Facing the day with upmost pride,
Praising each ray of warm, caring, wonderful sunlight,
No matter the weather, they shine brilliantly, as children of the earth
Being happy about rain, these flowers only grow thankful, for what it's worth
Because these rain drops may look like tears, the scene may be sad,
No sound, but the gentle tapping of the falling water onto the ground,
but a lone standing Helianthus won't feel bad,
For it felt joy in this weather,such can be difficult for some to be found
A mysterious, yet beautiful lense, once the sky opens up a little for the sunlight to travel through again, inviting a rainbow through the sound of wind,
My pessimistic outlook of this weather, the raindrops looking alike tears, changed, through it's brightness, rather don't they look like jewels of some kind ?
My heart won't be drenched by sorrow,
Alike a helianthus, I shall look softly, gently towards the sky,
Towards the azure, ceiling beyond me.

~Umi

When one is in desperate need of sleep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
She is told, to simply count the sheep

If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
I want only to collapse into a dreary heap
When one is desperate need of sleep

She is told, to simply count the sheep
In the waking hour of dawn, weary from Sandman's malevolence
Inexplicable panic begins to seep

With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
Sunshine caresses the houses steep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence

The neighborhood yawns, the birds begin to cheep
Night refuses an acquiescence
When one is in desperate need of sleep

I wish for once, Night and I will come to a complacence
Languid to the point where I will weep
She is told, to simply count the sheep

One wants a gloaming of reposing divulgence
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
When one is in desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep.

( old Irish version)

i. Queen Jane, tá lá atá inniu an lá, an dara bliain mí ourn.

ii. Queen jane, looketh mé ar aghaidh chuig eternity leat.

iii. Queen Jane, ealaín muid mar an gcéanna á s.

iv. Queen Jane, ar feadh an tsaoil chomh maith le; Infinity.

v. Queen Jane, sonas neverending suthain.

vi. Queen Jane, tá a chruthú bás a fháil le sciathán ar síoda.

vii. Queen Jane, gan teorainn flyeth againn ar an Cosmos.

viii. Queen jane, amour ourn 'láidir, TIS lánmhaith.

ix. Féadfaidh na spéir s cairde dúinn, le toast.

x. Dhá mhí sona, an anam mianach, Jane mianach, mianach Reyna.


( English version)

i. Queen Jane, today is the day, ourn second month anniversary.

ii. Queen jane, I looketh forward to an eternity with thee.

iii. Queen Jane, we art the same being's.

iv. Queen Jane, a lifetime plus; infinity.

v. Queen Jane, perpetual neverending happiness.

vi. Queen Jane, immortal creation's with wing's of silk.

vii. Queen Jane, boundless we flyeth the Cosmos.

viii. Queen jane, ourn amour' is strong, tis upmost.

ix. May the heaven's grace us, with a toast.

x. Happy two month's, mine soul, mine Jane, mine reyna.



©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry/hari and Reyna poetry.

Ticking the days off was exciting
Yet became a living nightmare
She’d had an invitation to the ball
She now worried how to get there.

It was the End of Year Fairies Ball
Where the best of the fairies went.
She’d got her gown, her fairy shoes
And had made her rose petal scent.

She had chosen pale green for her dress
And had sewn buttercups to the hem.
Little golden flowers cascaded down her
With tiny leaves still attached to the stem.

She had a buttercup upside down on her head
With golden thread under her chin
Daisies draped from her arms held tight
By a tiny golden wrist pin.

She looked adorable but so did the others
They all looked like a story from a fairytale
Nerves sometimes got the better of her
So the breathing slowed down, a slow exhale.

The buttercup fairy looked divine as she did
Always and mingled, taking her time
She ate raspberry pips and  drank blossom juice
And had her first sample of apple wine.

She sat under an acorn and arranged her wings
A robin provided a pillow for her which was nice
Before he knew it she had fallen to sleep
But was she about to pay the upmost price.

She had missed the best dressed fairy time
When all fairies were judged by the chief elf
Instead this tipsy little fairy fast asleep
And was sitting on a very expensive shelf.

She awoke with the sound of little bells
Announcing the winner of the best dress
She tutted at the robin for not waking her
She as angry because now she was in a mess.

She now wore a face as long as a fiddle
And did not care about anyone or thing
She had prepared for this day since the
Beginning of this year’s spring.

The moral of her story don’t nestle
Next to a naughty little robin with fluffed chest
Otherwise you fall to sleep all afternoon
And then end up seriously depressed.

The buttercup fairy found some comfort
In a super little bar under a mushroom
And smashed her way through too much wine
Which for now ended her doom and gloom.

Staggering her way home in the early hours
Singing over the blackbird’s morning tune
She perched herself under an oak leaf
And slept until the new light of the moon

The family tree is dying
Everyone seems to be lying.
The tree is falling apart,
Everyone stops caring
My family grew from the same roots,
But our branches are growing so far apart.
Everyone is letting this demon into their heart.


I am planting my own tree.
This tree is going to grow in upmost care,
With no one to stare at us.
This tree
I will call my own
Will have strong roots,
Values and traditions.
While the old tree dies away with every bad omen.


This tree will grow with care.
It will grow with every emotion to spare.
I will feed my new tree with genuine love and understanding,
No more fighting.
No more judging.
Just pure patience
Our branches will grow intertwined.
The roots go deep into the ground,
Tons of people in so many places.
But the past is dying.
The traditions are dying like a malnourished plant.
I cannot believe how low this tree is coming.’
These roots which grew deep
Are soaking in poison
Feeding the poison through the tree,
And affecting the modern members.
Anger the only root.
These roots are becoming ghosts.
They watch us.
Our moves.
Our actions.
My family is not a family.
These roots which was so deep are killing us at the top
Our lives falling like leaves in the fall.
I know that I want to make a new tree.
But let it not be in vein.
I will learn from this old tree,
An old mentor,
Who lived a life most unsatisfied.
This new life starts at 18,
Carving my name at the beginning,
And as I live,
I will see the sapling grow,
While watching the other tree die.
Its pain is my gain,
Because I am learning the tricks of the trade,
I am learning how to escape the grips of anger,
The accuser who condemned my family for generations.
I will break free,
Grow with the tree.

My family’s branches are high, but alas far.
They are becoming separated, but I am young and watching.
They say that your life is set by your parents,
But I am not fueled by abusive fire,
I have grown past them,
I have thrown this virus of the tree away.
I am not going to fix their problems,
But I am growing my own success,
My future.
This sapling here,
The seed to be birthed,
It is going to grow,
So tall.
These notes I have scribbled,
Will lead to the happiness of my child,
The contentness of my wife,
The success of the spawn of us.
This tree is going to take a long time to grow.
It will learn from its mistakes as its predecessor did not.
It will be tall.
Making this broken tree nothing more than a shell,
This life,
This tree.
It is going to be free.
The sickening evil for blood with dry up,
The new tree will feed on smiles and happiness,
And out will sprout
The family,
I have always hoped for.

But this hope started somewhere.
This hope I birthed had pain.
It is a spawn of abuse.
Which seems to be the main cause for the old tree to dig so deep.
The anger of the leader spread somewhere,
And though not everyone is the cause,
We were ALL effected.
It took our values
Pushed them to the depths of hell
And left a chilling heat of anger and hate,
And though this is a debate,
Our family’s trajectory is going straight to hell,
Back to the man who gave us anger.
I cry today,
For those who were consumed by the darkness.
I feel sorry for those in the tree who did not reach for the sun,
Who did not fight for the family,
Who did not fight the urge to inflict pain.
A sad thing indeed,
But this is why I have the need
To start again.
This is why this life,
This current tree
Just isn’t working.
I’m tired of being fed hate.
It not too late.
My tree is going to grow strong.
It’s starting now,
Here
Today
It always has been.
I was superglued to someone else’s tree.
Taught their values.
Taught their insecurities and told they were my own.
But the forbidden word.
No.
Is becoming my advocate.
I will reach for the sun.
I vow to encourage
I vow to take what is rightfully mine.
I vow to start anew.
Make this tree reach high.
This new tree will never know the “Mendoza” way of things.
This new tree
Started by a sad situation
And a definite resolution
Is becoming truth.
I may have grew up in the poison,
But more and more ii have found a cure,
Immune to anger
To hate
I have found that these roots of their tree,
Which has poisoned each twig,
Has one fault.
It never tried to reach for the sun.
So I,
I take this,
And I make this my own.
This house is not my home,
But things will bend
And I will break,
And start anew.
I will live to see my family flourish.
As its predecessor did not

In many ways we are all simply children,
Age has no barrier does it?
They say it's an individual's state of mind.
Wrinkles are merely character
Grey hair? I'm waiting for the next color to come in. Hoping for Pink...

I think I can refuse to submit to OLD.
I reach back to a 1970 Chicago Tanglewood concert on YouTube.
Was it REALLY 45 years ago?
Does anyone really know what time it is?

Ok, I know I'm biding my time.
I lost my friend last year,
And just before he passed, just before his last breath...
I convinced him that life doesn't end here!

Journey on my brother , journey to the next dimension.
Hug our loved ones..give my upmost love to my Mom & Dad
I KNOW you are there in a distant galaxy because
I can hear you whisper..."he was right".

I love you Buddy!

When I discovered I had cancer,
I was told that I would learn a lot
About Life and Death and Time,
But I never thought that I would
Discover what it means
To be intimate
With strangers,
Or anyone, for that matter.

When my insides were cut open like a game of operation,
I told myself:
Be detached.
When visitors came,
We talked about the weather.

When I arrived home, I spent my time
Trying to forget
The experience
Of impermanence
And shared emotions
That I couldn't even grapple with
Myself.

When the person I loved
Left me
I flinched
And then sunk back into an abyss of
Emotionless functioning,
Cutting myself further and further
Off from my narrative
Of pain.

When it was time to go back to school,
I flinched
And signed up for a workload
Heavy enough
To push out the fading reality
Of my condition.

It wasn't until I was sitting on the steps
Outside of a bar that was slowly beginning
To empty out,
As intoxicated shadows gained substance and lit cigarettes against the brick wall.
I sunk down next to friend I had recently met-
My big t shirt inched up above my abdomen
And the lower jagged mark of my scar
Peeked out-

I didn't choose to tell him my story
Until he asked me about the obvious
Stale incison mark that had a presence
Of its own.
Piece by piece, it peeled itself from off my stomach
And liquified into a sequence of events
And feelings
That poured from me
Like a stream of bubbling bath water
Overflowing from the rim
Of a porcelain tub.

That's when I realized that there is something shared and intimate about scars:
Marred reminders of the flesh
That speak to our upmost human
Encounters with our own mortality.
An indecipherable label of sorts:
An unsigned invitation into the taboo.

In a moment of unintentional word *****
At 2am to a stranger,
I regained my intimacy with myself
And my journey.
I learned that while Life and Death and Time
Will always plague our existence,
They distance us from the human experience that is
To feel:

To feel everything in this God forsaken world.
To feel angry at people for leaving when they should have stayed.
To feel compassion at the same time.
To feel intimacy with others.
To feel intimacy with yourself.
To feel love.
To feel pain.
To feel the cold creases in the wooden floor as you make your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
To feel alone.
To feel surrounded.
To feel the trembling echoes of the past and be able to grab its elusive coattails and shake away the dusty remnants of time and shout that you are present.

To feel nothing.

Parents, teachers, guardians, all authority figures
have put this importance
this upmost importance
on the loss of innocence
but they have not stood in the shoes of the teenagers of this age
the teenagers who have lost their innocence
(or if you are apart of the lucky group you are on the cusp of losing it)
its not just the physical aspect
in fact it has nothing to do with having *** at all
losing your innocence is much much more.
Its the first time you see your mom popping pills through the crack in the door
its the first time your own sister steals from you so she can fund her ****** habit
its the first time you get slapped
its the first time you slap someone
its the first time you turn to music, or books, or drugs, or drinking just to get out of your own head
its the first time you'll do anything to be numb for a little while
but its not just the bad stuff
no its beautiful too
its that night you got drunk and sat on your back in the grass and had a conversation with the stars
its looking at that lopsided smile, that dimple, and that chipped tooth and feeling something
its making the wrong decision on purpose because you just need the distraction
so basically what i'm saying is the loss of innocence isn't all bad and it isn't all good
but its something that happens to all of us
theres no defining moment
theres no epiphany where you feel the loss like something physical
its not real or tangible
and its not the same for everybody
for her its standing over her moms casket
for him its when he shot up that first time
for me its all the good and the bad that i wrote down and spit out in this poem
And for you... well thats what you have to figure out.

“Listen here buds”
I’m not going to
**** around
or hold back
or try to even the score
and in return
“Don’t **** with me”
“moooore”*

This is an ode to ol' Stuart
Or Brandon
Or Stubacca
Or Bongshit
Whatever you want to call him
Call him it
Conflict
Resolution
Resided
In Penta rips
I reminisce
Too **** often
That’s what I am here to admit

I guess that is the purpose of this poem
Is to make all the apologies
I left unsaid
And to leave all the unsaid
slights behind

Because in my mind,
I was not a good roommate
And you weren’t either
But our insult based arguments would deflate
Recognizing we were both underachievers
Two ******* calling the kettle black
Denzel Washington Movies
And Back
In Quail
Room 1514
Was a “Kozy Shack”
Was not for the weak
Lungs
The haziest of all hostels
A blaze fest
A Bro-out Brothel
"OB Get the ******* door!"
"And don't forget to lock and towel"
Escape from the real world
Into the mythical Qualcation

The Adherol - know it alls
3 Pills of dex – 45 minutes crushed text
Book and and back when we were hooked
  “This **** is just like doing M”
Thank christ for all your friends in MGMT
As it didn’t stop you from copying them
Mr. Rintoul had bigger fish to fry

And I was frying them
because the kitchen was foreign
So at 4 in
The mornin’
I’d be cookin’ creative
Broke *** creations
Cause stomach pains
Are a serious disease

Please
Don’t take
This poem
The wrong way
Because back in the day
Are the days I miss the most
We played host
To a family of friends
Anyone would want to boast

Thank you for reminding me it was your birthday
Every ******* year
Every elaborate party
You deserved
No Hissy fit was unwarranted
Speaking on behalf of a floor Matt
You know the one you parented
The upmost respect remains
For papa Stewie

And when I got my dewy
I got a few hugs of sympathy
While you laughed in my ******* face
And when you couldn’t find a roommate
I happily took that place
And when I left movie night in the trailer
To go do slam poetry at a talent show
You made me feel so out of place
And when I returned with my 100$ winnings
You were the first person I bought a pilsner case

The fact that you never made the break through
To see the majority of the time
We were laughing at you not with you
Doesn’t seem to be an issue
Because maybe you did know all along
Staying in check
Punishing us
stoner massages
That could break necks

Now these days with a real job that really pays
Stuart Rintoul will still tell you he is LiViN’
Even - If he is stuck in Edmonton
This separation
“Is horseshit”

Let me state it one last time old pal
This poem is not meant to offend
And deep down from Roses to the Corral
I hope you bang all my ex girlfriends

I should have never left you all those times for *******
Or in the words of Tuner “PP!”
I should have stayed and watched Blade 3

To all those
who really knew Stu
It was really me
eating all the peanut butter
by the spoon
But blaming it on you
Was too opportune

Stu,
You are
******* clutch
******* decent
And so ******* “chitty”

You were the best friend
I should have never asked for
And for this
I will never
**** with you
Any
“mooooore”

I’m writing this poem at 2:21 am on December 31st
Sunday night, or maybe you consider that a Monday morning
And a country song just came on the radio
And I couldn’t help but to think about how much I hate country music
I hate the stereotypical voice the singer always sings,
And the predictable pattern of strung guitar strings
So at 2:24 am, on December 31st, Sunday night/Monday morning…

I started to wonder if you liked country music
I started to wonder if you owned a pair of cowboy boots or believed boots were tacky
I wonder what your definition of “tacky” is
If “tacky” even exist in you vocabulary
I wondered where you get your vocabulary
Did your mom raise you to believe that words would be your greatest ally
Was she raised with more than one language
I wonder what your ancestor’s native language was
And if it was ripped out of their tongues from history books
What stories were told from those tongues that history could never tell
I wonder what kind of stories you’ve carved in lover’s mouths with just your tongue.
I wonder if you’ll ever paintings carved into your skin at tattoo parlors
If you’d get something tacky or a portrait of a loved one
I wondered if you’ve ever lost someone
I wonder if you’ve ever lost yourself
If you did, where did you find yourself?
Did you find yourself in your palms over bent knees
That kissed the ground that at one time kissed your feet.

I wonder when the next we’ll meet.
I wonder when I’ll meet your best friend. What stories she will tell me.
If she ever gets scared you’ll replace her with me
And if I’ll ever have to tell her she’s irreplaceable
I wonder what’s your favorite places you’ve been to
The places that made you smile to our human anatomy’s upmost potential
I wonder how much you know about your own human anatomy
I wonder if you know that an average heartbeats 100,00 times a day
Pumping almost 2,000 gallons of blood through it’s chambers
Over a 70 year life span, that adds up to about 2.5 billion heartbeats
And sitting here, just wondering about you– you made me skip a few

It’s now 3:07 am
And I’m wonderin’ if you ever wondered what it would be like to be loved by a poet
To have your body be put to words and your words be put up against my body
And have lips match figurative language to the figure of your body
And write love poems on your cheek
And I wonder, if you even consider me a poet

What are the events in life that you consider poetic?
If your life was a poem, what kind of poem would your
8th grade English teacher categorize it as?
I wonder if you asked her a lot of questions
I wonder if you were a curious child
If you’re ever curious about me
If you’ve ever wondered if I thought you were wonderful
If my mind ever wanders while I wonder about you
And if I could ever weaver it back

At 3:21 am, December 31st, Sunday night, Monday morning
I’m wondering if you’re wondering about me.
If I asked a lot of questions as a child
If I ever used poetry to make love
If I count my heartbeats in my sleep
Or wonder what kind of grades I got in my 11th grade human anatomy class
Or where my ancestors were lost in this world in history pages
Or if you ever wonder if I’ve ever lost myself, but more recently, if I’ve ever lost my mind

I wonder if you wonder if I consider myself a poet.
I wonder, if at 3:27 am, if you’re awake too,
Wondering if I like country music.

Oh, here I am confined to the walls of my sadness!
I am lean and weary,
my heart thin and dreary.
Oh, how I've longt to wander yon mountainous hills again,
this time with thee,
descending the steeps, our bare foots brushing against the heath beneath
blending into the hilly surroundings
under the laughter of the joyful heavens -
o how riveting the bank underneath shall be!
O how delicacy shall reign my frame abruptly -
bequeathing its foreign spirit gladly,
so that I am showered with its frantic idyll
with adversity whose love can never forget!
O how this joy shall conquer any rivers of indignation,
drive their disdained yoke away
along with those conceited tears
of sullenness, hatred, and amorous gluttony!
But unreachable art thou!
O Kozarev, my prince, sole prince in these silent wintry dreams,
how thou appeareth like a gleaming apparition,
soothing my reposes, making whose armours complete,
with smiles can bear all my gloominess away,
whose lovely jests are warmth to my soul, my yearning and choking soul,
in the deathlike bursts of this misty day!
O Kozarev, in today's laborious air I shall think of thee,
thy stately figure, thy youth of ardour!
Thy grin the star to the fading sun;
thy words that calmeth sorrow; and sendth thrills through my bones!
O mumbling lips, o trembling horns!
My little treasure, if only thou could hear my earnest longing
my very earnest desire; sincere yet tempestuous
that I shalt lift my hands around thee
Just how those rocks stand firm on the glaring sea
Cheers in its coldness; praises its bland waviness
Like a small boat unyielding to the melodious storm
when the last harmony is no longer sounding!
O, how I long to share this fondness with thee!
Kozarev, my demure pleasure, my belated fate!
My firing snow, my blazing sun,
the handsomest flower of my being!
My lithe little heart might be of nothing to thee
I am unworthy, yet I yearn for thee so willingly!
Kozarev, amidst the rolls of my dreams I devour thee,
wherein dwells the upmost of our affection
and sits our sheepish little village!
And adjacent to the gentle fireside
upon our wooden squeaking chair
brimmed with love, smeared with laughs
I should rock by thee
sew thee into my very own loveliness
and ****** thy grace
to the faint redness of my lips.

Each ripple at her shore perfect , every panfish feeding just below the surface held with upmost respect ..
A repository of turbulent waters awarded peace , a placid impoundment delivering solace to all it's fortunate recipients ..
Canadian Geese are quite familiar with her charms , bullfrogs and killdeer speak of her beauty with Summer songs ..
The calls of numerous songbirds fill the Springtime air , Largemouth Bass crash at the top of the water , breaking the afternoon silence ..
Georgia Pines shade her Northern front , blackberry thickets just beyond the Western shore , Blue Herons quietly forage in the shallow waters , she is the emboldened mother of countless natural wonders* ...

I believe that one of the most important pieces of advice I can give to children is to find your passion. Find it and send it soaring to the highest points of your mind. It does not matter the passion and it does not matter how liked by others it is. Art, writing, sports, music, science, whatever. If it makes you feel alive every time you indulge in it then never let it go. It will be your hand in hard times and good times alike. Never spend your life moving so fast that you have no passionate memories to speak of. Live! And do it with the upmost optimism and enjoyment. Live so you leave this world with peace of mind and fulfillment.

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro

Love Overcomes
Love Becomes
Hate Never Prevails
Hate Always Fails
Upmost Sincere
Bonafide My Dear
Always Faithful
Simply Truthful
Stay Positive
Refuse Negative
Beauty Fades Away
Inner Beauty Pays The Way
Nobody Is Perfect
I Completely Understand
My Hearts In Abyss
Journeyed In A Twist
Clenching My Teeth
Trapped Beneathe
Ground Level By The Devil
A Rebel Fighting Off These Demons
Surviving Every Season
The Climate Is The Reason
Stipulating Treason
My Love Still Lives On
After Whats Said & Done
I'm Staying The Same
No Fun & Games
My Hearts Wide Open
Truth I Have Spoken
I Went & Came Back
Lost From The Tracks
A Blurry Vision
A Bias Collision
Nevertheless I'm In It For The Best
As You Rest On My Chest
You Whispered I'm The Best
Be Aware I'm Always There
Ready To Catch You
As You Fall I'm Right Beside You
My Words Are True
Smile When You Feeling Blue
Keep In Mind Someone Cares
When Your Alone & No Ones There
I Love You With Words & Actions
I Love You With Heart & Soul
I Love You With Mind & Body
One Of A Kind Like Nobody...

Oh, let me not serve so, as those men serve
Whom honour’s smokes at once fatten and starve;
Poorly enrich’t with great men’s words or looks;
Nor so write my name in thy loving books
As those idolatrous flatterers, which still
Their Prince’s styles, with many realms fulfil
Whence they no tribute have, and where no sway.
Such services I offer as shall pay
Themselves, I hate dead names: Oh then let me
Favourite in Ordinary, or no favourite be.
When my soul was in her own body sheathed,
Nor yet by oaths betrothed, nor kisses breathed
Into my Purgatory, faithless thee,
Thy heart seemed wax, and steel thy constancy:
So, careless flowers strowed on the waters face
The curled whirlpools ****, smack, and embrace,
Yet drown them; so, the taper’s beamy eye
Amorously twinkling beckons the giddy fly,
Yet burns his wings; and such the devil is,
Scarce visiting them who are entirely his.
When I behold a stream which, from the spring,
Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring,
Or in a speechless slumber, calmly ride
Her wedded channels’ *****, and then chide
And bend her brows, and swell if any bough
Do but stoop down, or kiss her upmost brow:
Yet, if her often gnawing kisses win
The traiterous bank to gape, and let her in,
She rusheth violently, and doth divorce
Her from her native, and her long-kept course,
And roars, and braves it, and in gallant scorn,
In flattering eddies promising retorn,
She flouts the channel, who thenceforth is dry;
Then say I, That is she, and this am I.
Yet let not thy deep bitterness beget
Careless despair in me, for that will whet
My mind to scorn; and Oh, love dulled with pain
Was ne’er so wise, nor well armed as disdain.
Then with new eyes I shall survey thee, and spy
Death in thy cheeks, and darkness in thine eye.
Though hope bred faith and love: thus taught, I shall,
As nations do from Rome, from thy love fall.
My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly
I will renounce thy dalliance: and when I
Am the recusant, in that resolute state,
What hurts it me to be excommunicate?

And when I see her, my grin becomes a smile quickly…
A simple reaction actually, her smile is contagious
So even when I’m upset I become afflicted
And I love that but when we trade places
No matter how much I try, nothing seems effective
So I’m afraid she’ll get tired, get up and leave
That’s why I despise getting close, I hate deceit
Believing in something when it’s really nothing
And sure you may think I’m ruled by negativity
But in reality I’m cautious,
Simply trying to protect my positivity…
My heart seamlessly intertwined with these words creates sustainability
These words combined with my thoughts create invincibility
All of those previous things combined with my soul create vulnerability
Because writing brings me reassurance
But it doesn’t quite fix things
That’s what’s left for me to do
Then again, that’s only if I’m allowed to…
Now patience is a virtue I’m not quite familiar with
But I’ve become more familiar, in time, with you
Granted patience wasn’t the answer
Rather it was as simple as accepting what I already knew
Certain things are too good to be true
Now regardless of what’s occurred
We’ll get passed it because you mean way too much to lose
And clearly we’ve had our issues
But I couldn’t forget you even if I had the option to choose
Believe that,
The same way you should believe I have the upmost respect for you
So please forgive me for any vulgarity or offense that I may commit
Because you know me and disrespecting any female is the furthest thing from my wish
But what I do wish is that this distance between us doesn’t last
It just isn’t worth it…

-Jimmy Desire

His sheets are now marked
As her territory,
A territory that'll only be conquered
For the night.

In the morning,
There will be fussing because
When the sun rises, so do the questions
Of Reality;
The statements of cynicism and lies.

She'll try to maintain her place.. With
His body on hers,
Not an inch seen of personal space;
Ready to claim what is now hers
As His.

Her justifications
Her pleading eyes
Her lips drenched with temptation
His mind racing wanting to get the deed
Signed in the upmost speed of time
Her hesitation warming her up all the more
But he doesn't care because he's
Conquered and reconquered
Many bodies of land before.

They look and see
The quiet surface of me,
Slight waves of personality.

They don't know what I hide
How strong my tide.
The depth of my sea,
They simply cannot see.

They will never be
able to swim to my depths,
or reach my upmost steps
Couldn't possibly stay afloat when I've wept.

To see what lives in the deep darkness of me,
There is not enough breath to explore beneath chest.

I am a labyrinth.. I confess.

You could say i was weak for telling the truth,
Or naive for letting myself love you.
You could say i was silly to not play it cool,
Or completely pathetic for admitting my weakness was you.

But in the age where being heartless is romanticised,
I wont let my vulnerable honesty be capsized.
For it is exactly what this world needs,
Understanding that unrequited love doesnt have to bring you to your knees.

Don't become calculated like the ones who hurt you before,
For in love it will never last if you have to keep score.
Dont let heartbreak rob you of your openness,  
Here lies youre upmost innocence.

I remember the days of rambling aimless down beaches naked of past and frozen in present with zero regard for future. I remember the smell and sound of ocean cracking against shore in broken fragments of bop rhythm. I can still recall faces of people I never met and still hear the voices of closest friends and lovers and strangers and pets who came to the forefront of my reality and then vanished into the wind with nothing more than a simple note to say goodbye. I can recall the trips down coast routes in cars, borrowed from nobodies for a time to get from A to B without worrying about starvation or getting lost - with the mystical island rocks deep in sea, poking through the surface to greet the eye with asymmetrical wonder. The seals on abandoned sands, moaning for death and sinning with boredom and sheer laziness of the upmost amplitude. I can remember standing on roadside, sticking out thumb, smiling, and catching rides within a minute by the most incredible of characters to wander together through the paved isles of earthly human veins of vanity transport. I can remember remembering memories that have faded into silk dreams of past-life same-form consciousness that only surface from time to time to whisper sweet proverbs of sage and true light - I remember forgetting nothing and carrying on to see if anything actually matters in the grand scope of pearly eyes of cosmic vision - I remember, I remember, I remember.

Standing on the edge of despair
my life spiraling out of control
I call out to the one above
who knows me better than I know myself
Spiritually down I called to the upmost high
Asking the Lord for his grace and mercy
Drained I go bout my day my shoulders a lot lighter
already feeling burdens being lifted
Letting him do his will realizing I couldnt do it by myself
When I let go and let God
Things in my life started changing for the better
Things begin to make since again
Doors opened that I thought were closed to me
As I praised and gave thanks to the one who made it possible
I looked at my life and determined
the reason why things are the way they were
I had lost my way and my faith had waivered
Not doing the things I knew i needed to do
with out prayer and work I was allowing the devil
to dictate my life with chaos and confusion
Leaving destruction in my path
As I look back on my life recognizing all the miracles
and things that he had his hand in
Reconfirming that God can do all things.

A lowly wooden bench lent itself to a lonesome aged narrow man in a common garden in the smallest hour of the day’s beginning. In the thick haze of the summer’s waking light the common is thinly met with the company of others. Just an old man and his acquainted bench who came to give his eyes sight to the grass and trees, and to rid himself of thought.
He and the bench creak as he sits back; clutching at the satchel veiled among his dull drudged garb that bleeds into his pallid slack and cracked skin.
The wiry hairs bushed around his nostrils recoil to the deep inhale before the sigh, his yawning blue eyes sliding behind a milky glaze follow a bushy tailed rodent hurry into the confidence of a tree.
Through all nonchalance a pair of hobgoblin lugs under a brown woollen hat slides up the flanks of his head to outlying drowned tones of laddish laughs and lewd levity, an unseen clutch of kids filling the common’s spread with their foolish louting prances. Intimidating the preferred and performed with their innocuous idiocies; a mere asocial array of follies without the thought of good manner.
The thoughts of the old man are only briefly drawn; his ears leave the sounds of reckless recreation and back to the hushing song of the swaying grass, the rustling shake of the seasoned leaves on gorged and drooping branches. To his own wilted waning heart, the tremors, quiver and shivers within his own cage, his thoughts turned to his own temporal passage and to the re-joining of his love, of whom no longer lays her head on his shoulder, whom no longer wraps herself around his arm on the lowly park bench.
His lowest lip gives to an emotive tremble as he heaves himself over to the hem of the seat, his hands without any other part to play; frenetically tickle one another with frail kinked fingers.
With what little his body has left to give the eyes well to the upmost point of a tear, as he feels the weight of his wallet in his side trouser pocket against the rough of his skin. Where there within lays an image of a most loved face in a prized time, so that it may be remembered so it may fetch ease to a remittent floundering morsel of a man who could justly with the dead.
The photograph within his keeping need not be looked upon from under the shine of a laminated holding; it needs only to be there, only to be known that it is there.
The satchel was undid and fetched from within the clutter came an elderly notebook now held in his hands. A phlegmy husk of something said breeches his gummy chops, and he spits as he spat shouting out at the still of the garden.
“You should always write more than you do,” she would say, “you are better for it when you do and it lifts me as it does you, when you do.”
The old man reads from the notebook with a weak hate for the world.

“Am I for the worms yet? Am I to be from this rock?
Am I not yet too mad for this mad maddening world?
Four corners of an empty house, a homeless place of curling wallpaper and aloneness for company.
A room in a vagrant house with no light to fill it with a decrepit fool for a keeper
His stink stinks the walls for days as the blow flies form a speckled haze as they feast in filth of his unnoticed demise
With no manner of intention and for relation or friend, there is no cause and no mention for any to attend
He will rot with the house and his memory with it, with his memory does his love die and together they are ghosts in a world where ghosts do not exist.”

The old man pauses as he forcibly triggers one finger to his temple and ***** in his lips. His empty cries fall to a mumble as his hands tremble with his dear notebook in their grasp.

“Take me now cruel are the fates, take me now and rid me
The worms will welcome me, my flesh for an endless night
My life for a world without this life, for a life without his world
I would hold with a brim smile if it was not for my memory of her, if she was not to be lost at the close of this stint
I know not or want knowledge; I seek not of a design and not of meaning
Just a cure for this affliction for my must to her who brings me so much sorrow
Through blissful ages I can no longer hold, and can barely recall
We are all just people who will soon be once living, to be unlived and to forget is a conflict in myself
I have no answer as I have no question, you can have no answer to a question you do not seek nor ask
I dare not speak but I have no end for this, I have no solace and I have no end.”
The old man; the poor old man began to close his dear aged notebook and find the need to bring a smile, perhaps a moment of lunacy to calm the tightening knot beneath his breast.
He pulled a scratching cackle from the pit, wild and uncooked wiping the drool from the crook of his maw with the back of his blotched, mottled hand.
The old man found some seconds of a stoic amenity as his wild eyes grew gallant for those mere moments before the grey metal heft of his sullen vesture fell to his shoulders, he became heavy once more as the world retook him and cloaked again in the present - the light ebbed from him as swiftly as it came. The old man reproached his satchel to humbly return his dear old notebook.
There was a crack like a pick to ice with a hollow thud like a boot to wood as an immediately dissipating claret mist fizzed above his head. The make shift found-about cosh still swinging through the air and over his crown, the old man’s wilted body twisted and slumped to the floor face first. The concrete path before him tearing at the skin of his chin, his frail bones cracked as the meagre weight of his body forced itself into his neck. Laying perverse and unnatural the life was soaked up into his woollen hat and out across the concrete, to the grass – to the worms that writhed below the muck. His eyes were as lifeless as they were when he lived.
They did not wait for the gentle hiss of the spray or the bubbles that popped in the pool that surrounded the old man. They had snatched the satchel and ran off into the spread of the common until they were nothing but outlying drowned tones of laddish laughs and lewd levity.
Crazy old *******.
A lowly wooden bench has lent itself to a lonesome aged narrow man in a common garden in the smallest hour of the day’s beginning. In the thick haze of the summer’s waking light the common is thinly met with the company of others. Just an old man and his acquainted bench who came to give his eyes sight to the grass and trees, and to rid himself of thought.

Im waiting for the sting.
For the gunshot that ends me.
Im waiting for you to give up on me.
Im scared that
In the midst of my happieness
You will come forth and mention your upmost sadness.
Im afraid you are gonna hurt me
(yes, guys get hurt and remember it too)
Im waiting for you to realize what a ****** i am.
I wait for the day you find someone better.
And though you tell me im the one,
I still have nightmares of abandonment.
Its not your fault.
Maybe i should just believe in love,
in you
But im scared
Cause ive put my faith in places before,
*and was met with overwhelmong dissapointment

the rain is controlled,
with a whip,
it's being cast up,
spun,
twirled then hit.

it's thrown against glass,
dew drops in my hair,
the soft touch on my skin,
I stroke them off, upmost care.

joins with the sea,
a seamless stream,
silver and frothing,
home to the bream.

plenty of fish,
and I've got my catch,
needed no bate,
my heart on a latch.

I'll love you forever,
in this whirl,
we're the drops that chase,
on car windows we swirl.

you're keeping warm,
passed this hurricane,
August, October, September, November,
catching my rain.

A penny for the thoughts of a prat ne'er -do-well could easily garner a million dollars from the wishing well !
The riffraffs field of dreams , vividly troubled , hurried minds with selective memories of the upmost variety !                                                                ­                      Collective apparitions rendered due diligence ? Befuddled reasoning with questionable significance !
If a kite high in the sky was their imagination it would lie in the ionosphere invisible to all of us  
Incredible tales of brave armored horsemen , fighting dragons , extraterrestrial warships !                                                                ­    Lunchtime by the mountains of Mars and Venus , catching twenty winks in the Little Dipper ?                                                                ­    Riding on a comet to the Horse Nebula , hopping from rock to rock in the Asteroid Belt ?
Beware of the creative mind with their allegations , tales that could usurp the kingdoms Court Jester !
I've zero tolerance today for fools , little green men , martians and the man on the moon ?
For I've a prior commitment this late afternoon , a spot of tea with an old chum on the plains of Neptune !

I have big brown beautiful eyes.
These eyes see the world differently than other people.
These are my eyes.
My eyes turn blue when looking at the vast ocean
which I know carries life to thousands of creatures.
These eyes turn purple when I am feeling most confident.
I am the royal queen who holds her body to the upmost respect.
My eyes turn red with anger and lust,
when the blood is pumping and rushing through my veins.
My eyes will tun orange with hunger.
Hunger for a new beginning or something to feed my soul.
And my eyes will become yellow when the bright sunshine
wraps its arms around me, and whispers to me "it's alright."

But that green eye lays deep inside me.
That green eye is filled with jealousy, control, greed.
This green eye comes with the fear.
The fear of the large blue ocean.
Those large bodies of water that cover more of this planet than the land I walk upon.
And the green eye becomes worried about the  love of the sunshine that only wraps its arms when clouds are no longer in the way, or when the night sky doesn't take over, or when it is the right season.
This green eye comes from fear that the sun will set and I will be alone,
and the large ocean will take you far away from me with all the other creatures.
This green eye is
Poison.

We live in a society where lawyers defend guilty people, judges dictate someone's freedom and get paid in large amounts while earning the upmost respects by the greater population. We have teachers civilizing the young and innocent, but rewarded much less. Do you see the cycle?