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RAJ NANDY Dec 2017
THE TRUE STORY OF JERUSALEM IN VERSE :
  FOLLOWING DONALD TRUMP'S RECOGNITION
Dear Readers, to usher in the spirit of Christmas, I wish to
share with you the true Story of Jerusalem in Verse. Based on
Biblical chronology, and several articles about its Early History.
Though the three of our World’s greatest religions have a common
lineage, yet religious bickering and hatred continues to exist in
our present age! Let this Season of Christmas bring peace with
goodwill and love. Let us all pray together for a peaceful World!
If you like this true story, kindly recommend it to all your poet
friends to read this slice of History. Thanks, from Raj Nandy.

   STORY OF JERUSALEM - GOD'S “PROMISED LAND”
                         IN VERSE: By Raj Nandy
                  
                       INTRODUCTION
After reading my ‘Arab Contribution to Science’ and the
downfall of Islam’s Golden Age,
A friend had requested me to write about The Crusades.
Now the Mongol contribution was far greater towards
Islamic Empire’s downfall,
For though the First Crusade besieged the Holy City of
Jerusalem making it fall,
The subsequent Crusades to the Seljuk Turks lost all!
But before writing about the Nine Crusades proper,
To acquaint my readers with the historic city of
Jerusalem becomes my present endeavor.
For Jerusalem is sacred to the Jews, Christian, and the
Muslims alike,
As their holy relics and shrines are housed in that Old
City’s revered sites!
But prior to narrating the story of Old Jerusalem City,
Let me tell you briefly about its early history.
About the patriarch Abraham, whom God led to this
‘Promised Land’.
From where this true story of Jerusalem really began.

                 HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
The city of Jerusalem was twice razed to the ground.
Besieged 23 times, attacked 52 times, captured and
recaptured 44 times, surprising as it all may sound!
In an era of idolatry and multiple gods, Abraham born*
in the ancient City of Ur,# believed in a single God!
(1800 BC)
So God was pleased and in a covenant with Patriarch
Abraham,
Blessed him to become the ‘Father of Many Nations’
in a distant ‘Promised Land’!
Thus Abraham with his wife Sarah and nephew Lot,
Entered the Land of Canaan as promised by God.
But when a famine ravaged the Land of Canaan,
Abraham had moved onto Egypt on his own!
Having suffered there for some ungodly acts, his
return to the Land of Canaan remains a historical fact.
Through Abraham and Sarah’s Egyptian maid Hagar, -
his son Ishmael was born.
From Ishmael descended the ‘Ishmaelites’, to
become the Twelve Arab Tribes later on!
Next, with the blessings of the Lord, to Abraham
and Sarah son Isaac was born.
Isaac’s son Jacob fathered the Twelve Jewish Tribes,
Who became collectively known as the ‘Israelites’.
From the ‘Tribe of Benjamin’ came King Saul, the
first King of united Israel rising tall.
From the ‘Tribe of Judah’ King David, Solomon, and
several Kings of Judah did rise;
As proud forefathers of the Messiah Jesus Christ!
Thus in Judaism both the Arabs and the Christians
find a common lineage;
Yet unfortunately bitter differences continue to
exist even in our present age!
NOTES: Canaan was the ancient name of a large & prosperous
country (at times independent, at others a territory to Egypt),
which roughly corresponds to present day Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Israel. Canaan
was also known as ‘Phoenicia’ between 3200 BC & 539 BC. # Ur = an important
Sumerian city-state in ancient Mesopotamia.


           ORIGINS OF JERUSALEM
Jerusalem has been hailed by many names,
Gets mentioned as ‘Rushalium’ in an ancient
Egyptian text!  (2000 BC)
Also as Salem, Moriah, Jebus and Zion, this capital city
of the Israelites had been known.
Jerusalem as the remnant town of Salem, is also
mentioned in the ‘Book of Joshua’ Chapter Ten.
It was earlier a Jebusite City, which was conquered by  
King David around 1003 BC;
When David shifted his capital to Jerusalem from Hebron.
In Jerusalem he kept the Holy Ark in a sacred Tabernacle,
For which his son King Solomon had built the First Great
Temple.
This Sacred Ark contained the ‘Ten Commandments’,
Which accompanied the Israelites during their 40 years
of desert wandering with Moses, as their guidance!
But since majority of the tribes were hesitant to fight the
Canaanites for their ‘Promised Land’,
God blessed Joshua, the successor of Moses, to lead the
Tribes to their ‘Promised Land’.
NOTE: Jebusite was one of the ancient Canaanite tribes, conquered by
King David.

        TURBULENT HISTORY OF JERUSALEM
Now cutting across several centuries of its dynamic
history, let me continue with Jerusalem’s Story.
The death of King Solomon (931 BC) ended Israel’s
‘Golden Age’,
And this united Kingdom of Israel was split into
Northern and Southern states.
Ten Tribes formed the Northern Kingdom of Israel
with its capital at Samaria;
While Jerusalem became the capital of the Southern
half called Judea.
In unity lies strength, and in division further dissention;
This kingdom of King David and Solomon now becomes
prey to several foreign invasions!
Jerusalem gets attacked by the Egyptians, Assyrians,
Babylonians, Persians, and those imperial Romans, who
had initially built but later destroyed the Second
Jewish Temple!
The cruel King Herod, Judea’s Roman Protector,
Though of unstable mind, was a great builder!
‘The Wailing Wall’ and most of the ruins visible today,
Were built by the despot Herod as Archeologists say!
King Herod enlarged the Temple Mount with a massive
retaining wall around it.
Renovated the Second Temple which finally acquired  
his name!
But in 70 AD the Roman Emperor Titus, razed this
Second Temple to the ground, as Historians inform us!
Jerusalem had some peace under the Christian Byzantine
Emperor Constantine,
Who upheld Christianity, and his mother Helena inspired
the building of many hallowed shrines;
Only to be occupied by the Seljuk Turks later, who
desecrated those shrines!
Till the First Crusade in 1099 captured Jerusalem, to
provide eighty eight years of respite.
Next in 1187 the Seljuk Turk Saladin conquered Jerusalem;
When a peace treaty with Richard ‘The Lion Heart’ allowed
the visit of its ‘Holy Shrines’ by the Christians.
The British captured Jerusalem from the Ottoman Turks
in Nineteen hundred and seventeen;
And in 1948 the State of Israel was born, realizing
Abraham’s dream!
But surrounded by hostile enemies on all sides, Israel
had to fight continuously for its survival as a Nation;
And now I pause to pay my humble tribute to those
valiant Israelites with salutation!

           THE OLD CITY OF JERUSALEM
Nestled on the hollow of the hills of Judea this city
spreads out on a plateau 800 meters above the sea.
With its Dome shining in the sun, dominating  some five
thousand years of history!
The City stretches 0.9 square kilometers surrounded by
retaining walls between 16 to 46 feet in height.
Which includes more than 200 monuments and sacred
sites!
Until the 1860s the Old City had represented entire
Jerusalem collectively.
But later under the initiative of the British, settlements
outside its wall began confidently.
During 1946 when Israel declared its Independence,
The ‘old city’ remained under the control of the Jordanians;
Only to be liberated during the Six Day’s War in 1967!

           OLD CITY GATES AND QUARTERS
The walls around the Old City stretch for 4.5 kilometers,
With its height varying between five to sixteen meters.
It has 43 surveillance towers and eleven gates.
However, only seven gates remain open as on date.
The current wall was built in 1538 by Sultan Suleiman
the Magnificent.
On the southern side of this wall is the Zion Gate, leading
to the Armenian Quarters overlooking Mount Zion outside;
Where lies King David’s tomb, a Holy Site.
The Dung Gate leads to the Jewish Quarters from the south;
And the way to Al-Aksa Mosque inside the Temple Mount.
The Jaffa or the Main Gate is on the west, with its famous
Citadel and the ‘Tower of David’ built by King Herod.
This gate leads to the Christian Quarters inside, while the
road goes to the port of Jaffa outside.
A New Gate was also built further up on the north-western
side,    (in1898)
For entry of the German Emperor William the Second,
through the Christian side!
The Damascus Gate in the middle of the Northern Wall
was the largest and the most heavily defended Gate.
Where excavations have revealed an old ‘Roman Gate’
beneath it.
Through this Gate had entered the Holy Crusade!
Further east on the northern wall is the ‘Herod’s Gate’,
Leading to the Muslim Quarters and the ‘Souk’, – the
Arab markets.
On the East is the Lions Gate, with carved figure of
lions on the gate’s crest;
Both for the Christian and the Jews this gate has a
special significance!
For this gate marks the walk ‘Via Dolorosa’, the path
taken by Jesus from the Garden of Gethsemane to
his Crucifixion Site,
Where stands the Church of Holy Sepulcher built by
the Emperor Constantine.
In 1967 the Israeli 55th Para Brigade entered through this
‘Lions Gate’, after a hand-to-hand fight with the Jordanians.
When they hoisted the Star of David on the Temple Mount  
to reclaim Jerusalem!
Jerusalem was declared as their Capital City,
Concluding a chapter of its turbulent History!

Since the time of the Crusades Jerusalem has remained
traditionally divided into Jewish, Christian, Muslim, and
Armenian sections;
Each with its sacred Synagogues, Churches, and Mosques,
defying the City’s unification!
Yet amidst the gong of church bells, the call of Muezzin,
and recitation of the Torah,
Old Jerusalem reverberates with a unique religious
euphoria!

           SACRED MONUMENTS AND SITES
‘The Wailing Wall’ is the more popular name for that part
of Western Wall built by King Herod during 19 BC,
Around the Second Jewish Temple which he renovated,
for the world to see!
Today only 167 feet of this exposed ‘Wall’ remains,
which is 62 feet high.
As a solitary witness to that once glorious past, which
evokes a deep sighs!
It is the holiest of Jewish shrines today where they
congregate.
To pray in front of this Sacred Wall and to loudly lament,
The loss of their Great Temple which was once made!
Inside the cracks in the wall many folded papers can be
seen;
Coating their petitions to God with prayers from within!

The Temple Mount is perhaps the oldest of all shrines.
Sacred to both the Christians and the Muslims alike!
For here on a rock alter Abraham had bound his son
Isaac,
Ready to sacrifice him when the Lord put him to a test!
Here King Solomon had built the First Jewish Temple;
Which during 587 BC, was destroyed by the King of
Babylon!
The King also took the Jews into captivity lasting nearly
seventy long years;
And Psalm 137 tells us how the Jews remembering Zion
on the banks of River of Babylon, - shed their tears!
That old song by ‘Bonny M’, now rings in my ears!
This was also the site of the Second Temple destroyed
by the Romans.
Who renamed Jerusalem as ‘Aelia Capitolina’, making
the City pagan!
Al-Aqsa Mosque or ‘The Farthest Mosque’, located on the
Mount, was completed around 705 AD they say.
Has been claimed by the Muslims as the site where their
Prophet traveled ‘during the night’ from Mecca to pray;
And from where angle Gabriel accompanied him to
Heaven or ‘Jannat,’ - all the way!
So they constructed the ‘Dome of The Rock’ to mark
this ascension;
Which around 691 AD saw its completion.
The Golden Gate on the east leading to the Temple Mount,
Was sealed by the Muslims during Sixth Century following
their fears and doubts.
For the Jew’s claim their Messiah will enter through this
Golden Gate one day.
Which unnerved the Muslims whatever one may say.
So outside this sealed gate they also built a cemetery;
Let future events gradually unfold in Jerusalem’s Story!

                       CONCLUSION
Now dear readers I conclude this narration, with some
food for thought and contemplation.
‘Jerusalem’ is mentioned in the Jewish Bible 669 times,
and 154 times as ‘Zion’. (‘Land of Israel’)
In the Christian Bible it is mentioned 161 times; but not
once in the Hindu ‘Gita’, the Buddhist Scriptures, or in
the Muslim Koran;
Not forgetting the fact that God is Supreme and One!
The Koran speaks only of “The Furthest Mosque” where  
the Prophet went to pray,
From Mecca we know Holy Medina comes on the way.*
(please see notes below)
The Holy Bible is also a record of Early Civilizations ,
Supported by Archaeological finds, carbon dating, and
countless excavations.
The Jewish claim to the ‘Land of Canaan’ is more than
3000 years old;
And Israel today occupies 75% of that historic piece of
land we know and have been told!
The Old City in 1981 has been declared as UNESCO’s
Heritage Site.
Let the ‘Spirit of Humanity’ overtake all religious divide!
It is true that History has evolved from the Myths and
Legends of the past.
But it is for us to separate the wheat from the chaff.
I have done adequate research of this Ancient History.
Now I leave it to You my Readers for drawing your own conclusions after reading this true Story!
Thank you readers for reading patiently,
From Raj Nandy of New Delhi .
ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
*** Dear Readers, I have pointed out in the concluding portion that as per all available evidence, claim of the Holy Kaaba on the Temple Mount by the Muslims is not supported by the true History of Jerusalem!
~~~                                              The thirteenth day at Kurukshetra
                                                     ­   verily an unfortunate day
                                                      for this is the day a hero falls
                                               the likes of which were never seen again

there he stands on his chariot                                                          ­          but his face is clouded with worry
his armour shooting arrows of  light                                                        ­         mind disturbed by confusion
truly he looks like the son                                                              ­             a David among Goliaths he stands
of the king of the night                                                            ­    a mammoth task on his youthful shoulders
                                                his uncle, the king must be protected
                                                       ­      his father is away
                                             the enemy has planned a tricky strategy
                                   a war formation-which only he knows how to break

                                          The Chakravyuha or Padmavyuha as it is called
                                            in the shape of a circular lotus it is arranged
                                                 a deadly trap like a venus fly-catcher
                                                  dea­th is certain for those who enter
“I know how to enter, he laments                                                          ­      but my lovely mother fell asleep
but of how to escape it  I am unaware                                                      unin­terested in the skills of warfare
my father taught it to my mother                                                           ­             so I learnt only how to enter
when I was in her womb                                                    and of knowledge of the exit I was deprived”

                                                  “Go­ forth bravely”, his uncle says,
                                                          w­e’ll follow you closely
                                                       no one can harm even a hair
                                                    on your head while we are there

                                                          ­  and so Abhimanyu enters
                                                          ­    a hero-true to his name
                                                            ­ with courage in his heart
                                                         and the Lord’s name on his lips
he prays, ‘let me make my father proud today”                                              so rapidly do his arrows fly
like a lion he is fierce, like an eagle swift                                              that they remain unseen to the eye
ten thousand soldiers fall                                                             ­                          only their stabbing tip is felt
under his wrathful gaze                                                             ­             before the receivers keel over and die
                                                             ­   the brave warrior forges on
                                                              ­    unaware of the goings on
                                                        his uncles have been trapped behind
                                                          ­  he’s alone behind the enemy line

                                                           ­      when he realizes the danger        
                                                                ­            its far too late      
                                                            a true warrior does not his fate berate
                                                          ­        bravely onwards he wanders
finding chinks in the enemy’s armour                                                         but treachery raises its ugly head
he is Yama himself incarnate                                                        ­                               alone he battles a crowd
into every heart he strikes a mindless fear                           Karna, Drona, Vrshasena, Salya, Durmashana
claiming lives as he plans an escape                        Duryodhana, Dussasana, Lakshmana, Aswathhaman
                                                           and Kritavarman all surround
                                                        ­scavengers against this lonely lion
                                                         Karna does his bowstrings break
                                                     and Kritavarman leaves him chariotless

                                                    ­           multiple arrows upon him rain
                                                            ­    he is now grievously wounded
                                                         ­          yet unnerved and undaunted
                                                       ­      he rises with sword and shield in hand
he challenges his attackers thus,                                                          come one by one and I shall be glad
“O mighty warriors, this cowardly act                                                              ­       to give you a good fight
does not your stature befit, the laws of war                                        and in this fair combat befitting kings
do not prescribe for many to stand against one                                                        may the best man win”

                                                           ­  but his plea for fairness went unheard
                                                   Karna breaks his shield and Drona cuts his sword
                                                           ­      unarmed and bleeding he employs
                                                         ­       his chariot wheel as a final defense

                                                        ­             but corruption is a cruel master
                                                          ­        that ruled the minds of his attackers
                                                       ­                       together in all injustice
                                                       ­     they smash  the chariot wheel to smithereens
they laugh their wicked laughs                                                           ­        with deceitful swords he is felled
and rejoice at Abhimanyu’s helplessness                                                     ­  but even in death he is dignified
to his honour and their ignominy                                              his only regret is that he shall not live to see
with ruthlessness they strike                                                           ­               his queen, Uttara and his child  
                                                         ­    but as he thinks of his father
                                                          ­    his heart is filled with pride
                                                     “look father”, he screams to the skies
                                                        “y­our son has died a hero’s death”

                                       “against many Maharathis  he has stood his ground
                                               and fulfilled his dharma - he hopes you are proud
                                                          h­is last wish is that you should avenge
                                                   the treason that has driven him to this end”

with these last words                                                            ­                  poor Abhimanyu - his words echoed
he leaves this world                                                            ­                              filling the battlefield with dread
the villains around him dance                                                            ­        his uncles hear his bellowing roars
in a shameful victory celebration                                                      ­      and know that their beloved is dead
                                                       with their mind-numbing sorrow
                                                         comes their unquenchable fear
                                                       how will they let their brother know
                                                          th­at he must light his son’s pyre

                                                           with bloodshot eyes they swear
                                                       that his noble death will be avenged
                                                         and then they fall deeper in sorrow
                                                          ­as the sun sets upon their beloved
his blood mixes with the earth                                                            ­              his death shall be a reminder
as the Gods rain praises above him                                                             that honour comes not with age
“here lies a true champion                                                     but by one’s actions is one’s worth determined
unbeaten and courageous                                                       ­           ascend Abhimanyu to the heavens!”

                                                    Th­e thirteenth day at Kurukshetra
                                                     ­        verily an unfortunate day
                                                            f­or this is the day a hero fell
                                                   the likes of which were never seen again
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   16.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
In the Indian epic Mahabharata, Abhimanyu is the son of the Pandava Arjuna and Subhadra the sister of Lord Krishna. He is thus the nephew of the other four Pandava brothers. Since Karna is also a son of Kunti, he also was a nephew to Karna, one of his murderers. Though Abhimanyu and the other Pandavas were unaware of this fact, Karna was cognizant of the relationship, which is what makes the killing of Abhimanyu a particularly heinous crime.  
He is husband to the Matsya kingdom's princess, Uttarā, who was pregnant with his child Parikshikt at the time of his death.
Abhimanyu is also said to be an incarnation of Varchas, the son of the Moon God.
The Mahabharata records that Karna was instrumental in the killing of Abhimanyu. Karna asks Drona how Abhimanyu can be killed to which Drona replies : "Abhimanyu is young, his prowess is great. His coat of mail is impenetrable. This one's father had been taught by me the method of wearing defensive armour. This subjugator of hostile towns assuredly knoweth the entire science (of wearing armour). With shafts well shot, you can, however, cut off his bow, bow-string, the reins of his steeds, the steeds themselves, and two Parshni charioteers. O mighty bowman, O son of Radha, if competent, do this. Making him turn back from the fight (by this means), strike him then. With his bow in hand he is incapable of being vanquished by the very gods and the Asuras together. If you wish, deprive him of his car, and divest him of his bow".
Abhimanyu was 16 years old at the time of his death. The name Abhimanyu is a Sanskrit word meaning "heroic".
RAJ NANDY Dec 2015
Dear Readers, to usher in the spirit of Christmas, I wish to
share with you the true Story of Jerusalem in Verse. Based on
Biblical chronology, and several articles about its Early History.
Though the three of our World’s greatest religions have a common
lineage, yet religious bickering and hatred continues to exist
in our present age! Let this Season of Christmas bring peace with
goodwill and love. Let us all pray together for a peaceful World!
If you like this true story, kindly recommend it to all your poet
friends to read this slice of History. Thanks, from Raj Nandy.


   STORY OF JERUSALEM - “THE PROMISED LAND”
                IN VERSE: By Raj Nandy
                  
                       INTRODUCTION
After reading my ‘Arab Contribution to Science’ and the
downfall of Islam’s Golden Age,
A friend had requested me to write about The Crusades.
Now the Mongol contribution was far greater towards
Islamic Empire’s downfall,
For though the First Crusade besieged the Holy City of
Jerusalem making it fall,
The subsequent Crusades to the Seljuk Turks lost all!
But before writing about the Nine Crusades proper,
To acquaint my readers with the historic city of
Jerusalem becomes my present endeavor.
For Jerusalem is sacred to the Jews, Christian, and the
Muslims alike,
As their holy relics and shrines are housed in that Old
City’s revered sites!
But prior to narrating the story of Old Jerusalem City,
Let me tell you briefly about its early history.
About the patriarch Abraham, whom God led to this
‘Promised Land’.
From where this true story of Jerusalem really began.

                 HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
The city of Jerusalem was twice razed to the ground.
Besieged 23 times, attacked 52 times, captured and
recaptured 44 times, surprising as it all may sound!
In an era of idolatry and multiple gods, Abraham born*
in the ancient City of Ur,# believed in a single God!
(1800 BC)
So God was pleased and in a covenant with Patriarch
Abraham,
Blessed him to become the ‘Father of Many Nations’
in a distant ‘Promised Land’!
Thus Abraham with his wife Sarah and nephew Lot,
Entered the Land of Canaan as promised by God.
But when a famine ravaged the Land of Canaan,
Abraham had moved onto Egypt on his own!
Having suffered there for some ungodly acts, his
return to the Land of Canaan remains a historical fact.
Through Abraham and Sarah’s Egyptian maid Hagar, -
his son Ishmael was born.
From Ishmael descended the ‘Ishmaelites’, to
become the Twelve Arab Tribes later on!
Next, with the blessings of the Lord, to Abraham
and Sarah son Isaac was born.
Isaac’s son Jacob fathered the Twelve Jewish Tribes,
Who became collectively known as the ‘Israelites’.
From the ‘Tribe of Benjamin’ came King Saul, the
first King of united Israel rising tall.
From the ‘Tribe of Judah’ King David, Solomon, and
several Kings of Judah did rise;
As proud forefathers of the Messiah Jesus Christ!
Thus in Judaism both the Arabs and the Christians
find a common lineage;
Yet unfortunately bitter differences continue to
exist even in our present age!
NOTES: Canaan was the ancient name of a large & prosperous
country (at times independent, at others a territory to Egypt),
which roughly corresponds to present day Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Israel. Canaan was also known as ‘Phoenicia’ between 3200 BC & 539 BC. # Ur = an important Sumerian city-state in ancient Mesopotamia.


               ORIGINS OF JERUSALEM
Jerusalem has been hailed by many names,
Gets mentioned as ‘Rushalium’ in an ancient
Egyptian text!  (2000 BC)
Also as Salem, Moriah, Jebus and Zion, this capital city
of the Israelites had been known.
Jerusalem as the remnant town of Salem, is also
mentioned in the ‘Book of Joshua’ Chapter Ten.
It was earlier a Jebusite City
, which was conquered by  
King David around 1003 BC;
When David shifted his capital to Jerusalem from Hebron.
In Jerusalem he kept the Holy Ark in a sacred Tabernacle,
For which his son King Solomon had built the First Great
Temple.
This Sacred Ark contained the ‘Ten Commandments’,
Which accompanied the Israelites during their 40 years
of desert wandering with Moses, as their guidance!
But since majority of the tribes were hesitant to fight the
Canaanites for their ‘Promised Land’,
God blessed Joshua, the successor of Moses, to lead the
Tribes to their ‘Promised Land’.
NOTE: Jebusite was one of the ancient Canaanite tribes, conquered by
King David.

            TURBULENT HISTORY OF JERUSALEM
Now cutting across several centuries of its dynamic
history, let me continue with Jerusalem’s Story.
The death of King Solomon (931 BC) ended Israel’s
‘Golden Age’,
And this united Kingdom of Israel was split into
Northern and Southern states.
Ten Tribes formed the Northern Kingdom of Israel
with its capital at Samaria;
While Jerusalem became the capital of the Southern
half called Judea.
In unity lies strength, and in division further dissention;
This kingdom of King David and Solomon now becomes
prey to several foreign invasions!
Jerusalem gets attacked by the Egyptians, Assyrians,
Babylonians, Persians, and those imperial Romans, who
had initially built but later destroyed the Second
Jewish Temple!
The cruel King Herod, Judea’s Roman Protector,
Though of unstable mind, was a great builder!
‘The Wailing Wall’ and most of the ruins visible today,
Were built by the despot Herod as Archeologists say!
King Herod enlarged the Temple Mount with a massive
retaining wall around it.
Renovated the Second Temple which finally acquired  
his name!
But in 70 AD the Roman Emperor Titus, razed this
Second Temple to the ground, as Historians inform us!
Jerusalem had some peace under the Christian Byzantine
Emperor Constantine,
Who upheld Christianity, and his mother Helena inspired
the building of many hallowed shrines;
Only to be occupied by the Seljuk Turks later, who
desecrated those shrines!
Till the First Crusade in 1099 captured Jerusalem, to
provide eighty eight years of respite.
Next in 1187 the Seljuk Turk Saladin conquered Jerusalem;
When a peace treaty with Richard ‘The Lion Heart’ allowed
the visit of its ‘Holy Shrines’ by the Christians.
The British captured Jerusalem from the Ottoman Turks
in Nineteen hundred and seventeen;
And in 1948 the State of Israel was born, realizing
Abraham’s dream!
But surrounded by hostile enemies on all sides, Israel
had to fight continuously for its survival as a Nation;
And now I pause to pay my humble tribute to those
valiant Israelites with salutation!

                              THE OLD CITY
Nestled on the hollow of the hills of Judea this city
spreads out on a plateau 800 meters above the sea.
With its Dome shining in the sun, dominating  some five
thousand years of history!
The City stretches 0.9 square kilometers surrounded by
retaining walls between 16 to 46 feet in height.
Which includes more than 200 monuments and sacred
sites!
Until the 1860s the Old City had represented entire
Jerusalem collectively.
But later under the initiative of the British, settlements
outside its wall began confidently.
During 1946 when Israel declared its Independence,
The ‘old city’ remained under the control of the Jordanians;
Only to be liberated during the Six Day’s War in 1967!

                OLD CITY GATES AND QUARTERS
The walls around the Old City stretch for 4.5 kilometers,
With its height varying between five to sixteen meters.
It has 43 surveillance towers and eleven gates.
However, only seven gates remain open as on date.
The current wall was built in 1538 by Sultan Suleiman
the Magnificent.
On the southern side of this wall is the Zion Gate, leading
to the Armenian Quarters overlooking Mount Zion outside;
Where lies King David’s tomb, a Holy Site.
The Dung Gate leads to the Jewish Quarters from the south;
And the way to Al-Aksa Mosque inside the Temple Mount.
The Jaffa or the Main Gate is on the west, with its famous
Citadel and the ‘Tower of David’ built by King Herod.
This gate leads to the Christian Quarters inside, while the
road goes to the port of Jaffa outside.
A New Gate was also built further up on the north-western
side,    (in1898)
For entry of the German Emperor William the Second,
through the Christian side!
The Damascus Gate in the middle of the Northern Wall
was the largest and the most heavily defended Gate.
Where excavations have revealed an old ‘Roman Gate’
beneath it.
Through this Gate had entered the Holy Crusade!
Further east on the northern wall is the ‘Herod’s Gate’,
Leading to the Muslim Quarters and the ‘Souk’, – the
Arab markets.
On the East is the Lions Gate, with carved figure of
lions on the gate’s crest;
Both for the Christian and the Jews this gate has a
special significance!
For this gate marks the walk ‘Via Dolorosa’, the path
taken by Jesus from the Garden of Gethsemane to
his Crucifixion Site,
Where stands the Church of Holy Sepulcher built by
the Emperor Constantine.
In 1967 the Israeli 55th Para Brigade entered through this
‘Lions Gate’, after a hand-to-hand fight with the Jordanians.
When they hoisted the Star of David on the Temple Mount  
to reclaim Jerusalem!
Jerusalem was declared as their Capital City,
Concluding a chapter of its turbulent History!

Since the time of the Crusades Jerusalem has remained
traditionally divided into Jewish, Christian, Muslim, and
Armenian sections;
Each with its sacred Synagogues, Churches, and Mosques,
defying the City’s unification!
Yet amidst the gong of church bells, the call of Muezzin,
and recitation of the Torah,
Old Jerusalem reverberates with a unique religious
euphoria!

               SACRED MONUMENTS AND SITES
‘The Wailing Wall’ is the more popular name for that part
of Western Wall built by King Herod during 19 BC,
Around the Second Jewish Temple which he renovated,
for the world to see!
Today only 167 feet of this exposed ‘Wall’ remains,
which is 62 feet high.
As a solitary witness to that once glorious past, which
evokes a deep sighs!
It is the holiest of Jewish shrines today where they
congregate.
To pray in front of this Sacred Wall and to loudly lament,
The loss of their Great Temple which was once made!
Inside the cracks in the wall many folded papers can be
seen;
Coating their petitions to God with prayers from within!

The Temple Mount is perhaps the oldest of all shrines.
Sacred to both the Christians and the Muslims alike!
For here on a rock alter Abraham had bound his son
Isaac,
Ready to sacrifice him when the Lord put him to a test!
Here King Solomon had built the First Jewish Temple;
Which during 587 BC, was destroyed by the King of
Babylon!
The King also took the Jews into captivity lasting nearly
seventy long years;
And Psalm 137 tells us how the Jews remembering Zion
on the banks of River of Babylon, - shed their tears!
That old song by ‘Bonny M’, now rings in my ears!
This was also the site of the Second Temple destroyed
by the Romans.
Who renamed Jerusalem as ‘Aelia Capitolina’, making
the City pagan!
Al-Aqsa Mosque or ‘The Farthest Mosque’, located on the
Mount, was completed around 705 AD they say.
Has been claimed by the Muslims as the site where their
Prophet traveled ‘during the night’ from Mecca to pray;
And from where angle Gabriel accompanied him to
Heaven or ‘Jannat,’ - all the way!
So they constructed the ‘Dome of The Rock’ to mark
this ascension;
Which around 691 AD saw its completion.
The Golden Gate on the east leading to the Temple Mount,
Was sealed by the Muslims during Sixth Century following
their fears and doubts.
For the Jew’s claim their Messiah will enter through this
Golden Gate one day.
Which unnerved the Muslims whatever one may say.
So outside this sealed gate they also built a cemetery;
Let future events gradually unfold in Jerusalem’s Story!

                            CONCLUSION
Now dear readers I conclude this narration, with some
food for thought and contemplation.
‘Jerusalem’ is mentioned in the Jewish Bible 669 times,
and 154 times as ‘Zion’. (‘Land of Israel’)
In the Christian Bible it is mentioned 161 times; but not
once in the Hindu ‘Gita’, the Buddhist Scriptures, or in
the Koran;
Not forgetting the fact that God is Supreme and One!
The Koran speaks only of “The Furthest Mosque” where  
the Prophet went to pray,
From Mecca we know Holy Medina comes on the way.
The Holy Bible is also a record of Early Civilizations ,
Supported by Archaeological finds, carbon dating, and
countless excavations.
The Jewish claim to the ‘Land of Canaan’ is more than
3000 years old;
And Israel today occupies 75% of that historic piece of
land we know and have been told!
The Old City in 1981 has been declared as UNESCO’s
Heritage Site.
Let the ‘Spirit of Humanity’ overtake all religious divide!
It is true that History has evolved from the Myths and
Legends of the past.
But it is for us to separate the wheat from the chaff.
I have done adequate research of this Ancient History.
Now I leave it to you for drawing your own conclusions
after reading this true Story!
Thank you readers for reading patiently,
From Raj Nandy of New Delhi .
ALL COPY RIGHTS  ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
Daniel A Russ Jul 2010
My eye keeps twitching
the left one,
from my perspective,
whenever my mind turns
to taxing thoughts.
It began a few days ago,
seemingly at random,
and I found the sensation
to be kind of pleasant.
Now,
mostly,
I just hope that people notice my twitching eye
and become unnerved while conversing with me
because I like to affect people.
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
The snow drifts were
       quite high, piling up into the
northern sky, burying
      towns and trees and the poor souls who
    had fallen asleep on the grass
and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes
left little kisses on their eyelids.
    Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass
      or spring
             or sun
                  or summer
                            or birds.
There was only winter and snow.
And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of         desolation and
        s a n c t u a r y.
The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence.
And somehow, the halls always remained.
The blue halls.  
             Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni.  Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky.
A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside.
Some say it's the doorway to heaven.
Others say it's the gates of hell.
And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture.
Others like myself.
"If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds.
" The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so."
We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me.
The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake.
      
The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known.
"It's the harmonica of the gods!"
Perhaps one of them
dropped it.
Perhaps it was a flaw in design.
Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind.
Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests.
And you are so beautiful.  The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.
This poem was based off of a dream I had years ago. It was written in 2016. You can find an image that looks similar to the structure in the poem here: https://www.lifeinitaly.com/tourism/rome/rome-for-free-ten-best-free-sightseeing-in-rome/
I was watching as the parade passed by
All the soldiers and the tanks
I figured that in some small way
I must go tell them "Thanks"

I worked my way throughout the crowd
To where the parade would end
And hopefully my small  "thanks"
Would get me a new friend

I watched as people finished
I got my words straight in my head
I walked up to a soldier
And this is what he said...

I am not a hero
Just a soldier, nothing more
I'm just doing my duty
As so many have before

I'm a soldier, not a hero
I am just the same as you
I'm just doing my duty
As I know that you would too

I shook his hand and said my "Thanks"
Then I moved away, unnerved
I had to tell him more...
Tell him that I'm glad he served

I turned and at that moment
I saw, a glint, a little sheen
Right above this mans left boot
Where his shin bone should have been

I went back on my mission
I had my words there in my head
He smiled, pulled his pant leg down
And this is what he said...

I am not a hero
Just a soldier, nothing more
I'm just doing my duty
As so many have before

I'm a soldier, not a hero
I am just the same as you
I'm just doing my duty
As I know that you would too

I shook his hand and smiled
Left him standing all alone
With a leg of polished metal
Where once before was bone

To me, he is a hero
And he will be 'till he's dead
I remember how he cut me off
And I remember what he said....

I am not a hero
Just a soldier, nothing more
I'm just doing my duty
As so many have before

I'm a soldier, not a hero
I am just the same as you
I'm just doing my duty
As I know that you would too
No, no, no, I know I was not important as I moved

Through the colourful country, I was but a single

Item in the picture, the name, not the beloved.

O tedious man with whom no gods commingle.

Beauty, who has described beauty?  Once upon a time

I had a myth that was a lie but it served:

Trees walking across the crest of hills and my rhyme

Cavorting on mile-high stilts and the unnerved

Crowds looking up with terror in their rational faces.

O dance with Kitty Stobling I outrageously

Cried out-of-sense to them, while their timorous paces

Stumbled behind Jove's page boy paging me.

I had a very pleasant journey, thank you sincerely

For giving me my madness back, or nearly.

-Patrick Kavanagh

Copyright © Estate of Katherine Kavanagh
Tearani C Jan 2013
I fell in love with the feel of the earth beneath my feet,
With the set of my arms and the cold on my face,
I fell in love with the things that I see and the people I meet,
I feel so madly in love with the sway of my hips,
When I’m walking away when I’m feeling like this.
I fell in love with my clever remarks, my hair and my heart,
Fell in love with the way you can’t tear me apart,
I fell in love with feeling like enough,
And knowing I’m strong, I’m stable, I’m tough.
I fell in love with the girl in the mirror
With her scratches and bruises I’m so proud that she’s here,
With her brilliant blue eyes laying claim to her dreams,
That glistens and sparkle such beautiful things,

I’ve fallen in love with all of my freedoms,
With how I cast off my chains screaming I’d beat them.
Through torture and heartbreak, through hopes gone and died,
Through horrible moments and losing my pride,
Through promises destroyed with lies and deceit,
Through all of the things you cast down on me,
I fought and I prayed to the cold in that place,
I practiced my aim, against the words you misplaced.
I pushed through all those words that you murmured,
The very same ones I strangled and murdered,
That now lay still at my feet, reviling the person
I always knew I could be, Unnerved and wide open,
with fresh pains and fresh hopes
No one will ever tear me down
Not while she is here
I will let  those burdens go and cast away my tears
Knowing good and well that I have  killed  my fears and
I am with the one I love and I’m so proud she’s here.
I am convinced
that I'm a tourist on this planet,
in this body.

Things like knowing where my legs are,
or existing in the company of a spider,
shouldn't be such causes for
bewilderment and hysteria,
but they are.

And this is besides my awkwardness
with other human beings.
I attribute this to their being tourists too.
Why else would they take lots of pictures
and leave garbage everywhere?

It's like our bus broke down,
and we're surviving in ramshackle forts,
looking out with binoculars
and waving flags made of Hawaiian shirts.

It must be appalling,
and not a little shocking,
to the natives.
Quiet and peaceful, the plants and animals
watch us from a distance,
at once unnerved and giggling
just a little bit,
as they watch us stumble about
and run shrieking from the spiders.
Bardo Apr 2023
She came up to me one day in the office seeking help
She'd heard me talking about my nightmares
She was a lovely looking thing, she was big into dieting and health food and healthy eating
Some of the other girls used to consult her about such matters
Thinking her to be quite an authority on the subject
I think she might have had a sideline too selling some Health products
She was a...a gorgeous looking creature, she had lovely blonde hair which framed her beautiful oval face like a heavenly aura,
Maintaining always a resolutely bright and cheerful disposition
She radiated positivity and optimism wherever she went
(I suspected secretly that when she got home she probably kicked her cat around)
I'd be all agog just looking at her
I suppose yes! I probably had a little crush on her
Unfortunately I was a good deal older than she
So I could only see myself as a secret admirer, a dark lover from afar...

She'd been acting a little peculiarly of late since returning from her Easter holidays
I wasn't the only one to remark about it
Gone was her usual self assured poise and grace
Gone too her lovely bright positive glow
It was like some sudden terrible tragedy had befallen her
Like some big dark ominous cloud had suddenly appeared on her horizon
Now she seemed rushed and frazzled, strangely distracted, unsure of herself, hesitant
Clumsy, apologetic, not at all like her usual confident self.

So she came up to me when I was alone one day and asked "You know something about nightmares, don't you"
She proceeded to tell me this story
She used to drive to work but because of the unusually mild and clement sunny Spring weather coming up to Easter
She had decided to leave her car at home and walk to work
Probably thinking it to be healthier I suppose
The route she took meant she had to pass by a certain newsagents *** confectionery /sweet shop
Now coming up to Easter as it was
The owner of the shop had strategically placed in the front window of his shop a big Easter egg
Wrapped in pretty ribbons and bows and encased in a very colourful, most alluring box
Every day she had to pass this shop with its lovely chocolate egg prominently displayed
You probably know where this is going,
Yea! A secret longing began to grow in her
Passing that shop every day and seeing that big chocolate egg started to rekindle in her memories of the days when as a child she used visit her local Sweet shop
When the only ambition she had was to get enough money so she could buy the newest chocolate or sweet
She began to remember fondly thoughts of all the old chocolate bars and sweets she used to eat
Anyway this longing, this desire of hers... each day it grew stronger and stronger until finally, like a river bursting a dam
Yea, like a huge monster, it finally overwhelmed her
Yes! She... she SUCCUMBED!

One evening she drove her car to the shop and parked on the opposite side of the street
There she waited till the street was deserted, with no one around
When the coast was clear, she got out of the car carrying a big shopping bag
Wearing a big hat and dark sunglasses just like a movie star
She went into the shop and told the shop girl she wanted the big Easter egg in the front window
She lied telling her it was for her little nephew
She hastily paid for the Egg, then quickly bundled it into her shopping bag carefully covering it up with other items so no one would see
Then hurriedly she left the shop, crossed the street with her head bowed, got into her car and quickly sped off
Over the next two days, in an **** of orgiastic chocolate eating, she secretly gorged upon, devoured all by herself the entire Easter egg
When she had finished, she sat there, a sullen lump among the ruins of her feast
Bits of ribbons and bows and torn box strewn all around her
Almost immediately she began to suffer pangs of guilt, berating herself repeatedly and bitterly for her lack of will power and mental strength, for her perceived weakness of character
This went on for the next few days, she just couldn't bring herself to forgive her behaviour
And she couldn't fathom how she had let this desire overcome her
...Then curiously, she began to experience a strange recurring dream at night,
She'd dream that she went one evening to another part of town where she wasn't known again to buy her Easter egg
There was no one around at that hour
She'd buy her Easter egg, tell her little lie about her nephew, then bundle the Egg into her bag and cover it just like before,
Then she'd leave the shop and head down some backstreets not wanting to be seen by anyone she knew
At that time of evening the shadows had begun to lengthen, the backstreets were very quiet and deserted, had a very lonesome forlorn air
As she walked along, she suddenly began to hear what she thought were the sound of footsteps behind her, the tread of feet behind her...Big feet, Bom-bom-bom!
She'd turn around but couldn't see anything, not a soul and not a sound only silence
She'd continue walking and the sound of the Big feet would start up again
Naturally this began to unnerve her, she turned and called back at the shadows
"Is there anybody there?"
But no answer was forthcoming
She'd walk on and again the sound of the Big feet would come Bom-bom-bom!
By this time she had become so unnerved, so completely flummoxed that in a state of utter panic
She suddenly took off at a frantic girly gallop down the narrow backstreets
Behind her she could hear the sound of the Big feet quickening, coming after her
In a quick change of plan she decided to climb some steps that would take her back to the Main Street again
She hoped there'd be other people there who might be able to protect her
She was very disappointed then when she found not a soul upon the whole street
Well she ran and she ran, she tore down her own street and with key in hand she quickly opened her front door, then slammed it shut fastening all the locks and bolts as she did
With this done she heaved a huge sigh of relief, a huge 'Phew!" and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow
She backed slowly away from the door almost as if she was expecting at any moment, there'd be a mad pounding on it, as if some strange belligerent entity would be trying to gain entry.
She kept backing up, the suspense almost too hard to bear
Suddenly she bumped into something behind her, something big and soft... and furry
Soft and furry ???
She turned and well, her mouth, it dropped wide open in utter shock and disbelief
Her eyes, they nearly popped out of her head
For there standing before her was... THE CREATURE
"It was hideous !" she said tearfully
"What was hideous?" I replied quite intrigued at this stage
"It was a Big Rabbit !"
"A big...a Big Bunny 🐰 ?" I said
She went on explaining, standing before her was a giant seven foot Easter Bunny
"A seven footer eh!" I said as if I was knowledgeable about these things, which I wasn't
She continued with her story, the rabbit he had big floppy ears, big buck teeth, a twitchy nose and whiskers 🐰
And on his face he wore this pretty gormless vacant expression🤡
He was wearing a waistcoat which had all these Easter egg 🥚🥚 designs on it
And on his front paws were these two big red boxing gloves 🥊🥊
She looked around desperately for some means of escape but Alas!
For her THERE WAS NO ESCAPE, she swallowed hard
Suddenly the giant Rabbit's teeth began to
natter
As if he was considering some imminent action
Then totally without warning one of his boxing gloves
It suddenly shot out and punched her right on the nose knocking her clean out on the floor
As she sprawled there dazed and utterly confused, the Big Bunny, he looked down at her with his big eyes 👀
And then, with a sudden leap which surprised even her
He jumped right up onto her chest where he proceeded to bounce up and down on top of her
Of course, here she'd awaken from the dream drenched in sweat and screaming for the Giant Bunny 🐰 to get off her.
When she had finished her story she buried her head in her hands and sobbed quietly for a few moments before regaining her composure
She seemed very relieved to have gotten it all off her chest, the story that is not the Bunny
Well I suppose she was glad to get him off as well
She went on to say how stressed she felt during the day, how she found it hard to focus on anything as she was too busy thinking about the night to come and the arrival of her unwelcome guest
She looked at me pleadingly "He'll be there again, I know it, with those big eyes of his" she blubbed half in tears
It seemed obvious to me what'd happened, mentally she'd been beating herself up
And now her Subconscious was merely reciprocating by creating this giant Bunny to chastise her
It was just a manifestation of the guilt she felt for eating the Easter egg
For a moment I felt like I was Sigmund Freud.
I told her what I thought and said she shouldn't beat herself up, I told her we all had our temptations and that at times, few of us were strong enough to withstand their advances
I told her of the importance of forgiving herself
But nothing seemed to placate her
She still seemed overly concerned about the coming night and the prospect of the giant Bunny's re-appearance
She catastrophized and saw only dark things ahead
I knew I had to say something authoritive
Suddenly I had an idea, I put my arm around her shoulders as if to console her
"Look my child", I said really beginning to warm to my Father Confessor role
"The Beast! Do you really want rid of this Beast ?"
"Yes! I do! I do!", she replied emphatically
"Really! You really want to get rid of him!" I said as if to question her resolve
"Yes! Yes! I'd do anything" she replied
I felt we had to send a strong message to her Subconscious mind -
I told her "This is what you must do. After work go down to the same Sweet shop and there buy the most expensive ornate Box of Chocolates you can find 🎁
But this time instead of bringing them home with you, bring them instead to my house...
To the above advice I added a few more instructions
"And that's all I have to do" she said sounding surprised and hopeful once again
"That's all you have to do", I assured her, "you'll have no more trouble from IT ever again".

So in the evening she arrives at my house with a big box of fancy chocolates
I open the door and abruptly ****** the chocolates from off her
I say loudly "These Chocolates are all mine and you can't have any of them
Lovely Chocolates... and their all mine, all mine!!!
And you're not getting any!"
And I let out this evil cackle of a laugh
Then I said rather theatrically to her "**** off!, Get lost! Shoo! Begone! Begone!
And then I slammed the door right in her face
After a few moments I opened the door again
And began to chase her down the path shouting "Begone! Begone! The Chocolates are mine! All mine!"
I even picked up a stick and shook it at her.

The next morning she runs up to me at work with a big smile
"He's gone ! He didn't come last night"
She looked renewed, she positively glowed again
She assured me I'd be her friend for life and that she loved me to bits
For a moment I was beginning to fancy my chances with her
I had visions of the two of us together in some romantic scene
That was until she went on and said that I reminded her of her lovely Uncle Joe
"Her Uncle Joe", I thought, "****!... feckin' Uncle Tom"
Then I thought I should have charged her, yea! charged her just like a hospital consultant
$250 Euros upfront and come back in two weeks for another $250, sorry for a check up I mean.

Well that's it then... that's my Easter story, I've got to go off now and take my afternoon nap
Y'know I've been getting some funny dreams of my own of late,
Yea! I've made a new friend
He's been teaching me how to box.
A bit of fun for Easter. Used to tell girls this story at Easter time to try and scare them into giving me their Easter eggs LoL.
JJ Hutton Dec 2013
And they cast the man as the one
who gets brought down by dogs.
When he met the director,
the man said, "I'm the son of a veterinarian."

"I guess we should give you a speaking part."

So in the snow, behind the pines, with three
cameras on him, the man was brought down
by dogs, and instead of falling silently,
he was allowed to shout "no."

Despite the open air, his call was shrill.
Despite his vessel of flesh, his voice pinged
as if encased in metal.

The director, unnerved, instructed
the man to do the scene again.
"Try shouting 'why.' "

The man's cap was off.
Snow flew from the strands
of his hair. A dog chewed
on his forearm.
And he said, "Why."

Despite his vessel of flesh, his voice fell flat, muffled--
not by limb, not by nature, but as if covered by a blanket of wool,
like a child playing ghost in a winter living room.

The director took the man aside.
"What's wrong?"

The man had never seen a person die.
He'd never even seen a dog die, although
he'd seen plenty arranged in violence shortly
thereafter.

"Nothing," the man said.

"Die naturally this time."

"Alright."

On the third take, one of the dogs tore
into his cheek. The puncture was quick, clean.

"I want to die," the man said, "but not like this."

"Louder," the director said.

"I want to die but not like this."

"What was that?"

"I want to die but not like this."

The dogs lapped at his blood.
One of the camera men came in close.
The man went limp, hoping it would end
the take.
Marie-Niege Dec 2016
tell me how you'd romance this stone as I lay unnerved by the wind of you. tell me how you'd keep my body cold and my mind warm as you hold me between yours fingers, tell me you'll love me til I die be it tomorrow or the next day, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me tell me that my lungs won't ache after you've skipped me across the pond to drown, tell me how it is you plan to romance this stone. and I swear I'll never leave you.
LNMVDS May 2014
I’m slower than most
I walk my own pace
I speak my own words
To match my calm face
I’ve never moved fast
I’ve never rushed time
I’m cautious I know
But it’s worked out just fine

Until I fell for you
I knew not of speed
I dived in headfirst
I lost track of my feet
But quicker than that
Was the length of your stay
As I miled-a-minute
You pulled far away

Now my heart rate has settled
Back to slow and reserved
I miss the thrill of your rush
With my caution unnerved
I’m slower than most
But I just never knew
How painfully slow I’d be
Getting over you
robin Mar 2015
1.  a curbstomp/a caress/a question of faith.
youre laughing but everyone can tell
youre looking for the door.you in a glass tomb and them watching you rot.
2. youve had the same dream five nights in a row.
you dont tell anyone. they dont care.
3. youre young. you feel empty. you dont know how youre supposed to be
but
you think that this is wrong.
4. 7am wake 8am school 9am 10am 11am 12pm read 1pm school 2pm 3pm 4pm leave 5pm 6pm 7pm home 8pm 9pm run 10pm 11pm 12am 1am 2am 3am sleep repeat
5. a funeral. you are at home,
trying not to get ***** on your nice black dress.
6. your friends are all unnerved by you. you are trying to fix it. you watch how life is supposed to go
and try to do the same.
everyone is unnerved by you.
7. a funeral. you are trying very hard to care.
its not working very well.
everyone is uncomfortable. no one is crying. you get dirt on your nice black dress.
8. you are very smart. you are a very smart young woman. youre just unmotivated /
youre angry /
youre hateful /
youre selfish/solipsistic/spiteful/youre
bored youre so bored you feel so empty it
hurts.
you feel so numb it hurts.
you feel nothing and it hurts.
9. you are so scared
10. you are so scared
11. you are so scared
12. you are so scared
13. ██████████
Aaron LaLux Jun 2016
The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

and as she tries to explain herself,
with tears streaming down her cheeks and loving anger in her eyes,
I begin to think what every abused person forever thinks,
maybe I deserved it…

She’s small,
petite,
physically unthreatening,
but emotionally a serious liability,
like a stealth bomber,
aeronautically beautiful,
but destructively deadly,
a suicidal **** savage,
a carcinogenic princess,

she is,
small,
petite,
as cute as she is hard headed,
stubborn trouble that’s hard to argue with,

so I don’t argue,
instead of engage I ignore,
silence can be more of an insult,
than even the worst words ever are,
when words are replaced,
with the silence of space,
all kinds of assumptions and truths can occur,

so I don’t argue,
I don’t debate or retaliate,
I just politely remove myself,
from this situation when it escalates.

See,
I’ve been in abusive relationships in the past,
and the bones of the skeletons in my closet,
barely rest buried just below the surface,

and that slap,

that fckn slap,
almost awoke the demons,
so loud it almost disturbed the devil,
it almost brought about a most unholy resurrection,

that slap,

was like a shovel digging into the dirt in a graveyard,
almost uncovering the sinful skeleton bones buried just below the surface…

But I refuse,
to let this hysterically temperamental gorgeous Gravedigger,
unearth a past that's sentimentally painful and totally traumatic,
and even though I’m unnerved by the slap because that slap hurt,
I refuse to give in to her drama and become all melodramatically dramatic.

See,

she’s sweet as Halloween treats,
at the same time still bitingly bitter and distasteful,
so instead of engaging in here arguments,
I remove myself and my emotions from her Self that’s so ungrateful,
she calls me a player and a **** but I find that her labels are mislabeled,
so no I don’t give in to her taunts I refuse to engage in something so shameful,

instead of engaging,
I leave her alone with her tears,
I exit out the balcony,
and make my way down the stairs,
I take myself to the ocean,
walking barefooted along the path,
I am not responsible for her heart,
so I refuse to endure her wrath,

see,

domestic abuse hurst both,
the abuser and the abused,
especially when the two are in love,
and they are all out of options to choose,

there’s a very thin line between love and hate,
and those dividing lines can sometimes fade,
mistakes can be made good intentions misplaced,
a kiss on the check and a held hand can turn into a slap in the face!

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

feeling rejected,
and disconnected,
feeling both affected,
and disaffected,

I exit,

I exit the bungalow,
and ascend down the winding staircase,
I get outside and get away from there,
staring out into star lit space,

I breathe,
and think,
fresh air is so underrated,
I see my favorite star,
thanking me because I made it,
twinkling vibrantly she has me sedated,
not the girl,
but the star,
she is such a seductress,
shining in such radiant hues of electric light,
she twinkles vibrantly and violently,
she does not go gently into that good night,
she is the good in a good night,
twinkling vibrantly as other stars shoot across the Night's sky,

she rages against the dying light,
and I give thanks that I am still alive.

I walk,

barefoot and bare chested,
down to the beach,
where the dry desert sands of southern Baja,
meet the wet ocean waters of the Pacific,

bottle of wine in one hand,
book and pen in the other,

I marvel at the stars,
and remember that I am never really alone,
for as long as I can see the sky,
I’ll always see the way to get back home.

The constellations are stellar interpretations,
maps to guide us home to our final destination.


I arrive,
at the beach,
several shooting stars later,
and wash away the ache on my face and in my heart,
with waves on my feet and wine in my throat,
I record some more emotions on this paper,
because poetry is my form of emotional art,

and by the light of the full moon,
I write for as long as I can write,
my pains won’t be in vain,
and everything will be worth it even what happened tonight,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
and place them on these papers,
transforming them from form to thought,
then from thought to words on these papers,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
process and translate them into messages to be read,
I will take all of our collective abuses,
and process them through the headaches in my head,
so hopefully these messages,
will help others who have been or are being abused stand strong,
and hopefully these messages,
will help others who abuse or have abused realize that they are wrong,
because at the end of the day what we can say to relate,
is it’s all about love and hate it’s not all about right and wrong.

And just as I lose hope,
and ethereal angel appears,
wearing a white linen robe,
looking like a ghost holding laughter and tears,

she sits next to me,
here on the sands,
and takes the warm bottle of wine,
from my cold still writing hands,

she observes as I finish,
writing these last few lines,
she watches me with interest,
as if she can read my mind,

and she smiles even though it’s a painful world,
because she knows we’re both survivors so we will survive,
and she knows we’re both riders so we’re always ready to ride,
and we both shine way too bright to ever be able to hide,

and then we make love,
our passions rising along with the tide,
and maybe that’s why the girl back at the bungalow slapped me,
because she was mixed up with hurt feelings and hurt pride,
she was frustrated that she loved me but that here love was not enough,
but what am I to do I can not control how my heart feels or even control myself.

I hurt her,
so she slapped me,
and I guess that’s fair,
though maybe not exactly,
either way I care too much to care,
and either way that **** slap kinda stings,

even when I know it’s deserved…

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected…

– ∆  Aaron La Lux ∆ –

'The City of Fallen Angels'; available worldwide 7/7/16


ouch! I probably deserved it...
WickedHope Aug 2021
Everytime you
Whispered
In her ear
The car swerved
Each time
You slid
Your fingers
Over her shoulder
I grew unnerved
You looked
At me
And said
Your fantasy
Was between us
I never hated you more than then
She sobbed
I cussed
I hope
Someday
You know how it feels
To want to
**** a man
And drive away
Please don't drink and drive,
But for ***** sake please dont drink and hitchhike.

I hate that she told you.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
This is in dedication to Mr. John Grant a spokesman
for Veterans for Peace local 31. When during the late Bush years we protested the Bushy Zombies in West Chester
Pa. This took place every Saturday from early morning till
around 4 or 5 pm. He keep saying, "They're drinking the cool-aid."
P.S. Veterans for Peace is also national and is registered
under the U.N. with its own magazine. This was poem was written in 2010
Besides it has a rap beat to it



Lies ah decieven' our minds ah believen'
by ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge
Drive-by ah flyin' innocent babes ah dyin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge


Blacks  against slavery racists say lazy,
Jim Crow ah knowin', black vote ah growin',
voter lines ah showen', black suppression ah growin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge

Mr. sweater vest advisin' theocracy risin' ( Rick *******)
gays cannot marry his heavy-load to carry,
all Muslims are targets by his government harlots,
body meedlers of women, no rights he has proven
by ah drinkin' his cool-aid and eatin' funny-fudge

Mexican Border right-wingers disorder,
Jail complexes growin', their profits showin',
public schools no maintain', corporate zombie schools gainin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge

Corporations are people super-vote-money inclusion,
Super Pacs' delusion, Democracy illusion,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge

Profits by Lockheed Martin perpetual wars embarkin',
wars appeasin' without good reason,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge
No good reason callin' Wikkeleaks treason,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge

Houses ah runnin' from ex-owners ah gruntin',
our lands will desert us whole nature unnerved us,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge

Street people ah growin' with hardly non knowin',
parents ah cryin', hungry tots ah dyin', emergency rooms
ah packin', it's healthcare ah lackin'
While ah Wall Street ah hoppin' in triumph give-away-ah-hoppin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fridge

Slave hours grind us while paychecks are minus,
GOP congress never behind us,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge,
Zombies surround us to only remind us,
QUIT DRINKIN' THE COOL-AID AND EATIN' FUNNY FUDGE!!!
I couldn't possibly use the brand name drink for fear of  being sued.
most important is to know that the cool-aid stuff is garbage propaganda by right-wing talking heads. I know you know who they are. I'm certainly glad of that. Thank you all...
Kuzhur Wilson Aug 2014
On the 9th, I was driving in a hurry from Jerusalem to Jerico, laden with kisses for you.  A cop waved me down at the Bank junction at Aluva. Unnerved, the car hit something. All your kisses scattered on the road. My hands, legs, face and ***** blushed with gashes. My kisses for you lay around in the middle of the road. The orphan kids from Janaseva were picking them up. They packed them in their sling bags. A beggar woman who was passing by picked up one to smell it. College going kids make fun of my kisses for you. A cop tramples one of them with his boot.  A pock marked tipper truck crushes it under its wheels. A procession agitating for drinking water marches past it. My kisses for you are strewn in the middle of the road and holler for the moistness of your lips. Covered in a sheet woven with wounds, I lie on a hospital bed. Lamenting 'my kisses, my kisses’, you catch a flight and land in Nedumbassery.  You come to see me. In haste, you forget to buy me oranges.

I kept looking at you.
It was raining outside.

I looked at your lips.
Then, all the flowers in the front yard roll in laughter.

I look at your throat.
Then, a white dove takes off from a mango tree.

I look at your ears.
Then, a thrush flies off seeking its mother.

I look at your strands of hair.
Then, the plumeria leaves pick lice from each other.

I look at your eyes.
Then, the well in the court yard gives a missed call to the sea.

I look at your nose.
Then, the glare outside sketches the spring.

I look at your arm pits.
Outside, yellow woods sing a song.

I look at your *******.
Outside, bird’s eye chilies stand sharply *****.

I look at your cleavage.
A mother who bore six squats outside and coughs.

I at your navel.
Outside, a thousand bats.

I at your feet.
Then, a sweet gooseberry falls on the yard.


At knees.
At tender thighs...

Always
Always then
Outside, the drum beats of a road show grow in crescendo.

I trace pictures of our kids on your lips.

Then, in the middle of the road, the souls of kids crushed under wheels queue up with oranges to meet us.

When you and I wail without a sound, a slice from it falls on the ground. I make up a simile that tears are the slices of oranges that drop from the hands of those who have not had enough of loving. You give me one more kiss. I stash it away doubting whether you will be near when I die.  Our kisses attack us asking us whether we will abandon them again. We lie on the hospital bed covered in wounds from the kisses. A bunch of angels come with syringes and bitter pills. We run away without paying the bill. Our kisses follow us like a procession of bare bodies with running noses. Unable to bear the sorrow, you hug them right on the highway. I buy a cigarette from the petty shop nearby and, puffing on it, watch you.



Translation : Ra Sha
Tatiana Lasky May 2014
*****
Not literally or physically
You stripped me of my emotions, as if I am dead
Surviving, but not thriving
You made me feel worthless
You haunt me, as your dark image stays imprinted in my mind
Oh, Blue Valentine
#icyheart #spilledink
Charlie Chirico Aug 2015
If I had known that I was going to
be the last man inside you, not long
before your last breath left your lungs
and escaped your body along with
your tortured soul, I would have saved
us both the time and trouble.
Let love be!
Oh naive me!
Of course we both knew the troubles
your mind conjured, and maybe my
lack of intimacy was torturous, however, not all of the sweating and
moaning could be forsaken,
as foreplay was eased into,
which was wrongly confused as
a careless flick of the wrist.
But I suppose you knew your body better, and could take yourself
places that no one else ever could
without having their arms
pulled behind the back
and secured tightly, because
when you flicked your
own wrist and became
wet and flush,
the only moaning you did was accompanied with wincing
eyes and curled toes.

Now I'm reading the newspaper,
and your name sticks out, screaming
at me, exclaiming riddles that you can
never answer. And the one that leaves
me the most unnerved is the one right
before me, becoming moistened by
misunderstood teardrops.

What is black and white
and red all over?

I ask you,
but I know now
that you can never again
answer my call.

So I'm left with only one of
two options, both of which
feel like a handful. I can delicately
place a flower atop your new
home among the rest, or
I can palm dirt as you are
slowly lowered down and
covered with the mound
that lay beside the congregation
that finishes their final goodbyes.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
unlike the book of Enoch's proposition, i deem fallen "stars" (we all know they meteors, but religious language loves metaphors) as disgraced saints, given there's so many of them they can sometimes outnumber angels, so yeah, in reverse of religious blah i deem fallen stars are disgraced saints, rather than disgraced angels.

and upon having written the words that i had,
i felt a sharp indentation on my right hand,
as if someone was pressing a sharpened
avocado seed into it, that i knew was the thumb
of my guardian - there was a reason why
i masturbated prior to puberty aged 8,
that i might know the difference in the ways
it might be taught: circumcision and
religious obedience, and the non-circumcised
with their indolence and hedonism threshold -
or how to marry the monotheistic man
with the man of no theistic concerns -
who came later than the circumcised woman -
who in stories of a Prince f Egypt was beautified
in her agony: as passing the fruit to man -
from paranoid despots of Egypt eager to keep
a harem and let her not simply enjoy the company
of other men, but of greater peril from these despots,
that she could wield a greater satisfaction
from her own hand than his excavation of power -
never before was this story told in the crude manner
it deserved - the shame on poetry, and the subsequent
undermining of poetry! to every, EVER poet out there
readying himself for a renewed reinterpretation
of his horrid book, a word of caution: you will not
gain any other technique from this, no pun-joke,
this is metaphor versus imagery, after all imagery
deciphers metaphor, the ideogram of meaning,
thank god the Chinese were allowed to sustain their ideogram,
otherwise using these skeletons i'd never achieve
a worthy playing field, no table tennis table, no
squash cube, no tennis court, no football pitch...
given the survival of the Chinese ideogram i can climb
a tier higher from what's encrypted,
i can, thanks to the Chinese ideogram morph words
above the tier of sounds, above the tier of grammatical
categorisation that are governed by time / timing, and
enter the only realistic realm necessary, the poetic:
to treat "holy" but subsequently metaphorical texts
for a revision changing metaphor (hallucinatory images)
into imagery (the times when certain tools were
anticipated, of that said: Galileo and the telescope
and the *oculus rufus
of Jupiter
it's appropriate karma and the dishonouring philosophy's
feeling of superiority that merely matches them with
Koranic scribbles that poets finally can box the other
strand of language use into oblivion...
poetry and the freedoms to suffice its continuation...
true via a real example: the "prince" of philosophers,
no other than Spinoza, polishing lenses,
as every philosopher after him, sharpening the meaning
of words, trying to eradicate Thesaurus Rex from
human existence, trying to coagulate synonyms into
a single meaning, i.e. prescribing words
of fluidity and subsequent poly-elasticity a mono-usage,
their prize lost, their dittoing of up-kept credentials,
their dittoing but lack of approximation ~******* up /
or simply buckling under the strain...
sharpening of the eye, they mistook killing off poetry
but by doing so, they encouraged Sophistry -
the art of rhetoric... poets never spoke to convince people,
they spoke to entertain people, why are these
apes running the mental life of people?! never put
your eggs in one basket... the poets were condensed into
the same cauldron as the Sophists, even though
poets preferred to speak from a page or the prior written
than from the heart of a deceiving others...
at the time of Spinoza doubt was still a considerable evil,
only when denial emerged were people finally considered
easy-zoological specimens of study: a doubtful faith
is a faith non-the-less, wavering faith, but at least
not an offshoot of denial, which only breeds bad faith
(as Sartre described) and ends up being a confession in
a *******'s bedroom by some duke of *****-nilly.
in the end, all i have to say is: the preliminary poem
always aids your sober affairs that later becoming drinking
affairs: that the Chinese ideogram resilience allowed
us to translate "holy" texts of pure metaphor into
pure imagery, and create the paradigm of desecration
justified like a Mongol in Baghdad...
where the true Golgotha is situated -
that poets aren't sophists, and that by attacking
poets, philosophers created by far the more zealous
version of criticising poetry: a Surat in the Koran
and the current flowering of unnerved sophistry in
politics: not that much a case of speaking with a persuasive
manner, but a way of speaking toward a persuasive
lie that doesn't endanger the status quo.
so what saves modern poetry from despair and dodo?
the Chinese ideogram, thanks to the Chinese ideogram
(working from the book of Genesis) i can pass an object in
the form of metaphor (apple) via jingzi / mirror
and get imagery back (*******) - only because
i am passing one skeletal object of spelled simplicity
into another object of akin spelled simplicity
via something resembling carpals-metacarpals-phalanges
(the wrist) - as the title suggests: wrist-mirror -
only thanks to the Chinese up-keeping of their ideogram
i can transform metaphors into imagery,
the fruit of knowledge into ******* -
or puns into jokes;
this is why i'd only take two books with me to the grave,
Ezra's Cantos and Russell's history of western society:
it's because of them that i get to keep
the desired momentum.
aria xero Nov 2012
an illusion of the heart

it clouds your eyes

to the simple signs

that lead to the lies

of this broken art



a parasite of the mind

you believe this is bliss

from the first to last kiss

as you start to dismiss

the fact you are blind



so fly with your wings

and escape from that stage

to become quite assuaged

beyond all that rage

that's attached by strings



disintegrating, piece by piece

you start to decay

still smiling everyday

unaware you were just prey

to this creature who continues to feast



thus when the time is deserved

speak loud and clear

and ignore all the leer

from them and your peers

and all the attempts to make you unnerved



while the ties have been cut

and your vision has cleared

you're no longer adheared

to the leech that appeared

to be more than you thought



still this cycle remains

with the exception of few

who stick together like glue

but that will be you

when, vanished is the pain
Katha Kirti Jan 2015
Sweet liars and their sugar coated lies…
Root from their heart and branch out in the skies…
Their innocent souls and deceptive eyes…
Their polished shoes and branded ties…

In the beginning they seek your attention…
The next desire is your affection…
By recital of their past and rejection…
Either from them or from other direction…

“Don’t sympathies sweetheart, I am a strong man… Okay”…
“My heart comes free with this ring and bouquet”…
“Say yes, my love, we’ll plan a holiday”…
“Let’s go shopping for your lingerie”…

The candles are lit and the dinner is served…
The charm and chivalry is observed…
His scent and accent leaves you unnerved…
He is definitely the prince you thought you deserved…

Ah! And you fall in the trap and love as well…
Dreaming of him and his tempting propel…
You talk of him and his stories you tell…
Of the vamps he dated and your own love spell …

He has your trust and you are happy high…
His kisses and touch you can’t deny…
“He loves me so much” you amplify…
You light his nights like a firefly…

Now when you feel the bygones are supplanted…
The road gets a little slanted…
When you are more often taken for granted…
His fluctuations show the doldrums are planted…

You inspect the change and the causes aligned…
And come across the love texts enshrined…
You feel shattered and maligned…
The way you are portrayed and opined…

You demotion as ex is celebrated with a raised toast…
With his new flame and he playing host…
You embrace your strength with care utmost…
His vows and love , haunting you like ghosts…

You want to cry till you paralyze…
Blaming thyself for this jeopardize…
The arduous task to analyze, summarize and self sterilize…
From these sweet liars and their sugar coated lies…

~Kathaa Kirti
Dorothy A Dec 2014
I was just remembering today about one of the hardest times in my life. It brought me to tears.  My estranged brother—the second brother—had committed suicide, shot himself in the head out in SeaTac, Washington. He was pretty isolated from my family, angry for a long time about his upbringing and was also hiding a secret about his sexuality. As I see it, my brother always tried to act macho, and gay was not macho. It was obvious he was very depressed, and I think he was running out of money due to being out of work.

I recall my father calling me on the phone, and asking, “Dottie, are you sitting down?” Then he told me my brother killed himself. “I expected that”, I think I replied, as if I could ward off the shock, the fear, the pain and the guilt. The tidal wave was yet to come.  

I never tried, made no attempt, to **** myself. I was far too fearful of what was beyond that decision.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it. I surely thought of it as a way out, a final solution.

They told me in the hospital that I didn’t want to live anymore, not that I was directly suicidal. I believe they were right. I had a death inside, a sinking hopelessness that I could not believe would ever change. It unnerved me so that my brother could have easily been me.

I had checked myself into the psych ward, and it felt I was locked in and the key was thrown away. You would have thought that I was in for three months instead of three days.

This all took place almost seventeen years ago. In spite of feeling like I had nothing to live for. Instead of dying, I lived on. In two, easy words:  I survived. I could never adequately describe—really verbalize—how low that I had felt, at times. Words don’t do it justice.

I never dodged a bullet. I never felt my life flash before my eyes. Nevertheless, I feel like a survivor. I did have a few close calls in life--as a pedestrian in an encounter with cars. But what really makes me feel like a survivor is going up against the great wall of depression. What really makes me feel like I've made my way is fighting with that emotional giant that has threatened my very being.

No one need have a story like mine to feel like a survivor, either. Life isn’t easy for plenty of us. And really everyone comes from survivor stock—people who came before us that had to struggle to make it. With such things as slavery, high childhood mortality rates, and so on, one can get the gist.  

And one can surely believe what they want, but I believe in God and in heaven—of much more than meets the eye—of a purpose. It might not be a purpose shining in neon lights, but it’s a purpose, nonetheless. I’ve fought with the concepts of having meaning, and in my faith, at times. I mean I really struggled, intellectually as well as in gut wrenching form. But if this world is it—and then lights out—I would view my life as no more significant than a swarm of mosquitoes or a grey rock in a pile of other grey rocks. Some might scoff at that. I beg to differ.

That’s what gets me through the hard times, and keeps me going.
mike Jul 2015
talking to opaque shapes
floating through me.

family is unnerved
abandons me.
i continue
speaking in tongues
walking on all fours.

i burn symbols
into my skin
with my fingertips.

i read them
with just
the whites of my eyes.

the language that lives
in your nightmares.

i speak the evils
youve commited,
and those you still desire..
..i speak you from the room..

alone in this world.
no food,
no water;
this body will last
for centuries.
bobby burns Jan 2015
():
you've taken up too many characters,
a placeholder, 0, is all i attribute to you.

(I):
i lack recall enough
to call back when
we first reacted--
science fair, maybe,
mâche volcanoes
from wet bits--
(too little base,
a surplus of vinegar)
the only magma
with measurable
pH

(II):
made cattle to caffeine,
the pastures we frequented
have gone out of business
by now

(III):
spoke and wrote
with silly string,
messy, childish,
hard to clean up--
impossible to pick
every adhesive trace
from tweed coat fibers--
i draped it around you
and left quietly without
apologizing

(IV):
number four, morphine drip,
corruption (with a caramel center),
you took me to a courtyard where
you had scrawled your number
with a gold safety pin stuck
in the grain--
didn't matter as long as they
brought you plain grain beverages--
i can't say how long i must have
been unconscious for you to
have been able to fully affix
trusses, crossbars and artificial joints
between prostheses--
you made a marionette of me
in a grubby alley operating room,
with an empty bottle
across the occipital for anesthesia,
and a patchwork of phone numbers
staring down from the scratched
portrait in the wood walls
of office buildings surrounding--
keep your cloths on a little longer
keep yourself closed from now on
keep yourself close from now on


[V]:
think of whichever oath you hold
gravely, and think of me, promising
i felt just as illusory as you before--
saved a letter from you i read sometimes
to remind myself how first real loves
can be, so as not to lose faith to cynicism,
and cynicism/stomach lining to coffee grounds.
thank you

[VI]:
i met you only once,
it was enough.
i didn't make out your
last name as you introduced
yourself between zipping up
your fly and cinching your belt,
and even while you walked
inside, between dry heaves,
i could think only of
your Texan-tinsel-town namesake--
good luck streaming the past like
mother's ashes from the back of
your lake boat so many miles from home,
it's all anyone could ask

(VII):
i took that polaroid of you;
you had your hand over
a candle flame and the
shadows dancing between
your fingers illuminated
the spare patches of snow
remaining on the playground.
there was no mistaking
the draining of my swimming
pool of ego as i witnessed
you staring out from each
ice crystal reflection in awe:
your smile tumbled down
the slide and spilled into laughter
while
your voice lilted up the rock wall
and sang in triumph at the top --
i miss you, ganges girl

[VIII]/[IX]:
first time i knew,
second time i suspected,
finally broke me down,
now we laugh about it,
or preferably, don't bring
it up anymore

[X]:
i might still be in love with you
first and foremost, if that's how
things worked, but virginity
isn't a collateral asset, you did
me no favors,
but share in sunshine shoves
and pushes-- a beer down,
3g 'til the bottom of the bag,
alice and wonderland--
i can't watch that movie
without thinking of long hair,
self-destruction, self-deceit,
and naïveté--
you made me grow up with you,
and while you've been in college
i've been rotting.

[XI]:
i've whiled away a year of slacking words
in favor of those spouting from you torrentially.
a placeholder, for people i've written too much about already:
11.

[XII]:
unnerved me in the best of ways,
but you were always ****** up
and emptied of scruples--
had me once at your favorite album,
fooled me twice when you came back,
but you won't get another chance to
touch me

[XIII]:
snow-flakey,
corn comfort,
corn snake.
solid, supple,
untrustworthy.

[moscow]:
you spent a year abroad
so i had only one thing to call you,
and even though I brought my black
camo S&W; pocketknife,
when you told me ******
was cheaper than marijuana
in the motherland,
i knew i shouldn't
have soothed myself
into confident
complacency,
and instead
leapt from
the subaru
piled high,
tobacco-strewn,
littered by cremations
of victims before me.

[XV]:
i yawn and jaws part,
droop down lids,
the realist rendering
of a singularity in film
can't even keep me awake--
but when we get home,
and crawl into the satin
cascade of your mother's
sheets, god, i can't
even think of sleeping.
the moon was also full--
it wanes for awhile now
PK Wakefield Mar 2011
i4
did because i well jeez 10:23 farther steeper i'd was a outside 10:24 a junebug
is creaking on the well like a fine cylinder. it's because steeper or 10:27 clunking
a light of amiable is sort of. at 10:31 a common a cool the. into if.
        a very sorry long is diacriticly loose with the scab of lunging trees
by the barn 10:31:53 is . it's was almost because i did i well jeez
the june is a crimped fine determined juice. did it seem because or and a breif
i s haloed somewhat or creaking a junebug is big for by the stalls shuffling with legs in the sort of barn by the 10:36 it's gabled a bit. or does it seem a because well did i and meyou. pm well it were 10:37 and longest brown is seemingly. otherwise unmarked a phonetic element. by a 10:39PM leafing softly
  the scuttle a. unnerved little scraping. beneath or metatarsaled cadence a the grassed stripping earth went from the basest mouth of timbered certainly to the unskinniest blue. a vanity of wheels or because well did i jeez
AP Nov 2015
the wooden hinge creaks as its rotting frame grows weak
a delicate hand reaches into the void, brandishing into the cold, open space
reaching for something, anything to grab onto
the bitter air latches onto each finger, burning dry skin with flames of ice
the boy’s hand jolts back, as he blows on it with his relieving breath
his unspoiled heart and untampered mind
they convince his short legs to strut back, away from the unknown
so he returns to his comforting quarters, and in short time forgets this day entirely

years later, the boy is now a young man
the splintered door is all but collapsed from its hinge
with his courage further developed, he walks out into the cold, open space
he scans the area, squinting to his left and right
in a matter of seconds, a gust of wind picks up and begins throwing pieces of the white blanket every which way
the bravery that once existed quickly sinks to fear
his vision impaired, the teenager slowly begins to walk back
as he stumbles backward, he feels the tips of numb fingers scraping against his ankles
he now begins to run blind, his liquid tears turning solid before they are able to roll down his cheek
as he trudges through the frozen land, a hand manages to clasp onto his leg
in horror, the young man looks down and sees hollow eyes matching his gaze
help"
but he jerks his leg away, and smack! he hits his back against the crumbling door, rolling back into his comforting quarters
he is safe, but the door no longer stands to protect him

many more years pass by, and a grown man dons a full beard
without the door to hold back the outside world, over time, the sharp air has slowly turned his once heated body very cold
lonely, the man willingly walks back into the space, knowing what waits ahead
he takes his steps further and further until he begins to feel the field of hands that lay above the ground, flowers without proper care
the dead establish a firm grip around his feet, and begin to pull him below the earth
unnerved, the man takes in the blank space around him as he descends lower and lower
the rays of the sun glint golden speckles onto the ground
and the reflected light attaches itself to a small body approaching the man ahead
he screams, crying
warning the short figure to turn back,
no! not now! not this soon!
he is up to his neck in the compact snow
the restraint of the snow causes his speech to break,
y-your.. innocence..b-bui-build a door
and then, he was gone
B Wasserman Jun 2016
I attack
I venge
I yearn
I attack all foes
all high and low alike
I venge against
betrayers of good faith
I yearn to repair
my name to good repute
All the donned blows
fail to extinguish
the lamp that retains
the rage which
empowers the burn
for my god
carries on belligerent
men pretend to know me
they are more in tune
with their own doubts
their own trepidations
I neither doubt
nor insult
nor injure
nor disarm myself
Joel M Frye Mar 2011
The boundless end of universe is curved
and sharp, and where you've set up residence.
Unhinged and edgy, wary and unnerved,
your mind time-shared by madness and brilliance.
Both seeking, fearing being understood,
with eyes in feral dance avoiding mine
because a hooded glance told you I would
and could continue on through space and time,
by simply tracing notches carved along
a trail blazed, breathing vacuum, years before.
Think I don't know the way there?  You'd be wrong.
I understand the path you choose and more;
an understanding far beyond those bounds
that trespasses on love's unholy grounds.
to a friend who thinks she goes where no one has gone before.
3-5-2011  JMF
In the midst of all there is to live
The crawling uncertainty, the laziness of souls
The crippling doubt that rules us all
Her gaze is shown, a lighthouse wearing a red stole

Hours reduced to seconds and not much to spare
A sip of winter ***, delicate move of hands, hips unbound
Fingers slip, chocolate lipped, spurred moments
Tamed desires unleashing round breast-bites on empty appetites
Quickening shivers, last minute kiss and our time is undelivered

Words amounting to clichés and graceful, still, is her face
The provoked eyes of adolescence delight my wary ghost
I no longer linger in uncertain realities
Raise a glass to the possibilities and what to come
In the shadows I find you, my cure
For you see, my disintegration never had a meaning
So let us dwell between uncertain realities, least we find ourselves a host

One year amounting to a lifetime
Dreams of promised serenity are greater still
What lies beneath the Arabian sun? Nothing but Imprisoned spirits, enslaved birds and wild ignorance
Larger than life talks of reform, crumbling yet, in our first test

Remembrance of past ways
Everything fate has in store for us
Even odds were aligned in phases
Mountains of passion sprung high

I’m a spectator, you control my letters

Little by little, unnerved attempts
Oceans of black uncharted seas
Various letter arrangements and lines
Eventually leading to the sublime

Your embrace and my sea metaphors
Oslo awaits, but waves won’t abate
Until one day, when our minds abide
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Anna
Red hair fell like fire
on her thin shoulders.
Her wide, open eyes, now
seemed sunken in, and sadness,
for a moment, lingered there.
This was her last night on earth.
She again, ran through the events
that took place earlier that night.
When she was with him, in the back
of the Impala.
Images of the car's windows glossed with a
sheen of steam, blazed across her mind.
A smile blazed across her face.
She thought of his smile and her own widened.
She thought of the way he touched her, so gently,
like a feather moving over her. The way he left kisses
in a trail across her skin. The way he held her, as if
nothing on the earth could ever take her away.
Not in that moment.
But there are more than the kind
and protecting angels in this world. There are
demons. But even so, worse are the angels that
have turned their backs on heaven and now
work for the forces of evil.
The angels that would tear their comrades
from this world.
The angels
among
the
demons.

Crowley
Black.
Black as dark as night.
Black as dark as the inner
reaches of the earth.
Black as dark as death itself.
Black like blood.
Red.
Red as deep as warm, copper veins.
Red as deep as magma beneath
the earth.
Red as deep as rage at the sign
of betrayal.
Red like smoke.
Twisted.
Splashes of agony and hatred and
remorse stained his tattered soul.
A true evil radiated from his
vessel. A crafty and
malicious essence raced through his veins.
But he was no Lucifer.
Somewhere, deep down,
there was still a man who
longed to be loved. A man
who longed to be forgiven of his cruel
mistakes in his past life. Deep down, there
was still a man who longed to come back to
the light.
In a world so dark as his, the only light was the fire,
which should have brought comfort, but only
brought pain.
Deep down, he liked the dark.

Mary
Hair like threads of spun gold
tangled around her face. She was fair with
bright blue eyes that held
hues as heavenly as the sun-beaten
sky.
Soft, angular cheekbones sloped gently
down, a tinge of pink, coloring them slightly.
Locks of her wavy hair met her shoulders
but beneath her fair
appearance, she was a
rough girl.
A hunter.
She had seen things most terrible in the world,
thinks that no one should ever see.
And still, he remained a
loving mother and a kind person
in spite of
her demons.

Sam
Echoes of a former friend
rang throughout his
conscious mind.
Mischievous and
sinister laughter danced
around in his head like demons
howling and gibbering in
the night.
He could feel his brother's presence
and the angel too,
but felt only more unnerved
because he knew he was the
only one who could hear the voices.
Another shrill scream pierced
his ears and he ducked, holding
his head between two shaking palms.
Bright flashes of color exploded at
the corners of his vision and danced
around his eyes like a psychedelic
kaleidoscope.
He went spiraling again in his mind and
every color blinked out, like a light.
Everything went dark as the psychotic laughter
echoed throughout
his
skull.

Castiel
Over the hill moved a creature, round and
Glowing with a cold, white light.
Like a spectacular
Moonrise.
It had hundreds and hundreds of
Eyes in every imaginable color, faceted
Like jewels that covered wheels within wheels of
It’s spherical body.
It was an infinite series of intersecting
Rings that spun constantly in
All directions.
Like a gyroscope.
The rings looked like steel but
The substance was
Pearlescent and, like an oil slick,
Contained all of the rainbow within it.
Steel-like whips caressed the ground
And skies as it moved.
And at its center stood two
Wings, upright.
Feathers made from the metallic
Material rippled in the air. Around the wings pooled a
Sticky, warm light. A sheen of phosphorescent light coated the
Feathers and pooled around the wings.

Dean
Through the windshield, the soft
glow of a solitary streetlight glistened
over his cheekbones
and poured down
his jaw that had grown taught from
rapt contemplation.
His coarse, sandy-brown hair, was messed
from his last tango with a monster.
Brilliant flecks of gold danced around in
his hazel eyes,
entwining with years of past remorse and
echoes of both sad and happy memories of
being on the road.
He kept a firm hold of the wheel, gently guiding the
old muscle car down the road.
Tears prickled behind his gorgeous, tired eyes,
but didn't dare escape.  The plastic army
soldier stared him down, but he
could pay him little mind.
His brother, riding shotgun, slept
sitting upright, his long, chocolate locks
covering his eyes as he dreamt with
his forehead
against the cool window.

Lucifer
A luminescent beauty radiated from him.
Behind his tattered vessel's eyes, a blazing
light shined like a beacon in the night.
The fury of a thousand suns, and
the beauty of a million moons.
The bright and morning star.
The most magnificent in all of the angels,
yet far more dark than any demon.
Sinfully exquisite.
Those who say he has horns have never
looked upon his countenance, for the gems
faceted there rival the colors of the morning skies.
And a voice like silk, soft as the
timid pulse,
a voice that could lead you to your own destruction.
Hands both so gelid and searing, you'd quiver
at the touch.
Hands that have brought so many to their death.
These poems were written in 2016. They were inspired by the characters of the widely popular CW Series, Supernatural.
Cruz Krish Jun 2012
Don’t, don’t touch me,I can’t believe you hurl next to me trying to harass me.
Wasn’t it enough that we exchanged our vows in matrimony,
And you frotted off to another woman’s sack the day that you met me.
Remember how we met, all head over heels for you, happy that you made a commitment; talking and jazzing it up leaving our conversations unrested.
We travelled the world, but you left me behind and travelled with words,yes you.
You left me behind thinking I was deaf, blind and unnerved, you lied.
You were a liar, a thief and a drunk all mashed into one.
Oh how monogamy changed you!

Our child came, she was beautiful but you didn’t turn up in the delivery room.
Who was there to support me? I gave birth; you gave me no backbone.
She grew up, you grew too and I stayed still working my life away incessantly.

Appreciation? No.
Depreciation? Yes.

You moved away thinking you could get away,
you took her away from me and into your care, but there was no care.
Now I was stuck in another country trying to support this family, but who do I find out you were caring so eerily? Another woman who underestimated me, spending the money I sent for my daughter in her education, for her own reclamations.

When I went home she was estranged from me,
oh how she’ll hug me next to daylight just to get a whiff of my scent.
We played, we fooled, I showed her what it is to be a lady, but I didn’t know the worse of it as she was being held hostage, clammed up into a little shell having no hope and no glory by those that I left her behind with the trusted reveries.

— The End —