Dear Super Man,
My name is Blippen Snickel
of Duessie Commonens. I seek your knowledge
of the CODA Atonal Scale Laser. Which will be
sent to the planet Mars, on the Rocketship Trissel
WL 20S. Might Black Manta and Solomon Grundy
have there way. Dearest Superman one would warn
you that green Kryptonite is used to power the
Fissen Fussulant, were Blue Kryptonite may have
been used since it is most potent in it's use in this
application. Why did these scientist want green
Kryptonite: but only to exclude you from meddling
into there affairs.
Around the Equator of Mars
a Two Mile deposit of
ice-water have been found
under the surface.
It has been said that if it melted
it would completely cover the surface
of the Red Planet 1.5 to 2.7 meters deep.
The Gamma 22 device with the Blue Crrystalant Amplifier will create a Martain Water world. There The Legion of Doom shall introduce the meanest and Vilest creature from every corner of the known and unknown universe.
Dear Superman have you the courage to be there?
Sincerly Yours
Mr. Blippen Snickel
"Aka the Doomenater"
Tracking the archives of my history,
Walking the paths I took a mystery.
It started out when I was young,
All those melodies I left unsung.
Succumbing to all the wrong choices,
Influenced by all the wrong voices.
Losing control of my precious life,
Replacing it with self-made strife.
The ups, the downs, the ins and outs.
The shames, the blames, the internal doubts.
Cast a shadow on my given light,
And darkened what I knew was right.
A tapestry that left me colder,
Stoked a flame as I grew older.
Knowing this prison I must escape,
A moment of clarity then took shape.
Reflecting back to when once beguiled,
I tried tapping into my inner child.
Laughing at all those silly names,
Made up in all those silly games.
Thus remembering that child at play,
The woven web was whisked away.
A poetical and impressive woman, Jacquetta Hawkes her name and Dr Christine Finn delievers a message to share with us all, the true essence of timeless fame. There she stands, Jaquetta Hawkes and her merry band, a glass of chilled wine balanced in her unique and graceful hand. She captures radiance, a beauty for all to see, the shapes in a new landscape in the clouds of prosperity. For a moment in time, I guess being at the top of Primerose Hill, I am doing pretty fine, glancing a portal of Heaven on Earth that chalks a skeletal map, a Legend lest we forget how precious A Land is.
In western skies, an eagle soars, at ease.
Below, the curving Colorado flows,
Winding its way through deep and dusty seas
Carving canyon walls steep, through tracts of time.
Twilight to twilight, its myriad moods
Are freshly painted on those ancient walls
Like rich frescos of reds and tans and mauves
In syncopated colors, all sublime.
The eons are borne by water and wind
From sea to land to sea and back again.
Their passage scribed on texts of sand and lime
Layer on layer like pages of time
Forming holy testaments neatly stored
In earthen temples and archives of stone,
With tales to read, as silent oceans roar,
For those with eyes to see and ears to hear.
Let us walk in rain.
What else was left
common to both of us ?
The death was toeing
the line in neighbourhood.
A paled memory wanted -
to destroy you. Disintegrating
you pick up the loose threads.
The chemistry of alchemy failed.
Afraid to stand up
against the moon, the sun
was hiding behind the clouds.
A healing touch was needed.
A caressing hug. A message
from dark, becoming lucriferous.
Satish Verma
In the archives of my mind
Lie the thoughts that persevere
As brambles in the woods
Their briars bring a tear.
A cry for what has happened
What might have been but naught
For all the disappointments,
Mistakes, and "I forgot."
The pain comes rushing forth
Like a branding iron upon my skin
Burning with the memories
Of broken promises again.
So often have I heard
Of what I cannot do
That my small successes
Seem rare and very few.
There is no tomorrow
Only yesterdays and pain
Too much to be remembered
And too little to be gained.
Fear of a mound,
tumbling down
on the half-buried, half dead
archives of desires, comes
like a stampede of hoops on my chest.
I lie alone in a desert of insanity.
From the sea of agony
one drop of salted tear,
the title of a wasted life, brings
the blood stained truth.
I want to wash my eyes again.
To watch the autumn leaves falling
on impeccable stones
for forgiveness.
We were not the fruits.
A song of blind water
enters the earth
to kiss the roots,
foo giving liberation from
sun leaked night.
SATISH VERMA
As we approach the end of the 2000-2001 LMU school year,
I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t gotten any smarter.
In fact if I was to take one of those “smart tests”
I would probably score the same number I scored last year.
By “smart tests” I’m of course referring to such nationally well-known tests as the
SAT’s, or lesser known tests of knowledge such as
“Think-You’re-Smart-Well-Try-This-One-On-For-Size-Jack!”
or the even more obscure “Is-That-A-Monkey-Under-Your-Armpit?”
(Which in actuality only consists of the question itself followed by a box marked yes that you
can either check or leave unchecked. This may not actually be an official test but a kid asked
me this in the Lair and thought I’d be a fool to say no), which brings me to the point I will
focus on, expand, and blow completely out of proportion by the end of the article. The point
being that education is for the birds (which is one of the reasons why they’ve learned to fly
and we’re still stuck flapping our arms on top of our roofs).
fatty big
There’s something about humor
that suffocates my soul
ha- ha soul
a frivolous statement
that drowns out the ***********
and leaves the lust
in the un-boiled kettle
of a winded self
to be left and
blown through another day
with the completion
of an undying element
which silly people call
love
That wretched pool of faith's undone,
I watched suspiciously while thee not won
unto a measure so involved
in may faring's complacent strum!
Oh then, my heart did beat
it held the drum
of thy bereaved mishandling, then stun
it were a time in life ~ eternal's shun!
That I did hold encounters to the Sun,
this is as love, my justice in thy run
then noble friend, what cell of truth is numb,
there is nought else but love, for thee among ~
. . . . .my archives of poems effigy, so sung!
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