Dinner has been at its best
when It is enjoyed with her.
whenever she's at my sight,
happiness comes like a kid flying his kite.

and whenever I see
those deep brown eyes;
makes me see the whole world I wanted
A world without lies.

Without any doubts;
we roam this city of lights.
hand in hand,
as we walk this dark cold night.

Without any fear;
this love have crossed bounds.
my soul have committed;
first time, I have been this committed.

without hesitations,
we are encapsulated into one,
where every day is a new beginning,
I see how far we've gone.

And as we face tomorrow,
there would be bricks and locked doors;
I guess we don't need the key or any permissions.
we'd crash in, as you free me from this rough course.

With all your ways,
all the uncertainties we've laughed at.
my sweet young love.
my only dear, my other half.

The cheerleader,
Hearts goes to the highest bidder,
An encapsulation of beauty,
She has the license of beauty,
She elucidated my vague and indistinct dreams,
Her voice is mellifluous in my dreams.

Cheerleader is unaccustomed to mundane.
Her admiration full of gains,
Bloomleader is unprofane damsel,
She is immaculate even in tunnels.

Cheerleader is like an epiphany,
Enternity with her? Not still many,
The charm in her face us very potent,
My reasons are arrantly cogent,
Her presence chastise dolor,
Laughter with charismatic colour,
And as the emotion creeps on me,
Making me a sycophants to her knee,

The Cheerleader,
Her love is not a treacherous swine,
Her lips is exquisite than any wine,
Though is infatuation sound very lame,
My heart adores her with fame,
A pragmatic way to study her frangipani face,
I want to be the first in this race,

The cheerleader,
She with crystal teeth
And blue eye *****,
I see her climbing on walls,
Auspicious love without any wit,
I realize I was only in a dream.

There is a silent street
Where poets go
And a tiger color of light
Rains down, a search

That is never found
Via symbols at the end
Of literature and pages
Mere metaphors for

The creative process
Of image and narrative
The act of encapsulation
Experience, such a myth

Like memory, only a ripple
Of the original, so the authors
Glimpse something unreal
And seek to translate it

But the poets know, they
Will never come through
Their vertigo of dream
Writing in the wind

On the sand in the desert
Catching reflections in the river
Of the sky, the essence
Is forever lost, of each moment

Only we can approximate
In art, part of the beauty
Of creation and hunt persecuted
Through time, the testaments

OF sun, wheat, flower, pomegranate
Bumble-bee, united at the same
Address, of autumn on a terrace
Somewhere near you.

my air
is heavy with volume
my air
is hard to attain
my air
is desperately sought for
when the occupancy of
people is tested by my mind’s
carrying capacity to absorb
all these racing thoughts
present with tears,silence,and isolation
in hope to escape the
impending
fill in the blank
course of action or person or idea
that will cast sweat blanketing my body
like inevitable dew on grass
leave me seemingly forever choosing flight
against my will
my feet bear the burden
of countless runs to sanctuary
‘Be kind to your body’
knees meet the earth
familiar contact
bruises are an old friend
hyperventilation the unwelcome relative
anxiety is myself
‘I’m trying’
how many cubicle walls
stood mute witnessing
the remnants of remnants
of strength to hold my face
that’s not my face
leak out in the form of rivers
eroding the skin underneath my eyes
my cheeks will rival that of
marble
smooth and absent of
everything
‘Take care of yourself’
i ache for good days
i’ll even settle for alright
if it means i’m okay
not-overthinking
i wish i could do less of
not-restlessness
my vessel craves quiet sleep and
peace in me
not-fear
i want to cast out these demons
‘I’m trying’
people
events
school
the definition of
things
every single aspect
that encompasses my
life
has been trying
in one way or another
the fragility of my spirit
to endure
all thrown in my direction
with self doubt
with self hate
with self breaking
over analyzing
overestimating
underestimating
second guessing
worrying
uncertainty about
all
‘Happiness is your priority’
the pursuit of bliss
carefreeness
grounding
it’s a method
to combat
attacks
i versus i
long to come back to earth
when my being is suspended
in the clouds
weightless encapsulation
with invisible ties
slave to my own
where is gravity with
this one
does floating have an
expiration date
endless breathes
shaking frame
eyebrows turned north
formed physical mountain
‘I’m trying’
language screaming from my
closed mouth
words etched onto my
form
for only my eyes to
memorize
my mental
health
possesses it’s own personal climate
goes through seasons
falls and blooms
chills my soul
and warms my entirety
it’s ever evolving
unpredictable as
forecasting without
equipment
it is not without the weather of
natural disasters
environmental factors
the state of
my atmosphere in my head
there are disagreeable
conditions
precipitation frequent
cloudiness often
pressure recurrent
occasional storms
however
there are
instances of numerous sunshine
periodic stability
intermittent clear skies
conquering or failing
one day after another
the routine cycle
giving what i get
and providing what i receive
with full knowledge
someday i will have to
try no longer
‘I’m trying’

-Haley

It's hard to imagine a world without you in it.
The sun still rises.  The day is still filled with seconds, minutes.

Should I not have reprieve rather than be sentenced to grieve?
Why don't I have to tell myself to breathe?

The sun still rises.  I still **** breath.  And, grieve.
There is nothing left but this chiseled granite.

I wish that it were I there decomposing in it, death sublime.
Or perhaps we both could lie there, intertwined

Forever;
Together
Enshrined.

at this time in the past right here

it used to be real

oh!...oh! for another reality

to leave this false perception

and go...go...go to feel the wind

on another's face

to see with another's eyes

how the colours appear to them

to hear what another hears

with an innocent ear

to feel the euphoria

that slows the world down

to have another's departure

from all perceived notions of reality

to a new understanding

another reality

where brief encounters with time

start with the embarkation of a sentence

that causes a curious disquiet

to race through the nerves

ricocheting in a vibrancy

of vatic vitality, a creative tension

transforming the cortex

creating new unforeseen images

a new reality where thoughts are visible

and circulate, orbiting moons around the mind

dazzling with a universal symbolism

that with a kaleidoscopic vengeance of words

scatters and amplifies the distinctions

of the senses, into a new reality

one of convulsive voices

oh! this new reality

it causes me to walk to a stranger

who is myself

and forms a true disintegration

of a controlled focus

on a beautiful disorder of

chaotic discourse of a volatilized impulse

of the emotions, where blood stains smile

lavishly with a different vocabulary

destroying a predictable reality

and forges a new one that entertains discovery

of other dimensions.. which are the figments

of another's imagination

it is solitary encapsulation of ideas

that glitter on my tongue

where conflagrations of burning water

swirl dramatically in difficult articulation

of the smells and rancid ***** stains

of the ordinary that tries but is precluded

from the stream of consciousness

rushing in a discord of sympathies

through the inner geography of my mind

and forges a symbolic relationship

with these inplosively brief encounters with time

causing psychic post apocalyptic

predispositions to a false mimesis

Americans live with fear.

Fear of being found out for what they are….an incredibly insecure people populating the most powerful nation on earth.

The power of Wall St. feeds their fear in the belief that the nation’s leaders and political machine have been bought and sold by big money.
In fact the only candidates registering positively in the current Primary elections are those who feed the fear. Trump feeds the fear every time he opens his big mouth.
Hillary engenders fear because she is a WOMAN who can, most probably, win the votes which will give her the Presidency in November next.

Americans fear the resurgence of Asia in China’s burgeoning thermonuclear militarist stance, the utter unpredictability of the simmering, India, Pakistan standoff
And the instability of the plump, demonic, demagogue armed with the atomic weaponry in the bleak wasteland that is North Korea.

Islam’s mobilisation scares Americans witless. The savagery of the Isis personifies all that is promised by an expanding worldwide Islamic threat.

And then there is Putin's Russia.

The encapsulation of American fear though, is painted graphically, starkly, by the nation’s absurd fascination, obsession, with the hand gun.
Everyone has a hand gun, in the car, in the office, in the mall, in the bedroom…..some even strap a hand gun on the hip to go to church.

Americans, first and foremost, fear each other.

Fear of the fear exacerbated by more fear.
Americans live with fear.

M.
Auckland NZ
13 February 2016

Eyes like an open window.
Beauty like stained glass.

I look into your eyes
They long to tell me truths.
But your lips only spill a sly ruse.

Stolen in a moment of encapsulation.
Innocent for the entire duration.

Trust running down your face.
Eye liner that can't be undone.
Murky distaste what happened to all that grace.

Telling the truth can be tough.
Everything you are just isn't enough.

With all this glacial melting, and our own East Coast meltdown from our latest blizzard,  I wonder how many  Neolithic mummies might be found entrapped within ice sheets floating along our Jersey shore? And could these preserved remains just be displaced homeless, men and likely women as well, whose failed luck at Atlantic City Casinos  left them in strange circumstance of frozen time encapsulation, only to become part of a future archeological find? To whom and to what advanced scientific methods, or perhaps retrogressive scientific methodology, will these corpses be subjects of, if found a thousand years from now? Can we predict no mix up of modern and long former species of man?Just say for instance, some pristine specimen of iceman 3,000 years or older is floating in an iceberg, down from Western Greenland and past Nova Scotia in a tidal melt that finally brings it to a flooded non-moppable place ignored by a present day, though barbaric governor. Then said governor is ambushed by its distressed and recently homeless victims mobbing and mopping on icebergs and struck by mop heads, just as this Neolithic berg is floating by with its' ancient hunter/gatherer Popsicle in tow. Who might know the difference? What future generation might be able to clarify the difference between the two, or might they even care?

Potpourri on the concrete carpet
how can this be held as beguiling?.
Even the willows sigh by the
increasing turbulence of the wind.
Legends so few of them,
stagnating without a hand to lift
their encapsulation.
Dreamscapes  bygone
as sure as  grief rotted down,
the nightingale  stranded,
erstwhile finally.

I have given all I ever could,
I can give no more,
even mine life would not be enough,
mine possessions are worthless in this chase,
my words but hinder hers,
my thoughts cannot last but a moment without her,
my life has no meaning but her,

Her existence to mine heart is proof of the heavens,
Proof of angels,
and even proof of her,
she is a walking reminder that life is a test.

The test, infinitely cruel is to face than any is to resist her,
even when her scent is a trail of  enchantment,
even when her face is so close to mine,
even when she uses me in manner to complex for this childish mind to understand.

I am but a fool in comparison with such an angelic life,
and it matters not that she smokes and drinks,
it matters not that she is entrenched in her insecurity,
it matters not that she turns to substance as if it were a solution to all meddlesome thoughts and  reality,

she is still perfect in all her flaws,
in a manner no words or brushstrokes could ever do justice,
her perfection is in the smallest to greatest thing,
her actions always so infuriating with a sense of calm.

Even her slaps are but a gift,
her fights and anger so amusing,
her frustration creates a face more beautifully maddening than I may ever know,

Her madness she cannot accept,
no matter how her being is brimming with it,
her reasoning is not reason but madness.

It is as if she is a reflection of my lunacy,
a girl who so perfectly encapsulates what I desire,
it seems to be that god wishes me behold her,
so he could tell me I would never have her,
although I tell myself I cannot have her,
and if god is the true encapsulation of mercy I may even have her,
but I think not.

Her mind is sharp but not sharp enough,
for distractions are many and focus she does not have,
but that may be it her will or wish to succeed it is but second to the reality created within the enigma that is her mind , encrypted within its vault of freedom,
a vault which encapsulates her being,
her deepest desire and lust.

Simple life, lived as a vintage television set
Ornate, one of the few luxuries exclusively for the well off
Useless.
Kitschy
A banal dream with pleasures devoid of an iota of venom
In a construct, a forsaken place, a planet without form
A perfect encapsulation, almost a replica
Of status, a microcosm
Head in the clouds.
Soul in the blood and bone
Desperate, claimed slowly by unrepentant chunks of flesh
I see the breeze on the horizon, sweeping through the fields

So I
Wake up

I never expected. It's not something I asked for.
But I rise all the same.
Once more, one more story to add to the pile

And as it turns out, I found the cure
Deep within the growths sprouting, and the sick smell
To rise once more
In the conclusion of it, I was an island to myself, but I felt at peace.
As my boots strike the sand, and my heart sinks a little lower
The pinch doesn't feel quite as real.

I could take some dedication to the facts that remain, as a claimant
Vigor worn to a shaggy pulp, my lungs crumble in a wave of synthetic dust
The scorn faced, the harsh lights shone on me, the blistering heat...
Unforgivable, as any reasonable man might conclude
I absolve no one of anything, but it all slips further from my mind, day in and day out
If I want it too or not.

To be so sure I'm awake...
How crazy am I?
The whole world breathes, exhales, in a layer of grey smoke, that soon condenses into clouds to shade me personally in my inaccessible fantasy.

The whole world's slipping further into those muted, docile gray shades.
A whole symphony of colors for these starved eyes
So hollow now...
Along barren halls, I'll run my fingers, across the faces of dead, rotted saints and take my gratification
In simple motions, drinking in the vibrancy, all the intricacy bleeding through the mock notions of simplicity

It didn't feel real then. I remember it all, in vivid detail
In those few moments, though branched and snaking through the tunnels of my fleshy wiring
I didn't feel anything.

The pinch doesn't feel real anymore
I can touch the sides of the sink.
My fingers, with gentle pressure applied, can sink into my skin
It only seems to matter when I touch it...

I stopped bothering doing it, a long time ago
It slipped from my memory

A heavenly glimpse
I saw you, spinning there
In a field against the 3 o' clock Spring sunshine
Hands outstretched at either side
The encapsulation of pure bliss
The rays of sun illuminated the slopes and curves
Of this angel dancing before me
Cicadas and crickets played their symphony as you danced
The dandelion wishes were your partners
I called out to you in pure elation
And you faded away with the breeze
An aberration
A figment of my imagination
Are you alright where you are?
Oh how I wish you were here with me
Death has robbed me of my heart
I'd give anything to see you dancing in a meadow again
Without a care in the world
Death, give me back what's mine
I, a selfish girl, want nothing less than what belongs to me
And she was my love

I dream of peace and just assurance.
I have stood for it all my life,
with constitution and vigor.

My hope and that which I have defended,
stood bright and noble in the light of love.
It has been as I have seen him
true,
honest,
quietly brave,
a perfect encapsulation.

The wind has not shaken him in his innocence,
he shall stand beside me in nobility
unscathed.

I will defend this glory.

In innocence and grace,
as a child, you stand and walk.
I will work this day in your honor, with ease.

We will watch you in all you stand for victorious.

Together we are ready and true, within and beside you, our hope.

Innocence tempted,
standing unprotected,
with all hope inside, and promise.
All that is of value, tested, to be refined.
The day has passed and that which was gold is a fooled fool.
Standing in temptation as many a desperate ***** desire,
unquenchable.

We cannot lose hope, this is a test.

I must continue, to put you forth to your destiny.
Leaving the darkness into arms much worse, knowing betrayal.
You will go to glory but I must forsake my own, crippled.

I am destitute, in my flippancy,
I realize that sin is a filth not able to be removed.
But I know the code,
the law of fire and grace,
I can use it to my advantage and forsake the trials,
and continue in love, but what love is this?
A mentor lay in my path.

The show must go on.

It is loss to move on,
it is loss to forsake,
is is loss to do nothing.
No bearing of truth do I have now in this gift of victory
unearned.
Move forward to prove. Fall back to loose again?
Or loose all gained by grace's ennoble gain?

He washed us white as snow.

Works or Love?
Entwine the two...
We will carry you, the broken of my deeds,
from white to grey to white, through blood and fire we go,
as you have shown us oh mighty man,
now wasted.
For this is the way understood.

I see you on the edge, not swiftly turning.

What's that you carry?

The wreck of the mighty's ambition.
For it was not just the faithful
who brought me home,
but the vision of might and of noble in glory.
The glimpse of both from which I strayed in vain curiosity
broken.
Now mending myself and you in mighty ambition.

Noble, faithful, and true we carry on.

Planet Earth . Creation . The perfect storm ? Miracle encapsulation of biochemicals or delivery from the Heavens above ? Millions of cells replicating upon organic matter no larger than the head of a pin ..The origin of life itself resting beneath our own skin ? Blood of mammal , hemolymph of insect , nerve cell of amphibian , skin cell of a pig ..The heart lung blood barrier of man , capillaries in the gills of fish .. Our gift of memory , albeit a curse at times , thought of mind and creativity .. Lust for blood , consumption of flesh , dominating spirit , insensitivity .  The hand that reaches for a flower , a fist driven into the face of an enemy ..Filled with love , life , intrigued with the mystery of creation one day , then hurtling over a cliff to your death the next ... Trillions of cells evolving , mutating , networking while the hallmark of life on Earth is busy de-foresting , polluting , selfishly consuming ! .......

cosmic voyager
prototype soul
break free
from
its
cocoon
encapsulation
witness
morning
in
the
milky way

Enshrined for all posterity
mine benediction for reverence,
whereby conflict resolution
ameliorated courtesy peaceable solutions.

An adulation, concatenation, encapsulation,
gratification, introspection, et cetera
encompassing poignant episodes of mein kampf.

Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line
state of the art COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive girls
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledger
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.
Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with

attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Philanderer,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble.