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Frank Key Feb 2015
I am more free now than I've ever been.
Money, time, the horizon stretches out.
But.
If I had wings,
It would feel like they were set on fire.
More than clipped.
I'm not thrashing. Like
A cut bird would be.
I'm frozen here.
The air is bubbling and I can't breathe.
There's barely bone left to walk on.
I could maybe stumble. Get a job
Daze through workdays.
But my head is frozen. Thwacks from
Bats. Shrieking cracks coming through.
I can't think Everything is so
Blurry.
The thwacks aren't rescuers.
They're not breaking me out . They're
Waves crashing on me. Adding to the
Ice.
Every piece of mail,
"Have not met our
Academic Standards."
And I am deeper in the sea.
They're so many whistles to go up.
Friendly porpoises saying I can still go
Up.
But the waves are pulling me
Down
Face first
into the pasty mud
too weak to crank myself up
too ashamed to continue hugging earth
but we all hug our mothers when we're hurting.

Finally risen from the pit
Face up, proud, and defying
I gave him my stony gaze
Face caked with loam

He sneers
I could swear there are
canines in all gum roots
as he speaks
tongue dancing to farce
I hope he guillotines the messenger

He utters
you look pretty when you wear
the ****

He thwacks me deadly
I tip and tumble
right down
down

It is the betters years now
I've soared up, up
up
and now people wear mud
for me
not on faces
not that I'd care
I'm paying them, after all
after all, I'm not buying their souls
after all, they want to be here
they're happy
and after all I've been through
It's high time someone takes the mud
for me... and then
I see her

Red hair rippling in radiant sun
casting glints of desire I catch with
hungry eyes
Her skin pale as pearl
Her face speckled like rich mineral
Her features delicate and strong
Her eyes, sharp and bright and silhouetted, like
windows to a garden,
yes,
green eyes.

I've tasted never
I've spoken never
of such quibbles as love,
but her beauty is the embrace
I've never known

It's all a shimmering flow
a cascade of fluid memory
the quenching of things
not known to be thirsted
My eyes open to a path
I've just found the will
to traverse in peace.

Yet, like Jack and Jill,
we go tumbling down
down
the hill
and...

It's a wedding anniversary
not ours
because silence
and delirium imbibed
is preferred on such occasions

I smile
She glances
and sighs deep
unearthing cavernous
voids
of misery
caked on memories
of bittersweet mysteries
called love

It is only in the mirror that,
with those windowed eyes,
she gazes with scorn, pity
a truth meant for me

Shame crushes my heart
heartbeat pulsing like
a crumpled soda can
rattling on empty road

With languid brushstrokes
she applies the mascara

You look pretty when you wear
the ****
I said

The pin drops
and with it
the canvas...

One man's trash is another's face
We can find solace in the
shattered remnants
of our dreams,
or we can challenge
the very precepts that
assured our rightful happiness
I burned the midnight oil to get this done... 1:28am to be exact.
Though, you'll probably only see this in the morning.

Still, today being August marks close to 8 years that I've been writing poetry (seasonally), from the days in which I was trying to dazzle people in my High School, senior year "Creative Writing" class and... sometimes succeeding, hahah, that is until administration pulled me out of that class and stuck me in Gym class (the history behind that is way too complicated right now, LOL).

Starting in 2012, I went through three years of not being able to write anything substantial. That was very painful.

I've got a really complex relationship with writing, so I'm always excited and amazed when I finish a piece, and I'm prone to sharing with anyone who'll give it a chance.

I've never won any competitions, I've barely been published and I still carry this idea that someone will care even if I don't, LOL. It's not like I don't want to do those things. It's that I'm too busy dying inside to care (cue fake laughter...)

Anyway, I'm always trying to write my thoughts out after the poem and am thankful that this option is here. I get to read over these things a month later and cringe at how weird I was and, "Why did I say that?" and, "Shut up, idiot!" and "Ah, nice, that was cool..." and "Oh, you always LOL me, man."

Yup, life is sad, but we get to write about how sad it is, as if that would make it any less sad, I mean, if that's the way it works, why don't I just write about how I don't have any money and *gasps* it's the cosmic loophole! Chuh-ching!!!
Tim Knight Mar 2014
You've bruises on your thighs,
both sides of skin beat and red.
If this is how he says hello to you
then maybe it's time leave, or is
it time to relieve yourself with
hits and smacks and colourful
comic-book thwacks back so his
****** nose can complement those
he gave you that time in spring.

Take your glass slippers and be
one of those girls in red dresses;
dance, twist, and twirl as well as
the rest of them, churn up that
dance floor ring and take time
out for more drinks, rehydrate
before looking for another long-
term date to be a tactile touch-er
with, another involved and committed
lover.

Take note from the pint husbands
and their half-pint wives around you,
pen a note to yourself for the future
beginning with,
Listen,
then moving swiftly on with,
If you find another man that hits
before he kisses you than you've picked wrong,

ending with,
*You've plenty of time left, stay strong.
FROM > coffeeshoppoems.com
infinitetune Nov 2012
She stands among the grey scape with
So many muted colours inside her.
But today is a day of monochrome miasmas-
Of grey gulls that skim the pewter river
With wings that know such measures.

The greyness leeches her to the technicolour
World she knew long ago
Somewhere down the river.

A cauldron of rage wages above her
Filled with the bursts of brigands of
Grey restless beauty.

There's a rainbow now!

As it archly
Shows its palette she sees the separation
Appear ever nearer...
Above the rainbow is cobalt
Beneath it a merely flat grey.

Underneath her umbrella she enjoys
The puttered thwacks of soft water indenting
Thin fabric with a firework crack.
Suddenly she's back
Her shoes are black and her eyes are grey.
She wishes everyone was a million miles away.
She wishes everyone could stay.
Tommy N Mar 2011
I thought about leaving you today
while spackling a bathtub.
Melissa’s patches were smooth and shined
in the husky light of rotting bathroom windows,
mine were rough, and sagged like a skin
on face in months before death.
My favorite part of that job was cleaning up afterward,
putting everything back in its place,
sweeping up the dust and closing the door behind you.
Your favorite part was tearing down the old,
digging your chisel into the wall,
and watching the pieces rain down on the painter’s paper.
They would fall with thwacks
thwack           thwack              like rain on umbrellas
heard through a second story window.
Written 2010 during the MFA program at Columbia College Chicago
Cee Valenso Jun 2015
I.
A sun deemed resplendent, bearing only a fraudulent shine
The only luster it holds yields shabby verses and lines
A weary heart wishing for chosen eyes to descry unwritten letters
An exhausted mind yearning to rid of the demon's loud chatters

II.
A desire to commence a mutiny, A desire to spark a rebellion
Engage in a war with army tanks riding domesticated stallions
Efforts remain futile, feeble are all attacks
Skulls remain unbroken after a thousand thwacks

III.
A posture resembling a colossal monument
A name etched temporarily on the copious firmament
What's strong is not, what's loud is quiet
Who stares at the gun craves for the lethal bullet

IV.
A new flesh has developed out of nothing but grime
Layers of filth has accumulated on what once was prime
Daggers have been thrown, arrows had been fired
To seek for an escape is urgent as it is dire

V.
All goodbyes shunned in exchange for a longer lullaby
A dying crow ready to leap off a ravine, ready to fly
Not all apologies were said, not all gratitude were expressed
The ninety-nine shall remain suppressed

VI.
Darkness was the light and the light was incessantly sought
A soul beyond repair, a concert of tumultuous thoughts
Temporary is the peace during slumbers
Eternal it is if the bed is six feet under
PJ Poesy Jan 2017
Trembling storm door
thwacks destruction and
love of warm blankets
keeps us cuddly cozy

Pardon my saying
violation inglorious heralds
at our stoop
Now being time for our
recoiling

Observing current circumstance
shall we dress ourselves?
In church clothes
or bathrobes do we streak
to chapel of the day

My likeness in you says,  "Yes!"
We've twiddled toes enough
We shan't wait much longer
Tyrant floods come
Poised indication tells us
our love is rakish
and rallies are arising

Who knows where  this storm goes?

All I  know is,  I want you now
The time may not seem right,  but with a storm upon us,  will time run out?
W Jun 2015
I can almost taste how tense those muscles are when they swing the red-hot tire-iron into my face again and again
And oh, how the blood keeps coming and oh, how it pools on the uneven concrete
Steamy and globby and staring at my contorted jaw and the hard lines of arms using my skull like a drum
More thwacks and now human barbecue as teeth drop into the syrupy mix and float like islands and I think of A.1. steak sauce

One second of silence and I wipe my hands on my thighs
The only difference between jeans and a dress is about six inches and I start to wonder
Which six until my head jerks left and then right again and
God, don't those ******* arms ever get tired

I lick my licks and lap up the red that must be running down my chin
Tastes like maraschino cherries and some other flavor I can't quite grasp
I search the tip of my tongue for it but find only the holey ridges in my gums and suddenly I realize
Maybe that flavor is the six inches that separate jeans from dresses

But then I laugh, and somewhere far above me someone else does too.
Orybix Oct 2014
The static is visible, it dances violently
Phosphorescent vibrations scribble suspended in time and space
Electric like a mid day sky and yet the sight of it makes me uneasy
It follows me as I walk in the dark so I can see my way

The rain in this place falls backward
The silvery pools seem to evaporate before my eyes
But it feels good to know the clouds are waiting up in the sky
So light and airy, arms open wide

The streets are empty and I can’t see too far
The static keeps me company as I walk
I’ve always felt like I was sinking
But now I want to become the rain

I ask too many questions I think
I want to understand
If I were meant to be here things wouldn’t be so bland

And the thunder rolls across the hills
Thwacks the buildings on their backs
The bare streets come alive with silver pools

My mind is like a spool of yarn coming undone in crimson yarn
Stained with the wrong color, who put it there?
a revision of the earlier posted poem with a similar but not exact same titled:

     ("Thus always I cause the death of tyrants.”)
the purported line Brutus uttered
after assassinating Julius Caesar.

     Alternatively titled:
The prose and consequential arguments
for the death penalty.

     An attempt to resuscitate
the following rambling missive
written quite some years ago
(being declared dead on arrival
if yours truly took emergency measures
to recruit editorial assistance),
but after re-reading loopy thought process,
I decided to submit to rebukes
and suffer withering criticism
from any anonymous reader.  

     Ever since the early forerunners
of twenty first century mankind
(sprinted across the trackless expanse
extant upon planet Earth),
modern **** Sapiens
essentially won out as coterie precursors
sans predominant present day team of rivals.

     The zigzag line,
whence our arboreal ancestors
skedaddled their way
toward a capitalone delineation
of die hard grateful deadheads
******* disaster, and acquiring
dubious distinction decreeing domain
of oblate spheroid as prime real estate,
(when Prometheus fire
made privy to proto humans,
while an anonymous forerunner
of Flintstones squatted squeezing
with utmost effort,
when nothing more
than an ear deafening blast of flatulence
issued forth unwittingly
kindled sparks of tinder),
the imperceptible figurative ink
did not dry before these hairy hooligans
edged out other prehensile primates.

     Enfant Terrible employed
as an analogy for punctuated equilibrium
(postulated by Stephen Jay Gould
heterochrony and similar evolutionary changes
would not be directed by the genes
that actually build various body parts)
witnessing a boom rang
amidst feral creatures unpredictably crowing
with foo fighting fecundity
(inadvertently in sync with Feng Shui)
to launch a scrappy posse
of measly mensch kin’s into the realm.

     This phenomena countless thousands
(more like millions) of years
since the inception of brutal,
nasty and short tempered
present day troglodytes.

     With the aid of an imaginary crystal ball,
the seeds of White Lily got borne
via Aery windy gusts
jet setting most “advanced” pygmy beastie boys
as the animalistic bellwether
per future adventure,
whence many anthropological
opposable thumbed volumes yet written
till the present deadly crossroads
announced ruthless Reichstag.

     Credos, codas, diktats
governing infantile Messerschmitt
Sol Invictus yet unnamed role
as most dangerous living beings
known to exist
unwittingly usurped
grandiose nom de plume
as Master baiters
predicating their survival
on brawn and brains
to public enemy number one
to all other life forms.

     As the fittest
(at least when accidents of circumstances
found tendency to crowd source,
the mob mentality already evident
as hyena cackles quickly garnered rubric
of might equals right),
thus grabbing by force of strong arms
(fingers clutching deadly lances),
the top prize
as sovereign dictators of the Proletariat).

     Over the course of millennia
(presently without Melania, who cares),
they became the de facto dominant species.

     The proto humans ancestors of Donald Trump,
essentially won the race millenniums ago.

     The evolutionary descendents
metamophasizing into bipedal hominids
of recent mankind did not monkey around
when competing in the Human Race.

     They elbowed, jostled,
and ousted competitors eventually
to ascend inexorably their way
to the top tier of totalitarianism.

     Great indomitable naked apes
of early simian evolution,
would not settle for any role
except top banana
in the hierarchical schema of biota
extant throughout the nascent
dawn of civilization
and age of Aquarius.

     Violence with whatever materiel at hand
vanquished any threat
to world wide webbed *******
sans existence at dawn of civilization.
  
    Closer to late morning and high noon
the tall tale ushered vanity
videre licet venal, vicious, vocal
frankly zapped Tarzans,
10,000 Maniacs, and voodoo worshippers
blitzed like banshees.

     Literal face saving each manikin for himself
(gnome hatter whether blood pact swore),
the bludgeoned, hoodwinked,
and whipped warriors wary warlocks
fought tooth nail to the death.

     One instant found a bald
(ah that explains my receding heir line)
bandied legged *******
macho tree swinging sportsman
(my monkey's uncle)
brazenly boasting bona fide.

     Well guess what ma friend?

     That sure-footed geico hunter
met a ****** death on an empty stomach.

     His purported blood brothers abandoned him
(at the drop of a clump of offal)
as not dependent and unreliable brethren.

     No such thing as a gentlemen’s agreement
ruled the ****** terra firmae.

     Amidst the warren of primates,
a promise quickly broached instantaneously
after pledging allegiance to a pseudo fraternity.

     Swift lee tailored and harried styled obeisance
adhered to a flip flop (dip thong)
pattern that guaranteed staying alive.

     This included bopping strapping "jocks"
on their beanies
with rotten tangerines of bystander’s
whereat even babies innocently
caught in the culture club
thwacks between one competing claque and another.

     Pity clobbered indiscriminately
friend and de foe alike
exacerbating ruination of bucolic beauty.

     Contra bands (very loosely applied)
associated with village people
as the most powerful brigands,
which shifting fidelity took place
without the presence
of border crossing guards
or border collies.

     The open frontier
presented Avast earthlinked heaven,
where danger lurked
in most every field camouflaged
by delusively diminutive sized cretins,
that punched a wallop with a crack
on the noggin before
indigenous faux peoples swooped down
amidst the war whoop emitted
by a madding crowd marauding
where angels feared to tread.

     Oft times (no doubt),
thee ah bridged brotherly bond broke
brooked ranks (once
upon unfamiliar terrain
of an alien nation)
plying figurative cards
to benefit bristling brood.
    
     Deoxyribonucleic Acid
played a key role as genetics
probably parlayed traits
to the ace of spades,
where the wild impractical joker
abetted physical heft
to hoist with her/his own petard heavy objects,
and mandates employed and obeyed
by snatching strapping twisted sisters,
thence sacking sacred cistern,
when bands of ruffians
within the melee wrought regal restitution.

     Where nature fell short
weeding out the weak, sickly, elderly,
frail, deformed, et cetera,
the Flint Stone Age paradigm
evinced population control
linkedin to Netzero tolerance
for even minor infractions.

     Interwoven with the whack
upon the mole hole atop noggin
with cracked skull
(and broken weapon of destruction)
throve the depredations
of rival rebellious ravenous stealthy,
quick of pluck (prestidigitatious like)
orchestrated nature made ideology.

   Highlight of Goofus and Gallant
bred within the survival instinct
of hungry hordes of prey,
when Earth in the balance
against an uncomfortable truth
smug smurf like scavengers.

     Punishment meted out
and limited by the poison
yielded courtesy iron maiden
of hand-to-hand mortal kombat.

     Only when the codification,
edification, glorification…
of sedentary versus nomadic lifestyle
did considerations turn
to protection of self and others.

     This shift in consciousness
occurred over great swaths of time.

     At some juncture in the history,
an alteration from superstitious,
querulous, and portentous outlook,
some anonymous hotmail
awakened with a momentous,
judicious, and industrious insight
to counter act and oppose
hellacious and supplant said pathos
with a healthy generous dose
of fortuitousness reckoned
by invention formulating calculus,
audaciousness and picking up
some helpful tips from bad company.

     Difficult to pinpoint
the precise instance or prodigy
who advanced contemplation,
federation, intuition…
the process most likely happened
in fits and starts.
    
     As aggregates of close affiliates
with out genus and species
recognized benefits of law and order,
a coordinated effort
seemed to blossom forth
promulgating civility,
every good boy does fine mentality
and seeking methodologies
to offer greater guarantee for longevity.
  
     Creedence clearwater revival
delivered the gospel according to Matthew,
which soon indoctrinated
the merry brigands of pagans
actuating obloquy against contrary beliefs.

     Long story short of course
forcibly pronounced decree
imposing religious strictures
to be obeyed lest one be sentenced to death.

     Many a decent creature,
who found solace from spirits
that inhabited the natural environment
got sucker punched
(or worse tortured till he and/or
she recanted supposed primitive beliefs),
and at some instance
relinquished spiritual heritage
harkening back generations.
  
     Though freedom of religion
an inalienable right, a twisted sister logic
(my opinion) seems
to destroy innocent lives
while a terroristic perpetrator
becomes a martyr.

     If the realm of each cerebral individual
aggressively usurped
by indomitable fanatics
hell bent on proselytizing
at a very tender age,
(when the mind most malleable),
and hashtagging those
whose willpower greater than any sword,
the latter labeled heretics
with the price of their life
to pay for staunchly held vision quest.

     Here doth stare me a long entrenched
hypocrisy at the expense
of no threat to another.  
      
     How (warning cause mumbo jumbo ahead)
in the name of tarnation
(with or without feathers
would be incidental
to this Unitarian based atheist)
can there be a more severe implication
of self sovereignty than the deprivation
for personal willfulness
as a natural curiosity
to cogitate, educate, genuflect…
et cetera on the ramifications
of humanism if forced
to recant such individualistic projections?

     Unbeknownst to this wordsmith
his meandering reflections would follow
an arc unpredictable
at the start of this self-imposed literary exercise.

     His er rather my intent aspired
to dwell on near black and white principles
of so-called right and wrong.

     Funny (and/or maybe ironic),
that most if not all organized edicts
disparage against every single premise
(particularly taking the life of another
without just cause), yet pronounce
severe screeds with a bounty hunter
put upon the head of he/she
who professes such antithetical intimations.

     Further objection toward adherents
to this, that or some other accepted codex,
when the sanctity of embryonic/fetal entity
sets mad men going off
on a rampage of ranting, and raving,
and even killing in the name of pro life.

     This introspective, live,
oddly ruminating uber xman wags
as a sagacious thinker,
and does assent that a capital offense
(such as ****** – minus self defense)
ought to be dealt with a blow
(both figurative and literal)
against the killer, though outright execution
disallows the hardened criminal
to become sensitized
to such a deadly deed.

     Earlier chapters of mein kampf
would elicit an immediate declaration
that what he/she who kills another
ought to get (I scream) their just desserts.

     As the decades passed, a realization
that exact retribution can bring reduction
regarding the departed heartfelt,
lost past quirky specialness,
whether that person
constitutes an outlier
whose notions, thoughts,
whims, et cetera, could upend
the entire complex edifice
what tomb me on par
with an ennobled, established,
and accepted myth greater than Sisyphus.

     Whatsapp penning to me
(a punning logophile
with acute perception
can be briefly explained
by the role of fatherhood.

     As the papa of two
dearly beloved daughters
(both soon on the cusp of taking wing
and flying the coop
at the electronic date/time stamp),
many controversial stances
underwent augmentation
within the breastworks of mine *****.

     How many emotionally
laden issues posit one or both
of said prized progeny
as a hypothetical/speculative victim
courtesy growing up
in a dysfunctional upbringing.

     Anger against the avenger
would be mirrored by innumerable questions.

     I would be keen to share
how pained this papa felt/feels,
and beckon to  explain
what provoked such unforgivable
vengeful wrath against himself.

     Damage would haunt
thine prized precious offspring,
and this dada cannot imagine
how a mother and father endure
the never-ending permanent harm
dealt their son or daughter
no matter the perpetrator penalized.
("Thus always I cause the death of tyrants.”)
the purported line Brutus uttered
after assassinating Julius Caesar.

     Alternatively titled:
The prose and consequential arguments
for the death penalty.

     An attempt to resuscitate
the following rambling missive
written quite some years ago
(being declared dead on arrival
if yours truly took emergency measures
to recruit editorial assistance),
but after re-reading loopy thought process,
I decided to submit to rebukes
and suffer withering criticism
from any anonymous reader.  

     Ever since the early forerunners
of twenty first century mankind
(sprinted across the trackless expanse
extant upon planet Earth),
modern **** Sapiens
essentially won out as coterie precursors
sans predominant present day team of rivals.

     The zigzag line,
whence our arboreal ancestors
skedaddled their way
toward a capitalone delineation
of die hard grateful deadheads
******* disaster, and acquiring
dubious distinction decreeing domain
of oblate spheroid as prime real estate,
(when Prometheus fire
made privy to proto humans,
while an anonymous forerunner
of Flintstones squatted squeezing
with utmost effort,
when nothing more
than an ear deafening blast of flatulence
issued forth unwittingly
kindled sparks of tinder),
the imperceptible figurative ink
did not dry before these hairy hooligans
edged out other prehensile primates.

     Enfant Terrible employed
as an analogy for punctuated equilibrium
(postulated by Stephen Jay Gould
heterochrony and similar evolutionary changes
would not be directed by the genes
that actually build various body parts)
witnessing a boom rang
amidst feral creatures unpredictably crowing
with foo fighting fecundity
(inadvertently in sync with Feng Shui)
to launch a scrappy posse
of measly mensch kin’s into the realm.

     This phenomena countless thousands
(more like millions) of years
since the inception of brutal,
nasty and short tempered
present day troglodytes.

     With the aid of an imaginary crystal ball,
the seeds of White Lily got borne
via Aery windy gusts
jet setting most “advanced” pygmy beastie boys
as the animalistic bellwether
per future adventure,
whence many anthropological
opposable thumbed volumes yet written
till the present deadly crossroads
announced ruthless Reichstag.

     Credos, codas, diktats
governing infantile Messerschmitt
Sol Invictus yet unnamed role
as most dangerous living beings
known to exist
unwittingly usurped
grandiose nom de plume
as Master baiters
predicating their survival
on brawn and brains
to public enemy number one
to all other life forms.

     As the fittest
(at least when accidents of circumstances
found tendency to crowd source,
the mob mentality already evident
as hyena cackles quickly garnered rubric
of might equals right),
thus grabbing by force of strong arms
(fingers clutching deadly lances),
the top prize
as sovereign dictators of the Proletariat).

     Over the course of millennia
(presently without Melania, who cares),
they became the de facto dominant species.

     The proto humans ancestors of Donald Trump,
essentially won the race millenniums ago.

     The evolutionary descendents
metamophasizing into bipedal hominids
of recent mankind did not monkey around
when competing in the Human Race.

     They elbowed, jostled,
and ousted competitors eventually
to ascend inexorably their way
to the top tier of totalitarianism.

     Great indomitable naked apes
of early simian evolution,
would not settle for any role
except top banana
in the hierarchical schema of biota
extant throughout the nascent
dawn of civilization
and age of Aquarius.

     Violence with whatever materiel at hand
vanquished any threat
to world wide webbed *******
sans existence at dawn of civilization.
  
    Closer to late morning and high noon
the tall tale ushered vanity
videre licet venal, vicious, vocal
frankly zapped Tarzans,
10,000 Maniacs, and voodoo worshippers
blitzed like banshees.

     Literal face saving each manikin for himself
(gnome hatter whether blood pact swore),
the bludgeoned, hoodwinked,
and whipped warriors wary warlocks
fought tooth nail to the death.

     One instant found a bald
(ah that explains my receding heir line)
bandied legged *******
macho tree swinging sportsman
(my monkey's uncle)
brazenly boasting bona fide.

     Well guess what ma friend?

     That sure-footed geico hunter
met a ****** death on an empty stomach.

     His purported blood brothers abandoned him
(at the drop of a clump of offal)
as not dependent and unreliable brethren.

     No such thing as a gentlemen’s agreement
ruled the ****** terra firmae.

     Amidst the warren of primates,
a promise quickly broached instantaneously
after pledging allegiance to a pseudo fraternity.

     Swift lee tailored and harried styled obeisance
adhered to a flip flop (dip thong)
pattern that guaranteed staying alive.

     This included bopping strapping "jocks"
on their beanies
with rotten tangerines of bystander’s
whereat even babies innocently
caught in the culture club
thwacks between one competing claque and another.

     Pity clobbered indiscriminately
friend and de foe alike
exacerbating ruination of bucolic beauty.

     Contra bands (very loosely applied)
associated with village people
as the most powerful brigands,
which shifting fidelity took place
without the presence
of border crossing guards
or border collies.

     The open frontier
presented Avast earthlinked heaven,
where danger lurked
in most every field camouflaged
by delusively diminutive sized cretins,
that punched a wallop with a crack
on the noggin before
indigenous faux peoples swooped down
amidst the war whoop emitted
by a madding crowd marauding
where angels feared to tread.

     Oft times (no doubt),
thee ah bridged brotherly bond broke
brooked ranks (once
upon unfamiliar terrain
of an alien nation)
plying figurative cards
to benefit bristling brood.
    
     Deoxyribonucleic Acid
played a key role as genetics
probably parlayed traits
to the ace of spades,
where the wild impractical joker
abetted physical heft
to hoist with her/his own petard heavy objects,
and mandates employed and obeyed
by snatching strapping twisted sisters,
thence sacking sacred cistern,
when bands of ruffians
within the melee wrought regal restitution.

     Where nature fell short
weeding out the weak, sickly, elderly,
frail, deformed, et cetera,
the Flint Stone Age paradigm
evinced population control
linkedin to Netzero tolerance
for even minor infractions.

     Interwoven with the whack
upon the mole hole atop noggin
with cracked skull
(and broken weapon of destruction)
throve the depredations
of rival rebellious ravenous stealthy,
quick of pluck (prestidigitatious like)
orchestrated nature made ideology.

   Highlight of Goofus and Gallant
bred within the survival instinct
of hungry hordes of prey,
when Earth in the balance
against an uncomfortable truth
smug smurf like scavengers.

     Punishment meted out
and limited by the poison
yielded courtesy iron maiden
of hand-to-hand mortal kombat.

     Only when the codification,
edification, glorification…
of sedentary versus nomadic lifestyle
did considerations turn
to protection of self and others.

     This shift in consciousness
occurred over great swaths of time.

     At some juncture in the history,
an alteration from superstitious,
querulous, and portentous outlook,
some anonymous hotmail
awakened with a momentous,
judicious, and industrious insight
to counter act and oppose
hellacious and supplant said pathos
with a healthy generous dose
of fortuitousness reckoned
by invention formulating calculus,
audaciousness and picking up
some helpful tips from bad company.

     Difficult to pinpoint
the precise instance or prodigy
who advanced contemplation,
federation, intuition…
the process most likely happened
in fits and starts.
    
     As aggregates of close affiliates with out genus and species recognized benefits of law and order, a coordinated effort seemed to blossom forth promulgating civility, every good boy does fine mentality and seeking methodologies to offer greater guarantee for longevity.
  
     Creedence clearwater revival delivered the gospel according to Matthew, which soon indoctrinated the merry brigands of pagans actuating obloquy against contrary beliefs.

     Long story short of course forcibly pronounced decree imposing religious strictures to be obeyed lest one be sentenced to death.

     Many a decent creature, who found solace from spirits that inhabited the natural environment got sucker punched (or worse tortured till he and/or she recanted supposed primitive beliefs), and at some instance relinquished spiritual heritage harkening back generations.
  
     Though freedom of religion an inalienable right, a twisted sister logic (my opinion) seems to destroy innocent lives while a terroristic perpetrator becomes a martyr.

     If the realm of each cerebral individual aggressively usurped by indomitable fanatics hell bent on proselytizing at a very tender age, (when the mind most malleable), and hashtagging those whose willpower greater than any sword, the latter labeled heretics with the price of their life to pay for staunchly held vision quest.

     Here doth stare me a long entrenched hypocrisy at the expense of no threat to another.  
      
     How (warning cause mumbo jumbo ahead) in the name of tarnation (with or without feathers would be incidental to this Unitarian based atheist) can there be a more severe implication of self sovereignty than the deprivation for personal willfulness as a natural curiosity to cogitate, educate, genuflect…et cetera on the ramifications of humanism if forced to recant such individualistic projections?

     Unbeknownst to this wordsmith his meandering reflections would follow an arc unpredictable at the start of this self-imposed literary exercise. His er rather my intent aspired to dwell on near black and white principles of so-called right and wrong.

     Funny (and/or maybe ironic), that most if not all organized edicts disparage against every single premise (particularly taking the life of another without just cause), yet pronounce severe screeds with a bounty hunter put upon the head of he/she who professes such antithetical intimations.

     Further objection toward adherents to this, that or some other accepted codex, when the sanctity of embryonic/fetal entity sets mad men going off on a rampage of ranting, and raving, and even killing in the name of pro life.

     This introspective, live, oddly ruminating uber xman wags as a sagacious thinker, and does assent that a capital offense (such as ****** – minus self defense) ought to be dealt with a blow (both figurative and literal) against the killer, though outright execution disallows the hardened criminal to become sensitized to such a deadly deed.

     Earlier chapters of mein kampf would elicit an immediate declaration that what he/she who kills another ought to get (I scream) their just desserts. As the decades passed, a realization that exact retribution can bring reduction regarding the departed heartfelt, lost past quirky specialness, whether that person constitutes an outlier whose notions, thoughts, whims, et cetera, could upend the entire complex edifice what tomb me on par with an ennobled, established, and accepted myth greater than Sisyphus.

     Whatsapp penning to me (a punning logophile with acute perception can be briefly explained by the role of fatherhood. As the papa of two dearly beloved daughters (both soon on the cusp of taking wing and flying the coop at the electronic date/time stamp), many controversial stances underwent augmentation within the breastworks of mine *****.

     How many emotionally laden issues posit one or both of said prized progeny as a hypothetical/speculative victim courtesy growing up in a dysfunctional upbringing.

     Anger against the avenger would be mirrored by innumerable questions. I would be keen to share how pained this papa felt/feels, and beckon to  explain what provoked such unforgivable vengeful wrath against himself.

     Damage would haunt thine prized precious offspring, and this dada cannot imagine how a mother and father endure the never-ending permanent harm dealt their son or daughter no matter the perpetrator penalized.

— The End —