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Going down to Festival Park, just to see the sights

Neve know what you might see, It changes every night

Buskers, dancers, singers too, kids with faces painted

Pickpockets, con men and others who, live life by methods tainted

A hundred years ago or so the park was then donated

The family Billings, gave the land and their lovely gift was feted

Every year a party held in honour of the Billings

Until that time in fifty one, when the town had all those killings

No one in the town that year was safe while he was out there

He didn't pick just one set type, he didn't seem to care

Couples parked in cars at night at the far end of the park

It wasn't a safe place to be, especially after dark

Two men were found with bullet wounds, dead upon a bench

The Wylie boy was found because a dog had liked the stench

Yourng Tommy Wylie, 12 years old, was found behind the boat shed

The only thing to tie his case was the bullet in the head

The park though nice in daylight, at night became a veldt

Everyone was scared to death, that;s the way the whole town felt

A young man by the cenothaph and two more by the lake

The police had no clear suspect, they needed a mistake

The party at the park was stopped and other functions too

For the killer could be from this town, and who nobody knew

Eleven deaths in that dark summer put the town upon the map

Tourists would not visit, they would not come to his trap

The police were inundated with phone calls far and wide

People turning in everyone and making others hide

A task force was assembled, 30 cops from out of state

They had to find this killer before it was too late

While they interviewed the suspects the park had no events

You could go on through in daytime, but it still made one feel tense

The city added lighting to walkways and no luck

The only thing it added was taxes went up a buck

No other killings happened until that one in sixty two

It was just like all the others, so they thought that they knew who

Was back in town gone hunting, but there only was that one

A young man in his rambler, sitting drinking in the sun

The task force was abandoned back in fifty five

But after this last ******, they called back only five

This time it would be different, this time they'd get their man

Technolgy had changed alot, he'd be caught before he ran

A shell casing was found beside the wall down by the bridge

And it had a print upon it, they identified the ridge

Years ago they'd interviewed about three hundred men

But with this single ridge print, it was narrowed down to ten

Eight were dead and one left town, so with only one to find

A dragnet and a takedown plan were carefully designed

They knew that he'd be running if they called him back to talk

And they couldn't risk to lose him, or their whole case would walk

So with some misinformation printed in a column in the post

They hoped they flush their suspect, the one they wanted most

They said they'd made the capture, confessing every crime

They would take away his thunder, dropping hints on every crime

But, they would omit one last case, the one he started with

For this was information that they wanted him to give

It worked, he dropped a letter to the paper that same week

Threatening to strike again, and the first case he did leak

In his anger and his hurry he would leave another clue

They found another print to help them out and with this they had two

They swooped in and arrested a man of no abode

He lived in city missions he had no moral code

His capture freed the city from the monster in the park

It was now a place where you could go, and feel safe after dark

The festival committee for the city planned a fete

The victims of this monster, their lives they'd celebrate

A monument to those who died would be erected in their honor

And the whole thing would be organized by the Mayor...Mayor John B Connor

The names were read of each victim and then two minutes silence reigned

And a wreath for every family involved, these then were laid

New trees were planted for them all in a corner near a wall

And the park would schedule new events and brand new festivals

But, every year on this same day, on the tenth day of month ten

They would hold a special service for these women and these men

The park was now a joyous place, like it was meant to be

And if you're there, out by the wall...then you just might locate me.
.
I once new a man named Tom Wylie
Who had a wife named Al he prized highly
From Saint Helena to Dar
They traveled so far
That the sun burnt their wits quite dryly
Limerick
Dedicated to my dear friends Tom and Alvina Wylie, sadly long gone from this mortal coil.
Katherine Paist Dec 2012
When I am around you,
I’m confused like the way
cars curtsey at one another
at four way stop signs
when no one’s really sure
who got there first,
or if it’s their chance
to go next

And then before anyone
has a chance to blink,
some will say **** it
and the curtsey contorts
into a slow motion collision
that leaves people crying,
saying sorry, and momentarily
their lives pause for each
other as they evaluate
their damages
Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie

Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda

Cate ran late on her first date

Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly

Edwina drove to the town of Catalina

Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan

Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen

Hope bought her husband a towing rope

Isobel fell under the magician's spell

Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan

Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie

Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley

Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia

Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell

Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga

Primrose had a Pinocchio nose

Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie

Ruth could never tell the whole truth

Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey

Tilly behavior was always rather silly

Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna

Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity

Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred

Xena was presented with a court subpoena

Yale told her teacher a tall tale

Zealand ventured out into the bushland
The riddle of me
Is bullets of art
Shooting ink stains
In your heart
So you'll always love me
And my mentality
Is a mental breakdown
Of three things
Words, beats and rhymes
Ahead of my time
Thinking of blasting stars
Around your head
Knocked down
Out for the count
Going old school
Wylie getting chased around
On the road running
Laps at the speed of sound
Dropping TNT
Boom
Anvils like beats
Flattening you out
Gettin dizzy quickly
Spinnin and spinnin
Thinking freely
It's my territory
Down a black hole
Following the white
Rabid junk dealing
Cat selling smiles
Getting mad feeling
The wheels are turnin
Inside out
A needle sewn
Through the vane
Injection infection
Man in the mirror
It's a sight to see
Through the glass
Pictures like a memory
Before my rhymes crash
And you see the other side of me
Revealing my destiny
Going insane
I'm the only one to blame
The ink stains
They're smothering me
Slithering inside me
Covering my body
The only thing to see
Is my heart exposed
But you all love me
With these rhymes
And flows
A new era
Another time
A blast from the past
But I'm heading to the future
89 miles an hour
And I'll return
Brake checkin
With tire tracks that burn
With doc in an urn
To lure you in
Back to where it all begins
Tattoos of a heart
Deep within my skin
To replace the oxygen
Breathing nitrogen
Ink stained again
Graffiti trigger
Spraying art
Deadly sins
Bullets tearin you apart
But these are my words
And they come from the heart
This was originally written as a rap and a friend of mine recorded it,  if you like it please listen to the song.  Thanks
Here's the link...

http://soundcloud.com/dtorr77/ink-stains-feat-melz-spooklive-music
Sonnet is love
sonnet is rhyme'
metaphorical pattern dove
so much sublime....

Popular with poets new
the Elizabethans too
their mistresses so few
used it to woo.....

John Donne, his life
catching the spirit of the Jacobean age
his need to express his love for his wife,
Anne, backstage......

Expression of religious passion
and simply reflections of death
The Victorians fashion
and so many more breath.....

Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
the Rossettis, so blue
and George Meredith were around
were so new.....

American poets noted
Longfellow, expounded
E. A. Robinson, devoted
Elinor Wylie, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, astounded....

Sonnets make us sing
makes us laugh
cry with saving grace brings
universal themes of love mon behalf.....

Keep writing those sonnets
all you wonderful and many more
poets, keep wearing your bonnets
that we all adore...*

Debbie
How to Write a Sonnet
All sonnets have fourteen lines. What makes a sonnet a Shakespearean sonnet is that its fourteen lines rhyme like this:
Line 1 rhymes with line 3
Line 2 rhymes with line 4
Line 3 rhymes with line 1
Line 4 rhymes with line 2
Line 5 rhymes with line 7
Line 6 rhymes with line 8
Line 7 rhymes with line 5
Line 8 rhymes with line 6
Line 9 rhymes with line 11
Line 10 rhymes with line 12
Line 11 rhymes with line 9
Line 12 rhymes with line 10
Line 13 rhymes with line 14
Line 14 rhymes with line 13
Last, most sonnets have a volta, or a turning point. In a Shakespearean sonnet the volta usually begins at line 9.
An easy example of a turning point would be, lines 1-8 ask a question or series of questions and lines 9-14 answer the question or questions.
Our example sonnet would look like this:
he TURNED the FOURteenth GLASS and SAID, “beGIN.”
and I had FOURteen MINutes LEFT to LIVE;
and I had FOURteen UNrePENted SINS,
and FOURteen PEOple WHOM i WOULD forGIVE,
and FOURteen UNread BOOKS uPON my SHELF,
and FOURteen LOVES i KNEW i’d LOVED in VAIN,
and FOURteen DREAMS i’d KEPT withIN mySELF
(the FOURteen I’D most WANted TO exPLAIN.)
but FOURteen MINutes QUICKly PASSED aWAY.
i FILLED my PEN with FOURteen DROPS of INK-
the FOURteenth glass had offered one delay;
and fourteen final grains retained the brink.
this SONnet FLOWED like FOURteen FInal BREATHS-
the FOURteenth LINE, t
Sonnet is love
sonnet is rhyme'
metaphorical pattern
so much sublime

Popular with poets
the Elizabethans too
used it to woo
their mistresses so few

John Donne,
catching the spirit of the Jacobean age
his need to express his love for his wife,
Anne

Expression of religious passion
and simply reflections of death
The Victorians
and so many more

Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
the Rossettis,
and George Meredith
were so new

American poets noted
Longfellow,
E. A. Robinson,
Elinor Wylie, and Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Sonnets make us sing
makes us laugh
cry with saving grace
universal themes of love ....

Keep writing those sonnets
all you wonderful
poets
that we all adore...

As Rupal says,
Wordsworth too..
Debbie Brooks- 2014
Aaron Mullin Nov 2014
Connotations and elucidations
We need language that recreates nations

If you use changency on a regular basis then you might be a changent but then you're defaulting to a noun based thought process and we live in a fluid, living universe. Nothing in the universe is unchanging thus locking our minds down with noun based systems of thinking cannot do our Selves or our Universe justice...if you believe that you have a life sentence of just ~100 years and then you're gone, then you're not a responsible human being...or you are being lied to and tricked into thinking that we're barely human...being is a verb...we are in process...in flow...we are the dragon's that we've been waiting for. We are the guardian's of wealth and we are the guardian's of prince's and princess's....because we are the prince's and princess's.

If you think I'm full of **** that's fine. You've been tricked. Your reward for such treachery, your reward for allowing yourself to be deceived....another ~100 year life sentence.

You'll deal with it eventually because you'll be back again and again and again until you figure out how to swim out of Hades and get back onto an eternal path not as a Changent but found within the fluidity of changency.

You don't go to Wall Street or Bay Street or any of those 'important' streets to understand currency...you borrow Turtle Island technology in the form of a canoe (don't forget to pay your royalties)...you get off the land and onto the river and flow....this is currency...this is flow. Buddha sat on the edge of the river studying flow and found great truths...Buddha never had access to Turtle Island technology. You can't study currency without getting into flow physically...the mind will only take you so far. A mind has barriers, a mind can be deceived, that deception can lead to false dichotomies such as the left brain~right brain, us versus them, US vs the People...let's unite the states. Flow into the nondual truths that resonate through the subtle frequencies of those attuned... Let's stop at Acme Explosives on the way home from 'work' along the ****** Tune paths found in our minds and load the Hoover Dams built in our heads by the Fortune 500 who want us to think that we're dead (or dying) ...  load the dam full of explosive ... then let Wylie and Bugs do their thing. A levee is impermanent...and the levee is about to break...it nears the time for the deal to go down. Hereditary leadership could make a coup but this doesn't honour flow. Those power mongers, who, using their ill-gotten bellows to stoke the flames of fear have worked their way into their own slavery. When We, the living people, realize that we're the plantation owners and we are the ones that can and need to start pushing the signals back into the marketplace...this is the people's market. A just internet decentralizes the economy...it just is...Justice. Destabilizing using the ebbs and flows...using whimsy...this is Game Theory writ large. Let's turn the Prisoner's Dilemma on it's head, Jed...i

The idiom...pushing on a string is supposed to connote the impossibility of sending signals back up the ladder. Hahaha. That is exactly what can and in the new economy will be done. You can pull strings but you can also push strings. I know this, I understand this because of an idea I've been meditating on for several years. It's an idea the Tlingit and Haida chiefs used to honour their lost loved ones. It's called a Potlach Ceremony. It's also called Indian Giving or flows into negative connotations that are attached to indian giver, let's take the power back...keep pushing...it's almost time
The Prisoner's Dilemma:

Two members of a criminal gang are arrested and imprisoned. Each prisoner is in solitary confinement with no means of speaking to or exchanging messages with the other. The police admit they don't have enough evidence to convict the pair on the principal charge. They plan to sentence both to a year in prison on a lesser charge. Simultaneously, the police offer each prisoner a Faustian bargain. Each prisoner is given the opportunity either to betray the other, by testifying that the other committed the crime, or to cooperate with the other by remaining silent. Here's how it goes:
If A and B both betray the other, each of them serves 2 years in prison
If A betrays B but B remains silent, A will be set free and B will serve 3 years in prison (and vice versa)
If A and B both remain silent, both of them will only serve 1 year in prison (on the lesser charge)

Changency is a verb~noun hybridization/bastardization, I coined. It connotes urgency through the agency of change.
James Floss Feb 2019
A tepid tempest in a teapot.
A puerile pursuit
of personal perspective.
Corporate censorship?
A first amendment attack?

Times-Standard?
Really?
One letter kills a comic?
Or is it an overlord order?

Artist assassination it is.
Artist with his tools powerful
Pen nib and India ink; his
Semi-automatic pistol pen

Reminder:
1st comes before the 2nd.
Mr. Rogers: "Amendment?
Can you say that?
Amendment?”

Do you think you can
take that tool from the artist but
keep large capacity clips legal?
Censor artistic license?
It’s a minority report!

Let’s go to the semiotic
Shooting range:

There’s rap.
You know, rap?
Music?
What our ******* kids
are ******* listening to?

Bukowski shoots “****” from
His lethal snub nose poems
When he needs
to make a point

David Mamet sprays “*****"
with his literary machine gun
In his plays made into movies
that you have watched.
And enjoyed.

Even Shakespeare got away with:
“You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish–O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!”

Meanwhile:

Trump shoots full fallacies
As a spray of stinging tweets
Disregarding both amendments
While hobbling the press

Different weapon that;
Smoke-screen screams
Tangled web of
Fabricated news skeins

An Internet search showed me that it was a monk that first scribbled the word “****” in the margins of a text on moral conduct as an opinion about an another abbot. In other words, an editorial.

It was the wile and guile of Wylie
to pay homage to
this historical reference.

Let’s remember to keep the amendments in their proper order:
First one then two.

Artists hide messages in
artifacts.
It’s what they do;
we expect that of them—
we don’t want them to
throw away
their shot.

I hope some of this makes sense
to some of you
fans of amendment one.
If not, I guess it was a
Non Sequitur.

(Thank you Wiley Miller for your beautifully drawn and artistically constructed comic strips that had a
Line A (family plot line)
Line B (Noreastern bar humor)
Line C, D, and Etc always
With sly custom commentary.

Censored.
Removed.
Wrong.
**** that!
**** Trump!

There.
I said it.
nobody Feb 2016
Surender your sorrows
And save yourself
Set your sights
And sing your song
- Zachery Wylie
My husband, sitting next to me playing Zombies, noticed I was writing on my phone and began to speak the words of this poem. Pretty good for someone who doesn't make a hobby of writing don't you think?
The silvery light bouncing off the water traps me in its low-lit love
I'm tired of standing here
Light-headed with an empty heart
Buckling under the pressure of my ache
I don't know why I ache, can't find a reason, really
I've been trapped in your silvery light
For all of this time
But it turned less into love
And more into fondness
And all that was there retreating
Decrepit feelings
Weak with age
Until I start to lose everything
It starts feeling like there was nothing there to begin with
Like all of a sudden
I'm up here
And you're gone
And all the steps we built
Have disappeared
And I'm falling
Like Wylie Coyote off a cliff
In that stupid show
Then I get it
He spent all that time
Building all those steps
Then he falls
Into nothing
No wonder he's angry

— The End —