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Ah, Nikolaas, my love for him is not the same, as my love for thee;
My love for thee was once, and may still be, sweeter, purer, more elegant, and free;
But still, how unfortunate! imprisoned in mockery, and liberated not-by destiny;
It still hath to come and go; it cannot stay cheerfully-about thee forever, and within my company.

And but tonight-shall Amsterdam still be cold?
But to cold temper thou shalt remain unheeded; thou shalt be tough, and bold;
Sadly I am definite about having another nightmare, meanwhile, here;
For thy voice and longings shall be too far; with presumptions and poems, I cannot hear.

Sleep, my loveliest, sleep; for unlike thine, none other temper, or love-is in some ways too fragrant, and sweet;
All of which shall neither tempt me to flirt, nor hasten me to meet;
My love for thee is still undoubted, defined, and unhesitant;
Like all t'is summer weather around; 'tis both imminent, and pleasant.

My love for thee, back then, was but one youthful-and reeking of temporal vitality;
But now 'tis different-for fathom I now-the distinction between sincerity, and affectation.
Ah, Nikolaas, how once we strolled about roads, and nearby spheres-in living vivacity;
With sweets amongst our tongues-wouldst we attend every song, and laugh at an excessively pretentious lamentation.

Again-we wouldst stop in front of every farm of lavender;
As though they wanted to know, and couldst but contribute their breaths, and make our love better.
We were both in blooming youth, and still prevailed on-to keep our chastity;
And t'is we obeyed gladly, and by each ot'er, days passed and every second went even lovelier.

But in one minute thou wert but all gone away;
Leaving me astray; leaving me to utter dismay.
I had no more felicity in me-for all was but, in my mind, a dream of thee;
And every step was thus felt like an irretrievable path of agony.

Ah, yon agony I loathe! The very agony I wanted but to slaughter, to redeem-and to bury!
For at t'at time I had known not the beauty of souls, and poetry;
I thought but the world was wholly insipid and arrogant;
T'at was so far as I had seen, so far as I was concerned.

I hath now, seen thy image-from more a lawful angle-and lucidity;
And duly seen more of which-and all start to fall into place-and more indolent, clarity;
All is fair now, though nothing was once as fair;
And now with peace, I want to be friends; I want to be paired.

Perhaps thou couldst once more be part of my tale;
But beforehand, I entreat thee to see, and listen to it;
A tale t'at once sent into my heart great distrust and sadness, and made it pale;
But from which now my heart hath found a way out, and even satisfactorily flirted with it,

For every tale, the more I approach it, is as genuine as thee;
And in t'is way-and t'is way only, I want thee to witness me, I want thee to see me.
I still twitch with tender madness at every figure, and image-I hath privately, of thine;
They are still so captivatingly clear-and a most fabulous treasure to my mind.

My love for thee might hath now ended; and shall from now on-be dead forever;
It hath been buried as a piece of unimportance, and a dear old, obsolete wonder;
And thus worry not, for in my mind it hath become a shadow, and ceased to exist;
I hath made thee resign, I hath made thee drift rapidly away, and desist.

Ah, but again, I shall deny everything I hath said-'fore betraying myself once more;
Or leading myself into the winds of painful gravity, or dismissive cold tremor;
For nothing couldst stray me so well as having thee not by my side;
An image of having thee just faraway-amidst the fierceness of morns, and the very tightness of nights.

And for seconds-t'ese pains shall want to bury me away, want to make me shout;
And shout thy very name indeed; thy very own aggravated silence, and sins out loud;
Ah, for all t'ese shadows about are too vehement-but eagerly eerie;
Like bursts of outspread vigilance, misunderstood but lasting forever, like eternity.

'Twas thy own mistake-and thus thou ought'a blame anyone not;
Thou wert the one to storm away; thou wert the one who cut our story short.
Thou wert the one who took whole leave, of the kind entity-of my precious time and space;
And for nothingness thou obediently set out; leaving all we had built, to abundant waste.

Thou disappeared all too quickly-and wert never seen again;
Thou disappeared like a column of smoke, to whom t'is virtual world is partial;
And none of thy story, since when-hath stayed nor thoughtfully remained;
Nor any threads of thy voice were left behind, to stir and ring, about yon hall.

Thou gaily sailed back into thy proud former motherland;
Ah, and the stirring noises of thy meticulous Amsterdam;
Invariably as a man of royalty, in thy old arduous way back again;
Amongst the holiness of thy mortality; 'twixt the demure hesitations, of thy royal charms.

And thou art strange! For once thou mocked and regarded royalty as *******;
But again, to which itself, as credulous, and soulless victim, thou couldst serenely fall;
Thus thou hath perpetually been loyal not, to thy own pride, and neatly sworn words;
Thou art forever divided in his dilemma; and the unforgiving sweat, of thy frightening two worlds.

Indeed thy godlike eyes once pierced me-and touched my very fleshly happiness;
But with a glory in which I couldst not rejoice; at which I couldst not blush with tenderness.
Thy charms, although didst once burn and throttle me with a ripe vitality;
Still wert not smooth-and ever offered to cuddle me more gallantly; nor kiss my boiling lips, more softly.

Every one of t'ese remembrances shall make me hate thee more;
But thou thyself hath made more forgiving, and excellent-like never before;
'Ah, sweet,' thou wouldst again protested-last night, 'Who in t'is very life wouldst make no sin?'
'Forgiveth every sinned soul thereof; for 'tis unfaithful, for 'tis all inherently mean.'

'Aye, aye,' and thou wouldst assent to my subsequent query,
'I hath changed forever-not for nothingness, but for eternitie.'
'To me love o' gold is now but nothing as succulent',
'I shall offer elegantly myself to not be of any more torment, but as a loyal friend.'

'I shall calleth my former self mad; and be endued with nothing but truths, of rifles and hate;'
'But now I shall attempt to be obedient; and naughty not-towards my fate.'
'Ah, let me amendst thereof-my initial nights, my impetuous mistakes,'
'Let me amendst what was once not dignified; what was once said as false, and fake.'

'So t'at whenst autumn once more findeth its lapse, and in its very grandness arrive,'
'I hopeth thy wealth of love shall hath been restored, and all shall be alive,'
'For nothing hath I attempted to achieve, and for nothing else I hath struggled to strive;'
'But only to propose for thy affection; and thy willingness to be my saluted wife.'

And t'is small confession didst, didst tear my dear heart into pieces!
But canst I say-it was ceremoniously established once more-into settlements of wishes;
I was soon enlivened, and no longer blurred by tumult, nor discourteous-hesitation;
Ah, thee, so sweetly thou hath consoled, and removed from me-the sanctity of any livid strands of my dejection.

For in vain I thought-had I struggled, to solicit merely affection-and genuinity from thee;
For in vain I deemed-thou couldst neither appreciate me-nor thy coral-like eyes, couldst see;
And t'is peril I perched myself in was indeed dangerous to my night and day;
For it robbed me of my mirth; and shrank insolently my pride and conscience, stuffing my wholeness into dismay.

But thou hath now released me from any further embarkation of mineth sorrow;
Thou who hath pleased me yesterday; and shall no more be distant-tomorrow;
Thou who couldst brighten my hours by jokes so fine-and at times, ridiculous;
Thou who canst but, from now on, as satisfactory, irredeemable, and virtuous.

Ah, Nikolaas, farther I shall be no more to calleth thee mad; or render thee insidious;
Thou shall urge me to forget everything, as hating souls is not right, and perilous;
Thou remindeth me of forgiving's glorious, and profound elegance;
And again 'tis the holiest deed we ought to do; the most blessed, and by God-most desired contrivance.

Oh, my sweet, perhaps thou hath sinned about; but amongst the blessed, thou might still be the most blessed;
For nothing else but gratitude and innocence are now seen-in thy chest;
Even when I chastised thee-and called thee but an impediment;
Thou still forgave me, and turned myself back again into elastic merriment.

Thou art now pure-and not by any means meek, but cruel-like thy old self is;
For unlike 'tis now, it couldst never be satisfied, nor satiated, nor pleased;
'Twas far too immersed in his pursuit of bloodied silver, and gold;
And to love it had grown blind, and its greedy woes, healthily too bold.

And just like its bloodied silver-it might be but the evil blood itself;
For it valued, and still doth-every piece with madness, and insatiable hunger;
Its works taint his senses, and hastened thee to want more-of what thou couldst procure-and have,
But it realised not that as time passed by, it made thee but grew worse-and in the most virtuous of truth, no better.

But thou bore it like a piece of godlike, stainless ivory;
Thou showered, and endured it with love; and blessed it with well-established vanity.
Now it hath been purified, and subdued-and any more teaches thee not-how to be impatient, nor imprudent;
As how it prattled only, over crude, limitless delights; and the want of reckless impediments.

Thou nurtured it, and exhorted it to discover love-all day and night;
And now love in whose soul hath been accordingly sought, and found;
And led thee to absorb life like a delicate butterfly-and raiseth thy light;
The light thou hath now secured and refined within me; and duly left me safe, and sound.

Thou hath restored me fully, and made me feel but all charmed, awesome, and way more heavenly;
Thou hath toughened my pride and love; and whispered the loving words he hath never spoken to me.
Ah, I hope thou art now blessed and safely pampered in thy cold, mischievous Amsterdam;
Amsterdam which as thou hath professed-is as windy, and oft' makes thy fingers grow wildly numb.

Amsterdam which is sick with superior lamentations, and fame;
But never adorned with exact, or at least-honest means of scrutiny;
For in every home exists nothing but bursts of madness, and flames;
And in which thereof, lives 'twixt nothing-but meaningless grandeur, and a poorest harmony.

Amsterdam which once placed thee in pallid, dire, and terrible horror;
Amsterdam which gave thy spines thrills of disgust, and infamous tremor;
But from which thou wert once failed, fatefully, neither to flee, nor escape;
Nor out of whose stupor, been able to worm thy way out, or put which, into shape.

But I am sure out of which thou art now delightful-and irresistibly fine;
For t'ere is no more suspicion in thy chest-and all of which hath gone safely to rest;
All in thy very own peace-and the courteous abode of our finest poetry;
Which lulls thee always to sleep-and confer on thee forever, degrees of a warmest, pleasantry.

Ah, Nikolaas-as thou hath always been, a child of night, but born within daylight;
Poor-poor child as well, of the moon, whose life hath been betrayed but by dullness, and fright.
Ah, Nikolaas-but should hath it been otherwise-wouldst thou be able to see thine light?
And be my son of gladness, be my prince of all the more peaceful days; and ratified nights.

And should it be like which-couldst I be the one; the very one idyll-to restore thy grandeur?
As thou art now, everything might be too blasphemous, and in every way obscure;
But perhaps-I couldst turn every of thine nightmare away, and maketh thee secure;
Perhaps I couldst make thee safe and glad and sleep soundly; perfectly ensured.

Ah, Nikolaas! For thy delight is pure-and exceptionally pure, pure, and pure!
And thy innocence is why I shall craft thee again in my mind, and adore thee;
For thy absurdity is as shy, and the same as thy purity;
But in thy hands royalty is unstained, flawless, and just too sure.

For in tales of eternal kingdoms-thou shalt be the dignified king himself;
Thou shalt be blessed with all godly finery, and jewels-which thou thyself deserve;
And not any other tyrant in t'ese worlds-who mock ot'er souls and pretend to be brave;
But trapped within t'eir own discordant souls, and wonders of deceit and curses of reserve.

Oh, sweet-sweet Nikolaas! Please then, help my poetry-and define t'is heart of me!
Listen to its heartbeat-and tellest me, if it might still love thee;
Like how it wants to stretch about, and perhaps touch the moonlight;
The moonlight that does look and seem to far, but means still as much-to our very night.

Ah! Look, my darling-as the moonlight shall smile again, to our resumed story;
If our story is, in unseen future, ever truly resumed-and thus shall cure everything;
As well t'is unperturbed, and still adorably-longing feeling;
The feeling that once grew into remorse-as soon as thou stomped about, and faraway left me.

Again love shall be, in thy purest heart-reincarnated,
For 'tis the only single being t'at is wondrous-and inexhaustible,
To our souls, 'tis but the only salvation-and which is utterly edible,
To console and praise our desperate beings-t'at were once left adrift, and unheartily, infuriated.

Love shall be the cure to all due breathlessness, and trepidations;
Love shall be infallible, and on top of all, indefatigable;
And love shall be our new invite-to the recklessness of our exhausted temptations;
Once more, shall love be our merit, which is sacred and unalterable; and thus unresentful, and infallible.

Love shall fill us once more to the brim-and make our souls eloquent;
Love be the key to a life so full-and lakes of passion so ardent;
Enabling our souls to flit about and lay united hands on every possible distinction;
Which to society is perhaps not free; and barrier as they be, to the gaiety of our destination.

Thus on the rings of union again-shall our dainty hearts feast;
As though the entire world hath torn into a beast;
But above all, they shan't have any more regrets, nor hate;
Or even frets, for every fit of satisfaction hath been reached; and all thus, hath been repaid.

Thus t'is might be thee; t'at after all-shall be worthy of my every single respect;
As once thou once opened my eyes-and show me everything t'at t'is very world might lack.
Whilst thou wert striving to be admirable and strong; t'is world was but too prone and weak;
And whilst have thy words and poetry; everyone was just perhaps too innocent-and had no clue, about what to utter, what to speak.

Thou might just be the very merit I hath prayed for, and always loved;
Thou might hath lifted, and relieved me prettily; like the stars very well doth the moon above.
And among your lips, lie your sweet kisses t'at made me live;
A miracle he still possesses not; a specialty he might be predestined not-to give.

Thou might be the song I hath always wanted to written;
But sadly torn in one day of storm; and thus be secretly left forgotten;
Ah, Nikolaas, but who is to say t'at love is not at all virile, easily deceived, and languid?
For any soul saying t'at might be too delirious, or perhaps very much customary, and insipid.

And in such darkness of death; thou shalt always be the tongue to whom I promise;
One with whom I shall entrust the very care of my poetry; and ot'er words of mouth;
One I shall remember, one I once so frightfully adored, and desired to kiss;
One whose name I wouldst celebrate; as I still shall-and pronounce every day, triumphantly and aggressively, out loud.

For thy name still rings within me with craze, but patterned accusation, of enjoyment;
For thy art still fits me into bliss, and hopeful expectations of one bewitching kiss;
Ah, having thee in my imagination canst turn me idle, and my cordial soul-indolent;
A picture so naughty it snares my whole mind-more than everything, even more than his.

Oh, Nikolaas, and perhaps so thereafter, I shall love, and praise thee once more-like I doth my poetry;
For as how my poetry is, thou art rooted in me already; and thus breathe within me.
Thou art somehow a vein in my blood, and although fictitious still-in my everyday bliss;
Thou art worth more than any other lov
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
dedicated to all the better poets here...*


don't know much about a quatrain
don't know how to write a refrain,
surely could not compose a
courtyard elegy
maybe after
and still untilled,
I been buried,
'n checked out
the neighborhood competition...

as for limerick,
that is Dr. Seuss
and Ogden Nash's shtick
with whom, eye,
a believed descendant,
cannot compete...

Oh dear me,  
no ode node-ed within,
as for a pastoral,
kinda hard to feat,
where I live,
a pastoral is grass cracks
surviving under,
breaking through to the other side
of concrete and blacktop rulers

Maybe one of you
will haiku,
send us a senryu,
send off, see ya!

the doc once diagnosed
a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery,
with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery,
was cured most satisfactorily

this silly pen-man-sinking-ship
ain't capable of dat,
boy how 'bout
an epitaph
for a graveyard stone,
should be plenty of room...
as it will be plenty short...

all eye see and all eye know
is vignettes that birth in me
walking down the street,
that's my bread and butter,
my soul's delicacies...
and moments that recorded
here, for a posteriored posterity,
as noted in my all my living
testaments,
drinking and spilling the vin,
from the uninvented igniting vignettes
that consecrate and connect our
knowing each other though odds are
we will never meet...we can yet
drink together
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't know much about the French I took.
But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me, too,
What a wonderful world this would be."
eyes eye eye ** ** ** ha ha ha
Daysea Feb 2013
After school in summer. An abandoned railway line, through a forest. A grey dress with red flowers on, the blue cardigan with sweat patches under the arms. Trying to conceal them. Not caring after a while. Walking in front, through the wild garlic. Not everything flourishing, some ******* here and there. The muddy ***** up to the track. Scrambling up trying not to get hands muddy, trying not to fall. Probably wearing impractical shoes. She was behind me, beside me. Catching her smell, trying to touch her hand, her shoulder. Talking about things that meant nothing but flowed: began and concluded satisfactorily. Only 17, so long ago. No doubt we talked of school, I don’t remember a word. It was the action, the structure of our communication, that was all I had. The unsaid was still sacred then. Reaching the end of the line. The line! It was a beautiful day, romanticized now. Warm in the sun and chill in the shade but I soon discarded temperature. The green from the trees came up from each side of the line and joined together at the top. The sun soaked through every visible article. All, except from the wall at the end that closed off the tunnel.

The space we were in did not exist to anyone else, no one was there, and no one had ever been there since we arrived. Vacuum packed world of complete perfection, apart from the mud, and the *******. But that was ok. The wall was black and heavy and cold. Near the top there was a hole. A square hole had been left or made through the ancient bricks, something forgotten maybe? Or to serve some forgotten purpose? I saw a challenger. The hole said ‘If you beat me you can have her’. It was not sinister. That did not exist.

Again I stood in front. ‘Bet I can get a stone into that hole!’ 15 feet perhaps or maybe only 8. Her eyes were on me: I desperately hoped they were. The whole of the back of my body took them in, I lit up with the warmth and the look. I would like to say it took only three attempts, that seems unlikely. What was she thinking? Was she looking on at the hole or at me? Heaven forbid she was looking at neither. I picked up stone after stone. They varied in size, feel, and dirtiness. I was an excellent thrower. I could throw a javelin, a ball, a boy; I adored my skill. My exuberance and elation guaranteed success. This was not a day for losing. Not while I could sift out the anomalies and incompatibilities without pain. There wouldn’t be a losing day until I understood that I did not yet know me.

The moment I succeeded in my challenge the celebration could begin. The rock perhaps made a sound as it tumbled down the inside of the wall but I did not hear. All my senses were now hers. Absorbed, obsessed. I was now permitted to turn around; to accept the look of admiration, or more. It was joy, certainly. Utter, complete joy. In skipping towards her she offered me her arms…… What words are given to unqualified human happiness? Getting more than you hoped for is even beyond that.
I know this is not exactly a poem but if anyone could give me feedback it would be much appreciated. Thanks
Ravindra Kumar Jun 2013
Humanity has no support to duty
Both contrary in dealing and punctuality:
Non-the-less deny each claims still their validity
Former needs emotional skip where later regularity!

Humanity is a thing roundly soul concern
Fancies of many idles, despotic and obligated.
Estimate not to beautify active approach return;
Deserve aid remarkable quiet pleasing black arts.

Duty declares the deed must accomplish statutable,
Gratitude, greed and gratification are sub-judice here-of:
A crazy caution compel to foil inapplicable
Yonker's pride, old hand cultivated doctrinal of.

Certain condition humanity plays role of pre-eminence
Duty looks wanting help out of heels,
Depending on probation passion of sincerity convince,
Rejecting deep binder satisfactorily set aside exceeds.

If stands duty and humanity both together,
Glorifies the spirit immortal as His name
And also deal showing clean impersonality further,
None appeal to mercy could not dare blame.
Difference between the nature of duty and humanity.
Alan McClure Jun 2013
The sad thing is
I could have justified my instruction
with the simplest of reasons.
I would not have asked
a harmful or a wicked task of him
and I could have explained that
with perfect clarity.
But in the instant that he asked 'Why?'
my patience failed
and I said, 'Because I told you to.'

The implied threat was sufficient
and the task was done, satisfactorily.

If I had only known
that I would become one in a long line
planting furrow after furrow of bitter seeds
in this young man's head,
each of which would grow
into the toxic blossom of blind obedience
I would have checked myself that day.

But I did not.

And any inquest worth its salt
would line me up beside him,
beside parents, teachers, priests,
drill sergeants, generals, presidents

A line of dominoes
aimed remorselessly
at a smiling young woman with a placard
in a park, in Istanbul.
This is my second attempt at a response to the brutal crushing of protests in Turkey.  It's hard not to just roar and grieve, casting blame at this or that institution: but I try to remind myself that every officer who pulled a trigger is an individual who was set on that path by something, some set of circumstances in his past.  We don't come to brutality by ourselves.  This got me wondering about our shared complicity and what, if anything, starts this hideous journey off: the best I could come up with was the institutionalised tradition of 'following orders' and unquestioningly accepting authority.  And I immediately saw my own role in that.

The notes are longer than the poem - that indicates a lack of success!
Left Foot Poet Sep 2017
trust in the shape of a key,
good god how corny is that?

satisfactorily nonsensical, a Pharisee phrase,
so offal illogical,
it borders on the poetically reprehensible

who has time to state this stuff,
pretend it is worthy of something respectful,
work it into a Nobel Prize awarded script,
nominated for "really bad ****?"

an ordinary hardware key, brass gleamy,
and the squealing grinding noise
heard while a blank progenitor is reimagined,
so so annoyingly ludicrous in this century
of plastic replicators but the noise,
comfortably familiar as a sound of
things being made

run thumb test over the cuts,
as if your thumb should know
what order the points and bevels,
the toothy gap spaces should be,
the correct disorderly order of the teeth

there are very few locks on a farm;
indeed the front door key
has not
been seen
in many a year

what's that you ask?
ok ok - I get it - in harvest time
it is early to bed and earlier to rise,
conclude this mystery key,
red winter wheat needs laying down,
stop your word seeds germinating

there may be few locks on a farm,
everything rusts so quickly anyway,

but stop to comprehend just how many locks
the human body employs  -
at least 613,
maybe many more,
and only one master
for them all

a shiny gleamy thing,
strangely,
its cuts and grooves seem to
spell a word
trust

go figure

1:05am in the city
yes, for the Canadian Iranian
E Elizabeth May 2013
“Yes, master.”
A shrill groan slithers
Across the gray stones
Of the tower, spiraling upward
Until it is trapped in loftier cobwebs.
“The lever is down, master,”
And the darkness is whipped by electricity.

I beat out these lines with a bare
Foot, tapping to every syllable,
As the madman donning
Green-tinted goggles and
A tumbleweed of hair curls
Closer and closer to the cluttered lab table.

“Need more light, master?
I’ll hold the lantern,”
And the light begins to praise his smooth hands,
Sloping precisely to pink fingernails
As the needle dips into his
Experiment like an eel
Flowing beneath the sea’s wake.

“Are you close, master?”
Illuminated are the gashes that mar
The ridges in my knuckles,
The calluses etched into my fingertips,
The wiry hairs that strangle
My throbbing, grey veins.
A life of delicate accomplishment,
Filled with a strictly inward turmoil;
It has never been mine to choose.

“It isn’t fair, master...”
And his lips purse in the effort
Of affording me a cursory glance.
“...That your genius go
So unrecognized,
Sir.”
Grunting satisfactorily,
He grins only toward his beloved creation
While I continue pondering
How a pencil might feel against
The paper if I knew how
To make the words.
“I want to write, master.”

“Poetry?” he mumbles to the scalpel,
and I nod my head vigorously as
His rumbling laughter becomes
Smoke that snakes leisurely toward
The skylight.
this is about the people who aren't fortunate enough to be born into the freedom of choosing
Katy Turner Jul 2013
My nails are perfectly manicured, and nice to look at,
But they took ten minutes to start punching the keyboard.

Lethargy is not beautiful.

They had no trouble gripping the stem of the martini I mixed,
With a few of the pickled ingredients that were supposed to mask the heavily peppered *****,
But my lips still burn with every dipping.

Only after settling on self-indulgence,
Did I start pressing down on the sticky keys.
I used a lot of commas,
And I painted satisfactorily crap images,
that would allow me to describe destruction.

This rotten passage lets me fantasize about slamming my laptop shut,
Gripping the end between my two fat lazy hands,
And slamming it against the ****** living room wall
That separates me from my ****** bedroom.

My words are violent,
But that just isn't enough.

When you can’t blame emotions on a subject, or a person,
You can transfer them to something physical.
You can crumple it, shatter it, burn it.
You can destroy and indulge in your heavy soul.

You can self-deprecate

Defecate

Alleviate.
This is a work in progress.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
how strange to read some of the last chances, or commiserations
without a death, the moment a woman or man begins to divide,
so many encouragements arise from nowhere, hence the theatre of
theoretical manoeuvring, way beyond the concept of narrator,
the death of narration is the birth of psychology,
they say, and it must be, treading into this forest of thought without
a compass will soon leave you disorientated, let alone keeping
a narrative continuum - once the narrator dies,
once the narrator dies in you, you either see a psychologist
or begin to write poetry, poetry, the entire cast of Chekov's
the seagull chipping in for the pauper, once famous for
chopping wood or digging for coal on the page
with such flamboyance as to reveal the true spectacle
of the Royal fireworks on the Thames provided
for by Charles II and accompanied by Handel's
composition - everyone is chipping in into
the narrator's porcelain cup - from irina nikolayevna,
through ilya afanasyevich and the personae quasi gratae
like the watchman, the cook... only Yakov having
acquired a name, the rest, mechanised extension
of the salon boors - where real existential debate takes
place due to the serious concerns of the universe
and our place in it. they like Yakov because he was hired,
and could clearly move on elsewhere, a traveller,
not the permanent occupant of the daily dealings of
the estate; but indeed it's not about that -
after they split up she started dreading having his
name tattooed on her, she felt a burning sensation to
burn the ink off her skin - to my surprise she tattooed
his name onto her skin rather than having tattooed
his entirety onto a piece of paper - a poem can be scrapped,
can be cherished or anything, 'write a poem prior to
the tattoo' someone should have said - but the tattoo
came first, and the poem came second - other allegiances
are passed down in ink, as i have never understood
the mentality of tears at a sporting event, notably football,
the tears of your forefathers, elsewhere reasoning gives
crowd like anonymity, soloist sports, cool headed -
no religious-like attachment - first the poem, then the tattoo.
poetry is just another word for juxtaposition -
but what are the two things necessary to contrast?
well... here's one half decent example, of all written text,
an E.U. cucumber,
                                     (a) is it reasonably shaped?
(b) is it practically straight?
                                                       ­ if it isn't coinciding with
points (a) and (b) being satisfactorily met, then this
cucumber is a culprit, being a non-compliant member
of the fruit & veg stand, according to the E.E.C.
1677 / 88
regulation, meaning it can't be a class 1 cucumber,
but a boomerang.                                       and you wonder,
with all those great movies concerning heroism,
the sacrifice to create democracy where tyranny strikes,
to overthrow absolute sovereign power,
all those wars, and all we get in the end, is a vote,
made quiet clearly ineffective because of the by-product
of democracy: bureaucracy - as every it can be said:
an over-simplified observation,
                                                        well, championing the idea
of democracy where the majority of people were
illiterate still, apparently, resonates in how people vote,
make your mark
                                                           ­      X               so you see,
a man made literate when once he would be illiterate
seems offensive to still pretend like i am illiterate -
but what a strange illiteracy this is, i still vote like the first
people voted, instead of ably signing my name,
i am told to write X... which is why, subconsciously,
people seem to be put off voting - it's such a symbolic
event in the mind - i vote by singing my approval with
an X... the little things matter in the end -
no one dying for an ideal could have envisioned
the bureaucratic escapade of counting where the wind
blows in what favourable choice of opinion at the time,
in post-Marxist terminology, we're no longer dealing
with the bourgeoisie types, we're dealing with the bureaucratic
type - there are so many laws on this earth, that few
are known and even fewer are kept -
i know the ten commandments are a joke, given the outdated
phrasing, but aren't the modern laws even more of a joke?
why, i can count to 10... counting to how many there
are is quiet staggering - you might have broken about
a thousand without knowing you had, like eating a
curved cucumber... but then, are picked cucumbers always
bent? i've never seen a straight pickle, i mean theoretically
that's breaking the law - the war of the sexes is what
gave us this ******* - this wasn't a war for Crimea,
not so much a war for independence, once those classical
wars ended, the war of the sexes began -
if Marx was alive, he'd be far from writing a critique of
the bourgeoisie class, after all, urbanity killed off
the etymological root of bourgeoisie - old french, walled
city - given that, or should i say, working from that,
no, if Marx were alive today, it would be the bureaucrat
who'd be attacked.
Joel M Frye Jan 2011
It takes a special poet to
write solely for themself;
so much better to be read
than stuck upon a shelf.

The poems flow so easily
when they're so easily shared.
The love, the dreams, the angst, the rage
all satisfactorily aired.

I do write for an audience;
it's true to some extent.
Readers tell me if my words
express just what I meant.

Still it's for me to judge my poems
effective or effete;
that's why God made the keyboard with
a button named Delete.
*whew*  Thanks all...another existential crisis averted!! XD
1/16/2011  JMF
Butch Decatoria Dec 2016
Would you if
Could you with
A gift of any wish
Granted / Change
Beauty
Or what they deem to be
The ugly in humanity
Simply (for one's own comfort)
To see and to shape
Satisfactorily
It's property

Metamorphose

So suppose you could impose
Your willing whim on man
Or make refined
These grains of sand / to cry
Change sweet sugars
To sour lime
And with this power on a dime
Create your heart
To love / to shine
And shape the world
With peaceful times!?

Still, rain will fall and war:
Often loudly screams to be
Consistently and capitalistically
Disagreeing discord
Ever more......

But if you could
And if you should
With every beef and steer
Against the odds angst and deep
Defeatists' endearing fear
Educate the darkness
How it can be lifted by
A single spark,
Would you

If could you

Should have

With a gift
Of a single wish:
Recognize Our Heart
A good place to Always

Start...


*(Stay true for you are Art)
Intrigued about cremation,
I sought GOOGLE to assuage curiosity
significant questions answered
clicking the following website
https://www.funeralwise.com/plan/
cremation/cremation-process/

though summarizing article
some oven death defying act,
yet summarization satisfactorily completed,
thus herewith briefly describes
kickstarting, mystifying, pulverizing...
tantalizing, yielding, enterprising, lasting,

yelping, holding, surviving dearly departed
1. deceased identified
2. official cremation authorized
affiliated with deceased
3. lifeless body prepared
4. medical devices removed

5. jewelry recovered
6. corpse secured
into burnable cremation receptacle
7. encased entity transferred
to retort i.e. cremation chamber
8. temperature range adjusted

between 1400 degrees -
1800 degrees Fahrenheit
9. 1.5 - 2 hours elapsed
10. magnet applied
residual metal removed

11. remains ground into ashes
12. once process completed
remains secured within urn
13. family representative entrusted
with ashes.

Burnt offerings distributed
ideally according to stated
wishes of beloved,
whose remembrance sustained
as tears expended
necessary to mourn
eventually sorrow lessened,
photographs visited
after crushing grief decreased.
j carroll Feb 2013
my grandma likes to tell me that i have compelled her
to replace her carpets 3 times.

once, on easter,
when i gleefully peeled brightly dyed eggs
and
upon discovering the contents,
disappointed by their deception
that something so beautiful could be so mundane
and uninspired on the inside
with a scent that reviled,
naturally,
one after another,
i ground them into the rug
until yolks and whites mingled
satisfactorily
with fibers from the seventies
and became something far more interesting.

the second episode
met me with shears.
how was i to know
that carpet does not grow back?

i like to think i pulled her
out of the eighties
when i fell down the
metal-plated stairs,
split my head open
and seeped blood in pools
deep into the sea foam green.

a new carpet erased the evidence
but
a score of years has passed
and my forehead
is still proudly marked
a reminder of the day
i fell and
shattered on the inside.
annh Aug 2019
Confessor, I am reborn,
Vain with ash and frankincense;
Absolved of my inverted pleasures,
Reconciled to the morality of suffering.

Confessor, I am returned,
Predestined to gravely offend;
Nimbly contrite in my genuflection,
Gracefully weak-kneed in my resolve.

Confessor, I am reborn,
Although aged by my discretion;
Examined satisfactorily by my conscience,
Blessedly relieved through your encouragement.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
‘A true confession: I believe in a soluble fish.’
- Charles Simic, The Unemployed Fortune-Teller: Essays and Memoirs

Written - somewhat cynically - in response to a situation with an immediate family member, who is seemingly unable to break out of a continual cycle of apology and recidivism. There is no doubt that her ‘sorries’ are meant at the time but within weeks, days, sometimes even hours, she’s at it again.
Aye sandman, I surrender to yar supreme governance
surreal spectacular soiree gifts subconscious sphere
soothing (analogous to natural palliative), ah...REM
member nought, asper exquisite entertaining cerebral
kaleidoscope replete with nonpareil visual trappings

aesthetically tantalizing unforgettable..., but lo' eye cant
captcha scenario upon awakened state, tis bothersome
transcendent, resplendent, quiescent,...transient dream
ticking escapement shuttered against recollections...
aye plead mercy to jog, (and gently jimmy - yeah of

course figuratively) shuttered facet slammed tight soon
nee immediately inaccessible dimension brought forth
teasingly, phantasmagorically, numbingly ephemeral,
nonetheless temporarily liberating, enshrouding, and
cocooning against incessant drubbing mine corporeal

wakeful body electric relentlessly fraught with profuse
inexplicable perspiration (principally palms) recurs
like clockwork (despite prescription medications), this
physiological discomfort hazards livingsocial quotidian
joyless agonizing oft times including courtesy, not

"FAKE" panic attack, these anxiety less debilitating,
when emotionally torturous teenage years wracked
every cell (no matter how fast I ran - just Kuwait, the
mailer daemons threatened) to undermine even flickr
of happiness, hence suicidal ideations (eternal slumber)

tantalized (still populate though processes) as surefire
solution to mitigate despite leaving those who love,
and especially hate yours truly, his existence bereft
of quality, though tranquil physical quasi rural setting
(Schwenksville), a naturalistic, fantastic, holistic balm,

here quiet as a cemetary removed, not considerably
distant from Philadelphia (hubbub disagrees with hair
trigger vulnerability), where madding crowd affects my
innate neurological predisposition, these lovely bones

easily rattled, quite aggravating to live verging upon
tremulous agitation assuaged through writing - catharsis
delivers temporary alleviation as doth solitary voluntary
sequestration poor substitute to relish L'Chaim!
suicidal twitch May 2014
What is something happy?

Being calm with your friends and family,
Living somewhere with normality,
Finding a place with no tragedy,
Being able to see the galaxy,
Being yourself with no insanity,
Not allowed to love the same sexuality,
Able to win something with satisfactorily,
Living with the same sanity?

That wouldn't be happy, that'd be be boring!
We are all different and unique from each other! Don't let people who act all the same get you down! You're original and cannot be replaced!
Badshah Khan Feb 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 37

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

The limitless sky!

Under the limitless sky, I seen everyone desperately Try,
To satisfactorily conclude each other, on their own way,
But we human, how can we properly interpret the sacred past.

As it happened in eternal heavens in the sacred past,
That one ultimate conclusion, naturally causes us all,
To critically survive under the one stable roof,

The limitless sky!

Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
LVI Elapsed October 17th's Bore Witness
To A Girl Born With True Grit

Tuss ben big goo me newt to write
and how though trite
thine complex edifice immersed in spite
which doth nobody any good RIGHT
hence hie exerted effort
from within this quite

mindful sib bull ling to detach himself from his own plight
and fashion attempt (however feeble)
   to complete before this night
a communique (my apologies if thee cognition strikes thee
   with dumbfounded hard to comprehend patois),
   but perchance a mite

bit of the following - dashed off in a huff - epistle sheds light
on ceasing to ignore yourself (envious
   of yar fierce sticktowithiveness) scaling height
of apprehension (more insurmountable than  
   natural mountain peak, versus taking flight
and shuttering ye out of my humdrum life (orchestrated
   with mild sax and violins), yea not mooch to excite
but, this effort pressing fingers
   upon select keys eventually generated a byte
size message sent via FIOS fiber optic and mostly airtight.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tis with great difficulty birthday cheer proffered,
when psyche still stung
by lash of acrimouny, calumny, effrontery, finality rung
humility indelicacy,...zealotry
as if spoken with glee from your tongue.
unwise to sustain estrangement caws
each of us imperfect, aye kin attest mine past awash with flaws,

and admit crushing impact felt from others,
especially late Zison inlaws
but, now yearly occasion of your birth opportunistic
   despite being annexed by anxiety based on uncertain laws
sans human behavior, how ye might respond,
   me owning modest kudos buffer as oopahs

   to risk brokering a detente (which avoidance
   toward thee) undermines cumulative,
endearing hur rahs
visited times gone by,
   which recent past found me unstoppably gurgling
   invariably vibrating uvulas
(yes, ja probably forgot, this bro' born
   a mutant Ninja Turtle) xy awes,

   speaking severe nasal sounds,
   when exhalation boyhood memory draws
obvious twang – another ace in the hole for bullies –
   gnashing identityguard where gauze
superfluous, and those hurtful ingrates lobbed words,

   when they may as well swang fists at me upper and lower jaws,
though decades in the past, the imprimatur indeibly etched,
   yet stinging rebukes from maws
and faux paws trigger remembrance of things past
   (analogous to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -

in my case countless acromonious, denigrating, execrable names
contributed to Schizoid Personality Disorder –
though predisposition for sundry mental illness
most likely incsribed within mom and pop sic cull genes),
now greater  enlightenment reacting/responding to stress

comprehending my biology, chronology, ecology, geneaolgy
(fyi – Amelie paid consultant at 23andme.com for blueprint
denoting fabric housing jumbled, linkedin, nested past –
results surprisingly showed 1% Neanderthal
   comprise inherited) psychology,
thus explaining insatiable hunger for bananas,
and intermittant urge to swing from tree to tree,

whereby I willingly accept arboreal, corporeal,
   generallly less than ideal traits
which pro active overtures arrest
   (without a warrant), contest, assent everest
(albeit metaphorically) satisfactorily
   extending virtual olive branch (pitted)
recognize immutable imposibility to confront
   excrutciating bygone feelings,
this endeavor, a quest to test mine kempf zone, and endure

current flow of uneasiness (clammy
   and sweaty hands fostered by andiety),
yet exorcizing mailer demons critical
   to experience mindfullness, and requisite
to fast tract expeditious deliverence,
   whereat ye ought not be deprived

   THIS SIBLING (HAN SOLE BROTHER)
   WHOSE LOVE TOOTH HE
   (on account of dentures) DIDST OFTEN BESPEAK!
Carrying around our death scrolls
As we roam satisfactorily.
While on us, death trolls
Carefully inspecting our every move.
To its final days, life crawls.

Every moment passing by us
Leaving behind a shadow of past.
The future doesn’t hold any promise,
The present already outcast.

Do we lest, ponder at least?
To where’s the rush,
And where are we heading to?
Do we not, reflect albeit?

We carry our death scrolls,
Proudly so, such oblivious souls.
Breathes sigh of relief
(like toe tilly gnarly mon)
footing expenses good grief.

Onus encompassing marital
responsibilities with (Holy Scott)
Matt man locked dread
precariously rested squarely and unfairly
upon mine figurative lead

pencil necked geek hirsute head,
and bony shoulders, that said
lemme communicate with modesty
and frankly earnest Sesame Street cred

hoop fully words understandable
meant tubby easily interpreted and read
lookout for courtesy double entendres
signalling where ***** wed
did himself, yet careful to tread,

no faster than sixty nine as he sped
into forbidden, verboten two lipped arrid
hot zone bubbling volcanic oasis
plunging his swollen jughead
suffocating till gratefully dead.

Reroute threaded needle gaining nascent
ability to manage independent living,
whereby counterpart availed
her pheromone scent
spurring feeling heightened testosterone,
within instantaneous moment

thus took tactile apprenticeship
receiving mail order bride thru
correspondence course sent,
I also donned role of special ops agent
provocateur, a hardened gent
fluke how I became

process of elimination chosen incumbent
learned, familiarized, adept...
grudgingly accepted covenant
to pay affordable low income rent,
plus manage other monthly bills due, i.e.
water, telecommunications insurance

(automobile and renters), and electric -
companies (Aqua Pennsylvania, Verizon,
Nationwide and Peco
respectively) with efficient
aplomb mastered (dub bate double)
art of being accommodating tenant.

Domestic chargé d'affaires
became mine bailiwick
dint of the missus being
disinclined and less quick
budgeting, hence I inadvertently
accepted lickity split,
subsequent obligation did

smoothly clack and click,
which minimized conflict
whereby we shared equal intrinsic
reciprocity complicity, culpability
then at playtime, thee enigmatic
one whipped out adult toys
stashed in the attic.

Altercations impossible to avoid,
'specially when unemployed
(think Rob zombie humanoid)
additionally, I lacked emotionally unalloyed

communication cues, nearly destroyed
romance, cuz only recourse re: primal
non verbal, viz Braille
while disguised as android
amorousness I expressly enjoyed

satisfactorily papa bear
groaning courtesy steroid
launching petsmart aery mission
poised to strike no
matter mainly to void

i.e. unpacking heat prohibited,
one tony peppy trooper deployed,
but unexpectedly waylaid
understandably yours truly annoyed
unsheathed hot pistol manually toyed.

Admission, confession, decision firmly laid
down, I oft times insisted felt test ease made
purposeless seething hormonal secretion
triggered fountainhead sprayed

activated provocation upbraid
ding the then live in girlfriend
French kissing parlez vous
pledged troth plus
serving as milkmaid.
Aye sandman, I surrender to yar supreme governance
surreal spectacular soiree gifts subconscious sphere
soothing (analogous to natural palliative), ah...REM
member nought, asper exquisite entertaining cerebral
kaleidoscope replete with nonpareil visual trappings

aesthetically tantalizing unforgettable..., but lo' eye can't
captcha scenario upon awakened state, tis bothersome
transcendent, resplendent, quiescent,...transient dream
ticking escapement shuttered against recollections...
aye plead mercy to jog, (and gently jimmy - yeah of

course figuratively) shuttered facet slammed tight soon
nee immediately inaccessible dimension brought forth
teasingly, phantasmagorically, numbingly ephemeral,
nevertheless temporarily liberating, enshrouding, and
cocooning against incessant drubbing mine corporeal

wakeful body electric relentlessly fraught with profuse
inexplicable perspiration (principally palms) recurs
like clockwork (despite prescription medications), this
physiological discomfort hazards livingsocial quotidian
joyless agonizing oft times including courtesy, not

"FAKE" panic attack, these anxiety less debilitating,
when emotionally torturous teenage years wracked
every cell (no matter how fast I ran - just Kuwait, the
mailer daemons threatened) to undermine even flickr
of happiness, hence suicidal ideations (eternal slumber)

tantalized (still populate though processes) as surefire
solution to mitigate despite leaving those who love,
and especially hate yours truly, his existence bereft
of quality, though tranquil physical quasi rural setting
(Schwenksville), a naturalistic, fantastic, holistic balm,

here quiet as a cemetary removed, not considerably
distant from Philadelphia (hubbub disagrees with hair
trigger vulnerability), where madding crowd affects my
innate neurological predisposition, these lovely bones

easily rattled, quite aggravating to live verging upon
tremulous agitation assuaged through writing - catharsis
delivers temporary alleviation as doth solitary voluntary
sequestration poor substitute to relish L'Chaim!

Now Holy cow, I modestly bow vine
and dandy attired with New Times Roman font –
showing off me lix - plus iv ridging
despite afflicting unsuspecting reader  
to experience insufferable oh press
sieve corny word play yes
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create lingual Loch Ness,
when hens can't come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in Matthew Scott Harris patois.

He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
modest ambition to impress.

Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.

Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via ****** laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davy Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.

Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink Icon fess

this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wonton soup,
or figurative egg drop soup
bubbling broth (el) doth brew)

pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.

Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy

hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.

Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Badshah Khan Mar 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) - 67

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

I don't probe the divine nature of eternal love!
The sincere desire what I naturally have for You,
I' inborn with Your passionate fondness,
To willingly embrace You my Beloved.

Nor my gentle heart is void!
Nor satisfactorily complete!
Nor it wantonly breaks!
Nor it inevitably perishes!

You the one Oh my Treasured!
Your eternal love eagerly grasps,
My gentle heart and properly advise
Me, ow to sincerely love!

Allah Khair..... Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab - Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Ignatius Hosiana Jul 2016
But
If only you had stood by me,
patted my back & said
"There's always a next time".
I would have tried again...
If you had held me up every time
I tripped & fell and told me that
wasn't the end...
I would have stood my ground
if you had held out the rope
for me the moments I were deep
down the dark abyss of despair
I would have climbed out instantly
If you had cheered me up
too albeit I hadn't emerged the
very best in the so many a race...
I would have enrolled for another
If you had forgiven me
when I made the first of the
million grave mistakes which
ultimately cost the team
the 999,999 would have been won
If you had listened the many
times I really tried to explain
you probably would've understood
If only you had mourned with me
when I was burying my dead
I would have forgotten my loss
If you had walked with me before
I took the very first step of this
journey, the miles would have seemed less
I'd have walked farther than I did.
if you had knelt down and prayed
with me when I needed to believe
my faith wouldn't have faltered
if you had been there when I was
in need of a shoulder to lean on
I would call you my family
if you'd given me crumbs when I
were hungry, drops when I were
thirsty, clothed my ******
dressed my wounds, counselled me
lent an ear when I battled insanity
I probably couldn't have fallen off
the edge and gone totally bananas
if only you had scratched my back
when I was growing my nails
maybe I could have satisfactorily scratched your itch thenceforth
if only you had read my scripts
and poetry even if they were but
mere rumblings and cacographs
I could have written a glossary...*
If only you had even just tried to...
🙏
OUR LIFE, A RIVULET

Our life is like a rivulet; going through a constant change; dashing alone, through paths difficult n rough

Picking up many relationships on the way, some good, some bad, some mild, some angry n gruff

Needs a rivulet to turn into a  river; n then to reach her destination final, to the Sea  so mighty, really huge !

Rest she just cannot, it's a winding journey, meandering, but there is no going back, no refuge !

A bumpy jumpy childhood, followed by a carefree or stressful youth; then perhaps it flows smoothly for a while;

She sometimes gets a chance to happy be; to gracefully flow; and at life, satisfactorily smile

Then again as youth recedes,  relatives also part, into many factions at the delta, she is now broken !

These parts big and small, all into the mighty ocean submerge; it is now that a rivulet, that has turned into a river is, finally unified, in Heaven awoken.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Christine Nov 2018
They think that all it takes to be
satisfactorily enlightened
is to leave behind a possession or three
and feel what it's like to be frightened

These rich, wise men applaud themselves
for thinking such deep thoughts
while, deprived of their least favorite couch, they delve
into the world of what it's like to have-not
Wedding of words with thoughts
The lovely, timid bride
Born as thought
Comes bedecked
With the choicest of jewels
Her companions
Dancing like nymphs
Of heaven's grace
Is enchanting
The companions of the groom
Handsome
Born that way
Are moved by this
Graceful swaying
And movement
Of unseen glories
Oh so are the bridesmaids
After all,they are also
Beautiful
Just like the bride
The shehnai of imagination blows
Virtues like determination
Take on the role
Of the priest
Or pastor as you say
But this groom's a bit naughty:-) :-)
His eager eyes
(Eager for beauty,
Seeking something
Just good enough
To express
For so long!)
Flutter to the mates
Of the thought bride
Oh he is also moved
Would he elope
Would he find his
Life's expression
In someone else
Other than this thought?
After all he is known
For his mischiefs
From long ago
(He could not find
A suitable one
For himself
Given me so much pain!)
Today as I jump
In ecstasy
Of this occasion
So holy
I face this danger
I command the priest of determination
To quickly
Complete the rituals
So that I get to see a lovely couple
Bless them for
Fulfilling my heart's desire
For bringing my
Youthful mind
To a standstill
To pen my thoughts
Satisfactorily
For at least a moment!
Such is the toil
Of the marriages elaborate
Made in a holy
Sterilized wedding hall
Of my brain
And you know
How difficult it is
To maintain
A purity
A sterility
Be it of body,places
Or flickering thoughts!!
An ode to the couple of pen and words
Thoughts and expressions
And other guests
In such holy unions!
Akin to significance my eldest sister
felt toward her “*******” –
until she became a tweener
(totally tubular fuzzy bendable contrivances
analogous to an outsize pipecleaner)
my Mattie Mattel Doll meant the world
(circa mid 1960's), the whirled wide
webbed world on the horizon
with promise of much greener
virtual Oculus pastures once found
amongst Carib ******
indigenous tribes.

Any child with creative artistic bents
(minus this scribe, whose innate abilities cents
less limited me drawing stick figures, more so dense
macabre satisfactorily applying
   beard or mustache ala events
magic marker to pictured printed (faces forged into fences
of famous people popular
   within culture club), both gents
or gals, whose retouched photographs
   beggared ****** pents
sieve hair loom of men and women,
   while simultaneously rents
sing preoccupied to access
   excel lent glue, devoid of common sense
household padding material,
   and short scraps from circus tents
of yarn for do whit your self based artisans
   into trash bin of history project wents.

Even than orange ranked as the new black.

This abhor ridge gin null snippets
   red + yellow colored strands
atop kepi twas pseudo hair,
   sans manufactured eunuchs adorned head lands
with avast linkedin fingerhut dishabille curls),
    could easily construct grandstands
a similar facsimile re: globular molded,
   incorporated, glommed, errands
contrived head (vis a vis Plaster of Paris
   overcovering NON GMO
   gluten free partially hydrogenated brands
inflated balloon) to affect trademark

     globular fuzzy noggin dry as Awklands.

The simple plain plaything included
   a fitbit lifesaver size plastic ring.

Said small circular loop perfect
   to get jammed below first knuckle
of index finger affixed to a short string  
   (when pulled to extent tub buckle
of tether) activated moonfaced fixed bugeyed
   blank stare to utter garbled syllables  
  asper one who did suckle.

Despite the drabness, homliness,
   laquered pated trapped
xyst Yarmulke cheap flatness,
   I loved ragged slapped
around, and still iconic schlepped treasure
   (uber voiceless with rapt
zealous application bridging elementary
   functioning gizmo), initiating mapped
jabbering lock lipped prattling. Sometimes
   well worn action hero lapped
exhilaration, (got tossed in the air, booted
   as football, succor silently accepted flapped
sear sucker punches from robed buck
   after favorite fictitious "brother" chapped
accompanied my scrawny body at bath time) to adapt.

None the less, this adored billed idol kept me secure, especially
on rare occasions that found this contemplative, dutiful, fun
loving kid under the weather, or hospitalized for minor adenoids removal.

Oh yes, this non gendered plaything (non descript featureless
sewn seems showed zero differentiation, no matter to tell this
August, cherished, fondled kiddie piece de resistance lacked ****** identity.

Absent reproductive organs (eh, nada so significant omission)
cuz, this seemingly resistant quirky plaything, who unfairly re
ceived punishing physical indiscriminate treatment), yet still
connection omnipotent bond existed as if goofy guise happened
to be extended part of mine kempf.

Upon reflection, asper this childhood memento (nary a clue
what triggered remembrance of things past yesterday comprised
true value), an aha moment awoke to attempt to cap cha vague
essence about pretend friend designed in 1955, and based on a conceptby Mattel co-founder Elliot Handler. The character “Matty” derived from the name Mattel.

The nom de plume a concatenation of sortsderived after founders,
Harold Mattson and Elliot Handler. A brainstorm session
yielded concurrence viz the hybrid name of Matt + El (short for Elliot).
Jon York Dec 2016
Truth Is. . .
                   What I like most about myself is that I am so
                            understanding when I do something wrong. . .
                   You had better appreciate me now and avoid the rush. . .
                   We all have one thing in common- a thing called life. . .
                    Just exactly what life is has not yet been satisfactorily
                         explained to me. . .
                    I try to take life as it comes and just hope it keeps coming. . .
                    Every time I try to take out a new lease on life, the landlord
                         raises the rent. . .
                    Win or lose. it's all right. . .
                    The world is a very strange community, but it is the only
                           one we all belong to. . .
                     Quiet people have the loudest minds. . .

Truth Is. . .
                   There has been so much concern about what might happen
                            that what is actually happening has passed almost
                            unnoticed. . .  
                    Some of the worst things I have done have probably been
                            forgotten by everybody except me. . .
                    Why is it that I so often desire the best and why do I seldom
                           get it.. .
                    I could do great things if I weren't so busy doing little things
                    I am still waiting for some public reaction to my arrival on
                           earth. . .
                    Of course I know what happiness is because I've seen
                            many pictures of it. . .
                     Intelligence is not of much use unless you are intelligent
                             enough to use it. . .

Truth Is. . .
                      The reason why most people are careful is that those who
                             weren't are no longer living. . .
                       Having lived through some bad times, I am living proof
                              that some bad times can be lived through. . .
                       Just when I nearly had the answer, I forgot the question. .
                       Don't believe everything you hear about me regardless of
                              how true it may be. . .
                       It frightens me when people suddenly start to behave
                              sensibly. . .
                       Some of my secrets have been hidden so well, I have
                               forgotten what they are. . .  
                        I wonder why it is that many of the most important
                                things are also the most boring things. . .
                         If it makes you happy, do it. If it doesn't, then don't. . .
Erin Sep 2017
'One day, she will be nothing but litter on the side of the highway', they had murmured in hidden tongues. So she balled herself up and crumpled anything that she could have been – at least she could be satisfactorily streamlined when she was thrown from tobacco-stained fingertips, if nothing else.
A quick jot from an almost daily brain dump.
Butch Decatoria Jul 2018
Would you if
Could you with
A gift of any wish
Granted /
Change
Beauty
Or what they deem to be
The ugly
in humanity
Simply (for one's own comfort)
To see and to shape
Satisfactorily
It's property…

Metamorphose.

So suppose
You could impose
Your willing whim on Man,
Or make refined
These grains of sand
To cry

Change sweet sugars
To sour lime

And with this power on a dime
Create your own heart
To love / to shine
Maybe even shape the world
With peaceful times!?

As always
rain will fall
As war
Often loudly screams to be
Consistently and capitalistically
Decreed

A Disagreeing discord
Ever more......

But if you could
And if you should
With every beef and steer
Against the odds angst and deep
Defeatists' endearing fear
Educate the darkness
How it can be lifted by
A single spark,

Would you

If could you

Should have

With a gift
Of a single wish:
Recognize Our Heart

A good place to Always
Start...


(Stay true for you are Art)
Revised.
Puberty set off affright
seeding decades long
     terrestrial space flight
freighted existential blight,
wherefore from that
attempt to live airtight
many scores yesternight
ago, I barely (except

     on par with grateful
     dead), zero excite
ment minimally functioned,
     cuz high felt spite
fully lost (in the forest)
     rooted with shaky tree mens,
     (viz dose zen sips
     quaffed by same drink

     Rip Van Winkle drank)
     to evade adolescent phase highlight
ten en bold den lack
     luster vim, though erudite
bereft excel lent outlook
     in access hubble, sans vehemently
     opposed to living
     social at the height

of teenage torturous travails up
     to present day nearly downright
everyday challenge on par
     with metaphorical bullfight,
a mailer daemon
     beastie boy foo fist fight,
ting non grata poker faced
     aware with hindsight

(born that way
     inside me noggin)
     darker than midnight
impossible to take flight
against shell fish ogre egging to
     take a deadly bite
compromising psychological
     terra incognita mental landscape

     also likened to
     pitched - bat tilled him of thee
     republic where searchlight
revealed reviled cat and/or dogfight,
yet actually e'en preceding
     boy to man transformation
     dire wrecked bombsight,
(noah doubt ******

     social and physical height)
when adolescent basic instinct of mine
     lacked sixth sense reading
     expressed ****** features of people
     lacking instinctive searchlight,
aye absent keen insight
by this self dubbed emotional Anchorite
     ill equipped mein ways disallowing

     me every twelfth night
to differentiate discern,
     and divine subtle
     nonverbal, yet critical cues,
     which figuratively wheel
     lee "spoke" volumes
     oft times more might
tee than words uttered

     by sword shaped tongue
     pronouncing syllables light
immediately wrought seize yore,
     (analogous to stony glare
emanating from an invisible Gorgon)
or harshly, yet mine skintight
     suppressed oral communication
     if exercised probably fended

     coulda more satisfactorily
     quickly, and obviously
     thwarted doggone socially quite
scared state, inducing preflight
adrenaline kick
      starter activation, rushing

     within myself, a sorry sight
for sore eyes,
     which found yours truly
     to became immediately
     flush with utter embarrassment.
Define paradigm since time
immemorial does find
me defied, electrified, and generated
fascination within my mind,
despite spacious essence invisible to blind
people, or even those blessed to find
pointed laser insight more pertinent

when a visible beam shined
into infinite void of space,
where coordinates aligned
since humans stood *****
to measure existential blocks assigned
within very brief span that consigned

an average life on terrestrial
firmament more of a grind,
when omnipotent self importance
mandates no child shall be left behind,
yet unwittingly civilization dictates
everyone must be forcibly inclined

to synchronize, mechanize, and harmonize,
their every breath entwined
analogous to a pinned insect specimen
semi restricted to maneuver within
nebulous unseen all encompass
sing fourth dimension since...
my Neanderthal ancestors

huddled around protective hearth
yet,...no idea when,
(whether before
my conception, in utero, or at birth)
my noggin got gripped
with names woolworth
their weight in precious

gems or even salt
(steeped from legacy bygone ancient
civilizations) linkedin lightly
peppered planetary girth
various passages of time,
each mortal allotted on Earth
(measured in seconds, minutes,

hours, days, weeks, months...)
one season does leave,
and another one fall lows win touring
Santa's sleigh for those who believe
conveniently evinced as sands
slipping down humongous sieve

denoting reasons for joy or to grieve
and inquisitiveness attuned
when every stations broadcasts
countdown by Jeeve
parsing segments, not only prompting

objectives I did satisfactorily achieve
(during another orbit of Gaia,
when passage of time
signifying poignant heave
** every New Year's Eve),
but really the entire ticking

tocking clock scaffold
poses as an artificial construct,
as well the jolly green giant
with one or another
expansive FLOTUS on his/her greensleeve.
(alternately titled: idolizing childhood's end
today April 25th, 2021
generates elusive warm treasured memories).

Akin to significance my eldest sister
felt toward her “*******” –
(totally tubular fuzzy bendable contrivances
analogous to an outsize pipe cleaner)
until she became a tweener
my Matty Mattel Doll (circa mid 1960's)
meant the webbed wide world  
with promise of much greener pastures
on the Apollo space age horizon
where virtual Oculus virtual reality dwelt
amongst Carib ****** indigenous tribes.

No matter yours truly then
fast approaching his decade number seven  
of twentieth century tantalizing
figurative future promises held sway
(namely technologically
Luddite intimations spawned),
I zealously, fervently,
and desperately clung
to battered Matty Mattel doll.

Any child with creative artistic bents
(including this scribe),
whose innate sensibilities and cents
severely limited me drawing
stick figures, more so dense
macabre satisfactorily applying
beard or mustache as stylish elements
applying magic marker to picture printed
faces forged into fences
of famous people popular
within culture club, both gents
or gals, whose retouched photographs
beggared ****** pents
sieve looming hair of men and women,
while simultaneously rents
sing preoccupied to access
excel lent glue, which caricatured outlook
devoid of common sense
I held said goofy looking doll
appeared contrived of household padding material,
and short scraps from circus tents
of yarn for do whit yourself based artisans
into trash bin of history project went.

Even than orange ranked as the new black
charming plaything sophistication did lack
plus batteries not required
to hear voice activated track.

This (think) abhor ridge gin null snippets
red + yellow colored strands
atop kepi twas pseudo hair,
sans manufactured eunuchs
adorned head lands
with avast capita lone linkedin
fingerhut dishabille curls,
could easily construct trolling grandstands
a similar facsimile re: globular molded,
incorporated, glommed,
fragile Ostrich egg shape
contrived head (vis a vis Plaster of Paris
overcovering NON GMO gluten free
partially hydrogenated brands
inflated balloon) to affect trademark
globular fuzzy noggin dry as Acklands.

The simple plain plaything included
a fitbit lifesaver size plastic ring
said small circular loop perfect “O”pening
to get jammed below first knuckle the King
Kong of index finger affixed to a short string
(when pulled to extent tub buckle did bring
taut tether) activated
moon face fixed bug eyed ping
pong blank stare to utter garbled syllables
asper one who nipped viz suckle something.

Despite the drabness, homeliness,
lacquered painted trapped
xyst Yarmulke cheap flatness,
I loved ragged slapped
around, and still iconic schlepped treasure
(uber voiceless with rapt
zealous application bridging elementary
functioning gizmo), initiating mapped
jabbering lock lipped absolute zero prattling.

Sometimes well worn action hero lapped
exhilaration, (got tossed in the air, booted
as football, succor silently accepted flapped
sear sucker punches from robed buck
after favorite fictitious "brother" chapped
accompanied my scrawny body
at bath time) to adapt.

Nonetheless, this adored
billed idol kept me secure,
especially on rare occasions
that found this contemplative lad, a lore
ring dutiful, fun loving kid
under the weather, or hospitalized for
minor adenoids removal,
which entailed post surgical recovery
swallowing quite a chore.

Oh yes, this non gendered plaything
nondescript featureless
sewn seams showed zero differentiation,
no matter to tell this August, cherished, fondled
kiddie piece de resistance lacked ****** identity.

Absent reproductive organs
(eh, nada so significant omission)
cuz, this seemingly resistant
quirky plaything, who unfairly re
ceived punishing physical
indiscriminate treatment, yet still
connection omnipotent bond existed
as if goofy guise happened
to be extended part of mine kempf.

Upon reflection, asper
childhood memento (nary a clue
what triggered remembrance
of things past yesterday comprised
true value), an aha moment awoke
to attempt to cap cha vague
essence about pretend friend designed in 1955,
and based on a concept by Mattel co-founder
Elliot Handler.

The character “Matty”
derived from the name Mattel.

The nom de plume a concatenation of sorts
derived after founders,
Harold Mattson and Elliot Handler.

A brainstorm session
yielded concurrence viz the hybrid name
of Matt + El (short for Elliot).
Dispense sing with fidelity blithely agog
just me and mine dark shadow
slinking along the edge of night doth blog
passivity, the path of least resistance ohm my dog,
shocking voltage surges an emphatic YES,
verboten fruit adrip with succulent juices as eggnog,
a legitimately valid reason and rhyme to flog
reprobate yours truly figuratively emasculate,
thee catchword to extricate
being emotionally hogtied
warrants immediate attention,
regarding consummating series
of prurient disadvantageous
née self destructive events.
  
The best idea to expound upon,
while attempting creative
exuding genital intonations to jog
all mein kampf, I felt like a bump on a log
please... don't be hesitant
not to reserve judgement
towards this miscreant husband
whom identifies himself
as a dirt Poe imp of the pervert
analogous to rumpelstiltskin fable

whereby Lothario wannabe
boasts stud deed fallaciousness,
whose noggin of mine shaped as an egghead
topped off with pinhead blocked nog,
one aging long haired pencil neck geek
never reached maturity forever a pollywog
until froggy went a courtin'
into marital quagmire
woody ******* did slog.

More clearly, plainly and succinctly,
one sniveling poor excuse for masculinity,
(and upstanding laughingstock
regarding spindleshanks),
I continually experience
unrepentant (unforgivable) humility,
hence lame justification
Matthew Scott Harris
sought adultery, cuckoldry, effrontery...,
which unwise choices attempted
(pun intended) to fill a void
****** propensity linkedin with precepts

attributed courtesy Sigmund Freud,
though skepticism skirted
shirked getting caught red handed
sneaky shenanigans employed
barenaked lady ******* psychoanalysis
downplayed, or Oedipus complex
shrugged off Fountainhead (heavier imposition
versus Atlas) fails to bridge
(do not as Kwai)
any heavy mettle alloyed
within me psyche, and windmills of my mind.

Handy dandy blues clues
existential mid life crisis
lacked absolute zero justification
why yours truly fraught
with hormonal secretion
embarked on warpath for concupiscence
gallivanting foot loose and fancy free
sabotaged matrimonial covenant,
whereby I regularly posted and answered
personal classified advertisement
with popular Craigslist website,
thus no surprise when presto digitation,
I met gal headquartered in Coatesville;

she drove to Evansburg State Park
rearing to tame bucking bronco (me)
quashing, invalidating, contravening...
conjugal contractual obligation
renting asunder mine vocalized vow
to remain faithful thru thick and/or thin
seeking alternative ******* opportunity
feeble minded excuse
regarding irreconcilable differences
a vague catchall phrase
antithetical contrary to pledged troth,
embarking on maiden voyage
nsync with barenaked lady
partaking moist and meaty tender vittles.

I feebly attempted to compensate  
for dearth of absent teenage
Ninja mutant turtles
reptile brain and brawn bravado
investigated dating app experiences,
thus violated wedded vow think tryst
I yearned, trended and jump/kick started
Casanova paramour wannabe
years later subsequently regretted philandering
utterly disgusted at my illicit behavior
and negligence neglecting
attentiveness to offspring and spouse
forswore doting upon then
high school age daughters,
rightfully thee eldest one

(born 12/22/1996) still ******
and compromised paternal priority spawning
selfish prurient dalliances,
I das scribe, how now brown cow objectionable
frolicking courtesy Sly And The Family Stone
payback a *****, cuz feel in funky (flunky) mood,
verses when scads of Earth orbitz ago,
he profusely kissed
mouth of other voluptuous
(zoftig) older women
(consensually, flatteringly, indiscriminately)
and amazingly, kindly, thankfully... enough
in due time spouse did willingly insist

to forgive, boot never forget
long since discounting divorce from wife
nevertheless, remaining thermally uncoupled
mandated unconditional armistice
eventually note hissed
matter of fact I dreamt
(earlier today May twenty ninth
two thousand and twenty two), the gist
regarding soldier of self made misfortune
toying and tinkering harming self
casually eyed sharp pointed objects
offered especial attraction

pondering hoop fully connive fist
(cuffed) around handles of cutlery
at primal, gonadal, and brutal predilections
now... finding very little reason to exist,
hence understandably dissed
(until death do me part)
unbridled love and apology
toward thee missus and progeny,
who forever did blacklist
writ blood ginned curse with barbs.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
thus very little paternal (filial) love expressed
and she chose to live yonder
Oakland, California her temporary dwelling
no matter, her papa blatantly confessed depravity
YES, more'n his eye did wonder.

At present petty coated junction
non petty irreparable schism
doth rank as horrendous
on par me adopting fascism
forever sullied image ("daddy's girl"),
who once thought the world of me
selfish misdeeds buzzfeeding swelling egoism
no more how enlightened I became

ex post facto, pure unconditional acceptance
refracted light risqué behavior thru prism
where primary parental accountability
not satisfactorily explained away courtesy
Darwinism (to con seed genes), nor chauvinism,
whereby ever since time immemorial
repentance will forever be belabored
by me flagrantly disregarding monogamy
courtesy hardened libido
making mockery and travesty marital covenant.
before marital savings bond matured
as a then quinquagenarian.

Courtesy gerontologists medical practitioners
allowing, enabling, and providing
the elderly population to live
longer and healthier lives.

Linkedin with longevity loosely translates
to resurgent libido spurring
older folks predilection
to participate in ****** intimacy.

The downside (if such be the proper word)
regarding senior citizens
becoming or remaining flush
with embodied physical attraction
Gerontophilia barely alive
as buzzfeeding colloquialism,
nevertheless advertently, intermittently,
and unwittingly received
jump/kick starting excitement

here at Highland Manor,
especially scooter bound population
looking to spice her/his life
courtesy young stud or hottie
(stepping out pages of some
**** glamourous magazine)
secretly strategizing how to entice
lure, and understand "grandma"
or "grandpa" as ideal bed fellow.

An old geezer like yours truly,
would roll out his Scottish welcome mat
(comprised of Harris tweed material)
readily and willingly
welcoming respite from
a young gal responsive
to such juvenile, ******,
material devoid of absolute zero
with neither, pride and prejudice
apropos of maturity,
sense and sensibility,
nor wit and wisdom
as the following banal folderol
nominal representative sample exemplifies
what he frequently posted
on the fledgling Internet
back during the heyday

of electronic chat rooms.
COMPAQ PRESARIO
desktop (little tower - revolutionary
computer back in 1999 -)
chugged along (think the engine that could
exhaustively repeating the mantra
"I think I can, I think I can"
in order to facilitate
wheels that go round n around
like a twirling clown
or a psychedelic school bus

while painted ponies go up and down...
optimally operating like well greased levers
to reverse a frown
analogous to gingerbread man
happy as a clam
satisfactorily baked to perfection
a colorful character uniformly imbrown
similar to persons of color
found within outer limits
along edge of night
of twilight zone in the heart of motown.

No harem meant by the following
excerpts amalgamated, doctored, hewn,
linkedin, and sanitized version from outdated
prefabricated plundered digital broadcasts
talentless dearth as profundity
and/or qualifying as reasonable rhyme,
I do forthrightly bewail
paucity of thought provoking perspective
dill liver rd by Clyde S Dale
whimsical wordy zesty email

nothing ventured equates
to no gain nor any cause to fail
searching far and wide
for something akin to a holy grail
in the guise of a femme fatale
wherever she may hale
even if my search
finds me ferreting out jail
masterfully baited ...ha...ha...hmm...
this steely irony male

merely Joe King riddler,
one lone ranger high
in his blazing saddle
exclaiming "Hi-yo Silver"
cuz tis a violation of pure innocence
to ****** Vestal ******
before age of consent,
and also ill eagle,
whar *** may n daze existence
locked behind iron rail

bars with razor wire
in n attempt to scale
the bulwarks n escape -
bush whacking a trail
only to return to bedlam
and discover vis-à-vis
a  perspicacious wife
who did bemoan and wail
yours truly his indiscretion.

Fingers property handsome beau
thrum while poetic feet quiver
like fingers on a taut bow
with anticipation to hear soft
sure footed white or black crow
sitting on telephone wire talons didst flow
and crackle with electricity

thru wired connection
courtesy smooth bore little arquebus
and spindleshanks characterized bozo
weird friendship can grow
like a super fresh field
viz organic olive garden
of eat'n plump with organic food
betwixt yar thatch n my lil ***
property of common Joe

fully cognizant and in the know
scheming to experience
whet dreams are made
analogous to tightly, lovingly, and
exquisitely fit together
game pieces manufactured by lego
finished product resembling mistletoe
illicit affair indubitably,
ineluctably, invariably causing woe.

After primal desire fired away
I returned home
to the missus without delay
the scorned wife mine hide she did flay
when divorce sought, she did nay say.
Sent my smooching life south,
whereby I felt like poor Georgie Porgie,
pudding and pie,
who kissed the girls and made them cry.

The medical term for cold sores,
****** Labialis, refers
to the ****** virus Type 1 (HSV-1)
that most often causes these sores,
though ****** virus Type 2 (HSV-2)
less often can also be a cause.

Courtesy chafing lower denture
the inside lower lip of mine
(analogous when braces
donned by pearly whites -
long since ravaged
and removed by Periodontitis;
A serious gum infection
that damaged gums
and can destroy the jawbone)
rubbed raw firing, kickstarting,
and triggering throbbing ache
before going to sleep,
whether for a siesta
or bidding adieu
to the webbed wide world until the morrow,
and upon soon after I wake
attempting, daring, and farcing
to crack a smile
experience needling pain for doggone sake.

Yours truly most seriously,
affected with oral blight
when rumblies in tummy
signal appeasement of appetite
teasing viands with pronounced delight
impossible mission to masticate,
thus I reconcile myself experiencing pain
when chomping on solid foods,
whereby the bilabial fricative
actuated courtesy chewing motion,
(especially movement of lower jaw)
doth indelibly etch and sketch copyright
infringement onto soft tissue
aggravating, grooving, and torturing
satisfactorily done by the mandible
constituting lower jaw or jawbone
regarding the bottom skeleton
that makes up the lower
(and typically also the more mobile)
half of the mouth in jawed vertebrates.

While at C(ustomer) V(alued) S(ervice)
store at 1206 Gravel Pike, Zieglerville,
Pennsylvania 19492 - on a whim,
I purchased Peroxide Sore Mouth Cleaner
an over the counter product
and painless solution
to alleviate and heal
ulcerated, and lacerated fever blister
inside lower lip of this mister
re: man, whose spouse considers me weird
and peculiarly wired

as most likely would deux daughters I sired,
though both free and clear
despite their former impressionable years
being severely mired
with unnecessary financial hardship
whose lack of healthy
gainful employment track record
(essentially... I got fired)
linkedin to mental health issues,
thus no surprise when
the writer of these words desired

exiting realm of living social
(think passive suicidal ideation),
particularly manifest destiny
to join the underground movement
of the dead souls, when fraudsters
exerted remote mind control
managed to apply psychological ploy
leaving an immense black hole
sun leaving sense and sensibility extinct,
whereat I found myself in good company
with the Baltimore Oriole
along the Eastern United States.

The posted gofundme page...
oh that came to naught,
thus I live hand to mouth
still holding out hope
some anonymous benefactor
would vicariously writhe nsync
with mein kampf.
The following admission
honest to dogness haint no bunk
nobody, but yours truly
bore deeply and countersunk
his spontaneity satisfactorily
lightweight corporeal mein kampf,
didst more than baptise or dunk
cuff, which admirably aided to flunk,
(whereat no universal solvent,
could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles
of sea sonned gunk),
asper thickly congealed

encasing this laughable
antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man
overweening tricky hunk,
which thought to attempt
skidding row bust humor
as a "FAKE" teetering drunk
ken-pro lit tarry overgrown punk
(riotously swinging balled fists
way of course), and mine
feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where
teenage shadow boxer slunk
tis my harmless recourse to peddle

as sway to escape funk
seriously, Aesop hoes,
this personal mockery
wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk
bonded really gluten
free self deprecating
playfulness of course as chipper munk
makes any sense, neither kerplunk
emanating from atop me notch noggin
swishing with grade A klunk
emasculation par excellence, asper
out thee talking head of this lunk,

whose upcoming "talk therapy"
every other Monday
at 11:00 a.m. with preshrunk
kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating
analogous to reverberation while spelunk
king in an echo chamber futilely
questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk
hated living when merely thirteen
courtesy Anorexia Nervosa
with spindle shank (chicken legs)
to attest as permanent stunted growth.

— The End —