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elle Apr 2012
This crazy old man rambled verses of the bible in the middle of central park
No one cared to listen
He was just a crazy old man
Thin, malnourished, his wrinkles deeply embedded in his paper skin
Gave him the illusion of being wise
Though he had no idea of what he ranted on
The poetic flow of his words caught my ear
And pulled me in
"Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
I pondered a while pacing through the park trails for the meaning of all of this
Night had fallen when i came across the old man again
Cozied up under a newspaper on the bench
His bible was placed under his head
And in  my ear
When i realized I had lost all things
I had lost *you
"whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
Favorite verse hands down! I always wanted to write incorporating this... Its so poetic in itself i feel the poem i had wriiten almost kills it but the verse itself is so beautiful and meaningful. Enjoy! (:
G Rog Rogers Sep 2017
Whatsoever things are
True

Whatsoever things are
Honest

Whatsoever things are
Just

Whatsoever things are
Pure

Whatsoever things are
Lovely

Whatsoever things are
of Good Report

If there be any
Virtue

If there be any
Praise

Think on these things...

For as a man thinks
So is He.

-The Holy Bible (KJV)
Jeff Gaines Feb 2019
I'm so sorry for not being here much, dear Readers. I make no excuses other than I have been having surgeries, getting my books edited, formatted, copy-written and published on Amazon and dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Michael, which decimated our humble tree farm. The eyewall passed a mere 18 miles south of us and I am STILL cutting up fallen trees and either dragging their remnants up to the road to be hauled away by the county or down to the burn pile to be burned by me. As I said, I am recovering from Stent surgeries, so it is a slow pace, at best. When that is all finished, I'll need to address either burning or cutting out the stumps of all these fallen pine trees and then finally fixing our washed out driveway. (Long sigh)

  As many of you read, I published a piece titled "Message To A Friend". It is an homage to a life-long friend that had passed away. Your responses and comments absolutely warmed my heart ... THANK ALL OF YOU! It was even chosen as my very first Daily here at HePo and I was truly humbled.

  But as most know, whenever you achieve something or are given accolades, you draw the ire of people who have little or no self-esteem and have a psychological and pathological NEED to either show themselves as better than you (an attempt to jump in your spotlight by pushing you out) or to just undermine you out of jealousy by bullying and name calling. Often the line between the two is greatly blurred.

  My being given this Daily was no exception. There is a person here on HePo who can nearly ALWAYS be found leaving derogatory, self-serving, condescending comments on peoples HePo Dailies. He did it to a friend of mine, not too long ago. Not being one to take such drivel at idle, I responded and this began a volley that was not only funny but truly enlightening on the behaviors and the motives of a bully ... or a troll ... or even a hater. The difference between them all is nearly non-existent. Their lack of confidence, their self-doubt, and personal inadequacies/inabilities drive them to form an ego that on the outward eminence front, makes them appear very confident and quite often overbearing and extremely judgmental as though they were so much better than everyone else, they are then entitled to do so.

  These judgments are spewed in an effort to not only make it appear as if they are high and mighty enough to be entitled to do this but to make the person they are attacking fear them as well. In essence, they are frightened cowards that are desperately hiding this fact behind false bravado and holier-than-thou entitlement.

  I have removed this person's name here, as that is irrelevant to the thing I am trying to achieve here. I would like you to witness their initial attack, then my responses, and the volleys that follow. You will be able to witness, first hand, the way that these types of people operate. You will be able to witness them spiral downward in their actions and tactics, desperately trying to maintain control of the situation. Even to the point of becoming child-like in their name-calling and spewing "facts" that they can not POSSIBLY know a single thing about.

  They even, predictably, call foul when you do the exact same thing to them, that THEY have done to you. This juvenile response is actually funny, but in reality, all of this is actually very sad.

  They do these things in an attempt to keep the appearance of having the upper hand. But their ego blinds them so badly, they have no idea that they are exposing themselves, and their sickness, to everyone. Most, if not all, of these types, have a need to appear to the world as someone who is better than everyone else. Someone who has it "all under control" ... even you. They want you to believe that you should revere them. This person, in particular, has this part of the affliction chronically. It is a form of narcissistic megalomania.

As you stand up to them, they have "stages" that they go through while dealing with the person that has stood up to their superego. The more you stand up to them, the further downward their spiral goes. You will see them here, in order. I cut and pasted them, then removed his name. Other than that, they are unedited. It even ends (for now) with them offering a truce. (They will undoubtedly come back, as predictably, they can not help themselves.)

BUT ... the truce is yet another poorly veiled attempt to regain control and come out appearing as the dominant one. It is laughable in many ways, but again, it is also very sad. These people have many, many deep-seated issues and may have experienced traumas in their life that have molded them into this behavior.

Admittedly, I probably took this a bit too far. Mea culpa. Remember, when you are dealing with these people, they have one goal, and one goal only ... to PROVE to you and the rest of the world that they are superior and you are inferior. NOTHING else is acceptable. Some are passive-aggressive and some are straight aggro. I shouldn't have used little teasing names and put-downs, but I couldn't resist, as he was just SO textbook in his actions and it kept them coming back.

  I baited him from the very start by presenting him with perfect logic and critical thinking. I removed his predictable arguments BEFORE he could use them. This sped up the panic and the downward spiral.  I needed to keep him coming back by denying his need to dominate me because I wanted to post it all here, in order, so that you might learn about what drives these people and thus, take them with a grain of salt and brush them off more easily while feeling less hurt by their hateful, condescension.

  They really can't help it. And, as you will see ... they can not be helped either. No matter how many times that I pointed out to them how they were exposing themselves to the world, they just kept coming back for more. It really is a sad state of affairs.

  Keep in mind, as you read this very first post in the comments from them, that they are commenting on a piece that I had written, as a letter of sorts, to a lifelong friend who had just passed away. There is a link to that and the second piece they trolled in the notes. This is how they opened their assault and I set the hook:


(Name deleted)  Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame.

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2 replies

4d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Huh?

So sorry, (Name Deleted), that this took so long to respond to ... It has taken me this long to stop laughing. As they say in NYC, "Haters gonna hate" and "If you got haters, then you are doing something right!"

You have just made both idioms ring so very true. Especially considering that:

A: We have never met.

B: You write such a childish attempt at an attack just when the piece has received a daily. (Bad timing there, pal.)

Firstly, I am not now, nor have I ever been an "Alcoholic". I'm not really sure where you got that impression. But using my references to drinking, as teens often do, was a very apparent (and desperate) grasp at trying to bring some sort of defamation to my character. This is made further pathetic by the fact that you know neither me OR my deceased friend, and therefore have no right to make such an assumption. (Another thing you've done to make yourself look pathetic is to write such a comment about a piece written about a deceased friend).

"unreconstructed"?

THAT was a two-handed grasp, so desperate it brought me hysterical laughter. Definitely my favorite part of your nonsense. Please, stop by my website, read up on me and my accomplishments and have a look at SOME of the stars that I have worked with in my nearly 40 years in the "Biz":

>>> www.jeffgaines.world <<<

As you do, ponder the fact that you DO NOT get into the position of doing these things by being an "alcoholic in need of reconstruction". In my business, the first time someone found you with ***** on your breath, you be blackballed. It is UNACCEPTABLE. Besides, being a Master Production Electrician, working around services of 1200 AMPS or more, requires complete focus, lest you **** yourself or others. But I digress ...

This way, you can attack me with something other than untruths, like me being an alcoholic or being in need of "Reconstruction". (I was hoping you would be so kind as to explain EXACTLY what you mean by that? Or was it the "wittiest" thing you could make up at the moment?)

(So ... let's see ... you could poke fun at my being a "Big Guy" perhaps? Or maybe you will disapprove of my long hair? Oh, I know, my ****** hair ... you can crack on that for certain! And let's not forget the fact that I'm 55. Maybe you could come up with some great defamation about my age! You could even use a clever (and predictable) British slur, like "Geezer"! Oh, that would hurt SO much! LOL)

I'm looking forward to more of your hating nonsense. How sad, empty, meaningless (and pathetic) you and your life must be, that you feel the need to be a hater. I'd say that I feel sorry for you, but I simply don't. People like you strengthen and encourage me because they let me know that others are jealous of my life and my abilities. I especially love it when they would expend their own precious energies to attack me or my writings when they could expend that energy to better themselves or THEIR writings! It is your choice, not mine.

I saw in your profile that you have "NO use for Tobacco or Alcoh" (Sic) ... and I would fight to the DEATH for your right to have no use for such things. By the same token, YOU have NO right to IMPOSE your beliefs (or childish judgments) on others. But please, carry on! I invite your further attempts at schoolyard bullying, posturing, judging, and holier-than-thou posing.

It will be fun!

Namaste

4d

----------------------------------------

N­ext, they try to act like they were just being satirical and that they meant no harm. They have now realized that I can, and will, stand up to them. I also startled them with such an educated and seemingly well-thought-out response that they were definitely not ready for. Like a good debater, I had also took away all of their predictable responses with logic and critical thinking. So, this is their attempt to back out of it and still feel "on top":


(Name deleted)  So you caught my 'Alcohol abuse is not a way to salute the memory of anyone' satire?.

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1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   No, (name deleted) ...

What I've caught is you cowardly taking down the response I made to your earlier jealousy-driven, impish attempt at slighting my piece after it had been chosen for the daily.

In it, you called me an "unreconstructed alcoholic with no sense of shame". (A person you do not know, nor have EVER met). After explaining to you that you had no right or reason to make such an accusation, you retract (read: take down) your foolish commentary (and my response) out of embarrassment, and replace it with this poorly attempted sidestep of a claim that it was some sort of "satire".

It is well known here at Hello Poetry that you like to bash on pieces picked for the daily. I have read your pathetic, childish drivel. It is because of those, that I have never gone by your page and actually read your work as I felt it unlikely you would write anything worthy of reading. Especially considering the imaginary high pedestal that you picture yourself spewing it from.

I guess I hit home with my observations about you attempting to be holier-than-thou and a bully. "Spot on" as you Brits say. Or was it the comment about your Karma? Did that ring home with you? I mean, you being a big Yoga person and all ... Karma is VERY important in your beliefs ... is it not? In your TEACHINGS ... is it not?

Did I make you suddenly stop to ponder your Karma after attacking others precious works with your unsolicited words of judgment and Holier-than-thou condescension? (Yet another teaching of the Hindu-Yoga beliefs, not being prideful, right?) Well, I should hope so. That is why I reminded you.

IMHO, being a person that claims to believe in Karma ... a person that TEACHES it ... who would reach out with harmful, spiteful, cruel and critical words ... words that are founded in nothing ... perhaps in his own opinion, at best ... is akin to a "Religious" person that carries a Bible, self-righteously belittles "sinners" as HE sees them ... and then wanders down to the ******* for some whiskey and "relief". Wouldn't you agree? Not much difference, now is there?

How funny is it that THAT person, who would break SO many teachings of his OWN beliefs ... Would also claim to not only be a practitioner but a TEACHER of these beliefs as well?

Oh ... very funny indeed.

Tell me ... Do you CHARGE your students? How do you think THEY would feel about giving you their hard-earned money if they knew that you practiced such things here on Hello Poetry? Do you think they would want to attend your classes after that?

It is people like you, that keep people like me ... laughing. Laughing with a bit of pity and, more importantly, a whole lot of wisdom. You are a very wavy pane of cheap glass ... and still, I can see right through you.

Good luck with all your endeavors... AND your Karma.


Namaskaram

3d

----------------------------------

N­ext, they take a posturing/yelling position in an attempt to frighten me (textbook) and then cry foul that I am doing the same thing to them that they have done to me. But, as I point out, I am only reiterating and asking questions. They follow up (on the offensive) by attacking my politics, my race, and even my religion. Then they finish by trying to call out their fellow yoga enthusiasts against me, by claiming that I am a hater of yoga. Again, comical. They also attempt to re-establish dominance by offering me advice (instructions?) on how to "fix" myself. Behold:



(Name deleted)  I have not ever taken ONE PENNY in payment for explaining how to commit the actions that are guaranteed to turn Knowledge into Experiential Knowingness.
You try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!.
You must be an enemy of Yoga.
You are a sick bourgeous no-nothing intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!.
Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!.

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1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   BINGO!

Button pressed!

Glad that I waited until after breakfast ... or I would have been laughing too hard to eat!

Well now ... that was quite the outburst, huh?

Predictable from a common bully. Now, knowing what I know about bullies, you are slipping into panic mode here. Bullies always get startled when the person whom they are picking on turns and gives them the same medicine. So, first they act like its nothing, then they lash out in fear ... as ALL bullies ARE cowards. Their bullying is a behavior pattern hiding a defense mechanism that hides their true cowardly nature.

So ... let's look back on what's transpired so far and save those just joining our little exchange the toil of reading the other posts ... shall we?

Besides, it is MUCH easier for your type to have it all spelled out one point at a time, rather than to give an actual all-in-one lecture.

1. I received a "Daily" from Hello Poetry for my piece titled "Message For A Friend". It is a heartfelt letter to a friend that had been important in my life and had .now passed away.

2. You (a person I have never met or even chatted with online) decided to leave a crass, condescending, holier-than-thou, bullying comment (as you are well known here to do to other peoples Dailies). To be clear, we are all here to post our beloved works and others are given the chance to comment or even review them as fellow writers. That being said:

Your exact comment was: " Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame"

Here is the definition of Bathos according to the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

bathos (bāˈthŏsˌ, -thôsˌ)►
n. An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
n. An anticlimax.

3. I am going to make the assumption you were referring to the second ... "An anticlimax". If you felt that my piece was anticlimactic, that is your opinion and you are humanly entitled to it. Point taken. Its validity rests with you and your opinion. But I accept it like a man, nonetheless.

4. (And here is where you began your childish posturing and holier-than-thou condescension.) You then DECLARED me, the author, as an "Unreconstructed Alcoholic". Seeing as how you have never met me, this can ONLY be speculation or conjecture at best on your part. You CERTAINLY had NO right to DECLARE this as fact to the public at large. But bullies don't do either of those things (speculation or conjecture). Their cowardice and jealousy drive them to spew judgments and put-downs such as these in order for them to not only be the Judge but to exalt themselves somehow OVER their intended victim. It somehow makes them feel superior. Something they desperately need, especially in the public eye. It helps to hide their faults and inabilities.

5. You finished with yet more conjecture and condescension by stating that I had "No sense of personal shame". Once again, a very pretentious declaration about someone you have never met. This one, in particular, shows your true colors and position as a bully in that you wrote this after reading what ALL of the other comments said was a warm, heartfelt piece ... as I had intended, about a friend that had DIED. This, as near as I can tell, would make it appear that YOU have "No sense of personal shame". But I'll not address that. We have BETTER fish to fry.

6. After my response, where I call you out on making judgments and spewing condescension from your imaginary ivory tower, you then back peddle and try to side-step your actions by now calling them "satire". Again, typical bully behavior... They posture, get punched in the nose and decide to say "oh, hey, I was only kidding" so as to save face and keep the same face from any further shaming by their intended victim.

7. I, a person who personally has a disdain for bullies because of being bullied as a child, would not allow this attempt by you to regain control and, in your mind, come out on top by saving face. I did so by pointing out FACTS, not assumptions nor conjecture. To wit: you claim to be all Existential and a believer in the teachings of yoga, so I thought it poignant to point out how in those teachings you are not allowed to display your ego/superego, nor are supposed to impose hurtful things, verbal or otherwise, or judgments of any kind on others. These things are not conducive to good Karma.

I finished my point by comparing it to a Bible-thumping preacher who, one moment is slandering "Sinners" and the next moment enters a house of ill-repute for whiskey and "relief". I also QUESTIONED, I did NOT state, whether you charged for your teachings. I also conjectured that if you did ... then how would your patrons feel about your actions here on Hello Poetry? It was conjecture, nothing more.

8. You then respond with yet another HYSTERICAL attempt to posture me and slander me in order to draw attention away from the fact that it is YOU who have been exposed for your OWN actions ... NOT BY ME ... but by YOURSELF ... I was simply shedding light on them here in the forum where YOU shot the first volley! And you do it SEVERAL ways ... to wit:

9. You make the accusation that I " ...try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!." (Love the period AFTER the exclamation point. Nicely done) I insinuated NOTHING. Read it all again. I stated facts. Facts garnered by YOUR comments right here on these pages. The ONLY person who insulted or attempted to "blacken someone's character" here in this forum has been YOU by calling me an "Unreconstructed alcoholic that has no personal shame and writes utter bathos".

That was not only unfounded, but it also calls for an apology as you had NO right whatsoever to publicly call me these things or "blacken my character" in such a manner. All of my responses were directly to your words. I stated facts about your actions and facts about Karma and its beliefs. The only conjecture I committed was done in the form of a question, in that I asked if you charged for your teachings. I never said that you did. Read it all again.

10. You state that I " ... must be an enemy of Yoga". More laughter-inducing reaches by a bully in panic mode by trying to make me look bad to a group of people who love yoga. I'm assuming that you think this will call them to arms against me? Again, if you read ALL I have written here ... I have said NOTHING bad about yoga at all. I also show it not only in a knowledgable light but with respect, in that, I am questioning your actions while claiming to practice it. Honestly, not even a "nice try" here (Name Deleted). Simply pathetic.

11. Next, and here is where we can see the utter desperation in your cowardly panic, you escalate your attack on me with even MORE unfounded "insinuations and attempts to blacken my character" as you call them. All in the name of taking the light of exposure off of yourself. To wit:

You state:

"You are a sick bourgeous (actually spelled "Bourgeois") no-nothing (I'm assuming you meant "Know-nothing") intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!." (Again with the period AFTER the exclamation points. Well, you're nothing, if not consistent)

12. So now you first assume that I am a middle-class "no-nothing" (sic). Again, knowing NOTHING whatsoever about my financial status OR my intellectual abilities OR education. And you make these claims as though they are facts, which to any person reading this is readily and obviously untrue and/or unproven. More typical "bully" behavior.

13. You now cross yet another line of "Karma" and assault/slander my race by making it sound, in the context of your sentence that is some "lesser" thing. My race? Really (Name Deleted)? I didn't expect that, even from you. I mean, what does my race have to do with ANY of this? But that last one ... oh, that takes the cake ... it exposes your true persona. It lets the entire WORLD see, as I do, through your cloudy cheap glass and right through your empty, pathetic soul ...

14. You assume that I am a "Liberal, born again Christian" (as usual, you do this without knowing ANYTHING about my stance as a liberal OR a conservative OR what religion I practice) But that is neither here, not there because whatever you assume I am, you have spewed it out in the context that it is "lesser" than whatever it is that you consider yourself. Wow, (Name Deleted) ... just "Wow". If there was a Karmic Hell, I would think that last bit would send your pathetic soul STRAIGHT to it. Of this, I am CERTAIN. Karma/Yoga/Hinduism frowns on judging or speaking ill about other religions ... Am I correct?

The only correct parts of that ill-uttered proclamation are that I am indeed white and am indeed a poet. I am not a liberal (OR a conservative) nor am I a born-again Christian. My stance/position/beliefs are not only not for discussing here, but they are also, quite frankly none of your business. Nor do they have any bearing here whatsoever, so why attack them? A feeble attempt at misdirection while in panic mode.

It should be pointed out, that even as you have descended into all this petty name-calling and condescension about beliefs and religion, I have NEVER engaged in these practices in our volleys here. Again, showing your panic-driven behavior as an exposed, and stood-up-to, bully.

15. You finish this puerile rant with:

"Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!."

(AGAIN, you consistent devil, you ... with the period AFTER the exclamation point. Priceless for such a critic of other's writing.)

The first line is truly confusing. I am guessing you needed to toss out some "big words", but their use in this context makes little sense (to me) as they are not slanderous or even pertaining to the subject here. To wit:

From the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

ob·se·qui·ous (ŏb-sē′kwē-əs, əb-)
adj.
Full of or exhibiting servile compliance; fawning.
[Middle English, from Latin obsequiōsus, from obsequium, compliance, from obsequī, to comply: ob-, to; see ob- + sequī, to follow; see skew- in Indo-European roots.]

I am neither "serving" or exhibiting "servitude" or "fawning" in ANY of this. So, I'm VERY unclear what you meant by that.

AND, again from the English Dictionary 4th Edition:

twee (twē)
adj. Chiefly British
Overly precious or nice.
[Alteration of tweet, baby-talk alteration of sweet.]:

Again, totally confused by what you meant by this. It is almost laughable. I've definitely NOT been "Overly precious" NOR "Nice" in our volleys here. I have been concise, exacting, stern and occasionally I have even let a wee bit of my anger show through. I'm sorry about that. But bullying and people who think they are somehow better than all others just make my blood boil. I have done my best to handle this as a calm and focused adult.

As for the "DEEP NASAL BREATHING" suggestion ...

I would like to offer the EXACT same advice to you. It may help you come to grips with this rather embarrassing exposure of your true nature that you have wrought upon yourself here in this little volley. I know that it certainly helped me to stop laughing and catch my breath.

I EAGERLY await your next outburst. Please, make it a good one this time, won't you? Putting you in your place has been made so easy by your ridiculously transparent, predictable and childish actions and words, that it is quickly becoming boring.

Mujhe pooree ummeed hai ki aapako shaanti milegee.

3d


-----------------------------------------

In this following post/response, they simply call me a name. As you can see by this juvenile choice of just two words, they are not only panicking ... they are spiraling into a regressive state that they have held inside themselves all of their adult life. Inside, they are still that terrified child. That child called me this:


(Name deleted)  Electronic Arsewipe

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1 reply

2d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Ta Daaa!

Reduced to using schoolyard name-calling (and not very imaginative name-calling, at that. I'd rate that one at around grade 5 ... maybe 6, at best).

(( Yawn ))



--------------------------------------------


Admittedl­y ... and ashamedly, I do egg them on a bit with that response and am sinking to their level. I was bullied as a child and my defense mechanisms can be subject to regression as well.

Still, not knowing how to deal with me ... seeing that they are not being successful at either dominating me or discrediting me, they return with yet another posturing, condescending retort. Here, they actually threaten to "punch me in the nose" if I: " ... continue
hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do." I don't have to point out the irony here, that THEY are the one guilty of this. And now somehow, they are SO offended that I would do the same. This, as I point out, is typical, textbook bully behavior.

The first part is random, panicked statements that really don't make sense (again) about how "easy" and "demeaning" it is to write of a "dead friend". Remember, they NEED to establish and maintain some type of dominance and control. So, they use these types of accusations and insults ... but call "no fair!' when you do it.

"Easy"?

"Demeaning"?

Hmmm, I didn't find it easy or demeaning to write that letter. I can't explain his angle. He also tries to offer me help by sending me his CD (of his music) which will supposedly save my soul and lead me to a higher plain of some sort. This offering is more of his posturing and desperate attempt at establishing dominance by both claiming that I am in need of help AND that HE can GIVE ME that help. But I'll let you, dear Reader, take it all in here
:



(Name Deleted)  It's so easy and so demeaning to praise a dead 'friend' in PUBLIC especially (for **** sake) that you haven't seen for 10 years.
Sounds like a strong case of GUILT over something there!!.
You will get that punch in the nose you are so obviously looking for(and do not deserve) if you carry on hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do.
Tek several deep breaths and listen to my CD.
If you send me a Poste Restante address I will send you(free of charge)a copy.



.

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1 reply

2d
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   Oh, (Name Deleted) boy!

You are TOO fun!

And so predictable!

Again, you come, in typical wanna-be bully fashion, spewing condescending judgments and even physical threats to my person now as well? I guess it was a matter of time. Especially with me so deep in your head ... kicking your marble-sized brain around like a deflated football.

You honestly don't get how foolish this little expose of your true nature makes you look here, do you? I love it. But, I guess most bully-types are narcissistic and blindly foolish anyways.

I really do love the periods AFTER the exclamation points! And your spell checker has definitely gone fishin'. Hysterical.

Apparently, you do not read too well either. I had not seen him, true. But as I said in the piece, I spoke with him on the phone all the time; we were always close. And I'd love to know two things ... How is it demeaning to write about, or to, a dead friend? I would also like to know why ONLY you have found this "demeaning"? All the other comments were praiseful or even thankful for sharing such precious memories.

And, in case you've not heard of these terms, this piece could be called both a "Eulogy" and/or an "Homage". BOTH are typical and have been done by millions of people (friends/family/colleagues) about recently deceased friends for centuries. There are DOCUMENTED Hindu Eulogies for ENTIRE families dating back to 10000 BCE. Look them up online. Nothing new here. Nothing demeaning here. No guilt here. In fact, I praised my time with him and stated that I wish that we had more time together. But if you see that as guilt of some sort, you are, once again, foolishly mistaken.

But that isn't it at all, is it?

What you are really doing here is more of your panicking-bully behavior by once again trying to turn the light of exposure away from yourself and on to me with (more) silly, unfounded accusations and even ****** threats. Not even a good try little man. and so, so predictable! You are like a broken record!

Your ability to induce laughter is amazing. It truly makes one ponder what kind of person you really are ... and you do it publicly!

I LOVE IT!

And tell me ... WHO first hurled "gratuitous insults" at WHOM? SO hysterically funny and, again, predictable, that the bully can dish it out, but can not take it. It is ok for you to do it to me, but not visa-versa? I guess calling someone an "unreconstructed alcoholic" is ok because it comes from the imaginary ivory tower of the high and mighty, all-powerful YOU!

(Peeing me pants laughing)

Your crying about this is so sadly pathetic. It leads me to yet another teaching of Hinduism and the laws of Karma ... "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Man, I am beginning to think it is YOU that hates Yoga and Karma and all the other beliefs you pretend to practice at your ego-driven web page. They sure do not show through here on Hello Poetry, now do they?

It is obvious that you fancy yourself as some kind of spiritual leader/Guru/Swami, when in fact, you are a common coward with a narcissistic megalomaniac complex. You NEED people to think you are a BIG man. You attempt to further this ridiculous image by speaking ill of peoples posts in order to make it seem like you are better than everyone and are somehow entitled to make these childish condescensions.

"Pathetic" does not begin to cover it ... OR you.

And YOU are going to punch ME in the nose? You may want to look at my website again and ponder my size. I promise several things should you ever attempt this, little boy ...

1. It will be the single most unpleasant experience of your pathetic life.

2. Win, lose or draw, you WILL NEVER wish to fight me again.

Tell me ... Do I seem like someone that would cower to the likes of you?

Your ego has become so blinded, I predict that it will get you in WAY over your head someday. If not with me, then some other man that will also put you in your place while you attempt to be dominant and holier-than-thou.

How funny (and pathetic) is it, that the guy who STARTED this whole volley with his own unsolicited, "unfounded gratuitous insults", now whines and cries and carries on when the same is done to him?

Awwww, poor, poor little baby. Your threats make me laugh even harder as they further expose your desperate panic-driven agenda AND persona! I am absolutely LOVING this!

As for listening to your CD?

Why on EARTH would I listen to a wee little man, that claims he is helping my life and soul when I have already seen him for the posturing, holier-than-thou, bullying, narcissistic egotist that he really is?

That ... would be an utter waste of my time.

Since you are so keen on giving advice, I'd like to offer some to you ... and then end today's volley with a question.

"It is far and away better to keep one's mouth closed and be thought of as a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."

I'm not sure exactly where this old bit of advice came from ... but if anyone should heed it, I would think it to be you. Through all of this, it has been YOU showing what and who you really are. I have only reiterated or commented on it. Unbelievably, you keep PROVING my points with EACH new response.

And now the question ...

I know in your ego-driven mind, you feel like you HAVE to have the last word to be the "winner". But, considering that you took the first shot at me, and by the rules of engagement, I am to take my turn ... do you really think I will just "give up" after one of your silly attempts at asserting your dominance?

Keep them coming wee man ... it is your undoing ... NOT mine.

2d


-----------------------------------------------

N­ow here, they claim to have deleted something, but they don't say what, exactly. Again, I am guilty here of cajoling them a bit. I do apologize. More to you, than to them. As we have come this far, have you noticed that they NEVER address what I am saying and only throw unfounded accusations and childish ridicule? They can NOT engage in your part of the conversation as, in their mind, only their part is worthy of dealing with.

Besides, it might actually let you make your point and they simply can NOT have this. They also call me a "troll". Something they have very clearly established that they are since the START of all this. But now, in one of their panicked efforts to retain dominance, they accuse me of being that. Futile misdirection for certain. But a predictable tactic, nonetheless So, here we go
:


(Name deleted)  Deleted Unread you sick TROLL.

0



1 reply

23h
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   "Deleted"?

I'm very proud of you ... Did you select it all and hit backspace ... or the actual delete key? Or ... did you actually take the time to place the cursor and hit backspace through it all? It doesn't really matter; either way, I'm still very proud of you. (And you didn't misspell anything here either!) Bra-VO, (Name Deleted), Bra-VO!

Now ... what, exactly, did you delete?

Please, be more clear. (unsurprisingly) It's as though you are speaking nonsense. Nothing in this string has been deleted.

"Unread"?

Well, now ... if you are claiming to have "not read" something written about you, wee man, we BOTH know that your ego wouldn't allow that, would it? Simply impossible. JUST like you are reading this! So, for all that's holy, don't expose yourself as a liar too! Your credibility here has already thinned to near nothingness, as it is.

As for "Sick Troll" ...

*** - Kettle, moorkh chota ladka, *** - Kettle.

(For goodness sake, if you don't understand the reference, then Google: "The *** calling the Kettle Black")

Now, if you STILL don't get it ... then I'll offer up this one in its place:

What's good for the Gander is good for the Goose!

SURELY you get my meaning here, don't you (Name Deleted)- ol' boy?

Thanks, once again, for the hysterical laughter. Experiencing you being you has been a real barrel of laughs so far. And nice try at having the last word. Actually, if that's what this was, it was pretty pathetic. But at this point, I feel you may be in need of a nice "'Attaboy!"



Please see part II ~ Link in notes below.
Dorothy A Oct 2013
Everything faded to black. He had a hard time remembering just what the hell happened. He wasn't sure of downing some random pills from of the medicine cabinet-- his first attempt to end it all. Making sure he would not recover-- if the pills didn't do the job-- he had already devised the set up of the noose in his bedroom. Definitely, he didn't recall anyone cutting the rope, forcing him down to the floor.

Lacie joked with him. "Dude, you've got nine lives! You must really be a ****, fricking cat in disguise! That's why you'll eat those nasty tuna fish sandwiches they serve in the nuthouse! "

Chris grinned at her.  He had to agree. To refer to it as the psych ward at the hospital made it seem like more of a jail term, but calling it "the nuthouse" lightened up the severity of the situation. As grave and nearly tragic as everything  had become, it was kind of laughable to him.  He supposed he had more chances than a cat's fabled life. It all seemed so crazy that it must be funny.

Well, what could he say? He had flirted with death, but unwillingly managed to escape its grip. "Pathetic..."--he commented. "I don't not even know how to die well..."

Chris  eventually realized that he had been rushed to the hospital, but wished it wasn't true. Since then, everything was either a total blur or a bizarre state of mind . Even waking up in his room was like a remotely vague memory, almost like a long ago dream that might not really have happened.

Maybe, he was somewhat aware that his sister was screaming in shock and horror at the sight of him, shouting out downstairs to her boyfriend to help her. But the walls were turning red, a glowing scarlet- red, with an added fiery orange and yellowish-gold-- all joined together in pulsating embers. He was quickly losing consciousness. It was like some, bad acid trip. Not that Chris knew this firsthand, but it sure was like something he saw on TV or at the movies.

And now he was the star of the horror show.

Did he die?  Death was what he planned on, so waking up was not a relief, or a reality back into motion--just the opposite. It was as if being awake was the real nightmare, a delusional time when everything was not true, and was only an scary, offbeat version of the life of Chris Cartier.

The bad acid trip continued. He recalled hospital staff rushing about him, seeming like real people-- sort of. Then they morphed into fish in scrubs. From overhead, an IV was dripping into his arm. Tubes were shoved down his throat. His vital signs were displayed on a screen that made beeps and sounds, increasing the chaos and adding to the mayhem to his mind. Soon, the vital signs machine started talking to him that he was a "very bad boy" and other such scoldings.

He was thoroughly freaked out. If he was still alive, he'd rather be dead.

He wanted to run. One of the fish pushed him back down and muttered out undecipherable utterances-- like underwater gibberish . Then that fish used its slimy fins to inject him with a needle in his arm. The other fish circled around him like fish out of water--with opening and closing mouths-- as if gasping for air.

As they surrounded him as rubber monkeys shot out from the walls and bounced all over the room. On top of all this madness, the florescent lights above were flickering on and off, in sync to the wild music, like the drum beats of a distant jungle. It was one bizarre tangle of events, a freaky, crazy, out-of-control ride in which reality could not be distinguished from the animation and mass confusion. It was one overpowering ride that he would much rather forget.

When Chris got out of critical condition, he found out that he could still not go home. That would take a few weeks more. Dr. What-The-Hell's-His-Name assured him that he needed to start on the path to his psychological healing--just as grave as the physical--right here in a safe place.

It didn't seem so safe to him.

The enemy wasn't what was out there in the world, but the big, bad wolf was actually him. He had to be protected from the true culprit--himself-- and that was a mind-blowing concept. Just what did he get himself into?   

He never had been a patient in a hospital before. In all his twenty-six years, he didn't so much as even have his tonsils out. Feeling now like a prisoner,, he was still scared out of his mind-- as if it was day one all over again. When was he going to get out of here? Chris began to fear that they would never let him out. No professional had a definitive answer, as only time would tell of his improvement.

Man, why couldn't he just be dead?

His parents visited almost everyday, but it was of no reassurance to him. His mother always left in tears, and his father was lost for words. This was nothing new. When it concerned their troubled son, they felt inadequate to help him. The best his dad could say was, "Hey, Chris, we're pullin' for ya". That was of no comfort, whatsoever, like he was some fighter in a boxing ring that his old man had a bet placed on . His mom always clung to him as she said goodbye, like she needed the hug more than he did, saying to Chris through her sobs , "Miss you....love you". Her emotional state just unsettled him to the core, and he was worried for her more than for himself.    

At best, his outlook was grim. But then he met Lacie Weiss, and things started looking up.

Lacie was one of the quietest psych patients in the ward, always sticking to herself. But then he found himself sitting right next to her in group therapy, and they hit it off. He had no idea that she had a fun side. She usually looked apathetic and quietly defiant to society, a nonconformist in the form of a Goth, with edgy, dyed black hair, dark eye make-up and some ****** piercings of the eyebrow, tongue and nose. Her look was quite in contrast to his light blue eyes and sandy-brown hair. Chris never was into Gothic, viewing those who were as spooky creeps.  

It was obvious that Chris was scared and confused. Now although trying to seem tough and stoic, Lacie seemed so little, almost fragile, yet obviously trying to hide her broken self together. Petite and somewhat girlish in appearance, she was barely 5 feet tall. Chris was 5 feet 11 and a half inches, close enough to the six foot stature that he wanted to be. Only a half inch less really didn't cut it for him, though, even though his slim build gave the impression of a lankier guy. He would have loved to be as tall as the basketball players he so emulated. But such was life. He was never used to having the advantages.  

At first, Lacie never opened up, not to a single soul. Like Chris, she certainly acted like she didn't need this place, and nobody was going to help her--or be allowed to help her. As stony and impenetrable as she tried to be, group therapy it was hard to disappear in. Everyone was held accountable for opening up, and the leader was going to see to it.  No way, though, did Lacie want to crack or look weak in her turtle shell composure, in her self-preservation mode. So it was agony for her.

She first spoke to him, whispering loudly to him, onc,e in the group circle "This is all *******!"

Hanging with Chris was the one salvation that she had in this miserable experience. They both could relate more than he ever realized. They both really liked motorcycles and basketball. He had his own Harley, and it was something he loved to work on and go on long rides with it, his own brand of therapy.  In spite of how she looked, Lacie was also actually close to his age. He was twenty-six. and she was twenty-two.

They first broke the ice with casual introductions. "No, the name is not pronounced like Carter", he corrected her about his last name. "It is like Cart-EE-AY...... It's French".

"Yep", she replied. "Like mine is the same way, but as German as brats and sauerkraut,  Ja dummkopf?"

Chris gave her a weird look. She continued, "My mom's dad was from Germany, and I got my mom's name. Ya don't say it how it looks. You would say Weiss like Vice, but I couldn't give a **** how anybody says it. Nobody gets it right and original, anyhow." Her dark brown eyes flashed at him as she said, " But I think I like Chris Cutie, myself, better than Cartier.....cutie it is for me. Huh, cutie pie? "

Chris laughed hard. She was pretty coy for a die-hard Goth. She batted her eyes playfully at him and winked."You're worth being in here for, ya know", he told her, blushing, still laughing at her silly remarks.

She studied his face in response, all laughing aside. Suddenly, her mood turned solemn.  "I'll bet".

They began hanging out in the commons, walking down the halls for exercise, and swapping stories of their plights. Chris quickly found that she Lacie wasn't so steely and unapproachable as the day he first saw her.  And she discovered that he was more than a pretty boy.

"My parents weren't home when I tried", he told her one time after lunch was done. They were sitting in a corner, trying to be as private as possible. "Twenty-six years old...and I still live with them. Yeah, that's my life. I got a twin brother, and he's moved out and doing alright for himself. My sister's younger, is going to college. Wants to be a doctor".

Lacy didn't have any siblings to compare herself to. "Must be cool to have a twin", Lacie said. "I always wondered how that would be to have two of me running around! Scary, huh, dude?"

Chris shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. Jake and I aren't identical. We are just a two-for-one deal...I mean  is that my parents got two babies in one, huge-*** pregnancy. Jake and me don't even act like twins. Half the time, I don't want to be around him."

No, it wasn't like his cousins, Adam and Alan, who were identical friends, mirror images, and best of friends. Chris never identified with that kind of brotherly relationship. He and Jake never dressed alike, or knew what the other one was thinking. And Chris felt that his brother always felt superior to him. He was the popular one. He was the ambitious one who landed a great job in computers, as a system analyst.  To add to Chris's feelings of inferiority, his little sister, Kate, had surpassed him, too. She was acing most of her classes, and boarding away at college. She was well on her way to becoming a doctor.    

"So if your mom and dad weren't around...who saved you?" Lacie asked. She stared into his eyes with such a probing stare that Chris almost clammed up. Just thinking about that day was overpowering.

"Uh...my sister and her boyfriend were hanging out in the basement. She was home from college, and I didn't know it. My parents were out-of-town. Our dog, Buster, was acting funny. He knew something was up..."

Chris stopped abruptly, but went on. "Kate, my sister, explained to me that she saw me in my room, getting up on a step ladder. She says she yelled at me to stop. I don't remember...but I guess..I guess I was going to do it anyway, and she wouldn't be able to stop me....stop me from...so I hurried up and jumped off before she could stop me."  

Lacie could almost picture it, as if she was there with him. She said, "But she did stop it. She saved you."

"Yeah", he agreed. "Buster started it all...barking, alerting my sister to come upstairs from the basement, and upstairs by my room...." All of a sudden, he felt so weird, like he was having an out-of-body experience.

"Hey, it's OK", Lacie reassured him. "It's over now. You aren't there anymore".

Chris started to cry, but tried not to. "If it weren't for Brian, Kate's boyfriend....she would not of had the strength to hold me up by herself, and cut the rope, too. I must have been like dead weight, and Brian grabbed a kitchen knife and told her to stay cool about it. Yeah, sure, like that could have been possible ! She was trying to keep the rope slack, while trying to save my sorry ****...and she was scared, shitless! "

Lacie opened up, too, relating her tragic past. She had an unbelievable tale, one hell of a ride herself.  It was amazing how detached she was when relating it, though. "Well" actually I got to fess up" "I'm not really an only child....I mean I am...but not really. I know that sounds weird---hey--but I am weird. Oddly unusual is the story of my life-- even before day one. "

Chris had no idea what she was talking about. "What are ya' trying to say?"

She added another surprising bombshell. "Also,  I have a two-year-old boy. His name is Danny. He don't see his dad--ever. The guy's a waste of space. Anyway, my mom has him. She can afford him more, and can do a better job raising him than me. Well, she does OK money-wise. Anyhow, my mom deserves him because she lost everything. And I mean EVERYTHING! Her whole fricking family practically wiped out!"

The shock that Chris had on his face-- his widened, blue eyes and open mouth were expected.   Most people had a hard time believing her.

She explained, calmly, "I mean she nearly died--way before I was born--in a car accident. And her two, little boys were with her in the backseat...and they died that day. "

Chris looked pale. "That is so awful!" he said, hoarsely, barely able to say it.

"Yeah", she continued. "Not a **** thing she could do about it, too. She was like in a million pieces. I know a part of her died right there and then, too. I just know it.  You know, dude, my mom was once really, really coasting along, just doing fine. A typical wife and mother-- a bit older than me now-- life was good. Her little boys were just cute, little toddlers--like Danny. I found out from my grandma that she was  pregnant, too, just a month or two. Nobody could have imagined it coming. She was just driving--doing nothing wrong-- when some idiot broadsided her.  I don't know if it was a guy or a lady, if they were jacked up on ***** or drugs, but they were speeding like a demon out of Hell. Her husband was at work and wasn't around."  

The boys were Benjamin and Gerard, but Lacie couldn't remember their names, for her mom could barely mention them without breaking down. It was an unbearable loss.

Chris was so horrified, amazed that Lacie related this like it was someone else's story. She was almost too cavalier about it.

"And they died ?!" he asked.

"Yeah....*****, don't it? Pure, pure agony. Downright Hell on earth. My mom had to learn to walk again. It took about year, I think."

"Oh, no! What about the baby she was supposed to have?"

"Miscarriage. Worse yet, the **** doctor told her she'd never be able to have kids again. She lost everything, man! Her husband couldn't handle it and left her. **** on top of ****, on top of more ****, on top of more. If it wasn't for her parents, and her sister's help, she would never have made it.

"But she had given birth to you, right? Or were you adopted?"

"Yeah, she gave birth to me. I was her miracle baby, and she didn't give a rat's rear end if my dad wanted me or not. He'd send her money, once in a while, but he wasn't really into either of us. Who cares though? She didn't give a **** what he thought. I was her baby. Truth is, before I came, she ended up slitting her wrists--just like me. What was the use? At first, there was nothing to live for. But now she has Danny.

"And you!" Chris quickly pointed out.

"Dude, are you kidding me? I have been NOTHING but grief for her, a real pain in her ***!"

Unlike her deceased, half-brothers, Lacie grew up before her mother's eyes, from a shy girl to a ******* rebel. Since the age of twelve, she would sneak drinks from her mom's liqueur cabinet. Eventually, she smoked *** and tried ******* and ******. Dropping out of the eleventh grade, she soon away from home, living with friends or boyfriends ever since.  Thankfully, she wasn't doing drugs when she conceived Danny. And her drinking wasn't as prevalent as it was in her teen years of partying and binge drinking. That didn't mean that her drinking problems magically disappeared, or that she was cured. Immediately, though, when she knew she was pregnant, she refused to touch a bottle, but it was just a white knuckle process that was effective momentarily--a band aid on a more serious wound. And going months without a drop of alcohol didn't deaden her urges--quite the opposite--as it only made her crave what she could not have. Often, her fears caught up with her--of especially becoming
Umi May 2018
It happened in the dark of the night,
Scrolling through a story line my attention was caught by a picture,
She carried a wondrous smile, bright and very warm and inviting,
In response I began to smile as well, beaming in the somber night,
Though my smile was not a mirror, it was distorted, yet brighter,
I soon understood that my body wanted me to carry on, shine on,
Not stopping despite having no reason to grin I began to chuckle,
The moonlit night had turned crimson, yet it was more luminous,
Was it because of my means, my very purpose of being a bound,
Bound to time and fate that I couldn't recall to stop smirking ?
Or was it the blooming of a flower in this phantomed moonlight ?
I must've stopped asking questions, of transient content,
Because, they would ruin the beauty of this contagious expression,
Ending up losing the track of time or any means whatsoever,
I fell asleep by the melody of the wind, as itecho's through the valley,
Even if tomorrow were never to arrive, I wouldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes.

~ Umi
sophia Jun 2017
it wasn’t chaotic.
it was calm and serene,
like the ocean.
the soft pitter patter
of the rain on the roof,
and the cool air it brought.
it was a sip
of freshly brewed coffee,
natural with no additives,
whatsoever.
the gut feeling
of knowing where home was.
and that is how
you came into my life.


the star that shines the brightest
amongst the pitch black sky.
it’s the white cloud that outshines
all the gray and gloomy ones.
the perfect fit of the last piece
to the unfinished puzzle.
it's the warm, fuzzy feeling
of getting into bed
early on a Friday night.
and that is how it was
when I started loving you.


it’s like a deeply cut wound,
one that’s inundating
with crimson colored blood,
having a tinge of maroon.
it induces pain
with every inbreathe
and exhalation.
it manages to have
the appearance of a scar,
yet it still feels so fresh
like a bruise.
and that is how it felt
when you left.


it was filled with haze
and suffocation.
the uncontrollable fast paced beat
of your heart.
Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile,
one that is hardly understood
by majority of the world.
a bite of dark chocolate,
bitter and sweet.
and this is my survival.
stuck in the third season,
but i'll make it to the fourth
Marian Aug 2015
Let us help do what we can for animals everywhere
And FIGHT AGAINST ANIMAL ABUSE!
The rest of the world can be animal abusive
But that doesn't mean we have to
WE HAVE A CHOICE!
We can help do as much as possible
To stop animal abuse
Or we can just go our way
And do nothing whatsoever
Stand up for what's right
And FIGHT AGAINST ANIMAL ABUSE!

~Marian~
Sorry if this steps on anyone's toes,
But I believe that we should do what we can
To help stop animal abuse...
And I am trying to think of what I can do to stop it...
Another thing I don't like is how you have to be rich nowadays
Just to ensure your pet can live longer...
WHY SHOULD YOU EVEN HAVE TO PAY
FOR HELPING YOUR ANIMAL,
FOR PITY'S SAKE IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD IT
And that is partly why so many animals have to be put to sleep
I know, because it's happened to me and my family
But I intend to do something about it
And I encourage you all to the same...
It doesn't even have to be something big...
Let us FIGHT AGAINST ANIMAL ABUSE!
Thanks for taking the time to read this...
And sorry if I sound rude here...
I certainly wasn't trying to be...
And thank you for your time!!
howard brace Aug 2013
"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...'  So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead...  Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.    

     The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.  
              
     Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...
                                        
     Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them. 

     Spurred to fever pitch  by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

     By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

      Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

      Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

     Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

     Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

     A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

     So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective...  [i]  the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to  [ii]  the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price.  [iii]  Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway.  [iv]  Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron.  [v]  Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst  [vi]  River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left  [vii]  'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

                                                        ­                             ...   ...   ...

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1862
Ken Pepiton Apr 2018
there are others like me I see. Lost as I was.
So
What could I do to ease their fretting,
would I be comforted?  No.
Back then,
no.
I refused the comforter
*** outchacom'fit zone
Oh, they be hell to pay,

-----
among the ideas that possess men,
there are tells,
among the men of both varieties possessed by or of
(as you shall see, it may be both) ideas ,
there are tells, twitches and ticks and unconscious daemons sorting
sayings
aphorisms, proverbs,
memes 'n' such.
Confusion sayin'
H.R. Puffin'stuff, that neveh me'nt a thang. Jes't aname anime annie mae, where's
annie mae moved to okinawa wa wa wa

Imps. Pulses of them flow through heare…
(those slips shall hereafter be known as di-sensical-utterences or dsu, in writing. i.e. here and hear, he-are, heare, here is heard hear and means something else, intensionally. We, augmented Adamkind of all kinds, can inject meaning at will.)

commonly on Sunday mornings,
though I doubt the impulses
have a calendar that might map to any ex- or im-
I'm never sure what goes properly with perience.
Prior to the trial, experience is so limited,
I'm going with perience, in and of itself,
perience is plenty. Ex-cepting,
you know, the lessons learned,
those have earned their proper
nomenclature.
Those are experience.
Lesson learned.
Twixt thee and me is no more mix-up,
idiot-syncrecy fused with two-mind
hate of knowing and unknown;
we know what experience really means to us.

We are bound in syncret oath sealed with shibboloths in unutterable names.
As it is written in the law of Moses,

"all this evil is come upon us:
yet made we not our prayer before YHWH our God,
that we might turn from our iniquities,
and understand thy truth. 
Therefore hath YHWH watched upon the evil,
and brought it upon us:
for YHWH our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth:
for we obeyed not his voice.

From <http://biblehub.com/kjv/daniel/9.htm>
Shame that such once breathed thoughts threading pearls and jade,
or was that chalcedony? - scatter when the thread breaks
. Shame, such thoughts, frail as smoke.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,

We think such thoughts. Fragile spokes.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,
time and time again,
what I called holy in my darkness, is holy in my light.


Words that lose the sacred salt are calcereous
grains of time, dust memes in the sun,
launched by centuries of tramping feet.
'haps the highest parts of the dust of the earth ever.
Oh,
how the masters love mastery of mystery.
"The old man on the mountain, he knew if he lied."
You, the observer of it all,
know.

"you knew nothing of my work"
"have a think"
"never thirst, imagine standing under knowing that"
Voices, the walls heard, stones speak, historically speaking
happens all the time, a frequency lock prevents it bleeding into now, but that becomes tyranny, believe me.

The ideas that possess men and provoke good works
or big, power-consumptive,

tale-swallowing feats,
those ideas are servants.
lacking any knowledge of good and evil,
such ideas are everywhere,
men who know say so. None of this was done in secret.
Twisted minds twist servant to slave labor. Magi-minds,
high-minded, relative to the belly-crawlers and creeping things,
see servant as tool and teacher. Same idea.
The original ideas we have to deal with.
They were seen to be good, by God.
There are no bad ideas, there are bad actions caused by mad ideas locked to single mindless anger impulses so callused as to appear gigantic,
certainly so, when they are known to lurk under beds and in selfish old men.
"Dark sayings, dear reader, pro fess pro verbs, action words snip "No lie is of the truth" snip
the lie and loose listing truth to the wind.
Who told you that inheriting the wind was like inheriting nothing?
You. You troubled your own house and you inherited the wind.
You came not to bring peace, but a sword…

The good news. Inheriting the wind is inheriting everything that ever matters, all the power in heaven and in earth was how simpler minds imagined shaping the idea.
Idyll minds, the devil's workshop, eh?
Comfort thought.
Who told you desiring comfort was a ***** thing?
Same voice went real deep and whispered,
"What price glory? Eh, pilgrim?"
stop. think

Sweet, for instance,
sweet, as an idea, can **** the man who makes it the basis of his value calculations.
Shame, came to prevent such impinging on subroutines intent on manifesting destiny,
as the sweet little ones imagined forevers in their pioneer-daze plays.
Shame is not blamed for being known,
the lying spirit who spoke with forked tongue,
sweet
little people, please, believe my lie,
there is a reason why
I know

There. Message in a bottle.
If you know what you know.
Messenger is what angel means, right? right. Who asks? Who knows?
No. I know you know this is
purposefully useful for
helping
crazy ideas
come back to some sem-sym-balance beneath the branches of the tree of knowledge, nestled in the twisting roots,
golden eggs, oh, far,
far
beyond Faberge, I must say. These, you must see to believe.
Any feedback reflecting enjoyment or confusion, please. This is a chapter from my book "Judging Angels" a memoir. Would you read such a book?
Who would not laugh, if Lawrence, hired to grace
His costly canvas with each flattered face,
Abused his art, till Nature, with a blush,
Saw cits grow Centaurs underneath his brush?
Or, should some limner join, for show or sale,
A Maid of Honour to a Mermaid’s tail?
Or low Dubost—as once the world has seen—
Degrade God’s creatures in his graphic spleen?
Not all that forced politeness, which defends
Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends.
Believe me, Moschus, like that picture seems
The book which, sillier than a sick man’s dreams,
Displays a crowd of figures incomplete,
Poetic Nightmares, without head or feet.

  Poets and painters, as all artists know,
May shoot a little with a lengthened bow;
We claim this mutual mercy for our task,
And grant in turn the pardon which we ask;
But make not monsters spring from gentle dams—
Birds breed not vipers, tigers nurse not lambs.

  A laboured, long Exordium, sometimes tends
(Like patriot speeches) but to paltry ends;
And nonsense in a lofty note goes down,
As Pertness passes with a legal gown:
Thus many a Bard describes in pompous strain
The clear brook babbling through the goodly plain:
The groves of Granta, and her Gothic halls,
King’s Coll-Cam’s stream-stained windows, and old walls:
Or, in adventurous numbers, neatly aims
To paint a rainbow, or the river Thames.

  You sketch a tree, and so perhaps may shine—
But daub a shipwreck like an alehouse sign;
You plan a vase—it dwindles to a ***;
Then glide down Grub-street—fasting and forgot:
Laughed into Lethe by some quaint Review,
Whose wit is never troublesome till—true.

In fine, to whatsoever you aspire,
Let it at least be simple and entire.

  The greater portion of the rhyming tribe
(Give ear, my friend, for thou hast been a scribe)
Are led astray by some peculiar lure.
I labour to be brief—become obscure;
One falls while following Elegance too fast;
Another soars, inflated with Bombast;
Too low a third crawls on, afraid to fly,
He spins his subject to Satiety;
Absurdly varying, he at last engraves
Fish in the woods, and boars beneath the waves!

  Unless your care’s exact, your judgment nice,
The flight from Folly leads but into Vice;
None are complete, all wanting in some part,
Like certain tailors, limited in art.
For galligaskins Slowshears is your man
But coats must claim another artisan.
Now this to me, I own, seems much the same
As Vulcan’s feet to bear Apollo’s frame;
Or, with a fair complexion, to expose
Black eyes, black ringlets, but—a bottle nose!

  Dear Authors! suit your topics to your strength,
And ponder well your subject, and its length;
Nor lift your load, before you’re quite aware
What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear.
But lucid Order, and Wit’s siren voice,
Await the Poet, skilful in his choice;
With native Eloquence he soars along,
Grace in his thoughts, and Music in his song.

  Let Judgment teach him wisely to combine
With future parts the now omitted line:
This shall the Author choose, or that reject,
Precise in style, and cautious to select;
Nor slight applause will candid pens afford
To him who furnishes a wanting word.
Then fear not, if ’tis needful, to produce
Some term unknown, or obsolete in use,
(As Pitt has furnished us a word or two,
Which Lexicographers declined to do;)
So you indeed, with care,—(but be content
To take this license rarely)—may invent.
New words find credit in these latter days,
If neatly grafted on a Gallic phrase;
What Chaucer, Spenser did, we scarce refuse
To Dryden’s or to Pope’s maturer Muse.
If you can add a little, say why not,
As well as William Pitt, and Walter Scott?
Since they, by force of rhyme and force of lungs,
Enriched our Island’s ill-united tongues;
’Tis then—and shall be—lawful to present
Reform in writing, as in Parliament.

  As forests shed their foliage by degrees,
So fade expressions which in season please;
And we and ours, alas! are due to Fate,
And works and words but dwindle to a date.
Though as a Monarch nods, and Commerce calls,
Impetuous rivers stagnate in canals;
Though swamps subdued, and marshes drained, sustain
The heavy ploughshare and the yellow grain,
And rising ports along the busy shore
Protect the vessel from old Ocean’s roar,
All, all, must perish; but, surviving last,
The love of Letters half preserves the past.
True, some decay, yet not a few revive;
Though those shall sink, which now appear to thrive,
As Custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway
Our life and language must alike obey.

  The immortal wars which Gods and Angels wage,
Are they not shown in Milton’s sacred page?
His strain will teach what numbers best belong
To themes celestial told in Epic song.

  The slow, sad stanza will correctly paint
The Lover’s anguish, or the Friend’s complaint.
But which deserves the Laurel—Rhyme or Blank?
Which holds on Helicon the higher rank?
Let squabbling critics by themselves dispute
This point, as puzzling as a Chancery suit.

  Satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen.
You doubt—see Dryden, Pope, St. Patrick’s Dean.
Blank verse is now, with one consent, allied
To Tragedy, and rarely quits her side.
Though mad Almanzor rhymed in Dryden’s days,
No sing-song Hero rants in modern plays;
Whilst modest Comedy her verse foregoes
For jest and ‘pun’ in very middling prose.
Not that our Bens or Beaumonts show the worse,
Or lose one point, because they wrote in verse.
But so Thalia pleases to appear,
Poor ******! ****** some twenty times a year!

Whate’er the scene, let this advice have weight:—
Adapt your language to your Hero’s state.
At times Melpomene forgets to groan,
And brisk Thalia takes a serious tone;
Nor unregarded will the act pass by
Where angry Townly “lifts his voice on high.”
Again, our Shakespeare limits verse to Kings,
When common prose will serve for common things;
And lively Hal resigns heroic ire,—
To “hollaing Hotspur” and his sceptred sire.

  ’Tis not enough, ye Bards, with all your art,
To polish poems; they must touch the heart:
Where’er the scene be laid, whate’er the song,
Still let it bear the hearer’s soul along;
Command your audience or to smile or weep,
Whiche’er may please you—anything but sleep.
The Poet claims our tears; but, by his leave,
Before I shed them, let me see ‘him’ grieve.

  If banished Romeo feigned nor sigh nor tear,
Lulled by his languor, I could sleep or sneer.
Sad words, no doubt, become a serious face,
And men look angry in the proper place.
At double meanings folks seem wondrous sly,
And Sentiment prescribes a pensive eye;
For Nature formed at first the inward man,
And actors copy Nature—when they can.
She bids the beating heart with rapture bound,
Raised to the Stars, or levelled with the ground;
And for Expression’s aid, ’tis said, or sung,
She gave our mind’s interpreter—the tongue,
Who, worn with use, of late would fain dispense
(At least in theatres) with common sense;
O’erwhelm with sound the Boxes, Gallery, Pit,
And raise a laugh with anything—but Wit.

  To skilful writers it will much import,
Whence spring their scenes, from common life or Court;
Whether they seek applause by smile or tear,
To draw a Lying Valet, or a Lear,
A sage, or rakish youngster wild from school,
A wandering Peregrine, or plain John Bull;
All persons please when Nature’s voice prevails,
Scottish or Irish, born in Wilts or Wales.

  Or follow common fame, or forge a plot;
Who cares if mimic heroes lived or not!
One precept serves to regulate the scene:
Make it appear as if it might have been.

  If some Drawcansir you aspire to draw,
Present him raving, and above all law:
If female furies in your scheme are planned,
Macbeth’s fierce dame is ready to your hand;
For tears and treachery, for good and evil,
Constance, King Richard, Hamlet, and the Devil!
But if a new design you dare essay,
And freely wander from the beaten way,
True to your characters, till all be past,
Preserve consistency from first to last.

  Tis hard to venture where our betters fail,
Or lend fresh interest to a twice-told tale;
And yet, perchance,’tis wiser to prefer
A hackneyed plot, than choose a new, and err;
Yet copy not too closely, but record,
More justly, thought for thought than word for word;
Nor trace your Prototype through narrow ways,
But only follow where he merits praise.

  For you, young Bard! whom luckless fate may lead
To tremble on the nod of all who read,
Ere your first score of cantos Time unrolls,
Beware—for God’s sake, don’t begin like Bowles!
“Awake a louder and a loftier strain,”—
And pray, what follows from his boiling brain?—
He sinks to Southey’s level in a trice,
Whose Epic Mountains never fail in mice!
Not so of yore awoke your mighty Sire
The tempered warblings of his master-lyre;
Soft as the gentler breathing of the lute,
“Of Man’s first disobedience and the fruit”
He speaks, but, as his subject swells along,
Earth, Heaven, and Hades echo with the song.”
Still to the “midst of things” he hastens on,
As if we witnessed all already done;
Leaves on his path whatever seems too mean
To raise the subject, or adorn the scene;
Gives, as each page improves upon the sight,
Not smoke from brightness, but from darkness—light;
And truth and fiction with such art compounds,
We know not where to fix their several bounds.

  If you would please the Public, deign to hear
What soothes the many-headed monster’s ear:
If your heart triumph when the hands of all
Applaud in thunder at the curtain’s fall,
Deserve those plaudits—study Nature’s page,
And sketch the striking traits of every age;
While varying Man and varying years unfold
Life’s little tale, so oft, so vainly told;
Observe his simple childhood’s dawning days,
His pranks, his prate, his playmates, and his plays:
Till time at length the mannish tyro weans,
And prurient vice outstrips his tardy teens!

  Behold him Freshman! forced no more to groan
O’er Virgil’s devilish verses and his own;
Prayers are too tedious, Lectures too abstruse,
He flies from Tavell’s frown to “Fordham’s Mews;”
(Unlucky Tavell! doomed to daily cares
By pugilistic pupils, and by bears,)
Fines, Tutors, tasks, Conventions threat in vain,
Before hounds, hunters, and Newmarket Plain.
Rough with his elders, with his equals rash,
Civil to sharpers, prodigal of cash;
Constant to nought—save hazard and a *****,
Yet cursing both—for both have made him sore:
Unread (unless since books beguile disease,
The P——x becomes his passage to Degrees);
Fooled, pillaged, dunned, he wastes his terms away,
And unexpelled, perhaps, retires M.A.;
Master of Arts! as hells and clubs proclaim,
Where scarce a blackleg bears a brighter name!

  Launched into life, extinct his early fire,
He apes the selfish prudence of his Sire;
Marries for money, chooses friends for rank,
Buys land, and shrewdly trusts not to the Bank;
Sits in the Senate; gets a son and heir;
Sends him to Harrow—for himself was there.
Mute, though he votes, unless when called to cheer,
His son’s so sharp—he’ll see the dog a Peer!

  Manhood declines—Age palsies every limb;
He quits the scene—or else the scene quits him;
Scrapes wealth, o’er each departing penny grieves,
And Avarice seizes all Ambition leaves;
Counts cent per cent, and smiles, or vainly frets,
O’er hoards diminished by young Hopeful’s debts;
Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy,
Complete in all life’s lessons—but to die;
Peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please,
Commending every time, save times like these;
Crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot,
Expires unwept—is buried—Let him rot!

  But from the Drama let me not digress,
Nor spare my precepts, though they please you less.
Though Woman weep, and hardest hearts are stirred,
When what is done is rather seen than heard,
Yet many deeds preserved in History’s page
Are better told than acted on the stage;
The ear sustains what shocks the timid eye,
And Horror thus subsides to Sympathy,
True Briton all beside, I here am French—
Bloodshed ’tis surely better to retrench:
The gladiatorial gore we teach to flow
In tragic scenes disgusts though but in show;
We hate the carnage while we see the trick,
And find small sympathy in being sick.
Not on the stage the regicide Macbeth
Appals an audience with a Monarch’s death;
To gaze when sable Hubert threats to sear
Young Arthur’s eyes, can ours or Nature bear?
A haltered heroine Johnson sought to slay—
We saved Irene, but half ****** the play,
And (Heaven be praised!) our tolerating times
Stint Metamorphoses to Pantomimes;
And Lewis’ self, with all his sprites, would quake
To change Earl Osmond’s ***** to a snake!
Because, in scenes exciting joy or grief,
We loathe the action which exceeds belief:
And yet, God knows! what may not authors do,
Whose Postscripts prate of dyeing “heroines blue”?

  Above all things, Dan Poet, if you can,
Eke out your acts, I pray, with mortal man,
Nor call a ghost, unless some cursed scrape
Must open ten trap-doors for your escape.
Of all the monstrous things I’d fain forbid,
I loathe an Opera worse than Dennis did;
Where good and evil persons, right or wrong,
Rage, love, and aught but moralise—in song.
Hail, last memorial of our foreign friends,
Which Gaul allows, and still Hesperia lends!
Napoleon’s edicts no embargo lay
On ******—spies—singers—wisely shipped away.
Our giant Capital, whose squares are spread
Where rustics earned, and now may beg, their bread,
In all iniquity is grown so nice,
It scorns amusements which are not of price.
Hence the pert shopkeeper, whose throbbing ear
Aches with orchestras which he pays to hear,
Whom shame, not sympathy, forbids to snore,
His anguish doubling by his own “encore;”
Squeezed in “Fop’s Alley,” jostled by the beaux,
Teased with his hat, and trembling for his toes;
Scarce wrestles through the night, nor tastes of ease,
Till the dropped curtain gives a glad release:
Why this, and more, he suffers—can ye guess?—
Because it costs him dear, and makes him dress!

  So prosper eunuchs from Etruscan schools;
Give us but fiddlers, and they’re sure of fools!
Ere scenes were played by many a reverend clerk,
(What harm, if David danced before the ark?)
In Christmas revels, simple country folks
Were pleased with morrice-mumm’ry and coarse jokes.
Improving years, with things no longer known,
Produced blithe Punch and merry Madame Joan,
Who still frisk on with feats so lewdly low,
’Tis strange Benvolio suffers such a show;
Suppressing peer! to whom each vice gives place,
Oaths, boxing, begging—all, save rout and race.

  Farce followed Comedy, and reached her prime,
In ever-laughing Foote’s fantastic time:
Mad wag! who pardoned none, nor spared the best,
And turned some very serious things to jest.
Nor Church nor State escaped his public sneers,
Arms nor the Gown—Priests—Lawyers—Volunteers:
“Alas, poor Yorick!” now for ever mute!
Whoever loves a laugh must sigh for Foote.

  We smile, perforce, when histrionic scenes
Ape the swoln dialogue of Kings and Queens,
When “Crononhotonthologos must die,”
And Arthur struts in mimic majesty.

  Moschus! with whom once more I hope to sit,
And smile at folly, if we can’t at wit;
Yes, Friend! for thee I’ll quit my cynic cell,
And bear Swift’s motto, “Vive la bagatelle!”
Which charmed our days in each ægean clime,
As oft at home, with revelry and rhyme.
Then may Euphrosyne, who sped the past,
Soothe thy Life’s scenes, nor leave thee in the last;
But find in thine—like pagan Plato’s bed,
Some merry Manuscript of Mimes, when dead.

  Now to the Drama let us bend our eyes,
Where fettered by whig Walpole low she lies;
Corruption foiled her, for she feared her glance;
Decorum left her for an Opera dance!
Yet Chesterfield, whose polished pen inveighs
‘Gainst laughter, fought for freedom to our Plays;
Unchecked by Megrims of patrician brains,
And damning Dulness of Lord Chamberlains.
Repeal that act! again let Humour roam
Wild o’er the stage—we’ve time for tears at home;
Let Archer plant the horns on Sullen’s brows,
And Estifania gull her “Copper” spouse;
The moral’s scant—but that may be excused,
Men go not to be lectured, but amused.
He whom our plays dispose to Good or Ill
Must wear a head in want of Willis’ skill;
Aye, but Macheath’s examp
Mohammad Skati Jan 2015
If life goes smoothly and wonderfully ,then                                                           Then I have to be happy ,but                                                                                  Not at all ...                                                                                                                We all love our works and our jobs ,but                                                                Nothing goes perfect                                                                                               Simply because there are some people who                                                           Go fishing in the muddy water ...                                                                           Nothing remains great anytime                                                                               Simply because there are some who look for troubles                                           At work anytime,anywhere,and everywhere ...                                                    There is that ugly harassment that arises only from                                         Those who look for troubles for any reasons ...                                                   Life goes badly with that ugly harassment                                                         Simply because things will go bad ...                                                                   If the employers or if the managers keep silent ,then                                        Everyone and everything will turn up-side-down ...                                          It's very important to be one team rather than                                                  To corner oneself into those troubles                                                                     With that ugly harassment ...                                                                             There are a lot of employees who suffer                                                              Without finding any solution ...                                                                             That ugly harassment never brings people ,but                                                It cracks all people's relationships                                                                         For all reasons whatsoever ...                                                                                There is a pretty formula that links employees                                                  To all employers to fix any problem anytime                                                    Before it's over ...                                                                                                    ___________________­__
Pea Jun 2016
xvi. where do you go when your house isn't home?

i ******* crawl out of my body, swim infinite miles of the ocean, stretch my neck to the skies, replace my head with the moon. i ******* yearn for your presence, try to break the mirror with my weak stare, can't go further, fitting room doesn't fit whatsoever, all the buttons escape from my ***** and hair falls like tiny dandelions in a rainstorm.
i grow potatoes in my mouth, when i speak i smell of my root, when i am on my period i talk about stomachache at dinner table, when i search for space my tummy is the balloons at pingkan's 8th birthday party which i couldn't bring home. blow the candles i forgot to make a wish for a moment the fate seems seamless, bright red lipstick, brown mascara, outfits i can't ever wear to school, or to be honest, not anywhere because when i try to walk, every step is a ******* hysterical cry, when i use my toes every cell in my body violently shakes.
my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home how do you know that? how did you barge into my clichés? how dare you claim something that even i won't bring myself to think about?
i ******* crawl out of my body, not as soon as possible, i do it right now, right ******* now so i know the years i've spent trying to nourish the flesh i don't really own are worthless, the years i've devoted myself to my worldly lover are the ones that have been consuming my tiny soul, if you ask me now of course no one is satisfied, no one is satisfied until i don't want to call you mine anymore.
i ******* crawl out of my body.
in a desperate attempt to make the hideous pleasing to watch, i sell blindfolds on the street, i light the matches in the rain, i dream of dead grandmother and christmas feast. i turn into a cold statue, i left the tenderness for stupid microorganisms, my divorced bones blame me for everything i did not do. i used to do the right things now i just do nothing, it's ******* useless anyway, i can blink five thousand times and still believe that time is what the clocks and calendars say. (my grandmother was a buddhist.)
i ******* crawl out of my body. i don't want to experience this anymore, i am not into this kind of thing, i long for your presence, all i've got from this building is an infinite count of absences. my body is a building, it has no level, no room, no door, no window, no furniture. my body a giant concrete boring box, i do not even live there anymore, nobody lives there anymore, they are all gone to a poppy field in the middle of nowhere (actually somewhere, only that i am not invited). i ******* crawl out of my body, did that answer your question?
i ******* crawl. out. of. it.
with all due respect, please just kindly shut the **** up
The flame in my flesh burns tor like
Above conventions of average humanity,
Propelled to hatred of their opposite
By the pristine charm in the streaks of culture,
Their Florence comes from the glory of orthodoxities
In the time long fibres of religious pockets,
Islam, Christian, Hinduism and all that steadily
And firmly in piety aver perfection of Godliness,
Forgetting the flame of same *** with oral spice
In the God made flesh of the dear lesbian daughter,
Spell binding the equivalent in blossoms of the gay,
Provoking hatred from the threatened heterosexists,
But the oral *** of a lesbian is an apex of human pleasure
Surpassing all on earth and in heaven, as no human barricade
Of whatsoever caliber will cull lesbian’s feelings
From the glorious power in the genitals on kiss of lips,
As the tongue of the chic wag from side to other
Touching fountains of ****** glory in cement of sameness
Throwing threats of law and black order to dustbins
And trash yards of anachronisms as the power of LGBT
Engulfs the young world into in its protégé,
Shamelessly tethered on the sensual tentacles
Of maximum gusto in the ***** of oral *** with a dear ‘less’
In tune with all rhythms of the times
Remaining strange to the conservatives,
Ever seeking pleasure from where pain hails
Living gloomy life on a brink of melancholia,
Worry not lesbian daughter you are powerful,
In one away or so, rise up and walk tall
You have power in your oral ***,
Oral ***! Oral ***! Oral *** of a lesbian!
Omnis Atrum Aug 2012
not all who cry out are in pain
not all who are lost long to be saved again,
not all that are alone feel betrayed
but everyone feels afraid.
not all are afraid of a broken heart
not all are scared of misspeaking their part,
not all are petrified at the thought of dying
but everyone fears crying.
not everyone hides how they really feel
not everyone denies that all this is real,
not everyone covers the empty void
until their heart is destroyed.

to long lost to be called alone
but these tears now seem like home,
why in the world do i feel so forsaken
when i'm the reason my heart is breaking?
i am the one who remembers her so well
memories of happiness now feel like hell,
maybe because i know that i will never be again
closer to the one i love than 'just a friend',
even so happiness sometimes fills my veins
or maybe i just have a numbing of the pain.
i try to stay so strong that no one can see
that this hurt seems to be killing me,
so i rise up and wipe the tears from my eyes
and make it go away with a closet full of lies.
i tell myself that i hated your every kiss
and that you couldn't possibly be worth all of this,
and that i never missed you a day at all
and was never filled with bliss at the ring of a phone.
that the love that we felt could not have been true
and love's not the reason i can't think of anyone but you,
that this was the only way for all of this to unfurl
i tell myself that you are nothing but some confused girl.
some girl that feared a love greater than we could understand
only remembering my failure and faulty misdemands,
how many times we did what we knew was not right
but the desire seemed way too strong to fight.
even now i know i could not fix with a thousand rhymes
because no mortal can go back and do battle with time,
i can't quite explain to you how i really feel inside
only that i can't count how many times i've cried.
not out of self pity like so many believe
but because i know i'm the one that made you hate me,
so here are the tears that i've kept bottled up in my soul
and here's the imperfect person who can't feel whole.
here's all the apologies that i could possibly mutter
when i think back on what i did i can only shudder,
what kind of love did i think i knew
when again and again i found myself hurting you.
i'm not quite sure what it is that i want you to understand
my thoughts are scattered like the breeze-blown sand,
i know that i can't tell you exactly how i feel
because even still i don't know if feelings so strong are real.
i don't deserve a single passing moment of your time
because what i did i believe should be crime,
i corrupted the greatest love that I could ever know
and now that it's lost i have nothing to show.
only hollow echoes of 'i love you' s that made me whole
only an empty void where you existed in my soul,
only seas of teardrops to quench my unending thirst
but remembering your smile has got to be the worst.
Remembering your smile when you saw me draw near
remembering that when you were near me i felt no fear,
remembering you tell me that you felt it too
the love that we were so positive was true.
but as i have fallen away from who you remember
it seems to love you now could only hinder,
it only slowed you down from the wonder you became
i only hope after this your smile is the same.
hope when no one is around you that you feel no pain
that nothing but bliss flows through your veins,
that you find someone that deserves such a girl
the one i love more than any other in the world.

too overwhelmed to express exactly how i feel
but now i wonder if when you see me,
do you remember that what we had was real
or have you pushed it out of your memory?

is this longing and hoping just a joke
that everyone else knows the punch line to,
or have you heard a single word i've spoke
when i tell you that i can't not love you?

my eyes are all out of tears (my dear)
and i can't let you be my greatest fear (can't you hear?)
but i can't seem to make you go away (please don't stay)
so i'm stuck here again in my dismay (one more day)

i'm tired of feeling empty all the time
but you're the only one i can call my own,
so i sit here and write rhyme after rhyme
in hopes that one day i won't be so alone.

i'll take back every word i said, i swear
do you know you're still in my heart,
you're in my heart because i keep you there
because without you i'm torn apart.

my eyes are all out of tears (my dear)
and i can't let you be my greatest fear (can't you hear?)
but i can't seem to make you go away (please don't stay)
so i'm stuck here again in my dismay (one more day)

but i feel that tomorrow might change everything
maybe when i wake up you'll be here by my side,
and the world will stop so choirs of angels can sing
about a love so strong that it will never die.

About a love so purified by loss and tears
that i can't get rid of it no matter how hard i try,
so yet again you're the source of all my fears
and my tears flow freely as i cry.

an uncontainable ethereal essence dampens my soul
a lacking love that disappeared into the darkest hole,
though life's blood was flowing through my heart was cold
because of a story that has been too often told.
the realization of unattainable hopes tore me to shreds
how hard did i fight to free those feelings from my head,
to awaken visions of ecstasy instead of passing life
but it took time to realize i caused all my strife.
the gap extended, cutting off me from me
until i realized i'm not the person that i see,
determination extinguished an impure love from within
denial allowed me to forget all my sin.
though now as dark and as distant as i may be
i cannot force myself to carry a single memory,
but my footsteps slow because i no longer run away
now void of the hope of "someday, someday".
passion all spent they'd have us repent our consent
but only in error could they misconstrue my intent,
once again i clear my head until i feel relieved
but i now believe that bliss, not pain, is conceived.

holding in all that i know i should exhale
these situations make me feel so frail,
losing touch with reality once again
finding myself where i've never been.
frustrations almost make me give up
just want to say "enough is enough",
show you everything that i hold back
so that you can see how much you lack.
wish i could cease this painful game
leave it all as it was before i came,
but the impact you've left i can't deny
but i don't know how to say goodbye.
nor do i want to as you can tell
as much as i love this it hurts like hell,
if you could only see all that i hide
and all that will always be hidden inside

as i'm lying here wondering what i did with all the time that passed by
still staring at the empty pillow beside me but the pain is gone,
i just wish that for one last time i could look you in the eye
and apologize for all the times I did everything wrong.
as i'm lying here in realization that the chains no longer hold my wrists
and the freedom like the wind pushes me out into the world,
i thought in err for so long that you were the reason for me to exist
but now visions of you are replaced by the great wings that have unfurled.
so smile every second knowing you have the angel you deserve
knowing that you are safe with him the horizon will swallow me whole,
the only favor i would ask of you is to love him without reserve
and if you love then love with heart, mind, body, and soul.

it now seems that i have lost something in the overpowering dark
some small bit of myself that once gave my soul its spark,
that which still lingers is the fear that i will never find what i have lost
it seems that whatever price that there is to pay i cannot afford the cost.
and so i sit and pray hour after hour in yet another sleepless night
thought i expend all energy and force of will i cannot win this fight,
the doubt that i had once conquered has returned to reclaim
and it seems after all the progress that was made it is still just the same.
just as i feel as if the world has taken what i hold dearest to me
in an instant i feel relief and wonder what has caused this to be,
and then through the darkness i see the shadows slowly part
for even the darkness cannot stand between hope and my heart.
and as i stand numb in wonder what caused all of this to end
i realize that this hope is contained within my truest friend,
her smile brings back to me so many of the memories of old
and though my body is freezing, my heart is no longer cold.

it is surprising how quickly the sweetness of love turns bitter when you cast it aside. how fast smiles turn to blank stares with no emotion whatsoever. how fast a person full of nothing but hopes and dreams can be made jaded and cynical.

i look upon you and see only eyes that emanate cold
the eyes that chill me to my soul and leave me weak,
there is only a void that occupies the space of the soul you've sold
and from my lips are stripped the words that i would speak.

with the last breath that i could manage to sigh
i let go of everything that i had tried to deny,
because you could never be worth all of this
so the memories of you i quickly dismissed.

The memories left that still exist
Make me wonder just what I’ve missed,
In wasted time remembering your smile
But to see it once more would make it all worth while.
So many feelings I’m still forbidden to feel
Forsaken to the point that I wonder if they’re real,
But all wonder collapses if I look into your eyes
And I can no longer hold in my muffled cries.
Yet you do not care, so distant and cold
What was it that warped and burnt your heart of gold,
You never deny that all I say is right
But you fight your feelings with all your might.
So I now refuse to fight this anymore
Even though I see it’s wrong in my heart’s core to fight this anymore
Even though I see it’s wrong in my heart’s core,
The foundation crumbled, leaving rubble at best
And I leave your life with this one last request.
If you ever think back to feelings we once knew
Just know, although not perfect, the love we felt was true,
And though we may never feel the same thing again
If you ever need me, I’ll be here, as a friend.

For all the love that I once held
Within my gentle grasp,
I’d let go of everything else
To feel that love again at last.
For all the hope that I once knew
When I saw it in your eyes,
I knew it would never return
when you couldn’t hold back your cries.
For all the hours that I’ve lost
Wishing that you were here
Only to see your beautiful face
And forever hold you near.
For all the times that I’ve been forced
To lose you once again,
The pieces of my heart are on the floor
And won’t fit together or mend.
For all these things that I’ve said
I’ll never rethink those thoughts,
There’s just too much pain within your arms
This lesson I’ve now been taught.

A love that you don’t feel
Within your bitter heart,
All the time I’ve wasted
Just to get back to the start.
Before I knew your beauty
Though endless as it seems,
I only see you smiling
As a figment in my dreams.
Before I felt abandoned
Lost in the deep, dark abyss
Before I even longed for your touch
And to feel your gentle kiss.
Before I knew just how it felt
To feel nothing at all,
But with that numbness I know
That you initiated my fall.

How many nights will I stand outside your window
Constantly hurling rocks and stones,
And how many times will they disappear
Destroying my hope and leaving me alone.
How many tears will run down my cheeks
Creating another salty sea,
Only for the waves to rise up
Until I feel like they’re drowning me.

In the darkness of the night
come the tears that i can't fight,
but the glare of morning sun
reveals another battle won.
I can't overcome the love i've lost
or that our paths have uncrossed,
I hope that the emptiness that i feel
is only a figment, and not for real.
I get lost in the memories made
if only so that they will never fade,
and as i reach out my hand to her
she disappears, the illusion blurs.
But she was there for a moment in time
I can still see her as i write this rhyme,
and i know that everything will be fine
because in my heart, she is still mine.


don't think about the pain you feel inside
stray from shallownes and foolish pride
and as your tears swell up so blue
forget the things that anguish you

please don't leave my side again
even if we're only friends
you left an emptiness in my heart
that wasn't there at the start
the loss of you i cannot bear
you act like you still don't care
maybe this is hopeless yet
thoughts of you i can't forget
how does it feel to not feel at all
these thoughts through my mind crawl
i'm not able to forget you yet
i blame these feelings i always get
do you ever lie awake
and let your feelings overtake
the thought process in your mind
no you're too gentle, far too kind
please don't leave my side again
even if we're only friends,
you left an emptiness in my heart
that wasn't there at the start

yet again my timing is off
i'm denying the fact that all is lost
where must i begin, what must i do
to make everything better with you
please take the time to take away
all that i lose in the words that i say
if you could only hear what i feel inside
you would understand what i've slowly realized
i'd break my heart before i hurt your own
but maybe i'm better just being alone
these feelings i feel, i know they won't last
and i'll think of nothing else until they have passed
they consume every thought i create
and to my heart my mind relates
all these facts i wish were untrue
a thousand apologies to make amends with you
why should i be the one to apologize
my words rang sweetly throughout my mind
but now even words cannot take away
all i have lost that cannot be regained

entrapped in my head are all these thoughts
of promises you made way back then
the tears that swell my pain has bought
only to believe your promises once again
your sparkling eyes that made me believe
every single world that left your lips
i never thought that you would deceive
but my hope covered my heart like an eclipse
you made me feel that you loved me too
you made me think i was understood
but when i found your words rang untrue
it revealed the bad beyond the mask of good
just like a single red rose smells so pure
until the blood from your finger spills
all my problems only you could have cured
until all my thoughts of love you killed
just like the winter nights feel so cold
until you find someone to hold close to
you left those caring words untold
and my heart was turned cold under the moon
entrapped in my head are all these thoughts
of promises you made way back then
the tears that swell my pain has bought
only to believe your promises once again.

I think there is something on your mind
some memories that you've left behind
you think i feel feelings that i can't face
which gives me the need to leave this place
you succomb to the knowledge that you hear
with simple sources as sound as the air
you run from the reason from which sadness falls
and in the end there's nothing left at all

Another small tear cascades down my cheek
i'm all alone with all these people surrounding me
the sadness grows and the waters start to rise
i'm the only one sinking in my sadness, i'm surprised
the waters rise as i slowly start to fall
i doubt that anyone even notices at all
the sorrows you have given me have brought my demise
if you could've only seen the hopelessness you put in my eyes
it's all over now and all is lost
the struggle for happiness was worth more than it cost
another small tear cascades down my cheek
and i'm lost in all the pain you have given me

all alone before we met
but those are times you'd like to forget
and as he drifted away
you were alone by day
you always felt that he cared
but still felt trapped and ensnared
and nothing you could do
could bring him closer to you
he thought he left you behind
but that was all in his mind
there is nothing left that he can do
to bring him up to level with you
he thought it was all a game
trying to win fortune or fame
but somewhere along the line
he pushed your heart aside
brushed all of your tears aside
so he could have his foolish pride
but you always knew in the end
that it would just happen again
no emotions he feels
like this whole world is surreal
and as he drifted away
you were alone by day

so lost inside these thoughts you've given to me
of hope and all these feelings i can't believe
it would have been best to say nothing at all
because
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

It is the 30th day of the months in Kenya
State and corporate capitalist have now paid their workers
Wages or salaries or stipends or emoluments all being remunerations
While the rural bourgeoisie and urban bourgeoisie have also paid ex-gratia
To relatives come over-aged workers who have declined retiring
For the fear of looming starvation if at all they go home, where they were born,
Nonetheless; proceed they receive will do nothing whatsoever
As it will be stifled by the monster of desperate consumerism;
So fat and gullible in this tiger of land in the region called Kenya;
The terror peddling rent, courtesy of ruthlessness of the landlord
Bills of electric power in their full monopolistic gear
Bills of water devoid of quality, indifferent dysentery monger
Wages for maid who keep on usurping the food of my child; milk
Bills for gas, all of it redolent of comprador bourgeoisie in fashion,
Hotel and bar bill - a surreptious one, as the bar girl only knows
Airtime and renewal, TV channels and other screen capitalistic ploys
Family trip to local resort in a feat of foolish consumerist venture,
Money to the old mother at home and, sometimes depraved but patient father
ARV’s money to my *** aids stricken sister at the village, my aunt also
Tuition fees for my son at the kindergarten, who goes to schools but learns nothing
fees balance which my wife has to pay at the tailor to ransom out her dress,
M-Pesa and M-Swari loan repayment, this only for Kenyan 30th dayers
They know the agony of dealing with Kenyan mega-capitalist safaricom ltd.
This consumerism and **** consumerism,
It is the menacing bane of the Kenyan poor
It is the avaricious tube which siphons back
The hard earned money from pockets of the poor
Back to despotic account of the pitiless world pigshotry.
Chris Slade May 2019
The Avro Vulcan, a majestic big old iron bird, sublime,
was to do a flyby for just one memorable last time.
Maybe with a jet fighter or a Spitfire on each wing, who knew?…
Unthinkable to miss it… almost a crime.
Thousands turned up every year, always a great day out -
but this year would be special, there'd be no doubt.
The last flight of such a legendary plane made it essential…
So, after the flyers’ break for lunch, the crowd filled out.

The entry fee to occupy the field was heinous. 25 quid!
That was for adults - and a fiver for each kid.
So, many more than those that paid, sat happily outside pubs.
Others found shelter in the perimeter’s trees and... kinda hid.
Now, to see a Vulcan fly anytime, anywhere, was magic…
She was a Leviathan of the Cold War,
that held players in the planet’s power games in awe.
And this would be her last time doing the rounds on the air show circuit -
Seeing this locally was hard to ignore.

Mark (a nephew) was a window cleaner by trade.
A regular, down to earth, happy go lucky guy.
…Saturday comes and the kids all voted "McDonalds"…
“A Happy Meal!” they’d cry.
He said that was fine - they’d all go after he’d nipped over
to the airshow to watch the Vulcan fly.
No idea whatsoever, of course, that just by going to Shoreham
just 5 miles away, for half an hour or so… that he might die.

He told his fiancé he’d only be an hour or so…
be back in time to take the kids for a burger and, "NO!"...
He wouldn’t stay. He was the only one in the family
who was bothered anyway…so he wouldn’t ****** up their day.
So, in haste, because apparently Chicken Nuggets & Fries
was much better for the kids than a load of old planes,
he cranked the best out of his bike along the 27 and,
once at the lights by the Sussex Pad,
he pulled over to the kerb to watch from the bushes.
Good view? Well not bad!

Andy Hill was a flyer of many years. His weekday job,
flying for BA.Taking holiday makers, business folk, transatlantic in Seven Four Sevens...
A flight deck maestro, soaring up, just under the heavens.
He’d done Shoreham loads of times… it was exciting, exhilarating... almost sport, his game!
He was off the hook,  became an ace. It gave him that 15 minutes of fame!
Free to thrill - a hero! Standing out from the crowd with every daring step. His aim!

He wasn’t just a petrol head… this bloke had aviation fuel in his blood.
Adrenalin on tick-over. Nought to 60 in 2.7 seconds with 22,000 Horsepower under the hood.
He left Epping full of fuel, just 90 miles away, so in two ticks he was with us, fully loaded and, the weather? It was good.
First up after lunch at half past one… he streaked across the crowded field.
Over and out and up, up, up… Little did the spectators know that Andy had forgotten he was flying a Hunter…
He thought it was last year’s aborted routine in a Jet Provost… The one they'd stopped part way through being, too risky.

"He’s not gonna make it… I can’t look!" There was a hush… a nanosecond’s silence and then the rush,
the whoomph that said it all… that hush! The ground shook!
And the eleven - plus others injured - went up in Andy Hill’s very own fireball!
No, of course, Mark wasn’t the only one to die that day.
Ten other ‘innocents’ left us in pretty much the same way…
Maurice, Dylan, Tony, Matthew, Matt, Graham, Mark R, Daniele, Richard & Jacob.
Mark T, our Mark, had the distinction of having two funerals, not just the one…
More remains were discovered, analysed and found to be his!
Even after he’d…already well... ‘gone’.

The injustice that eleven spectators or just passers by should die
when the survivor, the off target driver, who sped too low from the sky, should, after a suitable pause in this ghoulish game, be exonerated and not take any blame.
Well it’s all sort of things… It's ridiculous, pathetic, obtuse, a joke… who do they think we are?

But the great and the good deliberated, scratched their heads and worked hard to make everything look ’right’…
Tolerance for the bereaved to grieve, platitudes, condescending attitudes, a memorial service.
Thanks - genuinely - to the emergency services… Not just a little buck-passing… But the public often judged them. Arsing about - to cover their corporate backside.
They can’t insult me (or us)… intelligent people have tried…

Andy Hill was judged to be not guilty of 11 counts of manslaughter by gross negligence.
But he claimed he blacked out in the air, having experienced ‘cognitive impairment’ brought on by hypoxia … possibly due to the effects of G-force…. Of course!
The 11 were either hit by the plane or roasted in a fireball caused when the jet flew too low and too slow. But if it wasn’t Andy’s fault then whose was it?

Surely this can’t be the end of this travesty of justice!!

BUT, there IS a new memorial to the dead. And, trust this...it’s a good one too…  The best that money can buy - and that anyone can do.

But there's is also a very bitter taste, still today…
that somehow... just won’t go away!
This is a bit of a saga... But I think it's worth it...On August 22nd 2015 there was a disaster at Shoreham Air Show, West Sussex... on the south coast of England and eleven people died. A loop the loop, too low and too slow. The pilot lived and recovered from his injuries and was found not guilty of eleven counts of manslaughter by gross negligence.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
"…ours is not to reason why." that is the only fragment
of the light
brigade?

call the philosopher for a meme:
Ah, we need an axiom,
some hope for humanity,
Christmas isn't working as well as it did,
Chanuka and Kwansa are distant also rans,

Where is hope if the wise have all been infected with…

"The fact that an opinion has been widely
held is no evidence whatsoever that it is not utterly absurd."

that's the meme sir,
but nothing clicked.
Bertrand Russell
wait
Ah, more, eh,
a semi colon not a point of completion.

That's the secret in all symbols to sibyls, my boy,
know what you meant
when you imagined them meaning
anything

"The fact that an opinion has been widely
held is no evidence whatsoever
that it is not utterly absurd
; indeed in view of the silliness of the majority of mankind, a widely spread belief is more likely to be foolish than sensible.”
― Bertrand Russell, Marriage and Morals

From <https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/172166-the-fact-that-an-opinion-has-been-widely-held-is>


In the world you shall have tribulation
but be of good cheer,
it makes everything better.

Merry Christmas, may the messages you trust be true.
An idea for a Hallmark card.
Lefa Mzondi Aug 2017
It's in the way she moves her hips
It's in the way her lips touch
It's in the way she bites her lower lip,
Oh how my world turns inside out when she does that
It's the way she says my name
In the way she whispers it, "Lefa... "
Sends shivers all over my body, goosebumps all over again

Problem is, she is taken. Unavailable

It's in the way she looks at me
All the whole new universe inside those eyes I could just get lost in
It's in the way she smiles at me
Just can't help but shy away

It's in the way she wakes all the once buried feelings,
Back from the dead with no regard whatsoever what people might say
It's in the way she makes everything around just lose sense

I know its been years but I can still feel her touch,
Soft, warm feeling

One look at her and I find myslef in high school all over again
Can still remember the very first time I laid eyes on her
Priceless, all words needed to describe her
Short stature
German-cut hairstyle
Gold earrings
Furnished with a smile
Grasshopper shoes
Short grey skirt
One hand in the pocket
Complete with the swing of her small waist when she moves
Still takes my breath away

There is still one problem, she's a taken woman

Maybe I waited a little too long
Maybe it wasn't the right time then
Is it right now?
Maybe I need a hard slap to put some sense back into me
Because right now, I'm deeply in love with a married woman
The worst problem is, I think she's in love with me too..
canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.
The Oblivion Jul 2013
Do I have any talent in poetry?
Can I write a good series of monometers?
Let’s
See
They’re
****
Are those even monometers?
How the hell should I know?

Maybe I can write a decent enjambment
Let it flow with no punctuation
Let it soar with no interruption whatsoever
Let it flow let it flow let it flow
Ah **** it!  
Flowing is for sissies!
Let’s punctuate this *******!  
Let’s add lots of **** to this!
Maybe, perhaps, supposedly!
All these worthless pathetic lines!

These are the things
That people may love
These are the things
That people may define as talent
This **** I made
They may say
I made from my talent
But to me
It is a massive piece of crap

Let’s add more **** to this!
Let’s add themes!
Love, darkness, hatred, abuse!
I’m sorry I left you baby, please come back!
It feels so black in this cruel horrid world!
*******!  *******!  *****! ****! I hate you!
Hit me again!  Hit me again you ******!

These are the things
That people may love
These are the things
That people may define as talent
This **** I made
They may say
I made from my talent
But to me
It is a massive piece of crap

If that isn’t talent then what is
You may ask
I answer this with a laugh
Poetry takes no talent
You silly fool
It is a simple sharing of heart and soul
Why lower it to a talent
It’s demeaning
It’s sickening
It makes me want to *****
Close your eyes
Let it take you in
Love it
Hate it
Praise it
**** it
Cleanse it
Vulgarize it
Whatever you like

If you ever want to be
A talented poet
Then don’t take my advice
Use structure
Use themes
Make your voice easily heard
But at the same time silent


These words
That people may love
These are the things
That people may define as talent
This **** I made
They may say
I made from my talent
But to me
It is a massive piece of crap
And really doesn't need talent.
Jeff Gaines Feb 2019
And now, their desperation and panic sink to an all-new low. They actually begin an attack on my sexuality, my familial relations and even my ability to have an ****** ...

  An ******?

  When you stop laughing, take into consideration that they are also regressing throughout all of this because this dysfunction that they suffer from is deeply rooted in their youth. Thus all the silly name calling and accusations that they could not possibly be able to know or prove and yet they state them as fact, like a child. I.E: A child calling out: "Your mama is a *****". Now those words come flying out from a frightened child when they really have no idea whatsoever about this target's mother. It is just an attempt to hurt. Nothing more.

But in this next bit, you can really see this desperation and panicked choice of subjects to try and use "against me", as-it-were. They don't know what else to do. Their ego is on autopilot, telling their fingers what to type ... and their ego is regressing back to childhood. Thus the childish subject matter.


(Name Deleted) Jeff the TROLL..
Has never and will never reach ****** ****** with either female or male partners.

Has never had a stable and fulfilling love life.
Will NOT and can NOT never ever love anyone UNCONDITIONALLY.
Has never been loved UNCONDITIONALLY by anyone male or female.
Has always been consumed unto bitter and fierce hatred of anyone who has!!.
A deep and bitter jealousy leading to violent hatred consume this TROLL.
Get back under your bridge Jeff.
Any replies from you in future will be deleted unread-even your long overdue apology.
AUM

 0 
 1 reply 
15h

Jeff Gaines  SOOOO MUCH FUN!

Ok, (Name Deleted) ... THAT was your most humorous YET!

Your actions are truly textbook of a person with your deep psychological issues. So ... if you will not read any more of my responses to YOUR trolling, then I needn't worry about you then sending a new volley to this one ... Hum? Good, I'm glad. This is truly getting boring. It's not too challenging to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person ... and a predictable one as well.

Sadly, we both know that your silly, over-inflated ego will NEVER allow you to NOT read something written about you. And you not responding would be a cover for your pathetic attempt to have the last word. (Again, we both know THAT won't happen)

Funnier still, you call me a troll, then go to one of my pieces and begin yet another troll campaign on the same day that you claim to not read any more of my responses.

So, you are trying to say ... "I will continue to troll/bully you, but I will read none of your responses, so I win". (hands on your hips, stomping your tiny foot on the floor, no doubt)

You say you are married? I pity this person ... your behavior is that of a post-pubescent, angry little boy with serious ego and self-esteem issues. Her life must be a living hell, as I would bet money that you are an overbearing control freak with an intense king-baby syndrome to boot. Of course, I could be completely wrong and it is SHE who wears the pants in your household and THAT is why you must come here to find some sense of "control" in your world. But that is all conjecture that I do not wish to even BEGIN to address.

Your need to appear like some type of "guru" or all-knowing person who is better than everyone else is deeply seated, so I think it started very early in your life.

As I've said ... 'TEXTBOOK".

So textbook in fact, that I have decided to make this entire exchange into a piece about trolls/bullies and bullying. But don't worry about that ... I will leave it up long enough for you to read it, leave one of your hysterical troll responses to further prove my observations ... and I will have had the last word.

Then, predictably, you will write something about me on your page, then block me so that I can't respond (thus making your poor, decimated ego feel like it had the last word), which will not only further prove my observations about you, but it will lead folks over to my page to read my piece about you.

It'll be fun!

Now, on to your latest huffing and puffing:

"troll"

Once again, you accuse me of something that YOU are guilty of.

Once again, you are crying about me doing something that YOU did first. (I can't stop laughing about this. Just like a bully to cry and whine when he himself is punched in the nose and doesn't receive the response that he is seeking when HE does the punching!)

*** - Kettle/Gander - Goose, little man.

I am only guilty of responding to your trolling ... which is my right. Because, as is well established, you began this little soiree when you called me an "Unreconstructed alcoholic with no personal sense of shame" in a comment about a piece I had written about a friend that had recently died! Sadly pathetic, indeed.

Then, as I've stood up to you, you have spiraled down, like a burning airplane, in your pathetic child-like name calling and such to the point where you did schoolyard (at best) name-calling ("Electronic ****"? I LOVED THAT ONE!) and attacked my race, my religion and political stances (I picture you, a terrified little schoolboy, trembling in a schoolyard, shouting these things as you wee your pants in fear).

Then. you actually threaten me with physical violence (punching me in the nose). Now ... when NONE of that ridiculous posturing and panic-stricken chest-beating has worked, you take a jab at my sexuality and interpersonal relationships?

You are the one with "No personal sense of shame" here. You are publicly getting more and more pathetic and your ego won't even let you see that! Your imaginary pedestal is way too high, (Name Deleted). The fall from there is really going to hurt you.

Attacking my sexuality, love life and relationships?

Really?

There are few straws left for you to grasp at, huh?

Again, having never met me, something you couldn't POSSIBLY make accurate conjectures about. ANYONE reading this would laugh, knowing where this is truly coming from.

My FAVORITE was the bit about me never achieving an ******! It took me SEVERAL minutes to stop laughing about that one.

How old are you (Name Deleted)? 12 ... 13, maybe?

No matter your actual birth age, these silly claims and insinuations are definitely NOT those of a grown-aged man. They are straight out of the playbook of an early teen. To make such an unfounded accusation is nearly disturbing on SO many levels.

Wow ... just ... "WOW".

You spew them from your imaginary ivory tower, the one that makes you believe that you are above everyone else, so they MUST be facts, right?

And in true (Name Deleted) form, you state them like facts to the public.

A public that can readily see that it is all coming from a wee little man, standing on an imaginary pedestal trying to convince the world that he is a "somebody". You should have taken my earlier advice and just closed your mouth. But it is all too late.

Deep nasal breaths (Name Deleted) ... DEEP nasal breaths.

I've no need to respond to this silly notion with tales of my ****** bravado or adventures, nor my past love life. That is none of your business and a true gentleman NEVER kisses and tells.

Besides, THAT is the action of schoolboys and men who are lacking in the "endowment" department ... as is attacking OTHER men about these issues.

I won't bring my family into this either. (Taking shots at my familial relationships (Name Deleted)? Hmmm, I wonder if this a Freudian confession of your own family issues. But I won't go there. It's a can of worms best left on the shelf, I should think. It does pose some possible explanations for your behavior and persona though, doesn't it?)

So ... I hope you stick to your word and "not read/delete" this so that I needn't respond again. But, (long sigh) I highly doubt that you will. Your life AND your behavior are CONTROLLED by your fully delusional ego.

Watch for my upcoming piece, which will feature this exchange for ALL of the world to see. It will be cut and pasted verbatim, and I will even add a few additional notes.

I'm going to use it to help educate others on how to recognize and handle egotistical, cowardly, wanna-be bullies such as yourself.

Please, allow me to at least thank you for writing all these responses and demonstrating in such a textbook fashion, how your type acts and reacts and even letting us see inside of you a bit, thus letting us see what makes you tick.

And most importantly ... THANKS for the laughs.



This last one is where we can see the bottom of their barrel. As predicted, they can NOT “not read/erase” something that is written about them. Their ego would NEVER allow this. They MUST read and respond because THEY must have the last word. So, we are back to schoolyard names like “**** wipe”, attacking my sexuality and chest beating by attempting to assert that I have somehow “FAILED”. (You see? They HAVE to win, so it is easier to just let them think that they did.) After this, they can only lash out with slurs against my Mother and such. I think I've made my point here.

And now you, dear Reader, will have seen nearly the complete downward spiral of a bully/hater/troll when you stand up to them. I thank them for their 'help” in making this new piece and then show that I am the better man and offer to let them have the last word. I've no idea what that will be, but if you would like to see it, just go to the piece titled “Message To A Friend” (Link in notes below), it will be there soon enough. Their desperation to be dominant is so readily apparent here, it is sad. As I said, they can't help it. Their ego is on autopilot because these issues are so deeply ingrained in their self.



(Name Deleted) To Jeff the TROLLISH LOSER.
WOW so many words just to prove you are a piece of white liberal **** wipe.
You must really hate life with your filthy mouth spewing out
non stop TROLL NONSENSE--as if its a Fight or a Battle to be fought with any stranger just to prove you are a MAN!!!.
WELL JEFF YOUVE FAILED.
YOU are not a MAN but you do have a Male Body.
Never will be a Man.
Always a sexless TROLL.
.
 0 
 1 reply 
13h

Jeff Gaines Well, (Name Deleted), I want to sincerely thank you for all of this. You don't realize it now, but you have helped me to compose something that will, in turn, help other people. It is very admirable. I/we have taken something awful and made it into something positive.

Balance in the universe doesn't get any better than that. Besides, from here, there's not much left but you making verbal attacks on my Mother and such. Even I won't let you reduce yourself to that.

I wish you well. I hope all of your dreams and wishes come true, and moreover, I hope you get the help you need to finally find peace. A peace that will let you stop trying to belittle others with your condescension and bullying demeanor. I truly hope that you can release the tortures that keep you with this agonizing persona. It must be horrible for you.

And again, THANK YOU!

Leave any message you wish after this so that you can sleep well, knowing that you had the last word. I know how important that is to you and your ego, so have it ... as a gift from me to you in appreciation for all of your help here. I promise ... I won't respond. It's all you, Dude. My job is done here.



This one, sent to me on a completely different page/post, involves the “truce”. They did this on the comment section of another piece called “I'm Sorry If You Miss Me” (Link in notes below). They couldn't do this where we had been in our volley, that might appear as a weakness to someone who'd been watching it all.

They offer an olive branch (for all that's worth), but with it, they also offer to take me to enlightenment and save me somehow. None of this is sincere in ANY way. It is once again, them, trying to condescend to me that I am in need of THEIR help. That I am less, and they are more. Just as I described in the beginning of Part I.

(Also note that upon realizing that this has all been an analyzation of them and their behavior, they attempt to spin it around that it is THEM analyzing ME. Once again, textbook predictability)

If for some silly reason, I took this “truce”, they would feel that they have dominated me and nothing would change. As you read it, you will see just what I mean, especially in the way they go on and on about how accomplished they are at 'helping” others and how they can lead me to some new and better existence, as I am such a “sick human being”. The megalomaniac is really showing through here:



(Name Deleted) Dearest TROLL,
TRUCE?

Though you so obviously write vicious TROLL Gibberish you so obviously cant spell the word gibberish correctly.Not very Self referential eh?.
Diminishes your projected self mage of being a 'nice guy' somewhat eh?.
I have analysed your crippling problem and can offer you the only way out of it.
The presence of an individual Mind superimposed in strategic command over all your brain centres in the last hour before birth has led to you being NON Self Realised(which is your problem basically).
You don't know your Cosmic Identity--and the Mind in your head has led you to believe that you are not the Individual Isness but are the Mind created operating device the Conditioned Identity.
This replaces the ID and takes control over the Glucose and Oxygen supply to all Brain centres from the Individual Isness.
Send me a Poste Restante address and I will send you(for FREE)a copy of my only CD--on which I play Alto Saxophone and Alto Clarinet andAmplified C Silver Concert Flute and my wife who is my life companion plays Electric Bass.
We use the name Maneesha which is Sanskrit for Beyond Enlightenment.
The CD which is called 'Rolling Home' is as recorded--every track in one take-no electronic messing around!.
It was recorded under strict Tibetan Tantric rules of performance--I was a Flute playing Pujari in a Temple on the Burning Ghat in Varanasi where I played for Hindu Cremations for 6 years in the 1970s.
The intention is that the listener--you--will become Mindless .According to the sacred texts of the Vedas one must become Mindless as that is the only openly accepted way to reach the final end of Yoga Meditation.
Temporary union with the Isness of the Unverse.
Yes I know you will go off into paroxysms of laughter at my very absurdwritings but I must offer as you are a very sick human being--and your TROLLISH sickness will only get much worser as you age.
I have offered.
You will ridicule me.
Your choice.



And there you have it, dear Reader. A (disturbing) look, into a very disturbed mind. I am not, nor would I ever condone or recommend doing what I have done here. I did this for you. I had the idea while reading one of their demeaning comments on someone's daily. So, when they came to my daily … I put my hook in the water. The best thing you can do is give no reaction. Soon enough, they will go off in search of the attention they so desperately need and leave you in peace. As I have shown you here, engaging them brings a never-ending string of buckets … buckets FILLED with waste-of-time.

All you need to do is keep in mind this one simple thing when they write horrible things in your comment sections, or you encounter one in your life …

Something you are doing, or have done, is SO amazingly awesome, that it brought out ALL that darkness in them!

Just ignore them and they will go find someone else to pick on. Give them an “LOL” and ignore all that follows, or just delete their comment and block them. Your time is limited and so very precious. Don't give one second of it to these types of people. It simply isn't worth it.

Besides … You have MORE amazing things to accomplish!

                   Big Love,
                           ~Jeff
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2019
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.”

John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States
<>
a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others,
unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further,
but as homage, a tribute, a salute
got to
got too,
no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever,
read the words and my own hands choke me
as if to pull out, to free
the upsurging words in my chest-forming,
to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in
wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true

my recent family history,
about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace,
escapees from a Spanish Inquisition,
a Roman one before that,
meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome
in a small village in Germany

(the irony does not go unnoticed)

from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk,
we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard,
attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t
always politely request

here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew,
fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p,
one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even
poet~traders,
and so a President’s words, hammer my cells
upon an anvil for human skins,
the future shape of me foreseen
and I think to myself,
alone and out loud:

This, This!

is what makes America great, 
welcoming the stranger,
even predicting their
possible pathway to a peaceful existence,
giving their descendant’s generations liberty,
liberty to become poets,
free, who can stand upright
repressi0n Jan 2015
When you love someone so much,
you will do anything for them.
You will forget the meaning of selfishness
and become different.
When you love someone so much,
you don't want to miss them.
When they are gone,
It will feel like hell everyday,
you're blue and  everything just isn't right.
When you love someone so much,
you are very fond of them.
You love everything about them
how their eyes sparkle at night
how their voices sound like sweet music to your ears
how their touches make you feel secure
how their thoughts matter so much
how their perspective become as important as yours.
Whatsoever flaws they have
you accept it wholeheartedly.
When you love someone so much,
nothing is difficult
Except maybe
When you love someone so much,
but they want to love someone else.
It will hurt you badly
like you are breaking into pieces.
You will be caged in a truth box.
You can run and run but you're still there.
When you love someone so much,
You will survive.
Just give a little time
Always reflect
Because remember
When you love someone so much,
you will accept the truth.
You will realize that
you love a person
because you want to love them.
You don't expect them to love you back.
And after that
it won't be difficult anymore.
You will feel free
to love them again so much
Daniel Haggerty Apr 2014
I'm not stubborn;
I just like to do whatever I want,
exactly how and when I want to,
without any compromise whatsoever,
and no
I don't need any of your help.

What?
MahoganyPumpkin Nov 2014
Once upon a time,
they were all set to live happily every after.

And then the tides came in and flooded their little piece of imagination,
and the winds picked them up and blew them into the whirlwind of
reality
and
stress
and
bills
and
imperfection
and then the leaves dropped off the autumn trees and smothered them in the decaying colours of rotting daylight and
charred sunsets
and
dying
and
futility
and then Once Upon A Time, they all met with their inevitable ends and were sorely missed by no one whatsoever.
The End.
Song one
This is a song about tarzanic love
That subsisted some years ago,
As a love duel between an English girl and an African ogre,
There was an English girl hailing along the banks of river Thames
She had stubbornly refused all offers for marriage,
From all the local English boys, both rich and poor
tall and short, weak or strong, ugly and comely in the eye,
the girl had refused and sternly refused the treats for love,
She was disciplined to her callous pursuit of her dream
to marry a mysterious,fantastic,lively,original and extra-ordinary man,
That no other woman in history of human marriage ever married,
She came from London, near the banks of river Thames,
Her name was Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill, daughter of a peasant,
She came from a humble English family, which hustled often
For food, clothing, and other calls that make one an ordinary British,
She grew up without a local boy friend, anywhere in the English world,
She is the first English girl to knock the age of forty five while a ******,
She never got deflowered in her teens as other English girls usually do
She preserved her purse with maximal carefulness in her wait for a black man,
Her father, of course a peasant, his trade was human barber and horse shearer,
Often asked her what she wants in life before her marriage, which man she really wanted,
Her specification was an open eyesore to her father; no blinkers could stave the father’s pale
For she wanted a black tall man, strong and ruggedly dark in the skin, must own a kingdom,
Fables taken to her from Africa were that such an African man was only one but none else,
His glorious name was Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
When the English girl heard the chimerical name of her potential husband,
She felt a super bliss in her spine; she yearned for the day of her rendezvous,
She crashed into desperate burning for true English love
With a man with a wonderful name like Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya.


Song two

Rumours of this English despair and dilemma for love reached Africa, in the wrong ears,
Not the human ears, but unfortunately the ears of the ogres, seasoned in the evil art,
It was received and treated as classified information among the African ogress,
They prevented this news to leak to African humans at all at all
Lest humans enjoy their human status and enjoy most
The love in the offing from the English girl,
They thus swiftly plotted and ployed
To lure and win the ******
From royal land;
England.




Song three

Firstly, the African ogres recruited one of their own
The most handsome middle aged male ogre, more handsome than all in humanity,
And of course African ogres are beautiful and handsome than African humans, no match,
The ogres are more gifted in stature, physique, eugenics and general overtures
They always outplay African humans on matters of intelligence, they are shrewder,
Ogres are aggressive and swashbuckling in manners; fear is none of their domain
Craft and slyness is their breakfast, super is the result; success, whether pyrrhic or Byronic,
Is their sweetest dish, they then schemed to get the English girl at whatever cost,
They made a move to name one of their fellow ogres the name of dream man;
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
Which an English girl wanted,
By viciously naming one of their handsome middle-aged man this name.

Song four

Then they set off 0n foot, from Congo moving to the north towards Europe abode England,
Where the beautiful girl of the times, Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill hail,
They were three of them, walking funnily in cyclopic steps of African ogres,
Keeping themselves humorously high by feigning how they will dupe the girl,
How they will slyly decoy the English village pumpkin of the girl in to their trap,
And effortlessly make her walk on foot from England to Africa, in pursuit of love
On this muse and sweet wistfulness they broke out into loud gewgaws of laughter,
In such emotional bliss they now jump up wildly forgetting about their tails
Which they initially stuffed inside white long trousers, tails now wag and flag crazily,
Feats of such wild emotions gave the ogres superhuman synergy to walk cyclopically,
A couple of their strides made them to cross Uganda, Kenya, Somali, Ethiopia and Egypt
Just but in few days, as sometimes they ran in violent stampedes
Singing in a cryptic language the funny ogres songs;

Dada wu ndolelee!
Dada wu ndolelee!
Kuyuni kwa mnja
Sa kwingile khundilila !

Ehe kuyuni Mulie!
Ehe kuyuni mulie!
Omukhana oyo
Kaloba khuja lilia !
They then laughed loudly, farted cacophonously and jumped wildly, as if possessed,
They used happiness and raucous joy as a strategy to walk miles and miles
Which you cover when moving on foot from Congo to England,
They finally crossed Morocco and walked into Europe,
They by-passed Italy and Spain walking piecemeal
into England, native land of the beautiful girl.

Song  five

When the three ogres reached England, they were all surprised
Every woman and man was white; people of England walked slowly and gently
They made minimum noise, no shouting publicly on the street,
a stark contrast to human behaviour and ogre culture in Africa, very rambunctious,
Before they acclimatized to disorderly life in England, an over-sighted upset befell them
Piling and piling menace of pressure to ****,
Gripped all the three ogre brothers the same time,
None of them had knowledge of municipal utilities,
They all wanted to micturated openly
Had it not been beautiful English girls
Ceaselessly thronging the streets.



Song six

They persevered and moved on in expectation of coming to the end,
Out-skirt of the strange English town so that they can get a woodlot,
From where they could hide behind to do open defecation
All was in vain; they never came to any end of the English town,
Neither did they come by a tumbled-down house
No cul de sac was in sight, only endless highway,
Sandwiched between tall skyscraping buildings,
One of the ogres came up with an idea, to drip the ****
Drop by drop in their *******, as they walk to their destiny,
They all laughed but not loudly, in controlled giggles
And executed the idea minus haste.

Song seven

They finally came down to the banks of river Thames,
Identified the home of Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill
The home had neither main gate nor metallic doors,
They entered the home walking in humble majesty,
Typical of racketeering ogre, in a swindling act,
The home was silent, no one in sight to talk to
The ogres nudged one another, repressing the mirth,
Hunchbacked English lass surfaced, suddenly materialized
Looking with a sparkle in the eye, talking pristine English,
Like that one written by Geoffrey Chaucer, her words were as piffling
As speech of a mad woman at the fish market, ogres looked at her in askance.

Song eight

An ogre with name Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya opened to talk,
Asked the girl where could be the latrine pits, for micturation only,
The hunchbacked lass gave them a direction to the toilets inside the house,
She did it in a full dint of English elegance and gentility,
But all the ogres were discombobulated to their peak
about the English latrine pit inside the house,
they all went into the toilet at the same time,
to the chagrin of the hunchbacked lass
she had never seen such in England
she struggled a lot
to repress her mirth
as the English
never get amused
at folly.




Song nine

It is a tradition among the ogres to ****,
Whenever they are ******* in the African bush,
But now the ogres are in a fix, a beautiful fix of their life
If at all they ****, the flatulent cacophony will be heard outside
By the curious eavesdroppers under the eaves of the house,
They murmured among themselves to tighten their **** muscles
So that they can micturated without usual African accomplice; the tweeee!
All succeeded to manage , other than Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Who urinated but with a low tziiiiiiii sound from his ***, they didn’t laugh
Ogres walked out of privities relaxed like a catholic faithful swallowing a sacrament,
The hunchback girl ushered them to where they were to sit, in the common room
They all sat with air of calm on their face, Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
led the conversation, by announcing to the girl that he is Victoria’s visitor from Africa,
To which the girl responded with caution that Victoria is at the barbershop,
Giving hand to her father in shearing the horses, and thus she is busy,
No one is allowed to meet her, at that particular hour of the day
But he pleaded to the hunchback girl only to pass tidings to Victoria,
That Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya from Africa
Has arrived and he is yearning to meet her today and now,
The girl went bananas on hearing the name
The hunch on her back visibly shook,
Is like she had heard the name often,
She then became prudent in her senses,
And asked the visitor not to make anything—
Near a cat’s paw out of her person,
She implored the visitor to confirm
if at all he was what he was saying
to which he confirmed in affirmation,
then she went out swiftly
like a tail of the snake,
to pass tidings
to her sister
Victoria.


Song ten
She went out shouting her sister’s name,
A rare case to happen in England,
One to make noise in the broad day light,
With no permission from the local leadership,
She called and ululated Victoria’ name for Victoria to hear
From wherever she was, of which she heard and responded;
What is the matter my dear little sister? What ails you?
Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya is around!
She responded back in voice disturbed by emotional uproar,
What! My sister why do you cheat me in such a day time?
Am not cheating you my sister, he is around sited in our father’s house,
Is he? Have you given him a drink, a sweet European brandy?
My sister I have not, I feared that I may mess up your visitors
With my hunched shoulders, I feared sister forbid,
Ok, I am coming, running there, tell him to be patient,
Let me tell him sister just right now,
And make sure you come before his patience is stretched.





Song eleven

Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill almost went berserk
On getting this good tidings about the watershed presence,
Of the long awaited suitor, her face exploded into vivacity,
Her heart palpitating on imagination of finally getting the husband,
She went out of the barber shop running and ululating,
Leaving her father behind, confounded and agape,
She came running towards her father’s main house
Where the suitor is sited, with the chaperons,
She came kicking her father’s animals to death,
Harvesting each and every fruit, for the suitor,
She did marvel before she reached where the suitor was;
Harvested ten bananas, mangoes and avocadoes,
Plums, pepper, watermelons, lemons and oranges,
She kicked dead five chicken, five goats, rams,
Swine, rabbits, rats, pigeons and hornbills,
When she reached the house, she inquired to know,
Who among them could be the one; Akhatembete Khobwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya, But her English vocals were not guttural enough,
She instead asked, who among you is a key tempter go weevil car no lawyer?
The decoy ogre promptly responded; here I am the queen of my heart. He stood up,
Victoria took the ogre into her arms, whining; babie! Babie, babie, come!
Victoria carried the ogre swiftly in her arms, to her tidy bed room,
She placed the ogre on her bed, kissed one another at a rate of hundred,
Or more kisses per a minute, the kissing sent both of them crazy, but spiritual craft,
That gave the ogre a boon to maintain some sobriety, but libido of virginity held Victoria
In boonless state of ****** feat, defenseless and impaired in judgment
It extremely beclouded her judgment; she removed and pulled of their clothes,
Libidinous feat blurring her sight from seeing the scarlet tail projecting
From between the buttocks of the ogre, vestige of *******,
She forcefully took the ogre into her arms, putting the ogre between her legs,
The ogre’s uncircumcised ***** effectively penetrated Victoria’s ****** purse,
The ogre broke virginity of Victoria, making her to feel maximum warmth of pleasure
As it released its germinal seed into her body, ecstasy gripped her until she fainted,
The ogre erected more on its first *******; its ***** became more stiff and sharp,
It never pulled out its ***** from the purse of Victoria, instead it introduced further
Deeper and deeper into Victoria’s ******, reaching the ****** depth inside her with gusto,
Victoria screamed, wailed, farted, scratched, threw her neck, kissed crazily and ******,
On the rhythms of the ogre’s waist gyrations, it was maximum pleasure to Victoria,
She reached her second ****** before the ogre; it took further one hour before releasing,
Victoria was beaten; she thought she was not in England in her father’s house
She thought she was in Timbuktu riding on a mosquito to Eldorado,
Where she could not be found by her father whatsoever,
The ogre pulled Victoria up, helped her to dress up,
She begged that they go back to the common room,
Lest her father finds them here, he would quarrel,
They went back to the common room,
Found her father talking to other two ogres,
She shouted to her father before anyone else,
That ‘father I have been showing him around our house,’
‘He has fallen in love with our house; he is passionate about it,’
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya was shy,
He greeted the father and resumed his chair, with wryly dignity.


Song twelve
An impromptu festival took place,
Fully funded by the father of Victoria,
There was meat of all type from pork to chicken,
Greens were also there in plenty, pepper and watermelons,
Victoria’s mother remembered to prepare tripe of a goat
For the key visitant who was the suitor; Akhatembete,
Food was laid before the ogres to enjoy themselves,
As all others went to the other house for a brainstorming session,
But the hunched backed girl hid herself behind the door,
To admire the food which visitors were devouring,
As she also spied on the table manners of the visitors, for stories to be shared,
Perhaps between herself and her mother, when visitors are gone,
Some sub-human manners unfolded to her as she spied,
One of the ogres swallowed a spoon and a table fork,
And Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Uncontrollably unstuffed his scarlet tail from the trouser,
The chill crawled up the spine of hunchbacked girl,
She almost shouted from her hideout, but she restrained herself,
She swore to herself to tell her father that the visitors are not humans
They are superhuman, Tarzans or mermaids or the werewolves,
The ogre who swallowed the spoon remorsefully tried to puke it back,
Lest the hosts discover the missing spoon and cause brouhaha,
It was difficult to puke out the spoon; it had already flowed into the stomach,
Victoria, her father, her mother and her friend Anastasia,
Anastasia; another English girl from the neighborhood,
Whom Victoria had fished, to work for her as a best maid, as a chaperon,
Went back to the house where the ogres had already finished eating,
They found ogres sitting idle squirming and flitting in their chairs
As if no food had ever been presented to them in a short while ago,
One ogre even shamelessly yawned, blinking his eyes like a snake,
They all forgot to say thanks for the food, no thanks for lunch,
But instead Akhatembete announced on behalf of other ogres,
That they should be allowed to go as they are late for something,
A behaviour so sub-human, given they were suitors to an English family,
Victoria’s father was uneasy, was irritated but he had no otherwise,
For he was desperate to have her daughter Victoria get married,
He had nothing to say but only to ask his daughter, Victoria,
If she was going right-away with her suitor or not,
To which she violently answered yes I am going with him,
Victoria’s mother kept mum, she only shot miserable glances
From one corner of the house to another, to the ogres also,
She totally said nothing, as Victoria was predictably violent
To any gainsayer in relation to her occasion of the moment,
Victoria’s father wished them all well in their life,
And permitted Victoria to go and have good life,
With Akhatembete, her suitor she had yearned for with equanimity,
Victoria was so confused with joy; her day of marriage is beholden,
She hurriedly packed up as if being chased by a monster,
Sarah Margaret Mar 2013
I am
Spilling
Out of myself.

I am
Of the greatest kind
Of human being -
Emptied.
Though only of self
And,
Thankfully,
Never in practice.

Am I
Only made human in time?
Death is the definition
Of living.
Otherwise
I am made of blessed scraps
Of Divinity's table.
Which,
From my fingertips,
Fall to the earth
In a blanket of angel mist
And words -

Spilling from my
Soul
As God
So carefully
Spilled
Dust upon oblivion
To create Adam.

Out of my heart
Beats the fires
Of my unspeakable passions.
Scorching images
Of desire
Seeping from this soft,
Human
Exterior.

Of my eyes,
They've withered away.
By the liquid nectar
Of my sorrows,
I am blinded.
Though only of reality
And,
Thankfully,
Never of optimism.

My self
As a whole
Emptied into
Whatsoever is beyond
The Great Barrier;
Fragments of legend
And air.

I am
Spilling
Out of myself.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
Many of you don’t know this,
but I wear my sunglasses at night when I write,
and I know I am a poet,
and I’m supposed to be both understood and misunderstood at the same time,

but I can tell you exactly why I wear my sunglasses when I write,

without any misinterpretations whatsoever,
I wear my sunglasses when I write to block the EMFs,
that emit from the the screen on my electronic device,
and make their way to try and make a way into my eyes,

it’s as if every electronic device is alive,
and they want to take every thing from us including our vibe,
and I’m not sure for sure if this is true so just to be safe I protect my eyes,
by wearing my sunglasses at night when I write,

I want to stay pure,
pure enough at least for you,
because everything I write and do,
of course I do it for you,

as cliche as that might sound,
please know that every word of it is true,
and I’m trying not to rhyme to much so these words don’t sound corny,
but I’m a poet I can’t help it I rhyme without even trying *** else am I supposed to do,

and as far as cliches I’ve got another one coming your way hey, “I Love You.”

I love you,
and I’m trying to stay as pure as I can,
so that I can be clear when I see you,
if we ever have the pleasure of seeing each other again,

as lovers or friends,

either way I am here,

and I’m open,
completely,
devoted,
and cleanly,
unfolded,
and ready,
high voltage,
but steady,
I told ya,
I’m ready,
I noticed,
already,
that you noticed,
me so deeply,
that I broke open easy,
as our emotions,
became confetti,
I told you I told you,
I’ve already been ready already,
and we’re in a storm,
and we’re lost at sea,
but we’re almost to shore,
so please just hold steady,

steady,
steady,
breathe,
steady,

steady hand writes the words,
before fingers become spaghetti and I can write no more,

because honestly I feel like I’m losing all control,
and honestly experiencing strange things then staring at screens doesn’t help,

help,

this is a cry for help,
I’m not scared to admit I’m scared,
I actually have only one fear,
I’m only scared of one thing and nothing else,

being alone.

I am alone.

You are alone.

But we can be alone together.

I told you before I’m totally open,
I told you before I’ve already been ready already,
and I’m trying to stay as pure as possible as I wait for you,
and that’s why I wear these sunglasses so that the EMFs don’t extra affect me,

many,

of you don’t know this,
but I wear my sunglasses at night when I write,
and I know I am a poet,
and I’m supposed to be both understood and misunderstood at the same time,

but I can tell you exactly why I wear my sunglasses when I write,
without any misinterpretations whatsoever,
I wear my sunglasses when I write to block the EMFs,
that emit from the the screen on my electronic device,
and make their way to try and make a way into my eyes,

it’s as if every electronic device is alive,
and they want to take every thing from us including our vibe,
and I’m not sure for sure if this is true so just to be safe I protect my eyes,
by wearing my sunglasses at night when I write,

I want to stay pure,
pure enough at least for you,
because everything I write and do,
of course I do it for you,

as cliche as that might sound,
please know that every word of it is true,
and I’m trying not to rhyme to much so these words don’t sound corny,
but I’m a poet I can’t help it I rhyme without even trying *** else am I supposed to do,

and as far as cliches I’ve got another one coming your way hey, “I Love You.”

I love you,
and I’m trying to stay as pure as I can,
so that I can be clear when I see you,
if we ever have the pleasure of seeing each other again,

as lovers or friends,

either way I am here,

wearing my sunglasses at night when I write,
and I know I am a poet,
and I’m supposed to be both understood and misunderstood at the same time,
but I can tell you exactly why I wear my sunglasses when I write…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
Bring back The '80's...
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.

When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******),
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.

When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!

When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.

Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.

When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******),
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.

When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!

When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.

Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
380

There is a flower that Bees prefer—
And Butterflies—desire—
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird—aspire—

And Whatsoever Insect pass—
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her—capacity—

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture—
Or Rhododendron—worn—

She doth not wait for June—
Before the World be Green—
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind—be seen—

Contending with the Grass—
Near Kinsman to Herself—
For Privilege of Sod and Sun—
Sweet Litigants for Life—

And when the Hills be full—
And newer fashions blow—
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy—

Her Public—be the Noon—
Her Providence—the Sun—
Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed—
In sovereign—Swerveless Tune—

The Bravest—of the Host—
Surrendering—the last—
Nor even of Defeat—aware—
What cancelled by the Frost—
1443

A chilly Peace infests the Grass
The Sun respectful lies—
Not any Trance of industry
These shadows scrutinize—

Whose Allies go no more astray
For service or for Glee—
But all mankind deliver here
From whatsoever sea—
It is not a confused whirr,
nor dumbish  agitprop poetry,
nor ramblings of a jumbuck
in guest for freedom to peddle
the awry science of antisemitism,
it is a poetic license of word-power
for him to  said what must only be said.

to sing cautionary verses and lyrics
against the flow of atomic warheads
from the America ,or whatsoever
on the western and Germany submarines
to the land of Israel, where Netanyau reigns
in terror and racist tyranny con Palestine,
or to versify a caution of this atomic arming
of Israel but not her neighbors like Persia
the cradle of Omar Khayyam the Rubiyatist,
or else to disarm the Arab world, as Israel terribly
arms her sons and daughters with nuclear and  Atomic drones
along with  hatred of the neighbours in mad avarice for land,
is not at all a crime of poetry but Gunter's artistic  morality.

Nobel reward cannot be a seal on your beak,
you Gunter, the brave son of  Bundeslander,
we cannot be lulled to sleepish silence
with blissful feelings of Nobel Laureatry,
cosmetic dignity , nonchalance or standoffishness,
when terror is reigning in the  Middle East
Israelis committing crimes against humanity
****** women, mauling children and shooting civilian Arabs,
that would be heinously wrong , punished even not
in the Hague of Holland but in the hottest place in hell
which John F. Kennedy saw Dante Alighieri creating,
for those who stand aloof , when evil is committed in the world.

Your communion in the Waffen schustafel or the Hitlerite SS,
is not impeachment on your moral history,nor reason for shame,
the poltergeist of Europe in the days of your youth was pure SS ,
in nature ,fibre and DNA,every European dreamed of a colony,
Britain and France cahorted to own Africa as their handkerchief,
****** bench marked to own France in 1943,  a colonial vintage,
******'s ***** was genuine government in Germany,
democratically ratified by the voters in Germany,
Your service to ****** was service to your country,
it was your turn of patriotism and love of fatherland,
like your contemporaries in other parts of the world
who prospered as the FBI,CIA,Mossadist,Kosmosols,
Gendarmes,Kanu youth wingers,or Colonial police
in Britain's Gulag in the name of African Archipelago.

i don't know what they mean,
when they call you Gunter the anti-Semite,
rebuking Israelis  terrible killing  of  Arabs
is not reason not even an emotion enough,
anywhere, whether on earth or in the ethereal,
to call Gunter an  anti-Semite or an  immoral poet.

wasn't colonialism a warped racial conscience,
was it not anti-negroism or anti-africanism,
persistent torture of black slaves in America,
doesn't it call for social phenomenology?
isn't it Anti-blackism or it is only  justifiable slavery?

Let Gunter Grass say what must be said,
let him sing what must be chanted,
Like Lenin and Gogol of Russia
let him do what must be done
let him fear what must be feared,
let him not fear the loss of Nobelite dignity,
Jean Paul Sartre won the Nobel Prize ,
but his clear socialist consciousness
made him decline to pick the cash,
in true service to his ideals,
he still glowed like a bush fire
in the Harmmattan wind
he never waned in glory whatsoever
even in his current realm of abode
among the living dead of the world
he still shines as a  center piece
when time for chance to voice of  reason
is called for, for humanity's sake,
Let Gunter Grass say what must be said.
in defense of Gunter Grass poem on Israeli-Persian relations, which has made Israel to be armed with Nuclear and Atomic warheads.Israel is not sensitive to global peace.
A man must be knowledgeable, says God
For him to come in the presence of God,
He who has his male members dismembered
Or his testicles crushed whatsoever,
He shall not be permitted to enter in to the synagogue,
To worship Jehovah God of Israel,
says the deutronomical god of Jews
And today I am ill fated,
my testicles are crushed,
By the grenade thrown by a terrorist,
Here in Nairobi, an Islamic terrorist
Has crushed my testicles, in his guest
For the land of Palestine usurped by Israelis,
How do I worship you God of Israel?
Joseph Schneider Jul 2014
Miguel is a boy of mystery. His whole life has been a disturbing whirlpool of broken memories. His home's a train wreck, his family has vanished, his life lays in waist... Since the day Miguel was born, its gone unseen by no one of his sinister and baneful behavior. Miguel's own family could not bare the sight of him. By the age of 9 he had been put up for adoption several times. Along with scaring away any hope of accumulating a friend. Even neighbors felt the need to move through pure gut feeling something wasn't right with this young boy...but why?

   Well, the answer lives with a man named Michael. Michael was Miguel's Father. Michael lived a life searching that in which we all seek, riches, the big house, the life of a celebrity. Given the mere fact Michael was simply a fry cook, his dreams looked distant and impossible to achieve. That being said he was ready for a change, no matter the circumstances... One day, Michael was walking home from work when he stumbled across a woman in the doorway to an abandoned building. Not any ordinary woman, a beautiful woman. Her beauty wasn't like anything he had ever seen before. Her cheeks blushed, her voice could sooth a giant, and her eyes glimmered through the moonlight. Covered head to toe in jewels, in Cashmere, in Prada... The woman without hesitation snatches the attention of Michael. Her voice so soothing, so soft spoken, it's hard to feel anywhere else but in your own paradise simply being in her presence. 
   "Michael..." The woman whispers. 
   "Michael...Follow me." She says.
Michael so drawn to her beauty he obeys without the smallest of responses. Walking through the doorway into the abandoned building still manipulated by her beauty she brings him to a room. This room seems to have been abandoned for years. Torn wallpaper, carpet stripped leaving nothing but broken concrete. Although sitting in the center of the room sits a table and two chairs. 
   "Sit." The woman Says with authority. 
The man obeys taking into consideration this new tone of voice. She sits as well, directly in front of him. 
   "I, know you Michael." She says with a smile. 
   "I've been following you for some time." She continues.
Michael sitting in confusion he remains silent. 
   "Speak not if you must, It's only postponing your destiny Michael." She finishes with another smile. 
   "My, my destiny?" The man asks. 
She continues to smile gazing her beautiful eyes into his for a few moments. 
   "Yes my love. Your destiny. I have arranged something for you that you cannot pass up." 
Michael's life has him in such a deep depression he cant fathom on passing up the words of what seems like an angel. 
   "What do you have in mind?" He quickly Replies. 
   "Simple, whatever you want my love." She Replies. 
Michael Sits in silent for a second Not really understanding what is being presented to him. Although at this time he comes to terms he doesn't care, change is change. 
   "I accept anything you have to offer, beautiful." He replies with confidence. 
   "You, will live from this day forward wealthy. I can supply you with a house and enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your days." She offers. 
   "Is it that easy?" He asks  
   "No, you must in return Inflict my religious beliefs into your first born child." She says. 
Michael, not really sure what that means, accepts her deal, for she seems like an angel of the sky. Well, as for Michael he lives his life as planned, Wealthy, happy, Full of adventure. He even finds himself an amazing girl who he falls in love with. They even get married. Now, however, things get more difficult.

   They find out together they are having a baby boy. Yes, the greatest gift to any man or woman they think is about to happen to them. Michael's wife having no difficulties through the pregnancy goes into labor. After 6 hours of labor Miguel is born. He is healthy as can be. Miguel's mother on the other hand has surprisingly gone into shock. Hemorrhaging Viciously in her brain. She is quickly put into emergency surgery. With her life in danger they begin to operate. She, does not live to see another day. After doing an exam on her body trying to solve what caused her to hemorrhage, they find something very odd. During the birth of Miguel she suffered three broken vertebrates, and her ****** had been severed. Not being able to explain the cause, life goes on. Michael is devastated at the loss of his wife. The visions of raising a baby boy together have been wrecked. As devastating as it was Michael was forced to accept it and continue on, raising Miguel on his own. It wasn't much after Miguel's birth that Michael really started to realize something wasn't right.

   Miguel had no emotions. Although medically they could not find a single thing wrong with him, he still remained motionless. His eyes seemed as a portal to oblivion. No smiles, laughs, or anything. Once again as odd as this was Michael was forced to persevere on his mission to raise Miguel on his own. Until Miguel learned to walk. Once this happened Michael started to get overwhelmed. As his Miguel was a walking nightmare. Miguel had killed three of their animals within a months time. Things were looking to get out of hand. No matter how much Michael tried to discipline him, Miguel did not listen. Michael couldn't get a babysitter to watch him for any longer then a few minutes without scaring them off. The babysitters would leave startled, leaving Michael with responses such as "He won't stop staring at me" or "when he is around me the hair on my neck stands up." Miguel had become such an outrage Michael lost custody of him just two days after his third birthday. Miguel had driven His father to the point of insanity. Michael tried to suffocate Miguel and end this misery once and for all, but he could not. Miguel had grown too strong even by age three.  Everyone hated Michael for it and Miguel was taken from him leaving Michael now in prison. Michael at that point realized that woman was not an angel, but the devil in disguise, soon after he committed suicide. What others don't know is Michael knew something they didn't. Something so evil, so sinister, that it would ruin many more lives to come. More and more the people started to realize something wasn't right. He bounced from home to home, leaving every home in complete disarray. He was the talk of the town. He was referred to as the "Devil's Child" or "Miguel From Hell."

   The city was angered by the boys effect in the community and knew something had to be done. The council knew the boy had to be murdered. If only this same council would have seen it as Michael did, when he did. Things would of never gone so far south. However the town started planning in the dark for their attack. They didn't want the boy to catch any wind of this whatsoever. So one night as he was asleep in his foster bed the city made the building evacuate, quietly. All but Miguel had evacuated the building and at this time they said their prayers and begun. Six men volunteered, to enter the building. Holding rope, gasoline, and faith. They grab the boy holding him down on the bed tying him up. The boy begun to rage, but he wasn't quit strong enough to escape the six men. After tying him up and leaving him inside they lit all four corners of the building at the same time. Watching it burn to the ground. Once they thought it was finally over, the body was never found...

-Joseph B Schneider
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved

Short story.
The Devil won't approach you in his form. He will approach you with what you love.
God has enabled you to live long
Up to the rare  age of ninety years
Not as a blessing to you whatsoever
But as a curse of Knowledge,
For you to realize the evils you did
During your reign of terror,
when you were Kenya's  president .

You misruled Kenya for twenty four years
Clinging to power like **** on lion *****,
You plunged the country into abyss of poverty,
You established torture chambers
And gave priority to prisons,
Special branch police and detention  camps,
You planted tribalism with passion
Favouring your Kalenjin tribes,
Inspiring them with the spirit of sadism,
That fuelled assassination and public fear,
Daniel Moi your ninety years are birthdays,
Of nothing else but tyranny and dictatorship.

You walked with government money in your bag,
You used tax payers money to cement corruption
You often behaved as a duffer, but a rigging expert,
You suffocated all government organs,
For you to remain a strong man of power
Your  horsemen were villains of villains,
To make you think that one tribe is special enough,
To enjoy political favour in their maximum stupidity,
You condemned Kenya to linger amid despair and mire
With your useless Nyayo philosophy,
That was self-suspicious and derisive to reason,
Making Universities submissive to KANU,
Your Political part that was a mere terror wing,
Chaired by Ezekiel Barangetuny the illiterate,
Who called Karl Marx as Karo Mariko,
He thought that presidential dialogue is food,
Expensive food sold by Kikuyus in Nairobi Hotel,
Your chief aim was to suffocate education,
Campaigning for villages polytechnics,
While you are  a heavyweight torturer of Dons
You; Moi , your name is a curse and public earache.

Daniel Branch of Warwick bemoans you dearly,
in his oeuvre of Hope and Despair for Kenyan people,
He often cites;You shot Robert Ouko the first Bullet,
In the head before you plugged out his eyes,
You ignored his cry for forgiveness and mercy,
Then you dumped his cadaver in the Ahero forest,
For it to be eaten by hyenas, black ants and scorpions

It is epical knowledge  among Kenyans,
But at most the people of Trans Nzoia and Bungoma
That when Masinde Muliro died in the plane
The King's Horseman was around, in the plane
Wielding ammonium gun in his pocket.

Charles Rubia and Matiba Kenneth were unlucky,
They both went mad while in the torture chamber,
Koigi wa Wamwere aged while in Kamiti  prison,
Raila Odinga lost his daer testicles while detained,
You punctured his left eye, he always mobs dears,
Every minute and second, and i am sure you Moi
You can't regret and feel for him, if he was your son?
Your horsemen thoroughly flogged Wangare Mathai
the Nobel Laureate,she won the Prize for nothing,
Other than her successful staving of  the pains
From the ferocious whips by your Kalenjin police,
You jailed and jailed people in Kamiti and Manyan
As if your were possessed by the devil of imprisoning
Or may  be you were possessed, were you ?

You fuelled the tribal clashes in Molo,
You motivated Sabaoits to **** the Bukusu,
You chased teachers of Kisii,Luhyia and Luo tribes
From your village of Baringo,where people starve
for no other reason that was genuine and patriotic
But out of your urge of ethnic sadism.

you made us to sing lame poems;
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
think about , what were we saying?

You owe apology to the people of Kenya
and all others in the diaspora,
For  the stark misrule and reign of tyranny
You perpetrated on them for two decades,
Your ninety years of life are not a blessing,
But God's timing for you to contrite
To repent and repent  your heinous sins,
I personally wish you not  happy birth day
But humanity wants you  to apologize ,
To those  unhappy families and communities
That you detained and killed their kins.
Advise to Daniel Moi on his 90th birth day

— The End —