I am a prolific Human
and the prolific stranger
prolifically sharing all I am.

I was born in a time of veterans and freedom.  Or was it killing, like when we left Eden?
I was born in a time, of oceans and salt.  Or was it destruction, Atlantis had fought?
I was born in a desert, a place with a lot of hot sand.  Cleopatra, Aphrodite, Egypt, all Seeing in the Land.
I was born in a Television, Hollywood starstruck was my name.
Classic, Modern or Hipster, craving fortune and fame.
I was born a telepathic, a mind reader of such.  Seeking and giving out energy, requiring you of much.
I am deep, I am wide and I am always by your side.  Loyal, Obedient and Giving.  Taking, Fantasizing, Living.
I am quite the comic book laughter.  I comedian of sorts.  
I am quick to judge the living and cover up my warts.
Back to 1960, or was is 70 and 2?
When I was born a Scorpio, and no one ever knew.

I accept you warts an’ all
my heart didn’t see them when it fell
I realise now your a know-it-all
a fact your ever-ready to tell
I finally met my Mr. Right
always ready to fight a cause
remonstrating day and night
didn’t know his first name was always

Christmas can be a time
when families get together:
Young children scream, wine glasses gleam,
both ready for M&S dinner.

TV's in the corner
rerunning Home Alone,
Heart radio's in the kitchen,
Chris Rea's driving home,
again.

Toddlers find the wrapping
more engaging than the Duplo
Teen couples find the company
less of interest than their own.

The dog's confused and excited
with so many different sources
of scratches and pats, he can't relax,
his whining is remorseless.

Christmas can be a time
when families are missed,
the parcel made last post
winging off to little sis.

Zoom will come in handy
to laugh across the miles,
the screen will mask the tears
and focus on the smiles.

Gran will talk of Christmas past
when everyone was home
'Cept in Gulf War 1 when Uncle John
went away, ....

Christmas can be a time
when budgets get stretched tight,
cash pressures get to breaking point
and prompt senseless fights.

Some focus on opportunity
to spend some gilt-free money,
the only prayers are for extra hours
and a faster tesco trolley.

For others it's simply ' Yuletide'
an excessive celebration,
a winter feast, all you can eat,
give in to all temptation.

Most focus on the family,
even more on the gifts;
there's little time for Jesus
assigned amongst the myths.

Some do remember Jesus
from half forgotten carols,
they know there's something more
than donkeys and angel heralds.

For there He is in the middle,
noticed once in a while;
it's His birthday, but all He's getting
is a half-hearted song and a smile.

He's no longer a babe in a manger,
He's now a resurrected King,
waiting for those who would worship
to stand and welcome Him in.

Whatever your experience of Christmas
you can come just as you are,
His love is unconditional
He'll accept you warts and all.

So come on!
It’s a season to celebrate!
To dance, to sing and to shout!
Your Saviour invites you to join Him,
so when you sing this Christmas, make it count.

Well, she looks like a witch,
Her pointed nose does twitch.
As she frowns upon the grocery list,
Then scrunches in a timely twist.

Bidding her straw broom,
Which she doth groom.
Hovers away into the gloom,
Over a pond she doth loom.

To frogs, rats, snakes and slime,
Quoth she, "All in good time!!"
Soon they'll be no room,
For the impending doom.

Her cauldron happily hissing,
As she adds to the seething,
Her black cat begins meowing,
After the rats, he begins running.

Slowly cooling the putrid portion,
She applies the lovely lotion.
The moles, warts and silver hair,
Disappear into thin air.

Her velvet apparel now lace,
Not a blemish does one trace.
Fondling her silky Siamese,
She heads home with ease.

To the little candy castle,
Awaiting Hansel and Gretel.

Albert had an ARTHRITIC knee
which gave him curry

The core of a BOIL is oft hard
to extract

Yesterday June experienced
a server stomach CRAMP

Too much dry weather
can cause the outer DERMAL layer to peel

Never read in a poorly lit room
for you'll have EYE strain

After eating spicy pickles
dad had bad FLATULENCE

Some twenty eight years ago
my friend Helen had her GALLBLADDER removed

They say that a glass of water
will stop HICCUPS

From end to end
our INTESTINAL tract is thirty foot long

On Sunday afternoon John
broke his JAW playing football

Some people have
very boney KNUCKLES

One of my work colleagues
is prone to getting LARYNGITIS

Colin suffers terribly
with MIGRAINE headaches

Sometimes people tend
to endlessly NAVAL gaze

A woman's OVARIES need to be checked
on a regular basis for any abnormalities

The PANCREAS secrets a hormone
known as insulin

QUININE once was extensively used
in the treatment of Malaria

Since my sister has put on weight
she cannot find her RIBS

The STIRRUP bone lies
within one's ear

Dan Aykroyd the famous comic star
has webbed TOES

Should you bump your ULNA bone
it may give you reason to groan

The VARICOSE VEINS is great aunt Ruby's legs
were very pronounced

Does anyone know of a good remedy
for unsightly WARTS

At our local hospital
we have an antiquated X-RAY machine

As tiredness and weariness sets in
one YAWNS quite a lot

****** ZOSTER can make
a person constantly itch

That trendy backwoods stomp
Your snake is spitting
and drowning in the rain

From on top my altar
I am the one you want
Like a peasant
In the city square

That trendy backwoods stomp
That spiteful sideways glare

Your snake is spitting
and drowning in the rain

Give the men treats for labor
Give the women something else
It will never be fair so long as they stare

That trendy backwoods stomp

When I eat I chew equally on both sides of my mouth
This is because if I don’t
I worry the teeth on one side will get cavities and eventually fall out
I touch with my toes the yellow stripes lining the stairs outside
alternating a different foot and different parts of my shoes every time
If I don’t the paint will stick to my feet
Turning my shoes the same yellow as the concrete
They’ve recently come in contact with
Now I know you think these notions are crazy and I agree
For people with obsessive compulsive disorder little everyday things
Can take a little longer
We think differently
And honestly I don’t mind that my mind minds things
Other’s brains don’t seem to be constantly thinking about.
My uncle, the child psychologist, once told my mother
I don’t have this illness
Because often I’m not bothered by my abstract obsessions
With frustration wrinkling her face she snapped back
That I most certainly do because they bother her!
My mom hates that I can’t stand to be in our living room
When the volume of our television isn’t on a number divisible by five
Or an even number if the digit’s below twenty  
She’s afraid I’ll revert back to that time when I was in grade school
That time where I would wash my hands so much they cracked and bled
Whenever she tried to hold them
The pain for me was temporary but she tells me she can still feel the sting
My mother blames herself for my problems like your average parent does
I catch her thinking to herself
“Maybe if I hadn’t constantly clipped my daughter’s nails”
“She wouldn’t bite them until blood”  
Maybe, but probably not
When she looks at me
I can see her thinking
“What if I’d never told her about the germs?”  
“What if I had listened?”
"What if I'd done more to help?"
“What if I’d paid more attention?”
She doesn’t realize that she did
She’s always helped me
She was the one who listened while I cried as the monsters called bacteria
Crawled under my skin
Holding my crumbling hands
My mother, keeper of the non compos mentis
Never cried
Never yelled
Instead she took my ****** palms and sang
As she fixed them with Band-Aids, lotion, and kisses.
She’s always there to try and fix me when I fall apart
When I worried so much my hair grew thin
She gave me her own mother’s worry dolls
Telling me they would do all the fretting for me
she placed them ‘round my room
But I worried that my worries would make them too worried
And wondering if you could die from anxiety
I stuffed them in the back of my dresser drawer whispering,
“You’ll be safer here”
I want to do that to my mother
I know I cause her sleepless night
I can see her lying in bed wondering if I’m eating,
If I’m living
If I’m even breathing
You see,
My lack of sanity is slowly taking hers
This woman who raised me spent so long defending me from my demons
She forgot to fight off her own
Well now it’s my turn
I’ll tuck her safely in my dresser drawer
Nestled next to my old worry dolls
ThereI’ll keep her safe
I’ll take my meds
I’ll eat my supper
I won’t upset her
She’s my mother
She doesn’t deserve a crazy daughter
I'll Shield her from my worries to protect her from her own
Because that’s what love is
Love is the lotion on my hands
Love is changing the volume when no ones looking
Love is not understanding but still listening
And most importantly love is worrying
My mother shows her love by trying to keep me together
I’ll show mine by trying not to break her or myself apart

In the heavens was written the mandate for the oldest child of the Sun and the Sea.

She the princess, oh nobly born, the oldest of three, was the model for the universe for elegance and wisdom of compassion as the philosopher child.

As she suckled on her mother, the volition of the sea, the philosopher child embraced the light of her father's wisdom as a vessel of beauty that all across all lands and in heaven adored to see.

As a gift of divine creation, the philosopher child, as written, taking form, a sage for humanity, was intended for she. The princess of innocence also loved her little sister and brother with the tenderness that is so special as she.

Upon reaching the age of wonder, her father fashioned a chariot for her to ride, so that where ever she were to travel, she could stand on ethics and scruples and not false pride. Her mother gave her horses the spirit of her volition so to pull their child across many unknown tides where on the chariot their child would be safe from contempt, dismay, envy and lost lives.

The philosopher child crossed the lands of question, where deep in its valley of many masks, politicians made laws of convenience, allowing one to wear many as one could, impromptu, they could choose to decide. She saw, that there, things could be fashioned for popularity where the vital balance of nature, being ignored, was foolishly thought not to reside.

But where ever she traveled, her father as the Sun, her mother the sea, felt safe that their daughter the sage as the philosopher child would learn the cost for compassion, and as wisdom would fill her heart so to eventually bless humanity with its redemption, with her kindness that was deep inside.

One day the princess arrived at the dark forest where the midst was thick and deep.  Creatures started to show from everywhere and reached out to hail her arrival. They said - please step down off your chariot, so to join us, as up there you are so far way and hard for us all to see as we are so low to the ground where the earth barely allows us to be.

In the kindness of her heart of compassion, trusting when she did, they then replied, that you are no better than me. The foxes chuckled in grin as making her feel as if she had to apologize for being the philosopher child. They stole her chariot and wasted her horses who cried out in fear in their terror; but yet not to be heard over all the panacea and glamour afforded in the foxes swift tide. The foxes insisted that their familiarity with her was not a contemptible form of their false pride.

In making her way across treacherous lands, she wondered deep in the dark forest wishing to make peace with all. But each who she met could only offer her the blindness of their limitations and deceit where calling it truth and where she, if to wish acceptance, was not given a choice to decide.

This tore into her father’s heart, as being the Sun he could barley shine as years of this went by. His beautiful philosopher child had suffered the evils of pedestrian false pride. The child’s mother, being the sea, wept as wanting once again to offer to suckle her with the vital elixir of life the way it use to be.

But the creatures of the dark forest, as ruthless as they were crafted to be,  had already poisoned her with the devils blood, as it hardened her veins unless she continue to drink just to have a peaceful blur of the memories in her mind’s eye. This is while many after taking what they wished from her would then cast easily her aside.

As a great dragon her father took form to swoop down from the heavens, when she could find no longer any quarter, so as to lead her to the great tree.

Here he said is the tree of life, where the archetypes as the branches and leaves you can relearn to see. Care for the matriarch as she has always loved you; respect this sacred ground and as a place of refuge, you can always return to, to rest, protected and safe from the world that still must be redeemed as you learn to rebalance the flow of your chi.

A little time past as all seemed to be relieved that the princess was now safe from treacherous beings,. But then on a clouded day a toad then did come by. Costumed as a monk with the guise of truth, sincerity and purity, he said - you are very pretty and do you remember me? We had met some time ago, but I have been away up till now  where some others must go. But explanations of my absence need not be.

He made her laugh. He made her feel light hearted as saying, lean on me. Forget all else, as all you need to see is just me. Whatever you wish to say, need not worry as I will fill in the words for you; and if you need to lie to get by, just remember that you can rationalize it as why should you really care why. In this way you can be as care free as me he did say, and I will teach you cunning facades, as there is really no upside in truth, and especially when you do not want to pay when you only want just to get by. Praise Buddha as I say to fools, as then they let me just slip by.

I will show you how in my own way in how I adore you. I will put pictures of you everywhere for all to see. I will hail how great you are and that you actually belong to, and then make sure to associate you for the legitimacy of me.  

We will have a future you and me, the way I had with others before, but as I have hollowed their souls, and with no longer their money, they have become to bore me.

But rest assured, you are different, and you are special in being brand new. For this we can have a future, but you will need to pay for it now, as currently I am a pulpier in practicing as being my own form of monk. But once I was rich as I can easily claim that again someday I could be. Perhaps Iwill pay you back then, but let’s see.

But you need not question anything I say, but just drink the devils elixir regardless if it blackens your veins. Then magically I will appear as that special prince for your eyes in their blur will to see.  Do not question me, as in handing your fate so cheaply to over, I am the only one to now approve of thee.

That tree of life, he said, must be really nice.  I hear the matriarch is a brittle as can be. Perhaps she will crack before too long where then you will give it all to me. I have stayed here and there, and now as your prince should you not offer me this place to now reside.  After all it is yours isn’t it, and you should express your rights. Do not worry as pettiness is acceptable way of life, and I want to carve that tree in the vain image of me.  Sacred what, family who, roots of you?  All this means nothing to suit the convenience of me. You should not regard these things as being as important to you as me.

Cast everything that had meant something to you before aside. It is now time for you to make all the room for me. I will give you everything you need, so don't worry. As I promised before to others, as long as you seem novel and new you will be able to laugh every day. This is the happiness which you can count on from me.  

The philosopher child’s mother did weep in seeing this toad to claim to be a prince.  Her tears as the sea awoke the child’s  father once again.   As the winged dragon he then swooped down once more from the heavens. With fury in his eyes he said, they who trespass these sacred grounds, the fire of my breath will incinerate. No mediocrity will pass unto these sacred grounds. This you can be assured, that in awakening my fury, your life then will mean little to me.  

Deep down inside, although wishing to ignore a pulsing tone, the princess being the philosopher child could in her dreams hear as she slept her soul speak - what has happened to thee?  Oh nobly born have you forsaken everything in life that heaven has written for you to be. Be fooled not by the toad of warts, as he can only be a prince of fools and not worthy of thee. Have the courage and strength to come back to the divine and shimmering form that you use to be.

Have faith as you can be the great sage, the elegant thinker where your beauty is assured. True princes will then kneel one after another to offer their hand in marriage to thee.

Make no excuse, as all can wait except for the matriarch for thee,  and be 49 days in solitude with your loving father and mother as the transformation of thee.  

Be removed from the trash that has subjected thee. Eight of these days are first required to free you from the devils blood. This is so your heart once again can start pumping again the true spirit of volition that your mother had meant for thee. Use the remaining of the days for your rest, repose, solace and contemplation where in the land of no demands no pressure is put on thee. You can face your mirrors so once again to recognize the cherished roots that compose thee.

Oh nobly born fear not and come into the light of wisdom of your loving father who in his tender love has untangled your matted snarls of your life before.  

Allow the volition of spirit of your mother to once again suckle thee. In this time, in self reflection then you can become reborn again, and transformed, the philosopher child, as divine in being, to bless humanity in the scripture you write that the heavens will then publish for thee.  

All across the earth will gather then to be blessed by the warmth of the shimmering light of thee.  Great princes that are destined to be great kings, who, in having searched before everywhere, they  will know then where to find thee.

My Prince Charming has turned into an ugly, old toad,
but that’s what happens when you choose this road.

The road so traveled by all the toads before;
makes me wonder what you see at the *****’s door.

I would think by now it would be rotten and smell,
but that’s not where my thoughts will dwell.

Why are they always uglier than me?
It can’t be because you like what you see.

Is it because the ****** like to drink beer?
Or is it because they’ll **** on your spear?

You’d think by now all of you would have warts.
You know the kind that stays in your shorts.

You think you’re so handsome, have you looked in the mirror?
One day soon they won’t let you get nearer.


But by then you will not make me cry
and they’ll look like they were put up wet to dry.

They may be younger but you keep getting older.
What will you do when you get the cold shoulder?

What will they do when you run out of money?
I bet they won’t think that it’s very funny.

Or how about when the pills are all done?
I bet a fight will be caused over that one.

Nothing like pill-head ****** to ***** around with.
To get them drunk, does it take a fifth?

An eight ball of coke, that ought to do it.
When it’s all gone I bet you don’t get in it.

I may have been with you through thick and thin,
but I ain’t touching that warty skin.

We did have magic for so many years,
but that was before the coke and beer.

One day I’ll see you all and grin.
For you’ll have caught the clap: what a payback for sins.

Deep within a leafy dell
There lived a hairy fairy
Who very often cast a spell
That was frightening and scary.
The only friend the fairy had
Was an old green warty toad,
He never thought the fairy bad,
Just lonely and old.
So he’d sit with her and croak
And watch her practice magic.
She very rarely often spoke,
This to him was tragic.
The fairy dress; the fairy wore
Had seen better days.
It was *****, tattered, creased and tore
The hem hung loose in frays.
Her head seemed always in a cloud,
He never saw her smile,
Her wand no longer taut and proud
But still she was not vile.
Somewhere inside he saw her love;
He longed to be her mate,
So he prayed to God above
And asked her for a date.
She thought he saw her as a joke.
He was playing with her heart.
Up she went, in a puff of smoke,
That gave the toad a start.
Never having seen this done before
He had a mixed-up feeling.
His warts and looks she must abhor
And she found him unappealing.
For days he waited there for her
Because he was alarmed;
A toad and fairy love was rare
He thought she might be charmed.
If she would only hear him out,
That he may just explain.
Then she, he felt, could have no doubt
His love just would not wane.
But if his looks she hated so,
Then this he’d have to take.
He’d just hop-off; away he’d go,
Take bravely his mistake.
He realised, ‘how sad it is,
I never asked her name.’
With one loud bang and mighty ****
Back to his side she came.
“It occurred to me, you might be kind,
My name is Nuff,” the fairy cried,
“And I can read your mind.”
“Fairy Nuff,” the toad replied.
Then she kissed him on his cheek
A shock that made him wince.
Before he had a chance to speak
He was a fairy Prince.
She was beautiful and young,
Like his clothes, hers were new.
A love that’s ‘Magic’ is not wrong
Especially for these two.

I am Narcissistic.
Lethargic.
Melancholic,
and, God forbid,
Cynical.

Wordy and Witty.
Sharp when I'm mad.
I cut to the bone
and make loved ones sad.

I dance with the Capitan
and assorted other crutches.
I swear to Myself
I'm not caught in their clutches.

I don't like decisions
or making a stand.
Sometimes accused of
My head in the sand.

I'm also overly Optimistic :)

Rat Farts

Once again me and my baby have split
now I'm all alone and feeling like doodoo
Im bettin' for sure you thought I'd say ****
can't talk like that when I'm wearin' my tutu

the Doobies in the background rockin' it out
smoked one myself now at least I am writing
stuffing my face with my homemade sour *****
next on my jukebox is a song 5 for fighting

I usually can find a good way to ***** up
too often my mouth gets in the way of my brain
I once stood in front of the asylum with a cup
trying to convince everyone that I was insane

one more hit should make the trip complete
crap, now I spilled a bowl of chili on my shorts
sitting here staring at the warts on my feet
another trip to the doc what can I say but rat farts  

Gomer and Morpheus

May 18, 2001
Wayne M. Williams Sr. slipped the bonds of life and is now in the arms of Jesus.

For death is just a change of address.  We go to a place of freedom.  A place that is free of pain, free of sorrow, free of doubt, free of uncertainty.

Saturday night, Dad Williams moved from Denver Street in Turner, where he left behind the earthly possessions,  to Jesus street in Heaven where there was a room prepared and waiting. Jesus said that He would go and prepare a place for us that we may be there also.   To paraphrase the Apostle Paul, “Wayne has run the race, he has fought a good fight, and now he has crossed the finish line."

Wayne’s father, Harrison Williams, raised his family to know God.  His Father started school for the first time when he was 16 and had a total of 23 months of school.  He had a deep desire for knowledge that he passed along to his children.

He was a self educated man.  He studied Greek and Latin. He knew the Bible from cover to cover.  He preached the word of God in Texas to any and all and did so until the day he died.

He had God’s promise that his children would come to know the Lord.

Well, it took some time for Wayne to come back to his Godly heritage.  But come back … he did.

This poem I am about to read captures Wayne’s spiritual journey.  The love of God and the price Jesus paid on the cross captured his heart.

The theme of the music Wayne wrote and sang had to do with the Cross.   The title is “Arms of Love”

Arms of Love
(Love Divine)
———————–
I was lost in sin from doing my will,
My need was great, impossible to fill.
Then someone told me of Your love divine,
How You came to earth to save mankind.

I called Your name Lord, not knowing the cross.
Would You be there, for me - the lost?
Would I be worthy to call Your name?
The deeds I had done, had caused You shame.
———————–
You were there, oh Lord, waiting for me,
With arms open wide for all to see.
You lifted me up from my deep, dark sin,
And gave me peace, such peace, within.

I sought Your touch for the love I’d missed
From the times of doing, what I thought best.
I sought Your presence to receive Your love,
And found such joy, God’s gift from above.
————————
Your love covered me, in all my need,
I saw the cross where You did bleed.
I felt Your love growing deep within.
Your touch cleansed me from where I’d been.

You cleansed my soul from inside to out
By Your love divine, I have no doubt.
Your love surrounds me, all my days,
As I walk with You, learn your ways.
——————–
In desperation I had reached for you,
Oh love divine, I found You so true.
So find Him now, oh dear one I pray,
Give Him your life, do it today.

He is waiting for you, with arms of Love,
The precious gift, from God above.
There is grace and mercy, waiting for you,
With love and forgiveness to see you through.
————————-
Lord, I call your name, now knowing the Cross
You are always there, for me - the lost.
You make me worthy to call Your name,
So the deeds I do, won’t cause You shame.
———–
John Stevens 2-13-2000

Sometimes we can carry around a lot of baggage in life that is totally unnecessary.  We can harbor resentments of things long forgotten.   We can let the opportunities for knowing the Savior slip through our fingers like sand.

If we wait until we feel we are good enough to meet Jesus, to take Him as our Savior, we will not make it. We will be lost.   He wants us just as we are with all the warts of life, problems, fears and doubts that life can bring.  For you see, it is never too late to seek the face of Jesus and give Him our lives as we transition from this state of the flesh (which as I get older is not so great) to the state of the spirit. Even when life is mostly over we can place our life and trust in His hands and it will be secure.  Even when we know Jesus, when we feel we are not close to Him at times, we can have the assurance, that blessed assurance,  that He is always near, ever present, holding our hand, leading us to our destination. For without a doubt, according to Romans 8:38-39 “Jesus is our eternal security”. Nothing can separate us from Him.

I have known Wayne for over 35 years, nearly 34 years as his son-in-law. He has always been a man of high integrity and honesty.   He has been the best father in law a man could have. Anna already knows this.  She is the best mother-in-law a guy can have.   Over the years Wayne and I have talked for hours and days at a time about various subjects.  I have seen him grow in his walk with God.  Some may have thought he was a little unorthodox but his heart was right and his love of spiritual things was evident.

At Christmas times when my family would visit for a week… when everyone had gone to bed…. in the wee hours of the morning, he would be strumming his guitar and singing hymns.  I could hear him in the quiet of the night.  It was a comfort to me to know that the Lord was on his mind. That he sang of God’s Love.  That he knew of God’s love.

It has been a great privilege to know Wayne and listen to the stories he had to tell about WWII when he was an MP and many other stories throughout his life.  I never ceased to enjoy the stories… just as I enjoyed hearing the stories over and over from my father who got his new address in 1996.  My Father came to know Jesus in his late sixties.  He knew and rejected accepting the Lord as his Savior until one Sunday morning in church, he walked down and knelt at an alter and said, “it is time”.

My father and dad Williams saw each other only once many years ago at Christmas time.  It was fun to watch them talk and reminisce about the old times.  Now they both live on the same street - for there is only one street name there….  Jesus Street.

Dad Williams had a lot of questions about life.  About things in the Bible mostly, for he studied the word.  Many times he asked me questions year after year. I apparently did not get any smarter from year to year because we went over it again and again.   Now he can get the answers he always was trying to figure out.

He will be missed by his family and friends.  I believe his angel came and escorted him into God’s presence.  Home at last.  The angels are rejoicing in Heaven today because another one made it home.

—————–
(This was delivered at my father-in-law’s funeral. He was rough on the exterior but on the inside… kind, gentle, loving man.  I am a better man because of knowing him. )

I did a little research work
And you know I'm glad to say
I found out about my history
On ancestry.ca
I typed my name and there it was
A family tree of sorts
With leaves appearing eveywhere
My family and their warts
There were places on the listing
That I had never been
And the names of the all the people
Well, most....I'd never seen
My grandad married seven times
My nanny married four
My mum was not my mother
And my dad...was out the door
The leaves kept showing up there
Beside each and every name
I sat there for eight hours
I was really glad I came
England, Scotland, Middle East
Nevada and Wales Too!
It seemed that all my family
Moved when the rent was due
I had cousins in Zimbabwe
I had cousins in Peru
They were scattered all through Italy
There were some in China too.
I learned things that I never knew
Tales of family and their kids
I  learned of all their countries
And of all the things they did
Four hundred names in all I saw
And each name had a leaf
I didn't know we were that big
It was truly beyond belief
The pictures too were something else
People, places now long gone
There were photos too of Mexico
And my dear old Uncle Juan
Tomorrow, though I  will sit down
And I'll do this all again
But this time I will make **** sure
That I don't forget the "n".

Bazooka that veruka
Wage war on your warts
Charge the canons against corns 
And ills of other sorts

Conscript regiments of Rennies
Antacid to supress indigestion 
Establish naval fleets  
Of fisherman friends sweets 
To banish nasal congestion

smear your chest with Vick
To ensure victory is quick
And if headaches ensue
Aspirin will win and subdue

If your enemy is constipation
Let  senna be your friend 
And if your throat is sore
Let strepsils make swift amends 

Show viruses they're not  welcome
Fight back with all your might
Give germs no easy terms
And soon you'll feel alright!

We sit cross-legged in the story corner
Breathing faint ammonia smells.
Table chants and hymns echo through corridor acoustics,
All creatures great and small.

We are wedged in a tangle of podgy thighs,
Grazed knees, scabs and warts.

And Anthony is sitting alone again
Where he can do no harm.

Yet he said he would bring it, and bring it he has.
Its tiny white head is nosing over
The  hem of his pocket,
Whiskers a-twitch and
Eyes like tiny blood blisters ripe for popping.

A shudder of shivering whispers and
Nervous heads are half turned:

Yes, Anthony is smiling his special smile.

Mrs Lloyd has found the page,
My lids are squeezed tight
As I urge my mind to follow her away
From here, away from now.

For playtime will be ****** once again.

Tall men think of robust ladies
Shorter ladies dream of length,
Toothless people fantasize
Of mandibles of white, bright strength.
Porcine women lust for thinness
Breast less girlies long for *****,
Dissatisfaction fills the air
It's greener grass or down the tubes.

Black man hopes for pale complexion
White girls bake to raise a tan,
Brown eyed lassie's envy blue-ness,
***** lesbian's, a man.
The wealthy want the easy life
Beggars yearn for cash,
Dissatisfaction's in the air
And mirrors are so trash.

Across the human spectrum far
Mankind wants for more,
The grass is always greener
Looking through another door.
It's bigger, better, brighter, best
The quest is always there
Relentlessly pursued with glee,
Bright eyes and bushy hair.

Results are mixed and varied here
Some reach the holy grail
To watch it slip beyond their grasp
Then founder, fall and fail.
Some teeter on a platform,
Some grasp the prize and run,
Some hit their stride at bounding pace
To see the contest won.

But by and large there's misery
Few climb the road to joy,
Frustration be my brother
Dissatisfaction be my ploy.
Limitation is our lot in life.
Our secret to success
Is to love the mirror warts and all
All other **** ...repress !!

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
23 December 2009
www.worthyofpublishing.com

i remember the meningitis scare:
   oh... it was very real...
i guess it was supposed to affect a niche
proportion of the population...

so much for the "scare":
they would vaccinate us in the schools:
since children were more prone
to succumb to: and inflammation of
the lining around your brain and spinal cord...

and all that: press a thumb against
a skin... and if the skin returns to its original
colouring: there's no blemish of applied
pressure... pressing glasses onto the skin too...

the aesthetics have changed so drastically:
what can **** you is so subtle these days...
it's hardly a case of leprosy...
or... eczema of the zombie plague:
or miniature lilal mushrooms growing
out from your armpits:
suddenly breaking into song:
  'steve told us to sing... so we have
sprouted: to sing!'
       no... celeriac sized warts... hell...
i haven't seen any pictures of covid-19...
as i never saw pictures of ebola...

            death has been given: an anonymity...
but what's still kept in reserve?
shingles...
     like: hyper-eczema...
                i'm having to consolidate myself
on the luck of being 30+ and still having...
a skin on my face that i can't peel:
but i'm sure that belzeebub took a dump on...

they're either dead maggots
or dead white blood-cells...
        i guess i have so many of the latter that...
my immune system is constantly
on a over-charge mode...
          
    where are the lilac mushrooms about to grow
out from out of my armpits:
when will death become visible again:
outside her womb:
without any anonymity to behold:
when will everything... "ev'fing"
  return to the obviousness of a guillotine...
a hangman...
      a... hanged, drawn and... quartered?

the improved aesthetics of the threat is hardly
be sitting in an armchair...
welcoming this: paranoia precursor...
there's no phosphorescent yellow-green phlegm
being shot through the air with a sneeze...

i'm quite disturbed about all this...
        "sterility"...
                      well thankfuly i know that
a schizophrenic can't beget a drone-replica:
dead'ed brain: "schizz"... zombie-cult-esque
   brain: riddled with parasites like...
a disciple of burrough's fever might provide:
subsequently... by...
   by caughing a splitting-headache that might:
somehow: "later": arrive at some variation
of bilingualism...
          but never will... perhaps it should...

because: right now: i want to wrong about everything...
i want to ****** with a hard-on of doubt...
and perhaps: tease negation a little...
or rub-rub-'er very much...
but i do: most honestly...
    want to be wrong about everything...
esp. when it comes to...
   the aesthetics of the "problem":
    it's a problem-solution: solution-problem
  quadratic...
           i mean: if it was truly cosmic... and original...
would it really care for much of aesthetics...
can viruses becomes stealth assassins?
   is a virus a misnomer of plague?
or is... a virus a former case of plague...
  that couldn't be: prior... weaponized?
   the rampant exfoliation of: the obliterated
concern for aesthetics...
   oh sure... it's clean cut...
           god knows what happened to those old
curiosities of medicine...

otherwise...

   what will 3 hours spent reading nothing but
Dickens do to you...
me? i "somehow" managed to miss / forget
about a sunset...
   came the night and... yeah: when meningitis
hit...
   and i guess after the mad-cow disease...
break-dancing limp feet cows...
drunk cows... morbidly drunk cows...

      there was always that postcard reference:
now?
you could obviously see the bubonic plague
from a mile away...
you could see eczema...
you can sure as **** see a shingles belt...
        would a virus even care...
to appease the aesthetic concerns of man?
how doesn't cancer do that...
well... i just start thinking about...
the botanical cancer... viscum...
hardly seen in western europe: tree-foundation
societies... etc.
   half an hour on the road outside of warsaw...
that's enough...

oh sure: because of covid-19:
who could, "somehow" forget about...
                  metastatic tumors!
oh the joys of... <cough cough> the carousel
or that ol' chestnut!
            come to think of it...
    would ingesting a tapeworm make thinks and things
more real?
what wouldn't be bad
about acquiring a symbiote these days?
     all: postulations of the mundane...
without yet within the science-fiction universe...
the facts will simply not stand the test
of time... or will... but will be shelved...
given to the bookworms and their placenta
worm-queen...

it's actually becoming a sieving tool for acquiring
nothing lost: of the old mundane...
the sterile aesthetics of the whole under-taking...
it's too: invisible: too pure...
to be... a freakish byproduct of nature...
sending us back in time...
as the original: single-cell organism
about to usurp the crown of creation...

    my list of conspiracy theories begins
with: catcher in the rye "coincidences" and...
that david copperfield sort of *******...
      because if it's not Pickwican...
it's certainly not an account of count
smorltork:
        peek - christian name
                weeks - surname; good, ver good...

otherwise these days:
the intellect has become a sponge...
and the supposed underlying:
because it is "supposed" and there's an
"underlying" aspect to all of this...
that there is a "dialectic" and...
otherwise: the bestest of the best kind
of...            soap...

is it a revival of an "empire"...
when at the height of its decline...
there was that motto:

     panem et circenses...

     what's underlying in Dickensian prose?
well... some of the words used...
i'd sit with a page and check the dictionary
3 times on average...
because there's still that underlying:
we, Britons, prior to the "english"...
the anglo-saxons... are the Afghanistan
oopsies of the ancient world...
there are so many words with direct
connection: etymologically "speaking"
with latin...

now: the bread is still "here"...
   of the 20th century... you could see a ****
coming way back in 1933...
and the communist... whenever that happened...
and you could subsequently trickle the "evil"
archetype into movies... into gaming...
and have people hooked on a bullseye of evil...

now? greyish blips and blobs of
Kantian bureaucracy...
    
o.k. panem et circenses...
looks to me...
like the circuses are long gone...
the bread is still here...
but... of all the seismic shifts this is...
hardly a ffffffffffff-ucking Pompeii!
riddle me this: riddle me that...
what can possibly become so... overly entertaining...
about eating a slice of bread?
why are the vermin: multiplying:
what's with all this: "huddling" at a distance?
need a cape with that: herr ubermensch?

last time i checked: rats do no operated
under herd scriptures...
there's not need for a shepherd...
there is: fire! scramble!
peep-squeak and more!
          
    an impeding confrontation with a pack of wolves...
a vegetarian lion convert...
                 the bubonic plague: lack of aesthetic...
and now this...
this supreme aesthetic of: when the ancient greeks
thirsted to conceive of the existence
of atoms...
          not that i require proof...
what so of circus: though...
      is, this?!

- yes folks... in the current climate of labyrinths...
the Minotaur isn't here...
and we're out of stock on smoke...
and... mirrors...

citations of a possible prediction to allign with
some variation of borrowed horrors:
to usurp the status quo and sentences us for:
there's no "third time lucky" therein...

all that's happened though:
mental people who would never allow
their minds to riddle them...
become claustrophobic by mere thought...
can you?
translate thinking into claustrophobia?
oh god... no... we haven't reached this nadir...
have we?
thought didn't imply θ(ought)!
that erotica of a would be pronoun:
the moral quest...
                  not because i did something bad
in the past...
but because:
i did what others didn't do prior to me...
i ride the wave of what a *******
said to me once:
after an ******:
this is only the second time it has happened
to me: hello ***** envy thrown out of the window!
hello sisters of mercy in some convent
in Limerick!
'allo! 'allo!

beside the moral conundrum of θ(ought): ought i?
this narrative of the ol' 'ed...
is... claustrophobic?
             spread this negation-of-ease further:
dear kin!
   dis- prefix that denotes negation...
ah... and -ease! the suffix that complete the circle:
no contemplation is necessary!

i'm still seeing bread, though...
oh mein gott! die zirkusse! die zirkusse!
what can be done about the circuses?!

people are coupling thinking with claustrophobia...
people are implored to read
for at least 3 hours a day!
a dickens! a tolstoy! a dumas!
and then relax from congesting paragraph strain
and explore the airy side of what was
written into prose and paragraph with
the aid of poetics: that non-exclusivity of rhyme:
always missing... best missing!

i too abhor this synonym:
poetry is what rhymes...
            a set list of: knock-knock jokes...
about as tasteful as...
               roast beef: done well done...
eating the bark of wood:
now that's an adventure!

            or what's... the adjective riddle / riddled...
of: now...
permanent - adjective... these days a host
of "calling scheitmeiser for all his worth"
and what not...      
                               now: the experimental
history of yesterday and "oops"
now: the cameo cinema of yesterday...
and god willing:
you have a "savings account"
of: memories that can...
suffocate the future: the imagining...
of and for the nought of nothing...
the "conundrum": of being...
such and such... and somehow...
retain: personhood...
rather than... a mere... citizentry "status"...
of the ebbing flow of cattle meat and dung:
itsy-bitsy spider teeth itching...
before the bone!
and... after the bones!

load of crock-**** Lombardy is not
Italy... mantra...
and those rites of rats from
the sinking ship that's Wenice...
much too... quasi-important...

      H - surd of a letter...
but the skeleton supposed to behind:
laughter...

the hibernian folk know it...
the english: eh... somewhat...
          bound to θ and bound to φ...
in t'ought... but not in: t'aught...
who needs the apostrophe?
no me: not "you"...
         third: or... θird:
or... ****... or τ(au) says: "herd"...
                             and what's "spezial"...
the surd worth of π (pi)
     in ψ...
                    or      'sychology...
              then there's "all that" with...
chrome: the χ that becomes a kappa (κ)...
but not... exactly the...
the...      ah!                   CHisel!
chasing dog's tails?

                            but a hardy: hibernian:
it's not an F... it's a T...
we have to expose the H-surd! primo
pronto!

    but ψ can afford...
          πσι in that...
                      either the π... or the π...
is treated as a surd..
cited: the whittle canyon of eta (Ηη)..
            ha: if it's a definite article in 'ebrew...
or ha: if... you need a consonant
skeleton... to breathe when laughing...

toes when marching: chin ching chatter...
otherwise "K / kappa" the matter...
taught to think it all but a massive:
****!
   or... a θurd... which is exfoliating in
the gaellic concept of: third...

i'm not from 'ere...
              mind you...
              this is all disneyland for m'eh et moi...
hello whittle atom me...
hello whittle atom you...
hello: hyvä aamu... susie 'ere...
       rakastaa... että ulvonta...
                 "unohti" haukkua:
fins... drawfs... and other whittle people...
eskimos of the "narrative":
   "kaikki alkaen apinamaa"!
    pωl pυt ***...
             and there's "3" of 'em!
exactly... what about the V'em...
             perhaps a F'ought...
      but: V'ere!
            V'em!
                            who the **** gets to
assure me: this language "ving" or "thin"...
sure hands... sure hands...
it's not all grafitti from chernobyll!

and what if... Joycean would 'ave to begin
its pilgrimage toward Dickensian?
this Ezra of ours: what of this...Ezra of
Fahrenheit of "ours"?

           my atom "versus" your... "atomized" man?
my spaghetti english
versus your... i'll sooner choke on ß...
or SuS...
         or SaS
                  SeS...          sayß...
h'american spaghetti english... *** riddled:
ghetto crown-tongue...


me and finding a juggling of chuckles
with: wit... hiding the ha ha...
when θ = τ...
hibernian...
poland the playground of god:
greek... the plaground of men...
esp. those as being cited:
with origin of the barbarian tinge...

  exatly! what of WH when TH are....
thought of "wen":
this grafitti phpneticism...
this barbarism...
no code of "conduct":
what should have:
and did "have": a happen to...
when it came to the ratio
of consonants to vowels...
  of the latter there was a supposed more...
or the latter a less...

    h.i.v. vampirism romances
would have to die...
  a death... most... closely associated with:
psychopaths: or...
the general pathology is: soul-quests...
all "things" considered...
there is no "grand-Σ"
        "past-participle":
of the unconscious-conscious liver...
does the part: actor... functions
of... i robot: you, not here...

the liver does what a liver does:
even if: i r woke...
and i r: sleepz...
               eyes only on when...
orientating myself around:
a failure of a distinct "individual":
moi foie premier...
   moi estomac premier...
and of "me" or... a me...
given that... there's no: "the me"...
            load of ******* and a chewing tube
of "worded"... "circumstances"...
as: "the alternative" to...
sorry... no other alternative...
was... or would ever... be given...
errror message 404 commences: as of: now!

- or... can you?
compensate a word like... draconian...
with a word... the periphery word...
akin to... byzantine?!
the kite's high up in the ******* air
my dear lad...
can you? "compensate" this...
marry of all other:
never-poppin' up 'ins?!

that's one way of minding:
a grey-ginger...
or an albino-masai...
for "good luck"... of all t'ings:
the lerprechaun 'ucking charm brigade!
that's just 'ucking necessary: that is!

as.... the people have already mentioned
their freedom: to cite and keep up to
the rigours of salutations...
they said and they said... and they:
sad but nonetheless: they sad-***-made-"truth"-of...
"it": 'ucking wombat
multiverse l.s.d.: me typing on an old... cranky...
soviet "qwerty" imitation...

the freedom prior to the plague:
i am yet to see...
the **** covid... and the leprechaun...
and the tarantula...
and the... leech...
   **** me: raining cats and dogs:
what a scenario!
     i was supposed to get...
               not leech: not *****...
those fidgeting terse quizzes...
          *****... no... leech... no...
leprechauns: double no...
             szarańcza... old mother-tongue:
ah yes... "these":
                                 locust!

the third of the lard off the herd of the most:
"likely"... nosense to me:
something for you:              up!
otherwise know as:
quiet a bollocking... wouldn't you,
somehow... please... stage:
an agreed to?
               ****'s sake...

  tyrd the triddle twiddle torn und
towing: dublin the sorry-eye: und sore...
you freckled maverick salt
burner you... and... it's a ginger:
stick-prone... keep y'er eager distance...

eh? that's true: is what's through...
**** paddy **** and a poor ******
walk into a bar...
and the bartender is... a kippah-don
of a rastafarian:
the jokes end...
and there was never a conversation
to begin with... ha ha!
now that's a joke... to wake up...
a frankenstein!

      ginger pleb: ginger poodle!
the new africa: the new eskimo...
or... the finnish gateway: etymologically speaking...
an alternative to... *** and...
              the leftover mongols
stranded by the waters
of the empire: receding...
          the...        no: not the croats...
the...
          a very much elongating concept
of pause....
              "d" or the "v" of: v'eh...: the...
the  immortal savages
of: crimea...
      ah yes!
                  those...            tar-tars!
like the tartare steak:
or what was forever available as
the alibi for: sushi!

        because tokyo is just one of those...
forever huan: new... beijing chicken shacks...
and "tokyo"...
or some other anime typo *******...

irish catholic intellectuals...
and... the none existence of whatever
would have required a magna carta:
believe it or... eat **** sort of
mentality...
            the russian doctors
are already abiding to be hunted
if not huddling in churches...
because: co-vex said: co-vid...
co-vid: sharing blockbuster intrusion
pokes was: that last resort to
mortality: and oh...

          this should have happened a long...
a long long time ago...
  transparency tourism...
where you going?
nowhere...
  and "where" is "going"... "nowhere"...
a bit like france... and the eiffel tower...
and there's no speaking french to have
to be resolved...
because like: "**** it" and what?

the ginger-ninja... the ginger-ninja...
the ginger-ninja and...
when the reality of *****...
reaches... an escalation "reality"
of: synonym with... oh god! beards!
ugh!           vot                          ven?!

yep... and the irish were always:
the horse-breeders..
they always were...
always the catholic-intellect juggernauts...
because the hey'talians and
the spoon-innards...
and... mon deu: zee: fwench!
forget the ****** cathos-pathos...
*******-of-os...

and in me:
the gravitas for a disconcerting ambivalence...
almost a compound:
misnomer... but no...
i like the spaghetti though...
yeah: it looks nice on paper...
and off paper...
and anything to cite: the godfather with...
because: boo is a ghost story
that a solo would sell... and ******* like
that...                   yup...
which is a word: to replace the ideal trajectory of:
would be: ghost limb...
james bond...
                          roulette...
you the actors "faking it": no of course...
dylan thomas bob dylan...
"faking it" i.e. stunt actors!
what's "bob": when there's a ******* roulette:
and a devil's dozen of rich, russian...
oligarchal chick... pretending plastic is not...
new world... ******: comb-over...
creaking chair... stlye-on... style-off...
plastico-supermanoh... dynamo-oh-oh...
those "soz" and "whatsevers"...
works well...
the times column...
when your parents are... conscripted...

             mammoth playdough oh oh oh...
irish is cheap...
catholic is cheap-oh...
******...
ha ha... let's not go there...
becauße that's like...
   goldberg variations: the bwv 988 aria...
   yeah: "soz"... but... i'll ******* eat you:
if i have to: for the purpose assigned
to a hard-on... most associated with...
sparrows...
and... the pirates of the confines...
the magpies...
          
             in every period of congregational
"sanity" there's that interlude into:
madness...
howl how! oh dear world of:
that lost appetite of surprise!
        you begin to wither... and die off:
by the slow culmination of hours...
like... a picture to entomb the perfecting
affair of a decaying pear... or apple...
               and...

            and....                 and...
trickling of sentiments...
and sounds...

                           and there are commentaries...
and there are... catholic bishops...
and protestant cardinals...
and ****** popes!             ah ha!
am i to.. truly... die... from laughter?!

I have become a gran again,
To a special girl,
Shes's got warts on her face,
And a squashed-up nose,
And she trots at a fast pace.
She's cute and she's brown,
Apricot to be correct..
I love her so much
Even when she's being greedy,
Which is most of the time
But we keep her in line
As pugs tend to go fat..
And we don't want that,
I find it a joy
To have her stay,
My cat isn't impressed
And does her best
To ignore Peggy the pug,
I hope one day
They will be friends,
As I care for them both,
The love from a pet
Is unconditional,
Their loyalty knows no bounds
To stroke a pet is therapy they say
I know being with Peggy makes my day

You hired me to be a cook at your restaurant.
I'll cook but I won't do everything you want.
When you said what you wanted, I said no.
I'll cook the food but I won't peel the potatoes.
I won't peel potatoes or anything else either.
Your daughter is accusing me of ****** harassment and you believe her.
The truth is that she desperately wants me to be her *** slave.
When I refuse, she becomes vindictive and she misbehaves.
She tore her dress and said that I attacked her.
I'd had all I could take so I finally smacked her.
I won't give in to her demands, if I have to, I'll take her to court.
She's the ugliest girl I've ever seen, her face is covered with warts.
Because I won't be her piece of ***, she tries to get me in hot water.
I won't peel your vegetables and I won't sleep with your ugly daughter.
When I got this job, I thought that I would love it.
But I've decided to quit, take this job and shove it.

they love me secretly; and i surmise
they'll whisper from the rooftops with cupped hands,
and nowhere will it echo through the skies,
and none will be aware among the lands,

for if the heart-shaped flakes fell from above,
upon the heads of certain worry warts,
these questioners would question why this love
should still remain within my loved ones' hearts,

for i have been rejected from their home,
and so it goes their love should likewise be,
the value placed upon these commenteers,
is valueless and meaningless to me,

for worry warts could question me and stare,
and i would walk away without a care

(C)2011, Christos Rigakos

I look inside my skeleton
Love-hate bulging
eyes out of my face
Two warts of ambivalence

I want to hug my skeleton
Heart twitching in a rib-cage
Admire the asymmetry
of every piece broken

Dear beautiful skeleton
In veins runs the river
In a stream of excitement
I flood in disappointment

I talk to my skeleton
I tell it that I love it
Rub my head against it
Lungs violently sighing

I believe in you, skeleton
in the blood of your tongue
A kick in the stomach
Everything is working

Where did the circus go?

Not like the Del Mar fair
Or the Barnum and Bailey skinny cow version

I want someplace nasty
A bit sticky
Someplace that picks up and leaves
before you have time to go get your watch back

All that’s left is a lot
Full of trash and ride screws
Because the rush to leave was more important
than safety

It’s a place most days now
I wish I could run away to

Slap on fake **** and be the bearded lady
Or warts and green paint and be frog man

Be something along the lines of
Homemade make believe

Be happy believing that
This other place doesn’t have things
Like rent
And car payments
And work that ***** you harder than your own girlfriend will

And don’t tell me cirque de solei is hiring
That’s not a circus
That’s people in costumes dancing and flying around on stages
They had to go to school to do that

You don’t need school to join the circus

You just need the desire to leave
Before anyone notices you’re gone
Maybe leave behind a sticky mess
And take with you something valuable
Like a watch
Or money from the purse on the counter
Or someone’s heart

Maybe I could be tattoo man
Or the ***** Mouthed Poet
And freestyle psalms that ache behind a glass window
That you have to pay a quarter to see through
And another quarter to listen
Or I could be a wax statue of Jesus
The one that if you stare at long enough
You see him breathing

Enough to restore faith in the make believe
That keeps us going

Let me be your side show
Let me be your fortune teller
Let me be the dark room in that back
Only the men are allowed into

Women and children this way

Let me be the ***** talk of town
And leave before the lynching

Let me leave in the night like a piper
With the promise
That I will give you the life you’ve always wanted
If you leave behind all you’ve ever been

Remember him?
He joined the circus?

Where’d the circus go?

if you develop a wart on your wrist
remove it with a bomb.
that's the American way.

Now I confess, arrest me please
Though I am undeserving and completely at ease.
A quiet obsidian  house, only footsteps to be heard
The fox in the backyard, a squirrel or a bird.
I am the woman of the place, you know
A matriarch of sorts
Fruitful fungi sprout from my back
They are akin to witches warts.
I was found in a dream
I awoke upset
I am all that I need
I easily forget.