The wind always ****** me off. Tossing my hair from side to side, and usually on the opposite side the ship is swaying. Always so nauseating. Leaned against the railing I watch my ship mates joke, rough house, and drink. I would describe them as quaint, but Neptune forbid they hear me and I have to explain what another word means. Illiterate ******* . I gave one of them a dictionary one time in hopes they would be inspired. They returned it to me two days later with all the words about *** and female organs underlined and circled. Why do I have to be stuck with these people? Brain cells keep committing suicide every time one of these chumps rabble something to me.

**** it all, here comes one. Just go away, ****. ****, what could he possibly want. Maybe if I lean back now I can just fall into the water and drown. The wind gives me another fist up my nostril by blowing his stench my way. "We be landin' soon! Ye comin' wit us dis time or are ye gunna stay behind and work on your fancy doctor voodoo or trace your ***** in one of your books to **** it to lata?" They all start laughing and whoopin. "Well I need some things, and I can't trust you idiots to bring me anything back besides rotted meat and disgusting women! So I guess I have to get off the boat this time." He made some typical fairy joke toward me and went back to drinking with the others.

The spotter cried his typical thing about seeing land, as if we didn't have eyes to see that massive hunk of blot that isn't water coming toward us. Maybe this time I can get "lost" and never board this ship again. I don't care where I go or do. After she left, it doesn't matter. If I could find some decently witted science wiser, I'd give them my journals and let my soul free from this cursed rock. Until then, my studies are far too important to be lost to these mongrels.

On a brighter note, the island looked to be a dense tropical stage type of island. Perfect! My greatest chance to find some herbs in quite some time. Maybe they will even have a wild large cat these guys can fight. With any luck, it would eat them all then die choking one of their pieces of jewelry or **** it from their various ****** diseases. That would just be heaven. Rid me of these animals and I could get some ingredients from the majestic beast's corpse. Their eyes and blood are good for various mixes. My thought is disrupted by the sweet smell of the isle on the breeze. Sweet sweet hibiscus, we came just at the right time of year. My leg ticks on the ground with excitement. Moments like these make me forget all my misery, the rush of progress. The high of walking back with sacks full of goodies. Rushing to my mortar and pestle. Thank you, Neptune for surfacing such a wonderful place.

The captain's door kicks open as we pull up to shore. "Alright me hearties! Time to do what we do best. Let's go find some meat to eat and some meat to poke!" A cheer from crew erupted. I caught the last boat going to shore. I brought every empty sack and a few various journals to record. Each stroke of the paddle fills me with a little more glee. We all land on shore, but there is a bit of wildness in the air. None of the crew seems to notice. No birds in the area flying by or perched. A pathway of large trees are knocked down. I point out to the captain what I have observed. He gets the wild look in his eye and points over to the path. "This way, boys! We got something big to ****!"

Walking behind the group as I scribble doodles and notes in my journal. A lot of the trees that are downed have large slashes in them. Every now and then we come across and splat of blood or some feathers. The feathers are quite large and colourful. Ahead we can see a clearing to what looks like a cliff range. The lush green ground is now leading into red clay. Large talon prints are starting to appear. The captain leads us in the direction of the prints. As we go further, decomposing carcasses and skeletons litter the path.

Never in a hundred life times would I be prepared for what we were about to see. At the edge of the cliff lies a giant nest, and in it was a pure terror. It's back had more colours then I even fathomed were in existence. It's tail feather alone was larger than our ship. The crew seemed genuinely disturbed. "What the ******* is that?!" yelled one of the crew members. The behemoth was instantly awoken. It stretched it wings and stood up in its nest. The bird turned around and faced us. Holy ******* ****, this thing was some sort of massive giant macaw. Being the size it is, I doubt it eats the kind of pleasant things its cousins consume.

To compensate for being woke up, it looked as if it was going to make a quick meal out of us. This is perfect! Maybe all these idiots will get butchered and I can just slide away. I looked over to the captain, and his eyes were over flowing with wildness. With a saber and flintlock ready, he ordered the charge. With mighty yells they all rush the bird. The giant ***** its wings and uses the gust to blow down the crew. It hops into the air and comes down crushing several members under its blood stained talons. Even with dried, caked clay I could feel the vibrations from his force. The captain takes aim with his flintlock and nails the bird in the left eye. The bird let out a large screech before pecking down and reducing more crew members to a pile of protein and bone.

At this point in the battle, there are only thirteen of us left. ****, that is an unlucky number. Are they going to fluke this and **** that thing? ******* it, I don't want to eat bird for the next few months. I continue to doodle the beast as the battle rages. A quick swipe from his talons eviscerates a few more members. The crew has done nothing more than leave a few cuts on the beast's legs and a few bullets lodged in his plumage. The bird surges into the air in a rage. He quickly snatches up 3 members in each talon and tosses them off the cliffs. Five of us remain including the captain. Swooping down and gobbling up two more members, the captain doesn't even begin to bat an eye. There are only two fighters left. The captain is climbing up the leg of the bird as the last crew member gets pulled apart by the bird. The bird not noticing the captain scaling his back hops toward me. It turns its head so its unwounded eye can see me. The head snaps back to forward face and hops toward me.

The captain is now on top of the beast's head, perfect. I reach my satchel and pull out two full glass bottles. A loud squawk comes from the bird as it prepares to eat to me. I quickly pitch one of the bottles at the head of the bird. The glass cracks on its head and liquid goes all over the bird and the captain. Smoke begins to roll off of them as their flesh drips off their bone. Realizing I won't need the second bottle, I put it away and sit down as the bird's nerves twitch out its last moments of life. What is left of the captain is dripping down the bird. The corpse of my saviour collapses to the side.

Finally, as I deserve to be, I am alone. Alone on a giant island of who knows what else, but for the first time since she left me; I'm smiling. I can work and research in peace, and with any luck someone of worth will discover my remains years later and find my journals. I am left with what I was born with. Nothing, but what lies between ears. I both thank and apologize to you mighty fowl. My all the souls scattered on this island be comforted by my joy.

Love me.

Need me.

Feel me.


Ravish my bones,
Smell my sweet flesh.

Make my hair a mess,
Cherish my curves,
Caress, caress...

Kiss me on my lips,
Passionately press.

Leave me unwounded,
Make me feel **wanted.

I taught her how to handle a
Pellet gun tonight.
Now her eye is black from the
Scope, her fake fingernails chipped
From loading,
And the pine tree nearly stripped from
Cones outside my
Livingroom window, where our
Jägermeister
Cups made little rings on my
Brother's Longfellow hardback
Copy.

The night sky is bright blue this
Time of year in Norway.
Sun never really sets.
I looked up at the brightests spots
Beyond the moon, as she took aim
And fired with a subtle
Psstkh.

"So close," she whispered at the
Unwounded summer evening,
And I smelled her lavender hair
And all the warm outsides
As I thought of satellites and
Discoveries, and how moments
Such as this one would
Always matter
More.

Pick up the strands
Unwounded painstakingly
Making the rope weaker
Hands that held on to it
Now cannot rely on its strength
Weakened bonds may give away
Before it’s too late
Pick up the strands
Let the hands work together
Test its strength
United with passion
Now bonds will be stronger

You know you've been away for long when returning feels wrong
when the rough road you left's a beautiful tarmac
and the roadside lantana Kamara's someone's bed of lilacs
you know it's been ages when you feel nostalgia turning pages
when each bend you negotiate brings tears to your eyes
for the skyline's too storied to have a view of the ranges
so that in disappointment you take deep breaths and sighs
you know an eternity has gone by since you set foot there
when the hugs are a doubt for you wonder if folks still care
when the cute little puppy you left is a scabby old *****
and all you can see are graves at the stead to the alleged old witch
you realise time's past when every view matters
so much so that you open your teary eyes without a twitch
when the grass thatched homesteads are tatters
next to mansions trapped betwixt the so called rich
you tell the beautiful generation's gone when you ain't on foot
when soon as you set foot of what was such a lively place
tears of despondence cascade down your alien face
when you don't know where those who survived relocated
but can at least see tombstones in the distance suffocated
by growing bushes, you try to get close but every plant scratches
and you want a closer look much as every **** itches
you know it's been eons when many gather like a scene of crime
for they don't understand you're mourning for lost time
for those who visited the great beyond in your absence
young and the old attempting to speak English, renaissance
you know it's been a while for unlike the days of the old
only the youth show earnest concern, for they're the bold
they who'll try to explain for the elderly the stranger you're
for them old to realise you're one of their own back from a far
you know you've been away for so long when what was a domicile
is just a piece that couldn't be valued due to many a grave
the revelations hurt yet are given in bits for none's that brave
none's brave enough to relay your family's demise in chronology
and luckily someone has a number you can call thanks to technology,
your youngest sister, left a crying baby now married
realising it's you her feelings are an oxymoron
for she obviously sounds nonchalantly worried
and out of words cause you left her nothing but your stolen crayon
you know you've been away for so long when the moment
you so much prayed for turns into a biting torment
for soon as you walk out your car you become a shoulder to cry on
implying that so much has happened while you were away
yet you're too weakened by changes to keep at bay
where are the rest? you can't help but wonder
how a single decade could mean so much plunder
you know you've been away for so long when you have a novel of sorrow
one which reading could consume more than a tomorrow
when you realise you went to the wrong place or right
for you realise you're on your own childhood bed in the night
the then soft spots feeling so hard while you twist and turn
reminding you of the life you've endured whence you couldn't run
you know you've been  away for a while when you can hardly sleep
but you have room to contemplate the gone decade
laugh, wonder, remember but mostly weep
when you wish you had listened when they said
Arabian money wasn't the picture they painted
you know you've been absent when you wish you could rewind
to erase all those grotesque things they made you do
when you want to move the world back to the unwounded you
the one who wasn't sexually abused and ******* tainted
to save you the excruciating and ugly details
you only realise when deafening's the sound of hails
when you loathe rather than treasure the rain
because all it does is remind you of your pain
when you can't stop for yourself feeling sorry
wishing to speak out to the rest yet too ashamed to tell your story

I

When we are still combating the problem of evil
With our vicious guns and metals of empathy
An invisible enemy much more clever and stealthy
Has been sneaking behind us
Suffocating us with the suddenly plenty
On this battlefield of seeking

We seem to be caught in between
Two grotesque foes, but are we really?
The gloomy autumn sky is covered with change
Perhaps we judged too early, unclearly-
The red leaves fallen with grace of leisure
Have obscured their countenance, and we see
Only a tattered fool holding a scythe of nothing
And a soldier looming with righteous perfection
Yet, perhaps behind their foliage masks
The fool has his brow raised with love and longing
Cherishing his tool for harvesting
While the soldier with his bullets ever ready
Smirks with an air of violence
Perhaps we have failed to distinguish
The unwanted, cleverly disguised humble friend
From the well dressed yet poisoned with greed, foe

II

Where I come from we used to send
The youth not to the land of plenty and above us
But to help the poor, those who after hard work
On the land, lie beneath a clear sky full of stars
Unwounded by the pale light polluting the cities
With nothing but the vast dome of possibility
The moon and specks lighting up nothing
But a heart full of hopes, love, and dream

Now we climb and climb
Till the new sprouts are already at the peak
Or they are struggling under the shadow
Of the giant trees
Unable to find higher climes
Or
Unable to break free from this lack of oxygen
Of the giant canopy of already achieved greatness

III

The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
Was not supposed to be experienced by us
In a couple of generations, in a couple of decades

And the speed of the waves of boom and bust
Of our stability and the longevity of great things
Is only getting faster and faster
In this ocean of constant rise and falling
In this new age
We lift up the logs above us so quickly
And then let them drown so rapidly
We are more like volcanic rocks
With so many holes floating, to ask to be filled
And when fulfilled, drown as we fill, purposeless
And empty

IV

Youth in both poverty and idleness craves for unrest
But those on top should never be opposed with
Proud antagonism
With cries of illusive victory the restless rush towards
The king who tied himself to the top rung of
The wheel fortunae
Who is yet unaware where his inertia leads
Till his destined demise as it turns
To lift up the newly rich
And the new enemy
The vicious cycle of wanting to be above all
When the unwanted truth is glad humility

V

The oak trees stable at its roots, undefeated
Sends us in leaves and birds chirping
A warning to heed that we are losing our depth
In our growth and rooting
For we have rarely seen the valley empty
Yet with all the space to fill with everything
And now live and dream on a slopeless plain
Some with it all and unable to hold anything
Some struggling to breathe under the shades
We are all waning, waning
For our fingers had never dug through the earth of life
With the desperation of the fear of being swarmed
By the dark clouds of timely locusts
Yet,
These wizened words are being scoffed
For being too connected to the past

Are we proposing to cut off the rope
Connecting us to the very beginning
Just so we could get faster to the end
To the depth of this pit
Where no traveler would truly return
Without the past guiding
And we will fall again and again
Ever repeating

VI

I was filled with guilt and despair
That while people are still with next to nothing
With no luxury and sometimes not even family
That when others try to bring them necessities
I can sit in cozy idleness writing poetry
Yet filled with nothing but shame and the empty
In a world less and less occupied with reading
Why I must be a poet sole and wholehearted

And when the missionaries
Send the doves through the screen
Asking for awareness and money
To support these bodies with nothing
I was suddenly filled with hopeless shame and pain
For only one thought echoed from the words said to me
"They have very little material things, yet they seem to be really happy"
And that was the way it used to be
That the suffered and now living with peace
Seems to recall with loving longing
With great sorrow and gladness, I ask you
Is it really monstrous to say they are in a better place than we
They have the most important things
Love, hopes, and dreams
And the nothing waiting to and could be
Filled with anything
While our shaded and sheltered youth
While we hold our cups full
Filled with useless glamorous materials of our own
Or
Constantly poured out for others to keep
Wailing for something more
And lasting

Conclusion:

At the core of our ever-hungry souls
We only really needed one thing:
To be filled with something.

Hopefully more permanently,
But nothing of materialism, or even rationalism
Last more than
A mirage of permanency
Even the century tree of sunset dunes
Eventually sets as whispering dust into the sand
And even the wisest man fades away
Into the senile body whose soul
Has already bid farewell
To this temporary land

I sought and sought
And only found that  
The Word is true
Only Love transcends time and space
The embrace between two condensed hearts
Of pure longing could exert
The gravity
And gravitational time dilation
Of such self-forgetful density
That would wrap entire fabrics of reality
Around us, immersing us, with brief
Merciful revelations and trials
Of the unfathomable
Eternity.

the love and romance.
the years lit by artillery.
the wars.

the men did these wild things. these great grand expressions of love and survival.
they’d damage themselves, bleed while moving furniture.
wood splinters better painted red wet warmth.
they’d notch together plum-cut bricks into
crenulations or walls or cathedrals.
home built.

the women: of an ancient woven fiber
and/or old energy, they’d battle serpents into dark and drunk loneliness.
she conspired for a happy life.

death by the meadow.
old woman remembering young woman and
young man,
now old man approaching.
the world forgets, but we will always have eachother.

remember us youths in proto-revolution.
we didn’t believe in what we did.
we lived a lie.
all america.
dreaming and soap opera.
daytime television blastulas.

the wars are fought early, and fierce.
the wars are won and lost on highschool dancefloors.
highschool blacktops. blackboards. breathy
kissing.
spectral codes of light.

and we bloom outward into livelihoods and
incomes.
timelines.
trenches to crawl from shell-shocked and screaming ****** ******.
or not.
but yes -

the world is built on blisters and scar tissue.
nothing is untouched.
nothing is unwounded.

Watch me mother, how I fly,
How I glide to the sky,
To fetch the star above,
To brighten the stars in your eyes.

Watch me mother, how I sleep,
How I peacefully try to dream,
Of you resting your spent soul,
And drifting to the land of a fragrance, so serene.

Look at me mother, how I smile,
How I cease time for a precious while,
To stare at your tranquil visage,
That makes me believe the world is free from vile.

Look at me mother, how I stand unwounded,
How I strive to make my heart sacred,
As you divinely draw the dawn out of the horizon,
See how I shed my mane of pride and hatred.

Embrace me mother, tonight I am frightened,
My vision is blurred and my day darkened,
Shelter me tonight from these mortal frights,
As I hide in your smile, my hopes brightened.

THE ANGRY WATERS
that recoiled and threatened a tsunami
lie placid now, bacalmed and still
as shiny as a glass topped dining table

THE HOWLING WINDS
that longed to be a hurricane
have settled into zephyrs and soft breezes
that barely riff the petals of the autumn roses

THE RAGING THUNDER
that tried so hard to break the windows
has rolled on and is nothing but a distant echo
that recedes as fast as memories of childbirth pain

THE VICIOUS RAIN
that threatened to go flooding
has slacked off into a gentle winter mist
that wraps the dawning sun in silken haloes

THE VOLCANIC FLAMES
that lept across the sky as lightning
have danced across the hills to other valleys
leaving only ozone to mark where they have been

AND I AM SPARED AND WHOLE
Unwounded and unscarred
Undamaged by their passing
Unscathed in places that should bleed
And safe in who I plan to be
At last the God of Hope
Has noticed me
And offered me
His hand to take
And walk into
Tomorrow.
          ljm

She cried for hours,
On an accident that she recently met,
Devastation and tragedy distressed her,
Her eyes got swollen,
Making it hard for her to see,
Her throat constricted,
With an irregular breathing rate,
Her heart broke,
Bleeding within her body,
A scar on her heart,
It was left unwounded.
Her tears caused a pool of tears,
In which she herself drowned in despair.

hello stranger
i'm love-struck
who are you
in that strange mask
you wore
can I tear it up

are you a lost star
in my constellation pattern
who read my thoughts
touch my soul
with warm caress
n’ bits of kisses

hello stranger
that comes to me
like a lightning bolt
with a thunder blow
my heart got exposed

can i open your heart
as i'm love-struck
and want a look
from the inside

you can enter my heart
tell me what you see

hello stranger
with your glass of grape wine
freshly brewed in the grape farm
toss with mine, we drifters

forever we stay strangers
unwounded  and free

Night brings fright to my delight, where angels and demons fight. While wanderers search for hope, while addicts learn to cope. Soon night takes over, soon death may attack, soon rich become beggars that lack. While Ill thoughts may circle in one's mind, compulsion takes over and what may transpire cannot be unwounded. Walking down dark paths, searching for reasons to live, having the faintest hope that you have an answer to give. What is worse wanting to die or behind dead inside, either way their is no light inside to keep staying bonafide. To be or to not is the question that leaves some so distraught. Desperate times, desperate measures, doesn't matter if your an idiot or if you're clever. Wanting to let go of the lever, wondering if life will ever get better. Isolating and severing off from friends and family, is dangerous because then the story usually ends in tragedy. Suicidal tendencies, depression seeps in, wanting to give in to these darkly whims. Stuck with grim desires, wanting to just give up and set the world on fire. Just mortals longing to be invincible, if only we knew that others think that we are pretty incredible. We long to be free, but we don't know how to be free, we have lost touch with who we used to be. No longer recognize the persons in the mirror, wondering if you'll ever see clearer again, which is one of our greatest fears. To death do I part, from who I was from the start? Walking with Ill thoughts with strange intentions, I think I know why people say I need an intervention.  Walking without a purpose, that night I wanted to end it all because I felt worthless. Night destroys the once firm foundation I once stood on, good thing there were still people in my life that I could lean on. To death do I part I don't even need others to hurt me because I'm already pretty good at breaking my own heart? Felt like I was slipping away into oblivion, for I was a lost soul that once thought he could control this dominion. Is he a coward to die or a coward for wanting to live life that is what I had to ask myself when I was holding that sharp knife! Would I be in hell, would I be in purgatory, would I be heaven, or will there be nothing which would mean I have wasted my life believing in falsified stories. I've seen to much, I've heard to much, am I normal or am I out touch clinging onto beliefs like a crutch. I was so broken, I was so done, and looking over the horizon for hope like it was the sun. To death do I part, though I have missed the mark so many times because I was in the dark! But now light shines so bright upon me, I was once blind but now I can see. The past is the past; I have to forget about my prequel, so that I can start a new sequel. This concludes my Classy interlude thanks for listening to me, but don't worry I'll be back because you can't **** my rap dynasty. To death I shall part ways from, instead I'll be vacationing in the Caribbean drinking some **** good ***.

deep crimson stallion of Mirthern...
the fortress beside Lithlin sea...
the place of my birth and the rites of war...
the mystic hand of a princess,
a touch that healed the unwounded...
the firm embrace of Paris,
such trouble in her soul,
"come run away with me!"
i failed her, and so she perished..

(c) Erik Minas-Gilkes 2009