In the rectory garden on his evening walk
Paced brisk Father Shawn.  A cold day, a sodden one it was
In black November.  After a sliding rain
Dew stood in chill sweat on each stalk,
Each thorn; spiring from wet earth, a blue haze
Hung caught in dark-webbed branches like a fabulous heron.

Hauled sudden from solitude,
Hair prickling on his head,
Father Shawn perceived a ghost
Shaping itself from that mist.

'How now,' Father Shawn crisply addressed the ghost
Wavering there, gauze-edged, smelling of woodsmoke,
'What manner of business are you on?
From your blue pallor, I'd say you inhabited the frozen waste
Of hell, and not the fiery part.  Yet to judge by that dazzled look,
That noble mien, perhaps you've late quitted heaven?'

In voice furred with frost,
Ghost said to priest:
'Neither of those countries do I frequent:
Earth is my haunt.'

'Come, come,' Father Shawn gave an impatient shrug,
'I don't ask you to spin some ridiculous fable
Of gilded harps or gnawing fire:  simply tell
After your life's end, what just epilogue
God ordained to follow up your days.  Is it such trouble
To satisfy the questions of a curious old fool?'

'In life, love gnawed my skin
To this white bone;
What love did then, love does now:
Gnaws me through.'

'What love,' asked Father Shawn, 'but too great love
Of flawed earth-flesh could cause this sorry pass?
Some ****** condition you are in:
Thinking never to have left the world, you grieve
As though alive, shriveling in torment thus
To atone as shade for sin that lured blind man.'

'The day of doom
Is not yest come.
Until that time
A crock of dust is my dear hom.'

'Fond phantom,' cried shocked Father Shawn,
'Can there be such stubbornness--
A soul grown feverish, clutching its dead body-tree
Like a last storm-crossed leaf?  Best get you gone
To judgment in a higher court of grace.
Repent, depart, before God's trump-crack splits the sky.'

From that pale mist
Ghost swore to priest:
'There sits no higher court
Than man's red heart.'

A boy named Jake and a girl named Lexi had never met before.
They had a class together last year, but neither one knew it at the time.
They both walked into their Sophomore Drama class for the first time, scared and apprehensive.
Lexi there five minutes before the final bell and Jake, seconds before the final bell.

Jake entered the class and quickly took the only seat on the floor not occupied by an unfamiliar face.
They all introduced themselves, all 27 of them, mostly Sophomores with a few Freshman, Juniors, and a single Senior.It was then, when Lexi said "Hi, my name is Lexis Marilyn Manchester and I go by Lexi," that he first noticed her.
She was cute, shoulder length blonde hair, a floral shirt and jeans, although Jake didn't notice those things at the time. Only her dazzling pale blue eyes, and angelic voice.

The guy sitting next to her didn't say his name at first, even though it was his turn. She tapped his leg and motioned toward the center of the circle the class had made in the Drama Room. Room I7.
He said "How.. uh, my name is Jacob Turner. I don't have a middle name, but I go by Jake."
He was cute. He had short, yet unruly brown hair, a white shirt with the letters "LDTA" on them and nice fitting black jeans. The only thing she noticed about him however were his mysterious pale blue eyes, and for some reason, lack of middle name.

Jake didn't even care that the class had laughed at his lack of middle name. The only thing of importance to him was that when he looked over, the cute girl named Lexis Marilyn Manchester, who went by Lexi, was looking at him. He quickly looked away as did she.

The class went on and neither Jake nor Lexi, made an attempt to talk to the other although they did steal careful looks often. The bell finally rung. It was a seventh period class, so school was over.

On his way home Jake thought of nothing but Lexi, and driving.
He stopped at a sign, only blocks from home. The traffic rushed by. The car behind him did not see his car. They pushed him into the oncoming traffic just as a big SUV hybrid drove by. The driver slammed the breaks but still did not manage to avoid hitting the drivers side door of the small, blue, beat up, Toyota.

The doctors say he was killed on impact.

That's what the school told the small group of friends who were asked to attend a quick meeting regarding the accident. Lexi went.

She thought about him everyday for the yest of the school year.
Even some over summer.
He never faded.
She wouldn't let him for some reason.

He was killed on impact but he never faded.

Yesterdays pain is following you
sits on your shoulder 'n don't set you free.
Took the wrong footin n stepped down on those,
lookin thru eyes that di'n't want to see.

We is diff'rent in colour
but skin an' blood just the same.
I am filled up wit' anger,
you is covered in shame.

Scared to look back
at hist'ry past
unable to turn from
what you wanted to last.

Tortured and toubled,
when it came to the clinch
you bought us along
an' introduced Mistuh Lynch.

To you Mistuh Whitey
we ar' lower than low,
Mistuh Blacky does the t'ings
that you don't want to know.

I belongs to the man,
just like-the dogs.
There for pickin' the crop
an' choppin' the logs.

Yesterdays pain's not goin' nowhere
It's stickin to you all o' the way.
Fo' the evil yo' done 'tis stayin' right there.
Never t' move, never t' sway.

Yeah yest'days pain is followin you
it sits on yo' shoulder 'n it won't set you free.
Cos you took the wrong footin' an' stepped down on those,
while starin' thru blind eyes that don't want t' see.

Bang the drum slowly

There was a rhythm, an echo
Everything, after to day has been leavend
by Iain McGilchrist I heard him speak on Youtube.
----
We can learn forever, I think he agrees. We live to learn.
I've lived a bit longer.

When the teacher is ready the student appears
in arrears
twisted from duty by dereliction

do you understand, stand under, any

one thing word god idea and that's it truth?
I do.
What idea do you stand under?
Seek and ye, meaning me, shall find.
seek a place where you believe that is known
make that place your home,
make that place
make that
effectual, fervent axing fells the forest for the trees

if you please, brief turing-inspired tests of ideas
re-presenting old good ideas
rusted through disuse

for possible recyclings through a level of minecraft.
the wargames are
less
rewarding, post-war on terror.
After age 27, winning alone is not enough,
even the gang, the fam, the team
all the weese we ever was

We aint. I am

needing meaning like air

oh my god, a worship song I heard that
You are the air I breathe

do we, the we of you and me believe air is good?

we do, I knew. Good, 'ts'at mean? Air is meaning?

all one after the morph into alone
I am the way or there is no way

that could be the story but for you,

I-Thou Philosophy, I bow to thee,

en passant on pointe

Ministry of truth Prognosticator Hagee he say
Hell? Yes, he say Hell yest'here is a hell for all

who fail to escape it. I say
One way or another,

you escape one hell,
paying nothing more than proper attention
to detail (did we define duty),

you know how, do it as needed,
friends help but
eventually, something like a father must judge me

good. That is the whole duty. Or else nothing,
eventually right,
live a life that brings honor,
he who troubles his own house

inherits the wind,
you heard he said I came to divide?

Split the flow with a contrail of ice
cutting through the clouds
a jet plane don’t know if
any thing of the sort was ever seen

before my generation.
slice the current into paisleys bubbles reaching away
from the point whence most heat meats least resistance
boiling begins
bubbles emerge and pop.

as old as sin
then
yada, the chorus sings, all the little milk sops sing

yada yada yada and mock the need

to know, you know? More,

after all's been said and done why goes on,

she waves, Cliché crashes to my frontal lobe from lizard brain
Dive in
follow wisdom flowing past
our di er rama drama direct ******* of re ality ify ing

ding.
Did that work? That's maybe
as good as praying, effective

Judge you, I judge me. Can I live with your
following the flow I followed

ob right ob vious not en vious

if the clouds and rain were what water wishes to be,
first some tears must add specialsalt to the sea,
earth salt, from mudmen,
then salt ***** water from
the mud after the flood
when the mammoth
died, (Thank him, for his bones)

then grandpa tells another lie and we laugh
and he weeps

it only hurts, when I laught, he winks,

She pushes and the story takes 'is father's breath,
his first alone, all one, all the air in the world
flowing in to fill the need pressing listing
need need need to breathe
lusting listing and
there,
a new whirl in the world
with all the wind an heir may need
someday, from one bubble to another

in one breath.
One beat of the walking drum,

i am so hopeful
yest so unhopeful
all at the same time

it's like that light
that you see
that tells you everything
will be okay
is like the sun on
a cloudy day;
it fades in an out
dimming and brightening

like a lightbulb
hanging on a thread -
hanging on to life

like a car
racing down
the free way
at two in the morning
the moments of darkness
after the faint moment
of brightness
as we drive under
street lamps.

i am so hopeful
and so hopeless
and i sway
like a pendulum
unable to find
a healthy balance

--------
wait a minute, nullify a doubt  shade
shine on
now from when shine on was thought to mean
ignor.
in the olden days, shine it on, meant, ignore whatever
was urging
eee merge merge merge as I was going
dive
dive
dive kplunkthunked heavy heart, heavyhead, heavy hand

heave, **
its off to work we go,
lift the spirits of this old man, put laughing children
in his ya'd, yah we say jah, we say no aitch
and we say glory all the same, next
is ever after now is full of life.

So give it y'best. That's what coach angels say.
So we can categorize angels, if we wish,

or if the spirit that comforts us, soothes our trepidity,
calms our fear of stupidity exposure,
or academe memeself infection,
we  may take Gebser's five stage program for a ride,
click eh eee ha  I
mean
cliché has the e automaticall em-pha-s-ized, hypenatewait

a minute once too often and you gin gain ing alt alte alter a
aaa alter native be
ing ding… gnoshit UFO?
No, Jesus, it is an act, a show, we put it on the internet
and some guy used it to start a religion,

and some body, some institortured tonsured reality,
has to die a bloodless death.

So, that is a brief as to where this course change has
put, yest out is the word for our state,
put out, however, earlier in
us, the we who hold certain truth self evidently
ex-static…
shhhh  life is too interesting to ignor at the moment
listen magic stage minds in my grand children
laughing in my hall
go quiet.
Then reappear, in the kitchen, far away.

frustrated    w/  the formulaic script,
& setting out to make his ideal film;
the biblical       sci-fi epic [Sons of Thunder]; [          ]
starring the unnamed actress & an
unknown; upon hearing this,  Eli
booked a direct flight to Abu Dhabi
where he holed up w/ an ex-pat
Russian ****** until interior shooting was done;
it didn't take long;     Igor burned the Hollywood
crafted script & told the suit he'd lost it
when he was chased by a bull, or a dog;
or a dog the size of a bull;      Mastiff?
By that much, said Igor: Ivan burst in
w/ the new script, ink still wet on the pages;
                          we've still got attachments - we can't just leave a bunch of
movie stars standing around doing nothing -
Yest' bol'shiye chasti dlya vsekh! Ivan hollered;
[what'd he say? asked the suit]; he  says we will
only cast actors w/ big parts;
| [that's sort of ur trademark, isn't it - -] |        
da, said Igor the director, his conversations
                                  already being scripted
                                               for tabloid consumption - -

We
imagined living easy. Ai, easily, as art intuits
beaux
bon chance, as light would have it,
were eyes
the ***** of
the master sense,
the dominant receiver, transceiver, if we think of gleams
shining things glimpsed
in eyes,
and beams of love or hatred from eyes,
depicted in ever so many pointing stories see, see, me
I tell the truth
I give the push pro-verbial, way to go
edgewise

free, listen, free
and none, among the rooted things
here since ever was, earthly
fully functional systems
of sequence, first this
then that, time and
chance and next
perfect, step by step learn the dance… do as we say we do
none
of those things dis-suaded me, sweet, I say, one taste,
I am persuaded,
I am called of all that is called god, good.

Now, that is a breath of fresh air, given a bit of thought
to offer you as sacred sufficiency in time of need,
- feeling useless
yeah, about as helpful as thoughts and prayers,
right, like a medicine, or an enema,
that's what a good laugh
is worth, and why I am the fool
who laughs at, as opposed
to making jokes, faking you into thinking
this old man has been to the pig sty, he seen
- dead pig farmers fed to the pigs?
- really?
- feels like we all have seen plenty too ugly,
- yest none too beautiful, so far
Funny is a funny word, fun, is just life, not funny,
funny is when it works together for an advertised high,
we all get the lid open and crawl in the box…

always asking what do we think about this, is this funny?

Are we there yet?

yet another time passes, unredeemed, seems none care,
all cares,
cast away, these folks think living is easy
once you find a place where it can be done
with tools,
used in times past to conform fools to information,
ee see re worked info, woe, y' know
new package, same old please, to meetcha
I am the ghost of your chance exposure to
information forms fitting privvy circumstances in the think tank.

Right, and some things can go wrong,
so those do,
go. Wrong, go. Right, learn,
step from the edu-line, linger near the edge

but the odds are steeper, for mortal minds with mini
augments, like knowledge of smartphones,
but, fret not,
minds that augmented,
empowered to know such things as tekhne,
not sacred secret codes to reach distances un dreamed
and draw wind and rain, and make fire,
wow, biggie, that
make fire.

Figure that out. Cast-out, outsider, driven from the fire,
go
find a fire of your own.

-Woe, imagine, might I, or must I go
back and beg
see me, see me, open heart to mind empathos see
my pain
my pain
for you to see me, see me, worthy of warmth…

Nah, kid, this is how the Spartans did it.
First seven minutes of Gunga, the movie, did it, makes birth
seem, painless, to the sow,

some how, that can't be fair, but then
pigs live like pigs,
except in stories. Men act as pigs act, naturally,
we need
we need the juices to flow, this is the reason

for the thaw.
So quit ******* about the warming and handle the waste.

The world is able to heal its own wounds,
let patience be our by word,
long times redeemed in short stories leave a lot to be
desired, who
sired you, the person you are who reads this drizzle,
Hot fudge,
dam, right, break bread with the ghost of a thought
and think
I thought that was right, first time
I knew,

the magic is in recalling how it feels to think all that has been
thought again,

this is the effect of the real crossroads deal ending when I say, enough.
One day at a time.

A blank expanse stretched seemingly on
Not a dent nor a curve in sight
With every step I land here again
An endless plane shroud in white

Around me echoes a subtle hum
A sordid tone, a promise to crest
But with every step it labours on
Undying yet forever at rest

A sly scent comes wafting by
Yearning to shine on times past
At the cusp of memories fond and dear
Yet the joys of yest never come to pass

In a sudden flash that broke the white
Colors, melodies, aromas a plenty
Threatened to overwhelm, so I blink
And back I was in my world, empty.