Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Greyson Fay Dec 2014
through the glass
this is so pretty.
is this the future?
its stretching in every direction.
"where is the car in front of me" is a good question
flurries cloud her vision
swirling and streaming through the air
its not snowing
but the dust is undoubtedly there
my eyes are wide
focused on the sky above
never have i seen such blazing color
scorching the night sky
When i was driving home in a very polluted area of town the streetlights made the ground glow,and the skyscrapers where going through the (surprisingly) low clouds
no longer where the clouds shone through by the sun.
they gleamed florescent.
Journal of Darkness: Assassin and Deceptress


Nov 21, 2011, 8:17:32 PM by ~OmegaWolfOfWinter
Journals / Personal




(description of storyline: all characters in this work are dragons, with the ability to change into a human form. they live in present day society, but have a base in the middle of the desert. there is a library with the history of the world, which is operated by stacra, an organization to preserve the peace in the world. there is a rival organization, the dracra, who wish to take it over. the dracra is led by a dragon named Darkheart, a dragon who has haunted the Scar line for millenia.)
"... sahsa...."
what was that mumbled sasha, a small town girl in modern day USA. she was nearly asleep when the voice called to her.
sasha was usually described as a freak. she was a dragon fanatic, and she carried her favorite books wherever she went, Brink of Insanity: journal of the Wild and the Broken; and its companion, Blood curse:  journal of the Destroyer and the Savage. they told of dragons living in new york who had to bear a family curse and sought a way to release it. the author was only known as "Lucian".
"....sasha...."
i'm sure i heard it that time...
"....come to me sasha...."
she didnt know why but she felt as if she absolutely had to find the source. she was barely clothed but quietly snuck out, leaving small footprints in the snow.
"....sasha!...."
she felt panicked. as the voice grew louder so did her heart, beating quickly in her ears. some sort of animal instinct took over and she somehow Managed to run on all fours. her whole body began tingling, her skin writhing. she looked back and nearly choked: wings and a tail... had grown from her body. her whole body turned white as scales etched their way into life over her skin. her body began elongating and enlarging, becoming streamlined and lizardlike. she was transforming...
"...yes!... just as you said, master...."
"...quiet, kovu..."
sashas vision went dark as she stumbled, barrelling through the snow. when she looked up, she saw an enormous dragon, with scars just like the ones in her book. "she will be a fine student."
sasha was dumbfounded as she saw her parents walk up behind them. "greetings, master Lucian, kovu." said her father.
"and you, rydon."
"y-you...know...?" stammered sasha.
"all will be explained in the morning, sasha," replied her mother.
sasha felt tired and her eyes shut as the ground came up to meet her.
sasha sat alone at the picnic table, surrounded by lucian, her father rydon, her mother sophia, and kovu. "so... you're all.... dragons.... like in my books..." she gestured to the two books.
lucian stepped forward and placed a hand on the books. his hand glowed and the glossy books turned to worn, leather journals. "yes, we are dragons. sasha. and you have done well guarding my journals."
"your... journals? but i thought that these were best-selling novels..."
lucian chuckled, "no no. young one, there are only two other copies of each of these in existence."
"wow..."
her father spoke up now, "so what are you here for, master? is it time for her to leave us?"
"leave?! what do you mean leave?!"
rydon looked worriedly at lucian and then at sasha,"you are dragon, and it is tradition for you to be trained."
"but what if i dont want to leave?!"
her father began to become angry,"its not your choice!"
"then whose-"
lucian's eyes glowed red in anger, "rydon, haven't you taught your daughter respect? surely you would know of my ways by now."
rydon nodded, "i- i'm sorry, master. i don't know whats come over her."
sasha ran, shifting to her new dragon form and flying away. darkheart had warned her of this, that lucian was a dictatoria leader. she asked herself, "why had her father taken his side? why did this have to happen so suddenly? and most of all, what was she going to do next?"
darkheart had given her directions to meet her after lucian made contact. sasha flew, tired as she was not used to the extra limbs.
once she reached the spot that darkheart had told her, she waited and thought things through.
once darkheart arrived, she spoke, "i want to join you. i beleive everything you've said."
darkheart chuckled, "i knew you would dear girl, lucian is the same as his grandfather, they both hounded me and tortured me, for their own twisted ways. i've tried to keep as many as possible from falling into their cluthces. i wasn't able to **** scarheart, as he captured me and forced me into his own body as an energy slave. he tortured me even there, and after he died, lucian, his grandson, got me. he too tortured me."
sasha looked at her in sock, "thats terrible. i didnt know..."
"you couldnt have, darling. those evil dragons keep everything from those who should know."
sasha stood, "i want to be trained. by you."
"really? i warn you, it is quite tough. not all survive. you must be willing to do whatever it takes to stop those vile dragons."
*     *     * 3 years later
sasha was 20 years old, and it was time for her to take on her first big mission: infiltrate lucian's schol and learn everything she could.
sasha had already talked to lucian, apologizing for her behavior so long ago. lucian had seemed hesitant but allowed her in. foolish old bat. she thought. she had been at the compund for a year and a half now and had become familiar with their ways.  sasha would often wonder why she was doing this, and she remembered, darkheart had said that lucian killed sashs's father. she always looked at him with scorn and wished to **** him. but she restrained herself and kept on the facade.
today she felt especially hating towards every master she came in contact with. she passed tsai, lucian's right hand dragon, as he went to talk with the master. she tried to eavesdrop but they were speaking in an ancient, coded language. she growled and her white scales flashed in the sun.


"Lucian, somethings not right about that youngling sasha... she's always watching us, like she's gathering information."
"yes, tsai, i know. i know exactly what she is."
"what?" tsai looked skeptical.
"she's an agent, an informant. for darkheart."
tsai stared, incredulous."wha?! how do you know?!"
"ive been under the influence of darkheart before, as have you. something about sasha is of darkheart's doing."
tsai nodded "even still, is she possessed by her or under orders?"
lucian thought for a moment "i beleive under orders..."
both stared as lucian's son, kovu, walked up to sasha.
*       *        
"sasha! hi!" kovu had taken a liking to sasha since his father took her as an apprentice.
"oh, um. hi. kovu..." *i cant let my emotions get in the way of my mission!
"how have you been?" sasha felt herself blush under the gaze of the drake. he wasnt half-bad to look at, and she often caught herself watching him.
"i'm doing great, training with tsai is always fun. what about you and master lucian?"
her eyes darted to her master, her target, then back at kovu. "you mean you're... dad?"
"yeah... my dad... but we students can only call them by their designation. even master scaleweaver calls some elders master."
sasha's ears pricked up as she heard scaleweaver's name. she was assigned to gather information on all of the masters. i must make madame darkheart proud... i am worthy... she must see that...
"is... something wrong, sasha?"
she caught herself, "n-no i'm just tired is all... just tired..."
her master lucian came toward her what a fool, he doesnt even know about me... "sasha, i need to speak with you.... alone."
kovu difpped his head and backed away respectfully.
"sasha, come."
she swallowed her pride and said, "yes... master..." and followed him.
once they were outside, lucian turned to her and said, "i know, sasha. i know that darkheart sent u here to gather information on us."
sasha's eyes widened and her mouth dropped. she thought hard how?! how does he know?! this cant be possible....
"i-i dont know what youre talking about, master..."
lucian turned on her with a peircing gaze, and made her wince as he studied her. "there are better ways to lie, youngling... but not to me. ive known for quite some time now."
sasha felt her legs give out beneath her. she sat, looking into the dust, listening incredulously at lucian. "how... how do you know?!?!"
sasha ran forward, clawing at lucian's throat. she was instantly frozen in place, an immensely strong spell holding her legs in place.  "let me go, lucian!"
"its master to you, youngling. and why would i let you go? you just tried to **** me." sasha struggled helplessly against her bonds. she saw lucian mutter something and felt her legs grow suddenly cold. she looked and gasped as ice started to creep up her haunches.
"lucia-master, please let me go... i was only under orders."
lucian chuckled, "how did darkheart get to you?"
"i can't tell you..."
"oh? then let me guess; theres another informant, a higher up in stacra, who told darkheart about you and she arrived, possibly a week before us? she fed you a story of stacra destroying the world and trying to take over the one that they created. she told you that she was only trying to help restore order. am i close?"
sasha felt naked under the gaze of the elder, who saw straight through her act and through her commander's plan. it made her heart quicken and her scales writhe. she felt a sharp pain as the ice crept up and chilled her thighs, creeping steadily upwards. "how... how can you know these things?! darkheart said you wouldnt be able to know... she said that you held her prisoner... that you tortured her... she said that you- you killed my father."
lucian shook his head and wiped something from his face, revealing gruesome scars. "she altered her face to look like mine... look, and know the truth." he placed a claw on her forehead and she gasped as a flood of memories flooded her, darkheart inside lucian's mind, taking over him, taunting him, and forcing him to do terrible things. she heard lucian say, "she tortured me, she held me captive. its true that stacra destroyed the world, but look also;" she saw the corrupt government of old, and their wretched attrocities. "they brought about their own destruction. we created the world you know, but dont wish it to be taken over, we merely want peace...We act as peacekeepers. darkheart seeks to enslave all to do her bidding. and your father died at darkheart's talons, not mine." sasha saw a gruesome scene as lucian tried to save her father.
she felt him withdraw, and felt the magic and ice withdraw from her, the ice's touch fading from her ****. she shivered and crouched low, warming her body.
"sasha, darkheart is a liar... she's been at it for thousands of years." he watched her shiver and said. "come, sit around the fire."
sasha noddded and followed close behind lucian, hiding her vulnerable state.
"i'm sorry, master."
"all will be okay, sasha... all will be fine.."
lucian brought sasha into his study under his wing. he had her sit down in front of the fire and draped a blanket over her. he sat down behind her, looking over the latest reports, waiting for her to speak. after a few minutes she sighed and looked back at lucian, tears forming in her eyes. "is everything you said true? Is darkheart nothing but a deceptionist?"
lucian looked up at her and nodded. "all of it was true. I'm sorry, sasha. darkheart is a gifted deceptionist and many of us have fallen for her tricks.  including me."
sasha turned back and looked into the fire with sad eyes, tears rolling down her cheek. she shuddered and took a shaky breath. lucian came up beside her and placed a comforting paw on her shoulder.
"darkheart forced me to **** my best friend... a she-drake named Clia... in front of her other followers to show that we must be able to turn on anyone to fulfill the mission..."
lucian nodded, "so I had heard... darkheart has become more cruel than ever."
"l-lucian, what can i do to make her pay?"
lucian thought for a while and then shook his head. "let me think more on this, sasha. for now, let no one know that you are an affiliate of darkheart, it could have deadly consequence. you may remain in here if you wish, or you may return to your own quarters. i have some things to attend to."
sasha nodded to him and gasped as everything went still and dimmed, even the fire seemed grey and frozen.
"wha-"
"sasha... you must tell me now, will you work with me?"
she was stunned. "where are you? what do you mean?"
"you want to get back at her, i know how to. but you must tell me if you will work with me."
"i-i will, lucian. but whhy ask now, and in this way?"
"because, there is someone here, that is going to try to **** you. he was listening to us and is going to attack you with magic. ive cast a spell that will give an apearance of death. just let the magic do its stuff and u'll do fine">
"but wait!"
"you must trust me, sasha."
all of a sudden, everything went back to normal, and lucian was gone, she could hear his fading footsteps.
what was that abou- wait! the killer... she kept facing the fire and listened as she had been taught to the clawsteps of the incoming dragon.
"is it true? you're one of them?!"
sasha turned and gasped, flashing him a shocked, innocent look over her shoulder. "what are you talking about, kovu?"
he was angry, and she was struck with fear. "i overheard you and lucian talking. i heard everything."
sasha turned to face him."y-you, heard everything..."
"then you are one of them! i cant beleive it... i cant beleive i trusted you."
kovu stepped forward and sasha's eyes shifted, trying to find a way out. "kovu, i- i can explain."
"you're nothing but a trickster, a deceptress! dont try to talk me out of this."
her heartbeat quickened, stricken with dread. "out of... out of what, kovu?"
he said nothing but uttered the death spell.
*      *    
sasha let herself go, remembering lucian's spell. but as she did so, she thought about why she was doing this. *to make darkheart suffer...
she heard lucian in her mind. "you'll be going to death-sleep for a while, a few days to make it beleivable. now sleep, sasha... sleep and i will awaken you soon."
"o-okay, master lucian..."
"there is no need to call me master anymore, sasha. from now on, you no longer exist. which is why darkheart will never see you coming. its time... dont worry."
the death-sleep overcame her and she fell to darkness.
*   * *
lucian ran downstairs and saw kovu standing over sasha's body. he put on a facade of dread and said, "kovu.... what have you done?!"
kovu looked at lucian angrily. "you were going to harbor a killer... i took care of the problem."
lucian became angry now, "no, you made more problems. you didnt think... you didnt listen. she was willing to help."
kovu snarled at lucian, "i did what needed to be done. I killed her for you, father."
lucian responded quietly, "you killed a helpless dragoness in cold blood. i have no choice but to arrest you for ******, my son." he muttered a binding spell and blocked kovu's magic. he watched kovu struggle for a moment then went to pick up sasha's seemingly lifeless body. he contacted her mentally, saying, "i'm taking your body in to the infirmary, i'll oversee your examination. in 2 days, i will wake you, when i do, be very quiet."
"yes, sir."
sasha's new appearance was stunning, quite different from the black color of her original scales, she now looked like each scale was a glittering saphire, and her horns and underside were now a shimmering silver. sasha was astonished by what lucian had done, he had also changed her voice and form, making her more slender and agile, he altered her voice in such a way that it seemed that she could charm the heart out of a rock. even lucian who had a mate of his own had to keep himself composed. but he was undoubtedly pleased that things were turning out well. lucian had to change everything about her, her eyes now a deep green, her draconic fingerprint being her tail-tip and spine, were changed to furry mane and a slender diamond tip.
she looked at herself in amirror and remarked how mature she looked.
"you may have to be put in certain situations which may have you exploit some... erm... feminine charms."
"so i'll have to...."
"only if you let it go that far. it depends on you. you said that you'd  do anything to get back at darkheart. these matters are up to your own discretion."
she thought long about this. "i want to g
this is a book i'm still writing.
howard brace Jan 2013
Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline.  In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

     Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.  

     It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons.  She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...  

     With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

      After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

     "Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!"   At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay. 

     Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace.  Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

     For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft.  Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.  

     Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

     At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to  make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

                                                        ­           ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1297
i Sep 2014
and the way
he looked at her
was undoubtedly divine.
Matt Jursin Nov 2009
Backed in.
Upside-down yet right-side-up.
My "Days Off" are never enough.
Backed in. Feelin rough.
Being alone in my quiet place is often tough.

My mind wanders, getting lost.
Missin out on bein about.
Locked up on a cold, cloudy, winter day.
No doubt.
No trust, no love, nothing to clutch...
I hold my blanket and pout.
Loudly.
No friends wander in and out.

Undoubtedly this pen holds no cure for a broken spirit and a broken heart.
I guess this just falls under "Vague Art".
But it's a new start...to an old art.
I should've known this'd be harder than being a martyr.

Underestimating the already underestimated.
It's my time to shine.
Mesmerized by the bright light.
I try not to fight it...this paper, My Shrine.
Im an ugly person with a handsome mind, intertwined with the devine.
My life, MY throw, MY time.
It's never this easy to draw strait lines...-----------------------
you look me in the eyes and you tell me i don't know what i'm doing but i fire back with a tongue that can lash every single wound you thought was healed open that no, you don't know what you're doing

sure, i may look at you the way the sun stretches across this city and clings onto every ray of grass it can find, and your body imprint in my bed and my memory is perhaps always going to be there, but that does not mean i cannot fall out of love with you

to the boy who will break my heart undoubtedly, know that i will try to break yours first, even though i will ultimately probably fail

know that i will try to kiss every other stranger i can find in attempts to wash out the taste of your perfect lips from mine, know that i will drink to the bottom of every glass they hand me to try to erase the feeling of skin on skin, the feeling of sweat combining and combusting into a deep, fiery love

i won't lie when i tell you that every glass of wine we drank together was an attempt for me to separate myself but you go one step back and i step two steps forward; maybe i will always be the girl that was stuck inside of your head for the early days of december when my looks and my om attracted something in you that not even your relationship status could ignore, maybe something inside of me convinced you that i was different

but, dear boy, know that you - you are not a man, and you still have a long way to go to reach that illustrious status you so badly want to claim

know that when you grab parts of my body i never knew existed, know that when you let me build a home inside of your eyes and your hands, know that when you kiss me innocently or not, that you would never do this if you were a man, because men

well, they wouldn't let me watch them break my own heart
JR Rhine Nov 2015
The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see

Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.

And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath

Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.

In a world between
Real and imaginary.

For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push

That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed

And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath

And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream

As I press on
In the concrete jungle.

Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.

And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen

Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.

I am alive
In the concrete jungle.
I love skateboarding.
Robert G Page Dec 2015
A Christmas Thought (short story)
by
rgpage

This time of the year,  when once giving from the heart has since melted like the snow in Spring to the meaningless demand for expensive toys and gadgets;  and Santa has waned to no more than the all-giving sugar daddy to each and every child,  and a tireless crutch to the mindless parent during the year; “Santa’s watching so you’d better be good.”

And alas,  there I stood in this huge department store amid a vast forest of toys, colors, and noises, fallen prey to this modern day hypocrisy known as Christmas.  Being of a lower middle economical standard,  and having with such stealth blindness juggled expenses and bills to afford myself the opportunity to plunge even deeper into dept.  I pondered these playful wonders of modern day technology.  All about countless numbers of people were doing as I in efforts to reward their children for their year of good service.

This was when I saw her. As fast as this seasonal frenzy had overtaken me just days earlier,  it vanished for a time as I watched her. It must have been that she seemed so out of place in this hurry-scurry festive scene of Christmas shopping that she caught my eye.  She was very old and her tattered,  worn out clothing all too obviously reflected the fact that she couldn’t afford much.  While others struggled about her almost comically laden with brightly colored  packages, this old woman had nothing more than an old purse dangling from her arm.  Slowly she moved, seemingly pained with the infirmities which accompany old age.  She appeared overweight for her stature which I’m sure added to her discomfort.  When she stopped in front of the doll section  her old, pudgy face glowed with joy.  Undoubtedly a doll for a little granddaughter,  I was  sure no more as she couldn’t possibly afford more.  I watched as she studied each doll
and its price tag,  going from one to the next.  Finally she stopped to give particular attention to one little doll adorned with colorful ribbons and big bright blue eyes.  Then putting the doll back,  she opened her purse and I watched as she counted the small amount of money that she had.  

By this time I had become so unexplainably absorbed with watching the old woman,  who with a smile closed her purse, retrieved the doll and walked slowly and painfully to the checkout counter to wait in line.  Around her the noise of parents and children alike waiting their turn to check out didn’t seem to bother her as she patiently waited, holding the precious little doll for an equally precious granddaughter.  Finally when her turn came, an all to cruel yet human trait appeared in not only the people waiting behind her but the checkout clerk as well. Their impatience to maintain a steady flow of human traffic through the turnstiles came to the forefront almost obliterating this seasonal spirit.  This didn’t seem to deter the old woman from slowly and surely counting out the correct change,  leaving her very little to return to her purse.

With this done and the doll tucked away in a shopping sack,  she proceeded through the large glass doors and out into the cold December night.  A passing thought, “one special gift for one special person,” went through my mind as I continued my own, now more selective tour of annual duty.  Looking over my shoulder for one last glimpse of the old woman, I suddenly felt as if struck by a jolt of electricity as I saw her on her back in the slushy snow, struggling like an over-turned turtle.

Bolting out the door hoping to be the first to reach her,  I almost found myself lying next to her on the slick sidewalk.  Nothing was said as I struggled to lift her up.  Once this was accomplished I asked her if she was alright.  Instead of answering  she started looking around for her package.  I spotted the torn, soaked paper sack some ten feet away in a slushy puddle and went to retrieve it.  The doll had come half way out of the sack and her little blonde curls were now filled with water and slush; and as I handed it back I searched the old woman’s face for even a trace of sadness, there was none. Instead she looked at me smiled and said, “thank you young man, it’ll dry out, it’ll be alright, Merry Christmas.”  Then holding the doll in both hands, she turned and went on her way, much slower and much more cautiously.  I just stood there and watched her until she finally disappeared in the crowd and darkness and thought to myself, “maybe Santa Claus isn’t a man after all.”
Äŧül Jan 2016
You're beautiful,
Yes, you are, undoubtedly.
But the way you smile-

It's the icing on the cake!

And it's indispensable.
Neither you can live without that perfect smile,
Nor I can imagine any light of day or dark of night without it,
Let alone traveling a mile without thinking of your smile.
My HP Poem #997
©Atul Kaushal
Tommy Randell Nov 2016
Nothing so depresses me like the inexorable increase of entropy,
To exist the Universe runs down to pass the time of day
Clocks need moments of time just to be
All the arrows of our lives pointing into the future spell decay.

But what’s to be done with Joy, the real stuff,
Such as between perpetual friends is Joyousness all they need to be enough?
Can joy be talked about in finite ways, can joy be mapped like by a Geographer
Be fixed by the peerless reasoning of this and that mind-crap and formulae?

Can all that poets have dreamed on our behalf,
Not be the words and skill to force our feelings into a choreograph
And fix our loving laughter into some ******* ever after,
Can all that we would be seen to be be nothing but fodder for that artillery entropy?

The truth in you will make you wise some guru in a book once said to me
But no truth yet has turned a pretty face I did not also see Its wicked taste for irony,
Its predilection, spiteful and guilty of all  brutality.
Joy undoubtedly exists though I cannot deny it beats in the heart with melancholy.

All friendships always turn into a binary, a power-play of entropy
Taking us into a place we've never imagined ourselves to be
We do it, we do it from the beginning, to those we love you see
All our kindness is the beginning of all our cruelty.
Raihah Mior Jan 2017
I am still
In deep thought-
Wondering, how easy I’ve let you slipped
From my hands
And from my heart

--

Let’s take a step back
And recount the moments
Recollect the memories
Reminisce the good old days
And reassess this overnight decision I’ve impulsively taken

Let’s take a few more steps back
And remember the first time I met you
Back in high school
The first time I said hi
And thought you were cute

You were a plethora of my firsts
The first boy bestfriend I’ve ever had
The first boy to ever ask me out on dates
The first boy to talk to me on a daily basis
The first boy I ever liked…. Who actually liked me back

Undoubtedly,
You were my first love

I thought I loved you like I’d never love anyone else
I told you everything
Wrecked these walls I’ve sheltered from for so long
Just to hand you this little fragile heart of mine
Through the cracked linoleum and the broken glass windows
I gave you a golden ticket and an aerial view
To my world

And after two years,
In the end,
You did decide to return the favour
You trusted me enough
To let me enter this mystical world of yours
These two dimensions you seem to always get lost in
Those two roads diverged in a wood
That you can never seem to wrap your head around
and choose

As I write this,
I start to realise why and how I stopped loving you

I think I got tired
Of trying to pull you up
As you let yourself drown in the seas
of your undecided thoughts

I stopped loving you
The moment you say “I’m going to change”
But the next day you woke up
You put on the same old clothes
You took the same route
To the place that led you exactly back to where you once were

I got sick of
Saying the same things
Over and over again
Asking you to change
Only to expect nothing in return

Truth be told
As similar as we are as people
We live in worlds too distant apart
Your world is too foreign for me, too fast and scary
Whereas my world is too small and tightly guarded, all child’s play

As much as I’d want to love you
I can’t seem to do so
And if I could, I'd say this a million times to you

I truly am sorry.
Didn't think i'd make a poem out of this hahah. It's just something that's been bubbling up inside my head for too long.
Anyway, this is for Z; The one I thought would be the love of my life.
Thanks for always being there for me.
Missy Wong Feb 2015
The furthest distance in the world
Is not between life and death
But when I stand in front of you
Yet you don’t know that
I love you

The furthest distance in the world
Is not when i stand in font of you
Yet you can’t see my love
But when undoubtedly knowing the love from both
Yet cannot
Be together

The furthest distance in the world
Is not being apart while being in love
But when plainly can not resist the yearning
Yet pretending
You have never been in my heart

The furthest distance in the world
Is not
But using one’s indifferent heart
To dig an uncrossable river
For the one who loves you

by Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
I like this poem. Written by an late Indian poet, and later translated into mandarin. Depicted my feeling very well at the same time towards someone.
JM Nov 2012
is what I tell them, now.


"I am only going to hurt you.
I promise."

I will laugh with you
and I will let you see my core,
and you will want so terribly much
to be a part of me

you will do almost anything.

"I told you not to."

I will let you in.
I will open myself completely
and make myself vulnerable at your feet.
You will trust me.

" Stop."


I will tell you about my family
and you will meet them.
You will think you understand me.

Did you think I was lying when I told you I was a *******?

I ******* told you.

I'll make you feel like the most beautiful
woman in the universe.
You will know in your bones
that I am yours alone.


It will be magical and true,

at the time.

We will be in love with each other. Madly, crazily, undoubtedly and completely in love and it will be the most wonderful and pure and good thing that has ever happened to us both and we will pledge eternal loyalty to each other and we will both mean it and we will be happy beyond our comprehension.

Then... I will

change.

I will grow tired of you.
I will become distant.
I will become indifferent.
I will become cruel.

You will be confused
and cry
and plead and pout and sulk and berate and beleaguer.

You will question yourself
and your motives, like it was your fault or your failing
when it was neither.

If it makes you feel better,
I will apologize.
I won't mean it though.
Not all the way, not like I should.

It was just me
being me
and doing

exactly

what I said I would.
Domino Black Jan 2015
When we met for the first time,
You were dressed in black,
I knew that I liked you,
And that you liked me back.
And then on our first date you were dressed in blue,
It brought out your eyes,
Which were undoubtedly the things,
I loved most about you.
When you were sad,
You wore hats,
Because they made you feel hidden,
But, I think they made you look cute,
And so that's why you did it.
When you were happy you'd shine,
No matter what you wore,
But it was probably expensive,
From a high end store.
And that night I told you I Loved you,
For the first time,
You wore an ugly grey sweatshirt,
Because, well, that sweatshirt was mine.
You wore a black dress,
That night I said I wanted to die,
Then you went out with friends,
And with some other guy,
I told you "I hate this",
And you said I'm too emotional,
You wore that same black dress,
The next week to my funeral.
The next week,
And week after that,
I still saw you wearing it,
The one black dress ,
I said was my favorite.
I love you,
I miss you,
I'll leave it at that,
But, it's hard to see you from heaven,
When you keep wearing that hat.
In the morning I heard  the Koel’s melodious call
It is a sure sign of Sneaking autumn’s fall
What a striking difference between winter and spring
It is undoubtedly  season’s eternal king

I love nature’s green saree
She smiles with an uncontrollable spree
Her saree is full of beautiful flowers
there are very many different colours

Nature’s Bindi is the glorious sun
Her hair pin is the shining moon
She cools herself with her natural fan
Her stay here might be of a little span

She sits with an yellow sarree in the palanquin
The bride groom looks at her as if she were a queen
Her beauty and shyness is her divine pride
She is a newly married mesmerizing bride
the villages are replete with ripe corn
All the birds enjoy this beautiful morn
ryn Nov 2014
these thoughts...
they are my own,
walled within the deepest recesses
of my
cerebral labyrinth.

sprouting out of vine covered walls,
are multicoloured blooms
brandishing thorned stems
and
thirsty stigmas,
dripping with
absinthe.

mind full of poison in
permissible amounts...
i am caught in a
web of restless stupor,
anguish...
and regression...

these thoughts...
rationed out sparingly,
for they're not for unready ears
blooms of thought meticulously
triaged before
necessary expulsion.

hairline cracks between
insanity
and peace...
i tread precariously
the fine,
meandering line.

still clutching my flowers
in a tight obstinate grasp...
not letting go
for these tainted blossoms
are
undoubtedly
mine.
JaQuise Caldwell Nov 2014
Diminutive in frame and stature
defines him not, but instead enhances the
brilliance of his smile’s shine.
The golden flakes of honesty in his warm brown eyes
covey one vice that is captivation.
They hold hostage your most destructive thoughts
to instantaneously
replace them with the best; of
joy, contentment, and love-the best of him.

His high cheek bones define a mouth
so perfectly constructed.
They rise and fall like oceans’ waves with
every gentle gesture.

He thinks of love as a pool of chances
and illogically
he dives into the hurt he’s found himself in once
twice, no wait, three times.
But still, he never falters to give “chance”
just one more chance to prove he’s done what’s right.

Secondary comes his needs, in light of someone else’s.
The thoughts, “too tired” or “too busy” does nothing for him because
if someone needs help, you help them undoubtedly.
I  have seen the coat that once
cascaded on his back give warmth to one
who had no coat
or smile
or joy
or light.

And for that one he lowered his head
to ask God for a favor.
I met this guy, this “perfect” guy when innocence consumed me
and since that day we’ve been each other’s confidant and comforter.
My love towards him supersedes that of a friend or
the best of that.

The truest thing I know is that when everyone one else
disappears to the mundane norms of life,
he will be there with me to cut through
the silence with rolls of laughter.
At what? It does not matter.
Because when I’m with him and he’s with me
there is a “we” that is formed and that “we” is captivates me

An infinite truth is that I will never stop
loving this young man.
He keeps my heartbeat steady so I
must exclaim the best of
joy, contentment, and love-the best of him.
Shall I sing my telugu sonorous song
Which will stay for so long?
Like the cool breeze it touches your every part
And like any great art it surely soothes your heart

Have you ever heard of the great Bards
Annamayya and kshetrayya who sang
With a lot of godly emotion
And inexpressible passion?

I am very proud of my culture and song
Which will definitely make you throng
Your song may be sweeter and fine
But I like my song because it’s mine

God is undoubtedly music
We can’t understand his magic
Music is really intoxicating and divine
It is much more tranquilizing than  even French wine
Mohammad Skati Feb 2015
Undoubtedly all great players know                                                                      Their roles accurately ...                                                                                           No one goes beyond                                                                                                 One's role anytime ...                                                                                               All roles are planned greatly                                                                                    To suit themselves ...                                                                                                 Any violation of one's role ,then                                                                              It will inevitably lead to one's end ...                                                                       Crossing red lines is not allowed anytime ...
Lillian Harris Mar 2015
I used to make fun of
Those naïve, lovesick girls
That stared out windows
Daydreaming of the boys
Who they'd been silly enough
To give their hearts to

I swore that I would never be
So foolish as to fall,
For with falling comes feeling
The crushing pain of loss
When it all undoubtedly
Hits the ground

But how could I predict
The sensation that would come
When you so suddenly
Found your way behind these
Walls I'd built so high?
You with those eyes and that smile.

How easily you persuaded me
Out of my cynicism.
My firm grip loosened
When I heard you sing that night
And I felt myself begin to fall,
Not knowing if you'd catch me.

Now I am that lovesick girl
Who stares out windows
Daydreaming of the beautiful boy
Who holds her heart
So carefully in his hands,
Silently hoping
That he'll decide to keep it.
Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn
From his displeasure; in whose look serene,
When angry most he seemed and most severe,
What else but favour, grace, and mercy, shone?
So spake our father penitent; nor Eve
Felt less remorse: they, forthwith to the place
Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell
Before him reverent; and both confessed
Humbly their faults, and pardon begged; with tears
Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek.
Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood
Praying; for from the mercy-seat above
Prevenient grace descending had removed
The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerate grow instead; that sighs now breathed
Unutterable; which the Spirit of prayer
Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight
Than loudest oratory:  Yet their port
Not of mean suitors; nor important less
Seemed their petition, than when the ancient pair
In fables old, less ancient yet than these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore
The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine
Of Themis stood devout.  To Heaven their prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds
Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passed
Dimensionless through heavenly doors; then clad
With incense, where the golden altar fumed,
By their great intercessour, came in sight
Before the Father’s throne: them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See$ Father, what first-fruits on earth are sprung
From thy implanted grace in Man; these sighs
And prayers, which in this golden censer mixed
With incense, I thy priest before thee bring;
Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed
Sown with contrition in his heart, than those
Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees
Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen
From innocence.  Now therefore, bend thine ear
To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let me
Interpret for him; me, his advocate
And propitiation; all his works on me,
Good, or not good, ingraft; my merit those
Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay.
Accept me; and, in me, from these receive
The smell of peace toward mankind: let him live
Before thee reconciled, at least his days
Numbered, though sad; till death, his doom, (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse,)
To better life shall yield him: where with me
All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss;
Made one with me, as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain; all thy request was my decree:
But, longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal elements, that know,
No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul,
Eject him, tainted now; and purge him off,
As a distemper, gross, to air as gross,
And mortal food; as may dispose him best
For dissolution wrought by sin, that first
Distempered all things, and of incorrupt
Corrupted.  I, at first, with two fair gifts
Created him endowed; with happiness,
And immortality: that fondly lost,
This other served but to eternize woe;
Till I provided death: so death becomes
His final remedy; and, after life,
Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined
By faith and faithful works, to second life,
Waked in the renovation of the just,
Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed.
But let us call to synod all the Blest,
Through Heaven’s wide bounds: from them I will not hide
My judgements; how with mankind I proceed,
As how with peccant Angels late they saw,
And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed.
He ended, and the Son gave signal high
To the bright minister that watched; he blew
His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps
When God descended, and perhaps once more
To sound at general doom.  The angelick blast
Filled all the regions: from their blisful bowers
Of amarantine shade, fountain or spring,
By the waters of life, where’er they sat
In fellowships of joy, the sons of light
Hasted, resorting to the summons high;
And took their seats; till from his throne supreme
The Almighty thus pronounced his sovran will.
O Sons, like one of us Man is become
To know both good and evil, since his taste
Of that defended fruit; but let him boast
His knowledge of good lost, and evil got;
Happier! had it sufficed him to have known
Good by itself, and evil not at all.
He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite,
My motions in him; longer than they move,
His heart I know, how variable and vain,
Self-left.  Lest therefore his now bolder hand
Reach also of the tree of life, and eat,
And live for ever, dream at least to live
For ever, to remove him I decree,
And send him from the garden forth to till
The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil.
Michael, this my behest have thou in charge;
Take to thee from among the Cherubim
Thy choice of flaming warriours, lest the Fiend,
Or in behalf of Man, or to invade
Vacant possession, some new trouble raise:
Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God
Without remorse drive out the sinful pair;
From hallowed ground the unholy; and denounce
To them, and to their progeny, from thence
Perpetual banishment.  Yet, lest they faint
At the sad sentence rigorously urged,
(For I behold them softened, and with tears
Bewailing their excess,) all terrour hide.
If patiently thy bidding they obey,
Dismiss them not disconsolate; reveal
To Adam what shall come in future days,
As I shall thee enlighten; intermix
My covenant in the Woman’s seed renewed;
So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace:
And on the east side of the garden place,
Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs,
Cherubick watch; and of a sword the flame
Wide-waving; all approach far off to fright,
And guard all passage to the tree of life:
Lest Paradise a receptacle prove
To Spirits foul, and all my trees their prey;
With whose stolen fruit Man once more to delude.
He ceased; and the arch-angelick Power prepared
For swift descent; with him the cohort bright
Of watchful Cherubim: four faces each
Had, like a double Janus; all their shape
Spangled with eyes more numerous than those
Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drouse,
Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed
Of Hermes, or his ****** rod.  Mean while,
To re-salute the world with sacred light,
Leucothea waked; and with fresh dews imbalmed
The earth; when Adam and first matron Eve
Had ended now their orisons, and found
Strength added from above; new hope to spring
Out of despair; joy, but with fear yet linked;
Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed.
Eve, easily my faith admit, that all
The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends;
But, that from us aught should ascend to Heaven
So prevalent as to concern the mind
Of God high-blest, or to incline his will,
Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer
Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne
Even to the seat of God.  For since I sought
By prayer the offended Deity to appease;
Kneeled, and before him humbled all my heart;
Methought I saw him placable and mild,
Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew
That I was heard with favour; peace returned
Home to my breast, and to my memory
His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe;
Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now
Assures me that the bitterness of death
Is past, and we shall live.  Whence hail to thee,
Eve rightly called, mother of all mankind,
Mother of all things living, since by thee
Man is to live; and all things live for Man.
To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek.
Ill-worthy I such title should belong
To me transgressour; who, for thee ordained
A help, became thy snare; to me reproach
Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise:
But infinite in pardon was my Judge,
That I, who first brought death on all, am graced
The source of life; next favourable thou,
Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf’st,
Far other name deserving.  But the field
To labour calls us, now with sweat imposed,
Though after sleepless night; for see!the morn,
All unconcerned with our unrest, begins
Her rosy progress smiling: let us forth;
I never from thy side henceforth to stray,
Where’er our day’s work lies, though now enjoined
Laborious, till day droop; while here we dwell,
What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks?
Here let us live, though in fallen state, content.
So spake, so wished much humbled Eve; but Fate
Subscribed not:  Nature first gave signs, impressed
On bird, beast, air; air suddenly eclipsed,
After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight
The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour,
Two birds of gayest plume before him drove;
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods,
First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace,
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind;
Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight.
Adam observed, and with his eye the chase
Pursuing, not unmoved, to Eve thus spake.
O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh,
Which Heaven, by these mute signs in Nature, shows
Forerunners of his purpose; or to warn
Us, haply too secure, of our discharge
From penalty, because from death released
Some days: how long, and what till then our life,
Who knows? or more than this, that we are dust,
And thither must return, and be no more?
Why else this double object in our sight
Of flight pursued in the air, and o’er the ground,
One way the self-same hour? why in the east
Darkness ere day’s mid-course, and morning-light
More orient in yon western cloud, that draws
O’er the blue firmament a radiant white,
And slow descends with something heavenly fraught?
He erred not; for by this the heavenly bands
Down from a sky of jasper lighted now
In Paradise, and on a hill made halt;
A glorious apparition, had not doubt
And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam’s eye.
Not that more glorious, when the Angels met
Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw
The field pavilioned with his guardians bright;
Nor that, which on the flaming mount appeared
In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire,
Against the Syrian king, who to surprise
One man, assassin-like, had levied war,
War unproclaimed.  The princely Hierarch
In their bright stand there left his Powers, to seise
Possession of the garden; he alone,
To find where Adam sheltered, took his way,
Not unperceived of Adam; who to Eve,
While the great visitant approached, thus spake.
Eve$ now expect great tidings, which perhaps
Of us will soon determine, or impose
New laws to be observed; for I descry,
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,
One of the heavenly host; and, by his gait,
None of the meanest; some great Potentate
Or of the Thrones above; such majesty
Invests him coming! yet not terrible,
That I should fear; nor sociably mild,
As Raphael, that I should much confide;
But solemn and sublime; whom not to offend,
With reverence I must meet, and thou retire.
He ended: and the Arch-Angel soon drew nigh,
Not in his shape celestial, but as man
Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms
A military vest of purple flowed,
Livelier than Meliboean, or the grain
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old
In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof;
His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime
In manhood where youth ended; by his side,
As in a glistering zodiack, hung the sword,
Satan’s dire dread; and in his hand the spear.
Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his state
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared.
Adam, Heaven’s high behest no preface needs:
Sufficient that thy prayers are heard; and Death,
Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress,
Defeated of his seisure many days
Given thee of grace; wherein thou mayest repent,
And one bad act with many deeds well done
Mayest cover:  Well may then thy Lord, appeased,
Redeem thee quite from Death’s rapacious claim;
But longer in this Paradise to dwell
Permits not: to remove thee I am come,
And send thee from the garden forth to till
The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.
He added not; for Adam at the news
Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood,
That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen
Yet all had heard, with audible lament
Discovered soon the place of her retire.
O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!
Must I thus leave thee$ Paradise? thus leave
Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of Gods? where I had hope to spend,
Quiet though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both.  O flowers,
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation, and my last
;t even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names!
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?
Thee lastly, nuptial bower! by me adorned
With what to sight or smell was sweet! from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world; to this obscure
And wild? how shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?
Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild.
Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost, nor set thy heart,
Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine:
Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes
Thy husband; whom to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native soil.
Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp
Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned,
To Michael thus his humble words addressed.
Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named
Of them the highest; for such of shape may seem
Prince above princes! gently hast thou told
Thy message, which might else in telling wound,
And in performing end us; what besides
Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair,
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring,
Departure from this happy place, our sweet
Recess, and only consolation left
Familiar to our eyes! all places else
Inhospitable appear, and desolate;
Nor knowing us, nor known:  And, if by prayer
Incessant I could hope to change the will
Of Him who all things can, I would not cease
To weary him with my assiduous cries:
But prayer against his absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth:
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
This most afflicts me, that, departing hence,
As from his face I shall be hid, deprived
His blessed countenance:  Here I could frequent
With worship place by place where he vouchsafed
Presence Divine; and to my sons relate,
‘On this mount he appeared; under this tree
‘Stood visible; among these pines his voice
‘I heard; here with him at this fountain talked:
So many grateful altars I would rear
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memory,
Or monument to ages; and theron
Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers:
In yonder nether world where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or foot-step trace?
For though I fled him angry, yet recalled
To life prolonged and promised race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory; and far off his steps adore.
To whom thus Michael with regard benign.
Adam, thou knowest Heaven his, and all the Earth;
Not this rock only; his Omnipresence fills
Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives,
Fomented by his virtual power and warmed:
All the earth he gave thee to possess and rule,
No despicable gift; surmise not then
His presence to these narrow bounds confined
Of Paradise, or Eden: this had been
Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread
All generations; and had hither come
From all the ends of the earth, to celebrate
And reverence thee, their great progenitor.
But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons:
Yet doubt not but in valley, and in plain,
God is, as here; and will be found alike
Present; and of his presence many a sign
Still following thee, still compassing thee round
With goodness and paternal love, his face
Express, and of his steps the track divine.
Which that thou mayest believe, and be confirmed
Ere t
Jeff Gaines Feb 2019
I'm so sorry for not being here much, dear Readers. I make no excuses other than I have been having surgeries, getting my books edited, formatted, copy-written and published on Amazon and dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Michael, which decimated our humble tree farm. The eyewall passed a mere 18 miles south of us and I am STILL cutting up fallen trees and either dragging their remnants up to the road to be hauled away by the county or down to the burn pile to be burned by me. As I said, I am recovering from Stent surgeries, so it is a slow pace, at best. When that is all finished, I'll need to address either burning or cutting out the stumps of all these fallen pine trees and then finally fixing our washed out driveway. (Long sigh)

  As many of you read, I published a piece titled "Message To A Friend". It is an homage to a life-long friend that had passed away. Your responses and comments absolutely warmed my heart ... THANK ALL OF YOU! It was even chosen as my very first Daily here at HePo and I was truly humbled.

  But as most know, whenever you achieve something or are given accolades, you draw the ire of people who have little or no self-esteem and have a psychological and pathological NEED to either show themselves as better than you (an attempt to jump in your spotlight by pushing you out) or to just undermine you out of jealousy by bullying and name calling. Often the line between the two is greatly blurred.

  My being given this Daily was no exception. There is a person here on HePo who can nearly ALWAYS be found leaving derogatory, self-serving, condescending comments on peoples HePo Dailies. He did it to a friend of mine, not too long ago. Not being one to take such drivel at idle, I responded and this began a volley that was not only funny but truly enlightening on the behaviors and the motives of a bully ... or a troll ... or even a hater. The difference between them all is nearly non-existent. Their lack of confidence, their self-doubt, and personal inadequacies/inabilities drive them to form an ego that on the outward eminence front, makes them appear very confident and quite often overbearing and extremely judgmental as though they were so much better than everyone else, they are then entitled to do so.

  These judgments are spewed in an effort to not only make it appear as if they are high and mighty enough to be entitled to do this but to make the person they are attacking fear them as well. In essence, they are frightened cowards that are desperately hiding this fact behind false bravado and holier-than-thou entitlement.

  I have removed this person's name here, as that is irrelevant to the thing I am trying to achieve here. I would like you to witness their initial attack, then my responses, and the volleys that follow. You will be able to witness, first hand, the way that these types of people operate. You will be able to witness them spiral downward in their actions and tactics, desperately trying to maintain control of the situation. Even to the point of becoming child-like in their name-calling and spewing "facts" that they can not POSSIBLY know a single thing about.

  They even, predictably, call foul when you do the exact same thing to them, that THEY have done to you. This juvenile response is actually funny, but in reality, all of this is actually very sad.

  They do these things in an attempt to keep the appearance of having the upper hand. But their ego blinds them so badly, they have no idea that they are exposing themselves, and their sickness, to everyone. Most, if not all, of these types, have a need to appear to the world as someone who is better than everyone else. Someone who has it "all under control" ... even you. They want you to believe that you should revere them. This person, in particular, has this part of the affliction chronically. It is a form of narcissistic megalomania.

As you stand up to them, they have "stages" that they go through while dealing with the person that has stood up to their superego. The more you stand up to them, the further downward their spiral goes. You will see them here, in order. I cut and pasted them, then removed his name. Other than that, they are unedited. It even ends (for now) with them offering a truce. (They will undoubtedly come back, as predictably, they can not help themselves.)

BUT ... the truce is yet another poorly veiled attempt to regain control and come out appearing as the dominant one. It is laughable in many ways, but again, it is also very sad. These people have many, many deep-seated issues and may have experienced traumas in their life that have molded them into this behavior.

Admittedly, I probably took this a bit too far. Mea culpa. Remember, when you are dealing with these people, they have one goal, and one goal only ... to PROVE to you and the rest of the world that they are superior and you are inferior. NOTHING else is acceptable. Some are passive-aggressive and some are straight aggro. I shouldn't have used little teasing names and put-downs, but I couldn't resist, as he was just SO textbook in his actions and it kept them coming back.

  I baited him from the very start by presenting him with perfect logic and critical thinking. I removed his predictable arguments BEFORE he could use them. This sped up the panic and the downward spiral.  I needed to keep him coming back by denying his need to dominate me because I wanted to post it all here, in order, so that you might learn about what drives these people and thus, take them with a grain of salt and brush them off more easily while feeling less hurt by their hateful, condescension.

  They really can't help it. And, as you will see ... they can not be helped either. No matter how many times that I pointed out to them how they were exposing themselves to the world, they just kept coming back for more. It really is a sad state of affairs.

  Keep in mind, as you read this very first post in the comments from them, that they are commenting on a piece that I had written, as a letter of sorts, to a lifelong friend who had just passed away. There is a link to that and the second piece they trolled in the notes. This is how they opened their assault and I set the hook:


(Name deleted)  Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame.

0



2 replies

4d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Huh?

So sorry, (Name Deleted), that this took so long to respond to ... It has taken me this long to stop laughing. As they say in NYC, "Haters gonna hate" and "If you got haters, then you are doing something right!"

You have just made both idioms ring so very true. Especially considering that:

A: We have never met.

B: You write such a childish attempt at an attack just when the piece has received a daily. (Bad timing there, pal.)

Firstly, I am not now, nor have I ever been an "Alcoholic". I'm not really sure where you got that impression. But using my references to drinking, as teens often do, was a very apparent (and desperate) grasp at trying to bring some sort of defamation to my character. This is made further pathetic by the fact that you know neither me OR my deceased friend, and therefore have no right to make such an assumption. (Another thing you've done to make yourself look pathetic is to write such a comment about a piece written about a deceased friend).

"unreconstructed"?

THAT was a two-handed grasp, so desperate it brought me hysterical laughter. Definitely my favorite part of your nonsense. Please, stop by my website, read up on me and my accomplishments and have a look at SOME of the stars that I have worked with in my nearly 40 years in the "Biz":

>>> www.jeffgaines.world <<<

As you do, ponder the fact that you DO NOT get into the position of doing these things by being an "alcoholic in need of reconstruction". In my business, the first time someone found you with ***** on your breath, you be blackballed. It is UNACCEPTABLE. Besides, being a Master Production Electrician, working around services of 1200 AMPS or more, requires complete focus, lest you **** yourself or others. But I digress ...

This way, you can attack me with something other than untruths, like me being an alcoholic or being in need of "Reconstruction". (I was hoping you would be so kind as to explain EXACTLY what you mean by that? Or was it the "wittiest" thing you could make up at the moment?)

(So ... let's see ... you could poke fun at my being a "Big Guy" perhaps? Or maybe you will disapprove of my long hair? Oh, I know, my ****** hair ... you can crack on that for certain! And let's not forget the fact that I'm 55. Maybe you could come up with some great defamation about my age! You could even use a clever (and predictable) British slur, like "Geezer"! Oh, that would hurt SO much! LOL)

I'm looking forward to more of your hating nonsense. How sad, empty, meaningless (and pathetic) you and your life must be, that you feel the need to be a hater. I'd say that I feel sorry for you, but I simply don't. People like you strengthen and encourage me because they let me know that others are jealous of my life and my abilities. I especially love it when they would expend their own precious energies to attack me or my writings when they could expend that energy to better themselves or THEIR writings! It is your choice, not mine.

I saw in your profile that you have "NO use for Tobacco or Alcoh" (Sic) ... and I would fight to the DEATH for your right to have no use for such things. By the same token, YOU have NO right to IMPOSE your beliefs (or childish judgments) on others. But please, carry on! I invite your further attempts at schoolyard bullying, posturing, judging, and holier-than-thou posing.

It will be fun!

Namaste

4d

----------------------------------------

N­ext, they try to act like they were just being satirical and that they meant no harm. They have now realized that I can, and will, stand up to them. I also startled them with such an educated and seemingly well-thought-out response that they were definitely not ready for. Like a good debater, I had also took away all of their predictable responses with logic and critical thinking. So, this is their attempt to back out of it and still feel "on top":


(Name deleted)  So you caught my 'Alcohol abuse is not a way to salute the memory of anyone' satire?.

0



1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   No, (name deleted) ...

What I've caught is you cowardly taking down the response I made to your earlier jealousy-driven, impish attempt at slighting my piece after it had been chosen for the daily.

In it, you called me an "unreconstructed alcoholic with no sense of shame". (A person you do not know, nor have EVER met). After explaining to you that you had no right or reason to make such an accusation, you retract (read: take down) your foolish commentary (and my response) out of embarrassment, and replace it with this poorly attempted sidestep of a claim that it was some sort of "satire".

It is well known here at Hello Poetry that you like to bash on pieces picked for the daily. I have read your pathetic, childish drivel. It is because of those, that I have never gone by your page and actually read your work as I felt it unlikely you would write anything worthy of reading. Especially considering the imaginary high pedestal that you picture yourself spewing it from.

I guess I hit home with my observations about you attempting to be holier-than-thou and a bully. "Spot on" as you Brits say. Or was it the comment about your Karma? Did that ring home with you? I mean, you being a big Yoga person and all ... Karma is VERY important in your beliefs ... is it not? In your TEACHINGS ... is it not?

Did I make you suddenly stop to ponder your Karma after attacking others precious works with your unsolicited words of judgment and Holier-than-thou condescension? (Yet another teaching of the Hindu-Yoga beliefs, not being prideful, right?) Well, I should hope so. That is why I reminded you.

IMHO, being a person that claims to believe in Karma ... a person that TEACHES it ... who would reach out with harmful, spiteful, cruel and critical words ... words that are founded in nothing ... perhaps in his own opinion, at best ... is akin to a "Religious" person that carries a Bible, self-righteously belittles "sinners" as HE sees them ... and then wanders down to the ******* for some whiskey and "relief". Wouldn't you agree? Not much difference, now is there?

How funny is it that THAT person, who would break SO many teachings of his OWN beliefs ... Would also claim to not only be a practitioner but a TEACHER of these beliefs as well?

Oh ... very funny indeed.

Tell me ... Do you CHARGE your students? How do you think THEY would feel about giving you their hard-earned money if they knew that you practiced such things here on Hello Poetry? Do you think they would want to attend your classes after that?

It is people like you, that keep people like me ... laughing. Laughing with a bit of pity and, more importantly, a whole lot of wisdom. You are a very wavy pane of cheap glass ... and still, I can see right through you.

Good luck with all your endeavors... AND your Karma.


Namaskaram

3d

----------------------------------

N­ext, they take a posturing/yelling position in an attempt to frighten me (textbook) and then cry foul that I am doing the same thing to them that they have done to me. But, as I point out, I am only reiterating and asking questions. They follow up (on the offensive) by attacking my politics, my race, and even my religion. Then they finish by trying to call out their fellow yoga enthusiasts against me, by claiming that I am a hater of yoga. Again, comical. They also attempt to re-establish dominance by offering me advice (instructions?) on how to "fix" myself. Behold:



(Name deleted)  I have not ever taken ONE PENNY in payment for explaining how to commit the actions that are guaranteed to turn Knowledge into Experiential Knowingness.
You try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!.
You must be an enemy of Yoga.
You are a sick bourgeous no-nothing intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!.
Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!.

0



1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   BINGO!

Button pressed!

Glad that I waited until after breakfast ... or I would have been laughing too hard to eat!

Well now ... that was quite the outburst, huh?

Predictable from a common bully. Now, knowing what I know about bullies, you are slipping into panic mode here. Bullies always get startled when the person whom they are picking on turns and gives them the same medicine. So, first they act like its nothing, then they lash out in fear ... as ALL bullies ARE cowards. Their bullying is a behavior pattern hiding a defense mechanism that hides their true cowardly nature.

So ... let's look back on what's transpired so far and save those just joining our little exchange the toil of reading the other posts ... shall we?

Besides, it is MUCH easier for your type to have it all spelled out one point at a time, rather than to give an actual all-in-one lecture.

1. I received a "Daily" from Hello Poetry for my piece titled "Message For A Friend". It is a heartfelt letter to a friend that had been important in my life and had .now passed away.

2. You (a person I have never met or even chatted with online) decided to leave a crass, condescending, holier-than-thou, bullying comment (as you are well known here to do to other peoples Dailies). To be clear, we are all here to post our beloved works and others are given the chance to comment or even review them as fellow writers. That being said:

Your exact comment was: " Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame"

Here is the definition of Bathos according to the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

bathos (bāˈthŏsˌ, -thôsˌ)►
n. An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
n. An anticlimax.

3. I am going to make the assumption you were referring to the second ... "An anticlimax". If you felt that my piece was anticlimactic, that is your opinion and you are humanly entitled to it. Point taken. Its validity rests with you and your opinion. But I accept it like a man, nonetheless.

4. (And here is where you began your childish posturing and holier-than-thou condescension.) You then DECLARED me, the author, as an "Unreconstructed Alcoholic". Seeing as how you have never met me, this can ONLY be speculation or conjecture at best on your part. You CERTAINLY had NO right to DECLARE this as fact to the public at large. But bullies don't do either of those things (speculation or conjecture). Their cowardice and jealousy drive them to spew judgments and put-downs such as these in order for them to not only be the Judge but to exalt themselves somehow OVER their intended victim. It somehow makes them feel superior. Something they desperately need, especially in the public eye. It helps to hide their faults and inabilities.

5. You finished with yet more conjecture and condescension by stating that I had "No sense of personal shame". Once again, a very pretentious declaration about someone you have never met. This one, in particular, shows your true colors and position as a bully in that you wrote this after reading what ALL of the other comments said was a warm, heartfelt piece ... as I had intended, about a friend that had DIED. This, as near as I can tell, would make it appear that YOU have "No sense of personal shame". But I'll not address that. We have BETTER fish to fry.

6. After my response, where I call you out on making judgments and spewing condescension from your imaginary ivory tower, you then back peddle and try to side-step your actions by now calling them "satire". Again, typical bully behavior... They posture, get punched in the nose and decide to say "oh, hey, I was only kidding" so as to save face and keep the same face from any further shaming by their intended victim.

7. I, a person who personally has a disdain for bullies because of being bullied as a child, would not allow this attempt by you to regain control and, in your mind, come out on top by saving face. I did so by pointing out FACTS, not assumptions nor conjecture. To wit: you claim to be all Existential and a believer in the teachings of yoga, so I thought it poignant to point out how in those teachings you are not allowed to display your ego/superego, nor are supposed to impose hurtful things, verbal or otherwise, or judgments of any kind on others. These things are not conducive to good Karma.

I finished my point by comparing it to a Bible-thumping preacher who, one moment is slandering "Sinners" and the next moment enters a house of ill-repute for whiskey and "relief". I also QUESTIONED, I did NOT state, whether you charged for your teachings. I also conjectured that if you did ... then how would your patrons feel about your actions here on Hello Poetry? It was conjecture, nothing more.

8. You then respond with yet another HYSTERICAL attempt to posture me and slander me in order to draw attention away from the fact that it is YOU who have been exposed for your OWN actions ... NOT BY ME ... but by YOURSELF ... I was simply shedding light on them here in the forum where YOU shot the first volley! And you do it SEVERAL ways ... to wit:

9. You make the accusation that I " ...try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!." (Love the period AFTER the exclamation point. Nicely done) I insinuated NOTHING. Read it all again. I stated facts. Facts garnered by YOUR comments right here on these pages. The ONLY person who insulted or attempted to "blacken someone's character" here in this forum has been YOU by calling me an "Unreconstructed alcoholic that has no personal shame and writes utter bathos".

That was not only unfounded, but it also calls for an apology as you had NO right whatsoever to publicly call me these things or "blacken my character" in such a manner. All of my responses were directly to your words. I stated facts about your actions and facts about Karma and its beliefs. The only conjecture I committed was done in the form of a question, in that I asked if you charged for your teachings. I never said that you did. Read it all again.

10. You state that I " ... must be an enemy of Yoga". More laughter-inducing reaches by a bully in panic mode by trying to make me look bad to a group of people who love yoga. I'm assuming that you think this will call them to arms against me? Again, if you read ALL I have written here ... I have said NOTHING bad about yoga at all. I also show it not only in a knowledgable light but with respect, in that, I am questioning your actions while claiming to practice it. Honestly, not even a "nice try" here (Name Deleted). Simply pathetic.

11. Next, and here is where we can see the utter desperation in your cowardly panic, you escalate your attack on me with even MORE unfounded "insinuations and attempts to blacken my character" as you call them. All in the name of taking the light of exposure off of yourself. To wit:

You state:

"You are a sick bourgeous (actually spelled "Bourgeois") no-nothing (I'm assuming you meant "Know-nothing") intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!." (Again with the period AFTER the exclamation points. Well, you're nothing, if not consistent)

12. So now you first assume that I am a middle-class "no-nothing" (sic). Again, knowing NOTHING whatsoever about my financial status OR my intellectual abilities OR education. And you make these claims as though they are facts, which to any person reading this is readily and obviously untrue and/or unproven. More typical "bully" behavior.

13. You now cross yet another line of "Karma" and assault/slander my race by making it sound, in the context of your sentence that is some "lesser" thing. My race? Really (Name Deleted)? I didn't expect that, even from you. I mean, what does my race have to do with ANY of this? But that last one ... oh, that takes the cake ... it exposes your true persona. It lets the entire WORLD see, as I do, through your cloudy cheap glass and right through your empty, pathetic soul ...

14. You assume that I am a "Liberal, born again Christian" (as usual, you do this without knowing ANYTHING about my stance as a liberal OR a conservative OR what religion I practice) But that is neither here, not there because whatever you assume I am, you have spewed it out in the context that it is "lesser" than whatever it is that you consider yourself. Wow, (Name Deleted) ... just "Wow". If there was a Karmic Hell, I would think that last bit would send your pathetic soul STRAIGHT to it. Of this, I am CERTAIN. Karma/Yoga/Hinduism frowns on judging or speaking ill about other religions ... Am I correct?

The only correct parts of that ill-uttered proclamation are that I am indeed white and am indeed a poet. I am not a liberal (OR a conservative) nor am I a born-again Christian. My stance/position/beliefs are not only not for discussing here, but they are also, quite frankly none of your business. Nor do they have any bearing here whatsoever, so why attack them? A feeble attempt at misdirection while in panic mode.

It should be pointed out, that even as you have descended into all this petty name-calling and condescension about beliefs and religion, I have NEVER engaged in these practices in our volleys here. Again, showing your panic-driven behavior as an exposed, and stood-up-to, bully.

15. You finish this puerile rant with:

"Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!."

(AGAIN, you consistent devil, you ... with the period AFTER the exclamation point. Priceless for such a critic of other's writing.)

The first line is truly confusing. I am guessing you needed to toss out some "big words", but their use in this context makes little sense (to me) as they are not slanderous or even pertaining to the subject here. To wit:

From the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

ob·se·qui·ous (ŏb-sē′kwē-əs, əb-)
adj.
Full of or exhibiting servile compliance; fawning.
[Middle English, from Latin obsequiōsus, from obsequium, compliance, from obsequī, to comply: ob-, to; see ob- + sequī, to follow; see skew- in Indo-European roots.]

I am neither "serving" or exhibiting "servitude" or "fawning" in ANY of this. So, I'm VERY unclear what you meant by that.

AND, again from the English Dictionary 4th Edition:

twee (twē)
adj. Chiefly British
Overly precious or nice.
[Alteration of tweet, baby-talk alteration of sweet.]:

Again, totally confused by what you meant by this. It is almost laughable. I've definitely NOT been "Overly precious" NOR "Nice" in our volleys here. I have been concise, exacting, stern and occasionally I have even let a wee bit of my anger show through. I'm sorry about that. But bullying and people who think they are somehow better than all others just make my blood boil. I have done my best to handle this as a calm and focused adult.

As for the "DEEP NASAL BREATHING" suggestion ...

I would like to offer the EXACT same advice to you. It may help you come to grips with this rather embarrassing exposure of your true nature that you have wrought upon yourself here in this little volley. I know that it certainly helped me to stop laughing and catch my breath.

I EAGERLY await your next outburst. Please, make it a good one this time, won't you? Putting you in your place has been made so easy by your ridiculously transparent, predictable and childish actions and words, that it is quickly becoming boring.

Mujhe pooree ummeed hai ki aapako shaanti milegee.

3d


-----------------------------------------

In this following post/response, they simply call me a name. As you can see by this juvenile choice of just two words, they are not only panicking ... they are spiraling into a regressive state that they have held inside themselves all of their adult life. Inside, they are still that terrified child. That child called me this:


(Name deleted)  Electronic Arsewipe

0



1 reply

2d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Ta Daaa!

Reduced to using schoolyard name-calling (and not very imaginative name-calling, at that. I'd rate that one at around grade 5 ... maybe 6, at best).

(( Yawn ))



--------------------------------------------


Admittedl­y ... and ashamedly, I do egg them on a bit with that response and am sinking to their level. I was bullied as a child and my defense mechanisms can be subject to regression as well.

Still, not knowing how to deal with me ... seeing that they are not being successful at either dominating me or discrediting me, they return with yet another posturing, condescending retort. Here, they actually threaten to "punch me in the nose" if I: " ... continue
hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do." I don't have to point out the irony here, that THEY are the one guilty of this. And now somehow, they are SO offended that I would do the same. This, as I point out, is typical, textbook bully behavior.

The first part is random, panicked statements that really don't make sense (again) about how "easy" and "demeaning" it is to write of a "dead friend". Remember, they NEED to establish and maintain some type of dominance and control. So, they use these types of accusations and insults ... but call "no fair!' when you do it.

"Easy"?

"Demeaning"?

Hmmm, I didn't find it easy or demeaning to write that letter. I can't explain his angle. He also tries to offer me help by sending me his CD (of his music) which will supposedly save my soul and lead me to a higher plain of some sort. This offering is more of his posturing and desperate attempt at establishing dominance by both claiming that I am in need of help AND that HE can GIVE ME that help. But I'll let you, dear Reader, take it all in here
:



(Name Deleted)  It's so easy and so demeaning to praise a dead 'friend' in PUBLIC especially (for **** sake) that you haven't seen for 10 years.
Sounds like a strong case of GUILT over something there!!.
You will get that punch in the nose you are so obviously looking for(and do not deserve) if you carry on hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do.
Tek several deep breaths and listen to my CD.
If you send me a Poste Restante address I will send you(free of charge)a copy.



.

0



1 reply

2d
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   Oh, (Name Deleted) boy!

You are TOO fun!

And so predictable!

Again, you come, in typical wanna-be bully fashion, spewing condescending judgments and even physical threats to my person now as well? I guess it was a matter of time. Especially with me so deep in your head ... kicking your marble-sized brain around like a deflated football.

You honestly don't get how foolish this little expose of your true nature makes you look here, do you? I love it. But, I guess most bully-types are narcissistic and blindly foolish anyways.

I really do love the periods AFTER the exclamation points! And your spell checker has definitely gone fishin'. Hysterical.

Apparently, you do not read too well either. I had not seen him, true. But as I said in the piece, I spoke with him on the phone all the time; we were always close. And I'd love to know two things ... How is it demeaning to write about, or to, a dead friend? I would also like to know why ONLY you have found this "demeaning"? All the other comments were praiseful or even thankful for sharing such precious memories.

And, in case you've not heard of these terms, this piece could be called both a "Eulogy" and/or an "Homage". BOTH are typical and have been done by millions of people (friends/family/colleagues) about recently deceased friends for centuries. There are DOCUMENTED Hindu Eulogies for ENTIRE families dating back to 10000 BCE. Look them up online. Nothing new here. Nothing demeaning here. No guilt here. In fact, I praised my time with him and stated that I wish that we had more time together. But if you see that as guilt of some sort, you are, once again, foolishly mistaken.

But that isn't it at all, is it?

What you are really doing here is more of your panicking-bully behavior by once again trying to turn the light of exposure away from yourself and on to me with (more) silly, unfounded accusations and even ****** threats. Not even a good try little man. and so, so predictable! You are like a broken record!

Your ability to induce laughter is amazing. It truly makes one ponder what kind of person you really are ... and you do it publicly!

I LOVE IT!

And tell me ... WHO first hurled "gratuitous insults" at WHOM? SO hysterically funny and, again, predictable, that the bully can dish it out, but can not take it. It is ok for you to do it to me, but not visa-versa? I guess calling someone an "unreconstructed alcoholic" is ok because it comes from the imaginary ivory tower of the high and mighty, all-powerful YOU!

(Peeing me pants laughing)

Your crying about this is so sadly pathetic. It leads me to yet another teaching of Hinduism and the laws of Karma ... "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Man, I am beginning to think it is YOU that hates Yoga and Karma and all the other beliefs you pretend to practice at your ego-driven web page. They sure do not show through here on Hello Poetry, now do they?

It is obvious that you fancy yourself as some kind of spiritual leader/Guru/Swami, when in fact, you are a common coward with a narcissistic megalomaniac complex. You NEED people to think you are a BIG man. You attempt to further this ridiculous image by speaking ill of peoples posts in order to make it seem like you are better than everyone and are somehow entitled to make these childish condescensions.

"Pathetic" does not begin to cover it ... OR you.

And YOU are going to punch ME in the nose? You may want to look at my website again and ponder my size. I promise several things should you ever attempt this, little boy ...

1. It will be the single most unpleasant experience of your pathetic life.

2. Win, lose or draw, you WILL NEVER wish to fight me again.

Tell me ... Do I seem like someone that would cower to the likes of you?

Your ego has become so blinded, I predict that it will get you in WAY over your head someday. If not with me, then some other man that will also put you in your place while you attempt to be dominant and holier-than-thou.

How funny (and pathetic) is it, that the guy who STARTED this whole volley with his own unsolicited, "unfounded gratuitous insults", now whines and cries and carries on when the same is done to him?

Awwww, poor, poor little baby. Your threats make me laugh even harder as they further expose your desperate panic-driven agenda AND persona! I am absolutely LOVING this!

As for listening to your CD?

Why on EARTH would I listen to a wee little man, that claims he is helping my life and soul when I have already seen him for the posturing, holier-than-thou, bullying, narcissistic egotist that he really is?

That ... would be an utter waste of my time.

Since you are so keen on giving advice, I'd like to offer some to you ... and then end today's volley with a question.

"It is far and away better to keep one's mouth closed and be thought of as a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."

I'm not sure exactly where this old bit of advice came from ... but if anyone should heed it, I would think it to be you. Through all of this, it has been YOU showing what and who you really are. I have only reiterated or commented on it. Unbelievably, you keep PROVING my points with EACH new response.

And now the question ...

I know in your ego-driven mind, you feel like you HAVE to have the last word to be the "winner". But, considering that you took the first shot at me, and by the rules of engagement, I am to take my turn ... do you really think I will just "give up" after one of your silly attempts at asserting your dominance?

Keep them coming wee man ... it is your undoing ... NOT mine.

2d


-----------------------------------------------

N­ow here, they claim to have deleted something, but they don't say what, exactly. Again, I am guilty here of cajoling them a bit. I do apologize. More to you, than to them. As we have come this far, have you noticed that they NEVER address what I am saying and only throw unfounded accusations and childish ridicule? They can NOT engage in your part of the conversation as, in their mind, only their part is worthy of dealing with.

Besides, it might actually let you make your point and they simply can NOT have this. They also call me a "troll". Something they have very clearly established that they are since the START of all this. But now, in one of their panicked efforts to retain dominance, they accuse me of being that. Futile misdirection for certain. But a predictable tactic, nonetheless So, here we go
:


(Name deleted)  Deleted Unread you sick TROLL.

0



1 reply

23h
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   "Deleted"?

I'm very proud of you ... Did you select it all and hit backspace ... or the actual delete key? Or ... did you actually take the time to place the cursor and hit backspace through it all? It doesn't really matter; either way, I'm still very proud of you. (And you didn't misspell anything here either!) Bra-VO, (Name Deleted), Bra-VO!

Now ... what, exactly, did you delete?

Please, be more clear. (unsurprisingly) It's as though you are speaking nonsense. Nothing in this string has been deleted.

"Unread"?

Well, now ... if you are claiming to have "not read" something written about you, wee man, we BOTH know that your ego wouldn't allow that, would it? Simply impossible. JUST like you are reading this! So, for all that's holy, don't expose yourself as a liar too! Your credibility here has already thinned to near nothingness, as it is.

As for "Sick Troll" ...

*** - Kettle, moorkh chota ladka, *** - Kettle.

(For goodness sake, if you don't understand the reference, then Google: "The *** calling the Kettle Black")

Now, if you STILL don't get it ... then I'll offer up this one in its place:

What's good for the Gander is good for the Goose!

SURELY you get my meaning here, don't you (Name Deleted)- ol' boy?

Thanks, once again, for the hysterical laughter. Experiencing you being you has been a real barrel of laughs so far. And nice try at having the last word. Actually, if that's what this was, it was pretty pathetic. But at this point, I feel you may be in need of a nice "'Attaboy!"



Please see part II ~ Link in notes below.
For James Weldon Johnson**


the clock fast approaching
an appointed midnight click
it was time to punch in
for my avocational shift

we sauntered up creaky steps
of the old weathered rectory
its planks loose, its bricks chipped,
the gabled roof still leaking

a CDC on the outer verge
leaning over a bankrupt precipice
catastrophic failure predicted
from chronic cash flow distresses

we’ve  been on the ropes
since doors swung open
to fulfill a sacred mission,
25 years in the hood
keepin the devil in remission

a young ED with firebrand cred
emerged from a cubicle partition
his erudition and abundant zeal
would save many from perdition

he commenced his brief
in the entrance hall
laid out maps of the Silk City
articulating a canvasse plan
bereft of fear and blithe pity

he stood ***** announcing
the surety of his calling
handsome face and balding spire
lent a stern presence of authority

The PIT a Point In Time
Homeless Census annual review,
to root out and count the heads
of the lost and out of view

from Bed Stuy to Boston
Baltimore and DC
San Antone, Windy City Frisco
vols be countin to see

what happening with
America’s homeless folks
who, what, how they got there;
what can we do to help them
besides a hot, a cot and a prayer

last week in January  
in cities all over the nation
missioners fan out  to uncover
the most lowly of station

we’ll discover and recover
lost lambs and prodigal sons
we’ll find street walk daughters
falling through cracks
and criminals on the run

some junkies and crack pied pipers
be yodelling sickness, death and fear
mental illness, castaway children
may licit sorrowful tears

like gnats strained
through the gaping
holes in failing
social safety nets
this night is about
good shepherds
gone forth with no regrets

this mission
is most important
to our agency as well

each head you count
every calf you cull
the coffers of the
agency will grow

program grants are tied
to an index of misery
our streets give ample evidence
of an abundant presence in this city

no poverty pimps
work harder to improve
the blighted human condition
the quality of our work
speaks for itself
its no liberal sedition

we got a dog in the fight
that's undoubtedly true
tending to add an urgency
to the critical work we do

our shelter, food pantry
and job training programs
keep jumpers off the ledge
we attempt to arrest fallers
its the agency’s solemn pledge

for what profit a man
if he inherits the earth
and finds only strife
and devastation?;
community development
our diligent charge
workin hard to build
a better nation

so as your
caravansaries
cross the city’s
food deserts

to search the oases
of supermercados
surreal revelations
may manifest a few
midnight bizarros

E 18th St bonito bodegas
where long shot scratch offs
and stale coconut macaroons
staples of community sustainability
the hoped for lift from poverty soon

busy parsing the three squares
bagged in paper thin brown balsa
cool ranch dorito, a teriyaki slim jim
frothy Colt quart to chase
the winkin sip of dog hair gin

that's where this
story begins...

yes beloved
the road is wide
the gate is narrow
for the many prodigals
off the path living
a life of shadows

they're out there
trudging
making a way
through the  gloom
hoping to be given
one more day

sojourning on
trying to get back
to the ***** of love
searching for the room
lit with light from above

take courage beloved
know that Jesus walks
the streets with you tonight

he’ll be your
present helper
as you mine
the dank waste
of the desolate
factory shells
the post industrial
monuments to the
expended labor of
six dead generations
now squatter
encampments
for urban nomads
moving through
the sarcophagi of
a nations
wasted labor

remember
afterall, we are
all fallen people
hurtling downward
into torn safety nets
slipping into the
tattered threads of
a handy hangman's
noose

who among us
has not fallen
through yesterdays
best expired dream?
waking to find yourself
in a midnight
nightmare scream

we'll catch them
round em up
as their falling
to build em up
lost sheep knows the
voice of the masters calling

Jesus will
walk before you
as you enter the
closed parks
were swings
of life fly
high and low
merry go rounds
zip by like a terrible
carousel that won't stop
to let you go

and may the
Good Deliverer
guard you as
you descend
into the screaming
rooms of
condemned
crack dens

here the fallen
angel finds comfort
in the resounding
chorus of misery
woefully regretted

Lucifer eloquently
hums beguiling
holy smoke tunes
to his doleful
acolytes sadly
lamenting
bluesy
blue
blues

you are the
Good Shepherds
leading the lost
back through
the gate

tell the beloved prodigal
children that the good
news of salvation
patiently awaits

we lucked out
its warm tonight
for the past few years
its snowed

heres a clipboard
filled with questions to ask
a box of supplies for lost sheep
and a yellow plastic poncho
so the cops know
you're one of God's own


Mary Lou Williams
Black Christ of the Andes
Praise the Lord

Paterson
1/30/13
jbm
Part 2 of extended poem Silk City PIT.  PIT is an acronym for Point In Time.  PIT is an annual census American cities conduct to count the homeless population.  The Silk City is a nickname for Paterson NJ.  An ED is an acronym for Executive Director.  A CDC is an acronym for Community Development Corporation, a non-profit agency that provides development services to urban communities.  James Weldon Johnson is an African American poet.  This piece is written in a style and manner of God's Trombones.
Dustin Wills Aug 2012
I think my mom's a homophobe
I think this because she said broken truths when I told her about homecoming
I told her about the girl with soft lips and small hands that fit perfectly with mine
But I just called her Haley

I had new words she told me
They suspiciously matched my schools words
Freak abomination loser
I now wonder if they were talking on the sidelines

I know
I'm supposed to love my mom
But do I still have to
If she hated me first?

She praised the all loving god onto me
Telling me his love was a lie
And I was going with the sinners
To the place where they drink fire *****

I think my mom's a homophobe
I text my religious cousin
Does God love everyone
Undoubtedly because you are perfect to Him

Then why does my mom hate me?
She made me get on my knees and pray
Pray a prayer I hope goes unanswered
By those who I think aren't even there

I think my mom's a homophobe
I know I'm supposed to love my mother
But how can I
If I don't even know how to love myself?

Every
What is that
You're such a waste
It can be cured

Like a snake on the asphalt basking in the hate
Until the asphalt is the road and I am run over by
Self pity. Self Hatrid. Self Absorbed.

Yes **** the terrorists
**** the rapists
**** the robbers
and the muggers

**** them all
Because who I love
Is more important
Me, I'm in dire need of your opinion

Mirrors don't line my eyes up anymore
I think they forgot where to put them
Because I forgot
Where to look

Looking only at the negative
Going on suicide boards
Instead of
Love boards

Why am I the one being subjected to evil
When I am only trying to love
Being hated for only
Loving

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the prettiest of them all
My lover is the one I see
Her soft lips and small hands

I think my moms a homophobe
And I don't know how to breath anymore
ShowYouLove Aug 2014
Something about you makes me smile
Something about you makes me dance awhile
Something about you brightens my day
Something about you makes me feel special in every way
Something about you gives me comfort in the dark
Something about you makes me hit my mark
Something about you inspires a part of me
Something about you just makes me free
Something about you when I'm lost gives hope
Something about you feels like a safety rope
Something about you is making me write this song
Something about you I knew all along
Something about you when I'm steamed is cool
Something about you keeps me working like fuel
Something about you just makes me believe
Something about you helps me to receive
Something about you strikes me exponential
Something about you says great potential
Something about you seems like a miracle
Something about you is almost lyrical
Something about you is one and only
Something about you feels almost homely
Something about you fills me with great awe
Something about you is strong like a claw
Something about you is special and sweet
Something about you is undoubtedly neat
Together we are strong alone w are weak
C Davis Oct 2014
I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines 
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly 
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue 
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see, 
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently 
Acknowledging the raindrops 
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian 
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed 
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating 
Consequence 
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of 
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain 
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes 
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign. 
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when 
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value 
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down 
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.
word ***** est. June 2014

property of c.f.davis
JLB May 2012
You’re my favorite pair of sunglasses;
White rims, rose-colored lenses.
Try you on, and the world just looks better for a while.
The muddy construction sites, this massive concrete jungle,
The blemish on my chin.  
Each piece of trash on the sidewalk has a story.
Wandering strangers don’t seem strange;
Everything, and everyone, seems deliberate.
No distance seems too great to run,
No weight too heavy
To be lifted.  
Sappy acoustic love songs sound
Like life’s most epic
Anthems,
In my car as I’m driving.

It’s the most beautiful delirium;
Every sight seen is a portrait,
Every word heard is a song.

Though at the close the day,
That rose light will dwindle on the rims of my lenses,
Turning the soft shade over my eyes to rigid shadow,
So that then nothing at all can be seen,
And all that is heard is hollow ambiance.

With this I shed my glasses,
To look upon an ordinary world,
Until the next sunrise, when I will undoubtedly don you again.
Anderson M Jan 2014
She got star dust sprinkled evenly
Within the shorelines of her ravishing eyes
And stardust, pristine naïve look benignly
Creasing her soft supple aristocratic face no need to accessorize
Her posture upright and poised
Elegance, charm and grace effortlessly effused
By her, emotional hazards posed
By a presence so spell-binding, one will be amused
At the hypnotic effect experienced by
All and sundry
Though she turns a blind eye
A scathingly sultry
look suddenly evident on her sweet face turned sour
She undoubtedly is a toxic flower.
Ever been at a cool chill spot
then an angel of a lady passed by
and you'd forget your 'wares'
and steal a myriad stares
Oh! Rama you are the most virtuous
You are the eldest son of king Dasaratha’s
You always stood by your word
You are the greatest man in the world
Your wife Sita is the most pious woman
Your step mother kaika asked your father for a boon
She asked you to go to the forest
She refused your father’s request
You obliged your father’s promise
He grieved to lose your loving kiss
Along with your chaste wife
In forest you spent fourteen years’ strenuous life
Brother Lakshmana shared your strife
He cut demon shurphanaka’s nose with a knife
The demon Ravana came in disguise
Sita fell a prey to his vice
He abducted her to his kingdom
Sita was deprived of her freedom
You wept for Sita like a man
Trials and tribulations are very common
You made friends with Lord Hanuman
He was undoubtedly a super man
He flew to Ravana”s kingdom
And relieved Sita”s boredom
He assured her Rama would **** the demon
Because He was supra human
In the fierce fight
You were too great for his sight
Ravana fell down in the battle field
Sita was freed from his yield
You were crowned king
Many songs did the people sing
We celebrate your birth day with religious zeal
All our troubles you will seal
By JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Mark Addison May 2016
After taking a gulp of water, M. opens a new Word document, inhaling deeply. He begins to write a sort of Introduction or Author’s Note:

‘This is to be my first real poem. No *******, cheesy rhyming or painfully forced verbiage. I am now only a seeker of truth…’

M., having just crushed two Focalin pressed pills, rolls a five-dollar bill and proceeds to insufflate, pausing momentarily when the line is halfway finished; he exhales before immediately finishing it off. His sinus burns fiercely. There is something masochistic about his preferred method of ingestion w/r/t pills. And but with a sudden albeit expected (in fact, M. was utterly beholden to it) rush of vitality, M. spends the next ten minutes finishing his half-page poetic manifesto [sic] (which term he actually wrote as a heading. “Poetic Manifesto”, that is), before beginning what he considers to be the first stanza. He likes that the location of the beginning of his poem is ambiguous. And so he begins thusly, consciously avoiding conventional rhyme scheme, instead opting for what he considers to be abstract.

‘My first poem, ostensibly an attempt at catharsis, was in fact a failed expression of my latent desire to be accepted. For today it’s a poem and last week a novel; tomorrow I’ll ferociously ******* some fashionably obscure, formidably pretentious prose [sic]. Consuming all but absorbing nothing…’

If he is to discover vicious truths [sic] in his writing, he cannot hold anything back. He thinks of a double-entendre using the word ‘blunt’, but decides not to employ it. Perhaps yesterday. Suddenly, M. begins to ruminate on his poem from the day before, which had earned him the opposite of acclaim from his peers. He must simply do the opposite of what he had done before! When he resumes writing, M. eventually begins to subconsciously fall back into the 12-syllable AABB rhyme scheme of his yesterday’s poem.

‘…Perhaps the following phase will stick for more than a wretched week.
Why have I wasted words on wan, vapid, wheezing lines
Of sickeningly phony, sophomoric, pseudo-sentimental ****?
Surely you see the salient theme,
That from which I hide,
Refusing to acknowledge life’s flaccid, tan **** as it floats in front of me,
Beckoning me forth,
A one-eyed, furiously fetid viper...’

M. chortles at his alliterative stanza’s ending. ‘This is how I write,’ he mutters to himself, maintaining a straight face. He writes without pause for nearly an hour. He is pleased.

‘…A generalist—that’s what I tell myself I am,
Because simply knowing a few facts,
Even for forty or fifty fields,
Is surely worthy of that
Respect which is given to those men and women
Who earn it by grinding away
At that which determine the sycophant vermin
Is worthy of lifting a lash…’

Hours pass. The poem approaches two thousand words in length. After taking a truncated cigarette break (the break, not the cigarette, was truncated), M. continues where he left off.*

‘…Believe you not for a second the frost-bitten-phallus,
That Freudian façade [sic],
The false faces I display to fake friends
Whose frequent fornication
Fills my mind with fossilized fleas,
******-spiritual formication [sic]
For which there’s no vaccine…

…Once I’ve come down from the mountainous apogee atop which I sit,
Calmly surveying the ever-receding landscape through the lens of fleeting euphoria
Which, fading faster always, gives way to—no, I will not say it—I refuse to legitimate her lies.
As I descend with increasing speed,
specters of judgment torment me into insanity…
    
B  r  e
a   t  h
     e  ;

...this feeling I simply cannot bear—
their sirens threaten to burst my eardrums.
Although it’s undoubtedly pathetic,
I can no longer lie to myself;
I desire the approval
of those specters
who haunt
m-
e
...’

M. begins to hyperventilate, panicking at his embarrassment at publishing such a bad poem the day before. He grasps his heart, which is beating out of his chest. The fear of cardiac arrest simply increases his anxiety. Laying down on the ****-carpeted floor, M. attempts to meditate, imagining this to be how it might feel to do TM on *******. Minutes then an hour pass.
Suddenly, a much-welcomed epiphany presents itself to M.; as if it fluttered through his window and hovered, eerily still in the way that only hummingbirds can be, just in front of his face. So obvious does it seem (the epiphany) that he begins to laugh maniacally in the pitch of a female voice either pre-pubescent or near-dead; a kind of


YEE!    

YEE!      

YEE!    

HEEEE!

HE!

HEE!                      

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!


sound.
After minutes of uncontrollable mirth, M. holds his abdomen and makes the lugubrious [sic], delirious noises of tired suffering. After a few more YEE’s and HEEEE’s escape, he begins to regain control, trying not to focus on what he’d realized w/r/t futility as it relates to shame, but certainly ensuring that he won’t forget. M. sits in his chair with a old-man grunt, the sort of noise over which wives divorce their husbands.
He sips water.
M. opens a new document and begins to type:


For what do we write, we talentless wretches?
To publish some
gooey garbage
in hopes
that some fleet of demonic tween-age sociopaths
adopts our work as part of the canon of cuntiness?  

Not we, the veritable “un-poets”,
Our haphazardly-conceived writing stinks,
No, it reeks of fetid, smegmatic phalluses;
Of a ****** of maniacal madmen,
Blue-balled after an abysmal night/morning
Tossing crumpled ***** of money
At Patti’s plump-lipped, positively putrid-looking

&&&&               *****               &&&&

In an I-95 truck stop;
“Taste **** and *****
At Trucker Tom’s ***** Taphouse
                                        Where friends meet
                                            and literally throw money
                                              into syphilitic snatches.”

We write for the duty of identity,
We who might be found with a serious face on,
Writing rhyming, rhythmic,
quasi-**** lines of lead-heavy, snobbish lifeforce-larcen.
The sort of **** that keeps you from getting up in the morning.

But of course we are writers, as sure as the sea
Is blue, the day is long, who daresay that I am wrong?
And he who
doth [sic] dare,
I point to that long
******* I posted
ere the day began.
There lies his evidence though it belongs in the can.
Sometimes when you get drunk and write you're able to reach levels of truth and realness that are elusive to the sober mind. This was obviously not one of those times, but I think the result is sort of interesting. The poem sort of depended on a weird format which is not possible on HelloPoetry, but it was intended to have the same effect as the 'B  r   e
           a  t
           h  e   '
or whatever in the middle.
Well before the commencement of the spring
The British cuckoo or the Indian koel starts singing
With its sweet and natural melody
Some fools and children try to make a parody

It does not care somebody is listening
Or some others enjoying its singing
Or some fools and children start mocking
It goes on singing and singing in response to the mocking
Some fools think the koel suffer from some mania
but the fools suffer from xenophobia

They don’t like any thing new or sweet
And are not ready to give their hearty treat
They suffer from their foolish pride
and which they can never hide

You can’t become great by mocking at a cuckoo
It betrays your inner sick view
Among the seasons undoubtedly spring is the king
The melodious cuckoo or koel invariably does sing
The trees along this city street,
  Save for the traffic and the trains,
Would make a sound as thin and sweet
  As trees in country lanes.

And people standing in their shade
  Out of a shower, undoubtedly
Would hear such music as is made
  Upon a country tree.

Oh, little leaves that are so dumb
  Against the shrieking city air,
I watch you when the wind has come,—
  I know what sound is there.
Hazel Connelly Aug 2012
I was fit and feisty at fifty
It was no big deal,
Because that's how half a century
Is supposed to feel.

In my sixties I'll take stock
Start making great plans,
Ignoring all the "you cant's"
And embracing all the "I cans".

Can I be **** at sixty?
And try all the fashions and fads,
Wear stockings and suspenders
And Joan Collins shoulder pads.

I can deal with **** at sixty
And wear Vivienne Westwood clothes,
Dress up and go out on the town
Wearing all my buttons and bows.

I'mgoing to be **** at sixty
I'll wear Gok Wan lingerie
Find myself a Toy Boy
Then maybe lead him astray.

Swift and **** at sixty
When I get my Jimmy Choos,
Dancing the night away
To the sound of rhythm and blues.

Oh! I want to be **** at sixty
'cause age is a state of mind,
I'm preparing my body at keep fit
So as not to be left behind.

But, first I have to deal with
Old Skin, Bad Teeth and Grey Hair,
Then remove the unwanted growths
From just about everywhere.

Then I'll definitely be **** at sixty
And undoubtedly done it all,
The only problem is that most
of it I simply won't recall...

© Hazel
NA Sep 2018
And so, I awoke
Where no sorrows are awakened.
Distant galaxies sang, pranced, and danced in the glee of the night
Eon long, lost constellations realigned and with joyous relief
Whispered beneath the chill of the autumn air,
“Oh, sweet child o’ mine,
He has moved your soul to happiness.
He has given life a new understanding,
Love a new meaning.”

Undoubtedly, that was true;
For thine words are so sweet,
So kind,
And so pure.

And though the future is uncertain,
To awaken to your bliss…
I cannot imagine more heavenly than that
And in those moments of realization
My heart,
I promised to you.
To my forever.
BKS Aug 2010
Warning:
Do not fall in love with me
because undoubtedly
I won't return the favor.
I've found my hope
my love, as well as my soul,
and it's just not around to answer the door for you.
No, don't be mistaken: I care for you too,
but I just cant shake the feeling that he'll turn back around.

Warning:**
Do not speak of him with me
because undoubtedly
My mind will begin to tremor.
I can't seem to cope
that he's gone in the cold
and im left all alone waiting for a cue.
Yes I care for you too,
but can't let go that he'll hear my weeping sound.
(c) Bryn K. Summers
(c) flippup.deviantart.com

— The End —