Stop meddling in other people's business
They dash their words against the walls
As if to advertises,  hatred of the human race.
The higher they climb,
the more you can see their disgusting parts

They comes off as useless quacksalver,
A waste of energy, a waste of space,
Words, words, mere words no matter from the heart
They form clichés, and spin the bottles
An idle mind is the devil’s playground
They smile in an annoying self-satisfied manner.
As if bitterness would bring them happiness
                
Who Am I?

Endless souls we know from go to woe
Sometimes theres a few that will never know~
All souls are born and live and learn and exist
But theres always a few of this will never be kissed~
All souls live and leave to rise above
But theres a few sadly who will not know the gift of love~
It's lifes most priceless gift ever to be
And for those who find it it's ecstasy~
Once found nothing this gift can anything destroy
The real precious true love of a girl and boy~
It lasts forever and always in time
The gift of true love for ever divine~
So many sadly they come and sadly they go
But theres sadly a few this gift of love will ever know
It's there for one and it's there for all
But only ones heart can hear its call~
Only those that know it could ever explain
How now they wont need to seach for true love again~
It's the highest emotion the gift of true love
One of the most priceless of gifts from god above~
Clever souls adapt the ability to see
It within the very eyes of those so inlove that be~
It lasts forever and till the end of time
The gift of love forever divine~
Sadly always a few that will not know of its thrill
Ever so sadly some they never will~
Unless they listen to the strings of their hearts and souls
And seach for same as was in days of old~
No gift as precious as priceless on earth or above
As the knowing you have found the gift of true love~
If all on earth could only know
And hear those words I love you so~
To be with another as hand in glove
To know that feeling of the gift of love~  

Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright 2018

crazy.
you're crazy
he would say
and he meant it.

crazy because
our lines didn't cross...
the intersection
that we were supposed to meet
always seemed jammed
no progress
no moving forward
the ways we were supposed to touch each other
never felt right.

two loose ends
never meeting at the same spot.
lost children
among the midst of our lives
no path to lead us back
to where we were supposed to have started.

we met eachother with anger
angry faces
misplaced traces,
lots of frusteration
and denial,
and nervousness,
instead of...
laughter.

crazy
he would say,

you believe in angels,
what's wrong with you?
you'd take the whole universe
in one breath...
you're out of touch with reality...
you believe in dreams
and seach for symbols
as if some symbol
is going to give you the answer.
life has no map,
i am your compass
and there is NO direction.
you get up
and take the world
one person at a time-
bleeding out your heart for others.
you talk to strangers
and think you've been places
you've never seen.
and yet,
you get up
and you live
and you do it again
and again-
you think this is normal?
you think you have it all figured out-
you're ******* crazy.

as the clock slows down
and i catch up to the fast pace
of my beaten heart,
as the world slows to a halt
and i catch my breath
after inhaling sparks
from fallen stars and daydreams
i've never been more certain
i am indeed...
crazy.

crazy for allowing him to capture
the best parts of myself
place them in a jar too tiny-
on a shelf that's too big,
and mislabel them
with a big *** sign that read
"DO NOT TOUCH"

i've never been more certain
that i am indeed...
crazy.

crazy for playing lifesaver
on an already sinking ship
crazy for talking to angels
in the middle of the night
crazy for grasping faith
during moments
when the whole world feels
like the collapse of
a black hole-
in the middle of spring
when everything is trying
to start over.

crazy for living
my life on the inside of his tiny jar
on a shelf that's too big
listening to him scream
getting mixed up daily,
a television broadcast
which gets inturrupted
by an emergency test

test
test

this is only a test,
and if the results show it
fine-

i'm crazy.

i went across to ireland with its valleys green
to try and find a unicorn if one  could be seen
i walked through the glen and along the mountain side
looking for this myth and somewhere it could hide
i searched for a while but nothing seem to show
was there really unicorns i didnt really know
then i saw vision standing on a hill
standing all alone standing very still
i got a little closer  so that i could see
there i saw a unicorn looking straight at me
he was very friendly and took me for a ride
all along the valley and down the mountain side
then he said goodbye and gently flew away
now i believe in unicorns to this very day

little eddie hedgehog a lovely chap was he

roamed around the country roaming wild and free

all around the fields he roamed every where

life so trouble free life without a care



oneday as he travelled along a country road

there along the hedge he met a little toad

the little toad was sad he had lost away

far from his little pond where he used to stay



dont worry said the hedgehog i know what to do

i will help you seach and find your home for you

they walked off together down the country track

to find the toad his home and help him to get him back



after quite sometime hedgehog heard a splash

to see where it was coming from  hedgehog quickly made a dash.

he had found the pond.  now toad was home once more

back to his little pond where he was before



toad he was so happy he had found his home

this time he would stay  and never ever roam

hedgehog waved goodbye and went along his way

feeling very happy for his good deed for the day.

Stubborn and strong
He walked through the world
often misunderstood
For there was always a smile, a smirk
under that serious exterior of his
A heart
full of love
A passion
for the simple things in life

As though it were yesterday
I recall
walking on the boardwalk
trolling across the glassy bay
driving for hours
on our way to nowhere
in seach of ourselves

I hear his voice in my mind
Mighty and deep, yet cracked by life and time
Jokes and stories, reassurance and advice
I search for them there
When I need to smile
When I need to be brave
When I search for answers
I can't find on my own

And now as I write
A tear makes its way down my cheek
Though he's so far away
He's so close in my heart
Freed from a life that ended in sickness and pain
He's so alive withiin me
it's been years since his obnoxious snore awakened the whole house
it's been years since his laughter filled the room
It's been years since he held my tiny hand
And made my world seem alright

I am who I am
Becasue of who he taught me to be.

This is a story about Harry,
as told to me by his daughter.

Dad and I had spent the day in the park,
we had picniced and were packing our things up,
twilight had arrived and soon it would be dark,
Dad bent down and picked up his coat and hat,
he looked up at me and said "Look at that!"

I looked about but saw nothing strange,
"Poor blighter!" said Dad, in a quiet sort of way,
and the look in his eye, I saw Dad change.
A grubby old derilect was stummbling our way,
a life gone to waste, a soul gone astray.

Dad smiled at me, as the man stopped to seach in a bin,
"Have yer got any smokes?" He asked, with a grin.
"Why yes I have a full pack, bar one." I replied.
He took my full pack and emptied them out,
he repacked them, so there was only a dozen inside.

Dad took that packet of smokes and threw it into a bin.
We picked up our things and went on our way.
I glanced back and saw that derilect get his lottery win,
Saying to Dad "Why did you leave him the full pack?"
Dad said "Oh,  he would have known it was a 'set up'.
and I didn't want to embarrass him."

(c) 26th October 2010

Its hard to change who we are..
When the people we know see the scars..
Reflections in a mirror don't look the same today..
Our mind has changed with a different words to say
A man who looked at life through a scope..
Has now found a new world through words and hope..
A part of me will stay the same, but now with words
I'm in a different game..
Once a clown in a room that kept everyone laughing..
But now I seach for words for a better ending..
Its nice to grow and change our desires..
But now the old and new have just crossed wires
So enjoy these times and let your mind grow..
We are now on a ride from the highs to the low..

one thing most evident about england,
well...
not that many birch trees (my favourite),
or pines...
    birch treets as said to be the scounts,
they lay the ground for a forest,
    the best i can experience
around here are foxes, no wolves...
and even the foxes as shattered...
  a bit like the badgers...
   mind you, we can have as many objective
truths, and sorta feel proud...
    but i feel numb...
   numbers don't add up in the category
of feeling...
      i should really be standing
at some road juncation:
with excess applause...
          i don't think that's necessary...
    i can only state
a neo-gothic excavation began by
type o negative...
                     and the early death of
the lead singer....
   then there's that excess of attire...
lead, and Pb...
                 as some seach: also contained
within: a leash...
               me in a Turkish shop,
talking to the owner:
Papaturk... how i saved him money
when the local council
               inquired why he provided the caravan
umbrella...
    and hid the public bench...
   5 months i haven't seen him...
     we start speaking and it really is 5 months...
i talk about a month spent in Poland
and -18 temperatures...
  he just keeps referecing 5 months...
i'm only buying 4 cans of beer,
who gives a **** about a biography?
   i don't know if i half pretend or actually am
the one some might call: busy...
           my eyes are elsewhere...
i keep looking for them like i might
turn to finding either heart or Brian...
                one's a stone,
and the other a fat-sponge soaked in porridge...
    yep... type o negative... just
when the jerry spinger show was taking off...
took goth to a new dimension,
i remained clad in the most believable grey
attire... the boring type...
        and it's only that having experienced
a very rare traffic of soul-like expderiences...
did i become to realise
that such experiences are, well,
rather pointless...
   or at least undermining everything
surrounding them...
   god is a great concept, to motivate
the hazy fairies of the suggested approach...
             and when it actually happens,
say: hear angels singing while to rob
the altar of its white cloth and lie under the
altar... checking for sure whether you
are hearing what you're hearing...
             it thus becomes an existential
game, i.e. whether you "hear" or hear,
whether you "heard it" or heard it...
     and whatever experience you may have had,
it's a bit pointless to state that you're
of a cultish calibre...
               it just becomes a bit pointlesss...
you just see selling potatoes
   and Korans as more important...
     then it becomes a case of:
  well: why beging with anything at all?
why not call all the saints mental imbeciles?
   why not begin there?
i say that because, given the teaching,
as in: forgiving your enemies,
has not compass in western society,
western society, if isolated,
would be equivalent to a man / woman talking
to themselves in the streets of Beijing...
          i say i could have had an experience,
but the way i have been itemised, scrutinised,
i'd gladly believe in a crowd of people
nibbling at a mystery...
   actually experiencing a mystery gives you nothing!
i'm all for democracy, all for chaos...
            nothing happened, i didn't exist...
it's easier that way...
    that's why i feel no affinity with western
culture... it's just a load of ******* to me...
            i could have said:
i heard angels singing,
   but given the so called "sanity" membrane
of humanity, to create an omni-entity,
to later discard it...
     evidently there's no precise vector linking
(a) to (b)...
                   in england they call this
case a "mental" illness...
  i really wish my brain had the capacity
to create placebo experiences so pontent
that i'd sorta stop following in my father's
footsteps and becoming a roofer...
then again, he was sentenced to labour
in an industrial complex of steelworks,
look how that frail and senile pope
looked like clinging to his throne,
slobbering with his last speeches, "saintly"
john paul ii...
               i was very fond of pope emeritus,
all the grannies in poland said:
take, that, thing, from the throne...
    no easier way to overcome the saints
than have a pope-saint...
   who really wants the spotlight...
but should be killed by strobe-light and something
translating epilepsy into a stroke...
   as one bound to an exodus
i have no allegiance to the current folklore of
my original people...
    i don't know why i kept the tongue:
apparently such things are hard to erase,
   being first generation, i guess only with
an english wife i'd be able to shut up...
hence my english having a "subconscious"
undercurrent of polish...
             and i live in an anglican country...
    oh there are, there are differences
between a catholic nation and a protestant
nation...
   as there are differences between northen
catholic and southern protestant...
        no wonder i was given a "medical"
    noun  schizoid...
       encompass all of that, in a single generation?
you'd go cuckoo!
                 but then again i'm playing
tennis with a brick wall...
         i don't expect pity, i don't expect empathy,
in just expect nothing, no body...
              we're all bound to wear the shoes
we tire with against the pavement...
  but ridicule is the one thing that ****** me off...
   i'd prefer a comforting joke...
   ridicule is something devoid of what is required
for a passion, even a passion scrutinised and staged
by a stand-up comedian in sarcasm...
   ridule is a bit like science,
already lost to the schism of its counterpart of
falsification...
                    so many truths! so many truths!
          i guess that's what philosophy is about,
apart from being a mediator of science with / vs.
humanism, it's the membrane segregating the two...
      you can clearly cheat with science,
you can ascribe fake statistics with science,
  tell them 1 in 5 women were *****
as part of the **** culture phenomenon,
  when someone else states: more like 1 in 165...
but you can't exactly find a person who
lied about reading Tolstoy's war and peace....
only because a person who has read that
   piece of work: isn't exactly keen to talk about it;
from experience:
   i've read don quixote... and i'm not that keen
on giving a proof of having read it...
that's my own c.c.t.v., not yours.
   you can find that a lot, one a person
reads the equivalent of 5 Islamic columns / elements...
   say.... rather than completing the Hajj...
reading the Brothers Karamazov...
        you really don't get that much
conversation...
  reading a book as the established order
of the 19th century, read in the 21st century...
you start to look at your contempories
a bit suspiciously... like they really are devoid
of acknowledging a worthwhile experience with you...
i started to look at most people, my contemporaries,
at bit like walking into a bathroom showroom...
    i guess i thought about brushing my teeth
and talking to them so they could pick up a scent
of wild strawberries oozing from my mouth...
   i read the **** books, i don't need to compete
for being able to talk about them...
given the books... it's very hard to talk about them...
      you don't really get to talk about
these columns...
          well, unless it's the Koran,
then you really get to talk... you get to shout, even,
and shoot a throng of pigeons while you're at it...
  apologies, no apologies... yada...
or as one puts it (talking queeny beeny) -
   to the great artistic mafia of Poles...
              somehow connected...
   the whole: blood thicker than water...
            oh i'm about to dump this
  mongrel soul and treat it as:
            a Mickiewicz might:
of the tongue, of the body, toward the soul
   cleansing...
               i probably will not like the end
results... but that's better than what i have now...
        i don't like to have a mongrel soul
trapped inside a mono-ethnic body...
              i tried the whole utopian masquerade of
living the dream, i.e. "living the dream",
it didn't exactly work out as western politicians
liked to have hoped it might...
             and that's the really sad part,
i really wished it could have worked...
   now, whenever i think about *******
  someone of my ethnic compendium
whether by body represented, or by soul encouraged...
i just think it's ******...
                 it's like the culture i express
has encouraged that i move to
south africa and **** someone so far removed
from my experiences...
          it really does feel like ******...
        what a sick sick world to be gravity prone to too..
but hey! we have the numbers...
     try to be cosmopolitan for a bit,
whether that's in London, or Edinburgh...
      it soon emerges that the Greek city-states of
modern capitals are surrounded by
****** prone cannibals...
   and more importantly: philistines.
                     sure, for a second you can almost
be persuaded by atheistic arguments...
as those took hold the imagination of people
in the early 21st century...
     i just look at man and see god laughing...
and since the case is: the ugliness of a godless man...
      well...
                    the crucifix is hardly
the N on the compass...
  but since the crucifix aimed at the N of the compass...
the northen barbarians said a joke
that made the crucifix something worth
imitating in the Philipines for a worth of spectacle...
and elsewhere, skog av krux -
oh, it's a very short joke...
         blod ørn... ****** eagle...
   given that so many imitate being crucified...
  can only signify it being a complete and utter joke...
one hour in a järn-jungfru
would make up 2000 years worth of history;
or a scene from a Sioux scalping stone...
    we're ingenious like that...
and yes: blod ørn - blod o(h)-ern...
          i prefer the german blut adler...
   so many moustaches, and other periphenelia
of attire, such as a bow-tie...
  to translate the bewilderment
that a latin inherited grapheme can't
be the smallest unit of sound, given the vowel...
  or how the grapheme became translated
for the worth of diacritical marks...
  æ and œ created
    the basis for diacritical marks being applied...
as with the already stated example...
ørn is derived from œrn...
             tongue-tie twisting like a serpent around
its suffocated prey...
          spine bound to crunch, and defeatist chess...
    we can never say why it was applied
to the signifier: umlaut (ü) - best explanation
is a hidden arithmetic... and the compensation
of omicron-macron...
                       but that's just a guess...
    science is anything but holy...
given the fact that it's so easily manipulated...
                 and falsified, and cheated...
     the samde torturous instruments that defended
religion, are but replaced in the name of science...
          as a life bound to be a freedom,
with labour inside the mind that is relentless,
   and in dire need of change...
where  democracy, or autocracy, as nothing more than
slaves of the arch-cardinal, known as status quo.

I am looking for special things
That will allow my true soul to bring
Peace and happiness to all I employ
Living in complete and utter joy
Will this person come my way
Within my journey on this day
Does he live within the light
Allowing his soul to take flight
Not living within society's norm
He sets himself apart from the storm
His boat will never sink
To caring what others think
For inside he stands in truth
Knowing he needs not to be a sleuth
To enjoy living with the wings
Of what true love will forever bring
So to some it may seen sad
But to me I am so very glad
I have the patience to wait
Until he comes to open my gate
For my love has never died
It has been tucked away inside
A warrior somewhere has this key
He and I will both know it is meant to be
God will be strumming our guitar
Satisfaction will only be ours
The world will see the passion we uphold
Allowing others to be so bold
To seach for what lies within the soul
Never falling into the gaping holes
Within his light we will always mingle
This journey he will know we do not walk single
We are always within the wings
Of what goodness he does bring
We just need to stand up to our hearts
Never being emarrassed to share those parts
His blessings will never end
His perfect love he will always send
One day he will bring this warrior my way
I know he will be the one to forever stay
Never bending to society's fight
I stand forever within his faith and light

Sometimes I travel

alone in my mind

in seach of an answer

a miracle find



I'll get lost in the canyons

the rocky terrain

and search for my answer

until I go insane



When I reach the old lighthouse

I always turn around

and stop searching for my answer

I walk back without a sound



As I enter the forest

that leads me back home

I thinking about my missing answer

and I feel so alone



Sometimes I come back

but today I think I won't

I thought I needed more time

but today I think I don't.

i know your pain i over dig your struggle. but you have to evaluate and seach your heart and do better .
men lie and so do women. that doesnt mean that  money only matters.
cause gods coming back to clean up this disaster.
remember your worth become something.
strength lies within you. you are beautiful. its something about you.
i to have a song to sing no longer have thoughts that no ones listening,
obama in chair that was a wonderful year the hood knew now they can do anything.
but it starts with you cant wait for another malcom or martin luther king, just keep your dream .

we ride upon
Neptune's shoulders
to seach and capture
all the
secret bastions of truth
and gain
clear passage
through the
dark wine sea

there's been a ****** here just now
no don't seach for the body
the wounded souls are invisible

internal bleeding is more dangerous
in some cases fingerprints are not found
the eyes pulled the trigger

it was a different story every love

Thoughtless emotion clouds my spinning mind
I am stuck in a limbo
My eyes seach endlessly for meaning and for passion
my soul craves purpose but instead its found
ashes of my burnt love
I can no longer
see
feel
taste
think
smell
hear
these senses are alien to me
their very nature frightens me
I am done