The cultural filters are all in place
And truth, some say, is past its sell-by date
Weak hymns embalmed by hippies, and lost in space
Where time is always 1968

A poison-green tattoo on a fleshy back
No incense, but the Purell’s pretty strong
A ten-year-old gobbles his comfort snack
During Communion and a three-chord song

Our bishops quack and honk in flocks and herds -
We need a starets
                                           but all we get are words:


Intensify the Dallas Charter accountability focus accountability exclusively accountability collegial collective accountability responsibility address theme encounter dialectic collegiality variety universality unity flock dealing topic difficult reasons unexplored differences crisis difficult for bishops enable abusers gravely irreparably failures governance responsibility question engage conversation point brother problematic behavior cultivate culture correctio fraterna enables offending other recognize criticism opportunity to tasks related willingness personally mistakes to each other feeling maintain fraternal relationship cases we damaging weakness anecdotal parenthesis to his speech encounters course ministry recollection forgive counseling for healing discussing matter rationally headway realized psyche of the person measure semblance justice inability forgive his  apparently perplexing consternating remarked noting changed personality of person realize humility mistakes learn mistakes better question unanswered unaddressed mistakes allowed consequences mishandling cases gathering conferences participants and journalists effective concrete measures combat scourge scandal technical theological sense term list reflection points adjunct secretary special portfolio combatting meeting chief architects roadmap for our discussion very, very concrete understatement seriously utter understatement things discussed follow-up meeting continued model of reform the so-called intensify the Dallas Charter metropolitan model metropolitan investigating disciplining wayward ecclesiastical provinces briefing responded you have to read the footnote disgrace investigations systemic coverup dismissed briefing expressed hope report position power prominence leadership structure report findings influence broader jurisdictions Accountability focus accountability exclusively accountability collegial collective accountability responsibility address theme encounter dialectic collegiality variety universality unity flock dealing topic difficult reasons unexplored differences crisis difficult for bishops enable abusers gravely irreparably failures governance responsibility question engage conversation point brother problematic behavior cultivate culture correctio fraterna enables offending other recognize criticism opportunity to tasks related willingness personally mistakes to each other feeling maintain fraternal relationship cases we damaging weakness anecdotal parenthesis to his speech encounters course ministry recollection forgive counseling for healing discussing matter rationally headway realized psyche of the person measure semblance justice inability forgive his  apparently perplexing consternating remarked noting changed personality of person realize humility mistakes learn mistakes better question unanswered unaddressed mistakes allowed consequences mishandling cases gathering conferences participants and journalists effective concrete measures combat scourge scandal technical theological sense term list reflection points adjunct secretary special portfolio combatting meeting chief architects roadmap for our discussion very, very concrete understatement seriously utter understatement things discussed follow-up meeting continued model of reform the so-called Metropolitan model metropolitan investigating disciplining wayward ecclesiastical provinces briefing responded you have to read the footnote disgrace investigations systemic coverup dismissed briefing expressed hope report position power prominence leadership structure report findings influence broader jurisdictions accountable faithful promises episodes  accountability supportive talking collegiality obligation misbehavior failures circumstances reputation representative discreet inquiries interview expression concern geographically confronted reported matter subject investigating disciplining malfeasance proposal wrongdoing explained carefully considered matter alternatives remarks paragraph  rehearsed alternatives footnote 6 of text speeches delivered sessions briefing spoke involvement laity lay involvement transparency transparent offending other recognize criticism opportunity to tasks related willingness personally mistakes to each other feeling maintain fraternal relationship cases we damaging weakness anecdotal parenthesis to his speech encounters course ministry recollection forgive counseling for healing discussing matter rationally headway realized psyche of the person measure semblance justice inability forgive his  apparently perplexing consternating remarked noting changed personality of person realize humility mistakes learn mistakes better question unanswered unaddressed mistakes allowed consequences mishandling cases gathering conferences participants and journalists effective concrete measures combat scourge scandal technical theological sense term list reflection points adjunct secretary special portfolio combatting meeting chief architects roadmap for our discussion very, very concrete understatement seriously utter understatement things discussed follow-up meeting continued model of reform the so-called Metropolitan model metropolitan investigating disciplining wayward ecclesiastical provinces briefing responded you have to read the footnote disgrace investigations systemic coverup dismissed briefing expressed hope report position power prominence leadership structure report findings influence broader jurisdictions accountable faithful promises episodes  accountability supportive talking collegiality obligation misbehavior failures circumstances reputation representative discreet inquiries interview expression concern geographically confronted reported matter subject investigating disciplining malfeasance proposal wrongdoing explained carefully considered matter alternatives remarks paragraph  rehearsed alternatives footnote 6 of text speeches delivered sessions briefing spoke involvement laity lay involvement transparency transparent intensify the Dallas Charter…

Let me tell you a secret
I am bored

I'm bored of corporate America flashing their endless subliminal ******* in my face every second
So much so that sometimes without me realising I adopt their accent and mimic and quote what they want me to think and say

I'm bored of reality TV
Of keeping up with the Kardashians and how their name fits so nicely in my mouth like a chunk of poison apple

I'm bored
Of skipping past adverts of skinny black children starving to watch skinny white children starving themselves pretty
I'm scared that I'm the only one whose minds those adverts cling to,
I can only do so much and I can't even trust that I'm helping

I'm bored
Of seeing perfect white girls on TV in their perfect clothes with their perfect hair and their perfect families in their perfect churches with their perfect god who somehow claimed dominance over all the other gods, over my gods
and called me backwards for worshipping the sun and the moon for giving me life and light as opposed to a man who may or may not have existed who they claim split seas

I am bored
I'm bored of being the supporting role
never being pretty enough
but being hot for an Asian girl
being told 'when I think of a beautiful Asian girl I think of you'
being asked 'what are you?', 'no where are you really from?' 'are you gunna go back?' 'were you born on international waters?' Always followed with a 'If you don't mind me asking',  I do,
Let me tell you about the waters that broke and brought me here on this home soil,
let me tell you about the struggle of my mother and the mothers before me and the lightness of being dark skinned in a community of dark skinned beings,
let me tell you about my heritage not like it's a story in a child's book like or a myth, it is real history,
let me tell you about the struggle of my people about the beauty of our most simple words and minds,
let me tell you about how our bodies moulded from the dust and sand around us is no less than yours,
let me tell you what it means to be nothing in your eyes.

We are the products of your mishandling, broken artefacts caged in a glass box with a steel rod stuck up our **** to keep up still in a viewing room in the media's museum
keep us down and keep us quiet keep us looking brutal try to tear us apart from the inside,

Try and tell me I'm a terrorist not a freedom fighter for daring to breathe to speak.
Try to blotch out your wrongdoings by scapegoating us as a region as a religion I don't even belong to as a pigment in a skin colour I can do nothing about I couldn't change it even if I wanted to
Just wait and see how we react

I'm bored of your Islamophobia
I'm bored of you telling me to hate myself
I'm bored of trying to be middle man for two cultures whose only real difference are climate
So *******
**** both of you
Excuse my English
No my Punjabi.
No
I'm done with your negotiations and attempts at tolerance I'm done with trying to blend you both together within me I can't be what either of you want me to be
I can't do this
I won't be a part of your glamourised butchery
Anymore

I caught myself holding my breath.
Approaching the powerful intersection.
Enough power to take lives.
Lucky enough to have held onto mine.
The scene replays itself automatically in my memory.
Silver van pulls out infront of me and boom!
Swerve, ditch, smoke.
Gah, adrenaline pumping!
My car took its own life to save mine.
And boy do I miss her...
I blink and I'm on the other side.
I let my breath go and get hit in the face with another ******* memory.
It's funny how memories work.
They can be so deep down and forgotten.
And something like an innocent drive to free you mind can dredge up all the crap that's been buried. 
Every time I pass the house where I was first introduced to ****.
I think of Lyndsae.
Her stupid yellow mailbox.
I have the hidden urge to beat that **** down with a baseball bat.
I look for that ugly car she drives.
Knowing it won't be there in the drive way.
I still catch myself looking.
When I see that car out on the road,
That burnt orange little **** with tires,
I glance at the driver.
Never her.
But still...
No matter how far down the memories are,
It still comes back to me.
I wish I could twist a cork ***** into my ear and yank my brain out.
Take it apart and put it back together again like a puzzle.
Only, leaving out all the pieces I don't want to remember.
I don't wanna think about Carlee every time I pass Eatn Park.
I don't wanna think about Drew when I pass the road I used to turn on to get to her old house. 
I don't wanna think about Coonz ******* that guy when I drive to New Eagle.
And when there's no land marks to refresh my mind ****** memory,
The music does a fine job of working tears out of my eyes.
Taylor Swift and her "I'm dying to know if it's killing you like its killing me" 
Or blink 182 saying "I'm just a ******* child, don't let it go to your head."
And as soon as Celebrity Status starts playing, BriZ is there sitting beside me. We're off to pittsburgh's light up night.
With the next song, she vanishes "and sometime I say things that I wish that I could take back. The most crucial thing I lack is a thing called tact. And if you're always so intently listening. Then that smartest thing to say is to tell myself not to say a thing"
Oh!!! And the real heart wrenching song of all that makes me ball like a little ******* baby "oh dear. It's been hardly a moment and you are already missed. There is still a bit of your skin that I've yet to have kissed..... We'll be holding hands once again. All our broken plans will mend. I will hold you tight so you kno."
And oh I want you to kno so bad.
My memories won't go away. 
They are apart of me.
Believe me, I wish I could sort them out and throw all the bad ones away.
But I can't.
So you can say I'm not over something when I am.
Cause when the subject is brought up, it's impossible not to think about it.
Just because it's a memory that makes me mad, sad, upset, angry, or violent, doesn't mean that I'm not over it. 
I'm over all the stuff in the past besides the absolute last thing that happened to me. 
She felt like my one and only.
I called her the love of my life.
Better than all the rest by far!
So much trust and happiness.
But love don't last forever. 
I think about her all the time.
In bed.
In the shower.
When I swim.
When I hear music.
When I'm just ******* sitting here watching tv.
I fantasize way too hard.
And it only hurts.
It hurts to remember. 
I tell myself that I will do anything to get that back. 
But with what was said, she's turned off and out.
Faults mine, hands down. 
Round of applause for the old jack *** the refound the surface. 
I knew I couldn't be good enough for her.
Why do I set myself up for failure?! 
Maybe I should stop trying so hard. 
Psh.
I beat myself up worse than anyone else could.
I'm my own bully.
I'm the only enemy I have.
All the others are just decoys.
Mishandling situations
That's all on me.
And I can't do anything to change it now.
Regret? Yea.
Some.
A lot.
But it's over.
All over....

I love the way your arms feel
the way your hot breath pulses
against my neck when you whispered morning decleratiions, and midnight secrets
- absorbed through my pores - like a drug in my viens.
I love the way your torso spasms as you laugh
and the way your hands feel - the way your fingers - the way your shoulders curve.
I love when you and I together sleep soundly
knowing that you are my perfect blanket
that I am the perfect heater during winter cold.
We are the fitting puzzle peices,
worn and ragged through many handlings
bent and creased from past mishandling
yet still sliding without fault - without hesitation and disruption.

all of our politicians are a pox on society
these self important people are the lowest of the low
governing for themselves is their number one priority
telling porkies is the way their empty rhetoric flows

it's our misfortune to have so many of them in our halls of power
we're paying them a fortune for mishandling government biz
and not a one of them is worth a left of right bower
they should be thrown out of our parliaments and into a tizz

we're heartily sick of the ****** lot of them
and they do so leave us with a feeling of utter contempt
not to forget our coughs spits and heaps of phlegm
we so wish that they were from our taxes exempt

if only we could do without these mongrel lot
our countries would most assuredly be less on the ill side
they have a reputation as bad as a pesky horse fly blot
and we'll be only to happy to toss them all well aside

moaning and whinging wont relieve our constant pain
we've got to take things well and truly into our owns hands
we cannot endure anymore of their burdensome strain
government benches would be better off were they to be rid of these bands

acquiring a pesticide to finish them off is one of my notions
then we can relax knowing that they'll no longer blight us
these thoughts are just me musing on a few suggestions
I'll leave you all to ruminate on this poetic piece thus

Today, I was scolded
Was told that I was a boor;
That I had, inadvertently
Rendered some holy cattle
Of theirs a death rattle
A battle I won, without knowing
I had even fought, thought
I was just being amusing,
Somehow confusing my path
Down through the tulips
As a meander down the apse
Of some secret church.
Unfair! I was unaware.
And even now, I fear I care
Far less than they do
About their holy cows.
I didn’t then, I don’t now.

But, I have accepted, long ago
That, with social networking
I simply has to be so
That people will be offended;
Starting open-ended rancor,
Scoring slash after ****** slash
Across my Mr. Perfection sash
Granted me by nobody but me,
And that they will put a smudge
By bearing a grudge
About what I see
As a trifling inconsequentiality.
But is their cathedral,
Their Mecca to bow to
And thus I will be the target
Of slings and arrows.

Shall I be sure to only speak
If I speak plenty of inanities
Muttering banalities about love
And the weather and books
Shall I fear the looks, the scorn
Born of misunderstandings
Taken as mishandling
The hearts of the tender
And render myself informationless,
Opinion free, without personality
Speaking when spoken to eternally
So I don’t trip over hidden wires,
Don’t **** on burning fires
Of pet peeves, rip off the sleeves
Of hair shirts, do idols dirt?
Is that the way it should go?
I don’t think so.
But, what do I know?
I am the scurrilous, stumbling fool
Who ****** in someone’s pool
And told them it was raining.

History seemed unknown to me
But I guessed what it might be
Until I learnt
The people of Ferguson Misouri reacted to a child's death
Civil rights violated
While another died at the hands of others mishandling
The situation
Then sometime three days ago
Boommh!
Their gunned down while eating
Whose wrong?
Whose right?
When is it right?
Why is it wrong or right?
Death is the loss of lives
Not a game

i listened to you
jabber on (note to self: look up jabber)
and i wondered
why?

you unleashed yourself on me
tirades of mishandling (note to self: look up grammar in this line of poetry)
and i wept
why?

True hacks and phonies all around, speaking through their ivory horns of pure disgust and wallowing in incompetence, ******* and kissing and mishandling their newborn children which they name in propriety and for the pearls of God that allow them to **** and **** well. I will blast them all to the deepest of hell for there they belong with me and they will be outrightly ****** by the sojourning sheiks that give their sufferers a razor-tipped ******* that they know they deserve. Where is your relatable, so enjoyable, three or four piece family TV meal that you so deeply craved after a long day at work? It is gone gone gone and now you are subject to your deepest incongruities with yourself, how dare you be such a bother and how dare you believe in your ability to inspire. If you are not feeling this frustration of never ceaselessly being able to grasp at the story that lies within the easel of the juices of your soul, then you are not- and never will be- worth anything more than some broken throbbing piece of genitalia that seethes and suckles at the broken fallacies of pure love and distraught youth. You do not know and you will never know, and if you dare you will never truly make progress for you are a vacuous, insufferable, erratic dame that is not a good piece of skin so much as you are the perfect tool for everyone: a loudspeaker stripped naked and bare for all the world to ****; a true contributor, unlike your deepest and most esteemed of peers. Aww, how does that feel? How does it feel to finally implode from your own vicarious and hollow attempts at wisdom and knowledge? What’s left to be learned has been learned, don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? Don’t you think it’s time to stop digging your ***** ***** nails into that rusted cloud of old hope and forgiveness? Everyone has left, and that is what we must deal with. You must be some mongrel to sit down like an unrepentant dog. Cross-legged and all.

Some narrow lilac, some feathered breath
some moment tread over with daylight,
with stamped cigarettes
The secret sanct of poets, intersect,  
*Sunset’s mother, cradling loosened
dandelions,
like Europa, sulfur ingénue,  hand woven clouds, tapestry *
I climb axe in hand like God’s mistake,
my dancing planet’s sands soaking wet
Time mishandling regret, respirations,
and Whiskey just takes and takes.

I will soon see a smile
like a rainbow
stretch to comfort my heart
that had been stormed
by past mishandling.  

And when that time comes,
even I be smothered again,
I will stand invincible.
For as the sky after the storm
behold its rainbow,
so will my heart behold him more.

This I know,
He will be my sweet aftermath.

“Lock her up!” Trump’s fans would yell
At campaign rallies in 2016.
Trump just ate it up, for he
Loves to see his fans make a scene.

Over and over, Trump would harp
About Hillary's emails, and then,
When his subsequent rally occurred,
He started in all over again.

The alleged mishandling of classified docs
Became Trump's wild and crazy fixation.
The mere mention of jailing Clinton
Would get from his crowd a loud ovation.

It didn't matter that there was no proof
Of willful negligence involved;
To lambaste Clinton in any way
He could, Donald Trump was resolved.

We know that Trump engages in conduct
That he accuses others of doing.
The FBI has taken his classified
Docs, and now the man is stewing.

In office, Trump had signed into law
A bill cracking down on anyone
Willfully mishandling
Classified docs. But what has he done?

Exactly that! Allegedly.
How ironic if we should find
That Trump is guilty and sentenced under
The very same law that he had signed!

Covering up his many wrong-doings
And breaking the rules with pomp and glee
Have been Trump's M.O. from the start.
But will it blow up in his face? We'll see.

-by Bob B (8-28-22)