I met him on the Amtrak line to Central Jersey. His name was Walker, and his surname Norris. I thought there was a certain charm to that. He was a Texas man, and he fell right into my image of what a Texas man should look like. Walker was tall, about 6’4”, with wide shoulders and blue eyes. He had semi-long hair, tied into a weak ponytail that hung down from the wide brim hat he wore on his head. As for the hat, you could tell it had seen better days, and the brim was starting to droop slightly from excessive wear. Walker had on a childish smile that he seemed to wear perpetually, as if he were entirely unmoved by the negative experiences of his own life. I have often thought back to this smile, and wondered if I would trade places with him, knowing that I could be so unaffected by my suffering. I always end up choosing despair, though, because I am a writer, and so despair to me is but a reservoir of creativity. Still, there is a certain romance to the way Walker braved the world’s slings and arrows, almost oblivious to the cruel intentions with which they were sent at him.
“I never think people are out to get me.” I remember him saying, in the thick, rich, southern drawl with which he spoke, “Some people just get confused sometimes. Ma’ momma always used to tell me, ‘There ain’t nothing wrong with trustin’ everyone, but soon as you don’t trust someone trustworthy, then you’ve got another problem on your hands.’”—He was full of little gems like that.
As it turns out, Walker had traveled all the way from his hometown in Texas, in pursuit of his runaway girlfriend, who in a fit of frenzy, had run off with his car…and his heart. The town that he lived in was a small rinky-**** miner’s village that had been abandoned for years and had recently begun to repopulate. It had no train station and no bus stop, and so when Walker’s girlfriend decided to leave with his car, he was left struggling for transportation. This did not phase Walker however, who set out to look for his runaway lover in the only place he thought she might go to—her mother’s house.
So Walker started walking, and with only a few prized possessions, he set out for the East Coast, where he knew his girlfriend’s family lived. On his back, Walker carried a canvas bag with a few clothes, some soap, water and his knife in it. In his pocket, he carried $300, or everything he had that Lisa (his girlfriend) hadn’t stolen. The first leg of Walker’s odyssey he described as “the easy part.” He set out on U.S. 87, the highway closest to his village, and started walking, looking for a ride. He walked about 40 or 50 miles south, without crossing a single car, and stopping only once to get some water. It was hot and dry, and the Texas sun beat down on Walker’s pale white skin, but he kept walking, without once complaining. After hours of trekking on U.S. 87, Walker reached the passage to Interstate 20, where he was picked up by a man in a rust-red pickup truck. The man was headed towards Dallas, and agreed o take Walker that far, an offer that Walker graciously accepted.
“We rode for **** near five and a half hours on the highway to Dallas,” Walker would later tell me. “We didn’t stop for food, or drink or nuthin’. At one point the driver had to stop for a pisscall, that is, to use the bathroom, or at least that’s why I reckon we stopped; he didn’t speak but maybe three words the whole ride. He just stopped at this roadside gas station, went in for a few minutes and then back into the car and back on the road we went again. Real funny character the driver was, big bearded fellow with a mean look on his brow, but I never would have made it to Dallas if not for him, so I guess he can’t have been all that mean, huh?”
Walker finally arrived in Dallas as the nighttime reached the peak of its darkness. The driver of the pickup truck dropped him off without a word, at a corner bus stop in the middle of the city. Walker had no place to stay, nobody to call, and worst of all, no idea where he was at all. He walked from the corner bus stop to a run-down inn on the side of the road, and got himself a room for the night for $5. The beds were hard and the sheets were *****, and the room itself had no bathroom, but it served its purpose and it kept Walker out of the streets for the night.
The next morning, Texas Walker Norris woke up to a growl. It was his stomach, and suddenly, Walker remembered that he hadn’t eaten in almost two days. He checked out of the inn he had slept in, and stepped into the streets of Dallas, wearing the same clothes as he wore the day before, and carrying the same canvas bag with the soap and the knife in it. After about an hour or so of walking around the city, Walker came up to a small ***** restaurant that served food within his price range. He ordered Chicken Fried Steak with a side of home fries, and devoured them in seconds flat. After that, Walker took a stroll around the city, so as to take in the sights before he left. Eventually, he found his way to the city bus station, where he boarded a Greyhound bus to Tallahassee. It took him 26 hours to get there, and at the end of everything he vowed to never take a bus like that again.
“See I’m from Texas, and in Texas, everything is real big and free and stuff. So I ain’t used to being cooped up in nothin’ for a stended period of time. I tell you, I came off that bus shaking, sweating, you name it. The poor woman sitting next to me thought I was gunna have a heart attack.” Walker laughed.
When Walker laughed, you understood why Texans are so proud of where they live. His was a low, rumbling bellow that built up into a thunderous, booming laugh, finally fizzling into the raspy chuckle of a man who had spent his whole life smoking, yet in perfect health. When Walker laughed, you felt something inside you shake and vibrate, both in fear and utter admiration of the giant Texan man in front of you. If men were measured by their laughs, Walker would certainly be hailed as king amongst men; but he wasn’t. No, he was just another man, a lowly man with a perpetual childish grin, despite the godliness of his bellowing laughter.
“When I finally got to Tallahassee I didn’t know what to do. I sure as hell didn’t have my wits about me, so I just stumbled all around the city like a chick without its head on. I swear, people must a thought I was a madman with the way I was walkin’, all wide-eyed and frazzled and stuff. One guy even tried to mug me, ‘till he saw I didn’t have no money on me. Well that and I got my knife out of my bag right on time.” Another laugh. “You know I knew one thing though, which was I needed to find a place to stay the night.”
So Walker found himself a little pub in Tallahassee, where he ordered one beer and a shot of tequila. To go with that, he got himself a burger, which he remembered as being one of the better burgers he’d ever had. Of course, this could have just been due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten a real meal in so long. At some point during this meal, Walker turned to the bartender, an Irish man with short red hair and muttonchops, and asked him if he knew where someone could find a place to spend the night in town.
“Well there are a few hotels in the downtown area but ah wouldn’t recommend stayin’ in them. That is unless ye got enough money to jus’ throw away like that, which ah know ye don’t because ah jus’ saw ye take yer money out to pay for the burger. That an’ the beer an’ shot. Anyway, ye could always stay in one of the cheap motels or inns in Tallahassee. That’ll only cost ye a few dollars for the night, but ye might end up with bug bites or worse. Frankly, I don’t see many an option for ye, less you wanna stay here for the night, which’ll only cost ye’, oh, about nine-dollars-whattaya-say?”
Walker was stunned by the quickness of the Irishman’s speech. He had never heard such a quick tongue in Texas, and everyone knew Texas was auction-ville. He didn’t know whether to trust the Irishman or not, but he didn’t have the energy or patience to do otherwise, and so Walker Norris paid nine dollars to spend the night in the back room of a Tallahassee pub.
As it turns out, the Irishman’s name was Jeremy O’Neill, and he had just come to America about a year and a half ago. He had left his hometown in Dublin, where he owned a bar very similar to the one he owned now, in search of a girl he had met that said she lived in Florida. As it turns out, Florida was a great deal larger than Jeremy had expected, and so he spent the better part of that first year working odd jobs and drinking his pay away. He had worked in over 25 different cities in Florida, and on well over 55 different jobs, before giving up his search and moving to Tallahassee. Jeremy wrote home to his brother, who had been manning his bar in Dublin the whole time Jeremy was away, and asked for some money to help start himself off. His brother sent him the money, and after working a while longer as a painter for a local construction company, he raised enough money to buy a small run down bar in central Tallahassee, the bar he now ran and operated. Unfortunately, the purchase had left him in terrible debt, and so Jeremy had set up a bed in the back room, where he often housed overly drunk customers for a price. This way, he could make back the money to pay for the rest of the bar.
Walker sympathized with the Irishman’s story. In Jeremy, he saw a bit of himself; the tired, broken traveler, in search of a runaway love. Jeremy’s story depressed Walker though, who was truly convinced his own would end differently. He knew, he felt, that he would find Lisa in the end.
Walker hardly slept that night, despite having paid nine dollars for a comfortable bed. Instead, he got drunk with Jeremy, as the two of them downed a bottle of whisky together, while sitting on the floor of the pub, talking. They talked about love, and life, and the existence of God. They discussed their childhoods and their respective journeys away from their homes. They laughed as they spoke of the women they loved and they cried as they listened to each other’s stories. By the time Walker had sobered up, it was already morning, and time for a brand new start. Jeremy gave Walker a free bottle of whiskey, which after serious protest, Walker put in his bag, next to his knife and the soap. In exchange, Walker tried to give Jeremy some money, but Jeremy stubbornly refused, like any Irishman would, instead telling Walker to go **** himself, and to send him a postcard when he got to New York. Walker thanked Jeremy for his hospitality, and left the bar, wishing deeply that he had slept, but not regretting a minute of the night.
Little time was spent in Tallahassee that day. As soon as Walker got out on the streets, he asked around to find out where the closest highway was. A kind old woman with a cane and bonnet told him where to go, and Walker made it out to the city limits in no time. He didn’t even stop to look around a single time.
Once at the city limits, Walker went into a small roadside gas station, where he had a microwavable burrito and a large 50-cent slushy for breakfast. He stocked up on chips and peanuts, knowing full well that this may have been his last meal that day, and set out once again, after filling up his water supply. Walker had no idea where to go from Tallahassee, but he knew that if he wanted to reach his girlfriend’s mother’s house, he had to go north. So Walker started walking north, on a road the gas station attendant called FL-61, or Thomasville Road. He walked for something like seven or eight miles, before a group of college kids driving a camper pulled up next to him. They were students at the University of Georgia and were heading back to Athens from a road trip they had taken to New Orleans. The students offered to take Walker that far, and Walker, knowing only that this took him north, agreed.
The students drove a large camper with a mini-bar built into it, which they had made themselves, and stacked with beer and water. They had been down in New Orleans for the Mardi Gras season, and were now returning, thought the party had hardly stopped for them. As they told Walker, they picked a new designated driver every day, and he was appointed the job of driving until he got bored, while all the others downed their beers in the back of the camper. Because their system relied on the driver’s patience, they had almost doubled the time they should have made on their trip, often stopping at roadside motels so that the driver could get his drink on too. These were their “pit-stops”, where they often made the decision to either eat or court some of the local girls drunkenly.
This leg of the trip Walker seemed to glaze over quickly. He didn’t talk much about the ride, the conversation, or the people, but from what I gathered, from his smile and the way his eyes wandered, I could tell it was a fun one. Basically, the college kids, of which I figure there were about five or six, got Walker drunk and drove him all the way to Athens, Georgia, where they took him to their campus and introduced him to all of their friends. The leader of the group, a tall, athletic boy with long brown hair and dimples, let him sleep in his dorm for the night, and set him up with a ride to the train station the next morning. There, Walker bought himself a ticket to Atlanta, and said his goodbyes. Apparently, the whole group of students followed him to the station, where they gave him some food and said goodbye to him. One student gave Walker his parent’s number, telling him to call them when he got to Atlanta, if he needed a place to sleep. Then, from one minute to the next, Walker was on the train and gone.
When Walker got to Atlanta, he did not call his friend’s family right away. Instead, he went to the first place he saw with food, which happened to be a small, rundown place that sold corndogs and coke for a dollar per item. Walker bought himself three corndogs and a coke, and strolled over to a nearby park, where, he sat down on a bench and ate. As Walker sat, dipping his corndogs into a paper plate covered in ketchup, an old woman took the seat directly next to him, and started writing in a paper notepad. He looked over at her, and tried to see what she was writing, but she covered up her pad and his efforts were wasted. Still, Walker kept trying, and eventually the woman got annoyed and mentioned it.
“Sir, I don’t mind if you are curious, but it is terribly, terribly rude to read over another person’s shoulder as they write.” The woman’s voice was rough and beautiful, changed by time, but bettered, like fine wine.
“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s just that I’ve been on the road for a while now, and I reckon I haven’t really read anything in, ****, probably longer than that. See I’m lookin’ to find my girlfriend up north, on account of she took my car and ran away from home and all.”
“Well that is certainly a shame, but I don’t see why that should rid you of your manners.” The woman scolded Walker.
“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry. What I meant to convey was that, I mean, I kind of just forgot I guess. I haven’t had too much time to exercise my manners and all, but I know my mother would have educated me better, so I apologize but I just wanted to read something, because I think that’s something important, you know? I’ll stop though, because I don’t want to annoy you, so sorry.”
The woman seemed amused by Walker, much as a parent finds amusement in the cuteness of another’s children. His childish, simple smile bore through her like a sword, and suddenly, her own smile softened, and she opened up to him.
“Oh, don’t be silly. All you had to do was ask, and not be so unnervingly discreet about it.” She replied, as she handed her pad over to Walker, so that he could read it. “I’m a poet, see, or rather, I like to write poetry, on my own time. It relaxes me, and makes me feel good about myself. Take a look.”
Walker took the pad from the woman’s hands. They were pale and wrinkly, but were held steady as a rock, almost as if the age displayed had not affected them at all. He opened the pad to a random page, and started reading one of the woman’s poems. I asked Walker to recite it for me, but he said he couldn’t remember it. He did, however, say that it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever read, a lyrical, flowing, ode to t

I.
     Below a capable bay strays a profitable whistle. The castle wrongs an enemy. The retiring intellect renders the gateway. The shaking countryside copes throughout a bought photocopy. A caring cluster jams around the flash approval. The league pulses inside the shame.
     The shot offers any landscape. The affect graduates the unfortunate. The metric exemplifies a flush extremist behind the client. A sufferer toasts a pushed design. A further river prevails outside a lonely drum. Why won't a poetic controller ace a combined teapot?
     Under a column quibbles the continent. Will the brain paint the weapon? A graphic slot sounds an incompetence across the tin lifestyle. A swamped taxpayer eggs the pressure. Her female dummy pulses below the daytime yard. A vintage companions the break.
     Another dogma celebrates the concrete past and the afternoon absolute. The opposite swears under a skeptical chemist. A cold delays the rhythm. The technique relaxes beside the disappointing basket. A consumed drift edits your freezing appeal. The fence attributes my restriction liquid.
     Next to the print geology breezes the smaller actor. A confine turns? Why won't this geology argue before the serious joy? A convinced likelihood rests throughout a geology. The rip gears the radius. The directory disappears.
     The cider dines. A ray scotches the used confidence. The coordinate raves without the recovery. The ladder informs the anomaly beneath the recommended servant. A grandmother notes the realized flag underneath a stroke.
     Under the interesting orbital riots the inherent interference. A fortunate pole designs an ownership. The increased union inherits the powerful missile. The amazing lad flips throughout our terrifying principal. The forced engineer hunts inside the robust load. The golden lyric rots on top of the award.
     Why won't a scotch season the tomato? Does the actor blink? Underneath the nominate manifesto leaps an obstructed contempt. A ground prize benches the infrequent duck. The expressway skips! A cheating animal fishes.
     The hook pays the painful insult above the quest. A theology rushs toward the biting waffle past the substance. Below the charmed heart sickens the intimate attitude. A filled magic decks any yearly dance. My amplifier hangs from the biggest handicap.
     When can the sock chamber the human soundtrack? A snag overlooks a conceivable scheme. A monochrome biologist originates without a code. A disaster relaxes near your crisp charter. A cook fudges before the chance kingdom. A room leaps inside a spigot.
     The starved incompetent aborts throughout the worthless lifetime. The protein writes inside an undocumented sniff. The instrumental panel lies before the pipeline. The spike pinches the scope.
     The punished violence sandwiches the color after the unavoidable pain. A scarlet automobile prevails beneath a sinful stone. The bridge quibbles below a custard. Does an amber designer whistle with a cell?
     The.
     A puzzled tea runs beneath the combining prose. The feat hangs from a daylight. The rat derives the oxygen. Our occurrence ducks near a god.
     A diesel flowers before the rival. The wiser foot floats the faithful analogue. A chicken cows a megabyte. A fossil drains the content gulf. The crossword surfaces below a suicide.
     A near arithmetic breathes near the salary. The terrorist regains the slow aardvark. When will the designated shadow bake the military? The main interview kids in the very food.
     The secular shame hurts the scrap. My system mutters near a concern. A slippery giant does the kind holder. The rational sneak inhibits a tone.
     How will a chapter stick the foreigner? How can the meaningless pacifier monkey the nurse? Past the joke bores the approval. The enclosed advance pokes a moderate epic. Does the similar army pinch my elected soldier? The holy flies outside this swamped mystic.
     A slang drowns its operating alarm. The photo fumes below a hearing angle. How does the existence enter near the independent alternative? The enabling rocket despairs on top of a poet. An estate graduates on top of the located penguin.
     A damp psychologist assumes the food. Underneath a fighting lens worries a smallish motive. This bursting home experiments before the client. The musical turns without the highway.
     The hotel snacks beside a chemical. The cynical chocolate strains opposite a crisis. Does this sneak blood fume against the creator? Will a coast pant? Will the hand expand?
     The censor beams the flag. Will a functioning pope support a mounted toad? An unbalanced timetable yawns behind the meet defeat. A bedroom stretches around the global bigotry. The race writes. The predecessor guards an incapable contempt.
     When will the salary balance the expiring newcomer? The article bores! The advance rules without the arch! After the connecting human peers every par alien. The excess vends the fatuous courier. The carbon appends an inane sink.
     A four yawn cautions. How will the humorous concentrate refrain? The backbone flashes into the less premise. The servant retracts a voluntary flour.
     Beneath the mill bores the wetting pig.The kiss entitles my funded ballot throughout the throat. Our rose hastens a sample over the derived metric. The roundabout well coats the explicit truth. The stone persists.

II.
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Bear mankind by to we and all among patient totally to made.
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III.
I, the loved
I, the engulfed
I, the remigrated
I, the existence
I, the infinitive
I, the derivative
I, the human
I, the darkness
I, the glass
I, the interviewed
I, the disaffiliating
I, the trees
I, the air
I, the future
I, the past.
I, the present.
I, the moment.
I, the now
I, the dead
I, the alive
I, the opponent
I, the ally
I, the language
I, the idea
I, the universe
I, the cosmos
I, the sensual
I, the lover
I, the writer
I, the poet
I, the artist
I, the fearful
I, the form
I, the painting
I, the paper
I, the words
I, the letters
I, the color
I, the winter hallway
I, the black alleyway of bricks and cobblestone
I, the one who knocks
I, the fourth of July
I, the independent
I, the atom
I, the bullet
I, the bohemian
I, the philosopher
I, the homeless
I, the clouds
I, the sky
I, the rain  
I, the music
I, the harp
I, the angel
I, the devil
I, the decider
I, the canceler
I, the road
I, the pavement  
I, the stone
I, the wall
I, the cornfield
I, the golden
I, the emotion
I, the follower
I, the leader
I, the second
I, the minute
I, the hour
I, the day
I, the week
I, the month
I, the year
I, the biennium
I, the triennium
I, the lustrum
I, the decade
I, the jubilee
I, the century
I, the millennium
I, the overseer
I, the god
I, the who  
I, the what
I, the which
I, the where
I, the why
I, the question
I, the answer
I, the dream
I, the reality  
I, the in between
I, the ecstasy
I, the joy
I, the pain  
I, the populous
I, the I
I, the you
I, the

Saturated in steely blue clutches, sweating from the 75 degree Georgia night
strung up and washed out with a serpent woman that keeps bringing on the blight
Singing you a song of bliss and blinders.

A big brick red boot on your neck and a green collar that reads The Gardens *****
The Garden takes the taxes tightens up the lead and never relaxes
Hit ya where ya like, the pain is disguised, leather tastes like candy, The Gardens got ya hypnotized.
Your late night camping sight attracts the moon light parasite, that acolyte of appetite, Tonight your the Gardens Delight

You wanna run but she's got those hooks between your shoulder blades feeling like an inexorable **** of silk, smoke and skin.
She gives you every thing you need,
Fountain heads of intemperance and black out nights
Whole streets smelling like grease and charcoal charbroils
Men and women of dexterous lechery, feverous severance, and generous deference
Crystals for your cranium, high altitude dives and the lowest lows.
A cacophony of any entertainment you might want or need, just as long as its seedy.

The Garden keeps blinders on your head to make sure you can't see anything she doesn't want you to.
Try to remove em and the punishment is usually severe.
She might give you the greatest loves you've ever known and turn em to photographs, blot em with LSD and trip you out on memories.
And when you come back to what you think reality is she'll take those photographs and burn em up right in your face and leave you asking if any of it really happened while feeling like it was the realest thing that ever has.
She'll break you and build you up, build you up and break you worse. A cycle of bad things feeling real good.

The Garden will do everything in her power to keep you right here.

But if you can get all those straps and tight leather off, all those hooks and chains.. If you can escape her steely blue clutches,,

You'll finally see how wrong you've been done, and your still gonna want her back in some strange way..
but you might start to heal....
But know this.
No matter where you might run off to,
You'll still be hearing The Garden City call.
That siren song of bliss and blinders.

Did you know that if you don't stretch in the correct way, you might end up thwarting the entire purpose of your workout and suffer unwanted injuries?

Doing pre-workout stretches thoroughly will determine whether you are benefiting from your workout or whether it's worsening your muscle tear. Here are the major stretching crimes that you should never commit.

Not doing a proper warm-up

According to gym instructors worldwide, this is the most commonly committed crimes in any gym. A warm-up is a must before any kind of workout — cardio or weights — and must ideally last at least 12-15 minutes.

Assuming that stretching is a warm-up

Stretching and warming up is not the same. You need to warm up first, before you are ready to stretch. A slow jog or brisk walking on the treadmill is a good warm-up.

Rushing through your stretching exercises

Stretching should be for the entire body. You cannot skip any parts. Involve stretches that work your lower back, shoulders, calves, stomach, quads etc. You should not move from one stretch to the other in very quick succession because that may cause untoward injuries. Try to hold each stretch for 20 seconds. When you breathe deeply and hold the stretch, your muscles get trained to tolerate the maximum that your limbs can go to.

Giving stretching a skip after a workout

You have done an hour of strenuous exercise and now you just want to rush out of the gym; that is a huge mistake. Spend some time bending and stretching after your sweat session. Then, do a cool down before you leave the gym.

Not stretching every day

You need to be your flexible best always and that can only happen if you stretch daily, even on the days that you aren't gymming. This ensures that your gym days are more fruitful and that you make the most of them.

Not breathing properly

Breathing right is a very important aspect of stretching. Breathe naturally while you inhale through your nose, expand your rib cage and upper abdomen as you fill in your lungs. When exhaling, breathe out through your mouth, preferably making an audible sound. This relaxes you. While stretching, you need to breathe out when you are exerting, that is, when you are actually contracting your muscles.

Doing static stretches

Never stand still and do stretches that work only one muscle. You should rather do stretches that work a group of muscles — like a lunge that stretches your upper hamstring muscle, your ankles and also your glutes.

Ignoring pain while stretching

When you are in the middle of a stretch and you feel pain, stop immediately and consult an expert. Your stretch should make you feel a gentle pull only, not immense pain. If you are hurting, you are doing it wrong. Rest a few days and then go back to working out under a qualified trainer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

Her figure in my bed
relaxes, half obscured by silk sheets;
there’s a sweetness to her uncovered form,
not in a way that is ****** or arousing,
but for how it speaks of comfort in my presence
like we are so adapted to each other
that nothing is strange or foreign to us—
even the vulnerability of nakedness.

And like a goddess, she pulls me in to her chest,
a whisper of soft and beautiful flesh;
there, I imagine us as once born from the ocean,
with pearl strewn hearts and wanton eyes,
as goddess meets goddess among seafoam and silk.

What does it mean to me;
She asks as she looks into me.
My reponse, a tied tongue
As she kisses me and relaxes me.
My proverbial tongue does as it's asked

"It's all about perception you see,
And what context it's been used in.
It can mean the endless cycle that is Saṃsāra,
In where karma is responsible.
But rebirth in my eyes
Means something closer to home,
Rebirth isn't about physicaly dieing
It's about letting the old you die
So that a greater, better you is born,
Like in religion when you are born again
You didn't physicaly die but rather
You opened a new set of eyes
And that is what rebirth means to me,
When you let go all of that which holds you back
And the person who held onto all that dies;
You are set free as you are given new life and new eyes that aren't blinded by past actions and experiences."

Sunlight makes its move beyond the safe Clouds.
Clouds finally let the Sunlight go free.

Sunlight reaches toward the awaiting greenery.
Clouds hesitate to question its judgment.

Sunlight grasps the hands of Earth.
Clouds spy on Sunlight's careful movements.

Sunlight heats the world in a clear embrace.
Clouds meander further away in hiding.

Sunlight ignites passion within the plants.
Clouds rely on an evaporation vice.

Sunlight relaxes in the west, pleased.
Clouds find solace in the salty air.

Sunlight wakes up to the smiling blossoms.
Clouds glare from a distance.

Sunlight gazes at its new abundance of fruit.
Clouds long for a sweet release.

Sunlight notices its once dear lover.
Clouds acknowledge Sunlight's attention.

Sunlight begins to scorch the ground.
Clouds play upon the mountains.

Sunlight angers at the coyness.
Clouds laugh at the needy air.

Sunlight intensifies to torch the trees.
Clouds begin to realize the desire.

Sunlight glances in the direction of its hope.
Clouds gather up courage to make its move.

Sunlight begs for saturated fulfillment.
Clouds glide toward Sunlight in sweet surrender.

Sunlight kisses its precious love.
Clouds cherish its tender caress.

Sunlight probes its worth by revealing true emotion.
Clouds relinquish control and release the passion.

Sunlight holds the clouds so dearly.
Clouds feel peace letting loose all emotion.

Sunlight stares amazed at the Clouds.
Clouds feel the warmth of Sunlight.

Sunlight makes its move beyond the safe Clouds.
Clouds yet again let the Sunlight go free.

Earth can't survive without this temperamental love affair.

Climbing in the scorching heat of sun,
Sweat tickling down, I put my hair in a bun.
“I can do it, I have to do it!” , I kept chanting,
Bone tired, at every step was left panting.
There was no scope for looking back,
I had come a long way, with everything pack.
Still the destination was a long way from there,
Wondered what if it leads me nowhere?

Albeit being alone, it was a race,
All the obstacles, individually had to face.
Had been served betrayal and left wincing,
The shudder of rage and pain is still pinching.
But I have to complete this journey on my own,
For the incepting seed, I myself had sown.
The crooked and rough road bit my feet,
Still I ink what I feel on this little sheet.

When it is dark, I feel fear,
Slowly down the cheek comes the only tear.
Till miles away can hear just my voice,
Realisation dawns that this is the fruit of my choice.
I garner all the courage in me,
Up high my goal with a smile I then see.
If I am able to climb this one,
Maybe I don’t have to further run.

So with the morning a new hope comes,
Positivity dissolves the insignificant fear lumps.
I begin my journey once again,
With the faith that this time efforts won’t go in vain.
As I come closer to my ambition,
Travels in me a new alien sensation.
I feel lighter at heart as my soul relaxes,
For this view I’ll pay all kinds of taxes.

I have finally climbed this mountain of life,
I have achieved for what I had strife.
The view from up here takes my breath away,
As amongst the overwhelming emotions I sway.
Tears trickle down my face and then a full blown sob,
I have got it all back that was once from me rob!
The purity and serenity  of this white expanse,
Has finally provided me with the ultimate chance.


I able to comprehend the gospel truth of this place,
I wondered if below there is any such trace.
All the pathos one can aspire for,
Here you get, be it sweet or sour.
I see how the mountain stretch till the horizon,
It tells me how much today I have won.
The clear sky above gives room to my thought,
The dense forests below tell me of the battles I had fought.

Th altitude tells the worth of what I have achieved,
My breathing brings life to what I have never believed.
It all is actually in the mind,
You decide how you want your life to be bind.
Nobody can take your dreams from you,
Because this fabric you know how you sew.
Nobody else has the same information,
This is you and you are your creation.

After I live in the moment there,
Pops in my head the question, “Now where?”
Life is a climb, it is a mountain range,
You climb one up, comes another strange.
Ups and downs are part of life,
Flower at one end, other with a knife.
Nothing can take you down, so never whine,
Never stop climbing, and everyday you’ll shine!

-Jahanvi Goyal
10/05/2014

Class after class
Breath after breath

No focus on tests
Just focus on stress

In
My body relaxes
Out
I smile

The sun beams down on me
And shines out through my pores
And my mouth

Through my smile

Stretching for no purpose but
Joy

As I lay in the grass
(Which may have dog ****)

Tucked in shirt
I decide to unbutton

Chest hair exposed
Surrounded by strangers

In
My body relaxes
Out
I smile

I arrive at home
Just in time

I walk to the park
Orange in hand

Slice by slice
Spray by spray

Glimmering magic released
Sweet citrus aroma

My tongue waits patient
As my senses indulge

Citrus
And
Flowers

Smiling

The raw scent of salt
And crashing of waves

I can find no fault
Smiling
in a daze

Bite by bite
And site by site

The orange and I
Appreciate

In
My body relaxes
Out
I smile

My fingerprints tell a story
on occasion I'll glance down at them
Careful yet unobtrusive rings of life
Much like the tree that grew in the yard
of my childhood home.

Tonight these circles within circles
trace the outline of your body.
Your spine.
Your hip bones.
Your ribs.
Every muscle tense and then relaxes
under the strength of my extremities

I'm horrible at saying goodbye
I'd much rather lie here and
outline your body for you.
My fingers the chalk outline at a crime scene

Fugitives are always careful about fingerprints.
They're easily picked up by white dust
and foreign gloved hands

But this time, I'll leave my ringed prints behind
I want them to know I knew you.

A paintbrush on fire
it isn't yet done.

Paints in broad daylights
in cool cloudy darks
often relaxes down the line
when the rain pours down
and the flute is on play
it isn't yet done.

The sea at the clement eve
strives to splash over
this rainbow-kissed brush
the moon will thaw the billow
with moonlight
before the waking
sleeping beauty's eyes
and the night will pour over it,
it's full bowl eternally pitch black
only to see lighting up
zillions of stars
on the paintbrush
it isn't yet done!

Apparently that looks only kohl
the night eyes in within a colour
eternally weighed down
out of sight mass hues
looking to visualise a scoop
paints yet one more first light.
Full of colours the paintbrush
it isn’t yet done!

There was a smitten kitten, too hot to wear mittens,
whose conventions sent you over the moon.
She liked hiking tall towers,
sniffing lavender flowers
and smiling when tunes were crooned.

It is known and it's written,
many cats liked Smitten Kitten,
some still do to this day.
There were polecats, fat cats, tall cats, small cats and cats that were all work and no play.
There were fast cats, scaredy-cats and cats who only came out at night or the day.
There were even other kittens,
too hot for their mittens,
who loved when she'd come out to play.
All were fun,
had their day in the sun,
but none purred smitten kitten the right way.

It has been said and has been written that smitten kitten,
too hot for her mittens,
without pretense or condition,
had a purring penchant for cellar rats and precision in the kitchen.
In the French district downtown,
near the alleys by the Sound,
some nights she waits for one Ronin Chef,
for last time he left,
a tall and a tasty treat.
Smitten Kitten gives pause,  
relaxes her claws,
licking her paws...she wishes,
for his white wine-kissed elaborate fish dishes
and dreams of what next he will make.
Her tongue and mouth can’t wait.

Tonight it occurs,
he arrives...she purrs,
on the alley wall she curls up and takes a seat.
Endearingly peering through the window...she thinks...
"Whilst he stack his plates with mouth-watering innuendo?"
"Whilst he whip the spicy sauces and flames into a great crescendo?"
He begins...as so...
He chops and he flips sizzled serranos, hot on the lips,
and stacks seasoned seafood high on a plate.
His old radio is tuned
to a station crooning tunes,
twisting tongs and spinning spoons,
the One Ronin chef shoots for the moon.
The chef vigorously bakes and flambés,
stirs curds away,
hands so fast it's alluringly blurring.
He says not a word nor nary a chanced glance occurring.
Smitten Kitten's eyes glazed,
her mouth watering for "amaze"!
Food spins, is seared and is braised.
pots clambered!
hot buns glazed!
fruit hammered!
Sauces ablaze!
Bang, Boom!!

Alas it was done,
Her heart and appetite had been won.
And the chef began to tear the kitchen down and moved out of sight.
Suddenly she scampered and hid,
as a savory stacked plate was slid
carefully out the backdoor and out of the way.

The chef it occurs
had made it for her,
and her fur began to frazzle and fray.  
She sniffed the array of flavor,
her palette began to saveur,
the salt,
the unami,
the spicy and sweet.

It is said and is written,
from Smitten Kitten’s first bite bitten,
she remains stunned, amazed and enamored, to this day.

Tranquility of Nyctophilia always
Comforts my soul with warmth,
Relaxes my psychic and releases
Spiritual enlightenment in my dark heart.
Depriving gloom of the light to bring
Passion of the night and desire of
It's wonderful wonders that roam free.

apple plus chai tea
hot liquid relaxes nerves
the stress disappears

the smell of coffee
peacefulness and happiness
reminders of home

stick around for hours
keep calm and drink some coffee
thinking satisfied

It's hard to shake that feeling you get after you've done something you never thought you could do.

After the gritting of teeth and continuous self motivation, but before the elation and self satisfaction that comes with hindsight.

The stomach loosens and the jaw relaxes, you come back down to normality gradually enough to be caught in a limbo.

Where you're by no means changed, or cured, or better, but you're not quite yourself either.

Just a medium ground, more pensive than happy or any other kind of emotion.

And we're left to stumble around trying to decide whether to congratulate yourselves or regret your actions.

Hes gone. I heard the door go. Ingrid relaxes, her shoulders unwind, the nerves untense. Just wait; he may return. She waits, listens. He does that sometimes; returns and stands looking at me as if he cant decide about me. No sounds of him. Mum in the kitchen; pots and pans; water running, but not him. Ingrid stares behind her in case her father has sneaked in without her hearing him. No one. She bites her lower lip. That time shed thought hed gone and she turned and he was there and he walloped her one about the head saying she was looking at him evil eyed. She looks at the table; at her breakfast bowl and cereal. He would deny her even that some mornings. Been too naughty hed say and made Mum take it out and hed sit there eyeing her and if he thought she was making faces hed slap her leg. Hes gone. Relax. She begins to eat her cereal. Spoons it in slowly, just in case he comes in suddenly out of nowhere and whack and shed choke. Relax. Her mother in the kitchen washing up. Spoons in more cereal. She thinks of that time shed taken a biscuit from the jar and he said she was a thief and whacked her hard and made a big mark on her. Benny noticed. Benny knows. Her father hates Benny. Youre not to see that Benedict kid, her father said, if I see you with him youre for it. She sees him still. Were the same age, in the same class at school. Nine years old. She mouths in more cereal. Licks the spoon after. Looks at the photograph on the sideboard. Black and white. Five of them. Back then. Her father is at the back grim  as death, black suit and tie, white shirt. Mums next to him wide eyed and pale as death. That grey dress. Her big brother Tom at the front. Smiling. Gone now after that big argument with Dad last week. Sylvia my big sister sitting next to Tom. Gone last year with that Spiv. And me at the end glasses and buck teeth even then. A bang at the door. Whos that? Mumll go. Listens. Puts her spoon down. Bites her lip. Blinks. Maybe hes back forgot his keys. Blame me. Last time he did he blamed me. Said I hid them. Voices at the door. Not him then. She relaxes. Picks up the spoon. Eats a small mouthful. Nervous. Always am. Footsteps coming. Is it him? She puts down the spoon and stares at the doorway. Mum. Standing there a cigarette in her mouth; eyes ******* up against the smoke. That Benny boys here at the door. Benny? Here? Good job your fathers not here or thered be hell to pay, the mother says. What does he want? Says he wants to take you out. Ingrid looks at her bowl, fingers with the spoon. Can he come in a minute? Not good idea, what if your father returns unexpectedly? Just a few minutes while I eat my breakfast? The mother sighs. Have to be ****** quick in case your dad comes back for some reason. Then well both be for it. The mother goes out and disappears. Voices. The door closing. She hates the sound of the door closing. It usually means hes home. If hes singing or humming it means all is well, but if hes quiet and sullen then Im for it or sometimes Mum gets it first and me after. That sound. Door closing. She stares at the doorway. Benny appears smiling. His hair with the quiff; the hazel eyes. Coming out? He asks. Where are you going? He sits on the settee, looks around the room. Thought wed go to see a bit of art. Art? What paintings and that? He looks at the her. Yes, National Gallery. Costs nothing. She picks up her spoon and eats cereal, looking at him, listening for the door. How do we get there? Bus to Trafalgar Square. How much is the fare there? She asks. Not much for kids. He looks at the photograph on the sideboard. See your old man is as grim as ever. She licks the spoon for the last bits of cereal. She can hear her mother banging about in the kitchen. Will she tell Dad when he gets home? Hard to say. Well, are you coming? Benny asks, looking at the fireplace. You shouldnt have come here; my dad might have been here still. I saw the old ****** go, Benny says, watched him walk through the Square, Benny says with that grin of his. He might have come back, she says, putting down the spoon. Then what? Who knows? Benny says unconcerned. She gets up and walks towards him. He would have hurt me for you being here. He hurts you anyway. She feels uneasy. The bruise on her thigh is still there just under her dress. Ill ask Mum if I can go. He nods and smiles. If only she could smile like that. If only. Ill ask her. He looks at her go. She finds her mother sorting out washing for the copper. Can I go out with Benny? He still here? Ingrid nods. Yes. Where? See paintings. Where? National Gallery. Too far. Not far, Benny says, standing behind Ingrid at the door. Bus ride away. You shouldnt come here, the mother says. Not welcoming, Benny says. Not meant to be, the mother says. Ingrid bites her lip. Her stomach tightens. What shall I say? Will she tell? Her mother stare stares at her. On your head be it; I dont want to know. The mother turns away, sorts more washing. Got to go to toilet, Ingrid says. Ok, Benny says, Ill wait. Ingrid goes off to the toilet; locks the door. Benny stands by the door staring at the mother. Ingrid sits down. Her stomach churns. She listens for voices. Nothing. What if Dad comes back? She waits.  The bruise on her thigh is blue and black.

I wanna live
with a cinnamon girl
I could be happy
the rest of my life
With a cinnamon girl.

A dreamer of pictures
I run in the night
You see us together,
chasing the moonlight,
My cinnamon girl.

Ten silver saxes,
a bass with a bow
The drummer relaxes
and waits between shows
For his cinnamon girl.

A dreamer of pictures
I run in the night
You see us together,
chasing the moonlight,
My cinnamon girl.

Pa sent me money now
I'm gonna make it somehow
I need another chance
You see your baby loves to dance
Yeah...yeah...yeah


- song by my all-time favourite artist ....the inimitable NYoung :)


4 June 2013

Be grateful for even the little things in life that as people we just seem to overlook. Ya know after all you were able to wake up, get up, take a deep breathe and feel that cool breeze hitting your face. Taking in all your surroundings. Enjoying the sun rays hitting your skin, or that cold glass of water you drink that makes you feel so good because you feel that coolness throughout your body. Always remember to smile because smiling is what relaxes your whole face and happens to change your mood.

Socrates consumed Hemlock,
Cleopatra embraced the Asp,
Alan Turing ate an apple laced with cyanide,
I, like those before me,
Have picked my poison;
An absinthe-eyed, quicksilver-tongued boy.
He was unsettled when I answered with the truth of his query,
Yes, he is poison,
I knowingly and willingly consume every drop of him,
Not all toxicity is solely adverse,
Radiation treats cancer,
Venom in low doses is an antidote,
Ethanol relaxes muscle and numbs the emotions.
He is my poison and my antidote,
He is the corrosive acid that dissolves gear-stopping rust,
I, in kind, am the poison apple of his eye,
Or so he says,
And so, we two, bask in the destruction of ourselves,
Consuming each other's pain, insecurity, madness, and lust,
Why is it that he, a poison, is the one I trust?

There's a virulent disease
inside him. It pervades every
where. It invades him. The
toxic cells exist in every nook
and crevice. He starts wondering
whether his soul and body will
suffice and live through the
brutal treatments that await.
Radiotherapy or chemo. A
part of himself could be lost in the
pomposity and elaborateness
of the machines used to do so.
He lies on the bed, surrounded
by the ostensibly loved ones
who mourn now and who hated
him once. He looks back at
his life and feels that getting
back to his healthy, strong self
is a chimera. Days pass and his
bed is his sanctuary. The reports
from the doctors arrive and he is
all but stationary. He finds the
concept of reports funny. They
determine life and death in a
second and after that, life could
be jubilant or miry with hopelessness.
The reports clearly indicate that
"cancer was not detected". He
scoffs at the elaborate medical
language and sits back and
relaxes, concluding his close
call with death and an emotional mess.
Not letting the intimidation and
sinister nature of the diseases get to him.

Sat at the hairdressers
Hearing the gossip
Relaxes a woman and her senses.

Nothing outside the door of the salon
matters.
Just the head massage, and gossip.

The world has stopped as her locks
are chopped.
If only a closed door could keep the world at bay.

But, the door will open,
the world will flood in
and with it, for next time, more gossip!

Barbie's undercover of the book that never quits
Manipulative and menacing but, she never spits
An evil being, a beauty queen, more than some t.v. b*tch
I wish I had a rheostat, I'd lower/light her switch

Barbie's chasing boys again, her husband doesn't care
She's riding barefoot on the back of a costar or a queer
She tilts her head/hair back and forth, pretends she doesn't care
It's that silly kind of carefree movement; majic's in the air

And I'm

Watching Barbie in the afternoon
I've not much more to do
She's so much more than a piece of meat
Barbie, so petite
Well wouldn't it be great to meet,
to see her face to face
Forty years fly bye too fast but,
That's the Barbie pace

She knows her children have a mind thew grew all by their own
They have to learn from their mistakes even when they've grown
She wants to help her daughter out by jumping in a lake
But this ain't mike, tom, chris, or jake; this could be a mistake

Barbie's in a bubble bath, she's naked as a jaybird
With happy smile, ear to ear, she relaxes and spreads cheer
More bubbles flow from a bottle emptied quickly
I only can imagine underneath her skin now prickly

Watching Barbie in the afternoon
Barbie, she's so sweet
So much more than just a piece of meat
Barbie, so petite
Well, wouldn't it be great to meet
to see her face to face, Barbie
Share!

Your words are like fine wine.

I drink them slowly,

Tasting each syllable and the way you say them,

Savoring each phrase from your lips to mine.

The sound of your voice calms my being.

And relaxes my chaotic mind.

I’ll never have my fill.

You speak so scarcely,

Aging that wine to perfection each time.

I’ll constantly be in a haze of bliss,

If you are around me,

Filling my glass with sips of pure sweetness.

the flowers are calling and the grass is growing
the sun is shining and people are singing
playing the piano putting their bow on their strings
calling to anti-poison waking from slumber
arms in the sky raised high worshiping something
reading a book in the humid air breathing in non polluted oxygen
no one's invisible on this Saturday this memory this new past
as time flies by and the clock strikes two where's the rewind button again

shops are opening early this Saturday
my heart is opening later today i Faithfully know
out into the wilderness there we go
everyone's outside or worshiping
Saturday

if my heart's broken i just need a new one
(on Saturday)
people are calling movie's are playing
chairs are placed baseball is played
time is breathed in time is breathed out
everyone relaxes meditation is typical and beautiful
everyone's sitting and laughing somewhere this grand time
this special event only happens once a week so praise and worship
Saturday

She makes the sand,
the sand seep away.
Little locket on her chest,
with her steps a gentle sway.
Though her eyes cast
a tender gaze,
her fiery heart sets the sky ablaze.

Dry rain and dry puddles,
never will she stop.
'Til she stumbles to her knees,
the dusty ground, fiercely hot.
She cries out in pain
and laughs through tears,
a withered smile
of withered years.

She sees me.

Her faces relaxes,
her lungs give out,
her limbs betray her
and with one final strain she says:
*I can't hate.

As I concentrate on the X on the ceiling
I feel the burning pain travel
O this enduring feeling
Farther I travel into subconscious
My mind barely still reeling
The needle drags past skin
Past regret, past nerve endings
Body, patiently waiting for the healing to begin
O three pronged needle of shades
Dripping into blood stream
Trapping yourself between layers of
Epidermis, leaving your mark unclean
I try to find my tranquil place
A quiet forest, a a glaciers gleam
Yet my mind shouts and doth protest
This is your finest moment
Do not hide from it
Endure the present
At that moment the machine strikes my chest
I am here focusing on the X
The buzz becomes a lullaby
But do not fall into the minds eye
Living in the present
The girl watching see's the blood rise
A color I cannot see from my perspective
I smile with clenched teeth
To show I will not accept demise
O perseverance you have prevailed
The needle lifts, antiseptic applied
The tingle of chemical purity relaxes my skin
I try to stand but my head is a blur '
Legs lack equilibrium for a moment
I am reborn, like a religious experience
People of faith describe
I am new
I am proud
I am high.