When I was just a little girl,
And as little girls were taught then,
I played with dolls and a teaset,
Made mudcakes for food,
Wore skirts, made my hair into ponytails as I was let.
I saw the boys with the abandon which comes with free wear and play,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was older, a teen
and as teen girls were taught then,
Walk, talk, rock softly
Don’t draw too much attention
Or attempt to explore too much.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom to play, sit, be as they want  ,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was sixteen, oh sweet sixteen,
And as sixteen year old girls were taught then,
Don’t wear clothes that show your frame,
That’s indecent and you will be in another home and will incur alot of blame.
Don’t wander, argue, or express an opinion,
You’re a girl, being humble, quiet and gentle becomes you.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom of movement and speech,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was older, and passionately sought a particular career,
I was admonished as many other girls in my time,
It’s not a career for women, late nights, more men to be around,
When you get married, that’s not going to work and troubles will abound.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with the  freedom of pursuing their dreams,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was married, and setting a home, working  and raising a family,
I left my work as many other girls in my time,
For my husband to follow his work path,
Unquestioningly, unflinchingly, resolutely.
I saw the men then with the abandon which comes with freedom of being in control of their lives,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

But this is just the surface of my questioning being a girl,
When boys and men around tried their stunts on girls and women,
I questioned my existence.
When many girls and women I know,
Were told to stay mum on men close who took advantage of them
I questioned my existence.
When In the workspace,
Women got paid less than men because their salary were subtly looked at as secondary salaries,
Or needed to speak louder to be heard,
I questioned my existence.
When the onus of keeping a relationship working  was the woman’s responsibility largely,
I questioned my existence.
When a woman got hit by her spouse,
Its she who may have provoked him.
When a man strayed,
Its she who was not a good enough wife that he had to look elsewhere.
I questioned my existence.

The atrocities many men are capable of,
The filth many men spread,
****, hate, aggression, manipulation and more
Abuse, gaslighting inside closed doors,
Wearing a mask of sophistication outside
Animalistic and entitled beings to the core.

My apologies to men who are not,
And I know some,
But they are but a handful,
Too insignificant in the larger way the world works.

But then I see me,
A harbinger of change,
In my home and around.
Raising my son differently,
Advocating for change purposively,
Actioning resolutely what’s right,
Woman for women with all my might.
I see so many more women now who retain their selves and are beacons of hope,
They don’t sit around and just mope.

And I am glad I am a girl,
And I question no more,
I question no more.

When I was a girl I loved cars and Kim Possible
And green rocks I’d find in the pebble fillings of our school playgrounds,
Because they were rare and therefore special.
I read twenty books on gemstones and minerals and stared at the pictures for hours
Hoping one day I could be beautiful and solid and reflect the colours
You can’t see
If you burn your retinas looking directly at the sun.

When I was a girl I became a driveway because I thought
If I paved myself with tarmac or cement
I’d be hard enough to withstand the weight of everyone around my heart
And grounded enough to support myself,
But the construction workers forgot to check for groundwater
And I caved in when people decided
To unapologetically and unquestioningly park their ***** in the handicap spot,
Mistaking the importance of my handicaps for the importance of their egos.

When I was a girl I became an asteroid,
Seeking a gravitational pull around a star that would give me a name and meaning.
But instead I found a black hole,
And before I realised my mistake in universal direction
Her gravity obliterated me
And absorbed whatever the **** was left
Of the force I could have been.

When I was a person I became a tree,
Rooted to the earth rather than separate
And absorbing the light for sustenance.
I’ve forgotten what it means to be hardened,
But even my cells have walls around them
And now I’m as afraid of the ground as I am of the sky
And brave enough to reach into both
And just maybe find some answers in the crust or clouds.

They also came for you in the middle of the night,
But found that you had gone to Buenos Aires.
The Guardia Civil questioned your wife in her home,
Surrounded by your four young children, in loud but respectful tones.

They waved their machine guns about for a while,
But left no visible scars on your children,
Or on your young wife, whom you
Left behind to raise them alone.

You had been a big fish in a little pond,
A successful entrepreneur who made a very good living,
By buying cattle to be raised by those too poor
To buy their own who would raise them for you.

They would graze them, use them to pull their plows
And sell their milk, or use it to feed their too numerous children.  
When they were ready for sale, you would take them to market,
Obtain a fair price for them, and equally split the gains with those who raised them.

All in all, it was a good system that gave you relative wealth,
And gave the poor the means to feed their families and themselves.
You reputation for unwavering honesty and fair dealing made many
Want to raise cattle for you, and many more sought you out to settle disputes.

On matters of contracts and disputed land boundaries your word was law.
The powerless and the powerful trusted your judgment equally and sought you out
To settle their disputes. Your judgment was always accepted as final because
Your fairness and integrity were beyond question. “If Manuel says it, it is so.”

You would honor a bad deal based on a handshake and would rather lose a
Fortune than break your word, even when dealing with those far less honorable
Than yourself. For you a man was only as good as his word, and you knew that the
Greatest legacy you could leave your children was an unsullied name.  

You were frugal beyond need or reason, perhaps because you did not
Want to flaunt your relative wealth when so many had nothing.
It would have offended your social conscience and belied your politics.
Your one extravagance was a great steed, on which no expense was spared.

Though thoughtful, eloquent and soft-spoken, you were not shy about
Sharing your views and took quiet pride in the fact that others listened
When you spoke.  You were an ardent believer in the young republic and
Left of center in your views. When the war came, you were an easy target.

There was no time to take your entire family out of the country, and
You simply had too much to lose—a significant capital ******* in land and
Livestock. So you decided to go to Argentina, having been in the U.S. while
You were single and preferring self exile in a country with a familiar language.

Your wife and children would be fine, sheltered by your capital and by
The good will you had earned. And you were largely right.
Despite your wife’s inexperience, she continued with your business, with the
Help of your son who had both your eye for buying livestock and your good name.

Long years after you had gone, your teenaged son could buy all the cattle he
Wanted at any regional fair on credit, with just a handshake, simply because
He was your son. And for many years, complete strangers would step up offering a
Stern warning to those they believed were trying to cheat your son at the fairs.

“E o fillo do Café.” (He is the son of the Café, a nickname earned by a
Distant relative for to his habit of offering coffee to anyone who visited his
Office at a time when coffee was a luxury). That was enough to stop anyone
Seeking to gain an unfair advantage from dad’s youth and inexperience.

Once in Buenos Aires, though, you were a small fish in a very big pond,
Or, more accurately, a fish on dry land; nobody was impressed by your name,
Your pedigree, your reputation or your way of doing business. You were probably
Mocked for your Galician accent and few listened or cared when you spoke.

You lived in a small room that shared a patio with a little schoolhouse.
You worked nights as a watchman, and tried to sleep during the day while
Children played noisily next door. You made little money since your trade was
Useless in a modern city where trust was a highly devalued currency.

You were an anachronistic curiosity. And you could not return home.
When your son followed you there, he must have broken your heart;
You had expected that he would run your business until your return; but he
Quit school, tired of being called roxo (red) by his military instructors.

It must have been excruciatingly difficult for you.  Dad never got your pain.
Ironically, I think I do, but much too late. Eventually you returned to Spain to
A wife who had faithfully raised your children alone for more than ten years and was
No longer predisposed to unquestioningly view your will as her duty.

Doubtless, you could no more understand that than dad could understand
You. Too much Pain. Too many dreams deferred, mourned, buried and forgotten.
You returned to your beloved Galicia when it was clear you would not be
Persecuted after Generalisimo Franco had mellowed into a relatively benign tyrant.

People were no longer found shot or beaten to death in ditches by the
Side of the road. So you returned home to live out the remainder of your
Days out of place, a caricature of your former self, resting on the brittle,
Crumbling laurels of your pre Civil War self, not broken, but forever bent.

You found a world very different from the one you had built through your
Decency, cunning, and entrepreneurship. And you learned to look around
Before speaking your mind, and spent your remaining days reined in far more
Closely than your old steed, and with no polished silver bit to bite upon.

Ants in formation on a sidewalk,
carrying shreds in their maws,
and releasing it for their brethren to appreciate,
in the cramped tunnels beyond sun's light,
where it is consumed forthright,
unquestioningly and rapidly,
a fervor denying taste or thought,
only frantic static coming from the queen,
to usher in more dirt and leaves,
replacing those yesterday,
dry and forgotten.

Would the song bird's
Sweet melodic tweets
Be as well heard
And as jovially received
If he had no one to please?

Would the mighty ant
Work so ferverously
If he had not a constraint
To honor his Queen unquestioningly?

Would the gentle bee,
Giving life to all of Nature
Pollinate the fruit and the trees
Without the sweetness of the nectar?

Does the sun that gives me warmth,
Shining on my apple cheeks
Bring me bliss with its hearth,
And expect nothing and has no needs?

All of Nature and all of Life
Revolves around fulfillment and pleasure.
Yet the sun, this ball of light,
Has no reason to deliver.

I thank the birds, the bees, and the trees
For giving me this moment of splendor.
Yet they are already well fulfilled -
It is the sun who satisfies our wills
While it burns, oblivious, in its slumber.

Pretentious prize life unwinding splendid endurants

Licentious Khidr illuminates in it neo verse lee

Like In tro vert eyes knott the sea spontaneously

Nature deceives one apple a time returned

When life giveth to empty pleas neatly

Even when don't make sense literally

Follow where poets pout analogy

About How the needy are poorly

Helped up off their knees and

Why wholesome matrimony

Is a holy introvert baldly

Hungry unquestioningly

You'll hear a pop and
a life time of
silence, this malice is unquestioningly
slow. Rapid hand gestures
blur and halt, as the shallow
drifter stumbles
on.
Soft skin
entangles, as your breath fogs my glasses.
A vivid note twangs forever
onward, though this ink quickly
dries.

I've seen you cry one too many times this year.

and it's too late for an apology- but I will say this:

You waited anxiously for nine months for my adoption papers and immigration requirements to make or break the family you wanted to raise. Thank you.

When I came home crying in the ninth grade, begging to change schools because the girls in my class wouldn't stop calling me "*****", you tore up your roots and left all your friends so that you could give me an opportunity to be happy. Thank you.

After you caught me lighting fires in the kitchen during the last stretch of middle school, you dug to the depths of your wallet and entered me in therapy sessions. Thank you.

Midnight of the week I was supposed to go to London, you came down to the bus stop that I was waiting at with all the emergency vehicles. You checked me into a psychiatric hospital as soon as I was released from police custody in the hopes that a clinical environment would help me heal faster. Thank you.

When you found out that I had put myself into a dangerous situation, you locked down my personal things and put passwords and restrictions around me so I would be safe from the predators of this society. Thank you.

All those times I chose not to come home, all those times I locked myself in the bedroom and wouldn't speak- It was guilt. How could I face the one person who has essentially given up everything for me, just to tell her I'd made another mess that she'd have to clean up?

How could I come home to the thought that I'd failed yet again?

How could I say to my mother, who has sacrificed unquestioningly each and every day so that I could have the comfortable life I've lived, that I wasn't able to be the bigger person?

That I lost another friend, that I'd broken a law, that despite the happy home environment she'd done everything she can to create– I still found myself wanting to die at night. That I still couldn't see past the disappointments of my errors.

You've done everything for me without complaint, and on this day I couldn't be ****** enough to even say "good morning."

It's too late for an apology, but I will say this:

I cannot see myself being big enough to support the two of us in the way that you have. I cannot imagine giving up the freedoms and the niceties that you have for me. I cannot grasp the concept of selflessness over selfishness.

Mom, I love you.

Please forgive me for being so difficult.

The days of your infantry
Where all things were always the same
When all eyes were always on you;
Your days when you ****** from the bulging
******* of your mama,
Your days when your glorious promises
Glittered like gold and diamond
Your days of joyous innocence are long
Gone.

You became of age
Your strengths and might
Threaten your mama,
Your Papa couldn't stand your stubbornness
Your friends had to leave,
You're now call Orisa
Ebora ti n fi eje s'omi mu.

Whenever your mama question your arrogance
You turn the road down-upside
Up the fairy flame of fire
She was roasted alive while we all stood and watched
We could not even grace her a goodbye party
Then your Papa died a horrible death
They said Sanponna struck him,
Some said it was Ayilala.

Bode Saadu,
Ogun, Eesu,  
Pleaded on our behalf
Yet, you remained unquestioningly wicked;
When you are happy and you want us to rejoice
With you,
Your banquet is hosted in the village square
Where sun is the special guest of honour
The lid of the pit of hell is uncovered
And the demons would pour out with aprons on their necks:
The event is never much different
-Down the tankers, Up the fairy flames of fire -
Now, your days are grey
Still, your rage is same
You know no forgiveness
You have no compassion
At dawn, the children called you orphan
At dusk, they were roasted like your mama

Everyday we wake with the fear of the unknown
Yet, we cannot stop paying our homage at the
Cemetery near your play ground.
We groan in the chains tied around our necks
And in our agony, we hope that someday, maybe
Your evil days will pass.
But, for now we call you Bode Saadu,
The land of the unknown god.

Even now, my precious Lord,
I’m fully aware of the spiritual bleed
emanating from the wounds of my heart;
despite the ongoing pain, I’ve experienced
that genuine explosion of Your holy seed…

which was planted within the frailty
of this tear-filled, human existence.
Your timeless waves of abundance continue
to inundate the morning cries of sorrow
and to overwhelm my life’s resistance.

The fabric of my heart has been ripped;
from this unseen rupture comes a new flow
of unexpected compassion for Your people.
Draw me ever closer to You, merciful Lord;
position me within Your Kingdom’s plateau.

Allow me to enjoy the boundlessness…
of Your unabated surge of loyal love,
that seeks to unquestioningly consume me,
since I’m free me of sin’s punishment
and covered by Jehovah’s promises from above.
.
.
.
Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Joel 2:12-13

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.

At the swell of music I can fell the intersection of screaming of voices
They, like me, have been waiting for years
The plentitude of the thousands’ cadences
Are for the hunted, are the hunted
United, we stand in. This is unworthy, unworthy
Bestilled, we are here, standing like statues
Quietly, unquestioningly, indebted to ourselves
They said that, they said that: the mother voice
The mother’s voice
Oh, in the change of meter, she laughs and coos the answers
Your answers: we’re eying,
I’m the umpteenth man. Always. To ask,
Uncontented by the simplicity of the question, or the answer
Struggling for its complications, so, at least,
It can be done, it’s yet complete.
Wish against wishes, a silence doesn’t care
Then again, neither does the noise. Neither does the music.
If it were but love that made the moon rise, the moon rises
The ******* moon rises, it would be sorry night
A sorry state of affairs. Rest knowingly, and endure
The calamities of waning stars, twilight, and the coming day,
Marvel in the complexity of speech, and twine my fingers,
We’ll make it through.

I lay down
and let the green chlorophyll
envelope my soul

above, the blue eternity
of the clear Indian summer sky

at my left ear,
some small being,
scuttles about in the moist
hummus of the days decay.

at my right,
the silence of a rock,
quietly mourning
it's separation from the mountain

and underneath me,
grass continues to grow,
oblivious to the oppressive
weight I have laid upon it.
ever relentless ,in the search
for the  warm of the sun...

I smell the hope of the earth
as I lay upon it
and relax into the simply,complex world that lays beneath.
and it unquestioningly,
receives the stress,
that leaches from me...


and in the sky....a bird flies...
                                unencumbered.

it was the first time we met; i was freshly 18.
and that Fiorentino barbuto--i guessed aloud that he was 24.
and he laughed at me, but softly.

i got into this italian's car unquestioningly,
the 'plan A' having been compromised.
Whitney Houston in my ears;
his hand drifting over my thigh;
the gold bracelet on his wrist.

desolate hilltop, well outside city center.
it was nighttime. so many twigs and leaves;
bottle of red;
political conversation;
sitting on two tree stumps;
trying to speak spanish;
city below.

we stood up.
his left hand took me; i bet he bruised me somewhere.
(i had shaved all over, thank god)

he caressed my face with his right,
his thumb dragging against my jaw
as he surely longed for someone who had left,
and i longed for the one i was yet to meet.
i saw the golden lights through my eyes pressed shut.

I tell her sleep…sleep now
There is only the place where love isn’t
and it is dark and quite cold
It’s alright to sleep

Soon enough the war cry will begin anew
Get on with it
Keep on keeping on
Get a move on
All of these and more
Assaulted with cliches she falls in line to avoid the blood letting

Bear witness to the unruly beat of my neglected heart
She beats her wings to battered on the inside of the bars; to no avail
So she sits on her perch and stares out through the thick black lines that separate her vision into columns

love with fangs comes to call occasionally
It will feast gently on her large artery
Just barely tasting the sweetness of lifeblood on the surface
Shuddering in ecstasy in recognizing its preciousness
and in the thrill of the innocent being so shamelessly,
unquestioningly,
trusting;
giving,

blind.  

It drinks willfully from that fount of pure emotion
Lapping up the attention like the syrup of life
But forgets that it’s not the only one that needs feeding
and shuts off the tap when her heart begs refilling of any kind and her wings are tired

scrambling over the wall
retreating to a safe distance to watch the scavengers fly overhead
waiting for her cries to fade

til’ she becomes only a papery shell

Leave me alone maybe means
go away yes but be here
in one call. When the ground beneath you
shakes keep going but turn back when
mud stops being thick.
Avoid getting too lost.
The unknown place after the reed
is off limits. Maybe

I put up the chainlink
because I want the trespass.
But that

way we only go so far.
The hope is that
you’re still an animal
by the end of this abuse,
unquestioningly

returning to the long-haired girl sweeping land with her herding call.
There in a blanket of mist, she stands barefoot and unmoving like a scarecrow.
She moors the cows to her side of silvery dawn.

—unquestioningly
because what is there to ask?
It is known to work, the ancient
Scandinavian song of lure.

In this moment, I love the face of a dead man,
Repeated by chance in the guise of a stranger.

His lips quirk the same way in
Sweet sarcasm,
And in that moment,
Three years beneath the earth scatters,
Ashes to the wind.

And you are here.

His shoulders span the same width
And I know- cupped in my
Needful, grasping palms-
Their touch before I even
Pass a phrase to their owner.

I know, his abrasiveness is softened from a scour
To a pleasant heat
And those who hate it
Love him fiercely, unreasonably, and unquestioningly.

I know this
And yet this man
Is nothing more than a mirage left
In the wake of a fire storm.


After the remnants of goose-flesh have failed to leave my skin
I'll take it.

The rock we forge upon the world,
The slab made of belongings and people,
The place that seems to unquestioningly exist based on feelings of responsibility.
The only schedule we have being barraged with other possibility's. Good and bad.
A realistic windshield outside of which the unknown is kept out.

The jungle planet exists and we stay in circles. Well defined patterns of green blues and purples.
Love work and honor and loss of our lifetimes. Collect in our heads all the yellow and white lines. Green lights and stop signs. Friends and our bloodlines.

Speeding past poison, driving through lightning, electronic storms of the unknown and the frightening.

Our foundations are spaceships as we float through the spaces that pass all the places that we've never known. The difference between us is great and the genius we've built all around us keeps life in our homes.

I don’t want to start this poem out with uncertainty,
But it’s instinctive, you see, and I’m not sure why I’m here.
You ever feel like that?
Returning to the same places, the same people,
Half of them passively accepted, not chosen.
That’s what I feel sometimes when I traverse across a page
With a cursor and impulsive fingers racing across the keyboard.
I’m just a traveler and yeah, I guess there’s glimpses of destinations,
But I don’t have a map.
All I have are my past footsteps.
Collecting pages in the breeze, greedily grasping.
Yeah, there’s no getting off this ship.
This is a place I must return to,
Like a mother’s grave.
I tread lightly, with dignity, knowing there’s purpose
In me arriving and visiting, but sometimes not finding the words to say,
And my throat dries up like a bird’s nest.
At least my fingers are active, they dance.
I come to visit this sacred place, so that when I do visit
The inevitable gravesite with daisies in hand,
I can leave a piece of me that’s a little more permanent,
A little more solidified, love in a glass bottle.
I might not get off this ship, I might very well be stuck in that bottle.
A treasure tossed in the rolling ocean,
Lost in a sea of oblivion.
The waves continue on in their cosmic, rhythmic dance,
Until they, too, forget their purpose.
Until that day, they dance.
Like the planets in their certain spirals.
The world will dance, meaningless, absurd,
Unquestioningly.
Dance how you see fit.

Here we are
Toy soldiers, Barbie dolls
Monopoly money flying off the shelves
As intentions remain disguised,
A rush hour to nowhere.
Suspicion hangs heavy in the air.
Fingerprints of greed upon the land,
Stain the walls and smear every surface,
Tearing our world apart
Entangling us in a labyrinth of lingering agony.
As financial empires crumble and fall,
We tumble towards a dismal crown.

Here we are
A shot heard around the world
Misdirection concocted with twists of propaganda
A sinister plot to keep us quiet
While economic doom looms large,
Forcing us to gasp for breath in its tort.
We are sliding into a sea of hell,
Crafted with a sinister dusk,
Leaving us trapped in uncertainty.
A bipartisan fakery,
A manufactured reprieve of endless war
Bacchanal Celebration of the uniparty,
To keep us all in the duality
Of a totalitarian doomsday cult of our own making,
With ties to the darkest corners,
Where shadows dance in the hue.
Why did George Orwell paint a future so dire
Of totalitarian control, a world on fire?
To blackmail us into believing
We are incapable of repelling it,
Pressuring us to fear, to tyranny.
Wall Street proclaimed, "Greed is good,"
A mantra repeated, understood,
Molding our minds, shaping our views,
Enforcing belief in capitalism's ruse.
Political speech, a vile roast of reality,
A nonsensical tale of deceit,
Yet, within its twisted words,
Makes us struggle to comprehend our reality.
Revelations of a conning government,
Manufactured divisions run deep,
As secrets too dark to keep.
In the chaos of our unraveling,
We grasp for a glimmer of light,
But find ourselves lost in the darkness
Of a world consumed by blight.
Do The Right Thing, a mirror held to our face,
Amid conflict beyond repair.
We consume the lies, a terrible plight,
Believing we're powerless, as they've said.
Free falling into despair
Believing we're powerless as the moments fly by.

Here we are
We've been conned and betrayed.
In the shadows of towering skyscrapers,
Where dreams were once fashioned from thin air,
A secret kleptocracy aims to divide and deceive,
Bleeding us dry, as we unquestioningly believe
In our American uniqueness
Until we start blaming each other
While everything gets worse,
A dysfunctional elite
Building lies around dysfunctions
Inducing us into believing
Our eroding circumstances are our own,
As they steal our lives, forsaking us to atone.
Fake news media informs us to be angry and tribalized,
Daytime television warns our morality is compromised,
Local news instills fear in our neighbors, near and far,
As we celebrate masked actors, forgetting who we are.
Reality Tell-a-Vision doesn't tell our reality,
Preferably, it shows life's hedonistic strife.
Zombie television tells us the public remains our enemy.
Social media floods with existential rife,
With nonsense conspiracy theories and memes abound,
Telling us we're hopeless in a world so unsound.
On a never-ending track,
An all-time high in the belief that we are helpless,
No matter the bubbles we encase,
Bombarded with existential crises in every space,
A surge in apocalyptic film, literature, and games,
Telling us there's no way out of society's flames,
As we buy cans of Liquid Death, in our despair,
And drink Death Coffee to fuel our inner plight,
In this rotten farce, we see no end in sight.
For our entire lives, we've been led astray,
In a world where our strength is fading away,
Divided against itself in a power play so grand,
As we believe we're powerless.
But in the end, we're left alone,
In a world where truth is overthrown.
As we've been brainwashed with silent screams,
We find ourselves constantly shaking down.
Things escalate wildly in a world gone awry
Where Dr. Strangelove teaches us to stop and comply.
In the collapsed towers, nobody stands,
Only masked actors with bloodied hands
As we hurtle towards an inevitable brawl.

Here we are
Investigating the mountain of lies,
We uncover the truth, rotten to the core,
As vicious beasts roam in our streets.
Smoke and mirrors promise miraculous destinies,
But abandoning us stranded, battered, and frail.
In this desperate state of dying slowly,
Words ring true, screaming at us to wake up.
Yet suspicion clouds every intention,
As we ponder the reasons why.
The fabric of society frays at the seams,
As revelations tear through the veil,
Exposing the rot within our midst.
Our lives are a tangled web of deceit.
O say, can you see?
We are drowning in the sea.
On this moon of deception and decay,
We grasp for a semblance of truth,
But find ourselves drowning in the sea.
O say, can you see?
Did we go to the moon?
Why are we drowning in the sea?
Our Statue of Liberty is sinking fast and deep.
O say, can you see?
I'm begging you; can you see?
In the wreckage of shattered dreams,
We find ourselves lost in the debris,
Victims of a grand illusion,
Where reality is uncomfortable to see.
Terrified, yes, but unafraid to tell,
The tale of our time, the ringing knell
Of corruption and deceit,
We rise, we rise; we must rise above
In the name of truth, justice, and love.
O say, can you see?
              Can you see?
              Can you see?

The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
The worst verbal abuse comes from our own tongue.
The most negative influence is the devil on our own shoulder.  
The cruelest judge is the one staring back in the mirror.
The person really withholding the love you need is you.
No one will ever out-do you at playing mind-games.
You must stop doing this to yourself!
The universe is calling you to heal, not to agonize over your mistakes.
Quit overthinking; this is what surrendering really means.
Don't focus on negativity and don't even obsess about "fixing" things or yourself.  
Don't force "positive thinking." These things can be psychological irritants.
Just leave yourself alone!
When you pick at things they never heal.
Just relax and give yourself some time.

Remember that you are the angel of your own life. Look past your ugly thinking;
your fears, mistakes, worries and doubts.
Your struggles seem to be external, but we are always destroyed from the inside out.
The way you transcend your challenges is by listening to the inner-guide within you.
Your good judgment, your discernment, your kind thoughts and your own loving heart — in service of your highest good — is the angel you have been looking for to deliver you.
The moment you accept your own beauty and power is the moment your deliverance beings.

"Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end.
What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such."
— Henry Miller

through a rectangular window
the coldest light of winter.
the whiteness imprisoned
any other color in
the spectrum.
the crusted snow caves way
to jail your steps
unnecessarily.

through the leaded glass window
bare shouldered in the vineyard.
the mulberry light of august.
as though the future
was before us.
A dervishly swirling summer
decants your love
unquestioningly.

through the smoky amber glazing
a storm outside is building.
useless wind lacks clemency.
no wonder love's half-life is blazing.
the broken leaves
sought refuge.
their ashes flutter
helplessly.

through the scope's clear lens
the iridescent ice is breaking.
the world is undiscovered
once again.
osage green iris leaves
or arms that wave off gravity.
someone's love returned,
unexpectedly.

and still I feel infuriated at myself
concerning squandered funds
passively, senselessly, and willingly
surrendered nest egg
to computer hackers
(imposters, jackknifing, and liquidating)
coercing me to forfeit funds,
whereby yours truly (me) blindsided
thru convincing telephonic dialogue
witnessing unquestioned trust

I unquestioningly, unerringly, and unblinkingly
carried out instructions
essentially cadging, depleting, and exhausting,
checking and savings accounts (mine)
courtesy convincing scheme
yoking naïveté (mine)
with FAKE conspiratorial claims
Citizens Bank tellers
linkedin as thieving magpies
(twittering bird brain analogy

hatched courtesy yours truly – me)
once ridiculous ruse beak came obvious,
I never ceased
maligning self as half cracked egghead
repeatedly replaying telephonic scenario
only this time
with home grown perspicacity triumphant
and fraudsters, marauders, and usurpers
harangued, interrogated, and jailed
critiqued, maligned, and whipped
courtesy just law of the land.

Clear as day,
I still recall the bloke
who chose one alias
(probably quite a few
in his bag of tricks)
videlicet Harvey Specter,
he coaxed at least one poor sucker
(the writer of these words)
to fork over his life savings
without yours truly batting an eye,

whose gullibility now legion
among the posse of scoundrels
sharing the ease with which
money plucked out figurative fingers
(like taking candy from a child)
diminishing paucity of integrity,
increasing perspicacity of acuity,
where wool will never
be pulled over my eyes
(ewe can bet my bottom dollar)

against being fleeced,
and now a heightened awareness
a wretched costly life lesson
inflicting a painful financial contusion
additionally severely wrecking, pummeling,
and bruising psyche suddenly woke
keenly alert to the bad to the bone
doggone wicked wily weasel ways
of unrepentant rapscallions.