You say I O.K.ed
LONG DISTANCE?
O.K.ed it when?
My goodness, Central
That was then!

I'm mad and disgusted
With that ***** now.
I don't pay no REVERSED
CHARGES nohow.

You say, I will pay it--
Else you'll take out my phone?
You better let
My phone alone.

I didn't ask him
To telephone me.
Roscoe knows **** well
LONG DISTANCE
Ain't free.

If I ever catch him,
Lawd, have pity!
Calling me up
From Kansas City.

Just to say he loves me!
I knowed that was so.
Why didn't he tell me some'n
I don't know?

For instance, what can
Them other girls do
That Alberta K. Johnson
Can't do--and more, too?

What's that, Central?
You say you don't care
Nothing about my
Private affair?

Well, even less about your
PHONE BILL, does I care!

Un-humm-m! . . . Yes!
You say I gave my O.K.?
Well, that O.K. you may keep--

But I sure ain't gonna pay!

The new built church was filling up
For its very first Christmas Eve.

It was finished in October
On a piece of vacant land, and
Reverend James had joined the greeters,
At its entrance shaking hands.

From seeming out of nowhere
A stranger just appeared
He was hunched a bit, and limping
With a longer gray-white beard.
His suit was black and dusty,
Like it hadn’t been used in years,
And his eyes were red and misty
Like he’d been shedding countless tears.

The Reverend grabbed his hand and said,
“Welcome!  Welcome, come right in!!
You’re a stranger to these parts I guess,
But we’re mighty glad you came.
And if it’s all the same to you,
We’d like to know your name.”

“Name’s Everett.  Everett Kent,” he said.
“Been alookin’ for this church.
Knowed some day you’d build it here.
Now I can end my search.”

The stranger loosed the Reverend’s grip,
Limped in and settled down,
At the far left end of the far back pew;
Where no one was around.

He sat through prayers and sermon,
Through a couple hymns as well
And when they got to ‘Silent Night’
He appeared to know it well.  
Silently, he closed his eyes,
The words were his release
“Round yon ******, Mother and Child,”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”

As the song went to the second verse,
The bearded stranger, dressed in black
Vanished into silent night,
Not once looking back.

The next day - Christmas Morning,
The ushers found a curious thing
A parchment in the offering plate
******* with a string.
When they untied the string they found
Much to their surprise,
A stack of Hundred Dollar bills
Of a slightly larger size.
They were from a different era,
Was this some kind of a joke?
A heartless cruel trick to play
At the expense of righteous folk.

On the inside of the parchment
In an antique writing style
Was a poem, (or a riddle?)
Now they couldn’t help but smile.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”

The Reverend and the Deacons counted 15 Grand
The Reverend and the Deacons, together made a plan
Early the next morning of the very next business day,
They found a numismatist
To see what he would say.

He said,
“As currency it’s worthless
But a collector will pay well
These notes are rare and valuable
As far as I can tell.
You’ll get thirty / forty times the face
Look at the condition that they’re in!!
Where the Hell did they come from?”
And, where the Hell have they been?”

Reverend James contradicted
Remembering Everett Kent,
“Sir, it wasn’t Hell they’ve come from.
These notes were Heaven sent.
A stranger came on Christmas Eve
And left them on the pew.
All we did was count them,
And bring them straight to you.”

On the way home, Reverend James perplexed
Reviewed the strange events
Prayed that God would grant him wisdom
So he’d know what to do next
Surely the stranger didn’t know
The value of the notes
He mentioned only Fifteen Thousand
In the poem that he wrote.

A lawyer was a member
Of the Richland Christian Church
So Reverend James implored him
To do a legal search
He vowed to find the stranger Kent
To make known the real worth,
And inform him of the value
Of the bills he left at church.

Three days later, four o’clock
The Reverend heard a frantic knock
“I’ve found something that’ll interest you,
From 23 December, Eighteen Seven Two.


Richland Herald, December 31, 1872
The First National Bank of Richland was robbed last week, on December 23rd, by a man who, holding the tellers at bay with a pistol, demanded that they surrender all the money in the vault, without protest so that none would be harmed.  The thief escaped on horseback, though the Sheriff’s department was duly informed, and the Sheriff and two newly appointed deputies immediately gave chase.

On or about 4 pm the following day, a man matching the thief’s description was said to have been seen at the stage stop, run by Everett Kent, and his wife Mary, two fine people known about these parts for their hospitality and generosity.  As a testament to this fact, an itinerant preacher (known only as Reverend Jim) had been staying at the house for some time and conducting meetings at the stop whenever possible.  It should be mentioned as well that the Kent’s have a young son David, who, taking a liking to the eloquent Reverend Jim, had decided to also preach the Gospel and had taken the his first steps in that Almighty Direction.

As the posse surrounded the house, the thief, perhaps knowing that he could not escape, endeavored to bargain his way out of the situation by taking hostages and thereby securing his own safety.  Everett Kent, pleading for some shred of decency from the villain, asked that his wife and child and Reverend Jim be released, and that he, alone would serve in that capacity.  The thief relented (maybe the only time in his villainous life that he concluded a decent act.)  Mary and David ran from the building and were quickly placed out of harm’s way by the sheriff and his men.

What happened next will never be known to any but those in the building and the Lord God Himself.  What is known, is that yelling and commotion came from the house, and three shots were fired.  Perhaps upon being released, instead of removing himself to safety, Reverend Jim, attacked the villain and a scuffle ensued.  In the process, a kerosene lamp was broken, and the building caught fire.  Although Mary implored the sheriff to rescue her husband who had been tied to a chair, the Sheriff exercising judgment, if not valor, determined that it was already too late.

The thief (identity forever unknown), the valiant Reverend Jim and the pious and unfortunate Everett Kent all perished in the fire.  When the house had burned to the ground and the bodies could be examined, it was determined that the thief was shot through the heart and Reverend Jim also had received a mortal wound.  Everett Kent, though tied to a chair, had somehow procured a bullet wound to his right leg.

The spoils of the robbery, according to the First National Bank, $15,000 in uncirculated $100 bank notes, were never found, and presumed burned to ashes in the fire.

Reverend James felt faint
His knees and legs were weak
He sat down at his desk, and
Heard the lawyer speak.

Reverend James, there’s something more
That you have a right to know.
The stage stop never was rebuilt.
The widow moved away
And raised her son in another town
Very far away.

The son became a preacher
And later changed his name
In honor of the Reverend Jim,
Called himself David James.

You are David’s GG Grandson
You descend from Everett too.
The land where you just built the church?
Left so long ago to you?
Was once the home of Everett Kent
I found that in my search.
The widow left it to her son
And he thus passed it down.
And now you’ve built your brand new church
On that very ground.

You’ll never find the stranger
The notes are yours to spend
And the Christmas Eve Tale of Everett Kent
Has finally reached its end.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
Reverend David James III,  recounted to Philip W. Lindsey on 4/13/2015

Ditch ewe sea Mai poem?
Eye sore year phlegm on yootoob!
Knot of ill my mean,
Ice awe yore fitty oh on yewtwoob!
No won you sis Phil mini moor...

Aisle Ike did the Bell eve id Dio.
**** wear wuss aye at?
Cuss ein owe fur sheer.
God Knowed out debt
Hugh phlegmed me giddy
Nth arc are!

Wail?
Watt Chew say a bow to that?
Weight.
Whole Don.
Dead Yew sin sir writ?
Sense err meow tough fit?
High share open aught!

Bay bee!
Hi muss tar!!!

Old woman lying warm on her bed,
never knowed, her life would be so good

Old man holding hands of hers,
reminded her about their past years of love and trust

Children standing next to her bed,
looking at her eyes, smiling with raining eyes

Grand children appreciating grandmama's recepe,
and shared with her,their funny old tales

Her eyes searched for someone more,
there stood at the door with a warm smile,her old good bestie...

Jenny and Jimmy were the best of friends
spending long days together that would seem to never end
picking up sticks and swinging on trees
blowing dandelion flowers in the warm summer breeze

now jenny was a beauty dressed in little boy’s clothes
with her pony tail lose an' freckles splotched on her nose
and she couldn’t give a hoot what those other girls’d say
cause she liked to be with Jimmy and the games that he played

now Jimmy wasn’t smart, but he knowed what he loved:
skippin' rocks, catchin' frogs, and his baseball glove
and that silly freckled girl that would always hang around
the most pretty little flower that he ever had found

they would lie in the grass, staring up at the sky
hoping life would never change, as the world passed by
they would always have each other and their lush green wood
with the birdies and the trees and everything that was good

but the winter was a’comin and the kids went inside
and the flowers and grass and the leaves all died
and a perfect white snow covered up all the fun
and it silenced all the laughter and it froze up the sun

so they sat and they waited for what seemed like years
and so Jimmy got angry and Jenny found tears
and even as they hoped and they cried and they prayed
the winter wasn’t going, it had come along to stay

so then Jimmy got up and he put his boots on
and Jenny got her gloves and her scarf from her mom
they each waved goodbye to their nice warm home
and they set off in the night in the deep cold snow

the ice was holding tight to every step they would take
and the wind was blowing hard and it made their bodies shake
but they kept moving forward cause they knew they had to be
in the arms of each other beneath the big oak tree

Jenny saw him first as she came over the hill
and she ran so fast she forgot about the chill
and Jimmy was amazed as a smile found his face
as he lifted Jenny up in a strong warm embrace

and as the two of them smiled and they hugged and they swayed
the winter and the ice began to slowly melt away
and the two stayed together up until the very end
because Jenny and Jimmy were the best of friends.

I have to ask
and
I need to know  

I have to ask
Why did so many people run in wolf packs
Turn away
To the misery of people everyday
Turn their backs and just walk away
As though they were dead prey
Day after day
Why did their evil  have to show
Why did they stroll with no human coed
Always traveling the nowhere roads
Knowing and knowed

I have seen
Children hold out their hand
Nothing it would land
All I saw were people turn their head
And
Pretend that they did not see that someone had bled
And
That there were people that needed to be fed  

I need to know...WHY?
Did  
People see only white or black
Turning there backs on people that were black
Yes, they did
It is fact

I need to know ...WHY?
So many people let their love go
and let it just fade away
Turn their heads and just walk away
Instead of facing the facts
Of why their lives lacks

I have to ask ..WHY??
People take their own lives
Easily
As though there was nothing to loose
or
Drown their lives in *****
Caused by so much abuse
All we did was make up an excuse

Near Death
I have to ask
and
I have to know
Are you going to keep turning your backs
And hide into the black

There is so much more I have to ask
and I need to know
Before
I reach the day of my death.
!!

Way down in the Water, I
   stand still.
As you want me to,
   as Always.
Hide, and Survive.

Tired, so exhausted I
   am now.
Don’t mess it up, just no,
   would you?
Slip, keep silent.

He ain’t got no good,
  he ain’t got no right,
he ain’t got no chance,
  to pick on my Brother.
Make it easier.

Take a good, nice sip
   of you.
It will never, in a long time,
   be enough.
Slowly, be aware.

You just can’t see it,
   can you?
He just wouldn’t listen,
   would he?
You need no to ruin.

Dream it Beautifully, with
   no sense of dread.
Tend a Rabbit, get a
   Garden full with pretty
softy things and,
   you’re with me.

Have it come true, please,
   in a world like this,
with a guy like you,
   in so many ways, I
somehow speechless.

Help, live it out loud
   please help.
I want this I want this,
   life could be so cruel
Still, with you I am
   safe, as a sleeping
Child in a cave.
   You’ve found me.

Because I got you and,
   you got me.
We got each other.

As Innocence fade away, all
   you have left, son,
is guilt, and there’s no
   turning back.
Unsavable, this time.

The very Scent of her
   takes away the
Smell of the Bunk House.

Shut it, don't ever,
   you can never lay a
sight on her.
   Take it in, for it’s
Not just another hell
   I’ve given you.

Mean to be lost, him,
   alone from the beginning.
Can’t deny so,
   you choose to destroy.
Loudly, **** him.

I think I knowed from
   the very First.
Thought I could stop, but
   it happens anyway.
Run, not again.

Love me, if you’re still
   capable to do it.
As all these time, you
   know what is the
Best for me,
   don’t you?

What’s now, I’ll listen,
   I really will, and
have them Remember
   like I never have.
Leave, let’s not.

As you want to,
   As you want me to,
As you want me to want us to,
   Choose, to see
the Truth in you.

You hear it, can
   you see? Just, close
Your eyes and imagine.
   Bang.

A wanderer with no home
The way without road
Had rotten by sicknes
And legs're going float

I'm walking the woods and the fields I've not knowed
I meet up the persons, who've taken by turmoil
I'm looking desireless to treasures of toil
In case that their souls took corruption and spoils

My only follower
Is my lonley shadow
And eyes have been closed
By grey hair's pay down

My only own package
Is staff and old note book
Which I will write down
For other's mind forelook

I'll stay in a harsh land with cold wind and passions
There's no place for bards with their thoughtless regressions
There'll be only me and a century pinetrees
Replace up the building of steel and my blindness

In hovel my body
Get warned by fire
And well with fresh water
Will cool the heart's dire

I'll put my old staff in a snowdrift with dashes
When my robe is almost converted to ashes
Then I will transform in a cold river's flowing
And flow down too far to remember the calling

By: Cedric McClester

They’re actin’ as if
The poor don’t exist
But that’s a myth
That we’re livin’ with
The poor are expanding
But they aren’t commanding
The attention they should
And that can’t be good

The rich are getting richer
While the poor get poorer
Because some people have
A built-in ignorer

A risin’ boat lifts
Those who are adriftt
But they’re actin’ as if
A job is a gift
No wonder we’re miffed
We’re getting short shrift
And we’re being ignored
So our anger is stored

The rich are getting richer
While the poor get poorer
Because some people have
A built-in ignorer

They’ve got our goad
So if we explode
Then they shoulda knowed
How that would bode
See the rich are getting richer
While the poor get poorer
Because some people have
A built-in ignorer

They’re actin’ as if
We’re not at a cliff
Or adrift on a skiff
And the tide has to shift
Cos we deserve more
Or what’s it all for
Being rich at the core
While ignoring the poor

The rich are getting richer
While the poor get poorer
Because some people have
A built-in ignorer


Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.

O children of the hinterlands
Wave thy magic, wanton wands
And banish thy selves from sad illusion
Come to the awesome, truthful conclusion
That you have skilled and sacred hands

You are truest hope of the world
The bars and borders must be unfurled
In our hearts affection swirled
Towards brighter day we are hurled

Our destiny we've not really knowed
Until revelation like stardust snowed
This is the song for the worlds sweet people
Sung loud and proud from passions steeple
In it my truest dream showed

I saw you, yes, a cloudy, damp day,
As you walked quietly on your way,
Your gait was hurried it clearly showed,
I wondered what it was you knowed.

No sunlight blocked your gaze direct,
Your steps beat rapidly upon the deck,
The arms you swayed, a driving force,
I wanted to walk with you, of course.

I called to you to break your walk,
Perhaps, we could have had a talk,
Or, maybe a breakfast if you cared,
I followed you based upon a dare.

My voice and gesturing was no avail,
So on your mission as I could tell,
I hoped you'd turn and smile my way,
But you did not, then another day.

Or, if I felt my bold mind to bear,
I'd sneak to you in the open air,
To tap your shoulder, would be fun,
The clouds were parting, here is the sun.

You spun around and face to face,
We both just joined the human race,
Then as I felt my hopes so fleeting,
I thanked the gods for this new meeting.

So, granting this poor lad the chances,
To walk with you while other glances,
This day is proving in so many new ways,
No clouds, no more,  a most lovely day.

if but the words of those were more suited
the poets past the most knowed, the very
sweetest words ever written, those who call
the name by its name sing its song better
were that but true, or deserved of you
my sonnet would never have been written  
of how your soul is my passion your you
my muse, my mission, yet with but words 'lone
and skill lacking to amount to one breathe
exhaled on a grateful earth by you
my love my muse, my fire in burning so

When I looked at the amazing night sky,
I promised myself to not to cry
I slipped back to my stories,
where once my childhood stays
memories once locked, unlocked cause of the sight
sitting at doorstep on my mother's lap,
never runned out of stories even if water doesn't from the tap
Immersed in her stories,never knowed the food which had
too much salt
now I'm craving for her stories which was once came into halt
reminiscing those old good stories of her,
I wish,I could become a child again...

Spurred by mother dearest
as well as other politesse
drummed into her second born
fobbing blandishments as incentive
tumbled off fingers of prodigal son
tripped wordsmith to splutter forth
forthwith the following lines.

Back in the day
quaint summertime of yore,
the following popular refrain reverberated
within hallowed halls of school.

"No more pencils,
no more books,
no more teacher's/
teachers' ***** looks”

Never did exotic vacations populate
those twelve weeks
when doors flung opened
at Henry Kline Boyer,
whence score years ago yours truly
now (June 8th, 2023)
approximately same age,
when mine paternal grandfather visited
me, and other members of family
at then Route Deliver #2
Collegeville, Pennsylvania,
the home of mein kampf.

Figurative eons ago
bygone innocent childhood of mine
oblivious to progressive political issues
easily delighted, liberated, tantalized...,
especially when Sunkist grandpa Harris
(Aaron) indulged yours truly
jais nais sais quois
kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,

surrendering slender tanned arms
where upon left wrist dangled his
venerated wristwatch (analog),
I ecstatically fingered, prized, and toyed
with said object fascinated
at the linkedin craftsmanship,
which yielded general squealing zealousness
from an ordinarily
non emotionally expressive lad.

This towheaded grandson,
extremely excited when me daddy's papa
came to this figurative rural outpost,
(despite his chastising behavior
ridiculing favorite progeny's children),
where traces of early twentieth century
still evident when manicured formal gardens
pegged, limned, harkened... back
to a supposedly simpler time

when this elderly family member
(who only completed eighth grade),
whose birth benchmarked, coincided
and demarcated with late
Industrial Revolution, whence
Philadelphia birthplace noisy with
horse drawn carriages competing
with early model automobiles
crowding thee busy thoroughfares,
where the streets have no name.

Lemme return back
to the previous topic,
and explain how
I felt eager to interact
with cranky, yet doting old man,
which showcased chained metal links
wore a temporary imprint
upon his bronzed aged skin – dog
head lee remaining
gently persuading him

to delay when departure time arrived
for favorite boyhood relative,
twas pure heavenly glory
conniving, finagling, inveigling...
our favorite grandfather
to situate myself on right side
and toy with the wristwatch (analog),
winning three way verbal tussle
between yours truly and two siblings
(an older and younger sister),

which when a kid
also exhibited glee at occasions
treasuring said older folk gave me a frog
tiled toy (sliding puzzle)
that required dexterity
moving pieces fastly secured,
which when complete
always left me agog
and this, that or
some other gewgaw, souvenir, trinket

(plus a bit of chump change given to me)
spurred mine late mum
to spark me mental cog
to say “good morning”, “good afternoon”,
“goodnight”, “thank you,”
or when eggnog proffered to this
most senior chronological guest,
who sat at the head of table,
or blankly watching television
like a bump on a log

while chided, forced, induced...
to parlay social graces
from this mere pollywog,
who (much as delight arose fussing
with trappings worn
loss on atrophied flesh),
a skittishness found me
averse to follow orders
as if I happened to be a petsmart dog.

At that time
Florida orange juiced industry
touted, popularized, and linked in
with Anita Bryant -
American singer, political activist,
known for anti-gay activism
and 1958 Miss Oklahoma
beauty pageant winner,
and a brand ambassador
from 1969 to 1980
for the Florida Citrus Commission.

Thee paternal grandfather
oft times visited our then rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
(originally called Glen Elm)
wildlife twittered, jibber-jibber, crowed...
within the plush wooded tract
even then blueprints drawn up
land deeded, mapped, parceled,
and slated to explode;
our then eco-friendly family averse
to witness expanding commercialization

across wetlands horizons
(Canadian Geese flocked to pond,
which liquid haven courtesy Donald Nelson
got the plug pulled
and drained watery basin)
asthma late mum didst lament
misfortune of flora and fauna,
nevertheless chided me
against even thinking
about sabotaging property

after I played  devil's advocate to goad
conspiratorial natural forces
to undermine cookie cutter
look alike slap dashed, ticky tack
shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber ****** woods,
perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable
(naturally enshrined eminent domain
abandoned since pioneers

bushwhacked rustic habitations)
nature relished reversed
grape seeded tracery etched
yet 'pon reflection,
I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
when decision via wealthy Leipers,
(original residents plus wealthy owners of
The Bell and Clapper)
unanimously custom made crafted mansion
actually originally a summer getaway.

Self imposed endeavor
to indulge drafting literary effort,
though methinks love's labor's lost
hunt and peck typing  
across qwerty keyboard
and captcha characteristics
unique to house of my boyhood,
whereby selecting alphanumeric
and/or special symbols  
instantaneously generate electronic signals
electronically communicating,
subsequently transmitting

byte size data packets description
to respective ip node
(to create document courtesy OpenOffice)
analogous how modus operandi
to build stately
sturdy summer country villa,
(circa early 1900's)
which property whittled down
to 324 Level Road demesne comprising
about a half dozen acres
eventually acquired by Boyce Harris
February 28th 1968 -

for x number of years mortgaged he towed,
a near singlehanded undertaking
to gentrify house as elements of style
witnessed once ship shape
wrought architectural structure
weathered, subjected to degradation,
naturally deteriorated
him (in vain) to enlist by force if need be
grunt laborious services of singular son
the author of these words,
who houses the ineradicable genes
and chromosomes of August Aaron.

I will remember you white butterfly
a short life
every flower you knowed
the only truth was love for you

everyone will be good at you

Do you see this empathy i have?
The sincerity i have?
The forgiveness i have chosen to give?
For not just my mistakes but yours.
I'm willing to forgive.  
Sorry, that was a lie!
I can't forgive.
Not for 'how not bothered you are of
how little you have seen.
But maybe the fact you have never wanted
to even get to know me.
Never really knowed me.
I suppose i can never understand/get over
just how quickly you disowned me.
Maby you could at least help me see your point of view... whatever it may be.

    - It will help me to at least get a
               glimpse of me-

Growing up in the back woods
Not a single one of us knowed
That we were in any way dirt poor
All because we hadn't been told

A family that survived on shared love
In tattered clothes outworn
Us kids lived for adventure
While Mama was living on hope

Never once were we burdened
By the constant pull of T.V.
There was no way for that to happen
Without electricity

Surviving day and night on the light
From both the Sun and the Moon
Relying on the family shared fiddle
When we needed to hear some of our favorite tunes

A family that survived on shared love
In tattered clothes outworn
Us kids lived for adventure
While Mama was living on hope

With no time in life to be caught bored
Living off the blessings we got
You might think we were dirt poor
...I'm thinking not

Judgement day, that's essential faith, right
minded societies, godly, kosher hallel right

left to our druthers other'shoulda knowed right

we can let most things slide, wrong angles aims
missed lessenings slacking lines too tight, seams

fractal by force of pressure, pretty sure, seems
as likely as not, to fracture the basalt walls, so
we can force metal into the fissures, fixing surity

for big dams on little desert rivers meanderings
down through the highland moors and meadows
slowly filling for thousands of years, spilling streams
so salmon can climb stairs, of fears, some how, some

way, we make these damming ideas disappear, some
gape
a gap… agog ohmwatts after ever once, ever more
more agape no way, as after all once, for ever

life is rethinkable on purpose, all our trial, yo

so good that some, must be, some among us,
those who were evidently slated not to die,

prior to the coming, in glory, sword in his mouth,

of the Jesus Jude envisioned, as his big brother,

tskt by James… pure peaceable freeform fi fee paid

Jude was just the little brother, dissed, in Christ
terms of just don't think he came in peace, ah

is a mind a spiritual garment, we may wonder

oh, so short a while since we first left being true

the effect of beholding the vision of Emma Lazurus,

Hoovering up the rest of us dust to dust journey folk,

as it is written, so it must be, until some how seen not
so it was wrote, Wisdom, first thing wise, ever was

peaceable in terms frustrated forces must face, we

aggregate with a touch, at perfect pitch, amen, a mind we

agree we may imagine appraising, for worth with costs we
already paid to read this far, this ready threaded needle we
admittedly mend torn ligaments, with science, con scientia, us
religiously linked as always with you, as mendicants
take no anxious thoughts, pretend patience,
practice reminding I-self me-self is patient
right left face to face think it through
as awfully close to calculated truth

yes, all ye outs let in free, by me,
I did call the game, seekers found me,

I am it… and we can watch
our grand children play Minecraft,
while we think
flow control, fluid what, knowing

roses grown for gardens, millions
harvested and bundled by thousands
of peons eons ago adapted to luxury,

who needs all the roses we bundled in fasces,
actual thorny bundles of sticks, tied with hemp
twine snipped deftly inches from an expert tied
knot, twined and snipped with a sharp ring knife

yeah, we used finger knives, for a living, bundling
roses for wholesale distribution living roses, fasces
stacked and hauled away to the cities, so far away/

olden golden rules, doer's rules, do be, aware, we
may forget Miss Sherry, but not her rules, do be
good, don't let a baby be born to suffer and die.

Here's to the horror and terrorized by stories unwanted child,
survive full mylenation under social pressure situations
some
things used during realization late in life, fructified,
final season fire survived one more year, flowering

at pen and ink speed, dryingly slow, so

to spare us smeared missed taps, drips and drops, so
slowly taken smells from some pasts, glues, and resins
subtle, like modified sub science con carnal knowledge so

essential in functional living creatures, entities, alive
especially to animation saturation pooling flowing stream

consciousness, think thinking is as waiting is, per one hap
per one chance rethunk

per sonally, as one,
in the flesh, double minded unstable,
in all our alienational reasoning ratio sensation
balancing two crosswired eyes, double winding resistance
to gravity, slithering snakey forked tongue warrior's peace

so, as it happened, the day he died, he said, watch, wait

to see whose lie lives and whose lie dies, you know, wait
no se, see free formation we in come be having just paid
we went all in, we see, we found the holy definition, wait
ing is all we ever do, see, wait and see, not wait to see, be

come and see, on day two in the wilderness with Jesus.