Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."

Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,
I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?

Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,
where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA., friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,
of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.

even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.

I'm leaving Carly's place after an all day ****** that had me convinced that paradise lay in the legs of Nate's sister wearing a unicorn onesie, and as they put on Sgt. Peppers and lay there the ****** freudian passion play overcame my capacity for archetype observation and I proceeded to walk around the room thanking everybody in that space and time for the gift of starting the **** with Nate's sister, the beat changed and they turned on me and said I needed to give her space, they all became timeless aliens traveling through time to **** and I was one of them coming online in a loop, and as long as I stayed awake I would remember and not be *****. I sat cross legged holding my friend sams hands, looking into his eyes, saying aloud we're creating the universe constructing all as the three smartest people of all time, forever throughout we died but never died, as long as we could stay awake, they all wore red and I couldn't trust any of them, I fired off mad questions and demanded to know the secrets of the universe and why woman wasn't the answer, I called up to nate to bring her down to me, and generally became a raving lunatic
      after some time of sam being soulmate and accepting him forever as my lover self same image, and also calling him ugly as im ugly, then channeling Brittany through him and countless other regressive exercises, we started inhaling nitrous gas, and the world became one stretched out moment
       and I kept calling out before, all the way up, as it were the secret spell with a handshake to fool the devil
         I thought Nate a mad spirit habituating this plane as a long gone failed hero plagued by the madness of wanting to **** his sister and forced to watch all his friends be aware of their own lust, so that pushed him into clowning, which he is an expert, that primal lust took me up and id taken a holy mandate to **** this beautiful creature and ascend to paradise,
when they slipped her upstairs they left her rainbow onesie, i felt heaven become another step remote and my faith tested, I resolved to be the last awake and never die, I walked up to the attic, and saw the light beaming from the window


            Sam dropped me off at the press grill so I could eat some grub,
then I met up with Tyler for a drink somewhere while he told me his story of meeting a guy in a skyline chilis bathroom drunk at 3 am, he said the guy was standing at the ****** but wasn't *******. Ty asked him if he was done and the guy put Ty in a chokehold with his pants down, according to Ty the cops came in and he was putting clean shots into the guys mug, he is contemplating leaving town before they can indict him for felonious assault, I told him Canadas nice but Venezuela doesn't have an extradition treaty, come to think of it neither does Cuba, but Ty is too proud for that probably
   anyways we meet Carly being a dancing beauty in a high falootin joint with string lights called Julep, the only reason to mention it is because as we were leaving a guy was bent over the rail vomiting and looking wretched he noticed us watching him as we smoked our cigarettes off to the side and immediately decided that he wasn't some kind of side show freak to be gawked at, he became threatening in the most base and pathetic way a human can, and his bride came to tell us to ******* with her father, father of the bride shaking my hand, we eventually left that scene and walked to Oddfellows where I saw Sam Cohan and he bought me a beer, good chap, we talked until I stepped toward Carly, Tyler and a fine looking strange *****
I touched Carly and received an awkward unmemorable introduction to the strange *****. She walked away but lurked and locked eyes with me as the evening rolled on
later Carly told me that the girl demanded to meet the guy who looks like Heath Ledger, a sure fire ****, so Carly is grinding on my **** and my backs to the bar and Tyler already got me a beer, and there I was, a pirate king
I took Carly out after the lights came on, and was going to give Tyler the run of my place, he disappeared into the night and I showed Carly my favorite smelling tree, a pink mimosa still in bloom late July, we almost ****** on my car, until I went back to her place and we ****** until $430, rising at noon, I left telling her we had an hour to get ready to journey to Findlay for Jim's wedding
I showered and brushed my teeth and collected my suit and put it on without a tie
I picked up Carly and set out upon the road, but made a quick stop for a bite
two deaf guys ordered in front of me and the kid working the register said my glasses were cool, along the way I was telling Carly the story of how I wore make up for the first time to a middle school dance, and she said she had to *****, I didn't believe her at first until she tried to stick her head out the window half way rolled down, I managed to get it down all the way and wet streaks of human gut waste caught the wind and splattered my window
we pulled over and I went to get her some napkins to clean herself off as I squeeged the car, she tried to wipe the window with the napkins, sweet girl. The wedding started at 3:30 and we didn't have more than five minutes to spare, she found her vape pen 20 minute out as Heather started to send me worried messages, as I was set to read a passage, little did I know that I was leading off the whole affair, I arrived and was quickly rushed to meet the mothers and have a boutonnière pinned to my lapel , the women all looked stunning and I congratulated each in turn as they shoved a program in my hand, Tiffany took me through the drill, we walked up to the stage and took our places on the bench, looking out at the beautiful shining faces,


I was the only one not wearing a tie, but thats not important, I saw Jim and embraced him with all the love I could muster, he looked at me and said that he knew I would make it, that he knew that he just had to trust the flow, and I would appear in the nick of time, the pastor threw his hands in the air and welcomed the families, the mothers lit candles, and then Tiffany looked at me and said that it was my turn, I stepped up to the Beema and gazed out over the crowd, trying to summon something clever, nothing good came to mind and so I opened my mouth and said, "a reading from Genesis" and then put every fiber of my being into reminding the room that it is Gods will that we be fruitful and multiply. I'm told I slammed my hands down for emphasis and let out a hearty amen, a man's man's amen, and turned and took one giant step off the podium with two baby stairs, I gracefully flowed into the bench having averted a complete embarrassment, and then tactfully left the stage with Tiffany after her read.   Jim looked at me after mine with a nod, and I said the word strong, that read cemented my status as a star of the party, and the mojo flowed, I was called the cash guy by the hotel, for checking in as Atlantis Grosshammer, $200 depost, we drank and danced and an old lady came to me to say that I have a beautiful soul
I thanked Jim's father for helping to create my friend, and danced around bottles
the cake was good
I told Carly I always catch the brides garter, at every wedding I've ever been. I saw Jim's men assemble for his toss, I let the men come and put myself in the mix, Jim turned his back and had a misfire,
the temptation to collect it passed all of us by thankfully, and he was set to fire again, it came to me and I snatched it out of the air, cold as ice I walked off the floor only with eyes for Carly not even saying a word to Jim, I put that thing on my head and went back to Jim threw him on my shoulders and swung him around like we were in a broadway musical
two kids playing in the street,
he said its the best moment, and so it goes

Infidelity Is Fatal
A short story
With a twist
By
Jude Kyrie

Henry knew she was cheating on him.
No specific proof but he got that bitter feeling in his gut,
you know the kind that's always right.
Little things bothered him.
Like Meg not getting home until 6:45 when she finished work at 5 pm.
What was happening with the missing hour
that she should have been home.
Probably ******* some lover somewhere.
She always said oh I called in at the Mall
or ran into Betty her best friend
and stopped at Louie's Bar
for a glass of chablis.

The other thing was the phone calls.
She would put the phone down as soon as he came in the room.
Redial gave no answer at all but that was just a signal
he had read about lovers morse code
Let it ring three times to answer
or wait for the second and third call.
Yes for sure she was ******* someone.

No wonder Meg was stunning at thirty-five
her figure was great she spoke softly and was kind.
The first to offer her help to any worthy cause.
Decorated the church at Christmas and Easter.
She was a beautiful woman.
And some ***** was trying to take her away from him.

The final straw was the trip to LA she said she had to go there
for a meeting but LA was not in her territory.
Henry forbade her to go
but she got angry for the first time in twelve years of marriage
and told him to mind his own ******* business.
Jesus, she never swore.
For sure her lover would be with her
making a patsy of Henry with
Meg moaning ******* in the hotel bed

Then the doozy
he found the gold cufflinks with a small diamond in.|
He knew they were not for him
he never wore cufflinks in his life except on his wedding day.
He did not even own a shirt with a folded french cuff.
Yep, it was a gift for lover boy.

The phone rang it was seven o'clock it was Meg.
Hi Honey, I am going to be really late
I was at the mall and met the Bryants
we are going for a drink want to join us.

He had herNo I am meeting up with David
Evans for a poker game I will be late too he lied.
He knew for certain she was with lover boy at some ****** hotel
He probably had her down to her Bra and ******* right now.
The rage screamed in henry's chest.

The phone rang again
It was actually David Evans his best buddy.
He told him the full story about Meg
and her lover leaving out no detail
David felt he was losing it
Look, Henry.
Megs loves you she's as straight as an arrow,
You are just worrying about nothing.
Meg would never ever cheat on you buddy.
Then he told him about the cuff links
They were hidden in her ***** draw.
He had found them in his search for evidence.
He said silly they are probably a Christmas present for you.
No way, said Henry.
No way. I don't use Cufflinks.

David was worried Henry sounded like he had lost the plot
Look, Henry, I am coming over let's set up a game of pool
Get your good scotch out Buddy.

Henry put the receiver in its cradle|>
Then he went to the desk in his Den
in the locked drawer he pulled out a smith and wesson.45
And slid in in his belt.
It took him three hotels to find her
Her BMW that he bought her
was parked in the back of the carpark
Meg was in it as was a man was in the passenger seat.
He crept closer it Sam Bryant
Megs best friends husband

He was a homely fat **** with a big gut.
What the **** could she see in that loser?

He must have a **** like a ******* horse thought Henry.
But he tapped on the window with his gun
Meg saw him a shocked look on her face Henry what are you doing?.
Don't pretend you don't know you cheating ***** he yelled.
Put the gun down Henry for god's sake.
They ran away to the hotel bar and henry followed them in
He caught up to them and pulled his gun out pointing it a Sam's head
What the **** do you cheat on me with this fat ***** for?
I had a dog that was not as ugly as him
and I shaved its ***
and made it walk backward cried, Henry.
What do you mean said, Meg?
You think Sam and Me are having an affair, Henry?
She almost laughed.
But she was cool really cool.
It"s obvious, the ******* cufflinks.|
They are for you at Christmas.
you been in my drawers again Henry?

Well, Sam, you get ready to pay for your sins he said.
he lifted the gun into sam's face.
A woman screamed from the door
Henry, please don't hurt my husband, we got kids.
It was Betty sams wife.

I told you we were going for drinks henry said Meg
Put the gun down.
I even asked you to join us remember?

The door opened again two policemen with revolvers drawn
pointing at henry one shouted drop the weapon NOW!
Henry turned to face them
his gun pointed in their direction.
Then six shots from the police revolvers
blasted Henry into eternity.
He lay dead upon the floor.
mEg knelt by his body weeping.

The funeral went by quietly
only a few people attended.
Henry was regarded a bad news in this town.

It turned out the gun in Henry's hand
could not have fired anyway.
The firing pin was removed

A month later

The gossip column in the local rag had a story

Meg Williams and David Evans
Are pleased to announce their marriage
At the St Jude’s Church of Salvation.
Ms.Williams is an investment adviser
and widow of Henry Williams.
The wedding is on Saturday the 9th of February
The couple will be honeymooning in LA
Where the bride said they shared
their first romantic moments together

The only hole in Meg's story was fixed later.
She placed the shirt with french cuffs in her closet.
Wrapped in pretty Christmas paper with a note.
To Henry with all my love.
Meg

It was not needed
But God knows who Henry had blabbed
the cuff links story too.
Better to be safe than sorry
Smiled Meg
As she dropped the firing pin
of a Smith and Wesson .45 revolver
Into the drain twenty miles from her home.

The End

I am the definition of a sinner.
This is the life Where no one is crowned a winner.
I'm buried alive, too tired from the struggle that I survive.
I get pulled over no matter how fast or slow I drive.  
They get paid to take me out of this world either I'm convicted, dead or exiled for life.
But I stay true to wherever I ride.
Because I got certain standards I  have to abide.
I'm not slippery but I slip out the back just so I can run to go hide.
I'm not a sellout, so I won't surrender my pride.
I'm just a product of uncle sams factory distribution line.
I live in this box that reads "pure evil, nothing good of his kind".
They put me on your local news and they keep pressing rewind.
So society has a basis to punish me so their ego is fine.
Every night that you eat with your family, in prison is where I dine.
I suffer from nightmares of living the american dream.
Then I wake up and look down at my hand holding this knife.
I only wanted to live happy and construct a real meaningful life.  
My heart bleeds for my beautiful children.
I'm badly wounded inside by searching for this nonexistent philosophical wife.
Some might say it was caused by pure negligency, but I fought for this freedom, revealing my true legacy.

Hats and Hooves and Humming Birds,
Moulded cheese and strawberry Nerds,
Oh, Good Gracious Paper,
You are this poems maker,

The Lion kills, Gryffindor's dead,
the snake bites him, Slytherin lies on the bed,
The Raven caws, Ravenclaw is upset
The badger has a cold, 'Hufflepuff takes him to the vet."

"I am the Lord of the Rings", Says Mr.Frodo
Then Sauron comes out from Mordor
Gollum Screams, "Smeagol the Lord."
Boromir kills Saruman, using a sword

All ends bad, as is bad
Denethor in his house goes mad,
he burns himself and leaves Gondor sad,
Bilbo beats the old took, all because of that footpad

There is havoc, everywhere
Voldemort challenges Sauron to a dare,
Voldemort has the Elder wand,
Sauron wields the ring and jumps into a pond

They duel right there, wand and ring,
Sauron things Voldemort's a dumb thing,
Sauron wins and Voldemort flees
then Sauron boasts about his good deeds

harry's happy but Frodo's sad
and Bilbo is weeping over his lad,
Sams works for Sauron's evil garden,
and pippin lives in a barn with a hen

thank you, oh paper,
This funny poems maker,
unfortunately, I didn't write this poem on you,
I wrote it on a computer screen, nanana poopoo

The only thing I kneweth how to do
When uncle Sam pointed a gun at mine temple was
Put a flower down his smoking Pipe
He got a kick out of that...

Matt opened his eyes when he felt the shift in the bed. He turn towards Eve frozen he watched Jake kissing what was suppose to be his. Eve laid there as Jake kissed her. With heartache accompanied by disbelief Matt regained his ability to react but instead he left the comfort of the warm bed. Just then Eve slapped Jake.


Typical, now that  she sees i'm awake she goes into defense mode. **** she always doing this, ******* with my head. God your such a ******* ****, Eve!


He left the room quickly making his way to the recliner. His head was pounding feeling the need of destruction rise with in him. Unwilling to give into the desire he settled his sights on the television. He turned it on flipping trough the channels and raising the volume wanting to drown out the sounds he knew would shortly follow from what he had witnessed. He covered his ears refusing to hear her moans penetrate his heart as Jake penetrated her.


She would, that *****. Just give herself to another man, another man who isn't me.

As the unfamiliar voice floated unclear from the man on the television to his ears he remembered the first time he had laid eyes on Eve. He was with his cousin visiting  his sister at her friends house. Matt and his cousin were entertaining with their playful rough housing.  He had his cousin in a head lock about to take him down when she stepped out from behind the bedroom door. Her eyes met his and he stood still. She flashed a smile at him as he unsuccessfully tried to do the same. He hadn't even realized his cousin had escaped his grasp. He felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn up into a smile and she turned her attention to the right of him. It was then he knew he was going down. He hit the ground hard feeling the vibration pulsing from the ground beneath him where his back made impact. He quickly rolled to his stomach rising up on his knees and hands. He looked up at Eve, she was laughing, her eyes where lit and he was in awe. Her expression change  to match the feeling of the impact of his cousin lunging himself up in the air and crashing down on his back. Matt's cheeks filled with heat as he focused in on his cousin. He pinned him down then scanned the room for Eve, but she was gone. The memory faded with a crash that startled him. He looked around the room then realized the noise had come from the television. He turned it down, way down deciding he wanted to hear if she would dare **** him in his sisters bed. He sat in the recliner balling his hand into fists waiting, listing for the faintest of sounds from Eve. Moments later he heard a distorted laugh and turned his upper body in its direction. Jake stood there staring back at him with smug amusement plastered on his face. Matt's already tense body began to flare engorged muscles. He was ready to take him when Jake sent a smile at him. Matt could feel his blood boiling, pounding, rushing through his veins reaching his heart quivering in anticipation waiting for the slightest movement in his direction. He studied Jake.


What does Eve see in this ******? He cant be that great, its only been five minutes. I'll bet she'll be on to the next guy by tomorrow, or back to Derek. Ah ****!


Images of Sam's father plagued Matt.


She ******* knows i hate Derek.

Flashes sparked in his eyes and he played the memory's tune. They had been arguing on the front porch while Matt's little brother ran circles around them.


"If you ever let Derek come over here, ill kick his ******* ***!" ,Matt informed Eve.


"Whatever Matt! He's Sams father and if he wants to see his son, he's gonna." , she countered.

Matt bounced up and down with anger. Eve dismissed his primitive dance and went inside. Matt blinked escaping the memory, fixating his eyes on Jake. Jake turned his attention down the kitchen then back at Matt. Matt narrowed his eyes when Jake dared another smile at him before going into the kitchen. The destructive desire with in him ignited and he beat his fists into the arm rests of the recliner. Shortly after Eve appeared.

"Where's your sister at?" , she asked.

"*******, you hateful *****, ******* ****." , he said in a whisper.

"What?" , she said.

Matt was over flowing with the urge to devour her with hateful slurs. He slightly turned his head to her refusing to look at her directly.

"How should i know, maybe she's with your boyfriend." ,he said.

"What's you problem Matt?" , she questioned him.

Matt took pleasure in the irritation in her voice and retaliated with, "You should know."

"Whatever Matt." , she sneered at him.

As Eve entered the kitchen Matt inhaled and swallowed his breath. He fought the desire to slap the **** out of Eve. Matt bathed in relief when he saw Eve out of the comer of his eye a few seconds later. She walked by heading to the bedroom with Sam and a bottle. She looked his way only to see his eyes piercing her with a glare. She tilted her head up at him calling him out on his **** and stuck her tongue out at him before she disappeared into the room. With that his jealousy was extinguished.

I got new friends
Who told them?
Go use him
He works hard for you ends, To meet,
his life ain't compleate
They think sellin dime bags
Beats your poundin feet, or ****** hands, or avoiding uncle sams deadly reach
Only my real friends can see, even though sometimes they can't be, and I can't be, like we used to be, family, I havnt seen them since I last cut my christmas tree, but sometimes they call and that's when I see new friends may act right
But real friends, They Will Be

Matt turned off the television in hopes peace would present its self in the shadows clinging to the silence of the living-room. He closed his eyes, filling his lungs, grasping that moment desiring to hold it prisoner.

Nope, no use, there it is rising again.

Matt soaked in the fury that slowly brewed into wrath savoring the delicate temper pulsing in his heart. He began to enjoy  himself entertaining all the things he could do to make Eve regret ever messing with his head. Matt watch scenario after scenario trading smirks of pleasure with each one. He welcomed them to appear, fade, then reappear, each one bringing a mending sliver of an antidote to his heartache. Sams crying followed by Eve's echo'd pain slapped Matt's plotting revenge leaving his heartache to thrive. Instinctively he felt the brief urge to know what was happening. He shook his head refusing to go to her.

Why should i give a ****? She doesn't.

Several minutes later Eve appeared from the bedroom holding Sam. This time he met her at eye level waiting to see if she would offer an explanation or sign of regret. Eve's face failed to demonstrate any emotion that might have laid beneath. She held her sight steady on her path passing refusing to look his way til she was gone from his view. Every scenario Matt had planned collided crashing against one another til they were just ruble being sweep away by his sadness. Without permission his emotions flooded spilling out, each tear represented a different one. He stood then paced from one end of the room to the next. He opened the front door needing fresh air to cool his head. He blinked through blurry tears then quickly closed the front door when the cream colored Cadillac came into focus. Wiping his tear he peered out the window. He recognized Amanda sitting in the front passenger seat sobbing uncontrollably. Matt didn't need to see the driver to know who he was. Jeff was never far behind Jake.

Jake and Jeff, ******* *******, always together.

He stepped away from the window and with a moments thought headed to his room. As he approached his bedroom door he could hear Julie, Jake, Eve and Sam from behind it. He walk through the door way looking from Julie to Jake before sitting down on his bed. Jake laughed sending Matt into his own life altering path. Left there for safe keeping Matt pulled out a Budweiser from between his mattress. He knew he had a probation appointment the next day that would result in a ***** UA, but that was the point. He didn't give a ****.

Self improvement isn't always
Easy but nothing ever is
When it's worth equals your birth
And no longer do I feel cursed

Cause control with moderation
Accountability and resiliency
Needs alignment so my assignment
Is to create a formula like science

That leaves me less defiant
And use my rolodex of excuses  
Cause that laziness is useless
Or maybe I'm just to stupid

But you don't have to be smart
To learn from a mistake
That I inadvertently force on myself
Mimicking the traits of ****

Without the date so I try to escape
To make my life better
Cuz I believe it's never too late
Wait....they say never say never

Which is more convoluted than clever
So whatever, I just wanna be better
So I leave this motivational letter
to remind most hardship endeavored

Are created by me so whether
I call it bad luck deep down I know
lobotomy of proper ideology leaves my life like our Economy, and its told

Philosophy states success is made when preperation meets opportunity
And it's been hard prepping for what can feel like a dead end but... No

Cause faith isn't just for religion
You must calculate your vision
Cuz any goal met must first be set like premonition the first Provision

Of many on a desired mission
no longer will my present position discourage me cause courage.Be my currency even if currently conditions

Leave me impositioned by decisions
Of the past that finally crash
When it chases me to grasp
The changes I've made but that

Is the bad karma I rightfully have
Wooven like its tapestry that flows
So without a needle&thread; or learning to knit i still knew how2sew

forced to reep it and keep it asan
Expensive lesson given
Ramification and consequence
Once written will later find u wishin

That the epiphany now hittin me
Didn't need so much time to see
But the sams transgressions may
Also be a blessin, a present of me

Who is evolved from who I use to be
But still knowing its nor enough
So more consciously I move on as it cautions me to live lawfully tough

And although premature I grew up
This reflexion will be my incubator
better late than not seein the indicator to act as my Instigator

The initiative initiating creator
So if you judge me for early labour
That conceived the belief Received i only hope it relieves knowing these

Words are left to show your deceived
But if that's the cost I wagered
Then this poem now stands a receipt for dues paid and mayb one day later

I can be refunded or if nothing write it Off as a cost of business
Or even education bridging the gap
Of inflation since my occupation

Leaves me expendable so vacation
is taken at club prescription med
So metaphysically I fly to my own
Tropic island gettin out my own head

Where I dare swim in the despair
Of being overwhelmed by damage
left by dumb adolescence to manage
The mess it collects so i bandage

damage i caused Unnecessarily
Physical and mental damage
mislabeling Addiction as a habit like affliction warnings were in spanish

Walking around while I fly high
Not realizing I was being ravaged
So if i end average its stil better than
The full picnic basket short a sandwich

That I was, with a side order of
A chip on my shoulder
Which I learned to swallow with my
Pride which is y i got fat when older

Which is a built Im jacket as colder
It will definitely get til karmas done
Dishing out what outta be awfully
Close to described as ******

A relationship maintained constantly
And a futures what it's costin me
Basically karma holds the **** u emit
Like it was a bag of your colostomy

Only it gets tossed back onto me
Which sparked nostalgia in my head
Hearing my mothers voice echo
Now making sense of why she said

I was **** for brains or **** head
Like my dad often used
Not as abuse but to give truth
Of what becomes of wasted youth

PART I
Sam had been eagerly awaiting this move. The new house was spectacular. An old, colonial home in rural Pennsylvania, with a wraparound veranda and a bay window in what appeared to be a castle spire on the far North side. The roof was made out of red clay, pieces of it broken, yet undisturbed. The front yard was turning brown in the July sun, and the front door had a crack in it the size of Texas. But with a little elbow grease, Sam and his family were going to make this ****-hole a home.

Sam walked inside the front door and was greeted with one of those large staircases that splits into two directions at the top. There was a portrait of someone at the top of the stairs, but his face had been ripped out of the painting. Peculiar. He then walked across the squeaky floor into the kitchen where he decided to run the sink for a drink of water. Rust. The water ran brown and he was wondering what he would drink since the fridge was still in the back of the U-Haul. While the rest of his family was still unloading, curious Sam decided to tour the house, since this was the first time he’d actually been in it.
He went upstairs and hung a left. The wallpaper here was hideous. A mix of Posies and Lavender painted the walls with a yellow smoke-stained backsplash. Upstairs smelled weird. Ammonia and cigars. Classy cigars. Not a 75 cent Black & Mild you buy at the drive thru when you can’t afford a real pack of smokes. I follow the smell back to a bedroom. This bedroom was the master room. Sam opened the door that was slightly ajar, only to find the room was completely barren, short of an old timey rocking chair. Maybe the old occupants left it?
Walking about this room Sam feels a cool chill on the air. Like a September breeze gently brushing the back of your neck. Looking around he felt nothing but the empty space. No weird vibe, but not a comfortable one either. He felt like an iceberg standing in the ocean all alone, waiting for the Titanic to come along. The Titanic in this case, being something of any interest or excitement. Time to move on.
He moved out of the room, past the stairs and into another, smaller room, past the strange portrait. Once again, there was an empty, barren space where his feet hit the floor. This room had carpet. Old carpet, maybe **** from the seventies. But he really didn’t care. It just appeared as a fire hazard to him. Hardwood has always been Sams’ favorite. He wandered about this room the same as the last, feeling nothing but the coolness and how awfully the room was decorated. Obviously a childs room. The walls were covered in Zebras, leapords, tigers, and lions. There was coloring on the walls. He didn’t notice what it said until he really looked. “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE HERE” was inscribed on the wall in red Crayola marker. He binked, and rubbed his eyes. Looking up again, it was gone. How strange. I’m not imagining this, he thought to himself. I have 20/20 vision, I don’t mistake anything. Oh well. His inner monologue had ended.
After a minute of contemplation, he decided to go help the rest of his family. On his way out the door to grab a box, he was greeted by his eccentric mother. “Aren’t you excited, Sammy?!” She exclaimed as he came outside. “This house is so old. I love the history.” She said enthusiastically. She was a young mother, having Sam at the age of 19. She was a nurse. Taking care of people was her specialty, and another was not giving any regard to herself. Being 31 now, she’s having a sort of mid-life I-Need-To-Feel-Youthful-again crisis. That’s why she bought this house. She figured a new house could mean a new her, and she could live how she’d always wanted too. She was a small framed woman, about 5’3 with a petite figure and a bright red pixie cut. As she was carrying boxes of China into the kitchen to place on the counter, she had to stop and breathe in the places aroma. Inhaling deeply, she sighed “Wow, sam. This is spectacular. Don’t you think so?”

“Kinda weird.” Sam replied, making his way up the veranda steps with another box. Placing it down, he commented about the hideous wallpaper. “This place is pretty **** ugly to me.” Sam said distastefully. “Samuel Smith, watch your mouth!” Mother said. Being a single mom and not having a father figure to help raise Sam, she’d done the best she could. Always teaching him to use his manners, watch his language and chew with his mouth closed. She’s the picture perfect mom, only missing the mini-van that comes with mom-hood. “I think we’ll make it work just fine, baby.” She added as she came up to him, wrapped her hands around his cheeks and kissed his forhead. “I love you, pumpkin.” She whispered. Sam replied, wiping her hands from his face. “Mom, come on. I’m to old for that stuff now.”

She pulled away, minding her boundaries. “You’re never too old to be my baby, Sammy.” Now go wash up, I called in for take-out earlier since we don’t have a stove yet, and you know you’re not allowed to be ***** at dinner time.” Sam sighed deeply. “Ugh, fine.” He stomped his way to the bathroom to see the new shower. Everything in the bathroom was very nice, except for a crack across the mirror. He took in his surroundings as he ran the water. To his surprise, the water in the shower wasn’t burnt orange and filled with rust. It ran clear, as it should. Sam stripped down and showered, singing Motely Crue to himself while washing.

After stepping out of the shower, he went and ate dinner with his mother. He’d gotten his usual order of General Taos chicken on a bed of white rice, extra sauce. Mother ate the egg rolls and dipped them in soy sauce. She wasn’t a big fan of meat, anymore.
After a few more hours of moving and assistance from hired help, sam went to his room and laid down on his brand new mattress. Covered in plastic, he struggled to find a comfortable spot where he wouldn’t slide off. He found it in the middle, and slept.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“What the hell?!” Sam jumped out of his bed and almost out of his ****** Doo themed pajamas. BANG! BANG! BANG! “Mom?!” he yelled. He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, and flipped the light. He found his mother in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors shut with all of her might. “What are you doing, mom?” Sam yelled. She turned to face him. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t quite point it out. She curled her lips into a smile and said “Go back to bed, Sammy. Mommies just having fun.”
“Um… okay. Goodnight then, I guess.” “Goodnight, Samuel” she muttered. That was NOT mothers voice. “Are you okay? You seem weird.” “Mommies fine, Samuel. Go back to bed.” He went without questioning It anymore. This had frightened Sam out of his wits. His mother doesn’t bang cabinet doors shut at 3:35 A.M, or ever, for that matter. He tried to disregard it and went to sleep again, using his pillow to drown out the banging.

Eve tormented herself daily for the death of Sam. To her it was the not knowing what had lead Matt to **** Sam that really plunged the dagger of self hatred and regret into her repeatedly each second of each day. She had asked Matt countless times to tell her what had happened. He would either refused with an explanation of not wanting to upset her or he'd just avoid the question altogether. On one occasion she begged him for closure in the form of a written letter. His response was that maybe they should quit writing each other. Enduring his refusal fueled her further into depression leading her down a path of anger  towards destruction and with that she began to lose hope she'd ever know why. She had forgiven him, even told him she still loved him from the very first letter she sent him. Still he could not find it in his heart to tell her. At first each letter she received gave her hope it would contain an explanation, but at the end of each one she was left broken by the lack of information. Eve learned to smile for the people who surrounded her in her life including the friends she shared with Matt making them believe she was okay to an extent for the sake of knowing what Matt refused to tell her. She knew the autopsy listed the cause of death as aspiration and cardiac arrhythmia due to sudden impact to the chest supporting Nora's claim of what Matt had done. To her that was a cause of death not a reason why Matt killed her son. She needed to know why in order to let go and move on. So much had change since the night Sam had died on Oct 12th 2001 between the hours of 3-4 am. On Sept 23rd 2003 a letter would arrive to Nora's address for Eve finally giving her the answer why Sam was murdered.

Eve drag out that day just like any other, step by step, obsessing over the death of her son. She walked the sixteen blocks from her mothers house to Julie's apartment with her head low and her spirits lower. On her way a small Honda drove slow and close to the curb containing the woman that had once been her friend. Alice dove the Honda spitting hateful remarks at Eve,

"What's the matter *****, you ain't got a car?"

Eve glanced towards her with sad eyes that held the pain of her life refusing to let the tears hidden beneath make an appearance. Instead she glared offering Alice anger instead of sorrow before turning her attention to the pavement of the sidewalk ahead of her. Alice laughed with excitement as she continued to beat her words into Eve's reality,

"Keep walking *****. Just keep walking. You ain't **** ugly *** *****."

Alice's words were echo'd by the laughter of the passengers in her car. To Eve's relief Alice drove off leaving her to enjoy her misery alone. When she arrived to Julie's apartment she found the front door open. She stepped inside the apartment with Julie in her line of sight she made her way to and sat on the couch next to her.

"Hey girl. Watcha up to?"

Julie said as she dug through her purse. Eve answered with an even tone,

"Not much just bored."

"My mom gave me this for you. It's from Matt."

she said as she handed the envelope to Eve. Eve took it from her with glimmer of hope and an anchor of regret. She opened it and began to read the letter. When she arrived at the sentence that started the events of the night her son was murdered through Matts point of view she stop and headed to the bathroom. She closed the door then let herself fall to the floor as she continued to read the details. She arrived to words-I stopped and buried her head in her lap as she screamed with agony. Tears flowed as she lifted her head spilling and crashing onto the letter she had waited one year, eleven months, one week and one day to read. She gasped choking the air down her throat as Sams voice played through her mind hearing his last words. She could see her baby's face in the glare of her tears that continues to spill. Regardless she kept reading.

It was so quiet my ears were ringing. Then i took him inside and you left to the hospital. I got a ****** up mind and i went crazy, I lost it. Now i'm in here and I read the some strong signs of a ego disharmonious killer is abuse, cruelty to animals and arson. When I was little my mom and my uncle used to beat the **** out of me and I've burnt two houses that my mom was renting. When I moved to Peach Springs i burnt somebody's elses house, i burnt a garage like four cars and probably like twenty trash cans. I won't even start with how many animals i was cruel to. But all that ***** in my past. So ima stop talking about it. I'm sorry for the ****** up **** I've done but I am what I am. And I hope that my stay in prison will help me to change. I've been thinking about a lot of **** in here and I think I should have just walked away but i was so drawn to you. I should have just left you alone but I was drawn to you. By what? Love? I don't know and wish I did. But I'm not gonna start talking about love, because it's like you said love can hurt as we all know. So **** love, know what I'm saying? You said you loved me, did I believe it? No. I said i loved you, did you believe me? Probably ******* not, so **** love. About those letter you said you wrote, just get rid of them. Three year, two months, two weeks and four days that's how old he'd be now. I think about him all the time. I sit here and wonder what his voice would sound like. I would really like a picture of you. I haven't seen you since my court date and it wasn't really tryin to look you in the face then you were crying. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I never did what I did? What would be up with you and me? I do, I think about what could've been, what might have been, and what would have never been. And I always ask myself, what were we? I can't put a name to it. What were we Eve? Do you even know? I hope you like the drawing on the envelope, i think it's good for you because i always thought you had beautiful eyes. Besides, all my other envelopes got hearts and roses on them. The one with the roses says love you and you don't want to hear that ****. So, bye                                                    

        September 17,2003                                                                Matt

P.S.
Would you please tell Julie to write me and I said Hi.

Eve felt lost and catastrophic. She sat on the bathroom floor for twenty minutes after she finished reading the letter without making a sound as she continued to release her sorrow.

Writing Prompt: July 20th 2014

4 août 2014
  

Write starting with this line for Yeats: "Now all the truth is out.."

Now all the truth is out.. and he knows. I haven’t told him, but such truth cannot be concealed. It’s too real, like a baby discovering its ability to bleed and heal. It’s too real, secreting from my adrenal glads, quivering my hands, my heart punching against my truth. It’s too true, like it was planned, a surprise party for me where I return home and am unexpectedly greeted by love.

The truth is out, but it was never really hidden, I just didn’t find out until now. It was not a secret, and nothing was omitted, but I hadn’t known how committed I was until I felt I would die if I wasn’t. My love, surging, forceful, moving as the sea–moving me–we are in the age of Pisces indeed, and he is my divine intervention without the lies of religion. My prophet, my prince, is it too soon to say I love you? Is it too soon to say I want to?

The truth is out: there exists an abundance of Sams and Bobbys and Rachels and they are all the same, but the man I call Habibi is as unique as his name.

In the cove where sea lions do dwell
there be Saline Sams thirty gunner
most of his jolly tars are in bars

So by the moonlit night to guide us
up by his hind we crawl
we mean to take out her masts
and give her fifteen shots broadside

As we finish with his ship
my boys move to port
and with cannons blazing
we blow to smithereens the inn

Then by dockside we alight
and with glee carry on the fight
we slice and dice till non are left
not Saline Sam, or his salty sea dogs

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Hotdogs, Mustard and Omelettes please
Yellow cabs, jay walking down Florida Quays
Four lanes, Juggernauts and Chevrolet cars
Lights,cameras and Hollywood stars
Palm trees, beaches and Hawaiian shirts
Gucci, Versace and loathsome old flirts
Fields, harvesters and barns full of hay
Buildings, boxes in lifeless decay
Piers, amusements and huge crashing waves
Soup kitchens, The Mission and a life it could save
Islands, storms and the hot lazy sun
Big Apple, Windy City, Graceland’s is fun
Sirens, Hydrants and never ending noise
Planes, Aliens and conspiracy driven ploys
History, Presidents wrapped up in Sams hat
Shrine, Humility where two towers once sat
Arizona, the desert, dry and ongoing
Vultures, Eagles and freeways never slowing

Eve took in the sent of darkness mixed with the light breeze pooling from the open bedroom window. Her restless child laid beside her squirming occasionally letting out whimper of dissatisfaction.

"Just go to bed, just go to bed."  

She repeated to her baby as irritation bubbled to the surface of her reality ravishing all other emotions stirring inside. Sam began to crawl to the edge of the bed then tuning around to slide off feet first the way his mother had taught him. When his feet touched the floor Eve caught him by the hand gently pulling him back into the bed. Sam began to cry struggling to break free from his mothers loving embrace. While praying in her mind Sam would just give in and fall asleep she began to sing his favorite lullaby holding him close. The frustrated toddler was determined to stay awake despite his mothers praying. He kicked his legs, shook his head, resorted to biting his warden. When Eve felt her sons teeth imprint on he breast she let out a horrendous echo of pain. She slapped down on the toddlers thigh only hard enough to stun Sam into releasing his clenched teeth. Sam cried profusely while his mother nursed the impression left by Sams baby teeth. She felt terrible after the pain resided. She cuddled Sam running her fingers through his hair. Singing she told the toddler,

'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when sky's are gray, you'll never know dear how much I love you, so please don't take my sunshine away.'

She patted his back until silence was in the air. The corners of her mouth shifted into a smile at the spinning memory that began to manifest in her mind. Matt sat on his sisters bed watching Eve put on her make up. Blue eye shadow to match her shirt, black eyeliner her signature look. She fashioned every strand of hair into waves of curls. Eve watched Matt through the mirror. She loved how he looked at her with his pleading eyes in a trance completely lost at the sight of her. No one ever looked at her or made her feel the way he did.

"Why are you in here?", she asked.

Unsure how to reply he lied saying,

"Just waiting around to see if you wanted to smoke when you finished."

"I'm finished now, lets go."

Eve lead, Matt followed. They stepped outside, Eve lit the cigarette inhaling then passed it to Matt.

"When is Julie picking you up?" , he asked gently.

"Midnight, that's when the dance is over.", she answered with a smile.

"What, you don't like to dance?"

"Nope, just the after party."

Eve looked up at the stars amazed at the clear sky allowing every radiant star in sight to shine brilliantly.

Matt wore his sincerest look, swallowed, then spoke in his softest voice,

"Your beautiful."

Still gazing at the stars she heard him and her heart sank sending flutters through her body. For the first time she was unsure how to respond to him.

"Yeah they are.", she said pretending she misunderstood what he had said.

Tears surfaced in her eyes pulling her from the memory.

He still thinks i believe he was referring to the stars.

She laughed at her thought.Eve's next decision would impacted her for the rest of her life. There was absolutely no way she could have ever known what would follow an action of hers as thoughtless as breathing resulting in chaos. By sunrise two things would become a permanent truth in her existence. 1. She would forever blame herself for allowing Sam to stay awake that fate altering night. 2. She'd regret leaving the pacifying safety of that bed.

1.) Out of the one thousand and ninety-nine days that you were mine, I only regret three of them. The day Brian ***** me on that pool table, the day your dad moved back to Italy and I didn't come over, and the day you put yourself into this hellish suicide coma.
2.) If truth or dare turned two little girls into temporary lesbians, than so be it. Honestly, nothing ever tasted sweeter than you on that night on the bathroom counter at Tim's.
3.) I will grow up to be incredibly cultured all because of you. I learned to look outside the social norm after our late night dates on the roof. Getting high in your lap as you read me poetry, and played me Damien Rice's The Professor & La Fille Danse on repeat was more than enough.
4.) I always thought you were tradition and I was your French Revolution. But now I'm seeing that I was the revolution, and you were the revelation.
5.) You could not sing a single god ****** note. But the only thing I want to hear is your squeaky voice serenading me with our song right now. I promise I won't be annoyed, just finish chorus with me one more  ******* time.
6.) I would have helped you get to your father. I would have helped you. I would have set your mother on fire to avoid this.
7.) I threw up when I got sams phone call about what you had done. And then I screamed at him for an hour.
8.) I won't ask how could you do this to me, because right now I want to do it to you.
9.) Thank you for punching Brian, and I'm sorry you got fired, and I'm sorry your dad left, and I'm sorry your mom hit you, and I'm sorry that I could not kidnap you and bring you to our own private island in the middle of no wear.
10.) You showed me what star you'd become when you died, and told me that if I wished on it you would do your best. I know absolutely nothing about astrology and constellations. But your star is the one thing I find faster than the moon in every night sky.
11.) The last sip of every bottle of ***** I will ever have, will always taste like the last kiss we shared.

Gun bang
Lue kang kicked
Dah ***** licked
The master told the dog to sic
The grim reapers sickle slit

Duets made a hit
While a duo took a hit
Many lost in the song they sang along with
The rafters got lost out into the abyss
An exuberating sirens hiss.
The past are lessons that we cannot miss

A bomb on doomsday
Dudes slang
Right on the road ways
Were two slaves
Men lost in the trending lust craves
Brought about in repeating historic crusades

Who dat who dat?

Tonic getting poured
Cause were bored

Herb clouds speaking loud
Encore
Wondering how
I am still spellbound

Life goes on
Insecurities
Made from
The mind
Of man
We're slaves of

Ourselves and the sons of Sams.
Who roam hell.

One day we'll all work hard to get paid top dollar.

So every day is not about.


Huh??

iskra (title): par (the body to bypass the 502 bad gateway)

O these tender winter nights,
when the moon graces the skies at night,
i missed him....
in my native tongue he's known as ol'
baldy... he's not known by the name Luna...
just like the sun is a she...
& not Helios...
i missed him... how i missed him when
the nights were short...
when the biting air mingling with
frost didn't nibble at the hands
and explore x-rays...
bone-father... pristine eye:
he who discards unnecessary dreams...
will never allow recurrent dreams
to fester your mind...
   i look at this migrant crisis & think...
why are these people looking for
an elder of the north?
am i the elder?
    another question: could i be as welcoming
with a ***** attested to Abraham...
- once upon a time
i was taking a train from Romford
to Liverpool St...
a single mum with her child...
the child approached me
with a book & started reciting  the words...
in deutsche... i tried to hide weeping...
oh course i shed a tear...
a child was reading to me
about... operating trucks...
constructing scaffolds...
             doing the "magic" that diggers do...

ULVER - KVELDSSANGER:
you can just skip to the song: Utreise...

i imagine that if i were united with a woman,
the role of father would drastically undermine
my relations with the woman...
pointless talk...

i'm currently undertaking a
nvq level 2 stewarding course... so a preliminary test
of your English & Mathematics skills...
i almost completed the English skills test today,
i'll do the Maths tomorrow:
i always preferred a su doku to a game
of scrabble / a crossword...

overall score... 56%...
passable... grade C...
now the stats...
comprehension at 80%
text comparisons... eh... 50%
implicit meaning 33%...
  
    you're getting the drift?
poets should never be NVQ tested on their language
skills... you start reading e. e. cummings
or william burroughs?! FAIL... outright fail...
too much freedom you see...
you have to have a return policy...
a return framework...
you need to learn English parrot...

language features... at 75%...
using glossaries (67%)
organisational features (ditto)
bias (a big ******* fat 0... it ought to be O%)
bias... maybe i just misread something
or... never mind...
NVQ level testing: it's not like getting a BSc in
chemistry... oh **** no...
it's a mind spaghetti pressed...
you need to be double sure... i.e. wrong at least once...
****'s sake...

fact & opinion (50%),
writing style (75%),
written communication (60%)
writing (33%)... seriously? seriously?!
format & structure (40%),
organisational markers (60%),
persuasive language (33%),
complex sentences (50%),
GRAMMAR (80%),
verbs (75%),
     punctuation (36%),
   spelling (78%)...

   but bias at O%? you ******* kidding me?
i can't tell the difference between reading
propaganda in newspaper & reading directions
to get from A to B?

NVQ jokers... you must be stupid...
let us help you...
******* left high school with some A-levels
now they think they can rough up a BSc
owner... you know... i did this one ****** module
at university, some sociology course...
they told us to write an essay...
that we couldn't plagiarise...
what the **** did i do?
i plagiarised... we were supposed to be monitored
some some giant precursor of an A.I. Brian...
brain... that was supposed to pick up plagiarism...
sure... but if you know the "magic" of rewording
& have a ******* thesaurus handy?
i had to listen to some music,
my focus was elsewhere...
i plagiarised the essay: through & through...
managed to get a 1st for it...
did the, "system" catch me ought?
of course it didn't... so much more computers
& rules & what became my totem...
no wolves on these isles... the foxes will suffice...

NVQ *******... just regurgitate:
it's not even remotely related to learning... its a parrot
parody... but... after the initial test...
let me tell you...
i never learned so much grammar as i did now...
not under the GCSE model, for sure...
if only the English punctuated like the rest of
Europe apply diacritical marks...
but i write: outside the realm of giving a flying-****
& a gingerbread to consider what's
formal what's informal... it's... arrr... art!
you bring me down to a level of proficiency in
understanding: oi! black: to the right...
white's: down...
to the centre...
                        it's somewhat debilitating when
having to make distinctions...
what is from what's... because somehow
the practice of... congesting? concentrating...
compounding words is... informal?
if the apostrophe is so hideous when it comes
to don't vs. do not... **** away with it
when it comes to the possessive article!
don't use it... so how does: it's Sams bicycle look
like now?!
pretty ******... people make up these rules
only to give themselves gatekeeping stature...
gatekeeping hierarchical procedures...
o.k. o.k. i get it...
but i'm writing this only as a retaliation:
don't think some of us don't know what's
happening...

i'm ******* gagging for the mathematical questions,
i hope a su doku comes up...
it probably won't...

i never had so much encounters with grammar,
people who don't write poetry have ****
for brains...
there are so many formalities...
... is not even a recognised punctuation:
"strategy"... you can't allow yourself
the " " markers... whoever wrote the NVQ exam
obviously didn't read any Heidegger...

i forget that the 'obvious' intention is...
i generally appreciate 'said' as a quote...
"x" indicates toying with metaphors, misnomers &
insinuations... but no... oh no...

studying history doesn't give you the luxury of
studying grammar...
seems like grammar is fine... 80%...
bias at a big fat 0 of O%... come on?
first they test you, then they double-sure...
language so rigid is bound to be:
a non-language...
                      
        soulless "thing"... but fair enough...
after the last, failed, terrorist attack... i'll plough through...
i like tending to the flock...
i like the look on...  faces... that seem to recognise me...
as if they know me from a dream...
and there i am... in the flesh...

my Indian companion... i fixed her clip-on tie
for her, i took the knee doing up her borrowed
steward jacket... blah blah...
she told me she was diabetic, complained about
how for a week her other companion told her
to watch her sugar intake: i will have nothing to
do with reminding you of anything...
she was freaked out by autumn leaves
piled up in the park, how she was afraid about
not knowing what might be lurking
beneath / in the pile...
i told her about my apprehension
with regards to swimming in the sea...
how i much adored swimming
in waters where i could see the depth:

swimming in glass...
how she was afraid of cycling after falling over...
how her mother made the analogy:
cycling is like flying...
only today, with my hood up...
yeah... it really is... your view is so unobstructed...
if you don't look down and spot
the tip of the handlebars...
you can almost forget your legs are peddling...
she finally managed to fathom enough
strength to kick a pile of leaves:
to no surprise... nothing but leaves beneath
the leaves...

a walk in the park... i like the idea that a woman
must be comforted...
i like women with suspicions of reality...
one little phobia here...
another little phobia over there...
i like pocket-sized minds & hearts...
its fits "in" nicely: to whatever grand event is
happening, otherwise...

the match "might" have been taking place...
but the park was so gloriously available to wander
in alone, at peace...
it made more sense playing the authority figure
with a walky-talky...
asking people to drink up their beers before
getting to the venue...
such a... simple role... not a plumber or carpenter
in sight... if this is work... then i don't know
what loitering is... all it took was a change of attire
to turn: this load of ******* into work...
from what otherwise would be considered...
loitering by the load of *******...
simple!

O but the moon is high in the sky & winter is finally
playing the ******* accordion like
it might be slapping a heron against a rock
to death... love it... no other month is so magical as this
one... while all the people slip into a pseudo-hibernation
faze... i find myself rejuvenated: realigned...
the cold serves me abundance that no fruit
can ever bring...

gone are the bothersome insects, esp. the flies...
while the cats self-impose their own curfews...

why is it, that in Poland you see hordes... of crows &
kafkas... hordes of them: like clouds...
but in England... solitary wind-bits...
at most... in Huginn & Muninn pairing...
as if the ravens in England adopted the nobility
of swans... in Eastern Europe them come as...
messerschmitt: schwarzkreuzwolken...

         furchtbar!
see... when the English speaking world starts
playing funny... political, social, whatever...
grammatical... i tend to "forget" i speak English:
oh how i adore this tongue...
it's an armchair, compared to all the other tongues...
with one exception: the elder English,
which has to be.... most probably...
if not the modern variant, then any other variant of...
what was spoken in Saxony was also
probably spoken in Thuringia,
Swabia... Pomerania... etc.

    like the guy who delivers some of the packages
to my door... der glücklichenmann...
for a long time i couldn't place him,
his "accent" was no accent at all...
several scenarios later did he disclose his origins...
Deutsche... ein glücklichendeutschemann!
ich muss sein in güt: gesellschaft!

eh... perhaps the German grammar structure
when translated into English was
***** a little by French grammar which:
who borrows from who:
western Slavic grammar is so similar to French
grammar... if i were only this,
before... i was taught by a self-righteous monolingual,
later a Spanish woman teaching French:
perhaps i could be speaking French right now!
im diesem augenblick!

but the guy leaving packages... only today i picked
it up... he does have an accent... he has a German
accent!
he hid it so well prior... before he freely disclosed
his national identity... i wouldn't have known...
now he accents his speech like a German might...
prior to: undistinguishable...
amazing... i could the same with my ******
mother tongue... but i'm schizoid...
i can make clarifying distinction between the two tongues...

only today... for once he sounded so German
when speaking English, he almost had me fooled thinking him
a Schwiezer!
das "Himalayamann"...
    mein gott: so ich gedanke(n)...

but English can only become insufferable once,
of twice, three times i strike gold...
i end up drinking and teasing some German....
it's not like the zeppelins are coming,
are they?!

let me know... i must know... the part where i'm to be
educated about a minority status,
by a minority that is becoming: less & less...
minder und minder ein minderheit...
i'll cook my own ******* curry:
this that & the other...
too bad you will not "make east" of my peoples' food...
how much, do you ******* want?

it seems:

genug ist nicht genug!

i turn to German to make a "sacrifice":
i turn to it for: TROST...
English is too cosmopolitan... at times...
in London: all the ****** time...
i looked at Derby supporters when
they played Fulham like animals...
not in a bad "sense": someone ought
to herd these ******* home
to a warm pillow...

i don't like being reeducated concerning
statures of anti-racism... that's ******* *******-wanking
reemphasis...
i can't be... anti-racist...
i can be: counter-...
i can... not-,
           but anti-racist is a belief in the inhumanity
of those that express their, little, piquant...
tastes... i can't be anti-racist...

if i want to **** a chocolate ice-cream cone...
mein gott: weltpolitik!
nein! nein! nein!
          zu hölle: mit diese scheiße!

it only takes one ******* would-be Jihadi to
identify you as a German
before the 2nd concludes...
hey... why don't i try pretending to be: German?!
women of my own ethnicity can't tell the difference...
let us, do German!

such sights to see... solche ist winter!
ausgedehntnächte...
der mond...  neugier ohne frage(n)...

uncle sams funning
his humor often lingered
pulling  his finger

all this green
colors flashing

I'm so hungry
I don't know how to eat

I've lost all my life
I don't know to exist

so sick of it
aren't you sick of this

we feel the sams
drowning
hold my hand
we'll go down together

losing our breath
I wonder how it'll ever get better than this