Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought
countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send
hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs
and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the
day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first
fell out with one another.
  And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the
son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a
pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of
Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the
ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had brought with him a
great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo
wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath and he besought the Achaeans, but
most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their chiefs.
  “Sons of Atreus,” he cried, “and all other Achaeans, may the gods
who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to reach
your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a ransom for
her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove.”
  On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for
respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but not
so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away.
“Old man,” said he, “let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor
yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your wreath shall
profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall grow old in my
house at Argos far from her own home, busying herself with her loom
and visiting my couch; so go, and do not provoke me or it shall be the
worse for you.”
  The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went
by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo
whom lovely Leto had borne. “Hear me,” he cried, “O god of the
silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest Tenedos
with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have ever decked your
temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones in fat of bulls or
goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge these my tears upon
the Danaans.”
  Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down
furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver
upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the rage
that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the ships with
a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death as he shot
his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their mules and their
hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the people themselves,
and all day long the pyres of the dead were burning.
  For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon
the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly—moved thereto by Juno,
who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had compassion upon
them. Then, when they were got together, he rose and spoke among them.
  “Son of Atreus,” said he, “I deem that we should now turn roving
home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by
war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or some
reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell us why
Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some vow that we
have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered, and whether he will
accept the savour of lambs and goats without blemish, so as to take
away the plague from us.”
  With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest
of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to speak. He
it was who had guided the Achaeans with their fleet to Ilius,
through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had inspired him.
With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them thus:-
  “Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger of
King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and swear that
you will stand by me heartily in word and deed, for I know that I
shall offend one who rules the Argives with might, to whom all the
Achaeans are in subjection. A plain man cannot stand against the anger
of a king, who if he swallow his displeasure now, will yet nurse
revenge till he has wreaked it. Consider, therefore, whether or no you
will protect me.”
  And Achilles answered, “Fear not, but speak as it is borne in upon
you from heaven, for by Apollo, Calchas, to whom you pray, and whose
oracles you reveal to us, not a Danaan at our ships shall lay his hand
upon you, while I yet live to look upon the face of the earth—no, not
though you name Agamemnon himself, who is by far the foremost of the
Achaeans.”
  Thereon the seer spoke boldly. “The god,” he said, “is angry neither
about vow nor hecatomb, but for his priest’s sake, whom Agamemnon
has dishonoured, in that he would not free his daughter nor take a
ransom for her; therefore has he sent these evils upon us, and will
yet send others. He will not deliver the Danaans from this
pestilence till Agamemnon has restored the girl without fee or
ransom to her father, and has sent a holy hecatomb to Chryse. Thus
we may perhaps appease him.”
  With these words he sat down, and Agamemnon rose in anger. His heart
was black with rage, and his eyes flashed fire as he scowled on
Calchas and said, “Seer of evil, you never yet prophesied smooth
things concerning me, but have ever loved to foretell that which was
evil. You have brought me neither comfort nor performance; and now you
come seeing among Danaans, and saying that Apollo has plagued us
because I would not take a ransom for this girl, the daughter of
Chryses. I have set my heart on keeping her in my own house, for I
love her better even than my own wife Clytemnestra, whose peer she
is alike in form and feature, in understanding and accomplishments.
Still I will give her up if I must, for I would have the people
live, not die; but you must find me a prize instead, or I alone
among the Argives shall be without one. This is not well; for you
behold, all of you, that my prize is to go elsewhither.”
  And Achilles answered, “Most noble son of Atreus, covetous beyond
all mankind, how shall the Achaeans find you another prize? We have no
common store from which to take one. Those we took from the cities
have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that have been made
already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god, and if ever Jove
grants us to sack the city of Troy we will requite you three and
fourfold.”
  Then Agamemnon said, “Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall not
thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not persuade me.
Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely under my loss and
give up the girl at your bidding? Let the Achaeans find me a prize
in fair exchange to my liking, or I will come and take your own, or
that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to whomsoever I may come shall
rue my coming. But of this we will take thought hereafter; for the
present, let us draw a ship into the sea, and find a crew for her
expressly; let us put a hecatomb on board, and let us send Chryseis
also; further, let some chief man among us be in command, either Ajax,
or Idomeneus, or yourself, son of Peleus, mighty warrior that you are,
that we may offer sacrifice and appease the the anger of the god.”
  Achilles scowled at him and answered, “You are steeped in
insolence and lust of gain. With what heart can any of the Achaeans do
your bidding, either on foray or in open fighting? I came not
warring here for any ill the Trojans had done me. I have no quarrel
with them. They have not raided my cattle nor my horses, nor cut
down my harvests on the rich plains of Phthia; for between me and them
there is a great space, both mountain and sounding sea. We have
followed you, Sir Insolence! for your pleasure, not ours—to gain
satisfaction from the Trojans for your shameless self and for
Menelaus. You forget this, and threaten to rob me of the prize for
which I have toiled, and which the sons of the Achaeans have given me.
Never when the Achaeans sack any rich city of the Trojans do I receive
so good a prize as you do, though it is my hands that do the better
part of the fighting. When the sharing comes, your share is far the
largest, and I, forsooth, must go back to my ships, take what I can
get and be thankful, when my labour of fighting is done. Now,
therefore, I shall go back to Phthia; it will be much better for me to
return home with my ships, for I will not stay here dishonoured to
gather gold and substance for you.”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Fly if you will, I shall make you no
prayers to stay you. I have others here who will do me honour, and
above all Jove, the lord of counsel. There is no king here so
hateful to me as you are, for you are ever quarrelsome and ill
affected. What though you be brave? Was it not heaven that made you
so? Go home, then, with your ships and comrades to lord it over the
Myrmidons. I care neither for you nor for your anger; and thus will
I do: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me, I shall send
her with my ship and my followers, but I shall come to your tent and
take your own prize Briseis, that you may learn how much stronger I am
than you are, and that another may fear to set himself up as equal
or comparable with me.”
  The son of Peleus was furious, and his heart within his shaggy
breast was divided whether to draw his sword, push the others aside,
and **** the son of Atreus, or to restrain himself and check his
anger. While he was thus in two minds, and was drawing his mighty
sword from its scabbard, Minerva came down from heaven (for Juno had
sent her in the love she bore to them both), and seized the son of
Peleus by his yellow hair, visible to him alone, for of the others
no man could see her. Achilles turned in amaze, and by the fire that
flashed from her eyes at once knew that she was Minerva. “Why are
you here,” said he, “daughter of aegis-bearing Jove? To see the
pride of Agamemnon, son of Atreus? Let me tell you—and it shall
surely be—he shall pay for this insolence with his life.”
  And Minerva said, “I come from heaven, if you will hear me, to bid
you stay your anger. Juno has sent me, who cares for both of you
alike. Cease, then, this brawling, and do not draw your sword; rail at
him if you will, and your railing will not be vain, for I tell you-
and it shall surely be—that you shall hereafter receive gifts three
times as splendid by reason of this present insult. Hold, therefore,
and obey.”
  “Goddess,” answered Achilles, “however angry a man may be, he must
do as you two command him. This will be best, for the gods ever hear
the prayers of him who has obeyed them.”
  He stayed his hand on the silver hilt of his sword, and ****** it
back into the scabbard as Minerva bade him. Then she went back to
Olympus among the other gods, and to the house of aegis-bearing Jove.
  But the son of Peleus again began railing at the son of Atreus,
for he was still in a rage. “Wine-bibber,” he cried, “with the face of
a dog and the heart of a hind, you never dare to go out with the
host in fight, nor yet with our chosen men in ambuscade. You shun this
as you do death itself. You had rather go round and rob his prizes
from any man who contradicts you. You devour your people, for you
are king over a feeble folk; otherwise, son of Atreus, henceforward
you would insult no man. Therefore I say, and swear it with a great
oath—nay, by this my sceptre which shalt sprout neither leaf nor
shoot, nor bud anew from the day on which it left its parent stem upon
the mountains—for the axe stripped it of leaf and bark, and now the
sons of the Achaeans bear it as judges and guardians of the decrees of
heaven—so surely and solemnly do I swear that hereafter they shall
look fondly for Achilles and shall not find him. In the day of your
distress, when your men fall dying by the murderous hand of Hector,
you shall not know how to help them, and shall rend your heart with
rage for the hour when you offered insult to the bravest of the
Achaeans.”
  With this the son of Peleus dashed his gold-bestudded sceptre on the
ground and took his seat, while the son of Atreus was beginning
fiercely from his place upon the other side. Then uprose
smooth-tongued Nestor, the facile speaker of the Pylians, and the
words fell from his lips sweeter than honey. Two generations of men
born and bred in Pylos had passed away under his rule, and he was
now reigning over the third. With all sincerity and goodwill,
therefore, he addressed them thus:-
  “Of a truth,” he said, “a great sorrow has befallen the Achaean
land. Surely Priam with his sons would rejoice, and the Trojans be
glad at heart if they could hear this quarrel between you two, who are
so excellent in fight and counsel. I am older than either of you;
therefore be guided by me. Moreover I have been the familiar friend of
men even greater than you are, and they did not disregard my counsels.
Never again can I behold such men as Pirithous and Dryas shepherd of
his people, or as Caeneus, Exadius, godlike Polyphemus, and Theseus
son of Aegeus, peer of the immortals. These were the mightiest men
ever born upon this earth: mightiest were they, and when they fought
the fiercest tribes of mountain savages they utterly overthrew them. I
came from distant Pylos, and went about among them, for they would
have me come, and I fought as it was in me to do. Not a man now living
could withstand them, but they heard my words, and were persuaded by
them. So be it also with yourselves, for this is the more excellent
way. Therefore, Agamemnon, though you be strong, take not this girl
away, for the sons of the Achaeans have already given her to Achilles;
and you, Achilles, strive not further with the king, for no man who by
the grace of Jove wields a sceptre has like honour with Agamemnon. You
are strong, and have a goddess for your mother; but Agamemnon is
stronger than you, for he has more people under him. Son of Atreus,
check your anger, I implore you; end this quarrel with Achilles, who
in the day of battle is a tower of strength to the Achaeans.”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Sir, all that you have said is true, but
this fellow must needs become our lord and master: he must be lord
of all, king of all, and captain of all, and this shall hardly be.
Granted that the gods have made him a great warrior, have they also
given him the right to speak with railing?”
  Achilles interrupted him. “I should be a mean coward,” he cried,
“were I to give in to you in all things. Order other people about, not
me, for I shall obey no longer. Furthermore I say—and lay my saying
to your heart—I shall fight neither you nor any man about this
girl, for those that take were those also that gave. But of all else
that is at my ship you shall carry away nothing by force. Try, that
others may see; if you do, my spear shall be reddened with your
blood.”
  When they had quarrelled thus angrily, they rose, and broke up the
assembly at the ships of the Achaeans. The son of Peleus went back
to his tents and ships with the son of Menoetius and his company,
while Agamemnon drew a vessel into the water and chose a crew of
twenty oarsmen. He escorted Chryseis on board and sent moreover a
hecatomb for the god. And Ulysses went as captain.
  These, then, went on board and sailed their ways over the sea. But
the son of Atreus bade the people purify themselves; so they
purified themselves and cast their filth into the sea. Then they
offered hecatombs of bulls and goats without blemish on the sea-shore,
and the smoke with the savour of their sacrifice rose curling up
towards heaven.
  Thus did they busy themselves throughout the host. But Agamemnon did
not forget the threat that he had made Achilles, and called his trusty
messengers and squires Talthybius and Eurybates. “Go,” said he, “to
the tent of Achilles, son of Peleus; take Briseis by the hand and
bring her hither; if he will not give her I shall come with others and
take her—which will press him harder.”
  He charged them straightly furthe

'I want to eat you,' he said with his eyes closed.
'Why?' Still, even though she was afraid-unfathomably afraid, she was infatuated with him; this creature so terrifyingly comely that she was sometimes scared of it-she could not then help peering into his bright face; its exquisite whiteness was dauntingly mysterious, but again full of indecipherable words-just like a dangerously emotionless sea; which could but turn tempestuous in the course of just one shadowy second.
'You're simply too tempting to me,' he replied after what seemingly very careful thinking; this time with his lips coming nearer to hers, until his breath she could see emanate in bold wreaths of white, pearly bits; bits of ice-lifeless, and tender whilst in handfuls, but at times heartless with their cold souls.
She reflected on the answer for a while, then slowly formed a thoughtful smile around her lips. 'Then where would I be, if you ate me?'
'Within my soul, my blood, and all the length, mirth, and the very crown of my heart,' he uttered the last two words confidently, before further lurching straightly forward to bestow a playful kiss on her trembling lips.
'Ah, but still it won't be the same, my love,' she cupped his cheeks with her cold hands and whispered to him quietly, when they finally pulled away. 'I would no longer be here by your side. And as you have but stated before, you surely like having me here alive better than dead, don't you?' She let out a deep breath, and showed a flirtatious grin so captivating that he wanted to kiss her once more. And possibly mesmerize her. Startle her. Eat her. Partake of her. Consume her. Conquer her. Possess her. Tear her. Tear her apart. Tear all her senses apart. Break her up. Break her body up. Break it up into nothingness. Until she was nothing. Entirely nothing. No more of anything of herself but what he had. Nothing but what he owned. And secretly desired. And had always longed for. Nothing but he possessed; and treasured within his very body; and its very own capricious cells. But still eventually, be her everything; or simply, be everything to her. Be everything she ever wanted. Everything she desired. Everything she wished. Everything she, with all her human weaknesses, ever eagerly wanted him to be. Or to do.
'Don't worry, still it will be the same,' he caressed her hair with his free right hand and kissed it. And when she became puzzled by this tauntingly obscure remark, he explained, 'It will still indeed be the same, and will forever be the same, because you will dwell within me, and thus within my heart will be carved your name. So that you're the sole torch that keeps my flame. And the mere lamp that lights my soul. The medicine that heals my wounds. The very deeds of my desires. All the merriment of my days. And the very light that is thrown onto my ways.' He stopped and sighed for a while, before continuing, 'Thus, on top of all that, you will still own the same brand of addiction-to which my entire being is addicted to. Really addicted to. Incurably addicted to-as I will never be able to continue to live without it. I will prefer death, and cherishing a gruesome life among the dead, to having you not within my being-just like I will be if I ever consume you not. So within me,' he took her hand and pressed it against his chest, 'there shall be nothing but satisfaction,'-he stepped closer into where she was standing, 'with having you within me; so your soul shall blend, and merge but perfectly into mine, querida. And such is an occurrence I shall never regret; even if I eventually have to eat you.' Having proposed these last two words, he closed his eyes again; before launching his body right onto hers, and this time missing not planting his fangs onto her shoulder.

i’m sorry.
that may come as a surprise to you, i know
haven’t really spoken much lately though
haven’t really spoken a lot at all
but hey, that’s okay
i know how hard it is to make a phone call.

that’s probably why i always forget to
oh honey, no, of course it’s not you!
i’ve just been so busy lately
but when i can, i will go to my cellphone straightly

and scroll down; way down
to the numbers of people living outta town
to the numbers i would never admit
i honestly don’t give a ****t.

i wasn’t enough back then.
do you even remember the time when...?
when, you know...
oh...silly me!
you probably not.
the time
when time turned against you and ran out the clock

the time on this fateful november night
you could see everything you didn’t do right
the time sombody decided to send me down here
just so i could feel the vain, and of course the fear
emotions you taught me all to well
when you shouldn’t even have been able to enter my so former fragile shell

a shell i never planned for you to see
let alone sit down there with you and
have a tea

i never understood why you said what you said.
and i probably never will.
wouldnt you give anything now for that abortion-pill?
i know you would, and that with certainty
i heared you say it when dicussing the cost of an university

and although it was that exact moment my heart forever broke
because you were saying it like it was a ******* joke
and although your lawyer sat there giggling
with my mother next to them,
the highest level of patience bringing
i still can’t bring myself to hate you with all my heart
at the end of the day
you and i
are eachothers lost part.
no matter how small
you somehow are
after all.

my mom still adores you, and i guess that’s okay
i can’t blame her for being some way.

what i do blame her for, and that i can’t undo
is that of all the men in the world
she had to chose you.

Love,
me

FLAME-Heart, take back your love. Swift, sure
And poignant as the dagger to the mark,
Your will is burning ever; it is pure.
Mine is vague water welling through the dark,
Holding all substances--except the spark.

Picture the pleasure of the meadow stream
When some clear striding naked-footed girl
Cuts swift and straightly as a gleam
Across its ***** ambling and aswirl
With mooning eddies and soft lips acurl;

Such was our meeting--fatefully so brief.
I have no purpose and no power to clutch.
Gleam onward, maiden, to your goal of grief;
And I more sadly flow, remembering much,
Yet doomed to take the form of all I touch.

I sit straightly for a moment,
slouch back in my seat
As the dripping of my energy
reaches midday portions

the dragging of my feet
becomes the least of my worries
its not the pain that’s unbearable
but the many useless potions
the slowly ripping poisons
my mouth must keep desiring

I sigh
trying to remember
the truths I chose so randomly
to write off as tacit lies
in my moneyless estate
it was easier
to think I could live without them
but now I see I’ve only died

Poetry is the dress she always adorns herself,
the see-through floral patterns reveal her more-
than conceal, my eyes imbibe its aesthetics in the fraction-
of a moment and to tell the truth, they are thankful.
Poetic is her walk, her rhythmically swaying buttocks-
subtly speak by allusion of genetic possibilities vast;
in her movement's poetry  my lineage would be safe.
Her lips part, the warmth, ruddy pout and perfect shape suggest
her sensual love making  wound be both tender and swirling
like the  poetic feeling, an image unleashes to overpower me to surrender.
Poetry makes its essence look like a fine silvery glint
in those deep eyes, that have a sensual droop in the eyelids.
Arrows straightly directed to my tender heart, from the bow of her chest
contrary to the normal, creates a cadence, poetic utmost !
She is,  nothing but poetry in motion, rooted in beauty's repository,
that never will fully drain,  even if the most she makes her own  often.

Behind th' bushes I caught thee
As thou drove forth straightly by me.
Wearing a grey suit and dark tie
Thou smiled as thou waved us goodbye.

I was trudging along one friend
When outright it began to rain.
Flipping about th' green bushes;
Darting afore 'twixt blue masses.

Thou wert as keen as usual
Busy as t'ose spinning laurels
With leaves so prone as nearby wood
Whose fruits real jolly fine and good.

Thou wert screened by yon murky glass
Whilst rain soaked us wet by th' grass.
Scents of firm tulips ***** my breath;
filling plump bleak air with warm death.

Among t'ose hills wert swarms of bees
and roaming flies behind whose courts.
Swans t'at wandered by wert like thee;
comely but shy in thy owneth worlds.

Lilies of life, roses of death
Be blessings to thy youth and health
And soft like moonlit lavender;
Turn to me alone and leave her.

But my poems wert within thy mind;
and my songs thy red-lipped sonnet.
Everything's good; everything's fine;
Read my words tonite 'fore thy bed.

And as thou sat breathless and still
Like t'is trifling rain made us feel;
Guilty as itself and fake clouds
For show'ring our naive earth out loud.

Our destiny was seen again;
Like how some dand'llions shalt remain
When t'is cold-like spring's dragged away
As summer befriendeth early May.

Webs of young hope gasped in thy eyes;
clear as had never been disguised.
Not as vague but wert surely thine,
blissful and sweet; as which of mine.

Felix Calvalari and the Rascals singing Groovy.
As I ride along.
What a lovely uplifting mood song?
Of two people enjoying the mood.

And the Beach Boys singing Don't Worry Baby.
Stating everything is going to be alright.
How can you not love a lady like this?
Who gives off great confidence.

I truly believe, I could never love another.
After loving her.
David Ruffin's blended truth behind the lyrics of this Temptations song.

If I lost her in any way.
I would try something new to reconnect.
The Miracles truly spoke the truth about the things love will make you do.
I guess I'm in a sixties type mood.

When words solely spoke straightly to you.
I understand the woman's that seek respect.
Otis Redding wrote the song addressing it.
Altho' Aretha seems to get the credit.

What can I say about the two Dions?
With Dion Mucci singing about Donna the Primma Donna.
The type you probably couldn't get to ride a honda.
And then Dione Warwicke singing about singing about praying.
Oh, yes I'm in a sixties mood.
When words solely spoke to your heart.

When the Beatles stated don't let me down.
Them words was a message needed to be heard.
And papa never had a brand new bag.
I'm still trying to figure out those James Brown words.

Well, I relax for a few minutes.
Until I get ready to play another song.
Cause for the moment.
I'm just enjoying these sixties songs.

And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love:
I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully
to thee-yes, only to thee!
My eyes brighten at every sight of thee,
my mind delights at the thoughts of thee,
my pulse fastens at the views of thee,
my blood curdles at the scent of thee,
my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark!
Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps,
sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee!
Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets
as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and
with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful-
sweeping straightly back into my soul.
Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers-
blowing silently with the rustic gallantry
of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated
with defiant, but affectionate branches
of terrific, terrific love for thee!
Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know-
t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee,
as well as how my pure joys rely on thee!
As despairingly as how
my soul was born for thee,
my life was crafted for thee,
my hands were paired with thee,
and thus so graciously are my young feet-
my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs
in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated
by thy gentle, manly breath.
Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate
and blessed with all the might
of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first
been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold,
my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light,
my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou
shalt always be!
And so art thou the perfect accord
to comply with all such of my mine;
as thou art but the freshest bloom
of my ****** years,
as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths-
but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious-
yet ardently succulent imagination.
And how I am so devoted to thee, my love!
Just like the stars are to the moon above.

03/17/2014

Dear you,
Some days I was lying awake in a middle of night, counting the stars on the hazy sky and hope you're doing the same. I looked at the full moon, wishing you were here with me but I had a little thought that you might be looking at the same moon so it was enough for me. I was thinking about your beautiful smile, your charming eyes, your raspy voice, and I wondered how it feels to having your fingers intertwined with mine. I read so many books and knew some plenty of beautiful words but none of them could fit my feelings for you. You are the most beautiful human I've ever known, inside and outside. Wrote this letter for you just wasting my time because you would never read it but Hell, I can't think of other ways to express this incredible feeling for you, my dear. When I saw you from the very first time I straightly fell in love with your smile and the curious part of myself started getting bigger and higher. Soon, I knew your name and I remembered how happy I was to figure it out. I was having a strange feeling for you at first, and I really don't know what it's called until I learn the word "love". And by saying this, I mean the strong meaning for love because it's a strong word and people often underestimate it for their lust feelings or the romantic situations.

Dear you,
I love you for the way you are. For the way you laugh at your stupid jokes, for the way you fall asleep on the couch or even in your own suitcase (you are so precious); for the way you smile at the nice things, for your kindness to people who need help, for your humbleness, for your eyes that lighten up and darken up in a minutes, for your silly dance move and for the way you are.

I really hope it doesn't turn out to be an ordinary love letter but well, as I said, I don't have any words to truly express my love for you. Thanks for being exist and I owe my life to you because without you, I wouldn't be here and I wouldn't be like this. You make me worth living and you make me feel so priceless and I can't thank you enough for that.

w

          w


                        white is girl talk

                        


                                                              ­   l

                                                        ol

  ­                                       vol


                      evol


levol

ylevol

teeth opalescent silky















                                            ­                                             it's big


















or small

immediately after






rainsomesummer
wetly (whose shoulders are star struck shining
             manifold upon manifold of dewy ******
             shakes
             a
             nExact
             excellence of pearls straightly
             more fragile than
             the bulb of a wilting flower is fragile
             but whose body is strong beneath it
             tall with muscles
             and wears laughter like a coronet of thorns)


                        emerging
                                           timidly
                                                        d­estroys
                                                         ­              by
                                                              ­             velveteen
                                                       ­                         breath
                                 ­                                                 the tightness
                                                       ­                            of closing eyes











L





































LO







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LOV












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­




LOVE

i wasn,t a god but i('ve)
                  
          drohc detonk tsrif eht detsat

of ****** silence tonguing
the velvety paint of nothing
plastic thorns punishing sweetly
a rose
       patient hands searing nouns
of shapeless conformity
      straightly bending smooth roughness
and red
              and yes
       and and and and
               smile little blood
i'll cup your naked furnishings
        and we'll go strongly
into the darkness burdened vine
       of stringy gargled nightmares
and
           ;'hiccup"

When I asked him how old was he
Giving a mischievous wink
Said won’t tell you straightly
But in a riddle to think!

If you add up the digits of that year
Multiply it by three
You would be almost there
But not there exactly!

Three more to it you’ve to add
And that’s my age no doubt
You would make me really glad
If can figure that out!

The two digits that make my age
Have a difference of one
You’ve enough clues to the maze
To work out my age with fun!

The digits added is short of ten
But from one too far
Would you now take the pain
To make my age clear?

I miss you,
Clear cut,
Crystal globe,
When the stories of the past,
Hung more or less straightly,
Like the ribben suspending you

There is a sheep
Playing in the court
That is wide
He jumps happily
He feels funny
He sings loudly
But suddenly
He felt lonely
He goes immediately
To search for friendly
He walks shortly
He walks straightly
He walks  unlikely
Till he finds them
They are great
They are like him
Sheep and goats'
He invites them
They get hesitated
He says obviously
The court is wide
The plants are great
They are green
Who wants happy?
Must live there
Who wants heaven?
Must  go yonder
They look at faces
Why don't they go?
Why don't  they do"
The effort to get more
To make their life happy
They deal with themselves
with honest and funny
feeling at inner
with the sense of satisfy
of the sense of ready
to thank their God truly
They are all going happily

This kind of vision is what I use,
In everything that caught
The attention of my eye.

It helps me see things,
That I can't see straightly.
Maybe because I'm just shy or scared.
Or barely having fear of rejection.

But the moment I met you,
I know in myself I'm not scared anymore.
Because you're so perfect and fine.

I'm so inlove with you,
So why the hell I'm going to use my peripheral vision
If I can see you in face to face.

You're so perfect and hella nice.

Hello my old friend.
I guess it’s nice to see you again.
You’ve been visiting me so much lately.
Nothing in my head is forming anything straightly
It’s all jumbled and clouded and mixed.
I don’t know how this problem can be fixed
Writer’s block has gotten a hold on me!
It just won’t let my writings be!
I used to be able to write poem after poem,
But now I’m lucky if I even get a quote done.
Maybe if I shoot myself in the head
The creativity will spill out all over my bed.
I want to make a name for myself!
But right now, I just see my book on a dusty shelf.
I continuously tap key after key
Why won’t any nice rhymes come out of me?
I keep on searching and searching
I do all of my researching
On the topics I need to write
Yet nothing in this poem seems right
I want to write about my personal experiences.
But right now my book is on clearance.
I don’t feel good enough to make it in this industry
I don’t want to let this blank mind stop me
Yet it feels as if I have no choice.
It feels as if I have lost my voice.
Writer’s block is Ursula in the deep sea
She made this contact with me
I grew my vocabulary but lost my voice
Why did I make this choice?
It’s just mismatched words and no originality
Where is my creativity?
I used to have such a loud mind.
But now everything’s quiet and I mind.

Of course the full first poem I’ve written in a month is about not being able to write.
Sounds like me, I’m just the type.

The origin of love is beauty of blonde
Which knits lover and beloved in bond
Love takes lover to infinity or beyond
Lover wants to keep beauty as pawned

My love your curves are taking my life
They are keeping me the on edge of knife
My pain and pleasure dangles with rife
My love for your sake I can face the strife

You are moon and I am lunatic pheasant
In your love I always remain on the front
In my stance of love I am straightly blunt
For sake of your beauty I will bear brunt

I know my lunacy will affect the intimacy
But my only mission is to make you happy
Your cheeks are creamy your lips are juicy
Your beautiful curves make you more ****

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Where in the world does most
Love comes from?
The world is summarized by its big size,
But you summarize the;
Beauty in the whole world.
What a merchant of beauty, you are.
I can straightly tell you;
That you melt my worries each time
We are together.

Though I choose my daily menu,
I never chose that we meet
But destiny brought you into my life.
Away from my thoughts
and imaginations-you appeared  
Kicking out the terror of all night mares from me
and setting me free, off the hook
of living with a wandering mind.

Considered me a Great man isn’t the issue
but hunting down
The most prestigious, beautiful-though feared
and untamable in nature, has left all men
Bowing in respect . For this is;, my treasure
I trade it with no other.
The Indescribable body that lives me boasting.
All Lying in my custody
Let it live, but dehorn it ,So that it may not hurt you

And when we met it was unusual
I thought I was sleep walking.
You entice me with sweet memories
From the time you set foot, in my life.

The darkness of loneliness disappeared in thin air,
I felt love moving down my soul
this time, I had graduated
With a first class degree in love
and straight away you granted me a post,
Senior counsel in the chambers of your heart.

Goodbye to the Merchants of lies
Am away from the streets of loneliness
To a city of happiness
I wish not to look back
I may miss a memory of this
Comfort zone.
Don’t wake me up, am no longer a dreamer

I had forgotten,
The way vines tendrils will change,
Surprising me with a heart,
A tight curl in unlikely place,
I was focused on the past,
The thick, brown stem,
Crawling straightly,
Up the wall,
And didn't notice,
New, purple plants,
Shooting from the ground,
To wrap around,
The highest windows,
So long had I stared,
Upon the old and well-established
(but rotting away),
My mind gasped in wonder,
At the vine,
Who retained its youthful vigor,
And willowy form,
After enduring years by the straight stock,
Pale green reached deep into
But a few,
Bricks,
And was my favorite flavor.

when i open up the book....
my mind gets sturdy and weary,
and i feel derf and merry,
like girls in summer party,
feeling sober but not really,

my eyes change their look,
and i can only see the consonant
and vowels as a great cook,
my ears get connected to my
optic nerve,
so that the rhymes are the only thing
I can observe,
and i get focused straightly, no more curves,
so that i can be able to serve
my brain and get something to love,

when i open up the book ......
the pain goes away
like a patient being told that he's gonna leave hospital today,
like a surprised ******* her birthday,
and i can only feel a better
future coming in my way.

when i open up a book.........
i embrace the real meaning
of life,
knowing that i should never end it
With a knife,
my soul become so sensitive,
So that i can only think positive,
feeling strong and competitive,
because i embrace something to give,
and i do this silently,not talkative.

If I die

Please cry

Shed a tear do not lie

Never look me straightly in the eye

You'll see the secrets I try to hide

if anyone asks, i didn't & don't write a single word, sober; what would be the point? i never write from my heart, i pull these beauties out of my ***, i could never take myself seriously, esp. on the topic of the atypical "my love is perfect", even ginsberg said: not even the love of a madman ever was (cf. the crucifix).*

i don't know why i'm good with money,
perhaps spending 3 years among the picts
taught me something -
  as the joke goes: how was copper wire
invented? two scots arguing over a penny,
subsequently stretching it...
but i can push the money to places i never
even thought could exist -
namely drinking every single night,
seven nights a week -
  i remember having saved enough while
in poland for the whole of december -
came back, account balance standing
at a mighty 8+ hundred quid...
   i finally managed to squeeze my allowance
balance (per two weeks) to its original
hovering just above 0 at the end of
two weeks of straightly ******* it all away...
but then i do my little calculations -
and decide: i feel like saving some money...
so i do alternative weeks, i.e.
   sunday i don't drink, monday i drink,
tuesday i don't drink, wednesday
i drink, thursday i don't drink, friday i drink,
saturday i don't drink, sunday i drink...
sure, i dread the nights when i don't:
life is short... life is short?! *******!
  these nights drag on & on and there never
seems to be enough movies to watch to
pass the night...
      but i like these detox nights -
i actually enjoy the cold sweat lying in bed
in the night listening to silence,
or interludes of music -
              but then the next day is glorious,
i make dinner in the morning,
go for a 5 mile walk late morning through
to early afternoon, pop into the pharmacy
for some sleeping pills,
   have a beer walking in public...
   stockpile on some hard liquor,
iron some of my father's shirts...
feed the cats, read the sunday newspaper...
but then i always overdo something -
now, it wouldn't be right if i didn't have
a hard drink in the afternoon and end up
writing something...
    and knowing my luck, i'm lucky when
it comes to saving money...
   oh just a sly 35cl of *****...
     but then a little magic happens...
when england introduced its australian
style plastic banknotes i thought to myself:
it's over, i won't be finding banknotes
any time soon on the pavement...
   lo and behold! the new plastic fiver,
just lying on the pavement, smiling at me...
these moments of finding banknotes always
give me a fuzzy feeling, like warm custard,
no, like really cold icecream -
i don't know, i don't gamble, but in a sense
i do gamble: i gamble with my feet,
where to tread...
        and where to look...
      i've "won" more money walking the streets
sometimes looking up,
sometimes looking down,
   i've a pretty decent record,
   about three fivers, two tenner(s) and a twenty...
i missed these weeks,
  the cold sweats, the agonisingly long nights,
but sometimes saving money has its
ups, more ups than downs.