.a very prominent interlude of bitterness - something that needs to be drank as an antidote of the aftertaste of a brothel... bourbon - sickly-sweet bourbon of a brothel... otherwise the best beer on these isles: the original stout: st. guinness - second, 13... hop house lager by the same culprit... i don't know about you but a regular IPA doesn't float my boat... stale pale ale of 3 day old sputnik ***** excavation of bio-matter living off of iron shrapnel and termite ****... let's not go over-board with the bitterness of fenugreek seeds added to a curry... but... a hop lager is not an indian pale ale... because? well: because of the excited circumstance of extra bubbles! once upon a time that horrid absinthe period... last time i checked i became the st. peter of the drug details... ***** tells you too many truths come the moral-hangover the next day... but ms. amber in her guise of adele bloch-bauer by klimt: take her for a whiskey, take her for a bourbon... a chanel no. 5... or a brandy or a cognac... please excuse me from drinking the ales... goldwasser: athens, sparta, venice... dan dan Danzig... i'd call the genesis of world war II to be... that envy of the city-state... the little cosmopolitan high-heavens of a concentrated locum... of affairs of both tourism and the subsequent merchant class... that Danzig didn't belong to anyone: not really... does it even matter now? the current city-state model is... don't bother filtering the excesses... it has to become diluted... you'll find pockets of concentration near them... yes... homogenous... therefore solaced by that fact alone... only teasing incorporating outside influences... it's not going to be a replica venice or danzig... for that you'd need a window... st. peter designated the window into europe as a capital with an access to the sea... not land locked... even though i'm pretty sure that moscow has a river running through it... jump-start the window: a capital by the sea... hey presto! a window: the baltic sea into europe... words that become apparent: microcongestion of undigested souls... a schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... another foot in reicarnation... lob it or nutmeg the footie: it's a particle when observed and a wave when not observed... an orbit for the schematic... but a cloud when getting into the nitty-gritty details: specifics oblong... misnomer... if my ******* into a tissue, subsequently flushed... then a baptism of a shower... is not a genocide? then... bullseye... the ***** that made it into the ****... it's an abortion mid-week... i'd count that ****** come a certain count of months... otherwise... well... there's that cat of his... one foot in limbo and one foot in reincarnation... wasn't it the western exhausted theological mind: from that god of the omni- litany looking toward the budding-ha-ha? abortion... prized ***** makes it to the egg... ah... ****** from the argument of effort... me and the basic schematics of genocide... otherwise: schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... one foot in reicarnation... better still... Farinelli! drop the ******* don a niqab! the muslims and an eye-fetish... mind you... i do have a hand-fetish... "fetish"... i can count five of hers and only four of mine... fingers! unless she is a proper Arab bride with roots of synonyms in the Ukraine... and she has butcher's hands... hot-dog fingers... and a kardashian thick-*** that is just readied for a 12" dung-digger of ******... while at the same time... breaking the floral patterns of a porcelain geisha's... "missing tongue O"...

manícorona: peanut-crown!

               in between the hype and...
in between the trough...
and the happy pigglets of prop
and grandour...

little charlie little dervish of
a dar: gift...
                        win-win scenario...
i'm worried about...
constipation...
           terribly bothered...
                    
         but there's also the fact that
i haven't seen a dentist for...
a donkey can count a decade:
at least that's my hope...

my tooth filling has become lose...
having finished with yesterday's
etc. i tried to fall to sleep...

the pain came as a blunt object
in need of sharpening...
it wasn't a sharp object per se:
to begin with...

the radio was off...
the dream of falling asleep to the sound
of rain like it might be
a song off the cure's disintegration
album: lost...

                 i concluded:
it must be a dream...
how else explain this trivial pain
of a tooth when all the bones lay
intact in a body in an impeding grave?

to have been lullabied by a trivial
pain of a loose filling...
                   i'll give it until monday
to check a dental clinic...
i'll wait... because:
god only knows i am bound
to learn something new from
this crazed - infuriating pain -

          but at least that has
constipation covered...
    fear not: ****** **** of the golem heights!
no chelsea smile up your alley:
any time soon...

        the crown virus...
sooner or later: yes my liege...
yes my sire...
i'm sure the africans will... jump the queue...
we've been raising money for
a malaria vaccine...
i'm sure they'll be quick-on-the-mark
to raise money for the crown-virus
epicenter! europe!

oh... come come... komme komme, meine liebe!
it's true!
the europeans will be fundraising
money for malaria...
while the africans will be fundraising
money for the peanut-crown virus...

or... i like that one quote i heard,
"somewhere"...
   a stewardess asks a mother whether
or not her son would like some peanuts...
the mother says... he's allergic to peanuts...
he's allergic to maize... air...
glutten... ******* haribo gelatin and all...
he's allergic to hiccups...

                           there's a winking match
involving imitation chess between
the very sick psychiatrists
and the mildly sick schizophrenics...
a bilingual comes along into their foray...
and asks: who's multiplying
and who's in charge of division?
all a splendid metaphor... wouldn't you agree?
there... metaphor...
already the focus is gone... splinters...
some go to metaphysics,
some go to metaphors...
some go to orthography...
some go to: telepathy...
        some go down the para-
hello, my name is Norman...

         it's natural then... darwinism in action...
hold a peanut to a crowd of
people allergic to peanuts...
the joy of cashews...
the joys of pecans...
   cashews, pecans, brazilians...
macademians... hazels and waldorff's...

no other feeling...
like a ripe hop lager in between
a bourbon's drip drip drip...
      
                   horrid breaking up an already
comfortable ideology... isn't it?
when something like this speaks for itself
and the "lamm von gott" is brought before
the altar...
                           darwinism sings!
sings! like the brian jonestown massacre...
this is my body... my peanut...
brought to a cult of peanut-allergy-riddled
anemics and haemophiliacs...
        
the darwinian ideology fizzles out...
when it's not longer looking up through
the telescope of a primate's ***...
but looking through the form most primodial...
i've been gardening for the past week...
i've watched an earthworm here...
an earthworm there...
        life without eyes without ears
without music... but this idiotic god-given
impetus, imperative, "will": "freedom"...
virus... crown virus...

sooner or later we'll all be kings and queens,
sneezing and waiting for the entire
small intestine to come out of our noses
like glue: glut and gelatin pieces
wobbling where once bones stood
to be later broken...

a beer in between these slugs of bourbon
will do just that...
all good when it concerns
of apes and men...
           the similarity greatly helps...
but of course we'll borrow from other
skeletons...
                  no one ever heard of a headache
from having "too much"...
i.e. od przybytku: głowa nie boli...
o ale boli boli boli...

      constipation...
            the peanut crown virus...
and a loose tooth filling...
                ***** blondes and "how many"
light-bulb jokes it would take
for a tsunami of bleached ***** hairs to turn
into a happy cousin itsy-bitsy:
a spider cravat... what else?

otherwise history...
   either a wet-dream or a castration...
              or the bull wrestled by the horns...
or a dog wrestled by either kicking it in
the ******* or wrestling with its mandible jaw...
echoes of warriors...
warriors and pirates... the lesser muscles
of a farmer? a blacksmith?
              either a wet-dream or a castration...
lost avenues of "heroes":
all leading to: up my ***... otherwise known
as my original churchill's V...
the welsh longbow men: ditto the fwench...

such a shame that so much of history
is to be filtered when the children learn of it...
and whenever returning to it...
it's as stale as an antique's roadshow...
or it's: skimmed over...
whatever natural selection gave...
i don't know whether it's natural
to witness this historiological selection...

some would say:
too much of a congested toilet: n'est-ce pas?
too many of the dead are still haunting us...
natural selection contra:
historiological selection...
                             the ape versus the virus...
it is over-inflated...
where are the boils, the blisters...
the glutton spew of ****?
                              
                     this is... it?
panic riddled neurotics?
   so... so... twiddle-thumb-twiddle-toe...
where are all the psychotic:
airing of the soul examples?
smoke and mirrors...
   if i see a *****?
   i'll let you know!
          we'll huddle and watch
tom hanks win an oscar for
Philadeplhia...
                          show me a *****
******* a zombie...
         this, this grand disguise as flu...
it's almost a precursor
to a greater joke...
       of... phantom limbs that
had grenades worth of champagne
bottles being uncorked as
the origin of the demise of...
if only they named the ship Prometheus...
Titanic is so general...
     Atlas... Hyperion...
                  Oceanus...
                                   you can't expect
to keep an adjective as a noun: afloat...
or could have... could you?

but about time you listen to all the darwinists...
when the seas are: a'rough...
ask them about not looking up from
that telescope via a monkey's ****...
about the darwinism of a...
very original... very basic: a first...
first in line end result...
that might have been us...

                 tough luck bringing
no wine and no bread...
to the congregation...
nut-allergy riddled whisperers and soon-enough
to be drop-off counts of: the sieve...
the peanut! crown - and:
if only it was as simple as a reconquista
of what the goths left behind having
stalled spain's worth
and having died off in north africa...

now's the time to stop looking through
a darwinistic: famous detail of:
the peeled banana on the inner-sleeve...
the root or yellow...
teasing you unpeeled for all that was
the velvet, the velvet and the underground...
a very pushy bladder...
i mean: fickle bladder little gremlin
with a yappy-yappy for a mouth...
and it's not the sort of mouth that echoes:
hungry! hungry!
the sort of mouth, though...
give it the plumber...
                          
        how very pedestrian of me.

I wanted to write a poem
about the incessant discomfort
I always feel in my left eye
whenever my contact lenses
become old and dry
I thought about how it tickles
but scratches at the same time
and starts off alright
just a minor annoyance
but quickly, overtime
becomes almost unbearable
like my pre-school bully himself
is folding down one of my eyelashes
just enough for it to poke me
at the slightest movement
then I thought about how
I'd sooner write a poem about my life
and how it started out equally alright
and quickly, overtime became almost unbearable
as if my pre-school bully didn't do it right

so I found him in his adult life many years later
wife, two kids and a mortgage
yappy staffy-cross, two cars
and an alright job as a graphic designer
his garden full of gorgeous flowerbeds,
a full head of hair and a fading right hook
"MAKE ME FEEL **** LIKE YOU DID THEN."
a puzzled look on his face,
garden hose flooding his drive and the yappy
staffy-cross still yapping away
at the living room window
"I'M DEAD SERIOUS ANDREW,
NOTHING HURTS LIKE IT USED TO."
so he called the police
and I never got to feel young again
unless you count scurrying away from
a council estate under the threat of
a poor meal at Parkside police station
the rekindling of my youth

so this is my infomercial poem
about how not to confront someone
always be fully clothed
that's very important
avoid being drunk
any mind altering substance
is best avoided in my opinion
remember just because you care
just because you remember
does not mean anyone else does
oh and
don't eyeball craft beer when
you still have your contacts in
you know what?
-just don't eyeball craft beer

Does anyone here know of a canine murderer?
As I urgently need someone to bash the living **** out of
My fat ugly neighbour's disgusting Yorkshire terrier.
Oh Holy God, How I want the little ******* mutt to suffer.
I’d love to see it choking and coughing its head off;
Yorkshire terriers are the most repulsive things since sliced bread,
Yappy, repellent smelly little ***** of malevolent fur.
They only appeal when wriggling feebly at a rope’s end.
Woof! Woof! Woof! Gurgle! Gurgle!
Silence.

I'll get me a yappy dog
A small one
Scrappy.

He'll screech and holler
Like a rat lost in the dark
Oh how it'd be
To bear such a mark.

I'll get me a mousey dog
A youngish one
Mousey.

She'll annoy me in the mornin'
Evenin'
Night
Back to the height of the sun.
She'll tap and scrap till...

I can't take it anymore...

Maybe I'll get a biggun one
It'll protect me
Like a gun

She'll keep watch
While I be sleepin'
Till they put out some food
And continue on creepin...

Well maybe a medium one
Crazy as can be
Runnin' out in the mornin' sun

He'll play catch and give chase
Run with the pack
Cageless and free
Until I bring it inside...

Well, now it's gone to ***...
On the carpet...
Doggon it
Maybe I'll throw out that dish
Send 'em back to the homestead
Perhaps get a fish instead...

.sometimes you... just have to listen certain songs, for the giggles, and the Mutley sniggers to boot; you just have to; there are all kinds outlet down all kinds of avenues; life, has to, look, this, way; me expressing the following: a large number of people do know how to drive a car, but have no idea how to ride a horse... watch them... they'll be a-trying to confuse riding a great Dane... or an Irish wolfhound... did you know, that... wolves have no knowledge of barking? they howl, they growl, they snarl... but wolves do not bark! yappy-yappy... little domesticated dogs bark... but what do large domesticated canines do? bite.

well...
i don't have a driving
license for a car...
but i know how
to ride a horse...
ensuring i know
how to make
a horse turn left,
or turn right,
or gallop...
   how's that?
**** the driving license...
i can, ride, a...
horse!
       boom... erotica
shaggy: mr. ****-tastic!
****...
this self-deprecating
humor is hitting
the zenith point...
while the English-speaking
crowd are hitting
the: ridiculing the other
nadir.

I got up this morning put on a robe and slippers the robe
because I sleep in my underwear went to the kitchen made the
morning coffee had to have my coffee before the real world
smacked me in the face I walked out the door and the woman
across the street was out walking her dogs short yappy little
things the rest of the neighborhood was awake and crawling out
of their rectangular little holes in their odd shaped houses and I
realized it was a  very nice morning sun coming up over the
trees as people elsewhere those people out to see what they
could get for free before it was gone until another day I drive
into the city the coffee shop a buzz with people from from all
walks of life really not giving a **** what the other is saying
but talking just to make some noise as other people start to
crowd the street with their suits and ties and high heeled shoes
while more in jeans and shorts walked and hurried by to go
where I don’t know to what some think are their
insignificant little jobs and they are only there to get a pay
check end of story while Margery down the block prepares with
love all of the sweet bakery treats for those who care enough to
stop and buy because they know the love and care she puts into
each and every pie Margery knows her job is important not just
a Friday check what the heck someone parked in my spot and
the politicians are just waking up to begin what they think is a
day working for the ordinary people but we know better they
just work for themselves getting that proverbial check a million
times what Margery got a train whistle blows as it chugs its way
to that industrial spot to drop the burden it carries to keep our
economy humming along and the guy on the corner strums his
guitar and sings his song so I can drop a coin in his  case as I
walk along just something to think about as we go through our
days dressed to **** and live our lives as we all climb the hills.


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

You existed; lived simply to love me
At least that’s the way I thought
Until the ghost of you no longer see
Made bereft and left me overwrought

I thought I was all that mattered
Was your centre; your whole life
Your own hopes and dreams shattered
When you became my wife

You did your job. You kept me happy
Catered and bowed to all my needs
But me like a greedy puppy. Yappy
Selfishly caused your soul to bleed

The more you seemed to do and give
The more I grappled to take
The fact you had lost the will to live
My selfish brain no dent did make

I thought you were just bluffing
You couldn’t be so depressed
So lazily I carried on; did nothing
Broke you down in final test

They said they found your little car
Your licence cards, and keys
Angry engine humming. Doors ajar
At the docks down by the quays

Of you they said they found no trace
The currents there were stronger
You would wash up in some other place
They would find you. Just takes longer

Months have gone by but still no you
Has washed up. The police have said
The protocol. What they now must do
Is officially declare you dead!

She couldn’t handle it any more
Suicide; she took her own life
Her husband killed her to the core
Destroyed this doormat wife

So now I wallow in my guilt
Too little too late; now realising
The man she nurtured. Fed, and built
She killed herself despising

She has gone…….

In a cottage garden in Bordeaux
A lady sits smiling; quietly contented
Tragic suicide. Drowning. NO! All faux
Make escape her living hell tormented

She’s glad she saved that money
Stayed strong when life hit the buffers
Gorge on new life sweet as honey
While her hoggish husband suffers

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)

i was playing Sonic the Hedgehog  on Sega when this beat
            (smirk, the cool word, ha ha)
came out - i once said to a brief drinking
buddy on a bench in town that
i didn't like rap - didn't rap kinda ****
off poetry? quintessential 1990s summary -
in essence, it sounded just like that -
but no one really bothers Us3 - except the BBC -
rhymes to boom boom b b beat -
sentences expecting you to stand for
a minute's silence or a national anthem or
the presence of royalty for jokes -
oh yah - yappy puppy and mint fresh pomp -
sentences that seem so extraordinary
but being ordinary are nonetheless extra -
bounce bounce bounce - b b -
you choose your timing with the punctuation
marks on that one - the beauty of not recording
your poems? no one and everyone owns it -
it's as much mine as yours -
i was more Coolio than (before you think a white
boy trying to apt himself in culture -
more into John Coltrane than N.W.A. -
                more into Bunny Wailer than Tupac -
gangster jokes - never read of the Russians or
the Yakuza - no films about them, too scary -
or there's Frank Sinatra - ratted out, took to the Las Vegas
strip and sang his heart out)...
1990s were loads of fun - by the time 1999 came along
with Prince's anthem not resounding with the fireworks
i was, what? 14? but i remember - or maybe it's
the child-effect - you can sense a crispness to those years -
for however-many hours the song was tip-of-this-iceberg
and the tickling of the tongue - had to go among
some obscure internet forums to get an answer -
black boy raps, white boy sings opera -
black boy runs 100m under a 10 seconds - white boy swims
100m under 47 seconds - that's positive discrimination
that is - better embrace our differences and STATE WHAT
THEY ARE than in secret keep a wasp nest of jealousy -
it's a bit ****, i know - but after two weeks in Kenya
spent mostly under the shade of a canopy, drinking
my way to a serenity i just kept thinking of Scandinavia -
best part of Kenya? sitting on a balcony feeding
macaques sugar and other things - to the grave:
that shock-look of the macaques - eyes wide open as if
injected with a kilogram of caffeine, the open mouth
O, the sound that came with it - a great ~Aposematism
(can't be bothered to look for an exact word,
this one will have to do, otherwise the waterfall is
not waterfall, and i still haven't made my intended point) -
that's when i realised Darwinism was a bit unnecessary -
sit on a balcony with two wild monkeys,
it won't really matter peering at them with a Galapagos
micro or telescope - that sort of thing breaks the chill -
yeah, a wild monkey, not a zoological monkey -
i mean a free monkey, not a fraudster or a thief or
murderer - a free one - and historically speaking
there's a certain absenteeism behind Darwinism -
a certain attempt to rewrite history - Darwinism is more
or a problem for historians than theologians, i'm
look at the timescale - going back to a chaste beginning
will not wash away all the **** in between.
oh right, the main point... the reason i said that opera
should not be sang in French (or English, but i'll have
to be biased and put Handel's Messiah as satisfying) -
is because it's spoken beautifully - some languages have
that characteristic - some languages are not worth
the opera - German is beautifully sang operatically (Mozart
was right on that one), as is Italian - and the only reason
being they're not exactly languages that are beautifully
spoke - Spanish is also a contender to join these two -
immediately it probes the ears - French speak and the English
too so beautifully, going beyond mere folk-song or
rock castrato is suicide - you'd think that excess French
spelling and the unspoken rule of gobbling letters from
being said, as what the English do slightly less would
aid the sometimes undecipherable operatic - but it doesn't -
opera in German and Italian sure, French and English?
what a tragedy.

Who are these people?
Why aren't you listening to me?
Can you not see...what I can see?
I think that my soul wants to jump out of my body it is vibrating and I am shaking...
I am breaking
I try and sleep and only know these waking
hours...
Do you have the powers around here?
Where are you taking
me???

No, I don't want to be
No, I do not want to die
No, I've never ever actually tried...
yes, I wish I wouldn't cry
these up and down tears of utter panick, agony and distress  
Alright already I confess!
I'm probably just like the rest
I don't know... is this..
a test?
You....
tell ME?

I can't eat
or care for myself...
I feel nauseous
my stomach hurts really bad
yes I am, I am kinda sad
Occasionally I find happy
or laugh at something sappy
man that dog is yappy!
What is HE yelling at?
and why is SHE saying that?
did someone just barely call ME fat?

I don't trust that person over there
she has bugs in her hair
that girl...right there!
....that guy said so!
and HE should know...
and I don't like the way that one looks
at me...
He...
...is creepy... said I'm beautiful
bunch of weirdos and addicted crooks
no I don't want to read a stupid book!
or go to a class?!
For what?

I don't understand why I'm here
I'm afraid I'll never leave
You need to believe
I cannot understand I feel like I'm in Hell
That is not a place I'd ever want to dwell
I know I did NOT sell...
my soul!

Well then, what's your goal while your here?
Tell us what's the greatest fears?
Something whisper in your ears?
What do want your life to look like?
Don't look so worried
It's alright... take all the time you need
we'll feed you in the meantime
I can see...sweetpea...
your clearly confused and you look
like you took awhile to get here
you seem exhausted... so try and get some sleep

Oh..falling into the deep!
Oh I don't know
those picture shows
can be so frightening
the snapping, cracking deadly lightning and strange
gutteral things and horrible loud flapping, rapping blackened wings!
the Raven he came thrice
along with the 3 blinded mice
and other ones were not so nice..
...either

Yes...but still some are still exciting?
Even if still a little frightening?
Like dreams of forgotten or forbidden love
and singing Angel's from up above?
memories of your first sweet kisses
some so nice...and a few near misses
the boy that you sent for
on your hand blown wishes?
How he loved to watch you dance
in his eyes he stared at you entranced
your souls were one so intermingled
touching him it made you tingle...
and you loved how beautifully familiar
he was...
Remember that?

Yes I suppose..that you are right
time to rest here for the night
thank you for this dreaming land
when I wake up...you know...
I've planned
on doing everything better!

Okay, goodnight my darling
close your peeping..
sleeping eyes
No more tears for those to cry
Rest your overwhelming fears
get sweet dreams, my precious dear
I'll see you in the morning

I'm just warning...
No more walking dead
that's the only thing I still dread
I guess enough about that I've said...
Change will be here soon...I know.

Goodnight...
I'll see you in the morning light
when all my hopeful dreams
again...
...take their final ...
               winged flight.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

you're yappy
as a drooling
sack of dogs
and as happy
as a vietnam
bombing.
you're ******
as downtown
new orleans
pretentious
as banksy
unlikeable
as amy schumer
worn and round
as a linkin
park CD
and yet
you're lovely as
a dumb *****
could be.

I feel lonely
So lonely

No love
Never loved

So lonely
So cold

So loved
So warm

Yet, I hurt
Yet, I smile

What is this?
Where is this?

Lost in myself and yet completely aware of my being
Constantly lost without a problem deemed

Just lonely
Looking for love

Just lonely
Wishing that I was loved

If I go, will I be loved?
If I stay, will I find love?

So lonely
So cold

So loved
So warm

Just leave me alone
But, please, never go

Just please, leave me alone
Just please, help me
Just please, ...love me

So lonely
So warm in its embrace

So lonely
So lost without a trace

My emo moment lasting longer than expected
To people dealing with this, you are much respected

Still lonely
But a little happier

Still happy
But just a little bit lonelier :')

Good music playing, washing all my worries away
"What was I worried for anyway?"

Still lonely but still happy
Don't me today, just a bit yappy.

Don't me, just happy
Don't mind me, just a bit yappy :-D

open the door
come out some more
you're too much a bore
just sit on your floor

the grimy-*** woodwork
washed out with splinters
the ***** **** carpet
your social skills hindered

i'm sorry that i couldn't be happy
i'm sorry my life was so ******
i'm sorry i became so sappy
i'm sorry my text posts got so yappy

so write your last words down on my arm
i'll try to choke down my talk of harm
we'll forget this partnership ever took place
the echoes and traces gone of my face

hello old drama
i'll see you tomorrow
there will be no contact
just second-hand feedback

together we could dive into
each others ****** up souls but you
got scared or maybe i don't know
for some reason you just had to go

all that remains is lost intentions
and i will still cringe when your name she mentions
the pages are torn and you took them with you
i'll drift away with nothing, not a clue

my palms are clammy
the car isn't starting
sit on the side of
the highway, eyes darting

guess there won't be more downtime
i can learn  to look on the bright side
you saved me a **** ton of gas money
so i'll just leave and say "thanks, honey"

"The days your awake are the nights I’m a sleep.
Two different worlds with conversations I keep.
Best friends so we say at least for today
Hope the connection does not fade away.
We’re the same in some sorts and different in others,
some we have sisters some we have brothers.
So let this be a reminder that you make me happy,
on the days I feel sad and the days I feel yappy.
So Tomorrow we’ll talk,
and take pictures as we walk.
But all will be finished when Three strikes o’clock."

Last dew glimmers on grass
and gives in, winking off til tomorrow:
there’s no shame yielding to this sun

Rugged boots on
hiding flesh and bone that still shakes
a little
I step forth onto schizophrenic paths
that for now are solid

Today, the verge incense sways and envelops,
intoxicating, masking the usual decay
and loss
enabling a contemplation
that holds til yappy pups cut it,
angry that no one made them bigger

Finally I am over her at last.
She is melting like a
half forgotten tune.
No longer my ex beloved.
Now fading into old memories

I packaged all her
things she left here,
It's in my storage area.
Fitting into a
single cardboard box
Can you believe that?

I have purged her from
My favorite bar Finnegans.
Now reclaimed I stop
On my way home
from work for
a beer and wings.

Occasionally I forget
she's not with me and
Wait in the car for her
To bare her teeth and
ask if she had
chicken stuck  in them.
But it passes.

I get miffed when I
Come across her
lipstick tube in my glove box.
Or a single woolen glove
of hers in my
winter coat pocket.

Yesterday I found a kibble
Under the sofa
from her yappy little dog.
I had my place manicured
by the cleaning lady.
Muttering to her
about bugs and mice.

But what I  think that I
was really cleaning
Were  old pieces of her
she had left scattered
about in my heart.

you sometimes stumble into these situations
without even wondering
how else to later describe them:
verbatim...
                      however the mundane the details
are...
    i should a series or something,
Gibsberg-esque, not not quiet
     'what thoughts i have of you,
walt whitman...
                                     i went into
the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!'
     but still... scenes from supermarkets...
more grit, realism...
                         just like tonight:
went for two beers and a whiskey with
thoughts, more alligned to:
                why do i dream so little?
why the weight of thanatos' clepsydra
on my chest upon waking
from a dreamless night -
            as if: starless in...
                  places like a district in seoul...
well...
         i found myself standing in line to
the cashier...
    some guy behind me was asking
by name / nametag (a high rarity event
of the general impersonal take on
shopping - or in matter of fact...
    the degredation of the sellers...
                   unlike elsewhere,
   circa 1980s Poland - where the
saleswoman amassed a status of ms.
   and the buyer was never a mr.
     or a mrs. but a strippen-barren you -
now exchange the words,
    pani                       /                ty
                               lost in translation)...
(Karen)
                about lightlubs...
                 i.e. yeah, they were different...
but in front of me... a real curiosity...
placed the beer and the whiskey
next to the cashier...
    stood casually for...
                   "    no apparent reason"...
a decent 2 minutes...
         the guy started fiddling
with two debit cards,
       and a handful of change...
i mean... 2pence coins 1 pence coins...
twenties, maybe a quid,
tens etc.
                first he tried one card
on the contactless... failed...
                  then he gave the handful
of change to the cashier
who started counting it...
    she counted: almost three quid...
i.e. not enough
      for what he was about to steal...
all the gift of the gob...
    i mean: those little conversations...
you know the yappy yappy puppy
sort... talk like honey...
  or an aqua-man...
                            just kept pouring
out... excuse here there, excuse there...
apologised to me for waiting...
sure sure...
             he was given his spare change
back...
        so he takes out another card:
again, fails on the contactless...
  so he's asked to insert it and use
the pin...
                  oops, says the cashier... failed...
oh... a quick glance at the clock...
an open carrier bag... next to the thing he's
going to steal...
              mouth of honey doubles down...
what time will you be closing?
      15 minutes...
          oh that's alright then,
   i'll just come back with the missing change...
walks away...
   and i'm like...
did you see that?
          only my eyes are talking.
cashier no. 1: see what?
security guard:                   (too late)
cashier no. 2 leaving
work, fiddling with her
shopping on the self-checkouts:
  (she'll come into this story when
i'm walking out with my whiskey
and beer,
   i'm eyeing her queerly
she's eyeing me huh? passing me
she starts muttering to herself)
                        he knows he knows
(gritted teeth talk)...
   as i look at the security guard,
a colt... quick on the mark!
                   linford ******* christie quick...
i did love the little shuffle and mini
dance as he tried to avert himself
from me...
point being...
    it's a petty crime...
                    i did one better...
less theatre, stole a c.d. from a...
w.h. smith...
                   cds books...
          but **** me... all that theatre
using spare change, cards,
mouth of honey, confusion... for the item
that i saw being stolen?
  so i thought:
     maybe this guy is moving up in life...
maybe there's this sort of jinx
for thieves,
that you have to steal this item
before you do a bank heist...
                                or the jewelers...
just something...
    i mean... i've heard of ******
junkies stealing meat from supermarkets
to sell et&
                          i mean...
me stealing a c.d. from a store...
   with cameras everywhere...
  but this guy... it had to be... he was
probably told by some guys:
   you can't do a proper job
on a bank if you don't steal this piece
of item first...
      because who, the ****,
would steal... a pair of woman's tights?!
unless he has a gig
   as a drag queen...
             a fetish...
                  or... eh?
                        i mean... that's like...
why the **** would i even
watch the movies?
           - and... i can't even make this up...
unless... a very...
    what sort of man would be
with a woman who tells him:
even if you don't have the money...
you better steal for me... a pair of tights...
yeah...
berkeley 1955...
          ginsberg thinking about
whitman walking into the neon fruit
supermarket...
essex 2019...
   me thinking about how i don't
dream enough walking into
a supermarket and seeing
     linford ******* christie security
guard do a little dance
   after he realised
  that the mean before me
just stole a pair of woman's tights;
hardly a ******* comparison.

the smell of boy
the faint smell of perfume
a crazy cat and a yappy dog
***** clothes litter the floor
the television constantly displaying some sort of video game
and a beautiful boy
with the most astonishing hazel eyes lying in bed next to me
this is happiness, this is home

LEAVING

I scrape my shadow
off of the wall.
.
Fold and re-fold it.
Pack it neatly in

a tiny suitcase.
More a hold all.

All that's left is
a slight stain

on some wallpaper
roses.

Already fading.

A scrap of sunlight
chases itself

like an annoying
yappy dog.

A broken bit of glass
sticks in my toe.

I peel my reflection
from the full length mirror.

It is like trying to
grapple water.

It comes unstuck
lifts off with a slight gasp.

I funnel it into
a minature

empty shampoo bottle
250 mls.

Outside a taxi
honks its horn.

Its sound invades
the silence

of this box
like room.

Four wall that
( even now )

fail to recognise me.

"Where to mate?"
asks the driver.

I look at his photo
!.D.

"A. Death."
it reads

as if this was some kind
of surreal joke.

"Anywhere and nowhere."
I answer.

"Anywhere and nowhere."

All I know these days is fear.
Anxiety nags at me.
A woeful sigh escapes from my lips as i wistfully recall the moment of tranquillity that I didn't appreciate for its actual worth.
I am not smitten by love, rather made petulant by it.
I am not drawn towards emotion, rather appaled by it.
I feel too much and think even more.
I need to cool off and sleep some more.
Finally understanding insomnia, gripped by tears and ripped by pity I am smoldered by my inability to cope.
Complacency would have been bliss but I chose curiosity.
When everyone said up, I chose to dig down; went left when the crowd pointed to right.
I dared and i dread.
I complied and then complained.
I consoled and then cried.
And while the world slept, I stayed up and questioned.
When they answered, I refused to understand.
When they chose arrogance, I followed chaos.
And when things turned worse, I could do nothing but curse.
And curse I will, for miserable or happy, I've come too far to be yappy and turn back.

The Dog they say is Man’s Best Friend
Loyal and faithful, he will follow his Master until the Worlds End.
He runs, he lays, he sits on command.
If his  Master requests he will lay his paw in his hand

Man’s Best Friend comes in all shapes and sizes
Some are bouncy, fun and full of surprises
Some are as fast as a streak of lightening
Some are quite big and to small children quite frightening
Some will gladly retrieve the ball, place it at your feet
Some will only obey your command, for a small treat

Man’s Best Friend, many types abound
Some have short bodies, with bellies that touch the ground
Some are so hairy you can’t see their eyes
Some are so small they look undersize
Some are large and quite clumsy
Some are yappy and some are grumpy

Man’s Best Friend work hard for their Masters
They carry out tasks that really matter
They listen for when the doorbell rings
Bark when the boiling kettle sings
They guide their Master when out for a walk
Sit obediently at your feet when you stop to talk


Man’s Best Friend is a beloved member of the family
Makes himself at home, takes the best seat in the house, happily
The family wouldn’t have it any other way
One things for sure, Man’s Best Friend is here to stay

A suburb of hell I live in
Across the road from the picture perfect family
Small, yappy little dog who is walked every morning and night by loving husband and father of three
Next door the father who left his family to live with his gay lover downtown
Three young boys and a wife who will never understand
Behind every door is a secret
The Wilsons live a sheltered and abusive life
The man of the family is powerful
The cunninghams across from them are timid and smile to hide the bruises on their arms
Father knows best after all
My door hides the racist, the Republican, the conservative, the homophobic
My door hides the yelling of a bipolar mother off medication
The alcoholism of a child too young to drink
And the silent watch of a father trapped in a loveless marriage
Every house in this suburb of hell tells a story
None of which are happy
Yet you see my neighborhood and call me privilaged
If only you knew.

Today, i got attacked
By a snappy, yappy
Vicious, and malicious
Fighty, bitey
Small Piranha dog
An ankle biting
Non inviting
Four legged fiend
That tried to let me down
Its irresponsible owner
Made me frown
I felt a bit forlorn
But no blood was drawn
And i shall not grieve
At the small Piranhas little teeth
As it tried to savage
My right leg
Like a woodworm would, a wooden peg
With a pegleg
I wandered off
As i saw sawdust
Leak
From the Piranhas' owners brain
Not even an apology
From the inane

by Jemia

LEAVING

I scrape my shadow
off of the wall.
.
Fold and re-fold it.
Pack it neatly in

a tiny suitcase.
More a hold all.

All that's left is
a slight stain

on some wallpaper
roses.

Already fading.

A scrap of sunlight
chases itself

like an annoying
yappy dog.

A broken bit of glass
sticks in my toe.

I peel my reflection
from the full length mirror.

It is like trying to
grapple water.

It comes unstuck
lifts off with a slight gasp.

I funnel it into
a minature

empty shampoo bottle
250 mls.

Outside a taxi
honks its horn.

Its sound invades
the silence

of this box
like room.

Four wall that
( even now )

fail to recognise me.

"Where to mate?"
asks the driver.

I look at his photo
!.D.

"A. Death."
it reads

as if this was some kind
of surreal joke.

"Anywhere and nowhere."
I answer.

"Anywhere and nowhere."

i


i became interested in poetry
through bukowski
basically

i thought poetry was about
love and daffodils
literally

but can be about boozing
and ******, fighting
cats and dogs..

ii

why not drop
food and medical
aid?

from airplanes
(or helicopter)
clearly marked

bottles of water
and so..
¨from god..¨!?!

(A ripple of
applause
cod..?)(-cash on delivery..)

iii

lily says
thankyou..
this is called-

the universe-
(my mum went to
school with you!?)

iv

i feel ancient
like the light
that travels from
furthest depth

it is twisted and
bent
still lit

but hopeful..
like luggage lost
in transit

i await..
i have a number
and pretty colour

soul intact
can the can
computer enhanced..

v

what is wrong with
man?
well,it is the difference

(in silence)
between a power tool
screaming kids

yappy dogs
desparate dans
and a circle..

not any ones fault
not yours
but not mine..

(a stifled laugh
a cough
a truthful shuffle)

vi

she pauses for
to imbibe..
o momentarily entranced
by the H2o
-any questions?yes-
do you exist?
do you exist?
-on more than a purely
perfunctory basis-
(my mum went to school
with you..)

vii

existence

composed to resistance
-rene said,
i think therefore i am..

i prefer-
all i  i know is
i know nothing..

(one of the old greek boys..)
what if i can´t think..
what if it hurts..


(silence-the furtive rustle
of
a sweet wrapper
a no 23 goes by..
for some a ball
for i-music was the answer..)

viii

music

bob marley says,
music is a godly thing
y´know..?

the theme from tales
of the river bank
filled my

heart with love
and my head with
ambition..

silence is a kind
of music
the older i am

the more i love
that
too..

(love-karma
comrades
kind folk
strangers and
acquaintance-
indistinguishable
unavoidable
inevitable
pay the bill
eternal
officer dibble
no wibble
no wobble
a glass full
a charging bull
eternal again
chuff chuff
cosmic train
what i am giving
is what i am
getting-
simple but endlessly
complex..)

ix

complex

i don´t really like this word
i don´t use words i don´t like
but there it is
my mind is a blank
my leg itches
what about this world?
(bless my britches..!)
does the heart sink
does despair abound
do we desire closure
is it suffice
has it got a bit
too much
are we done?
no, there is space..
(space, the bit
between)
free and tedious
we consider the void
the gaps
between us..
(the no 23 goes past
and in a seat
some one waves
and blows a kiss..)
for want of a better
word..

a happy quiet
some positive
thoughts
what it is to
live-
i thought i might
try something different
lily says..


i have always admired
the art of the story teller and regret
their demise from popular culture..

x

once when after a successful ****
and apetites sated amid the crackle of
flame in a silence a moon  sighing
made to the front by the fire
between hunter and blood baptised
moved the medicine man
ju-ju and seer
with pipe and bone to bless
the warrior shadow and women
laughter admonishing small children
the cave grew hushed and stilled..

his first cry the prey´s last
a victory and a blessing
hiss and rattle

to the earth to the heavens
the second the sun
and moons

survival and fruitful
ness
-to the rain

he tokes his kit
and passes to the left
anoints the head

kisses the dead
and the refrain
for today and

tomorrow
-together
-together..

(celebration and commune
gone before the f or fight
of the nomad

the birth of possession..
order in might
the land

our own
black and white
o tribe of man!)



so the **** was the
inspiration and unification
a stone recollection

a moment of daring
the fired dancing of
imagination

searing rytham
on and on and
in

the bloodied sing
stone to bone
stone to bone

great the hunter
the victors song
one and on..

and so we learned to read and write
and tell tales..

Thank you for being Zany,
Amusing,
And a bit Cooky;

Thank you for being Superb,
Heartfelt,
Amazing,
Marvelous,
Amicable,
Ridiculous,
And always interesting;

Thank you for being Cool,
Awesome,
Intense,
Loving,
Energetic,
And of course Yappy;

Thank you for being Mild,
Idealistic,
Cranky,
Humorous,
Ambitious,
Lively,
And definitely Easy-going;

Thank you for being Magnificent,
Authentic,
Decisive,
Empathetic,
Loyal,
Intriguing,
­Natural,
And beautifully Electric;

Thank you,

All of you