A man built a
stone wall in
a place which
was not his to                              
reside. It was
torn down ‘til
he killed the
other person,

  Therefore a council, the ‘Council of the Commons,’ was called to order. It was from this foundation that early man found truth in matters through debate. It was a way of reckoning with problems and resolving disputes and contained three members; a king, a judge and their god -who came before the shrill cries and lamentations that day to hear the case of the stonemason. It was gathered at the temple of the god.

Lugal; “In what is good and what is just, I imagine a verdict that treats the people as wholesome; is just.”

Dekōōd; “For you believe, as all rulers do, that justice leaves are but for the few, the man who acts can never do, a thing unjust for his reward is due, but in this you err, unlike in battle, for people humanely; cannot be treated as cattle.”

Dinĝir; “And what of me? What my concern? What offering more, than blood-on-earth; in turn?”

Lugal; “We are not here in glory nor in battle but save for the prayers of these people; our chattel.”

Dekōōd; “I am not here for you, nor here for thus, nor daimones due, I am the judge, and adjudicate, I must! No matter solemn, or ill or gravely hearted, to sufferers who mourn, a dearly departed. If laws were broken, so have I been called, as one of three who judges, judges all, and so be it, until a time, that such a thing as rule, has ceased to rhyme, and man has ended, for all time!”

Dinĝir; “Very well, very well indeed, their incense is pleasing, their temple cleaned, their prayers heard, devices expected and meat and porridge and genuflective, these subjects are a thrill to me, go forward council, you two of three. I shall not make my move as much, until you humans, consider such, but once you pass a judgment on, this humble man of stone and brawn, just say the verdict and I will act, as Dekōōd has judged him, for his attack.”

Lugal; “Quiet now! Hush all, be quiet, lest I consider, your shrills, a riot, and put you down, for I decree, over all that you know, and all that you see, a final arbiter, of the law, I am your King; the king of all!”

Dekōōd; “And I your judge, your voice of reason, who discerns the meanings, the acts and treasons and takes the place of him that died and points thy finger and convicts those that lied!”

Dinĝir; “Mmmpfh, crunch, gargle, ummped, mmmpfh…pig! …and it’s roasted well…mmmpfh, smack.”

Dekōōd; “Come before me, bring that stonemason, and the family come forward, come quickly, quickly hasten, and the accusers tell, your tale of woe, and I’ll assign his character, if it is low.”


“I am wife, was wife to he, the man a farmer, and husband to me,
These here, his children, all eight of thee, and that land there, was given to us, you see,

By that great king, Oh Lugal, it is I, and he was a lieutenant, in the wars of honor, on your side,

Which beget you your kingdom, thus you granted these lands to him, whom did, his duty,

And that monster, the mason, his wall upon them doth rent away, -their beauty,

After our reproach, he did slay my hus-band, his blood now spilt, and washed upon, our land.”

Dekōōd; “Come before me now stonemason, show me your face, over there, yes, that’s your place, stand at that podium and tell us now, give us your case, but remember how well you plead, shall determine, your fates."

“I may have built my wall as such, plans offset by hills that roll but I did nothing wrong except to error,

I did not commit this claimed terror, her husband attacked me before we could reason and that was it.”

Dekōōd; “You call that eloquence? Well then, eye for an eye, tear this man apart, until he has died, and as he lie dying, Diĝir, it’s your turn, devour your portion, for the rest, we shall burn!”

Lugal; “For I am Basileos!”
Dekōōd; “For I am Basilicas!”
Dinĝir; “For I am Basiliskus!”

“The king, a judge, your god; the three,

…and this, as such, is our, decree!”

The rock I kicked was simply granite, not to take my life for granted but smacking up against the curb contrite I might put it for blurb, it felt like more than boredom’s play, a sour sadness I felt that day. It speaks to age the days remembered the way or form my sentence is tendered, for that younger one would surely say, “I don’t know, I don’t feel like play.” Prodded further, questioning why, blank expression on face of mine, I stood there lonely with rock my friend, but certainly remember not knowing how to begin.  Kick it, catch it, pop it off grey rail and roll it does into the street, where suddenly I’m forced to meet some silly girl her hand struck out, who tries too hard for friends no doubt! Trying hard to make me greet her, getting closer and ever sweeter, I focused on my play with rock and finally she just gave up.

  New town, new street, new school, new house and now I’d have to run about, to find a whole new group of friends all while still miss my old friends and this silly girl with her shenanigans.  She is pretty, her dress is nice, I like her shoes too but I must ignore her to get new friends or I’ll never pal around with other boys again. That’s what girls do. Make you silly to the other boys who say you’re frilly with dolls for toys, dainty acting like a girl and called a bunch of funny names and never picked at wall-ball games.  Not me, no Sir, I’ve moved before, made mistakes by being friends with girls, sad enough I need no more being friends with her would be a chore.

  What’s wrong with her? It’s been all day and never have I with her played but here she is hours later having at my side whole time just stayed? Now we’re walking home and it’s getting dark; we get to entrance of the park, the woods and shadows make it scary, I look over at her and she’s afraid and suddenly I’m glad she stayed. I slow down so she’s next to me; I press my lips tight and **** it in so she can’t tell that I’m frightened. In my pocket were some rocks to use in case there’s a fight, I puffed my chest to show my might and I held her hand really tight as we walked into the quickening night. I told her not to worry much because I’m good with rocks and fists and such. I walked her all the way to her front door pretending like it was a chore; man-o-man did it take a while but when we got there she sure did smile.

  She kissed me sweetly on the cheek, something that I did not seek but for me, it added to her mystique.  I ran through the neighborhood, my happy world beguiling and when I got home I still was smiling! Door slammed shut, Dad is lazy. Mom is cooking and I smell mash n’ gravy. She asked if I had fun and played, I smiled thinking of the friend I’d made.

Two Maronite schoolchildren practice their English…

“Cedars! Cedars! Cedars!”
“See theirs, seethers, Caesars,
See her cedars Caesar?”
“See here, a sea-fare and see there?
And oh, I see Sir?”
“Do you see her? Yes I see Sir, -Caesar!”
“Cedars! Cedars! Cedars!”

And they are descendants of Solomon’s thirty-thousand, the great-grandchildren of Hiram’s workers.

“Sol Indiges!”
“Sol Invictus!”
“Sol-Ammon!”

“Now children, how do the three monkeys act?”

“Sol, the root of solar and it means the Sun, it means also to see or sight as it infers the light of seeing.”

“Am means fire but it is also the meditative word, Aum, therefore it cannot render evil through sound!”

“On is Egyptian and it connotes speech so it represents hearing.”

The instruction in language is not terse. Requiring broad-based understandings of how the West characterizes ideas. These two are particularly adept being taught from birth in both Maronitic and Latin and now English, in preparation for their exodus, as home has become a battleground where they must leave soon. Only in the West can they find peace and practice their faith so expressively. Only in the West can these two girls attend school if their lands are befallen…

“Now children, what does this mean?”

“See no evil!”
“Speak no Evil!”
“Hear no Evil!”

“And that children, is the Wisdom of Solomon!”

Breaking news! CNN reports that a car bomb has exploded in the ancient Lebanese town of Mejdeloon. Shocking footage now of a series of homes that have been reduced to rubble near a Maronite Church where rescuers are just now pulling out the bodies of two young school girls. Christopher Talias reports live from the Lebanon.

“Sol Indiges is the voice of god,"

Sol Invictus, in light, his mind;"

*Sol-Ammon is the understanding and wisdom for all time!”

Misery is an unrelenting downward escalation.
The heaviness of trapped energy becomes real weight,
it drags you down and fastens you into position,
a relaxed position, though you are not relaxed.
Placed this way, you burn as unstable chemicals burn,
fall as heavy objects fall when dropped by those
who possess them.
You are abandoned.
Left to stew in this pit of flames.
Those you danced and laughed with stop holding you hand,
for who would wish to cling to a burning thing?
This is why you deal with The Issue alone.
Because those who claim not to need anybody are liars
who wish to justify their solitude,
who wish to bury the fact that their companions,
when proven incapable of helping, no longer wish to help.
Alone, you are disgusted with them.
But now you understand. You do not act as they do
when the black clouds part because you have gained more
alone than they ever will together. And when you see
the blue sky again and regain your ability to fly
you will forever leave them and theirs behind.

Mother spinster’s sporcy spindle spaed a specious spider splenetically spinning a sparkling specimen of the spired and spherically eggish; still though spinose although sporadic, seemingly soft, deceivingly so, sacred, secret special place to stave off such besetments!

  Her enchantment’s curse, no less the worse, arachnid terse in webs of verse, or plainly verse we shall rehearse from high above to stage below or thought to hanging from strangely gallows, the sickly web a trap thus cloven of heaven’s weaver said to woven in all her life never betrothen, she cast aside all such resentments!

And so Old Mother Hubbard then went to the cupboard speaking her cursed ways…

  Along came Ariadne, the spider beside thee, winding her spinning, pointing thus pinning upon her the blame for all days. With no voice to speak, evading flood did she seek, a way up from the sea on the laurels of Mother’s uprooted tree. So was it ended, uprooted, upended, the guilt, blame and controversy. Umun-Hubbur, Humwawa, Humbaba, star-weaver and Hubbard and Ariadne!

I heard the wild thunders as they approached my territory .
I felt your thirst for my blood in the air we call used to call home .
I  listened out for your remorsefulness in the way you ran against peace.

Silently I stood there waiting for the tides to turn in my favor .
Silently I stood there with my mouth open waiting to join your pack.
Silently I stood there waiting for your voice to pull me into your winds .

Blamelessly I stood on the cliff holding on to my dying flowers .
Blamelessly I stood on the cliff holding on the roaring currents .
Blamelessly I stood on the cliff only to descend to grave sites that I  know not of .

But don't agonize over me because
I got used to the fall, to the cold, to  the anguish.
Above everything else I bloomed before you even noticed.
So be sure you're not afraid when I  rise above thunders and roaring currents .


I AM A CLIFF SURVIVOR
I know how these things work ..........

The leaves crunch underneath
My bare feet that tread on a path
Strange, ubiquitous and unique
I looked up just in time to see
The eyes of the trees staring back at me
It was getting dark, I needed to find shelter quickly
Before I ended up in some giant cats stomach quickly

So i broke branches and bark and bound them together with the remains of parts from the crash
A plane brought me here, and thankfully the fire didn't last
I grabbed what I could, food, drinks, spare parts and some supplies
Hopefully, prayerfully these meager items would allow me to survive.

I didn't go too far away, as the crash was on the beach
So I stuck to the trees above the wreckage and   above most predators eager to dine on me...

Forgive me sir Edgar Allen
Poe I must write this out because it's maddening
Me to no foreseeable end
I stand here, right noe, at ravens end.

I walked outside the chamber onto the Astral plane
And saw the thoughts, scribbles and pops that amounted in crowds insane
What was in my sight by no means plain
And I stood there, contemplating at ravens end.

An ebony bird flew onto my shoulder looking out at the subconscious murmurings gathered by the pink and gooey Boulder
He crowed loudly, silencing the ideas so I could speak
I shouted to them "FELLOW CITIZENS WE MUST OVER TAKE THE PEAK!"
"WE MUST SEARCH OUT AND RECLAIM WHAT MADE US UNIQUE!"
And the raven crowed again, it seemed as if it wished to speak.

Rousing the ideas were, and creativity flowed back into my head
Reactivating circutry that was once long dead
And outside the lab where I was laid to rest
A raven flew back home to his nest
He crowed loudly, so loud that one could hear what he had to say at the neighborhood store

And so I quote the raven... nevermore

hellopoetry.com/collection/20186/years/
A few hours pass with the boy still there,
Drawn to his body like he's tethered.
A few more and he's floating in moonlight
But no sleep will bring him comfort.
A small fish catches his restless eye,
A quick shadow against the current's silver.
Closer, the boy sees sharp teeth bared.
The fish eyes his corpse like its dinner.
A desperate *NO escapes his throat
As he scrambles to stop the scavenger.
He cannot, and he cries out in frustration,
His sobs joining the sounds of nature.
Ethereal tears fall on ethereal hands
As despair morphs into very real *anger.