Crystal lived alone in the cabin Ray had built for her. Ray had left long ago but she thought of him often and sometimes went to see him in the city. She was an artist and a dabbler in many fields. Her house was a kaleidoscope of stained glass windows and half finished art projects. It was built almost entirely of wood with a beautiful stairway to a loft bedroom replete with a skylight window on the stars. Set in the mouth of a valley next to a clear stream the cabin looked almost as if it had grown there.

Crystal spent most of her time on her art projects, in fact she made her living that way. She was well known for the macabre nature of her works and they sold well at the local art fairs. Most of the scenes she painted could not possibly have existed on earth. Take for example the orange sky and purple mountains of Mariners Delight or the river of blood in Cosmic Conception.

Often Crystal would meet Ray at the art shows and they would discuss his books or her latest works. It was just such an occasion that preceded the first of her dreams.

Although Crystal had often dreamt of playing in a large meadow surrounded by reflections of her art work this dream had been different. She awoke from a scene in the woods where she had been the object of a grotesque conclave of creatures almost beyond description. There had been a huge goat like creature leading a chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba", for a group of creatures that resembled animals. There was a black toad sitting on a rock of seemingly impossible crystalline form, while an agile spider danced on the spokes of its luminous web above her. The smell of blood, the heat of the fire, and the constant and oppressive chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba" with all eyes directed at her. She woke with a start, it was early morning, her bed was a tangled mess, and she was covered with sweat. She felt she could almost smell wood smoke, and somewhere in her mind she could still hear the echos of the horrible chant.

It wasn't until almost a year later that the dream repeated itself. She had just completed what she considered her greatest work, a large mural like painting called Id Conclusion. It was a matrix of human forms in contorted and deformed conditions against a backdrop of misty images of human holocaust, war machines, and atomic clouds. She had gone to bed in a storm of thoughts on human depravation and greed. The scene was the same, the spider, the goat, the half human animals, all seemed the same, except for the chant, it was different. "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Raga mantra nestos reale, Yreba Yreba Shiva kommt da." Lightening cracked and a creature appeared. He seemed a man but was built more like a large monkey. Light seemed to follow him like an aura. He was the obvious master of the conclave and all stood back at his approach.

Crystal was lying on the stone altar in the center of the glade and although not bound she was incapable of motion while held in Yreba's gaze. That this creature was Yreba was obvious since all had bowed down now and the chant had changed, "Yreba Yreba teach us to grow." Crystals eyes were glazed and her naked body shown in Yreba's light. All her past works were floating across her mind like a collage. Lost in ecstasy she responded to his aggression like a wanton beast, screaming and writhing in the flow of his energy.

She woke to find her cabin in shambles and she was lying in the center of the living room on the floor, she panicked and ran to her car, slammed it into gear, and sped off down the road.

Ray was sitting in his office at the University that morning when Crystal burst into the room. "Ray, Ray, I've had a dream, a horrible dream, it was, I was!" "Slow down Crystal! You've had a what?" said Ray. Crystal sat down in a ball of frenzy and continued.

About an hour later Crystal had finished her story. Ray spoke, "So you say this is only the second time you've had this dream. Tell me more about Yreba. Does he resemble any of your art works?" "No", she said, "He seemed a lot more like that creature you told me about that day we were discussing witchcraft. The one who was supposed to be the personification of ****** desire evoked for the *** ****** of the ancient Persians."

Ray walked to his bookshelves (he was a professor of ancient mythology and religions) and pulled out a book called Necromancer by Abdule Azerod. "As I recall" he said "that creature was also a god of fertility." He thumbed slowly through the book, "yes, here it is. What did you say this creatures name was? Yreba? Very strange that's almost exactly this Persian deities name, Youruba. It seems he was evoked every year on the vernal equinox to assure ****** reproductivity and if you think that's frightening, feature this, last night was the vernal equinox." Crystal was stunned. "Do you think there's a connection" she stammered? "Don't be silly girl, this was three thousand years ago. Why don't we drive out to your cabin and see if we can find some clues."

Twenty minutes later they were standing in Crystal's cabin. What had seemed so disorderly to Crystal in the morning was now clearly a purposeful state of order. All of her sculptures were arranged neatly on the stairs to the loft, and her pictures were arranged so as to face the spot on the floor where she had awakened. On the floor where she had lain was a large five pointed star. "What does it mean Ray?" "I think it's a pentagram" he stated. "Is anything missing?" "Not that I can see" she said. "I don't think we had better stay" he said, "Find what you need and we'll go back to my house. You can stay there until we figure it out."

Crystal never returned to the cabin. Ray sold it for her and bought her a new house in the city.

Crystal got sick a few months later. She was sitting in the doctors office now awaiting his return. "I have good news" he said. "Good news" Crystal groaned. "Yes" he said, "Your pregnant."

David was born in a dreary wee spot
By the side of the mill in the dabbler's lot
His dad was a dabbler, all his long life
And his mother excelled as a dabbler's wife
When he grew to adulthood they 'prenticed him quick
Til he earned his diploma and dabbling stick

All day he would labour, at this and at that
In the tinkerer's workshop, upright or out flat
But his sunny demeanor was waxing and cracked
As in secret, he yearned for a thing which he lacked
For a life with out borders, impulsive and free
Where he'd live as a dolphin and leap through the sea

His mother had cried when he told of his dream
And his father was dead set against the whole scheme
There were tantrums, rebuttals and guilt trips galore
But young David was stubborn and made for the door
For the safety and warmth of the bus out of town
With a confident furrow entrenched in his frown

He tarried in places with odd sounding names
And confounded the groom of a good many dames
There were taverns and zoos where they'd shoot him on sight
So he took to decamping by cover of night
The journey was arduous, torrid and bleak
But he made it to Blackpool just shy of a week

The pier was bustling, jammed to the brink
But our David was not one to buckle or blink
He charged at the crowd with a deafening wail
They scattered, retreated and showed him their tail
When stood on the edge and admiring the weather
He casually cling-filmed his ankles together

Now hopping along like a fish out of water
He dived to his dream like a lamb to the slaughter
The moral should not be too taxing to spot
Be content with whatever you've currently got
Because sometimes a cloud is just low flying steam
And the universe gives not a crap for your dream

Washed up on the beach with a terminal chill
Lies Delusional David of Dabbler's Hill

Crystal lived alone in the cabin Ray had built for her. Ray had left long ago but she thought of him often and sometimes went to see him in the city. She was an artist and a dabbler in many fields. Her house was a kaleidoscope of stained glass windows and half finished art projects. It was built almost entirely of wood with a beautiful stairway to a loft bedroom replete with a skylight window on the stars. Set in the mouth of a valley next to a clear stream the cabin looked almost as if it had grown there.

Crystal spent most of her time on her art projects, in fact she made her living that way. She was well known for the macabre nature of her works and they sold well at the local art fairs. Most of the scenes she painted could not possibly have existed on earth. Take for example the orange sky and purple mountains of Mariners Delight or the river of blood in Cosmic Conception.

Often Crystal would meet Ray at the art shows and they would discuss his books or her latest works. It was just such an occasion that preceded the first of her dreams.

Although Crystal had often dreamt of playing in a large meadow surrounded by reflections of her art work this dream had been different. She awoke from a scene in the woods where she had been the object of a grotesque conclave of creatures almost beyond description. There had been a huge goat like creature leading a chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba", for a group of creatures that resembled animals. There was a black toad sitting on a rock of seemingly impossible crystalline form, while an agile spider danced on the spokes of its luminous web above her. The smell of blood, the heat of the fire, and the constant and oppressive chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba" with all eyes directed at her. She woke with a start, it was early morning, her bed was a tangled mess, and she was covered with sweat. She felt she could almost smell wood smoke, and somewhere in her mind she could still hear the echos of the horrible chant.

It wasn't until almost a year later that the dream repeated itself. She had just completed what she considered her greatest work, a large mural like painting called Id Conclusion. It was a matrix of human forms in contorted and deformed conditions against a backdrop of misty images of human holocaust, war machines, and atomic clouds. She had gone to bed in a storm of thoughts on human depravation and greed. The scene was the same, the spider, the goat, the half human animals, all seemed the same, except for the chant, it was different. "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Raga mantra nestos reale, Yreba Yreba Shiva kommt da." Lightening cracked and a creature appeared. He seemed a man but was built more like a large monkey. Light seemed to follow him like an aura. He was the obvious master of the conclave and all stood back at his approach.

Crystal was lying on the stone altar in the center of the glade and although not bound she was incapable of motion while held in Yreba's gaze. That this creature was Yreba was obvious since all had bowed down now and the chant had changed, "Yreba Yreba teach us to grow." Crystals eyes were glazed and her naked body shown in Yreba's light. All her past works were floating across her mind like a collage. Lost in ecstasy she responded to his aggression like a wanton beast, screaming and writhing in the flow of his energy.

She woke to find her cabin in shambles and she was lying in the center of the living room on the floor, she panicked and ran to her car, slammed it into gear, and sped off down the road.

Ray was sitting in his office at the University that morning when Crystal burst into the room. "Ray, Ray, I've had a dream, a horrible dream, it was, I was!" "Slow down Crystal! You've had a what?" said Ray. Crystal sat down in a ball of frenzy and continued.

About an hour later Crystal had finished her story. Ray spoke, "So you say this is only the second time you've had this dream. Tell me more about Yreba. Does he resemble any of your art works?" "No", she said, "He seemed a lot more like that creature you told me about that day we were discussing witchcraft. The one who was supposed to be the personification of ****** desire evoked for the *** ****** of the ancient Persians."

Ray walked to his bookshelves (he was a professor of ancient mythology and religions) and pulled out a book called Necromancer by Abdule Azerod. "As I recall" he said "that creature was also a god of fertility." He thumbed slowly through the book, "yes, here it is. What did you say this creatures name was? Yreba? Very strange that's almost exactly this Persian deities name, Youruba. It seems he was evoked every year on the vernal equinox to assure ****** reproductivity and if you think thats frightening, feature this, last night was the vernal equinox." Crystal was stunned. "Do you think there's a connection" she stammered? "Don't be silly girl, this was seven thousand years ago. Why don't we drive out to your cabin and see if we can find some clues."

Twenty minutes later they were standing in Crystal's cabin. What had seemed so disorderly to Crystal in the morning was now clearly a purposeful state of order. All of her sculptures were arranged neatly on the stairs to the loft, and her pictures were arranged so as to face the spot on the floor where she had awakened. On the floor where she had lain was a large five pointed star. "What does it mean Ray?" "I think it's a pentagram" he stated. "Is anything missing?" "Not that I can see" she said. "I don't think we had better stay" he said, "Find what you need and we'll go back to my house. You can stay there until we figure it out."

Crystal never returned to the cabin. Ray sold it for her and bought her a new house in the city.

Crystal got sick a few weeks later. She was sitting in the doctors office now awaiting his return. "I have good news" he said. "Good news" Crystal groaned. "Yes" he said, "Your pregnant."

i.

Sometimes angel's don't always fly,
Sometimes their amongst us;
In human form as disguise.

ii.

Sometimes angel's don't always soar,
They canst be thy child;
Or thy neighbor next door.

iii.

Sometimes angel's don't always wear wing's, they canst crieth, they bleed;
They art thy son's, daughter's,
Poet's, feins.

iv.

Sometimes angel's take upon them mortal flesh, yet they giveth their blood for other's; til their souls art ****, undressed.

v.

Sometimes angel's don't walk through wall's, sometimes they build those bridges, work night's or morn's, their backs art torn;
Their hands art raw.

vi.

Sometimes angel's art poor and rich,
Some abide in prison cell's, some hath seen heaven-hell; some give the raiment off their shoulder's, some work in muck, other's grit.

vii.

Sometimes angel's cant spell nor write, yet in times of hurt, their the ones polite; pouring out their love as God doth command.

viii.

Some angel's speak in silence, other's with distress in their eyne; some angel's hold up sign's reading
"This is the end of time".

ix.

Some angel's art from the middle East, other's from places cold, some on warm sandy ground, some in the divided land of the free, some down in Mexico;

Some angel's hide in mountain's,
Where the smoke doth never clear;
Some sleep near Creeks, in huts, in street's; some hath none home,
Some art cast away's- by their
Families considered freak's.

x.

Some angel's art light, and yet some art dark, some art Asian, Filipino, Malaysian, Chinese, Pakistani, African, Indian; all hath dreams.

Some eat fast cooked poisons, made from restaurants, other's chow with just their finger's or plow's, the opulent with forks and glitz;
Steak and egg's with clean shaved head's.

xi.

Some angel's sleep in ghetto's, meadow's, gutters; other's watch in heaven, looking down upon another.

xii.

Some angel's lie and wait for what tomorrow brings, smiles on their face, yet heart's crying; with sickness or losing their place.

Some angel's art right in front of thee, though thou canst not see;
Those angel's art the poet's
Whom hath given me strength
In mine time of need.

xiii.

So dear poet and Poetess, to those whom hast prayed for me in love; I thank thee, now look above, for God's glow is in this room, I feel his presence, I wilt tell thee truth.

The truth is this dear poet's, friend's of mine; forever show the creator's love and forgiveness, for those art God's commands, as Jesus stands beside me.........

He hold's mine hand.

©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Dedicated to all the poet's praying
for me and thinking of me in such a hard time I'm going through. I've been pretty sick lately so wanted to thank each and every one of you while I am ok. As putting all into gods hands. And for anyone who doesn't know yeshua hamashiach( meaning in Hebrew Jesus the Messiah as savior I have many links on my page links below plus in poems how to accept Christ as your savior. He died for all of you no matter what wrong you've done in life or continue to do. We have the son of God who died for all mankind's sin's for atheist, agnostic, Buddhist, Muslim, satanist. Pagan, witchcraft dabbler. Doesn't matter who you are. My Jesus loves each of you so much and wanna know how to be saved in him and why please look in past writing's on salvation and truth what's coming to this planet as is already happening now. I know this poem probably won't be very liked because i mention my lords name. As Christ told his believers long ago ( they would hate me because they first hated him) and how sad that is when he died rose again the Third day for every single human. You want truth seek Christ before to late. Because he is the life. He is life love forgiveness and the only way to heaven. Pray you accept him as Lord and Savior if haven't yet.

God bless.
Your friend Brandon nagley.

Note to fellow Christians( keep strong always look to Lord, and always I mean this with strong words
( ALWAYS show others love even if hated, if one takes your cloak give them the other also. If one snacks your cheek turn your other to them as well that they may smack the other. Take no vengeance. God's will be done not yours. Always always always FORGIVE one another and love one another. And you are the temples in which the holy spirit dwells, let God work in you let God's love flow through you like you flow words on your phone and laptop. Let God's forgiveness he gave you be given to all. Holding no bitterness or grudges in your human heart. God's greatest command to you and me is love so give it. Loving God first especially by keeping his words) commands, and loving man next no matter what they do or have done to you. Step out of the world yes it's hard sometimes as I got my own issues battling the flesh so I judge noone but trust God. We're saved by grace of God through our faith in Jesus Christ. Let not that faith die but live it out daily. Listen to another, help another. Let God soften your hearts he's the Potter we the vessels. Let God's love shine out of you be not of the world for the world knows its own as our Bible spoke but God knows who are his. So live for Christ because we are his fellow Christian. And be not weary our Lord will call soon , as Bible speaks we won't know the day nor hour Christ will come for us but we ( WILL know) even by all the signs when it's at the doors. And he's knocking at the doors by all signs. Be ready for Christ's calling ( bride of Christ) meaning the church Christ is coming for his Bride. Be ready Christians heed my words. You don't always have tomorrow or tonight get things right now with loved ones you hurt, friends, family. Anyone youve hurt apologize to. Anyone your holding anger against forgive them today. Anyone youve never said you love them to say it. Make wrongs right and rights better. Let others see Christ because his spirits in you. Stop sleeping look around what's happening and be ready for the trumpet to blow.
With love
Poet Brandon.

a medieval blacksmith, insO̲—
—much as lyrical material of mine gets cast sim. to cold
weapons; I'd say, as anything mind-distracting, like dope
["destructing"]
lyric-writing acts in the role
of temp rise, 'cause it unshadows the mind
like da[ɛ]mn skies, dissipating clouds of lack of delight
which is whY̲ I clepe
it as "mind eclipse" (lack of the light)
hence all the grimness seen in mY̲ bar sheets (chernukha)
like someone having a flight, a bored, tragedy wight
["aboard"]
lashings of spite I add in my lines
a geek practicing harassment in rhymes
as a pastime; an antihero, like Frank Castle I side
with on going against baddies with vice (lesser evil)
'cause you can't battle a knight
or a savage canine, or seize a bastion by
means of any kind of chatting (good luck managing that, gandhists)
get real; chances of collapsing
a toughened up corrupt regime by tranquil, brawl-free rallies
are as high as a bA̲nged up substance addict
can be (highly unlikely); though I keep the anti-autocratic
subject matter frontline, for ones who half-a##edly indite
their lyrics, it's casket likewise; a wA̲ck sod with pine
boxes & nails for 'em; & thA̲t's something I'm
more than glad to provide
you with; tra[ɛ]nslation: you ain't sA̲fe, chumps
[a casket isn't a safe, hence "it's casket" means "it isn't/ain't safe"]
like an offer to have a sled ride
"dude, let's slay some"
["sleigh"]
said the voice of the Islamist radical-like rapper in my
bean (Shady); "let's bring a da[ɛ]ng mayhem"
["bin Shady": Osama bin Laden + Slim Shady, who's a lyrical terrorist]
it added with passion, then I'm
like: "sounds like a blast of a time" (kaboom)
but no[ɑ]t to you, be—cause I'm on my violent bullsh#t (again)
like a jihadi loony; with these lines I'm suited
up with, you'll be blasted like plants bY̲ a shrE̲wd wind
or like a head of state ordained to invade
a neighboring state
in this **** field, I feel
like Max Payne with a gauge
[shotgun]
in a prey-tE̲E̲ming weald
hunting as sport; slay just to main—
—tain some relish & killing skills
you're like misbehavior-free slaves
in this field; translation: you're tame (lyrically)
["tranSLAYtion"]
therefore, you're unwished-for
like anyone & anything with a high lack of approval
[by "high lack of approval" I mean "dissent"]
on politics of the regime of some dastardly ruler (dastardly ruler)
drunk by the power he keeps a tight grA̲sp on & moola (power & moola)
just like Vlad the mean puta (Vlad the mean puta)
code name's lavato[—]ry shooter (lavatory shooter)
you jacklegs remind
me of simple cases or the Batman that time
when he wound up with his bA̲ck damaged by
Bane, 'cause I get you cracked with no strife
just like trash, you would wi[aɪ]nd
up in the dumps if you set your crap next to mine
and let ones being into rap scrutinize
your level of lyrical threat's to splatter a high—
—ball glass or stuff like
that, punks; me? like an armor-clA̲d man, a night—
["knight"]
—mare; Dante strapped with a scythe
[Dante from the "Devil May Cry" video game series]
the way I whack, it's so tight
that I have my device playing some phA̲t beats as I
masterly slice you hacks into stripes
like the Senyera; rap di̲letta[ɑ]nti
and political oppressors are picked as targets
and I may be read as a vigila[ɑ]nte
'cause I go after you like
V; like 2 sawbones having a fight with their scalpel-like knives
[I go after the aforementiond figures in my lyrics]
["after U [which is followed by V]"; V from "V for Vendetta"]
a pa[ɛ]radox while A̲t it 'cause I go autocratic, despite
["pair of docs"]
the views thA̲t I stick by; other words, I kick A̲## as if I
were dealing a jA̲cka## foot strikes
[I'm against unjustified maltreatment of animals, that sentence is just for wordplay]
a rebel thinker with a wrA̲pped up in rhymes
sick, hazardous mind bringing lyrical disasters & crimes
oh, there's one I'm imagining right
now; a rap-writing dabbler, besides an autocratic *****, wi[aɪ]nds
up inside a hearse
with me being A̲t the wheel like
a town that's rife in terms
of poison-pushing; a psychopA̲th when I drive
["atterville"; "****** path"]
speed up to 150 miles per
hour on a track in Alpine
heights, pound a go[ɑ]ddamn curb
barrier breaching it & sending the wagon in flight
open out the driver door
and jump out with a 'chute backpA̲ck on my spine (bye-f#cking-bye!)
watching the car go down, just like a war
criminal busted, & whereafter burst, like
brain arteries of a nazissistic scoundrel; like reports
saying an autocratic piece of trash nullifies
the limit of his presiding terms
I'm bA̲d news when I'm
on my lyric-writing horse
[the "high horse" expression]
like cavalry; I'd like a dastardly, vice-ridden autocrat to reply
["riding horse"]
with lyrics to any of the crA̲p I've devised
in opposition to authoritarianism
should I send some to the office with galore of rE̲A̲r-licking minions
of that "it's all the nasty West" guy
or that's suicide?

I have become a ten-toed dabbler
Meanderer intentional sampling delights
Finder of mundane pleasures
Thankful for sound and sight, taste and touch,
Overcome by the newness of scents

I intend to be the finder of earthly heaven,
A barefoot walker of beaches
Collector of shells, sunsets, sensations
The crust of salt and sand and shells
Between my happy toes.

Relief settles slowly upon me
Covid come and gone, come and gone
Taste and smell returned
Lungs strong and pulling, pushing air,
Awareness of the preciousness of living.

I stop for the pleasure of roses, of rain, of radishes.
Thank Heaven for a taste of juniper, mint, basil,
Cantaloupe, berries of all kinds....
Covid gone, I am here to stay, if only for today.

I'm out, about, and on my way.

in my mind
i wax hysterical
and wane lyrical
but what you see is
is me drooling half formed words
upon humanity

in my mind
i flow poetical
and ebb noetics
what you see are gibberish
producing lips

in my mind shakespeare
my apprentice
longfellow, a dabbler
i am the king of rime

what you see...
an overzealous eejit
with a propensity to string
words together in an underwhelming
rhyme...

Oh, yes, you should dabble amateurishly
With sketchbook, pen, guitar, and crescent wrench
With telescope and hiking boots and love
With verse that scans and prose that strongly speaks

For a dabbler, all the world is his adventure:
A coffee cup is as Old Santa Fe
A stroll in the garden a pilgrimage
To Canterbury or Santiago

And you should draw and write and sing these things
Oh, yes, you should dabble amateurishly

alternate title – A bona er fide dog day afternoon delight.

A mere half dozen vowels
constitute the English language
Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay
Consonants comprise the majority
(sans remaining twenty) Ta Deum,
whereby both in tandem allow, enable
and provide avast combination donning brooks at bay
ample lettered permutations

offer opportunities, where methinks
mother tongue avails allows, enables
and provides thyself
tubby spell as sigh arrange passions linkedin to create, evoke
and generate plenti of romantic expressions to convey
an amorous, bedazzling conception

describing ******, graphic, and iconic ****** propensities
this cobbler, dabbler, and fiddler
(no, not on the roof) doth display
his penchant, lament and bent infatuation
with these twenty-six symbols
that **** hen ewe to evolve,
and breed vernacular words to reflect from an eBay
definitions apropos to the present, which
Uber state farm quixotic oeuvre,

and matchless kindling ******* serves as foreplay
for this heterosexual ma reed male caressing,
finessing, and integrating
expressions of speech oft times spurs
(what might seem as noun sense),
I ponder the peccadilloes of being gay
yet quickly reroute ****** predilections
albeit rolling in the hay,

whence this dis straw t fellow
conjures affinity, comity and excitability
latent within the consanguinity
of bossy verbs assaying boisterously
an interjection tubby top dog capstone amidst kennel
of barking canines couching with another similar subject
each with their body electric

nestled upon a davenport faux pas inlay
in conjunction with another
four legged friend, the direct object
particularly eyed iz a ***** in heat, who **** okay
to buffer end an un pro noun
sub bull underdog species, who feels passé
with ****** faw paw play

though averse to insult shaggy scoobie doo,
whose bark a role overture willingly
doth goad her to doggy paddle
while she woofs down remnants of  
picnic tourists left littered
while Lady and the ***** head toward the quay
Pier ring for private sloop to **** per ****,
then ******* hoo ray
afore slyly cagily approaching bag of tricks
see ****** exploits today.

Her naked body
   Always turn you on!

Her soft skins prospected love shower
Not any hone!

Her hairs to prevent your time to go any park, forest such as garden!
Because once time you'd play it by your fingure,
That time those peace gives you so much pleasure!
Her forhead makes you craved for kiss
    The time you should framed those moment scared to miss!
Yeah.
Every girls want such a seemly gaitey.

She's have a dark deep eye!
   There'r only place for beautiful spy!
May be is perfect place to dive
   Without any rive.
Trust me  it's doesn't matter you knows swimming or not!
Her eyes is only  satiety for you.
That,time you realised don't need find any kind of paradise!
   Because her eyes perfectly allocate to rise.
May be you don't need any wet
      Her lips's enough to comfort het.

Her naked  neck  make you hardly, feral love
        And gives you pleasure around like long rove!

Her breast make you thirst!
   Not only compress nor ****,.
This orgnan to help act excited hardly ****.
  
Doesn't matter are she's have a
flat stomach or fat!!
  She's the only one who'r able to cover inside
Your love! Within till 9 ******.
   Is really good pleasure through your penes!
      
She steed canvas on the ground,then rises like an acrobat!

Those steed deep dark and strong,
  Sometimes plop-egg, drop-egg!

Earn kudos from the eartsy folk,
Be hip --- plucky 'lay an egg!
           Every months how much she's suffered to "******" pain!
   Only due to blood rain!


From hip to legs make you dabbler in *** activity!
     her legs gives to indicate to make a fascinating moment.
   Her legs like a ride
Which could not make your emotions hide!
    
Jzt **** out every parts!
   Think 'bout tommorow uh'll have not this type of love kart!

Her barefoot on your foot
She treads softly!
   Without any costly.

Do you find you dabble
In everything you do
Often check the water
But only with a toe or two

You might do this, might do that
And other things per say
But never take it to the mat
Before the thought has gone away

You find your mind racked with desire
A burning of the soul
You've got the kindle for the fire
Never adding any coal

No saddle to your dabble
On which to hitch your horse
No trophy on your mantel
Never sticking to the course

You find you might try it once
Maybe even twice
But when it comes down to the crunch
You barely take a bite

Toss in your line time after time
But never catch a thing
You might find it's all a sign
You're only dabbling

The obits I've read, 
are one sided.
He or she was always 
dedicated to their family...survived by....in lieu of flowers....
And that was it.

I'd like tell you about a friend, 
and say, among other things, 
what else Jack's obituary should have said.

We got along, off and on, for many years.

His most outstanding characteristic was,  
he was a sponge for facts and ideas--
science, politics, cultural trends
That was his thing.

Many a lunch hour we and others ate,
solving world problems. 
On a good day, we could smother conservatives with facts,
and outshout them too.
Jack leaned liberal, but carefully reasoned his positions,
which meant that I mostly agreed with him.

He was thin-skinned and a poor turn of words,
he would silently seethe.
That was the frenemy part.
Afterwards we avoided each other,
until after some time, 
once or twice as long as a year or so, 
we spoke again, 
almost like nothing happened.

Jack read a lot, mostly nonfiction 
Lots of science, with some Asimov in his past

He was dedicated to his profession and stayed current.
Customers trusted him and he served them well.
He only worked at one place, 
mostly because he liked the job
and some of the people.

But if a project didn't appeal to him,
he could also be Mr Passive-Aggressive,

He followed the arts and drew,
building a rig for two point perspective,
his doodles were marvelous.

Jack's character was as complex as his  interests.
He described his diversity with "I'm just a dabbler."
Humble, yet proud. sincere but a little perverse.
But not really a dabbler-- he dug deep, a lot.

His passing was sudden and his obituary had gaps.

I will be caught
  in the end
  and chastised
  if I write
  to be recognised
  for in that guise
  a victim I will fall
  to silly pride

a  simple stringer
of words and thoughts
through the tumble
of life
a scribbler
a dabbler
a story-teller
on the insignificant side

let the real bards sing
I'll listen in deference
in humility abide

for a small voice
am I
that truth
I shouldn't deny