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Big Virge Aug 2016
Well It Seems It's... OPEN SEASON...  
For... MURDEROUS Policing... !?!      
      
NO MORE Will Blacks Take Beatings... !!!      
      
Police Will Leave Us BLEEDING... !!!      
While They KEEP ON Receiving...      
PROTECTION For Yes Leaving...      
      
Blacks With...      
      
NO PULSE Or FEELING... !!!      
In Fact NO LONGER Breathing.      
      
And Then Comes... " Court Proceedings "...      
That Leave Black People SEETHING... !!!!!!            
Well FINE It's... OPEN SEASON...      
For Poetry... Now Seeking..........................................      
      
So­me TRUTH...      
And LESS... Deceiving... !!!    
      
See I'm Incredibly NOT Shocked...      
At How Poor... " Walter Scott "...      
      
Got Shot By Some White Cop...      
When Walter Tried To Run...      
From This... Policeman ****... !!!!!      
      
But Before I Move Along...      
      
He May Well Have Done Wrong... ?!?      
But... " Officer Slager "...      
Let Off EIGHT SHOTS...      
In... Walters' BACK... !?!!!?      
      
Let Me Just.... " BACK TRACK ".....      
      
He Shot EIGHT TIMES........      
Taking... HIS LIFE... ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !        
      
Because.............      
Said... SLAGER...        
      
" He feared for his safety      
because Mr. Scott, tried to grab his Taser ! "      
      
So That Means... WHAT... ?!?      
      
He Deserved To Be Shot...      
EIGHT TIMES In His BACK... !?!!!?!      
      
Maaaaannnnn....      
      
ENOUGH of This CRAP... !!!!!      
      
What Kind of Policing... ?!?      
Gives Policeman Teachings...      
of... SHOOT TO DEATH... !!!!      
      
Rather Than... " A Leg "... ?!?      
      
Shoot BOTH If Ya Like... !!!!!      
      
But ENOUGH of These Vibes...      
Where... Black People DIE... !!!!!!      
      
Husbands And Wives...      
Whose Fam' Are Told LIES... !!!      
About... COP HOMICIDES... !!!!      
      
So Let Me Season And OPEN............................... .........      
How People Are.... Bro Ken... !!!      
And Blacks Are Just TOKENS...      
For Them To Be... " Quoting "...      
ALL KINDS of... DUMB THINGS... !!!!!!    
      
About... Po' Po' Shootings....      
      
An Asian Dude...      
Who Went To My School      
Posted... One Day...      
On MY Facebook Page...      
      
"Blacks need to be wise      
when police are in sight,      
and not antagonise,      
cos that's how they'll die !"    
      
Yeah THIS INDIAN Guy...      
Felt He Had The Right...      
To... Tell Me WHY...      
Police TAKE Black Lives... ?!!!?      
      
Cos' We....      
      
"DON'T ACT RIGHT !" …      
      
Well YEAH Sometimes....      
But Being... SHOT TO DEATH...      
Goes BEYOND NONSENSE... !!!!!      
      
But Asians Like HIM...      
Prove That Being... "submissive"...      
Is How Most Choose To Live...      
And How Most Seem To Think... !?!      
      
How Many Asian Girls...      
And I DON'T MEAN... Orientals... !!!      
Have Been... " Experimental "... ???      
      
When It Comes To Black Men...      
Being In... Their Worlds...      
As The FATHERS of Their Children..... ?!?      
      
It's CLEAR From Their CASTE System...      
That Inter-Racial Teams …
Are … RARELY EVER Seen... !!!      
      
Unless Their Partner's...      
...... " White "...... ?!?      
      
Most Asians Don't Trust Blacks...      
And That Is Simply... FACT...      
      
In Fact Some Do Believe...      
That Blacks Are Just... MONKEYS... ??!??      
      
Check Through THEIR History...      
Such Words AREN'T FALLACY... !!!      
      
When We Now... " Greet Police "...      
Should Blacks IMMEDIATELY... ?      
Get Down Upon Our Knees...      
      
And BEG Like... " Slavery Scenes "...      
      
"Please *****', don't shoot me !"      
      
Which Leads Me To These Blacks...      
      
Whose Uniform's Now Packed....      
To Join These... Police Klans... !?!      
      
What Have They CHANGED...      
In... Policing Ways... ?!!!?      
      
" NOT A LOT "... !!!!!!      
      
Ask... " Walter Scott "... ???      
      
Well Sadly Now...      

You CAN'T DO THAT... !!!!!!      
      
Because What Is FOUL...      
Is THIS HERE FACT... !!!!!      
      
While Walter Died And Lied FACE FLAT...      
A Cop Who Was... BLACK... !!!      
Seemed To Search Mr. Scott...      
As If He'd... STILL ATTACK... ?!!!?      
      
And Then Let This White Cop...      
Treat Him... LIKE HIS DOG.... !???!      
      
I'm SICK of The CRAP... !!!!!!      
Now Coming From Blacks... !!!!!!!      
      
Will They Wanna Shoot ME... ?!?      
For This... REAL POETRY... !?!      
      
See It's Been...      
      
OPEN SEASON For QUITE SOME TIME... !!!!!      
      
Cos' Black Folks Be... "submissive"...      
As If They'll Face A LYNCHING... !!!      
      
For BREATHING and NOT Flinch-ing... !!!!!      
When Po Po Lights Start.... Blinking.... !!!!!!!      
Which Right Now... Gets Me Thinking...      
      
That WILLIAM LYNCH...      
Is Looking Down and Saying...      
      
"Look at these Black Clowns !" …
      
Folks This Here AIN'T...      
" 12 Years A Slave "...      
      
This Shooing Happened...      
.... " YESTERDAY ".... !!!!!!!!      
      
In South Carolina....      
Where That PIG Has Been Fired... !!!      
      
But WITHOUT The Footage...      
Would He STILL Be Out SHOOTING... !?!      
      
See I'm A Man of Reason...      
But Right Now I'M SEETHING... !!!!!      
      
Because When It Comes To....      
      
... KILLING BLACKS...      
      
It's  .....      
      
STILL CLEARLY.....      
      
" OPEN SEASON !"....
Listen Here :
https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/07-open-season
ghost queen Dec 2018
you are the center, the sun in the sky
warming, lighting, guiding those below

you are the core, the hub in the wheel
forming, maintaining, strengthening the circle

you are the earth, the bedrock beneath
supporting, stabilizing, reinforcing our lives

you are the reason for our being, our births, our lives
nurturing, nourishing, caring for our hopes, our dreams

you gather, sort the fruits, roots harvested from the land
tending, stoking, reviving embers smothering in the hearth

your strength transcends your body, your mind, your heart
from the first child, to the last, your love, affection is forever

you cradle, caress, kiss, comforting the child
reassuring, protecting, shooing monsters away

you are the strong, tough, steady woman in our lives
fierceness of a lioness, tender as a kitten, loving her child
Thank you Mom, for the sacrifices, you made for me.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3419782/tough-chick/
Dorothy A Apr 2012
The first time that Evan laid eyes on her, he told himself that he was going to marry her. Embarrassed by his own fantasy, he quickly dismissed that thought as fast as it came to mind, telling himself what an idiot he was. Yet, from time to time, in spite of his reasoning, the thought would invade his skull.

What a dumb idea anyhow! It was just lame, teenage fantasyland! Girls did that kind of junk all the time, saying they were going to be Mrs. So-and-so, and thank God nobody could read his mind to know what he was dreaming up! Like she would marry him! He felt like a dumb ****, great in athletics, but far out of her league. Not even having the courage yet to ask a girl out on a date, and now he was already thinking of marriage! Pathetic! Really! Only a freshman in high school, he felt he should know better, lacking the good common sense his dad always tried to drive into him and had himself.

Ginny Delgado belonged with the smart kids, the brains of the school, although she seemed to stick more by herself, away from any stereotypical clique. Evan had first seen her in his biology class, and he remembered when other students wanted to copy off of her test papers. She never allowed any of that to happen, though, even if it would gain her popularity, false popularity but attention just the same.

It was a surprise to him that Ginny seemed to have few friends. Mostly, girls who were nerdy and smart did not seem very attractive or put together. Ginny seemed to have it all. She was smart and pretty, but she never identified with any of the girls who thought they were hot—and all other girls were not—and so she stood apart as one who shrouded herself in guarded aloofness.

And now here he was at his 20th high school reunion, one he really did not want to attend, but talked himself into going anyway. Perhaps, he could shoot the breeze and run into a few old buddies, his basketball friends. He didn't think that much of Ginny since he graduated from Fillmore, much less anybody from all those years ago. There really wasn’t any reason to reminisce once high school was behind him. School was not misery for Evan Stewart, but it wasn’t a time where everything seemed magical and carefree, not like for some students who looked upon those days as some of the fondest memories of their lives.

It was the class of ’92, and a huge banner displayed across one of the walls read, “Welcome back, class of 1992! Fillmore High School rules!” There was a good turnout, and Evan recognized a lot of people, although there were fewer that he knew by name.  

Sitting under dimly light lights, around a bunch of round tables, Evan now sat with the other alumni, stuck in a crowded hall with music blaring away from the early nineties. He had his overpriced meal. He had his few beers.

But what now?

He was almost bored to death. He was beginning to watch the clock more and more, scanning the room to see if he could possibly find reason to stay longer.  But then something happened that he never expected to happen, never even would have imagined it.

And, suddenly, his heart started to pick up its pace.

Was that her?

Evan thought he had made out the vague shape of a possibly familiar figure, an amazing and sudden surprise. Was that Ginny Delgado?

He wondered if he was seeing things as he intently stared across the room at the shadowy prospective of Ginger Delgado. But with the low amount of lighting, it just might not be her but someone he never even met before. How awkward would what be?

If it was Ginny, she was sitting next to a guy who seemed obnoxious and full of himself. Even from afar, he appeared to be a guy who would be in everyone’s face, with wild hand gestures, talking away and giving nobody else a chance for a word in edgewise.  If that really was Ginny, was that her husband? What a trip that would be! All the sense he once attributed to her would have to have gone out the window, if that were the case.

Sitting at Evan’s table were several of the other guys that were also heavy into high school basketball. Most were married and came with their wives—nobody was alone as Evan was—and now they all tried to act like they were thrilled to be all gathered together to show off their accomplishments. They were all passing around stories of life after high school, after basketball—some with talk of their college days, their wives, their kids, their jobs and careers—plenty of drinks to go around, and some toasting to the good, old days and to even brighter futures ahead. Evan was never married and did not have any children, so he felt he had much less to say. Most of those guys were not even very interesting, even though they tried to make it out that they had achieved so much in their lives. They may have been out of shape and past their prime, but all of them tried to act like they were the same as they were twenty years ago. None of what they all said impressed Evan at all, even though he tried to be interested.

He kept looking at the woman across the room, and the more he looked at her, the more he was convinced he was spot on about her. She had to be Ginny! He should just get up now and have the guts to ask her! But what would she say? Yes, I am Ginny Delgado, and this pushy **** next to me is my husband?

Though he was twenty years older, Evan felt just as awkward and as scared as he did in his freshman Biology class. It was better to just let the issue be. He’d rather save face than look like a total fool.

Suddenly, the unexpected occurred, something that gave Evan’s heart even more of a stir than he initially had when he spied her presence. Was it possible? Ginny now looked like she was starring back at him, as if they had somehow miraculously locked eyes and she had an uncanny ability to notice him back, from that afar off, now being transfixed onto him!  

You’ve really lost it now. What do you think, that she really notices you and remembers you?

Ginny stopped paying attention to the obnoxious man beside her and kept looking in Evan’s direction. She even reached her hand up and gave a little wave out his way.

Timidly, Evan waved back.

Standing up, Ginny started to make her way across the room. The obnoxious guy next to her looked on after her, like he could not believe she had wanted to part company with him. Evan guessed she was not his wife—thank God for that!

No, there is just no way she is coming over to talk to you. Alright, maybe she is. Get a hold of yourself now! Stop acting like a teenager and act like you actually know something about women. Come on, Evan! Get it together! She is coming.

Evan was right. It was Ginny Delgado! But she stopped short of his table to sit a down at the table in front of him, next to another fellow classmate of theirs, a female student that he vaguely remembered, though he did not know her name.

It was almost a relief she did not come to sit with him! Yet the disappointment was equally there. Seeing her more up close, Evan knew for sure it was Ginny. She was still quite pretty, perhaps even more so now, her medium brown hair and her dark purple dress complimenting each other. Not wanting to stare, Evan couldn’t help but to shoot many glances her way, without trying to be too obvious.
          
She smiled a lot, glad to talk to another person that she knew, and probably glad to be away from the guy she was stuck with before. Her eyes sparkled, and Evan never remembered ever seeing her so unguarded. In biology class, she was quiet, like he tended to be. Now she seemed so different, seemingly freer to be herself. Evan rarely saw her smile in high school, but thought she was very serious and sophisticated.

Before long, the DJ was now playing Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven. Couples at all tables were making their way to the dance floor. Soon, Ginny was approached by some guy who asked her to join him for a dance. She shook her head, no. Nonchalantly, the man turned to the woman that Ginny knew and asked her. She gladly accepted, said something to Ginny as if to have her permission and understanding, and then took the man’s hand to go to the dance floor. Ginny remained at the table by herself, looking on at the dancers with seemingly little regret that she declined an offer.

This might be your only chance, idiot. Are you going to blow it and be a wuss? Go up to her and tell her that you remember her. Go on! It is your perfect chance. What do you have to lose? If she isn’t interested, just go then. You’ve spent enough time here anyway!

“Hi…Ginny Delgado isn’t it?”

Evan asked as he approached her from behind. He cleared his throat. His voice had sounded so gravelly, as if he hadn’t uttered a single word all night. And his heart was beating a mile a minute, and he swore it must have been pulsating through his shirt. He was glad he put his suit jacket back on, for he was probably sweating like crazy.  

Ginny looked up, seemed to look puzzled, but then smiled a little. “I remember you!” she said with growing enthusiasm on her face. “Oh, but I’m sorry. You are going to have to tell me your name again”.

“Evan Stewart”, he replied. “We were in biology class together Remember? We were sophomores.”

A succession of slow songs was now being played, and Ginny’s friend was enjoying the time with her new dance partner. She certainly was in no hurry to make her way back to the table to rejoin sitting and talking with Ginny.

“Oh, sure! I remember now!” Ginny exclaimed. “Evan Stewart. Of course! You were the tall, shy guy that everyone liked because you knew how to win one for us. You were big into baseball, weren’t you?”

“Well, basketball was my best sport. I liked baseball, too, and track”, he replied humbly. It was amazing! She actually remembered more him than he thought she would!  “

Can I sit down and join you?” he asked, his courage and confidence growing.

“Oh, do!” Ginny replied, eagerly.

He felt like he was in seventh heaven. How cool was this? Sitting with Ginny Delgado? It was a bonus to a fairly descent reunion.

“So what have you been up to for the last twenty years?” Evan asked. His face was flush with embarrassment, as if he was just a guy who happened to luck out, but had no real skill in socializing with a woman he once fantasized about.

Ginny laughed a little, putting her hand up to her mouth as if her response was inappropriate. She responded, “You want a few hours? Or should I just give you a one word response?”

Evan smiled, blushing, as he tried to appear smooth and confident. “A one word response?” he asked.

“Yes. I can say it in one word—roller coaster….oops, that is two words”.

They both just sat there as I Can’t Make You Love Me, by Bonnie Raitt, played on.  

“Yeah…I guess I could say that about my life”, Evan agreed. “Would you like me to get you something from the bar?” he offered. “A coke or a beer?”

Ginny stared out onto the floor, as if she never heard him. “Isn’t it amazing how everyone comes to see the same people they always used to hang out with and still intend to hang out with to this day?” she asked. “How boring and predictable!”

Evan looked at her, puzzled, “What do you mean?”

Ginny continued to look out onto the floor, the music now upbeat dance music, and said, “Well, I mean you see all the football heroes all hanging out with each other. The members of the debate team are all huddled together as if they are preparing for the next debate. The cheerleaders, the drama club, the science club geeks…nothing has changed has it?”  

Evan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that is typical. But that isn’t me. Sure, I saw some of the guys I played ball with, basketball, but the truth is I am not really that interested in hanging out with them.”

Ginny turned to look at him, her hazel eyes intent and solemn. Evan added, “I don’t have any contact with any of them. Nothing against them. I just don’t”.

They looked at each other in the eyes for a while. The silence was awkward. It was as Evan’s watching and waiting for her reply was the cue for Ginny to open up, and open up she did.

“I went to UCLA on a scholarship. I became a history major, world history, American history, women’s history. I never intended to teach, not at first. But it just seemed a good fit for me, and I have had plenty of teaching jobs, junior high school, high school. I moved to Sacramento.  I was briefly married after I got my first real teaching job there.”

Ginny’s eyes glistened. There was a pain in them that seemed locked in deep, not really wanting to expose itself too much, but coming out nonetheless.

Evan listened on, eagerly, so she went on, her gaze towards the dance floor “It did not work out. He cheated. He did it more than once and with more than one woman.  And now that I look back, I can see how wrong it all was, especially after my miscarriage. At first, I was so crushed, and I wanted to try again, for another baby, to try to please him, Jim, my husband. Thank God, I didn’t go on and on with him. I am glad I came back here…..back to Springdale.”

She looked back at Evan. He quickly looked away from her glance, his eyes downcast to the table. She wasn’t kidding. Her life was a roller coaster. He did not know what to say, felt so inadequate.

He decided to just share, in return.

”I was engaged once. It was a long engagement. She was a friend of a friend. Lana was her name. She told me she wanted to be with me, but she just wasn’t ready to make the big leap just right away. Actually, I am kind of glad now that I look back. We both owned our own shops. She was a hair stylist and I owned my own car repair shop, but that was about all we really had in common. I mean not really, even though we both liked sports a lot. We never seemed to agree on anything.”

Like he did, Ginny just listened intently, not attempting to make any reply. Evan added, “She was willing to cut me down in a second. I see that now”.

“Well how do you like that?!”

Evan and Ginny looked up as the woman that Ginny came over to see arrived back from the dance floor. She was walking, hand in hand, with her new found dance partner, fanning herself with her hand and laughing.

“Ginny’s got some company, too!” she exclaimed, beaming at Evan.    

Ginny replied, “Rhonda Flemming, this is Evan Stewart. She used to be Rhonda Boehner back in Fillmore”

Ginny turned to Evan to introduce him to her old classmate. “Evan…Rhonda. Evan, I don’t know if you two ever met each other before when we all went to school”.

“I’m not sure I have, either”, he replied, extending his hand to shake Rhonda’s. Rhonda quickly grabbed hold of his and gave it an overly enthusiastic shake.

“Hi, Evan!” she exclaimed "This handsome man next to me  is Brian. I never knew Brian until he asked me to dance!” she said excitedly. “And I am newly divorced and so is he! How strange is that?”

Brian shook Evan’s hand and then Ginny’s. “How’s it going?” he asked, grinning with embarrassment at Rhonda’s forward frankness.

“Ginny is one of the smartest people”, Rhonda went on to Evan and Brian. “We were once partners in an English class. We had to write a paper about each other. That was so fun in an otherwise booooooring class. Remember, Ginny?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, and made a shooing gesture with her hand to convey that Rhonda did not know what she was talking about. “I’m not as smart as anyone ever thought I was. I just worked hard and did my best, but thanks anyway for the compliment” , she said, modestly.  

“Oh, you were, too, Ginny!” Rhonda disagreed. She had a gleeful glint in her eyes. “Always so serious, Ginny Delgado! “

Rhonda grabbed Brian’s hand. “Hey, Brian and I are going to go mingle and walk around and see what trouble we can get into. You two want to join us?  

Ginny and Evan looked at each other as if to say “No way!” Ginny responded, “I think we are just fine here, but thanks”

Rhonda winked at her and then tugged at Brian’s hand. The pair of them went off together, leaving Evan and Ginny to themselves.

Evan smirked at Ginny, and then they both started cracking up with muffled laughter. Evan paused and then burst out laughing again. “Where did you find her?” he asked. A tear actually began to run down his face from laughing so hard, and he quickly wiped it away.

Ginny stopped laughing, tried to compose herself, but busted out with even more laugh
Mitchell Jun 2012
The night rested in a humid Spring night as the cable cars
And taxi cabs lazily made their way around the
Soft and silent streets of the city. Stray cats and dogs
Picked away at half-eaten lunch meat and
three day old bread as the moon slowly began to rise.
The restaurants that lined the alley ways and
Side streets were filled with the Saturday evening crowd. The
Clinking echoes of wine glasses and dinner plates spilled
Out onto the sidewalk and into the street. The passerby's would
Occasionally turn their heads to look inside, some envious that they
Were not smiling and drinking and eating that night. Across the
Street and throughout the town, lonely men drank from half empty
Beer mugs, wondering where their passion had gone.

On the corner of Barry and 3rd stood a man alone with
A suitcase in his hand. He wore tattered brown dress
Shoes - two years too old - a black neck tie with a half
Button-up T-shirt and a pair of dark brown slacks he had
Bought from Goodwill for $3. His free hand hung open,
Letting the night breeze snake around his fingers. There
Were the stars above him that shone down onto the street
And the sidewalk and a few spotted puddles that had
Built up from an earlier rain. On the corner of Barry and 3rd
There was only one thing to do with one's time, and that
Was to stand around and think of where to go to next.

Up on 17th, there was a bar the man had heard of
From a woman who had tried to pick him up at the bus
Station, some kind of ******* that was really only looking
For a couple of free drinks and a packet of cigarettes. The man
Thought of this place, and weighed back and forth if it would
Be advantageous to wander up there and see if he couldn't
Find someone to shack up with for the night.
He decided it would be.

As he passed the busy restaurants, listening to the insides
Of the building and its occupants churn like silverware
In a blender, he remembered he had placed a half-loaf
Of bread inside of his suitcase.
He stopped on a rough concrete stoop of a Catholic
Church, where above him, stood a large wooden cross.
Around the cross were plaster sculptures of baby angels and
Gargoyles and a snaking vine made of black stone that made
Its way around the cross, tying itself around the center
Where the horizontal met the vertical, and continued
To spin around and around until it reached the top.
At first, the man thought it was some
Kind of snake signifying Adam and Eve, which was all
He really knew about religion, the basic kid stories, but
When looking closer, realized that it was only an innocent
Plant seeking a spot of sun.

The man placed his suitcase on the 3rd step of 8, where he
Then sat on the 4th. He leaned his weathered, bent back against
The hard stone concrete and listened to the faint cracks
Of his spine inside his body. He realized that he hadn't sat d
Down and relaxed since he had gotten off the train. He threw
His head back in a exaggerated and child-like yawn, and felt the warm tears
Of bashful exhaustion fill the sockets of his heavy eyes. The night was
Warm and he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt
To let the air blow over his sweat drenched chest.

"There are certain times to be alone in life," He mused
To himself, "And I do believe that I have
Found one of them."

In a room above him the window was wide open
And the curtains danced outside with the wind. A head
Poked out from the window sill and peered down to
Look at the man musing, but did not say anything. The man
knew nothing of the stranger's eyes above him and felt
No other presence around him, other than the passing taxi
Cabs and street walker's and - if you counted the one's inside
The church - the saints and the angel's and God that lived
In holy silence enshrined behind him.

"There are things in life that are never meant to be
Solved," he philosophized, "And maybe I am
One of those things. When I think of my life, my entire
Life here on Earth, I don't think I ever found
A straight line to follow that I was ever comfortable
With...not one straight line I could follow that would
Bring me true happiness or a sense of accomplishment.
Now, am I bad in feeling this way? Am I no good
For never feeling that the good ain't ever good enough?
I do my laundry like everybody else and I walk the
Street just the same, but, there is something else that
Smells and feels and can taste the eternity in all things
That makes me restless so I can't sleep sometimes, forces
Me to stare into black infinity with only a mind I feel
That I will never truly meet. There has got to be a word
For whatever feeling this is, but I can't seem to think of it now."

The head above that had poked out before ******
A dark object out the window. It wavered for a moment
In the still warm air of the night, then, whooshing and
Splashing down, a full bucket of water cascaded down
on the man's head and suitcase. The man sat frozen, unsure
Whether it was from the Heaven's itself and paused before
He began to swear and curse at the tenant above him.

"You rat **** eating vanilla ice cream eating convict!" he
Screamed up towards the apartment complex, "I'm going
To come back with a gallon of gasoline, 10,000 tooth-picks, and
Find out your favorite magazine subscription and bring 1,000
Those by, and burn this place down - gifts and all!"

His voice
Echoed in the street
And down the darkened alley-way,
Where the bums of the city
Slumbered, not hearing a sound
Of the rant the man in the now wet
Two year old dress shoes rambled
On with; for bums sleep with
Absolute peace with their lack of
Care or fear of time.

"At last," he muttered underneath his dripping hair,
"I am released unto the Earth for what I truly am: A hung
Sheet - fresh out of the washer - meant only to be
Basking in the moonlight so to be dried by
Morning for the house-guests in the evening."

The man snapped his fingers,
Clicked his tongue, and looked up,
Once more trying to spot the culprit, until
Another bucket of water came crashing
Down upon him.

"QUIET DOWN THERE,"
The voice from above hollered,
"THERE AIN'T A SINGLE WORD ANYONE
IN THIS BUILDING WANTS TO HEAR
RIGHT NOW! CHILDREN ARE SLEEPING AND
THE OLD ONE'S ARE WATCHING THIER PROGRAMS!"

The man ran his hands through his dripping wet hair
And flicked the droplets of water out onto the street. His
Suitcase, which sat to the right of him, was soaked as well and
The man worried about the single baguette he had stored
In there in case he had gotten hungry. He knew it was ruined
Now, but was happy that there was only an extra pair
Of 50 cent socks and an undershirt he had found underneath
A bridge on the way into the city. He cocked his head up to the open window.

"You speak for everyone here in this building?" He
Asked the black and blotchy figure above him.

"I speak for everyone that doesn't have the nerve or
The cajones or the energy to holler down at you at
This Un-Godly hour, if that's what your asking."

"They vote you into that position?" He asked, prodding them.

"No vote. I'm a volunteer," they defended.

"Ha. Always going to be some kind of
Volunteer when there's power involved."

"Isn't power, it's responsibility."

"Responsibility," the man repeated, chewing the
Word in his mouth, seeing it spelled out in his mind.
"Responsibility is quite a subjective thing: some people
Take a liking to it and never want to stop being responsible and
In charge, and some just don't want none of it and
Would rather lay back in the sun and act
Like their in charge, while whoever believes
Their power works under'em and for'em; which one are you?"

"Neither. I'm just here trying to ward off some
Rambling *** with what looks like nothing but a
Suitcase and some old clothes and shoes."

"Well," he said, "You must have some pretty good
Eye-sight in this setting dark, because that's
All I got at the moment."

"Where you hail from?" the voice asked.

"Originally I hail from here, but where I was
Before I hailed from as well. To tell you the truth, I don't
Truly know - that's a good question."

The man tilted his chin up slightly and
Rolled over his response. The question had
Dropped an icy fire into the pit of his stomach and filled it
With hundreds of gnawing, fluttering butterflies; he
Hadn't thought about home in a long time and
Had forgotten why he had even chose to show-up in the first place.

"I'm here for reasons I can't seem to remember at the moment,"
The man admitted to the voice above and to himself.

"Can't remember?" the voice laughed, "How
You gonna' forget why you came home?"

"Don't know," he said, shaking his head," Just
Can't seem to recollect it."

"Scary thing."

"Yes, indeed."

They both paused as a taxi cab passed slowly by. It stopped
And honked its horn trying to signal the man to see
If he needed a ride. The man waved his hand to send the
Cabby off and looked down at his wet clothes and suitcase. The
Chill of the night had gotten its way into his skin and
He noticed that his teeth were chattering and his feet were
Beginning to shake. He worried about getting sick because he
Wouldn't be able to buy any medicine if he did. He looked up
To see the figure still looking down at him in silence. Suddenly,
An object fell, back and forth in the air like a feather,
Down towards the man and onto the stoop where he stood.
It was a blanket and wrapped inside was a tattered pillow.

"Bring it back if you want," the voice called out to him, "Don't
Even care if you sleep on the stoop, but, it's a little wet, as you know."

"There a park around here?"

"Down two blocks and a left. You'll see it."

"Thanks for your kindness," he said looking up at the window.

"Thanks for your silence," the voice said stubbornly.

The man brushed off the remaining water on his clothes
And suitcase and tried to squeeze the water out his hair.
He picked up his suitcase and wrapped the blanket around
His body and fitted the pillow underneath his arm. He walked
Two blocks up from where the figure had told him and took a
Left, illuminated by the stark orange and white street lights. He looked
Around after he took the left and spotted a small children's park
With a few benches spotted along the sidewalk that snaked through it.
He picked a bench near a water fountain, unbuckled his belt and took
Off his wet pants and laid down, wrapping the thick wool blanket
Around his body. He placed his suitcase underneath the bench and
Positioned the pillow so it fitted gently under his head. After he
Closed his eyes and rested for five minutes, he reached down to
Touch his suitcase. He felt the cool, damp leather of it, and
Quickly wrapped himself back up into the blanket,
Eagerly awaiting for dawn to rise and bring warmth back to his body.

At dawn, the sun painted the man's body with dark yellow streaks
of sunlight, heating his body up so much that when he woke, his
Clothes were close to dry again. The small patch of grass and
Weeds underneath him rustled with the wind and the sounds
Of the street a few blocks away drifted into his ear. He stirred
Inside of his blanket but did not rise. The pillow had fallen
To the ground throughout the night, but the man was too tired
To reach for it and kept his head on the hard wooden surface of the bench.
While lying there, half awake, the man thought of the figure that
Had been speaking to him from their window the night before. He
Knew he must return the blanket and pillow, but he was unsure
Whether he should bring something else. He had no money -
No money to spare at least - so he chose to bring only the
The things that were leant to him back, hoping that would suffice.

He shifted his position on the bench and saw through a crack of
The bench, that there were children already playing on the playground
Behind him, their parents leaning over their porches watching them; they
Didn't even seem to notice or care about the man sleeping on the bench.
The man felt embarrassed about this and rolled over to avoid the
Gaze of the parents and any of the children that may have spotted him. He
Laid on his back, his head atop the worn but comfortable pillow, and
Gazed up into the blue sky that was clear save a few passing milky
White clouds, that hovered above him like colossal globs of marshmallows.
He hoped in his mind that he remembered where the house the was that
Had been kind enough to give him the blanket and pillow and he wished
That he had paid more attention to the street signs and physical objects
Surrounding the building. All the man could recall were the bright neon
Orange light posts, a long line of thinly pruned circular bushes, a few
Mailboxes that stood as if attention on the sidewalk of the street, and
Numerous houses that all looked the same when he passed them in the night.
He knew he needed to find the house but was too comfortable to rise and
Too scared of the failure of ever finding the house and the thought
Of carrying around the blanket and pillow made his face flush a deep red.

The man rose cooly, as if rising from a nap spent on a couch in his
Summer cottage that rested on the bank of some far off river somewhere.
He looked over to the children and the parents up on their porches, but
Still, none of them paid him any mind. This relieved him. He was allowed
To be a shadow and embraced the idea of being anonymous rather
Than feeling the helplessness one feels when no one sees you. He folded
The blanket neatly like his mother had taught him to do ever since
He was a little boy, and instinctively fluffed the ***** pillow, even though
It was far beyond repair already. The sun was just peaking over the tops of
The ramshackle apartment buildings and he noticed that he had been
Sleeping in what looked like a very poor part of town; in the night, it
Looked like every other park corner where the elderly would to
Think about their past and the children would play with their present.

"Night and day are two different worlds," the man muttered
To himself, "Some people belong in one and some
The other; I wonder...which one am I?"

He looked up towards the sun and squinted, feeling a
Small droplet of sweat make its way down his right cheek. He
Wiped it away with his fingertip and brought it to his mouth -
He was terribly thirsty and his stomach rumbled within him. He
Had noticed the night before on the way to the park, a sign
For a bakery, but was not sure whether it was open or not because
The night was too dark to reveal any signs of it. The man had 10 dollars to
His name and knew he could buy two loaves of bread for at least 50 cents
If he haggled with whoever was running the place. They would be sure
To see his condition and help him if he showed them a little of the money he had.
There was also a childish charm to the man that he would bring out whenever
He truly was in need - he never liked abusing this gift, if one could call it that -
But in times of desperation and starvation and dehydration, he was
Forced to use it and mustered as much courage up to do so.

He walked through the path that had brought him to the park and
Made a right down the street towards the bakery and possibly the
House where he had been given the blanket and pillow. There was
No one on the street save a few alley cats and dogs and all the window
Blinds were down to block out the intense shining sun rising in the sky. There
Was a light breeze passing through the trees that cooled the man off. He
Had begun to sweat from holding the pillow and blanket so close
To his body, and wished he could have the nerve just to throw it in a
Garbage can and make his way to the neighborhood where he had been told
About the bar, but his conscious weighed him down, so he carried on.

He walked a block down the street and found the bakery on the other side
Of the street. He crossed and saw there was an old woman inside.
He checked his pockets for any spare change and opened his wallet
To make sure the 10 dollars was still there. He needed water and something
To put in his belly and he whispered a prayer before he went inside of the bakery.
When he pushed the door to enter though, it wouldn't budge - it was locked. The
Woman behind the counter turned her head and looked at the man, who
shook her head and waved him off. The man knocked gently on the glass
Door, but the old woman just kept waving and shooing him off like an animal. The
Man checked the clock inside and saw that
Vernarth sequence

Prophecy I -  “Eighth month of sailing in systemic plenitude”

“Since they will not hunt us down in all our Itheoi cycles…
nor in other lapses from where the fine eye could have sewn the buttonholes of the shroud, where there will be life and if there will be a short time without life...
dragged by you for a long time where the sun is melted over the word, staying stored and locked in your pocket to collect it blushing,
tomorrow's jump without a yesterday declining..., without a tomorrow in the heat of a bonfire...
lamb in bait handled being the portal of those who have been slapped inside their cheeks… who will not shorten the cycle that transcends all the oblong sepulchral vaults or who abound in the nonsense of sanitizing nights of ***** despot life having to measure themselves in your flourishing duel by Aiónius of the cleanest dew of its solid stroke and announced delineation of the new one that has been retraced again being more than a brief syllable created again fertile, in the biosphere mouth so as not to see you omnipresent mist, meditating not having you and that dares to meditate on your future that will have to be reserved for yourself by professing it when you are cold in front of you and insinuating if in living followed by letters to be flooded pondering like a paralyzed sleeping part that wants not to be covered with feigned warmth and that does not fit in all the parts of me being who wants to be consul of some shelter with all those who sleep also half dreaming in the company of the lost afternoon that never ends serving Saint John in Katapausis here, perhaps Aiónius del Ibico 1 as a magnificent and net unit that sees the luminous truth when we all come out of a prophecy alive even if it's dark ".

"What a reckless job of losing value,
I am already in Katapausis in the eighth month...,
I entered as the light opened with my hand turned into the light...
being already a katapausis meaning in Sabbatarianism.
Quasi-unit method exhibiting cohesion to the rest motif
With levers in my hands and intra-sabbatism in his dissertation...
of an exegetical and theological nature that has transpired soft insomniac light, We are a people who do not have to fear or air to deposit for a future warehouse above the Sycamore or birds that guard all the Gold above my hands on the Sycamore…”

"Stay in my house, if I don't come back it will be yours
stay at home, it will belong to everyone even in the apocalypse...
that more reckless will be silent as a work of losing value,
Katapausis is the threshold where my life enters and leaves at once,
stay at my house, if I don't come back it will be yours...
Open windows by meekly closing them to that confronted obverse to you...

He comes from a den relativized on reliefs in weathered beads...
they will be soluble mineral beings convened moving away from the most distant and closest to the least distant…, from waters of underground siphons… there we will all be floating… like vertebrate invertebrate animals”

Vernarth, after not entering the grotto not having found Saint John, goes outside where he goes on a campaign for three months before he can be received by God's law. Here he meets with Reader and his pelican, as well as Eurydice.


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

“Three months I have waited in the middle of this mountain,
symmetrically arranging the steps to be taken, not going backward
prana of life walking in oceans of life walking…
us and them… how much must separate us to reach us?
what I have not tried to separate…, what I have not been able to achieve…

I think I died early in the worlds that haven't risen yet,
I think I was reborn late among dense curves that overwhelm us with straight lines
soul, principle, matter, and material distinctive ontology
Ghost god of parallelisms beings and activities in affinity...
starvation body of low energy ceasing creatures in embryo
incessant firstborn to infuse other confining souls
trails demons slip where my ashes hands are sore
wounded doctrines to engender and doctrines to ulcerate...

As the prophecy uses the sea carrying messages resolved from shore to shore
close to a Virtual why in the twilight your Faith that must be glandular… matter of soul and body exposed to predisposing theological and chemical, in pursuit of the corruptible whole in vice versa if he does not burst with atheistic impatience.”

Eurydice takes a zither and sings tempting stormy actions to Vernarth, Raeder and Petrobus put their souls in line in the first linear principle, Together with the matter of corporeal fire proceeding to the definition where all the parts are confirmed without distinction dancing next to them creating the greatest bond of faith in body and soul, thus spending the three months in a few words of light of the sated fire.

"In the eighth-month katapausis, eight times your permanent peace must rest in
cited state; once it is translated into Sabbathisms and it will be the same state… When everyone finishes their dance in the cave and enters believing they have the courage to enter eight times in connection with rest…, plus eight times in connection without rest.
In some verses, the urgency of the entrance will be accentuated. The main issue “is that history will be repeating itself exactly where the Israelites were at Kadesh-Barnea. A related term either synonymous with Kadesh or referring to one of two sites, is Kadesh (or Qadesh) Barnea. Various etymologies for Barnea have been proposed, including 'wilderness of travel' but none have produced a broad consensus. What is the consensus? will we stop believing or lean on the shores of a preacher rain of Jehovah or lean on the shores of a preacher sinful waterfall or lean on the shores of a preacher confessing rain or lean on the shores of a preacher wet wind inquisitor...? where ever the aromas of its faithful winds served will go sacred to everything named before and many before the confessing rainy…, waterfalls in favor of the temperamental inquisitor wind”.

Astheneiais”, in Greek is and will be a weakness, in Hebrews a moral connotation and will mean not only physical weakness but a conscious weakness and trembling in temptation. Our Lord also understands us in this weakness because he was tempted in every way as we are. Since he himself was tempted he knows from experience what it means for us to be tempted. He was not tempted in all the particulars of our life, for example, He was not tempted as a husband or father, owner or employer or soldier, because he was none of these things. But he was tempted in all three areas of human susceptibility: body, soul, and spirit.

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

“They were on the perimeter trying to keep me together at his command,
I go every day for its pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils, and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skalá where some residents are waiting for me who have ordered to bring materials from Gricos and Psili Ammos to project your home,
If this has been written like this, it is because my pleasure in walking has written it, in the company of the one, he has written for the one who walks next to me the god Ibicus!

They always asked me why to mention why I have to do this for them… I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate the Hellenic geography,
without them, everything would have been invaded by unled foreign hands… in that rest, I have to attend to the verse that precedes it...
which says that we have already entered where I already intend to argue the following…

Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began... now I will abide by and present your messages in a very predominant note, I was Hoplite Commander of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute living a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without his martyrs...
like those people to whom God swore they will not enter my rest
whose amen will be preached in the passive voice verse!

Remain as the verb indicates with the real facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when…
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and frolicking lilies like baskets of hermaphroditic lilies procreating only-begotten forests at the altar.

Stand tall over the Abrahamic fire without knuckles or shields,
rethink your beloved woman and take a sudden step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew...
up the mountain towards Skalá at night after drinking wine
Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with innocuous saffron atmosphere
lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.
Greek fire naphtha, cinnabar, and anthracite.

Wake up united with the deep disorder
Grant the color that deserves to have your day as a constellation
with the image that rests on your angular and calloused hands.
stopping spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for open bleeding wound not his… the thunder that hides baptisms in all hearts empty of blood...

“While Vernarth was praying in the oracle he felt a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had opened...
As if millions of seconds of angels were to be dispersed from the sky
To reduce more seconds of silence to the thinnest pleading eardrum

A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood...
I couldn't realize that he was really Him...,
I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library...
Also, not realizing it, I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts..., of breaths that still did not prosper in the hands of San Marcos...

A gigantic door slam is felt again...!
again it was the angels that came
at the wrong time in his return..., but now in his repatriation
they climbed through and into the Garden of Eden.”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his craftsmanship of him, he was still attentive to be received by San Juan. The longer he waited to be arranged for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic gate slam is felt again! the angels who went back one after another with their polished golden-white cloaks relapsed..., but now making the Garden of Eden their own,... being theirs in what was theirs, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same Katapausis manger at once!

Raeder says: hugging him profusely! time has to fly like little angels, having them by your side as companions of the time that is leftover on their wings, giving it all to your enjoyment of living and feeling it lost in you without finding it. ! khaire mi Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with nuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts in delicious syrup from Kalymnos. Petrobus jumped for joy and fluttered like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia stories while they ate the morsels, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu. Euridice assists in the same with his fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to his waking up far from the criminals. Vernarth takes the staff from him from then on and divides books and manuscripts into two portions so that he has time to take steps to really feel that he can walk close to Saint John.

Prophecy IV -  "Fifth, Nature, Manuscripts and Jophiel"

“Zeus wakes up trembling, full of headaches saturated with Herbs for headaches Jophiel speaking this time with the Kabbalistic language of the Torah...with golden commoner super zone of the Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….age-old music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin, to make him more human…Zeus accepts Jophiel by placing his head about the house of Jophiel; a divine island to throw cards…brings the second ray to the Sahasrara at the crown of your head, pacifying love that is the suspicious and risky loser of everything risk in the head especially when a feeling is born!

Zeus turns his head and Jophiel twists it to the opposite side
about the ruined zeros that he did not count from the plasma of his dependency, Zeus feared having albumin at risk of human transmutation... happy to be able to cry he imagines slipping into the middle of a lake and he sees that he falls on Hera's poultry harming none, Zeus pours brimstone from his mouth and milks inelegant prose from the scythe…

Trina flame whose son bears glorious her bearer,
thousands of lives being clumsy for the wisest destitute
being what in the present you were more than past trine
when you harbor from Hanael's Blue Sodalite quarry
the imperfect perfects when you listen to your
body how it beats, how it breathes... you realize that it is perfect
as is Jophiel and discerns repairing the wisdom in the decisive punt
where gum rosin myrrh and multi urban frankincense go
towards the soul plane architecture of the human plane.
Hardened Zeus overflows glazed sallow emulsion of war
coagulated exhausting guarantor of everything is well,
books of the silent world of nails that do not sound sheets,
Hanael in massive books divides sounding with her iris gel-colored nails encrypted library manuscript of a thousand years, the voluptuous organism of a thousand years…
flapping unpredictable millennia and wiry hands,
colossal capstans…, annihilated with a thousand years…
a silly propeller that spins like a sickle rolling over a certain holistic tabernacle of the small portion of the next day when Zeus awoke to the diaphanous threatening light with sunless cloud waistband…
His face is seen with frowns and he looks at his face as well
without seeing folds…but in front of the Aiónius.

The geranium appears in the representation of the natural whole kicking the Sickle, much more here lost of our spiritual being
Zeus Jophiel's hardened shoulder heats up only to lean on Him...
light on his shoulders fires on both of them…
how long it takes to save us perhaps twenty times what supports us even tired and much more unwrapped than the treachery of him alone and without being followed without knowing
nothing more than a thousand-year-old shell through which he would drain…perhaps a tortoise-like millennial angel walked up to the omega! joy preparing to give you live hopeful,
that if it would be timely to give you more life...
Here is Aiónius reordering the world together with Zefian…
He shares everything eternal of all your life that floats in the sea,
miserable mix space where capo dastro separates the end
where all the wheres cannonade the hoarse fire...
cement that joins brick wall and plenary adobes
love without nature that castrates your beautiful woman
that hides her face without mascara looking for it...
let's go outside says Vernarth..., we still have a few seconds in his solvent... sensible, full, and arc well-being...
as if you were floating in the air floating more
also needed me to teach you before your limits limit you,
and make you angry from the miserable sense,... Don't listen to me anymore...!!”

Vernarth puts his first three fingers on the capo dastro roosters crow with his skin vibrating beyond the sleep of Raeder and Petrobus. Reader wakes up and says…; My Vernarth I will make fire and heat water. Petrobus runs with his wings to look for sacred wood. Eurydice comments…, I will prepare the praiseworthy sacred breakfast.

When they were preparing to do all this, Jophiel and Hanael appeared to him, joining in the breakfast that would feed all the days and millennia of the world. Unleavened fruit, honey, and milk multiply above all, satiating hunger with satiated satisfaction.

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

“From so far away…, so far away that I listen to your sacrosanct cries…!
from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi…, rocking my elbows and hurting myself
moving in rare pleasant crypt upon crypts disconsolate stones
not so far away..., keys held in the eighth cemetery...
Who is to open the heavy door now...?
I come from Messolonghi 555 km in linear figures to Patmos...,
narrowing concave… doubtful in extension, passion princess cloud
He must welcome me benevolently in the night nymph consort...
Limbus N cloud, Cloud Cemetery lofty lofty hypogeum
soul of Limbo, before seeing the nut that girds the face in the graceful Grim Reaper resurrecting restless…, sinning… grail sacrament without Being or being…?
Necropolis Cloud, expectant mortuary technology...
amaze me if there is a byte for me...
narrow conscience, unseemly to amaze me?

Here the lost mist of the Nothofagus God phoneme-photon vanishes with divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. The Sacrament of Limbus will provide spaces and assemblages of meters for thousands of areas of infamous wandering the Ouranos, approaching the Áullos Kósmos to host him and rescue the children of the meter that was missing in the numeral rule of the Megaron acroteria before going up to the Necropolis Cloud. Vernarth, mere body formalizing principle...
extinct delicate evocation of the shadow of Elpenor;
Achaean warrior of Ulysses grandiloquent who even has otitis
and verse where flu spreads influenza
heartbreak from far away reverberating in the elite of lexicons…
arriving equidistant ... the last one arrives threatening with his Kantabroi staying neither divided nor captured, taking refuge in outright failure twilight of megahertz, farce propaganda surrendered fear will not fall even after …

Vernarth falls from the Koumeterium Mesolonghi in the Necropolis cloud privileging his status, he falls from this gloomy digital platform with a high alcoholic degree! from the high heaven after drinking hours he came in the carriage that was from Zilos, with the passion of heaven depriving his understanding stunned on some branches of will of Ziziphus…, stunned on branches of mercy….

Vernarth in a contrite accident with Elpenor, his psyche flies to the realm of the dead, Hades was remaining prisoner in that world taking the form of a Homeric icon or shadow. Vernarth was asleep after his binge, and Elpenor asks him if he wanted to join him with some concoctions. He was with blurred vision, a headache, and still lying down. But in the passionate horror of his drunkenness, he gets up quickly, saying to Elpenor: For me, it was one less pain to drink after having fallen from such a distance without being able to request and have had the grace of my mother's lullaby. For this reason, I hug you! They went together to the Cloud Necropolis to continue in the Limbus trying to alternate their physical body to gaseous liquid. At that moment Eurídice hits her with a piece of wood on her legs so that she wakes up from the bite of that nightmare that overwhelmed her to finally be able to wake up. Raeder had gone with Petrobus to Skalá to seek inputs of gnosis and his own inspiration for accents before the welcome in Katapausis to come in the blink of an eye of San Juan, necessary redaction for licenses and to be admitted to his library.

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

“Vernarth heard the sound of a bouzouki, spoke of a 40-day fast that Greece celebrates before Easter, at the Rethymnon carnival they come from all over Greece to attend as a family during the week with animations, evenings and concerts, dances…theatre, floats with Venetian art in the picturesque old town and modern city, in this ancient city …

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

“Like territorial extension, past-future organized infamous scene…Vernarth imagines being with Etréstles in immediate predictions
with years and thousands…, clan hobbies, Rethymnon manuscript…
while he thus deliberated…, thus rejoicing in the immaculate extramural grotto thus being as if it were comparable to a Neolithic village; being together lost with eagerness to appear from political power... palaces, kings, pro-organized religions..., rancorous superlative temple, priestly-eucharistic, nationalized sovereign citizen... commanding Parliament of the Hellenic politai people
the competent anti-value entity of the substratum political state…
sedentary-agricultural or nomadic-livestock culture…, vertical Hoplite culture!”

In Thessaloniki street, he would meet his brother head-on...Imagining how he would be...? Well-dressed-shiny, he would be in a passing tavern usually naming himself tradition and terms of questionable validity rather than those of a retro-linguistic family, in the remarkable urban-city dialogue called seditious inns with networks of political territorial extension, reaching the colossal size of multinational ideals of a complex stratification, social meeting place, future ministries to whom to delegate?. They would arrive at the tavern in Rethymnon in Crete, they order coffee, biscuits, and Mosaikó chocolates. In an unexpected moment, he suddenly wakes up from this deep, hallucinating, and futuristic imagination! His brother appears immediately, not in Rethymnon but in Katapausis with the goddess Lepidoptera!

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

“At the moment his imagination breaks just when they were preparing to toast… Etréstles in this same interval appear in Katapausis Reader and Petrobus coming in a singular pilgrimage from Skalá…this is how the syllabic song of the arcane ***** is heard emitting from the grotto…, yellow lights and saffron…. Saint John and the Gospel celebrating the Eucharist…Vernarth would believe for the first time that the hermit would come, but No…!
his brother was to be in the intervening yellow-white light
in front of him nothing more than Etréstles visiting him”

Likewise, they would no longer be in Rethymnon,
but the carnival would already begin in the region of Patmos...
eating delicacies, and the Sousta towards the circle of the Sun in the hands…They have been two months with the sweetened Moon and the Sun posing its mass of light in her… soft palm next to her waiting for him in the proximity of a Hebrew silence

Estretles says Khaire Vernarth! from Piacenza who did not see your joyous lux! I can see now to the sound of yourself the stoic zither...
countenance light, the orbit of your eyes, pale asthenia without photon without light, expectorant suppuration of your sacred Lynothorax, Absent in front of the long and fatal transverse lapse!
Raeder makes a speech to Zeus Photon Child Lux
Fulminant spends time where it remains greater than the minimum...
Patmos is the time of the Messiah…, retrograde years…
polis Helennic city-states.

Culture-state… state time chorus in tune
Philosophical poetic-epic Olympian Aiónius global leader
Homeric poems..., Raeder I am..., a naughty Politai...
you Vernarth are Politai Hetairoi militia
candy wasted by me Raeder… sweetened in my memory
polytheistic, cultured and declined…
theocratic referendum or democratic right,
Exciting porridge of my Kourabiedes cookies
butter, icing sugar, flour, eggs from the icy cliff
vanilla or Mastica resin, ***, Ouzo, mastica liquor…
or other alcoholic beverages…, which bubble on the underside of Aiónius soaked in my mouth with water from petal buds
coated for you with sugar on the tip of my tongue…
reflective cops in a wonderful dialogue of a tasty recipe...
It's time for everyone else to snack too!!

In that second Raerder was choking on a Kourabiede biscuit,
but there was the guardian of the Petrobus who piloted the
throwing hieratic water on the inside of his mouth,
forcing him to take heart from the buttress of his speech
shooing thick crumbs from his skinny dialogue spitted...
Gerakis, ray, tabletop oak bull, scepter for those who rule with him and not...My Zeus friend I invite you to play marbles,
I invite you to tell us that we are friends...
we're both fine… only Space-separated us…?

Raeder runs towards Zeus' thunderbolt from his right hand.
he jumps up and takes it from her, in exchange for this she gives him his marbles...The entire earth tilts over the Aegean..., the earth's axis tilts eight degrees, altering the cerebrospinal fluid of the Hellenic geopolitical conception..., with Zeus poly infarcted over descending magnitudes of inter-politics, millennia and headless governments...

“Apokalypsis lightning restarted, emerged from a New World”
Prophecy VII -. “Second, Alikanto Aion, Quantum”
"Kalymnos, golden tetra steed Alikanto was grazing under the metallic moon...
transiting its quantum physics…, golden legs…, four golden domes
the super host being in Apoika Andros next to the villagers,
commemorating troupe and advent…, Heraklion next period
celebrant anniversary, progeny bearer of Kanti Cretense,
close cycles of the sacred fire, domestic environment, and private zeal...
funerary hidden cult… streets in the hieratic family dwelling
fertile women… totalized and lustful ****…
productive longevity and harvests…, family Apoika
next successor belligerence…, funerary plexus…
culty predecessor…, treatise and imprecation of law, theme and legible religion domestic scene, family civic servant ceremony

Goddess Hestia austere, head with eight sacred candles dressed
Olympus lacking without gods…, only Goddesses embargo!
Feminine Hestia Domestic Goddess, an emanation of the female oval to ovulating…Pritaneo, the central decree of the political harvests… foreign exchange grains to be minted monetary stock exchange of Athens… Pritaneo ford on the rise, ford on increase Aion... hesitant dart swoop into eternity,
Alikanto Perpetual Aion…Speaks with both hands
synchronized and tilted tongue…
stutters and swallows, in six paranasal sinuses
saturated with fiery saliva..., and an Internal voice saying say...
what makes sense to feel and what does not turn off...
sleeping waves in the poison of love igniting
intra-Vernarth love…, billing infected holy blood
methodical coupled time…, Gaugamela the bronze extremity,
of a lost leader…, won leader!

If I had to run to rewrite retro Adhoc poems and chosen trova,
With a shy Trojan verse, I would dare today if I kissed her in front of me… she!
she would jump from the hyperesthetic-Ouranos…, inhuman to the Aion world
aurora celestina, bleeds big and defiant today in your star
In herself Ella…, pestiferous condemnation sweetness and aura between her…she just be, she herself be supported be…, Oh… Goddess Hestia on your opposite leg unbraced arm, meadow and vein braid… assaulted by lost and thirsty love written everything if she tempts…, everything wields darkly if it took you to our Olympus… at night loving you whole..., emptying everything with no inappropriate hand singing don vine fissure and intimate company, may it be exterminated... passion outside with nailed stake..., iron embedding..., nails wounding...exhausted supra lips supra yours…, mid sand writing full to her…
tip of my Xiphos… blood made written with written maiden mythology,
letter sword Spatha…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!

“To the loves of the world I say…, cover your ears fungus of boredom, your torn ears squander ignoring more than sordid saying...my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your blood scattered, ***** blood scattered…!
do not leave me alone until nightfall… I only ask for holy water,
emptied from your mouth goddess Hestia who flies tons over me...
I only ask for a spatha romantic blood sharp, ******, and scattered...
to write to the love wars that I have lost...
to the wars of love that I have won, slicing the jugular of the
treacherous and wicked emperor"

“… Alikantus, he remembered the Hoplite commander in Gaugamela, he remembered when he dodged arrows with his head so that they would not hit his body or his pectoral. From such a present moment falling by surrendering to the evocation of him. He goes down to a stream and confines himself to the vanity quagmire, continues on his path reaching a suspicious lagoon, drinks sacred water, drinking again manages to perceive the effigy of Vernarth in the mirror of Aion's Hydor... calling him from Patmos! Law reminded his master how he died for everyone in the world just as the world would not let him bring more than agonizing for him because there was no more space said Aionius ... "

Alikantus then clenched his jaws too hard, falling out all his molars, he asked the Gods in front of Hestia to restore them fifteen days before arriving at the Ekadashi in Patmos where his master, thus loving all the lives of the world, as well as the hidden cries behind the Dypilons hiding the power of God… or laugh at gagged iris flashes and mummified sighs with lives that subsist!

Vernarth from Patmos called to him so that his eyes looked invigorated like the swarms of green and gray vanadium fire, of mood in the predictive table and close prediction. AlIkantus bids farewell to Kalymnos spraying sorrel and hyper-odoriferous flowers of the Apoika in Kalymnos loving from above, very close, flying, loving everything so much that he forgot to fly. He sometimes fell hard but recovered retried as a baby steed in the womb of a mother new species to be born again in Apoika!


Prophecy VIII -  "First of Aionius, "Eleusis Prophecy of Hamor"
“Aiónius received news of Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order
tyrannical snake victim throwing herself into her abyss and purpose..., banishment as an objective void to be decreed, even so ending the world from another world,
discontinuous terse march, slurred arpeggio, speech by Aiónius
there is no world left but if extermination…, undone threshold…, provoke in delicate chaos…!

As a child, I ran to the supreme world herding lions... I called them and they ran to me..., they came alone, some didn't...! Being young, one day Aionius went to the farm and counted the lions... Some came others No... Aionius..., in such a hamorio he was locking an earring from his ears, he hung them again, which happened the next day relaxed..., he saw a maiden who laughed hypnotized…, he sighed when she turned around saying with her poor gestures… Destroy it! The afflicted turned away not knowing what was coming… destroying the desolate world vilifying silky physiognomies, chipped and dandruff face slipping from yours being captive and arid…, tempts to flow libertarian imprint in foreign praxis, origin, and end,
me from the slime being born in my eighth life in nothingness ataxia…

The beloved Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of her arms
eaten away by the serpent that took refuge in thorns of forged steel...
she kept walking…, Aiónius pointed at her and kissed her gestures escaping frightened towards the valley in farewells... not fitting itself in valleys that were never anything she paraded with the current of her last word, the beloved again moved her arms following her in front of her the beast was on her, Aiónius buried from fleeing and coming… with fiery phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, says: “Strapping and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of the first wit… towards other refuges I will depart about a Yes devouring bare ring on it…”
escape curve that cuts the pelvis of my beloved
destructive be your curved world that before had to destroy me...
ultra pre-hellenic nymph Harpé passion spread on me…
Hailed libertarian praise, aristocratic vermilion accent, minority ruling? Overwhelming rigor expended, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive arsenal! It must come from all the supreme worlds with strokes and silhouettes conquering...true dream, confused hypothetical oscillate sweeping imploring and contracting popular decision, management and space of my Sickle…, sometimes uncontained… worse avenues in its radius and dark mourning badly wounded shadow! The vertex that finally launches opens the dawn and his Hamada flees... Leaving with the untidy serpent, about touching and causing rangers in the stuck earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter…
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica's offspring
cabal, life in the descent, the search and the ascent…
Ascent of Indra lightning Vahana and lightning from her right eye,
Persephone to the reunion with her beloved daughter ascending.

Zodiac and mysteries involved, visions and sleight of hand
that of an afterlife, rain of seven trunks, long-lived Airavata
elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, incision, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters and life on earth
plants in gestation under the gift of Elitíaen and beings that
they are about to germinate and be born, beings in a chain of genes...
vegetable running on the earth, vegetable in March in its glory
September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis I…

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty...,
wandering nights without clothes with obese and badly fragrant meats point and taco dances praising the harvest in honor of a dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels and bullfighting heads in a deliberately defined and improper triweekly ritual, revealed in Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his venerable pyx lies locked up knowing he is unable to open inside this lustful bewitching sparkles, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment that awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing how to go on passing in the sum of all happenings of Aiónius. ”

This is how he defined himself from the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, from Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the vile kidnapped underworld. Of the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year in the germinating seed of the mystery of love that would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld exclaimed Hades and Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened to this prophecy, almost falling asleep, it seemed to them sweet pallor-bitter, love-heartbreak in the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in the hermitage of San Juan Apóstol for the superior company of a later day that was approaching as the greatest daring of all up in the mountains while disposing of Vernarth's Apologist obverse of Aiónius's.

Epilogue Prophecies - “Eleusis, Isadora Duncan to the Parthenon”

“Vernarth and Eurydice indulged in the jargon of agitated diasporas
of inhabitants fleeing the Rite of Eleusis, crossed hands and feet
They dueled on olive trunks with Theban thunder, vague Insurrection of the ancient world, and consonants of barbarian Pleiades,
acclaiming predilection of the Eremita San Juan to appear...
in a breath of peace resurfacing... but seeing that Vernarth was accompanied of Eurydice hid in front of them leaving only her aura near from the stream of a chrysalis!
In the dizzying succession of myths, good news reaches her sacred ears, waking up her trend and her high quarterly price outside the walls... being later received in the grotto of the hermitage in growing expectation and a link of longing that weaves to remind him of being a crusade piece.

The kidnapping of his reverie feared and timid frivolous crushing blizzard, he was walking surrounded by Falangists on horseback pointing at him and threatening him, scrutinizing in the distance loneliness of his past lives,
his regressive life, concerning key to origins of his illustrative Existence, stranded at this moment..., Vernarth makes a pact with himself to detach himself..., of his spirit, detach from their lives under a hypnotic and compelling law..., like a suspended index in the Sistine Chapel, homologous ship Ave Maria Messiah!

From Eleusis Vernarth vanished in aerial horse-dreaming,
he crossed through the pavilions with himself persevering some wake
riding his Alikantus ******* and standing with him to pillage the Empyrium niche Persephone's trace of herself and her ******* ******* them...
with devoted passion, milky way, and milky syrup chin howling...
Vanishing dancer, Athenian acropolis, Dionysian sanctuary of the acropolis… Stepdaughter-patron in the dance of Zeus and Themis lopsided frame of the season's wildness of all creation and defiance of Eleusis looking for her daughter and her children, priestesses safely taking off their corset and their pictures…
raging chastity, oligo blood, Itheoi music, outraged dance complaining, Possessed expressing being seductive but also a native *******... the underworld in darkness, free daughter, and iconoclastic Greek mythologist
inconvenient Victorian mania, a courtesan from Olympus, courtesan undressed! Isadora, Demeter, and Persephone… flooded with Aphrodite foam!

She “prayed songs with plexus and feet, plotting gardens around the world… full of baseboard feet where everything created in brief Apokálypsis was dying! By desolate Parthenons dancing in Muscovite ruins, maenades sweaty enclave and also throwing back his head as if possessed by ecstasy in her Bugatti and Leonidas…, enchanted by Aiónius! intoxicated and exorbitant with beautiful rosy placebo eyes... Hair with headbands vine petioles, her Nebris tight skin was wearing... in her hand's bunches of barberries to Dionysus with torches and live snakes a chaste crook naming Thirsus; rod topped with Kashmar branches wrapped in borders, vines and ivy, allusive link…, morbid ecosystem! covering her crotch in the Temple of her Kopanos dancing from the eternal fire cremated and in a romantic dimension remembering Byron's meritorious…
Hellenic passionate, and of Hölderlin poeticizing together with Aiónius.

Rudiment wound … ruinous on value exciting in those
of the imagined and creative in her perdition, Sicalipsis e impudicias
torn fire in the Metelmi and her ***** we are twisted,
epic worthy of greek tragedy dancing like waves of fire
in the forge in terrifying death of her children Deirdre and Patrick,
submerged and injured in the Seine in Paris in 1913, falling into the
water in the car that was traveling with her wet nurse… before…!
saying goodbye to them in urgent social commitments,
I Aiónius take you to the Empyrium.

What a dire tribulation in the prevailing misfortunes by not postponing it, retain the fate of whose children is quite a story with the kidnapping of theirs and merits of fulfilling commitments committed to solicitous artists... support, crestfallen inside a dresser or Bolshoi dancing statue, dancing empty with bare feet, frigid anemone, frigid Sea…

Arriving at the dawn of her last prophecy, Isadora Duncan accompanies her in full life beyond all limiting borders with the borders of her dance, the flat field of Eleusis receives her presumptuously associating in around for the dressings...
And left-handed dalliance self-indulging…, advanced barefoot to the Parthenon…!naked towards the world and the orb dug out of her before her undressed.

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”
Prophecies of Aiónius
Tom Ridley Jul 2014
they're the worst, and i mean that literally
imagine this, imagine that
everything that terrifies you, from any age that you've been
from the things that barely ***** you to the things that you are deathly afraid of
under one tent, an old worn down halloween coloured carny tent, filled with broken down rides and fallen apart structures and lit only by the moon
all with one intent, all of them working together to reach one goal
to get you, and have their way with you
and you can't fight back, every time you try to, they just get stronger
so you do the one thing you can do at this point
you run
you run faster then you ever have before, and none of this weird *** dream running where you move slowly when you're trying to run
i mean full out sprinting
you run and try to escape
but there's no way out, the holed purple and orange walls of the tent flap in the wind but when you go to touch them, they fill and turn solid
solid concrete below three inches of dirt, and you can't see anything to climb
you run and try to hide
the lesser terrors might try to help you.
trying to convince you that this place is safe, or to let them lead the others off of your trail
but they never tell the truth, they only do one thing
they help the greater terrors find you
so you refuse their help, shooing them away, and you survive for a bit longer
but its always the same, in the end, no matter what you try, every time it ends the same way
they find you, hiding on top of one of the structures, in a little cave, somewhere in one of the rides
and you're tortured
you're tortured worse than you ever thought that a being would do
sometimes your tongue is split into thirds from side to side, and is then cut from front to back
sometimes your limbs and body are twisted and contorted into strange shapes, making you into human art
you foolishly believed that these things might have a heart and not make it as slow and painful as they could
well you're right for the first bit, they do have a heart of sorts
after they're done playing with you
after they're done toying with your body
they don't just let you be, leave you where you are to stay there in agony
no, they **** you
nothing extra, nothing complex
just a stab through the heart, a ripping off of the head, and you're gone
unless they're being crueler
at which point, you have the option of fighting back
or letting them **** you in a gruesome way, hanging you from a rope over an open tank of water with lots of hungry creatures eagerly awaiting your fall

at least, that's what you think they do, you're never asleep long enough to find out
and that's why youre glad that they've only now begun to come and get you while you're awake
jack Jan 2019
i don’t sleep when i’m lying by your side.

not because you cling to me the way you do, or because i feel uncomfortable or unsafe or anything other than solace and ease when i’m with you.

but because how else can i protect you? if i were to sleep, who would lie awake at night and guard you?

you say that you sleep better in my bed, in my arms. that you dream sweeter and your nightmares are lesser.

so i’m telling you; that’s all i want. and if it comes at the cost of a few sleepless nights and tired days, it’s still worth it. you’re still worth it.
and you look like an angel when you sleep. looking at you puts me at ease. so it’s a win-win, isn’t it?
"wish everyone was loved tonight
And somehow stop this endless fight
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days"

Better Days by the Goo Goo Dolls
<>
Yeah yeah. Dating myself.
Some reason find myself listening to the GGD,
(A less embarrassing initialization)
Heard it a thousand times,
Classic easy listening rock.
A sweet wish, everybody knows, ain't gonna happen>
But, In my hand, a -perfecta summer day,
Steady sun, genteel sea breeze, low humidity,
The insects tolerate a shooing away, go easy and disappear,
House empty, everyone doing something and
You know where I am, tip~tapping on my iPad,
Yup, in that room, where poems are fan circulated,
And fall, freely, from the wood ceiling directly
Onto screen, my only job, to screen
The screen for typoes and other such minor inconveniences

There is no time to calculate,
No time to measure, no errors to complete that can't be undone,
And To mourn,
And the Angels have come in silently,
The day so fine, their human side,
Returns for a sun tan and the heat that heals
Burns, wounds, fissures, and even stalling
Out the growth of the bad cells our bodies
Con~tain;
They do not run nor hide,,
whispering I am too pessimistic,
And the Day will bleed into sunfall,
With colors sublime and god designed,
And if ever there was an evening
That the possibility greatest that
tonight
Everyone could be loved,
Even me,
Even you,
Even us,
The air has harmonies in the air flow,
And tonight, will be the time
When we all remember with a sly grin.
that we commence by loving oneself,
And then cell splitting,
and saliva sharing,
following tears and sweat,
and cradling arms
will entwine
Only Love Poems
Res
In the velvet midnight sky
The illuminated moon hung high
Crickets chirp their melancholy songs
As though the night gave out a sigh

Grim clouds cover the moon
As if with gloomy grace;
Trickles of rain descend
Soon downpour like a race

Rainfall beating like a drum;
Creating a frantic orchestra,
Shooing crickets into fright
Arising ambivalent glum

Suddenly rainfall and grim clouds depart
Leaving its soaked mark on the earth
Refreshing the velvet midnight sky
As though it never occurred
Meaning: What sparked the inspiration for this poem was while sitting on my bed in silence with my window open during a rainy night and hearing crickets and having a fascination towards to moon altogether put this poem into creation.
Towards the Yule t'is chilled saison
All but bears wrath and outrage and more;
Then when the grey wolves hath recounted
Drink of the leaves their thrilled cold-beer
And stride within the flame's tavern
Then makyth my heart their festive cheer
Shooing the ghosts of yester-year.

But they shan't go, for they die no more;
Their loveliness is here writ' still,
But they'll set forth and slay me well.
And aye, Thou who hast set me ill;
And flicker away 'till Thou cometh again.
'Till thou at last be with me no more;
Thy dew is cold and full of gold;
But Thou cannot catch mine and Thine,
Thou hate me in both gold and ink;
Thou left me in a tale half-told.

And being bent and wrinkled, in unform
Thou asked me to find bitter earth
And lay to death behind the hearth
Whilst Thou drink and cheer merrily
With Thy earthly comrades by me;
With Margot and Frances by thy arms;
Thou hid me by their frontal charms!

And to Thee oh, my Onesome Lord;
Ye old Sovereign, ye old dis-deign;
Thou hath pinned me down into pain;
And made all that trifle in vain;
What mockery doth Thou want me see;
That hath liar night and brutal skies.

In such exquisite loneliness
Thou had me dream beneath the sun;
Feeling an unsure leisure
A feeling t'at was not sober
A feeling far behind the truth
A feeling donned by such false wit.
A feeling dried by tempests' air;
A feeling that put me at stake.
Ah, and Thou allowed me to suffer;
Whilst I prayed so that Thou couldst hear.

And the conscience that came with me?
Thou flayed it by the dairy's barns;
Like a small meaningless croquette;
Like a corpse swelling by deceit.
Thou hath donned a cold, wrong spirit;
To whom I ran and not hesitated,
Then turned in disgust in my sight,
Leaving me broke to grow bold again.

Ask Thee what ghosts I dreamt upon?
The ghosts of my own lips and feet,
The dead ghosts loved by everyone,
That makyth the cut stars reek with fear,
And themselves smell of agony,
And slay the memories that I cheered,
(Such as a hope of my fashion),
Making my heart trembling with fear.

Where are the joys my heart hath won?
And the lips I was pressed upon,
All souls are filled, loathsome, and gone,
And the handsome glance that once shone;
Aye! Where are the cheeks so feat and clear;
That bade my heart his valour don?
Who knows what is inside my fear;
Who knows whose was that paragon.

Night: ask me not what I have done
Nor what Thou hath that can cheer me,
I am in love with myself alone,
With the ******* and kind in me.
MoMo Mar 2012
Everybody calls me Front Porch. It might be ‘cause I’m always in front of the house or maybe it’s just a pet name. Either way I answer to it. I hop down off the railing of our front porch and walk around the big oaks all over the yard. I like the way they turn me all green and how the grass tickles the bottoms of my bare feet. I wonder what I’m gonna play today.
“Hey look, it’s the clown!” a kid yells from the gate, “You know the circus left weeks ago right?”
“Yup!” I yell back, my hands on my hips, “Why didn’t you go with ‘em, Archie?”
“Dang! You look like paper!” another kid, Patrick I think, shouts as he joins Archie at the gate.
“Like you look any better.” I say, turning my nose up at them the way Granma said to when people tease me.
“Hey don’t get mad us at us ‘cause you’re a mutant.” Archie says.
Despite my intentions to ignore them, he’d quipped my interest, “Whadyou mean?”  
“Don’t you know?” Patrick asks, snickering.
“Apparently not, ******.” I say. He glares flamin’ arrows at me, but I ignore him.
“Bein’ albino is a mutation, you know.” Archie says, and gives me a superior look.
I roll my eyes, but make a mental note to ask Momma about it later. I take a few steps back toward the porch to go play soldier and a rock bounces off the grass near my foot. I turn around and one hits me on the arm. It’s gonna leave a bruise.
“The confederates are coming! Protect the flag!” I shout and duck behind an oak. I know Mississippi was part of the confederates, but I’ve always liked the unions. Besides the Civil War was 147 years ago.
“******!” Patrick yells and throws more rocks, but they become confederate bullets in my imagination.  I let loose some fire of my own, the rocks that have landed near me, and I peg Archie right in his pug nose.
“Score!” I shout and pump my fists in the air.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Daniel says, shooing the boys away. “So Momma finally let you dye your hair? Looks nice on you Front Porch.” He says, ruffling my now fire engine red mop.
“I’m not speakin’ to you.” I say, turning around and crossing my arms across my chest.
“Why not?” he asks, scooping me up in a hug.
“A good brother would stop aging and wait for his little sister to catch up. You’re eighteen today, that’s eight years I gotta catch up.” I say, frowning because he’s laughing.
“I’d stop if I could.” He says, setting me on my feet.
“Well I got you a present anyway.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you or it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
He sighs and looks disappointed, but I know he’s faking it.
“Does Momma know you’re out here?” he asks, as we walk up on the porch.
“Nope. She doesn’t ever want me outside, so I had to sneak out.” I say, moving in front of the box with the frog I caught in the creek behind the house in it, “She thinks I’m upstairs.”
“How’d you get down here then?”
“I climbed out the window.”
“Frontia Ann Porch, if you don’t get yourself in this house, you’re gonna get sunburn again!” Momma yells from inside.
“Busted.” Daniel whispers, with a smile.
“Alright Momma, I’m comin’!” I yell back, givin’ Daniel the evil eye. I pick up his amphibious birthday present and hope it doesn’t croak.
It does.
My Dear Poet Aug 2021
Sitting in the library
among dusty books
You, behind a novel
throwing me ***** looks
peering over pages
finding your stare
back to your book
I take it you don’t care
I pull my tongue out
you roll your eyes
Is that a smile?
I wave…like I’m shooing flies
you turn away
I feel the red in me rise
I look at my watch…”oh my”
…how time flies
leaving this engagement
I tuck in my chair
locking eyes, we do a dance
…one last stare
If only you weren’t as pretty
and played so hard to forget
I would have made a move
and maybe we’d have met
We could have been love at first sight
…okay…sure, love at a glance
Oh well…Good bye
pleased to make your acquaintance
Kuzhur Wilson Jan 2014
Today,
This tree was the very picture
Of a pair of birds
Who had a fight after mating.

You will never understand
The eagerness of this tree
In making every morning a new one
Or daily showing me a new movie,
However I try to describe it
One day
Leaves, that cry
“don’t go” “don’t leave”
To the wind
That passes by

Another day
Of shooing cats feasting in the shade,
On fish bone, from someone’s leftover meal,
After dribbling pigeon-droppings from a branch,

Another day
The tear-filled eyes
Of its own branch
That cries
And supplicates the sun
To heal its wound

Another day
Of its own sister branches
Or, in human parlance, wooden chairs
That have become prostitutes;
On which strange people sit casually.

One day
The Bihari
Who is scared stiff of his lord,
And who runs every time a wind blows
To sweep away the dried leaves
Which the wind has killed,
Having made violent love to them.

On yet another day,
The fruits that laugh their heads off
Along with the little blossoms that laughed once |
At the silver-blue sky

On still another day
The tap root
That suddenly burst into tears
Gazing at the dusk
That draped golden strands on boughs and twigs

On yet another day,
The aged middle-portion of the tree
That unveiled the hitherto unexposed
Moss-green nursling
And prayed that it be named
Another day before this,
Had made me sad
By asking
“Are you wont to see
the other tree-friends
Throughout the countryside ?”

Had made me heartsore
By asking me
“Would you forget me?”

Once, have asked
Whether I would point out
The mother-bird
Who sowed the seed after she ate the fruit
I have made myself broken-hearted  |
wondering
Where or how mother was.

At the moment
When the mind gets shaken up
And becomes even more fragile,
In the memory of
Some trees
That have helped some lives thrive,
Have given shade,
Given oxygen,
Crucified,

O tree,
I am hugging you,
Giving you
A frozen, but still very passionate kiss
With the Alloyed numbness of death and life :
A tree-kiss
Translation : Anitha Varma
Jillian Jesser Dec 2015
black coffee
and
the radio
    and I'm still battling
    my demons
shooing them away
        "give me a break, I'm so young"
        I say
They argue amongst themselves
loudly
                                and  come to no decision
black coffee
and
the radio
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
you were a reckless tearaway arriving
to take the heat with a debt reckoning
in Sunday skies marked for duckbill clips
of dark filled entries on its balance sheet
a challenging force I felt I had to account for
a raincheck that I wanted to cash in on
before the heavens opened and blew me away
knocking at my door for a riot of rebellious
adult licence needed
love to be let in

you agree we meet outside in the gathering storm
for there's a multitude of conflicts to be resolved
stark contradictions and that's what excites
with you there's upsetting imbalance involved
upending equilibrium with blunt direct questions
and reactions like a Luddite with the mind of a librarian
so that I never quite know where you're coming from
but know the answer is next
written bold on the sheet
which has your signature on
I predict with a scrawl
but that you think
is kinda neat

"throw me every strain of emotion you can pick up"
and you do and your wake never lets me down
propelling a wet film wind machine
should I withstand its crazed delivery?

those sheets of rain that blew in
off the bay
you always try
your best to tear
across
I feel them shooing the air
into my lungs
winding up branches faster and faster
like a toy plane rubber band
dancing in my hair
this way then your way
until it stood on end
scared
to not go on and on
the way of so many plucking ideas
drawn from the spoils
of let's-play-chicken arts
found on the tables of tattoo parlours
when the shades roll down
and pages flick quickly as dices roll out
extremes in exfoliating salon sport
close shaving loose leaves off every hairpin bend
and scratching the bald patch
ever more bold
as if you liked transplanting bulbs
follicles in deep crimson beds
of eye poppy temperatures gone wavering

impossible to ignore in a flash of eye shadow
from a bouncy bobbing weaving
pony tale conductor
keen to take on electric vaults
showing me a pair of high heels
whatever
I ****** at your scurrying reins
my grasp like a wind slipping
through a shake of tussled vanes
black curls of wild abandon
whipped up into a shift dress
in shades of grey flight
centred in misplaced miss red
lipstick outline worn to a fade
over the top of the roots
rushes **** the breeze with pollination
as full on as a full Brazilian headdress
collected from a gazillion dipping flowers
a rainbow opening to shower off
it's end in privacy
high pitched screens

little cover in those shorts of ours
from a summertime blanket of rain
which you turned up to cloud my thighs
always thrown over and folding your way
ace-of-***** cards played torn
and ragged with bare laced love
thrown down with on-the-river sneers
cornered with those winking semi-colon smiles
open ended to point out the end will be fun
but I get your gusting gist in the mean time
determined to wheedle the worst in me out
which looking up is on its way now
and when the lightning will stop dancing
is a rough reckoning I'm not ready to say
but in the eye of this exciting storm
it's clear
not tissues not anything
need wipe these slate skies clean
from our trail blaze
my tearaway
by Anthony Williams
Paul M Chafer Jul 2014
A ****** Of Crows is the collective term for a group of crows. A term I have taken full advantage of in my prose poem. I rarely post prose, I rarely post Dark writing, so as a special treat, I offer the reader both.

Neighbours should cherish peace,
I thought, taking my seat for the show.
Psychopomps were gathering, fluttering, cawing,
Not on my roof though, not in my trees,
On Varley’s premises, my bad tempered neighbour.
I observed, shaded beneath my garden umbrella,
The sun bright in a blue sky marbled with cloud,
Sipping my tea, quintessential Englishness,
Brewed from the leaf of a China plant,
Sweetened by the pith of an Indian cane,
But English, all the same. (So I told myself.)
On hearing Varley clattering around in his kitchen,
I flicked up the music another notch, then another,
Black Sabbath’s Damaged Soul, pumping out,
The heavy beat thundering across my patio,
Through the picket fence, into my neighbour’s brain.
He deserves this, he truly does. (So I told myself.)
A wife beating pig who terrorizes children.
More Psychopomps came, pecking at each other,
Waiting eagerly on the fence, telephone wires,
Soon my feathered friends, I whispered, very soon.
I flicked up the bass another notch, sipped my tea,
Then he came, roaring out of his kitchen door,
Stamping down the yard, apoplectic face, so angry,
Almost purple as he bawled at me; screamed.
‘You half-blind ******! I’m coming for you!’
From my stash I pinched up the dried leaves,
A dash of hemlock, deadly nightshade, perfect.
I dropped them on the small brazier by my side.
As he reached the fence, shooing birds away,
Giving him my best smile, I told him. ‘Goodbye!’
Hairs, taken from his comb, fell from my fingers.
And as they crisped, Varley’s face froze in horror,
Instantly coming under siege from a ****** of crows,
No ordinary gathering of birds, these Psychopomps,
But more akin to the Hitchcock variety of bird.
I turned the volume up full, chanting quietly,
While the birds pecked out his eyes, opened his throat.
A mass of black menace, fluttering in a frenzy,
Brought him to the floor, wailing and pleading.
(So, Varley, I’m a half-blind ******, am I?)
It was soon over; the birds took flight, so noisy,
Leaving Varley to perform one final twitch.
Silencing my music, Varley’s dance of death done,
I gave his wife a wave as she walked down the path,
She smiled her approval, nudged Varley with her toe,
Just to make sure, then sighed with obvious relief.
‘I owe you,’ she mouthed, blowing me a kiss.
‘Call it a gift,’ I mouthed back, finishing my tea.
(One can never accept payment, it corrupts the magic.)
Varley’s wife laughed, I smiled, so darkly sweet,
All was well with the world, as it ought to be,
Neighbours should cherish peace.

©Paul M Chafer 2014
Inspired by the writings, and dedicated to, Sharon Robinson.
Shane Carmichael Oct 2012
FLASH
“Blame it on my ADD baby...”
My fingers graze from the brim of your jeans and drag from the crevice
between your upper thigh and stomach to your batman bellybutton ring and pull
your skin between your cleavage to the base of your neck while my teeth
drag along your bare chest, laid out before me.

FLASH
“Learn to take your **** with a big-*** smile...”
I’m shooing the dogs out so you can get ready for work and I can stand back
like I always to do take in every inch of you while I can.  The smoothness of your
flawless skin, your beautiful back that seems to greet me more often now, that
adorable smile, and most of all the eyes that made the world stop.  Well, mine hasn’t
started back since.

FLASH
“I’m half the man that you think that I have been...”
Driving.  More.  You’re telling me a story about this band that you like and
I listen like a little child because your stories, no matter the subject, always capture
my full attention.

FLASH
****, I need to get some sleep before I never sleep again, because I’m thinking
of everything I love about you.
Ijaazat Sep 2020
I saw a brave bird today,
Unapologetic about her barred face.
She sat,  perched on the mossy branch of my favorite tree,
Mysteriously familiar with her piercing gaze.

People found her unfortunate looking,
She didn't care about what people thought,
She had come to live and live she would,
This amazing outlook,  by others uncaught,
Maybe it comes from within,  it is self-taught,
I ponder on this,  an afterthought.

In came a savage, ill-bred,
Willfully ignorant of the lesson she exhibited,
Shooing her away,  now content,
The savage doesn't know his wisdom remains limited.

The bird was elegant and unafraid,
She made a graceful ascent,
The brute cursed and cursed and cursed,
For she had left him a parting present.

I giggled to myself,
Secure even after the separation,
For I know I'd see her again tomorrow,
For on the tree,  and now in my heart,  lays her foundation and accommodation..

I saw a brave bird today,  
Unapologetic about her barred profile,
I learnt alot by just looking at her,
Like how to accept yourself with grace and a smile,
And make your life worthwhile..


I saw a brave bird today and
I'd see her tomorrow too,
I wish to be her and learn more,
If she can do it, so can you.

I saw my brave bird today and
I'm going to be someone's brave bird tomorrow...
Hey there, love!  Yeah you! You look breath-taking today..  Love yourselves a little more for me..  Smile a lot more for me. I hope you see your brave birds soon.



This is a small token to N to express my gratitude for their kind messages and patience for my inspiration to kick in..  Hope you like it..  


Love and warmth
Terry Collett May 2015
Anne crutches herself onto the green lawn of the nursing home and sits at one of the metal white painted tables and in one of the white metal chairs and drops her crutches beside her Benedict whom she called Skinny Kid follows her and sits at the same table looking at her his hazel eyes focusing on her on her black straight hair and dark eyes other children are playing on the swings and slide or sitting at other tables a distance away don't want none of those other sick kids here Kid Anne says they're sneaks and tell tales and moaning Minnies and such but you Kid you're all right you’re possibly the only one here I can tolerate and O those pesky nuns ****** penguins walking about poking their noses into things saying have you had a motion today? have you passed water? yes I said to Sister Agnes I did a dance on one leg as a motion and I passed the running water tap on my way to breakfast what did she say​?Benedict asks she said manners Anne we must have manners and asked me again and I said both and plenty of them and she went off in a huff her black habit gown flapping behind her like some ****** bat one of the kids comes to the table and says can I sit here? of course you can sit you've an **** on you but no you may not Anne says shooing the girl away like she was a dog the girl went off looking back pulling a face how's your leg? Benedict asks missing and aching and driving me to distraction Anne says the ****** stump throbs and gets hot and it makes me a miserable sod can I see it Benedict asks what its like? you're a one aren't you always after seeing my stump later maybe not here with the nosey penguins gawking at everything we do a nun walks down to the table her eyes like black dots behind her wire spectacles ah Anne have you been upsetting the other children again? are you asking me or telling me? Anne says rubbing her leg eyeing Benedict Lina says you swore at her and told her to sit elsewhere the nun stares at Anne then at Benedict well? what happened the nun asks I never swear Sister I never swear I just said she could sit elsewhere be better for her I may have an illness she may catch and may bring her out in yellow spots the nun doesn't smile or move a muscle in her face her dark eyes move over Anne then Benedict well Benedict were you here? what happened and I want the truth or you'll not go to Heaven if you lie the nun says eyeing the boy scarily she didn't swear the boy says just said to go elsewhere the nun stares at Anne do not be horrible to other children they've as much right to sit here as you do now behave or I’ll report you to Sister Paul and then you'll know it the nun says and walks off like a rook unable to fly Anne farts and smiles sums her up that she says Benedict nods and looks at the table want to go to the beach? I can push you in the wheelchair? how old are you Kid? she asks ten nearly eleven he says she muses looks at him do you know how old I am? she asks eyeing him his quiff of hair the hazel eyes the skinny frame no idea Benedict says I’m twelve Kid although my mother says I’m big for my age got ******* and such Benedict looks past her head at the avenue of tree behind and the path to the beach got ***** hair too she adds to see if he'll blush what's that? he asks what’s what? Anne says ***** hair? he says that'd be telling wouldn't it spoil the surprise although you could always ask the good sisters and say dear Sister Paul what's this ***** hair stuff? she laughs to herself well Kid go get the wheel chair and off we go to the beach the boy smiles and gets up and walks quickly towards the nursing home Anne watches him go she winces and rubs her stump with her hands backwards and forwards she watches the other kids at play at the nuns walking here and there then Benedict comes across the grass pushing the wheelchair at a fair speed she smiles as he comes up to the table here we are one wheelchair he says slightly out of breath right bring it round here Kid and so he pushes the wheelchair next to her and manages to get herself in comfortably and rocks about until she's settled right then Kid did anyone stop you? yes he says Sister Agnes asked me where I was going with the wheelchair and I said you had need of it and she pulled a face then walked off with a face like a pinched behind Benedict says good on you Kid now let's' to the beach and away from the peasants and sickly she says so Benedict gets behind the wheelchair and pushes away from the table his arms outstretched his hands gripping the handles and off they go over the grass and onto the pebbly path between the trees and the sound of birdsong and the smell of the sea filling their noses and out the back gate and onto the path along by the sea the sounds of sea rush and waves and gull cries and people calling out and laughter and kids calling and crying and she says O this it Kid this is ******* living breathe in that air breathe in deep and Benedict breathes in deeply as he pushes her along the path smooth and easier and his thin legs pushing along the pathway and as he pushes he gazes down at her black haired head then at the red dress with the one leg sticking out the stump not visible but only the outline of it being there and the smell of the sea and salt in the air.
A ONE LEGGED GIRL AND A BOY IN A NURSING HOME IN 1959
The feeling in which I wish to describe
Is not easily penned, nor said and why,
It’s not like something I’ve ever thought,
But it’s always been inside me to end, and wrought,
It is always present to ruin my thought,
And finally a vague depiction I’ve caught,
So please endeavor to bear with me yet,
As I endeavor to preparedly set
A most dreadful tone and thought in mind,
And deceive you of what you hide entwined.

Imagine if you will,
And humor me still,

Awake to find solace in the wrapped arms
Around you that caress your dreams and skin alike.
The warmth of the body that lay to you next,
Is soft as silk and softer even in mind,
With cherished thoughts of love and tender,
With valued honor to be defender
Of someone you see as perfection in life,
And one who you wish to spare from all strife.
-
And as they lay there still asleep,
You imagine their dreams, and cherish their peace,
You slowly drift off to join them again,
But wonder why you had first awaken,
What took you from your nap of naps,
What pulled you from a cloud’s collapse,
And with that thought you start to hurt,
All the worst things from dust to dirt,
Creep upon that sleepy head,
To reveal themselves as living dead.
Thought you they gone,
Gone had they not,
Ever present and likely sought,
The solace of your weary eyes,
And behind, the mind, cause of all despise.
-
For me, I held on to those arms
That felt like they’d never let go.
So why then did I need to hold on,
If solitude’s answer was “no”?
I felt as if it couldn’t last,
As if happiness was not as vast,
As promised as in the poems I’ve read
As fore-held as high as mountain’s lead.
I thought that if I could just hold on,
She might not let go, she’d see and keep on,
Maybe, I thought, she’d awake and smile,
Her groggy eyes beglazed and docile,
A visible love passing her sight,
Connecting through me and shooing the night,
I saw as it was a glorious bolt,
Of lightning, although as thin as smoke,
And smoke it was as dissipating,
And truth be told disappointing,
Because it was not that she even fluttered,
The fault not hers, but I still shuddered,
I imagined it all without her there,
Her kind fair eyes, and scented hair,
It didn’t seem right, not true or correct,
To have her absent and not connect,
But alas, it was with great found sorrow,
That she vacated on the morrow,
She left me in a pool of blood,
But figuratively I should say, could
It have been that all I was
Inside for her and that was,
The sanguine that cascaded upon departure
Of my love, of my Cupid’s Archer,
I sat for weeks and thought of that night,
Where I awoke and wondered this very plight,
I almost lost my very sight,
When rubbing my brow and temples so bright,
That I had in some sort an epiphany,
That this was this forsaken feeling,
That I have had throughout my life,
Of never allowing me to be all right,
Of nevermore allowed to be happy,
Of forevermore condemned to be misery,
In this, I found contemptible content,
She’ll pass and pass to my lament,
At least a spy might I be granted,
But to loneliness, I can’t understand it.
Ankita Gupta Apr 2019
Like a young child sitting on a beach
Wondering why the sea takes away the wave
Just when they touch her feet
The ocean seems to come calling for a claim

Is it what the moon does too?
Taking away the moonlight some days
What about the summer
Shooing snow flakes away?
Like they belong to the winter
And spring makes the flowers sway
glass and bars enclose them
animals (spirits of wild)
see me?
I see you
land, air, and sea
shooing zoo-keepers
have I ever heard them speak?
animals no need
words are gazes, sounds, and free-

dom dom dom
phrases the elephant beat

reverberating my glasses
blurring my vision
quickening the beat of my heart

lub dub lub dub
step into the cage
you can do it

wild is what I want
fear is all I have

now my dream fades...

*awake
Johnny Noiπ Aug 2018
in the bedroom of the luxury hotel suite;
the A-Lister snorted her coke & cried until seeing
the three-foot diva on a State
                    TV talk show prattling  about fashion
until finally spreading her short
              arms & legs wide,    the actress
knew she meant Eli;   out
of ******* the star set out to find
the little woman;             *** w/men always gave Eli a massive headache
but there were no men,                                            a lanky student-model
loping out of the bathroom
                   in single                        fishnet rolled to her knobby red knee
& torn pink satin slip;
               "Igor made coffee," she said, sniffing her   upswept red plastic   nose: "Have u got more coke?
           I'll **** ur **** again," she offered cordially;
"I'll just have coffee," he said,
stepping over the      prostrate         feminine bodies;
pouring a cup of black sludge,
                            he thought twice about drinking it:
Thankfully, Hel appeared ****-naked & taking the cup from his trembling hand drank the whole thing down; tepid & bitter,                  her eyes flew open at the pure stimulant, kissing each other on the mouth
                                            tasted like rubbing *****, Hel went into use the bowl & Eli stood there holding the empty cup
"Сегодня воскресенье. Мы должны пойти в церковь!" Hel called from behind the door; she loved to talk when she was taking a ****; perched atop the wide rim her legs open wide watching the brown chunks squeeze out & expand
as they fell into the wet hole; surely a metaphor for *****, but now she was God & Jesus was the ******* whom She loved; how many Christs have come & gone, she pondered; how many turds does one drop in a lifetime, each one an individual created & composed by events in the past; so like so many others, yet so like urself; a lonely **** in a pile of lonely turds...
"Hel, What the hell are u doing in there?"
God eats Angels & ***** out People, "hmm," she thought, scratching her fuzzy girl-stubble; the bitter black coffee turned her **** into black stick figure who simply lay prone atop one another like lazy sleepers having a siesta; she tooted a few stinky farts & dropped another few, smaller turds
"Finally," he chided as she came out tossing **** smeared tissue into the bowl; "**** u, Eli, can't a girl **** in peace?"
"Can I go next?" asked the skinny brunette w/ a little *****,
  hopping on one foot;
"Sonava; yes, yes,"                     Eli insisted, shooing the girl into the can;
"It's a good thing u didn't drink that coffee," said Hel, "u've **** urself by
  now."
"Is that what u did in there?"
"It all came out in the shape of ur **** from last night," she smirked, her English improving;
"U're all class, Hel," he retorted;
"Come back to bed; I show u what class I am."
"I thought u wanted to go to church; or were u full of ****?"
just then the girl in the bathroom farted so loud it resounded;
"I'll put on my strap-on & u hold her down," Hel suggested;
"Here that, sweety?" he said at the door.
"Can't wait," came the young voice
susan Mar 2015
walking through the park
people watching
eyeing the entertainment
a clown twisting balloons
into obscure shapes
and telling people
'it's a dog'
or
'it's a monkey'
and those same people
grinning enthusiastically and exclaiming
'it is, it is!!!'
while walking away
pulling junior by his arm
scolding
'hurry up'
the balloon lasts 5 minutes
usually less
before junior
trying to choke the 'doggie'
busts the balloons...

...and then we're left with
a screaming
      crying
        toddler
       great

i turn my attention to the pond
ducks, geese, a swan or two (i think)
moving gracefully
on the water
until one duck
smaller than the rest
starts quacking anxiously
obviously distressed
and i turn to see it caught up in a tangle of discarded
fishing twine
his terror obviously alarming the others
and then there's a spectacle
of quaking, splashing birds and people
while a few good hearted samaritans rush to
save the duck
eventually a beat cop arrives
shooing people away
while saving the day using his handy
sport knife to cut away the twine and set the bird free
taking a small bow to the crowd of people cheering

moving along
i come to a street vendor
selling ice cones, pop, cotton candy and popcorn
so i stop for a small ice cone
blue
treating myself
walking along
enjoying the scene
i notice a few kids laughing and pointing
i shrug it off until a kindhearted old lady
offers
'your face is blue, dear'
taking out my compact mirror
i do see that my face is indeed blue
   the ice cone
which i unceremoniously dump into the next waste bin
trying in vane to scrub the blue off of my face
with a slowly shredding napkin
i take the path to the nearest exit
out of the park

so much for a relaxing stroll in the park
on a beautiful spring day.
Ann Beaver Mar 2013
Cinnamon whiskey
Burning hot like unseen lace.
Him and her: Frisky.
In my mind, her face.

Dark and structured
Cheek bones and jaw line
Imagination fractured
But all the same: Mine.

When I don't know
What he is doing
I imagine what is so.
Despite rationality shooing.
JV Beaupre Mar 2019
i am that Fly--
the one that Crawled across the sheet--
her last sound and Sight
and i want You to know--
its not my fault, she Would have died-- Anyway

We flies get a bad rap--
we carry Germs- never met one myself--
Across food i tippy-toe-- i only take One bite-
from that little Bite--
she would not -- could not die

But let me set the record Straight--when
she finally went still-- was i Glad--
one less Swatting and shooing-- but
its not my Fault, she would have died-- anyway.
The fly's response to the narrator in Emily Dickinson's poem, "I heard a Fly buzz - when I died"
Eulalie Oct 2013
Floating beneath the brilliance of the full moon, I'm shooing away the wispy dark tendrils of sleep, swatting at the lazy tired gnats who are as directionless as I am.
I scrub away the hints of sand from the corners of my eyes and yawn wide enough so to dispel the collection of retiring bats who've claimed sanctuary in the cavern of my ribs.
I've without a purpose other than to carry on with my meager, passive existence in this dark limbo of twilight.
"Go to sleep silly"
As if you sensed from five thousand miles my nocturnal habituation of lethargic solitude,
As if it pierced the air like the dull green blinking at the end of the dock over on East Egg, calling out to you like a tiny beacon of distant opportunity--a lighthouse in the tremulous sea nights of--yes--your own affections and desires emanating back to you.
And all at once, I feel an eternity of connection tethering me back to my plot of soil, somehow not as empty and cold as it felt before.
Because you somehow knew, and that somehow makes my meanderings less of a thing to dwell with, for somehow someone somewhere cares if my soul is restless.
So I'll probably end up going to sleep.
After all, I'll find you again in my dreams.
It's a bit shapeless, but I'm in the throes of sleep as I type, so we're going to just deal with it.
DAEJR May 2016
The morning light pranced
around the back of my neck
adding to the weight of expectations
that already leaden the empty
spaces of my book bag.

I tried to focus instead on the cool wind
that twirled around on the concrete platform,
and swam between our ankles,
it's leafy hands
shooing the sunlight from off my shoulders.

This morning (like any other) I was
content in my aloneness.
I knew what to expect from the other strangers
and I felt safer in the distance between us
even as we shared cold metal benches
and hand rails.

I was not there to make a friend.

My stomach wrestled with Anxiety
the only thing to offer was a sip of water
and a weak reassuring thought
as the subway train screeched her greetings.

The doors open.
Strangers out,
strangers in,
myself included.

With an unsure pace I entered into the labyrinth
of lines and tracks and stations
each with a confusing name and color and marker.
Momentum forced my feet to find my place.
Relief found in one empty seat.
Not for long.

You should have known not to.
My body told you no and built a wall
with my book bag and arms guarding
and pleading
to go away
to sit anywhere but here
to talk to anyone but me.
You didn’t listen.

Instead you sat beside me.
Instead you introduced yourself.
Instead you helped this stranger on the train.

And while at times life feels like a road, many times life feels like a train.

You showed me your favorite views
as they raced outside the window
and shared moments as I discovered mine.

We asked about the husband, the boyfriend,
the kids, and the dogs.
We shared memories and stories
and jokes and songs,
and slowly our strangeness became familiar

and then familiar became reliable.
We shared our space
inside the passenger car and rode
together to our separate destinations.

Stops come fast and goodbyes are hard
even when predicted,
but we never really said goodbye.
We smiled and made promises –
ones I tried to keep.

We are now on separate trains.
On separate tracks and schedules.
I sit again alone.
Things in many ways are the same
like the seat I try to get in the back corner
or the views I see outside my window.
But you left without saying goodbye,
without preparing me for the vacant
seat beside me.

I didn't know that was goodbye.

I didn’t know your empty promises
were actually your goodbyes
your signal for the stop to come.

Maybe we had simply been strangers on a train
passing the time,
without need of careful goodbyes.
And I am the fool who didn’t know.

I didn’t know this was goodbye.

Farewell.
Yesenia Acevedo Sep 2015
Jake met Julie at the door way taking in her beauty lit under the glow of the moonlight.  He retrieved  the ******* from his pocket parading it in front of Julie.

"You want some?",

he asked tempting her.With ease she smiled at him.

"Come on, lets go in here.",

she answered leading him into Matt's bedroom. Upon entering the room Jake noticed it was an addition to the house. Three walls were made up of bare ply wood lacking insulation and paint. The fourth was the siding of the house painted Brown with a window  leading to the master bedroom. The room had a dirt floor with rocks scattered about. A few feet from the door there were two chairs across from each other leading to a tiny walk way between two beds lined up side by side. Curious about the master bedroom window he pointed to it asking,

"Where's the curtain?"

"Oh um, My mom likes to watch.",

she answered with laughter as she collected her hair pulling it to one side over her shoulder. She turned her head towards the window wondering if her mother was indeed watching them. Jake presented the fine white powder serving it  as if it were an appetizer.  Julie inhaled it feeling the surge of the high mixing in and with her blood. Jake took several hits himself trying to shake what remained of Eve's rejection. Several minutes later Eve entered the room holding Sam. She sat in the chair across from Julie with Jake to her left on the furthest from the brown wall. Ignoring Jake's presence she ask,

"What you up to Jewels?"

Julie pointed the coke saying,

"Just doing a little of this. You want some?"

"Uh no, i'm okay."

"Just try it you might like it?"

"What's it feel like?"

"Um, i don't know, GOOD. Just take little if you don't like it just stop."

"Okay."

Jake didn't mind that he sat silently listening to them talk. He was eager to supply his drugs to the girls. When Eve decided to take the hit Jake felt his mind race.He smiled kindly at Eve with a glimmer of hope twinkling in his eyes he thought,

I hope this ***** gets hooked, then she'll come to me willing.

Jake watched Eve stand then walk over to the bed across from  where he was sitting gently placing Sam in the center before walking over to Julie. As she passed Jake he reached out touching her hip. Eve jumped shooing him away. Jake loved seeing Eve uncomfortable and angry. In his mind it meant he could then be sweet and loving. Jake served up his drug of choice handing it to Julie, she then held it steady for Eve to inhale. Eve licked her lips spinning inside she felt the rush of the drug. Matt joined them, in a bitter frenzy he pulled beer after  beer from between his mattress til he had consumed five. Julie warned Matt he would end up in jail if he didn't stop. Her words only fueled him and Jake saw his opportunity. He offered Matt some of the ******* ignoring the girls as they yelled at him not to dare. Jake drank the rush that washed through him making two plump lines for Matt. Jake sat on the edge of the bed gripped by anticipation while Matt took a line in each nostril.

Mission complete. If Matt doesn't consider me a possible friend now, at least Eve isn't happy with him.
Jo Dec 2013
How my hubristic heart grows heavy
With the blithering brevity
That is love -
Love how I scorn the very
Mention of the word, the worst word;
One made of tacky two buck cards
And cheap chocolate samplers.
Why love is nothing but absurd!

Tis on the mind of every man,
Burning Life's color til she grows wan
And waxen, my dear lady do not
Let the soft, sweet poppy besot
You - I know it's true face,
A sickly, febricula I fail to efface.

Love, how I abhor the name,
The act duplicitous for all involved,
There are no winners, merely fools
Left to drown in the din of falderal.
**** it to hell, that venomous visage!
I refuse to accept such a curse as love,
How I spit the letters one by one,
With you, fair monster, I am done.

Yet, I cannot seem to help
How much I yearn to stretch taunt
My heart til my love is gaunt,
Fraught with fear and thin with time;
It will be my undoing
All because I can't start shooing
That nuance of a feeling on its way
To ruin some other simpleton's day.

How I love to hate ye,
Are the thoughts that reside
Like a warm body curled beside me.
Sally A Bayan Apr 2019
(parts of an old poem-edited)

:::::::::::::::
Was awake, 'til Black Saturday's tail end,
through Easter Sunday's dawn...a day potent
with rejoicing, renewing faith, and the essence
.of one's presence
while seeking quietness
amidst the busyness
of one's existence
how does one forgive....forget
the wrong, when it still affects, and upsets?
how does one love tirelessly, without regret?
:::::::::::::
these thoughts come to me
when writing prose, or poetry.
when turning to shelley....or rossetti
the hours turn to a sentimental journey.
while understanding their lines,
i also ponder on my life...my own lines.
a mug of steaming creamed coffee, clears
the old English cloud, shooing away my fears,
......if it's my day.......if i'm in  luck,
a few lines arise easily.....or, i could get stuck.
:::::::::::::::
when winds aren't in my sail, they stubbornly
steer my boat towards that river lull, so droopy.
i paddle away, painstakingly,
when river runs dry, or dryer... i just let it be.
as long as coffee steams on......brewing,
my mug, i keep refilling...leaves me thinking
of  Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "sonnet 43..."
facing a mirror, i'd ask: "how do i love thee?"
i'd say back: "lemme count the ways, dearie."
::::::::::::::::
i see me, reeling on the bar of life's daily
circus, counting the ways, loving, going off key...
rather than fall, i turn those moments into poetry
keeping silent for hours....climbing dark valleys,
rising the next morning, to start my litany,
i ask myself anew: " how do i love thee? "
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::



Sally


©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 28, 2019
Jay Jul 2013
Times like these I wish I could call my dad
To describe to him in detail all the problems I have
You know, hear him say everythings going to be okay,
reminding me that I should relax and have some good days,
But I honestly can't
It's not because he's tired or asleep,
It's just that, I stress him out when he talks to me.
I don't mean to, but he asks me how I'm doing and all the problems spill out
Sometimes I wish i could just shut my big mouth.
The last time we talked about troublesome things
He had an almost stroke and blamed it on me,
And out of all the people I've hurt,
It's my pops that haunts me the worst.
But even if I could just call him and say hello it'd be nice,
But he'd pick up and say, "Have you checked the time? It's the middle if the night!"
Then promise to call back first thing in the morning
And no call would come, but the tears would come pouring
Because I just want my dad, to hold me like when I was little
Keep me from becoming bitter
Protecting me and shooing away danger
But his little girl is past hurt, there's no way he can save her,
Not like he tries
Just seeing him brings tears to my eyes
Because I don't know how long he'll be gone again
Times like these I think I should call my dad while I'm laying in bed
But I'll just write this poem scream into My teddy bear instead.
Sy Roth Mar 2015
They tremble in your wake,
big, claw-footed
in their earth shattering steps.
Huddled mass
a ghostly tsunami  
inhabitants of the inky corners,
where you cohabit with the spirits of your songs
heard echoing in the ancient caves,
huddled around your icy campfires
in hopes of shooing the spirits from the door.

The dark ones do a jig at your fears,
dance mightily at your shoulder shaking,
erupt in pleasure
in their superiority.
While you cower--
afraid,
singing your sad songs.
Homage to their victories.

— The End —