In her head she kisses Mickey Rourke
to the sounds of jazz lounge
or electronica, imagining the City

sky-lit skyscrapers
hoarding robotic lives
only she & Mickey are alive

only they are worth it
their joy-ride of lust
holds them in it's grip

but only the wind forgives
the stars that hide
the love soon to be torn apart

Brian was the perfect teammate.  We were team parents and out numbered 3-2.  But he was a strong enough player to hold a level playing field.  When bases were loaded, he was the catcher and tagged our children before they could score a run.  His commitment to our team made us strong and we did the best that we could to hold them on base during the teenage years.  But their team was stacked.  Three heavy hitters ready to stand up to the championship team…  Wow!  What an amazing game we all played together.  And I had an outstanding coach.

            But one day, one of their player’s was injured and could no longer play the game.  It was a sad day, the day we realized that we were one team and that one of our star players would not be there to help bring our team back to victory!  We suffered a few bases, but even though we did, we still came out winners….

Krystalyn married the man of her dreams.  She brought 2 new players to the game, Joel and Zoey.  3 runs there.  Sean has gotten sober and is in school to be an oral assistant.  Score 3 more.  I have moved on to be G-Ma and the proudest parent I can be… I scored 3.  Brian fell in love, remarried and shared our family victories.  4 more runs.

            What an awesome team.  We are sad that Brian was injured and cannot play anymore. We will miss our coach. .  But, we are happy he and Jay are together now in the bleachers and keeping score.  We are still winning…. 13-0.

When you’re older, you can make your own choices
So many choices you wish you didn’t have to make

Like choosing between dinner or gas in your car
The toy for your child or a pair of shoes without holes
Between a stiff drink or delving the unimaginable depths of your loneliness

As a kid they sell you the fiction
Adulthood means freedom
Freedom of choice
They never tell you it’s mostly picking the lesser of constant bad situations
You get to vote
Which criminal is the lesser of two evils?

Choose:
-Between getting proper medical care or paying the rent
-Between taking the time to get better or going to work sick to pay for the medicine
-A quick ****** or real love
As modern adults
We are slaves to our choices

So many choices you get to make when you’re older
Can the car repairs wait? My health? My sanity?
Which coffin do you pick out for your dad?
When do you pick out your own?

I can’t lie to my son
When you’re older you don’t get to make your own choices
They make you


Inspired by Dan Rourke

~INFINITE
Drugs guns attempts and ****** one roll off this urban griots tongue, I'm a sun from the slums that chased redrum funds, I walked the dark path of prison and gore, stopped at the end, then walked back to the beginning to become a verbal detour pointing man women and children in the right direction before the feel the heat and go through spontaneous combustion. The lemniscate ink spiller swings his pen back and forth to counter decapitation scythe swings courtesy of the reaper. I'm a five star general from New York, I was fantasizing on owning islands like rourke, I know the life well chefed ye for color coordinated residuals, ya know that **** that'll make ya lean or have a bobby b jaw with dilated pupils. in order to educate I have to spit with no filter, the life i lived was similar to helter skelter, it wasn't war for race it was war for boy or the contents of a Pyrex being burnt to a gooey paste. I got more friends dead than alive, so i use phonics mixed with Ebonics verse to explain the pain of sending kites to men bidding forever or the pain of following a hearse to release doves and throw flowers over the casket of eternal resting brothers. Money came in...so did those nine elevens saying another life came to an end. The facade doesn't show the downs of the game, you see the foreign wips, the chics, hear about all the chips, high grain ammo and xtra clips, you don't see mothers crying holding daily news clips explaining how her son died because of chips chics and foreign wips, they don't see the cheddar spent on retainers to prevent predict felons from becoming three time losers, The streets don't come with a fine print, it leaves out the particulars.

Infinite the poet 2014

~THE REB
Behind the madness I came to a conclusion of the humen world. The streets caged me in bars with no ability to pull comfort of a drink together with equality in communication with society. Understanding the diversity of life in corners made me believe struting my fist was the way of life. There were no hands to hold onto tomorrow. No space in alleys to run but to dead end vortex duplicity. Uniform authority confined my freedom to be humen. An animal to sociaty but I did no crime. Just to get from one ave to the blv these popo's be trippen down my ****** lines to the creases over my thieghs. Feeling for a high by touch to get that high in a remote area of their private sources. Age nine I stood in the ghettos near home. What I thought was a dream of doom I wome to a high with tracks down my arms proving this confusion. Colors to claim, and colors to flag, I kept pushing away congregations of street wars and bet on my own revolutionary independence. Pistol on my inner thigh I tred lightly in a walk of shame. I found no glory till one day my tears fell on paper. On the walls of East Chapmen Ave California were monumental master pieces of anger and sadness from one end on the wall to the other... I felt something twitch in me... Inspiration of something unfamiliarly bright over the darkness. And for each time I enter back home to family, there was rebirth, and I could not conceive knowledge until one day, the madness got me. I took that pen, and wrote the illustrations of my lack of pigment on every line.. These demons left me in wilderness. No caution about what life had ahead for me. I knew nothing beyond these streets. I lost the innocence in my adolescnce. All the agony and weakness and fears I had hidden for so long, later became exuberant effect. If there was no God, if he didn't love me.. my existence wouldn't have been standing here today to speak behind the madness.

(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII)
© S.T. Rebel of Eden

N.W.O.-owned corporations promote the freshest of youthful faces
having Hillary F. Clinton lesbian relations in crowded public places
Moral citizens must subdue these shrub-scouts with military maces
then bind them together with cheap lamp cord, twine & shoe laces,
before scrubbing the scene clean to obliterate all ****-diving traces
from mobs bleeding the white-funded black & sallow yellow races,
they take up  phony causes in nine of ten clinically-disproven cases
running Manchurian patsies & *** kittens through menticidal paces
A rosy future belongs to normal people, the more normal the better,
folks who appreciate normal things: normal pets like an Irish setter
and paying a street ***** with cash because she's a chronic debtor,
and yet her ****'s an amiable fellow: truly a self-starting go-getter
who crochets booties for newborns & obeys some laws to the letter
How many movies in Maine feature a crapped-out Joan Fontaine?
How much glucosamine does a diseased cow's leg bone contain?
There were no gregarious bean bakers in Hooterville's Green Acres
nor big queen Quakers, fatuous lean takers, spliced spleen shakers,
seldom-seen fakers, farmers as keen rakers, men called teen takers
Low sugar metabolism makes a chick act like Portland Hoffa Allen
in that she'll scarf like a starved pig, piggishly hogging water melon
or muskmelon or any melon that Montreal-melon sellers are sellin'
to your average Trenton mobster, fugitive or romantic paroled felon
who'd **** with depleted uranium Arab babies by incessant shellin'
& get away with it because America's corporate media ain't a-tellin'
just like they didn't tell when 1-dollar milk sold for 1 buck a gallon
and Americans wondered if Michael Jackson & Billy Jean'd marry
civilly in Dominica even though he was a pæderastic-gay-bait fairy
preferring to make it with some 11-year-old paper boy named Gary
in the ***** fields of Michael Landon's Little House on the Prairie
where S.A.G. cows grazed to produce cream for N.B.C'.s T.V. dairy
that made Victor French's fancy ice cream: French vanilla & cherry
that even Melissa Gilbert couldn't resist, who was so often contrary
on the set 'cause her adolescent mood swings did menstrually vary
in the '70's when broads were sexier as they were much more hairy
than “Johnny B. Goode” singer & women's room spy Chuck Berry,
who married a cousin who was flittier than Heinz queer John Kerry
& 6 points stupider than the porcupine stooge: old anti-Christ Larry
who chose his sister-in-law's sister as the bride most likely to marry
whose dipsomania meant that she'd imbibe fortified wine & sherry
as one could be subbed for the other when all choices ain't arbitrary
within fashion statements decrying the sci-fi of Gene Roddenberry  
while taking pseudo-fictive writings as celestially lunar and literary
masterminded by T.V. cockroach from Hogan's Heroes: Bob Clary
Give to me the possession of my hormones back for full absorption
as I'm keen on resuming the bony splinter means of bone resorption
while admixed by neo-commixed protocols of bio-ecleptic sorption
Let's stomp sun-burnt faces 'cause J. Edgar Hoover was the riddled
manufacturer of Malcolm X from a ***** mulatto known by Little
who scrounged while Jersey burned its cheap, girly skirts for a tittle
No one plays guitar more melodically than does cuchi cuchi Charo
whose passion for nature out-natures that of the lovely Al Malinaro
& the crapped-out juvenile actor who was known as Frankie Darro
whom all Californians knew was as straight as the straightest arrow
unafraid to stay the course & to keep righteously straight & narrow
under the same moral code that's served so well María Mia Farrow
who has sworn off the making of stew using vole, llama or sparrow
yet not excluding the animal delicacies of pancreas & bone marrow  
enjoyed by robbers Bonnie Parker, Buck, Clyde & Blanche Barrow
who, as bandidos Mexicanos, were obliged to steal Mexican dinero
☹ A wild man's on the loose who's hurting tourism as a tourist ******
☹ He's tall & menacing like the guy on T.V.'s F Troop, Forrest Tucker
☹ A ****** is on the prowl and he's ******* tourists as a tourist ******
☹ He looks like that F Troop sergeant O'Rourke, actor Forrest Tucker
☹ A wild ******'s escaped from ******* prison & he's a tourist ******
☹ He is a bad ******* **** like the ****** on F Troop, Forrest Tucker

I
Cannot die
Hard as I try
Seemingly
I must
Go
On
And on
Beyond this bright stage
To another age
And
Another.
Hilarious
But
No
Ones
Laughing
Perhaps
Its
time

Grahame Rourke

The Dems duked it out last week.
The Democratic debate number three.
At the current time we have
Quite a political potpourri.

Cory Booker had his moments
Of passionate insight, charm, and wit.
Although his polling numbers are down,
Booker showed that he's got grit.

Klobuchar's our Minnesotan.
While sometimes others appear misguided,
She reminds us all what happens
To any house that is divided.

Warren has her plan for this
And her plan for that, which is fine.
Can she keep up the fight and maintain
The strength to toe the party line?

Harris displayed pluck and resolve.
When she speaks, she's on fire.
It's just curious as to why
Her polling numbers are not higher.

One surprise was Beto O'Rourke.
Beto fans have to rejoice:
This prospective candidate
Has all of a sudden found his voice.

Without a doubt, one of the best
Speakers standing there on the stage
Was our veteran Mayor Pete,
Extremely wise for someone his age.

Although Biden is high in the polling,
At times his answers seem disjointed.
I start with high expectations,
But end up feeling disappointed.

Castro went after Joe Biden.
But sadly Castro's condemnation
Appeared to come less from strength
And more out of desperation.

Yang has managed to keep afloat.
But what's this crazy idea he has
About wanting to buy your vote?
A little political razzmatazz?

Bernie, well…Bernie's Bernie.
But why does he have to be so gruff?
After his rants, one wants to say,
"Enough already, Bernie, enough!"

It's early still and hard to know
Who will advance and who will flop.
But I would vote for ANYONE
Over the current man at the top!

-by Bob B (9-15-19)

The daffodil hangs its weary head
The trumpet sounded
The winter dead
The tears of snow now shed
The rise of sap
Begins to lap
On the shores of hope
And beyond
So far beyond
Into silence
And stillness
God bless
The sweet caress
Of tenderness
In a wilderness
If not a desert
Of loneliness
Dunes  piled high
By the winds of chance
And the carrot of romance
A seasonal dance
Promises,
And in short, longs
For contact
Ever present
In the back of the mind
Be kind
Please be kind
Its kinder nice
And much better to have
Than cold shoulders
Like boulders
Standing resisting movement
And in their stubbornness
They thwart life
Oh what a die to die for.

Grahame Rourke

i came forget what i'm used to doing...
   what's the problem with wiping
your *** in a meticulous fashion?
it used to be something,
other than watching youtube political
commentaries...
and that's when, you little ****,
dried up on the missed focus
of ingenuity...
it used to be an atypical Sunday
after-affair of the day,
read the editorial, and then the news section...
******, tell that **** reading
a Monday's worth of the Daily Telegraph
on the Auschwitz-like crammed tube
carriages on the London tube
during rush hour...
       at least the Yids traveled across
fresh air... ******* Londoner *******
sardines, crammed into their sweat air-borne
virus cringe... like watching pigs die...
but a sometime of a Sunday came,
and i recanted my old efforts
of being informed...
    who needs to watch these videos
habitually... read a newspaper...
i basically skim all the article from Monday
to Friday anyway, look at the pretty pictures...
but some Saturday, but esp. Sunday?
newspapers become holy...
no, really, there's no other word for it...
the sunday times? on a Sunday?
entertainment of the day...
the article about
         anders behring breivik...
  entitle: a neo-**** attacks with bomb,
gun... and film,
by sarah baxter...
              no rhetorical dialectic point
to consider, for my part,
although...
        if he thinks he's the Knights Templar...
guess who "thinks" he's
the Knight Hospitaller...
   guess what?
          Crusades into Lithuania...
the grand battle of the newly wed
Polacks to Christianity and Rome...
and the Teutonic knights...
my story... not yours...
my inheritance... not yours...
        perhaps why the map of Islamic
terrorism is so much akin
to the map of the bubonic plague?
us Polacks have come to exist in a shared
romance of history from the middle-ages...
we're both been crusaded again...
maybe that's why!
oh... really... **** me!
i... never saw it coming!

  shame my half Egyptian half Iraniaan
friend (father the former, mother the latter)
saw differently...
  too bad...
which means i'm off circuit of playing
happy birthday on the guitar for
other... 22 x 1 day wankers....
       what?!

and now it really become entertaining...
lao che's song blasting into my ears,
about some, komtur...
   a rank in the teutonic order...
       and i finish the Breivik article...
past the editorial, the news review
articles...
   on the same page...

   (a) the GRIP of populism:
it's not the refuge of old white male racists,
Trump and Brexit have plenty of young
and affluent supporters,
  and they're here to stay. Roger Eatwell
and Matthew Goodwin demolish myths
peddled by comfortable elites

(a nutritionist and a successful gambler,
sassy read, it ought to be)

and...

  (b) taming the madness of queen Freddie:
walkouts, a *** scandal and the specter
of Harry Potter taking the lead role:
the new biopic of the band has been
struck by thunderbolts and lightning
for years, reports Tony Allen-Mills...

****, decisions decisions... done!
i'll read the article about the ****** first,
speaking into his grave:
don't you think the gays these days have
become... tame? marriage and all,
and so much in lacking the avenues of
former hedonism... or rather: fun?!
yes, the buggery-artist article first,
since i already covered an overt political
dilemma...

and then onto the main show...
plus i'd be two shakes more down with
the whiskey and mixer...
       how many orders of the crusaders
were there?

i'm asking... ha ha...
because i started to think...
is it more, pathetic to think you're
someone in preserving a culture...
or is it more pathetic to "be"  someone
you're not... like acting...
like Mickey Rourke playing
Hyperion...

     frankly? don't know where
the circus begins, or ends!

now... this is going to be... fun!

we have the Knights Templar sorted,
clearly...
then we have the
   Knights Hospitaller sorted... ahem...
by you know who...
so we're missing...
Order of the Holy Sepulcher...
Order of Saint Lazarus...
Order of Aviz...
Order of St. James of Altopascio,
Order of the St. Michael of the Wing,
Order of Calatrava,
    Order of the Holy Ghost,
"   (ditto the rest)           Aubrac
   "                        Santiago
   "          Alcantara
            "         Mountjoy
"      Teutonic Knights
Hospitallers of Saint Thomas
              of Canterbury at Acre          
"                       Monfragüe
  " Sant Jordi d'Alfama
Livonian Brothers of the Sword
Order of Dobrzyń:
     now that's an interesting one...
Militia of the Faith of Jesus Christ
Military Order of Monreal
Knights of the Cross with the Red Star
" the Faith and Peace
Militia of Jesus Christ
"                Blessed ****** Mary
  " Saint Mary of Spain
"       Montesa
"            Dragon (Dracula, Ottoman Turks
  scenario)
"     St. Maurice
      and some others, associated with
a king named: Alfons -
which in ****** language transliterates as...
****!

oh sure, i get it,
it's infantile... that's why i'm not an actor
in a game of reenacting famous
battles, at some medieval fetish fest
for wearing armor...
but the mere thought?
concerning.... (does squiggly lines
with his hands like a madman) this?
give me the right music...
and merely thinking about, all of this?
certainly more fun to entertain
than being fed, *******,
coming from a screen in a movie theater...
who would have thought...
seemingly... sterile words...
elevated to chess pieces
                when properly agitated.

i can understand why someone would
deem this mindset... infantile...
but... the sand truth being?

that film: three Lions... yeah...
those terrorists? not exactly smart,
where they?
  how the **** this one guy managed
to pull off that attack?
English jihad warriors unite...
but please, please... think it through,
yeah?
  it's like... the dumber you get
the dumber the whole message becomes...
this one guy did a *******
bomb attack... and then a shooting range...
probably practiced with paint-*****...
it's not funny, because it's not
supposed to be funny...
if some sunday times editorial columnist
want to see a movie about
Breivik, and she's named Sarah Baxter...
Jihadi dumb-***** should write
Breivik, endless letters of inspiration
and hope for advice...
    ONE man did, what several dip-*****
couldn't... talk about resolve...

anyway... yeah... Sacha Baron Cohen should
have played Freddie Merc...
perfect resemblance, after Borat...
now for that other article...
the grip of populism...
another drink...
the Highlander soundtrack and a jogging
tickle cackling at:
those ******* Jihadi wannabes -
wolf pack! wolf pack!
******* retards.

oh this beats gorging on political commentary
videos from youtube...
the right music,
and a sunday edition of the times...
it's like Chinese new year...
fireworks, dragons and ****!

Just imagine, a three defined
person in one ***. For example.
Joshua Chadley O'Rourke living
in Salford, a Jew Black Irishman.

So, he comes home from work
to find his house graffiti'd in white
paint saying, no blacks no blacks!
on his orangey coloured door!

Hmmm, " Bet you this has got
something to do with Brexit and
no doubt they think I am a DUP
supporter from Enniskillen ".

Assembled by Ryan P. Kinney
From works by Russ Vidrick, Dan Rourke, Joe Roarty, Tanya Pilumeli, Terry Provost, Brian Matheny, Joe Roarty, Bob Wilson
Additional content from Saga of the Swamp Thing vol. 1
Additional original content by Ryan P. Kinney

The devil checked in at noon
And asked us
What is the sleep of reason?
The devil is a wicked man and wears a suit and tie.

In the eyes of your maker
You should be ashamed
To look your Maker in the eyes

Yes, you must stand naked. We all must

I see the perverts.
I see them on the corner.
I see them in the dark.
There's nothing a pervert won't do for pleasure.
They want to be weird.
That's how they do it.

Taste the salt on your tongue.
Salt of the earth
The ****** that made you and touches everything you made
Give us our daily lust. In **** we trust

...And God teaches the cricket how to play his music.
In a world gone wrong, won't you hear my song...
Live in vain or live in shame.
A dead man's hand, a mad man's brain...living off the lighting in his veins
What a wealthy country, but no one’s coming to pay my bail.

what has happened to my poems...
after january 13th of this year?

poems akin to:
a Young Man and his storm petrel of Tindhólmur
кaцaпы и кaкaшкa
broken record antics (a decade's worth of ***, comparative lit.)
1812 Overture: or the teasing plagiarism of La Marseillaise
the black cracovite & the three sisters amber
a most depressing diatribe
curating: for the meat fetishists
pokój cywilny (комната гражданский)

am i... uncomfortable for attempting to...
work toward 1 million words...
what... these twitter instagram "poets"
feel a threat?!
that also called... not sitting on your laurels...
or making sure you stop ******* on
your thumb and shove it up: where the sun
doesn't shine...

and my god... the internet used to be so much
fun!
now... there's no even a "warning"
or a precaution... i've been in and out of this
cv pile of ******* for a better worth
of 5 years worth of a whipping...
and there i was... about to write...

a movie critique...
well... you can't exactly write a movie critique
these days...
i was going to throw in the fact that:
dub-step was a really short-lived music genre...
unless you looked for the cherries
akin to: south london dross translates
really well into north east london drab of
the peripheries - given burial's album untrue...
and i can't forget distance
and i can't forget vex'd...

the movie in question?
berlin, i love you...
well... it's not a great movie...
it's not a bad movie -
it's certainly quirky in how the anglophone
world translates existentialism onto the screen...
and mickey rourke is in it -
probably my most beloved cameo not cameo actor...

it's not a great movie...
it's not a bad movie...
but sure as **** and pancakes flying past...
it's most certainly NOT a marvel or a d.c.
universe movie...
there's something beside packaged dialogue
and the quirks of a lame joke...

hellopoetry wattpad all these sites have become
the same...
filled with instagram and twitter poetics...
purposively trying to wipe clean...
oh... about 12 thousands words...
and if that's not enough...
the words just keep on coming!
mind you: instagram still hasn't bothered
to delete all the photos that "probably"
caused the suicide of molloy rushel...
i see f&%$! i'm harmed - inquisitor dyslexia...
not in the age of freely available *******...

this is a kick in the nuts...
almost a year ago i was given a polite breakdown...
now?
marie antoinette me... because... m'eh...
come to think of it...
i'm almost glad i never save my works
on my computer...
stash them on a hard-drive...
learn from the best... journalists...
better still... learn from tabloid vampires -
alias: journalists...
and spew... regurgitate... spew...
spew spew exorcist the fumes heads spinning
perhaps a quazi-gonzo approach will
appear...
as ever: to be left... without every having
being satisfied by one's own words having
been written...

included are reference to a...
most certainly hebrew associated...
i could perhaps call this...
a bout of anti-semitism?
but that's ridiculous...

once upon a time this was a most bountiful
site... oh! the editing! the spacing!
the style...! black and white! och mein gott!
cream of the crop...
cherry on top...

up to the moment when those group-think
enclaves of the sycophants start
turning on against each other...
and the comments are not exactly
constructive...
just... dandy... just plain jane... nice...

it was truly nice, nice...
while it lasted... i have to now get ready
for... so this is how it feels...
to be killed? mentally?
this is what ****** feels like?
those mentioned poems?
they have been erased from history...
i didn't save them...
i "thought" i left them in capable hands...
but... oops! they're gone...
just like those words from a tabloid newspaper
circa 15th of january 2019...
then again: maybe the ***** keep those entries too!

where is that internet i've been hearing
about? the one that days: it's forever?!
i might have said this once...
welcome to the dodo project...
i'll be your... pseudo Orwell and no...
this is not a simulation...
wordsmiths from twitter and instagram
want all of us to choke and gasp
at: red is rose and i love you by choice...
or some other... "headline" poem...
as always... missing the article...

well... beware herr zensor on this site.