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Prose Poetry Work Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Work

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Irresponsibility Day

5:11am
I wake up to my TV blasting episodes of Woody Woodpecker.

I wipe my encrusted eyes, which had a field day in that dream I had
Involving two Swedish women, a Latin princess
With curvaceous hips that could save me if I ever fell from mountain climbing,
A Sony boom box made in 1984 playing Duran Duran,
And empty boxes of Junior Mints, M&M Peanuts, & Cool Whip.

I walk to my front door to discover hundreds of blood lettered Post-It notes
Slid under by my friendly Mafia neighbors, 
“Turn that crap down or say ‘HOLA’ to my little friend! Woody sucks! ”

5:45am:
So, instead of apologizing, I grabbed my power drill
Which I bought off this Mexican guy named Bob
Standing in front of my local Home Depot,

I thanked each of my neighbors by drilling Wal-Mart smiley faces
Smoking Cuban cigars & holding Shotguns
Into their doors

At this point, I popped in some Belgian waffles & French Toast sticks
Into my Cookie Monster toaster oven and turned on the news.

What was I thinking?!

News reports on Sugar Daddies being harassed by stalking gold-diggers,
Another asinine Final Destination movie,
More teacher-student scandals,
Celebrity break-ups & pregnancies
Oh, how the sheep live vicariously through them

Where’s that damn noose I bought off Bob?!

610am:
To remove my early morning frustrations,
I turned on my Xbox 360 and popped in Guitar Hero
In which I jammed out to Stevie Wonder’s Superstitious
While performing Riverdance on my hardwood floor

The neighbors below me added a nice, rhythmic sound with their broomsticks.

7am:
After my Pilates workout, I decided to strip off my clothes
So I can feel FREE like a Tree-hugging barn swallow
And fill my bathtub with a bottle of Tickle Me Elmo Bubble Bath liquid,
Which I also bought off Bob

Shortly after, I yelled “THIS IS SPARTA!” and performed a belly flop into the tub…

2pm:
After waking up from my concussion, I laughed maniacally
With my face underwater
My laughs were heard through the popping bubbles rising to water’s surface

I passed out again with a drumming thud against my porcelain dreams.

7pm:
Second attempt at recovery, SUCCESS!

I gathered all my utility bills
A filled, plastic gas tank, another purchase from Bob
And a Jerry Garcia branded lighter

As inferno warmed my screaming loins,
Blasting John Lennon’s “Imagine” on my 8-Track,
The local Fire department sliced my front door
With titanium axe and an inscription: “Here’s Johnny”

As hundreds of angry firemen & neighbors stampede into my child-like day

*CLICK*

3pm, Day Unknown:
I awaken with lines imprinted on my Latin cheeks
From wooden office desk
Strange stares from coworkers
With “I’m all out of Love” playing on the faded, company radio

And a post-it note, “Come see me in my office”,
From Bob

©Drake J. Eszes


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An Open Communique to the Rogues

To the seedlings sprouting in the 8 corners of the world:



An open communique can lead towards a perilous precipice overlooking jagged rocks being pounded by the relentless waves of a cold, apathetic ocean -- in such a circumstance, it doesn't take much to slip, to be pushed, to be sent over the edge, shattering upon the rocks below, sucked down by an undertow erasing all evidence of your prior existence. We have come to an impasse, the windows of opportunity in the jet-streams of change, are passing by at astounding speeds. A true Anarchist is not a Terrorist; leave such decrepit despondency to ultra-fanatic zealots and the New Gestapo. A true Anarchist should not fight for lawlessness, should not wish for chaotic, wanton destruction - such myths are propagated by automatons and the controllers themselves. A true Anarchist should not raise placards in protest, should not spray-paint graffiti upon the walls of gaudy Bauhaus replications, nor lob Molotov cocktails at an establishment so entrenched, four heads grow back to replace every head, decapitated. A true Anarchist dons a masque of mirages, reflecting nationalism, consumerism and Swastikas back into the eyes of the pushers. A true Anarchist does so by donning the uniforms of business districts, of the worker, of the paint-splattered, ink-stained artisan. When a true Anarchist gains the confidence and trust of Drones left in charge of oiling the cogs, a true Anarchist enters the control-room not to smash instruments, but instead, turns dials, flicks switches, presses buttons, re-writes programs and codes, in order to help alter the directional course of the very Beast itself. 11.21.2012 .


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Retribution

	It was kind of nice having money all the
		Time.
	Looking back when I was seventeen,
		I looked forward to going to work.
	It is unlike what I feel about work now.
		I did a lot of reading as a child.
	I read all kinds of books.
		I would consider Oak Lawn a safe
	Community then. 
		I can’t remember any times when I got beat up.

	I did a lot of running home and telling.
		I avoided a lot of suffering by talking to
		My parents about the bullies.
			It wasn’t until junior high that I had to
		Take care of a fight that went way wrong.
			I was scared to death of a seventh grader.
		I fought him, and found out he wanted to 
			Wrestle.
		I wasn’t that good of a 
			Wrestler then.

		I got better
			In high school.
		It was kind of chaotic, and the wrestling matches
			Were more “fighting” than wrestling.
		I hung in school and made a name for myself
			At Oak Lawn Community High School.
		My sister gave me a collection of albums
			My junior year.
		I was introduced to all kinds of music by
			Those.

		My first good introduction to music came
			My sophomore year.
		A friend introduced me to “The Police” with
			“Zenyatta Mondatta” and “Ghost in
		The Machine”.
			He told me what he did at his party
		In eighth grade.
		They sat around and played Gin.
			They drank soda.
		They went bowling.

		I got off to a late start with music,
			And I finally caught up with my tape-
		Radio I got for Christmas my junior year.
			I could have had a big party,
		But I decided to wait.
			I didn’t really have one except
	 	The one’s I had in grammar school.
			My friend thought he was going to
		Get married to this one girl at O.L.C.H.S.
			It fizzled out like my relationship did.

			That girl liked someone else though.
		I should have given up calling her,
			It was no fun talking to her.
		She didn’t talk to me at all in school.
			I’m not sure she even knew who I was
		In lunch.
			I didn’t have anymore classes with her.
			Her boyfriend went out for basketball
		Like I should have done.  I was pretty good.  Maybe just
		Doing my chess and studying was the best thing for me to do.

		


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hustling And Bustling- The Ghetto's Slogan

So packed and full is the train a lot die trying to taste of its final gain. This journey so full of pain as it seems all that Life can offer is a cane treating its bunch of victims with disdain. But don't give it all up and go off the lane to this cause stay true and sane. In Life priorities, make it the main provided it is clean and plain. Cos finally, it won't be in vain. Just be patient on the rain when its out pour comes your rewards shall build up like the empire in Spain. Accepting the newly found guardian whom unto you it begets after near-surviving years of neglect. Now, your pain it will recompense and deservedly account for every drop of your sweat!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Todtnauberg

Paul Celan (1920 in Cernauti, Romania  - 1970 in Paris) was a poet and translator. Paul
Antschel was born into a Jewish family in Romania, but as a writer used the pseudonym
"Paul Celan," becoming one of the major German-languuage poets after World War II. Celans
parents were deported by the Nazis in 1942 to a death camp in Transnistria (area between
Moldvia and Ukraine). His Father died of thyphoid, his mother was shot. The deportation
and the death of his parents  left deep marks in Paul Celan. From 1942-1943 he was
imprisoned in work camps and had to work in road construction in southern Moldavia. After
the liberation by the Red Army, Celan went back to Czernowitz and finally settled in Paris
in 1948. In 1969 he travelled to Jerusalem, only fwe months before his death.
Circumstances and true date of his death are not really known but it is believed that he
drowned himself in the Seine River in April 1970. His body was found near Coubevoie, ten
kilometres downstream in the Seine. He was buried on May 12th 1970 in Paris.

	Todtnauberg (Paul Celan)

	Arnika, Augentrost, der
 	Trunk aus dem Brunnen mit dem
	Sternwürfel drauf,


         in der
         Hütte, (= Hut in English)


         die in das Buch
         - wessen Namen nahms auf
         vor dem meinen? -
         die in dies Buch
         geschriebene Zeile von
         einer Hoffnung heute,
         auf eines Denkenden
         kommendes
         Wort
         im Herzen,

         Waldwasen, uneingeebnet
         Orchis und Orchis, einzeln,

         Krudes, später, im Fahren,
         deutlich,

         der uns fährt, der Mensch
         der's mit anhört,

         die halb-
         beschrittenen Knüppel-
         pfade im Hochmoor,

         Feuchtes,
         viel.
--------------------------------------------

Arnica, eyebright, the 
draft from the well with the 
star-die on top, 
in the 
Hütte    
written in the book 
- whose name did it record 
before mine? -
in this book 
the line about 
a hope, today, 
for a thinker's 
word 
to come, 
in the heart, 
forest sward, unleveled, 
orchis and orchis, singly, 
crudeness, later, while driving, 
clearly, 
he who drives us, the man, 
he who also hears it, 
the half- 
trod log- 
trails on the highmoor, 
humidity, 
much. 

Celan: "Todtnauberg" (translated by Pierre Joris)
Used by permission of the translator


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A running chestnut or no - on essay,idiocracy

Altogether unprofitable sentimental but no fool they call him an old sap 		        The taste of knowledge to him is sweet to get more valuable than sap to a tree	   even more valuable than the gold that runs from seven hills					 prolongs the days: but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.				  The Lord does hate pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth         the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom with an expected end pure love                  as God gives the increase I have tasted the Lord is gracious				           A strong warning from the savior Jesus He is Lord						   whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire                                      some may say the old sage is just saber rattling 					             Essayage the shoe on the other foot walking a mile				                   in someone else shoes who has two left feet and one leg longer				          truly your feet are bound to get sore circling around the mountain 	 			    just assaying the metal who is your maker I know mine 					         For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, 						        works for us a far more exceeding eternal weight of glory						 I am not straining gnats just spitting out the the filthy camel 				      Love the Lord God Jesus and every man your neighbor                             all the glory of man as the flower of grass like sagebrush					     God made foolish the wisdom of this world                				put your faith and hope in God and not in men 								 though man's urban inflections change the Word of the Lord stands sure                       Everlasting superior are God's ways than man's momentary dullness


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What do you do with your DAY and NIGHT

I live the day to dream the night
As I dream the night to live the day
I work the day to rest the night
As I rest the night to work the day
I pay the day to gain the night
As I gain the night to pay the day
I give the day to earn the night
As I earn the night to give the day
Life is all about time
As time is all about day and night...

(c) 2011


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GREATEST FIGURES

Figures of immense reputation and popularity they were
Attracting public attention and admiration in the pursuit of their great works
Leaving behind them a legacy of some kind
But going with them their unique characters.

Wasn’t the explosion of Christianity the work of Jesus of Nazareth?
And the burst of Islam not the work of Muhammed of Mecca?

Neither will the admirable leadership of Julius Caesar;
Nor the conquests of the unlearned Charlemane,
And the military successes of Alexander the great,
Be forgotten in History.

If the British can forget Napoleon’s continental system
Jews then, would forget Hitler’s concentration camps
And history would entirely cease recalling his mentor Mussolini.

What if Carl Marx did not propound radical socialism?
Lenin then, would not have smashed the bourgeoisie and ruled Russia
Neither would the principles of Marxism-Leninism be sustained by Stalin
Nor would Churchill seal the border between the East and the West with an iron curtain.

A grave mistake it would be to forget Martin Luther King Jr.
For if he be forgotten, Mahatma Ghandi then would also be
And the entire movement of nonviolence
Will stop covering many pages of modern history books.

Had it not for Kwame Nkruma and Hastings Banda to cut the rope of colonialism
The ambitious Cecil Rhodes then,
Would have drained the whole continent of all its economic wealth.

The ascendancy of Nelson Mandela from the horizon of apartheid
Was not the beginning of Maximillien Robespierre’s reign of terror;
Characterized by avenges and reprisals
But the emergence of Abraham Lincoln’s true democracy.

What if Caesar were not butchered?
William Shakespeare then, would not have been the greatest playwright
Causing Charles Dickens and Chinua Achebe not to appear.

For the existence of a Jewish state, David Ben Gulion fought
But for the reemergence of a Palestinian state, Yasser Arafat strives.


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Daddy's Little Girl

Ballerina’d beauty…
She was always on beat and the most fluent mover. Never hesitant to step out onto her linoleum playground, Letting the stage lights beam down at her like sunshine, only refracting rays to intensify her lime light see she… was a dancer. &no I’m not talking about ya everyday tutu wearing mannequin. This one was special. The music was a part of her, she found a rhythm in every void and a tune in all speeches, it could only, flow thru her mind like water through the globe, more than she runs through my thoughts, like the way those greens slips of sustenance fell to the ground as she worked her pole. 
Tragic ending to the perfect fairytale. 
Mommy and Daddy had her dancing at six and in and out of auditions, wishing for her dreams to be realized unlike her own. Praying that her daughter could be somebody important, the next best thing since Broadway, better than Dejan Tubic, another Janelle Ginestra, but daddy had a sweet spot for his youngin. Wanting more for an innocent life and only turned her out of a fantasy. Pushing her on with the hopes only fools in the Ghetto would believe. Graduation day, she crashed hard, spinning back into reality. With no way to pay for her Julliard dream, a fistful of issues, and not a pot to piss in. She was strolling the block one night, and, heard music. Got sucked into the charisma of a strip joint. One second she was on the corner, everything goes black and when she comes to… she’s bare, with enough ones to get a place and put some food in her belly. That night she looked in the mirror… breaking down crying… all the dreams she had, crushed by the nimble fingers of fate. She doesn’t pity herself for long. Her mind’s already made up. “Gotta do this for me…” She rests, and the next day she finds herself back to the club to make more ones and satisfy more customers. It wasn’t the life she chose, but it’s one she’ll never regret, cause always had that sweet spot for her in el Corazon.. and she’ll always be, Daddy’s Little Girl.


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CharlaXTitles11

 
Inches make feet without inches there is no foot without beginnings there is no work without measure there is no dearth without a ruler there is no worth there must be rules and there are rules but eye will let them all apply to them my enemies at work and never eye. The horse runs well it has a heart so then they fill syringes from the start to inject the muscles of the neck to make the beast faster than the wind oh heck the animal is dead it never hit the ground but flew too fast and lost the race and life. Desert life is winterless but not without some weather life the sun is always shading and the water is found in sub altern placing near the animals for killing under the ledge of apprehension near the fire of desperation comes the frog and toad and watercrest nut sandwiches. Eye had been to the desert on a horse with no namme it felt good to be out of the rain. Voices come out at me from the air into mye membrain eye call it Disraeli musick it is usually someone in the area with a boom box or even cars with the windows rolled down can be the culprits they hound me when eye am hicking place to place. There is other answers to the crazxy place eye hear noises mad mostly by people in the other cubicles the walls are just invisible the talking is allowed. The thief cannot sneak in sneakers they squeak like he is sweating in his shoe laces. This brings me to mye priority eye. The reason that no one wants to be a Detective is the movies the guy may have had DAMES by the score but he had fights and was so sore the men were ruthless and left him spinning on the side of every road. The streets of New Nuevo York has gum shoe on them. The American idea of Indians and wampum has brought us to the test of food in rest or rants of foreign style they smile and bring the menu back to make certain that the orders write the man has pointed several times at five bills a whack. One from Column A and 2 from Column B brings us to a bill of $23. Well eye wanted some meat too but you are so expansive. Rice and curry hot mustard radishes. Try finding food in the summer time how careful now that eye a homeless one should be then tossing caution to the winding blowing wind when it seems only wrapped so tightly to keep flies at night away. To feed myself is easy to offer some to others almost impossible a few times eye have asked to share they slide that nostril in the air and leave the food to the one that found it in the lair of tossed and discarded things the general city the loose leaf cabbage so nicely adds a bite to the membrain of mye priority eye. 


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Humbled Part 1

. .. ... .. . . . "~ (~) ~" ......... ........ ....... ...................... ........... "~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~" ........... ...................... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ ~ (~) "I believe True Humility is Innocent, and free - evolving through- life continually- aspiring before- God-and-man to- move in Gratitude - and being Heavenly, and Gracious, Tenderly- aware - it is Always Surrendering- itself to the Opportunity - remaining-Unconditionally- Faithful-to-This-Principal, and Overtly-Willing-to- abide in Peace and- Unity with-the- World-around- it - thereby - being recreated - itself; before the- brevity of-it's days; given-whatever - the-limitation; or-matter". (~) ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you. I would like to thank particularly as I am adopted my many Mothers, and Fathers, family's and friends and the family whom I am not with now of my marriage ... . Your patience with me along with God's the time shared is the reason I stand here today. My work was mainly inspired by one of the greatest poets I believe to ever live. I believe with all that was in him he wrote, and with all that was in him he lived for what he wrote. Mainly two poems. Among others. The poems *Mending Wall* & *The Road Not Taken.*. Written By none other than *Robert Frost*. These two poems sum up all of his work I believe, as well as mine. I wrote a poem inspired by both. Here it is. The words of this poem form in the shape and reference a picture of me as a lad, also center alined it forms an open vessel ready to be filled. ""Written for my angels ((INSPIRATION") Raquel, and Jonathan. "Take-untrodden- paths, LIVE... !"" ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ http://allpoetry.com/ban/show/6960 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwgKmXLLzT8&feature=more_related


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Reality coming true

Reality coming true is my dream
As one day I hope to achieve big
Courage eager makes me work like steam
Once I lose a chance I will sit like a pig

I hope to be a neurosurgeon
So that I help a lot of needy people
As I never want to others dreams fall in a dungeon
Since I don’t want problems to stick on them like a pimple

My dream to travel over seas
To see how other people live
I will never want it to be crushed like peas
Since I always work hard so that I will jive

I always dream no fighting war
As we lose a lot of innocent women and men
We will result into family of the lost to fall
As they have no where to write with a pen

I dream a world of no hunger
As most children are suffering a lot
We result into the locals anger
The anger grows until it red hot


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ONE100eight

 ONE100eight 
ONE100eight 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
 
www.three 
 
SUN TRAN history 
 
 Passenger Pigeons carry messages to people entrenched at 
www.wwone/ditched in doughboy britches wearing Army boots of wool 
 August 3, 1914 special free edition of the BerlinTageblatt announces "The War 
with France” The Kaiser rolled away and fell from Germany the world is saved 
they proclaim the war is over 1918   
 His hat was very black and ebon his vest hung down in back front was cut in 
western sling style his hair was off white gray an old gunslinger out of old 
Tucson days. He took a transfer out of his pants pocket and tried to slide it in the 
bus to make it work but the driver had turned it off to see his face light up he had 
been caught for this was the very first bus. NO the driver said simply with a smile 
that will not work and left it at that and up to him he did not frown but added the 
dollar paid the money for the fare the first time not again his bogus attempt at a 
free ride had failed. He took his transfer paid he learned his western lesson 
there the driver being kind and understanding could have been demanding that 
he leave the bus and March 24, 2008 has come the carrier pigeons are taking 
messages to www.wwtwo.com the war is over Hitler dead go home and live 
without a gun without a dread.  She simply simpered she opened up her bag a 
purse no doubt without a dime or dollar amount inside her friend paid for hisself 
one dollar kept the transfer in his hand she kept repeating to herself for all the 
crowd to understand eye left the wallet with the money in it at home the wallet MY 
wallet is NOT in this bag it has been left at home the man he seemed astonied 
when she said in certain tones did you get a pass for me NO he said don't you 
remember my pass and your pass is both in your wallet left at home the driver 
moaned a bit but let her be she let them ride he said eye gave to you my pass to 
keep for me she said so sad MY WALLET is NOT in this bag it is left behind at 
home IT'S EVERYTHING the carrier pigeon flew with messages to the troop in 
the trenchment ditch at www.worldwarthree.com/apocolypse 
The message simply said 
we airmailed 
 every missle 
that we have 
to hit the enemy 
the world is over now 
do not try to do anything 
just pray 
we are all going to see 
JESUS 
NOW 
TODAY 


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~ In the Innocence Sublime ~

We lay fallen as velvet roses divinity-promenading in our wake. Innocence sublime weeping still-puddles... blessing-our-first-kiss. Beauty eminent one heart securing all we share-tongues-entwined hopes defined joined together-soaring-free-as-one... a kin to love, swept-away-by-it-we-were... . I believe the heart of grace adamant, generous-tender and-aware honest and faithful- awaiting-patiently... moves freely, because it knows, the-pureness of love always inspires the-opportunity, and so enchantment-gazed upon innocence and desire knew-itself, when-first God showed Adam Eve... ! Now-here today as time has-kept-us in-its ardent-march-I-say I believe-it was-the same with-him back then... . Because simple-smiles day-dreams and quiet eye-beams alone... for me-too-with-you just wouldn't have been-enough, and-when-I-think-of-you, I thank-God for the blessing of our-time, because my heart enchanted, elated, complete... from-here on-out will I forever- know-and be-grateful to-have-loved the-beautiful-angel, that is you. As-so-enticed by the light in your-eyes, the hopeful-manner the-playfulness of your-lips, I tell-you-intrigued, to entwine-them-together, (with mine)... ! I figured I'd have a day to share, and a lifetime, from-then-on, (to touch)... . (if only just), I-could-chance to-embrace them... ((once)). Author notes The hyphens are all used in conjunction-with one-another for recording-purposes for the- disabled... . My Mac computer I can here and as it interprets the differing punctuations it gives the work in there differing usages a clearer and more realistic soft higher and lower Ebb and Flo when it is heard... ! The work can as well be reformatted into proper engine form for those whom may not be disabled... ! Entered into this contest as such and mainly for these reasoning's... ! Thank you for allowing and for considering my entry. I am entirely honored to be a small part... ! Written for my Jenny... . ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ....... ...... ..... .... ... .. . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqTLlHkfSC4


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Lifeless hiring centers

Lifeless hiring centers
look upon papers and not people
Hated for not having a coin,
who you are is ignored. 
Your family hates you for being poor
rather than loving who you are.
The soul despised society does oppress.

People's eyes blinded by greed does bind them in endless slavery.


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The Seventh Fable

 The Seventh Fable 
The Seventh Fable 
 
Charlaxes Fables 
 
Mental Prefabrications 
 


People have preconceived ideas from Religion and Television 

combine these two ideas and no wonder everyone is mental. 

The Eye is just now thankful that the computer was not mine at age 14. The TV 
was enough to ruin me for life. It is no wonder that eye still don't have a life. 
Falling into cracks made just for me. Living in the NEW AGE causes so much 
uncertainty and problems we avoided in our past come back as daily necessities 
of the mass of useless protoplasmic mice eye once saw a man on the highway 
with a sign he was begging for more money to get some more useless wine so 
the people went zigging past avoiding him until he fell down on the ground it 
seemed to me he was passed out perhaps he died and no one buried him 
sounds like an episode of Twilight Zone. There was episodes eye will never 
forget the NOSE throbbing on the stairs inside the house the girl tried to leave the 
shelter of the fence once out she turned to dust the man with the wires in his arm 
seeing the oven where he was born the little airforce people in the GIANT 
woman's kitchen getting swept. 

It just occurred to me the ins and outs of celebrity imagine all the casting calls to 
make the episodes. AND the fact that Charlax was never chosen for even one of 
them seems sort of some kind of twisted justice the actors used were just the 
best of all the crème de le crème of all the hollywooded jest. Webseries Pilot 
casting call: 
The Charlax would be excellent at this OH wait look at that ethnic face. Male, 
open ethnicity, early to mid 30's - JG. Federal Agency Detective.  Good at his job, 
but fresh enough to still want to make a difference. Oh if eye were only Twenty 
Years different. A Twilight Zoned Detecative with the name Rick Roll selected and 
elected to be the actor of the myllineum. 
   


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Web Page Reader

Web Page Reader
We need a new device inside the computer with a control icon installed on the 
screen a shortcut to direct me to the web page reader. Instead of opening my 
web page and copy and paste the text eye open up the web page reader and it 
does the rest. It copies the whole web page one page at a time and seven 
hundred poems are then open online. Eye then have my hyperlink to open all of 
them AT ONCE and there is no more work to be found to do the computer then 
has made us useless as a copy and paster tool.
The people rule.


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Used To Be

I used to be a somewhat normal American. Divorced, three kids, and a job. Looking into others souls. Making evaluations. Notes in charts. Different backgrounds, circumstances, degrees of madness, more true than some realities. All had one thing in common. A need for love. Though searched for high and low. Not found in the liquid, shot into arms, or the spirits contained in a bottle. White puffy powder, not snow. Legs uncrossed, inviting love that doesn't last. Now receiving medication, served up in a cup. Disillusioned. In need of a solid love, like a tree they can climb up in. Well rooted and grounded, stable and secure. Fed by living water, to quench their thirst. To help them back up when they fall, or are pushed.
A locked away society cry, and the government doesn't hear, doesn't see. What will become of all these people, or you, or me. Looking to be broken out, from without, by what is only found within. Playing a game of hide and seek, some times no one wins, yet others are found.


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Femininity Unbounded

By Stanley Collymore

If words are the trumpets of the mind and the 
eyes the telescope of the heart could it be 
that silent thoughts, transmitted yet not 
openly disclosed, are the engine to 
provide the start of what we 
hope to find? 

Like an elegant goddess borne loftily 
on the stalwart wings of chance 
you swept in unexpectedly 
but oh so majestically 
in a unique, feminine 
ballet de dance – 
your welcomed presence creating a 
charming and exciting situation
replete with its own magical
and tempting expectations.

© Stanley V. Collymore
20 June 2001. 



 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hearing a Puddle

Now
the shield comes down.
Pall of darkness 
reigns in the temple
I wear.
A scratch of faith,
lightning leaps about
as an insane ghost
then settles into
a dot of white fire
over a puddle
boiling from the steel,
a rushing flood
wanting to speak 
to me.
I whip left into
the crevice and hold,
one, two, three,
steel pisses a puddle,
whip right into the
crevice, hold,
one, two, three,
whip left 
over the Martian terrain
of the last weld
to burn through a 
a Pope's nose.
“Speak to me!”
Darkness.
Jerk back.
Vulgar electric light
spattering, damn it! 
High arc! Stabilize,
whip right and hold,
one, two, three,
whip left pulling the 
puddle into the middle,
the Neutral Zone
where it settles,
a marbleized orb
of light and motion
floating in the dark
as Earth seen from
the International Space Station,
clouds of chemistry 
drifting on its surface.
I whip left and right,
feeding the puddle
as it rises
up the steel
and speaks.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

87

 87 
87 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
StudentLimbo 
 
Fantasy 
 
There is a student living on the SIXTH floor of the lieberry because the computer 
will not let him use it and he can never find a seat even if the place is still half 
empty. He starts near the doorway in the lower deck of the student only area of 
the information commons (yes it's still open to the public but no one ever sits 
there) then he walks up threw the main part where all the students sit and copy 
parts of pictures with some text all meant to be some grand and glorious cosmic 
joke for they seem to be working for the printers ink for the printer just to work just 
to go on printing one more grand and glorious joke. He skips the second floor 
where there is sabios and goes up to the eterminals then he stays a while and 
droll he is thinking he may play a game an actual computor game but no no one 
gets up no one leaves the area he lurches up the stairs now on a dead run 
moving quickly past the remains of the few sabio left that work for searching 
books no internet throwing up on the outdoor rug as he nears the sixth floor stop. 
He lost his mind in 1963 using LDS drugs and playing with his own autonomy he 
leaves this world in agony as he sits upon the roof of the Hayden lieberry he 
looks down at the canopy covering the awning of the entrance and he 
contemplates a jump but he is way too chicken now for lunch he eats his heart. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Scythe's Ring Across the Fields

Sitting watching a June summer king establish his reign over hazy hills and dusty dales,
I could just hear a sharpened scythe's ring across green fields cutting away at the corn,
With the hustle and bustle of the annual hay-harvesters bringing home a brand new season,
Happy sunburned workers work the open fields gazing skywards smiling at the noonday sun.

Hay hangs out to dry in the trees of the narrow footpath's and down haw thorny little lanes,
Everything now prepared and Mr.Summer rolls up his sleeves working to help with harvesting, 
Each person delighting in deep cool grass in the shaded part an abstract of lovely flowers,
Then paddle in a cool stream washing the chaff dust from feet thus ending a hard days work.

The shadows of leaves dance along the streams a silhouette waltzes upon the silvery water,
Lovely azure crowfoot salutes from a bank to a forget-me-not an old friend from last year,
A purple compfrey dips its leaves to sweeten the water joined by a warm and gentle breeze,
The birds sing from the trees and in the hedgerows while the nightingale tweets a sad tune.

On trees chestnuts begin to grow and acorns young and green sitting in their little cups,
The nuts from the hazel and the apples on trees in orchards promise a ripe autumn harvest,
Gooseberries for pies, currants and strawberries ripen growing in the hedges of old lanes,
June has taken his fair turn making spring shoots grow strong, ready for the later fruits.

The cuckoo departs and glow worms emerge on a summer's night and glows a tiny little glow,
Along heath and over the meadows across landscaped fields dotted with pretty wild flowers, 
The June summer heat gives strength to nature making grass lime green next to red poppies,
As the summer harvest quietens the work nearly done people rest and reflect on golden mead's.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Seventh Fable(missing parts)

Webseries Pilot casting call: 
Male, Caucasian, mid 40's to 50's - HG. News talk show host. Strong stanced, 
mix between Bill Oreilly, Larry King. 
Male, open ethnicity, early to mid 30's - JG. Federal Agency Detective.  Good at 
his job, but fresh enough to still want to make a difference. Female, African 
American, mid 20's to mid 30's - AW. Activist. Strong headed attorney with a 
gentle side. 
Male, African American, mid 30's - CH. Sweet dispositioned gangster. 
Male, African American, mid 30's - N. Cool, calm and collected. 
Male, African American, mid 30's - CU. Wing-man type. The right hand man. 
Male, Italian, late 40's - S1. Gangster. 
Male, Italian, late 40's - S2. Gangster. 
Please copy & paste entire description into email submission. 
This is a pilot, apologies, no pay for now. Credit, copy and food. 
You'll be working with a great crew shot on HD equipment. 
Send headshot, qualifications and contact info (more interested in your acting 
abilities than resume). Will call you in on 14th or 15th for reading. Thanks all and 
good luck. 

this is appended to help the reader understnad my poem better than


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ Cry of the Muse ~

Of-gentle beginning-and tender song ... ! That we would gratify love in its truest affection. Stand stead fast- uphold it yield to no other-duty ... ! To-have our-souls' so-identified-unified coexisting- exclusively-mid-this ... . To-live, would I die to give the measure of my-soul- just-to-have this ... once ... ! So place me within, make me the-essence of-the-art- lay me down carry me off- as I would be a child lost amid the grandeur- of its promise ... ! Allow this ink to consume us be the genuine eminence, what we reach-for through the humble virtue, heart-of this quill ... ! So all may view soar higher, and even higher still. Be captured, taken within deep- far and away beyond- the bitter part of this world, into the true benignity, flourishing and forever evolving, amid themselves ... ! Yes help me build me up, mold me-yes- come find me ... ! Trick me friend by slight of hand bend me- yes break me down shatter me again, and again truly I care-not ... ! Fill this paper in-its preparedness ... innocence ... verity, hope ... with the sweet passion elation of our souls ... ! Yes carry me before this-vision ... ! Restrain me-not ... . Set our-soul-free ... ! Please ... ? That we may gratify love-uphold it. Yes yield-then ... only-beauty ... ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author notes Written to the (Braveheart) theme By: Enya The expression of this poem was written from within the greater depths, of my soul. It was a cry of my muse. The passion beside which I stand and the hope through which I write. The joy we both carry for the other, and peace and faith in each other, in which we abide. Before this writing my muse had taken a vacation. So willing, I am open to suggestion. ~ Thank you for reading this piece of my work ... God bless you ... (The reason that there are Hyphens "so many of them") is because I have a computer that speaks them with a faster and slower and higher and lower pitch of voice, giving a certain kind of ebb-and-flow to the work with a softer more fervent and realistic and consistent tone, when I use the hyphens and other punctuation in the certain places that I do, when in telling it what to do. Allowing it to speak in even a moderate voice if I choose. It sounds very free flowing when I hear it, and I can only hope that you will be able to here it in the same way. Thank you for reading and God bless you ... ~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ Poem the 1st Chap. Inspired Bye ~ Part #44 ~ Summary ~

"""Incontinent of self without the Lord I either am or am not it would seem always in some way, as it always in all ways does seem to govern me, on a collision course with Him, you, the rest of this, ours, His perfect world. My views, ideas strengths given me I begin to presume are mine alone. Without Him thereby becoming trammeled within them myself. Just as a glass house would be, or if you will. Abiding within myself alone, singularly within them without Him. Within the greater, and-even-greater-depths-of myself. Arriving always and in all ways in contempt, in my indifference. Yes alone within myself as an island. The great writers I believe now knew this. As they wrote for God abiding with Him within themselves for something far far, yes something so much greater! A world abiding with Him, amid an aeolian liberty. Yes, an always and in all ways in every way, growing peace. A great realization it was for them I believe as inspired through their experience with God through this. In search of this with Him they sighted boldly. Yes proclaimed the awesome chance given everyone for a world left through Him, undivided. As will I too I believe now. As it has been proven to be this truth for me as well. When honest with myself, and ready, made aware through Him, made open. Willing and able and being moving within myself with Him eager through this. I work to remain. To set my inconclusive ideas aside for something far far greater. Yes place them before the God of all understanding this Holy union. Asking of Him alone for this one perfect, complete, and ever joyous and in always peaceful conclusion, and so, being prepared through this idea through Him I work with Him, in all ways and always for this beauty. This His greater good. Seeing my ideas if not all of them in part within themselves as always and in all ways being alone within themselves in some way faulty as they are, within myself alone remaining apart from my inconclusive, erroneous illusions. "Any person world society, abiding apart from Gods openness of mind and heart, granted and offered and sewn in peace for them. Given the rejection of this truth will sadly in some way always and in always in some way abide alone absent of this desire. Far and away ... yes far apart ... from this"". I believe Ronnie James Dio, new this too: As it should be! Regardless of what I may believe given whatever the-time, or matter. Friend ... ! Egypt(The Chains Are On) ... !"""


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Transvestite Not Working.......

Gender prejudice is a hoot,
Who gives another the right
to determine femininity or
masculinity?
Haven't they ever heard of men
who act very feminine,
Yet, they are not gay,
Metrosexuals, that's just their way,
Then, there are women who relish
being Tom-Boys,
because the thrill of kicking aces
brings them joy,
They can beat the old boys' network at
their own games,
doing it effectively and without
shame,
However, closed minds feel better off trying
to ostracize,
because an Amazon woman can cut anyone
down to size.....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

They Care!

A noise is heard, I go out to investigate, 
it is back where the cows are, moon covered by heavy clouds, 
shines through slightly, spooky and cold this night, 
growling now louder, have to get to the cows. 
Ok made it, they are ok ,babies too, so cute they are.
Looking around now growling again, 
louder more angry sounding,
 flashlight getting dim, shines in deep woods, 
only two eyes reflected, growls getting closer. 
What could it be didn’t know coyotes growled, 
deep voice? Bear! 
didn’t know there were bear around here, oh how I hope not. 
Cows must sense extreme danger,
I have my pistol to protect them, (why didn’t I bring my rifle), 
they surround me, not letting me through, 
could not get a clear shot, please move. 
So strange I never knew.
 Heart beating faster and faster, 
stop thinking, concentrate,
please go away I don’t mean you harm. 
Hours pass, growls further away now.
 Time to relax. 
They protected me, 
they care!

EXHALE


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Right Thing

Dear me,

When people say something I don't like, I want to get mad, I want to get upset, but then I
tell myself that I have to be the bigger person for things to get better and just take a
deep breath and distribute an apology where needed and whatever other sugarcoated bullshit
that the situation need. And, yes, I make the other person happy. But not me.

Why? Because I believe there should be peace. Wait, no, scratch that (Literally, since I
can scratch it out here).

Why? Because? I WANT there to be peace. I'm the type of person that does not like having
guilt nagging at her skull and eating at her heart. So, what do I do? I do whatever I can
to repair everyone's heart the best I can and, BAM! I got exactly what I wanted.
Well...almost what I wanted; Sometimes it takes a lot to change someone's mind. And, I
guess, that's enough for me.

What I do, my friends, is called "Turning the other cheek". I try to do that now, because
I believe it's the right thing to do. I didn't used to do that, though. I used to yell and
scream and act the worst way. But then, I told myself that things would be much better if
I do what I'm doing now. But sometimes it doesn't always work out in my favor.

Okay, okay, fine. Most of the time it doesn't work out in my favor.

I usually end up getting hurt by "Turning the other cheek". Why? Because I can't say what
I want to say. I can't do what I want, because that would go against "Keeping the peace,"
and what I believe in now, which is just that.

Sometimes people don't see that I'm trying to keep the peace, and they think the worst of
me. Sometimes I end up crying. Sometimes the other people don't care. Sometimes I end up
back where I was in the first place Alone and miserable.

But, I will stick by my new policy because it's the right thing to do. But...really, what
IS the "Right thing to do"? What do you think would be the right thing to do for this kind
of thing? Is there even a right way? A wrong way? An in between way?

Do you think I'm doing the right thing? It doesn't feel like I am. But, I'm too afraid of
losing the people I care about to not do it.

Ah, man. This is quite the predicament that I'm in.

Is there no justice?



Sincerely,

The Confused One Of The Bunch.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Depression Challenges

You came to me without warning 
Took up occupancy without permission 
Your purpose hidden from the host 
In a dark cloud of anger and confusion

But you did not come alone 
You brought along a companion 
Pessimistic fear was his name 
Wreaking panic and consternation
 


 The question asked over and over 
How long did you plan to stay 
We could not see the answers offered 
With a mind that had gone astray
 

You were very active in your work 
Every day you plucked the beam of joy 
And left an impostor in its place 
What was I to do but cry
 

While you were at your mindless task 
You caused the host a lot of pain 
Damaged work and social contacts 
And his relations twice again
 

Your host had cultivated well the ground 
When day and night were merged in one
Working at unremitting pace
If you could see the damage done
 

From that time is twenty years or more Y
ou have come and you have gone 
I do not wish to have you back 
I once again am one
 

From now on I guard the door
By reflecting well on lessons learned Painful, fearful, costly payment 
Joy and freedom is well earned


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Time and Work

Ecclesiastes 8:6NCV
There is a right time and a right way for everything.
John 6:27
Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life.



We wonder sometimes with great worry about what time will bring. We must remember that 
God has given time to us as a gift. God was present at the beginning of time and He will be 
present at the end of time.

We cannot fear for the future because it is God's hand on eternity. It is you who dictates 
your time by the choices you make. We often feel there is not enough hours in the day to 
accomplish our tasks. We often feel there is never any time for ourselves. Remember to ask 
God to help you, and He will show you where and how to find the time.

God will put your mind at ease with time. Time is a gift, and everyday is yours. God wants 
you to live free and without worry of time. He will walk with us every step of the way every 
time.

As all of us on Earth must work to sustain our lives here, we must also remember to work 
for our spiritual well being. Your relationship with God will provide you with the food for your 
spirit. The food for your spirit is a great variety such as wisdom, understanding, joy, peace, 
love, and patience. In this job you have only one boss and that is God. That is a great 
comfort in knowing you have such a great boss as God. This is a perfect side job, working to 
feed your spirit. Start your application process now by praying to God. He will surely hire 
you and your spirit will be fed.