Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dondaycee Jul 2018
I once heard of name,
Am I death?
Because I never heard of it twice,
I never played the game,
I left it to the rest,
I don’t think it’s right that even the dead lose their life,
What is a legacy, if summarized,
Where’s the integrity if gun aside,
Hearing the melodies of summer nights,
Hennessey and jealousy mixing; some will die,
Memory was therapy, now it is Cherokee,
Longevity became cellularity, no longer a friend to prosperity because the scars attached reiterated a son cry,
This all started with a name,
If I’m escaping parliament, how is it logical to feel obligated to my last?
I tried to explain this to my class,
But I wasn’t named “teacher”,
Instead; a preacher,
And I Practiced what I expressed so that part of me; in the past,
Pardon me for showing class,
I did it because of past,
They taught me to see trash,
I taught me to see the math,
They measured success with material, to validate time,
I expressed choice, I measured it by what constituted the spiritual to validate mind,
These structures are constituted by thoughts that no longer serves a purpose,
With all this baggage, it’s inevitable to replace our self,
I feel innovative because I express what we forgot, they act like they never heard of this,
All this action and acting… it’s inevitable to mistake ourselves, un-appreciate, and deviate to a state in which we hate our self,
Personally speaking, I don’t take advice from people less successful to me,
Your thoughts aren’t medicinal if the archetypes that are habitual aren’t transmuting from distressful to a state in which you are happy to be,
That advice just isn’t attractive to me,
It’s more like I’m back tracking to find the root cause of what’s blinding your perception so that I can heal your expression by removing the thought of neglection and oppression so that you are able to think free,
And I don’t mind…
In the process, I’m judged and crucified,
I’ll reiterate; my intentions are to love and unify,
We’re stagnant because of choice,
If there’s silence in the voice, I throw a nudge to refine, that’s freedom for define, I’m bringing the awareness of choice so that it’s possible to decide on what we personally do with life,
I was stabbed in the back and forgave that,
I was stabbed again and almost resorted to my decision making tactics from way back,
Then came another stabbing that had me lying on the floor,
I got up, but couldn’t find my way back,
Then came a love, she needed an eye,
She took that and saw her way out, I let her go,
Leaning on a wall, I bumped into another,
I gave her my other because she’s a passenger; hetero,
Love comes in trinities; currently dependent on sound,
It was all I had to give; then debt arose,
The next love that came just wanted to hear her name,
I chanted Satchitanada, and that became a death note,
In trials and tribulations I resorted to love and nurturement,
I call this an understanding,
I created this path, there was no one to follow in this century,
If you can’t comprehend that then there’s no possible way for you to understand me,
I never had a plan B, I was dependent on faith,
Independent from wave, I road the waves,
I had to experience what others had experienced, and had to remember myself along the way if I ever wanted to see some type of change,
I played the game and had to retain the focus of me, when I attained the focus to see, all this weight pilling, I was losing my ability to breathe; I was getting hostile,  frustrated, thinking about choosing to lose my ability to breathe,
And it’s because I solidified the W to attract enough attention to reiterate me, if I died I’d be apart of the past with the others; they’d appreciate me, saying my name, expressing a memory lane that would bring change the moment you speak…my name and that’s change,
My arrogance seeks credit, convincing ourselves that we’re victims is easy to me,  
It was difficult for me to exist in this world,
That’s why I decided to live,
That’s how I kept my lid,
That’s why I continue to give,
If I’m bringing truth and love, then this awareness becomes easy to see,
I don’t care about no dollar *****,
I don’t care about your opinions on Donald Trump and Obama; Mister,
I care about our species and our galaxies picture,
I care about the success in reaching the state of nirvana and the help from seven sister’s ,
The Pleiades,
Believe in me,
I heard of a name once,
Does this make me dead?
If so, then my rebirth was captured in everything you just read…
Notice the name.
jim fry Nov 2010
the shadow works, 2005-2006

might as well keep them all together ...
a journey through the shadowz ...
through the possessions ...
through the hell ...
through me ...
through!
whew!

during this time, i sought support from an indian medicine man, a shaman, past life regression therapist, and a variety of other spiritual healers ... some of those, narrated in depth, elsewhere ...

the enclosed is probably not of interest to many,
understood, yet offered up,
as a journey,
narrated through times,
via rhymes


Heavy

May 6, 2005

I feel knee deep in a bog
Tackling responsibility for emotions
Are these weights a lesson
Projections reflected

I want things smooth
Light and carefree
I don’t seek control
But expect absence of impact

I can’t buy, reason or work
My way out of this challenge
Each time faced head on
I give up ground and accommodate
To point of compromise
No side is right here
What is, just is

I have my perceptions
And filters
And the weight intensifies
I want to dissolve it
Haven’t figured out how
Depression, heavy
Rooted inside

How do I break free
I feel alone
Even within myself
I don’t know
The reflection
In the mirror

There is a longing to be free
Unchained
Unbound
To live
To sleep
To find balance
Chasm

I want to be
What I feel I’m not
I don’t celebrate
What I perceive
Myself to be

I seek void
Death
Rebirth
Ha
Do this again
Easier
To take flight
Black
Grey
White

Tears
Rip across my chest
Seeking
To release my heart
Bound and chained
I want them to flow
Pent emotions
Seek exorcism

I haven’t surrendered
I don’t accept
Open I bleed
Closed I store pain

I want to feel flow

Nothing aligned
Empty I know
Torn
Shredded
Fragments and shards
Differentially
Scattered

Ungrounded
Not whole
I want to go home
Here come the tears
Smiles


Dark Envelop

July 9, 2005

Feeling my way through the illusion
Finding no solace in delusion
Have my angels found another to watch over
Are my whispers no longer heard and contemplated

As I believe I do my best
I don’t convince even myself
So much struggle and challenge
Why do I even travel
Away from my bed

Prodded along
Voices and dialogs
In my head

I could start again tomorrow
Wait, I have done that before
Somewhere within, my shadow sneers
Chaotic and off balance, I’m fodder
Material for my shadow’s jeers
******, ***** and stripped bare
Seeking a single reason to care
Am I victim to want it all fair

Now

I recognize this place
Hell etched in my face
I could so easily quit
Leave the game’s race
Always another will replace
Scripts each written on ****** mace

Not yet ready

Lessons to learn
Though I yearn
Tis not my time to rest
Not until this unconscious
With which I wrest
Is balanced and addressed
Then, only, will it be my turn
I’ll find some sun
Seek beauty and joy
Transcend this marathon run

I’m not the universe’s toy


Reflections from the Void

August 21, 2005

So, this is death!
all distractions departed
leaving emptiness, not loneliness
gnawing absence of purpose, manifests in tears

Purgatory,
between somethings that felt to have mattered
without logical linkage
between then, now and the next then

Transitions require momentum
energy is here, but failing direction
what pursuit of new experience calls
none … these moments

Sleep comes easy, frequently
no dreams revealed in the aftermode
void … passionless … lethargic … empty … void
emotionless?

Looking for some elixir
to heal, to know, to feel …
the game continues / with tears of the void
the potential unknown
I guess I do feel alone …

why … what the **** is the point … anyways …
does this rub … offend … ????

this, my creation, my expression of infinite potential, capacity, too bad that
I have no TV to distract …
guess I need to process through …

ps …
if you receive this – love you …
for what it is worth ...

I guess I am ‘OK’, just feeling my way through ………..


Heart of Sadness

November 6, 2005

Incredible, my heart screams of sadness
as I accept and surrender
Surrender to what I have wrought,
what I did from my state of pain

Our pain breeds more pain, often,
and feeds back upon itself
Amplifying toward a crescendo
of intensity felt viscerally

As our hearts ache
In deepening depression,
I feel spoiled that I want more
than I have
I feel I should harden up
and move forward,
towards, what …

If I harden up, I harden my heart
and it feels now is the moment
to dive into this pain,
to learn from this pain,
to grow from this pain,
to understand from this pain,
to rebuild my heart in an open way

Experience the pain in full color
experience the loneliness,
experience the emptiness,
experience my void,
experience my sorrow,
experience my defeat,
experience yet another death,
experience my drama,
experience my immaturity,
experience my dysfunctional self,
experience the consequences,
experience the responsibility,
experience the resentment of myself,
experience the anger at myself,
experience the pain,
experience the bleeding,
experience the desolation,
experience the emotions raw,
experience the tears,
experience the shredding in my heart

grow in compassion,
grow in empathy,
grow in unconditional love,
grow in reverence,
grow in acceptance,
grow in maturity,
grow in awareness

I don’t need to sacrifice,
I need to celebrate

I don’t need to enable,
I need to empower

I don’t need to think,
I need to feel

I don’t need to protect,
I need to love

I don’t need to speak,
I need to listen

I don’t need to hurt or project,
I need to heal


Returning Home, Changed

November 8, 2005

a lover scampered off
then returned past time
after everything shifted
in another’s heart
and mind

old windows shuttered
no quarter taken or given
thus tears held reign
from processed pain

now at an advanced arc
on the circle of love
lessons in alchemy
seem sent from above

this journey now vectored
with independent trajectories
finding different connection
within renewed reflection

the cat broke the home
the archer wandered on
now on new paths
each does roam

the cat is changing
experiencing nature anew
with life rearranging
deeply ranging

in love with you


Shadow Teachings

November 14, 2005

We have known all along
yet didn’t trust those feelings
As our subconscious takes charge
when we fall asleep at the wheel

Just as we continue to breathe
within each moment of slumber
Some segment within us
will always surface
to chart our courses

With each emotion left
unexpressed in the moment
another is drawn forth and purged

Cycling
Withhold, Withdraw, Project
The truth will set us free
If we have courage to reveal
And the truth clears out
emotions, two by two
one new, one buried
Creating space
allowing

Love,

Courage,

Creativity,

Understanding,

Joy­,

Celebration,

Illumination,

Growth,

LIFE

Express or Suppress

a Choice

of Voice

Opportunity found
in stormy weather
repairing the roof
in the rain

We may heal together
With whomever
NOW, then or never

It commences
via
loving thy self

Reinforced in experience
beyond words from
books on the shelf

WE WRITE OUR SCRIPTS

WE CREATE OUR EXPERIENCE

WE ARE RESPONSIBLE

WE ARE CREATORS CREATING

HOLD REVERENCE IN OUR POWER

FOR TRANSMUTING ENERGY

WITH LOVE


Be Impeccable of Word
(seasons of silence and truth to be expressed),

Don’t Take It Personal
(while observing the internal CHARGE!),

Don’t Make Assumptions
(they are mostly our projections!),

Do Your Best
(while ready for universal fireworks!)


Reflections Forward

November 30, 2005

Where am I going
with what I feel today
finding pure simplicity
laughter, being, love and play

Wisdom’s foundation built
on wisps of reflections past
absorbed experience
never allowed to wilt

My soul
has been heard
that incessant screaming
now
finally ceased
still raw
yet healing
moment
by moment
with each regression
new levels encountered
it was always
my lessons
cycling
for conclusion
the tool is divine
yet a challenge
to master
wanting
to be there
faster
just where
right here
presence
in now

Tao

honor in flow
faith in it all
no withdraw
from my call


Crumbles

Whelp, that was intense
Wrong words
Wrong tone
Wrong subject

How fast creation
changes
dissolves
and begins
Anew

Suddenly
all the discussion
all the plans
all the harmony
evaporated
reminding me
to look back within

I didn’t know
we were that fragile
without enough
foundation
relation

What does this circumstance
reflect about me
never independent
at least I remained calm
and found compassion
without projection

I honored the four agreements
as I watched you cry
as I absorbed the barbs flung
and chose not to deflect
mostly
silent
as I elected
to simply reflect
on your pain
your sorrow
that I couldn’t
prevent
heal
or soften

The dream has faded
the future now foggy
I know depression
I know sadness
I know empathy
and love

I choose life
I choose growth
I choose to heal
I choose to love

Paths feel divergent
with new adventure
just around the corner

I gave my love
my attention
affection
and soul

Angels!!!!!
support me now
as I shed these tears
listen as I call

I won’t stagger
much
I won’t fall
but face
unknown years
unknown fears

Nobody Knew Me

2006.01.31

No other soul
Experienced me
Fully authentic
As I lay hiding
From myself
Doubting
I could survive
Naked

When my Mother
Declared
My friend
And Lover
Was EVIL
My delusion
Fractured

Within moments
Over days
Illusions crumbled
Imploded
In fragments
Then shards
Of recognition
Crept
Then flooded in

I found myself
In darkness
Exposed and bare
I had strove
With my unique intensity

To be
Validated
Nurtured
Wanted
Touched
And Loved

To obtain these desires
I Compromised
I Manipulated
I Projected
I Overwhelmed

I would then Withdraw
I closed my eyes
Then my ears
Then my touch
Then my mind
And finally my heart

I wove stories
And swam, immersed
In my lies

My truth and core
Thus illuminated
In both peace
And tears of sorrow
I have been alone
I belong alone
I shall be alone
While I meet
Myself, now
Innocent
Again

I release Mom’s rejection
Transmuting her reflection
And transfiguring
Her projection

Thank you, Mother
You missed just one aspect

The EVIL was MINE
I created my experience
To break my own chains
Script complete
Curtain falls
No applause
No audience
Now
Silence

Nobody knew me
Not
Even
Me

Tears
Joy to follow


Unwelcome Back
2006.03.17

The dark visitors have arrived
and tears stream down my checks
are these demons
another component of ‘me’?

I call, sincerely
on angels and help
yet remain feeling
disconnected

Tonight was supposed to be
about sharing, growth
and healing
yet why, again
am I left reeling

Am I paying
for karmic bonds
both instant and past
is it time,
yet again,
to merely fast
to turn off these emotions
suppress yet another round

I have again
found the deep pain
why is it so hard
to love
and transcend my pain

There are keys
I haven’t yet found
there are messages
silent in sound

I don’t know myself
though I look with intensity
I apologize
here and now
for exposing myself
projecting myself
dragging anyone down
to my despair
felt beyond repair

Harr!

this IS the trap
feeling alone
feeling the sorrow
missing the balance
reveling in another tomorrow

This game is ****** up
get over it now
bring forth the light
shine in true essence
become
in presence
it is easy to quit
resign and give up

Hail beyond!!!!!!!!!
Creators transcend
right up
from the muck
jane taylor Sep 2016
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air

the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows

the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity

my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony

unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence

ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens

this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight

i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light

i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost

demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins

©2016janetaylor
i place many of my poems over my photography
to see the poem/pic combo go to
http://www.janetaylorhardy.com/single-post/2015/09/13/911-birthday
Adam Struble Apr 2014
city in the shadow of a mountain
like denver on vacation
shady and deep
flowing down like the river
seeking centre
houses cling to the crags like barnacles
inverted ship cavity
jutting out of the rainforest

paradise of truants and travellers
eternally in transit to islands and misfit fringes, cold floors and warm couches
and displaced ***** enthusiasts
sailors without floatation
treading land and bills and PTA meetings
cast off travellers on their way to golden gates or northern lights
rivers under troubled bridges
fish suffocating underwater
living on the refuse of the nuclear generation
transmuting the lead into sustainable energy
recycling the atmosphere into breathable air
apathetic anarchists return from extremity
living on the dole
or working for the man
we are building something greater than this
Tony Luxton Sep 2015
Some say you can't read someone's thoughts.
Some claim to read them like a book.
It's phantom pages may engage
but I move on from thought to thought.

Those readings choke like a bindweed cloak,
coiling, twining, transmuting brutes.
Stereotypes shape many folk,
stifling, stunting valuable fruit.
Moonbeam May 2016
If we feel depressed
Let's build a nest
So we don't regress
Into a deep, dark mess
Souls should be free and not obsess
Clear our minds and give it a rest
Don't live life like there's always a test
Remember everyday that we are blessed
Remember our quest
We're not like the rest
Our souls aren't pressed
Our home is not the southwest
We can go somewhere green somewhere with zest
Don't let your soul die because of a pest
It's may be hot here and it may not be best
But we're here right now lets live in the yes
Moonbeam May 2018
This time I'm going to do the hermit thing right
Inner-work and self-love from morning to night  
Awareness of all my woes and insecurities  
Connecting with universal flows and obscurities
Going into my depths, no human interference
Focusing on my soul, not my appearance
Transmuting all my deep pain into sweet pleasure
While turning these dark coals into beautiful treasure
This focus and expansion is serving me well
Returning to my inner heaven, away from this hell
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
In the belly of the grape,
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through
Under the Andes to the Cape,
Suffer no savor of the earth to scape.

Let its grapes the morn salute
From a nocturnal root,
Which feels the acrid juice
Of Styx and Erebus;
And turns the woe of Night,
By its own craft, to a more rich delight.

We buy ashes for bread;
We buy diluted wine;
Give me of the true,
Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled
Among the silver hills of heaven
Draw everlasting dew;
Wine of wine,
Blood of the world,
Form of forms, and mold of statures,
That I intoxicated,
And by the draught assimilated,
May float at pleasure through all natures;
The bird-language rightly spell,
And that which roses say so well.

Wine that is shed
Like the torrents of the sun
Up the horizon walls,
Or like the Atlantic streams, which run
When the South Sea calls.

Water and bread,
Food which needs no transmuting,
Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting,
Wine which is already man,  
Food which teach and reason can.

Wine which Music is,
Music and wine are one,
That I, drinking this,
Shall hear far Chaos talk with me;
Kings unborn shall walk with me;
And the poor grass shall plot and plan
What it will do when it is man.
Quickened so, will I unlock
Every crypt of every rock.
I thank the joyful juice
For all I know;
Winds of remembering
Of the ancient being blow,
And seeming-solid walls of use
Open and flow.

Pour, Bacchus! the remembering wine;
Retrieve the loss of men and mine!
Vine for vine be antidote,
And the grape requite the lote!
Haste to cure the old despair,
Reason in Nature's lotus drenched,
The memory of ages quenched;
Give them again to shine;
A dazzling memory revive;
Refresh the faded tints,
Recut the aged prints,
And write my old adventures with the pen
Which on the first day drew,
Upon the tablets blue,
The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.
Debbie Lydon Jun 2022
Living on with a smile,
Transmuting in unknowing,
Swimsuit ready for more suffering,
What a chance! What a circus!
At an end, I say thanks.

I, who have blinked,
And glad to have felt
bed sheets and petals and melancholy moods,
And my god! The blossom and the sadness of falling,
Wretched cold,
Pain of poverty
And power too.
What a life! What a moment!
To it all, I say thank you.

And birds, many times my soul knew you,
And dirt, on my hands grounding my mind,
Dear trees, in my solitude you were always so kind,
What a world! What a time!
I'd live again, rewind.
If one considers the tesseract  as a worm hole that gets stronger as it traverses the distance traveled time spent to become the clairaudience clairvoyance of astral projection’s existential extremity……..I mean like what is the nature of  exigence exodus’s exponentially extemporaneous.  I mean given that  infinite possibility is the nature of omnipresence’s omniscience and we are but a refractively reflective embodiment  of its integrable form’s extant:   the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy’s trajectory.  
        
So I ask again “Is intellectual sentience the catalyst for the evolution of God?”  Perhaps if we all practice zoomorphic zoolatry on the social contiguities of demagoguery the vicarious recalcitrance of its objectified manifest's dimensional delineations will raise us all to new heights of enigmatism.  
       
 But no, we are but relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity.  We’re not capable of transmuting  our environment with the imbue in the exude of our emote, despite the concoctions we xenobiotic prosthesis.  We are incapable of interceding en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit.  We don’t amount to the seven five six-y on it to eight.  We are more the four-ness of three given the two-y-ness of one.  The 3D macro of the fecundity of micro’s induction's fertility.  

I submit:  
  
“Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to its progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to its innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of its conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of its relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.”  

And

“As the relative complexity of its interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of its conjunction yet the totality of its ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .”

And

Given the theory of ultimate entropy and the probable cyclic nature of existence……and given that there probably was no beginning so therefore an eternity has already passed, ”I have a theory: This spatiotemporal fecundity, this creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.”

       Yes, it seems that basic gravity has extent on the extremity.  Huge sections of it slowly implode until the compression causes a singularity, or so it would seem.  Who knows, perhaps some of these big bangs have different periodic tables than ours.  I mean why would they all be the same, given that infinite possibility is the nature of omnipresence’s ubiquity.  
      
I like to think I cerebral cortex ****** matrix resemble but there’s a vast difference between relative rationality and rational relativity.  Noumenal sentience’s semantic regalia is incorporeity ideology’s platonic proxy incarnate for after all what is the nature of problematic prosthesis to mystic symbiotics?  
      
Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation are in order.  The basic fecundity of spatiotemporal telemetry’s virility had an exogamy with the infinite vastness and the inky blackness.  It’s some pretty inimitable stuff, trajectory extant and all.  
      
So, back to the tesseract perhaps the creativities of imagination’s immaturities are teleportational  translucence to transcendency  verve.  Then again perhaps we are corporeally preternatural finites and adjunctly  juxtapositional is beyond our metaphysical mystique………I like to think not!!!  Tesseract.
Orthogenesis overtures to ornithology horse feathers! !  Retrospectively retroactive!  The ultimate universally inapplicable weather yankee tools to mule kit blue deally romp's resembla blur.  The Martian Warlord's universally acceptable id conclusion on the enigma's entity.
kenye Aug 2013
Woke up from the American Dream
     Hungover
     Hellbent on reality

After I saw the worst minds of my generation
      Destroy with their madness
      Rather than exploit their demons

They shot them in the heart with anti-depressants
     and let them wake up
     dead to ambition

They prescribed me like you
     Withdrawal made me like me
    
GOD MODE ON

Just reach for the sun we're touched by
      Fire in the mind.
      Controlled flame

I am American Madness
     Mommy's little monster gone manic
     Mood swinging from the right intentions

I am American Madness
     Jumping this shark with the high horse I rode in on
     Saving my country from soapbox to soapbox

I am American Madness
     The revolution in our minds manifested
     standing up for something un-televised

The psychos in sheep clothing
     Lycanthropy at the right time
     Letting out our own Howl

Standing present
       Our hands are red white and blue in guilt.
       With the ghosts that we're dragging from past lives

Tearing the throat out of
        the things we can run
                but can't hide

Fighting off our demons
      Transmuting the nightmares
      Caught in the American dream catcher.

We could be the champions of the oppressed
      Crossing the first threshold
     We all come back around together

© kenHeike, 2k13
This is part of a hero story/prose I'm writing. I wrote an anti-heroine piece a few months ago called "Konfusion" (http://hellopoetry.com/poem/konfusion-brokenfree-anti-heroine-origin-pt-i/). I plan to cross the stories over and end them both together.

p.s. I know that I sampled Ginsberg. This piece was heavily inspired by Ginsberg and Palahniuk with my own touch.
Dondaycee Nov 2018
You love hearing.
You love seeing.
You love smelling.
You love feeling.
You even love the taste of life,
Bold statements arise: pentagon built pyramids; hexagram built light…

I’m speaking subtlety’s; the space between five and six,
Like that star David from CSI;
Eleven mirror, twelve depicts,

If they’re in prison, it was because of common sense,
If you’re successful, universe says you were dependent on the sixth…

We’ll acknowledge foundations as Gravity, Although they reflect;
Time as tragedy,
Too low to connect;
Space to one; a division within;
I’m thinking maybe this trinity could project a web,

Gravity is the outcome of manifestations existing;
Creativity transmuting energy that’s coexisting in a space in which polarities consisting,
Space is the frame that’s assisting;
A geometrical web full of light that infinitely splits simultaneously while it’s energy is shifting,
Time is the perception of distance between manifestations, it’s the same as predicting,
It doesn’t exist until it exists,
That’s a matter of apathetic wishing,

“He’s an oxymoron…”

We fear the unusual,
But we can’t possibly be normal,
That’s actually abnormal,
When we conform to others idealism, our realities become harmful,

Earlier I advocated that space is full,
If you’re pushing space in your own gravity, displacement will leave your mind full; time-poor,

Love yourself, because you love your five senses,
No need for senseless for it is why we sense-less before more,
That doesn’t mean closed door,
It means your time is poor;
How can you be of wealth if you’re missing idealism,
In such a situation you’re obligated to war;
Be informed, be young, belong life,
Disconform, keep ***** on your side,
Obliterate, reiterate, polarize,

You must know thyself before you know the sky.
epictails Jan 2015
You are your heartache
You are your mistake
You are your destiny
You are your catastrophe

Your thoughts are your poison
Transmuting to mindless action
Your words your dagger
That yourself can only conquer

You are the world you create
You are the answers you await
Be your own mentor, hero and friend
For the one who makes your life is you
In the end.
And I know it's worth fighting
worth fighting for

Show my reason
reason for change

Nightmare disguised as a dream
Should I be waking soon
Or is this as it seems to be?

It's time to uncover the truth
I'm sick of waiting
tell me how about you?

Oh it could be the weather
acting a little weird
But I don't see the pleasure
In knowing that it's here
We've got to get it together
Harmony is clear
though much is here to heal
the power can be real
transmuting lead to gold
you cannot have the soul to steal

I can see the demon's eyes are rising up at me
I can recognize the ego's guise is no surprise
I have my moments when it seems like I'm just circling
I gotta get out of here
I gotta get out of here!
Doing nothing after thinking life just needs an edge
In contradiction we collapse and finally see the end
A choice your making when you desensitize
Open up your eyes
Wake up your mind
**FadedFate**
Andrew Rymill Jun 2014
On strange days
like these
baking cookies
is an arcane art.
For it is winter outside
how we transform
the inside
into mystic summer.

For i know the golden ratio.
i have surrounded
myself with graduated cylinders
that recall the lore
of  cups and ounces.

Retorts of  pots and pans
where i can observe
the powers of this world
returning and combining
into simmer.

Such smells
waft from the oven
as ginger swirls
and cinnamon sworls
like molten mountains jumble.

As the elements combine
eggs and butter
await their transformation.
Some believe that
transmuting baser  metals
into gold somehow proves their worth
but they have never
crafted cookies.

At my round
small wooden  table
my imaginary children enjoy
the coming holiday of doughy
spell-making.

They beam at me
with their gumdrop eyes
and jelly bean smiles
and write Latin script
with licorice and raisins
on their raiment.

As the homunculus
i have constructed
out of hen’s teeth
and oatmeal.
with a retro fish tank.
skips like calendar with
an extra leap year.
hiccupping time.
Mice in the wainscot
squeak as Saturn
rises auspicious
in their whiskers.

As my roller
impresses and passes
i fill the silver trays
the cuckoo clock strikes thirteen.

While i  in a black forest script  
write of spells
of life and  death
and of the perfect
distillation of a sugar cookie
in baker notation
Sprinkles on the flour
that has spilled upon my table
from the shifter….
Kayla Chappell Jul 2024
Do you feel it
Its the feeling
That you get
When there's nothing left

No distractions
No messages to check
No cigarettes
Real self is glaring back

Hi hey its me
Do you like what you see
If not change direction
Find what you need
The path can get rocky and dark
But every breath
Can be a fresh start
To begin again
Ego deleting
Humans, misleading,
Is there a way out of
Escaping
Waiting
Playing
Im Breaking
The soul is aching
Knowing i cant keep replacing

Delaying
ancestral healing
Generation after generation
Running from the University of
feeling.
But dna remembers
The embers
burned from those cold
Novembers


Flown away
from ash to dust
What's done is done
But do everything with love,
And dont forget the ones up abovee
As we are one

Blessed be the
Music makers
The creators
The soul achers
Shedding their layers,

bleed in
Bleed out
Returning the energy to origin
No doubt
Breathe in
Breathe out
No time to scream and shout

The Stagnant air can get left there,
On the page that i wrote,
Bc of the way that you spoke.
Its not the first bad note,
Here comes another ****.

the ones that can let go of their pain
The ones that can cry out their rain
Transmuting,
Not always soothing
It stings, its saddening
But beautifully shedding
From All that's been
embedded
And kept in my head

Bleed it out
Work it out

Soul healing
Will set you free from the shackles
Of your lineages chain.
Cycles
Will not repeat again.
The wise one,
Puts the stop here.
If not you,
Then who?
If not now,
When?
Waiting isnt wise,
Youll get left behind

A step essential to take,
To not have trauma stored in the skin
Embedded in the dna
Let go of the heartbreak
The envy, and the i wish it could bes.
Break the cycle of holding
You must heal all thats been shoved down
And replaced with a drug you found.

Choose you
Choose now
Write it
Yell it
Paint it
Feel it
And let it go.

Step into the clear air
You did it
You repaired

Breathe in the fresh air
Remember how you got here
---------- -- ---- -- ---- -- --- -- --
Adam Mott Aug 2014
Would you have a cart?
So thin and sweet
Wheels which turn whilst hearts do beat
Will the rain fill it to the brim?
When emptied shall it not move like water?
Whom could claim such a form, but you
You the one whom moves like water
Weightless and pure
Ever transmuting
Water girl, water world
Phosphorimental Jul 2015
I chanced to meet a ghostwriter at my door,
her transportation failed just down the road
A sojourning doppelgänger of sorts
…an elusive reflection in need of a tow

Transmuting words to wine,
We both sip time to time,
‘Til they foment catharsis
And melt to sublime.

Breathless in afterglow,
From insouciance and hubris,
Words weather to sediment
That we’ll climb to the precipice

And once at the summit
We’ll cast words adrift,
Toast our glasses to flying
And then leap from the cliff.

I read your words by day,
to skirt the wiles of your will
but I know your heart by night.
Leave me, charlatan, to my waking hours,
I know whose ghost you are
why haunt my spirit in its sanctum by the light.

I contravene with tears
in the corners of your eyes,
Guide them back, and kiss their lids
And send them off to hide.
In dark whispers,
calling you and calling you
To join them by their side.

Why must you take me with you,
is this protest not enough?
My importune to tender ears,
“I’ve things to do, I must!”

Still you wrap yourself around my world,
My overflowing chalice
And turn the wine to liquid gold,
oh, ever clever alchemist.
Ashish Gupta May 2014
If, all men are born equal, were true
No Songs would have ‘ere been written.
The difference between men shines through,
By their conduct when they are smitten.

Some adopt the use of pedestrian tools, like avarice,
Safely transmuting many a love to single edged blades.
Some few fools instead choose to believe their own lies
That a single story writ in blood and tears never fades.
Copyright © 2014 Ashish Gupta
Lendon Partain Mar 2013
I need to go to the grave yard,
need to dig some dirt.
Make a nest for sleep.
Let the dirt infuse into me.

Infuse with me and the dead.
I want crosses on my forehead.
My forehead mounded upon with dust,
the soil of all this West Texas, impacted upon my chest,
and the sticks of skeletons shall ***** my flesh.
Make me parts of them.
Splinters, perfect spacing, spectral spines.
Barrow injecting me with creativity.

We all come from the particles left of,
by the demise of life.
We are leftovers of after thoughts,
left in attics, filled with soot in peoples minds.

Then I can make art.
Then I can cut out snow,
to shapes of stars.

Tin man in the ground, grows rust as he settles into moist dirt.
He wont grow any more like a plant.
But as sugar in the ground he rust and melts,
oxidates into nothing, then transmuting into,
crystals.
This is cemetery life.

I need to go to the grave yard.
So I can make a home.
Build me a little mistress,
make a family in her bones.

The cottage that we build there,
will have ivy, we'll have friends,
the gates of it will say welcome sir,
madam death waits to have you in.

Drinking milk thistle tea,
dancing waltzes in the fog light.
Diffusing in the spectral photons,
bowing down to afterlife.

Kissing the lips of the grave yard.
Opens the doors, hands extend.
I need to go to the grave yard.
So I can find a place, I fit in.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2014
Cream, water from tap,
Java swirls— transmuting mug,
Morning alchemy.
She's a rainbow

-- that rainbow in every
rock song about nothing,
a hidden hook that snares
a sucker's wallet

   *I'm so hot for her, I'm so hot for her


She
is the philosopher's stone transmuting
garbage lines into shiny trinkets
in desirous minds

   When you're old, nobody will know
   that you was a beauty


         What would pop culture be
         without woman to exploit?

   She's a gooooooood girl
   crazy 'bout Elvis


Obscured, behind
the Micks and Pettys
   the Kellys and Ushers
      the Pauls wailing MAMAAAAA
         the free spirit groupie cliché

is Woman fictionalized
by peacocking pimps
deceptive plumage splayed

is Woman
   sung about
   talked at
   reduced to an abstraction
   dispensed with
   forgotten
   and sold
   and the men
get rich.
The spider’s eye glittered
from the bottom corner of the desk
She was a huge mamma jamma
hiding behind a silken web

I shrieked and David came running into
the room

I find spiders scary, their hairy black legs
and small monstrous form is enough
to send a series of shudders up
my spine

Nevertheless “Charlotte” plays a vital role
in Nature’s global ecosystem
without Araneae our world would be
overrun with insects devouring
crops and spreading disease

In fact, grandmother spider from
Native American culture created the world
spinning her alchemical web,
embroidered with dew she hurled
the dreamcatcher into the
heavens transmuting it into stars

How cool is that?

David carefully captured the little goddess
releasing her to the night winds and starry
firmament

As we turned to go back inside I caught a glimpse
of a willowy silhouette, grandmother spider
grinning broadly
giving us the thumbs ups
Travis Dixon Jul 2010
there's a room inside me
whose warmth is unmatched,
no floor boards, just grass and soil
watered from a blue sky ceiling,
each drop reflecting the room inside itself
before splashing into tiny crowns.

in the soil dwell my bugs
whose bustling towns get the jobs done
so that night may pass peacefully
under the soft glow of stars.

in the corner dwells my tree, old and wise,
more than a million rings wide,
and it releases a sigh every time
i enter the room to sit beneath its arms.
its roots grow endlessly below,
silently nourishing itself & my room,
providing a sturdy balance for the structure.

in my room the walls are not solid,
they sway back and forth with the wind,
made of vegetables and vines,
plants and flowers of all kinds,
reaching up toward the sun just like me.

in my room there's a sheep dog
who sleeps near the tree, until i arrive;
his head pops up, tongue pops out,
and tail wags all around. his eyes offer
a gleam of companionship and understanding.
we both drink from the pond, where ripples spread,
slowly from side to side, always bouncing back
smaller ripples to cross once more.

in my room, i like to lay on the floor at night,
and watch the moon cross above me,
like an ancient alchemist transmuting
the sun's gold and pouring silver into my room.

this room inside of me, i want to share
with a girl who also watches the moon cross;
a girl who has a room inside as well,
so that a door may open between them
and someday form a home.

one day my room will perish, or perhaps
it will fuse with that ancient alchemist,
and a new room will emerge.
7.22.08
Ink bleeds and sets in,
but the paper can be burned by a candle lit fire

To hold treasure in boxes and bones in gold crates
Last long enough to melt or decay in another's hands

One tries to surface Soul by telling the tale on flesh
And yet it too can be burned, scarred, eliminated

My pen writes beautifully, and organic onto my paper sponge
The ink bleeds like a river streaming vowels and consonants  into a chest of  melting, transmuting,
pure gold made by process in Soul and journey

There is no limit to adventure or bounds on idea
We only need to know we're alive to know the rest

I will fly when I need to and so will you
Pain is a wake up call

Deserving an immortal impression on Earth is asking to be the stones, the rivers, all life within the cycle
After learning how it is to live as all and move as one, then your mark shall be made

During this time, in the middle of it all, our words must continue to grow inside and push out infections
Which deter progression in truth, life, love, justice and happiness in the home of freedom.

If ever we are without paper and without flesh to bear our words, we must know there's another like a manuscript.

I will mark my words first and foremost in my heart so that they will never die

For Spirit never dies
**Faded Fate**
Gary W Weasel Jr Feb 2010
And thus we probe a sphere of energy
Floating aloft in a void of darkness
Radiating a sepia-rayed life
Pulsating through the ravages of time

Yet in twain it reacts to synergy
Alongside an utter orb of rashness
And draining thine sphere through malice and strife
Down to destruction from all that sublime

Thine beauty then lost
A terrible cost
Absorbed by the void and lake of sulfur.

And now we probe a sphere of energy
Floating aloft in a void of darkness
Illuminating iridescent soul
Pulsating through the seen promises prime

Yet in twain it reacts to synergy
Alongside known substance unseen
Yet transmuting all parts into the whole
Purifying of moths and rust and grime

And ye grow so bright
Giving others sight
In due time to ascend in a whirlwind.
Written: April 24, 2008 @ 2:04 AM CDT
Gabriela Abalo Oct 2010
Whispers of the soul
Chanting of the heart
Tribulations of the mind
Guide my fingers to write
Open up, don’t be afraid
Everything will be OK

Transmuting feelings into words
Letting them go and be
Clearing the foliage of my being
Tenderly falling like autumn leaves
Landing on my fingertips
Who in trance, dance and type  
Without asking why

An open heart, bleeding feelings
An egocentric mind playing drama games
A juggling soul offering light
Writing poems is their thing
For they do it as a team  
Being fair to what each feels
© Gabriela Abalo
Julian Jun 2023
THE CARAPACE OF EQUANIMITY IS AN EQUIPOISE BETWEEN THE PARALLAX OF URANOPLASTY GAINSAYING AGAINST BALDERDASH OF BALBRIGGAN ASYLUM THAT MIGHT NEVER COWER TO LEGERDEMAIN THAT THE COAGULATION OF SPONTANEOUS HATRED NEVER DEFILES A MAN BEYOND HIS MEASURE SUCH THAT THE EFFLORESCENCE OF MOTIVATION IS A DRIZZLED DWIZZEN ON THE CURGLAFF OF TOMORROWS REGRET WRENCHED BY THE BONNYCLABBER OF RATHERIPE VENGEANCE BY SOUNDBYTE MENDICANT TATTERMEDALIONS OF SENTINEL CERTAINTY IN A WORLD PULLULATING WITH THE CURMUDGEONS OF GERMANE RHADAMANTHINE NEGLECT COUNTERMANDED BY THE INSIDIOUS RAGDOLL PILLORY OF RADICALISM BECOMING TOO SHALLOW TO FATHOM AND BEYOND DEPTHS OF GRAVITAS INCURRED UPON LARGESSE PROTENSIVE IN NEBBICH IRONY BECAUSE OF NETTLESOME NOISOME NEPIONIC NOMOGENY OF ULTERIOR TRENCHANT RANCOR THAT RECIDIVISM PROMOTES TO SOLDIER THEIR WAY DOWN THE SASHAY OF INTOLERANCE REDOUBLED IN INGEMINATED FESTOONS OF GRAVID PRIMIPARAS OF THE JOCKO JOBBERNOWL KALIMKARI JOGGLE OF SVEDBERG BEYOND DELIMITATIONS OF IMPROMPTU SPONTANEITY FORGOTTEN BY THE MAGNANIMITY OF TIME AS A MISTETCH OF MISCALCULATION FOMENTED BY APIKOROS SWEEDLING CAJOLING REMARKS OFFHAND AND IMPERILED BY THE SKERRY AND SKELDER OF IMPORTUNATE GLAIKERY REMANDED AND REPUDIATED BY THE WEIGHAGE OF STEVEDORES MUST THEY RELENT IN THE PURSUIT OF AVARICE BY THE AVENUES OF IVORRIDE BECAUSE OF INTENSIVE SCRUTINY WALLOPED BY LUGUBRIOUS HAUNTS OF JACKALS WANDERING THROUGH HAPPENSTANCE RADICALISM THAT PRETENDS ITS AFFRONTS ARE ANY LESS PALATABLE IN THEIR BALKANIZED NEUTRALITY THE WAYSPAY OF BLUEPETERS OF BLUNGE OF ORTHOPTEROLOGY BECAUSE OF ORCHIDACEOUS LIES OF MENDACILOQUENT PATRONAGE OF FILIGREES OF RAMPARTS OF INDUSTRIAL SABOTAGE INCURRED BUT ALWAYS DENATURED BY  THE SONDAGE OF THE SEDERUNT AGAINST SECODONT SAMIZDAT OF TAGHAIRM BECAUSE OF THE MAUDLIN GRAVES OF GRANNARIES OVERTHROWN BY COCARDENS DESTINED FOR FRUITION BUT NEVER NONCHALANT IN DOCIMASY ULTERIOR TO DEVASTATION. IN THE GRAVIMETRICAL DISDAIN OF EISOPTROPHOBIA COUNTERMANDED BY IMPERATIVE NARCISSISM MANY ARE STRANDED INSULAR BY THEIR OWN FRICTIONS WITH ABRASIVE JINGOISM THAT STRADDLES THE NOVANTIQUE OF LAVEERS OF PIRATES OF SAFETY AND HARBOR IN THE IMAGINATION OF THE HAUNTING PHANTOMS OF HEADLESS HORSEMEN PRISOPTOMETRY BECAUSE OF THE SENTIMENTALISM OF LURID TRAVESTY EXACERBATED BY CONTUMACIOUS CONTUMELY HIGHLIGHTED BY THE RANCOR AND JALOUSIE OF RAREFIED STELLAR RETICULATIONS OF CONSTELLATED CONGEALED JEALOUSY FESTOONING LUKEWARM POLITICS OF THROMBOSIS BECAUSE OF GRAFT BECOMING INSUPERABLE IN ITS CHARMING FACADES OF WHIGGARCHY BUT ALWAYS DEMERITED BY THE ILLUMINATION OF HAPPENSTANCE GLORIFIED IN CENTRIPETAL MOONSHOT CORDIALITY THAT BECOMES THE UNIFIED BRIDGE AMONG PEOPLE UNITED IN THE SOLIDARITY OF STRATHSPEY AND SPATHODEA ALIKE THAT WE MIGHT BE UNITED AS A FRATERNITY BOUNDLESS IN ASPIRATION BUT BOUNDED BY A FINITE TRUTH AGAINST A FINITISM OF FIDEICIDE BECAUSE OF RAMSHACKLE BOLAR BOLTROPES OF CALVOUS DISREGARD BY THE CARRACKS OF INTIMIDATED RAZZMATAZZ AGAINST MOMENTARY HEFT IN HERCULEAN EFFORTS MODERNIZED BY THE RALTENTION OF THE FILIGREES OF UNIFIED FRONTS AGAINST THE MATRIOTIC DECLENSION OF THE SHILLS THAT SPARE THE SEDERUNT OF SENNET MIGHT THEY FIND THEMSELVES CULPABLE FOR NEGLIGENT FORESIGHT OF APATHETIC REMAND BECAUSE OF ARBOREAL TAUNTS OF RAREFACTION IN REGRET AGAINST MALEFACTORS THAT TRY SEEDY BOWERIES OF NOTORIETY MIGHT THEY INCUR ONLY THE CREDIBILITY OF DISBELIEF BECAUSE OF THE INCREDULITY OF THE BURDEN ON THE PUBLIC TOLL OF IMAGINATIVE STRAIN THAT GOD PROVES HIMSELF AXIOMATIC ABOVE ALL LEVIATHANS OF HERCULEAN PROMETHEAN FULGURANT RAMPARTS OF RAMPAGE IN STAMPEDE TOWARDS FRENZY BECAUSE OF LITTORAL SALVAGE AND TOWERING IMPERIUM THAT EXISTS AN INSULAR PRESTIGE ABOVE A CARCASS OF JAWHOLES SINKING IN QUANDARY RATHER THAN POISED IN RESOLUTE RESOLVE TO EXACT THE QUAGMIRE INTO THE LORE OF THE HEROIC CHAMPIONS OF TRAGIC HEROINES MAINLINED BY THE BEATIFICATION OF "PERPETUAL INDULGENCE" CONTRARY TO THE VOLITION OF GOD AND THE PERMANENCE OF MOTIVATED ENTELECHY AGAINST THE VAIN IDEAS OF AUTOSOTERISM BECAUSE WITH RAPIDFIRE INGRATIATION ONLY TO THE ATTUNEMENT OF THE SATINET TO THE NOMOGRAPHY OF PRESENT MASTERS ENRICHED BY CONSTELLATED VICISSITUDE SOARING WITH GEOCARPY IN KOBOLD RESENTMENT OF SVEDBERG JOGGLES OF SEISMIC TERRAIN OF LIABILITY, STRAIN AND TORQUE OF NAIVETY ROTATED AROUND THE AXIS OF THE SHADOWS OF THE GREATER MIND ABOVE THE SUBLIME MAJESTY OF CAESAPROPISM BEYOND MERIT WE FIND THAT THE SATURNALIA OF PREFIGURED PEDERASTY THAT REMAINS DEFIANT OF THE LURCH OF TRIAGE AND THE DELIMITATIONS OF PATAPHYSICS MIGHT WE LAMBASTE THE LAMBENT DISTRACTIONS OF THOSE THAT DEFILE SACRED TEMPLES WITH INCIDENTAL SABOTAGE BECAUSE OF ULMACEOUS RETENTION AND LATRINES OF THE WASTRELS OFFENDED BY EVERY OFFHAND SLEIGHT BY THE LEGERDEMAIN OF CONGEALED HATRED SUCH THAT THE NOYADE SINKS THE JAWHOLE EBRIECTION OF VANGERMYTES TO ENSURE THAT VENAL HARPRICKS AGAINST EVEN MORE VILLAINOUS CAUSES OF VENALITY UNBRIDLED MIGHT APPALL RATHER THAN ASTOUND THE COMMON ATHENAEUM SUCH THAT SCHOLASTITUDE IN CELERITY CAN COMBUSTIBLY REFORM HUMANE SOCIETIES AROUND "WHAT YOU SAID ON PAPER" POLITICS THAT VOUCHSAFES THE MINORITARIAN CAUSES OF OUTRAGE BUT NEVER FULMINATES THE FULIGINOUS GIMCRACKS OF THUNDERING OUTRAGE SERENADED BY PROVINCIAL APPLAUSE BECAUSE STATESMANSHIP BECOMES THE HARBINGER OF ALL CORRODED DESTINY LEAPING AND LEAPFROGGING ABOVE THE WEIGHAGE OF STEVEDORES OPERATING RUBEFACTION AND RUDENTURE IN CONTRARY STRIDES OF THE CHAMOIS BECAUSE WE BECOME THE CENTRIPETAL OMPHALISM OF AVIATORS BOUND BY GOLDEN GOOSE PREROGATIVES BECAUSE OF THE STRAIN AND STRIDOR OF MAGNANIMITY THAT ALL FERVOR AND FUROR CAN WITHSTAND THE FAINTER ILLUSION FOR THE BROADER BRONTEUM OF GOD'S MAJESTIC KINGDOM ILLUMINATED UPON THE EARTH BEYOND THE SCRY OF MAGICAL PRETENTIONS SUCH THAT A REDINTEGRATED AGE OF NEVER A TOTEMIC HUMANISM BUT ALWAYS AN ABDERVINE MERIT MIGHT BECOME A TEDIUM WITHSTOOD BUT ALWAYS BROOKED WITH A DELICACY OF AFFECTION TO NIMIETY THAT STARTLES THE CLOCKWORK MACHINATION AT MACH SPEEDS AND BROADSIDES OF BARMCLOTH WITHERING IN THE RESOLVE OF OPPRESSION ONLY BECAUSE MULIEBRITY IS WIDOWED BY ITS OWN DECLENSION SUCH THAT THE SADDLE OF THE TIMESPUN MIGHT ALWAYS GRAVITATE THE OMPHALISM OF THE SINECURE SUCH THAT ALL GENTILITY OPERATES BY THE RIGORS OF ELEMENTARY LOGIC ROTUND IN THE PATAPHYSICS OF ETERNAL REGARD BY THE HISTRINKAGE OF THE BRACKISH CONTUMELY IN YARNWINDLE RESCINDED AS AN ARTIFACT OF DIMINUTIVE STATURE RATHER THAN ESTEEMED ELEGANCE OF CORTEGES OF PRESTIGE RATHER THAN DISMAL NOTORIETY AUTHORIZED ONLY BY VAIN PERVERSIONS OF THE SHORT-SIGHTED. IN THE RADICALISM OF MOMENTARY DAVERING CERTIFICATION OF APOCRYPHAL MYTHS ABOUT THE MYTHOS OF THE ESTEEMED LARGESSE OF THE TITANIC FLAGLER BENCHMARKS THAT BECOME SOLDIERED MERCENARIES OF CHAT GPT HALLUCINATIONS MIGHT I OFFER MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES TO THE ZEPHYRS OF GNOSTICISM THAT MY OPINION CONFLICTS WITH BEDROCK VERIDICAL FACTS BECAUSE OF THE COMBUSTIBLE TRIAGE OF VACANT CATHEXIS BETWEEN RIVALRIES AMONG DERBIES OF ORGANS OF ORGANIZATION MIGHT THEY WAGE MERCENARY PROXY WARS AGAINST THE HENCHMEN OF THE ORDERS OF AGES THAT SERVE TO MAGNIFY THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE EVEN TO THE POINT OF DECADENCE ONLY TO REALIZE THEIR CULPABLE FOLLY THAT SIDETRACKS AND SIDELIGHTS THE EVIL ENCROACHING UPON THE BIOMEDICAL RACONTEURS THAT MEET THE STIFFEST REPUTES OF RUDENTURE CONTORTED BY RHEOTAXIS MIGHT ENTIRE ORGANIZATIONS REFORM BY CONFORMED ORDERS OF THE EUHEMERISM OF RATIONAL CATHOLICISM THAT FATHOMS THE HOLOBENTHIC CENTRALITY OF CAUTERIZED DISASTER FULMINATING AGAINST HUMAN FRAILTY BECAUSE OF FOIBLES OF MAGNATES AT WAR WITH EACH OTHER FOR VAIN VENAL REASONS OF GRAFT BECAUSE OF MASONIC VENDETTAS WAGERED AGAINST UPRIGHT ORGANIZATIONS EVEN IN APIKOROS HINDERBAGGLE THE TORCHIER AND TORCH OF THE VEILLEUSES OF A PROTENSIVE INDULGENCE AGAINST FLAMFOO DEMITOILET TRAVESTIES BUT ALWAYS SEAWORTHY VESSELS OF VERIDICAL FORESIGHT TRANSMUTING IN MODERN ALCHEMY BEYOND THE DEMARCATIONS OF RUDIMENTARY MAGICK TO BECOME THE ALTRUISM OF PEOPLE THAT CONSIGN THEMSELVES TO HIGHER SELVES RATHER THAN DEBASED JOCKOS IN THE JOBBERNOWL OF THE CACOETHES TO SLANDER BY OPERATIVE AGENCIES OF SABOTAGE INVETERATE IN THE CONSTITUTION OF EMBEDDED AND EMBODIED FREEMASONRY AND ALL APPELLATE ORGANIZATIONS MOST WITHOUT MANY A BLEMISH BUT ALWAYS A METEORIC BOLIDE AGAINST THE NOTORIETY OF CONFESSION AGAINST THE SACRAMENTS OF THE PROFANE BECAUSE IN GOD'S DIVINE GRACE WE FIND MAGNANIMITY MORE A MESMERISM RATHER THAN A GLAIKERY BUT THEREBY WE COUNTERMAND AND IN RESIDUE OF COMPLETION PERFECTED BY THE HINGES OF CREAKY RICKETS OF RACHITOGENIC MULIEBRITY MIGHT WE FIND A PURE WITNESS OF A "HOT N COLD" WORLD AN INVITING PLACE FOR THE LYCEUM OF ESOTERIC TITANS EMERGENT MORE IN THIS AGE OF OPPORTUNISM BECAUSE OF THE DWARVING FLOOD OF VANDYKES AGAINST RHEOTAXIS BECAUSE OF THE VENOSTASIS OF THE VASTATION OF VAUNTLAYS OF WOODSHEDDERS SEEKING ULTERIOR DECIMATION BY DERACINATION FROM ARBOREAL ZOOSEMIOTICS BECOMING AN IMPERATIVE DISTRACTION SOUGHT AFTER BY PHARAOHS TO CLEAVE THE SLAVES MIGHT A MAN AS MIGHTY AS MOSES APPEAR WITH BRAZEN SERPENT SERVITUDE TO JEALOUS SECRETS REFRACTED BY PRISMATIC OMPHALISM INTO A VOUCHSAFE AGAINST DESUETUDE BECAUSE OF BLOODTHIRSTY MARAUDERS OF SNOOP DOGG VELLEITIES OF TEA PARTY CIRCULARITY IN THE SINGULARITY OF TIME SPACE SWORN IN ALLEGIANCE TO NEVER A MERCENARY VENDETTA NOR A VAIN DISPUTE NOR A DACOITAGE OF DACNOMANIA REVVED UP ON THE YAFFINGALE YAFFS OF HYPESTORM SUCH THAT BONANZA IS ASSURED TO THOSE THAT SUBSCRIBE TO PREVAILING ASSAULTS AGAINST NOTORIETY BECAUSE NOTORIETY ITSELF IS A REBARBATIVE FLICTION AND FRICTION WOUNDED BY TORQUE. GOD'S MAJESTY UPON THE EARTH IS NOT MEASURED IN THE PARSECS OF DISMAL FIDEICIDE INCUMBENT UPON THOSE THAT USE BARAGNOSIS TOO WIDELY IN BARMCLOTH OBJECTIONABLE INJUNCTIONS AGAINST SAVIORS WHO ATTEMPT WITH THE VALOR OF IMMUTABLE TRUTH AND INTRANSIGENT RESOLVE TO SOLVE EVERY ESOTERIC QUIBBLE AND QUODLIBET SUCH THAT THE QUIDDITY OF CROWLEY BECOMES THE INGEMINATION OF MALEK TO THE EXTENT THE MERGER BETWEEN ORIENT AND LODGE BECOMES MORE SOLDERED AND WELDED INTO THE WIREWOVEN FABRIC OF THE ENTELECHY OF MIGHTY MOONS AND MOONSHOT PREDICTIONS OF BONANZA AFTER RESPITE AND PRETERNATURAL CAPACITY BEYOND ALL LIMITS OF DURESS FOR THE DURAMEN DUGONG OF HISTRINKAGE LANGUISHED ONLY ON THE FAMINE OF UNITY RATHER THAN THE TERROR OF COARSE JOKES AND RADICAL NAIVETY THAT BECOMES IRRELEVANT WITH THE NOSOCOMIAL CURES OF PALLIATIVE REFORM THAT BECOMES NEVER A MERCENARY BYSTANDER BUT ALWAYS A TRUER WITNESS TO MARAUDERS AND VIKINGS AMONG HISTORICAL CERTITUDE SUCH THAT THE SEGREGATED SECRETS THE BLEMISH OF MANY A LOUDMOUTH CAN BE PIGEONHOLED BEYOND THE SCRUTINY OF MILLIONS BECAUSE OF THE PROFLIGATE FREEBOOTER WALLFISH WALLETEERS OF DESTINY ASSEVERATING GOD AND UNIFYING HIS GRAND PROTECTORATE UNDER THE BANNER OF AGGIORNAMENTO CONSECRATED BY A SINGULAR RESOLUTION AND A TENACITY FOR TRUTH AND JUSTICE IN FRATERNITY FOR ALL.
IN THE ABREACTION OF PUREBRED PERIBLEBSIS OF ARISTOPHREN VENOSTASIS FUELED BY RAVENOUS VENOM OF RABID CROTALINE VIPERS OF MAUDLIN CATHEXIS TO SENTIMENTAL NAIVETY AND NIMIETY CONTORTED AND CORRUGATED BY THE CORRUPTION OF SLANGWHANG AGITPROP LEVIED ON ME BY THE CARNAPTIOUS CORRUPTION OF THE DEMITOILET EVILS OF FUSTILUGIANATION THAT SCRANCHES FROM THE REGISTRY OF YOGIBOGEYBOX THE FAR-FETCHED MAGIC OF MUNICIPAL BONDS ENTRUSTED TO SUTRO BATHS BARNSTORM TELEGRAPHY WE MUSTER A HERCULEAN DEFENSE AGAINST THE RADICALISM OF MUSTERED ALARMISM IN PARASELENIC CACKLES OF THE MOST ENGORGED ENORMITY OF DESPERATION AMONG THE MASKIROVKA OF MOONSHOT RUDENTURE BECAUSE OF SWARTHY SPATHODEA IN BALBRIGGAN RESENTMENT AGAINST THE GAINSAY OF PROFERRED CRETACEOUS NEGELCT OF THE SEEDIEST BOWERIES TO EVER PULLULATE THE EARTH WITH RAGMATICAL RANGIFERINE CONTUMELY SPUMID LIKE THE SPURIA OF SQUALOID RAMBUNCTIOUS WHIMSY IN AN ANEMOCRACY OF THE TRIVIAL ******* BY THE GRAFT OF PUNCTILLOS OF PUNCTILIOUS NAYSAYERS BALKANIZING ALL SUPPORT BY ENSLAVED GOSSYPINE COVENANTS WITH A SERVILE GROVELING BRAZEN ENORMITY OF IMMISERATION DISGUISED AS A GENUFLECTION TO DECADENCE SPAWNED BY THE PROGENY OF THE WEAK-WITTED HUMAN RACE VERGING ON A INHUMANE DISGRACE ALL BECAUSE OF INSIPID INSIDIATIONS MANDATED BY ALL CRAVEN RAPACITY IN ENTHUSED REVELRY OF BAILIWICK ATTRITION OF ACERBIC ACRIMONY SIPHONED THROUGH BARAGNOSIS IN LAVADEROS VOLCANIC WITH PRIMIPARA REGELATIONS RATHER THAN REVALORIZATION WE DEFEAT THE NETHERWORLD TWINGES OF TRESPASSES OF THE STEEPEST AMOUNT OF REGRET THAT HUMAN BEINGS COULD BE SO RADICALIZED BY SATINET BUSHWA NONSENSE BECAUSE OF ZULU MASSACRES OF THE HENCHMEN OF NOBILITY THAT IN THEIR ATROCIOUS GULLIBLE GOSSYPINE QUIDNUNCKERY THAT EVENTUALLY THE HUMAN RACE WILL EVOLVE BEYOND THE PETTIEST REGALIA OF A CLANNISH SCHADENFREUDE THAT ATTEMPTS HUCKSTER DECADENCE AT A DISCOUNT ON THE TRAVAIL ON MOUNTEBANKS THAT DART AT TRESPASSES OF GLABROUS DISTANCE RATHER THAN PROXIMAL CERTAINTIES OF THE TRUTHS ENUMERATED BY GOD HIMSELF TO TRIUMPH OVER THE DEPTHS OF WRETCHOCKS OF WOODSHEDDING TROLLS THAT PANT IN DESPERATE HEAVES OF MISERICORD CONTRITION ONLY TO FIND THE TORMENT OF THE FIRE THEIR BLAZED FURNACE OF ETERNAL RAGTAGGERS OF BLEMISH AGAINST BEATIFICATION IN BEAMISH CERTITUDE AGAINST THE TRAVAIL OF THE PILLORY OF THE WORLDS MOST SACCHARINE LIES. THE DUTIFUL SKULLDUGGERY OF ARISTOPHRENS THAT COUNT THEMSELVES NOW VAURIENS OF IRRELEVANCE THAT ALWAYS FORESAW THEIR SEESAWED DOWNFALL BY TIMBERLASK MASONRY NOW STAND AN AFFRONT TO CIVILIZED LIBERTY AND OIKONISUS IN NUCLEOTIDES OF ACCORD TO A SOLID STALWART STEADFAST RESOLUTION OF ABSOLUTELY GILDED HEARTS DESTINED TOWARDS THE SUBLIMATION OF THE WORLDS MOST HETERONORMATIVE VALUES MIGHT THOSE CRETINOUS EVIL VIPERS LURKING IN HEDERACEOUS GRASS BECAUSE OF WITWANTON OPPORTUNISM TASTE THE TORMENT OF THE FORMIDABLE BLAZE AS CONSEQUENT TO THE UNPRECEDENTED ATTEMPT TO BULLDOZE THE PREEMINENT INTO THE IRRELEVANT BECAUSE UNBRIDLED HORSES GRAZE IN FOREIGN NOVANTIQUE THE EXCLAVES OF EVIL OSTRACIZED FROM THE DOMINION OF GOD FOREVER BY THEIR CARNAPTIOUS RUDENTURE AGAINST RUBEFACTION SUCH THAT THEIR NEBBICH SPECIOUS THEORIES OF ELEMENTARY LOGIC CONFLICT WITH THEIR OBVIOUSLY STUNTED CAPACITY TO UNDERSTAND THE COGNITIVE SOCIODYNAMICS OF THE KIND OF AUSTERE EXTREMES OF CORRUGATION OF THE BUSHWAS ON THE SATINET REQUIRED TO DISCOUNT EVERY VEHEMENT WORD I EVER SPOKE IN THE HONEST WITNESS OF MY DISREPUTABLE PAST THAT THEY MIGHT ALWAYS REMIGATE ME AS AN ESBAT TITANISM THAT THEY WANT TO PINHOKE INTO NOYADES OF KEELHAULED EMBARRASSMENT BECAUSE OF THEIR UNFOUNDED BUT FOUNDERING DESPERATION FOR PEDIGREE IN A WORLD WHERE OMPHALISM DEAFENS THEIR EVIL SHEEPISH WHISPERS IN CROWDED ROOMS OF RUMPUS AND CASTIGATION BECAUSE THEY LACK THE CAPACITY TO DISCERN THE AXIOMATIC TRUTHS THAT THE BIBLE WAS AUTHORED TO ENDORSE MY LEGACY RATHER THAN TRUMPET THE ****** OF GOMORRAH JUST FOR THE PARVANIMITY OF THE JEALOUS JALOUSIES OF KOBOLD FASCINATIONS TO TRY TO SUPERCILIOUSLY OVERTURN EVERY CREDENDA OF MORAL CERTITUDE THAT SERVES EVERY GENERATION WITH A COVENANT THAT APIKOROS JEWS DISREGARD ENTIRELY BECAUSE THEIR NEW RELIGION IS UTTERLY A COUNTERFEIT DISGRACE OF WARPED SWARPOLLOCK COMPOUNDED BY PARANOIA AND AN OVERLY SCRUTINIZED MISAPPERCEPTION OF REAL EVENTS IN SPACE TIME SUCH THAT THE CIRCULAR CURGLAFF BECOMES AN ENMITY TO ELITISM AND ELITISM TRIES A BRADLEY COOPER VAUNTLAY (WEDDING CRASHERS) JUST TO CHOUSE OWEN WILSON'S HONEST GALLANTRY BECAUSE HIS MYTHS ARE AS MUCH A PUFFERY OF CHICANERY AS ANY LIE YET INVENTED AGAINST THE INVETERATE TRUTH OF A GOD THAT TELLS NO LIES AND A PROPHET OF GOD THAT CARES FAR LESS ABOUT SPARING THE SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN AND FAR MORE ABOUT SPARING THE SOULS OF THE IMPRESSIONABLE FROM THE SCOURGE OF WRIKPOND DESPOTISM. WE MUST SOLDIER ON AND WELD WIREWOVEN GENIUS INTO THE INGEMINATION OF ALL REVOLUTIONS AGAINST THE QUEER CALCULUS OF UTTER DEHUMANIZATION AND DEPERSONALIZATION PROFERRED BY LICENTIOUS JEZEBELS WHO ATTEMPT WITH EVERY MINUTIAE OF THEIR CONTRIVED BEING TO DEFILE THE SACRED WITH THEIR WARPED CLOISTERED ELITIST VIEWS OF HUMAN SEXUALITY THAT ARE CONTAMINATED BY THE EVIL DEGREES AMONG THE HERMITS THAT PRIZE THE EFFEMINATE IDEAL AS THE HIGHEST ****** MAGICK IN A COMPLETE COLLECTIVE DELUSION OFFERED BY A POETASTER WITH A GENIUS MIND BUT A TENDENCY FOR INTENSIVE SOPHISTRY IN HIS ATTEMPT TO ENLIST THE ORIENT RATHER THAN COURT THE LODGE. PEOPLE WILL ALWAYS FRITTER IN DISGRACE RATHER THAN CONGREGATE IN CELEBRATION OF TRUE ALTRUISM AND INSTEAD OF BEING CRAPEHANGERS WE MUST WELD A FUTURE OF OIKONISUS AGAINST LURID TRAVESTY
DESPITE MY OBJECTIONS TO THE VERIDICALLY FALSE NARRATIVE A FLAGLER LUXURIANCE OF DASHPOT DEAR JOHN LORE ENCHANTS A NEW VIVID FASCINATION WITH THE MOST ENTHUSED HISTORY EVER TOLD IN THE FOLKLORE OF TIME THAT SUCH A VENERABLE DESTINY DOTS THE DISTANT PAST AND POPULATES IT WITH ENDLESS FASCINATIONS THAT ARE COMPOUNDED WITH THE HELP OF BOTH THE ORIENT AND THE LODGE ESPECIALLY WHEN REFERRING TO THE HIGHER HERMITS WHO TREASURE DIAMOND MINES OF INGENUITY RATHER THAN SORDID LIES OF SELF-PRESERVATION BY THE LAZARETTA WE ALL OFFER THE SAME GENTILITY TO THE PRESERVATION OF ARISTOCRACY BUT ALWAYS IN INTREPID COURAGE WE LEAPFROG FASCINATIONS ENDLESSLY SCRAWLED IN THE HALLOWED HALLS OF TIME THAT DETERMINE THE OPTIMISM OF CAREFUL CONSIDERATION TO ENTHRALL EVERY ABIDING AUDIENCE IN EVERY CLOISTER AND BOLSTER EVERY RATCHETED ENDEAVOR OF HUMAN PROGENY BECAUSE WE BELIEVE IN THE ENUMERATION OF THE HUMAN PAST IS THE PROXIMITY TO HOSTAGES OF TEMPORAL DISTANCE SUCH THAT THE CARNAGE OF BUSHWA ACELDAMA SATINETS SLACKEN THEIR LEVERAGE UPON THE LISTLESS PARAGONS OF LYCEUM ENTERTAINED BY SUPERFICIAL HUCKSTERS THAT DON'T INHABIT DIAMOND MINE HERMITAGE BECAUSE THEIR ST. PETERSBURG IS DEFILED BY THEIR PROPINQUITY TO SALVAGE FASHIONS OF CROSSBOW FUMIGATION OF ETERNAL TRUTHS SET ASIDE TO ANOINT A BETTER INGEMINATION OF GUARDED SECRETS WELL GUARDED STILL AMONG THE TIGHT-LIPPED THAT THE ENDLESS RACONTEURS OF TIME CONVENE UPON THIS GENERATION AS A CENTERPIECE RATHER THAN A MAUDLIN ELLIPSIS. LET US REJOICE AT A SHARED FUTURE THAT ADORNS A SHARED PAST BECAUSE GOD IS ETERNALLY GRATEFUL FOR DISCERNMENT BUT WARY OF PREVARICATION BUT IN BOTH ENDEAVORS HE PREVAILS
Desmond Lane Jan 2014
There is a simple light I move toward
As bright crystalline light on flesh.
Small and needful I dissolve ; rebuilding again
And again.
The fluid spreads me
Safe within that first emphatic embrace.

The flame of canopy air cannot lure me
I could not give her up
This fluid clean purity; this wholeness.
My soul lens -transparent , transmuting
As Fire, as Liquid, as Air, as Earth.
This is her exponent.
I am the first sound , the first breath – the cry.
Given grace only through her.
All my wayward spinning nuclei
Made placid
By the coolness of that,
Surface skin.
Which never breaks.

The attention of this opening scene, focuses on a voice of ripples.
Whirling, in a pool of heavy silver rings.
All at once The world becomes limitless .
And I howl.
She is alive in me
But she has gone
The new warmth of stone
The comfort of strangers.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Nov 2024
LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

Jon walked down Broadway Thursday toward Tom’s to eat breakfast. He had taken this stroll hundreds of times after being at Columbia for five years during which he had eaten breakfast at all possible alternatives and found Tom’s to be categorically the best in Morningside Heights. It was a beautiful Fall morning. Monday he would begin the second and last school year at Columbia and in the Spring he would receive his MFA from the School of the Arts.

When Jon entered Tom’s, he was stunned. Sitting three down in aisle 3 on the right side in a booth by herself was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After standing still for a few moments, Jon slowly walked toward this woman and stopped, then spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jon Witherston. May I join you?”

The young woman responded, “Sure.” Jon sat down.

“I’m Bian Ly. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m assuming you’re a student at Columbia,” said Jon.

“Yes, I’m a senior at the College. Are you also a student?” asked Bian.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I graduated from Columbia College a year ago. Next Spring, I’ll be receiving my MFA from the School of the Arts. I’m a poet,” said Jon.

“A poet! How wonderful!,” exclaimed Bian.

“Thank you, Bian. What’s your major?” asked Jon.

“I'm majoring in Human Rights,” replied Bian.

“The world needs to major in Human Rights!” said Jon.

Bian smiled.

At that point, the waitress came over and took their orders. Both wanted breakfast.

“That is a beautiful ring you are wearing on your little finger,” said Bian.

“That a Nacoms ring,” said Jon. “Nacoms is a senior society at the College. I was selected to be a member,” said Jon. “I was Head of NSOP. Where are you from, Bian?

“I’m from Hanoi,” said Bian.

“Hanoi is a long way from Topeka, Kansas where I grew up, but I did come East to attend Andover,” said Jon.

“I also attended boarding school, but in Hanoi, not Massachusetts. I graduated from Hanoi International School,” said Bian.

“It seems we have a lot in common,” said Jon.

The waitress brought their breakfasts, which they started eating.

After finishing their meals, the two chatted for about twenty minutes, then Jon said, “Bian, before I bid you a good rest of your day, I’d like to ask you if you might like to join me to visit the Guggenheim Museum to see a showing of Vasily Kandinsky’s paintings this Saturday afternoon then be my guest for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights.”

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“I’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. Where do you live?” asked Jon.

“I live in Harley Hall,” said Bian.

“Hartley Hall–that’s where I lived all four years during my undergraduate days,” remarked Jon. “ You’ve got a couple of days to pick out your favorite Italian restaurant,” added Jon. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

Bian smiled again and got out of the booth.

“See you this Saturday at 2,” Jon said as he waited for Bian to leave first. Then he just sat in the booth for a while and smiled, too.


Chapter 2

Jon arrived at Hartley Hall a bit early Saturday afternoon. He sat in the lobby on a soft leather sofa. Hartley Hall. Columbia. Four years. It had been an amazing time. Chad Willington, a fellow Andover graduate from Richmond, Virginia, was his roommate all four years. A tremendous swimmer, Chad had been elected captain of the team both his junior and senior years. He was now working at Goldman Sachs on Wall Street. Jon’s most cherished honor while he was at the College was being elected by his 1,400 classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the Commencement Procession.

Bian came into the lounge. She looked beautiful.

“How are you, Bian? Are you ready to go see Kandinsky?” asked Jon.

“Indeed, I am,” said Bian.

“Let’s go, then,” said Jon.

The two walked across campus on College Walk to Broadway where Jon hailed a cab.

“Please take us to the Guggenheim Museum,” Jon told the cabbie. The cab cut through Central Park to upper 5th Avenue.

“We’re here,” said Jon and paid and tipped the cabbie.

The Guggenheim itself was a spectacular piece of architecture designed by Frank Lloyd Wright that spiraled into the blue sky. Jon paid for the admission tickets, then both entered the museum and took the elevator to the top of the building. Then began the slow descent to the bottom on the long, spiraling walkway, pausing when they wanted to the see a Kandinsky painting closely and talking with each other about it.

Vasily Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist, becoming prominent in the early decades of the 20th Century. Having moved first from Russia to Germany, he then went to France. Kandinsky was a pioneer of abstraction in Western art. He was keenly interested in spiritual expression:  “inner necessity” is what he called it.

It took quite a while to make their way down the spiraling ramp, stopping at almost every painting to share their views. Finally, Bian and Jon reached the bottom.

“Well, that was most interesting,” said Bian.

“I agree,” said Jon. “Have you decided which is your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights, Bian?” asked Jon.

“Pisticci,” said Bian.

“Let's go!,” said Jon.

They took a cab to Pisticci. The waiter brought them menus, which they began to peruse.

“You first,” Jon said to Bian.

“I would like the Insalata Pisticci (bed of baby spinach tossed with potatoes and pancetta with balsamic reduction). Then Suppe Minestrone (with a clear tomato base and al dente vegetables). Finally, I would like the Fettuccine Al Fungi (handmade fettuccine tossed with a trio of warm, earthy mushrooms and truffle oil),” concluded Bian.

Jon followed. “I would also like the Insalata Pisticci, then the Suppe Minestrone, followed by the Pappardelle Bolognesse, then the Burrata Caprese. Thank you.”

Bian and Jon ate their meals in candlelight.

“Tell me about growing up in Hanoi,” Jon asked Bian.

“I am an only child, Jon. My father is Minh Ly and my mother is Lieu. My father was the youngest General in the war;  nevertheless, he rose to second in command. He has been a businessman now for a long time.

“My childhood was like those of most children. As I grew older, I loved playing volleyball. I read a lot. I began learning English at an early age. I had lots of friends. I love my father and mother very much.”

“Why did you come to Columbia,” asked Jon.

“Columbia, as you know, is one of the greatest universities in the world, and it’s in New York City,” said Bian.

“Why did you choose to major in Human Rights, Bian,” asked Jon.

“The world, and the people and all other living creations on it, need kindness and love to heal. All have been sick for millennia. I would like to help heal Earth,” said Bian.

Jon was struck by Bian’s words. He felt the same as Bian.

The two continued to share more with each other. Finally, it was time to go.

They took a cab back to campus and Jon escorted Bian back to Hartley Hall.

“I’d like to exchange phone numbers with you. Is that OK with you?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Bian,” said Jon.

“And you the same, Jon,” said Bian.

Chapter 3


Jon picked up his receiver and gave Bian a call from his apartment.

“Bian?”, asked Jon.

“Yes,” replied Bian.

“This is Jon calling. Do you have a minute or two to talk?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bian.

“Well, first let me ask how you’re doing,” said Jon.

“I’m doing well, Jon,” said Bian.

“And school, how’s that going?” asked Jon.

“Well, I'm off to a busy start, but that’s not surprising,” said Bian.

“I’m calling to ask if you would like to go with me this Sunday afternoon and hear Mario Abdo Benitez, president of Paraguay, speak at the World Leaders Forum in Low Library, then afterwards have an early picnic meal in Riverside Park with me.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” said Bian.

“Great. I’ll meet you again in the Hartley Hall lobby around quarter of 2. Will that work for you?” asked Jon.

“Yes, Jon, that will work fine. Thanks for the double invitation,” said Bian.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ll have our picnic meal ready for us. We’ll have to pick it up at my apartment after the talk. I live on Riverside Drive between 114th and 115th Streets,” said Jon.

“I look forward to both,” said Bian.

“Have a good rest of the week,” said Jon. “See you Sunday.”


Jon got to the Hartley Hall lobby a bit early Sunday afternoon and sat down on a sofa to wait for Bian. On Saturday, Jon had composed his most recent poem and he had brought it and two others to read to Bian during their picnic. After a short wait, Bian entered the lobby.

“Bian, it's so nice to see you again,” said Jon.

“It’s so nice to see you, too,” said Bian.

“Well, are we ready to head out?” said Jon.

“I am,” said Bian.

“OK, let’s go,” said Jon.

The two headed toward Low Library, now no longer a library, but the main administrative center of the University. Further, the Rotunda was glorious. That’s where President Benitez would be speaking.  

The President began his speech with a concise history of Paraguay followed by his attempts to deal with the societal ills in his country, and then spoke at length about his belief, his wish, for all nations in both Central and South America to be united into one nation. Finally, he took a number of questions from members of the audience. The program lasted about an hour.

“I found President Benitez’s comments about the potential unification of all countries in Central and South America united provocative,” said Jon.

“The world is one. Why not start with all nations in Central and South America?” added Bian as she and Jon walked down the steps in front of Low Library.


“Another beautiful Fall day,” said Jon. “A beautiful day for a picnic.”

They headed down College walk, crossed Broadway, then turned left on Riverside Drive and walked toward Jon’s apartment building that was just beyond 115th Street.

“Come on up while I gather all the picnic items,” said Jon, so they took the elevator to the 5th floor, got out, and walked down the hallway to Apt. 515.

“Here’s where I live,” said Jon. Bian entered first.

“You have a beautiful view of the park and the Hudson River, Jon,” said Bian.

Jon put all picnic items from the refrigerator into a large bag and grabbed the large, folded blanket lying on the sofa in the living room, then said, “Now let’s go find a great spot to have a picnic,” said Jon.

The two crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park. After spending several minutes looking around, Bian said, “Over there. That looks like a nice spot.”

When they got to the spot, Jon put everything he had been carrying on the ground and unfolded the blanket and spread it out.

"This will be an old-fashioned Kansas picnic, Bian. I hope you like it,” said Jon.

Bian sat down on the blanket. Jon began emptying the bag.

“We have before us pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, cleaned strips of carrots and celery, and black olives. Here are the paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups, along with a container of cool water. I brought water because I don’t drink alcohol.” said Jon. “Plus, I have a surprise dessert.”

Jon then sat down and gave Bian a plate, utensils, and a napkin. “Help yourself, Bian, and enjoy.” And so they did.

After both had eaten everything on their plates, Jon said, “And now for the surprise,”

He reached into the bottom of the bag for the plastic container and pulled it out.

“I have here two pieces of chocolate cake from the Hungarian Pastry Shop,” he said.

“Oh, the cake looks delicious!” said Bian.

Jon carefully put the pieces of cake on plates, then handed one to Bian.

“We had no Hungarian Pastry Shop in Kansas,” said Jon.

After eating their pieces of chocolate cake, Bian and Jon chatted for quite a while, mostly about their respective childhoods, which were, surprisingly enough, quite similar. Being loved by one’s parents, especially, was the most important experience that both shared.

“I’d like to share with you, Bian, several poems I’ve recently written,” said Jon.

“I’d like that very much,” said Bian.

“The first one I’ll recite is titled I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN.

I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN

I write when the river’s down,
when the ground’s as hard as
a banker’s disposition and as
cracked as an old woman’s face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write when
horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river’s down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


The next poem is titled THERE WILL COME A TIME.

THERE WILL COME A TIME

There will come a time
when time doesn’t matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one.


The last poem I’ll share with you today is THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU.


THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls across my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin’s feathers.
I bare your beauty slowly that glows like a candle’s
flame in a room that is at once dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.


“Thank you, Jon, for sharing these poems with me. They moved me. I hope you’ll share others with me,” said Bian.

It was time to call it an afternoon. Jon walked with Bian all the way back to Hartley Hall.

“Have a good week, Bian,” said Jon, then leaned forward and
kissed her lips lightly.



Chapter 4


Bian and Jon began studying together in Butler Library. They read, they wrote, they laughed together. They got to know each other increasingly well. Their relationship, seemingly effortlessly, became romantic. They began to spend more time in Jon’s apartment. They became lovers.

Bian brought Jon a sense of happiness into his life that he had never experienced before. Not surprisingly, the same was true for Bian in a similar way, who previously, but not consciously, had always felt somewhat on the periphery of life in America. They complemented and enjoyed each other, so much so that full-blown love blossomed.

This is how the rest of the semester flowed. When Christmas break came, they decided to fly to Paris and spend the holidays there. Of course, they visited the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. They strolled down Champs-Elysees and through Montmartre, ate mostly at bistros, and took a trip to see Versailles.

Among other excursions, they traveled to Amiens to see the famous cathedral there. Overlooking the Somme River, the Amiens Cathedral was built between 1220 and 1270. It was the largest cathedral in France, twice the size of Notre Dame. Jon said the skyscrapers in New York City paled in comparison to Amiens Cathedral.

Back to Columbia, New York City, and Spring semester. When the weather warmed, they spent many week-end afternoons in Central Park, visited many other sites, ate all kinds of ethnic foods, and, of course, had breakfast at Tom’s often. Furthermore, Bian’s parents were flying from Hanoi to New York City to attend Commencement.

But the highlight not only of the moment, but also, and most importantly, of the rest of her life, was Jon proposing marriage to her the week before they were to graduate, which, in a state of both shock and pure joy, she accepted. He gave her a diamond engagement ring he had bought at Tiffany’s.

“It is such an honor and a pleasure to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Ly,” said Jon. Mr. Ly translated for his wife who knew no English.


Commencement at Columbia was always a transcendental exercise. That evening, the four of them celebrated by having dinner at Eleven Madison












































Park, courtesy of Mr. Minh. Three days later, Bian and Jon were married in
St. Paul’s Chapel on the Columbia campus.

Bian and John rented a cottage on Cape Cod for the summer. A summer of love it was. Sailing, relaxing, chatting, making love–all that two human beings could wish for.


Columbia, to thank him for coming to the wedding.

“Jon, I just have to ask you this one question,” said Chad. “Is Bian’s father, by any chance, Minh Ly?”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Jesus, Jon! Did you know that Minh Ly is one of the richest men on the planet?”

Silence.

Finally, Jon said, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Not only is Minh Ly one of the richest men on Earth, but he is one of the most connected in the entire world. But most people, even the richest, don’t know how internationally influential he is. He keeps an extremely low profile.

More silence.

“I didn’t know any of this, Chad. Bian never mentioned to me even an iota of what you have just told me,” said Jon.

“Well, Jon, I had to ask,” said Chad. “I hope you’re not disconcerted.”

“No, no, Chad. I guess I’m just flabbergasted,” said Jon.

“I found out about Minh Ly when I was invited to join members of the top brass at a Goldman Sachs luncheon and Minh Ly’s name popped into the conversation for a minute or two. That’s all,” said Chad.

“Fine, Chad. Thanks for telling me this,” said Jon, then hung up.


Chapter 5


Jon sat in the stuffed chair by the fireplace for a long time. Bian had driven into Hyannis to do some shopping.

When Bian had mentioned during one of their chats she had wanted to “heal the Earth” during her life, that phrase–that particular phrase–had pierced his being, bringing fully into his consciousness the same overpowering sentiment.  Once she had uttered those three words, Jon’s life had been profoundly and permanently affected. He had even written what he considered to be a “commentary,” a brief, concise pathway that humankind could follow to save the world, to create Peace on Earth forever. He had had no intention of ever sharing it with Bian, until now. Jon rose from his chair and went into the bedroom and opened the closet door and pulled out the big cardboard box in which he kept all of his poems. Near the top, he saw his commentary. He lifted it out and sat down on the bed and began to read it again.

PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE

Turning the World Rightside-In

By

Jon Witherston


PREAMBLE:  All we have is our little planet, Earth. For the vast majority of my life, I have thought, “What would it be like to have Peace on Earth?” But for only two, maybe three, weeks every year, usually around Christmas, I would see the phrase “Peace on Earth," usually on Christmas cards. But after Christmas, I would not hear or see that sanguine notion for 11 more months. The longer I lived, the more this annual ritual bothered me. At Andover, I had studied European history. At Columbia, I had majored in American history. Over time, I increasingly came to the realization that in both prep school and college, I had essentially been studying about wars on top of wars and their aftermaths:  millions and millions and millions of human beings being killed. Then, when I got curious, I used my computer to find out that, according to many scholars, only a little over 200, out of roughly 3,400 years of recorded history, were deemed “peaceful.” Humanity, I concluded, had a horrible track record when it came to effectuating “Peace on Earth.” And during my lifetime things have not gotten any better.  
      
SPIRITUAL ECOLOGY:  There is one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divide us are not on maps, but in our minds and hearts. John Donne was prescient. Earth is as impoverished as its poorest Citizen, as healthy as her sickest, as educated as her most ignorant. If we pollute the upper waters of the Mississippi, then ineluctably we shall pollute the Indian Ocean. If we continue to pollute our air, the current 8,100,000,000 Citizens on Earth will die. All species will be accorded the same concern and care as Citizens of Earth. The imminent threats of nuclear holocaust and catastrophic climate change we need urgently to prevent. This is the truth of Spiritual Ecology.  

CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH:  If we can wage war, why should we not wage peace? Nations are anachronistic;  therefore, there will be
none. There will only be Earth and Citizens of Earth. Each Citizen will devote a sizable number of years of her/his life to the betterment of humankind and Earth. All military weapons--from handguns to hydrogen bombs--will be destroyed, and any future weapons will be prohibited. All jails and prisons will be closed, replaced by Love Centers (see below). Automation and other technological advances will enhance the opportunity for all Citizens to realize exponentially their potential, personally and spiritually. There will be no money. All precious resources and assets of Earth will be distributed equally among all Citizens. The only things Citizens will own are the right to be treated well and the responsibility to treat Earth and all its Citizens well. All Citizens will be free to travel anywhere, at any time, on Earth. All Citizens will be free to choose their own personal and professional goals, but will do no harm to Earth or other Citizens. All Citizens will be afforded the same resources to live a full, safe, and satisfying life, including the best education, health care, housing, food, and other necessities throughout Earth.

LOVE:  The only way to change anything for the good, for good, is through love. Love is what every living creation on Earth needs. Love Centers are for those Citizens who were not loved enough, or at all, especially at their earliest of ages. Concomitantly, they act out their pain hurtfully, sometimes lethally, often against other Citizens. Citizens who are emotionally ill will be separated from those who are not. Jails and prisons only abet this deleterious situation. Some Citizens in pain may need to be constrained in Love Centers humanely while they recover, through being loved, so they do not hurt themselves or others. In some extreme cases, Citizens may be in so much pain that they remain violent for a long time.  Thus, they may need to be constrained for the rest of their lives, but always loved, never punished. In time, Citizens, when loved enough, will only have love to give, and the need for Love Centers will commensurately decline.

EARTH:  In 1948, Eleanor Roosevelt chaired the commission that wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. UDHR, with some updates and revisions, will serve as the moral and legal guidepost for Earth.

GENERAL ASSEMBLY:  To remember the former nations on Earth, one member will be elected by Citizens from each of these former nations to serve a one five-year term as a member of the General Assembly. In succeeding elections, Citizens currently residing at that time in areas that were formerly nations, will again, in perpetuity, vote for one Citizen also residing in that area, for a one five-year term as a member of the General Assembly.

FIRST VOTE:  The first vote of all Citizens will be to establish CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Majority rules. All Citizens will have access to Internet voting, as well as access to cell phones and other types of computers. Citizens will have her/his own secured ID codes. Citizens will have to be 18 or older to vote. Citizens will be encouraged to bring before the General Assembly all ideas and recommendations, as well as any concerns or complaints, which will be considered and responded to promptly. Citizens’ ideas and recommendations will be formed into proposals drafted by members of the General Assembly. Citizens will vote on these proposals of each month during the first two weeks of the following month. Citizens of Earth will be Earth’s government. Members of the General Assembly will be facilitators who will work with millions of volunteers. There will be no president of Earth.

ALLCOTT MOVEMENT:  If the multinational corporations that now rule Earth do not abide by the outcome of a majority vote in favor of CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, Citizens of Earth will instigate the Allcott Movement, a one-at-a-time mancott, womancott, girlcott, boycott--hence, Allcott--against each multinational corporation unwilling to relinquish control of its global business and give it, and all its assets, to Citizens of Earth. Citizens will continue the Allcott Movement until all multinational corporations have done the same. All personal and smaller-business wealth will be converted into resources to be distributed equally to all Citizens. All proceeds in excess of what’s needed reasonably by each Citizen will be saved for future generations. No violence of any kind will occur during the transfer of these resources. Citizens will take these steps because they are the moral, the right, steps to take to save all living creations on Earth, and Earth itself.

CELEBRATE AND SHARE: If you were to take a photograph of humanity and gaze at it, you would see a beautiful mosaic of mankind of different, beautiful colors. If you could step into the photograph, you would hear a melody of languages and dialects. You could have a worldwide picnic with all your sisters and brothers and experience different customs and taste different, delicious foods. And in moments of silence, all of you could pray in your different religions, separate but together at the same time. You would also share the same human laughter and joys and feel the same sorrows and cry the same tears, all in Peace on Earth eternal. All of you would come to delight in these differences, not dread them. You would look forward to celebrating and sharing with your family, not killing them. The spiritual whole would be larger than the sum of its sacred parts.

A QUANTUM LEAP:  The world, over millennia, keeps evolving. Over 3,400 years of recorded history, powers, nations, keep shifting, sometimes seismically. Now is the time for not only the grandest seismic shift ever, but also the one that will save Earth and all living creations upon it. It is time for Earth to become one Earth--not a scattering of over 200 nations with artificial borders. Technology, with its innumerable advances, has made us into a world when all can become one. We are free to be our real selves, to spend our variegated lives not aggrandizing, but sharing and giving. Rather than dreading our superficial differences--our different skin colors, our different cultures, our different religions, our different languages--we can explore and enjoy them. Let us finally be what we truly have been forever, one big, worldwide family of humanity. No more wars, no more weapons, no more killing. No more hunger, no more homelessness, no more hopelessness. No more ignorance, no more illnesses, no more social classes. This is the quantum leap of which I speak.

PEACE ON EARTH:  Wealth is not worth. The mansuetude of loving and being love is. When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit. Citizens will be able to go about creating their own happiness that is built on love-based personal relationships and professional activities. No longer will human beings be able to profit from another’s pain. With love at the center of being and living, there will be no more wars, no more dictators, no more corruption. Finally, there will only be Peace on Earth forever.

Copyright 2026 Jon Witherston.


Jon heard the front door open and shut.

“Bian, I’m in the bedroom,” said Jon. “I’ve got something I want you to read.”

Bian came into the bedroom. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s something you inspired,” replied Jon.

Bian kissed Jon on the cheek then sat on the bed.

“Read it, then we’ll chat,” said Jon. He handed the commentary to Bian who began reading it.

“Jon, when did you write this?” asked Bian.

“I wrote it after you shared with me your desire to spend your life trying to heal Earth,” said Jon. “At Tom’s. Do you remember?”

“I’ve always dreamed of this ever since my father told me about the war,” she said. “What I remember about Tom’s is when I told you I was majoring in Human Rights, you said the whole world should be majoring in Human Rights.”

“Of course, I remember that, too,” said Jon.


What Bian came to realize about her father as she grew up was he had become anti-war. He had come to hate it.

Two things she had never known about him, though. First, her father was one of the wealthiest men on Earth. Yes, she knew he was well-to-do:  she had grown up, after all, in a large, comfortable home, and her father had had the money to pay for her expensive educations,  Second, he had belonged, for almost two decades now, to a secret, worldwide group of extremely wealthy and influential men and women who wished for, and were working toward, a world that would never know war. This group was called SOCIETY FOR PEACE.

Jon did not dare tell Bian about what Chad had shared with him over the phone, about her father’s mega-wealth. Bian had never known about;  indeed, her father obviously had never mentioned, let alone flaunted, it, though he frequently traveled to many destinations around the world. Bian had always thought those trips had to do with his businesses, about which he never talked explicitly.

“I’d like to elaborate a bit on what you’ve read in my commentary, Bian, if you care to,” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“I’m thinking about the poor,” Jon said. “The poor, and the extremely poor, on Earth, as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund has put it,” Jon said, with more than a tinge of contempt. “Out of 8 billion human beings on Earth, roughly 2 ½ billion fall into these two ‘statistical’ categories. That’s more than 1 out of 4 human lives on Earth desperately trying to survive day-to-day.

“Here’s my idea, Bian,” said Jon.

“There are more than 7,000 languages and dialects spoken on Earth. Most of the poor speak those dialects. How to communicate with them is the biggest challenge. In broad strokes and succinctly, this is what I have in mind. I want to share this with you and hope you’ll be my partner.

“I want to travel Earth with you. I want to meet first the poor of Earth with you, speak with them, eat with them, live with them, answer all their questions about creating one land, one sky, one sea, one people. I want to talk with them about all Citizens of Earth cooperating with, not competing against, one another, creating Peace on Earth through love forever. If ever we can create a vote on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, I’m sure the vast majority of them would vote for it.

“We would start in Mexico, then visit the nations of Central America, then those of South America. Then we would go to Africa where there are so many poor and do the same thing. Then the rest of the world.

“Does all of this sound audacious, Bian? Well, it should, because it is,” said Jon. “Logistics will be beyond enormous, but in my heart, I believe there will be eventually millions and millions and millions of volunteers around the world who will wish to join in.”

Bian had sat on the bed taking all of this in, paused, then said to her husband whom she loved and admired so much, “Jon, you are a genius, but all of this does sound audacious. My first idea is to share all of this with my father and get his reaction to your commentary and what you’ve just shared with me. He knows the world probably as well, if not better, than anyother person on Earth.”

“A great idea!” said Jon.

“I’ll call him at 10 p.m. tonight. It will be 9 a.m. in Hanoi,” said Bian excitedly.



Chapter 6


Bian spoke with her father that evening. Bian thought she had detected a good measure of surprise, if not excitement, in his voice. He would be in Toronto on business in mid-September. He could meet his daughter and Jon at 10 a.m. at the Ritz-Carlton on Monday, the 11th. He said he would leave a note at the front desk telling them which room he was staying in. He told Bian he always used aliases when he traveled, a fact she had not previously known. Understandably, Bian was thrilled.

Bian and Jon had enjoyed immensely the rest of the summer, as only on Cape Cod one can. They flew from Logan Airport to Toronto the morning of Sunday, 10 September. They arrived at the Ritz-Carlton around 9:45 Monday morning.

“I believe you have a note waiting for Bian and Jon,” said Bian.

“Just a minute, please,” said the clerk.

“Here,” said the clerk and handed it to Bian.

“Thank you,” said Bian. “Father’s in room #715.”

The two took the elevator to the 7th floor, found the room, and knocked on the door. In a moment or two, Minh Ly opened it.

“My dear daughter, Bian! How are you?” said Mr. Ly as he gave his daughter a big hug. “And you, Jon, how are you?”

Jon shook Mr. Ly’s hand as he entered the room.

“So good to see you, sir,” said Jon.

“Come in. Make yourselves comfortable,” said Mr. Ly.

“Mr. Ly, the first thing I would like to share with you is my commentary. It is an overview of what I would like to pursue with Bian,” said Jon.

“Let me read it,” said Mr. Ly.

It took a couple of minutes for My Ly to finish reading. He paused for several moments, then exclaimed “Jon, this is extraordinary!”

“Bian inspired me,” said Jon. “You know, Mr. Ly, I’m a poet, not a financier. It would take untold amounts of money and the best technology on Earth--unbelievable amounts of it--to realize this dream.”

“Don’t worry. I have friends,” said Mr. Ly.

"I envision Bian and I traveling around the world visiting the poorest sections of most of the biggest cities on Earth, using a translator when necessary to explain how we collectively can bring lasting peace to Earth. Furthermore, I expect not only the worldwide, but also the local, media to be informed of these gatherings," Jon said.

"You need to know I must always remain anonymous. Bian, you, and I shall need to meet periodically. I and my friends have developed ways always to be in touch, but will never be able to be detected. I wish not to elaborate. Jon, you inspire me the way Bian inspired you,” said Mr. Ly.


Chapter 7

“Read me some more of your poems,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon and went to get the box that contained his poems in the  closet. He looked through the stack and selected several of them, then sat down next to Bian on the living room sofa.

“The first one I’d like to share with you is titled SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS.


SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky is big and blue,
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the hired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old ranch houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to begin another day of hard labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together,
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, the Hereford cow,
is there to care
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother’s milk.

About 60 miles to the north
and a little to the west,
The sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe:
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in Ulysses.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theater.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth,
sown together by miles of barbed-wire fences,
spreads interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless, little country towns,
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals,
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin
and ruler straight,
flanked on either side
by telephone poles and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren’t too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa’s growing green
and irrigation’s coming in.
Rain’s been real good
and the cattle market’s really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it’s got all that the big towns got–
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.


“The next poem is SIMONE, SIMONE," said Jon.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
please come to me
and bear your breast
for me to rest
my weary head
and shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone.


“The final poem, Bian, is TREE LIMBS,” said Jon.


TREE LIMBS

A long time ago,
I used to lie on my bed
and look out my window
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.

And I used to watch the cars
as they traveled by,
some fast, some slow,
from right to left, and left to right,
and wonder where they were going to
and coming from.

Once from my window
I hit a bus with my BB gun.
I was scared
because I knew I wasn’t
supposed to shoot buses,
even though it was kind of fun.

And sometimes I used
to hide behind my curtains
and watch the pretty
girls walk by my house
in their swimming suits
coming back from
the pool in the park.

But mostly I just used to lie
on my bed and think,
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.


“I love not only your poetry, Jon, but also how you read each one,” said Bian.

Jon gave her a kiss.

They drove to the tip of Cape Cod to watch the sunset, then drove back to the Twenty-Eight Atlantic to have dinner. Bian ordered oysters, lobster “Carbonara,” kale salad, and scallops. Jon had salmon tartare, chowder, baby green salad, and grilled octopus.

“Well, I’m excited!” Jon said. “We have a tremendous amount of planning to do, but we will have the experience of our lifetimes, and my greatest pleasure will be sharing it with you.”

“D’accord!” said Bian.



Chapter 8


Bian and Jon began preparations with gusto.

Mr. Ly and his friends would  pay all expenses;  they would handle all details, such as reservations for air travel and hotels and rental cars;  they would contact the best interpreters in each country and pay them; they would contact leading newspapers and other news organizations in the world, including, but not limited to, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Le Monde, Times of India, China Daily, Russian Today, BBC, CNN, and MSNBC;  and they would contact the leading media–newspapers and TV and radio stations–in the largest city of each country prior to Bian and Jon’s visit there.  

Somewhat tired, but extremely gratified, they sat on the sofa in early evening to listen to Jon’s favorite Beethoven Symphony, #7. The Symphony’s second movement “was a jewel,” Jon said. Of course, he leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened.

When the recording was over, and after a silent pause, Jon slowly stood up, and without ever saying a word, reached down and picked up Bian, and holding her in his arms, carried her carefully into the bedroom where he stood her up beside the bed, then, slowly and softly, undressed her, and after he had pulled back the bed sheets, picked Bian up again and lay her on the bed. Then he undressed and got into bed beside her.

The room was dark and full of silence. Then Jon turned toward the woman who had brought limitless joy into his life and said to her, “Bian, who in the Heavens made you?” And then he kept leaning until he gently lay upon his wife, and these two lovers made love deep into the dark of night.


Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius, but more importantly, Ly made Jon think of what Jorge Luis Borges had once written, that every person’s most important task was to complete successfully the transmuting of her/his pain into compassion. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Ly, overtime, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his mega-wealthy friends, asking them to join him in this lifelong endeavor that he titled SOCIETY FOR PEACE, and many of them did join him. Now Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor, all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death, fell. Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  

Bian, thought Jon, was as incredibly intelligent as her father. Of course, she was soft-spoken, but that belied her brilliance. After all, Bian has just completed the most rigorous, as well as the best, undergraduate liberal arts education to be found on Earth, graduating Summa *** Laude, an incredible academic achievement. Jon knew how much she loved her father, and he believed as well that his wife yearned, probably unconsciously, to emulate him. That notion alone was enough to cause Jon to fall in love with Bian, then propose to and marry her. Now she was co-parthers with Jon and her father to realize her wish:  to heal Earth.

“I wrote a new poem yesterday, Bian. Would you like to her it?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon who then reached into his satchel and pulled out the new poem and began reading it.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize.  My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


“That was beautiful, Jon,” said Bian as she sped toward Logan.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied Jon.



Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius, but more importantly, Ly made Jon think of what Jorge Luis Borges had once written, that every person’s most important task was to complete successfully the transmuting of her/his pain into compassion. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Ly, overtime, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his mega-wealthy friends, asking them to join him in this lifelong endeavor that he titled SOCIETY FOR PEACE, and many of them did join him. Now Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor, all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death, fell. Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  

Bian, thought Jon, was as incredibly intelligent as her father. Of course, she was soft-spoken, but that belied her brilliance. After all, Bian has just completed the most rigorous, as well as the best, undergraduate liberal arts education to be found on Earth, graduating Summa *** Laude, an incredible academic achievement. Jon knew how much she loved her father, and he believed as well that his wife yearned, probably unconsciously, to emulate him. That notion alone was enough to cause Jon to fall in love with Bian, then propose to and marry her. Now she was co-parthers with Jon and her father to realize her wish:  to heal Earth.

“I wrote a new poem yesterday, Bian. Would you like to her it?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon who then reached into his satchel and pulled out the new poem and began reading it.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize.  My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


“That was beautiful, Jon,” said Bian as she sped toward Logan.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied Jon.


Chapter 10

“Do come in! How wonderful to see you both again! Your visits are becoming the highlight for me every month,” exclaimed Mr. Ly.

Bian, before she said a word, rushed forward into her father’s open arms to be hugged by him. For almost a minute, Bian stayed silent in her father’s arms. She did not want him to stop hugging her;  it felt so good. Finally, Bian stepped back and, almost in a yell, said, “I love you!”

“My dear Bian, I love you too, with all my heart,” said Mr. Ly. “And you, Jon, it is always special to meet a person like you. You are my only son and I am blessed to have you now as part of my family. Please, both of you, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr Ly. I am honored now to be a member of the Ly family,” said Jon, then joined Bian on the sofa.

Jon spoke again.

“Mr. Ly, I have for you the information you will need to prepare the press releases you will send to all media and people you wish to inform about our imminent sojourn ? January 202. Here it is,” said Jon, and handed the pages to him.

Mr. Ly continued.

“Bian and Jon, I need to share with both of you the following. My friends and I will create our own Starlink-like internet company so no “Citizen of Earth”--as you, Jon, call all 8 billion human beings on Earth–can be blocked when each votes on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Furthermore, we will provide cell phones to all CITIZENS OF EARTH.  And Bian and Jon, you will be able... to visit safely in all the more than the 50 totalitarian nations. How is this possible, you ask? It is possible because I and my friends have our ways. In addition, we shall translate your commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE into all 7,000 languages and dialects and, beginning ? January 202, will send it monthly to all media according to which each uses. This will continue until the vote on CAMPAIGN ON EARTH takes place during the first two weeks of 202?. And, as you have told me, Jon, only love can save Earth.”

“Mr. Ly, you are, with the exception of your daughter, the most intelligent, the most compassionate, the most self-effacing human being I have had the honor ever meeting. You know, I’m sure, the difference between personhood and behavior. Everyone’s personhood is sacred, inviolable, intrinsic, whereas so many peoples' behavior is often uncaring or hurtful, or even much worse. It is not unusual to react to one’s untoward behavior with at least displeasure, if not outright hate, even on rare occasions with violence. But this latter response is unknowing. When one encounters bad behavior to any degree and wishes it were not so, do not exacerbate what is already deleterious by making it even worse through punishment. Instead, constrain this negativity, but love this forsaken person. Love is the cure for all those who suffer pain. It may take a lot of love to heal a hurting soul, even a lifetime, perhaps even longer. But love is the antidote for all emotional maladies. But for one to be able to love others, one must first be loved, preferably by one’s parents. This dilemma is what our world suffers from the most. Wealth, fame, power–all are illusory and therefore feckless. They are but unconscious efforts to compensate for lack of love, and that is why our world has been turned inside-out for millennia. Only being loved, and then being able to love, will we be able to turn our world right-side in. Then and only then will we have Peace on Earth forever, and for the first time.

“I lavish praise upon you, because you are a beyond-magnificent human being, Mr. Ly,” concluded Jon.

Mr. Ly sat in silence, stunned. Finally, he said, “Thank you, thank you, Jon.”
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
Cream, water from tap
Java swirls— transmuting mug
Morning alchemy
TOD HOWARD HAWKS May 2022
LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 10


Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius, but more importantly, Ly made Jon think of what Jorge Luis Borges had once written, that every person’s most important task was to complete successfully the transmuting of her/his pain into compassion. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Ly, overtime, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his mega-wealthy friends, asking them to join him in this lifelong endeavor that he titled SOCIETY FOR PEACE, and many of them did join him. Now Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor, all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death, fell. Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  

Bian, thought Jon, was as incredibly intelligent as her father. Of course, she was soft-spoken, but that belied her brilliance. After all, Bian has just completed the most rigorous, as well as the best, undergraduate liberal arts education to be found on Earth, graduating Summa *** Laude, an incredible academic achievement. Jon knew how much she loved her father, and he believed as well that his wife yearned, probably unconsciously, to emulate him. That notion alone was enough to cause Jon to fall in love with Bian, then propose to and marry her. Now she was co-parthers with Jon and her father to realize her wish:  to heal Earth.

“I wrote a new poem yesterday, Bian. Would you like to her it?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon who then reached into his satchel and pulled out the new poem and began reading it.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize.  My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


“That was beautiful, Jon,” said Bian as she sped toward Logan.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied Jon.

— The End —