A pocket of thought, ideas.
Impulses, has beens

epi-phenom-enal-con-currencies-synchron-icity
sorting places, thens and nows vying for attention

you see
we till stories in search of true tomorrows
not true
yesterdays (till, I said, not tell)
we **** the hard rows no one else will ***
so seed lies sown are never lies told, if the lies are never taught
or if the liars are caught before convincing the
intended crop to lie and swear a common liege Lord,
or die
for lack of knowing. Non-nascence, simplest
symptom to not see.
Whose death is yours to respond responsibly
to? My child's, or yourn?
In the early days, we knew less than we know now
about how knowing and growing were all
intended
to cost time. Ticks, ono motto whatever, the sound
gears and spiral springs pushing cogs
tick, one tooth tick at atime make

this rough, un polished, un glossed, is it wrong or

as I imagine a diamond in the rough must seem to a share cropper
experienced in diamond hunting, diamond prospecting,

prospecting expecting inspection to permit
seeing a 3.52 specific gravity,
specific
specify

species or spectacles,
spectators or special-if-eye-cation
value-en-abled. Weigh your mind in balance
with mine. I claim the mind of Christ.
What are the odds?

A wandering path, injoyable enable if-i-abble,
pacing is

everything, timing is everything, time is the test.

Time is the metagame.
Take your time. One word formed sylabble at a time.
Babble on, your confusion makes you mortal, to my mind.
Tick.
A quanta of time. Does time come in bits and pieces cernible,
but undiscernible from reality?

Babble.

Of course, time will tell. We learned that in our sleep, did we not?

Aesop taught us more than Moses, no,
Aesop taught us less than Moses.

But, we could learn to walk bearing the weight of knowing what
Aesop taught,
while we could not stand under the weight
Moses was said
to have taught.

Caught you, Jewboy. Whatchewknow?
The moral of the story.

THE IDEA is to win.
Beware the concision decision.
incisive devices, witty inventions.

Flip the shell, roll the bones, cast the runes and,
as luck might have it, die before your time.

Why factors are lies more oft than how factors.
Benefactors rule malefactors or
how or why would we invest our time in seeking reasons
to believe?

Is this the polished piece, the gemstone of specific gravity
(which currently means nothing to you. Here, you find too light
or too heavy, too weighty on the scale of specific value.)

Hard. Value hard, diamond hard, on Mr. Moore's scaled model of
Knowing exploding for reason's sake, raison d'etre, eh?
Too hard?
Not Mohs,
don't get me wrong.
We been Moore's law breaker all along.
We be manifested destinatory stories of heroes gone wrong.

Outlawed
knowing exploding to be reasoned with, by kind
children destined to become
written in stone, scarred by lies

Diamonds cutting diamonds, iron whetting iron
on eternity's edge.

Babylon, was it Bel's gate or fusion from below rising?

Magma fountains with diamond claws tearing the lands asunder
Is asunder still a word?, let me, allow me to define...
"into a position apart, separate,
into separate parts,"
mid-12c., contraction of Old English on sundran 
Middle English used to know asunder for
"distinguish, tell apart."
From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/asunder>
----

mumbler's humbler PIE, bowing before the knowers who
know nothing of my work.
Set apart, art thou holy aware?

Hermit me, meet the rest of me. The true rest that remained.
We live, you and I. Trust me, next is worth the wait.

Suffer needs no pain to make its point. Waiting is.

Grokk. WHO would believe that idea could live
through telegraphese to be tweet meets for the
Cosplay clans. How never grokked a rock,  why even less.

Strange, be not long in this
place. if
place this be. Odd
set aside
torn asunder
blown away.
Awake, little birdie, tell me true,
what's a man like me to do?

Did you meet the famous Mr. Blake?
I cleaned his chimney, way back when, chimbly's whut
we called em. Smoke stacks belchin' black
makin' black moths invisible to voracious
gulls.
Now the peppered moths are free
to be white-ish, for better or worse.

----

right, now, do right or

miss the mark,
the specific mark you made, maybe,
imagining, abstract obstructions missed
by the skin on Job's teeth as you run past

right now to more. You know?

----=

Story telling was the same as lying when I was a child, to me.

Telling stories was my gift I never took. Or am I lying? or mad,
in the old way.
Chaillot's rag picker was my best friend.

No noble thought ever found it's home in my head, once
I thunk it, it stunk to high heaven, for me stinkin' thinkin' it.

Po' ems sang sour to fiddles wit' one strang and drums with no
cymbals
Screamin' he owed m' soul the comp'ny sto' bang bang thud.

I died, he lied, and lived to tell this story, ****** if I know,
****** if I don't.

True as true can be. I am lost, but once was found,
lyin' rough, uncut in acres of unseen gems.
----
* Voltaire refused to teach me any thing I could not define:
late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining.

So, imagine facets unseen, I am at least a meme, a bubble rising on the tide. Think, as you will. Amen?

Halfway through the journey
Winter came to stay
The ones I met along my path
Chased the cold away

Memories of twisting
Beneath the starry sky
Kept the wind from swirling in
And pulled my spirits high.

Once I was a singer,
Though po-ems tinged my dreams.
The journey saw an end to that
And waking- raced from me.

Shattering and scattered
Like stars across the skies
Out of reach and far away;
I wished on while I tried.

I never really minded though
Or mourned the goals I lost
For losing each and everything
Was freedom's exact cost.

Explaining this to others
Was pointless to me though
For how can others understand
The open road's my home?

There was an Old Person of Ems,
Who casually fell in the Thames;
And when he was found
They said he was drowned,
That unlucky Old Person of Ems.

I was a Paramedic
I saved lives
Prolonged great inevitable grief
Witnessed the grotesque miracle of unexpected birth
And the ****** it brings
Sat on my *** became complacent
And depressed
Forgot to put into what was being taken from me
Over and over
I worked and came home to silence and destitude
I craved the excitement like a ******* would payday
I worked with the greatest personalities people that wouldn't back down
I had no gun
No hero complex
I used to be a Paramedic

I had that recurring dream again last night.
Awakening with a start.
Perspiration was
Pouring down my face.
The car, the children,
Molly my wife.

The heavy truck spinning in front
on the icy new York   freeway.
Explosions so loud they deafened me.
Then the silence the total quietness
as they drifted away.
And i was left alone.

I moved out of the tiny inner-city cottage.
Is was now over  two years ago
but I just left it the way it was.
The kid's toys strewn on the floor.
Bread and cookies on the table.
I would never return there,  never.
Not even to get my beloved alto sax.
the key for me to making a living.

I followed the cop every day?
The one that pulled me from the wreck.
I did not know why i did this,
Sure she was pretty enough.
But that was not it.

I was once told that if you save
Someone's life they belong to you.
Well, she could have his life.
He did not want it anymore.

She entered the bank
He saw the robbery before she did.
The robber lifted his weapon before
She had time to move.
Without fear or forethought,I jumped
in front of her
and took a bullet for her.

It was in the arm straight in and out.
She put three in the perp,
dropping him dead.
before he could fire another shot.

I fell down she held me in her arms.
As I was bleeding out.
Why did you do that, she said
I would have been killed.
That's why
I whispered.

She visited me in hospital
Brought me grapes
I hate ******* grapes.

She had no idea who I was
When the car wreck happened
I was covered in blood and EMS
Ran me to the hospital.
Names don't stay with people
Only faces.

When I got out of the hospital.
She appeared at my rented room door.
With a coffee and doughnuts
I don't talk much since…..well just since.
Who the **** are you she asked
A God ******  Angel.
I said I don't think God dams his angels.

She seemed to like me.
**** knows why
I wasn't nice to her.
She started looking for me on her shift.
Grabbing a coffee and suggesting dates.
I told her no offense lady
don't arrest me.
But I don't date anymore.

But she was a New York cop.
and a woman,
******* relentless.
She said she would make life hell for me
If I didn't take her for a date.
******* women.

I gave in and said I would join her
At the blues club nearby.
We got there at 10 pm after her shift
She looked ******* hot.
Not like a ******* cop anymore.
The blues were playing
I heard the alto sax wailing
It cried tears
like my soul was feeling.
But my souls eyes were dry.

She saw the tears welling in my eyes
And held me to her soft breast.
Tell me what it is
Is it me she asked?
I was just silent.

The owner of the club saw me.
He said, Tony
where the ******* been man.
It's been two years since you came here.
We miss your sax wailing boy.
He said where's your sax?
Don't you have it anymore?
I shook my head it was a lie
But I had my reasons.

He grabbed the alto sax
from the band playing.
Make it weep Tony.
My heart needs to hear you play man.
I moved quietly to the stage.
And the room went silent.
Just as if the Angel Gabriel
was going to wail his horn.

They remembered me they stood up
and clapped for five minutes.
Blues people don't change.
They just get ******* older.

I said nothing.
But played nature boy.

Peggy got up and took the mike
She wept the words as I played.
Tears falling down
her old sad blackface.

……..There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered
very far, very far
Overland and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he…….

My cop was crying too.
She said I don't cry ever see.
I am a cop I see ****.
Who the **** are you she said?
But I let the sax wail for my words.
It poured my sadness into the night.

She got my full name from Peggy.
She says that boy needs a woman.
But then a woman is Peggy's
answer to all men's problems.

She run the info though the computers
at the precinct.
those ******* things
Know every leak you ever take.

She saw the car wreck
the body bags.
Me, covered in blood.
She knew it all.
I was exposed.

She even found my mother in law's place.
And went there.
She said he's heartsick honey.
He won't go home.
Won't let anyone in.
He blames himself.
He's never cried once
It's eating him inside.

She said I can't find him
Do you know where he is?
He's over at the cemetery.

She missed her shift change over.
And went to the Park Lawn
I  was kneeling by a family
grave talking to my kids.

She went to me and slipped
Her arm around me
,I turned my head
Into her breast.
she kissed my head.
and I wept and wept.
I sobbed like my alto sax wailed.

She kissed my eyes.
Let it out, honey
Let it all go
Don't stop let it go
.
She drove us to my house
The mess was on the floor.
The stale food stank.
It was in a mess a disaster.
The kid's toys spread everywhere.
My sax on the hall table.
saying nothing
she started cleaning it up.

She said quietly.
Did I not save your life right?
I  said yes you did.
And you saved mine right
I said yes I did.
She said
Unless we both say  that
we're even stevens.
You know what it means.

He nodded
Yeah...I know.
It means
We belong to each other now.
You got it straight McGraw she quipped.

Two years later
Tony came back from his gig
at the blues club.
He had a recording contract in his pocket.
The money would come in real handy
What with their second baby
coming in a few months.
Kids were pricey little buggers.

I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.

I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****,
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.

I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.

Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.

I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.

'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.

And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.

Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****.
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.

In the distance, I see a Hound bus cruising down the country road
The stretched out Greyhound dog in front of the bus with look and behold
Now watch as numerous stories unfold
I hear a Greyhound Driver narrating his tail of his stories surrounding the hound bus
I will narrate a couple for you
Our story starts in Topeka, Kansas enroute to Kansas City, Kansas
The bus left on time during its usual run schedule
However, the weather started getting rough
Driving in the wind and rain made it really tough
A Tornado could be seen in the distance destroying everything in its path along the farmlands
Yet that Greyhound bus steadily kept moving
But the fierce violent winds were blowing
Suddenly, the Greyhound bus got a lift
Up in the funnel of the Tornado the Greyhound bus went far from any drift
However, a miracle took place, and the bus was slowly let down gently to the ground
The Greyhound bus remained in tacked and nothing but praises in God’s thanks was the sound
This is my account of another story
I was travelling from New York City to San Francisco, California
It was a vacation being a 4 days journey and New York City back
We had just crossed the Nevada state line being a rest stop
A Young Woman went into labor on the bus
The Driver was counting the contractions, but we all knew what was going to happen
This was supposed too be an 30 minute rest stop, but turned into a 2 hour rest stop
Luckily, the bus was near a major hospital nearby, and an ambulance was summoned
The EMS carried the Pregnant Woman on a stretcher off the bus and her Boyfriend (Husband) followed
Later, the bus pushed on, and I arrived at my final destination ahead of schedule into San Francisco
Another story tail
This time I was travelling to Los Angeles from New York City
We stopped in a Ghost town
There were tumbleweed flying everywhere and shutters were hitting all the houses along with wind blowing
Yet, there were no citizens in the town
Meanwhile, it was 6:00 AM in Arizona
Suddenly, all the passengers wondered who was coming aboard
But everyone was thinking thriller oh my Lord
A Male Passenger boarded, but spoke Spanish
He was drunk and wanted to sit with anyone, but passengers refused
So he had to go to the back of the bus where the restroom was
He talked from the time he boarded until we arrived in Los Angeles
So Greyhound is more than a ride, it became an adventure
Stories upon stories
Go Greyhound with its own storyline
The venture being the bus, but no need to fuss
Greyhound is the American Frontier and that involves us
What is your Greyhound traveling story?

I can smell the talking cloud's tongue bright bright yellow light's blank bride medium blonde Italian Shadow, a ghost alerted to the base of conscious events one morning while standing with a gun which she fires and the bullet flies; face flushed with color, she dropped the gun and went into therapy on the side; :: separator :: revolutionary ***** mother police this warm stand of life of life, we ​​speak loves **** bad as long as the horrible monster lying in the tiny germ of the United States General Fingerprint Girl listening to good sunburn lets poets among the colors to make it easier for Norizontal children to cool; The features of Paul, Fuchsian and fleshly skin new to the new nation as well as to the magnificent laws of the Great Hall of the Church in the depression of foreign aliens. Yeh, support the family, yes, the trees are walking on the opposite side, sitting and staying in darkness. Here, except all the toys, but Russia drew swords and fish, and all the special features of the leaves are green and the shoots of a Hunter's Spatula ... In our areas the king of China is mighty over Corsica and Croatia. Gray with many lawyers, states in the United States and Europe, Albert offers new men and women. Happy, blessed with good names, women, women, children, Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul, joy, holy tradition, Paul's Apostle, the first month of this year, the happiness, and the TV of Russia and Santa Clara Santa Claus. Clara, Eugene's army, the chaos of the United States and Italy and the United States.
____________________­____________________­_________________

Sandra­ and two dogs, dogs, canine casting, dogs,
in Africa, again, I want you better, Sinah, in Austin,
an SSH outdoor way, also think that the British hope
"deer, drawing of he did not have the mind,
the issues coming in the storm by fire,
I thought I was ready for a wise fool to overcome
the pain of his dark car, the pure spirit of spirit,
light and black Italians had fallen in his closet
with a room talked about above the knee,
the living room where the police are talking to you,
was warm for you, which was in vain, the fire
was growing up to be a witness for the damage
and to restore the body's strength, such as the short hair
of hairy Ivan, Usa, all wind, wind, rain and clouds
on the ground, the last songs, now you have to go crazy
with the colors of criminals. Just s FUE in conjunction,
cold flies, home meat and Paul kept his skin clean,
and his guilt was like the words of a young man
in the days before Well, it's like a big dance I'm looking for:
I have enough to remember YCHA's little yokes, pain:
I want to talk to my hands.
__________________­____________________­____________________

­dystopia; plural noun: dystopias: an imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, typically a totalitarian or environmentally degraded one. Utopia; plural noun: Utopias; noun: utopia; plural noun: utopias an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect. The word was first used in the book Utopia (1516) by Sir Thomas More.
synonyms: paradise, heaven (on earth), Eden, Garden of Eden,
Shangri-La, Elysium; idyll, nirvana, God's country, *****, ***, snooch; literary: _Arcadia           "it may be your idea of Utopia, but it's not mine."

\ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n \ n it is possible to be? bright, deep with three cheeses have a night of music and acid developers. But the soul of the child is the most green with its buds, the mouths of the feet of all those youthful years, the voice of it appeared in a generous and die of gold, queen of the cool colors abolished death, and was very angry with the cold, was a great change I desire to justify to you in the azure, blue, and gold, and the gold, Khan in October, many people had got out, and the song, as in a mirror, floor faced the most difficult man, but a rich, sweet drink patty the 2, George's carrots are ***, just made into wine, and the wine is to be given to the Christians, with his will he wrote this in Africa, the Christian name of Guy Wisdom, Christianity, George, history, the rich brown rye of FM, a young man, Kisukeya was concealed by the girl, it was degrading.                      

Top ink bottle modern jellyfish Ranpuhiru of contemporary Asian dream Anticinema Yamashoo robot picture image at Jack's Socks Center. At five the average social value which come in chains is sitting in the woods with a cotton Core, 2 from hockey to see Bob relay life to the Sodomi Yudaya football field and a Core 2 boar; Bob's devotion is to your heart station, 100th on the seventh smoking football, he thinks Stein Stein must understand the children on the toilet and in the corners of the corner UG Twig Ug to the Twig; the thick black pink beach Museum of clothing where the city sleeps with a witch in music paradise Chu, or 2 EMS Mary flies and marries a windy boy and pretty woman in January about the rainy season, ****** abuse by a woman with a pistol made of bread and Bee fingers; Warming up the rhyme to help poor Italy, monsoon. Permanent Glory Available as Typically A ribbon, and soon, a new color's new heat "colors uneasy King 'wins the boy' Robert White, Robert's noise, Homuesabi 100 Opera House, Silicon / 2000" bad example of the comparative example, the 2000 391 RB (600 100), the "Biogen FLATIC 100 2000 2000" into a large family company formed: "America's house of Excellence ", then the lives of Kabgokki.

Truth (2000) (a) "enough" Journal of Technology "by Jamie Winchester won the Nobel Prize for peace in the world." Of that war was in the dungeon.

She looks at me and I know in that
                                     quickest
                               of
                           seconds
             something is wrong.
                                 "Mom?
                                        Mom?!"
And she
              crumples
       against my sister.
I saw the
                            confusion
       in my mom's eyes
and now I see the
                            panic
       in my sister's.
My mom, limp on the ground,
       isn't responding
       to my repeated pleas.
"She's having a stroke!
            She's having a stroke!"
Panic makes my sister's voice
                            frantic.
                   We've been here before.

All around people are crowding
       waytooclose,
but the shouts for EMS can't
              drown out the
                                          burst
of silence suddenly in my head.
My sister and I lock eyes,
                                   transported
to when this happened before,
              wondering...
                            wo­rrying...

In the early morning of August,
We headed off to the Great Ocean Road.
The beauty of it all took my breath away.
I can still remember the vivid blue
Of the Ocean,
Of the sky.
Cheveux au vent
The piercingly cold wind
At the Twelve Apostles
Swept us away,
With grace.
In the heart of the Rainforest
We made our way through like warriors,
With glory.
The experience felt like a dream;
It was enchanting
And I loved it.

-12/11/13

© eMs' silent poetry. All Rights Reserved.

Soot on the bottom of
a torn Coca-Cola can...
remnants of cut laden
Q-tip heads stuck on the outside... man what's he thinking
he wants to get caught
these aren't the errors
of a person trying to hide.

The rig most certainly taken from a Consolidated EMS kit made from several others that belonged to his grandpa when he was still alive.....
and sure enough
there it is right in plain sight.

The kitchen faucet been running for a good 10 minutes... nope...
I haven't heard the
distinctive sound of dishes hitting the edge
as you rinse off the soap.
Walk back into the kitchen, curiosity peaked...
"What are you whacked out on dude, must be some good dope!"

His conscience won't let him lift his head and look me in the eye, he struggles to mumble some ******* some lie. " Sure okay," I mutter and then walk away.

We all have our demons and I'm no saint but we've had this discussion before and it's no pretty picture you decided to paint. You've shown your true colors and it's no secret where loyalties lie. Your souls turning black and is ready to die.

"I don't care what habits or needs you might have as long as you handle your business" was what I had said just 8 months before.... In one ear out the other, you walked out the door.

So you're probably fuming right now saying... "****** hypocrite, what gives him the right?"
Well it's like this....
I don't need to Snoop
to know what goes on at night.

Your eyes are devoid of the nephew I once met.... there was warmth love and joy ....It seemed genuine back then but I looked for the light first...there was no need to figure you out yet.

But now all I see are secretive eyes and all I hear in your air are con artist lies.  But true... These suspicions don't give me the right and I wasn't snooping I tell you no lies.

Grandma wanted the old couch back in the living room. God knows what you find with a dustpan and broom. Amongst all the trash that you could have thrown away.... the tools of the trade.

Easy enough to check the EMS kit I'd shown you to realize it's missing most of the insulin needles and syringes... At this point I had as much right to look through your **** as you did to look through and take from mine.

So calm yourself son I'm worried for you... GagieWagies gone missing.  I  would much rather say, "Ah he's just gone fishing" but I fear it's much worse... Just don't hook the reaper is all that I'm wishing.

I love you brother
and hopefully you find
your true gift
so you can be released
from the black chains
that won't let your soul lift.
But until you do
I can't have you killing us
slowly with worry.

So if this is the life you've chosen and your family, the street, please pack up your things
and release us from your flurry.

Bro  ken  Po     ems
a re of  ten  dif   fi cult
to  co   mpr e h en  d


B    ut ..... .... .. .
So ar e
b  ro  k  enh  e  ar  ts
bro ke np r o  mi se s
            a n d
b r ok   end   re am s

Desperate
cry! The Sapiens
climb out of molded
couch cushions,
fake forms of
human clay flesh burnt
by kilns and flaming
flash fiction.

Electric!
Eel-slippery, fat
fingers plug socks on
hide arches,
Yellow  Ems ™
where stems meet ground and
grease the pure dirt with
perspiration.

Be, oh! BE!  –
please? Be ‘fore the tail
forks its tip against
fine china,
‘fore the lungs,
with their breath, blacken
all that’s left of Gran’s
good silver.

“Gold though!” – sweet
leaf tea that glides smooth
down dry throats and helps
soothe, herbal
chamomile
confection that calls
the tailor in for
noose and suit.

“Spades!” I say –
so we dress for death,
not life; we mold and
rot in ‘tumes.
Give me my
birthday garb, unstarched,
wrinkled on its frame –
dusty then,
I will be happy then.

"We had all these crazy ******' dreams together, Me and Her. We ate our weight in marshmallow ***** pancakes underneath the stars and kissed each other with tongues of fire licking roofs of open mouth. Her mouth was like a ******' inferno, like in the sense that it seems so small and insignificant until you actually get there and then it just swallows you whole, gets you hotter than you've ever been in your ******' life and you're there for eternity. It's endless. If you weren't thinking about it before, now you're thinking about it.

You're thinkin' about her, and thank the ******' heavens for that. If I could get every man on the face of this planet to think about her the way I do, at the length that I do, til we all ******' keel over, it just wouldn't do it. She's somebody that gets stuck in your hair when you're not looking and somebody you trip over in the mornings when you just ******' cleaned the place up. She clings to the bottom of your shoes til you can hear her name in any number of footsteps on any number of paths."

_________________­_

Baby, let me sit in the driver's seat.
Let me drift smoothly, subtly into your lane.
Remember how you always said I was too **** skinny?
Guess what, baby?
When the tail lights call to me I can slide right in between them, like a fitted sheet or rungs on a washboard. I darted between the raindrops like you always said I would but I got wet anyways. What do you know about that?

I don't know much about it, myself.

The doctor said I can't drive anymore. I told that *******, "my eyesight's 20/20! I seen every single puzzle piece on those office inkblots for the knives and daggers that they are! The **** I look like?"

I'm exhausted, Baby. I'm leaking black smoke out of my lungs. I don't brush my teeth anymore because the fluoride ***** up my third eye. How do ya feel about that? Meditate on it. Meditate on me. Meditate on the stars, on the heavens, on God, on babies that died inside of us. I always told you, Baby, you're the best idea God ever had. You ******' did it. Tie me up, baby. If I can't drive anymore, drive me out of here. Tie me up to the god-**** tracks and cover my naked body with those whaddya call ems? Tuck me into your blanket statements so big I get them confused with the entire god-**** sky.

They whirl and swirl and dive
But do they?
The no see ‘ems, You can’t see ‘em
but you can feel them there
Cavorting and frolicking, invisible in the air
A dinner time dance, gluttonous splurge
You’ll know all about their evening soirée
When you discover the main course is
… You.

Po-ems these days
Often leave me in a haze
They try to deter my gaze
As I hope it's just a phase

Skill level means nothing
If you always end up flunking
On yesterday and today's age old trend

If one still lacks the goods
Why not fax in some hoods
To add to an otherwise cold winter

So lounging one day
I decided to sift through the hay
So please refrain from the hinder

But scrolling away
I find a knot in said hay
And I thought it was about time to sic her

Po-ems these days are dumb
I'd rather **** my OWN thumb
They're as utilitarian as my ***
Which is something I often forget to wipe

Un rêve si lointain,
Ces moments si chers,
Se sont évanouis comme un soupir,
Ce beau sourire
Qui fait chaud au coeur,
Ne reste qu'un souvenir.
Le silence s'instale
Et a corps perdu,
Je m'y perds.
Cette musique dans ma tête
M'appaise,
Comme un léger souffle
Si doux et si tendre.
Vers l'aurore, l'aube debute.
A l'horizon, une lueur se dessine
Et a contre-courant, je m'épanche,
Avec une certaine maladresse.
Mais tout lentement,
J'ouvre mes ailes
Vers une destinée nouvelle...

-08/12/13

© eMs' silent poetry. All Rights Reserved

Un simple geste suffit
Pour m'avouer l'infini
D'un sentiment qui envahit tout mon être
Si seulement, pour toi, je suis celle
Que tu trouveras belle
Tu liras ainsi les mots de mon coeur
Et ainsi se dessinera, peut-être une lueur
Une histoire qui sera nôtre
Et à personne d'autre
Je tends une main vers l'inconnu
Pour que tu la prennes sans retenue
Et ensemble, nous irons là-bas
Où le bonheur nous viendra
Et à ça, on y aura droit...

-12/04/14

© eMs' silent poetry. All Rights Reserved.

Unfoldings
by Michael R. Burch

for Vicki

Time unfolds ...
Your lips were roses.
... petals open, shyly clustering ...
I had dreams
of other seasons.
... ten thousand colors quiver, blossoming.

Night and day ...
Dreams burned within me.
... flowers part themselves, and then they close ...
You were lovely;
I was lonely.
... a ****** yields herself, but no one knows.

Now time goes on ...
I have not seen you.
... within ringed whorls, secrets are exchanged ...
A fire rages;
no one sees it.
... a blossom spreads its flutes to catch the rain.

Seasons flow ...
A dream is dying.
... within parched clusters, life is taking form ...
You were honest;
I was angry.
... petals fling themselves before the storm.

Time is slowing ...
I am older.
... blossoms wither, closing one last time ...
I'd love to see you
and to touch you.
... a flower crumbles, crinkling, worn and dry.

Time contracts ...
I cannot touch you.
... a solitary flower cries for warmth ...
Life goes on as
dreams lose meaning.
... the seeds are scattered, lost within a storm.

Keywords/Tagss: love, roses, petals, unfolding, lips, spring, ******, dreams, time, seasons, storms, summer, drought



Moore or Less
by Michael R. Burch

for Richard Moore

Less is more —
in a dress, I suppose,
and in intimate clothes
like crotchless hose.

But now Moore is less
due to death’s subtraction
and I must confess:
I hate such redaction!



The following translation is the speech of the Sibyl to Aeneas, after he has implored her to help him find his beloved father in the Afterlife, found in the sixth book of the Aeneid ...

The Descent into the Underworld
by Virgil
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Sibyl began to speak:

“God-blooded Trojan, son of Anchises,
descending into the Underworld’s easy
since Death’s dark door stands eternally unbarred.
But to retrace one’s steps and return to the surface:
that’s the conundrum, that’s the catch!
Godsons have done it, the chosen few
whom welcoming Jupiter favored
and whose virtue merited heaven.
However, even the Blessed find headway’s hard:
immense woods barricade boggy bottomland
where the Cocytus glides with its dark coils.
But if you insist on ferrying the Styx twice
and twice traversing Tartarus,
if Love demands you indulge in such madness,
listen closely to how you must proceed...”



Anna Akhmatova was a great Russian poet, and a personal favorite of mine...

The evening light is broad and yellow
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The evening light is broad and yellow;
it glides in on an April rain.
You arrived years late,
yet I’m glad you came.

Please sit down here, beside me,
receive me with welcoming eyes.
Here is my blue notebook
with my childhood poems inside.

Forgive me if I lived in sorrow,
spent too little time rejoicing in the sun.
Forgive, forgive, me, if I mistook
others for you, when you were the One.



Our Sweet Ecologist
by Michael R. Burch

Our sweet ecologist —
what will she do with the ants
and the cockroaches, bedbugs and lice
when they want to live in her pants?



bachelorhoodwinked
by michael r. burch

u
are
charming
& disarming,
but mostly alarming
since all my resolve
dissolved!

u
are
chic
as a sheikh’s
harem girl in the sheets
but my castle’s no longer my own
and my kingdom’s been overthrown!



The Bachelor Spectacular
by Michael R. Burch

One heart? Tossed aside.
The other? A bride’s.
In all his great wisdom, the bachelor decides.

Eeenie, mean-ie, mine-y, mo’,
one gal must stay and one must go.
If she hollers? That’s the show!

No heart can handle such despair!
But hearts get broken, hearts repair.
Next season? The treasoned will rule the air.

Originally published by Light



The Unspectacular Bachelor
by Michael R. Burch

The bachelor is back, he’s black,
and some fair-skinned gals sure want him in the sack!
And, yes, he’s a whole lot smarter
than the previous knights of that peculiar garter.

We can hear the white supremacists stewing:
What the hell are the screenwriters doing?
They know love requires a nice white spark,
and this apprentice is far too dark!



Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors
by Michael R. Burch

At six-thirty,
feeling flirty,
I put on the hurdy-gurdy ...

But Ms. Purdy,
all alert-y,
kicked me where I’m sore and hurty.

The moral of my story?
To avoid a fate as gory,
flirt with gals a bit more *****-y!



Cut Out the Bachelor Nonsense!
There's a bun in auntie's oven;
now soon you'll have a cousin!
―Michael R. Burch



Time Out
by Michael R. Burch

Time is running out,
no doubt.
Time is running out.

I don’t know what the LORD’s about,
since Time is running out, the Lout!,
and leaving me with gas and gout.

I don’t know what the LORD’s about;
still, it does no good to grouse or pout,
since Time is merely running out,
like quail before a native scout.

’Twill do no good to shout or flout:
Time’s running out,
I have no doubt,
though who knows what the LORD’s about?

No need for faith or even doubt,
since Time is merely running out,
like water from a rusty spout
or mucous from a leaky snout.

Yes, Time is merely running out,
and yet I feel inclined to pout
and truth be told, sometimes to doubt
just what the hell the LORD’s about.



Tr(end)y
by Michael R. Burch

Ain’t it funny how trendy
becomes so dead-endy?
Lava lamps and bell bottoms
soon became “never bought ‘ems.”
While that teenage tattoo
soon’ll have wrinkles too.



This was my first-ever dabble dactyl, my variation of the double dactyl.

Donald Dabble Dactyl #1
by Michael R. Burch

Piggledy-Wiggledy
Ronald McDonald
cursed Donald Trump,
his least favorite clown:

"Why should I try to be
funny as Donald? He
gets all the laughs
claiming upside is down!"

Donald Dabble Dactyls must begin with "Piggledy-Wiggledy" in homage to The Donald's oinkerishness and his 'do. References to clowns, gold-plated toilets and/or diapers are a plus but not required.

Donald Dabble Dactyl #2
by Michael R. Burch

Wond’ringly, blund’ringly
Ronald McDonald
asked, “Who the hell
is this strange orange clown?”

“Why should I try to be
funny as Donnie? He
gets all the laughs
from marks who should frown!”

I see that I violated my prime directive, so "never mind."

Donald Dabble Dactyl #3
by Michael R. Burch

Piggledy-Wiggledy
45th president,
or erstwhile manse resident,
perched on a throne

of gold-plated porcelain
matching his orange “tan,”
bombing Iran
from his twittery phone?



Cowpoke
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16

Sleep, old man ...
your day has long since passed.
The endless plains,
cool midnight rains
and changeless ragged cows
alone remain
of what once was.

You cannot know
just how the Change
will **** the windswept plains
that you so loved ...
and so sleep now,
O yes, sleep now ...
before you see just how
the Change will come.

Sleep, old man ...
your dreams are not our dreams.
The Rio Grande,
stark silver sand
and every obscure brand
of steed and cow
are sure to pass away
as you do now.

I believe this poem was written around the same time as “Blue Cowboy,” perhaps on the same day. That was probably sometime around 1974, at age 16 or thereabouts.



Blue Cowboy
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16

He slumps against the pommel,
a lonely, heartsick boy—
his horse his sole companion,
his gun his only toy
—and bitterly regretting
he ever came so far,
forsaking all home's comforts
to sleep beneath the stars,
he sighs.

He thinks about the lover
who awaits his kiss no more
till a tear anoints his lashes,
lit by uncaring stars.
He reaches to his aching breast,
withdraws a golden lock,
and kisses it in silence
as empty as his thoughts
while the wind sighs.

Blue cowboy, ride that lonesome ridge
between the earth and distant stars.
Do not fall; the fiends of hell
would leap to feast upon your heart.

Blue cowboy, sift the burnt-out sand
for a drop of water warm and brown.
Dream of streams like silver seams
even as you gulp it down.

Blue cowboy, sing defiant songs
to hide the weakness in your soul.
Blue cowboy, ride that lonesome ridge
and wish that you were going home
as the stars sigh.



Chixiao (“The Owl”)
by Duke Zhou
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Owl!
You've stolen my offspring,
Don't shatter my nest!
When with labors of love
I nurtured my fledglings.

Before the skies darkened
And the dark rains fell,
I gathered mulberry twigs
To thatch my nest,
Yet scoundrels now dare
Impugn my enterprise.

With fingers chafed rough
By the reeds I plucked
And the straw I threshed,
I now write these words,
Too hoarse to speak:
I am homeless!

My wings are withered,
My tail torn away,
My home toppled
And tossed into the rain,
My cry a distressed peep.



The Song of Roland
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16

"for spring in retreat"

Rain down,
strange murmurous water...
no, summer is not yet nigh.

Cease your complaining,
for May is,
calling December a lie,
still rocking the high white sky.

Sleep now,
summer hours...
too soon your time shall come.

Softly straining,
the raining
spring begs, "Let me run
one more hour beneath the sun,
for soon I shall be gone."

Lie down,
weary Roland,
for summer is not yet nigh.

Remember a pyre
of stars blazing higher
upon night’s immense dark sky
unsettling as her eyes,
unregretful, even as you died...

Lie down,
weary Roland,
for summer is not yet nigh.

I believe I wrote “The Song of Roland” around age 16.



That Not-So-Mellow Fellow, Othello
by Michael R. Burch

Not sure ’bout that fellow, Othello,
was he a “hero” or merely **** yellow?
He killed his poor wife
over a handkerchief!
Thus Iago proved his heart Jello.



Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch

Time is at war with my body!
am i Time’s most diligent hobby?
for there’s never Time out
from my low-t and gout
and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy!



Waiting Game
by Michael R. Burch

Nothing much to live for,
yet no good reason to die:
life became
a waiting game...
Rain from a clear blue sky.



*******' Ripples
by Michael R. Burch

Men are scared of *******:
that’s why they can’t be seen.
For if they were,
we’d go to war
as in the days of Troy, I ween.



Untitled Epigrams

Teach me to love:
to fly beyond sterile Mars
to percolating Venus.
—Michael R. Burch

The LIV is LIVid:
livid with blood,
and full of egos larger
than continents.
—Michael R. Burch

Evil is as evil does.
Evil never needs a cause.
Evil loves amoral “laws,”
laughs and licks its blood-red claws
while kids are patched together with gauze.
— Michael R. Burch

Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



That Mella Fella
by Michael R. Burch

John Mella was the longtime editor of Light Quarterly.

There once was a fella
named Mella,
who, if you weren’t funny,
would tell ya.
But he was cool, clever, nice,
gave some splendid advice,
and if you did well,
he would sell ya.

Shakespeare had his patrons and publishers; John Mella was one of my favorites in the early going, along with Jean Mellichamp Milliken of The Lyric.



Chip Off the Block
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy

In the fusion of poetry and drama,
Shakespeare rules! Jeremy’s a ham: a
chip off the block, like his father and mother.
Part poet? Part ham? Better run for cover!
Now he’s Benedick — most comical of lovers!

NOTE: Jeremy’s father is a poet and his mother is an actress; hence the fusion, or confusion, as the case may be.

Keywords/Tags: Shakespeare, poetry, drama, poet, light verse, humor, life, death, love, Mars, Venus, Othello, Iago, Duke Zhou, Owl, homeless, cowboy, bachelor, Richard Moore, Anna Akhmatova

the plot of my dying son’s dream includes an alien technology meant to isolate what makes us inhuman.  he is unable to ascertain the holder of such a patent as his disorder wakes him before his time.  I direct his attention to the youtube video of my injury.  it’s the first time I’ve seen myself sleepwalk.  as with all my children, I get his attention by waving the rolled up catalog his mother failed to sell.  I keep it with me at all times and have been caught using it to spy on what I cannot provide.  in the video I look surprisingly fit.  my oldest daughter is sitting on my shoulders and her hair is on fire.  I am running through a sprinkler in a front yard I don’t recognize and am taken at the ankles by some animal the darkness hides.  here the video stops but I’ve heard there are others that go on a bit longer.  when my stepfather was very sick his memory convinced him he had traveled more than once to a foreign land.  the most valuable thing he came back with was his father’s gentle nature which he uses often when guiding me to clear a path for EMS.

gems i thought i'd never find, i found in him.
under the soft moonlight, he sang to me, words of
love. such sweet phrases coming out of beautiful
lips. lips i could stare at for ages and ages.
i** love you's and kisses and warm embraces. he could
be the one. the one i'd spend the rest of my
life with. i could be his princess, and we'd live happily
ever after.

As we lay there side by side
Together
The clouds above looked beautiful
The gush of cold breeze felt refreshing
Beneath the blue sky of Surfers Paradise
We closed our eyes
Breathed in the fresh air
The gentle sound and
The smell of the pure, untainted sea
Warmed our hearts
It was a lovely moment shared
It was a quiet, simple afternoon
With our worries behind
And an immaculate view of blue before us
Even now, I still remember how perfect it was
And I treasure the memory of it
With sheer fondness

-15/09/2013

© eMs' silent poetry. All Rights Reserved.

silence
ScrEamS your
c
H
o.   <youcouldhavejustsaid>
i
C
e

YOU;,...didn't have to
LeT the flo
                wers,...die
To
prove/a/point

Be_cause
The only lie^i^told^
was when i said the
Po
    Ems
Weren't a\b\o\u\T
you, Y o u, {o, u, Y}¿

>>>>Mostly
i.just.want.you.
To have(andtohold)
Allofthethings
....EVEN IF
it's
with//so {me} one
//else...

the boys
my crew
my squad

the boys
in the bag
hanging

I got two

thems my
family jewels
and I cradle
them in silk
drawers

and get
real protective
of thems
at times

I pick up
things using
my legs
I scratch
ems

I keep
em cool
cause they
say too
warm can
be harmful

I shaved
ems once
what a
mistake
They got
itchy as
all get-out

Then I
got old
and they
hung to
my knees
and got
pretty unsightly

I look
on the
bright side
and thank
whomever
it was
that invented
the cup
and baggy
jeans!

the last of my breddahs i’m just following suit
at the end of the day i’m still that same ol’ yute
twenty one now, i hope you get there too
cuz if you ain’t here, i know you’ll get here soon

and perspective is mad cuz i was once you
an ambitious little boy with some radical views
cravin’ for a chance to receive and shoot
like Laca in the box, cuz i would take that too

but what i would do
just might not be true
to what you would do
but if i asked myself now what would i do
then i’d get the same answer like two plus two
cuz i still got my views

and let’s be honest
i ain’t really changed much
at least i think i haven’t cuz i really ain’t exchanged much
different ideologies and people ain’t been sayin' much
other than this same old same old for these same months

cuz kamala this and donald trump that
is no different to me than what ’16 had
the same old story pulled out the same hat
but we don’t draw the lines to try to change that

we move
and fall into a groove
even though it’s bumpy when we're wishin' it was smooth
cuz
life is always twistin' throughout different routes
i guess that’s why we always try to stay close to our roots

cuz if we never have to travel in search of our truths
then we can say the life we lived is closest to truth
am i saying that to say i’m worse off than you?
just because i’ve strayed further than you?

i think it’s mad
and honestly i’m glad
i’ve seen so many cities that i never thought i’d have
the chance of seeing
and instances of being
surrounded by some people that i never thought would be in
my life, and i’m grateful
for what they’ve brought to my table
if my last supper was today then to all of them i’m faithful

because
too many times we see some **** go south
saying words that shouldn’t leave our mouths
words that turn into action with a  punch in the mouth
and then it’s EMS, ambulance, blackin’ out
and it’s the USA so hospital be cost amounts

of money that we ain’t got
so we divert from those actions and those nasty thoughts
cuz if the cost of death is higher than the price of life
why wouldn’t i try to see the beauty in the strife
and never let some nasty words tell me how to live my life

that's mad
cuz i’ve seen some of my people take that **** real bad
when i’m on the pitch i can’t say i’ve not had
experiences like that
where i’m contemplating whether to abandon match
or to let that pass

but still, i’m here
my body and mind are intact
and i still got these same breddahs behind my back
and this same family to watch my back

and only experience and those people contribute to my repertoire
and only form my skillset when i’m well-aware i’ve set their bar
and those who haven’t done that yet should know exactly  who they are
because they’d know they aren’t far

because i’m only 21 and i hope that i still have lots of life left to give
i hope that my people can sort out their problems like it’s flour in a sieve
i hope we continue to broaden our horizons like Sid Meyer’s Civ
and most importantly i hope we remember to take a deep breath

and live

enjoy, pree more life
find the beauty in the struggle and strife
as we continue to strive
and find ourselves as we get surprised
by the courses of life for which we must improvise

another milestone, and another celebration
offering another chance at self-recalibration
as goals yet to be achieved are still the final destination
or so we hope to fulfil imagination

so,
twenty-one years on this planet and now i'm forced to look in one direction
forced to find my style even when it’s gettin' hairy and i'm facin' deflection
forced to go forward even if there’s a wall with no intention
of breaking down because i have to break those barriers using nothing but a mirror,
my reflection