Procrastinate to irritate
Aggravate to agitate
Treading on thin ice
Are these malingering time wasters of life

Festering in ignorance
Frolicking in abstinence
Wading in their excrement are these malingering time wasters of life.

Arrogance in abundance
Subtlety null and void
Unwittingly self confident are these malingering time wasters of life

Belligerent in the face of peace
Weary to face their fears
Blasé about things that matter are these malingering time wasters of life

Malingering becomes
Mal'ignorance
Mal'ignorance becomes M'alone
Therefore the malingering time wasters shall forever this earth roam.

greatness once stood here
drinking the spilled blood
of the winos and dope fiends
as they crashed
wings useless
from voyaging too close
to Apollo's fury
this vast wasteland
endless concrete
and stores which stay in business
for months
before being replaced
with the next Mongolian themed restaurant
the streetlights flicker
before burning out
like the candles of so many
extinguished too soon
this wasteland is all encompassing
be wary of the passer-by
they have a grin where their mouth should be
and a purse with a hole in the bottom
they salivate greed
and scream
at anybody who will listen
These are my beliefs,
they may not be right,
but **** it you'd better follow them
the wolves are hungry
out to get you in every drunken
way too high dark alley
that runs rank with beer ****
the elders feed on the young
spiders on their world wide web
******* the life out of the youth
until they themselves
are free of this
free of anger and drive
determination
but best of all
free from the endless torment
of untouched dreams
lock your mind, heart, and soul
in a cage made of razor blades
and swallow they key
because times are hard
in the wasteland
and if you want to make it
you're in for a hell of a journey

In every “Poetry Place”
There is a Copycat Corner.
We know it’s a disgrace
So here’s another “Warner”.

Why they do it I’ll never know,
Those Copier and Pasters.
Their words they seem to glow,
But they’re a bunch of Wasters.

Taking all that praise,
For stuff they haven’t written,
It seems to be a craze,
And many do get bitten.

Just Google their “fine words” or use those plagiarism sites,
And you will find the original poems
Bedecked with copyrights.

I’m sure this place just isn’t free
Of people like this,
Just look and see!!!

The Admins must get their fingers out,
And give these villainous rogues a massive clout.
Me, I will show all due diligence,
But my job here,
Is to show My brilliance.
(NOT someone else’s!).

Paul Butters

I would **** you,


                                 If I but had the time.

Margy shouts her advice from outside Greggs
unsolicited, but often needed
usually it concerns fashion
- the choice of a scarf
- inappropriate shoes for the weather
- or the state of a pair of trousers, hanging and baring a cleavage
(“No one wants to see that, dear.”)

Margy can be relied upon to wear the same distinct socks
– draped around her stocking feet, their multi-coloured design now greyed
by wear and the Uxbridge Road.

Margy is more reliable than her friends and she tells them as much
(“You’re all a bunch of time wasters.”)
demanding more loyalty and demands from me enough for a cup of tea
- a very expensive one apparently.

And on a Sunday, she’ll kneel and pray throughout the early Eucharist,
declining the bread and wine
(”On, no dear.  It’s not a habit I want to cultivate.”)

you have too many laws biased unto you woman,
for it to be economic to enter
a relationship with you.*

when drinking i've learned that
people can ruin a man's
drunken self quite quickly,
one rude word and you can turn sober,
otherwise on that turbine
it's better to be left in a state of
the "lonesome" self: less sightseeing,
less humoristic tourism
that would otherwise thrill
any other habit other than the one
that might calorie you up...
like fake art in the hands of an arthritis "artist"
smoking dope when disengaged from
his work wasting it all on computer games.

He had been on the road for a while
trekking from city unknown to city unknown
in a cloud of dust kicked up
by a Greyhound bus
he used a different name in every city
he wasn't a criminal,
but he was on the run,
he simply enjoyed anonymity
enjoyed being everybody's imaginary friend
He took magic mushrooms in Richmond
and rode the image of his grand spiritual quest
like a drug induced steed,
rode it straight to San Jose
where he met some migrant workers
who drank cheap mescal
beneath the stars of the dead pan landscape
wasters of the great American wasteland
and in New Mexico city
he was given a tab of acid
which dissolved under his tongue
in an explosion of hypnotic torture
his life reflected as a visage
as hallucinogenic as the walls which rippled all around him,
Portland was ******* and oxy pills
his humanity stretched tight like a drum
ready to snap at any given stimuli
he made it to California
dreams of LA
he became addicted to the limelight,
pretty hipster chicks who were foolish enough
to sleep with him,
simply because he introduced himself as a writer,
simply because he could work the word,
and he settled in San Diego
where the whiskey poured freely
and the *** was enough to blow your ******* head off,
in a small one room apartment
where the rent was cheap,
he drank and smoked himself in a stupor
with the windows open -
enjoying the soft pacific breeze which washed him of his sins
he had been all over his forced continent
looking for a place to call home,
but he never found what he was looking for,
and with grit and determination
and a hunger for the freedom of the American dream
he packed up again,
and left for the road,
a thief in the all encompassing night

I live for sunrises down south and late nights under city lights.
For the smell of french fries in the air conditioning.
I live for mornings where I'm driving home to the sun rise
and school buses pass me by
and passers by are making a routine stop to their local drive thru.
I live for the mornings where I spread awful news in a pleasant way
throwing on my sweatshirt that encourages my surrounding
engaging in long phone calls with a relative, my best friend,
and spicy coffee with an elegant design in a large glass mug.
I live for days where I lay down on my bed with a fan in my face
after being leaned over the couch burying my face in the air conditioner
cause its ******* hot outside and the air conditioning isn't doing enough.
I live for the days spent on the front room floor with gifts galore because Santa came the night before;
the five of us gather on to the couch and floor and wait our turn to hear our names called
while we shoo'd the dog out of the middle of the floor.
Oh how I miss that dog.
I live for nights where we visit the coffee shop
and we sit around for a bit not knowing what to talk about
but we end up kissing at your apartment anyways.
I live for other nights at the coffee shop when its winter and we're on a date
where we order our tea and coffee and we hold hands like lovers would
and we walk and sit by ourselves and you sing to me songs that you've written.
That's the only time I've lived for nights like those.
I live for the first day of school and those unpleasant ice-breakers
the time-wasters
the 'tell-us-something-interesting-about-yourself' even though I don't give a ****-ers.
I live for first encounters with a new face
the before-you're-officially-together chase
that part of the relationship where you reach second base
and the end where they tell you "I need some space."
For the sight of skyline on I-94.
For the smell of crayons and wooden floor boards
perfectly tuned guitar chords
soft pretzels at the shopping mall
and Jack White's voice.
For the sounds of a skateboard hitting concrete
for busy feet on a city street
and excited gasps when we stepped foot into our unexpected suite.
I know this sounds cliche, but I live for another person's embrace
pulling into a front row parking space
receiving your first gift to me, a turquoise cigarette case
longing for the day I'll touch Leonardo DiCaprio's face.
I live for torso-pressing-into-the-lap-bar roller coaster drops
the season of tank tops
travel brochures from truck stops
drunk stumbles to the pizza shop
watching re-runs of Wife Swap
and collecting shot glasses from gift shops.
I live for nights of "real talk" with close friends
dreaming of studio apartments full of odds and ends
and writing a poem with an odd end.

The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of Snap -
Because we're all too stupid to play chess.

I came, and I went there.
I went there and came.
I furnished my money, my loving and fame.
I drank and I piddled, I piddled and sang,
a song for Bukowski, for Bukowski I sang.

The low-lifes and hustlers,
the ****** and the cops.
The ***** in the bottle,
the dives and the flops.

The racers and wasters,
living on luck.
For all of the chasers,
I now raise a cup.

A song for Bukowski, for Bukowski a song.
A song for Bukowski, Bukowski so long.

Notes From The Poet's Nook: My Body Has Changed

There is this moment
When the mirror solicits an
Unwanted confess,
No tort or tortuous devices required,
The self-evident, undeniable.

It is almost as if someone punctuated your life with a
.

Traffic light. Stop. Red. Green. Go.  

Stop n' go.
Periodically.

But while you're momentarily waiting
Some convertible-rider boys pull up aside,
Whooping n' hollering,
Cause they like what they espy,
A woman, no more a changeling,
That excites their almost mature juices.

You call them idiots,
Flip them the eagle bird,
Smiling somewhere where only you and
Poets can envision,
That grin, a womanly gleaming,
Deserves a poem unto itself.

Other moments, other lights,
When time whispers kindly,
It's  now, today, is my-time.

Alone you go the drawer,
It's Bikini Collection Day.

Valuable space wasters,
Even that one, resident of the night table,
In the photo momentous,
You and the kids, on your lap,
Unchanged from the way you know it,
The one you swore forever keep.

Not to the trash they go,
After all, perfectly usable,
So drive to thrift store depository,
Where reusable dreams are stored,
And now future memories to be
Husbanded by someone else's husband,
On someone else's night table.

Got a mortgage, two college funds,
A ton of worries and a
Paunch, a gut, to hold 'em all.
Stand up straight, breathe in hard,
Still there, as if you didn't know, unchanged,
What ya gonna do about it?

You got too much stuff, no way it's the poet's fault!
Go to the couch  and bake a plan!
Cause that's why linguists gave us, maybe and tomorrow,
My fav word when rhyming sorrowful...

You see that child in the photo next to me?
In the baby seat, skeptical of all the cooing noises?
That look I treasure, for she be my genes,
My grand baby, who trusts no one but
Mom and Dad to pick her up,
Sensibly cautious, even tho I blow kisses
On her belly button, the one that says Press Here,
For raucous laughter and present-ed her 25% of herself.

Nowadays, almost two,
Her body a change machine,
Now she is a pusher, not a pushee,
Pushing Elmo in his carriage
Look me up, but see her.

Dressed to the nines, a Manhattan lady.
I missed that moment, too many came, coming.
Changeup and fastball
The only pitches in her repertoire,
So far, but if her dad don't teach her a cutter
**** right you smarmy left handed hitting boys,
Her Poppy sure as sht will.

Ok, you know me. Got remind myself to stop
Before I get dribble mouth.
Guess that's kinda of a
Momentous change for me,
But lucky for you,
I can still do it,
Write a poem 1,2,3...
5, 6, 7, times a day,
If that stops, it wail be
Because....something changed me permanently.



July 6th, 2013

Who are we?* we ask, always asking ourselves the same questions...

We are the world.
We are brothers and sisters. Sons and daughters.
We are friends, cousins, acquaintances...
We are lovers and enemies, and also, strangers.
We are anyone and everyone, all at once.
We are, despite all else, connected.

That must mean something to us. Shouldn't it?

We are 7.5 billion bodies, each alike in enough ways that might make our differences invisible. (But are they?)

We are the same, in so many ways. Enough that our similarities should outweigh our inevitable differences. Our similarities should be enough to prove that our differences are not worth fighting about. Yet, somehow, they aren't. Because we do fight. We fight without any known rhyme or reason, and without genuine purpose. Without empathy. We fight over our differences with enough audacity to claim that they should be ranked. With the belief that each of our differences should be sorted, allowing some of us to be valued as less than others, and also, some of us valued so much more. So, we fight. Like siblings or old lovers. Every single day. Probably have since the beginning of time, or, rather, when we created the concept of time. Perhaps the fighting began when we became a we. And since, the fighting has been constant. It's the only thing that really brings us together. And the one thing tearing us apart.

We find any excuse we can that will bring us closer to division rather than unity. Somehow, we are still far too concerned with the qualities that make us different rather than with those that which we share. And for so many of us, it seems easier to choose not to share. We are selfish and we rarely share. We are all in this together however we behave as though we are unaware the other exists. Mindlessly we share similar DNA but we act like we don't care. It must be easier to behave as though we are unaware. We do whatever it takes to ignore the facts that lie right before our eyes and we build walls around them. We look the other way, in any direction that might lead us into misdirection. We pretend we don't see, that we don't know, that we don't care.

We the people, of the world. We the hopeless, the reckless, the desperate... We the lost.

We are time-wasters, dream-chasers and we are all ******* fakers. We are figments of our own imaginations. We are alternate versions of ourselves living in realities of our own creation. Realities that aren't real at all, just like us. We hide beneath our fake faces and our fake words. Our fabricated worlds are all we have to show for. We live in pretty, little bubbles as an escape from our invisible reality, in an effort to shield ourselves from the dangers of the world. We're supposed to be in this together, though somehow we'd all rather be alone. We've forgotten the meaning of we, and we've doomed ourselves to eternal loneliness. We are, if nothing else at all, inherently lonely.

If wasting time were a crime
                They should do time...
         Endless, mindless messages
            That go on from 9 til 5
             Then 6 til 10
          Until you tell them when?
               YES! I will meet you for a drink!
          " how about Saturday?"
             " what do you think?"
              " yeah.. saturdays great!"
               Well I guess that's a date!
               Saturday comes, and Saturday goes...
              Cos. When I turned up
              You didn't show??
                TIME WASTER!!!!

I hate it when my biscuit commits suicide
in my cup of tea.
I hate that TV is about celebrity, banality
and reality.
I hate that even though I have a job, money
still alludes me.
I hate being woken up and going to
bed in a bad mood.

I hate adverts on the radio.
I hate stupidity
facebook debates and vanity.

I hate people who think I'm a traffic light
and those oblivious to where they're going.
People who can't stop relentlessly moaning!

I hate that learning's on the decline
I hate shopping , boredom
and "being dolled up to the nines."

I hate that everybody just waits for
things to get better.
I hate that a 'good' hair day depends
on the weather.

I hate assumptions, non-conclusions
and skin ablutions that don't work.

I hate that the art of conversation is
adrift in this technological generation
I hate time-wasters, calories and kid with
no respects for elders.
I hate that journalism's no longer 'cutting edge'
or about the truth.
I hate profound sayings about too many cooks
and spoiled broth.
That I'm incapable of telling people with clipboards
to *******!
I hate martyrs , can't be ****-ters,
ignorance, arrogance and man-made disasters
The non-stickiness of plasters!

I hate public transport, rush hour
and being stuck inside.
I hate people who wear tracksuits but
never exercise.

I hate queuing and clichés
I hate opinions on mental health
and those who just can't help them-self.

I hate people who relentlessly moan
who can't stop trying to sell stuff over the phone.

But most of all I hate it when

....

                                                         ­           Ah! Forget it .

I speak with her now and again
Well I guess just to be friends
Even though it sends a message that I still depend on well her
I don’t know 
It makes me think about all the nights we wasted on her porch 
Waiting for the sun to scorch our skin 
Every morning on just hollow bliss

I was just sitting there in the box car
Waiting for the train to get me so far away 
I didn’t care anymore
I wasn’t scared 
Just a little unprepared 
But In that same instance I couldn’t believe what my eyes had seen 
Walking through the door
As with the light she gleamed
It was a girl
And she was so beautiful

I still look back on that day
It was the first time I had seen such a face
As hers
Finding out its just a curse
So ill and unrehearsed 
We would lay by the lake 
Watching the stars, and seeing how far we can take our love
Above all 
So perfect I would say

We seemed to never be afraid of anything
We would run around town complaining about the world
And everything we would change
With just a bottle and a tear to save
We’re just time wasters
Dream Chaser 
Cheesy Love Saviors
And everything in-between
And Im ok with that
As long as she’s ok

I remember asking her 
Can I hold your hand
As the moonlight stood up so fast
Those nights
If only they would last a little bit longer
Maybe Id be stronger 
Maybe we could pick our lives and move where its bigger
I hear the city isn’t so bad
I just want you to be happy
With all the room to run free

With this torn up town
We couldn’t find a place to settle down
So every night it would be something different to yell about
Something new that made us storm out
But still that couldn’t break us
I know I wasn’t the best
I got lazy 
I just wouldn’t come out of bed
And I knew That

Please don’t say that
Im not that bad
Im not what the words that have been said
I must be dreaming
I can’t stand the world 
And my wrists are bleeding 
Don’t turn off our love
For the few mistakes that have made all of the above
I hope its not like this
I hope we can recover
Everything is just a blur now

I don’t believe how everything can change so fast
From those endless nights to being alone at last
I miss those days
I know you do to
Its not like me to beg
But please come home soon
I have something better to say
Instead of the same old garbage I shoved down your face

Its been 2 weeks and still nothing
I can’t help but fell responsible for the pain that has been caused
If we could just pause and rewind to the beginning 
Of how we met so blind
So inclined to believe in the lies
With all of my heart still tide so tight
All along with my eyes so wide

Never again will I allow my heart to be open 
To any other feelings
My dreams are the only way to stay sain
I wish the best for you
I wish we could complain like we did
Just a couple of kids 
Leaning on the edge of our eyelids
For the hope that one day we will become greatness

Still I don’t regret on the fact
I know it to be best
For the rest of the world will now be open to my life
And better yet
I will be open to it
Maybe one day we will meet again
In another life and I can save you then
We just needed time to think
To open our minds
Cause Without our dreams we’d sink
 
So This must be it
The end of the story when my fingers can finally quit
Stay home and be alone for a bit
And Im ok with that
Im ok with the experience 
I guess this is just another bliss
I just hope that you won’t think bad of me
Because in the end 
You are truly my everything

I'm a daredevil with the wordplay
I'm the father nature of words
I cause metaphorical earthquakes

I create verbal distortions
real-time gravitational pulls
My words create wormholes
for you fools

I'm never one to get caught up
With those three-lined time wasters
Small words are for felines, not dog chasers

Now watch me enter your ear like q-tips

Whether you recite this mentally or with two lips

Watch my words blossom then spring like tulips

My tools are to equip, I do this

For the sake of being an artist
We are now in the future
You can be a man that is heartless

I swear his organic heart was replaced with turbines
YouTube it, google it!
We are now in those times

Enough about those lives
Let's embrace my current state of mind

This current age, only a fragment in the stain of time

Minimum wage has me working over time

Maximum rage could be the case if I let go of my

Elusive state, I'm in a place where my conscious mind

Has embraced all of my thoughts upon these words of mine

I hoping that these words can turn to wine so that all can drink, then have high spirits

We are all passengers upon our own body's can't you feel it?

lag and latency upon your current actions

tell your brain to move a finger, then see what happens

It's crazy that only 10% of our brain can be accessed

Is this a myth or a fact?
I have yet to fathom

Time wasters
Talk circles around my rolling eyes,
Nothing escapes them
But the point
Which is now ground duller than their wit.
Once proud pinnacles of though
Cannot be distinguished from
Littered words crusading for air.
Sunken cities subsist on stale ideas
And move feebly into tomorrow
As they shake the claws of yesterday
Only to suffer today.

But new ideas breathe resurrection
As chaos polishes the rusted ring
And births a dancing star.

It pains my fingers
to write something I know I
have to write,
rather than the carefree bliss spent
over hours of
e n d l e s s
scrolling on time wasters.
Like this one, I know…

Almost everyday there is
regret
and remorse about
the things
should have done and that
should have been.
And

there has very little
been done about it.

So my days remain forgotten like the dusty old cloth bookmark hidden between a crevice on a vast bamboo bookshelf.

those that bore us with tales of drunken nights
cheap wine and what she said to him
who send you pictures of their pets
and watch TV because "everyone is watching it"

those time-wasters, those narcissistic fools
who call you 'friend'
who open their hollow heart
and what flutters out?
"my ex-boyfriend said..."
"when I was in Thailand..."
"Isn't that just like me?"

those reflections, they are not worth your time

You stole something
and I want it back
a piece of me

You took something
that didnt belong to you

You took something
and I want it back

Peps, here listen, hear me out
yeah I know you're all really doing your best
trouble is, your best isn't good enough

You're making us look like Keystone cops
all this haphazard stasis-cating around like drunk Ruskies
staying up late back early morning, obsessive yet incompetent

Yes, persistent is the key
thing is though, you're just too dumb
some of you think eggs grow on trees
after all there are  egg plants, so surely eggs come from trees
yes! and we all live in a yellow submarine!

Now listen to me, you plebs
Don't you know what 'Royalty' means
do you think its some wishy washy label from Primark
or some honor you can buy at a Car boot sale
No, you pumpkins, it's not and don't mention 1066
or that opinionated zealous fool, Oliver Cromwell

If you don't know it yet, better know now
our Royal Adversary is Simply The Best
this man is as good as you can get
we are talking Exceptional here
we are talking, top drawer, creme de la creme
we are talking, One of a Kind, the Real Deal, yes!

We are the majority, yes..fat lot of good, that has done
you're all as common as muck, ******, ******* twerps
that's all you are.
yadda yadda this, yadda yadda that we are attacking his psyche
it's psychological warfare, it's mental and emotional assaults
it's your mother's ***, you dumdum, the man is laughing at you
Christ! what's with you people, how useless are you!

I know half of you are demented psychos
and the other halves just plain simpletons and sheeps
now the blasted public are beginning to see that,
they are fed up, already!

I tell you now what your ******* problem is
you think we humans are all the same, you think he is on your level
you ***** think he thinks like you, sees like you, reacts like you.
You, yes you, are stupid, does he look stupid to you?
If you say yes, then you're even more stupid than I know

Just be ****** honest with yourselves and face facts
you are just common muck, oiks chewing straws
and the man is Class, quality, top grade, the business
gifted, talented, brave, courageous, exceptional and a ****** 'One of'  
The Man is simply ROYAL, that's nobility for you
and say or write any **** you want, that's the ******* TRUTH

Now, get lost and go continue your nonsense
and don't steal anything on you way out, that's all you're good for!
jingoistic trash, time wasters full of dog's crap.
And you men, if one can call you men, with your floppy tiddlers,
put aside your *****-envy complexes and engage your brains.
( What brains, actually? )

Love is
when things turn black, you're always there
Love is
when somethings different you don't stand and stare
Love is
making that special someone some coffee, a cake or maybe their favourite food
It's pretending to laugh when you're just not in the mood

Love is
tending to the sick, to the poor, to the wasters and users
Love is
realising in life that we're surrounded by takers and choosers
Love is
waiting for another at the bus stop in the pouring down rain
It's the beautiful gift that just gives again and again

Love is
not sharing on Facebook hoping millions in other countries will care
Love is
focusing not on the fictional but the ones who are actually there
Love is
knowing who are your friends and who are parasites
it's watching out for your brother, even if it keeps you up all night

So pack up your worries, your selfish needs and excuses
reality's both exquisite and ferociously abusive -
when you're lay dying, will your tweets or wealth keep you alive?
No, for love is the drug that keeps living alive.

Dear Whoever You're Really
Like
(Not That You Aren't Yourself Of
Course),

Do you ever worry that
what if someone thinks
you only got where
you've got (so far)
because
of the timing chances
made in starlight making
easier orbits to you like a
tilted pinball and then call it
cheating.....   .............
............as if....they
..never shook. ........
.............. ..well,
I would and I'm not
even middle upper class,
I mean I wasn't brought up
like that tell me did you want-
did you ever meet those
vaunted tabloid energy
keepers and wasters
is that why you were
self-styled
like that when
you started and
did you ever
see the film
Strawberries
with Ingrid
because I
think you
might
like
it
and i
want to
say thank
you for liking
Mr. O'Hara. i bought
one of his poem collections
with my little tip money from
Sunday in the markets selling good
produce. Bought it in a bookstore with
The owner a nice old lady bearing years;
knitted prints on her black bordered tartan;
Your passion made me think to tell
her i liked that faded **** on her
really i did
she called
me dearie
anyways
Frankie
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////
the guy could've been a pal but I don't know if my framed support kept chance.
Would it have been able to burn brightly or varied enough for as long as he did?
Maybe that's a good thing a good thing indeed not knowing. Are you wanting to do
that? Not "not knowing" but to give beams like raising barns. Final query but its rhetorical.
After all:
                      What does the world ask of stars but to shine a little night?

Sincerely,
Whoever I Am

Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes
I ain't going to work on any ordinary farm, of the ordinance and well-ordained
They sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained
They huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity
They planned and plotted only to see boredom engulf the crowd
Ne'er to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier
What is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace
With the catatonic curses, and scatological invective

If the mill laborers know what I know
They will see wasters working hard to make more waste
For theirs is to work and fret, berate each other and work
From birth till death to ghosts already remembered
Above the antique mantel
An educated mind would entertain the thought of numinous reminiscing
An excellent habit, to focus at the elephant that cumbered the room
The dearth feeling that was filled with scarcity, memoirs lay strewn

Like the law and edicts, that flustered the mind
Clinton and his economics liberalized my mind, but, piqued the market
I read these in papers of the age of dying punk, and gregarious bylines
Witty writers pen their names in bold, on pen and paper meant for the literate
A kind spirit lies in the artist within
Reminders and unneutered plants are willfully disregarded, with the milk untouched
Spiritualism is stolen from my doorstep, sold to ragamuffins and rapscallions

Exchanged for the dream of more reading, with an understanding of the antiquated climate
Dostoyevsky, a small-time Russian who stole the hearts of many, living by his word
Told us of crime and punishment, with a large intelligence and deep heart
The darker the night brighter the stars
In the empty sky, I offered my confusion
Failure is not our punishment for laziness, its other people’s success
It’s our hunger that floats on the surface of other’s hatred, more like oil and water
Russia was a bed of gelid ice, unable to tell the approximated difference
I make approximated decisions with calculated assumptions, and all my dreams turn to ashes
Years past, and this knowledge brought me peace in my last try at catching the sky
Catching falling stars, and preserving nature
Some poets of the fall, prefer the winds of change instead of sprig icicles of spring lust

Who's the ****?
Reynard asks
as Yiska
walks away
her bottom
cool swaying
her grey skirt

a girl friend
I tell him

another one?

who's counting?

what's she like?

innocent
as flowers
(she wasn't
but said so
to no one)

time wasters
Reynard says
watching her
join her friends
on the grass
of the field
by the school

I watch her
different
year younger
than I was

football then?
he asks me
turning round
while there's time?

I smell her
still near me
OK then
I reply
walking on
to the game
just started

blow a kiss
back to her
she catches
with both hands
to her heart

here Benny
someone calls
throws a ball
I take part.

Long ago I got on the road
The world my back yard
Started traveling all over
Met many a poetic bard

Learned the ways of people
Writing of it all on the way
Have poems not on computer
Wrote sold songs sing lots today

Writer of book songs poetry too
Heaps still in boxes from back when
Seen many places met endless souls
Loved it all how I did back then

A traveler becomes a deciple of wisdom
But generations many have faded away
Even Jesus studied Bhudism in Kashmir
Was eighty five when he died there one day

Religious I found time wasters collectors
Of unknowing souls never dying on a cross
All comes down to wealth greed organized
No problems karma will be their loss

After all said and done all were just families
Those who were the captains of their soul
All much the same as all families were then
Since earliest days away back times of old

There was as if a unuversal language then
But since that time minds closed so tight
Soul slavery became a hundred years later
Writing bibles mans word not gods so right

I saw lands oceans seas mountains valleys
Ships made from straw camels horses too
Was so many ways to travel had they then
Country to country all under skies of blue

But now those times are over gone for good
As generations passed stories changed true
People all were just that people minds open
Greed and wealth lies written more than a few

We are all here to only learn oppasites choices
Like knowing right from wrong left and right
If you know them you don't need religions
A new born baby knows them day and night

If one cannot do a good turn one don't do bad
Treating others as you'd have them treat you
If it wasn't for a good samariton doing likewise
The story wouldn't be the one they call true

Simplicity I love that word its right up there
My insignificance in life my own invisability
One can't walk both side of a barbed wire fence
At the same time choices have to be made agree

I'm older than so many right now no regrets
Learned more than most would believe true
Almost finished this class schooling so be it
But old souls I adore each one of you

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018