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Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018).
Mike Hauser Nov 2013
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling

I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred  

From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat

Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling

The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact

How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer

Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost

Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues

More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose

80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time

How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's  in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling

I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy's
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
story. Someday, I promised her, I'll be someone
going somewhere and we plotted it in the humdrum
school for proper girls. The next April the plane
bucked me like a horse, my elevators turned
and fear blew down my throat, that last profane
gauge of a stomach coming up. And then returned
to land, as unlovely as any seasick sailor,
sincerely eighteen; my first story, my funny failure.
Maybe Rose, there is always another story,
better unsaid, grim or flat or predatory.
Half a mile down the lights of the in-between cities
turn up their eyes at me. And I remember Betsy's
story, the April night of the civilian air crash
and her sudden name misspelled in the evening paper,
the interior of shock and the paper gone in the trash
ten years now. She used the return ticket I gave her.
This was the rude **** of her; two planes cracking
in mid-air over Washington, like blind birds.
And the picking up afterwards, the morticians tracking
bodies in the Potomac and piecing them like boards
to make a leg or a face. There is only her miniature
photograph left, too long now for fear to remember.
Special tonight because I made her into a story
that I grew to know and savor.
A reason to worry,
Rose, when you fix an old death like that,
and outliving the impact, to find you've pretended.
We bank over Boston. I am safe. I put on my hat.
I am almost someone going home. The story has ended.
r Jan 2016
Last night I read your poem
in bed instead of writing
like I'd said I would.  I
had to start over twice
because my eyes aren't
as good as my heart
when it comes to stopping
and starting at pauses
heavy with losses.  Lost
causes and me seem to be
your specialties. Especially me.
Allison Wolf Jul 2014
After Pamela Sutton’s “Forty”

Since when are words lost, numbers dominating?
Until today, it was vernacular, not mathematics.
All changed at 18
when numbers engulfed my life like a tsunami.
1 life.
1 drive to school, traffic on the 405, 25 minutes;
10-minute parking; first class at 8.
8 dollars per hour x 3 day work week = no shopping.
Under my parents’ life insurance,
for now.
One life.
One dream of commencement, a sea of black and gold;
students as adults, graduating, growing up,
careers: the only things that matter now.
One dream of wheeling a patient into the OR
and he grasps my hand.
One saved life.
66 specialties for a nurse.
8 stories in CHOC Hospital;
279 beds.
One goal for everyone; nurses, patients, families—
disease-free, healthy.
One hospital specializing in children;
one in Orange, thousands of facilities.
One late night in Riverside the kitchen fluorescents
slowly brings the eyes of two, one father, one daughter,
to a close.
58 notecards, handwriting messy and smudged.
12 prefixes, 37 roots, 9 suffixes.
44 years: 1 student: Dad.
The point where my future was clear.
One goal, one career,
one life.
The subtle hum of the white lights lulls us to sleep
as the room slowly darkens.

September 2013
Pierre Ray Feb 2012
It was written in the beginning, a beginning before Britain, before folklore, gore and war. A beginning then, when the lords created, decorated and separated the night and also the bright, bright light. Therefore, a delight! In the beginning, creating the seven ways of days and the rays. The birth of earth, the black ravens, the havens and the heavens. A beginning of clean slates, dreams, schemes and themes!

As I blink and wink, badly and sadly I think… An ending, with fate or an ending with no ascending or commending date? Let’s debate and negotiate! A beginning, of Pharaohs, their arrows and the sparrows. An ending of sorrow? A beginning, borrowed from our hour’s tomorrow? An ending, I deem, that forever bends, defends, depends, pretends and never, ever seems to end. The heavens specialties and

hell’s cruelties. Governments and their restraints! Negative and positive lengths and strengths. A beginning and an ending; betrayed and strayed, long before many of us were to play or say. Stories of cities, glories and their pities! Starving nations and Haitians! Expensive vacations and relations! The elapsed and relapsed! Perhaps, the mishaps and disruption of our corruption’s eruption and ending

destruction? Hey! I say, let’s turn a page past the basked, the masked and vast. A fold past the cages that enrage-rage, wage and old age.
The detained delights, the petty fights and plights. Why can’t we each reunite? Unite forever! Drop and stop this harm and fight. Fly into the night, together with our almighty arms and mighty charms. Primarily, in the beginning or ending, let us not negatively but too positively and ultimately amend! Children, men and women, amen.
I am the carnage
dripping with emoluments
reeking of duplicity
occupier of cities
torturer of insurgents
ruler by decree of tweets

A grand vision of myself
is forever fixed
in my mind’s eye

I am the zeitgeist
my murmuration
reverberates
through every
media channel
dazzling the
dizzy digerati
diligently tweeting
my precious
prescient
predilections

I descended from
my gilded 5th Ave tower
conveyed by a downward escalator
to save the common mass
from devastation and destruction

sweeping across
magnificent porticos
making grand entrances
through marine guarded gates
the glint of a rising sun
highlights the halo
of my golden coiff
and the fortitude of
my deep red power tie

I survey the global landscape
that fellow elites and I
have assiduously crafted
to loot unfathomable wealth
to indulge our idiosyncratic whims

The perpetual war
Toppled soverns
The viral terrors
The blighted cities
Ineffectual schools
Strangling bureaucracies
Egregious taxation
Omnipotent corporations
Offshored industries
Meager wages
Balooning wealth gap
Industrial stasis
Imminent domaine
Deteriorating health
Withering private life
Fractured families
Ubiquitous addictions
Disempowerment
Disenfranchisement
Stultifying work
Environmental degradation
Consuming violence
Government  spying
Police State repression
All was created by me
For the benefit of me

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created for our sole benefit


I understand the peril of
The Forgotten Man
He is under siege  
Hiding in the bowels
Of violent cities
He is foreclosed in
Shuttering suburbia
He is lost in the changing
Ethnicity of our homeland
He's been abandoned
By the perpetually elected
Politicians beholden to the
Monied interests
He is set adrift    
To wander among
the tombstones
Of a dying America

We are under siege
By Illegals stealing jobs
Victimized by their crime sprees
They live off the public dole
They undermine America
aided and abetted by the liberals
Who like the terrorists
Are waiting to pounce
with blood dripping fangs
to further their
UnAmerican agenda

I am the corruptor
I bought the politicians
Skidded the regulations
evaded taxes
cut corners
pushed every
envelop to
advance the
cause of me
-the devoted profiteer-
the dissolution
of Atlantic City
is the hallmark
of my handiwork

I gorged myself
at the public troughs
Reaping tax abatements
my skilled hand
always extracting
concessions and coinage
from the public purse
a clever businessman indeed

I am the art of the deal
the bankrupter of businesses
prince of crooked commerce
Defaulter on debts
Whelsher on payments
to workers for service due
I am the darling of the
double dealing derring-do

I am drawn to the beautiful
I am enamoured with me
My favorite pastime,
Watching Celebrity
Apprentice reruns
-the highest rated show
of all time… (a curious alt fact)-
more people attended and
watched my inaugural address
then any other president
throughout history….
PERIOD!

I have a proud collection
of trophy wives ….
the purpose of my family
is to affirm and flatter me
I agree with Howard Stern
that Ivanka is a piece of ***
I wish I could date her

As I walk the fantastic
performance stages of my life
I am radically entitled
to gleefully grab *****
insult disgusting subordinates
castigate uppity females
like Rosie and Megyn
while remaining
a titillated ******
visiting teenage
beauty pageant
dressing rooms

I am a committed
serial adulterer
that staunchly upholds
the sanctity of family values

I made my fortune
Extracting rent
trafficking in vice...
gambling and circuses
For the masses
These are my specialties
and I ***** my name
to all licensees
willing to pay me
to brand any
faux luxerient

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created
for our personal benefit

Tax me with requests
for insights to whom
I am and with whom
I do business
I will offer nothing but
the impenetrable
opaqueness

Look into the mirror
Every base impulse
Every fear, prejudice
Resent you discover
You will find me

I am settled into
every ****** crag
Every worry line
searing your brow
Skillfully plained by me

I am a paradox
wrapped in the
enigma of self
aggrandizing deals

I am the
daring deconstructor
of public schools
Rent seeking
holy privatization
will enrich fellow elites
together we shall
gleefully grease the slide
of the dumb down ride
abhorring facts
ideology, opinions
and optics rule

I cultivate a
suspicion of science
Preferring the superiority
of suspicion in service to
A bloated gut feel
as the ultimate arbiter of
The course to pursue

I pledge allegiance
to the ruthless exploitation
Of Mother Earth
Like a juggernaut
I will roll over the
Standing Rock Protectors
And any opposition
to the extraction
And distribution
of fossil fuels
I'll Frack
the republic to pieces
Direct my armies
To conquest oil rich nations
to quench my insatiable thirst
For the fuel of all capitalist tools

health care is not
a universal right
I care only for
The health of my own
and the welfare of
the privileged few
I promise to *******
Many with my Trumpcare

I am the defiler
of sanctuary cities
Disruption is my pleasure
the route of humanity
Tramping through
this burning world
Is welcomed to my hell

I distrust unity
I slice through cohesion
At ribbon cutting ceremonies

I drain The Swamp
And fill it with quicksand
I Enable anger
It's a sign of manliness

I collaborate with
a rising Confederacy
The Altright promises
To undermine the Union
With assault and battery…

My pout crowns
a cunning heart
My scowl is
the router of joy

Purple bunting
Perpetually hangs
On my heart

The blue line
Is not blue enough
the lawless half
Must be cowed
Into submission

I vow to scrub
The institutional memory
Of the Federal system
and all democratic tradition

I exalt  the fantasies
Of the forgotten man
I will fill his long memory
With fables of his foibles
And litanies of my
next great conquest

My Scepter of deception
Anoint the fictions of me
Attesting to my greatness
My craft is vanity

Putin is my model
I empathize with
How he deals with
dishonest journalists

I am empowered by the
Apartheid of Zion
I too am a builder of walls
Celebrant of separatism
Suspicious of the other
I burn the bridges
Severing all connections to them

Duplicity is our new national religion
My thumbs are bloodied by furtive tweets
My mind is pinched by anguish
The weight of myself
Strides across our
denigrated landscape
like Goya's Colossus
I am the carnage  

Music; Led Zeppelin
When the Levee Breaks

Lavallette
1/29/17
jbm
composed after the Women's March
to honor ****** Hair,
the 45th President of the US
Lauren C Sep 2012
Unspool your foggy self-
importances and seize the sheer, visceral present,
or simply ladle and spoon
the strait and narrow. Truth skims
the surface of the mind's eye -
immediacy and brutality (always your specialties)
are to be expected, even pursued,
the loosening of mind and its swindling of body
sifted under opportunistic eyes.

(I imagine tragedies rolling like marbles in your ivoried hands).
There's a different muse that you can use
who helps stuck writers with the blues.
She wears black vinyl, comes on strong,
and loves to party all night long.

Her pink hair's spiked, her collar too. She
pops her gum while she talks to you.
Her music's loud, and so is she,
she inspired "Bad Company."

She loves to belt, though she can't sing,
she's got a song for everything.
Her specialties are punk and rap--
she'll scream you one in nothing flat.

Just don't ask for love songs, or
she'll flash her tat: reads "Love's a *****!"
Romance? No, she's got no time.
She'll sing you, "Love's no friend of mine:"

"I've been mistreated and abused,
it's love that makes me sing the blues.
I don't want no love no more--
when love walks in, I'm out the door!"

So helpful, when you're feeling that
love's appealing as a road-killed cat.
A real romantic antidote, she'll
sink your boat, if it's still afloat.
This one's just for fun--inspired by ephemera's "want ad" by a muse
Copyright 2010, by Michael S. Simpson
Andrew Rueter Jun 2017
Originality is overrated
We are at our most original
The moment we are born
The rest of our lives is for specificity
Not for staring in awe at something different
But building with blocks already used
Style is arranging those pieces in ways
that are pleasing to our species
Humility is gaining pieces from others
Specificity is collecting as many components as possible
In the most unique manner available
Because when I'm traveling
I have a destination in mind
And it's not just anywhere
It's a specific city

We must sift through the mud to find the diamonds we build with
The dew forms on the grass at night
It's beauty eludes us until morning
As our terrace becomes a tower
Specialties become more apparent
As our tower becomes a tomb
Glory becomes more transparent
Not wanting to be a cliche is such a cliche
Tradition is our foundation
For we're only truly free once we're given constraints

Who do we ***** these facades for anyway?
Do we want everybody to enjoy our lobby?
Or do we want one person so interested
That they climb the rungs to the top floor?
I'd prefer the latter
So I continue growing new wings on my structure
To attain specificity
Until the day someone comes along and says
"Oh my God, I **** with this **** so hard, how did you know?"
I'll respond
"I have no idea what this is or how I built it."
But I built it for you
S May 2013
My legs are smooth.
My arms are smooth.
My lips are smooth.
My personality is smooth.
Smooth and sly
Like James Bond as a cat.
I can steal too
Like the man who stole the moon.
With my specialties
I could easily take you over.
I could sneak up behind you,
Like a sly, sly dog,
Trick you with the smoothness of me,
And steal everything you own,
Including your heart.
I guess you could say
I'm just that sneaky.
Soles ran down on the edges,
rubber, wood, plastic and other
manmade material they all walk the same.

Scuff marks, some unpolished,
dust on top, dirt on the bottom and
some wet from the puddles in the street.

Name brands, some unknown,
faded, two tones, heels high and low,
some have taken on many countless steps.

Strings laced, untied and tight,
some small and long, medium, large
and some come in x's, size 0 to 14 and more.

Gators, leather, cloth, and eel,
other synthetic fibers and filaments,
some cheap and some tagged as the very best.

Made for comfort and specialties,
colors of black, brown, red, and blue
midnight, taupe, white, orange and pink.

Universally worn by most,
one size that fits the world for sure
whether they're old, used or shiny new.
Sooner or later we all walk in the same shoes.
RyanMJenkins Feb 2017
Discerning wastes by the way we trace
Erasing bad tastes from our face
Til the internal happiness takes it's place
Fumbling habits were now laced with grace.  
Brighter are the fires we chase
Eyes wider, the wildflowers are looking up
Vitamin d rush,
accompanied by the satisfaction
that happens with this chance to touch.  
So many actions were taken to please,
but now we naturally seek necessity. 
Loving everything endlessly
Catering to our specialties
Waking up inside our pleasant dreams.
Getting to see beyond the scenes, and understand why we can be so easily carried like leaves once free.
Narrating with speculation,
generating all you wanna be.  
Accomplishing with mindful reminders to breathe.  
Beauty is the beast, perceived in a different form.  
What's truth honestly may not be the norm -
but we branch out like the mighty tree
& embrace the storm pouring soulful warmth.  
So peace to you and yours.  
Make great with the way you spend time having been reborn.  
Adorn your temple, with any methods or colors you choose.  
Show care for the confession hidden breathless in a bruise,
and be thankful for the light spectrum expression
highlighting time to still choose.  
With that awareness comes the space ready to take in the lessons and Synchronicities we are blessed with.  
I know I've made a mess of this, testing abilities to clean.  
Release disharmony and leftover negative energy streams.  
Just need room to be, fly swirling within serenity.  
Faith suddenly gleams over the horizon, "Hi Son"
"Hi Sun.  I see you glowing keeping everything flowing.  
Knowing you're watching over me feels healthier
than taking potion.  
Thank you for letting me be at ease with my uncertainty.  
Clouds part, allowing light right through, perfectly
Learning to lessen the level of fear
by looking at self by way of Mirrors,
reflecting back at different angles with messages so moving.
Here we are, allllright, and all one.  
Hands in the shared air, have fun, no need to run.  
Prepare to open to a sea of signs that will stun.
Soak in love of present feeling, heart in sync with mother earth.  
I must say I'm very gracious to have been acquainted with life in this corner of the youniverse.
Elise Davis Jan 2016
Last night,
I got out a bottle of Jack Daniels,
a blanket, an old stereo,
shaved everywhere,
lit candles in the house,
he’d told me he was coming over,

I thought about how we would sit outside on the porch,
I thought about how we would drink whiskey,
I thought about how we would kiss.

Our kiss wouldn’t have been an ordinary kiss,
Our kiss would lead him to realize I was who he wanted.

He never came over.

I finished all the Jack Daniels on the porch,
listened to the metal on the swing grind
as I pushed back and forth.

This morning I began to read my book for school,
“The Tupinamba were known to be cannibals.”
I wonder if he is just scared that’s why,
“They loved human flesh.”
During the show last week I know saw him looking at me the whole time,
“The fingers and grease around the liver were specialties, saved for distinguished members.”
I’ll wear my new jeans tonight at the party, they make my **** look good,
“The smaller muscles in the legs were distributed equally among the children.”
But.. he said he likes that black dress of mine… I'm going to wear that,
“Old women rushed to drink the warm blood.”
 I put down the book.

Outside my window the rain came in louder waves.
Tonight would be cold.
Showing my legs would be ridiculous.
I am an utter shining star
Since the unknown gross start
But I wasted my full brightness
To pour lightnings over every corner
Instead to radiate on a single inch


Do I regret?
                Not yet!
For I follow the natural path of the holism
But my sight may rarely reach
                The inner core of a veil


From each way someone looks
At me they won’t be able to measure
The entire strength of my light
                It will be spread
In several tiny sparks
Even when I am the big apple that hits
I will be just the slice that fits


Do I pay?
                Indeed I say!
By the noisy specialties of the hand
I can see the gaps in my eyes
                Feeling the cracks of my soul


The bass & treble of my voice
Through the voices of others
                Is dismantled
Even if the absence I fill
Of our absolute love in me
In each second
I will never be
                The real me
And every act
Will be a deaf echo
Of the universe of me


You will think I am always less
You will never see me fully
You will never understand me truly.
ECKate Mar 2014
you can meet a person and spend the rest of your time together introducing yourself, talking favorites and specialties and things you don't like or understand. and sometimes you meet a person and you talk talk talk for days about philosophy and love and war and hate and bad habits. but when you meet a person, and you say hello, just once you say hello, and from that moment on you don't speak, you don't pick their brain, you just take them by the hand and share the magic that you find, and you observe how their eyes begin to show what their mind is letting them see, and in turn, you collect a memory of their soul, escaping through the eyes, because the eyes say more than words. no thoughts of response, just reflex of emotion, pure from insecurities humans own.

© 2015 Kate Volk
Philip Mitchener Mar 2017
From the start there has been friction
for nearly as long as I have lived
the signs say that I'm going the wrong way
but I refuse to listen
I choose to fight the system
for the betterment of my life
people disagree with me for the sole purpose of conformity
because they think they know what is best for me
Things have always been uncertain
the path, the method, the destination, the purpose
but that will all change
because I say it will
because I will make it change
because I have found the clearing

The people of my life come in two
Those that question
Those that admire
each are of value to me
learning and defying
are my specialties
until now I've never been able to prove
that my way is worth the fighting
the blood, sweat, and tears
of this experience
until now, the clearing has eluded me

It has shown me what the real foe is
what needs to be done to fix it
Life is cannot be fantasized
love everything you fight for
fight for everything you love
in spite of short comings and failures
because everything is worth it when the clearing comes.
MartialPoet Oct 2018
Stroke Of Sin:
With one stroke
Black like lead
Numbing the senses
Illusions devour the mind
Spiriting away the host's soul
Crunch, munch, wails, agony
Red drips from burning flags
Crowns of precious jewels
Shattered and left to rust
Scattering into dust
Of civilizations golden age
Has descended into the bleak era.

Stroke Of Love:
Radiance, bliss, harmony
Two radiate like the stars
In the heart, both are one
In the soul, both have tasted
The nectar of the forbidden fruit
An amative domain of two
Nestled into their throes of midnight
Wrinkled sheets
Passion just like an undying star
Rupturing like worldly immolation
The white flame creates life
Tender and sincere the candle burns out
With the gift and blessing of life.

Stroke Of Life:
Endless possibilities
Reach out and test the waters
Music, Art, Martial Arts, Poetry, Chef, Gardening, Dance
Life is short, but the possibilities are endless
Take the hand and find your passion
Open your doors
Youth is everlasting at heart
The exterior is just the carapace for your inner life
Time is precious, but so is living a fulfilling life
Different stages, different mindsets
Never too late and never too soon
A lifetime with various spices and specialties is meaningful.

Stroke Of Dreams:
Dreams are the energy
The mind is the soul
The body is the physical
Three forms
One thousand evolutions
Climbing to new peaks
Conquering with nothing but persistence
The sky like chains
One thousand evolutions
One thousand swings, slashes
Chains are just slightly troublesome
Energy, soul, and body
Unstoppable is the will
To make dreams into reality.

Stroke Of Ambition:
Light a torch
Cast your shadow
Mould your ambition
Into the sword
cutting down all obstacles
Aspiration is the driving force
Accelerate past those who
Grab you by the leg and pull back
Deadweight is meant to be neglected
For with a chest full of burning ambition
Nothing is impossible
The only thing that is impossible
Are those who have narrow minds
Lacking the drive and effort
That ambition burns with.

Stroke Of Lust:
Hypnotized
Just like the sailor
Who heard the sirens calls
Possessed and enthralled
By the endless fantasies
Lust burns just like the cracking whip
Searing, twitching, wreathing
Uncontrollably desire fogs the eyes
Unaware of the approaching doom
The fool wanders like a blank slate
Memories, life, family
Are all but forgotten
To the red eyes clouded with lust
In a world where carnal desires
Become a reality
The sailor loses his sense of self
And worldly affairs only to end up
A meal for the heart's demon to pray upon.

Stroke Of Fantasy:
Mankind had reached the peak of the chain
Riches, intelligence, beauty, innovation, science, medicine
Everybody led joyous lives
Disaster was far and few in-between
Respect, formalities, consideration, care
After passing the era of wars and slaughter
Mankind bonded together
Everyone acted as their own police officer
Living peacefully with contentment
But, even if mankind had reached the peak
Did their mentality?
Like always there are always
'Glorious times.'
This one just happened to last long enough
Again it collapsed all due to greed
Between fantasy and reality
Mankind had lost themselves
And still suffered, with no one else to blame
But uncontrollable greed to be 'superior.'
Maggieburn Oct 2019
We don’t get to be young,
We need to grow old,
We need to make choices
We need to go places,
and make sacrifices.

Life is not easy or constant,
Life is a path and not a contest,
Comparing yourself to everyone else
Is simple to do but bad for your health.

We don’t get to have fun,
We need to come undone,
We need to stop smiling, laughing and crying.

Life is a lie with one sole purpose,
Which has yet to rise to the surface
“You don’t get to be young,
you need to grow old”
This is what my mom believes,
But frankly this idea is meant to deceive.

If we don’t live now,
We could just say “ciao” to all our specialties,
And get drowned in legacies,
Without finding any remedies to our promised infancies.
Bea Jul 2019
There is peace knowing you died with your family
The love in that room could seen through the darkness of that June night
The kind of love that melts you
We held you and let you go
Leaving us with the greatest of memories
Midnight walks
Sunshine naps
Ocean swims
And long drives
Some of your specialties
There is peace knowing your heart was happy from your first day to your last

There is no peace in your absence
Midnight walks  
Sunshine naps
Ocean swims
long drives
Most of all the sound of you
Will never feel the same
The green grass remembers you
You
My sweet sunshine boy have changed me
Ken Pepiton Mar 13
An after thought.

I know, I had another option. Though, you did not see her weep.

She was sad.
The mother of all living,
she was sad, and I, wounded in my side,

I lacked the knowing. So,  I chose to know, so

I might comfort her, with a touch, ah, I know a place,

I can touch. Tweak, do you feel that? Do you know...

sniff. 's enough, words as nodes, knots, gnosticated subtility, be guiling,

I was be guiled, by golly, and I know you know exactly what I mean... from the fruit,
here, taste
the forbidden fruit, I tasted, chewed and swallowed and shared,

with you, because I love you...

I know, now, I was beguiled; but then beguilement, per se,

was as much a mystery as death. You knew. You tasted life in non-nascent state. You know,

some things stay mysterious.

Now, I know guile, for goodness sake, death remains a mystery.

But if you believe, I know a way, all your worries melt away. It takes a while.

Muse, amuse, mire, admire, go forth and conquer the unknown with knowns. Don't lie.
Gwa, go on.

Mean sedulously all you say you know.

Footnotes:

adventure (n.)
c. 1200, aventure, auenture "that which happens by chance, fortune, luck," from Old French aventure (11c.) "chance, accident, occurrence, event, happening," from Latin adventura (res) "(a thing) about to happen," from fem. of adventurus, future participle of advenire "to come to, reach, arrive at," from ad "to" (see ad-) + venire "to come," from a suffixed form of PIE root *gwa- "to go, come."

sedulous (adj.)1530s, from Latin sedulus "attentive, painstaking, diligent, busy, zealous," probably from sedulo (adv.) "sincerely, diligently," from sedolo "without deception or guile," from se- "without, apart" (see secret (n.)) + dolo, ablative of dolus "deception, guile," cognate with Greek dolos "ruse, snare." Related: Sedulously; sedulousness

secret (n.)
late 14c., from Latin secretus "set apart, withdrawn; hidden, concealed, private," past participle of secernere "to set apart, part, divide; exclude," from se- "without, apart," properly "on one's own" (see se-) + cernere "separate" (from PIE root *krei- "to sieve," thus "discriminate, distinguish").
As an adjective from late 14c., from French secret, adjective use of noun. Open secret is from 1828. Secret agent first recorded 1715; secret service is from 1737; secret weapon is from 1936.

hallow (v.)
Old English halgian "to make holy, sanctify; to honor as holy, consecrate, ordain," related to halig "holy," from Proto-Germanic *hailagon (source also of Old Saxon helagon, Middle Dutch heligen, Old Norse helga), from PIE root *kailo- "whole, uninjured, of good omen" (see health). Used in Christian translations to render Latin sanctificare. Related: Hallowed; hallowing.

health (n.)
Old English hælþ "wholeness, a being whole, sound or well," from Proto-Germanic *hailitho, from PIE *kailo- "whole, uninjured, of good omen" (source also of Old English hal "hale, whole;" Old Norse heill "healthy;" Old English halig, Old Norse helge "holy, sacred;" Old English hælan "to heal"). With Proto-Germanic abstract noun suffix *-itho (see -th (2)).

guile (n.)
mid-12c., from Old French guile "deceit, wile, fraud, ruse, trickery," probably from Frankish *wigila "trick, ruse" or a related Germanic source, from Proto-Germanic *wih-l- (source also of Old Frisian wigila "sorcery, witchcraft," Old English wig "idol," Gothic weihs "holy," German weihen "consecrate"), from PIE root *weik- (2) "consecrated, holy."

beguile (v.)"delude by artifice," early 13c., from be- + guile (v.). Meaning "entertain with passtimes" is by 1580s (compare the sense evolution of amuse). Related: Beguiled; beguiling.

amuse (v.)
late 15c., "to divert the attention, beguile, delude," from Old French amuser "fool, tease, hoax, entrap; make fun of," literally "cause to muse" (as a distraction), from a "at, to" (from Latin ad, but here probably a causal prefix) + muser "ponder, stare fixedly" (see muse (v.)).
Original English senses obsolete; meaning "divert from serious business, tickle the fancy of" is recorded from 1630s, but through 18c. the primary meaning was "deceive, cheat" by first occupying the attention. "The word was not in reg. use bef. 1600, and was not used by Shakespere" [OED]. Bemuse retains more of the original meaning. Greek amousos meant "without Muses," hence "uneducated."

Muse (n.)
late 14c., "one of the nine Muses of classical mythology," daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, protectors of the arts; from Old French Muse and directly from Latin Musa, from Greek Mousa, "the Muse," also "music, song," ultimately from PIE root *men- (1) "to think." Meaning "inspiring goddess of a particular poet" (with a lower-case m-) is from late 14c.
The traditional names and specialties of the nine Muses are: Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Erato (love poetry, lyric art), Euterpe (music, especially flute), Melpomene (tragedy), Polymnia (hymns), Terpsichore (dance­), Thalia (comedy), Urania (astronomy).

muse (v.)
"to reflect, ponder, meditate; to be absorbed in thought," mid-14c., from Old French muser (12c.) "to ponder, dream, wonder; loiter, waste time," which is of uncertain origin; the explanation in Diez and Skeat is literally "to stand with one's nose in the air" (or, possibly, "to sniff about" like a dog who has lost the scent), from muse "muzzle," from Gallo-Roman *musa "snout," itself a word of unknown origin. The modern word probably has been influenced in sense by muse (n.). Related: Mused; musing.
Exercise in speaking as true as I can imagine the words that lead me on.
♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎ ♎
Aluminum in Vaccines Is Not Safe, According to an Article in the "Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons"

December 21, 2016 -- Source: Association of American Physicians and Surgeons

TUCSON, Ariz., Dec. 21, 2016 (GLOBE NEWSWIRE) -- The Association of American Physicians and Surgeons notes that, because of public concerns that mercury (as thimerosal) in childhood vaccines might be contributing to soaring rates of autism, this component was mostly phased out as a “precaution.” Autism rates continued to rise, prompting authorities to assert that autism is not linked to mercury in vaccines and that vaccination policies are safe and appropriate, writes Neil Z. Miller in the winter issue of the Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons.

At the same time as mercury was being phased out, Miller noted that there was a 25 percent increase in the amount of aluminum in vaccines administered before age 18 months.

Aluminum, also a neurotoxin, is used as an adjuvant in vaccines, Miller explains, to induce a stronger immune response. It is contained in hepatitis B, DTaP (diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis), pneumococcal (PCV), Haemophilus influenzae type b (Hib), and hepatitis A vaccines.

Miller recounts case reports of aluminum toxicity dating back to 1921. He cites concerns of the American Academy of Pediatrics that prolonged use of intravenous feedings that contain aluminum could impair neurological development. He quotes a 2011 article stating that “aluminum is a widely recognized neurotoxin that inhibits more than 200 biologically important functions and causes various adverse effects in plants, animals, and humans.”

Some health authorities acknowledge reasons for concern, Miller writes. A director of the National Vaccine Program Office admitted that “those of us who deal with vaccines have really very little applicable background with metals and toxicological research.”

Some health authorities, Miller states, are concerned about how burdensome it would be to remove the aluminum. “Existing vaccines, if they change the adjuvant for any reason, would need to be resubmitted for clinical trials for safety and efficacy and it would take a great deal of time to do that.”

Miller concludes that there is no convincing evidence of adjuvant safety, but compelling evidence that injected aluminum can be detrimental to health. “Vaccines are normally recommended for healthy people, so safety (and efficacy) standards must be impeccable. Parents, especially, should not be compelled to permit their loved ones to receive multiple injections of toxic metals that could increase their risk of neurodevelopmental and autoimmune ailments. Safe alternatives to current disease prevention technologies are urgently needed.”

The Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons is published by the Association of American Physicians and Surgeons (AAPS), a national organization representing physicians in all specialties since 1943.
Aluminum in Vaccines Is Not Safe, According to an Article in the "Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons"

December 21, 2016 -- Source: Association of American Physicians and Surgeons

TUCSON, Ariz., Dec. 21, 2016 (GLOBE NEWSWIRE) -- The Association of American Physicians and Surgeons notes that, because of public concerns that mercury (as thimerosal) in childhood vaccines might be contributing to soaring rates of autism, this component was mostly phased out as a “precaution.” Autism rates continued to rise, prompting authorities to assert that autism is not linked to mercury in vaccines and that vaccination policies are safe and appropriate, writes Neil Z. Miller in the winter issue of the Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons.

At the same time as mercury was being phased out, Miller noted that there was a 25 percent increase in the amount of aluminum in vaccines administered before age 18 months.

Aluminum, also a neurotoxin, is used as an adjuvant in vaccines, Miller explains, to induce a stronger immune response. It is contained in hepatitis B, DTaP (diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis), pneumococcal (PCV), Haemophilus influenzae type b (Hib), and hepatitis A vaccines.

Miller recounts case reports of aluminum toxicity dating back to 1921. He cites concerns of the American Academy of Pediatrics that prolonged use of intravenous feedings that contain aluminum could impair neurological development. He quotes a 2011 article stating that “aluminum is a widely recognized neurotoxin that inhibits more than 200 biologically important functions and causes various adverse effects in plants, animals, and humans.”

Some health authorities acknowledge reasons for concern, Miller writes. A director of the National Vaccine Program Office admitted that “those of us who deal with vaccines have really very little applicable background with metals and toxicological research.”

Some health authorities, Miller states, are concerned about how burdensome it would be to remove the aluminum. “Existing vaccines, if they change the adjuvant for any reason, would need to be resubmitted for clinical trials for safety and efficacy and it would take a great deal of time to do that.”

Miller concludes that there is no convincing evidence of adjuvant safety, but compelling evidence that injected aluminum can be detrimental to health. “Vaccines are normally recommended for healthy people, so safety (and efficacy) standards must be impeccable. Parents, especially, should not be compelled to permit their loved ones to receive multiple injections of toxic metals that could increase their risk of neurodevelopmental and autoimmune ailments. Safe alternatives to current disease prevention technologies are urgently needed.”

The Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons is published by the Association of American Physicians and Surgeons (AAPS), a national organization representing physicians in all specialties since 1943.
sparkjams Mar 2019
Peace rim, gristle in the kitchen
my next shot might not be my last
pour favors onto the glistening rain drops
gently clashing into the sparse winter snows
I foresee no escapade
just a magnet
attracting

this baton will smack them around
beaten senseless into severed souls
carver of the sandwich
separating lunch meat from processed bread
...and the rest of the ugly trimmings

not yours to invoke
not yours to comment upon, either
you look for it and find a trap
swoosh, there go the blades
into a void that smiles nicely!

Fond of your slaves?
A little too much paint on that black market
these are the melting
the fat and under-rated
both and another
specialties
unnatural selections
go back to your parents please, we don't need the obnoxious input
get out

I don't wait for it
I have been waiting for it until this morning
I don't sin  for you
I have been sinning without you for gracious families
that would rather dig themselves a ditch
to operate from
and plunder the treasure underfoot
surely there is something truthful down here
in the wet and brown
pink! at least
that a worm or something cuter?

Get on with your entertainment value
you made a whole season of this nonsense yeah I've been watching for months
can't get enough
you are a GAS, man
a cloud of toxic gas
and now I'm choking on it

— The End —