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Aaron LaLux Sep 2016
The ghost of Freddie Gray,
rest in a shallow grave,
they say this is “The Land of The Free”,
so why they still treat us like slaves?

The current policed state of the Police State,
gives serious cause for alarm,
I Can't Breathe Hands Up Don't Shoot!
see it’s the 21st Century there’s cell phones,
so now we have proof That that young black man was unarmed…

See the situation in Ferguson,
it’s far from certain when,
conditions are worsen and,
the people are still hurtin' and,
we don't even have time to mourn,
before the police **** another one,
6 more kids killed since Michael Brown,
the problem didn't start with Ferguson.

Seriously,
it's got me thinking "What's going on?",
but I’m more Queen than Marvin Gaye,
still straight away they shot another one,
BANG,

and another one BANG,
and another one BANG,
and another one bites the dust…
BANG!

Just ask the family of Rumain Brisbon,

shot by an officer,
who mistook a bottle of pills for a gun,
the officer leaves behind two hot Glock shells,
while Brisbon leaves behind a daughter and a son,

then there's Eric Gardner,
who's ****** was caught on tape,
undercover cops strangled him to death with an illegal chokehold,
left the general public in dismay and disarray,
his only crime was selling some cigarettes,
but the cops killed him in a hurry,
this was an obvious homicide,
still no inditement by the **** Grand Jury!

So come really,
if we can't even get a single conviction,
on a single cop,
for a single shot shot without permission,
then what hope is there left to hope in,
it's as if the rope is tied around my neck and I'm chokin',
I thought to provoke a riot instead I decided to make this thought provokin',
if the pen mightier than the sword,
then we need to write a way right away to get these closed cases re-opened!

They say that just to have a driver's license is a privilege not a right,
while They make us feel like it’s a privilege just to survive in this life,
it shouldn't have to feel like a privilege just to survive,
while they're taking everything from us including our rights and our lives,
and the media tries to force us to take sides,
like I am against blacks because I'm white,
yeah cops have killed a lot of Black kids,
but that fact is that cops **** more Whites,
because it's not the color of the skin I’m in,
it's the color of the suit that one’s wearin,’
that really decides who's on who's side,
so who’s gonna live,
and who’s gonna die?

Boys in blue with a badge to **** at will,
anxiety of the All Seeing Eye on me makes me feel ill,
so much stress,
I can't take it,
I'm at home all alone,
laying in bed naked,
thoughts of dying brothers,
and crying mothers,
all done by undercover killers undercover,
they **** like ****,
where's Will.i.am,
"Where's The Love", where's the lovers?

No more Fergie,
just more Ferguson,
no more Taboo,
just more taboo killings when,
will we finally have some peace,
Jesus,
we just,
need to be free but,
they have us caught under an iron fist,
book us in and take our fingerprints,
tap our phones and put us on 'the list',
I thought this was supposed to be,
the land of the free,
but what the fck is this?
Feeling like Eric Garner I can't breathe,
just give me a bit of room please,
can't I at least,
get some groceries without the PDs harassing me?

Jeez.

Meanwhile,
back on the front lines,
it's the 4th quarter,
crunch time,

while we shout out,
“Black Lives Matter!”
they’ve got their clubs out,
like “Swing batter batter!”

while we write rhymes,
and debate the details,
they're gearing up for war,
reading our emails with a pledged allegiance to an empire of evils,

coming in like Stormtroopers,
with automatic weapons and combat boots,
and the whole time we're standing there on the Front Lines,
waiving our arms up high like, ”Hands Up, Don't Shoot!"


∆aron L∆ Lux ∆
dang
Theresa M Rose Oct 2015
The Midnight Dawn: The ship begins to dock.
A woman stands, looking down, silently. Black waters swirl salty white foam; Icy waters move through flapping rudders; The sounds of shifting motors pound; This is a beckoning scene for one in feelings of immersing self-isolation; And, Lora stands at this very edge. Lora stands completely unaware of the true beauty that surrounds her at this very moment.
         The ship’s docking, at Dearing's port, in the Kotzebue Sound... Alaska's pre-dawn dark blue skies with it’s tawny orangey gray clouds; A  panoramic view of white snowy peak mountains surrounds the port. And yet, the only thing Lora has on her mind … is a small Inuit village that will soon make her isolation complete.

    Out onto the deck Jeff calls, "Lora!"

Lora turns towards her husband's voice; But then, turns her eyes back to the whirling water over the stern.
  
    "Sweetheart?" Jeff places his hand on Lora’s arm, "I called the shore; The transport will be waiting… as soon as we're finished docking."
Jeff's voice becomes serene.
“ Wow. Lora, I can’t believe it. It’s been eight years since I been home last."
Jeff places his hand on Lora's.
“ It’ll be good for us to be with family. We'll leave the ship before the sunrise and we’ll arrive in the village just in time to see the final day of Tribal Awareness Week. Lora, I wish we were here a couple of weeks ago. I think my mother would have been happier meeting you when she wasn't so busy...."
  
Lora turns…, "You know, Jeff; I do wish you would just shut the hell up!”
Lora pulls her hand away.
“ Please, just keep still until we get up there.”
Her teeth clench.
“ It's another four and a half-hours, to get to  where we need to go. And, quite frankly, I think it's going to be hard enough for me to what needs to be done; And, I’d much rather get through this without having to listen to your mouth all the way up there."

"Alright.", Jeff says in a somber voice.  He turns to walk back inside but then he sees a new flicker of hope.
"Lora, I see the biplane. It's pulling in..; See it? See it, down there, at slip four, on the pier?!” Jeff smile’s pointing to the small transporter; As he does he grabs Lora kissing her cheek. “ I'm go get the porter to help me with our bags and we'll meet you down at the clearing, All right?”
"Fine.” Lora,…with a strain in her throat.
"Fine, let's just get this over with..."

    Lora stands at the clearing;… She watches the ships crew set-up for a day of helping  passengers board and depart the ship.  Jeff arranged for the two of them to leave the ship two hours earlier than everyone else so they could meet up with their connection.
As Jeff and the porter comes down the ramp a man comes down the dock waiving.
“ Jeff!”

    Jeff calls out. "Lora, here comes Gabe!"
“ Gabe! Gabe!”
"Gabe?"
"Honey!? This is my cousin, Gabriel." Jeff says to Lora as they started down the pier to the biplane. “ He runs our local transport."
    Gabe turns towards Lora.
" Yeah, I run everyone from our village up and down the river; Sometimes, I think this little craft here thinks she's just another boat! She so seldom has a chance to be airborne.”
The luggage is placed on board, Jeff and Lora settle into their seats and Gabe starts moving up the sound; Then, after about fifteen moments the little plane begins to lift, up and out, off the water.
  
    Lora becomes startled, "I thought the plane wasn't going to leave… I thought we were not going to be airborne?! I thought we were riding up the river?"
  
"Yes, Lora." Gabe states with a giggle,
"Yes, the Koyukuk River! I'm sorry, I thought Jeff would have told you?! We'll be airborne for just over an hour then we’ll reach the Koyukuk River and then, from that point, we’ll be riding the river for another three hours till we reach the village."

"Oh."
Lora sits back… and begins to stare out at the enormity of the Alaskan skyline. For her, it seems to have no end; And yet, for Lora there seems to be, nothing, nothing at all but endings on her horizon.

    The procession begins...
The parade comes down the main road in the small Inuit village. The local people are all playing drums, jingles and bones and they’re all wearing traditional ceremonial attire.

    Lora starts looking around to find her husband but Jeff is gone. Lora thinks, angrily.
‘ This is so senseless!? Why did Jeff ******* up here? I can't believe this; Here I am at The Koyukon Festival to tell his mother we're divorcing!? His mother never wanted me in his life. He was just suppose to finish his studies and come back home. I'm sure she'll be relieved to see me gone from his life.’

    Jeff comes up behind her, smiling.
"Honey, Honey isn't this wonderful?! I remember my parents and I participating all together in these events when I was small.”
Jeff points down the road. “ Hey Hon, look!" He places his arm on Lora's waistline.

    Lora turns to him with a grimace," Remove that…!"
    Jeff moved his hand and Lora turns to see where Jeff is pointing.
Lora sees, her mother-in-law, PaKaSuk; PaKa begins down the road dressed in her traditional Inuit tribal clothing.
    She has on a headdress made from the skin and skull of a coyote, and there’s a pair of small antlers imbedded on it. And, she has on tall boots made of polar-bear fur that are adorned at the rims with dangling teeth from the hunts of the past.
PaKa sings long mournful notes as she plays a soft singular beat over and over again on a drum-snare of  sealskin and whalebone.
    Jeff waves to his mother; As she sees her son, she begins to call out,


” Come fellow me one and all…;

Come fellow me to the place of the great hall;

Come to hear a tale that must be told;

Come hear the words from the time of old.”

As PaKa reaches the doorway she gestures to Jeff and Lora.
"Please come, sit here near the fireplace."
    As everyone-else  finds seat’s; PaKa kneels down, she looks deep into Lora‘s eyes; She smiles and then hands Lora a small long rectangular box.
Speaking softly, "Lora, please, hold this… But, do not open it right now; Wait until I’m done with my story. I'll return and we will talk."
  
    Lora stares at PaKa thinking…
‘She is an odd woman. To give me a gift? Looking down at the small rectangular box. She makes a huff, ‘ It's probably a brand new pen to sign the divorce papers with. She's probably…; But wait!’
Lora remembers, ‘ Jeff hasn't told her anything about the divorce yet. ‘
Lora places the box on her lap.

    The show begins...
    PaKa hushes the assembly; Cues the drums to play.
    The drums start. It is a slow, low singular beat  beating over and over…; Over and over. beating  slow low beats; Over and over... Again.

    Jeff bends down; He whispers, "Lora, the crowd is so much larger then I ever remembered it being before."
    Just then, a woman comes and sits right next to Lora and the woman has a baby sleeping in her arms.
Lora closes her eye and thinks,…
‘ Oh God… Why couldn’t this woman find somewhere else to sit; Anyplace other than here?’

    "Welcome! I am PaKaSuk...I am the Coyote-woman for my people…, now! But my story is of a Coyote-woman of long ago. Her name,… GaTraRa; The Coyote-woman Who Lost Her Tears.
Come one and all close your eyes. We shall breath deep the air and hear the drums beat…; And, we shall go… into the past.

            GaTraRa became a coyote woman when she was young. Much younger than the old custom....The old Coyote-woman would chose a young girl to replace her and she would teach the girl all of the knowledge  needed to help her people; She would learn all the wisdom of the herbs that cure and when ready she would take place. GaTraRa was chosen… And with great pride and joy of all the tribe.
She had learned much in a small time working at the side of the old Coyote-woman. But, a great sickness came to the people; Nearly half the tribe were lost...
The old coyote woman was lost…  GaTraRa was now The Coyote woman; …without knowing all the wisdom  the old coyote woman needed to give…

    Lora, sits there listening to her mother-in-law; She starts feeling cold beads of sweat against her skin. She starts feeling a slow low ache in the pit of her stomach.
    Jeff looks at Lora, "Are you alright?"
    "Leave me alone!” She swats at him. "Just go away! I'm fine. Leave me to hear this..."

    PaKaSuk continues "By our old traditions the Coyote-woman is not to join with any man; It was said… She’s to care for all the people of the tribe; But…, for GaTraRa;  GaTraRa was highly favored in the eyes of the council, And, especially by the chief elder's son, NeKraRa.
NeKraRa, who wanted the tribes very young new Coyote-woman to be his spoke a plea to the elders; GaTraRa wanted to be his as well. But she knew a Coyote-women was not allowed to join.  GaTraRa was surprised and overjoyed when the elders told her that she and NeKraRa being allowed to be joined...She felt the spirits were pleased.  And, soon after their joining they were blessed...They had conceived a child.
  
    The drums begin sounding faint and far away to Lora. The scent from  the smoke seems to be making her feel hazy.

Lora feels a low dark ache in the pit of her belly; It begins to grow; Her head lowers and her breath begins to labor. The pain is so deep Lora's eyes feel full of heat and she holds-back a feeling to cry out...
  
    PaKaSuk continues…, "It was the time of the hunt!”
  
    Eyes tighten. The pain becomes overwhelming to Lora; From a deep place within … A howling cry cries out!
"AAAAIIIIEEEEE"


    GaTraRa pushes; A baby’s cry fills the room. Her beaming sweaty body falls back onto the bedding.
    "It is a boy! You have a son!” mother-in-law smiles while wiping off the tiny crying new born.
"My child, he is a, strong, healthy boy! And, look, look see how his face shines like dawning light. NeKraRa will be pleased when he returns."

    As her husband's mother places the new born into her waiting arms, GaTraRa thinks ‘ No woman could ever be this happy.’
She looks up and says, "This day is the day of my greatest joy,"
  
Several weeks come and go. It will soon be  time for the men to return

Several weeks come and go without the young men.
The sound of drums call out from the distance; The time  for the return has come at last.
Many come to the Great Hall to greet the men when they arrive. The young Coyote-woman lefts her baby and runs happily to show her husband, NeKraRa, his fine new son.
Looking out, beyond the path, the men could be seen; They look weary of their hunt; Not all who left seems to be coming… The elder  hunters  may be a day or two behind bringing the treasures of their travels ;All the trades made with the outsiders.  The younger men come with the new pelts to cure and with the fresh meat and fish for the smoke.  As the men come closer the young women gain sight of their man; They run to walk with them to the Great Hall. But, but GaTraRa could not find her man. Her husband, NeKraRa, was nowhere among the men.
“ NeKraRa; NeKraRa !“ The young Coyote-woman begins thinking…’ He may be with the elder hunters; But why?’ She calls out several more times “ NeKraRa!”
Grabing at the men as they pass she asks,
"Where is my husband?"
    None of the men would speak to her or even look up at GaTraRa They’d just keep pass by her and enter the tribal council. Leaving her standing there holding her small baby.

    NeKraRa's father comes out of the council hall; He walks to GaTraRa and places his hand upon her arm.
"My child, our NeKraRa met his death over the ice on the very first night of the hunt."
  
    She looks down into the face of her small child.
"That was the night his son was born..."
Softly, sadly she speaks to her sleeping child cradling him in her arms,
"You will hold your father's name, my sweet boy...and his spirit.“
She walks home.

    Her mother-in-law meets her at the door, crying.
In a deep mournful tone, "My child!"
    GaTraRa just stands there with a void look on her face. Then, she looks at her baby. She lifts him up and hands him to her mother-in-law,
"Here mother," in an increasingly laboring tone,
"Here, here is our NeKraRa."

    The next day, mother-in-law waits for the baby to wake. She waits, long…, but there is no cry. She goes to lift him up and to wake him but as she pulls the blanket back she sees the baby's body is still, motionless. The baby is cold, blue and silent,
She lifts him and lets out a long wailing cry, "No...!"
  
GaTraRa runs…, only to see her baby in her mother-in-law's arms; A face full of tears and crying out over and over again, "He's gone...He is gone!"
GaTraRa falls to the floor; She begins to rock, repeating
"No…! No…! No…!"
But yet, now, not a single tear falls from her eyes.
  
Weeks pass since the death of her baby. Her duties as coyote woman become harder for her. Whenever others seek out her help she becomes angry. She says, "The spirits curse me; I went against them with family and now I have nothing; They will allow me no peace!"
All she does is watch the doorways; it is as she is waiting for someone or something...

    The council watches GaTraRa closely. Mother-in-law brings her worries to the elders.
“GaTraRa‘s sadness grows. “
Mother-in-law tells them, “She must be watched. Our Coyote-woman has felt the brush of the Raven’s feathers; Her tears are stuck within… No tears fall.”
Mother-in-law pleas to them, “ Her sorrow grows, silently! I fear, if we do nothing, she will be taken from us as well.”

    The women of the council gather together; They decide to have the grieving ritual for GaTraRa. But, none them has ever done this ritual. This was something the Coyote-woman would do.

    Days pass, the men are preparing to leave for the last hunt of the season. And, the women begin to prepare the council hall. They gather up all the things they could remember from having watched the ritual done times before.
    The chief elder sees the woman; And he asks, “What are you women doing?”
Mother-in-law tells him of what she and the other women have plan.
Shaking his head, “For as far as back as my memory takes me I have never seen a Grieving-Ritual done during this season before; And, without the young men being around. Do you really know what you are doing?”
All the women said, “ We must!”

    The men are gone…

    The women take GaTraRa to the council hall. They place her near the fire. GaTraRa watches as women gather herbs and place them in bowls.
She speaks out, “You don’t know what you are doing!?” Then, her voice saddens.
” …or maybe you do.”

    The women do not listen; Without a word, they begin to place the bowls in all the places they have remembered seeing them before…Recalling, all the men would play drums all night, during the vigil, they each pick up a drum. They gather around the fire. They stand and surround  the fire with their drums; The woman slowly begin to play.
GaTraRa, motionless, looks to the women thinks to herself, ‘Why are they doing this…I did this…to myself. They should not care
As always, I enjoy any and all  feedback you could give me.
Aaron LaLux Jun 2016
Shots Fired

The ghost of Freddie Gray,
rest in a shallow grave,
they say this is “The Land of The Free”,
so why they still treat us like slaves?

The current policed state of the Police State,
gives serious cause for alarm,
I Can't Breathe Hands Up Don't Shoot!
see it’s the 21st Century there’s cell phones,
so now we have proof That that young black man was unarmed…

See the situation in Ferguson,
it’s far from certain when,
conditions are worsen and,
the people are still hurtin' and,
we don't even have time to mourn,
before the police **** another one,
6 more kids killed since Michael Brown,
the problem didn't start with Ferguson.

Seriously,
it's got me thinking "What's going on?",
but I’m more Queen than Marvin Gaye,
still straight away they shot another one,
BANG,

and another one BANG,
and another one BANG,
and another one bites the dust…
BANG!

Just ask the family of Rumain Brisbon,

shot by an officer,
who mistook a bottle of pills for a gun,
the officer leaves behind two hot Glock shells,
while Brisbon leaves behind a daughter and a son,

then there's Eric Gardner,
who's ****** was caught on tape,
undercover cops strangled him to death with an illegal chokehold,
left the general public in dismay and disarray,
his only crime was selling some cigarettes,
but the cops killed him in a hurry,
this was an obvious homicide,
still no inditement by the **** Grand Jury!

So come really,
if we can't even get a single conviction,
on a single cop,
for a single shot shot without permission,
then what hope is there left to hope in,
it's as if the rope is tied around my neck and I'm chokin',
I thought to provoke a riot instead I decided to make this thought provokin',
if the pen mightier than the sword,
then we need to write a way right away to get these closed cases re-opened!

They say that just to have a driver's license is a privilege not a right,
while They make us feel like it’s a privilege just to survive in this life,
it shouldn't have to feel like a privilege just to survive,
while they're taking everything from us including our rights and our lives,
and the media tries to force us to take sides,
like I am against blacks because I'm white,
yeah cops have killed a lot of Black kids,
but that fact is that cops **** more Whites,
because it's not the color of the skin I’m in,
it's the color of the suit that one’s wearin,’
that really decides who's on who's side,
so who’s gonna live,
and who’s gonna die?

Boys in blue with a badge to **** at will,
anxiety of the All Seeing Eye on me makes me feel ill,
so much stress,
I can't take it,
I'm at home all alone,
laying in bed naked,
thoughts of dying brothers,
and crying mothers,
all done by undercover killers undercover,
they **** like ****,
where's Will.i.am,
"Where's The Love", where's the lovers?

No more Fergie,
just more Ferguson,
no more Taboo,
just more taboo killings when,
will we finally have some peace,
Jesus,
we just,
need to be free but,
they have us caught under an iron fist,
book us in and take our fingerprints,
tap our phones and put us on 'the list',
I thought this was supposed to be,
the land of the free,
but what the fck is this?
Feeling like Eric Garner I can't breathe,
just give me a bit of room please,
can't I at least,
get some groceries without the PDs harassing me?

Jeez.

Meanwhile,
back on the front lines,
it's the 4th quarter,
crunch time,

while we shout out,
“Black Lives Matter!”
they’ve got their clubs out,
like “Swing batter batter!”

while we write rhymes,
and debate the details,
they're gearing up for war,
reading our emails with a pledged allegiance to an empire of evils,

coming in like Stormtroopers,
with automatic weapons and combat boots,
and the whole time we're standing there on the Front Lines,
waiving our arms up high like, ”Hands Up, Don't Shoot!"

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

The H Trilogy
Volume 1
7/7/16

Still No Justice No Peace...
Aaron LaLux Sep 2019
Okay okay alright, I give up, you win, I surrender,
I’m waiving the white flag, I’ve had enough, need to sit down,
I’m folding the cards in my hands, laying them on the table,
wiping the sweat off my forehead then throwing in the towel,
been running so long legs’re about to give out want to give up,
& I don’t know how but I’m totally open to figuring it out,

relinquishing resentments, adopting pups, & releasing doves,
reducing defenses, developing myself for receiving the love,
needing some hugs, making amends, making out, & making up,
ready to give it all up right now, cuddle up & do snuggle stuff,
just to be fully present for you directly, for us, stepping up,
& I know this ADHD makes it difficult to focus,
but babe you know I’m dedicated to making it work out,
yes my mind gets easily divided at times but love will overcome,
I’ll tame my mind it can be undivided when in your presence,
until my death which will likely come when least expected,
like so many other legends that have passed away suddenly,
probably in a plane crash or other similar event wreckage,

RIP Aaliyah, once gone can’t Try Again,
RIP JFK, probably our only real president,
RIP Otis Redding,
show some R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Try A Little Tenderness,
RIP Rocky Marciano,
KO’d after the plane dove on his 46th birthday,
RIP Buddy Holly, RIP Ritchie Valens,
both died on the same plane, so gone, so long La Bamba,

the Brightest Lights always cast the Darkest Shadows,
the brighter the light the darker the hues,
it’s the 4th of July we’re on a lake in Chile,
enjoying the company & enjoying the views,
post solar eclipse glory letting go of any lingering regrets,
though I do wish She were here,
they say heartbreak makes the best art,
but I don’t know if the effects are worth the burn I feel,

only here for a moment, so tell me why you came,
want to love liberated, but still inside my self built cage,
you possess priority in my life, your impression left indentions,
& I’m still trying to learn, how to show non ****** affection,
but it’s difficult when you’ve been abused,
it’s different when you’ve never felt love that was pure,
so I’m still working on it all or nothing, it’s up to you to choose,
if you’re willing to work with me until I’m cured I’m yours,

Okay okay alright, I give up, you win, I surrender,
I’m waiving the white flag, I’ve had enough, need to sit down,
I’m folding the cards in my hands, laying them on the table,
wiping the sweat off my forehead then throwing in the towel,
been running so long legs’re about to give out want to give up,
& I don’t know how but I’m totally open to figuring it out…

∆ LaLux ∆

poem #80 from THHT3: The Hollywood Hills Trilogy 3
available worldwide here:
www.amazon.com/dp/B07XJRBSKD
M May 2013
You're waiving your white flag
With less than enough effort
To convince me you are done.

I know your heart is desheveled, crumpled
Into a ball of torn misery between
What to do with me.

You need space, you can't fathom space.
You need time, you won't take the time.
You need peace, I make it hard to obtain that.

So if you feel a force underneath your elbow,
Pushing your arm high enough to see
That you're waiving that flag in my face,

Know it's me pushing you there.
Know I'll hold your elbow there for so long,
And walk away once you have enough strength to keep it there.

I'll push your elbow up
So you can push me away,
And walk down the path you've been hesitant to tread.

Hold strong with that white flag,
Keep it high enough so I can see it in the distance
As I look back at you, up tall and unwavering.
A past relationship resurfaced and he's miserable because I'm unavailable and as much as we enjoy each other's company, he needs to let me go to love on. I'm having a hard time coming to terms with that, that we can't be friends right now. But I love him dearly. I care a lot about him, and if I am true to what I say then I have to take myself out of his life until he doesn't feel anything for me. It's twisted and it ***** but it's necessary. This is what this is about, pushing him up so he can push me away.
ᗺᗷ May 2014
I'm balancing the seesaw rhythm of the sun against the moon
Swooning in circles- my vice to your versa
Dropping the dice
Hoping these verses are keeping you warm when my hands cannot
Knotting underwater thirst taking aim at a sea salt sprinkled sky
Kaleidoscopes revolving in my eyes
Complimenting stars who have never blushed so bright

I’m sorry
It’s been a long time since I’ve been down this road
I’m looking for the letter that comes after ‘T’
I remember finding her
Where it rained rose petals
Rose pedals, from sunrise till sunsleep
Where every morning began like taking my first breath of real air
Like an overload of senses
Ego waiving defenses
So dizzy till your dancing

There are places where romance is like science and religion combined
How serotonin can spill from your mouth and into mine
And returning the favor gets wrapped in your thighs tied tightly
Where an epoch of yin meets an eternity of yang
Where the seesaw pivot meets rose petal rain
María José May 2016
Sadness is weird for me.
It leaks from my biggest smile,
and from tears of laughter.
Sadness lingers with me in a hug,
and when I´m dancing.
It creeps into my mind when I'm alone
or the center of a party.
The urge to cry is there
I simply lack the tears.

Sadness is weird for me
It hides in the corner of my mind
to surprise me when I least expect it
But other times it prances around
waiving a flag as if to show me...
but I know, I feel it
I simply lack the tears

Sadness is weird for me
because it is numb
and yet I feel it so strong.
Because I smile,
even when I want to cry
I simply lack the tears.
I remember the cold breeze blow into your face..
Your Red Shirt waiving whilst your on it..
Then the Camera focussed..
From the Green Grass to the back of your shirt..
Number 8..
And I knew I was looking at
My Legend..
My hero..
You'll Never Walk Alone they sang..
It gave me Goose bumps instantly!

I've never failed to miss a game to watch you since then..
To watch you play.. To watch Liverpool Play..
And then they sang your name..
You AWED me with
Joy and Goose Bumps!
You will be missed dearly..
But as you move on to better challenges..
Remember you Sir,
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart..
You'll Never Walk Alone!

-Shahzaad Zahirsha
Dedicated to My Hero..
YNWA
Zywa Apr 4
Waiving happiness

and suffering for the truth:


a better country.
Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru

Novel "The Moor's Last Sigh" (1995, Salman Rushdie), chapter A house divided, (1-) 3

Collection "Low gear"
Pallavi Goswami Jun 2016
For my 4 A.M musings,
i prefer going back to that night
when you left me
in middle of
my undressed state
and satiated mind.

You said, "Darling! it's business".

Your leaving was dispairing ,
Your umpteen kisses could not fare well,
more than me,my wrinkled bed sheet was going to miss you.

That night, i could not sleep
lying in my bed, bare
i kept staring at the ceiling
the fan was waiving at me
and airing
my undone sentiments.

I dozed off helplessly,
not my fault
the night moved her fingers through my hair
while touching my forehead, gingerly.

I was in trance,
i walked on path dusted with silver ash
and stars hanging from mysterious trees
some alone, some in group
some were floating together
exactly how a constellation would be.
The clouds were nestled in tiny spaces,
they too must have given in to the night
at this hour of spree.

Just before i had woken up
i had seen a silver silhouette at the end of the path
So as soon as my eyes fluttered open
you were just there, like a fake mirage.
lying beside me ,
on your favorite pillow
staring at my books,
which you said were boring
at my pens and diaries
which made you think i am scribbling
poems on you.


And today , at 4 A.M
i am sitting where you left me
hoping this wait would be over soon.
I have opened my diary,
holding my pen like a gun
hoping to slain you,
with my words
again and soon.

Through open window
crept in your favorite bougainvillea
bathed in silver rays and brilliantly beaming,
i looked above at infinite deep blue sky
While the stars were stroking
my cheeks with lights
and singing their favorite lullaby.

But today,i could not sleep.

So i decided to hold on,
and wait for sunrise.

When sky will retain its brilliant lush
when clouds will look dramatically pink
when birds will thrum the morning rituals
when sun-rays will creep on my old fashioned building
when the morning breeze will come running for me
and touch my temples before the creepy bougainvillea.

When the signs will tell
such beauty is not in vain
" You have arrived."
#Love #Life #Pain #Distance #Wait
Jake Aug 2014
I wander through my town in the same way I want to wander this earth.
Walking down every street silently observing waiving at familiar faces as they drive past.
I don't know how long I'll wander like this.
But I can only assume it will happen when I find a home better than a worn out pair of sneakers and an old leather jacket.
Unlikely.
Guido Orifice Dec 2016
I have lost my son,
the child I loved so dearly.
Is this what life is about?
-Yamanoue no Okura, Lost Child

After knowing your eternal rest
my soul cries in its inner depth;
trying to trace a soft spot
for some wistful nostalgia
amidst your unbearable sadness
to which I can tell in all ways
hides between your lips
& scavenged in thoughts.

After knowing your untimely passing
it will never be the same again.
After all, when was the last time
you felt something different?

Those times solitary clouds
tried waiving your cracked loneliness;
you died, haplessly, alone & tragic
in the most uncompromising time.

What made you think to hang the world
into a subliminal rope? Was it delusion?

There are two things:
One, the intense heartbreak
between you and the world.
Second, the romantic union
with the abyss.

But what goes in between?

In between, there is you. Solely you.

The only thing, other people can’t see
is that how you lived in dullness.

Your life saw its day
& now your night comes to an end.

Lay to rest. Die not.
Some nights ago, a friend of mine told me about the death of a friend. Shocked and grief-stricken, I decided to devout a little time to trace her in my mournful memory. Dennise or “Dee”, 21, had enough of the world and decided to follow the idle thought of her mind.  She was a good friend to whom I owe great little things during my college years. She was one of my mates in the debate team. Dee is childish, I must confess but it is this character that makes her the darling of the crowd and the bud among men.

Dee will always be Dee. You will always be remembered.
Reza Mahani Feb 2011
She, resting on one leg
maybe
watching him

He, lying on grass
alive?
Could be dead

Breeze, waiving water
searching
bamboos and canes

They, doing nothing
are,
hours and hours
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Noel Billiter Jun 2018
Should I define the explanation
I love a good cross examination
You interject so crudly I have to question
The reasoning for this strange expedition
a useless attempt on your part my dear
Maybe you’ll trip over the truth this year
A fruitless Journey, Mr District Attorney
A disarrayed and unbelievable story  
You weave a dark and deceitful tale
conceited hard headed unfortunate male
Misdirectting the jury cheap distraction
waiving a wand for a nice reaction
It will not change or alter the facts
The truth always finds its way back
Cleverly worded and with particular jabs
Aimed to destroy any chance you had
skillfully and with style and wit
Disassembled every lie you tried to get away with
determined and with direct intent
Eviscerated and attacked your defense
Easily directed and earned the  jurors trust
With the ease of a professional psychiatrist
But all of this is not in vain
A lesson here has been learned and gained
M Dec 2013
You're off in the distance,
Where the fog is thick enough that
You can only see my hand in the air.

It's waving you down,
Telling you to come closer
And be where I am.

As you get closer though,
You notice my hand is waiving
A white flag because I give up.

All I ever wanted was for you
To be closer and I'm sorry it took me
Waving my hands over my head to get you near.

All I ever wanted was effort and
I didn't find what I wanted so rather
I'll wave good bye and drop the white flag in your hands.

You came near because I beckoned you
And I wish you would've came to me
Without me asking.

Take the white flag and remember me by it.
Remember that though you gave up in trying,
I didn't give up in finding someone who won't.
Allison Miles Feb 2011
When I think of you,
My Mind detaches my Heart from my Body.
It floats alone.
It teeters to the rhythm of the words you say.
It nests itself in the warmth between my legs,
When you say "I'm still hurt".
It elevates and rolls in front of me,
As if powered by hot air.
But it easily deflates like helium balloons,
To the point where it sits empty on the floor,
With its legs straight out in front,
Cracking its toes and rolling its ankles in confusion.
Sometimes my Heart stands on tip toes,
Reaches with fingertips extended,
Waiving at my Body,
Pleading for me to put it back in its place.  
But my Mind pays no mind to its advances.  
My Mind's ulterior motive is to divorce my heart,
To separate entirely.
To be completely distant entities.
They were once lovers,
Who've now found comfort in each other's pain.
Ladislav Josephs Oct 2015
It was long engagement
Now you are just a glimpse
I on train passing you by
You on platform waiting
Just waiving hand good bye
Train going forward
Never return to former place
I will never forget
The moment of your graceful face
Kathleen Feb 2012
If I'm going to survive the night, I'm going to do it with grace.
No more head tilted slightly resting on ***** bar tables.
No more pirouettes into the sidewalk.
No more fingers ****** into the air as a universal sign for more.
Give me more than this.

If I'm going to survive the night, I'd like very much to do it with class.
No more slurred speech.
No more mangled sentences.
No more off-tune renditions of 'Under Pressure' while I try desperately to keep from falling under the table.

If I'm going to survive the night,
(though at this point it seems unlikely)
I will not tout my youth in front of older strangers,
waiving it in the air like a gun as if to say,
'Who wants any?'

If I survive the night, I will have survived it with my dignity.

That's why I'm so desperate to die.
Hank Van Well Jr Feb 2015
Castaway

I've finally loosed the anchor
And let ....
What once was the sea of affection that used to envelop the island.
Well now , now
Its an ocean of broken heartedness,
I let go of the island ...
I let go,
succumb to the unknown
The hardest part is not looking back
Hoping she's waiving me back,
But she won't,
My Eden , the place I rested my heart
Infested with indifference.
My tears ?
They  have no affect on the already vast ocean they are spilling into ,
Only marring my reflection
I wonder how many other tears are here ,
How many distorted reflections ?
Just like her truths.
I bow  my head , let the wind waltz with the waves
My heart, a lonely sailboat
And she is the fading memory
In the distance now.
It was so hard , but I did it
Finally !
I let go
And let the elements carry me into tomorrow
When my sister next to me were babies, we had our very own crib.  We were still in diapers; we wore our very own bibs.
I remember my Mother waxing our bed room floor.  It was so shinny, until my Mother couldn't wax anymore.
After my Mother left the room, we prepared for the "Big Race".  Because the floor was so slick and shinny, not a chance for a slower pace.
We had the finest cribs, they came with rolling wheels.  We would shake them across the room, only to get a big thrill!
All we needed was a " News Flash" with the word "Olympics" with all of the lovely rings.  Right behind that; two babies in their rolling cribs, smiling and waiving behind the scene.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Oak trees, Pine trees, Cottonwoods, and Birch
Upon these trees,
birds love to perch
Birds come in all
sizes and colors
Birds calling and chirping
with all the others

Squirrels, Rabbits,
Chipmunks, and Foxes
Scatter the grounds, burrow into holes, and sometimes boxes
Winter, Spring,
Summer, and Fall
They gather thier goodies,
to survive them all

Deer, Moose, Antelope, and Elk
Wander through fields,
woods, and corn silk
Grazing on whatever
nutrition they can find
All hunkering down in these times with thier own kind

Bears, Bobcats,
Cougars, and Wolves
Hibernation, catch prey, climb and attack, the
beautiful, wild dog packs
in droves
Deep dark caves, burrowed holes in the ground,
to wandering forests, and
great big meadows
All these predators seem to come from the shadows

Waves of lavender fields of dreams, like river beds of sand
Fields of flaxen, golden grass waiving with God's hand
Daisies, Buttercups,
Rose's, and Daffodils
Just smell thier sweet scents rise into the hills

Dreams are Wishes,
Wishes are dreams
Wildlife are the makings of everything in between
Flowers are the fragrance of life
The blue skies and
white fluffs of clouds
Take away all the strife...
Copyright ©️ to Julia L Carlson Vogel
Original poem
Colm Oct 2019
Your heart
Inspires my heart
To beat

To breathe steam clouds onto cold windows
To feel the distant sunlight rise into Peachtree skies

The sound, the hum
Of you a lone
Tunes my ears to hear
My thoughts to song

With its quiet corridors and cushioned chest
Rising like the waves of a coastal long

Soughing whispers in the subtle trees
Midst the waiving of the Auburn leaves

Our hopes a final parting leaf
On this, the last day of October joy

Know this

Your heart
Inspires my heart
To beat

From now until at last
Our distance is no more
We meet
I’ve been so busy with life. So involved in the details of my weakest traits. Keeping air in my lungs, money on my bills. So much so that I almost forgot to breathe. Almost forgot to try and become.
I've been here before
I'm sure

Flickers of memories
trickle and tickle
the edges of my mind

Shouting and waiving in the distance

For now
not knowing where i am
is pleasant

I don't need to know

Diamonds sparkle
and dance with butterflies

The shouting is getting louder now

"Parle vous francais??"

What?

The diamonds now magnify the light into jagged daggers
And the butterflies fan a hurricane that slaps me in the face

"Parle vous ok?"

What?

"Are you ok?"

What?

Senses return with crashing crimson temples

What the ****?

"Are you alright?
You got hit in the head with the bat
Wear the helmet next time if you wanna play catcher!"


Dust off
Helmet on

Play ball!!
Third Eye Candy Jul 2018
The Misfortune of having you all to myself
has Irony’s respect. Only games without masters
call Love “ Sensei “. And every one of them
thought Irony was Abe Vigoda
sifting through the entrails of a Tuna Melt, at Morty Yang’s
looking for the cookie choking on a Bilingual Mobius strip
of impenetrable punchlines.
And always late to a funeral like The Good Gin.

we slept on a bed of fails
and our lives as footstools on soap boxes began
as only the best endings require
before waiving the usual fee, and diving into the role
of a last time nobody knew was The Last Time.
chewing up the screen between  intimate strangers
calling all the shots on the set by telepathy
like a betty davis that would never ever not help you
if it helps to sniff glue
or to hardly ever do
and then stop.
or not.

yeh, We Got THAT betty davis.

we found the most corrosive script
and mangled that baby with the camera obscura still rolling
And that guaranteed we had something to show the wolves at the door.
that would generate the buzz in the saw
that you Can’t UnSee.
and what follows?

anybody’s regret.

we slept in cots on the Lot, a lot.
but that was all in the papers that we rolled
to smoke the ***. in all the rags in Coolsville.
our collapsing star rising on page six
of a Charles Bukowski restraining order.
and as I recall, there was no catering -
for locations that devolved into gothic cathedrals
that slept with your expectations to get the part.
and we didn’t know that was a thing.

But hey,
you made it hurt
like you already
knew.

we flipped a coin to see who would yell “ Cut “ !

And then...

now it's all
you do.
Decipher Dec 2014
Racing pounding door smudge collect dodge bridge going done and ending happy ending ends no no no no no no no no no no no
Wishes wished and done and never done and wished and thanked grateful graceful one. and. Grace and one never done and still with stillness rise raising rights and gaining tight flights waiving wish and wanting none here here and hear hiss his own his own blown and moan with the right and right in righting rights writing nice and accurate writs and rose smelling prose down wells of spew and asswiped
All Joe king aside

Humor iz vital stove topface
component to survive the cares
and concerns oven uncertain
culinary future, that presages

over heating of this planet
concomitant with extinction
per the human race. Many
gauges point toward an
irrevocable debacle where

the evolutionary timer seems
to tick, head, and (hmm…
more like barreling) toward
becoming a cooked goose.

An ear splitting ruth less
buzzer will be an impossible
mission to clap quiet while
steam issues out the airwaves

from stymied paunchiest pilot
light buck kit brigade. If and/
or when such a fiery fate befalls
this arrogantly bombastic,

conceitedly egoistic, forlorn,
grievously hapless, irascibly
jangling, kookily middling
luddite, he hopes his demise

will be brutish, short and nasty
while surviving foreign legion
members of locked humanity
hob bull along the blitzed
boulevard of broken dreams.

Whatever provokes a maniacal
person to laugh as the world
turns tumultuously affecting
a surreal ambience akin to the
edge of night (especially with

dark shadows) may appear
wantonly vapid unspooling
threnodies sotto voce.
Rational quartermasters
promulgated outlandish no mans land.

Knowledge jackknifed ideal
humane gentility. Febrile earth
lings’ dragnet cleaved bona fide
actualization. What other option

available to tinker, tailor, soldier
spy except to chuckle at the folly
gingerly loosened upon the terra firmae?
Nothing short of an uproarious chortle

would be prescribed from doctor
demento to ameliorate the tightly
wound tension arising from local

or global aggression arising from
bullies calling their bluff fed goat
bluster, division by the zero
sum game of thrones. Thus,

this mechanically nonsensical,
pop sic cull *** purée to throw
fire retardant on the conflict frission
intonating loopy outré playfulness

with words hoop ping quadratic
equations totally add further
meaninglessness. Hence **** friend,
aye axe hew, how does humor get decided?

Laughter versus humor All Joe king aside.
Jest parody offers funny types of humor.
Seriously folks. What spurs this laughter?
Repression of natural mandated libidinal
kickstarter jammed in high gear feeds

e-z dropsy clodhoppers bursts of hyena
sounding eruptions! The cervical contractions
puffed up like jiffy pop laced pompadour,
increased with greater frequency and

intensity asthma due date approached
(which felt like violent shaking of the
biological ***** re: me), especially
prominent when “mother” gracefully
described Arabesque. She gravitated

to modus operandi sans professional
ballet dancer like a duck would drake
to water, and salve and duff heat whirled
pool ache kin to preparation H - soothing

the pain in the *** of hemorrhoids. Hours
elapsed with incessant stretching (while
in a standing pose) blithely drawing one leg
or the other up against those roseate ****** cheeks.

Even when quite progressed along
the family way with yours truly, thy
status while in utero where ******
stretched akin to a taut rubber band

near ready tubby (or knot tibia) snapped,
like ballet slippers suspending balanced
***** of toes pointed to maximum flexion,
or inflated balloon ready to pop beyond
capacity or, bulged in utero, she maintained

a fanatic, maniacal, and slavish veneration
asper the rigorous being a choreographed
top notch ballerina. This passion to bend
body electric defied laws of fig newton’s,

finagled parallel dimensions, and hugged
joie de vivre limbs maintaining nonchalant
passion recognized talent unbridled versatility
waiving youngest attaining burlesque,

Churrigueresque dramatic elegiac fluidity
transformed thine mama into a holographic,
kaleidoscopic, and opportunistic piquant
rondelet thru vitality, whimsicality, and zealotry.

Gracefulness hove spectators to behold defiance
asper flexibility of muscles in conjunction with
defiance of physics. Once immersed in a classical
routine, thee supple rubbery form assumed

by thine mother ******* focused klieg lights
upon wondrous kinetic magic. An audience
member vicariously experienced dalliance
of some mind-numbing narcotic minus
the addiction. Stupefaction trans fixed gaze

upon the dynamic parameters of space
and time to present an enchanting move
able feast replete with operatic poetry,
quixotic romanticism, and sculpturesque

statuesque totemic union verging on affects
cast by a singular whirling dervish. A
heightened indoctrination of jubilation
radiated from every cell of this artiste

in motion. Pirouettes cast grotesque dark
shadows and etched the faux edge of
night scenario with gigantesque ghoulish
phantasmagoric veterans of many tragic-

comic composers long since vetted into
the storied ballroom of fame. No surprise
then that when mine exit from the berth
canal of stage nom de plume Harriet Harris

witnessed by a full house, my denouement
propelled from the tender vittles tulip ruffled
private naughty bits induced balletic movements.
Meanwhile me mum (real name christened Chrys

Anne Thumb) busily intensely engrossed herself
(terrifically totally tubularly) within whose inter
twined arms and legs that emulated an analogy
to a pretzel held me snug as a bug in rug. A pause

(which many interpreted to initiate an applause)
sprung a contagion of hand clapping that drowned
out the impetus signifying the first breath of
this wordsmith. Only as the slap happy flesh

diminished did ardent hard fans of a triumphant
fancy feast and foot loose Gangnam style winged
goddess take stock of the starlit cradling a newborn.
Frightful faces and peculiar sounds appeared scary.

Thence spurred via submit able exertion climaxing
with a riveting acrobatic contortion (essentially
forcing this now grown baby boomer former chap -
lain cocooned for nine months within the womb),

thyself made headway into an alien world, whereat
this full term new born did provide his own wailing
lyrics (even at that tender infant hood, an iconoclastic
antiestablishmentarian). This now grown baby boomer

chap lain cocooned for nine months within the womb,
who sought nothing more nor less than that which
necessitates being swaddled, pampered, mollycoddled,
cuddled, bundled, and held close to the *****. As

grown middle-aged madman (albeit married to
X-Files rabid fan) still craves, desires, and gloms
toward picturesque pairs of pendulous pliant plump prized
politically incorrect breastworks.
Swetank Modi May 2016
Sadness is weird for me.
It leaks from my biggest smile,
and from tears of laughter.
Sadness lingers with me in a hug,
and when I´m dancing.
It creeps into my mind when I'm alone
or de center of a party.
The urge to cry is there
I simply lack the tears.

Sadness is weird for me
It hides in the corner of my mind
to surprise me when I least expect it
But other times it prances around
waiving a flag as if to show me...
but I know, I feel it
I simply lack the tears

Sadness is weird for me
because it is numb
and yet I feel it so strong.
Because I smile,
even when I want to cry
I simply lack the tears.
Madeleine Mar 2018
Your first time here
Lines are short
Almost your turn
Mintues pass
Your turn arrives
Heart pounding
Eyes wide
Mind racing
Fear rising
It begins
Slowly you move
Up and up and up
You go
As you think that you are about to stop
You move
fast and faster
More quickly than your heart can keep up
Screams are released
Arms are waiving
Eyes
open or shut?
Shut, too scared
Open, you know what's next
A **** here
A stomach drop there
The end appears
A halting stop
To a slow finish
A smile begins to form
Heart still racing
Ready for round two
Ready for more
Hank Van Well Jr Dec 2014
Illusions
Air thickened with moisture as the clouds purge themselves into a void , that appears as if the sunshine has somehow mopped up the sky ,
The grey canvas gives way to the spectrum , and takes the shapes of the backdrop that seemed to be cloaked by the curtain of the waterfall.
Trees look like skeletons in the frigid air reaching skyways trying to catch a grip of a dangling sun ray.
The baron sky harbors an eerie sense to it as I wonder where all the birds have taken refuge on this angry day.
Most have gone south for the winter , but the ones that stayed ?
Where are they ?
The wind hisses through the teeth of the rain making it sound even more intimidating, but slowly residing as well.
The streets gushing with rolling water , like a raging river , sprinkled with fallen leaves that look like desperate rafters headed for certain doom.
the clock advances , the nor'easter , has lost some of its luster , as the fingertips of the morning star seem to be poking through the blanket of grey, making little openings for the bits of the rainbow to wash the ashen hues from the scenery below.
The river dissipates , leaving shipwrecked leaves in the asphalt , and the voices of the birds ring out In the distance , to see if the rest of them are alright.
I still see the trees waiving in the distance , and the last if the wind moves along ,
Trees ? , boney fingertips ? Blankets of water ? Rivers in the streets ?
Illusions ....
Kawsu Sanneh Mar 2020
When I First Encountered with The Devil
There the weakest warriors wrathly
Flee from the farthest toes of a naughty evil
Even the roaring of a Lion wouldn't keep him healthy
Where trees dance, where the waiving hands of grass
Will be so frail to desist trampling, Where men ****
Grisly! When actually there a million of deathless Dalais
At abundance! But when invincible souls landed, Hey! Hope soar
That inevitable quest of callous chaos were quashed
That retro of hatred threat becomes clearly claptrap
That war wallows with forces that were waffled
For death! I survived those inanimate vap
From there, if for anyone knows but sonnets
They shall forever flows without dements
Robert Ippaso Jan 2020
Yes, I’ve done it once again
Removed a seeping cancerous pain,
Soleimani’s dead and gone,
The devil’s agent, the Ayatollah’s pawn.

Long the source of all things bad,
Few if any should feel sad,
If his passing caused a stir
His gruesome end aimed to deter.

Now a martyr for their cause
They’ll build him up like Santa Claus,
With waiving arms and raucous shouts
The world will see they’re no boy scouts.

My daring deeds on show once more,
They surely number by the score,
A man of steel and firm resolve,
Heaven sent to problems solve.

Yet the Media still won’t say
How great my feats are every-day,
A bunch of losers, leftie goons,
Their brains the size of shriveled prunes.

They’re now all worried by the path
Iran will take to show its wrath,
Bring it on and stand aside,
While I help our missiles glide.

If my message isn’t clear
To those that neither hear nor fear,
Mess with us and watch the show
As we make your backyard glow.
Amber Jun 2020
you claim to be honorable
you seem all American

But what if America *****
That flag just billowing with pride and honor
Is just waiving for attention

And you're not really that golden retriever
You're just a dog
One without proper training
Disloyal and fraught

No one can blame a dog
They focus on the present
They stick to what they know

They don't fly
communicate
Emote

You want attention from every girl but me
You are so desperately seeking love
From everyone
Everyone
Other than yourself

You claim to focus on awareness and equanimity
But what if you really just need to focus
On to hurting others

Because
You **** at that.

— The End —