He would think of her
and be tempted,
tempted to pick up the mobile
from his ungovernable desk.

Navigating the backlit screens
he would find her name
and press to see her photo
that dialled the number,

and then that wait
for the ringing tone, that
wait while her phone rang
. . . and with a connection

she would say Hello you
And he’d know from
her voice if the time was
right or wrong;

she was busy,
preoccupied or
(and always wonderful
this) happy to hear him . . .

. . . and he would falter.
He really had nothing
to say he could say, so
much to say that he couldn’t,

and so he would witter:
chatter or babble pointlessly
or at unnecessary length.
So the dictionary said.

Such a sad business this.
Better by far to stick
to a letter than witter,
than witter, than witter.

the ego is a balm
for watching herds--
ezra pound is dead..

withought the ***** to make it rue
of wittier witter aphorisms never trilling forceful to undo

singular muse,
where do you come
in head or tip of head?
elusive beauty, disappear
i act in other barefoot dreams


typos bless the will to mean
of finality
of seem seam flawless be
i **** the emperor of ice cream
with concupiscent "words"
that verb the still to be a yogurt burv


single fractal frog
jumps like rhyme of toggle cog,
cutting grandma's mind

empty cup fills want
with other bristle sip+
eclipse Hypatia naked at the shrine
failure of a form
cones another phage
with peaceful loving bawl

freedom fighters flaunt
masturbatory rights of congress whim and taunt
crackle jackal fire sights
sing single missile lights

do i jest
or do i best,
lest simple techne tumble kite of waiting in the dark
of politician's lark
inventive lewd
of plaintiff plea
and rumble drum democracy

venous cud
of bovine mewing in the mud of affuenza's motherhood
strikes painful cords electric suds
that lather in the lackey's trodden figure's utter
venus aphrodite's *****'s foam

hopkins is at home
manley in the rub of constant loathsome comb
that preens a matish apparition's tomb

hello kind traveler
that takes me by the hand
rolling in the grass has never been as such
the band plays off Genghis Khan
like Gandhi spitting soup
in afternoon reprieve of ignoramOus fun

the meaning is ajar
i know i war with Stevens too to
bear the furry calousness of wartime's endless true
a bond of moneylicsious new accounted even in the dew
that sunders sounds to recreate a farflung brew
of history's adieu
which only sPeares you in the gut
(an existential reference here to trope the nom)
elusive Lear that wanders in the Foolish storm caressing cave to find
another mind
that only someone special kKnew of Kent
encapsulating time in brands that offer (a[0I]ether dust for tolling flight
growing down into the mushroom ground
spanning subtentious fraughtful nocturnes in the night
to bide that meaning's plight i wish i
wasn't altogether through
though happy to be here iwth yew

if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;

like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...

like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...

like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...

like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***,
lies
and belligerence...

like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;

I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen

~ P (‪#‎Pablo‬#ls)

(8/14/2013)

I never wanted to wither
I never wanted to fade
I never wanted to lose my light
I never wanted to create a mess

So I decided not to bloom
I decided not to feel
I stayed in the dark
which complemented my light perfectly

I never meant to fly
I liked the solid concrete I was standing on
in the darkness, with no way to distinguish myself from my shadow
- I felt satisfied.

But you came around;
your light a lot brighter than me
you dazzled me by your brilliance
and showed me there was another way to be

Your words pulled me out-
one step at a time
your light kept me blinded enough
to keep me from seeing where i was going

Slowly and slowly
you took down all the walls
i had put up
to let my spark in

Together we burnt
bright enough to light our own little galaxy
somewhere along the line
i started losing myself in you

Like a star twinkling in noon
like a drop goes unnoticed when it falls in sea.
We talked about our future
you told me about the place you came from

And we planned how the walls of our home will be decorated w my poems, how you'll sing me to sleep
and make the wind jealous

But like every sweet dream that ends too soon
the bitter reality came crashing in
and the storm took away my light
you somehow managed to keep yours still aflame

Right after the storm had passed
you promised
your light will be enough
to keep us from drifting apart

But in the middle of our laughter
your mind would go to the place
you had come from
and it was then when i started losing you

The more i tried to hold on to you
the more burnt i got
i was so scared to lose you
that i realised one day i will

I could never be a part of your world
but i no longer wanted to alienate you from it
so i withdrew back to the darkness
i had always known

but this time with no spark to help me coexist w it
i felt myself getting swallowed
with my last breath
i wished you nothing but happiness

I never meant to witter
I never meant to fade
I never wanted to lose my light
but i admit i made a mess

**your love ****** me
more than You'll know
but no sweeter damnation
I could have ever got

What happened to the shoe the plimsoll.
Now not seen?
Has the supple and flexing rubber soul.
These day's never seen.
Came in white or black.
Some had lasses.
Some elasticated encases.
They always fitted the foot.
And to run and play.
Give me the elastic sided ones any day.
On the white ones.
You would polish them with Blanco.
To keep then witter than your teeth.
Black ones you just wash.
Teachers used for punishment.
Now my **** still has.
Blanco and Black gloss.

Come Back Plimsoll.
O Plimsoll how I miss you.
And in my past lost.

Deluded by a strange life of fantasy
Fueled by his own macabre insanity
The vilest of beasts sets out once more
To create dead bodies and increase his score.

Nobody knows yet the who or the when
For the shadows are his closest friends
But when the month begins anew
There’s dead body one, and dead body two.

He seems to like to **** in twos
Psychiatrists scratch their heads confused
And witter on in gobbledygook tones
As yet more bodies turn up as bones.

It’s been a year so that’s twenty-four
He needs a holiday that’s for sure
But when on holiday he acts the same
For he loves to play his killing game.

By the sea, or near the shore
He still adds to his wicked store
Of trophies that he takes each time
When he commits these wicked crimes.

Will he be caught, he thinks not
Though there are times the trail is hot
But then he plays a clever trick
One that he thinks makes him slick.

One male one female normally
But when in trick mode, he kills three
And this he thinks throws of the scent
Of police detectives all hell-bent.

And these detectives can see no link
For our killer never stops to think
He picks them up at any place
Barely looking them in the face.

But slowly now as time goes on
His madness grows, all reason gone
This could be the end of him
It drives him closer to the rim.

Control is what he’s losing first
His plan for killing has just burst
If he goes out and kills again
He’ll make mistakes, they’ll catch him then.

And so the killings suddenly stop
****** numbers see a drastic drop
Can they catch him, who knows how?
Will thirty dead see justice now?

©JRW2014

What we always known and they never will

Mental strength and resilience are not ***** words.
They’re good things that need to be taught, nurtured,
encouraged and celebrated from school onwards.
Piers Morgan

Talent is one thing, but mental toughness is what separates
the good from the great!
Dealing with pressure, bad form, negative media etc is HARD,
but that’s life. It’s demanding.
Deal with it, or someone else will deal with it in your place!
Kevin Pietersen

We know they can't deal with it
they prefer to steal from those who can cut mustard
then gang up in the solidarity of cowards
pathetic wishy-washys' with no spines

Morons have had over thirty years to do one head in
unashamed they are still there
perfect examples of putrid coward grandly displaying idiocies
weak inadequate half wit twits who holds
we are all equal
yes, we all equal against one man
and with our ten thousands and one we still haven't been able
to push him over the edge

carp carp witter witter cancel cancel void void check check
is that equal enough for weak inadequate cowards
does that show their mental strength, intelligence and character
or merely confirm what we know you are

feeble insignificants with little minds and no cores!!

hallelujah...!

The misery in my chest,
Reeks as if it be,
The shivery shame one feels,
When perched before a class--
Of peers whose keener eyes,
fitter thoughts,
and witter words,
Dowse one in distress,
For my eyes are weary,
My mind unwound,
And my words, but a wheezing sound.

Every now and then in the chatter and witter
And text and blather and the well-turned well-meant phrase
Of wherefore and because and if-then-but,
And mind the gap and be careful not to litter -
That plot our safe prosaic paths of tidy, well-lit days,
Someone walks out from this swirl of words,

But is not of it.  
And looks at you.

And looks at you.

Space. Now.

Something touched and felt.  
Time also woken in your glance - time warm
And tangible,  but - so brought to life -
Is thus gliding like an emerald snake
Towards its rest and hollow:
Towards another darker now that is
Loss and lost and forever loss,
containing as it will - no you.


But for now the dark eyes of your spell
have driven time away.
And now is all we have and all we need.
Together we contemplate the candle of your silence.  
And its snuffing out in absence.

A third presence at our table, at the end.

the proof of the pudding is in the eating

said to mean that you can only judge the
quality of something after you have tried,
used, or experienced it...

we know discerning quality is not for the
damaged minds for they fear what they
cannot identify with....

Most of the successful people I've known are
the ones who do more listening than talking
you will gain much more than you can by talking
**** or writing *******

but do not tell that to fools for fools delights in
showing their inadequacies and hearing their
own voices

the jihadist mind terrorists reside in neon light
and beheads themselves in anodyne verbosity
the anti-heroes of the failed and insignificant sheep
them  preposterous clowns known as I.S meaning
Inglander sheepshaggers....

they witter about trapped, *******, prison and frozen
yet cannot see the're fools chained in trapped frozen minds
unable to reason, with no free will, just a trapped minded
sad pack of envious, inadequate witless corralled sheep

I stare at the shadowy corner of my room.. My senses are aroused as I inhale a whiff of your perfume..and amidst the streaky, spangled light I see a strange phenomena.. a ghostly sight..

A blurry ball cloudy and opaque.. my eyes are focussed tho this is vague..Can it be a spiritual orb I espy ? within filmy fuzziness I hear a sigh..alas Oh such a sorrowfulness, mournful..meloncholy cry.. Unintentionally I wipe a teardrop dry

My dearest Mother I know that this is you.. your spirit has appeared out of the blue.. but you told me years ago that this is what you would do.. when life on earth had succomed you..Well I speak to my Mother without any hestitation.. and I thank her most kindly for her visitation.. I witter on with whispering words about this and that and silly absurds..

Yet there in my moment of magnitude..with my mindfulness mellowed.. I understood..My Mother had never ever left my side.. yes her shell had vanished so she could hide.. but her spiritual soul would always stay with me in the shape of an orb so I could see..