[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero

The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!

I.

Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ******, ******, ******,
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV.

Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
   Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
    All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
  In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
  On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
    They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
         Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
    Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
  To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
  To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
  As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
  Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Sleight of hand
creates illusion
politicians the rich
in collusion.
Good slaves we
buy their Solutions
titrated diluted pollution.

They've got you wrangled
with the carrots they dangle.
I see black holes
You See Stars Spangled.

"Disseminate fear keep them numb and Confused
they'll reward our
egregious abuse"
but fools won't believe
when it's dark
they see day
so now I tell you
what's the use anyway?

They've got you wrangled
with the carrots they dangle...
You see white stripes.....
I see liberty.....***** and strangled

Keep it obscure,
then hand you a cure,  
their best phishing lure
To make you believe
that this country's great
they use a little bitty hook
and a tiny bit of bait

They've got you dangling with the carrots they're wrangling.
I see black holes
you see stars spangling

They've got you wrangled with the bait they dangle...
you  see white stripes,
I see liberty ***** and strangled

They got you dangling
with the **** they're wrangling....
Open your eyes
you'll see there angling.

I think that I shall never see
A thing as odd as eight baby
Eight baby from a single mother
Makes me roll my eyes- oh brother
Oh sister oh brother oh sister oh yeah
Mother looked like a Guernsey cow
Is there milk enough- I don't see how?

Eight colic'd infants wailing in the night-
Draw back, draw back- go fly a kite
Eight fitful babies screaming in duress-
Moved far away left no forwarding address
Eight poopy babies dragging two pound diapers
Went to the car wash and used the windshield wipers
Eight teething babies wrangling on the bed-
Picked up a gun and blew off her head.

Some voted for freedom from that rusty  EU shackle.
Discussed immigration issues they were unable to tackle.
An establishmentarian North, South divide. When poverty strikes there's nowhere to hide.
Deep trenched anger rising from the disenfranchised vote. The pound devalued as the right wing gloat.
Uncertain times causes a global ripple. Bank of England acts to avoid economic *******.
But what of our neighbours? Our brothers in arms? Democratic victors, do they know who this harms?
Young against old, divisions laid bare. Political wrangling, do they really care?
The Prime Minister resigns and a new chapter to be written.
Democracy wins in a diverse, Great Britain.

Oh do not die, for I shall hate
    All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
    When I remember, thou wast one.
But yet thou canst not die, I know,
    To leave this world behind, is death,
But when thou from this world wilt go,
    The whole world vapors with thy breath.

Or if, when thou, the world’s soul, goest,
    It stay, ’tis but thy carcass then,
The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
    But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.

O wrangling schools, that search what fire
    Shall burn this world, had none the wit
Unto this knowledge to aspire,
    That this her fever might be it?

And yet she cannot waste by this,
    Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
For much corruption needful is
    To fuel such a fever long.

These burning fits but meteors be,
    Whose matter in thee is soon spent.
Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
    Are unchangeable firmament.

Yet ’twas of my mind, seizing thee,
    Though it in thee cannot persever.
For I had rather owner be,
Of thee one hour, than all else ever.

Strange and unnatural! lets stay and see
        This Pageant of a Prodigie.
Lo, of themselves th’enlivened Chesmen move,
Lo, the unbred, ill-*****’d Pieces prove,
        As full of Art, and Industrie,
        Of Courage and of Policie,
As we our selves who think ther’s nothing Wise but We.
        Here a proud Pawn I’admire
        That still advancing higher
        At top of all became
        Another Thing and Name.
Here I’m amaz’ed at th’actions of a Knight,
        That does bold wonders in the fight.
        Here I the losing party blame
        For those false Moves that break the Game,
That to their Grave the Bag, the conquered Pieces bring,
And above all, th’ ill Conduct of the Mated King.
What e’re these seem, what e’re Philosophie
        And Sense or Reason tell (said I)
These Things have Life, Election, Libertie;
        ’Tis their own Wisdom molds their State,
        Their Faults and Virtues make their Fate.
        They do, they do (said I) but strait
Lo from my’enlightned Eyes the Mists and shadows fell
That hinder Spirits from being Visible.
And, lo, I saw two Angels plaid the Mate.
With Man, alas, no otherwise it proves,
    An unseen Hand makes all their Moves.
        And some are Great, and some are Small,
Some climb to good, some from good Fortune fall,
        Some Wisemen, and some Fools we call,
Figures, alas, of Speech, for Desti’ny plays us all.

Me from the womb the Midwife Muse did take:
She cut my Navel, washt me, and mine Head
        With her own Hands she Fashioned;
        She did a Covenant with me make,
And circumcis’ed my tender Soul, and thus she spake,
        Thou of my Church shalt be,
        Hate and renounce (said she)
Wealth, Honor, Pleasures, all the World for Me
Thou neither great at Court, nor in the War,
Nor at th’ Exchange shalt be, nor at the wrangling Bar.
Content thy self with the small Barren Praise,
        That neglected Verse does raise.
    She spake, and all my years to come
        Took their unlucky Doom.
Their several ways of Life let others chuse,
    Their several pleasures let them use,
But I was born for Love, and for a Muse.
        With Fate what boots it to contend?
Such I began, such am, and so must end.
        The Star that did my Being frame,
        Was but a Lambent Flame,
        And some small Light it did dispence,
        But neither Heat nor Influence.
No Matter, Cowley, let proud Fortune see,
That thou canst her despise no less then she does Thee.
        Let all her gifts the portion be
        Of Folly, Lust, and Flattery,
        Fraud, Extortion, Calumnie,
        ******, Infidelitie,
        Rebellion and Hypocrisie.
    Do Thou nor grieve nor blush to be,
    As all th’inspired tuneful Men,
And all thy great Forefathers were from Homer down to Ben.

I climb the hill: from end to end
  Of all the landscape underneath,
  I find no place that does not breathe
Some gracious memory of my friend;

No gray old grange, or lonely fold,
  Or low morass and whispering reed,
  Or simple stile from mead to mead,
Or sheepwalk up the windy wold;

Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw
  That hears the latest linnet trill,
  Nor quarry trench'd along the hill
And haunted by the wrangling daw;

Nor runlet tinkling from the rock;
  Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
  To left and right thro' meadowy curves,
That feed the mothers of the flock;

But each has pleased a kindred eye,
  And each reflects a kindlier day;
  And, leaving these, to pass away,
I think once more he seems to die.

WHEN Jayson Brunsdon learnt he had to muster the strength to fight cancer as his fashion empire crumbled around him, he was at breaking point.

Luckily for him and husband Aaron, a saviour was on the way — in the form of a beautiful brown-eyed angel — their son, Roman.

In a heartfelt interview with Wentworth Courier ahead of the March 30 launch of their book, Designer Baby, the couple shared their tumultuous journey to bring Roman home to Australia after he was born to a surrogate in Thailand.

Watching their faces light up as the now two-year-old Roman gleefully dives under a mountain of pillows on the couch at their Elizabeth Bay apartment, it is easy to see why they describe him as “the light at the end of the tunnel” after what they have been through.

And the couple has held nothing back in telling their amazing story of survival, hope and determination in the face of unbelievable adversity.

Their world came crashing down in 2008 when the global financial crisis delivered a devastating blow to their Jayson Brunsdon label, a darling of the fashion world, worn by Crown Princess Mary of Denmark and Jennifer Hawkins.

“Most of our business was international, in America and England … and we lost all that business overnight,” said Jayson, 52.

“It was around the same time that I was diagnosed with (testicular) cancer.”

He faced a three-year battle, including four months of intense chemotherapy, after surgery had failed to stop the disease spreading.

“It’s very difficult to be creative when you can barely get out of bed and you’re deliriously ill and you feel like you’re dying,” he said.

“It was a really hard time and it went on for a long time so we had to downsize and we had to get rid of our stores.”

Aaron, 44, said the cancer made it impossible to keep the business afloat.

“Jayson was the creator of the brand but my time had to be devoted to his care as well and so … everything started to suffer and it kept going down and down until we reached rock-bottom,” he said.

“It was the GFC, it was the cancer, it was everything and one day we woke up and lost everything, we lost the entire business.”

Rather than give up, Jayson fought the cancer and won — a process which caused him to reflect on his life to the point where he questioned whether he even wanted to be part of the fashion world.

“Cancer was life-changing because after you’ve been through it, you just can’t deal with ******* and there’s so much of it in the fashion world, it kind of revolves around it and I thought; ‘I don’t know if I can do this any more’,” Jayson said.

“But what else was I going to do? We had the business and … when we downsized, I could kind of get away from it all.”

The couple has since rebuilt the business and the Jayson Brunsdon black label is in 40 Myer stores.

When Jayson went into remission, the couple of 18 years could finally pursue their dream of having a family together.

“We had wanted it for a long time but (the cancer) meant we had to put the whole thing on hold,” Jayson said.

“At that time we started to realise there was a lot more to life than working seven days a week and struggling every day,” Aaron said.

“We wanted something more and I think one of the most important things in our lives was having a family.”

After doing a mountain of research, the couple began eight months of preparation work with the All IVF Center in Bangkok and they were matched with their Thai surrogate ****.

They were over the moon when she fell pregnant with Roman, using Aaron’s cousin Rebecca’s egg, donated altruistically, and Jayson’s *****.

But their excitement turned to panic when the Thai Government announced it was going to outlaw surrogacy in the wake of the Baby Gammy scandal, when an Australian couple left their son with his surrogate mother because he had Down syndrome.

The couple was told the chances of bringing Roman home were “almost impossible”.

“At the time, it was the worst news any parent could face — we were five-and-a-half months pregnant and at that point we knew there was going to be a fight and we just didn’t know how long the fight was going to be,” Aaron said.

“It was one of the most tumultuous times in our lives because we had gone through so much to get to this point and we’d had so many challenges.

“When we finally got pregnant, we thought there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

“And then for the bombshell to drop on us to say that ‘you can’t bring him home’, that was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to us.”

In the wake of Gammy, the Thai Government ordered an audit into IVF clinics.

This led to the forced closure of the All IVF Center after authorities allegedly discovered links to the human trafficking of surrogate babies.

The fate of about 50 Australian couples — including the Brunsdons — was thrown into limbo.

After much political wrangling, Foreign Minister Julie Bishop arranged a pact with the Thai Government who agreed to grant a grace period for pregnancies already in progress.

Jayson finds it difficult to articulate the relief he felt.

“It was just sheer joy, it was like, ‘thank God’, it’s difficult to describe really because it’s about our child and if you can’t get him home, you don’t know what to do,” he said.

“When it was all clear, we were just ecstatic and we could get on with living again. We were just on hold, we were holding our breaths.”

But they were not out of the woods yet.

Despite being assured they would have not issues leaving Thailand after Roman was born on January 5, 2015, they were detained at the airport for human trafficking.

“Initially they said, ‘we are not going to let you go until we see the surrogate mother’ and they asked us all these questions and they were screaming at us,” said Aaron.

“It was awful, we were so terrified.”

Eventually they were allowed on the plane — Roman had an Australian passport and Jayson’s name was on the birth certificate.

Jayson has spoken out for the first time in response to accusations that he saw Roman as a commodity akin to a buying a fashion accessory.

“That’s kind of pathetic really. Who has a child so they can have them as an accessory that they can dress up?” Jayson said.

“I just think it’s just really bigoted, discriminatory, really ill-informed and it’s unacceptable.

“Some people are just really ignorant people and they don’t understand that when you’re gay, you’re born gay. It’s like being born black … you can’t help it.

“So if you want to have a child, why shouldn’t you have a child?

“If we got him as just an accessory, we would have been over him by now wouldn’t we?

“It’s part of the joy of being a new parent, to buy the cot and decorate the bedroom and all that kind of stuff.”

Jayson said Roman had “enriched” their lives.

“He makes us so much more responsible, patient, caring and loving and we are very lucky because he is just a gorgeous little angel,” he said.

“(Parenthood) is such a fantastic experience. It’s the hardest thing you ever do, but it’s the best thing you ever do.

“It’s the best thing we ever did, it’s better than showing in New York Fashion Week or anything, it’s a much more heart filling experience than anything you’ve ever done.”

Aaron said they would ensure Roman was not deprived of anything.

**** said she would do it all over again if they ever wanted a sibling for their son Roman.

“One day in the future if you want to have a sister or brother for Roman, if she can help and do again, she is happy to do,” said an interpreter responding to questions.

The mother, who had never been a surrogate before, said she discussed her decision with her husband and family, including her two children Jonus, 16, and Nicky, 6, “so everyone knew and agreed”.

Her motivation was to help the Australians, “fulfil a family that would be the most wonderful gift to them that they can never forget”.

“She also believed this is a very good thing she did, to give life,” the interpreter said.

“She look after someone’s baby for them. She want to make that couple also very happy.

“She loves and talk to baby and let her kids and family touch and talk to a little boy inside. “Because she believe her love and care will be the best vaccine for baby to grow well.”

When she met Aaron and Jayson, she understood how they felt.

“You two very good people. She knew you are super fathers who will raise a little boy surrounding with love, good education and all good things,” the interpreter said.

“Buddha teach her to be good people, to help other people and bring happiness to people.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

A gangly youth with his dangling
Truths
Star Spangled
Flagpole
In the far corner

Summer nudists'
Cabins'
Cafeteria

Ladies not biting
Their webs
To his fly

Now noticing the nudist
Silver Theme
As daddy foxy
Ladies
are not goyles

Most nudists are old
And have let go
Fat shaming jokes
Turns into a game
Yo mama
so....

Cougar sells
Her Jaguar / Grand Prix
She so cougar
She's an expensive lease

For summer nights
Crap shot
Tossing
Fun
waste of time,

A gangly youth
Will spill
The truth
His danglings
Dip and spit
Viscous
Losing your ******
you
Star spangled
Flagpole

Can only tell
The honest erecting
The hard evidence
UFO sightings
Full
proof

It's in the pudding
Truth is ecstasy
Speaking deep inside
The gangly kid now
A wrangling man
Lassos a harem in his pants

His dangling truths did just fine

Gangly youth drunk off
Silken wines divine
Moist of kiss
Passion blooms
of touch

Honestly, the truth is

Quivering love
My Inner howl
Feel the earth move

Under my feet
Truth is

'will

always run to you...

I got lots of stories
This is my best to tell
I’m a cowpoke by trade
Wrangling at the Triple L
Which is the prime dude ranch
In all these parts so swell
Where the land is filled with plenty
And big trees are sometimes felled

I lead the trail rides
I am here to please
If you like Mother Nature
You’ll never want to leave
One day there came this flower
By the name of Mary Ann
Here from Minnesota after a time in Japan

I was such a shy one
I know horses but not girls
She had to make the first move
When she did, my flag unfurled
Thus began the romance
That is still here today
Mom and Dad left me the Triple L
Now there’s Mary Ann and the babies
You know where this will end
Sometimes it starts and ends at home
I was searching for my first love
She showed up all alone
Together we are altogether
Happy as can be
And this is my favorite one ---
Hope you like this story

The job is wrangling
a constant cascade of containers
filled with everything I can imagine
some totes more full than others
on a never ending conveyor belt
all must go to their appropriate cart
softer objects like clothing go on top
while the hardline items go to the bottom.

Unloading these bundles
becomes a tedious tennis match
where the score remains the same
stuck playing a familiar game
every tote must be dealt with
before they start piling up
and lights start shining
as everything shuts down.
I scan the baskets; I scan the carts
never letting items drift apart
crossguard meshing prevents spillage
the contents pressure the straps
I'm always expecting a collapse.

Once a particular cart has been filled
I push it away and carry back a new cart
to be filled with new items of the same nature
I hope people get the things they need
but every day something else breaks
every day something goes missing
those customers will have to wait
on me to do better next time
I hope I can too
I don't want to be taking
the same orders for
the rest of my life.

Forgive such indifference, sat beneath a peach tree shaded
Cocksure, word of mouth, rambling through the straw
Squirrel gnaws bark on the ground, and leaps away vibrant
The sun was wild, in the sky she sings
The heat she brings, Mother watching, smiles
Sir, did you see the Big Sur. Sure did, young sir
Australia weeps for she misses the heroine in a green dress
- and with spry wrangling hands, gliding from a cliff-top
The endlessly named Mrs of the fire does soar
Forever on the shore
Forever and some more

Turn to the moon and remember how she swooned
Mother nature's child, oasis in the wooded world
Long leaves of the languid days
Beneath the peach tree she lays
Lighter in the breeze, swinging chaotic
In voluptuous trees, she's symbiotic
The new sensation of grass at your back
When the cold brick saloon in memoriam
is only Sunday's idea of boredom
and the grasshoppers are chirping
and now the city is quiet
For it waits, for her

His matriarch set off in the brilliant burn
Pre-monsoon summer skies as she flies
Home to Big Blue and strawberry fields, rolling sand dunes
Studded with peaches and cream stalks full corn ears
Past the gunmetal  hulls - Motor City madness
Send that cheap crap back to China
Import ratchet dreams that obsolesce faster than a preteen’s
Boy band crush
We left our polite goodbyes on padded benches in the Sunport
Trekked the cement labyrinthine path back to the car
Sprawled myself out in the backseat
Marinating in my bipolar haze of relief and regret
Two weeks of my soft under parts presented  
Respect for the Alpha who never hacked up a rabbit
At the mere sound of my keening cries
Sate the pack tomorrow I’m off the forest floor
In all my ears back, feral, foaming at the fangs glory
Salient thought abandoned on the crest of a stressed induced migraine
And the whelps yipping for pricey coffee with caramel drizzles

She broke my bleary eyed unfocused reverie
Wrangling two carts corralled by bits of ragged twine in the parking lot
As she ferreted through her peculiar tinsel adorned collection
Scraggly plastic wreaths, sad ghosts of Christmas past
And her grizzled locks wound round a red velveteen door decoration
Muted hues against her transient mantle
I caught myself looking away…
A triad of flies buzzed her presence
The dull thrum of something important forgotten
She shuffled to a center table
Arranging dusky floral skirts and kohl layered clothing
With hands caked with cracked black grit
Fingers studded with grimey chunk costume jewelry
Dug at the lid on a generic bulk bowl of noodle soup
While baristas and capri clad patrons skirted her table
As though they were restless waves
Fleeing before the power of God across the Red sea
And me ******* spun fat from the top of an overpriced iced concoction
Without pittance in my pocket
Caught myself staring…
Waiting….
For someone else to do the Christian thing

Is that how a Freak rolls?
Tongue lolling for the opportunity
When crazy plants itself
In the high backed chair in front of you
And pops open a styro container of “stroke in a cup”
Do you flash that cash wrapped round a tract
Put a hand on her weary back and pray
Do you simply look away
Caught up in awkward indecision
Uncomfortable in your urban bubble
This is latte day at Starbee’s for God’s sake
And she never put a hand out for help
Or spoke a single word
As if a bag of Oprah’s cut leaf tea would
Change her world.
Or yours.
Pride goeth before Christmas wreaths, and shopping carts
And *** metal costume jewels

Under the cool blur of my ceiling fan I glance skyward for answers
Offer a smattering of plaintive prayers
For matriarchs
And mavens with dull velveteen bows in their hair
For my children
For release from the pain at the back of my brain
And the constricting grip of entitlement torqueing my brittle heart
God breathes in moments missed
When we simply look away…
TL Boehm
08/21/2014

Peace brought to the wrangling edge of my own being
I look and I find I search and I am lost

Keeper of secrets
So many evil ***** things lie in the recesses of my mind

I have forgotten more evil than most people truly consider
I have looked deep in myself
to see the wandering lust
that drives a community of mad
Yet mad
individuals

Women and men
who have found solace
in the darkest part of me

I take them all in
I care for the ideals they set forth
Yet they are lost
into the echoed chambers
of my mind

Each time I grow

Each time the line falls away

I see you all again
wandering deep inside there

Seeing some of you wandering
makes me consider
if what you spoke
was ever true to you

this is the lean season
where the weight of the world
is my weight

when I begin to have grand delusions
where I picture atlas

and think….

he and I are kin
quiet kin
begotten of Sisyphus…

ha! Leave no stone unturned
upon the landscape
from which you feed

each stone is mine
in this Sisyphus-ian dream
none to small
none to great
all things compared
I will wear this stone and road smooth
before too long

Each thing in its place and time
And to each place some time

I correlate the strain
that is blinding me

Looking for a cause in the universe
A common event

that brings down
the true space

That simple cell
that would surprise everyone.

I was given this exterior for many reasons
None I ever consider

I look upon it’s hues and textures
and consider many an item.

Cara de nopal

hecho de piedra y hierro


Lomo de Pipila



Con alma

esta alma

tan




Perdida

When you walked out the pub doors
On a sea of tears and last embraces,
The town stood still.
You broke my heart,
Set it back into place
So that I could feel again.

I was amongst the grown men
Turning backs on each other,
Wrangling our hair,
Pacing the floor,
Until we could not hold back
The occasion any longer.

I know when my plane comes
There will be brief handshakes,
Warm, worn smiles
Fastened from the heat
You gave so generously
To a town that grew cold
In your departure.

You taught us that kindness is enough.
Now rejoicing in private sobs,
Return of feeling for someone else.
This town we complained about,
Until you moved each man to song.

French lessons over the ashtray,
Anecdotes and private jokes
As far as the ear could hear.
I remember when the chemicals took over
And you danced in the sunglass shade
Of a darkened room.

Your energy bounced off the walls,
A pink-noise that echoed as I came down,
Nestled on my shoulder, totemic,
As I fought the speed, tried to sleep.
Beer bottles remained, the splintered ends
That serve as proof for last night’s fireworks.

You always made sure we were safe.

Our chance encounter,
Brief moments which collide,
Leaving marks,
Etching names
Onto stone that cannot wear away.
You taught me that sea of strangers
Is not a place to drown,
Just an avenue towards new land.

You could drink all the time
And it would not consume you.
Get stuck on a blue mood
And still leave your slumber,
Wide-eyed and hopeful for balance.

You left us standing in the rain
Our minds a roulette wheel,
Scattering between goodbye and farewell.
I guess I did not understand the stakes
Until you walked out of those pub doors.
I guess I had forgotten what loss meant,
Those years running from the blade of love
That cuts so finely the line
Of grief and glory.

I am bleeding here.
I am not sure when it will stop.
I am feeling again.
Thank you, friend.

Thank you.

Many a victory triumphantly led the way
Of the look here in my eyes
In the golden light see a lion pray
To return to his pride
Or die

My future may bend towards restlessness
But I am washed in springs
Of wrangling without hopelessness
Try and prove me wrong
As I sing

I walk on shores where diamonds grow
Dance with no reluctant feet
Understanding all I reap and sow
Look into each eye
I meet

Come on out of what you think you know
Join the lion and walk with me
Yet be you understanding what you sow
Or you will be weeping
Endlessly

The children wanted a puppy dog
But I always told them no,
We only had an apartment, with
No place for it to grow,
They groaned and wailed ‘til the wife had paled,
‘You’ll have to shut them up!
They’re driving me stone crazy,
All they want is a tiny pup.’

‘It can’t be done, they make a mess
And they’re always underfoot,
I’ll get them something inanimate
From the net, I’ll look it up.’
I finally found a Russian site
Where they sold some crystal seed,
‘Try growing your own Dorazamite,
It’s the only pet you’ll need!’

I sent away for a starter kit
And it took a week to come,
A couple of packets of crystals
So I bought an aquarium,
The screed said ‘Just add water, then
Sit back to watch it grow,’
The kids weren’t very impressed, they said:
‘It seems to grow so slow!’

‘It takes a while,’ I began to smile,
‘But Rome wasn’t built in a day!’
‘We only wanted a puppy dog
To take outside, and play.’
It had started forming crystals, but
I gradually forgot,
And failed to check the aquarium,
Whether it grew, or not.

One day the kids were excited, said:
‘It’s starting to move about,
It ate the couple of skinks we found,
And keeps on getting out,
I found it down on the kitchen rug
In its blues and greens and golds,
But cut my hands when I picked it up,
Too sharp for me to hold.

A week went by and I heard them cry
‘It’s taken a lizard shape,
Has run right under the microwave,
It’s trying to escape.’
‘It’s only a pile of crystals, it
Can’t walk, or snap its jaws…’
‘It can,’ they said, when they went to bed,
‘It’s become a Dorazasaur!’

That night, the sounds of a tinkling had
Prevented me from sleep,
Like chandeliers in the wind, the sound
Was making my flesh creep,
The door burst open at three o’clock
With a jangling-wrangling roar,
And there was a glittering lizard, standing
There at the shattered door.

With a crystal eye, and four foot high
Its teeth were red, and sharp,
Its claws were very like amethysts
That tore at me in the dark,
It chased me out to the balcony
When I stood aside, it leapt,
Down to the concrete driveway
Where it shattered across the steps.

We live in a dangerous neighbourhood
Where we have to be on guard,
Where crystal birds, and crystal rats
Run out in your own backyard,
There are crystal dogs and crystal cats
That attack, and eat, and fight,
All from that lousy crystal pack
They called Dorazamite!

David Lewis Paget

Estranged paths
like the strangling, wrangling
arms of an octopus
that lead us away
from abiding bliss

Far from my Soul
I wandered
lost
bewildered
staring down blood eyed
from a hellish, jagged cliff
thoughts of suicide and self loathing
circling
the abyss beckoning

Drugs, liquor, promiscuity
prodigal acts against the soul
injected faithfully
brought little relief
a harrowing emptiness
unhappiness
gnawed within
utter darkness,
fear, miasma…*

Reflecting on my sofa, cuddling up with David
and little Rama. A sunny sense of abiding peace,
contentment and serenity suffuses the
room spreading beyond the walls of our home.

Sitting on the misty edge of my musings
I saw so many souls just like
us, struggling, lost, confused.

Tentacled shadows of the past
swim upstream, clasping me in their cold
clammy reptile embrace.

Painfully, I recall
my own desolate, unconscious
blind, search for stability, self assurance
and well being.

There was a definite, undeniable
correlation between the acts
I committed
against my Soul
and the Soul awareness
that I was now cultivating

Clear as a crystal ball
parting the curtains of tomorrow
I know
that as we make an effort to turn away
from all that is impure, unkind, deceitful
selfish and vicious
in thought, word and deed,
as we shut the door on hyper-sensuous pursuits
that lead us further into unspeakable darkness

Something amazing happens. A glimmer of light,
a spark of self awareness is struck.
Like blackened coals that we blow our
breath of life upon with all our might.
Our Soul blazes forth in all
its transcendent, eternal glory

And welcomes us home with open arms of
the cross, to a place of steadfast, everlasting
Being, Awareness and Bliss

some people have battle plans
others have battle cries

I mostly have

dreams of two wet hands
wrangling the  
dumb flesh of fish bodies
from the church of Youth
the child warriors
wanting to hide in
our pictures
I’m only a spy of the soul
infiltrating the office
with my lines of paint and type

hiding behind a curtain of hair
and a coffee cup
in the elevator
praying the ties and heels won’t
ask me
about the weather or how my morning
is going

the clock-
captor, friend
my right eye is forever dedicated
my window faces only the broken
face of a letdown building
where no one shifts
only owning the hallow
just a mirror of my grey skin
the fluorescent buzzes

I’m waiting for the sky to fall

drawing it out on
stolen stationary
passing the time
only it’s passing me
eventually it’s all headaches
and the non-flavor of used
gum
(I chewed it too long again)

I have a tiny whole
carved into the wall
and I’ve been leaving S.O.S in bottles
and my bed sheet ladder
is nearly reaching
the lawn
and beyond that
I know I can finally be the animal
I’ve always dreamt of being

I think I’ll **** on every heel
and tie I see.

blended in my dreams
confessions made in mind
wrote to you so clearly
and still so unrefined

as this life mimics
the gloomy clouds of heart
and honors your friendship
in moments when we part

but just before you go
remember once again
times which left us by
just as we chose them

memories when we teased
played ourselves to sleep
and wondered how once ran
these tranquil waters deep

in tales of olden shared
in talks of joy and pain
when everything was said
with single smile plain

when wrangling's over all
eclipsed our days and nights
trivial yet implicit
as something else might

though while i recall
of which is now past
my soul dreams of a time
of a lie that didn't last

and here i am now for
everyone to see
what comes of a man
too afraid to be

all so brittle and coarse
in your soft smother
i used one bitter lie
redeemed it with another

to the last question my dear
blunt as this cleansing rain
you answered in three words
with unspoken pain

you have no idea
of my gratitude
for these shall serve excuse
to always be with you

be with you in heart
be with you in mind
to see you dance in rain
through foliage of time

just few of many reasons
or talks i came up through
before the cunning lie
that i never loved you

I stare at the blank page for a while
These choking words wont spill out
secrets,locked in my throat begging for mercy
Sinners are the not patients looked with empathy
Drown me in anesthesia so i blur out
shadows like smoke drifting up and up till they are wrangling my neck,
                                                           ­      my lungs bleed,i cannot speak
Darlin,look ate me trembling in the tornado,stuck in the eye of it
Lucifer where are you when i need you?
You promised me eternity,**** tell me im not that naive
My parted lips still burn from that kiss
I lit fire to my soul, i sinned,for you,for your love
This treacherous,murderous,venomous heart breathes for hell
This ***** tonic claiming my lips,like you possessed my heart,im afraid I'll spill for im only a human
Where the **** are you when im shattering?
  Where
           Are
               You?

in Portugal austerity is biting...
good luck everybody.


Sat around the crowded table
Wrangling chair legs and buttering
Conversations about banalities whilst
Being bathed by full cool moonlight
Is of course a fair enough sweet delight.

Yet there is smoke in the air!
Then one by one my souls depart;
Stunning my heart yet keeping me close
Causing fears to become unshadowed.
As somehow, I must open my eyes to find
There is always a child quite near.

Oh how do I keep it fed?

Just a couple ornery worn out cowboys
Reminiscing of younger days
On the front porch swing rocking to the rhythm
That they're still both out on the open range
  
Around these parts everyone knows them
And the wild stories that they tell
Of highfalutin adventure as if they are still there
Lasso in hand roping and wrangling the cows

Just a couple over the hill worn out cowboys
Swinging to the rhythm of latter days
As in their minds they rope and ride biding their time
On what is now their final open range

the twig snapped between thumb and finger
a tree died limbless leafless and dead-rooted
the birds will not sing from broken branches
green refused to sway or rustle in the wind
and all the people sheltered burned to a crisp
beneath the canopy of a disintegrated forest
nuclear wrangling they pressed another button
and this time they signed it goodbye godbless you

Time is against me
aided and abetted by the
hours that fly past me, it's
a blatant conspiracy.

I stop the clock to take stock but
my position remains,
me
locked in chains
on the edge of the precipice
wrangling over a minute when it seems to me
that time's resigned and dropped me
right in it.

Lines appear which the advertisements tell me
is a part of the process of aging, but can be
eliminated with this cream of that oil to foil
the advancing of years and yet
it's I who shed tears while time weaves its tale and
waves to me,
it's
a blatant conspiracy.

An eruption of exuberance
To thrill the dawn with light
And dance flowers in the breeze,
Still fresh from the bed's wallow.
To break the snoring drift
Towards the eye glistening moment of waking.

And then all these senses rush at once
To ferret and fidget the confines of my flesh
To dance their whirligig explosions in my blood
With eager threads of excitement pulsing in my skin
To chase the schoolboy morning
beyond the hills
With rattling bicycles on muddy trails.

I stutter out the flush and form in words
Darting thus and fro across the screen
like electric jangling
From the dangling fingers
Wrangling with the hammering keys
As if these magic notions could fluster
Beyond the moments of my joy.

My soul aches to be OUT THERE!
Beyond those moments of joy
Beyond the sleeping bedrooms
Beyond the bicycles
Beyond the hills, and flowers and sky
I want to spiral like galaxies
And dance with planets on the pin cushion dark
Sparkled with stars and clustered nebulae.

I really can’t believe, sometimes,
That all this sense of being
Could be contained in me.

Each morning, I wake before God has roused
The sun,
And that is just what we must do: To complete the busy-making-madness of a job. To compose the email, to manipulate the story, to rope the client, to extol the virtues of money and shore up the pillars of industry.

Though we sigh as we do: there is no shine in an empty inbox. Not that we ever see it—

Each day, we are gaveled:
More, and greater, and bigger, and best. Which is exactly what we do, but our wrangling and sending and crafting and praising of profit is never sufficient: More, and greater, and bigger, and bester than best.

In the sands of the sun, we are erecting Ozymandias.

—fired not by passions, not by growth, not by light, but by false engines: caffeine and fear and shame.

It is 7pm on a Tuesday and I hear the sun whisper, its orange lids closing: I have risen and shone another day. So have you. Now:

Rest.

somewhere......
....a man sits
legs dangling,
over the edge
of a precipice.

wrangling with
the thoughts
running rampant
within his mind.

the cool breeze
dries the tears
that fall,
as his hands
throw pebbles
and his eyes
track their fall.

and in the puddles
left by ealier rain
a chemical reaction
occurs...
a glassiene rainbow
appears to form...

as he falls,
pebble like through
the sky,
he thinks he hears
bluebirds....flying...
                  way up high...


--------------------------------
*in memory ....
for J..... who lept from The Gap. 11 years ago to day.....
may he have found his
red slippers and made his way
home...r.i.p.

Total dereliction of the threads,
That used to bind the two souls;
Years of neglect made it threadbare,
Initially, woven with colorful fabric;
Interwoven seamlessly to cradle a fall,
Colorful fabric got added everyday...
Hoping to make shimmering fabric of love,
Making a cosy wrap for the two;
Giving the warmth to fend off inclement weather;
It withstood the test of time.
As if it will never fail to protect,
But a twister was waiting to emerge,
The gusts of wind too much to withstand,
The two souls were already wrangling;
A tug-of-war of the differences,
Happened to weaken the fabric of love;
Till one day the twister became overpowering,
The cover was finally blown away...
Leaving the two souls bare,
The dreams blown away to faraway land,
Leaving the two souls, around all the debris.


© Amitav (Radiance)

‘Ore the feverish dunes of Rothmana breaks day,
as the mesmeric, gold-dusted shimmer and sway
of the generous peaks of the land
Echoes she whom I’ve sought so, from lands far away
With devotion that burns like the sand

To her temple I trek, the fates guiding my feet,
The wagon I pull bearing gold, wine, and meat
Till the hills, sweetly splayed, show her sanctum to me
a retiring cave i’ve been waiting to greet
and its mouth, at long last, receives me

Threshing sand from my garb, I begin preparations
Lighting candles, strewing gold, mulling lewd machinations
Pressing herbs to the skin I so need to refresh
Then reclined on the sand, I lay bare my intentions
With a ponderous tribute of flesh

From an olive skinned figure, shy sand lizards clamber.
Obsidian shards housed in bright eyes molten amber
Scan her cave and trespasser within.
Those eyes terrify, yet all that I am
Burns with a fire the sight lights in my skin

Rage at first, a ghastly hiss
My life at stake should Cupid miss
yet my stony conviction does not falter,
This minstrel’s fingers at your service,
Lips to worship at your altar

Now melting, swooning, serpentine,
The touch of your skin like the sweet spell of wine
As your emerald bustle and train
Meet a throbbing, hungry serpent of mine
That parts your hot seamline in twain

The graze of your fangs, the breath from your lips
The touch of your sweltering, satiny whip
Lashing and lapping and torturing me,
Helplessly bound in your titanite grip
On the cusp of pain and ecstasy

As your willowy throat goes drifting lower
With skills to call a cyclone slower,
I think to myself as my eyes start to roll
What marvels those lips that I worship so were
As they’re making to swallow me whole

Now, the beast within you shaking,
the ground beneath us quaking
a rapturous dance, our senses boiling,
lost in feeling, writhing, roiling.
A final surge, our limbs encoiling…

“Oh!” the toiling low roar rolls, until
Though bosoms heave, our forms lie still
So slick with dewy sin - divine
till wrangling my limbs at last to my will
I pour from our bottle of wine

And those ***** spirits sipping
Send your eyes to slumber slipping.
I rise to go, “Goodbye,” and then,
You catch my hand, and tightly gripping
Say, “Please, won’t you do that again?”

I see you
A man wrought with tears of glass
Walking fraught with judgments fast
And a heart that secretly overflows

I see you
A woman scorned by ditsy destiny
Wrangling towards her own entity
And a heart that cries in the shadows

I see you
A child troubled by pleasured flights
Of fantasies, parental pain, unsteady sighs
And a heart that reigns in blows

I see you
All of you
Like I see me in the dark of doubt
Hours going on a jaunt with clouds
Streaming through
Like flocks of crows

I will see you
All of you
In pictures daintily kept
Swimming in boxes of crazy unkempt
Until thoughts take off
With this mind windswept

Is this not the true romantic feeling; not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you.
-Thomas Wolfe


When the rain falls flat
in the rough plane one morning
& the stark meridian sky
hauled by night before
the sun rises not like any day,
serious & sullen silk same.

When you walk on the earth
hearing your footsteps
tossing stones and hurled mud
like how you hit and hit
the letters from your womb
in the dark swollen night
soon to burst like a pulsar
where even silence tempts
not to hear again the pulse
& let silence devours the cloud.

Ah! When the rain falls flat
when you walk on the earth
this little autobiography
tells the life so cold and brute
squabbling, wrangling
like a supernova missing its due
perhaps a century, perhaps a second
but who could tell
when one about to implode
will he be the same being again?

The tealeaf shivers
in the rain not in a cup.

This, of course, is not a myth
but a thousand telling noise
of nominal truths soaked
in ashes of those leaves
burnt in the midday sun kissing
that no one, even a wind
could ever remember
but just a tiny hissing
or was it meant
for a long hush hush.