There’s a scurrying sound of something, burrowing,
Down in the depths of the dungeons, hurrying,
Skittering, pittering-pattering, scattering
When there’s a footstep, hear them chattering:
‘Here come the lords, and here comes the vassal,
Tripping their way through Cockroach Castle.’

Here come the ladies, all in their finery
Tripping and sipping the wine from the winery,
Trailing their silks, their satins and bustling,
Up in the ballroom, while the rustling
Army beneath the sounds of their razzle
Is down in the depths of Cockroach Castle.

Spilling their millions up in the glooming
Out from the flagstones, terror is looming,
Up on the awnings, hung from the ceiling
Under the swish of the skirts they’re stealing,
Dropping in hair, and burrowing faster,
Cockroach Castle is set for disaster.

Suddenly all of the room is screaming
Flapping of hands, the roaches are teeming,
Myriad hordes in the Carbonara,
Candles are tipped from the candelabra,
Choking smoke from the candles guttered,
Flames leap up from the ones that stuttered.

Clothing and flags and the awnings razing
Silks and satins flare up, and blazing,
Roaches in eyes and ears, they’re rasping
Clogging their throats, to leave them gasping,
There isn’t a lady or lord, or vassal
To come out alive from Cockroach Castle!

David Lewis Paget

matrimoni australiani non mancano mai di farmi un po 'tantino geloso di tutte le persone che hanno avuto la fortuna di parteciparvi .Perché quando prendo una sbirciatina a un matrimonio come questo da Sarah Bamford Fotografia So solo che gli ospiti sono ancora parlando di quanto sia divertente che avevano in questo matrimonio oggi .E ' la perfetta combinazione di moda e sentimentale .e c'è molto di più vi aspetta qui .

Condividi questa splendida galleria

Da Sarah Bamford Photography.This matrimonio era pura perfezione .Beatitudine Vintage ed eccellenza fai da te.Ogni splendido dettaglio è stato creato dalla sposa e lo sposo compresi i menu .centrotavola .la torre torta .bouquet e ospite book.The sposo anche fatto i tavoli di accoglienza da vecchi pallet in legno.Tale quota coppia un uno su un milione amore e la connessione e traspariva il giorno più di ogni altra cosa .Erano così facile andare e gli ospiti ci sono svanite abiti da sposa corti dalla bellezza di tutto questo.La cerimonia si è svolta nel bellissimo giardino percorso di Seppeltsfield Cantina abiti da sposa corti nella Barossa Valley .con la reception in un epoca ispirata tendone sul prato sopra .

Questo matrimonio aveva tutto.Una grande festa nuziale vestiti da sposa splendido .musica acustica dal vivo durante la cerimonia .polaroid .e naturalmente una torta ciambella di nozze per coronare il tutto !La giornata è stata perfetta e l'amore tra Olivia e Matt era indescrivibile .. Ancora una volta .pura perfezione e ispirazione Fotografia



: Sarah Bamford Fotografia | Doughnuts : Athelstone Bakehouse | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Venue - cerimonia e il ricevimento : Seppeltsfield
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=118

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had her own signature scent,
A lasting aroma, that lingers in every corner of her home
As the strong winds picked up the scent,
and move it quite a distance.

She carefully prepare the mixture from the earth
Cuss ,kuss grass, Jasmine, rose buds and roots,
Before she prepare the mixtures with that special touch

Like a fine wine from the winery,
“One more drop of Rosemary oil, she would say
This would make the scent last for eternity,

Old Granddad he would make silly jokes,
His word usages, madam chemist, a witch with a spoon,
But in the end, she would always made a special potion for him
We would carefully select the flaky mahogany woods shaving,
with combinations of fresh vanilla leaves with extracting oil with oils
Those homemade perfumes from flowers had lots of potential.

Granddad hand craft the wooded bottle stoppers with his chisel,
It was a joy to watch, the old Irish typhoon working and smoking his pipe
Old Alan baffler was Nana nickname for him

She would scold and speak harshly to us
for touching the those colorful luring bottles
“Don’t open those bottles, you malicious children
Else a witch would appear: She would often say,
For me, my nana was an old chemist,
with old decade’s wooden sticks.
Preparing the mixtures like a fine wine,

I am forever grateful for those memories
I should have follow in her footsteps,
Her secret potions, her gift,
Is worth millions of dollars today
Looking back on yesteryears , good parenting
and good memories

This is like
The study hall
Easily distracted by rubies
More may be less
tale of  two cities
Dicken's

Please listen
Diamonds are too clear
But rubies we love to
blush
Who cares to be the fairest
Rubies are the
greatest
fortune tellers flush
Like Barbara
Stan evil met Stanwick
Her sparkling candlesticks
Double Indemnity roulette
Those Rebelites statuettes

And how the ruby hooked
on her cultured pearl string
Being pushed over one ruby
My gems got
stretched
like marionettes don't sleep
you will be changed
Into the Gem Bodysnatcher

Just ditch her fake ruby cup
of coffee
Always wanted to be
reassured Ruby Jubilee
Stabbing her jeweled
pen Glamp Tepee

Her ruby could be
locked up and stored
It better be insured

People were naked
without their power
of rubies
She sat so confidently not
to be
outshined
Looking at the
moon-ruby-shrine

Monsterous devious maids
Took her for everything
Screen playact
****** just a tad glad
Redrum
The ruby cluster rash
Ceremony hot flashes
Ruby loves to blush

With Frank Sinatra
Gave Lana Turner a cluster
That was just
the starter Hey Buster

Someone is always
quicker and
****** sicker
Just light her flicker
She was the gem of
the trade
The real boot

the kicker was Jack of
all trades the shinning
But Frankly, they were the
made gem

Something you call
love but
ruby success
You said these boots
are made
for walking
that's just what
they do

One of these days these
rubies will walk
all over  you
Ruby Ms. Gabby
Miss ruby lips Tabby
Loreal and hubby I am
not mail service
Or your ruby police
Ruby slipper to be
escorted by fake Prince
welcome to sanity

Artsy Aristocrats
in the Pick-INNS
All ruby for sucker pins

Her belly went in
The functions
that
produce rubies
anything you want
But reproduce love
Over my ruby heart, you won't

Rubellite head Humpty* Dumpty
The Wall Street
the diamond
the exchange got  overly
populated
Of the Dynasty
transported
her ruby
So far__________

Catching high gems stars
The best-aged ruby
color winery Tuscany
Ruby-Tuesday
Hi ****** in springtime

Ruby fanatics
The Ruby blew out the
candles at one go
Was the grandeur
Ruby grapefruit

God/Goddess/Ruby that is
Nod/ Mistress/Hobby
Flight/Gem/Food/ don't wait to
marry him
She got the
cutest little
babyface diamonds
are way too
clear
Mommy dearest
Anna Karenina
one heartbreak for
this ruby the meanest
The beauty unbound
The rarity like no
other to
be found

well the left is dead, and the left turned into tartan, i guess the islanders
are gearing up to a male patriarch where ***** go free with jealousy
rather than queened freely;
i know the left died, but to have it third day resurrect
in scotland, i'd never think the tories flavoured
outside of plum plucked blue;
only when a politics is unappealing to quote no vote,
is a change of monarch at hand,
and then why such the left disappear almost completely?
it's one thing for tyranny to leave a listening airy cleft
where once thought reigned tyrannically un-dialectical,
but it's another cased scenario to suddenly
lever a man to contort into a female face on either
photograph or coin, so we leave the wonders of chillingly
easy rhymes of song from the 1960s to the 21st complex,
and we leave the reign almost feeding a reprimand
for the multi-cultural having no artistic endeavour
in a counter. multi-cultural will not provide a counter-culture,
given the scenario of tyranny to aggregate all into taxable citizens,
perhaps that's rome shrunk into the vatican for the alphabet to survive,
perhaps why latin is "dead" and perhaps why poetry is dead,
because the only walky talkies are women in retirement;
forget dialectics even, remind yourself of dialogue first!
in the end, like the pre-socratics, i'll be a snippet of words
to bruise myself on fame post-mortem;
of course i live in readied tyranny, no one votes
and the left of politics was taken my northern nationalists...
in the end, thank **** at least that happened!
the king wears a kilt!
and? better my youth be a foolery in the realm of vocabulary
than prancing in tutu and bra on a table in ibiza;
yes, i'll be courteously french while i age in the silent winery:
that place where you won't even hear a corkscrew.*

the politics is long, i'd rather live on nn the faroe islands,
but it reminded me of a charles in henry's nursery rhyme:
charles the first survived, slow motion:
beheaded, in ****, later did some philanthropy;
conspiracy almost ******, gaffed choking on a peanut peel, never married -
entered the nunnery via public opinion that'd never allow a scandal or a ****** birth.

intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's leave it to the pigs
or play dead among the dogs,
or levy it with questions in gushing recurrence;
intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's utilise it with someone saying:
i rather speak to someone 100 prior or 100 years after.

or as later proved: among the citizens an uncomfortable censor
was a woman, that's the thing:
misogyny and homosexuality are almost alike:
gays love to talk to women but loath to butter up a sour bread dough,
misogynists loath to talk to women but love to **** 'em;
where's the middle way buddha? where's the middle way?
socrates turning into a misogynist disguised in homosexual accents
in old age? the old man got away with acceptable norms in old age,
almost, they figured out his **** pure and minded his cranium crucible divergence
from: young boys readied for pedophiles spoke more flowers
than my wife while cooking compost of fruits!

ah! i live in a spicy tomorrow, gearing up to charles the third's
reign with talk of the amputated left limp either side of the diaphragm
equator, hence the scot nationalists,
whereby we have beauty anorexic strutting eager for a faint in a cabbage patch,
and we best test tube in pigmenting alkali,
writing songs about life, not poetry of that ideal: "from the cosmos"
of autobiographic detail of metaphysics to exclude evil from a humming choir;
or as i took to my father in sepia:
beauty in anorexia, language in bad grammar and even more a terrible spelling
that never experienced the lines of detention to conform,
and then all the moral freedoms to not think about
and when thought about, quickly attached to **** smear
girly literature;
but do i go around talking of my easily-read literature?
so why this italian pole girl ruining my diary of saved orientated ordination?
she jealous or just illiterate the she-troll of all?

misogynists are like homosexuals, although the prior have no politico thumb,
we love ******* the brains out, we hate being boyfriends
from magazines or the psychology sections of saturday newspapers editions;
plus we like our own company, which is hard to grasp;
i mean, we love women within the membrane of ****** temperatures twinning,
but that's hardly the right temperature for conversation akin to vishnu and lakshmi.

Her breath smelled of
Winery Yard,
And the mix of daisies and lilies,
When my lips caressed hers
For the first time.

- Sharlinson N.

As we drew closer to the abysmal highway
We stopped by a winery
And I found myself asking
"Is this a cemetery?"
Which is poetically ironic
Because  I imagine my former self
Is buried somewhere in that vineyard
Fore I felt the ghost of who I once was eerily imminent
Among the grape vines that reminded me of skeletons
Barren and desolate
But ripe with possibilities
For a better tomorrow

acid pools in stomachs mingling
with melatonin and valerian.
struggling to displace oneself in the scheme of things.

there is no question that Mitchum was the man,
or that Farewell, My Lovely is still too expensive for me to buy,
but I do question the length of time we spent
pondering the truth with  empty schedules and JWH-018.
we etched an identity from a corner-store drug era
filled with colorful characters and interesting flavors;
burning spare change and time probing the annals
of creativity for something to pop up and speak to us.

I know I shouldn't have stopped texting,
but you should have let the schoolyard bully stay home.
artsy flicks just don't have the same charm anymore,
and the struggle to stay seated is hard to purge,
pleading, wailing in a crowded cinema,
when we both know you could've prevented yourself
from never getting a chance to see this.
you hover still over the lights lining the aisles.

the phases of the moon have stayed loyal,
chili and tabasco are still great on a cold January afternoon,
and there is still some charm to cranking the stereo
on the stretch of highway out by Rock Springs.
Big Boss Man still asks "do you believe in God?"
before he asks an unsuspecting face for a dollar.
they still put on concerts in the summer over by The Winery,
but I haven't ever heard of any of the bands.

someone else manages The Smoker's Den now;
some kid I've never met, so I probably won't go back in.
he doesn't appreciate the comedy found in the face of Perot,
or the elusive, dark sweetness of the huckleberry.
in passing we exchanged a miraculous favor,
and in passing we managed to become different people,
in passing I walk on top of uncertain footprints,
and in passing you dream of film noir.

We’ve been in this place before.
A winter day in the Inland Empire,
So why not give it the respect
It earned in the annals & anals
Of American Land Scams,
Right up there, with
Arizona and Florida,
Desert & underwater “premium” lots,
“Premium” leads for CLOSERS,
Like Glengarry Glen Ross;
Hard telephone salesmen,
Cold-calling in its infancy.
Riverside and San Bernardino:
“A Development Too Far”
For many speculators
Since the 1970s,
But we may be on the brink,
Of another California Gold Rush,
Should many more of us over-55s
In search of lost community
And Cold War nostalgia
Come out here.

Yes, it’s déjà vu.
Here I am, all over again
Locked-down in my
Gated, golf-coursed
Lunatic Asylum,
Located in Hemet,
Riverside County,
Southern California,
A place I affectionately
Call Hemetucky.
The sun shines bright on
My Old Hemetucky Home—
Written by Stephen Foster,
An early American genius—
Stephen Foster - Wikipedia, the  free  encyclopediaen.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Stephen Foster‎ Stephen Collins Foster (July 4, 1826–January 13, 1864), known as the "father of American music", was an American songwriter primarily known for his parlor . . .

But I digress.
Here I am once more
Comfy in easy chair leather,
Enjoying another bottle from Temecula’s Doffo Winery,
Listening again to Pretenders—
The Isle of View,
Grooving to the sultry,
Come-hither,
***** voice of
Chrissie Hynde!
Amazon.com: The Pretenders - The Isle of View: The Pretenders ...
www.amazon.com › Movies & TV › TV‎ Fans of the Pretenders' 1995 live CD, The Isle of View, will be delighted that the DVD release of the band's televised performance at London's Jacob Street  ... isle Of View PRE-TENDERS UK live chrissie hynde 1995 - YouTube ► 52:18► 52:18 www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9BlVFT0x4s‎ isle Of View PRETENDERS UK live chrissie hynde 1995. Amazon.com: Isle of View by The Pretenders (1995) - Live: Music www.amazon.com › ... › New Wave & Post-Punk › New Wave Shop for music deals on CDs, MP3 songs and albums, and vinyl records by Pretenders and more.

(That’s right, Grasshopper!
This is how you finally
Make poetry $pay:
Sell ad space right in the
Middle of a ******* poem!)

Oh, Chrissie!
Take this for
What it’s worth, Babaloo:
For What it's Worth-Buffalo Springfield - YouTube
► 2:37► 2:37
Ka-CHING! Ka-CHING!
Oh, Chrissie!
I’d eat your ****, Babe,
Just for old time’s sake,
“But there's a woman
With a gun over there,
A tellin' me, I got to beware.”
Have you met my girl friend?

Maybe it was strength, speed and endurance. Maybe it was the cape.

But while flipping a wine barrel end to end down Main Street in Jordan as spectators cheered, Yvonne Irvine knew she was on a roll.

The assistant winemaker at Creekside Estate Winery clocked under 19 seconds in the annual barrel race, a crowd favourite at Twenty Valley Winter Winefest.

“The hardest part is getting around the corner,” said Irvine, who won the coveted Golden Boot on Saturday.

“When I made the corner and I was coming back, I felt I had some good speed.”

Competitors from wineries charged down the course flipping the barrels that weighed more than 45 kilograms.

It was one of several events, including a fashion show, celebrity chef dinner with David Rocco, after party and live music, that drew large numbers to this year’s three-day festival.

Irvine said icewine is unique and it’s great to have an event that celebrates it.

“It’s really fun. Most people hate winter. It’s so nice to get out, do some winter activities … Beat the winter blues.”

Kris Smith, executive director of Twenty Valley Tourism, said she expected the festival would hit its goal of 10,000 visitors this year, if not exceed it. It had about 9,400 visitors in 2016.

“We’re pretty jam-packed right now.”

While the festival draws local Niagara residents, it also saw visitors from as far away as Pennsylvania, Ohio, New York, Tennessee, Texas and Alberta this year.

Smith said people are hearing about it through social media and on the Internet.

“A lot of it is returning or families or word of mouth. We don’t advertise that deep into the U.S. but people are finding out about us. It’s exciting.”

She said the festival has added a lot of diverse programming over the past couple of years, such as an icewine puck challenge and chef’s one-*** challenge in an effort to have something for everyone. That’s proving to be successful, she said.

It also introduced a European market theme last year, ditching larger tents for smaller ones around the perimeter featuring wine and food. More heaters were dotted throughout the area and included large steel pinecone fire pits that visitors could cosy up to.

“We just opened it up and embraced the great outdoors,” Smith said. “We’re Canadians. We should be embracing winter so that’s part of it.”

Sue-Ann Staff, president of the tourism association, owner of Sue-Ann Staff Estate Winery and barrel-rolling competitor, said the festival had a larger footprint than ever before and more vendors.

“It’s fantastic,” she said. “I’m really proud of our organizers, our volunteers, the board, the directors. We just keep fine-tuning this event every year. It looks better. There’s more entertainment, more energy. It’s awesome.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Lady in violet
let us venture to Venus the planet of love
plant a vineyard
open a winery
becoming the axis of the universe
under purple skies in a bed of purple violets drunk on purple wine.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum.

The priests could not be bothered to talk to me..
..as the Bishop took them off for tea..in their finery
Eating roast sham and drinking champagne..
..down by the river in the refurbished winery.

And this I felt as I knelt down to pray.
Religion is dead
It just doesn't pay.

And the rosaries become hypocrisies..
..this I understand.
It was never planned but the pomposity of ceremony..
..and the incense they burned
Turned..me cold.

I believe that God does exist..though the richness of the clergy..
..is like an allergy to me.
I want the church to be free for the saint and the sinner
And dinner for everyone.
Let charity begin from the place where it started.
Charity..alas has become so hard hearted..
..and it tightens its belt.
All this I felt as I knelt down to pray.

February - 45,000 people in one week watch performances of rokabirī music by Japanese singers at the first Nichigeki Western Carnival.

February 14 – The Iranian government bans rock & roll, claiming that this form of music is against the concepts of Islam and is a health hazard. Iranian doctors warn of the risk of injuries to the hips from the "extreme gyrations" of rock & roll dances.

March 12
Billie Holiday is given a year's probation by a Philadelphia court following her arrest and guilty plea on narcotics possession charges in 1956.

In Hilversum, Netherlands, 'Dors, mon amour' sung by André Claveau (music by Pierre Delanoë, text by Hubert Giraud) wins the third annual Eurovision Song Contest for France. Domenico Modugno places third for Italy with 'Nel blu, dipinto di blu' which, retitled 'Volare', will reach No. 1 in the US Billboard Hot 100, and will win two Grammy Awards next year for Record of the Year and Song of the Year for 1958.

and amongst other things, Sylvia Plath writes a poem,
a modest insertion to the world of history and chess,
but nonetheless more spectacular -
all that candy, all that ******* candy,
the smiles the pristine pomp - the goody suede shoe gimmicks,
but there she is, ravenous woman of the swamp,
one of the Graeae - question is, one tooth cannibal
shared or one eye to see Pericles?
ever wonder why poets solely keep the Grecian myths
alive and not involve themselves with saintly tales
akin to Assisi? boring as cow **** fried with shrimps,
that's me and father jack (father ted, a sitcom)
on the matter... but seriously, the celestial beast that
Sylvia Plath is given her housewife circumstance,
no girl this dying age would write such magnifique
superstition - well, that's pomp in-itself,
i don't know, call me stupid, but globalisation is
hardly an argument to expect being well informed,
i have a graveyard for a library, or the other way round,
i'm reading books that desire to be kept in a winery,
for example... well, anyone will do to fit the following
words: a château 1865 - pompous ******* 'n' all,
but you see, what gets me going is 1958 and the poem
Perseus: the Triumph of Wit over Suffering.
i don't care who won the chess tournaments,
or if Elvis was a high-tonne larder than usual -
whatever the hip-replacement tactic of Iranian doctors
was like, for ****'s sake... this is a religion that
puts emphasis on prayer and "music" five times a day...
the Islamic call to prayer is sang, it's not hamstrung,
it's not smoked salmon, it's not Catholic petition
murmur, it's sang... ting a lick'ah ling...
******* church-bell uvula (i know i swear, oath words,
i told you, in polish kurva is a conjunction word
akin to the Achilles heel,
mind you, a cure seeing **** than seeing f&!k
might help with the **** addiction, and...)
i mean i wept listening to an adhan once,
but please don't get me wrong,
if you'd take Mozart to be rain tapping,
and a bunch of cooking saucers to be a drum-kit what then?!
i don't like Islam for one reason... i love music too much,
and, from the way i see it, Islam doesn't like music,
even though i don't like castrated choir boys either
penetrated by the almighty papa who pretends to
be a Jew with his kippah, i'd rather listen to music than
that godforsaken recitation about 72, and how
pomegranate juice will sustain me better than
a whiskey on the rocks... the end, pa pa!

a crumbling asphalt road
   is the only way up
winding amid wild slopes
young brush  and vinyards
heavy with grapes

in the distance
we see the evening sun
   catch bare white mountain peaks

   on the hills before them
   glitter little towns and villages

the air is mild
chestnut trees
   keep dropping their fruit

the farmer's restaurant
   announced downhill
is closed

so is the church

a German shepherd dog
   silently
lies watch over the winery
   behind a cast-iron gate

the castello
turns out to be
   a not very impressive ruin

advertisement and reality
seem to have grown
far
     apart

what makes me write
is the quiet of the hills
   through which we walk
the sight of the full moon
   we enjoy
   with my hands
     cupped over your *******

our togetherness

          * *

It was very standoffish
back in the forties
still
I wish I'd been there.

Not so different today
just a new way of being
in and seeing things in
a different way.

*****
a torpedo
from
Saucelito
killed time in
the winery

a fine fellow he,

but down there in the canyons
loose cannons
abandon
all hope.

It's like we were destined for each other but weren't meant to be together.

Like we're playing tic-tac-toe but you keep giving me x's and I just go "oh".

It's like I want to believe you don't care,

but how can I even come to that conclusion when my breath catches in my throat everytime I hear, see, and feel you...

when I haven't even given you a chance to play devil's advocate.

It's so much easier when people reject you, harder when they remain silent.

Like two trains, we stay parallel on our tracks, so close but never touching. So close, but never touching.

It's kinda funny how that one thing that makes you happy also made me intoxicated so that my mind could be  fuzzy and I could finally get the courage to talk to you.

It's kinda sad how you don't even have to say a word to make me ***** several, carving me like a pumpkin while my poetic
seeds spill out, one by one.

So honey, I'm waiting for the day where we can be amidst the hills of a luscious italian winery.

Your suntanned arms stained with the very soil that nurtures those sweet grapes, sipping barolo  from our overpriced wine glasses,
even though I've hated red wine all my life but you put the red back into my life, so naturally I came to love it.

Waiting.

Drove 75 miles each way
To see Colbie Callait,
Somewhere in Connecticut,

That was back
In 2009,
Maybe 2010,
Maybe 2011.

Enjoyed it immensely,

Other than
The only thing
Older than me
At the concert
Was the building
It was held in.

And everybody at work made fun of me.

Took my woman
Downtown to the  
High Line Ballroom
A few years back,
Edwin McCain,
He sang
I'll Be.

It was fine,
Other than
I was the tallest person
Standing on line.

Last year
Danced on a conga line
Led by Pink Martini,
At Carnegie Hall.
Ain't embarrassed to admit,
They dragged me from my front row seat,
Kicking n' screaming,
Hope nobody was videotaping!

At the Beacon on Broadway,
Saw Paul Simon and
Straight No Chaser,
And I would do it again in a
A Capella second.

This year,
High up at Lincoln Center,
Overlooking Central Park and
My city sparkling,
Saw Ingrid Michaelson singing,
It's OK.

She was giggling,
Cause it was so fun, for her,
To act so grown up.
Her parents and sisters
Even came to see her.

Sometime ago saw Marc Cohn, singing,
Don't remember when, don't recall,
Walking in Memphis,
Even tho both of us were at
City Center on West Forty Third Street.

At the City Winery,
In NoHo
Don Felder did Hotel California,
Went to the backstage partee
Cause I was around when
he first penned it,
When he was still part of the Eagles.

For an old geezer,
Born in 1901,
I'm pretty cool,
Despite the occasional mistake.

But I know better than to go to see
Justin Bieber,
Way too cool for that,
So those ticket to
Taylor Swift,
Ripped,
Having never seen
the light of day,
I think I even pretended to
Throw them away...

red rock of cody how you shine red rock of cody your all mine from the north fork to the south fork to the winery were I pop the cork your special in my eyes I hope the spirit of the west in you never dies o red rock of cody how you shine red rock of cody your all mine my heart is on your mountains my spirit is in your lakes cody you always give and never take let me be for ever in your loving embrasse o red rock of cody how you shine red rock of cody your all mine

better lock your doors
past the vibrated floors
of an argument gone wrong in bed
journey into the world
of the introverted bird
for some things are better left
unsaid.

unleashing your anger
piled into relationship danger
for not slipping the lock and key
best to lock it up tight
for things unsaid just might
be better to swallow down
in liquor and internal winery.

partake in these writings
where irritation comes biting
like fire ants in the summer breeze
"better left unsaid" flows with ease
another glass til it becomes more exciting.

just like that you're officially sunk
reserved, considerate and possibly drunk
probably in that same old bed
thinking of which book is unread,
still pondering the possibility
that there's a rule so silly
as
"better left unsaid."

Just the memories of her,
make his winery full;
he gets inebriated at will,
drinking it drop by drop.

Ameliorate me
Ambience of high nod
No fortuitous meanings
Landslides of alien snod,

Furtive ways
Are all to many
I seeketh a day
A fullness
Of plenty

Futile romantics
In frugal pinch
Judicious tis they are
Worldly *****!!!

Juxtapose notepads
Yet different touchstones
Tentative beasts
Prowl no homes

Terse one shalt be
With all affection
Guns given as presents
Slave turned more peasant

Tirades of clownery
Winery's fail
Hidden like documents
Heart impaled

Corroborate manifest
Wilt shine its light
They've lost their path
All in fright

Arbiter's come bountifully
Devils dance
They've forgotten the ways
Of sweet romance

Inherent to pleasures
Instead of others
Lost all kinship
Sister and brother

Paradoxed discourse
Spoken on route
They forgot the lonely beggar
Prodical sons in doubt

Polemic they'll be
In times unfortune
Burning with lust
Lost to distortion

Forbear thou shalt do
Wherein thy ruins won't topple
Genres of permeating growth
Diseased muffles!!

~

rivlets form beneath his feet,
where sun-parched dust
begins to weep, as it has
ten-thousand times before;
water’s endless cycle courses,
to the valleys from the hills;
retracing paths from end to source.
how many lover’s bodies
have been washed anew,
in streams of cleansing flow,
in this flood that ever cleans?
how many runner’s skyward faces
turned to welcome cooling rain;
or young girl’s pretty dresses
river-laundered; or young lips
taste of heavenly wine?
how many farmers bent a knee,
to offer grateful homage
for a gentle early sign, of
this whispered blessing,
awak’ning slumbering seeds?
have you e’re considered this...
these refreshing drops so sweet,
distilled in heaven’s winery,
bear every moment sensory;
a show of nature’s finest.
drops and sprinkles carry
every tear of grief and joy,
humanity has every cried.
a cistern gath’ring mem’ries,
like the tide gathers shells;
awash in collected tears,
caught up in heavenly swell.
oh spring that ever cools,
oh well that ever quenches...
to water we are drawn to go;
our immersion deep,
in rainfall’s drenching flow.
to its sound we drift to sleep;
caress to calm and soothe the aches;
lakeside dip for tired feet;
it's thunderous roar the soul awakes.

~

*post script.

water... so many forms, all around us, yet none is really new... only renewed!

I was a gypsie from the sixties
A bandit of robbers train
A theif of jewels
Gold heirlooms and diamond doubloon

Hopeless romantic turned insane!!

I was cryptic as a monster
A myth of fairy tale
Eating moss and blue sky winery
A frog a snake and snail

I barefeet trotted
Amongst hippies and yippee freaks
A writer from the beginning
As Plato of mine country Greece!!!

I don't work for a tangible currency
I slave for digital binary
01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000
While I scribble poetry
Emptying my personal winery

We all go through this
Life alone.
From the moment our
Consciousness peeks out the door,
Our perception transforms,
Into Pisces... the water broke and
Out poured your psyche.
As unlikely as it is you'd
Think this was lucky huh?
Well I don't think its funny that
God blessed us with suffering.
Stressed out because, well
Sometimes life's a *****, and
Strife can dig a ditch between a
Family and the next regime. Its
Warfare here, at its refinery.
Progress is missiles launched with binary.
Success is swirling liquor at a winery.
Emissions test 400 parts per million
But Americans don't measure in Celsius.?.

We made it here
All on our own.
With hard work
We built a throne.
Having fled here
From our homes.
Wed rather burn
Than change our tone.

Its too late to get the color back
The reefs are bleached
No need for the anorak,
The polar ice caps are basically
A beached whale gasping for air,
And don't ask Japan where
Fukishima dumped its affairs...
Its become apparent that
Nobody really ******* cares, so
I worship death.
We all deserve despair.

I know your pain, I met it long ago.
I just wanted you to know that
I’m here to hold whatever comes.

I know your pain; I met it long ago,
When my steps became as empty
As the bottles of red wine of my winery.

I know your pain; I met it long ago,
Right after the smile I used to frown
Crushed down to the cold floor.

I know your pain; I met it long ago.
Believe in those four little words,
Believe in the scars I bear.

I know your pain; I met it long ago.
She used to be tough as it seems,
And the tears grew as rivers inside my eyes.

I know your pain; I met it long ago.
And wherever you go it may go with you,
But never forget I will always be there to fight beside you…

I have been beside her
  in joy and love.
Been inside her
  in joy and love.

I have seen straight into her soul,
  stared awe-struck in love a million-fold.
Been sent further than I knew you could go beyond control
  by the sweet succulent scent of her soul
    (it is trails & rivers & bamboo
      & cooking & kissing & always true
      & music & wild wonderful lover
      & absolutely amazing mother
      & blue eyes which made mine bluer
      & spinning fire & adventures
     it is staring into the sun without going blind
     it is the One Love i waited my entire life to find)

i worship and weep at an altar of forever remember
  where we bike and hike and soul-stare-share,
    make love anywhere
                      everywhere
                      sharing a shower
                      or a counter encounter,
    fling frisbees by our beach scenery
      before flinging footballs at a winery,
    toss pebbles at windows
      before she curls my toes,
    clown horn swarm her iphone
      as rock n roll ring tones
        rock n roll my real phone,
    fall asleep holding her
      happier than ever before,
    dream of years of days of seconds with her
      each somehow better than the one before,
    and awaken to the miracle of her
      even happier than ever before!

Then in a dead dream
  never to be our reality
    (aborted before my belief dream
       actually became our forever reality)
i somehow play guitar,
  become Yur miracle musician poet star,
and in a perfectly uncontrollable embrace
  You scream & whisper as You kiss my face,
and as we make each other *** & then some
  and tremble at the power of what we've become
we are dazzled by discussions of the future,
  of our family and activities and Love so pure!

Eventually i wake up
  why?
i hate when i wake up
  cry!

Shannon
  oh Shannon
    my Shannon
the One i waited forever for,
  why did You show me the sacred shore
    only to **** me and leave me bleeding in agonized gore

You are the Love of my life,
  i'll always wish You were my wife!
& with Z-O-E
  we were a family :)

**** You killed US,
  crushed and swept away the dust.
You loved me one day,
  the next You threw me away...

The 3rd day of February
  is when i ceased to be me.
There are sporadic moments
  where i'm almost clint
**** mostly i'm merely a regression
  into deeper darker depression....

Me and my gal there are
way too many skits
All fits extra bits the "Kit Kat"
More edible so incredible
The next door Gals
loveable

So pompous everyone
is competing for
the pearly white smiles
Those walkouts extra
digging workouts
But what was lost the
extra hugging

Dreaming do we all
have the right
extra goods going to
Church always
Saying I have sinned
kneeling
Like those dog days
So swift as a second skin

The summery like winery she
shifted her hips the Gal with her
divine flowers extra mind she showers

Whats becoming mystical with poise
That ethereal hooked extra path Rose
Those extras I suppose for granted 
The fundraiser heart of giving
Teaching us a lesson in lying
Godly extra of surviving
How he loves his treats dog
or human begging and love
forgiving

Medieval shows she knows
Bazooka Gal bubbly
But wickedly incredible
The mix of Pixar extra
star trouble

Gingerly **** Rosy Lips
suggestively incredible 2
Divinely, he cannot help
himself so manly whats to do?

Emblaze another phrase
Saying your nobody until
somebody loves you
He's the Dean of all extras

Happy go lucky humming
bread Robin red breast nest
What freedom fireflies, daffodils delight,
and butterflies extra wing Peking duck
Gal Friday turning another page he ducks

All in the  kingdom Ms.Joy no extra pain
Laughing like the fandom taking the next
Wolf tie train trick of the brain
but stop in her name
The other Gal got her fame

All the extra love at the top he's
at the bottom bed of condoms
The high-Gal post-chaise with
her bell bottoms
He took a sleigh ride

Just out of random don't push
her buttons
Seeing the stray Bengal Tiger
his extra studded
collar down to her currency
Only a dollar tree
Hollywood extra part wasn't
the true color of he
His Stingray lay lady lay
He just never stays
Being Starved  for love
All the extras the roast
Hottie buffets

Mmm so nice her ear raven
dark brunette
The gal can kick you like
Rockefeller showRockette
That Gal all news gazette
That extra crepe Suzettes
his eyes he just went
through raced his extra miles
How he charmed over you
In his Corvette

Bombay French-skirts cafe
The extra treat parfait
Magnificent Monet
Cobblestone love walks
Gateway the gal with
something extra talks

They cuddle
fall asleep arm to arm
head to head it really
didn't matter
They just knew it felt
extra right good night
What was ever said
With your after-mints
And substitute plays everything lit up
Purple haze, so passionate but crazed
Something extra she got a raise

my girlfriend is a situation
like mother
she speaks in episodes of jarring emotion
that i both despise and love
hours of confusion follow us
where our paths kiss
she tickles my bloodstream.

like mother
her dreams are flammable
bound by chains of rule
too vogue
tear the center spread, lover
start an ancient fire of rebellion.

she reeks of ivory towers, winery and sweat
enveloped in her sweet debris
a depository of nervousness
recurring desires when we meet
mother would be proud
while i push away her dreams
to the edge of the world.

nice-time girls abhor me
my situation has doubts
her flickers of love
could they fail to ignite
my warmth
in the chaos outside.

I'm going into Delray
Where anonymity is thy name
Poets & Truth seekers- your words
have reached into the deepest part of me
with your honesty, integrity
That stretches into eternity
Straddling the limitless &
Could care less
With synchronistic simplicity
Where you have reconciled
The Infidel
Duplicity

Shall I continue
without you
can't go on this way.
I’m dying to be reborn
A sweet surrender is it
where pain
doesn’t gain
the upper hand.
dying
pure
silent
alone
gone
change
peace
love
living is too hard.
Did I mention how hurt I am
By your duplicity
How I had to hug the hurt
Till it no longer hurt
So bad
and then
The hurt is hugging me back
In gratitude
Duplicity
till I live and love and hurt
and die and with
a hurt unremembered
am I reborn?
  
I must go now
Yet, there is nowhere to go
And no one to go there with.
I find a picturesque parking spot
It will do
With a pond and an occasional duck
I should remember to bring some crackers.

Hang there for a while
Like some significant solo meeting
The company has requested your company
But,
I’m very busy and cannot attend
I’m feeding the ducks
I’ve studied quackery
Enjoyed the scenery
On my way to the winery
the meeting will convene without me
or
let it be

Friendly and intoxicating
with lots of bubbles bursting
Smart and stupid silly bubbles
Spacious with ducks
And dogs
And squirrels
music
And Laughter
And love
That’s where I want to be
With me.

Relishing words she scribes me
Capsules of love
She prescribes me
I itch for her
In passions thirst
We were concentrated by past life marriage
Telepathy words
For somes unheard
Though none to be listened
We know one inside and out
Oh ha-ha mi amour'
Didst I mention?
Yeah I know I've told thou all of her to thou
She's just mine world
Mine girl
The one thou seeith in movies
She's a poetess of night duties
Scaling we shalt do
We're aliens
Visiting
Gathering worldly news
For we watch the end of thy world
As chaos and killing overtakes
Me and her
Are sick of the others
Quite exactly the same
Except for ourn skin
Hers is godess caramel
Mines pasty ivory
Though blended in winery!!!
Calleth me crazy
But I'd be locked into her room
Nothing hast to be open
Just ourn painted wall moon
I don't care of the others amare
I careth for mine damsel
I careth and loveth thou
Not strangers of random!!!
I am thy king
Thou art mine queen
Thou art mine
There I said it
Thou art MINE
So sit....
Sit down
Feast with me...

I used to never want to draw,
now all I scribble is your face.

I used to write sad poetry,
now I spit love poem after love poem like a copy machine.

I used to hate the smell of coffee,
now I go to my local coffee shop everyday, just to wrap my fingers around a warm cup, wishing it was your hand instead.

I used to not care about wine,
now all I drink is Sangiovese, pretending I'm sitting with you on your family's winery.

I used to drink for fun,
now alcohol has become my drug so I can try to blur the image of you.

I used to sleep peacefully,
Now I have to take a sleeping pill so I don't lay awake thinking about you; too bad you still appear in my dreams.

I used to have my anxiety in control,
now my chest tightens and I get an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I see you.

I used to not even look at your face,
now your face is all I search for every time I'm going places.

I used to be laid back,
now I've become an overly obsessed maniac making sure you're not someone else's.

I used to be myself,
now I'm not sure who I am anymore.