I’m a soldier
in a war
sold to the highest bidder
Biding my time
getting high
but not getting
anything out of
life

A lifer
a loser
lost his way
was on his way
on a journey
was earning
a living
was living
a life
in spite of
spitting in the face
of all I was faced with
Couldn’t face up
to the need
I was feeding
A hole
from which
my soul
was bleeding
Unknown reason
harboring this treason
give it time
it will season
Belief system
the Devil
finds pleasing

No matter
how much I tried
and from everyone hide,
including myself,
what was
deep inside
If I went
and made
an attempt
a fool I'd be,
wasted time spent
A lament
at controlling
the tide
And each day
from the next
more and more
of me died

There was a time
when all my efforts
went unheeded
and instead
succeeded
But these courtships
did not breed
or plant the seed
Instead was seething
to be
leaving
Escaping from me
with each breath
I’m breathing

A horrible time
indeed
Unfamiliar,
making me ill
Not having free will
Undeserving
and not for me
to get
Must get angry
and upset
Breaking steps
So many
missteps
I’m falling
more than I’m standing

Steps I’ve climbed
mostly blind
by my blindfold
Its knots
I bind
the moment
I ‘rise-and-shine’
so that
in time
when rising
like yeast,
the hiding
inner self
self-defeats

Every hand folding
as I’m
raising the bets,
doesn't make sense
From where
did I get
this invisible pet
Originally set
and previously molded
in the early stages
of the morning
in a story
that’s boring
and been told
time and time again
with
lost love ones
and friends

A friendly reminder
that a
“stitch-in-time”
is not
a time saver
if the referenced ‘stitch’
relied upon
was built upon
lies
Consumed
from others
that we
self tie
but mostly
force fed
by the very hand
controlled
by my head

It’s a numbing thought;
reasons sought
Elusive?
‘yes’
but pieces
caught
My peace disturbed
by actions
brought
from a desire
to numb
so that these thoughts
will be
forgotten

Decayed
and rotten
left for days
in a
wrought iron cage
Anyone
with sage
too afraid
to consume
but 'In-Doom'
I trust
and with full ******
my smile
displayed;
Forward I go
for sins
I pay
and lie within
this bed
I've made

Not night;
thick of day
No difference displayed
Skewed indifference
to the
different
paths
that have been
laid
like the path
of destruction
from this day
back
in my wake
Bindings
can't brake
A life's mistake
Lay me down
my soul
to take
Lying in state,
a viewing,
my wake
My mind
now awake
-
Cruelty's laugh
makes me
an ***
A crass reminder
of a life
that's past

Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me

I wish the bubbles on my screen saver were real
I wish the tears in my heart would dry
I want to have a good, bad fight right now
I want to have a good long cry.
I wish the world would right itself
I wish there were stores of sensitivity, and feeling
So everyone could have a bit of them
I wish people weren’t poor. I wish I could wish away all deprivation.
I wish life was all that happy, and people all that good.
I wish everyone would wish for all that I wish, so it might just come true
I wish the bubbles on my screen saver were real.

Sprinkled in your hair,
Every screen saver you had,
Planted in your yard,
'Till he gave them a bad name;
Then all of your flowers died.

By Arcassin Burnham



See, life is what you make,
and love is very evol,
the devil may have tricked you,
but god will be eager,
you have too many things on your mind,
in this case,
your running out of time,
to find the love of your life,
take her to the prom,
tell her shes a dime,
make her happy,
you mite get defined,
but at least you kept laughing,
she was your life saver,
had you,
when you didnt have anyone,
lead the though of planning to **** all of your fun,
block me from your facebook,
anytime,
break up with me,
if you feel i cant deliver,
but come to think about it,
you were a fake this entire time,
so i make up all these greedy rhyme,
but i know what negativity you thinkin',
he must be better than me in some kind of way,
if thats what you left me for,
but you were once a life saver,
someone i would come looking for,
but it doesnt appear like that anymore.
thank you.

At the mailbox, again:
“Who loves me, baby?”
Well, let’s see: there’s a flyer from Mercury Insurance,
Reminding me that most middle-income customers
Save an average of $4 million smackaroons when they switch too.
The Penny Saver USA.com is here,
Thank God, almighty!
So now I know that Thomas Roofing & Paving
Is having a special on 20-year leak-free flat roofs;
"All work guaranteed & insured.
No job too big or small.
Free estimates/Emergency services/License # I8U-69."
And thank you, Jesus,
For another $4.99 Farmer Boys 3-Egg Breakfast
Combo with Coffee coupon, and that
Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready, $5.00 cheese or pepperoni,
Mae-West-“why-don’t-you-come up and see me sometime?”—mailer. And, of course, another technology Siren’s song:
Verizon FiOS delivers entertainment this big,
Dish me up some dish NETWORK, $19.99 a month . . .
Are you ******* me?
For 12 ******* months?
AT&T;: whack me off on 120 channels.
DIRECTV.com - DIRECTV® Official Site‎
Worry-free 99.9%  . . . cue Joe E. Brown,
"Some Like It Hot“ Osgood:
"Well, nobody’s perfect!"
Time Warner/Sprint/T-Mobile;
And ******* Leather, Polk Street, San Francisco.
******* leather?
Must be for my neighbor: that ***** ****!
And here’s the weekly 8-page color fold-out from Stater Bros:
Lowering prices every day, large cantaloupes
(Jessica Lange, are you back?)
10 for $10.00, 32 oz. Gatorade
Or 24 oz Propel in 30 assorted varieties @ 79 cents
+ CRV: California Redemption Value?
Nice euphemistic cover-up for a TAX.
Nice, nice, very nice, CA elected state officials;
Nicely done, Sacramento.
Everywhere else in the country you get real money—
A fixed number of pennies, nickels, or dimes—
For your plastic bottles and aluminum cans.
But in California, the licensed recyclers
Get to pull the market price out of their *** each morning.
California Redemption Value?
What ******* genius government kleptocrat thought that one up? Conspiracy Alert: who gets all that CRV money?
And what are they doing with it?
Feeling plain, Jane?
Marinello Schools of Beauty, want you,
Offer you hands-on training in cosmetology,
Skin care esthetics, manicuring and vaginal deodorizing—
Just kidding, Babaloo.
Food tip for the Third World:
Never try to write poetry on an empty stomach.
Sizzler 6 oz juicy & succulent.
RENEGADE DEAL:
El Pollo Loco guacamole chicken sandwich,
Coupon free, small drink and small chips,
When you purchase a guacamole or jalapeno sandwich,
includes pepper jack cheese and a southwest sauce.
Gardenas sandia con semilla, 7 lbs 99 cents.
GARDENAS: “en precios, servicio y calidad, nadie nos iguaia.”
Bud Gordon’s Quality NISSAN:
One at this price after a $1500 factory rebate.
TERMINIX: get them before they get you!
The Kingdom Animalia, Phylum Arthropoda, Class Insecta
Bug up my *** again.
And a form letter from the VA
Asking me to please update my whereabouts.
And a form letter from the VA asking me
To please update my whereabouts.
And miles to go before I sleep.
Bite me, Mr. Frost!

An outing, at last.
I am going for a walk around the inside of my gates.
I live in one of those gated over-55 lunatic asylums.
There are gates. It is gated. Get it?
GATED! We feel safe here.
Probably a good thing at our age:
Self-imposed institutionalization,
Putting oneself in an asylum to ferment and die.
The fact that so many of us
Need it so bad at only 55
Says something itself about the current state of
Baby Boomer metal-fatigue.
I am now standing at the far end of the golf course.
I wait at the far end of the 18th Hole.
A ball bounces past my head and
Rolls off past the green into the far rough.
The 18th Hole is perched atop a small plateau,
Out of sight, far above the horizon for anyone teeing off.
I am Puck, invisible and impish.
I pluck the ball up.
I scamper to the green.
I pop the ball into the hole.
Which is better than popping a hole in the ball,
Surely, kind of a drag,
As we were once fond of saying.
Deflated Ball.
Deflator Maus.
OPERA can be ****.
Bodice-ripping corsets, whorehouses and naked ******!
Hardly what you might expect from
A night with the Welsh National Opera,
But they found their way into this production of "Die Fledermaus."
Ripe language, contemporary jokes and
Toilet humor thrown in, adding immensely
To the pleasures of Strauss’s operetta.
"Die Fledermaus," or The Bat’s Revenge,
Is all about drunkenness and adultery.
Despite being written in the 1870s,
It remains equally pertinent to today’s pub culture of excess.
Daring; Colorful; ****: PGA golf.
I steal a golf ball on the far end of the 18th Hole.
I pick up the Titleist and stick it in the hole
(Steady Jessica, not yours.
I hide behind your bush.
(Cue up PSA, First Lady Bird Johnson’s 1960s
Nationwide Beautification Campaign:
“I want everyone in America to plant a tree,
A sherrrr-rub, or a booosh.”)
The golfer now searching frantically:
Why is the cup always the last place they look?
Then, wham, bam, he looks:
A legend is born.
A hole in one,
His name forever immortalized
On a plaque over the bar, the proverbial 19th Hole.

As you know, I speak for all mediocrities,
Safe in my 55+ gated-community.
I go next to the Club House,
"The Lodge" as it’s called.
Each afternoon, the usual suspects
Claiming first come/first serve tiered mini-theater seats
Where Netflix matinee gems are screened.
It is two minutes to DVD show time.
I walk to the front of the room.
I stare at my audience.
I count the house slowly,
Making meaningful eye contact with each wrinkled face.
I cup my hands behind my back and speak:
“I assume you are all here for my lecture on Kierkegaard.”
No one reacts.
I turn to leave but do a double-take and smile.
One old woman in the top right corner of the amphitheater laughs, Perhaps the one other human being within the gates
Who has also smoked a joint today.
For an instant, I am overwhelmed with paranoia,
Perhaps I’ve gone too far over the line:
No longer “oh-he’s-a-character;”
I am now “that creep is ******* nuts.”
Is it time for someone to approach my family,
My next of kin, my “who-to-contact-in-event-of-emergency” number? Who will make the call on behalf of the HOA—
The Homeowner’s Association—
The Tsars, the Duma, the Supreme Soviet in these parts?
They are the power inside the gates;
Those who determine the state’s enemies,
Who govern its community norms.
Power within the gates.
Law within the asylum.
Little Hitlers one and all.
Hopefully they reach my sister first.
She’s been briefed.
KEY POINT IN THE NARRATIVE:
The new narrative is non-linear.
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We grow more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen;
We become more intimate with a legion . . .
Did someone say a legion? SPQR:
Am I having some sort of genetic-linguistic seizure here?
Am I channeling Benito Mussolini again?
Il Duce speaks to me from the grave,
Still blowing smoke up my Hopi-Jew-*** ***,
Filling in my insecurities,
Plugging the holes in my character
With delusions of classical Roman grandeur, glory and empire. Hmmmm? Quite an appetizing pitch for the average *****,
A message so completely, so ethnocentrically slick,
Olive oily, and so seductive.
A non-Italian would have thought
American Legion or Legionnaire’s disease,
Or The Foreign Legion, The French Foreign Legion.
The French: a virulent, promiscuous people.
Do you want fries with that, Simone?
No, I don’t get out much.
Only an occasional brisk walk around the asylum,
In and around the golf course, around but inside the gates. (LINKS) Bill Gates. Daryl Gates. Billy Bathgate’s Gates? Ghiberti’s Gates? The Hot Gates? Thermopylae? 300 Spartans/700 Thespians:
“The noun causing idiots to think of
Two girls sloppily eating each other’s mighty vaginas,
When they hear mention of someone being an actor.” http://www.urbandictionary.com
Not even close.
No, I rarely venture out.
This is Hemetucky.
There are methamphetamine-stoked
Teenage zombies at the gate.
Note to costume control:
Perhaps camouflage clothing is the safe choice?
No loud red Hawaiian.
No garish Indonesian batik.
Fleet of feet are these Hemet tweakers,
These cranked up Riverside County teenage barbarians,
These Huns & Visigoths,
These amped up, ravenous jackals.
And why stop there?
These Vandals & Vandellas.
A Motown flashback:
“Nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide.”
With or without Martha—
They remain dangerously lethal.
Yes, let it be camo clothes for me.
Those **** heads may be young.
They may be fast.
They may be able to run me down
On a dry grass dog-legged fairway savannah,
Tearing the meat from my carcass.
But the sons-a-******* have to see me first.
Besides, we know who are real friends are.
Hooray for our media peeps!
We become more intimate with a legion
Of television personalities on 125 different channels.
Most of these we know by name and context.
We know their families, their friends,
Their histories, their tragedies,
Their favored hyperbole and manner of speech.
Sometimes we establish intimacy with celebrities
Strictly on the basis of universal body language.
At times–in the absence of any other
Empathetic facility of identification–
We connect on instinct alone.
Instinct: perhaps animal at its core,
An animal kingdom affinity group,
Connecting on a bio-linguistic level,
Particularly when the Korean, or Spanish,
Mandarin, or Arabic,
Japanese, or even Hebrew language version is broadcast.
All languages cryptically alien,
A dense boundary, a barrio border wall,
Undecipherable, impenetrable concrete.
But we’ve never spoken to our neighbors,
Nor do we know their names.
Celebrities are the neighbors we know best;
Although the intimacy is an illusion,
Permission to invade their privacy presumed,
Tacit in the relationship between celebrities and their fans.
I am an independent contractor now,
An outside consultant to the NSA.
Try as I might I cannot crack the enigma,
Kim Kardashian remains far beyond my code-breaking prowess.
I repeat myself:
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We are more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen; we become more intimate with a legion . . .
Back to you, David Ulin:
“Sometime late last year—I don’t remember when, exactly—I noticed I was having trouble sitting down to read. That’s a problem if you do what I do, but it’s an even bigger problem if you’re the kind of person I am. Since I discovered reading, I have always been surrounded by stacks of books. I read my way through camp, school, nights, and weekends; when my girlfriend and I backpacked through Europe after college graduation, I had to buy a suitcase to accommodate the books I picked up along the way.”
Thank you, David L. Ulin.
I cannot help myself.
I grow more eccentric each day.
My eyeballs glued to that flat screen!

Cosmo Kramer: "The bus is outta control.
So I grab him by the collar, I take him out of the seat,
I get behind the wheel, and now I’m driving the bus."
Jerry: "Wow!"
George Costanza: "You’re Batman."
Cosmo Kramer: "Yeah, yeah, I am Batman.
Then the mugger, he comes to and he starts choking me.
So I’m fighting him off with one hand,
And I kept driving the bus with the other, ya know.
Then I managed to open up the door,
And I kicked him out the door, ya know,
With my foot, ya know, at the next stop."
Jerry: "You kept making all the stops?"
Cosmo Kramer: "Well, people kept ringing the bell!"
(Share this moment with a stranger.)

I speak for all mediocrities.
I am their champion, their patron saint.
Boom Chaka Laka. Boom Chaka Laka.
Boom Chaka Laka. BOOM!
Isn’t it time Salieri tempted Constanze–
Frau Mozart–with a plateful of Capezzoli di Venere:
“******* of Venus.”
You had me at hello, Kidman.
I know you too well, Nicole.
I knew you from before,
Way before Tom’s Oprah couch freak show.
Listen to me, Nicole:
We are face to face
With the most profound question in American literature:
"What is the grass?
The flag of my surrender?
The flag of my disposition?"
I resort to Socratic maxims: Know yourself;
The un-****** life is not worth living.
Is it stress? Is it lack of conviction?
Everything Jeff Lebowski neither wants nor needs in his life?
I watched you *** in "Eyes Wide Shut," Nicole.
Now I know you with my eyes and your legs wide open.
Thank you, Sidney Pollack.
Sidney knew.
Sidney dealt us cards
From his Hollywood Tarot deck.
We are intimate, Nicole.
I watched you squat.

Thank you for Matching the Tinder Call Center. My name is Nick and I will be helping you with your order today. And your name is?

Hi, (Tinder Match). I'm so glad you called because you do qualify as one of the first 100 people I find attractive!
So Where are you from?

Oh Wow, I've never been there, you ever Been to Portland Maine?

No? Well look at that, I guess we've never been too each others places before.
Haha.
Looks like we have something in common.

What was it on my profile that got you interested in swiping right?
Oh I see, you liked the beard and
my addiction to Netflix.

How long have you been interested in that?
Wow that's a long time.
you really enjoyed the Office.

What else have you tried to build a good relationship?
Yeah, that must be frustrating.
They seem like a real bad guy.

What's the worst part about dealing with that?
I see, that must be really hard.

Tell me a little bit about why it's so important for you to do something about this now; it's a little different for everyone.

I see, you can't love anymore because he broke your heart.
You don't want anything serious right now.

Do you prefer coffee or tea?
you're right, Yerba Mate is fantastic with maple syrup.

What's your favorite meal of the day?
Yeah, breakfast is amazing.

What kind of music do you like?
Twenty One Pilots saved your life? that's Unbelievable.

what does your bedroom look like?
Covered in artwork and paper lanerns?

You know, (tinder match). I can't wait for you to start seeing me, and feeling Happy.

As my profile states,
I am a Geeky, Confident, Charismatic Optimist who likes to wake up next to people, Watch Netflix, and sing to himself almost always.
And that sounds great doesn't it?

Just imagine how wonderful it will feel when you're able to Sit down in Dobra tea. Pass back and fourth our Yerbe Matte Ahumado.
Then go belt out lyrics to Twenty One Pilots in my car on the way back to your place,
have amazing *** under your paper lanterns and wake up the next day to me making you breakfast.
And THAT'S really why you swiped right today, isn't it (Tinder match)?

Excellent! Let's get you started!

As you heard, I've put together a Special Date, with the free Tea. A serenade and car ride. And an extra free second date when you try this First One for just your body. Plus, since you're one of the people I find attractive, I'm gonna throw in a Third date. so you get three, for the price of one! And remember that dating me is risk-free because it's backed by my 30-day Text you back guarentee.
So what's the best number I can reach you at?

I understand your hesitation, (tinder match). When we first started talking you had said you'd been dealing with bad relationships for a long time right? Once you start seeing me you'll see an increase in happiness within the first two dates. And if you never have to worry about being sad again, you'd say it was worth trying wouldn't you?
Right! So what's your snapchat username?

Perfect, and your Cell phone number?
Alright, and a day you're free?
And what's a good time to meet?

Awesome, okay (Tinder Match). And I'm also told to inform you of our special super saver package today. You'll get to go out on a date with me, and my friend Sally for the same low price of just your body. Imagine what it'd be like experiencing the both of us at the same time! Scientists have proven that polyamorous relationships are more happy, more healthy, and result in less overall stress. Which is really what you're looking for isn't it?

Great so I'll just have her tag along alright?

Perfect.
Thank you very much and just to confirm, I'll see you on Wednesday at 12:00pm at Dobra Tea, alright?
Alright have a nice day (Tinder Match.)
Buh bye.

Why I Always Carry Tissues

To My Children:

I'm laughing at myself,
As I am prone to do because
Why I Always Carry Tissues
Is the title of a poem
I write for you.

There is a story here,
Of parenting, and responsibilties
That transcends yourself, defines me,
Vis-a-vis you,
then and there, and maybe now.

When you were small,
I took you by the hand,
The cement canyons, trails & rivers
of West Eighty Six Street,
Together, we would ford.

Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do,
Your hand, from my hand,
I would release
So you could fall down,
All on your own.

It bemused me that I could see
Three or four paces ahead of thee
Exactly which crack,
Upon which you would trip,
And come crying back to me.

Back-to-me.
That was then.
And now,
Yes, no more,
Back-to-me.

But I always had tissues
to dry your eyes
And no surprise,
I still do,
Always will.

These days, they,
more likely used to dry mine,
As I have forded that Styxy river,
When crossed, you spend more of the day,
Liking Back more,
Then looking ahead.

No matter, by right and tradition,
It is still my mission, that
when you need, when you bleed,
as I know you surely shall,
These pocket tissues will be there
Ready, willing and able, fully capable,
of snatching away your tears.

When you need,
When you bleed,
And you surely shall,
These pockets of mine,
Of tissue made,
Are waiting for your tears,
And you, to fill them,
For without them,
Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.

These used tissues are my history book,
Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life,
Of tears and hearts,
And concrete spills,
That need knees to be complete.

That is why you will find me, without fail,
Ready, willing and able, holding my
White Badge of Courage at the ready,
Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed,
Missions known as parenting schemes.

The scheme is clear, even if
my tissues you no longer request,
You will let your own babies
fall n' fail, then take their tears
Put them in your pocket,
keep them forever wet,
Like my memories of you
the ones I cherish best...

Perhaps a tradition
We will start,
Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear,
Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors
Removers of our dear one's fears.

If we are truly wise
Those tissued memories
We will keep,
Die among them contented,
Knee-scraped deep
When tears fall...



2008

Got that green reverberatin'.
When to stop?
She comptinplatin' cause the train done left the station.
It's a indecation her imagination on incline.
It's the primetime in mankind she on a zipline.
The picture done popped out the frame.
She on a train called insane, that cant be tamed.
But she is still on her game.
She fly high with them aviators.
Cruising space with Darth Vader.
That green **** she saver

I've been on the run for 500 years.
I carved a map on my back
of all the places I've been.
It's made up of all the old stars from my eyes
that no longer have meaning to me.

What a shame you couldn't have come with me.

The trees stand taller than the mountains,
growing up into the skies to touch the clouds.
The lady in the lake that pushed and pulled the boats
was a lovely savage.
These lands had no end.

I meet a man that lived on the clouds.
He told me the story of how he invented the stars
and how he cried the rain.
I never did run from the rain again.

I listened to the wind's whisper,
so low only for my ears to hear.
They told me to paint flowers for you.

So I took myself and found your stone.
Quiet, cold, and ever so selfishly was this sight to see for me.

I'm sorry your last breath was wasted on my name.
I have lost you to greed.
I wanted to travel forever with you,
but your state of body did not agree.
I took you from your saver and your bed,
and now I walk a thousand miles on my own.

I look for you every time the sun
falls down,
but knowing I'm lost in the moon's glow.

I would give all for you
to be here with me.
Winning isn't all that fun in
the end,
but now the game is over
and I stand lone a victor.

I painted you a garden of the most beautiful roses.
It's such a shame you'll never be able to see them.

I drink to the java they put in my cup

Brazillian or Turkish I guzzle it up

Starbucks to Borders just pour me my brew

I need that caffeine or my poet is through

'Fore I’m snoring away in a Manhattan minute

Fill up my mug with my potion poured in it

Those dark little beans are my favorite booster

I'm up to the task like a Rhode Island rooster

Phooey on tea leaves and colas with fizz

I’d cry to the heavens, is that all there is!!?!

With no mud or jamocho my words have no pomp

And no lovely check from old Wergle Flomp

Sue Venir loved Hugh Biquitous, but he was unreliable, so she confided this to her friend, Di Namic who confirmed he’d been seen with Penny Farthing and Miss Chevous. Then she ran into Ken Tucky, who’d just broken up with Jen Erator, and was known to hang with Mel N. Choly. Together, they and Dan Ube went to a party thrown by Perry Winkle at the house of Dana Point.

Con Valescence introduced Sue to Marine Layer who asked Mr. Tucky to join the conversation, and they’ve been conversing ever since. Lou Kemia couldn’t make the party as he was ill. This was confirmed by Nick Knack who’d been informed by Conrad Alert.

Penny Saver left early, heading over to the home of I. Stan Bul, who was throwing a celebration in honor of Hazel Nuts and Grant N. Aid, who were to be married by Will Power, though Miss Givings, his former girlfriend, did not approve. Celebrants included Buzz Saw, Ma Larkey, Ben E. Diction, ***** Pack and of course Ann I. Versary, who deemed it worthy of being remembered. Tom Foolery was always good for a laugh, which was appreciated by Art I. Face, Dee Vice and Tess Osterone.

Some chose to dine alfresco, notably Flora Fauna, Heidi **, and Ed U. Cate. Barb Ituate was a downer, though Ma Larkey tried to cheer her up, watched by Cliff Hanger who wanted to see what happened, until a dispute arose between Ana Conda and Ann Ticipation, who’d both been vying for the attention of Billy Goat.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Terry Dactyl was in a dispute with Billy Club over Lilly White because of something Miss Conception had reported after hearing from that duo, Caesar Salad and Reuben Sandwich.

Junior Mints tried to mollify the situation with sugary statements, but was interrupted by Yuri Nal, who said he had to go, and then left with Jay Walking and they were off to congregate with Diane Tomeetya.

At the next table General Jive held court in a warlike mood,  that Cary Cature tried to lighten.  With them were Tex Arcana, whose accent was amusing to Bill Collector, Al Gorythm, Tim Buktu and Marv E. Lous, who always had a great time wherever he went.

By then, Bobby Pin, the luscious seamstress, had given up on Peter D. Out, after seeing him clowning around with Butch Wax and Slim N. None, all of them malcontents and disrupters.

In walked Daisy Chain, newly arrived  from the Southern Hemisphere, along with Sydney Australia. Klaus Trophobic had initially agreed to travel with the two of them, but said he had to stay at home. Frank O’Phile overhead this and confided to Phil O’Sophically that there is sometimes merit to such position.

The restaurant was owned by Ty ****, managed by Chuck Wagon, with the food delivered by waiters Clay *** and Terry Aki , assisted by busboyTara Misou.

The next morning, everyone gathered at the home of Dawn Patrol, who was there with her new husband, Earnest Money, after divorcing Perry Mutual. Deb Enture was her maid of honor.  Nick O’Time was nearly late to the party, driving in with Stu Debaker, via a shaky Uber driver named Manuel Shifting.

Al Acrity was his usual sunny self, but not when Den O’Thieves interrupted his conversation, which was shut down by Kay O.

Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys were late, having gotten mixed up on the location. Cliff Hanger was worried about the falling stock market, and as a result was getting drunk with Jack Daniels. Stan Dup was his usually assertive self, but was overshadowed by the always munificent Cy Pres.

Claude Hopper was dressed in yesterdays’ styles, but that didn’t matter to Dov Tail who  was going into business with Matt Chabox, known for his incendiary personality. They had two other partners to round the group out, **** Ular and Ben E. Fit.

Gar Gantuan loomed large, and was unstable when paired with Mo Mentum, who said in such situations, they needed to involve Otto Matic.

Terry Cloth was wrapped around Jan U. Ary, ogled by Barbie Queue and Coleman Lantern.

i have been dreaming to find someone
that could be my life-saver.
but actually,
i am not sure.
i know deep down,
the only one that can save me
is myself.

Mami bus' great adventures...
Mami bus can carry it all!
Mami bus can not be anyone else...!

Who will come for you when you get stuck?
Who will take care of the lots of half-dead?
Who's the Hero of the buses, the greatest Queen?

Mami bus' great adventures...
Mami bus can carry it all!
Mami bus can not be anyone else...!

The bestest friend of the Concords!
The great life saver!
Hero of the heroes in the bus world!

Mami bus' great adventures...
Mami bus can carry it all!
Mami bus can not be anyone else...!

Trust me it'll be all good here,
When this bus gets back to Earth!
How many people are waiting for her?
Stuck in a bad world ajajajajaaaj!

Mami bus' great adventures,
Mami bus can carry it all,
Mami bus can not be anyone else!

Why Men Like to Load the Dishwasher

We are the artists of shape and configuration,
puzzle masters solving riddles of physics,
worshipers at the altar of labor saving devices,
this is a love poem of sorts, a Bazinga salutation,
to men and their undying love
for **** machines.

were it in my power
all cups would be handle-less,
the dishwasher time-space continuum
would be non-interrupted by black holes
where handles pointlessly protrude,
requiring endless rearrangement,
a soul destroying exercise.

bowls of any sort should have bottoms that retract.
indeed, the capacity increase, a visible fact,
is so enviro-friendly, eminently sensible,
that the loading for mechanical scrubbing
is deserved of a wing in the Smithsonian.

perhaps the budgeteers of Congress
should be tutored in this artistry,
how to make any limited resource,
better used.

the rub, as the bard would have writ,
is that this roaring tempest-tost,
our love for hard labor lost,
secret sacrificed behind a locked door,
of a Sanctum *******,
is entirely due, all glory to,
the secret society of fairies who
hide-reside inside,
freeing us to write more poetry.

in so many ways that I cannot reveal,
less the other gender members squeal,
men live to love to load the dishwasher,
for the ingenuity challenge, and of course,
the side benefit of the excusing coverup,
"I helped clean up," a relationship saver,
proof positively that the dishwasher inventor,
was surely a brilliant woman

There are castaways
People lost in the cold
People without a place
To go and wondering
Where their next meal
Is going to come from
There are people who
Are lost in their hearts
And in their heads
Stuck in an inner
Darkness that threatens
To consume their
Soul in hatred
And anger
There are people
Who are cast aside
Who are left out
Of society and
Ostracized on
A regular basis
Who can't fight
For themselves
And so they
Inevitably
Get left in
The cracks
Of life not
Belonging
Any place
Feeling like
They are lost
In the cold
With no way
Out in sight
We could all
Use a life raft
That life saver
That helps us
Float back to
Life and put
Our feet on
Solid ground
Helping us float
Through the hard
Parts and saving
Us when we really
Need it the most
We must be willing
To be that life raft
Or that life saver for
Other people in the
World who are the
Castaways with
No land or hope
In sight just stuck
In a never ending
Rolling sea that
Threatens to drown
Them with each
Passing moment
If we can all extend
Ourselves and be that
Life raft and that
Life preserver for
Someone else
I think you will
Be surprised just
How much life
Will throw you
'Those little lift rafts
In return when you
Need it the most

O eco-friendly,
o saver of nature,
I am nature too.

From customs,
from societies,
why..
do you cut me off..
why do you divide me like that?

Why do you teach the lesson of truth
when you cannot even listen to the truth,
when someone speaks the truth
you start telling rules and regulations.

Changed my mind new mind set
Only if you could forget the past
The future is happening pretty fast
Master your goals achieve your dream
In and out of your comfort zone grow for the best sometimes you feel at your worse
Stay positive beak the negative curse
You can't do it all take on what you can handle
Get out of the darkness see better in the light
Stop with struggle doubting yourself
Only you can get there don't look for it in others
If not today or the next the opportunity to make it happen will allow you to live it

She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.

She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh

But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.

And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.

Definition # 1: Being wanted, but not necessarily needed.
I was born on the coldest day of '93,
three months too early
and
three pounds too small.

That sounds like a death sentence,
but it's not – it was more of a:
“Here's what life is like,
now earn the right to live it.”

And I passed the test.
Oh, I passed with flying colors
and surprised everyone,
especially my parents.

They didn't allow themselves
to be too optimistic, see;
If they were pessimistic and wrong,
it was a pleasant surprise in the end.

Being pessimistic and right
always felt like a well earned stroke
to their over-inflated egos,
and they liked that more.

Still, they brought me home
and welcomed me – I was the first,
the only, the most important;
I was the VIP in the household.

My grandmother, a staunch Catholic,
came to see me, her first grandson,
and kissed me soundly on the forehead.
She proclaimed a prayer over me, then:

“Ah! Our Father who art in Heaven,
This baby is truly a blessing from You,
and may You bless him evermore!
Amen!”

Grandmother, my only words to you now
are these:
I wish you had prayed more fervently for me,
and stuck that blessing on me more firmly.

Definition # 2: Crippling kindness through actions.
Her name was Katy.
She was eighteen when I was six,
and she crossed the gap between us
as easily as Jesus passed over the waters.

She claimed she was my babysitter -
3 to 9 PM, Mondays through Fridays -
for three incredibly long years,
but don't they take *care of the kids they watch?

It's almost shocking to think of how
she peeled me apart back then
with fingers pale as my face
and a smile sweet as a tangerine.

(I thought it was love. I was wrong.)

I was misguided by her gentleness,
the way she held me in her arms
and gave me baths when I had played outside.
My mother never did that, after all.

But her fingers strayed too far
and she snatched something from me
that I have never recovered,
and now never will.

I would say it was my innocence,
but that's not true.
That went to rot long ago,
and I do not miss it.

No, it felt more tangible than that,
a feeling I had, one of trust,
one that only disappeared
after I realized what had happened.

Now I am left to side-eye people
and wonder about their true intentions;
all because someone named Katy
kissed me on the cheek, then went a little farther.

Definition # 3: Absolutely nothing at all.
It's amazing how one experience
affects the rest of your life,
but it does. Irrevocably,
each happening is a dropped pebble in water.

I wish it wasn't that way,
because there are things I want to erase
in order to move forward,
things that require moving backwards first.

That's never easy, going back to the things
that are in the past for a reason,
when facing them is a task you're not sure
you're really up to.

I know how that is,
how the moving forward feels like stumbling,
like stepping blindly in the darkness
and missing a step.

You fumble for something to hold onto,
and your heart panics,
gasping desperately while you flail;
I know. I know.

That's how I ended up kissing little Ann
in fourth grade – Katy was gone from my life by then
and I thought this other girl could give me back
that vital something I was lacking.

She gave it her all, truly, with that plucky mouth of hers;
from the warm depths of her trembling heart came a kiss,
but I defied the laws of physics then which state that heat
is energy transferred from one interacting object to another –

I felt nothing.

Definition # 4: Keeping painfully close.
Therapy should have been the option
when I told my parents that ‘Katy’ and ‘molester’
were the same thing, after I looked it up.
But it wasn’t.

My parents opted for isolation and
careful watching; if they could keep
an eye on me at all times,
they could keep me safe.

This was their pessimism talking,
leading them to think that a therapist would
**** them dry of their money and do absolutely
nothing.

Maybe they were scared of something else, too -
of molesters and rapists sitting outside,
just waiting to get their grubby hands on me
and take me away, to a place they couldn't follow.

Either way, their decision wasn't a cure,
it didn't help. Home-schooled at eleven, I lost sight
of how the world moved around me,
and all I knew was the inside of my house.

What kept me grounded were the little things:
snow days, which spoke of beauty and temporary freedom,
books, which promised a world away from the one I knew,
and the goodnight kisses from my parents.

Definition # 5: The right to take what you want.
I escaped homeschooling
when I entered ninth grade,
and the freedom I found there
was intoxicating. Addicting, even.

I’d been so out of touch with the world
that I decided the whole world
was now my friend – I fell in love
with everyone I met, at least once.

Opening myself up was surprisingly easy;
then again the only things I really opened
were my pants zipper and the pubescent hearts
of girls, always readily available.

There was the first girl, Caroline –
she kissed me everywhere, and all I did
was take everything in return – and then
there were a hundred others like her.

I knew Amys and Rachels and Sarahs,
but I never knew another Katy.
There was only one of those in my mind,
and she pushed all the others away in the end.

By eleventh grade I was in pieces,
dragging myself through each day
for no reason other than
to find another girl to claim as mine.

Definition # 6: Wrong, wrong, all wrong.
In the end,
I had it coming –
and though I don’t remember it all,
I remember enough –
rough beard pulled across skin
in a horrible mockery of kisses;
all the messy memories of Katy torn out,
like tangles pulled out with a boar hair’s brush;
the sound of something breaking,
though that might have just been me;
a ragged whisper of “Your uncle loves you, you
know that, right? This is me showing you how much.”
and finally, a piece of me I never
offered, flung far, far
                         a
                      w
                  a
                     y.
That’s all I remember,
and that’s more than I ever want to remember.

Definition # 7: Saving grace kisses.
Silence became my hiding place
in the year that followed,
along with a deep darkness
that I drowned in every night.

Where I was once confident
and a “ladies man,”
I was no longer; some experiences
ruin all the ones following.

This is how I suffered –
quietly, painstakingly, always.
I let no one in and no one out,
not even myself.

That is, until I was found out.
He was the same age as me,
but it felt like he was years
ahead of me, experience-wise.

That's how he knew -
from one sufferer to another,
we found something in common -
and that's how I redefined love, one last time.

It took three years of high school for me to step up
to the podium, clear my throat, shuffle some papers,
and mutter into the microphone, barely above a whisper:
“You know, maybe I was wrong about love.”

And maybe God did show up in the end,
in between his eyelashes and the gap in his teeth,
there to be the saving grace for a poor sinner
like me, who messed up love for far too long.

Definition # 8: Absolutely everything at once.
Recovery is a long, winding road,
one that I wanted to leave a long time ago –
if you must know, I’m still on it, though
I almost succeeded in leaving it once.

But there are almost always people
who will make you reconsider,
and decide that maybe jumping off the roof
is an act for another day, a better day.

And there are people who know how important
listening is, and that’s all they do: just listen.
I underestimated how powerful it is,
knowing someone cares enough to do that.

And there are other people who know where
a kiss goes, and where a hand should be placed,
and how to make the kiss a band-aid,
and the hand a life saver thrown out in churning waters.

There are others still that know what to say,
even when you don't. The words come easy,
and they reassure, they heal, they put you back together -
maybe not in the same way, but it's still good.

I know there will be scars, and there will be reminders
that all is not right in the world, of course,
but if you find a person who can listen,
or who can save lives with their mouth,
or who can find the right words,
you’ll probably do just fine in the end.

After all,
love is not just an action – it’s an experience.

This brick.
This bulging pocket of blue jean.
This song player, noise maker, memory saver.
Eternal space.
Secret keeper.
It's my life, this brick.
You think you can touch it? have it? hold it?
Let my secrets run along your nerves and scurry in between your brain cells?
No.
I would rather die an ignominious death and
rot a thousand years in the sea than
watch your eyes scan my life.
Search the deep caverns of my soul.
Watch your heart scream and hear the echoes of blood curdling madness.
Your fingers would burn as
you caress the suggestive sentences.
back and forth and
it comes naturally.
Sad truths.
Depressing facts.
You'd rather pour acid on your
eyes
and have them turn to
dust
than read the conversations,
I swear.
The ability to chirp
and make it appear as if it came from my own mouth?
Ridiculous.
I do not believe in ventriloquism.
Weak images
your eyes cannot behold.
I would feel exposed.
Like "The Woman" bathed
in wool and cloth and silk.
And under memos?
The secret to how my brain works.
Why would I desire you to know the short cut
to my vulnerability?
The grey box to my wiring and the scalpel to my heart.
It's the way my soul thinks.
And you can't know that.
This brick, bulge, memory saver,
it's my secret keeper.
The fidelius charm cast over my own self.
The secret is kept within
the very soul of my secret keeper.
Giving the password up is worthy of death.
You will never hold its life on your hands.
You will never see my
soul.
You will never know my
heart.

Tropical vibe, coconut milk and shaved ice
My so glow with the low cut
No jheri curl, jerry rice
Boogie board on the rip tide
Parasail and deep dive, don’t think twice.

Sands white on my tan feet
Coliseum in the back seat
Straw hut where the beach be
Like screen saver when your mac sleep
Relaxing
I ain’t racing no ******’ rats
I'm relaxing.

People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee

I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits

It all happened when I got bored
With the every day to day
Trimming of the head left me feeling dead
That's when it hit me..."Underarm Braid"

That right there was my life saver
That right there was my turn around
If it didn't make me world famous
At least it did on this side of town

Now people come from as far as Nashville
To have their underarms done
I even gave a left and right pit Mohawk
To the Governor's daughter and son

What? Did you think I only braided?
There's so much more that I can do
Just ask the Punk Rock Chick's that wait in line
To have their armpits colored blue

My older clientele have let there hair grow out
Since it is they learned
I'm now specializing in for both women and men
Their favorite sets and perms

So feel the freedom of the pits
That hippie chicks have long since known
Here at Michael's Salon Of Pits
We'll do something special with that growth

doomsday dreaming
child's play screaming
***** devil scheming

i could disappear

one-time saver
two-time stopper
three-time clocker

i should disappear

untied up
bottled down
freely bound

i can disappear

stand - ovation
people - nation
love - starvation

i will disappear

You were the Barbie jeep engineer.
You were the 5-card pinochle player.
You were the gripe to do the dishes.
You were the patient mall bench sitter.

You were Elvis Presley records and
paper backed crime novels.
You were my new antivirus software.
You were the chatter in the middle of an
NCIS episode.
You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the
other end of the phone.

You were the voice of every bathtime storybook.
You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting.
You were the green Ford Escort parked
outside my middle school every afternoon.

You were the loudest clap at my graduation.
You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the
living room that held the place together.
You were the laughter

You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked.
You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker,
dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver.
You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the
broken heart mender.

You were the church goer and the goodness seeker.
You were the black-haired teaser and the
very best secret keeper.
You were a prideful wig wearer and
wheelchair rider.

You were a cancer fighter.

You were my first call.
You still are.

I pleaded with god to remove my cancer
I strained my ears but I got no answer
As the sands of time slowly ticked away
I knew the cancer was here to stay
I lived my life like there was no tomorrow
All it got me was pain and sorrow
"Your condition is high risk" the doctor said
"We should start chemo and move ahead"
Although it was totally against my will
I plugged my nose and swallowed this poison pill
As the life force slowly drained from my body
Depression set in like a thick fog  envelops a city
My body, mind and soul were down for the count
At that point I was ready to check out
As I held the gun in my trembling hand
It felt as if my entire being was mired in quicksand
At this point I heard this clear small voice
"This action is totally your choice,
Suicide is considered a mortal sin
You'll  just have to come back and do it all again!"
I often look back and think about that day
The day I almost gave my life away.

As excited as I am about the end of the semester and Christmas approaching, the bitter cold this week has almost frozen me. Don’t get me wrong, winter is a great time for fashion, but the cold weather is not for me. I would prefer to stay inside with a huge glass of hot chocolate. Aside from cocoa, he secret to staying warm is to dress in layers. I’ve tried to do that with this outfit but I’ve failed a bit.

The majority of this outfit comes from The Yellow Rose, which is a locally owned boutique in my home town. The blanket scarf and shirt are both from the Rose. These boots are from Maurices, but could be swapped for converse or duck boots. The coat is from Aeropostale.

It’s safe to say that I have fallen in love with the blanket scarf. Not only are they adorable, but they also provide ample warmth. They can be worn with nearly anything, including this great shirt. This shirt has a tassel tie underneath the scarf which means it could be worn on it’s own, if you aren’t as big a fan of the blanket scarf.

This jacket is a life-saver to say the least. The reason it works with this outfit so well is because the green in the scarf is the same green on the jacket. Army green goes with just about anything. The sleeves are a sweater material which makes them warmer than normal. You could dress this up a bit which a nice trench coat or long cardigan. You could also change the boots out for black booties or flats.

This outfit is perfect for Christmas parties or Christmas dinners. It has all the traditional Christmas colors and it will keep you warm.

However isn’t only for Christmas. You can easily wear this at any time during the winter.

Hopefully this has given you a bit of holiday wardrobe inspiration. I know holidays can be a stressful time for some, but the outfit you wear should be one thing you don’t have to stress about. Stay warm and stay comfortable.

I hope your break is wonderful and filled with joy. I know we all need that after those finals. I’m sure we’re all ready for present, family time, and much needed sleep. Spread Christmas cheer this year and enjoy the time off. May your Christmas be merry and bright, and don’t forget the Christ in Christmas! He is the only eternal Gift that keeps on giving.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

Attention, this is not a poem, but a helpful guide for those who cut.
I am not going to tell you how 'bad' you are. Or why cutting is wrong.
I cut, I understand, I bleed, I hurt, I feel.
But; take a pen, or sharpie, anything that won't hurt to use, and just doodle, or write, or sketch, on your arm, where you wanna cut, it helps so much.

( Hope this helps, it's my arm.)
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/400257485608340220/