just hanging on in there, yea! just hanging on to the Ledge of Life by my fingertips trying not to look down at all the crocodiles circling below
"Things aren't that bad, are they?" she says a little concerned
I smile and say Well I might be exaggerating there... a little bit
She smiles and offers "You're a real Drama Queen".

Suddenly one of the girls announces that she's done an evening course during the Autumn, she's done Bellydancing of all things
I thought we'll have to get her to give us a demonstration later on (but not before dinner LoL)
This girl then starts asking everyone did they do any courses and what their hobbies were
Finally she comes to me and I say Well I've been making some music on this little keyboard I have, yea! I've been playing...I've been playing around with my *****
(this gets some laughs)
I go on, Actually I've been writing a song
"Writing a Song!" says one of the girls really impressed, "we know you write stories, now you're writing songs, my! you are talented.  What's it about, your song ?"
I tell her it's about a girlfriend whose... well she's a bit of a Goldigger,
Then I smile, I have a great title for it, I call it (I pause for a moment then I say proudly), I call it...Octopus of Love.
"Octopus of Love!!" says one of them dismissively, "what kind of name is that for a song.  There should be a Society for Prevention of Cruelty to songs"
I ignore her and then suddenly launch into a verse of the song

     She said she was a dove
     But she's my Octopus of Love
     A hundred hands in search of one thing
          only
     Yea! My wallet, my Pride and glory.

     When she whispers in my ear
     Her fingertips they tiptoe across my rear
           and into my back pocket  
      O! She's my Octopus of Love
      She"s not at all what I dreamed of.

     When I hold her in my arms
     She sets off all my alarms
     She tells these great big whopping lies
     Man! She's got a finger in all my pies.

    She said she loves me dearly
    Visiting the most expensive shops
    Buying the most expensive gear
    I say, could you not make it more cheaply instead,

  O! She's got me in her grasp
   Her tentacles they hold me fast
   Then she asks what's all the fuss
   And she's so innocent looking
   Man! She's a lovely Octopus.

"I wouldn't be giving up the day job just yet" says one of the girls,
"That's funny" says another
Then someone ups and says "Tell us another one of your little stories",
"A good one, this time!" adds another
"Yea! A good one! We need a good laugh" says another,
I feel a bit slighted by this for some reason, the way they say it, their attitude
It's like their making light of my Art, my labours, my great works
Like their just bits of fluff for their titillation
So suddenly my mood it darkens and my voice it takes on this ominous ring and then I say a little threateningly
"So you want to hear a good one, do you!"
With this I smile and then say menacingly"I'll give you a good one"
Then I look at them slowly one by one
And it's almost like I've gone into this trance state, switched into ghostly mode
A distant remote look comes into my eyes
It's like I'm looking through them into the far distance somewhere...  
And then suddenly I intone real solemn like and with great gravitas
"The Great American Novel!"

"What's that?", asks one of the girls
Now most of the girls are married Moms with kids
They wouldn't have gone to college, they would have gone straight into work after school
So they probably wouldn't have known about English literature and  the Classics and all that high brow kind of stuff
Their only exposure to literature would probably be the so called Chicklit books down their local supermarket,
So I say to them 'You never heard of the Great American Novel'
"No!" says one of the girls, "what is it?"
Well, I start to explain, it's like the Holy Grail for all writers, novel writers anyway
How can I explain...how can I put it... The Great American Novel...
It's like this amazing fantastic legendary mythical beast of such great beauty and magnificence
That roams free and unfettered on the literary plains of a writer's imagination,
Many an author on his death bed admits, "I seen it once, I had it in my sights...had it in my grasp but I let it get away". They then turn their heads away and cry bitter tears of regret...
Or...or it's like... it's like this Great Mountain
that's no one's ever been able to climb
It stands there defiantly, supreme in its isolation, it's peak glistening in the sunlight or shimmering in the moonlight
Unreachable, unattainable... unconquerable
(I'm really on a roll now, I'm waxing lyrical and there's no stopping me)
The Great American Novel...it's like... y'know it's like that old fairytale, what was it called
Was it Snow White. No! Snow White had the dwarves in it
What was the other one?
One of the girls whose always been a bit negative, she suddenly says rather unhelpfully
"It wasn't Pinocchio was it?"
Of course I get her reference, when Pinocchio would tell tall tales his nose would grow longer
Then I point to her and say rather surprisingly "That's it!! Sleeping Beauty!" Remember Sleeping Beauty
The King and Queen have a beautiful baby daughter
At the christening all the good fairies come and bestow Blessings on the child
She'll be the most beautiful
She'll be warm and kind and generous
She'll have a lovely heart
She'll be so wise and so artistic...
Then suddenly who should arrive but the Wicked Fairy
She wasn't even invited to the ceremony and she's really angry
She storms into the Palace right up to the child
Then she says "When this Beauty, this Child grows up she will have an accident"
It's like The Great American Novel is the Beauty, the Child
And it's like she's saying "This Beauty no one shall have, no one shall ever write The Great American Novel"
And of course, when the child grows up she's so wonderful and so amazing
But then she has this accident and falls into this strange deep deep sleep
And everyone in the castle too, they also fall asleep,
And suddenly this big thicket of dense thorns springs up around the castle so no one can enter it
Many a brave young man having heard of the Great Beauty behind the Wall of Thorns
They valiantly try to get to her but are invariably driven back by the thorns
Alas! They fail and gradually the story of the Great Beauty passes into legend.....
That is till one day, a Knight appears, a Knight so noble and pure of heart
The moment the blade of his sword touches the Wall of Thorns
A path opens up right through the thorns leading to the castle
He finds everybody there fast asleep
He climbs the Tower and finds in her chamber this incredible Beauty sleeping
He is so taken with her that he must kiss her on her lips
In that moment her eyes they open and she smiles a radiant smile. And the whole world awakens again, comes alive.

I look around at all the girls, their all a bit spellbound by my story (at least I like to think)
I go on 'It's like I was walking in my mind one evening, seeking some inspiration
And then I just turn a corner and there he is, in all his glorious splendour
Remember your Greek myths, the fabulous white winged horse... Pegasus... this beautiful mythical beast
Just there drinking at a pool right in front of me,
So quietly I sneak up on him and then suddenly I jump up onto his back
He rears up and then spreads his mighty wings
And starts to rise way above the earth
My eyes they are suddenly opened, and I see what I had not seen before....
I look at the girls but then just as before, a strange dark look comes over my face and I say
" I'm really afraid but I think, I think I've done it
I think I've nailed it
Yea! ... I think I've written The Great American Novel.

I go on 'Yknow  whenever a new book comes out the Critics, they all wonder
Will this be the One, will this at last be The Great American Novel
Of course, their always disappointed, the candidates they all fall short
It was a good try but...but not quite
A valiant effort, maybe next time
In the Critics Room one of them will be given my book to read
Slowly as he reads, his eyes will grow wider
And his jaw will start to drop in awe
When he finishes he'll sit there in his chair stunned, almost like he's been shellshocked
Then he'll rise unsteadily  with his finger pointing at the book
He'll be stuttering and stammering
"What's wrong!", people will inquire of him
He'll look at them in a mad crazy way
"My eyes... my eyes they've seen it" he'll say
"Seen what?" they'll ask
"It...it... it's The Great American Novel.
They'll all stand up and gather around the Book
Suddenly someone will grab a pair of binoculars and look up at The Great, the Holy Mountain
And there on the top, on the summit
There'll be a lone figure standing with his little Irish flag
"Truly he is the One", they'll say, "and a feckin' Irishman, wouldn't you know".

"So what's it about then", asks one of the girls interrupting my flow
What!', I say
"The Novel! What's it about"
I look at her and then I smile and say rather mysteriously 'Well, that's another story isn't it'.
"Wait a minute", says the girl whose usually very negative, "so the valiant Knight with the noble heart, that's supposed to be you is it ?
I raise my hands innocently as if to say what can I do
"O! I think I'm going to be sick", she says. Then she continues "Where did you get the time to write a Novel anyway. All the time we thought you were working you were probably just there daydreaming over in the corner".
"It's not very long", I say to her "my story".
"How long is it ?", she asks curiously
"Actually it's only about ten or eleven pages".
"What! Ten or eleven pages!!!", she says jumping on this with exaggerated disgust, "that's not a Novel, it might be a short story but it's certainly not a Novel. For it to be a Novel it has to be several hundred pages long ".
I tell her But 'I didn't need a few hundred pages just ten or eleven was enough, it's all there, the whole thing'.
"But it's not a Novel", she maintains
I answer, it's the spirit of the thing that matters, the Spirit!
She then gathers herself and I can feel an offensive coming
"I don't want to rain on your Parade", she begins, "but One you're not American, Two it's not even a Novel, and Third if it's anything like your song I for one won't be holding my breath".
I look at her a bit crestfallen and then I say
"You really like to burst my balloon don't you" , then I say, "I'm reminded of the classic lines of W.B.Yeats the great Irish poet
And then I declaim theatrically
"And Great Art... beaten down".

Anyway now the spotlight moves away from me, the girls start talking among themselves
"Let's leave him to his delusions", one says and now our meals are starting to arrive, I'm forgotten about for awhile.
For some reason the word "Parade' has stuck in my mind
And the pub has suddenly grown more boisterous, some people are singing and blowing whistles (those paper things that roll out and then roll back in again) their throwing streamers and confetti about
Suddenly I'm reminded of those old ticker tape parades they used to have over in New York when they'd be celebrating something or someone
All the faces looking out the windows of the skyscrapers and all the streamers cascading down, and the cheering crowds
And up on a big Podium there standing, the President himself.
I look up at the wall at Santa Claus smiling back at me
And I say to myself "Hello Mister President"
I can see him welcoming me up onto the podium, then with his hands he quietens the  crowds... and then...then he speaks
"Fellow Americans, we've waited a long time for this day
Many thought I'm sure that it would never come but some...some still dared to believe Yea! That one day a man would appear and that a Book would be born"
(holding up the Book) I give you the Book
It may be a slim volume
But don't let that fool you
Sometimes good things come in small packages...
Yes! I give you the Book,
The Great American Novel!!!
And I give you... the Man (motioning to me)
"He told it like no one else could, he said it like no one else could say it
Let the bells ring out across the land, in every city and town...in celebration"
So sitting there I raised my glass to Santa Claus smiling on the wall
And said quietly and secretly to myself
"Here's to you Mr. President, Merry Christmas!

Under smoldering red desert skies
Earthquake-like tremors displace sand
And giant gears pulling wide treads give rise
To a towering, onyx colored machine of man.

A scientific prophecy once foretold
That the oceans and trees could be killed
And in its toxic love of black gold
Humanity granted this prophecy fulfilled.

It used to warm our bodies and minds
But now, our sun is something to fear
Our lives and colossal machines combine
And chances of survival remain unclear.

For military rule has exploited
Our natural will to fight and survive
They’ve usurped us and anointed
Themselves rulers of the inside.

What’s left of our once great society
Roams the Earth in onyx colored arcs
Scientists try to return Earth’s sobriety
As we wage war for oligarchs.

Terrorism between 3 arcs ensues
As each believes the one to solve
The problem of an Earth abused
Will become ruler by forceful resolve.

I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves

It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay

It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers

It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales

Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song

Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!

At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around

Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.

And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”

She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.

“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.

“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”

This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.

“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.

A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.

April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.

“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”

“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”

“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”

The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.

“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”

She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.

I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.

“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round.  Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”

He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”

The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.

He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.

“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”

the voice in my mind can't possibly be my own
i've never spoken such cruel words to anyone
why would I do that to myself?
it must be a demon,
roaming my mind,
using  my own voice against me
to make me feel unloved
unwanted
replaceable
urging me, after every small incident
to **** myself
i'm worthless and no one would care after all
to the demon that rules my mind,
you've gone and made yourself at home
4 long years and counting
you've reduced m to tears more times than i can possibly count
i did not invite you in
one day,
during a vulnerable time,
the door was left open,
and you strolled in as though you owned the place
made yourself a cup of tea
made my body your entertainment system
broke me
over
and over
had be subbing till i had no more tears
had me wishing i was dead
it looks like you're her for the long run.
Well, in that case,
we better lay down some rules?
I'm in control and I always will be,
no matter how you may make me feel otherwise
i am the master of my own body.
i have a sad feeling those rules will never be followed
and my mind will continue being its playground
my soul an trampoline
and my body an artwork exhibition

Karma, Karma
hateful heart in trouble,
***** deeds of action
will now simmer and bubble….

That surge in the stillness of air
vibrates leaves on every tree,
the truth laying below deceptive layers
where you think you’re safe to be.

That tingly feeling on your skin
the spark of fire within your eyes,
a surge of deception fills the air
as light flickers in the sky.

An eye for an eye
paybacks can run deep.
Do you think yours are any different?
Karma really does SEEP!

Be careful where that energy roams
Karma pays back in triple,
for that ***** deed done and lie told
can devastate, destroy and *******.
~

I came home from your funeral dressed all in my Sunday best.
The shock of losing you is past and now I feel depressed.
Our house is large and empty now and silence roams the halls.
I remember the happier times before I lost it all.

Some weeks have passed and I’ve resolved to sell this place and leave.
I’ll get a small apartment with just space enough to grieve.
Of course that means I’ll have to pack and cast some things away.
That’s how I came across the box saved from our wedding day.

How beautiful was the dress your wore on the night that we were wed
I still can hear the music played when you pretended that I led.
The hand sewn pearls, the lavish lace, your falling auburn curls.
How rich a man this pauper was when you were in my world.

On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying

Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour

Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
     two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
     in careless conversation
to wonder over
     missed whispers....

But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
     your eyes again
     solvent for my presence of mind
     dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
     To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
     For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
     To deny ...To deny

To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know!  Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...

I melt... I'm gone....

My Father: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden!
My Mother: Well I Never expected a thorn bush either!

I always thought it was quite funny
I remember this on sunny days
when my parents were driving my Father would ask my Mother if anything was coming from the other direction and he'd say:
"Is it okay George?
And my mother would say:
"Okay, Hit it Henry!!!"...I still have no real idea why...I remember and I sigh...
as a twinge of sadness comes sneaking in.

There were certain people that my Father did not care for and he would say they were snobs ..."****** intellectuals"... as a child I got confused by that but now it makes perfect sense....it was said without pretense.
I had to figure it out.

Without a doubt...
I have many fond memories of my family...especially my Dad, who really sacrificed more than anyone I've ever known
who sowed every seed he'd ever sewn
Raised 4 kids till they were grown
all the fading memories that I blindly used to perceive as bad...
have now melted into the Beautiful
They are now the things that endear me to them... as I remember...they make me smile for a little while.

My Father has passed now some five years... was born a simple man of simple means...
times for him or more than just a little lean
Shoes three sizes way to big
stuffed toes with old newspapers
a dresser drawer....fashioned Sisters crib
He was a Phoenix rising from those ashes
And he was never out of fashion...
a Master Carpenter... a builder of my dreams...
raising beams
dressed in denim bib overalls and a white T-shirt...a red, white and black bandana in his pocket to wipe his sweating brow

And now....ever since the day he died
I have tried...but my Mother and I now have this distant love
so I know he's still guiding me, and us from far above
I never would have made it this far
way too many scars...
It's a strange feeling to feel so very alone
feel like I have no real home
in the world...
I am a caretaker of an apartment....

I feel he would have done
anything for me  
he would never let me see...
such awful things
and be
down in such lonesome places
with strangers, such unfamilar faces
Or so I used to think

I've been at the very brink
Now I understand he wanted me to know
to struggle for my life and so I would grow
as even a thornbush would...
It taught me to be humble even when I couldn't walk
to listen and not to talk
even though I have my children, my progeny...
If sometimes I still can feel so very alone...
so no matter where my Gypsy heart roams
I carry those memories with me they are my church in the day...and in the night
I remember his final words
and I know.... it'll be alright
He taught me how to fight
and I am fighting beside him now...

I am carrying out his final wishes
I cook them in my famous dishes
My Father absolutely enjoyed the sharing of food...
Always was in the mood for something delicious...
So I sprinkle
them with his way
the things he'd often say
with his stoic compassion,
an understanding heart, so kind
I try to share his brilliant mind...
I am thankful that he wanted me and made certain I was here
His memory to me so dear...
with him I have no fear
Thank you Father
Thank you Daddy...
Love you Ma Cherie....

Cherie Nolan © 2016

The long grass flows in waves,
rippling in the suns rays,
that travel down to me.

My young mind flies,
as my old body lies,
in a soft, grassy sea.

Arriving took a while,
it was worth every mile,
now I rest my sore bones.

Listen to the chorus,
of the lively forest,
where my happiness roams.

My breath joins the breeze,
gently rustling the leaves,
of a kindly old oak tree.

I close my eyes,
feel my chest fall and rise,
how nice it is, to simply be!

Another time the stars will seize  you
parading your aspirant hopes,
first touch still bristles
that earlier shine, while not quite alone
for seeds of dreams will broaden your shoulders,
walking taller than your beckoning.

i have a litte tortoise and is name his fred
he lives in my garden underneath the shed
when the sun comes out he comes out to play
happy and content as he plays away.

he roams around the garden looking for a treat
for a tasty lettuce leaf thats what he loves to eat
he just takes is time walking round so slow
then when he gets tired back to the shed he goes

climbing underneath to his little bed
where its nice and cool underneath the shed

There's an elephant in this room, there's no denying that
No allegations, no assumptions
Just here to state the facts
I see all your dirt
And the **** you try to hide
But what I don't see is your respect
Did it die along with your pride?
And the love you say you posses
Or did it get erase along with all the traces of your text?
Yeah, you thought I didn't see all the lies that you succeeded in
And I played it blindly like I reside in Stevie's skin
And what really irritates my soul, is I could've played that role
The difference is I was investing in commitment
While you was the one auditioning
Now aint that bout a *****
Either resistance was too hard
Or even with a straight flush in your hand you were incompetent in playing your cards
February 22
Where were you that night?
I laid peacefully in my bed, eyes closed tightly, thanking God for sending me a wonderful man
Instead of being April's, I was playing your fool
Swimming foolishly and open in your deceitful pool
Drowning
in 12 feet
But I still wouldn't get out if I could
The irony.
Man, I swear your ******* be so good
I respect everyone's privacy
like there's a No Disturb sign on the door
But your cell phone has been ringing vigorously and that
I wont ignore
I gave you your space
You could've freely ran away if you wanted to explore
You give a person enough rope they'll hang themselves
And right now your toes are dangling 57' from the floor
I'd slave to bake your cake.
Let you eat it wholly.
And you still want more!
Selfish
I bet you didn't even think of me as she laid in your bed naked
or if when you slipped on that contraceptive
Emphasis on the IF just in case I stand corrected
The betrayal
The wonders living in my mind roams in a frenzy
In a million years I never suspected you
Faithful is what you pretended to be
And when I bring it unto your attention
You're worse than an evidently guilty man crying innocent
Obviously, you love to play with fire but when I deliver it you can't sustain
That's like constantly running to get an umbrella when you "claim" you love the rain
You can't handle the truth
BE A MAN
every moment its time to defy it you coil
Just face the aftermath with your ten toes planted on the soil
Because every word you deliver, every punch you throw
Will travel through this universe and manifest to your soul
You didn't like that huh?
Your emotions sings that you're ******
Storming out the door like a madman
But where's he going at a time like this?
To get some fresh air?
To **** another *****?
Men offer me pleasures that I happily resist
But now that the truth comes out he can't handle the ****
He wanna throw his hands up and be a little boy
Hell, I might as well go to K-Mart and buy his *** a toy
Or run to Priscilla's and get me one as well
**** being deceived, I'd rather indulge my own pleasure and be by myself
But the way he makes my legs shake
My heart flutter
My soul yearns for more
Makes me reconsider to stay
Did he do it ruthlessly?
Was it a mistake?
I'm all out of thoughts, I don't know *** to think
All this **** is unbearable
I'm going out for a drink...



                          Copy Right 2013
                                ©Patty Ann

The Beast, it lies,
The Beast, it cheats,
It gnaws and gnashes at your knees and feet,
Its teeth are long,
Its teeth, they scar,
No person is left unmarked
It size, unmeasurable
Its weight, unweighed
Its whereabouts, untraceable
Its name, unnamed,
But the Beast wears a familiar mask you see
A mask so familiar, so familiar indeed,
This unmeasurable, untraceable, unnamable beast,
Who gnaws and gnashes at your knees and feet
It roams by night, by day it hides
The fearsome beast who lives inside.

When a spirit
cannot rest or find peace
roams aimlessly,
hurting people that it encounters
you have to **** out the evil

Salt
Perfect little crystals
so perfect they are almost holy
they repel the evil within
Keep the bad trapped inside

Burn
Turn it all to ashes
Destroy the evidence
that it was ever there to be evil
that is how you keep from getting hurt

and so I choose
to Salt and Burn
all memories of you.
all the times we spent together
and all our laughs
because my soul deserves rest.
I deserve peace.

He declared himself a refugee, and ran away from his country
Running away from hunger and poverty, to the overseas,
He roams foreign countries from one place to another,
Chewing foreign fortunes of historical efforts,
Of blood and sweat shed by the fore(wo)men of those countries,
He is prostrate and defenseless to foreign languages,
Begging for sympathy to be made a citizen in Europe,
His rapacious appetite wedding his tongue,
Swallowing saliva on sight of European fortune,
Feating into mad appetite for sweat of others proceeds.

He burned the bridges on the way back to his home
Lest he be told the piffling of going back to his emaciated mother,
He changed his names to become a foreign native
Out of laziness not to fight for political and social change,
An imperative need of his motherland and fatherland,
Blind cowardice made him to over measure homespun folly
In the patriotic spirit of verve-less readiness
To die for political goodness of his motherland,
A (de)patriotic syndrome to only which
Hugo Garcia Manriquez sang a limerick
The best of all poems  in his time of solitude;
(The fear of representation, of going back
to representation, that is,

to animosity)

he spins round
and he is rough
he picks up
by the scruff

collection of power
rough edges and angles
complex network
of wills entangled

to a new baby's sigh
to a little girl
he is no good friend
not the world

he roams until pitch
just like me
wonder which
of us is free

little tommy tortoise he his my garden pet
he roams around for hours when its dry or wet
he likes to chew on lettuce and nibbles it real slow
then  a walk around the garden this little chap will go
he has a built in shelter when curled up in his shell
which is back or front you really can not tell
he sleeps all through the winter till the start of spring
then comes out again such a clever little thing
he is only young with lots of years to go
what i would do without him i really just dont know

What rarity can acclaim to this elusive title? Where surely
claiming it itself is against its nature.
It might be what our mothers told grubby faced, knee
knocked flecks that dart from graffitied parks
when light turns dark.
Is it in the eye of the beholder, a stubborn piece
of irritating dust? Perhaps those who search
will never be rewarded with a glimpse as
perfection becomes unfathomably further.
Why does the haughty swan rise when the
it squawks more than the pigeon?

Beauty is boxed. It is wrapped in parcels and
swaddled in ribbon until one forgets that it is in the child's
face and not his hands.
Unmeasurable pleasure shouldn't be contained, it roams and commands like a caged tiger. It controls the eye and navigates,
onward soldier. So perhaps it is not rare at all but there
for all customary enough to
anticipate the undeniable.

Listen / By Robert Boldon  
Listen my life depends on you hearing me
My soul echo out the words I love you into the endless frame of space ,traveling the speed of light, breaking down into atom waves molecules transform into tiny dew drops of dust evaporating into the lungs of insects that need it for survival itself water. That the breath of me be used to breathe out the words I love you.
Listen my life depends on you hearing me
    The very wind that comes from the creator of all righteousness   God almighty Himself, has bestowed  the thoughts’ of eternal life after death onto who ever should believe in hem and have faith                 onto the morning light that brighten you day the sun. At night the moon that lights your way, cascading off the mountings illuminating trails unseen by the naked eye reflecting your way home.
Listen my life depends on you hearing me  
Dreams of warriors winning the battle, returning back home to the ones that truly love them for who they really are, not just some sadistic man, woman , child  killer that roams  the earth looking for unarmed innocent bystanders that fit the description of so called terrorist,hiding weapons of mass destruction that are never found.      
                                                                                            Listen my life depends on you hearing me
Rivers ran red that will take years to purify dew to the fact that there were no weapon’s found. But still bodies found floating with no head no limb’s, no description of male or female, ground soaked with blood so thick it turn to mud ,crud . As far as the eye can see there is no love, help that will never come screams of the wounded that will never be heard, waiting their turn to die, As their villages burn down disintegrating into ash , The animals from the nearby jungle pick through half alive bodies on their last breathe, too weak to scream, fade away like a bad dream.
Listen my life depends on you hearing me
The ones that get away seek revenge, holding the last laugh in knowing they’ve lost their mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers infants ,cousins the whole dozen/memories ricochet off of fractured skulls from renegades  in today’s time would be on the front page, Captured -Rage.
Listen my life depends on you hearing me
Even now as I come to a close saturated tears, socket your makeup stained face’s, under garments’ laced with pity and shame taking place of pride and joy, waves of emotion tug at your heart in soul thinking this isn’t the way the story was supposed to be told, nor the visions that have taken hold of your reality of unseen grief, Bodies on the ground bodies on the street.  
Listen my life depends on you hearing me

she exists now in a dream state
unaware of the horror and the passage of time
wind rushes through broken panes
moaning mournfully
floors creak and door hinges speak
announcing her presence
this was her house
once a place of light and love
full of family and friends
cotillions resonating with music and dance
and lively conversation
a grand kitchen to prepare the feasts
of pheasant under glass
a gazebo for laughing in the rain
arbors for moonlit meetings with owls
a pond for lilies and croaking frogs
gardens for picking her favorite peonies
a nursery for her children
all this now nothing but ruins
from happiness to a home for bugs and bats
crawling with silverfish, centipedes and black widows
shrouded in cobwebs
drowning in dust
suffocating in stench of rotting wood and desolation
decorated with 100 year old bloodstains
she never saw her killer
never saw the spurting of her arteries
never heard her children’s screams and death rales
she sees her house as it was
and every night she roams the rooms
calling her children’s names in long, haunting whispers

-Joelena Saldana
11/28/14
Foot steps.. Breathing.. Movement..
Believe it or not, it all creates music. Every sound you hear. Whether it be annoying, irritating, boring, catchy, interesting.. It's all music.
Every living and non-living thing creates music.
Whether we know it or not, it's most definitely there.
It would be completely impossible not to discover music!
You see, people mistake music for just sound. It is rhythm, vibration, nature. Music is not only sound. It is touch and sight as well. Texture...
And if it wasn't humans or creatures that had discovered or started music, it would have been nature.
The wind, of which blows across or through. The rumbling from the landscapes and landslides. And the rain, of which eventually lands or touches something that soon makes a noise.
Whether we like it or not, we are surrounded by music...

Confide in me

the irony

of laughter as a crutch to keep

with self descriptive Bildungsroman

in view of Schadenfreude's Ad hominem

Mask the image, compensate, compensate

Power struggle, shift division, relegate, relegate

Egocentric discharges inhabited by identity crisis

Circumstantial Deus ex machina, plastered on by streams of vices

No wreck, no head on, but a path beset by tolls and diversions

Somehow I must find a way to make these scattered routes converge

Dead and othered language roams the fields of pomposity

More ironic self aggrandizement, an appropriation of ferocity

Paint them a picture in the mind's eye of your blurred forward vision

I want to see the target marked, but attention is a competition

I'm Viable, I'm Jovial, I have the means to take these chances

I'm lying now, it's one or the other, let's hope I make the right advances