A few things for themselves,
Convolvulus and coral,
Buzzards and live-moss,
Tiestas from the keys,
A few things for themselves,
Florida, venereal soil,
Disclose to the lover.

The dreadful sundry of this world,
The Cuban, Polodowsky,
The Mexican women,
The ***** undertaker
Killing the time between corpses
Fishing for crayfish...
****** of boorish births,

Swiftly in the nights,
In the porches of Key West,
Behind the bougainvilleas,
After the guitar is asleep,
Lasciviously as the wind,
You come tormenting,
Insatiable,

When you might sit,
A scholar of darkness,
Sequestered over the sea,
Wearing a clear tiara
Of red and blue and red,
Sparkling, solitary, still,
In the high sea-shadow.

Donna, donna, dark,
Stooping in indigo gown
And cloudy constellations,
Conceal yourself or disclose
Fewest things to the lover--
A hand that bears a thick-leaved fruit,
A pungent bloom against your shade.

deserve
it more than most, more than anyone, indeed, in deed,
your passion drowns me,
overwhelms and even makes me admit
out loudly
over comes

your faceted identities,
delight, charm, provoke,
and evoke
multitudes of moods, desires,
even writings...
but you are too stern,
this thing called love,
is tissue soft, so hard to form,
so easily torn, it requires
time & hard work, many words,
though oft the fewest are supreme,
and I laugh at myself, for the only word
I think that rhymes with supreme
is
dream
which is
just another synonym
for
endless opportunities

and I, we, read each others poems
to each other
quietly,
for that is the only, & the best way.

Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are
Life of the Muses' day, their morning star!
If works, not th' author's, their own grace should look,
Whose poems would not wish to be your book?
But these, desir'd by you, the maker's ends
Crown with their own. Rare poems ask rare friends.
Yet satires, since the most of mankind be
Their unavoided subject, fewest see;
For none e'er took that pleasure in sin's sense
But, when they heard it tax'd, took more offence.
They, then, that living where the matter is bred,
Dare for these poems, yet, both ask and read
And like them too, must needfully, though few,
Be of the best; and 'mongst those best are you,
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are
The Muses' evening, as their morning star.

New Bedford has had thirty unsolved homicides since 2000.
Most stem from the ongoing feuds between gangs
of the United Front & Monte Park neighborhoods; the projects.
The gangs are located in the south and west ends of the city.

On March 6, 1983 Cheryl Ann Araujo, 21,
was gang-***** by four men on a pool table
in Big Dan's tavern in New Bedford while other patrons watched,
but did not intervene. During the prosecution, the defendants' attorneys cross-examined Araujo to such an extent that the case
became widely seen as a template for "blaming the victim"
in **** cases. Her case was widely known as the "Big Dan's ****,"
after the name of the bar in which the attack occurred.
Ostracized in New Bedford, Araujo moved w/ her family
to Miami, Florida, to make a new life. She died a few years later
in a drunk driving car accident.The case also raised tensions
between the Portuguese-American community
& other ethnic groups in New Bedford,
as the defendants were Portuguese immigrants.
The 1988 film The Accused was loosely based on the incident,
& the crime is referenced in Dennis Lehane's book
Gone Baby Gone as well as its 2007 film adaptation.

In 2000, crime had dropped to a 20-year low.
Some 3,166 total crimes tracked by the Crime Reporting Unit
of the Massachusetts State Police,
of which 789 were violent crimes;
the lowest violent crime rate since 1975, & 2,377 were property crimes.
The city has been the site of some high-profile crimes.

On December 8, 2001, New Bedford was the site
of the biggest ******* drug arrest in Massachusetts history,
yielding a total of 260 kilograms.
The dealer was Rafael Yeje Cabrera.

According to witnesses and police,
on February 1, 2006, Jacob D. Robida attacked & seriously wounded
three patrons of Puzzles Lounge, a New Bedford gay bar.   He fled to Arkansas where he murdered a female companion
& a police officer and later died from wounds seemingly self-inflicted despite being received in a shootout w/ police;

New Bedford was featured on America's Most Wanted
on February 11, 2006,        for three unsolved murders:
that of Marcus Cruz in 2001,    Cecil Lopes III in 2004,
& Dana Haywood in 2005, run as part of a report
on the Stop Snitching phenomenon that has hindered police investigations nationwide. "Americas Most Wanted" senior correspondent
Tom Morris, who spoke w/ sources in New Bedford
for the piece, said he usually cannot discuss
the number or content of calls in response
to a particular segment. But he said he'd make an exception in this case.
"I was amazed at how minimal the response was.
I'm still wondering if we actually aired the show or not," he said.
"We expected people to call in & maybe say
'Hey, I was there July 4 when Dana Haywood was killed' ...
but we received no useful information."
The show received just a handful
of calls & one e-mail thanking its producers for running it,
the fewest ever for any episode in the show's history,
Mr. Morris said. "I've been doing this for 13 years," he said.
"I was really surprised by this." He said the show,
which aired Feb. 11,           received good ratings;

On December 12, 2006, gunman Scott Medeiros
shot and killed a doorman and a manager at the Foxy Lady *******,
shot a patron and two police officers, then killed himself;
On March 7, 2007, Michael Bianco, Inc.,
a leather products factory, was raided by Immigration & Customs Enforcement agents. 361 undocumented immigrants
were arrested by approximately 300 federal,
state & local law enforcement officers.
About 90 were transported to Texas
in preparation for deportation,   some w/out being contacted
by the Department of Social Services
regarding any infants & toddlers without care.
About 20 DSS case workers were sent to Texas to follow up
on care of families.

In recent years over 80 gang members from UFP,
Monte Park, & the Latin Kings have been detained,
indicted & imprisoned, curbing violence in 2007 & 2008.
In May, 2010, it was reported that "Not a single person arrested
in the roundups since 2007 has yet been acquitted
in the state superior or federal courts"
& "gang-related shootings & homicides are down
from the violent levels seen before 2007."

In September 2017,       New Bedford fishing mogul
Carlos Rafael was sentenced to 46 months in prison
after pleading guilty to lying to federal regulators
about his catches.                Rafael, dubbed "the Codfather"
by the local media, owned 40 fishing boats & controlled
about one-quarter of New England's landing of groundfish.

It's not a hobby. Be prepared to give your life to it.
Read, read, read: The more poetry you read now,
the better your's will become.
Don't quit your day job. No one ever got rich writing poetry.
If you are seeking fame or to get laid,
there are obviously easier methods.
Ignore criticism, unless it is useful, and even then be wary.
Consider: Your feelings do not constitute the universe;
your love life may not be all that interesting.
Write every day. Don't wait for the Muse.
She is a fickle ***** prone to take random vacations.
Forget originality. It will paralyze you.
Write like a ******. That's what poets are.
Look forward to embarrassing yourself.
Say it in the fewest, best words.
Nothing is easy. Be prepared to burn for it.
Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts.

~mce

The fearless instraction.
The love of things, willow.
The newness of strings in a row.

A topic injusted,
A fated carnation.
Lapelled in your silkiest glow.

I want you not nearly.
Horizoning sunburst.
You're the fewest that I'll ever know.

I'll meet you on morrows.
With clumsiest wordings.
You're the seeds that I've not seen to sow.

Smiles that drip with gold sadness and
Run from estranged places go hand in hand with
Blue perspectives and unheard words,
But I’d escape to anywhere with you
By my side if it meant
Danger and orange sunsets
Stale coated eyes and huge skies
Because you taught me that happiness
Is not viable if its not laconic
And the fewest of beating clocks were
Enough to last both a night and 7
Dollars in mere coins

Somewhere in the distance an alarm is sounding.

For most, it’s transparent,
indistinguishable from the cacophony
of life’s noisy complexity,
causing no disruption in their slumber.

For others, it’s a whisper, one they
are convinced they are imagining,
hearing things perhaps.
One that causes but a shift from
one side of the bed to
the other as the night
becomes strange,
yet continues

For fewer, it’s an itch, a constant
distraction on the razor’s edge.
Like a dream, almost remembered
that slips away when attended to.
They stir in their sleep,
slouching toward morning,
holding on to night.

For fewer still, it’s deafening, impossible
to ignore, evolution, rising like the sun,
at times blinding in it’s beauty, with
a ferocity that demands an audience.
Those few are dreaming lucidly, fully aware
that waking is inevitable, yet still afraid
of the messy road that lay ahead.
Some have opened their eyes
only long enough to strike the alarm
in favor of five more minutes

For the fewest, sitting up in bed, eyes open,
alarm still ringing, groggy, like waking in a
strange bed, unsure of the surroundings.

Recognizing beauty, grateful for the
day, and the moment, coming to terms
with the messy nature of evolution;
so many sleeping in their bed around them as they
themselves, prepare to have their feet on the floor



And a handful have become the alarm.

Walking among the world,
careful not to disturb those
immersed in the dream,
whispering gently to fewer,
speaking quietly to fewer still,
wrapping their arms around the fewest,
rocking them gently,
and warmly embracing
the handful, reunited with
age old friends.

You will know them through
chance encounter, coincidence,
synchronicity, serendipity or happenstance.

You will find them in song, in poetry, in a
summer breeze, an old oak, in a comment
overheard in aisle seventeen.

Listen closely my love. And have no fear,
even the softest light when awakened
is brighter than the most brilliant sun of
the dream.


Somewhere in the distance an alarm is sounding,

calling you to see your own beauty,
to reject the insecurity,
**** the lies,
to recognize the
demons for what they are,
their costumes,
once so convincing,
look absurd in the light of day.

The lover that lied and the lies you tell yourself will
seem so unimportant as black light is useless
in the sun

You were made for the sun.



Somewhere in the distance an alarm is sounding,
it’s time my love, to wake up.

You’ll find me in the kitchen fixing breakfast, your favorite.

Writing Lessons for a Better Life
Nov 29, 2016 by Morgan Housel
Writing is one of those things you’ll need to be decent at no matter what business you’re in. It’s also one of the hardest things to get decent at, since it’s 90% art, 10% illogical grammar rules. Novelist William Maughan said there are three rules to good writing. “Unfortunately no one knows what they are.”

But here are a few I’ve found helpful.

1. Make your point and get out of people’s way

Readers have no tolerance for rambling. Lose their attention for two seconds and they’re gone, clicked away to another page.

The best writers tend to use the fewest words possible. That doesn’t mean their writing is short, but every sentence is critical, every word necessary. Elmore Leonard, the novelist, summed this up when he advised writers to “leave out the parts readers tend to skip.”

It took me a while to realize that a reader who doesn’t finish what you wrote isn’t disrespecting your work. It’s a sign that you, the author, disrespected their time. When writing, I like to think of a reader over my shoulder constantly saying:

What’s your point?

Just tell me that point.

Then leave me alone.

Part of the reason this is hard is due to how writing is taught in school. Most writing assignments, from elementary to grad school, come with a minimum length requirement. Write about your summer vacation in at least 10 pages. This is done to maintain a minimum level of effort, but it has a bad side effect: It teaches people to fill the page with fluff. We are masters of run-on sentences and unnecessary details because we’ve relied on them since second grade to meet our length quotas.

We’d all be better writers if the standards flipped, and teachers demanded length maximums. Write about all the major Civil War battles in no more than two pages. That’ll force you to make your point and get out of people’s way.

2. Connect one field to others

The key to persuasion is teaching people something new through the lens of something they already understand. This is critical in writing. Readers want to learn something new, and they learn best when they can relate a new subject to something they’re familiar with.

Finance is boring to most, but it’s a close cousin of psychology, sociology, history, and organizational behavior, which many people enjoy. Write about investing in a way that is indistinguishable from a finance textbook and you will capture few people’s attention. Write about it through the lens of a psychology case study or historical narrative, and you’ll broaden your reach. “Pop-psychology” and “pop-history” are derogatory terms. But most “pop” topics are actually just academic topics penned by better writers. Michael Lewis has sold more finance books than George Soros for a reason.

This goes beyond explaining things in ways people enjoy and understand. Connecting lessons from one field to another is also one of the best forms of thinking, because the real world isn’t segregated by academic departments. Most fields share at least some lessons and laws between them. Adaptation is as real in economics as it is biology. Room for error is as important in investing as it is engineering. Explaining one topic through the lens of another not only makes it easier for readers to grasp; it’s a helpful way of understanding things in general.

3. Sleep on everything before hitting the send button

I’m a fan of reading more books and fewer articles.

The reason books can be more insightful than articles isn’t because they’re longer. It’s because they took the author more time to think something through.

An article that takes you a few hours to think of, research, write and publish is subject to whatever mood you’re in during those few hours. Maybe it’s cynical, or pessimistic. Or analytical, or fatalistic. Whatever it is, it might not reflect the calmer, thought-out view of something that took you days, weeks, or months to think about.

I’m shocked at how much I want to change an article after I’ve slept on it for a night, and still want to change it days after it’s published. It makes me realize that if I stewed on the topic for a little longer I’d start thinking about it in different ways. I’d remember better examples, or a better way to phrase a sentence. I’d realize the original argument I made was flawed. Since one sharp example or clever phrase can transform a piece of writing, something you spend twice as long on might not be twice as good as before. It could be ten times better, or more. “The first draft of anything is ****,” said Ernest Hemingway.

A lot of what we write isn’t time-sensitive. You could sleep on it for a day or two or more. And most of the time, you’ll be glad you did.

Also, don’t read the comment section.

We met at night
By the leaking window of the evening train
On the two seats with the fewest tears
Two spaces apart
Her perfume was like being loved to death
An olfactory haven above the damp and the diesel
I commented on the weather
And told her my name

Her movements were the increments
Of some heaven or hell
Some Utopia or Gomorrah
Her words trickled between bones
And emptied the room of air
"I'm going to tell you a story" she said

"It begins with a person falling
And ends exactly the same"

Hidden meanings foreshadow the gradient eminence off campus,
Stampless letters to be sent to thine dearest of ones!! Mother's hold thy daughter's, for you've lost your youngest son!!!!

Extensive Colgate frames to cover thy soulgaited plains,
Where fewest of animals hath roamed!!
Your caught in scrimmage,
Still Soo unsure if your found or lost at home!!!

Paceth back to and forth as far as thy walls will take you,
Where reprobate minds will break you,
Where loan sharks will rewrite tunes,

Sharking is their key to Finnish game!!!

They feeleth no Elysium,
Their one to thy flame!!!!!

Trilateral thinking freely turns negative,
Primitive to all known consistencies,
Bleeding at thy gums?
Third world indecently!!!

Misconstrue thine own miserly pull,
Galoot of what's not thine own!!!!!

I will defy the movement of language
With syllables soft before the snow
For Autumn in the fewest chosen words
Along lines of simple alphabets

In the palm of my listening
I will observe you walk as a poem
Skips across ethereally this earth
With colors and bodies of Christmas

An instantaneous impression of beauty
I will sing a lullaby to the irreproachable sky
And kiss the poem-greeting letters
That dissolve as a soul among the trees

And the centre of music
That is a living expression of the times
Today the sun comes out in your poem
And I listen for the poem I will write in reply

I will be a hero of a recluse today, again
With an inner smile of jewel-pointed clarity
That the imagination is a universal thing
The night’s sheerness of black gardens

A voice from which religions spring
Spiritual movement completes itself
In an intuitive release of meaning
A letting go of the sadness of having come

And gone, like death, poetry takes me there
As a river of music, entering my blood
Chilling me with a serotonin symphony
The joy of being here, the glances and reflections

Of existence, mirroring poetry
Between silence and music
The snow and sun, men and women
The rain and drums stalk my fantasies.

Try to remember
that poetry chooses
the poet and if chosen,
beware, for she
can be a real *****
and will rarely provide
a cup of coffee
much less groceries.

Do not think poetry
or fiction will supply
a living, they won't.
Plan accordingly.
Make hard work
and frugality
your floorboards.

Stay rooted.

The coasts are
foreign countries.
America is in the middle.
Nebraska is real;
LA is certainly not.

Talk with poor people
wherever you go.
They know great stories
and because they know pain
laugh more often
than the comfortable.

Find some other work
to hold onto.
Lay brick or landscape.
Write complex software.
Anything physically
or mentally exhausting.

If you are foolish
enough to introduce
yourself as a writer,
ninety-nine percent
of the people you meet
will think you mad,
stupid or simply lazy.
Garrulity marks
the mediocre. Listen.

Keep your true love
separate and secret.

Keep at least one toe
in the natural world.
Fish, hunt, pick berries.
Avoid war and commerce.

Make your poems; craft them
like the things they are,
sparse and flinty,
made of nouns and verbs.
Adjectives and adverbs
are only spices; use only
the fewest and freshest.
Modifiers are poetic;
poetry is not.
Avoid irony like
the plague it is.
Say what you mean.

Do not be disappointed
by misreadings
and misunderstandings
for consciousness
can never be fully shared.
They gets it or they don't.

Drink if you must but
remember that alcohol
is the writer's version
of black lung disease.
It will end up swallowing you.

Mostly just do your art
and try to be kind.
You are just another
sentient being
babbling into the Void.
Modesty and humility
might save you
from the angry gods
but it's no sure thing.

Although you were chosen
for this you are responsible
for your own salvation
or destruction.

How great is the darkness
in which we *****?
Remember:
you can't step into
the same river,
not even once.

If this seems altogether
too much, consider
investment banking
before it is too late.

   ~mce

Life is costly on the soul,
and can jade the mind.
The wrongs of the world are a shameless sort of currency.
With Hate being the dollar.
Lust being the quarter,
and Greed the dime.
I think Pain is the nickel,
and Sin is just a penny.
Common and accepted.
Small wonder some are rich.
Small wonder the meek inherit the world.
Everyone's got a coin in their pocket.
Some try and get rid of theirs once a week.
But we all get paid at some point.
Money is necessary, just like justification.
If only so we can get by.
Maybe it would be better were we all young, drooling, and naive.
Innocence was never something we were meant to keep.
Life is like a game of tallies.
In the end the one with the fewest scars is the winner.
In the end we're all keeping our own scores.
In the end its all just scars and small wonders.
In the end its all just one simple question.
Did you leave more scars,
or did make more small wonders?

It's another year coming to a close -

A time to give and sit around
Talking about all the wonders

Unexpected, and crossed fingers for - alike

A new box we now have filled
With brand new moments
And snapshots of memories
Nights we danced like crazy
And those we spent staying up talking, far crazier
Dreaming and stretching out our fingers

To grasp the distant future
And hold the best of new days close

A whole new box of all wonders
And reminders of when we were most human

To open and sift through, picking apart

And piecing together the parts
Of our lives and holding on
To the fewest, the brightest
And those we can't live without
On the bleakest of days and the longest of nights

For all we have is this firecracker of a life
The last five seconds between

Lighting and setting off
And on to the explosion we become

We've spent our years sitting and holding on
To one last glimmer of hope

A slow burn, simmering

Almost never going off

And right before we've all but given up
We're taken aback
By the loud crack and the dancing of lights,
Falling embers and exposing new dimensions

Now there is more to discover
Time to spend
And create
The next great adventure,

A hopeful new year, lasting long and
Filled with sights and stories

Two in the morning worries sitting on the roof,
Long swigs and watching the faint trail of smoke

Days for searching and nights spent answering
Questions that make up an existence
And those that give life

To the new year
And how it posits,
Theorizes all three sixty five new ways
The odds are fought, not so much as even defied

But goes down among storied days
It remains and awaits

With the grace of kind hearts and warm cheer
To be remembered and placed

On the footnotes and small scraps
Of history and the infinite loop

Of memories that together, create.

We raised ours hand with others
And shared the grand hurrah.
We marched with them if we could
Amazed at what we saw.
Sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers
Half a million in the demonstration
A solemn gathering of protest
In the capitol of a grieving nation.

We came together, raised our voice
In major cities, and small towns.
This time we would not allow
The corporations to shout us down.
We carried signs that told the truth
In a fewest words we could write
That enough was enough and this was
A battle we had just begun to fight.

We shouted our children deserved
Not to die in their childhood school
And demanded that the government
Changed their wrongheaded rules.
We let them know across the land
The many of us were voting soon
And we would throw them out if they
Didn’t dance to a different tune.

We told them it was time they knew
That we saw through their faults
And that this country needed to
Outlaw weapons of mass assault.
We let them know we were through
With what they called leadership
That we would gladly send them home,
A much needed one-way trip.

Take an instant,
a snapshot
or sound byte
from your life;
attach an emotion
or a thought;
couch it in
the fewest best words;
let it gestate
until your head
goes into labor
and it will
be born
like a real child
that is yours,
but has a life
of its own
and leaves you
to inhabit a world
you can never know
- mce

I was dreaming last night
There were three parts to it:
A dark side
A light side
A gray side

The dark side had the bad things I've done
The light side had the good things I've done
And the gray part had the things I wish I could change

I woke up and sat thinking,
"The dark part was almost overflowing with bad things ,
The light part had the fewest things,
The gray part was just overflowing with things I wanted to change,
I guess this tells me I need to be better."

(actually happened to me)