When there are so many we shall have to mourn,
when grief has been made so public, and exposed
to the critique of a whole epoch
the frailty of our conscience and anguish,

of whom shall we speak? For every day they die
among us, those who were doing us some good,
who knew it was never enough but
hoped to improve a little by living.

Such was this doctor: still at eighty he wished
to think of our life from whose unruliness
so many plausible young futures
with threats or flattery ask obedience,

but his wish was denied him: he closed his eyes
upon that last picture, common to us all,
of problems like relatives gathered
puzzled and jealous about our dying.

For about him till the very end were still
those he had studied, the fauna of the night,
and shades that still waited to enter
the bright circle of his recognition

turned elsewhere with their disappointment as he
was taken away from his life interest
to go back to the earth in London,
an important Jew who died in exile.

Only Hate was happy, hoping to augment
his practice now, and his dingy clientele
who think they can be cured by killing
and covering the garden with ashes.

They are still alive, but in a world he changed
simply by looking back with no false regrets;
all he did was to remember
like the old and be honest like children.

He wasn't clever at all: he merely told
the unhappy Present to recite the Past
like a poetry lesson till sooner
or later it faltered at the line where

long ago the accusations had begun,
and suddenly knew by whom it had been judged,
how rich life had been and how silly,
and was life-forgiven and more humble,

able to approach the Future as a friend
without a wardrobe of excuses, without
a set mask of rectitude or an
embarrassing over-familiar gesture.

No wonder the ancient cultures of conceit
in his technique of unsettlement foresaw
the fall of princes, the collapse of
their lucrative patterns of frustration:

if he succeeded, why, the Generalised Life
would become impossible, the monolith
of State be broken and prevented
the co-operation of avengers.

Of course they called on God, but he went his way
down among the lost people like Dante, down
to the stinking fosse where the injured
lead the ugly life of the rejected,

and showed us what evil is, not, as we thought,
deeds that must be punished, but our lack of faith,
our dishonest mood of denial,
the concupiscence of the oppressor.

If some traces of the autocratic pose,
the paternal strictness he distrusted, still
clung to his utterance and features,
it was a protective coloration

for one who'd lived among enemies so long:
if often he was wrong and, at times, absurd,
to us he is no more a person
now but a whole climate of opinion

under whom we conduct our different lives:
Like weather he can only hinder or help,
the proud can still be proud but find it
a little harder, the tyrant tries to

make do with him but doesn't care for him much:
he quietly surrounds all our habits of growth
and extends, till the tired in even
the remotest miserable duchy

have felt the change in their bones and are cheered
till the child, unlucky in his little State,
some hearth where freedom is excluded,
a hive whose honey is fear and worry,

feels calmer now and somehow assured of escape,
while, as they lie in the grass of our neglect,
so many long-forgotten objects
revealed by his undiscouraged shining

are returned to us and made precious again;
games we had thought we must drop as we grew up,
little noises we dared not laugh at,
faces we made when no one was looking.

But he wishes us more than this. To be free
is often to be lonely. He would unite
the unequal moieties fractured
by our own well-meaning sense of justice,

would restore to the larger the wit and will
the smaller possesses but can only use
for arid disputes, would give back to
the son the mother's richness of feeling:

but he would have us remember most of all
to be enthusiastic over the night,
not only for the sense of wonder
it alone has to offer, but also

because it needs our love. With large sad eyes
its delectable creatures look up and beg
us dumbly to ask them to follow:
they are exiles who long for the future

that lives in our power, they too would rejoice
if allowed to serve enlightenment like him,
even to bear our cry of 'Judas',
as he did and all must bear who serve it.

One rational voice is dumb. Over his grave
the household of Impulse mourns one dearly loved:
sad is Eros, builder of cities,
and weeping anarchic Aphrodite.

Some days I want to be a wild horse
or a gypsy wild and free
Don't put any fence around me
Who would want to tame this
Heart of wild
I just want to be somewhere
Anywhere just not confined

Other days I want to build a house
Build me a home
Build my life around my kids and spouse
Sometimes I can follow the direction of the reins
Even if they do feel like chains
I want to give my all
I am just so scared to answer the call

It seems I want to have my cake
and to eat it too
Its like I have double lives  ~ What am I to do
I want my freedom and I want his time
Cannot divulge all the darkness in my mind
There is beauty in imperfection
and order in the unruliness
I am a walking contradiction
Yes I'm somewhat of a mess
Words rhythm and movement are what I live for
and I can sometimes give up the control
I do what feels right to me
Cause there's a gypsy living in my soul

back when people worked Saturdays,
and there was a Jewish aroma in the air,
where people had only one day
to recuperate, just before the office jobs,
and the mundane trollop of
Saturdays free, Sundays free -
you'd never believe the things that went
on under the iron curtain: later known
as the iron skirt: oh boy, those girls flew
the nest and established a well-knit
web of deceit and lies, but they were
happy housewives in the end...
the men? if not strong enough: expendable;
i'll see in 2 hours, when you finally decide
that theology is half as harsh as Darwinism,
first you want to hear the rational, rude
and crude, then you defend Disney...
make your mind up!
you wouldn't believe what went on under
that iron skirt... they lived their lives glorifying
the Sabbath... because they knew:
if i have two days off, i'll grow lazy,
and the Chinese will sniff out my laziness
and say: **** yeah! bring in the jobs!
and boy! ye-ha! they managed to bank on a swarm
of herring then the west lost its plot
figuring out history with nostalgia,
or the reinvention of the wheel...
dizzy, yuck: *****... repeat, repeat, repeat...
have you noticed how grey-haired western
leaders become in the anglophile sphere?
give them four years, and after that you can call them
grand daddy'oh...  the Soviets? well, i'm like
one of those Napoleonic fetishists,
i care to mind the whip and the guillotine,
why? because some people are so stupid that
it's complimented in their unruliness -
it does't exactly spell out H A R E M...
it usually spells out G Y M...
there's weightlifting with that plump one over here,
oh yeah, she's the late comer, i guess that's
the rowing machine... etc. etc.,
you jealous? i feel like strangling my cat for excesses
in meows - but do you you really think you'll
converse with a communist party member,
apart from reading Trotsky or Marx and simply
daydreaming? you probably will,
i have a contact, i have heard the reality,
i see it too: he's in his seventies and comfortable
with a pension... the state actually exists in his
comfort zone... most of the pensioners in the west
can start their denial of whether or not the state
exists... well... we know McDonald's exists...
but the state, i.e. England, America? i'd put my bets
on Nike first... the state doesn't actually exist for them...
just recently B.H.S. shut down
and the pensions went down the drain...
i wish i was spreading propaganda on purpose,
as if it was my job... i'm just digesting the facts...
you will never become Red when you haven't spoken
to an old-school Red... no point reading Trotsky and
thinking big when ******... sure... pout and pose
your little socialist escapade, turnip shoved up
a badger's ****... that's how it looks to me...
so you really want to be a communist? you know what
that actually means? i know what it means:
a comfortable retired engineer of a steel industry,
i never chose to be a poet, i was expecting chemist,
but i live in a country hell-bent to create as many
entertainers as possible, i don't mean circus antics,
i mean: bore me to death with karaoke -
they'll get one single out after being the village bicycle,
then they'll write a book, and then the n.h.s. will
collapses: what ever happened to the joys of physical
labour? i knew it once, fair game my health sorta
deteriorated without my wanting it to spiral into writing...
but what i was given i exploited...
and the pitched maxim describing the times we live in?
oddly enough from Charles Manson:
everyone's mad these days...
                            the quarter synagogue...
excuse me while i talk to the secular priest (a psychiatrist)...
weaving the trigonometric snail trail of
doubt, deny, doubt, deny, doubt, deny...
                              and that pretty much sums it up -
oh right, only now you hear the truths...
yeah, in the Soviet era people worked Saturdays,
being an atheistic model, in managed to incorporate
all the good bits of Christianity, Judaism, Islam...
the one day's rest fed it, primarily,
because it secured the fact that people could enjoy life
as plumbers, electricians, etc.,
in the west, the extra day means everyone wants or dreams
to be an artist - i think a falling leaf in autumn is
more entertaining than Liberace on steroids
milking the old ladies while hiding his homosexuality...
but that's me... sure, go ahead, go to your little
therapy sessions in protest on Wall St.,
but don't expect me to be there... you all end up
desecrating the statue of liberty: gagged and showcasing
a ***** rather than a torch...
freedom only goes a certain distance: before it just becomes
someone's bling raging exfoliating plight into extortion
and exploitation...
               so, you think you can be a communist?
looks to me that the Chinese are doing alright -
                             i doubt there's a Mongolian sentiment in
them - mind you, the first Communist society,
as canvas for later implementations of the theory?
Mongolia... that's where it started, Mongolia was
the testing ground... and i do love the fact that Islam
doesn't play along to having interest rates...
                 0% APR and other such jingles...
Communism was only "wrong" undermined because
people mentioned Marx was a Jew...
the western powers at be actually preserved Zionism
and kept Zionism and establishing Israel when,
at the same time, undermining Marxism -
no one really mentions that antisemitism: primarily
because the Egyptians think they're Semites...
i think the Egyptians are the greatest plotters known to
man... it was bad enough giving them Christianity
that emerged as Coptic, it's even worse giving them
Islam... someone should have just given them
Pythagoras or something to dwarf the pyramids in terms
of real-estate know-how... a pyramid, but at the centre
a semi-detached English abode / "castle"...
who the **** would ever stress a need for a brotherhood
or man?! i feel no inclination to eat a meal
with those camel jockeys... real person ****, real personal...
and here they come: the grand defenders of
all of mankind... picking cherries of opinion,
choosing what's to be said, what't to not be said,
subsequently what's to be thought, and what's not
to be thought... and if ever a man from the east
was to be convinced about the superiority of western
values... well, it would have to be via a woman...
but since there aren't any about... he's not convinced at all...
and if an opportunity came that a woman would
come about to teach him the superiority of western
values... he'd simply turn around and say: it's too late.

Will write this to counter ugly in all of its forms can we will change we can reel from effects we
Can go to a better place into the heart of a picture a lady an enchantress beguiling from nothing
More than beauty and innocence a tide pool a living riveting showing one woman but all
Women the alluring tastefulness eyes that cause a gentle storm a face that bestows peace
Undefiled we must attend these wayward places like a cottage in the English country side
Covered in ivy the inner sanctuary is a blend of darkness and shadow the very movement of a
Woman engaging withdrawing it is awe inspiring this royalty is possessed by all females their
DNA reads incomparable wistful smitten with delights obscurity is in dwelled with fabrication
Silk satin a man meets a woman moments later talking to a friend you think he has been to a
Fashion show the truth he has nothing softer more elegant exists her portent is the floating of
Clouds endowed enrobed with the telling witching mist like countenance you find you are
Uprooted you are drifting into throes of unpredictability excitement wafts rolls plunges you into
Paths of exquisite wildness that is anchored in many fathoms of emotion stand at the rail of a
Great ship you have no control it runs fast across great waters you’re illuminated by the lightest
Blue a water made magical by the sun striking it in just the right way swayed you stagger under
This ghostly moon silent weeping grips you what world am I possessed by you have found true
And lovely depths of womanhood no other gift would God give to man than this perfection
Honor it and curse any fool that denies her rightful place she is not chattel or a subjected
Servant she is blessed and all she is and can be will be your guide and unending support if you
Are wise and know who stands at your side even the Holy word says her long hair is her glory
You are never mocked when you praise her you are building the hidden treasure up to another
Level you see her and you tremble not knowing why you have made the queen ready to be
Ushered into to her castle and sit next to you on an earthly throne the resplendent light is
Blinding it burns up all impurities something has to begin with intrinsic value to advance beyond
Its beginning stages if a man finds a virtuous woman he has found great riches and she will add
To his stature without measure just a few thoughts on my favorite subject God bless all women
And to those who eyes are brimmed with tears know they are not allowed so you will be cast
Down but they are valued in heaven greater than diamonds they are the liquid transformation
From paths of poverty to the beholding of unmentionable riches you were built with that
Potential any one acts differently to that respect I respectively lay at their door that they are
Unwise and they are falling into unruliness and shame themselves and the true dream they
were created to be

i am fascinated with the unruliness of some girls' hair
the plainness around their eyes
the strangeness of their earrings
the smell of the cigarettes inbetween their fingers

i wonder at their worn brown boots
and slightly crooked teeth
and dry lips
and i think
they are the most beautiful things
i have ever seen
almost untouched
by things that beat me down
like the image of victora's secret underwear
and the world's first super model telling girls their thighs are too fat

i want to be one of those slightly unkempt women
they're like uncaged animals
i want to have what they have

but i am a product of this society
it is too late for me
i am destined to be unsatisfied
forever
i will always hate something about me
even if i don't mean to
i will always wear too much make up
and too low shirts
and preach the mainstream way of life

my fingernails will never be *****.
i will always be merely pretty
i wish i was
interesting

revelation 13:3 so befitting me, a Hollywood plot:
they killed him, but he escaped -
a six round shooter with twelve bullets,
sacrilege of the theatre -
a new matthew 21:12 - expulsion
from the temple -
Jimmy 1:1 - Gaga the Leveller entered
the Hollywood factories and drove
out all who were "acting" and
modelling there. he smashed the cameras,
the props, he ******, then drank gasoline -
scratched his head and uttered:
it is done.
what do you expect?! what sort of acting
is this?! is it acting? take no. 100,
only Jackie Chan can show you excerpts
with the credits rolling, since he's his own
stunt artist - but all those other excerpts
with the credits rolling, forgetting your lines?
what is that?! if this was transformed into
a theatre the audience would be throwing
rotten cabbages tomatoes at the "actors",
Hollywood a viral infection, the only
downfall of Nietzsche was his blatant
ignorance of America, if he cited but one
American, that would be great, but he didn't.
for goodness sake, Palφ Emεrσoν, at least!
hand on my heart: i don't know what possesses
me, i know i'm paying for 10 seconds of
my own stupidity having believed a childhood
friend - but i never wished harm on anyone -
it's such an infuriating sadness, motivational,
of course, but so infuriating - perhaps if i were
normal the brain haemorrhage would be more
evident, the neurologist would not have asked
me to go outside the room when i asked
whether i was mentally ill: 'you're not, and
if someone says you are, they are mentally ill.'
so that's about six psychiatrists on red card,
a dozen people on a yellow card... imagine it:
angry sadness - i don't know what possessed me,
high on marijuana and gullible, sure, but
you're least expecting something like that,
a stranger, a homicide, i could take that, at least
the adrenaline would be there - the suddenly,
i could take that, a Hannibal Lecter whispering
into my ear about shock and ****,
but ******... that's a step up, i don't know
why the serotonin in my brain turned into
adrenaline and caffeine, this regime of not sleeping
one night, drinking myself to a lullaby the next
works well, but time elongates during the nights;
no! i don't know why i'm not a *******,
in the majority of cases people who suffer a
brain haemorrhage are crippled - i know that,
but that explains as much as the myths surrounding
Rasputin... but for ****'s sake, he was schemed
against by aristocrats... this *******
has a father who's a radiologist and a mother
who works in John Lewis at the perfume stand...
what's so ******* aristocratic about that?
it's so ****** annoying, it's as if i was purposively
spared to do something, write something,
anything... it's hardly delusional, i just
can't explain it... like i can't explain the wandering
stars in the night from time to time...
or seeing a lightning bolt without hearing
thunder... seeing the one headed Cerberus in the woods
chasing a rabbit... so many things, alone,
and all the better, the ****** U.F.O.
that was made from φosφorescent light -
my inability to write fiction, living in a country
where not a single poetry book is worth a review
in a newspaper - in a nation that prefers
waterfalls and rivers of sentencing, clear to follow,
cleanly cut, obvious, methodological,
not a whirlpool that ***** you in,
not the sea that overpowers you with
much depth, a storm and general unruliness,
just a waterfall and the easily digested plot,
predictability, a Thomas ******* Hardy novel,
fishing - some øberst-grüppenführer und
generaloberst whispers into the leader's ear:
fake the Luftwaffe attacks, dig a tunnel,
remember the Zeppelins.
you think i like this, this new personality?
cooked up in an ivory tower, hardly interested
in what i could have done prior, manual
labour on roofs? my personality changed so much
that i came to be un-bothered, launched myself
into reading philosophy - and it began with
only one word, negation, from Sartre's
being and nothingness, to my surprise i learnt
he was more than just a novelist, although
in translation from french, a pretty **** thinker.
i can't explain why i'm not crippled,
why they misdiagnosed me as schizoid,
N.H.S. short funding, couldn't get an M.R.I.
scan, had to travel to Poland to get one...
because it all looks great on the outside,
inside, a nanometre difference and pretty
much effects of global warming - remember Newton's
principle, forget this relative cause with no effect;
i mean, we can sit in this space-time parabola
for as long as we want - time happens when
space is indented, ****** obvious, no wonder
time is irrelevant elsewhere, where no physical
object resides, ask Neil Armstrong, i'm sure
he'd like to win 7 Tour de'France titles but later
have a face of a beetroot - or as all chemists say:
why did we bother? why not dope all of them?!
i mean, we've been working on enhancing
human potential everywhere, why not dope
all athletes and get it over and done with -
what's the point of science if you have one
foot in the river and one foot on dry land?
some newspaper columnist still freak out
about people protesting against G.M. foods...
well, let me tell you Jacky Sunshine, i'm
protesting against not doping every athlete,
if you can apply science to your diet, you might
as well apply science to spectator sports -
after all, if you know everyone does it,
then whoever is fitter naturally will still be
fitter with synthetic additives - as in:
we've synthesised enough things to enhance
the possibility, but when it comes to analysing
the situation, it's as if no science was ever engaged,
or if engaged, then left to rot on the scrap heap
of vanity.

I'm I still awake
                          Or maybe
Its my unconscious mind
Yawning
The crickets voice whispers in loud pitch
drop a pin, bet its bang will scare the Rats
I've seen the cloud right from the windows blade
No stars, no moon all dark and wiped out
I'm I still awake
       Or its a dream I can't edit
Feeling a pinch on my elbow
My eye twitching, more like a blink
The dark pales wears off
  

My thoughts streams ahead of me
we both floating towards a direction.
A piece of me flares up in bizarre
Fighting a tug of wars with my Emotions
At the worlds unruliness
The words ve had from the one
That matters
Couldn't hurt more
Though, I hate him less...
               But
A string of jealousy binds me..

Deep down,
I know Some mate in me feels completely at ease
With this words
Coming from him...
                           The respect I owe him
Weighs more.
The Love we share means more
The feelings I get, though a bit bruised
But its never changing

Cos, only my heart can really tell,
The trend at wish it speaks his name...

When stupidity speaks.
We notice.
When idiots talk.
We listen.
Which we see with a certain leader.

When tragedy strikes.
We see all types of hype from all direction.
But one of the dumbest one is arming teachers with guns.

Yes, well intended, but without common sense.
Then again, this illogical logic is coming from an oddity called a president.

Within a moment of unruliness by a student.
We will find instructors going for the gun to control the situation.
Without having the intervention of any principal.
Until they must face the press.

And try to reason the mess.
Yes, with well-intentioned but with a serious type but!

Soon lawsuits will fly.
Cause schools that are public fall under metropolitan rules and regulation.

And this across all the United States nation.

We have bigots teaching in school.
Well, we have all types fools educating our schools.
So what about the best ones?


Who push these bright minds to become someone?

No security measure created or in place.
Can dictate what explosive soul might be ready to explode?
Most schools buzz students and visitors into schools.

Which many news and fools always fail to address.
Just like in past incidents well nuts took a shot at our various presidents.
And they surrounded by the best protectors of security upon this earth.

Oh, well intentions do hold weight.
But sooner or later if teachers are allowed to arm up.
One eventually will cause a serious shooting mistake.

i am stuck here,
stuck in a metal door.
my feelings are numb and have been for quite a long time;
but i can see hers in the unruliness of her curls.
the madness in her eyes shines a light on the darkness in her mind.
she recoils
into herself
a ball of self-pity,
self-hatred
and explosions
of current emotions.

i am stuck here,
stuck in a metal door.
my feelings are numb and have been for quite a long time;
but i can guess his because he boasts about them.
he is staring into the patient's padded cell and claiming that he sleeps in one, too.
his hair is short, so i can't tell if it's messy, if he's lying,
yet i know that someone looking from the outside in has already escaped, he's already flying.


unlike me,
i'm simply trapped in a metal door.

what a beautiful rainbow
all these colors
burning my eyes
turning me into a shadow
smooth like stone
your face is a rock formation
strong as time
for innumerable hours
the waves have polished your face
what a way to breathe deeply
sigh and let out you heart’s suffering
i am crumbling like a tree
bowing on my knees
don’t look at me
turn away you say
forget the images of yesterday
easy for you to say
while those memories
are still etched in my brain
i must find my own solace
in a cup of coffee and a bagel
what a lonely feeling
having no one left to talk to
why are we but figures in a poem
wrapped up in a blanket
sandwiched between
a stuffed dinosaur and a television
walruses deny our company
friend requests are meaningless
we give ourselves value
and take pride in our unruliness
unkempt hair and floppy shoes
the bottomless eyes of the moon
poems abuse our energy
strategies take you by surprise
i am defiant like an ice skater
and stumble like a stewardess
sitting on my meditation cushion
i remember the essence of my breath
drink in this silence
and you will eventually outgrow death
inspect your thoughts
and meticulously comb your actions
in this life there is only static
magic is neutral, active, or passive
dragons breakdance on hourglasses
nowadays fences are tall and meanings are short
are essence is pure but our thoughts are defiled
hot women and frozen dinners
look for secrets beyond the shores
of yesterday's defenses
gifted children dream of freedom
sweep our floors and then are gone by morning
do we ever sit still and wonder
where these meager moments of truth
have wandered off to

This unnerving, unwavering humidity is all enveloping.
I draw a gasping breath but it's makes no depth;
Encased in this thunder cloud waiting for it to break
Trying to be patient but it seems impenetrable
I seek promise in the aftermath -
A new path in its wake.


Let it break. Let it break.
Let the pieces fall where they may
Let it wash away the sins of the sun
Let its downfall be my rising
Let it all become undone.


Another shallow breath barely reaches my lungs
My ribs become rigid - hardly moving;
Serving their purpose as a cage.
I await the storm for my undoing,
I welcome it's unruliness and upheaval
With all its rage.


Let it break. LET IT BREAK!
Let the pieces fall where they may
Let it wash away the sins of the sun
Let its downfall be my rising
Let it all become undone.