I love old books—
         their smell,
                  soft and softly mottled pages,
                  font-faces,
          and carefully illustrated frontispieces.

My bookshelves are lined:
         old copies of ancient classics.

I love buying old books—
         the lost treasures they are,
and the lost treasures they hide:
                      tram tickets,
                      letters,
                      not­es,
    two-dollar-notes,
              and scholarly students' scribblings.

I have some books I fear to open
         for fear they'll fall apart.

There are some who love old books—
         their possibilities,
                 malleabilities,
         and superficialities.

Their bookshelves aren't lined.
         But rooms of reams of bunting, and tables of origami.
                          (or soft and softly mottled picture frames)

They love buying old books—
         not for wisdom,
         nor connections to ancestors.

They've no fear of giants' shoulders;
         whole worlds are torn apart.

There is not much to say about me, I'm very simple and easy going, more than a personality thing is a choice of life. I think the key to life's happiness is simplicity. I'm a rebel and love is the only force that bends me, time after time. I do not tolerate injustices, superficialities, bureaucracies, social inequalities, or organized religion, but I do believe in God. I write, mostly poetry, I attempt to give meaning to life through words.
Some of the things that I like, in no particular order. . . Watch the sunrise, the rain through a window, the glow of the skin when touched by the sun, philosophize with crazies like myself, laugh attacks, have an ice cream as I take a walk, silence (mostly when I have someone to think about), a complicity smile, the mischievous eyes of children =), fall asleep while reading a book, learning how to live with my mistakes, winning a poker game with a really sucky hand, the happiness to see again someone I love, nights where you sing until the sunrises, the tears that fall after laughing super hard, to deepen my toes in the sand, to swim at the beach, dry up in the sun, bohemian nights and red wine, ring neighbor door bells and run for life, the smell of bread in the oven, the land where I was born, the cold weather, much better if I can hug someone I love, playing my guitar, touch my books and remember their content, a good boxing match, to close my eyes and let my fingers run down my piano keys, to sing while I drive, to cook for those I love, passionate people, poets, fighters, and every day the list of things I love grows. . . =)

“I want to be famous.”
Is what I used to tell my parents.

“Why?”
They’d ask.

“So people will love me”

Now that is partly true,
Who doesn’t want to be accepted and loved by those around them?

But

I have something else to say.

I don’t only long for the people to love me.
I long to stand up for the people who don’t know they’re being taken advantage of.
I want to open people’s eyes.

To show them that there is more to life than
work, or politics, or who’s dating who, or what the **** the Kardashians are wearing today.
There’s beauty in everything, but the media blinds.

I had lost my vision for a while.
I’m slowly recovering.

I used to think of material things.
Superficialities.

Now I think of how stunning the way the light reflects off of the brightly colored walls of my room.
I think of how sad it makes me to see trash littering my city’s roads.
I think of my friends on the other side of the world who are doing their own, normal, mundane, beautiful things the very moment I am laying my head down to rest.
I think of injustices being shoved into innocent faces.
I think of my future and what I plan to do about it.

but I think that little parts of me,
Still wish to be loved, no matter how cruel I know this world to be.

It’s hard to say when it exactly happened.                        Man, what a boring day. Sitting here for at

There she was minding her own business                         least twenty minutes and she still hasn’t

and here I am foolishly falling in love with                        shown up. I’m starving too. At least the

her. It’s tough to say what really appealed                        weather’s nice here. The leaves are finally

to me about her. She just had a sort of                        changing and it looks like it might rain.

quality about her, just sitting on that                         Poetic. Prime people watching weather.

bench in a nonchalant fashion. Maybe her                        All of them going about their lives, for the

apathy appealed to me. Wouldn’t that be                         most part unconcerned with each other.

ironic, a lack of interest striking my own.                        It’s hard to not feel lonely when people

No, no, it had to be something else.                          prefer Facebook to real conversation.

I had the pleasure of watching her as I                         No body seems to be taking the sidewalk I

walked pass the bench. She seemed                         took today. Everyone’s just ambling along

content to just sit there waiting for                         the path along the street. There’s little

something. Maybe she was waiting for a                         traffic today too. It’s hard to make out

friend to meet her there or perhaps she                         anyone at this distance. There’s just one

was tired and wanted to take a quick rest.              boy walking past. He’s pretty average

She didn’t look at me directly, much to my             looking, nothing special really. Still I’d

disappointed relief. She was certainly                         take that over your typical Abercrombie

pretty. Not a model of perfection by the                         Frat-boy any day, though I’m pretty sure

social standard, but social opinion *****.                         they think the same for me. To hell with

She wasn’t bound by such superficialities                         them. He has dark brown hair, but it looks          

as social vanity. I wish more people were                         almost jet black with the rain clouds in

so. Her eyes were dark blue though they                         the sky. I wonder where he’s going. He

looked a tad gray on this cloudy day. It                         doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.

looked like it might rain.                                                Maybe he doesn’t care about getting wet.

She had brown hair cut shorter than most             He just pasts me and I really got a good

and her clothes didn’t look like they came                         look at him without looking. A plaid

from a mall. Blue jeans and brown boots                         button up with blue jeans. Carrying a

too. Not bad, not bad at all. She had a bag                         brown backpack, most likely filled with

with her, which was set down right beside             texts and other class stuff. He stops to

her. She was checking her phone and I’m                         check his phone. Maybe his girlfriend

walking past burping up butterflies. I                         texted him or his mom’s seeing how he’s

walked past her like a sleepy morning                         doing. I’d say he’s a sophomore but he

before Sunday church and stopped. I                         could be older. Judging from his look I’d

pulled out my phone, can’t have me                         say no one important. Two more

looking too awkward just standing there,                         freshmen loudly walk on by talking about

and pretended to check my text messages                         how much they hate some class they’re in.

as a pair of freshmen walked by. I had to                         Mmm, there’s my friend walking down

at least verbally confirm my existence to                         the street. Now I can finally go get some

her. I put my phone away and did a quick                         food. That boy is still texting; maybe it is

about haste.                                                           ­             his girlfriend. Too bad

She was gone.                                                            ­            He was cute

I’m exhausted
Drained by superficialities
That mark a women’s worth.
Pondering questions asked
By those who fear to answer
Because they know the truth.
Ridiculed by baring gifts from God,
A slanted nose or fumbled hands.
Exhaustion are those who embrace;
Embrace scared sanctions from
Others who demonize their faults;
Faults-a rare gift from Mother Nature herself.
That is our testimonial kiss

I was born to superficialities and arrogance
by parents, now divorced
I managed the local Comprehensive down the road
and left with some O'levels in woodwork and home Economics
I grew up watching TV and playing computer games
I like to drink and go out and have spent two weeks in Benidorm
I follow all the street fashion and hang out a lot with my mates

I think what others think and do what others do
So please come and put things in my mind, come sow seeds
Anchor my mind to anything you chose
because you can alter my mind and manipulate my emotions
I don't know who I am, I am available because like you and you
I do not have a mind of my own, I cannot reason and act on my own
all my life I just do what others do or what has been put in my mind

Sensitise me to black, because black has only one reference in my mind
Sensitise me to a love that never was, because I've never loved before
Sensitise me to white because I watch interracial **** you see
Sensitise me to pink, orange and green they only conjure one thing
in my mind
Set up drama and play out scene, it all goes straight to my mind
I am a clockwork orange at your command
Tell me I am lonely and worthless because you know best

Knowledge is power as deciphered by crooks and Extremists
who know we buy into and believe anything they tell us
Make them fat juicy lies and distortion because truths is boring
get us busy with manipulating our minds by telling us we are
manipulating the mind of a clockwork orange
So please fill my mind with *******, sow a thousand seeds
You can manipulate my emotions, you can alter my personalities
I have no self will, I have no self control, I have no discipline
I have no confidence because morons are cleverer than Me

I am just a nobody from the local Comprehensive
I only learn and grow from what you show me, say to me
act in drama in front of me or prompts and triggers dropped.
I am just a clockwork orange, so peel me and squeeze my mind
as you wish
I am just a mindless hooligan wasting my time and efforts in
what the Leaders calls POWER OF THE PEOPLE

They tell me MAJORITY WINS ALL THE TIME, THEY TELL ME
THIS IS POWER!

I cannot pinpoint the moment I felt you,
Not in me and fleeting and exiting,
But within me, burrowing and thriving
Transcending past superficialities
And sailing, reveling,
Deep into some place I cannot see or reach.
You see, it’s been sleeping for a time now,
That unnamed force that inhabits the place.
But what I can do is pick moments,
Scattered like colorful tacks on a map,
Tracking my movements throughout the city
I borrowed for a few days, imagining
I’d return
Like a spontaneous library book
And back on the shelf, considered momentarily
Then gone again.
I didn’t think I’d bring a fragment home,
Aching for the remaining pieces,
The cathartic peace.

Let's get down to
The meaning of words

NOT SUPERFICIALITIES!


SoulSurvivor
2022
[10W]

His illuminating personality is,
if anything,
But a thinly veiled facade for the pain that lies underneath.

When looking deeply into his eyes,
just maybe,
You’ll see something I couldn’t.

Some say monster, some say saint;
although unsure,
For all I saw was him,
In his entirety.

As I sit here writing about someone I could barely grasp,
yet he holds me with such force,
The red seeps into a frigid purple,
As my superficialities begin to fade and the real damage is revealed.

The man I loved.
Is who hurts the most, even on his best days.

It’s time for me to end my romanticization with a ghost of a memory.

Life is waiting.

They are inadequate and insecure
Those poor lot who never got it right
Minds befuddled, no grace nor talent for sure
Want love but it's never real and day is always night
Superficialities and pretence is all there are on their shore

So these sad lots find pleasure in destroying things
Body full of drugs n sorrow, something's' always  wrong
Negativity their wont, misery and menace in their everything
All that is good is tarnished, strength and confidence are wrong
Their happiness eclipsed, mind diseased, knowing stained loving

See that precious diamond glittering sharply bright
No say our lots, that just a piece of old hard stone dug up
See that lovely rose in pristine bloom in lovely summer light
No that's just an ordinary dead flower with thorns in a big cup
Sick downers whose glass always half empty with sour snakebite

They own ignorance and bitterness in droves
Always envious and jealous the inherent bent of the warped
Intimidated by excellence, mired in dishonour like putrid cloves
These nonentities crave attention in ignominy like neurotic wasps
In enlightened riposte - class is permanent and crying is not for doves

In the metropolis of superficialities
where text speak is now the lingua franca
and *** means surprise and emoji's tells it all
statistics says literacy level is low reading books lower
stars and celebrities pile out to admit they've never read a book

Walk with the vulnerable at lower ends
is escapism in ignorance and uninformed minds
all milling in emotional malaise and defensive angsts
where semblance rages and substance is a white powder
life becomes a drama of pretext and most are mere method actors

In vacuous air bullshitters ply their trades
each with spins on limiting realities they confront
hiding in comforting delusions or attacking with delusions
whilst in fears and confusion their inner selves quake coreless
without the gradual build of learning that shapes the minds sublime

So without informed understanding
in selves or environs or the wider global vistas
half minds gorge on fake news, misinformation and ripe lies
beastly minds in tamed puppets prey to the prevailing fashion as it
the sheepherders know the score as did Pol *** did to burn all books

This is democracy, people's power and we don't need books

He was the was a Cambodian revolutionary and politician who governed Cambodia as the Prime Minister of Democratic Kampuchea

in the hollow opaque's
where superficialities lays unreal
and wars rages within spilling dead blood
writing obituaries  for the living from the dying
pouring misguided hate and defiance of the truth
screaming loudly to look within yourselves and see the logs
in the myriad of differing coloured eyes in vapid soulless snowfalls
eternal sunshine of the light minds is not for grave diggers uninspired  
he digs from hollow cavities unhinging the defunct emptiness of being
she stains in whispering dark clouds watering the cancer within warmly
it has always been about them as in by them through them for them and in them