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Right now someone,somewhere in the world

is horrifically withdrawing from their poison,

in a jail for days ,

climbing the utter 4 walls of solitary confinement,

with no fresh air at all

just the stench of suffering,

haunting there broken spirits,

desperate to end it,

but that officer took their shoelaces out ,

and there's no possible way to do it.

Time is there worst nightmare here,

going nowhere ,

as they try to pretend to sleep forever,

and even attempting they know is not clever,

But it is all they've got

yearning to ignore the horror movie playing in there mind's eye,

infecting every fiber of there being rots,

diminishing the lie that it's ok

when they're certain that this must be hell!

in the belly of the beast,

being spiritually waylaid

feeling that they're cursed and the end is nigh,

absolutely terrified at the possibility

of there brutal existence

being any worse than it already is,

endlessly torchering them ,

over and over again, in detail,

reminding them of every single mistake

that they have ever made,

all the bad things they have ever done,

and how the good old days

can never come back again ,

but just as toxic painful memories;

so long,

forcing a futile desperate hope

for a time machine;

or if only they could just start again,

and this could all be

one big worst nightmare...

And yet it is so clear

that this is really real,

and this world is  unfair!



Somewhere someone is suffering with hunger

and a deep emptiness

Weakens them to there core.

Some fast for religious purposes,

but mostly it's the poor ignored,
I am grateful I'm not them right now ,

because I felt this pain before.

with a deep yearning,
Convinced I could bare no more,

Some say there peckish,
some say their famished,

most say there hungry for more

Most have forgotten there starving;

just like before

of love and spirituality,

it's not really for me to say,

who's more in need of being fed

and that ultimately

there almost ,nearly dead.


Right now someone ,suffering, somewhere

has got the worst toothache

they've ever had in there entire life!
with no painkillers to take this

deep ache away !

probing and throbbing throughout the day,

then slicing like a knife,

when there only relief

is to but rock in misery

cradling their jaw,

yearning to end their life!

I'm glad I'm not them right now !

because I; yes me! felt this pain before!...

and it's the kind of pain

that hurts from the surface to your core.

so when I'm moaning

about the pain

I think I feel I'm in,

I should just  refrain,

and stop compulsive complaints,

that toxic-ally taints,

like a self fulfilled prophecy,

if you doubt you go without

or  busy earning a bad name...

if you believe you receive

is a load of ****;

because,

when a toothaches

and the pain gets a grip

a toothaches....



Someone, suffering,Somewhere ...

just now,.

has broken their ankle ,

for the first time in there lives,

and was prior unaware

of the existence and possibility

they could feel so alive

with such an incredibly excruciating pain,

and has just been plastered up

if there lucky enough,

and given crutches for mobility

and must learn to cope is the deepest liberty

with the new struggle of getting from A to B,

or just making a simple cup of tea!

and hopping up and down the stairs,

to take a wee

or in and Out of bed

and into the shower,

becomes the new major struggle of the hour,

and you see,

in fact becomes more painful than the original break itself ,

as it is slow and cumbersome,

and creeps like stealth,

I know;for this pain was cryptic and raw...

And is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me before!,

and at the same time one of the best!

though they say the wicked get no rest,

but sometimes it's just that life is a test,

hidden deep aching phantom pain!

for this was the only thing that has ever made me stop and remain!,

slowdown and see the wood from the trees,

be alive; and just breathe...

bearing in mind it could of always been worse!

and that relative suffering in silence

is a hidden human curse...



Someone suffering someplace; is cold to the bone;

and can't find no warmth or love and no home.

I would rather be homeless, than feel so alone.

The fear of the coldness is worse than the truth,

certainly hurts,

but to be frozen with fear is definitely worse ,

stuck in a place where you can't find the words

and should of ,could of, would.

I'm grateful I'm not them right now!

and hope they find some warmth soon!

Maybe light a fire!

lest it invoke the grim reaper...
I know this pain and there's nothing like it...

and yet still ;there's nothing more painful

than the road to your heart going cold and cursed

the longest journey is from our head to our heart,

warm things up

better get living and make a start...




Someone somewhere is desperately thirsty,

deeply dehydrated and hasn't had a drop of water in days ,

they would drink the water from a  police cell toilet,

if given the opportunity,

this is one of the worst pains I have ever felt...

and I'm glad it's not me right now!

because I've felt this hideous pain before,

looking back in hindsight, all of what I've presented

as one's brutal suffering ,can be just chances

for character building, for out of the darkness comes the light,

for where theres no pain theres no gain,

as one cannot exist without the other,

and one can't know  abundant Joy,

without having felt great suffering,

For as deep and as broad is our suffering. ..

so shall be our comfort...x

AMEN
Butch Decatoria Nov 2018
Joe without his legs
Wheelchair, bedside G.I.
At a meeting
Ruminating and feeling
It’s like A.A.
Rehabilitation games
The system plays War
Craft with missing halves
PTSD R e s p e c t
That ain’t the half
Of the stink and the taint
Sniffing glue
Replacing chipped paint

Joe only worries
If there’s somewheres
To be
After rehab
Need a Lyft Uber quick
Downtown a ton to do
Joe worries arriving in 12 steps

Sponsor anonymously
Befriend responsibly
Joe worries
Like long time buds
His legs
That they won’t work
Like they did back when
He got laid
And was paid
By way of Vietnam
And ****** Uncle Sam.
Joe worries

Of wheelchair accesses
His favorite places without
Doors he’d like to
Fit in
And go on
Normally
Accepted
To be loved like a brother
That no one knew
And no one seems or cares to

Joe feels like
A third wheel
A phantom limb
Who’s bucket list is to
“Invest in the Google”
“Learn how to use
The cloud”
Revised
exxxuberance Jan 2014
i wish i knew how to put some pretty words together;
in a way that you could read me and cry without realizing it,
in a way that you don't know how it all suddenly made sense
but it all fell together - so right - till the end.
with the steady hand of a seamstress and the persistence of a theorist,
i would string together wispy letters, carefully taking away
and holding all the guilty, lukewarm feelings of self-romanticized nostalgia,
with those hollow, deep pangs of shamelessly missing you
from the somewheres and over theres beneath my ribs.
sometimes, i really miss you - and all of those times, i hate it.
sometimes i stare back at you longer than i should,
but i'm beginning to think that even looking your way
is much worse than a waste of sweet time at this point.
i don't want you inside of my mind anymore.
my wants and needs and maybes of tomorrow are foggy and furiously blinded with
what you used to make me feel. will i ever want anything that much again?
i see you a lot in my mind, smiling handsomely in a way that kind of ****** me off.
in some way, i am overwhelmingly upset in a way i can't describe, in such a strange dialect that
i've maybe only begun to understand when you spoke it to me with watery eyes and an offkey tone:
"i can't do it." i think i know what you mean now.
you were trying to say something deep, i had thought all along,
but i think you were just trying, just simply trying to go along
with something that was safe; you know, i forgive you for playing it safe.
we're just trying to protect what little good we think is left.
i wish i could have tried just as hard; tried harder/ to be with you
because i'm just so tired
(i need to rub my eyes clear)
that i will exasperatingly admit that i am lost after you.
i'm so ruthlessly childish, in a curious way that i refuse to let these warm,
painful feelings for you go.
ruthlessly, still into you, i'm so hardheaded that i will even ignore myself
to forget you
over
(this is the last time i'll look back on you)
and over
(i swear his name won't come to me tomorrow)
again.
you replay in my mind;
maybe one day i will
forget that you ever really meant everything to me once
anyways.
wordvango May 2015
My Radius
   Mine distance
'tween the center of mine
      and my edges
('cause I am not exactly
           spherical, Varies, I guess)
The differences divided
          by a varying circumference
diameters changing
      makes it SO hard to divide the pi
squaring it  

(or trying to multiply by zero)

Makes absolutely
zero sense
            poses more questions than geometry
or algebra,
(far as I know, might be a constant, somewheres)
the I = me?

trigonometrical nonsense?
Nicole May 2013
I just want to ride,
Far or near,
By your side,
And away from here.

Driving to nowhere,
In our own sweet time;
Arriving to unknown somewheres,
With your hand in mine.

We'll forget the rest of our town,
While we go into the stars.
After we watch the sun go down,
From the hood of your car.

With that crisp summer air,
And your face shining in the light,
Not a worry or care,
Our old lives out of sight.
Inspired by my desire to go on a road trip this summer but then the situation changed with the one I wanted to go with. So looks like it's just this.
chimaera Aug 2014
Words:
whispering sybils
of concealed worlds.
In betweens and beyonds,
somewheres and nowheres,
truths for making believe.

Words.

Carmine nostalgia of the unexperienced.
Utopia upon a time.
Windmill wings to grow a heart,
flavours and scents of new seen worlds,
tangible places pulsating in snow globes,
cosmogony of what is not.

Words:
scribbling, engraving a forever world.
29.08.2014
jeffrey robin Nov 2010
she
walks on water
(who cares?)

the blue sea trembles
(the sun)

anyone who wants to
can love
(nobody does)

--

in her torn dress
she is
just another
ONE
in her torn dress
she does
what needs be done

--

walks on water
(over there)

we are always
somewheres else

soul  torn to pieces
(who cares?)

we are always
somewheres else
Waverly Mar 2012
Put a few quarters
in me,
and look at the island
with the woman on it
swaying loosely beside me.

I don't know if I'll be able to make it
where we're going.

"Let's go!"
you shake me.

You go hard.

There appears in front of me
a lake of black coffee.

A caramel hand and its tiny bones
peopled by sweeter fingers
with fingernails as white as gondolas
stirs in a hurricane
of cream and sugar.

"Drink this,"
I sway to your voice,
but your body is as indistinct
as the sun split open
like an egg on the ocean.

Am I going to make it
through this night?

Stumbling out of somewheres
into the salt of Brooklyn.                                              

You
hold­ me
up
because it's high-tide
in Venice.

And I might've drowned
in the subways
without you
telling me,
"This is our train,
Get up babe."

And that's how we made it back
to my uncle's spot off of FDR,
you fording the waters
as I waded back
on broken oars.
emily May 2014
all my life, i have waited for promises.
she left, he left,
they dissipated with ease,
smoke fading into the morning air
i have learned to stand
on my own two feet,
a little unsteady &
a little unsure, but
i’m still here after
trying not to be.
swallowed poison, spit food
from my stomach, sharpened
blades against my skin.
& here i am.
isn’t it beautiful?
isn’t the world worth
staying a little longer for?

now, i know enough not
to threaten myself with
certain oblivion.  that i will not
be another sad story.  that
there are somewheres i have
never travelled, *** that must
be had, faces i have not yet
split into smiles with my own.  
& i don’t quite know who i am,
no certainty nor sureness, but
i’m ready for the good to come.

& now there’s you & i don’t think
i’ve wanted this badly.  me, i’m on the verge
of becoming the best of myself &
then there’s you.  give me your forever &
i’ll kiss you every morning.  give me your forever
& i’ll never regret a thing.  give me your
forever & i will go until no end
to love you for the rest
of your days.

i’m sorry to sound so confessional but
after trying to sink these feelings to
the bottom of the seabed, i learned
that words float.  you are not a shipwreck
waiting to happen.  you are mine
& i am yours &
let’s just see
what sort
of world
we are
as one.
Mike Essig Sep 2015
by Rudyard Kipling*

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
‘Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!'
      Come you back to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay:
      Can't you ‘ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

‘Er petticoat was yaller an' ‘er liggle cap was green,
An' ‘er name was Supi-yaw-lat–jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an ‘eathen idol's foot:
      Bloomin' idol made o' mud–
      Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd–
      Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ‘er where she stud!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd *** ‘er little banjo an' she'd sing ‘Kulla-lo-lo!'
With ‘er arm upon my shoulder an' ‘er cheek agin my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
      Elephints a'pilin' teak
      In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
      Where the silence ‘ung that ‘eavy you was ‘arf afraid to speak!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

But that's all shove be'ind me–long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no ‘busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' ‘ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
‘If you've ‘eard the East a-callin', you won't never ‘eed naught else.'
      No! You won't ‘eed nothin' else
      But them spicy garlic smells,
      An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly-temple -bells;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty ‘ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin' but wot do they understand?
      Beefy face an' grubby ‘and–
      Law! Wot do they understand?
      I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;*
For the temple-bells are callin', and' it's there that I would be–
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay,
      With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!
We don't always have to know whether we are coming or going.  
We end up where we are regardless. There's no such thing as nowhere.
Everywhere is somewhere,
and we are always there.


"Nowhere" doesn't exist.
The universe is full of "Somewheres"
-- Even amongst the spaces between the stars is a somewhere!
Lady R.F. (C2018)
Stephen E Yocum Mar 2016
The days are long and hard to go,
Walkin' down my side of the road.

Up ahead I see Emmylou comin' ,
known her since we was 2 or 3.
Yet, she crosses over from,
My side of the road,
Making like she don’t see me.

Up ahead comes old Nat Black,
Shuffling along and limping some,
He marched with Mister King,
Over in Selma in ‘63,
That’s how he got that limp you see.
But still he keeps to his side of the road,
On the opposite side from me.

Further ahead comes Jake Sutton’s kid,
Strutting along at a pretty brisk clip,
A stout club in one hand,
and a white sheet tucked under his arm.
Off I bet, to burn a cross somewheres.
Him and his rowdy friends cluttering up,
both sides of this road I tread.

Sleepy little ‘Bama town,
With so much trouble all around,
I just keep on trudging down,
My side of the road.

Hoping someday, it will lead us all,
Someplace better and fair,
Then this divided road we all share.
b for short Feb 2017
Its teeth are longer and sharper
than any other unforgiving beast on this planet.
The hairs that ***** on the back of its neck
are charged solely by curiosity,
and its eyes burn electric yellow—
never breaking gaze with so much as a blink.
Indigenous to every silent crack of this earth,
it requires no sleep or acclimation.
No living thing can out run it,
and if it sets its sight in your direction,
do not try to argue your fate.
Its presence alone will bring you to your knees,
and wherever it chooses to sink its fangs
will ensure immediate affliction.
This—a  sickness of insatiable wonder.
To sit still now will surely be the death of you,
because, darling, you’ve been bitten—
plagued forever with knowing that
millions of somewheres have suns
that are rising, and you cannot rest
until you’ve had a chance to paint them all.
© Bitsy Sanders, February 2017
b for short Oct 2016
One more dusty rotation
around this earth,
following deep grooves with stories
that suggest
this ain’t my first rodeo.
I can’t manage to keep hold of
a single thing they boast of worth,
but I have a finger on my awareness,
and that’s a start.
Meanwhile, the universe simmers
and bubbles, unsteady—
her shaky fuse lit and ready to go.
Restlessness and an urgency
felt with every passing second,
but she hasn't told me why.
And when I squint for a solution,
all I make out are
muted colors and shapes with no edges.
Abstract suggestion of a journey I know
I was born to grab by the lapels—
to collect lessons from grooves
and their dust
and gut feelings—
to allow them to transform
my armfuls of nowheres
to somewheres.
So, I tighten the grip of my thighs
on this carousel horse of mine,
careful not to let the circles
ride *me.
© Bitsy Sanders, October 2016
jeffrey robin Aug 2010
walkin down the street
an ole wino hangin on

to the bus stop sign
to keep from fallin down

"what a sight!"
i mutter to myself

then
"judge not that ye be not judged"
comes from somewheres else

so i ...up to him
"you o.k. .........bro?"

"no!...no...!!
i left my heart pills at home!
i got to get home!
just got out from surgery
only yesterday!"


"well now" says i to myself
i am a fool, such a fool"

but.......no cab in sight
and i in such paniced fear

we sit down on a bench
i take hold of his hand
like GROSS ELECTRICITY
his death comes shooting
right thru me

he and i are one
only one fate

i try to meditate
can hardly even breath

he and i are one
dying body complete

but then the feelings calm
the breathing starts to ease

i look into his eyes
he smiles back at me

"i.m ok now " he says
"a cab'll take me home"

"maybe" says i
"you shouldnt go alone"

he says
"i'm fine.....and by the by
thank you for my life"

finally.........i say

"DID THAT HAPPEN WHAT I THINK HAPPENED?"

"yep," he says

a cab comes....he waves and is gone

i turn and go wandering
down the street
Donall Dempsey Oct 2015
IN THE AFTER-TIME

" Alice thought she
had never seen such

a curious croquet
ground in all her life; "

It was somewheres near
Roswell

18 something and something
there or there...abouts

& Billy the Kid &
the boys have just

...paused:

in their croquet
for a tintype photo.

Billy's the guy
in the cardigan sweater.

Him & his gang
( the Regulators )

are posing like
they were a prototype

for
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

or the band
THE BAND.

Pure Americana.

Billy the cardi-cowboy and
his gang of croquet playing outlaws...

Not exactly how
one would have  somehow

imagined them
. . .passing the time.

One of the outlaw...eh...gentlemen

points out that
Billy

" . . .the Kid has spooned
his shot!"

A ricochet of tobacco coloured
spittle hits a spittoon.

Silence congeals
about the accusation.

Now, whether Billy has
merely pushed the ball

silently through rather than
soundly hit it

is:
neither here nor there.

A cold revolver
clicks &

"I says I hit it...I hit it
get it?"

The other gentleman outlaw
begs to agree.

"Ok, Billy boy...keep yer
cardi on!"

And so, we leave them
there

in the croquet craze of
1878.

Time like a yellow ball
hit through hoop after

hoop until: it arrives
at this

present...NOW!

And a photo found in a store
for a dollar or a few dollars more

repays the expense
by morphing into

the 5 million dollar
photo.

But I hit the ball
back through hoop after

hoop after hoop

until it arrives back
at Billy's boot.

And a voice cries:
"Ok, kid...play!"
anonymous Dec 2015
there is a cat that sits on my driveway
it has green eyes and black stripes
and you wouldn't know from looking at it, but that cat is an angel

the cat stares, unmoving, as i pull up the driveway toward it
because it knows that i won't cause it harm,

or if it is further down the driveway when i return home,
it bounds off into the brush, having spotted a demon wrapped in bluebird feathers or groundhog fur

i do not know if the cat is male or female, so i have decided the cat is neither --
*** is an attribute of animals born haphazardly from evolution.
but angels don't grow organic and messy:
angels are each lovingly hand built from the embers of stars that burnt out before earth formed
when you peer upward through your million dollar observatory, into the far depths of distant galaxies, your eye
is kissed by the light that was shed by the cat
before it was given to protect this domain

in a world of seven billion humans, one-in-a-million miracles happen seven thousand times a day

once, on the subway, a woman smiled at me
a stranger
smiled at me like i mattered
and i didn't realize this at the time
but that woman is god
and that smile was given to me as a gift because
she knew the way it would echo in my memory,
spill from my lips like tea sloshing from a full cup as i hurry from day to day

i have been in churches and prayer circles, but that smile is the closest i've ever come to the divine

these stories
these holy, sacred, special, set-apart,  made up
stories
are the only skin i have left
against the cold fact that we are all atoms,
that atoms are indifferent,
that we are indifferent,
that we are drops of water on a bit of star-**** at the edge of one of a hundred billion somewheres.


when i die, wait.
in a few billion years, the Sun will swallow my ashes
she will grow small and dark, fade out in dusty death

we will all be angels.
jeffrey robin Oct 2014
Hey hey hey

Death rainin down

////               ////

Another crazy kid !

Amongst crazy kids ?

//:: //

Hey hey hey

•          •

                               It don't really           mean        nothin
                                           ( does it ? )

Crazy kid !

What's THAT gotta do with you or me ?

//                                

It's just death

And death is rainin down

••
••

Little Mary cuts her wrists

And makes Poetry !

Hey hey hey

It's just something we brag about


//           //

Hey hey hey

Death rainin down

Upon the crazy kids

Somewheres else

••

Yeah it's always Somewheres else

Hey hey hey
I drank to drunk
And walked over to that girl

I knew her from somewheres
We were acquaintances in the most distant aspect
She was kind of ugly

We talked about the weather,
And how Harper was an idiot.
We talked about how she loved her classes,
But she didn't ask me about mine

Eventually, we descended into silence,
And we turned to our phones.
I started a conversation with someone else,
while we were alone,

And it was silent
Write drunk, edit sober, amirite
Lilly Gibbons Dec 2014
I am a wanderer,
Searching for the somewheres,
In the middle of nowhere,
Taking in everywhere,
Entranced by anywhere,
Believing in whats never there,
Wishing I was elsewhere.
Connor Jun 2015
Hello there lord in heaven! (the florist)
selling peoples the bouquets of
insanity
and psychopathy
raging
RED
and
******
and
BORING
Hello there lord in heaven
(the taxicab driver)
who's kids have been
gone a long time
and plays the classic rock on
the radio making poor jokes
and passing poor homes
with $3 in his pocket 1994
windshield wipers
sliding sobs
of tears/rain
back & forth.
Why is city so upset?
Tummy rumbling for
chaos and evening news-
-****** boiling in that
fever stomach deterioration/
sufferings/
***** on ****** reaper crazies sidewalks
where Vicky is walking her dog
(who died some years ago or never existed in the first place who's to say)
people yelling
“VICKY!!!” she's seen them
a few times,
two outta three wanna
**** Vicky but she's not having
it today.
Wayward man (our lord in heaven) on bus gazing from back window
eyes O P E N
playing games with nobody in particular and in silence
“count the needles!”
8 on one block.
He's by himself on the bus/at home/at work/at the park on his way to job/
in his sleep he's married
to a girl (dark hair)
who's a fictional fantasy fairy
and leaps from balconies at the end of all his dreams
signaling-
DIGITAL ALARM ON HIS BEDSIDE TABLE WHICH RESTS BESIDE AN OLD FAMILY PHOTOGRAPH AND A STACK OF HENRY MILLER
/STAND STILL LIKE THE HUMMINGBIRD/
AND A SMALL STATUE OF THE BUDDHA.
Lord in HEAVEN
(the office girl)
who's tapping her feet on the elevator up a few stories
to Electric Light Orchestra
and has a dog at home
who loves her like
THE SUN
ON A SUNDAY!
(name is Phillip, after her overdose 2002 brother)
oh that MR BLUE SKY!
“How CLICHE!” she thinks laughing to herself
at the small things.
Lonesomes of somewheres are begging for another cubicle
like her cubicle or a lover
like any lover
praying to that LORD IN HEAVEN
for tiny material wants in
tiny material churches.
LORD in heaven!
(Mundane MUTT *****)
pretending he has Schizophrenia
and conning a middle aged autistic woman
residing in a small Canadian town
out of her government cheque
(1300!!!)
later arrested and
SPIRALED INTO PRISON BY THE LEGAL SYSTEM
AND NOT SOON ENOUGH FOR A VAMPIRE LIKE HIMSELF
to be mangled by
iron bars and
PEOPLE SHOUTING IN THE MORNING
another one for our tax money. He wins in the end, I suppose.
LORD IN HEAVEN!
LORD!
ONE ABOVE
AND BELOW
AND  IN LAYOVER PLANES
HOWLING JETSOUNDS OVER
TAIPEI
TO VANCOUVER/
AND ON THOSE RATTLING BELLS
OF INTERSECTIONS
PICKING OUT OF
TRASH CANS MUMBLING
THE PROMISE OF ETERNITY TO
THOSE NOT LISTENING/
MY BIBLE
IS A FIST FULL OF COINS
PRESET FOR THE COMMUTE TRAIN HOME
AND LISTENING IN ON
BIRDCAGE CONVERSATIONS
OF THAT DISCONNECTED
SYSTEM OF PEOPLE
INFLICTED WITH
A SIMILAR PAIN AS ME
WHO MIGHT NOT LOOK AT ME
BUT UNDERSTAND.

LORD IN HEAVEN!
The leprosy
humanity
going from here to
there
and trying to learn a little
while they're at it again
F
  A
    L
      L
        I
         N
            G

                 A
                      P
                         A
                              R
                                 T
Dear friend of mine,
Someone, Somewheres, Suffering, deeply,
open door in-front, closed doors behind,
oh dear oh dear me,
Manhate mankind,
Incomprehensible wretched misery,
Is what you'll find,
In this cooler, Jug, clink,
paints a picture of the soul in purgatory,
And you cannot cross the line,
I was knocked out by the son,
Blackout for the count,
Run out of time,
Confined solitary inhumane amounts of no fun,
Miss my spiritual spouse,
4u2b3,
You Have to March to the sound of your own drum.



I'm gone now it seems,
please Don't tell me...show me,
or treat me mean to keep me keen,
To Whom it must concern,
Even never has beens,
The bully devil burns,
vague misfits off the streets,
asking is family that familiar,
Just keep on keeping on ,
when the path gets steep,
putting one foot in front of the other,
when your dead you can sleep,
WE will have one another,
Like a band of black sheep,
W e are not alone forever.

Must be game over,
From just another hit,
A tortured artist weeps,
Carrying a toxic tonne of bricks,
In this synthetic womb of doom,
why is this world so sick?
A myriad of opportunity's  missed,
destined to lose,
scared of god fearing man,
exchanging platitudes of subterfuge,
and namby pamby empty semantics,
Hides the emperor being naked news



I will C U Next Tuesday!
Many are called, but few are chosen,
Hear the please in my prayers,
Is this the only way?
Now the road to your heart has frozen,
Me ,myself and I don't care,
What it takes,
trudging spirit broken,
What you said full of hate,
No matter what you'd do,
A leap of faith in 28 days,
Will never make you great,
In the stench of the belly of the beast,
They Only grow weak,
Everything they say just goes round and round my head,
Every-step is agony with blisters on my feet,
And then Comes an unexpected nightmare,
Breaking stale bread,
Then eventually get some sleep
If only men were angels dare not tread...
Is this really real?
forever waits still,
I'm definitely mad in the head.
To be able to talk to you without no limitations. To be able to get to know you without hesitation. You are the one I LOVE deeply oh so intensively am willing to give my Life for yours if it must be. You are the Girl of my dreams ...she is beautiful her height about 5'7 her eyes hazel to honey brown at times depending on the day how she feels and the weather her skin as smooth as a baby's face the perfect tan a combination of 2 ethnic groups AA and Caucasian and not a 100% sure about that either. Her name I cannot give you it but her hair is oh so delightfully scentful her smile melts my soul right at the most intimate part of my sacred temple. She holds the Master Key to my soul and heart. She is my day and my night...she is the air I breathe in the morning light she is the presence I feel alone in the dark...my whole being revolves around her but she is a mystery to me since we never get to talk freely. I am bound by the chains of love and extreme attraction...to bad that I am just the Guy that works were she eats at...am just a mere abstraction.

I know am not an important person in her life or even got the type of class or status to be at her caliber. Nevertheless, I am the man that adores her I would give anything to converse with the Goddess that owns my very soul for I am lost in words describing her reflexion the only part I been able to see. I am so eager to see if the beauty that encompasses her physical being is similar to the beauty that reflects her spiritual being. Am also curious to see what type of personality she obtains but from her looks am sure she is far from my personal gain. Perhaps her morals are similar to mine...who are her friends what does she like...what's her favorite food? But am simply lost I don't know what else to say.

She hasn't come to eat at the Restaurant and am bummed out about that fact. Haven't seen her in a while...I wonder were she is at...perhaps enjoying life to the fullest with her BF that I have never seen. A man well established with high education and a professional job with a expensive car and lots of money...and then there is me a mediocre Dishwasher 2yrs of college but dropped out at 45 credits has student loans to pay...a cheap car to get me from point A to point B and a small tight budget that allows me to pay my bills and have a little extra to barely have fun in Life...so yeah...am here sitting alone it's 12:33 AM in my Mother's house having my 7 day vacation thinking about her...her then her and only her. She is the one who has conquered my heart but sadly I remain a broken mirror a pitiful reflexion of the shattered and scattered portrait of the lone poet who loved, loves and will forever love that one girl...that one day came into the establishment I work at and gives me light and hope but yet darkness and pessimism due to my failures in life and her triumphs in it.

Alone am here trapped thinking...what would be to have the honor to be her man and she my woman to love her caress her and care for her every need. A lone soliloquy of a soul in the in endless loop tangled in love but withering away due to the fact I am just the lonely man who may be the beggar the homeless and strained in the rain.

No where to turn no one to aid where has God gone to...I lost him somewheres.
©Franko the Christian Poet
The Love Of my Life. The one who has been given my soul and my heart. The gatekeeper of my life.
Who cares Sep 2012
A moment taken to ponder
That the person walking by has a past
And a future
A birthday
A best friend (or not)
A strife (or not)
A first love (or not)
Right here was en route to his somewhere
She was heading to a different somewhere
How many somewheres are there - a million and thirteen?
The universe destined their crossing on their way to each somewhere
Star-crossed...*******
What does why or how matter anyways...who might, though
Arrival at her somewhere
She didn't embrace the end of the moment
As she remembered to forget the world
Butch Decatoria Nov 2017
Joe without his legs
Wheelchair, bedside G.I.
At a meeting
Ruminating and feeling
It’s like A.A.
Rehabilitation games
The system plays War
Craft with missing halves
PTSD R e s p e c t
That ain’t the half
Of the stink and the taint
Sniffing glue
Replacing chipped paint

Joe only worries
If there’s somewheres
To be
After rehab
Need a Lyft Uber quick
Downtown a ton to do
Joe worries arriving in 12 steps

Sponsor anonymously
Befriend responsibly
Joe worries
Like long time friends
His legs
That they won’t work
Like they did back when
He got laid
And was paid
By way of Vietnam
And ****** Uncle Sam.
Joe worries

Of wheelchair accesses
His favorite places without
Doors he’d like to
Fit in
And go on
Living
To be loved like a brother
That no one knew
And no one cares to
Joe feels like
A third wheel
A phantom limb
Who’s bucket list is to
“Invest in the Google”
“Learn how to use
The cloud”
jeffrey robin Dec 2015
.



( I think )


||


they don't talk much about it on Fox News

But ...

Hey !

We sorta talk about it here ya know

::

Yeah !

Ya know

Love !

I read some sorta poem about it Somewheres

Ya know

Someone wanted ta **** someone

Love !


Yeah

That's what they called it

)(

Love

)(


I

Personally called it horseshit

But ..... (?)

::::


We know


We're all gonna keep dying till we're dead

::

Cause it ain't really love at all

Is it ?
jeffrey robin Nov 2015
.



redeem the honor of creation


::

The empty train
So past midnight

Into
The blackness of dying soul

Into the ways of madness


The ****** memories

The visions of slain children

Thru the mountains


Somewheres else (?)


Up
Ahead


Or so we hope and even

Somehow believe

::

The mystic hotel in the deserted town

Town of the howling wolf wind

The fear that there might be a face
Like her own



The young lover !

The mother searching for her son

In the graveyard of

The moving centuries

Moving without love

••

Weep ! Oh weep !

She hasn't slept in 1000 years

////:

Oh little one !

Do not turn away

It is she who is afraid

Of whatever light is known

//

The little kid over there

Trying to write a poem

Doesn't know  just   what he sees

)(

Years revolve in solemn grace

She returns

Her barb wire eyes are still in place

But her heart is softness and compassion

And there is a sense

Of peace

And she knows

She's been released

And might learn to be alive again
jeffrey robin Jul 2015
0                                                                                  



                            (
                                               •
                                                                  )




))((                             ))((                                        


I mean

What's the hurry (?)

The poem will start soon ......



•         •

so

Take your time

Clean the *** stains from your teeth

Clean the blood from off the floor

/:/

I'd thought to write the poem

that you would most want to hear



But then I found out more about you

And what you'd most want to hear !

//://

The freight train leaves at the crack a dawn

//

Headin off west Somewheres





the image of a white Stallion

//

The image of a Man

//:://

The image of a woman who really is a woman

()

The true dragon lady

Stands before the Great Army



WHAT WILL HAPPEN     ?'!?!

( war )

)(                     )(

She said

I LOVE YOU

I said


THE POEM HASN'T STARTED YET

SO SHUT THE **** UP

//()//

we were standing by the diner

On the outskirts of town

••

There was a ..... Certain feeling !

|~|

The POEM !

it's starting now !

/:/

We sank into each other

/::/

All the ******* was gone
jeffrey robin Jan 2015
(                  
                       )
(        
                   )
(
\/
/\
/    \

~~~



Righteously

//       //

We are the MEN !

( remember ? )

••

All restraint is gone  !

All violence is now justified !

//

MEN ?

O

What say you now ?

//

I
AM

ANGRY !!

///

I

DEFEND

THE WEAK !

///

You ?

Join me or be gone !!

//

I'm sick of your crawling

Up to the OPEN DOORS

of your BROKEN BABES !

//

( *** crazed half human TRAMPS ! )

••

Go be dead Somewheres else !

///

Serve your devil and be done !



Love

//

Here we are !
jeffrey robin Mar 2015
In midst the                     Majesty

We simply pretended we were Somewheres else ...  (?)

••

(      Oh yeah

That's what we are doing      )

///

(            
(      
(
\/
/\
/    \

####

In the Prison Work House

life sentence
No chance of a Parole

////

Imaginary freedom

Imaginary love

••

Imaginary communication

///

Trying on a smile

Till death comes

••

BUT WE ARE IN THE MAJESTY !

NOT A PRISON WORK HOUSE !

Said the Last Rebel

( now called      Insane )
Butch Decatoria Jan 2021
joe —without his legs,
Wheelchair, bedside G.I.
At a meeting
Ruminating and feeling
It’s like A.A.
Rehabilitation games
The system plays War
Craft with missing halves
PTSD R e s p e c t
That ain’t the half
Of the stink and the taint
Sniffing glue
Replacing chipped paint

Joe only worries
If there’s somewheres
To be
After rehab
Need a Lyft Uber quick
Downtown a ton to do
Joe worries arriving in 12 steps

Sponsor anonymously
Befriend responsibly

Joe worries
Like long time buds
His legs
That they won’t work
Like they did back when
He got laid
And was paid
By way of Vietnam
And ****** Uncle Sam.
Joe worries

Of wheelchair accesses
His favorite places without
Doors he’d like to
Fit in
And go on
Normally
Accepted
To be loved like a brother
That no one knew
And no one seems or cares to

Joe feels like
A third wheel
A phantom limb
Who’s bucket list is to
“Invest in the Google”
“Learn how to use
The cloud”
wordvango Aug 2016
whereby I lost my ears
misplaced my senses
somewhere nearly now
close, close as my nose

among the rafters
holding the ceiling up
somewheres
above the plaster

entwined in webs,
in the boxes saved
from centuries paths
right, right there

I can find them
given time
given centuries
given a direction
given a day or three

— The End —