green eyes
how come
that warm
gently rides
to springs of heaven
from frosty blue ice
then turns black ravens
to brightest white doves
and
the hopeless cravens
to bravest heroes

lashes: turkish bows
glances like arrows
runnin' baby roes
make you chase for a while
what a perky look
cheerful naughty snook
but flowing jungle brook
sings her lullaby

a shiny pinky smile
carries an angel tribe
withinside
of the nook
thus devil got riled
was expelled and allied
with the nebbish adam
-rosy pink lips wiled
and might
clothe the seven seas
by the holly tide

i know of Knausgård -  sure, and i share this concerns for
the art of taking to lumber and chopping,
  as novelists tend to do, write with an axe,
philosophise with a hammer...
          metaphor turned into imagery
counter-turned into literalism...
   i once imagined him not being there -
i once wrote ich kampf, stressing
that it was an indefinite expression
of expression, primarily due to the content
of the pronoun... and i was referring also
to the definite expression (much obliged,
atheism, a- without, and the- with,
or indefinite and definite articulation) -
the English eye sees one stance as definite,
and another as indefinite, and juxtaposes
the two interacting...
                          they duly interchange...
i can say ich kampf and say i internalise
verbs: a movement of the hand,
   a strutting or a waltzing circumstance
of owning a body... that's what it's indefinite...
that's why Sartre slithered in counter to
his expanse in philosophy: because i really loved
his novels...
                          but in terms of a mein or
a mit (including me) struggle i find not
ease... no one dares to devalue ****** as a human,
not talking about the past history in purely human
terms urges the postscript of a dictator,
it actually elevates him to a godly status...
           not realising the human is to make flaws
of what the en masse does: raises him to a godly status...
     Zeus had a beard... not a Charlie Chaplin moustache...
right now he's laughing in his grave...
                      old Aldous ******...
   and aren't dictators born because people find their
surnames a little bit funny? it starts so
innocently...          and then it morphs...
   and it becomes an unstoppable morphing...
    yes... i know of a certain number of fellow
      contemporaries... because i want to? no,
because i have to. like rewatching the 2015 film
android - some films you have to rewatch...
   what's being debated? autism and artificial intelligence...
   hyperactive autism, i grant you that...
        it dawned on me... at autistic person could
fake a normal human response treating it as
      artificial... artificial also means mimicked -
  it means that "smart" guy at a bar reciting poetry
he hasn't written... artificial intelligence or the study of it
or even creating it has nothing original about it...
it's not groundbreaking in the same sense that
discovering champagne or penicillin is...
or l.s.d., because these examples have the magic of
being discovered by chance... humanity has been
artificially simulating intelligence since time
immemorial... it's that natural consequence of not being
endowed with a peacock's array of feathers
   to create a soothing, and sickly gentle wind of a woman
resting in a hammock under the shade of a palm tree...
artificial intelligence was inherent in us...
       it's the unravelling of the historical noumenon of man,
the per se that has only crept up on us,
   and before the reality of such a foundation being
established... the humanities create the "prophetic"
citations of it being true: in the "near" / impeding future.
    if god is a noumenon, then man cannot be a
phenomenon... but he is and paradoxically the two
of mutually compatible on a basis of exclusive rather than
an inclusive naturalisation...
               we are talking nature:
  we are talking god naturalised by the medium
suggesting: for i am bound to create obstacles and test
the body, rather than the mind of man...
    as so is man, also naturalised by the medium
of the elements, saying: for i am bound by a body,
   and have to utilise the body first, to overcome the wind
and the snow and the furthermore, until i reach
the labyrinth of the mind...
  and man has done just that, he has bypassed the struggles
of the body, and created entertainment using
the body that once struggled against the elements...
   for he has created the god Minotaur: and the psychic
labyrinthe... as with the Titans whom the gods
usurped, so too comes the twilight of the gods...
but being usurped by demigods...
       Minotaur was a demigod... who usurped the gods
of the trinity that were Zeus, Poseidon and Hades...
        for only the Greeks could create a Judaic bewilderment
as to why a sign was given unto an infant...
           but that's getting technical...
the film, android (2015)? it supports the misconception,
the anguish of a highly functioning autism...
      whereby showing a woman's carelessness in the realm
of adaptability with what some would claim to be
the beginning point of: overcoming the elements...
sure the odd tsunami and earthquake...
   but there's also the tiger, and winter, and parasite,
   and diseases of so many variations...
              man has not been endowed with complete
control over his surrounding... but in becoming partially
overlord of the ones tamed, he has created a mental
labyrinth... a world of such complexity that will
inevitably produce instances of autistic genius...
                 artificial intelligence is already imbedded in us,
just as cloning and Islam has already existed
(Christianity is too schismatic to be considered a cloning
definition... and Judaism as a monotheistic principle
has a heresy embedded in its orthodoxy that it simply
ignores: reincarnation... the Malachi heresy...
  that a second Elijah comes... and god becomes a half)...
   we see artificial intelligence everywhere...
        if the myth goes that woman fed man the original
lie of Eden... then man has nothing else to do than
attempt to polymer that one single lie...
       and repeat it... a reverse intrusion to what "could"
have been an utopian splendour.
      we all see artificial intelligence rummaging about
in the choices people make... it's called lying
   to gain access to a ****** gratification...
  or as i like to call it: a way to compensate our falling short
of the norm, a norm that focuses upon creating
   the most complex startup a Silicon Valley genius
can't comprehend... a family.
    these times prescribe such a bewilderment...
              families are artefacts of what some believe
precipitated into barbarity so close to us: the 20th century...
        and all those arguments you hear that might
discourage the opposite ***, as in damning your parents
for a piece of seashore **** fest of the *****?
   probably came from a person born from a surrogate
mother... well... an incubator, a very expensive *****...
   homsexuality created the evolution of prostitution,
once bound to the genitals... now bound to the womb...
     i.v.f. kids calling natural kids ******...
   i never liked the matrix movies in all honest...
but we're seeing the reversal of the original idea...
                 in the matrix of knowledge... hearts become
piñata: chockies sweet, sensations abundant,
  the spectrum is yours.
                but this poem isn't really about that...
i can sip a whiskey and actually find these things when
i start to utilise these symbols... it sometimes happens
that they fall through... all i was really thinking about
is the "theoretical" score of 147...
                      i'll call them billiards rather than *****
to excuse a "he-he" Michael Jackson laugh at a chance
of "nuance"...
       yellow (2), green (3), brown (4), blue (5), pink (6), black (7)...
and plenty of red (1)... points in bracket respectively...
                  of course from childhood memory i sided with
ronnie... also from Romford... an obscure town in Essex
that oversees the shard and canary wharf from
a distance...                    but watching snooker as a child...
          not too bad at pub-snooker: i.e. pool...
and that game show when snooker was hot back in
the 1990s... big break, with jim davidson as host...
    and of course: john virgo as the rejuvenated
                         ghost of alex higgins... this whiskey
swiggly is on me al.
                 but this final... ****! at one point it was
a century after a century...
                     chess with mathematics, trigonometry
and Pythagoras in motion...
                                    the gods playing with saturn
and jupiter neptune planetary arrangements...
            i can't word it properly... but it'll definitely sound
better than a concussion after too much rugby and
the rough-stuff of "manhood" strutting with bulging
muscle tensions... rather than this Japanese warrior-monk
in a waistcoat and bow-tie swirling a stick in the air...
           i just thought of one thing...
15 wildebeests on an African savannah...
       out comes one lioness...
    and she nibbles at the pack... and she picks off
the weakest of the 15 wildebeests...
              she nibbles the pack before the pack breaks away...
         she looks left (red) and then looks right (yellow,
green, brown, blue, pink, black) -
                      and she picks at the pack, one by one
they fall... but there are two games going on...
   there's the no-man's land snooker where the game is
about entrenchment, and snookering the opponent
for a foul... and then there's the tsunami snooker...
which kinda looks like one person playing chess...
     with no opponent other than a chance mistake...
misjudgement on the case of instinct and how they ******
well know what angle to fudge the white lioness
                onto the billards... and with what force...
      tsunami snooker, or cascade snooker is basically
a monologue...
                             after seeing 3 centuries in a row
you get to crave classical snook -
                                       the mind games of safety shots...
   and teasing, and tempting, and teasing, and tempting,
before the Rubic cube unravels itself,
   and you find that light at the end of the tunnel...
                        and the black pops into...
i'll be honest, i haven't watched snooker for a long time...
        maybe that's why i feel so enthusiastic about it...
       it's sometimes good to be fed this mundane diet
of sport-fanaticism that football is in accordance with
religious dogma... it's a good thing...
             then you end up watching a game of snooker
and all these things start firing up your brain...
   and you end up saying:
      the Taj Mahal can be there for all i care...
the Grand Canyon can be there for all i care...
                    such things don't really require a photograph
with my gimp-face trying to make other people jealous
by actually being there: only to take a photograph,
rather than feed into the air and the thrill of being there...
        as they say... it's a small world after all...
better get used to it being much bigger inside your head.

There was a time were there was a girl who wanted things but couldn't explain why. She was confused and depressed all the time and her body kept changing. Her parents never excepted who she has decided to become, so when she grew up it was hard to tell others who she now is. I am that girl. I wanted everything.
As I continue to grow up I learn new things. I have gone through so many different changes that sometimes I get very confused. I have been in many different relationships and most have not been healthy. There were a few different relationships that were good but I messed up by leaving. But there is only one person I can actually say I would get back with. He was the first person I can actually say was the first ZI ever loved and I know if he ever asked me back out I would leave the person I was with for him.
I'm in a program because apparently im too much to handle for my parents. Sometimes I feel neglected but i know i'm not. There are alot of people that are there for me even if it's not my parents. I am a very bubbly person. It hurts me ever more than a normal person will hurt when I get upset because depression makes everything worse than a normal person might feel. I say might because who really know what or how others feel. Somedays I wish I wasn't alive but then I think there would be no way anyone can see the world without them in it because what if the world didn't exist.
My relationships are always complicated because I get bored because I ****** up the onr relationship with someone that wasn't that bad. I listen to what other people were telling me instead of following what my heart wants. I think to myself what if I didn't break up with that person. Would my life be different if he was in it but as my boyfriend. Would I stay home with my mom and got my **** together sooner than I did. I just wonder if he still thought of me. I know he was a big part of my life when i was with him. I miss it. I miss being able to hug and hold him. I miss him in general.
But who cares about me anymore, not many. I'm usually on my own looking far into my future trying to piece the past together. Removing small parts of my past I want to forget but can't because I have been through so much there isn't much I can just forget. My past formed me into the person I am today and for that I can't forget my past. I like who I am today even if others don't. At Least I can see how much I have changed and made myself into a better person.
When I think of my past, i think off everything I have suffered and it hurts. But I have to do things the way I do or ill panic. Im very weird I bite. When some asks to fight me I growl at them and show my teeth. I'm not normal. Im literally like an animal. I do weird things. But I also am a very creative person when it comes to things. I have a good heart. Even tho I might do some strange crap here and there. I have done bad things but made up for them in the end.
I know i'm not the best but I do try my hardest. I just struggle knowing I have been in and out of programs since I was twelve. It's hard mainly growing up in places away from your family and that's where the depression and the bad behavior started. I have recognized that I started to act up and get all depressed when my dad and mom split up. I have struggled accepting the fact that they “will never ever ever get back together” yes I just quoted the taylor swift song lyrics. It upsets me but hey its life and you can't change the past but you can move toward the future.
When my parents split up my mom got with this guy that I hated with all my heart. And yes hate is a strong word but I hated him. He tried to replace my father and I didnt like that very much. My dad meant everything to me when I was younger and he still does to this day. After I started getting close to moms new boyfriend he did the unexpected. He went to take me out for ice cream down the street when it was dark out.
There was this shortcut in the woods and when we were halfway down the hill in the woods he pushed me down took off my pants and started touching me in places I didn't want touched. I started crying but he didnt stop. Then he put his head between my legs and started to eat me out and I was only 9 years old I didn't want that. I just was scared and I was too small to push him off. When I got home I was to scared to tell my because he told me not to and if you didn't listen to what you were told you'd get punished and after what he already did I was scared of what he would do again. Every day for a week he would go in my room late at night and touch me. But I was glad it was me and not my little sister so I put up with it.
Not long after he started to hit me and my little brother. One day he kicked my little brother in the back and slammed his head on the floor that was the day I took a chance grabbed a broom and whipped my moms boyfriend in the head. But it was just enough for my brother to get away but I was the next target. But that's not all that's just thes start. He put bruises all over my body but at least he stopped sexually touching me. That's all I cared about was keeping my siblings safe.
But even through those times my mom didn't do anything she let him hit us but she was scared too. One day he even pulled my little sister through a window because she punched my little brother I was so scared I ran upstairs to my neighbors house and told them and my neighbors boyfriend came to the rescue. A few months after he knelt on my chest I couldn't breathe but that was the one time my mom told him to get the ******* me. But once he got off me i ran outside in shorts and a tanktop and I ran to school with just socks on my feet and it was the middle of winter. That was the day my school called my dad and said that if he didnt come pick me up then with my siblings we were going to get taken away so my dad came and got us.
Few months after my 11th birthday my dad had a friend watch me when I was home sick. Everyone trusted him but then he molested me. I was sick but I took my blanket and ran to the bathroom and locked the door and waited for my dad to come home and I told my dad what happened and my dad freaked out. But christmas eve I told my mom and after that my mom took me home with her new boyfriend and never let me back to dads after that but I snook to see my dad after that because I didn't want to live with mom at all I didn't trust it after he last boyfriend. But can you blame me.

Mud bug Stew, Black beans and rice
Collard greens and fat back boiled up Nice
Nothing like a Bowl of Fila Gumbo
Boozoo Chavez play the Crawfish mombo
Blind drunk Betting, and Letting Dollars go
And he blew it all on horses and **'s
Boozoo got a taste of Cold Cash And Cadillacs
Clifton Chenier in Lake Charles too
Snook right past ole drunk Boozoo
His accordian tunes Ripped right By
Boozoo Chavez who did not Know
How Clifton Chenier became
The KING of ZYDECO

Cupid’s arrow snook up on me

darted my heart gleefully

he could have given a part-time thrill

but no he went for the ****

pierced me for eternity

paved the path for matrimony

I’d love to give him a big kiss

and hope your heart he hasn’t missed

We are  
stillness  
Before water break
Tenthousand ripples,  
Silent calling
Of midnight crane,  
And light  
Soft
Dancer
on the air
On the surface tension balance of
all things unknown.  

A warm wind  
Carrying the scent  
Of forgotten old summers,  
Cut through me.  

Tears
Here,  
Where the river bends  
And time and your pale thighs surrender,  
We are nothing but  
Two lines  
Crossed in a hidden current,  
Lost somewhere inside
the moon’s  
Secret arc

It jumped on my table
I waved it away
It's a bit unstable
I guess you could say
It chewed my fence
I shouted it to stop
It's brains a bit dense
The penny needs to drop
It snook into my house
I showed it the door
I'd rather it be a mouse
They don't leave mess on my floor
It seems to have disappeared
I looked around the block
Run away I feared
My sorrows a shock
It still hasn't returned
I hope it's safe and well
Well heres something I've learned
I even miss it's smell

I ordered a Polaroid camera
And bought some film and filled it
I brought it up toward my brown eye
Squinted and the room I lit
The flash so strong the smiles so real
The little white photo snook out
A moment not only frozen but hidden
White, hushed voices trying to shout
Slowly the moment came back
The scene melted back into place
The people came back even brighter
The smiles returned to each face
And I wondered what makes a Polaroid different
What gives the physical photo more appeal
Why do we care so much for something to hold
Why are flash and film a big deal
I don't think it's in the style
In its retroness or thrill
I don't think it's in the speed
You wait for it a little
I believe in that small photo
In that something you can hold
You think what is in the palm of your hand
One could not possibly unmold
That moment is for ever
The smile evermore
No matter the time that passed
No matter how long before
There's something about holding it
That's makes you think you can have it forever
That somehow you'll freeze time
That somehow time isn't so clever
You feel you have time in your two hands
The control with small fingers
That this wouldn't slip from your grip
That those grins would always linger
Although it may not be so
And cameras aren't time benders
They bring you back and forth
Through the memories they render
So maybe holding on tighter  
Doesn't do a thing
But having it to hold
Just may give you wings

There I stood amongst the crowd. Hundreds have gathered, like prairie dogs, we are still, with our eyes focused out past the rocks, and into the setting sun. The dolphins are rolling in the waves, and feeding on the snook. The earth is now cooled in the late evening breeze, and the sun begins its journey to the bottom of the ocean. The sky lights up with the most brilliant of colors, oranges, reds, pinks, and blues. All eyes look west, soaking up the picture.
Against the crowd, I turn my back to the setting sun!
I look away and into the eastern sky to see the clouds lit up just as brilliantly as the west, but there is more. The sun reflects off the condos showing their true colors, and the sandy shore is a fiery orange lined with birds after their final meals.

It is the picture that most won’t see. It is the forgotten view. Just as beautiful as the west, but with our backs turned against it we often miss out. Most will look west in hopes of catching what every one else is looking for. The beauty of the sunset, But what is beauty?
To me it is what most will not see. They want to see it, but they will miss out. Distracted by the obvious sunset, they forget to turn around.
Beauty is intentionally turning around and looking at something for all it is worth. It is looking at something or someone for more than what the world looks for. It is seeing the whole picture. It is the uneven dimples of her smile. The sorrow in her eyes as we pass by the homeless. The gentleness of her fingertips pressed against mine, and how she tries to hide her little sneezes. Beauty is the way she looks as she brushes her teeth in the morning, and smiles at me through that foamy mouth. It is the words she whispers gently in my ears just before I fall asleep at night.

I am turning my back to the falling sun in search of that true beauty. What will the east hold for me? I am looking, where are you?

Last night she came into my bed
in the dead hours before the light snook into my eyes and through the shadows lined up like labourers on the walls in my head.
She woke me into another dream I'd had some years before and as I stuttered to form the words to speak to her,
she shared with me,
a picture,some melody I remembered vaguely
which though nice was rather sad.

Quite glad that being well prepared for these invasions of the night, I had snared a little spot,not too cold,not too hot and we could tot up what we got up too, as morning grew into the day it would become.

It's like I won some inter-universal game of chance,first prize,last chance of romance and I have glanced quickly through the rules,
as fool as I am,not sure how to be a man and anyway I never knew what the plan would be
or if entering this game of chance was free or would there be a fee to pay.
She took my mind away from thoughts like this and in that first kiss when my body being in overdrive felt like I'd arrive before I'd even left
she put me back to idle speed
and now in idling how I need her more to stamp the accelerator to the floor and race me on to that place where all doubts have gone and we will get there
in time to share cakes and teas and
indulge ourself in pleasantries.

Tonight I need her to come again
to come with me upon the dead hour train that speeds through lifetimes,through those windowed pains that although washed and cleaned have dreamed of sordid sights in more sordid nights and now
and now
the train of thought has stopped
this malady crops up from time to time
and I say that 'my memory's fine'
but then I would.
I want my caller in the night to think that I'm so good and not affected by that infection,age
she might
not notice line and wrinkles that twinkle in the star or moonlight
or she might.
I make light of this and wait for more,just one kiss more
one kiss I guess is more than less
one kiss
and then I sleep.

i was going to fold the sunday newspaper many times...
just to get a postcard sized output...
or whatever you'd like to call it...
   i was taught that creasing pages of books
or folding edges of pages in book
was very much a blasphemy...
     call that weird, i call living to reach
atheism and vomitting scientific facts
   a bit like creating a Frankenstein monster...
  to be honest, i feel like a frankenstein monster...
    i have absolutely no care for allegiance...
i'm in free-fall mode...
     i feel nor care to feed some patriotic
adventure into a war...
  i was folding a sunday newspaper
remembering that fetish i had for
three newspapers being opulent and about
men imitating women by folding them
akin to knitting... the guardian,
the daily telegraph and the times...
   only one of the three remained true to its roots...
i loved watching people fiddle with these
titans... folding them like taking a scrap
of a toilet-paper bite and folding it several
times before taking another fold...
and wiping for the **** that could just as well
be a mouth...
        we also call it playing cards...
that game where your *** speaks more reason
than your mouth, and how
     the three top layers of cards, king queen
and jack are doubled to have a mouth
either side of the mouth-**** copernicus...
    so you can't tell the two apart...
**** or talk? dunno... it sounds very much alike.
  but these co-op people are bothering me....
they're asking me about my age
every time i buy a beer...
   is that some sort of pick-up line?
          ok ok, i get the acne and it's not comfortable
for me either, i guess my *** could make it
into a fashion magazine quicker than my face...
   what's this?
             i get the acne, i have a beard...
do babies have beards?
       it's a beer... it's not a bomb...
    this has to be some sort of fetish...
                       it's a bit like finding your second
loss of virginity... apparently it's called 25...
  it's not even murky waters of 16 / 18...
do i look over 25?
    ha ha... yeah mate... 30...
     i feel like chewing on some chicken bones,
or biting into a human cheek, to bite past the cheek
and eat the tongue in cheek...
     why do people become so annoying that
you retaliate thinking about cannibalism?
   what's with them being so primmed into
the role of supermarket cashiers?
     they're gagging for violence, aren't they?
they are... they must be...
           oh right... oscar night...
  this sunday times magazine... kept folding it
and folding it... until it was comfortable to read,
hardly a reason to do the same with a hardback book....
oh wait... the heresy, and the need to respect the book
as if every book was a koran,
bookmarks... but no no to folding
the edges of pages having arrived at...
you want to know a secret?
  Poles have a tendency to mummify flowers
  by putting them in books... true story...
Poles mummify flowers by storing them in books...
if you really want to understand the true
bibliophiles... as the Poles what they do with them...
   i mean, it would be hard to mummify a cactus in a book,
or that glutton that's the autumn thistle...
      they really do mummify flowers in books,
the Poles... which is why they come up with
the need to use bookmarks, and the religion
of never folding edges of books to replace bookmarks,
or what a suit has, and the cravat suddenly missing...
     now i kinda get why there has been no
islamic attack in poland, this etiquette of
respecting books, translated into how i
might treat a newspaper... folding it...
     jaw for jaw... manidble, cheap, cheap and
everyday... about to be deemed fake...
      i get that, like i know you take off the sleeve
of a hardback edition and then put it back
on once you handled the didlo fabric...
                and some women might
call charming the limp phallus like man might
charm a white rabbit from a top-hat...
    or what the madonna-***** complex explains...
had it been better approved for the care to
explain today... or vhy whittle kaiser wilhelm
was the  original oedipus prototype / the freudian muse...
what was my original concern to fill
the void of defeat that's: making war using a blank canvas?
oh right... la la land... the actress...
    emma stone... it's like i almost recognised her face...
i was thinking ethan hawke...
but i was thinking of a different red-head...
i was thinking the film predestination...
and... she almost looks like both a shadow and a face
thief at the same time, to define the case of
doppelganger...
   but it really wasn't her... it was sarah snook...
another redhead...
or maybe it was this private conversation that
had me started... or how: predestination
can be replaced by a concept that's even more
shock-awe... coincidence?
    i make history happen in the private
sphere of counter ego-tripping
by making newspapers into origami,
        folding them to make digesting them more
realistic, and also opportunist...
                 sometimes i do make the odd punctuation error,
but then again... look at all this space









                                                  ­                 .
just one of the reasons people write poetry,
or at least what later becomes non-orthodox
avoiding of rhyme...
  rhyme used to be the original punctuation
in poetry, people used to
   eat and
                 sleep...
   but then writing poetry became an uncertainity
concerning the paragraph,
it was eaiser to punctuate a paragraph
knowing if; or: and esp., to say something more...
   which is one of the reasons for the "improvement"
of punctuation, the dot dot dot of poets
and the ditto enclosure of existentialist philosophers.
poetry to me is a deviation from punctuation,
it requires the cascade mechanism to allow it
expression with bravado, and the zenith of
arrogance...
                         to me poets are
punctuation-phobes....
                                  here me... imitating the two
figures in the Salmaan Rushdie novel, d i.e.,
  what was it? two people falling off a plane...
one drops like a tombstone stiff...
                the other is all panicky pretending to
invoke the capacity of being a pigeon...
what was that book?
              still.... i was just buying a beer and i get
asked for my age...
                i sometimes love when people
can be as annoying as that...
                        if i were a woman i'd be saying
that it was a compliment;
so i am... writing this "poem".

a delicious fish
take skin off before cooking
is a soapfish, snook

It is nature of all the mothers
To heartily cherish their sons
To believe with worship
In the mortality of the sons
To whim and fancy
That nothing can beat their sons,

It is nature of all the mothers
To replace their love for husbands
With the love of sons,
Always to suspect
That their daughters in law
Are giving raw deals of life and love
To the precious sons,
To stress for ****** marriage of the sons
To doubt and snook at the beauties of sons’ loves,

It is nature of all the mothers
To be in nostalgia of their past love
On the look of the new beards on sons’ face
To equate the ****** tone in the sons bass
With the voices of a raw lover
On the nuptial night of the eloping evening,


It is nature of all the mothers to fault the person
Of other woman’s sons
Only to glorify the character of their own
As they project fortune for heir own
But stark fate or failure
Befalling the male neighbourhood,
To ask the powers that be
For a political treat to their sons
On a baseboard of full discredit
Unto the otherness that be.

Breaking day.

It used to be that we could talk,
but now we balk at doing so
in this we go the way of many
and become one with each other's
silent enemy,

When did we become him and she?
we didn't see that coming as it snook
along the skirting board.

This feast of innuendo
this banqueting on pain
a meal that's fit for no one
and yet we eat again.

I.
I contemplate nom de plume (a).
The nomenclator (b) pax (c) kiss of peace (d) .
Coddle (e) the dowry (f) , the dowsables (g) pas de deux (h) .
Fill the kyack (i) with tidytips (j) from California , that land lease (k) .
No irrational number (l) , reality two (m) .

Definitions:
(a) non de plume - pen name.

(b) nomenclator - a book containing a ciollection of lists of words or names .

(c) pax - from Latin pax vobis (peace to you) or pax vobiscum (peace with you). A pax is a liturgical object used in the Middle Ages and Renaissance for the Kiss of Peace in the Catholic mass . It began to replace the actual Kiss of Peace in the 13th century .

(d) Kiss of Peace - An ancient traditional Christian greeting.

(e) coddle - treat in an indulgent or overprotective way .

(f) dowry - property or money brought by a bride to her husband on their marriage .

(g) dowsables - obsolete word for sweetheart or lady love .

(h) pas de deux - a dance for two people , typically a man and woman . A duet in ballet.

(i) Kyack - a packsack to be swung on either side of a packsaddle . Two connecting sacks .

(j) tidytips - an annual wildflower native to western North America .

(k) land lease - leasing the land upon which a tenant may own the home but not the land .

(l) irrational number - is a real number that cannot be expressed as a ratio of two integers . A number with an infinite number of digits .

(m) reality two - Jen Oliver Meiert - two realities . One is the physical reality . And the other is psychical reality .


II.
Fatten on krass (a) and farina (b) , fanfaronade (c) , mordancy (d) , honey and beurre noir (e) on toast .
Nothing to ambsace (f) !
The guidon (g) carried by a guidon betraying the one ,
"one's fancy" only to be crushed by a juggernaut (h) . . . promace (i) .


(a) Krass - German for gross or coarse .

(b) Farina - name in the U.S. for milled wheat .

(c) fanfaronade - arrogant or boastful talk .

(d) mordancy - a biting or caustic criticism .

(e) beurre noir - French for black butter .

(f) ambsace - the lowest throw of the dice .
Something worthless or unlucky .

(g) guidon - a pennant typically attached a pole that narrows to a point or fork at the end . A standard for light calvary .

(h) juggernaut - huge and overpowering force .

(i) promace - animal tranquilizer .


III.
Could I quintuplicate (a) the subdebutante (b) becoming tag end (c) ?
Would I cozen (d) the bulblet (e) from the branch Circe (f) ?
The Elaine (g) of long ago evanescent (h) my Hesperus (i) friend .
To Hesperides (j) especially , the Jinni (k), lowball comedy (l) .


(a) quintuplicate - fivefold . To multiply by five .

(b) subdebutante - a girl in her mid teens about to become a debutante .

(c) tag end - the last remaining part of something .

(d) cozen - to trick or deceive . Obtain by deception .

(e) bulblet - small bulb produced on a larger bulb .

(f) Circe - Goddess , nymph , enchantress or sorceress of magic . Daughter of Helios and either Oceania or Hecate . Able to change people into animals with potions or incantations .

(g) Elaine - the women of Arthurian legend who died of unrequited love for Lancelot . From Greek , a girls name meaning "sun's rays or shining light" .

(h) evanescent - soon passing out of sight , memory , or existence . Quickly fading or disappearing .

(i) Hesperus - the planet Venus . Evening star .

(j) Hesperides - legendary garden found at the western extremity of the world that produces golden apples . The nymphs that with the aid of a dragon guard the garden that grows the golden apples .


(k) - Jinni - also Genni . In Arabian and Muslim mythology the intelligent spirit with less ranking than an Angel that can appear in human or animal form for the purpose of possessing humans .

(l) lowball comedy - a deceptively crude comedy with underlying meanings .


IV.
My Maginot Line (a) , my Magen David (b) . . . before you board mae west (c) .
The squirting sea cucumber .
The Sammum Bonum (d) goes .
It's Watch Night (e) like a watch pocket (f) .
Zombism (g) we have digressed (h)
The incunable (i) mickle (j) , the  micawberish (k) pentagram (l)
exposed .


(a) Maginot Line - weaponized concrete fortifications built by France in the 1930's to keep Germany out .

(b) Magan David - originating from Medieval
Arabic literature . A hexagram (overlapping equivalent triangles) that was used as a talisman on protective amulets and was known as the Seal of Solomon . In the 18th century it was adopted by Jewish interest as the Star of David .

(c) Mae West - Personal flotation device (PFD) , life preserver . First inflatable life preserver created by Peter Markas in 1928 .

(d) sammum bonum - Latin . From Rome's greatest orator meaning 'The highest good' . Virtue .

(e) Watchnight - a service also called Watchnight Mass is a late night Christian church service . Held on late New Year's Eve . Also called Freedom's Eve service , a celebration and remembrance of the Emancipation Proclamation (enacted January 1 , 1863) which freed the slaves in the Confederate States during the American Civil War .

(e) watch pocket - extra fifth pocket on the right side of blue jeans made for a size 16 pocket watch .

(f) Zombism - the Kongo and Kimbundu system of religious rites . Characterized by worship of a snake diety during Voodoo rites .

(g) digressed - leave the main subject temporaryly in speech or writing .

(h) incunable - a book , pamphlet , or broadside ( a critical response) printed in Europe before the year 1501 .

(i) mickle - a very large amount .

(j) Micawberish - resembling the character of Wilkins Micawber in the Charles Dickens novel
David Copperfield . Especially optimistic to the point of being irrisponsible .

(k) Pentagram - five pointed star used in ancient Greece  and Bablyonia . Which is used today as a symbol of faith by many Wicans and said to have magical powers and associations .


V.
While the rabalo (a) swims the tropical seas
succes de scandale (b) .
While the Exmoor (c) ponies exert , ****** (d) in-and-out (e) .
And the Langur (f) from Laos
lies lethargic , drinking meadowsweet (g) ale .
The Nereids (h) tease and pase (i) in polyrthym (j) .


(a) Rabalo - common snook or sergeant fish .

(b) succès de scandale - a success due to notoriety or things of a scandalous nature . Public controversy .

(c) Exmoor - an area of hilly open moorland in west Somerset and north Devon in South Wales England named after the river Exe . Ancient royal hunting grounds .

(d) ****** -  Queen of Asgard and wife of Odin . Stepmother of Thor and adoptive mother of Loki .

(e) in-and-out - copulation

(f) Langur - long tailed aboreal monkey with a characteristicly loud call .

(g) meadowsweet - or mead wort is a perennial herb that grows  in damp meadows in Europe used to make medicine .

(h) Nereids - In Greek mythology the Nereids are sea nymphs , daughters of Nercus and Doris and known to be friendly and helpful to sailors .

(i) pase - a maneuver with a cape used in bullfighting meant to get the attention of the bull .

(j) polyrthym - a rthym which makes use of two or more different rthyms simultaneously .



VI .
The enchantress in a jaded jodhpur (a) .
So kitsch (b) with the live stream (c) mouth .
A menu (d) with folded mantis hands , a Nazarene (e) .
An à outrance (f) , an abstraction (g) .
***** envy (h) , reach-me-down (i) , rest house (j) south .
The simoon's (k) coming , simon pure (l) in simony (m) .


(a) Jodhpur - also called riding breeches . Tight fitting trousers that reach the ankles ending in a snug cuff worn primarily for horse riding .

(b) kitsch - German meaning ****** art . Excessively garish or sentimemental art usually considered in bad taste or lowbrow .

(c) live stream - to stream digital data . Data that is delivered continuously and is usually intended for immediate processing or playback .

(d) manu - (Sanskrit) is a term found in Hinduism . In early texts it refers to the first men , (progenitor of humanity) .

(e) Nazarene - native of Nazareth . A member of a group of German painters
working mainly in Rome who from 1809 sought to revive the art of Medieval Germany and early Renaissance Italy .

(f) à outrance - exorbitance .To the limit .

(g) abstraction - freedom from representational art . Dealing with ideas rather than events .

(h) - ***** envy - the supposed coveting  of the male ***** by a young female according to Sigmund Freud .

(i) reach-me-down - second hand clothing

(j) rest house - shelter for travelers especially when there are no hotels available .

(k) simoon - a hot dry dust-laden wind blowing in the desert , especially in Arabia .

(l) simon pure - untainted purity or integrity . Absolute pure , genuine or authentic . Also used negatively as pretentiously or hypocritically pure .

(m) simony - the buying or selling of ecclesiastical privileges . Such as something spiritual . Taken from Simon Magus
(Act 8:18) who endeavored to buy from the Apostles the power of conferring the gifts of the Holy Spirit .



VII .
Come Nisus (a), Lord of misuse.
With your Ibizan (b) hounds
and ewer (c) .
Your ebulient (d) ectomorphic (e)
mentality .
Board a carrack (f) to Chad breastbeating (g).
Put your thoughts on skewer (h) .
While seeking an essoin (i) , flannel-mouthed (j) idyllic (k) .


(a) Nisus - Greek mythology , King of Megara , son of Pandion of Athens . When King Minos of Crete beseiged Megara , Nisus's daughter Scylla fell in love with Minos . She betrayed her city by cutting off her father's purple lock . The purple lock of hair held magical powers if preserved . Nisus was killed and became a sea eagle . Scylla later drowned , said by the hands of Minos and was changed into a sea bird pursued by the sea eagle .

(b) Ibizan hound - named for an island off the coast of Spain . Ancient breed of hounds once kept by the Pharoahs around 3400 B.C.

(c) ewer - a large jug or pitcher with a wide mouth used for carrying water for someone to wash in .

(d) ebulient - cheerful and full of energy . Archaic - of liquid or matter boiling or agitated as if boiling . From Latin ebullire - to bubble out which is the stem of the word Bullire which is the ancestor of the word boil .

(e) ectomorphic - body having a build with little fat or muscle and long limbs .

(f) - Chad - a landlocked country in north central Africa . One of the poorest and most corrupt nations in the world .

(g) breastbeating - a loud emotional expression of remorse , grief , anger , or self recrimination .

(h) Skewer - stick or metal pin used to hold meat .

(i) essoin - old English . An excuse for nonappearance in court .

(j) flannel-mouthed - smooth and persuasive in speech in order to deceive or manipulate .

(k) idyllic - extremely happy , peaceful , or picturesque .



VIII .
Through the eyes of yashmak (a) ,
below the eyes of  yarmulke (b) .
Whey-faced (c) tunneled half-caste (d)  in a white haik (e) .
Genuflection (f) to Baal (g) , Jehovah (h) .
A docudrama (i) , carbunckled (j) .
As the cross hair sweeps
across professed
liturgist (k) .


(a) yashmak - veil concealing all of the face except the eyes . Worn by some Muslim women in public .

(b) yarmulke - a skull cap worn by orthodox Jewish men or during prayer by other Jewish men .

(c) whey-faced - pale , especially as a result of ill health , shock , or fear .

(d) half-caste - a person whose parents are of different races in particular a European father and an Indian mother .

(e) Haik - a large outer garment or wrap typically white and worn by people from North Africa's Maghreb region .


(f) genuflection - lowering of one's body briefly by bending one knee to the ground . Typically in worship or as as sign of respect .

(g) Baal - was a title honorific meaning "owner" , "Lord" in the Northwest Semitic languages spoken in the Levant during antiquity . From its use among people it became to be applied to Gods of fertility , weather , rain , wind , lightning , seasons , war , and patron of sailors .

(h) Jehovah - a form of the Hebrew name  of God . Means  "I am that I am" or "I am the one who is".

(i) docudrama - a dramatized TV movie based on real life events .

(j) carbunckled - to make painful , sore , or irritated .

(k) liturgist - one who practices liturgy . A form to which public religious worship is conducted . In ancient Greece a public office or duty performed voluntaryly by a rich Athenian .

I snook through the window and settled on the floor
A cold icy draft floated under the door
Footsteps walked above me and voices talked in the night
Fear became my ally as I anticipated a fright
I edged to the stairs and climbed them one by one
It appeared the ghosts of yesterday wanted me gone
On a dark landing a light shone up ahead
The reality of seeing spooks was filling me with dread
I creaked open the door and the light illuminated my eyes
Rumours say unhappiness means the spirit never dies
The room was cold and empty as dust hung in the air
These phantoms were playing games and I was trapped in their lair
Walking to the stairs my chest began to feel tight
At the bottom of the stairwell stood a girl all in white
I woke on the garden lawn wriggling in pain
From that day onwards I was never the same again

a sleeveless
snook that
shook the
world from
its bar
did then
retort him
as ye
professor traveled
in place
of Trump
where his
Cadillac in
the news
would cordon
worry on
his brow.

while listening to foster the people's
song sit next to me -
i just remember cuddling
her,
while she began shivering
in a bean bag chair,
"forgetting"
to snort some *******...
while i stayed with
her, cuddling her,
until morning came...
and when morning came,
we broke up...
   but i still remember her,
semi-conscious,
shivering,
    shivering,
as listening to
the cure's album
pornoraphy on amphetamines...
notably the song:
A SHORT TIME EFFECT.
i can still feel her shivering,
and me cuddling her silent
into a ***** of a worth
of a heart entombed in
the base of a sparrow
experiencing a cage...
for the first,
but not the last time.
itches, and etching of ghosts...
or at least...
   that's what begins
to look like a story...
   of the said over-population
of the sane...
no...
   everyone is primarily
disorientated...
         faking certainty...
faking base striptease
of nonetheless keeping private
     opinions...
i can still remember
her shaking in my arms,
as i stayed sober,
she stayed
incubated
by a constant trance
of being petrified...
      i rarely held such
sobering artefacts
of fear in my arms,
cuddling them,
         forehead,
eyebrows,
tip of the nose,
   eye-lids,
lips,
   cheeks,
an entire array of
the scalpel lips taken
to make a dissection
of the complete face...
   her cold...
                 shivering ecstatic,
spasms of an octopus...
shy clinging,
   the last of the ronin,
a girl,
           figured to play herself
as a scattering
hole in the arranged
          sigma of a violin.
the girl was shaking,
as if,
  she experienced
strobe-light epilepsy,
   given that: her eyes were already
closed,
and her body, was,
cuddling a foetal position;
i just happened to be
mammal,
and of a larger frame...
to what could have been
her mantis fetish,
her microscopic
insect superiority complex
of the femme;
   what a crumbling
reference of a woman,
tender,
like raw dough...
   perfect hybrid
of a "hide & seek"game...
feline interpretation
of a snook object
  of snout meet hand...
   a shy cat:
nudging its un-petted
head into a cusp of a hand;
or... what will always be
the revision
of reading Braille...
when it comes to playing
puppets with genitals,
not having employed
             either tongues.

i'm smarter than i look
i like to read books
sometimes i cook
i've never slept in a nook
my family's a bunch of crooks
my poems will leave you shook
AP World History is the longest exam i've ever took
i don't know how to tie on a fish hook
i really didn't understand the babadook
never had a friend named brook
or brooke
i think there is a kind of fish called a snook
they call me sierra because the name shtook

Columbia fishing pants netting my *****,
the waves are crashing, hear the Seagull calls,
casting and working a wiggler ball tail,
plum and chartreuse, give the sea trout hell.

Wading the cut, yeah, the boats on the beach,
haven't gone far, the coolers still in reach,
the sun's beating down, pick from some Gatorade,
need a cloth to wipe the spots off my shades.

Stringer of trout, all fifteen inches plus,
hung a flounder and snook, but they got off I cussed,
me and my buddies are fishing all day,
feel like a kid with no school so come on let's play.

Back at the dock, cleaning fish by the dozen,
filet after filet the electric knife is buzzin',
on the dock now catching mangrove snapper,
making lots of memories none could be happier.

Margaritas on the rocks, eating Brittany's dip,
watched the Astros beat the Yankees, hell of a trip,
fished all week with the guys had a ton of fun,
loaded up headed home on a 12 hour run.

If you stand alone to listen to
the dewdrops in the morning
as they fall into a universe that
they have always known,

there's a meaning and
it's
hidden from the ones who
will not listen to
the meadowlarks at lunchtime, or
when the scarecrow tires of scaring
wishing its life was worth sharing
and the spider ***** a snook and
carries on its life of building,
but
we're all trapped in a web of our own
or someone's making and
it's the taking of some time to
stand alone,
just to listen to
the movements all around us
that makes us who we are or
ought to be.

What does language do to you?

for most
a grunt will do
a poke
a ****
a nod of the head
it appears to be
that language is dead
or dying
trying to hang on
with
*******
in a salute,


You
**** a snook,
but
what does that mean anyway?

Come pay homage in reverent tones
in shrouded musings bow and **** a snook
in sweeping denials hide the blue orbs rancour
rise on bended knees to praise you no longer crawl

if that be the blalant case in truth
why thou feast on worms in rags yet toil
faffing and farthing your depraved stench airily
its your origins that shames and from doth you hide

call out battlements of wingless flies
hang out your offals and call them jewelries
wait not till noon to guillotine your restless guilts
you have slain your hearts your riots are within yourselves

your tongueless words echos in vapours
depleted souls of wanton savages man Fort Arrogance
warring for birthrights thieved and plundered from afar isles
in black your red blood bubbles and screams defying justice unpaid

we know the maltreats of yesterdays
blazed the wrath of dark impostors dressed in white
you are but children of nightfalls awaiting retribution in kind
your bloods dry within as you akimbo in peat and poison to your end

so pray do crawl out and pay
Come pay homage in reverent tones