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Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
They buried our Heroes

This piece comes from a bad place the shooting of the congress woman in Tucson but I will not let black hearted soulless creatures
Win so I choose to saddle up and ride into yesteryear a mask man rides a white stallion with the William Tell overture playing in this
Mans portrayal of this western hero we learned and knew what it meant to stand as an individual and that alone we could fight and
Win you’re not always able to be surrounded by friends and family battles some time require we strip down carry only bare essentials
This was the requirements of the real Texas rangers that Clayton Moore portrayed they were sent out alone with only a horse and a gun
And hardship was their constant companions they were asked to do extraordinary feats as we ourselves are now being called to do
Civilians at nine eleven were the first Americans to hear and answer the call we all have been served our fighting papers from just a
Fictional character we were trained in childhood to now be ready as adults to face an altered world where madness can pop up at
Anytime they buried Clayton in the attire he wore so well a true hero who in my thinking laid out a picture perfect formula we are
A free proud people our roots run deep in independence walk tall speak softly but be ready at any moment to rush into the breach
To fight and even die for freedom we are well represented and rounded it isn’t all about being austere we can enjoy life and have
Laughs along the way the next hero when buried had a multiple burial known as the clown prince Red Skelton went to the grave with
San Fernando Red, Cauliflower McPugg", a punchdrunk boxer, Clem Kadiddlehopper, a hick who was identified in at least one sketch
As being from Cornpone County, Tennessee, and "Freddie the Freeloader even speaking of him brings a smile but he was not just a
Funny face he was a principled man he didn’t have to do shock comedy he had talent that kept you laughing and coming back for more
This is part of our armor laughter is like a medicine sometimes the hurts linger and make a waste of a life you have to fight back
You have to defeat the negative in us all that will accept this kind of prison we must mourn and know sorrow but not as a steady diet
Can’t leave Red without telling one funny story the holidays were approaching Red was scheduled for an operation he was sedated
Wheeled into the operating room the surgeon probably almost dropped his scalpel he took the sheet down and found a note that said
Don’t open until Christmas thanks for all the laughs now for a local hero well two a father and daughter well daughters and wife but here
Just one at first Jack Jeffrey is a hero if you knew him it is evident with or without a fez he has a bearing and honorable sureness that
Commanded respect in life and carries on into death I am about to do a total selfish act in my mind since I don’t know where the car
Is or if it even exist anymore don’t get down on me for this act as I played this first in my head before coming over here to write it I paid with
Hard tears and pain maybe that still doesn’t give me the right to intrude but I came back to this country a whipped disabled defeated
Person and then Queen Donna lifted her scepter over my life by speaking of this hero I was able to find my writing voice and live once
again so any way there is something about a man and a car and a manly drive I would get into this car lovingly put my fingers on the
Stirring wheel where his used to be put his put the radio on his favorite station look at the passenger’s seat see this beautiful daughter smiling
As they slowly cruise quiet by ways they have known two minds and hearts bonded at the deepest level by love scenes flow by the
Windows old realities revisited the car filled with a mixture of vibrant memories then and now textures that only a father and daughter
Can know and share by the way I got out back a ways this is their new year’s ride together Happy new year Donna
Poetic T Oct 2014
If you go down to the
Woods today the bears
Will eat
Your
Insides
They'll start at your foot
Slap you with a left
Knock you out with a right hook,
Then they'll snack  on you for
Breakfast
Lunch
&
Then
Teatime
The cubs will eat your lunch from you insides.
Then slurp your intestines
As if they were spaghetti stung outside,
The flies will lay eggs
In your mouldy insides,
Then maggots will feast on your
Cold dead eyes,
They will feast on you carcass,
Will devour you
From what's left, that nature hasn't
Nibbled
Bitten
Dragged  
Off, then you'll just be a
Skelton
With
A boot on,
No flesh or insides
You'll be bleached by the
Sun,
Earth,
&
Sky
And buried in the long grass,
All for wanting to be with nature
**"Beware its dangerous out there"
Got asked to write about a bear, And yes slightly mental
My dreams are dreams of black and white.

I dream of the late Cool Hand Luke,
And Big Daddy in the rain.
I dream of Hepburn, where it's hot,
Of Skelton upon his stage.

I dream of Jeannie,
Of Lucy's man,
Of Hitchcock's crazed suspense,

And of my freckled friend, named Opie,
Relaxing with Papa Griffith.

Jethro swings from chandeliers,
As daddy fends off fiends.
Granny ***** that little hand,
Signaling the end.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2014
Look closely at your dots and periods.
You'll see this...

. Bob Dylan .
. William Shakespeare .
. Maya Angelou . Emily Dickinson .
. Ralph Waldo Emerson . Robert Frost . Ai .
. Max Eastman . Thomas Hardy . William Blake .
. Edgar Allan Poe . Pablo Neruda . James Joyce . Ovid .
. Carl Sandberg . Anne Sexton . Taigu Ryokan . Sappho .
. Ogden Nash . Dorothy Parker . JD Salinger . Rumi .
. Dame Edith Sitwell . Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly .
. Anna Swir . Sara Teasdale . JRR Tolkien .
. Alfred Lord Tennyson . John Skelton .
. Dante Gabriel Rossetti .
. Dylan Thomas .



Soul Survivor
2014
The poets in my "dot" were chosen
at random, to fit the design.
Lindsay Hardesty Nov 2020
For the first time in five years I didn’t wish him happy birthday, I wanted to, I opened the phone, I typed in his name and saw the last two messages from me, two years of happy birthdays with no response.
I closed the screen and put my phone down, it’s over, he’s become a ghost in my story while I’ve become another Skelton for his closet.
I thought I would cry when I passed the hotel we stayed at, the first time we celebrated his birthday together, tonight it was just another building on my drive home.
Although we will never be lovers again, my heart wishes him well, as I’ve finally found peace and healing in once meaningful, but now mundane days.
preservationman Sep 2014
The spirits from another world
A transformation in making the mind swirl
Another life being more than transcend
A moment in accelerate in begin
A battle among evil
The Officer being the Devil
The clouds that darken the moon
A hidden light with the harken gloom
Spirits will reign supreme
An eerie voice in the world only knows what that means
Blood with decaying flesh
An eye on the right and nothing on the left
The spirits being unrest
It is the humans being put to the test
Evil from down below
A moment in thinking although
The moon in the distance disappeared
The night has become full of fear
Many questions of who to trust being near
The spirits stork the night as to who will preserver, and at what price, in shearing a tear?
She yerned for more as the traces shown clear.
Yet another always seems to follow the last in the fire that leaves you numb.
And in that lost emotion is when she yerns for it most and the flesh is but a vessel left to bargain.

Track mark tragedy in a clear junkies view.
Pushed in vein taken from time often we exist only to fade from light.
The beauty now a trainwreck of what could no longer be.

In *** she travels from self only to drown in thought.
Maybe this time just for the fix.
Soiled thoughts the picture never paints a suicides face.

A addict was created a scar is past.
Futures dim lit regression ****** left in shadows still remain.

That feeling none can explain for how is it to understand death in lifes last thought?
Two lips togather leaves one ina dope sick splendor to thrive.
In the depths of a adiction is when to me love is least alive.

She ask's for more blood does glisten from arm.
It's gone a liars need must reply.
Why fade when you can catch a fix slumbed lifeless in a stall.

In the shadows we consume the shallow means to still linger.
touch of gold a dust of reapers skelton finger.

She cries to as a empty soul filled in a addicts thought.
Will it fade in sadness a broken thought is but a dreams half *** reprize.
keki Oct 2010
trick.
or may i ask treat.
hovering in  the full moons twilight light
looking for a cady thirst that thrives every ones mind.
But some one searches the night to get a scare
out of you
may i wish you a happy halloween

black cats lurk in and out of the foggy mist that surrounds the chilly floor
ghost haunt the living giving a chilly rattle up your spine
turn around no ones there and continue with your trick or treating for the night.
wolfs prey on flesh to savior their hunger for the next year or so till they rise again.
The skelton bones rise once again make thier bones shake and shiver as they were a musical instroment
clock stricks 12 and all the mysteriors monster hide in the shawdows till next halloween day.
Naomi Sa'Rai Feb 2012
Lied awake
Staring into nothingness
Cried in your arms
Tears falling
To a black abyss
Killing me
We don't exist
It's you and I
Felt safe moments
Hours fly
Your chest expands
To let air in
Ive stolen your breath away
Thief of all sorts
Heart,body,mind
NO backbone to stand up for us
Skeleton without spine
Let time move forth
As memory rewinds
For a love
Sparking gold
Without a shine
Gleaming bright
In darkness
Fight  
No backbone to stand up for us
Skelton without spine
Let time move forth
As memory rewinds
Helen Oct 2013
Often left feeling
Disconnected
from many a life
Where one is
simply
Rejected
A gripping
Handshake
that takes us
to our knees
Brings us pleasure
and a bruising
need
To please
No warmth
from a  tight smile
No tenderness from lust
just...
Skelton fingers
Holding hands
Bone on bone
*Its a cold touch
C N Kumar Mar 2014
Oh earth, in burning of sunlight
When see from street childhood,
Flowered smooth sound of smile?

Oh child, who mud finger put in mouth
Run and hide in this mid street
This for yours noted memorable day
And suggesting day of eats mind sweets.

Ridded, very fast and strength of world
And bitten screams are drown that chariot sound
All doors are closing for that sound not fall in ears
Shutter down of eyes for not seeing of street views.

Update our evening status
And wishes of the universal childhoods
Discuss with like and comment
During early morning
When sung the song of obsequies
For orphan childhood  
Open slowly your left eye
And see down in 6th floor
A colony behind your flat,
Under a plastic sheet roofed hut
How many children sleep with tiered
And not filled food even half stomach
And disturbed, turned and turned

What! Are you close your window?
Are you disturbed in that mid night views?  
Calm sleep your babe on form mattress
Look up and had deep breath from you.

Oh earth, in burning of sunlight
When see from street childhood,
Flowered   smooth sound of smile?


Discussion will improved on visual media
And the words are take sides  
Colony rabbles, future quotation militants,
Pimps, prostitutes,
Award them various statuses
And put up more rehabilitation charts.
Years of years entered in rule machine
Not getting salvation that scheme
They are secure sleep in urns
And souls of promises are spread in surrounds
Oh babe, all are in workshop
For making of yours dream land
And you, fall in mud pit of path side
Like a Skelton, like a fermenting worm
To seek food in dung pit with dogs
Still day and night competition pursues.
All dreams are reflect in deep eyes
Like fade out pictures
To sow, which letters seed?
And hence which tongue’s songs
To contribute,
And fill millions of stars flowering
Oh my child, in your eyes.

Oh earth, in burning of sunlight
When see from street childhood,
Flowered smooth sound of smile?
=======================C N Kumar.
Pauline Morris May 2016
Fluffy white clouds, sailing in a sea of blue
I never knowing, no I hadn't a clue
This would be the last day I would be seeing you

Got off work, went to your home
Door was locked so around it I roam
Peeking in the windows, rapping on the glass
Please just answer me, I shout out and I ask

I seen you this morning in the dawns haze
You looked so stressed, stuck in your maze
I made you promise you'd get some sleep
I laughingly suggested counting sheep
You gave your sweetest fake grin
Gave me a hug, turned around and went in

I whispered I love you as I turned to leave
I heard you heave a heavy sigh of relief
You was in the abyss
Company you did not want or miss

You was head diving for the bottom
Your mood fit the skelton tree's of late autumn
Your emotions where laid bear
You trembled like those trees in the cold morning air
Everything you had cared about, you let fall away
Just like those tree's did, all around you at your feet they laid
Everything you once cared about was in a slow rotting decay

You never answered your door that I pounded on
You was already gone
You left everything, even your phone
You took off all alone

You left no note
No sign of hope
One minute you was here
Now your gone and I fear
I will never see you again
I fear your sorrowful life you put to an end

But I'll never know
Which direction you decided to go
I hope your out living your dreams
That this is not what it seems

Dear friend I love you so
I really need to know
So out in your woods I took a stroll
Down to your favorite spot where the creek flows

But I didn't find you there
Babe where are you, you know I care
Relieved your lifeless body I didn't find
Wishing you had left a sign
Not knowing what happened to you
Is leaving ME cold and blue
Pauline Morris May 2016
Fluffy white clouds, sailing in a sea of blue
I never knowing, no I hadn't a clue
This would be the last day I would be seeing you

Got off work, went to your home
Door was locked so around it I roam
Peeking in the windows, rapping on the glass
Please just answer me, I shout out and I ask

I seen you this morning in the dawns haze
You looked so stressed, stuck in your maze
I made you promise you'd get some sleep
I laughingly suggested counting sheep
You gave your sweetest fake grin
Gave me a hug, turned around and went in

I whispered I love you as I turned to leave
I heard you heave a heavy sigh of relief
You was in the abyss
Company you would not miss

You was head diving for the bottom
Your mood fit the skelton tree's of late autumn
Your emotions where laid bear
You trembled like those trees in the cold morning air
Everything you had cared about, you let fall away
Just like those tree's did, all around you at your feet they laid
Everything you once cared about was in a slow rotting decay

You never answered your door that I pounded on
You was already gone
You left everything, even your phone
You took off all alone

You left no note
No sign of hope
One minute you was here
Now your gone and I fear
I will never see you again
I fear your sorrowful life you put to an end

But I'll never know
Which direction you decided to go
I hope your out living your dreams
That this is not what it seems

Dear friend I love you so
I really need to know
So out in your woods I took a stroll
Down to your favorite spot where the creek flows

Relieved your lifeless body I didn't find
Wishing you had left a sign
But I didn't find you there
Babe where are you, you know I care
Not knowing what happened to you
Is leaving ME lifeless and blue
Ottar Aug 2014
You made me able, to find the funny places,
The wonder and laughter on all of your faces,

you were not the only one, that made comedy fun,
you were one of comedies favourite sons.

You hid your life to the public eye,
Or was it everybody knew, but didn't pry,

I set you on a pedestal many years ago,
then you let it be known, you did not own an ego,
every laugh hid tears, every outburst disguised fears,

of alcoholism,
of depression,
of schisms,
and therapy sessions,

the mind behind Mork was human too.

Skelton,
Knotts,
Winters,
and you R.W.

Made me laugh till the tears poured from my eyes,
                                  like they did today,
In thanks, I throw words on a screen, your humour
was not always clean, but bordered on obscene,
uptight ***** sitting in chairs, laughing like they had no cares,
you gave them relief,
for a brief spell, they walk through the land mines,
not seeing your hell, thinking everything was fine.

I found your humour coarse at times, call it shock therapy,
Your improvisation was sublime, best pupil Winters never had,
in his class.

"Jack" of all trades,
master of none, except maybe
a comedy tour.

I never knew you, but I got to hear my laughter,
because of you, I never knew you, but woke up the
next day trying to remember what, I never knew your
best line was I heard, from the night before, there were so many.

We needed you to make us laugh, again.
We may not have been much help.
You needed help and humour was not enough.
You needed help and ... I am just a small town boy
in a big city, and now turning to Steve Martin for
all my laughs.
No pressure.
A tribute. An appreciation.
KxBird May 2017
Don't bruise your bones love, don't you know they're beautiful. The foundation of all the things that grow from within your sacred storehouse. They're thick and sweet like milk and honey. The rose of your body, a sight to behold but hard to pluck, everyone has thorns, it's the human condition not your bad luck. But it's your framework none the less however catastrophic it may be. And you can flail about all you want but tantrums only show your immaturity.

Don't bruise your bones love, for they always carry you, heavy and light through all the yes no's thank and **** yous. A fragile Skelton don't let it decay for what queen did rule over the bursted blood vessels and scars when flowers and constellations are the kingdom yielding to your hand everyday.

Don't bruise your bones love, whatever trigger comes your way, take the words like the hand of a ghost, slipping through you like translucent silk, don't harbor them with a hook in your heart, don't plunge it in deep to stick. You have mountains to climb and valleys to tread, the terrain is tough enough without sealing malice inside your head.

Don't bruise your bones love, for all the hope they give, they are strength to the fallen, they are the purest form of love in this life we live. And a beacon they will be, flawed but not by you, for the world has made your bones strong without them being bruised by you.
I wrote this after a night of panic attacks and self-harm to remind myself that I'm worth more than scars.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
the older i become the more it hinders my output:
volume, quality, whatever you want to call...
perhaps it's censorship (in a way) -
a ****** lenovo keyboard: not wide enough
to properly place my hands to not look down
but ahead at the genius of QWERTY...
since... believe me: the classical order of the alphabet
conjured up by the French (perhaps i'm
remembering incorrectly) is not really important:
what matters is the entire body of the scripted
language... words don't unravel from a prerequisite
of abcdefghijklmnopq...rs...t...u...v...w...x...y...z
is that all the letters?
i actually don't know fingers dart backwards &
forwards... or, not really... when playing this
"piano" anyway: as long as all the required
letters are invoked in the required words:
hey presto! meaning!
                      there ought to be 26... funny...
there are 32 letters in the ****** (western Slavic)
alphabet... the same number as the teeth
in my gob...
but sometimes i "lose" a poem... whether it's censorship
when i make a post: ****! gone...
or whether i'm callous with the ctrl + c / + p / + a
scenario when i drank a little bit too much...
i don't know... perhaps i'm writing for
some elite that doesn't want the public to read
my work... i like to think of it that way...
but losing a poo'em can become so disheartening
that i i sometimes want to forget that i speak:
let alone write... now longer periods when
i can rekindle a makeshift monologue:
but then i have to find something technical in language
to reorient my purpose...
it's becoming less & less easy...
esp. since i'm not writing fiction...
  just... grass is green... butternut squash soup is
more than hearty: but it will never match up
to my better take on the Heinz canned classic... period...
not enough chilly in the Heinz... canned classic...
& never eaten with a slice of bread...
it requires vermicelli... like most soups do...
like a decent ****** chicken broth...
which also requires... well: poaching the carcass
but  base set of vegetable...
a leek... a celeriac root slice...
parsley root... a carrot... garlic... celery stalks...
parsley - the green leaves...
salt, pepper... & vermicelli...
oh... & plenty of time...
i'm disheartened when i lose a piece of script:
it's not Shakespeare (obviously) but so much emotion
can flow into the cascade that:
tabloid newspapers are given bragging rights...
are, ahem... "important"... so... my writing...
whether by censorship or not...
or my clumsy fingers when putting across
a body of text from one canvas to another... goes wrong...
hours become days when i find a new:
desire to write... since... writing is much easier
to thinking...
writing is much easier to thinking...
as thinking is much easier to speaking...
- but all of a sudden my life has changed a little...
writing is so much easier when you're
not "doing" anything...
mein gott... poems flow & flow... snippets
of narrative arrive at your forehead & fingertips like
postcards from your ex-girlfriends missing
you dearly from exotic locations: as if being married
& having children is still not enough because:
they didn't have your children & aren't married to you...
the poo'em i lost was about... two days ago...
travelling to Wembley Park for... an induction...
the role? being a steward...
i figured: enough of youth can be wasted on dreams...
literary dreams...
let's inject some... proper... grass-root ambition
with... RE-AH-LI-TY (****... phonetically that's
REE-AH-LEE-TEA/EE/AE)...
this writing "business" isn't going at the pace
i want... sure... i can brag about...
wow... almost 40 thousand views of one poem...
there are over 6K poems of mine, just here...
Wembley Stadium can host 90,000 spectators...
one poem of mine can muster up... almost half
of the capacity?
not bad... but... not good enough...
lucky for me i can relate for this sort of thirst when
drinking... sometimes i'm content with
a bottle of wine... at other times i need a liter of whiskey...
go figure... but not when so many idiotic pundits...
when there's this media masquerade happening...
i'm in the shadows: i'm listening to what people
are listening to... i never leave traces in the comment
sections: a waste of time...
makes thinking about certain things easier:
when you don't air your opinions...
after all: that's pseudo-rhetorical...
the true art of debate is... withdrawing from:
debating... the dialectical position is:
first mind diacritical marks (sorry... none in English,
& yes... it's still more ugly
when phonetically charged with graffiti "mishaps"...
misnomer: "shortcuts")...
- where was i? oh right... perhaps i "missed" something
in my original lost sample of a narrative:
although (last time i checked)
this website provides automated save as drafts
when you stop typing - after a prolonged period
of typing: my bad...
writing is so much easier when life is uneventful...
i could tease that word: uneventful into
a katakana syllabary: i almost want i almost have
to i therefore (not almost, but) must:
un-eh-vent-ful...
oh look at that: sitting pretty like a toddler
with a drumstick of a chicken (leg)...
**** it: my writing is going nowhere...
i have more ambition to simply let it... sizzle in its own
juices: or whatever better expression is handy...
none come to mind...
i need to look at people: i need to study people...
the internet is an echo-chamber to begin with:
it used to...
a jukebox narrative... such freedoms were
once available... mein gott... what music
i discovered when foraging on youtube...
in two years... gone... the algorithm got ******...
period: bad grammar is an exemplification
of this load of: hot-steaming... mix of **** & *******...
i need a real job... wasting my youth on writing
is not enough: perhaps my writing will catch up:
or my readership will... either way:
i'm not aiming for anything under
the title-weight of a Bukowski:
lucky ******... but i'm also not aiming for
the almost near obscurity of... the Black Mountain poets...
who was their leader... Larry?
Lee-rrr...       eh... it's not like a tarantula didn't
crawl into an English mouth & "somehow"
numbed the tongue for the end result of:
nein zu tremolo! ****'s sake... if i only asked:
why the French Fwench... but they hark so:
never mind...   yes, yes... Larry Eignar...
**** me... that took a while...
but there's another... a "renegade" on the...
ha ha... steppes of "Cambodia"...

          Russell is a likely connotation...
but incorrect... let's see....
     wait... Charles Olson... ol' Ollie...
he? he was a black mountain poet?
you ******* kidding me...
no chance in hell that will pass by me
given.... concerning his Maximus poems...
like: **** no...
i'm a critic i'm a nobody i'm a porveurour...
now i remember the ******'s name:
Robert ******* Kreely...
him! Kreely: Creely... Creeley...
**** it... fling in the vowels...
lets see what sort of a trebuchet **** master
you... ought... might... make.
oh.... wait.... important "news"...
an... apostrophe "missing": plain Jane typo....
where?LET(')S i.e. implying the shortening of:
the inclusivity of the collective... "US"..
      wunderbar!
                 schön!
that's the umlaut O... ergo... shoo... shoon...
great!
                           kaninchen und...
                        rosa ball-ons!  
i know a ******* balloon from a *******
ball-on... it's like telling me...
what's the difference between an omicron
and an omega...
i.e. do you really need to tell me
the difference?
sure... if it was an upsilon: you *******
clueless Greek!
what audacity:
you ******* clueless... Greek...
what... better some Iranian...
arriving from... Belarus?!
oh sure... i really want to live in Kenya...
among the ivory beauties with skins
that hide their bodies...
******* milk on toast... some chocolate:
sprinkled... i see teeth & sclera...
& some mahogany...
  ****? i'd **** anything that moves...
even south Korean girls geared up for a game of....
ping-pong....
my bad... what?
or is that: WAT like... WATT...
the energy unit or the Samuel Beckett novel
that over-competes James Joyce's Ulysses?!

your is the roulette... yours... hmm... your's...
for a while... the latter was underlined...

life used to be so much simpler when...
language could speak for... "itself"...
no one could use it: somehow, "somehow"...

i applied for the role of a Wembley Stadium
steward on a whim...
i thought: **** it... writing is not going toward
a projected: Ginsberg stastus...
i'm not going to compete with the leftoid jargon
of the 1960s... lucky me...

i'm just a terrible "millenial"...
i use an apostrophe like i migh5t secure understand
of the Pythagorean hypotenuse...
some C "squared"...
Wembley Stadium steward...
this... cacophony of hierarchy "suddenly" hits me...

i can understand authority...
tier one, tier two... vampire... zombie...
sure, sorted...

of the supposed 12 rules for life...
one of them reeds... i suppose that's reed: read:
reeds... sorry.. n'est ce pas...
pet a cast on the sreet?
you know, how hard it is... to pet a cat..
on the street?!
if you lived in England...
wolves... what wolves?!
foxes... oh yeah... plenty of those...
but... petting cats?
a bit like explaining...
a jpeg. take up less volume... ha ha: "volume"
than a pdf. file...

why i was mo4e than ready: i'll never known...
perhaps i'm a closeted fan of Ed Sheeran,
perhaps i like children in the role of:
a fathering figure...
perhaps children like to
poke my beard & lips...
perhaps this... perhaps that...
perhaps i'm ******* Santa Claus...
or what's Satan's Claus(e)....
all these freebies... cough up!

or... i just like making people "feel" included:
"feel" is one "thing", REALISED... another...
it might sound like newsspeak...
but... i don't want to ingest another...
Manchester Bomb Arena spectacle...

SAA... a week in Brixton... 7 days...
but they require a cohort of at least 12 applicants...
it elevastes your status as steward to:
someone who can: "juggle"...
be legally obliged to utilised force:
if necessary...
i like... i like... i like...

first ZOOM call in my life... ******* Ludite...
luddite... ugh... that double D kills me...
surd: you don't hear(d) to: begin with...
so... what... spelling "mistake"?

oh sure... the ****** transit & traffic...
train from Romford through to Liverpoool St...
then the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park...
great... the arch...
a black coffee from McDonald's & two croissants from
Lidl... morning... done...
no more... morning sickness....
come late afternoon Somali girls eyeing me up in a black
tie... o.k. sure... fair game: "gamble"...
hunting what?
i like this understudy of what's man...

i arrived an hour early...
waited the tad bit... of a little... we exchanged formalities... but then i watched as...
two groups formed...
the ****-shock-show of the multi-cultural urban... ahem... "class"... with one rep. & the other... mostly... asian men... with their... asian rep...

12 rules for life... seriously?! do you know how hard it is... to pet a cat? sorry... can i make you reiterate... petting a cat... lucky me... for petting two cats today... "strays"... but... do you know how nearly impossible it is... to pet cats, is?! you don't pet a cat because you can... you pet a cat out of the whims of: the cat willing you to pet it!  just like i like... sitting on my windowsill listening to foxes bemoan their lack of ****** adventures... it's England... foxes... ergo no wolves! d'uh! cull the foxes... you cull the erotica of the nights!

between... sigourney weaver... &...
mmm... winona ryder...
raven 'air...
two winners... how harems work...

Tuba Büyüküstün...

apologies for the phrasing...
if all the supposed gems not donning niqabs
that are western women
are so... *******: NIGGERCOCK mad...
Tuba Büyüküstün... oh... look at me...
you think i want some anemic blonde:
stereotype?!
raven... hair!
sure... the black male specimens are
handsome, attractive: if i were a woman:
i would... ha... "problem"...
why don't i want to...
the ****** antonym... because a white girl
really wants to... do a black guy...
do i... "have" to have the same
compulsions with regards to a black girl?!
Turkic! **** yes!
Mongolian... probably!
Tuba Büyüküstün...
or... swans probably don't have necks...
no... swans probably don't have necks
when you see this:

(although sophie skelton looks
better in the initial photograph...
papa best preached)...
swans don't have necks...
not with her...
around... to... curate... a balett of
nodding  approvals...

Caitríona Mary Balfe... i'm so loved up...
in that i once remarked in private:
bemoaned: that the Scots have forgotten
their native tongue...
swans have no necks...
swans don't need necks...

the neck of Caitríona Mary Balfe
eyes... too...
or the short-styled hair... & eyes
of Tuba Büyüküstün...
don't get me started on the hands...
those petite Antoinetes of joy...
the most ****** aspect of a woman is bound
to her hands... i'm missing a knuckle! or at least
*******!

woo-man!                         woe-is-me!
woe-is-man!             woo-man!
i'll bark i'll gargle... not for the sold-cold "soul & eternity"
of the d.n.a.:
but rather for that Muhammad never achieved when
competing with King Solomon!
then again... King David had the better tale...
the love of music, the writing of the psalms
&... defeating Goliath...
king Solomon was... compensating with
the excessing in the exploitation of women...
eh... Solomon &... proverbs can be tested...
true... or untrue...
but psalms... unconditionally...
sung... or... lost...
no antonym-synonym dynamic...
you either remember or you forget...
you don't merely remember & pseudo-remember
via changing the narrative a little: or a lot...

what a neck... on this Irish beauty...

two frotiers formed.... one side...
the cosmopolitan, readied to talk to women
in possible women in authority, etc.
whatever are the preferenfes....
i really adore the ROYAL: third person:
ONE might...
or the plural WE....
"genger plural pronouns":
not since the existence of the "crown":
i am subject to ol' Lizzies stipends!

i am her mouthpiece wherever she's:
not m'ah ******* grandma!
on zoom calll i was sked....   (scared, for sked)
what were British values....
i was asked....
i replied... universal?!
i passed some mythological...
Kennsington Test...
ooh p'ah! ******* hurah
join the Union Jack brigade!
who's kidding who?

              the red coats are coming!
last time i 'eard?
not enough of 'em are "coming"...
come to "think" of it: beside staring at goats...
"going": where?
do "we" need to "go" to Afghanistan
when... Afghanistan is coming to us?!

sorry... what?

two groups of people at Wembley...
mostly Asian men... an Asian rep...
& a group led by a Jewish girl...
talk of tortoises...
Sikh... Tamil... Sanskrit... men...
& women... ******...
Stalowa Wola: Iron Will... which is
an actual town...
Harry... the guy with tattoed hands...
Ewelina: Evaline...
**** me... another single mother...
how many more single mothers will i have to pass?!
i don't mind it:
ancient Rome replies with:
the surrogate father...
chances are...
i could be a bad genetic partner...
i wouldn't mind... raising children that weren't my own...
i swear to the only god available on such
matters...
he'd just nod approving me as
surrogate father...
to hell with it...
CORALINE - DREAMING...
ancient Rome sends you a postcard...
you'll reply?
        no? fair enough...
i could i wish i could...
a little: BAMBINO of my own...
bit then again...
investing in so much of my own...
what if... they are killed...
hell! ****** is one "thing"...
but what if by some stupid circumstance of
a traffic incident?!
ergo?
i very much like the idea of raising children that
biologically "belong"... ahem...
"elsewhere"...
not their souls, their minds.. though...
n'est ce pas?! VOU... that's not how
ALTHOUGH is assembled?
AUL: ALL.... VOU? it's not VOW...
ate the G... no, kiddy?

i love children... esp. those that are not my own...
i could love them & love them like
an Abraham... nein... i could love them like...
a god... i could love children in a way that...
mirrors.. the moment they arrive at...
exploring the game of:
hide & seek...
there was never any playground invoked
to summon: the game of bulldog...

i'm glad i have no children of my own...
more of my seeing and less of the eyes of my "choosing"...
petty tender heart-felts: demands...
i'd rather father the children of "unavaliable" fathers
than father my own...
ancient Rome is messaging you...
dearest...
   look how much easier it all becomes!
you raise someone else's child... but...
should said child die... become murdered...
erm... what of it?
a statistic... i feel no inclination to give a ****...
i invested in the mind... the soul...
the body can ***** itself to death...
as it does... but it's not my own...
i can be as much detached from its fate as is most purposively
ridden: to riddle me...
i'm glad to not raise my own!
it dies... it's murdered... do i care?
no... life replaces life... here we go: the grand
carousel... it's not like i have name like:
McKenzie or... McDougal...
so... no... no lineage... i'm a baron of the most
atomised of times... the individualistic
sanctity: real or supposed...

ancient Rome replies:
the negativity of single mother households....
compensated with... the freedoms of...
paternal surrogacy... give me a break!
ha! it's Eden! i come with not leverage of....
ownership! i owe nothing due to
the Darwinistic impetus!
i'd be freed from whatever is expected of me...
there are no investments...
in pronouns... might we:
the royal one?

ha!

it's no much easier to have children
that turn out to be girl...
ha!

i'd rather be a surrogate father to a "daughter"...
come to think of it...
i'd only want...
to be a father... to a son... biologically....
a daughter can...
Mayflower herself... or ***** herself all she wants...
from a father: unto a son...
like that "******": Matthew & Son (cat stevens)
or... "dreaming": Coraline...

the inquisitive cat... the teenage girl...
the "felix"... the Urdu... somewhat...
the inquisitive cat... kommen die nacht....
alles ist nacht...

if there's no democracy in poetry:
then there's no democracy at all!
maxim: non-la-rochefoucauld
Kill me slowly Aug 2015
i wear no mask
no shining armor
you can see through my translucent flesh
i bare no weapon
no hidden intentions
for my skin is as clear as glass
you will look into my eyes and see nothing
except little marbles glazed over with discontent
but the planets are smiling tonight
and they want me to laugh along with them...
so I escape my mortal coils
and
unzip my skin suit, for now.
so I can dance freely
next to Saturn and Jupiter.
and I can push my organs aside
so you can pick and **** at which ever one you'd like to steal next...
i call him mr. nobody
the man who means nothing, to no one
but is constantly trying to be something.
he hates his name.
and each chance he gets he tries to steal mine out from under my nose
he doesn't like to dance
he just watches from the corner
with his eyes on his wristwatch
tick tick ticking time away.
he sliced me open
down the wrists, main artieries, you name it..
so I could make more room for him to weave himself around my bones.
like a **** he grew into my Skelton
and quite simply,
he became me.
he wore my skin like a mask
and used my body to commit crimes
that most people can't even pronounce.
I call him mr. Nobody;
a man,
a man with many faces
who in the dead of night just happened to steal mine.
all you ever did was ruin me
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
Fluffy white clouds, sailing in a sea of blue
I never knowing, no I hadn't a clue
This would be the last day I would be seeing you

Got off work, went to your home
Door was locked so around it I roam
Peeking in the windows, rapping on the glass
Please just answer me, I shout out and I ask

I seen you this morning in the dawns haze
You looked so stressed, stuck in your maze
I made you promise you'd get some sleep
I laughingly suggested counting sheep
You gave your sweetest fake grin
Gave me a hug, turned around and went in

I whispered I love you as I turned to leave
I heard you heave a heavy sigh of relief
You was in the abyss
Company you would not miss

You was head diving for the bottom
Your mood fit the skelton tree's of late autumn
Your emotions where laid bear
You trembled like those trees in the cold morning air
Everything you had cared about, you let fall away
Just like those tree's did, all around you at your feet they laid
Everything you once cared about was in a slow rotting decay

You never answered your door that I pounded on
You was already gone
You left everything, even your phone
You took off all alone

You left no note
No sign of hope
One minute you was here
Now your gone and I fear
I will never see you again
I fear your sorrowful life you put to an end

But I'll never know
Which direction you decided to go
I hope your out living your dreams
That this is not what it seems

Dear friend I love you so
I really need to know
So out in your woods I took a stroll
Down to your favorite spot where the creek flows

Relieved your lifeless body I didn't find
Wishing you had left a sign
But I didn't find you there
Babe where are you, you know I care
Not knowing what happened to you
Is leaving ME lifeless and blue
Pauline Morris Jan 2016
Fluffy white clouds, sailing in a sea of blue
I never knowing, no I hadn't a clue
This would be the last day I would be seeing you

Got off work, went to your home
Door was locked so around it I roam
Peeking in the windows, rapping on the glass
Please just answer me, I shout out and I ask

I seen you this morning in the dawns haze
You looked so stressed, stuck in your maze
I made you promise you'd get some sleep
I laughingly suggested counting sheep
You gave your sweetest fake grin
Gave me a hug, turned around and went in

I whispered I love you as I turned to leave
I heard you heave a heavy sigh of relief
You was in the abyss
Company you did not want or miss

You was head diving for the bottom
Your mood fit the skelton tree's of late autumn
Your emotions where laid bear
You trembled like those trees in the cold morning air
Everything you had cared about, you let fall away
Just like those tree's did, all around you at your feet they laid
Everything you once cared about was in a slow rotting in decay

You never answered your door that I pounded on
You was already gone
You left everything, even your phone
You took off all alone

You left no note
No sign of hope
One minute you was here
Now your gone and I fear
I will never see you again
I fear your sorrowful life you put to an end

But I'll never know
Which direction you decided to go
I hope your out living your dreams
That this is not what it seems

Dear friend I love you so
I really need to know
So out in your woods I took a stroll
Down to your favorite spot where the creek flows

But I didn't find you there
Babe where are you, you know I care
Relieved your lifeless body I didn't find
Wishing you had left a sign
Not knowing what happened to you
Is leaving ME cold and blue
Ides simply referred to first new moon,
which usually fell between
the thirteenth and fifteenth day
of a given month.

Smithsonian Magazine history buff
Tom A. Frail
posted March 4, 2010 issue
url = https://www.smithsonianmag.com/
history/top-ten-reasons-to-beware-
the-ides-of-march-8664107/
top ten reasons to
beware the ides of march.

The following events all occurred
fifteenth of March
across span of millenniums.

One: Assassination of fifty five year old
Julius Caesar, 44 Before Common Era
Two thousand and sixty six years ago
conspirators led by Marcus Junius Brutus
stab dictator-for-life Julius Caesar
to death before the Roman senate.

Two: A Raid on Southern England,
1360 Anno Domini.
A French raiding party begins
a 48-hour spree of ****, pillage and ******
in southern England.

King Edward III interrupts
his own pillaging spree in France
to launch reprisals,
writes historian Barbara Tuchman,
“on discovering that the French
could act as viciously in his realm
as the English did in France.”

Three: Samoan Cyclone, 1889
A cyclone wrecks six warships—
three U.S., three German—
in the harbor at Apia, Samoa,
leaving more than 200 sailors dead.

(On the other hand,
the ships represented
each nation’s show of force
in a competition to see
who would annex Samoan islands;
the disaster averted a likely war.)

Four: Czar Nicholas II
abdicates his throne, 1917
Czar Nicholas II of Russia
signs his abdication papers,
ending a 304-year-old royal dynasty
and ushering in Bolshevik rule.

He and his family taken captive
and, in July 1918, executed
before a firing squad.

Five: Germany Occupies Czechoslovakia, 1939
Just six months after
Czechoslovak leaders ceded Sudetenland,
**** troops seize provinces
of Bohemia and Moravia,
effectively wiping Czechoslovakia
off the map.

Six: A Deadly Blizzard
on the Great Plains, 1941
A Saturday-night blizzard
strikes northern Great Plains,
leaving at least 60 people dead
in North Dakota and Minnesota
and six more
in Manitoba and Saskatchewan.

A light evening snow
did not deter people from going out—
“after all, Saturday night
meant time for socializing,”
Diane Boit of Hendrum, Minnesota,
would recall—but “suddenly
the wind switched,
and a rumbling sound
could be heard as
60 mile-an-hour winds
swept down out of the north.”

Seven: World Record Rainfall, 1952
Rain falls on Indian Ocean island
of La Réunion—and keeps falling,
hard enough to register world’s
most voluminous 24-hour rainfall: 73.62 inches.

Eight: CBS Cancels
the “Ed Sullivan Show,” 1971
Word leaks that CBS-TV  
cancelled “The Ed Sullivan Show”
after 23 years on the network,
which also dumped Red Skelton
and Jackie Gleason
in the preceding month.

A generation mourns.

Nine: Disappearing Ozone Layer, 1988
NASA reports the ozone layer
over Northern Hemisphere  
depleted three times faster than predicted.

Ten: A New Global Health Scare, 2003
After accumulating reports
of a mysterious respiratory disease
afflicting patients and healthcare workers
in China, Vietnam, Hong Kong,
Singapore and Canada,
the World Health Organization
issues a heightened global health alert.

The disease became famous
under the acronym SARS
(for Sudden Acute Respiratory Syndrome).

elemental forces of style at large
which indiscriminate merciless whims extant
ask Homer Simpson or Marge
g'head and even tap
a local, county, or state Sarge

gent on the shoulder, cuz
he or she would moost likely agree
that this Month predicated
on The Gregorian calendar me
didst axe Mister Google,
(who **** courtesy enough prithee)
to validate premise about
when Time Construct came a boot re:

(named after Pope Gregory XIII, who
introduced it in October fifteen eighty two)
from that date to present,
the most widely ant queue
test used civil calendar,
and when brand new
(involved approximately
0.002% correction knew
this margin of error in length
of Julian calendar year) allowing hue

man accurate measurement passage
as days, weeks, months...elapsed
unimportant to the average Joe,
(not quite five hundred years ago)
returning home on his emu
no matter the gender named Matthew

cuz this flightless fast-running bird dinned,
poe whit lorry yet (wannabe)
nose tubby directed related door sill finned
dog gone harassed primate hoo haint sinned
graced with surname Harris,
and gladly boasts being full of wind

which trivia finds this barred bard
(as iz his usual wont
i.e. digress sing
from primary col lord thread)

from initial intent, vis a vis,
how all life forms stretching
within the bounds of quisling
to an affable, convivial, and filial King
Crimson (reddit in the face),
yet knew everything like kin ace
that comprised tome base
comprise zing knowledge
booking (to chase
winter blues) at getaway
gracefully at Bedrock Cave
with proprietors of said place
Barney Rubble and Fred Flintstone
offered ample space
to discuss preparations to cope
with onset of infrequent roaring blizzard
(via ominous clouds that didst trace)

plus minimizing setbacks affecting
the then most advanced stone age
during wrathful outbursts from beige
flesh toned gabbing Goddess,
whose gentle giantess goodness,
one could gauge
which genteel manners evident
also asper her page
gave inside information,
how to batten down hatches
while tethered like a puppet
on the then much younger global stage.
Ides simply referred to first new moon,
which usually fell between
the thirteenth and fifteenth day
of a given month.

Smithsonian Magazine history buff
Tom A. Frail
posted March 4, 2010 issue
url = https://www.smithsonianmag.com/
history/top-ten-reasons-to-beware-
the-ides-of-march-8664107/
top ten reasons to
beware the ides of march.

The following events all occurred
fifteenth of March
across span of millenniums.

One: Assassination of fifty five year old
Julius Caesar, 44 Before Common Era
Two thousand and sixty seven years ago
conspirators led by Marcus Junius Brutus
stab dictator-for-life Julius Caesar
to death before the Roman senate.

Two: A Raid on Southern England,
1360 Anno Domini.
A French raiding party begins
a 48-hour spree of ****, pillage and ******
in southern England.

King Edward III interrupts
his own pillaging spree in France
to launch reprisals,
writes historian Barbara Tuchman,
“on discovering that the French
could act as viciously in his realm
as the English did in France.”

Three: Samoan Cyclone, 1889
A cyclone wrecks six warships—
three U.S., three German—
in the harbor at Apia, Samoa,
leaving more than 200 sailors dead.

(On the other hand,
the ships represented
each nation’s show of force
in a competition to see
who would annex Samoan islands;
the disaster averted a likely war).

Four: Czar Nicholas II
abdicates his throne, 1917
Czar Nicholas II of Russia
signs his abdication papers,
ending a 304-year-old royal dynasty
and ushering in Bolshevik rule.

He and his family taken captive
and, in July 1918, executed
before a firing squad.

Five: Germany Occupies Czechoslovakia, 1939
Just six months after
Czechoslovak leaders ceded Sudetenland,
**** troops seize provinces
of Bohemia and Moravia,
effectively wiping Czechoslovakia
off the map.

Six: A Deadly Blizzard
on the Great Plains, 1941
A Saturday-night blizzard
strikes northern Great Plains,
leaving at least 60 people dead
in North Dakota and Minnesota
and six more
in Manitoba and Saskatchewan.

A light evening snow
did not deter people from going out—
“after all, Saturday night
meant time for socializing,”
Diane Boit of Hendrum, Minnesota,
would recall—but “suddenly
the wind switched,
and a rumbling sound
could be heard as
60 mile-an-hour winds
swept down out of the north.”

Seven: World Record Rainfall, 1952
Rain falls on Indian Ocean island
of La Réunion—and keeps falling,
hard enough to register world’s
most voluminous 24-hour rainfall: 73.62 inches.

Eight: CBS Cancels
the “Ed Sullivan Show,” 1971
Word leaks that CBS-TV  
cancelled “The Ed Sullivan Show”
after 23 years on the network,
which also dumped Red Skelton
and Jackie Gleason
in the preceding month.

A generation mourns.

Nine: Disappearing Ozone Layer, 1988
NASA reports the ozone layer
over Northern Hemisphere  
depleted three times faster than predicted.

Ten: A New Global Health Scare, 2003
After accumulating reports
of a mysterious respiratory disease
afflicting patients and healthcare workers
in China, Vietnam, Hong Kong,
Singapore and Canada,
the World Health Organization
issues a heightened global health alert.

The disease became famous
under the acronym SARS
(for Sudden Acute Respiratory Syndrome).

Elemental forces of style at large
which indiscriminate merciless whims extant
ask Homer Simpson or Marge
g'head and even tap
a local, county, or state Sarge

gent on the shoulder, cuz
he or she would moost likely agree
that this Month predicated
on The Gregorian calendar me
didst axe Mister Google,
(who **** courtesy enough prithee)
to validate premise about
when Time Construct came a boot re:

(named after Pope Gregory XIII, who
introduced it in October fifteen eighty two)
from that date to present,
the most widely
Attention Network Test (ANT) queue
test used civil calendar,
(though feel welcome to challenge above)
and when brand new
(involved approximately
0.002% correction knew
this margin of error in length
of Julian calendar year) allowing hue

man accurate measurement passage
as days, weeks, months...elapsed
unimportant to the average Joe,
(not quite five hundred years ago)
returning home on his emu
no matter male gendered
wordsmith named Matthew

cuz this flightless fast-running bird dinned,
poe whit lorry yet (wannabe)
nose tubby directed related door sill finned
and after posting blurb held pinned
regarding veracity of information
dog gone harassed primate hoo haint sinned
graced with surname Harris,
and gladly boasts being full of wind

which trivia finds this barred bard
(as iz his usual wont
i.e. digressing ludicrously wayward
from primary cole lord thread)

from initial intent, vis a vis,
how all life forms stretching
within the bounds of quisling
to an affable, convivial, and filial King
Crimson (reddit in the face),
yet knew everything liken ace
that comprised tome base
comprise zing knowledge
booking (to chase
winter blues) at getaway
gracefully re: Bedrock Cave
with proprietors of said place
Barney Rubble and Fred Flintstone
offered ample space
to discuss preparations to cope
with onset of infrequent roaring blizzard
(via ominous clouds that didst trace)

plus minimizing setbacks affecting
the then most advanced stone age
during wrathful outbursts from beige
flesh toned gabbing Goddess,
whose gentle giantess goodness,
one could gauge
which genteel manners evident
also asper her page
gave inside information,
how to batten down hatches
while tethered like a puppet
on the then much younger global stage.
BTW Sep 2021
30 September 2021

Nothing stirred, nothing shaken.
Skylight held stars in weighted grasp.
On the back of quiet trees eaves,
Stilled in an oasis moon cast.

A black cat lay on board fenced sleeping.
White sound wind longer opened the night.
A neighborhood pond mirrored as glinting,
Empty windows on a dying world.

Perhaps the end had long ago begun.
A banjo lay in the corner hall unstrung.
Two broken Skelton tennis raquets,
Sat statuettes on marble brackets.

All that moved was a mote of dust,
Leaving the trail of century aged rust.
Who would come to page this whole?
Life unwashed, once holding  fervored souls.
[But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!]
[But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!!!]
But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!
But adenoidal ache just can't be a bee bounce at half an ounce, or a slimming tactic fat folk trounce, or a ****** token shaved of its broken serrations, or merely a Red Skelton chroma key collection of sultan-green adulations. Can it? Can't it be olden Aunt Bea? Can it be, cannibal Aunt Bea? Rack me up, ***** in pockets. Oh yeah!
SHALL WE DANCE. . .

take the skeleton
by the hand and
we dance

it is a gloriously
sunny day
of childhood

the skeleton
just grins and
I sing I'm all shock up

mmm mmm
yeah yeah
yeah

can tell
Mr. Skelton is
well into Elvis

swings its pelvis
rattles its bones
"Go Skeletoney goooo!"

my da yells
"Donall son
leave the ****** skeleton alone!"

"Plant ya now
dig ya later!"
I jive talk him

the skeleton
comes to a stand still
dangles from a wire

out of his skull
I leave my Da's
army sports stores

I always amazed
that this
skeleton was once

a man
as alive
as me

years later
the army
thinks the same

and plastic
replaces
bone

he's finally buried
with full military honours
flag draped coffin

3 volley salutes
scattering the crows
a future he

could never know
become human
for the last time

then the boy
I was
becomes the man I am

lighting a candle
for my former dancing partner
"Rest easy Mr. Bones...rest easy!"


I wrote of 'him' way back in 2007 and then lost the poem so this year. remembering the lost poem, I wrote this version. Then I lost this version. And then I found the old version and finally the new version again! I found it interesting to see the different ways of coming into a poem...same facts but a different trajectory as one enters the emotional atmosphere of the poem.

*

COME DANCING


I take the skeleton’s hand
& man...do we dance?

I clasp his bony hand in mine
give him a high five and dude...we jive!

No one can touch us now
(we’re in a world of our own) .

We shake, rattle ‘n’ roll...yeah!
Shake, rattle ‘n’ roll
(then we)
*** into dat kitchen ‘n’ rattle ‘em pots ‘n’ pans
Den den den...den den den!

The skeleton flashes me a toothy grin.

“Man...you the one...you the one...what a groove...we’re in! ”

The transistorised air is alive as song after song drives me on.

The skeleton don’t break sweat!
Me...my scalp prickles...sweat trickles down my spine.

Sunlight spills in the window
& the dust motes go wild.

The skeleton places a bony hand on my clavicle
& I place my hand on his sacroiliac.

We waltz eye socket to eye socket
& patella to patella.

Gene Kelly sings:

"What a great day it’s been... what a rare mood I’m in
Why it’s... almost like being in love!"

He’s a fine medical specimen.

He dangles from a thread in his head
& the slightest breeze moves him
...gets him going.

I call him Mr. Bo Jangles.

He lives in my Dad’s army sport stores.

From the inner sanctum of his room
my Dad’s army voice booms:

”Donall...leave that ****** skeleton alone! ”

And goes back to counting his *****.

The ledger grows & grows.
(He mutters & mumbles to himself) .

“*****...soccer...50? ...50! ”
“*****... rugby...50? ...50! ”
“*****...medicine...50? ...50! ”

he intones as if chanting a mantra.

I shuffle out...trying to be cool
(in this heat?)

“Yo, see ya later Bo! ”

Years later I see him
in a tiny newspaper article.

Apparently the Army
realise they’ve got a real life skeleton on their hands

& decide to do the decent thing
(remembering the man he’d been)

& bury him

with full military honours

flag draped coffin
& shots fired into the air to scare the crows away.

I wish I could have...been there.

Say my goodbyes.

I smile & whisper
a little prayer:


”Yo, see ya later...Bo! ”

— The End —