In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me

In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me

In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me

In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me

In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power

* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane

Lost hair-am bold soon,lost bone mass-fracture when I sneeze,lost friends-well..had no to begin with,lost muscle mass-cannot stand,lost ***** functions-they teamed up and decided to strike,lost years-twenty to be correct,lost the ability to chew-the jaw bone gave up,lost dreams- only nightmares remained,lost strength- not capable to move my head from the pillow,lost weight-it is the same as the weight of a puppy,lost  brain cells-obviously otherwise I would not pursue self destruction ,lost sleep-kept awake by hunger,,lost my period-so no little baby girl Hazel,almost lost life multiple times…lost the promise of a bright future.

The haystack is the needle and the iceberg is compact
Scions of attrition tremble before the contract
Jaundiced world-weary tears lament the frailty of days and the evanescence of years
Senescence a cruel destruction, distracting garish comfort escorting the fears
Displaced and forlorn love beckons a second chance
Itinerant hopes know no commitment to simple embezzled parlance
Of dice and kin, nepotism’s high-roller antics are the linchpin
Frittered patience staking its bets on internecine dynamics of skin
Affirmative traction of disenfranchised hopes rests on fallow seasons
Traduced mirage tantalizes until the activation of regaled treasons
Shock wed with dismay appoints the tutelage of prestidigitation
Juggled triage aborts an unborn reason and anoints intimidation
Aliens flummox the borders to enlist a new world disorder
Trailblazers succumb to lawlessness and for every dollar gained we lose a quarter
Chaos checkmates as power rests from decrepit hands foisting the meretricious brand
Cattle scorched and sheep scattered as the broken hourglass can no longer count sand
Time toppled serenaded by applause canned
Toppled pyramids blind the eye of providence in the hour of unheralded prominence
The terror of history unfurls the efflorescence of piracy as ghosts work to subvert the invisible hand
Next dictums emerge that say supply on command, and entropy desecrates the land
Phone home to arm the putsch, clone home for aliens we push
Revisionism subverts the instruction of years and empowers the apotheosis of fear and the fourth ***** of George W. Bush
Dynasties envy the anonymity of a bald-eagle cabal of skinhead guffaw
Irascible genocide cavorts under the premise of shock and awe
The lullaby of morons is flinching assent to the supremacy of the unelected and unassailable tyrants
Discarding covenants on the principle of principality and counting on every knight to become errant
Pyrrhic victory of the perverted cross corrals the flock
Openly announced secrets enable the aliens to dock
At the port they are greeted as the victors and granted not only amnesty but indemnity
They brandish the unprecedented concept of an enumerated infinity
To amuse the zero-sum victory they author a new history of utilitarianism dethroning deontology
To the future readers they make contrite apologies
But when the races of men are annihilated by the evil Zen boasting of its utilitarian ken
The rubble of time cannot ascertain exactly how or when
But on the dreaded hour the virus will conspire to elect the most reproachable power
When panic reaches crescendo all the sugar in the world cannot but help to taste anything but sour
Abort the tyrannical machine no matter how convincingly it preens
No matter how much bunkum elevates the enchanting prevarication while concealing the affairs behind the scenes
Voting for balkanized splinters designed to weather the winter sustains the monopoly of sophistry
Ballyhoo saturates the airwaves and suddenly catcalling becomes gallantry
Tune out the pulpit, divest the culprit and impugn systemic venality
Dismantle the verisimilitude of shadows and hoist a giant mirror to reflect stark realities
Cue the curtains fall, the specters grow tall, and the clout is daunted by establishment doubt
The skeletonized truth severs the root but the behemoth armed to the teeth wages a bout
Cartels conspire with arms and fire and resurrect stodgy tenets to prowl like an army of vampires
To feed a fatuous superstition and to empower a censorship of convenience to enthrone a dark empire
Cunning preponderance enlists divisive shills to let the ghastly thriller exact its thrills
Occult obscurantism funds the vulnerable and tramples over the outspoken to actuate its will
Hopes dashed, stocks crashed and strife abundant
Generational dissonance revokes the incumbents
Chapter one of this unsung war come and gone
Stay tuned for the next addendum to see what is lost and who has won.

well, it's been a while.
I wrote "evergreen" when
we had been together
two months;
"evergreen addendum" after
a year and a half.

it's been almost eleven years now,
married for seven.
I can barely remember
the me I was
when I wrote those poems;
the me in college,
before law school,
before the many moves.

it's funny that I knew back then
what I know now.
I don't understand
how I was so sure,
but here we are.

I'm still excited to see you,
even though I see you every day.

See? I’ve always
felt this way.
I always will.

The blind Parisian has never seen the tower, or the lights that illuminate his city of birth
The deaf Italian never heard the opera, or Core 'ngrato from a Tuscany street corner
I never looked into your eyes and saw the cosmos
I am distracted by the power of corporate America
The unflinching pacifist still stands atop a suit of armour with his arms outstretched
and Syria rejoices as the stench of liberty matches gun powder and familial genocide
Oh western world, have you forgotten your past so soon?

Explain to the deaf man how her voice sounds
or
Explain the colour spectrum to a blind child
and then deny the tears that water your cheek
Tell the dyslexic that words are meaningless for it gives him comfort
and turn your back on the monetary religion of which we are indoctrinated
Take your ******* industry and bring it to it's submissive knees
Your weapons too, they are a disgrace
Empathy is universal
Love is blind
[Cliche]
[Cliche]
End.

A return, or a refrain, addendum to the ideas thenceforth
It's enough to leave a man crying in his coffee, Starbucks specialty
**** your poets, burn your books and gouge your eyes
This world is not broken, we are.

The *** stood stars on end, so to,
whispered, “play with me,” and in
haste we fled. We explored,
discovered, and devised something
bright, half something else sinister,
notarized – black roots pinned a
pink-scorched Mohawk, and
reciprocated, my wild “Mao-Mao,”
or so she’d named the hair on my
arms. The moon endured whilst we
knifed each other with each and
every gasp and sutured wounds left
prior lovers. I’d only come across
her name near the end, “Xiaolian,”
though the tattoo ‘top her leg, told
me, “Lola.” Come what mothers
christen us innocent would be a
poems in and of themselves,
addendum, the delirium aged and the
dance of neon atop our waterfall
soaked bodies - epic.

Christmas in Queenstown


I’ll be the emotional martyr so hopefully you can learn from my written mistakes,
and you can find love settle down and make a family before it’s too late,
before you’re just another lonely broken hearted hopeless romantic,
that feels the most lonely on holidays…

I feel the most lonely on holidays,
I mean I feel lonely almost every day,
but especially on holidays,
I feel the most lonely on holidays,

I know it might not seem it,
but honestly I am the sentimental type,
especially on holidays,
like Easter mornings or Christmas nights,
except this sentimental sense,
usually leads me to depression,
because I have no real family to be with,
I guess that’s why my obsession with acceptance has no direction,
and my ******* is only there for attention which creates tension,
which leads to extra ****** receptions by feminine tendons with no protection,
and the misconception that this is heaven leads to spiritual indigestion,
which progresses to regret when I try to repent then write these written confessions…

I confess,
I am a mess,
but also blessed,
so what the heck,

here I sit,
it’s Christmas eve,
I’m in Queenstown,
feeling like a king,

or at least was,
at one point in the evening,
before I met that *****,
and we made lust without any reasoning,

tis the seasoning,
this is the thieving,
of all progress from healing,
when I throw it all away for some ****** feelings,

no ****** healing,

feeding,
egos with libidos,
achieving,
nothing nada zero,

see I was on Church St.,
in Queenstown how ironic,
there is no salvation on this Church,
only drunken fools that seem demonic,
and ignorance,
that spreads like it’s bubonic,

no plague though,
just shaky legged hoes,

** ** **,
merry Christmas,
let’s go go go,
on and sin no forgiveness,

she seemed so ****,
with that short cut shirt,
her belly button showing off,
flat stomach what a flirt,

I swooped in quick,
took her under my arm,
the winter wind was blowing,
it was cold I kept her warm,

took her to my car,
drove her to my place,
laid her down on my bed,
kissed her on her face,

taste,
like sugar and spice,
but this girl was all naughty,
nothing nice,
hair silver,
skin white,
she was as blond as they get,
and I’m totally into that type,

and what’d you expect,
from a girl from Finland,
white as a white Christmas,
but no Santa in this wonderland,

I wonder when,
I’ll find a way to escape these cliches,
when will I finally find a place,
where I can settle down and stay?

Anyways,

I poured some olive oil on her smooth stomach,
I rubbed her body eagerly,
she removed all her clothes,
fully exposed I was enjoying the scenery,

wanted to stay there,
to stretch out the moment,
but she was in a hurry,
so I undressed as well and got on it,

I gave her exactly what she wanted,
a ready ******* and a bit of attention,
we made a sacred act and should’ve bonded,
but like I said before my obsession with acceptance has no direction,
and my ******* is only there for attention which creates tension,
which leads to extra ****** receptions by feminine tendons with no protection,
and the misconception that this is heaven leads to spiritual indigestion,
which progresses to regret when I try to repent then write these written confessions…

I went in,
and once spent then,
I asked her one question,
“Please stay and show me at least a little affection.”,

see what is *** when,
it’s absent of expression,
and it’s just fornication and abjection,
and what should feel like acceptance simply feels like rejection,
and you’re laying there naked in all your imperfections,
feeling like a felon who’s deadliest weapon is inattention,
it’s assault but it’s not either of your faults because you’re both lethal weapons,
phantom figments of each other’s imaginations our oppressions building momentum,

until we both can’t take it any more and she just wants to leave after the deeds been done,
and we’re still laying on the bed but it feels like the floor oh well I guess tis the season then,

still I must ask even though I already know the answer,
I ask her to stay and she’s already getting up to leave,
so the asking turns into a plea because this feels like thievery in the first degree,
“please don’t leave not tonight for the love of God it’s Christmas eve!”,

and I told you before,

I feel the most lonely on holidays,
I mean I feel lonely almost every day,
but especially on holidays,
I feel the most lonely on holidays,

I know it might not seem it,
but honestly I am the sentimental type,
especially on holidays,
like Easter mornings or Christmas nights,
except this sentimental sense,
usually leads me to depression,
because I have no real family to be with,
I guess that’s why my obsession with acceptance has no direction,
and my ******* is only there for attention which creates tension,
which leads to extra ****** receptions by feminine tendons with no protection,
and the misconception that this is heaven leads to spiritual indigestion,
which progresses to regret when I try to repent then write these written confessions,

so that these confessions will hopefully metamorphosize into lessons,
that others can learn from to prevent getting burned from other’s complexions of aggressions,
and escape from being the possession of their own misdirected intentions,
because cure is not as good as prevention and deflection is always better than correction,

hence when we are together it seems like destruction but when we’re apart it’s perfection,
because together we’ve all been through enough to fill an anthology of apologies no exceptions,
still I love all of these as in all of us because I find this mess so beautiful upon further reflection,
as all us broken hearted hopeless lovers just become footnotes in The Book of Love’s addendum…

And since we’re at the addendum,
I guess this is thee end then,
in other words,
this is Thee Ending.

Thee Ending.


∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

It's only been one year,
five months, twenty-three days
since we met; I know I must have
sounded crazy. Maybe if I wrote
that now, it wouldn’t seem so odd.
I could have made a mistake, looked
back and felt my face flush.
I could have been exaggerating.
We could have been long gone. But
I know that it’s not hyperbole. I
know that I was right. I wasn’t just
the crazy girl – I was so precise.
That was before we’d fought,
and I’d cried, and everything felt
terrible; that’s only made me love
you more. I cannot always express
myself. I can be so uncouth.
But I know what I feel,
and what I feel is devotion.
See? I’ve always
felt this way.
I always will.

Fashion rarely looks to the Brit awards for style inspiration but somehow fashion finds its way, in dribs and drabs, to its red carpet. These awards are the unwanted stepchild of the red carpet and generally, this means it’s a bric-a-brac of high-end and high street looks. For every Rihanna in couture you have a Little Mix in Asos.

Such is life, though, and there were legitimate trends, aside from the James Bay/Kylie double hatter. First, in the spirit of Angelina Jolie’s 2012 viral, there was a Right Leg – as flashed by model Lily Donaldson and singer Lana Del Rey. Nightwear came in a rather lavish Miss Havisham-esque form via Florence Welch (cream slip, eiderdown wrap, bed-hair) and Rihanna (a lilac slipdress covered with seashell patterns), and which unexpectedly preceded Alexander McQueen’s autumn/winter 2016 collection. Finally, there was a definite nod to The Wizard of Oz’s Emerald City via Jess Glynn’s sparkling green jacquard suit, Kylie’s backless heels and Jack Garratt’s toned down double-breasted suit.

There were the half-successes, too: Adele’s cascading liver-red dress and matching lipstick was grownup, but compared to her memorable 2013 Valentino hit at the Grammy’s, it felt par-cooked. Singer Charli XCX has been a frow regular at this year’s London fashion week, so she went predictably designer in pale green Vivienne Westwood. But she was let down with her slicked-back hair, a styling addendum that somehow overegged the overall effect. She also looked stiff and uneasy, probably because, at 23, she was too young to pull it off.

The menswear was far more experimental. To wit: Labrinth in a blue and pink orchid-print suit which, unaccessorised, had just enough humour to work (it looked like a box of Cadburys Roses). Mark Ronson did his usual trick of pepping a cleanly cut suit with the odd flourish. This time it was a monochrome dogstooth suit covered with a static print. Even JLS’s Marvin Humes, in a Yves Saint Laurent bomber jacket, epitomised the modern man. And what Carl Barât lacked in pizzazz he made up for by wearing a Hedi Slimane suit (although less said about the James Bay hat, the better).

The misses, of course, were plentiful. The mullet dress is the trend that refuses to die (see Cheryl Fernandez-Versini and half of Little Mix in various synthetic horrors). Alexa Chung rarely puts a brogue wrong, but here in a velvet bustier dress, was fairly forgettable (lesson: don’t step out of your style lane). Then, of course, there was Keith Lemon, who pillaged the misses of awards seasons gone (the Pharrell hat, the pseudo-Gucci blazer … everything really). What did you expect from Keith Lemon? The Brits then: a series of blind taste tests on the red carpet, none of which gets full marks.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

My loss is my burden alone to bear
In sacrosanct equanimity
But sympathy does come calling
In drips and drabs to attenuate my pain
Great talk shows seen
Some lend me their eyes to weep and wail
But vanish fast like a ghost seen at noon
Cos none knows as I do the depth of the pain
That I bear

The pain of sympathizers is on their flesh
As water poured on rock
Mine embedded in my bone
And feeds on my marrow
Family won't invite us,
My pain and I together,
To a breakfast meeting
My peers won't
Invite us to a business lunch
Friends won't invite us to a dinner
Cos the world stops not for anyone's
Tragic loss and accompanying grief

It is like an aircraft in flight
That ought to land for its passengers to alight
And one passenger I am
Swathed in the turbulence of this jet
Being baptised by unruly weather
Sympathizers are like car owners
On pleasure trips who could pull up
At every turn to attend to their fancies

My loss is my burden alone to bear
Not yours whose feeling stands
Aloof akimbo as I howl,
'My brother, oh my brother,
Why leave me so early
Heaping in my heart monumental pain? '

As the first drop fell on me
I looked up at the black canvas
gathering and rumbling ominously.

But there was supposed to be another
not far
but right over my head
to defend me against the weather
pattering insane
between me and the rain.

Did I by any chance
leave my umbrella here, sir?
I ran to the shopkeeper.

We all suffer this predicament
was his smiling statement
losing grip over our mind
letting things be left behind
and then came the mischievous addendum
as if my trouble had inspired his mood

go for good
once you let them go
woman and umbrella

they never again show.

I have never met someone as beautiful as you.
I can’t believe you are going back to China.
I can’t believe that I will never see that face again.
I can’t believe I didn’t at least try, at some point.
You are leaving forever.
Every day I stared at you in awe.
But that was the problem - I just stared.

I wish I was strong
I wish I was strong enough to get out from under the comfort of my sheets
Or the warm water washing over my body in the shower
I wish I was strong enough to open my books,
Instead of listening to the same five songs again
I wish I was strong enough to get over a loss,
Be it a failed exam or a boss I can’t beat in a video game
I wish I was strong enough to help my friends
Because that's the person I strive to be
I wish I was strong enough to keep that job
…

I wish I was strong enough to like my own works
But it’s hard to when they look like this
No rhyme scheme or metaphors
Only thing this poem has got going for itself is that repeating stanza
Real clever or whatever
You call it slam poetry
But you might as well call it sham poetry
Slam poetry
Because you need to be slammed drunk to enjoy your poems
And don’t even pretend like you didn’t notice
How no one seems to give a **** about this
This series of ‘works’ that you’ve been putting out
Where all you do is ******* swear and shout
At yourself
******* hell

I bet your last line would have been
“I wish I was strong enough to love myself.”
Boo ******* hoo
Too ******* bad
Because you’ll only love me the moment you realize
That what I say is true
I’m not gonna say that I’m only rude
Because I love you
I hate your guts too
much for something so…
Sappy
You’re a bit of a sentimental, right, boo?
If sentimental meant pushover

Criticism!
Sorry, didn’t mean to scare
Oh wait, no, I don’t really care
Because even you’re aware
How you’ve locked yourself in an echo room
And the moment someone tries to break through…
“Don’t worry, I can take it.”
And then you write something edgy like this
You can’t take advice for ****
Because that’s your ******* deal
You’ve got tonnes of people giving you the advice that you need to heal
And you ignore every single one of them
Acquaintances, friends, family
And what about me?
DO I REALLY NEED TO ******* YELL TO GET THROUGH TO YOU

But It’s pointless anyway
You’re on auto-pilot already
Just cut the act and write your cringy addendum poem
We’re done here

This title, this challenge,
Has rested uncomfortably in IPad memory,
Storage unit for Poems Needing Composition,
Unwritten, unanswered, needy for resolution.

Today is a good day to answer.

You are the pause between my breaths,
A ledge to rest on, a stepping stone,
Without you, there is no next one.

You are audience faithful,
Scribbles, wordplay, jokes horrible,
Official Storer/Inspiration Sorcerer of my unending script.

You are shy critic, unwavering,
Deft, with feminine oversight,
Knowledgable proven, when silence, best.

You overfill my AM coffee cup,
The mug that advises sagely,
Be calm in you heart.

You overfill my PM  cup nightly,
Knowing that even tho, can't sing or dance,
I need to, can do, can't do w/o you.

So lest, mistaken grievous,
You think, highly erroneous,
This poem is NOT about me babe,

This poem is entitled,
You,
How Much, Owed,
You.

Lest the answer be poetically muddled,
On this day, perfect weather, perfect clarity,
Unashamedly Everything.


Sept. 15th 2012
In bed, 8:22 am
NYC

---------------
Addendum June 29th 2012
This old soul loves you more. He cannot believe his good fortune,
This June, this one more perfect afternoon, my heart importunes,
Love my poetry like I love thee, and we will have the most
Perfect Union

My friend calls me and tells me that this time around we need to re apply for our jobs after quarantine.
I tell her *******.
You see, I am not joking. I mean it.
I got tired of people treating me the way the want.
Now I will get treated the way I want.

My work place sends me an addendum.
They want to cut salaries despite the fact that we've been working full time despite the pandemic.
I hear it is up to 50%
You see I am a teacher.
When a pandemic happens I still follow my timetable.
I show up and teach, and call or email those that aren't showing up.
And tell them to show up.....
So I say *******.
I cannot sign something I do not agree with.

This guy I used to date started texting me.
He says he hasn't been with anyone because of the pandemic.
He says I am his best option 'right now'
I say *******.
I turn off my data and go to bed.
You see I am no longer available for your entertainment.
I once 'dated' this American white male who told me I wasn't supposed to have an opinion....
I text people I like now..... that really really like me back

When my boss calls me.
She doesn't say hello or check if I am well.
She goes straight off to yelling and screaming.
I say *******.
I turn off my phone and move on with my life.
Because despite falling apart and feeling so lost most days in this pandemic.
I did show up and do my job
So when she learns to communicate, I will talk to her.

I applied for a job, no jobs where they told me..
the problem is my nationality.
Not my papers, experience or inability to perform...
In fact before I told them where I am from, they told I could make a good addition to the team.
Until I turned out African.
So I say ******* when your online course says it will open global opportunities for me.

Because the world is 'woke' now.
African Americans can chant 'Black lives matter'
Their voices are heard and the world chants with them in solidarity.
So this is me whispering
That my Black life matters too....
My voice, my thoughts and opinions matter too....
And hoping the world will hear me too one day
And stand with me in solidarity.....

I'm not angry, I am just fighting for my rights.

There's talk of redemption
in crowded halls,
and as they adjust the dial
there's an addendum.
hard to tell
just who is right
although everyone knows
who is wrong.
no doorway in sight
in this mirror funhouse,
but the poor have TV's now
isn't that nice?

The "Thank You"  is the proper response to the seeming changes that took place due to a mic and a post when a man has found he was tired of needing and feeling abused, so, if they run with the rules that they respond to those things of him, then by all rules means the same must be done in this, and all be made well, and no pains come to those whom have harmed no one at all, none, we have harmed not, yet been harmed, and for our act of expressing our possible theories and oddly outsiders expressing odd pressure that coincides with said theories, then we are treated as some how now something to be intimidated by...? how does that work? we are watched none stop and well, lets not pretend that the threats have had serious effect and have been played by all sides, cause if not, then please realize we know not from where they come, just that they resonate on all broadcasts and ways and means a man can ask for to be informed. so, what would you do, and well that what would ... do makes its own point as it were. were it not such a point of um, tension and distress in some avenues that we know not of the identity in full nor have had confirm able proof or the like.

Wasp addendum
More than out of and
Quote the finality, well to avoid...
A sting that churched a brassy man

Wasp substantial
Adding the heed, of couth and comparison
Does a reach for time, understand arousal?
Quiet time searching for youth, that knows the question...

Wasp divine
Kiss and kindred, the tools of solemn tone?
Enchastened with a host, too cursory to be orders vision
We hear the spoil of the wind, become a new loan

Wasp merciful
Craving a thought, to tell a tale kept
By the unity we foresaw, a heard bliss still...
Was a chance meeting with a yearning fate, bereft?

Wasp earthen
Where souls intertwine, the taste of home
Is a careful wish, foreseen in the earning?
Or should might, take the time to intend guidance as done?

Wasp witnesses
The tow of commonness, in the voice of salutations
Memory served, the break of justice in a winds shade
Here to fore, timidity is a challenge, for a truer intuition...

She'll do.
She's a rough approximation of you
without the sense of humor.
She'll do
and she did.

Rough drafts come through
the window.
A woman like that will only let you
get away with her for so long.
Every time she left
I was paranoid she wasn't coming back.
I'm turning into John Cusack
with my LPs in a stack.
She's never coming back.

I write my ****** heart out for you.