I'm bewildered by what I see yonder,
Now hold yer horses, let's cease to wander.
We're fixin to meet yer coffee boiler.
He's the new one who's not a straight shooter. Whoah!
I reckon he's got an excuse for it.
And he will tell me why he didn't quit.
I'm stumped why he bamboozled you last night.
I thought I'd be cashed in for that big fight.
But I thought we should cowboy up!
You know I'm gonna call that wrangler's bluff.
We'll not run from trouble and skedaddle.
A strong man must sit firm on his saddle.
Grab a bandana, and fetch a canteen.
Nobody's guessed where this trail's gonna lead.
I once road down a lonely darkened road.
The burdens that I carried formed a load.
But I stood determined to cowboy up.
To set my trail straight and clean myself up!
That waddler will learn to ride for the brand.
By my wise warnin' and wisdom's command!
Those punchers all hat, surely no cattle,
Soon learn wild broncos make 'em chew gravel.
Cowgirls too!
These days, cowboys must learn to communicate!
And get the best result negotiatin'
Big change is ridin' hard across the range! Whoah!
His name is spoken, heard and seen
As part of every goddamn scene
Sweet be a cap on every bottle
It all goes on, without a throttle
A new banknote? Oh, there he is
The Arc of Trump? Well, soon be his
The Center for Performing Arts?
Rename attempt, sans playing parts
Half of White House's gone for good
Big void where once the building stood
Leave stains, not marks, is way to go
Our pride’s absorbing every blow
A golden phone, "Made in US"
Except it's not and what a mess
Cashed in our loyalty like a chip
When crypto fails, abandon ship!
He yells and screams and stomps his feet
So, heads of states are rife with grief
Hey, "pay attention to this matter"
Or chance become a worthless splatter
It's one step forward, two steps back
"Go make a deal or we attack"
The weak and meek don't win no war
Phone calls end war, he’ll stop few more
Vane jester of his own court
Amusing pledges, then abort
It hurts to watch, foresee effect
Entire world's pain in the neck
Forgiving History wouldn't be
No lion shall behave like flea
With vanity's his love affair
Except in bath, it's good nowhere
May 30, 2026
He pays.
He leaves.
And she bleeds quietly.
Some come for release,
others for control.
Some come to forget.
Some to remember.
Some to be punished.
Some just come because it’s cheap.
It's sin.
It’s not sin.
It’s survival.
It’s escape.
It’s addiction.
It’s barter.
It's bargain.
It's need.
It’s ritual.
Here, bodies are commodities.
Sold by the hour.
Measured by the weight, age and colour of the skin,
freshness of smile,
limpness of resistance.
It is commercialisation of desire
wrapped in lace,
sold in whispers,
shared in commissions,
paid in bribes,
cashed in tips.
She lets strangers
from the corridor of silence
enter in the dark...
Screeching beds,
sweat,
blood and tears - at times
between pain, pleasure and numbness...
He comes. He goes.
But the scent lingers around like emptiness.
The curtain falls, when the last man zips,
And I lay my teacup after that last sip...
Where is this? Are we on Mars?
America – just count the stores,
capitalist carnivores.
That so-familiar movie score,
the swish of passing cars.
The city built on Brotherly Love
(Wells Fargo, Fitch and Abercrombie)
at the mercy of Pam Bondi
- was that a person, or a zombie? –
What was Madison thinking of?
Car’s no use: no place to park it.
Arrested at a funeral home.
No gravel pits, no air, no loam
- eat your heart out, Kristi Noem
(Checks Cashed Here, Medina Market)
Can this be noon? It feels like night.
What are these groupings? Hangouts? Dives?
They’re ganglions? They’re human hives?
Squandered talent, wasted lives.
Subway line blocks out the light.
Sidewalk garbage. Mostly men.
That hokey old verbal agility,
“insure domestic tranquillity”
correctional facility
for the heirs of William Penn.
Human beings are detritus
(Lifetime Nails, Olympic Sports):
To clean it up, we use the courts
Perhaps we ought to build more forts
- and thus our id comes back to bite us.
I used all of what remained out of my cashed monthly cheque.
The purple coin purse had been emptied before I could even check
That the washing machine was just not at all now working.
By Imran Ahmed
Two Men Stood At Fate’s Gate One Loved Her More Than Stars One Loved Her More Than Light Both Were Ironclad In Devotion,
She Loved Neither Only Her Reflection Her Scent A Spellbinding Elixir Her Voice Honey Laced With Fire Her Presence A Throne She Refused To Share,
One Was A Ghost In Daylight His Love Deeper Than Oceans His Heart A Candle In The Storm Burning Waiting Never Fading,
The Other Was A Master Of The Game Tearing Veils Like Old Paper Turning Love Into A Contract Offering Wings But Holding The Leash,
She Chose The Gilded Road Not Knowing The Thorns Beneath,
One Man Became A Forgotten Verse The Other A Victor Without A Prize,
Who Won A Question Lost In Smoke Love Was The Currency But In The End No One Cashed In.
Time hands seconds past the minute,
winter melts the sands,
sprung barter the seeds to take root,
petals leave for lands.
Abandoned juice bathes the barren,
weather soaks wet dreams,
towering outstretched limbs fashion,
cries tear up the streams.
Quartered the core green overgrowth,
sweet fester the sour,
fertile soil sources root approach,
West turn sunset lour.
Stockers fatten wanting store shelves,
greens packaged refreshed,
farmers loaded like Christmas elves,
checks at counters cashed.
Shoppers and grocers swapping smiles,
carts staggering highs,
past harvested fields, endless miles,
as New Year's Eve, nigh's.
I cashed my Social Security check
But even now I'm quite afraid
Because after adding up all my bills
I still owe more than what it paid
You can please yourself,
Listen,
Or don't listen,
Read,
Or don't read,
React,
Or don't react.
But I am giving you this message anyway,
Before I have cashed in my chips,
With the hope you will take it away,
And give it to others who might one day have a say,
In making sure it sees again the light of day,
While humans still hold sway.
Strong communities have always been,
And always will be,
The difference between a problem solved,
And a problem that has evolved,
Into one that may never be resolved.
Strong communities have always been,
And always will be,
The last line of defense,
When it comes to the survival of humanity.
That's all for today,
I am off to please myself for the rest of the day,
But I think I have enough chips left to play,
In order to pass your way another day,
And phrase the message in a different way,
To increase the chances of it staying in your eye line,
Before I become unreachable on line.
,
I suppose the are the “good ole days”
The days where one has more time than money
Cashed on for lounging and sun nibbled skin
youth, a precarious thing
all that experience have the fleeting notion of discovering a hidden treasure already found and reburied
when lessons are experienced never told, how a babe first eats a dandelion instead of blows
stumbling across the connections to be weeded out by growth
fear and anticipation still tickles in the same hum
whisper promises of forever is to a sympathy of cicadas to bears witness
the same promise yet multiple forgotten caresses answer the plea
Imprints fading yet some tattooed, wrapped to the rhythm of quickened breaths
like a festering mosquito bite, awareness to the pace of time
its disruption to one’s gate correlates with how much is paid to notice it
losing possession of a touch of childhood
Now, I'm dealing with mosquitoes!
All about standing on my toes,
Refusing to accept the throes;
Back to Mosquitoes bad death throws...
Harsh hand claps to just have one smashed,
For if I did not would be lashed
Upon entries into net cashed
Their bloodstains on it shall be washed...
In water troughs would meet their eggs
And - guess the next - use my legs...
I never could be a lover
Of studies of their Larva:
A part of Africa's rude woes
Each gaped gutter that flows!
Not a sad chapter she might close
Or the day she does The End close.
Comeback God sacked a craft sassed to last /
Grasp no slack or sag with the rap slap/
Pressure the bag and tip of the cap /
Coder crack hat and lift that latch /
Off the docket and out the casket /
Almost a tragic trashed hit had him cashed in /
Dodged that tactic now have the out to last kit /
Hoss’s odds lodged a socket to play with any ratchet
The sun tugs young hours,
Wrings the day. Flowers spring,
Pupils play,
Waitlessness on one youngling.
Longing eyes cashed the calendar,
But father’s clock ticks.
Abysmal seconds cool son’s glare
Oak floor boards catch salty drips.
Minutes and months and now.-
Minutes-
and minutes-
and minutes-
Young blood flow still warm’s sign
Th’at least… young years are yet to give.
Naïve nowadays deprived of
First father’s lessons never lived.
Don’t you see! What is a man?
-Somehow boy did pursue,
Though, t’will never return those lessons,
Thrill’s seeking soul spurs no such blessings;
Mirages o’ dreams: a slew.
Upon composure: supple closure,
Baker’s dozen years gone over.
One son’s frozen dreams adjourned,
By mother’s smother, slack heli-hover,
Manhood grasped, not graven: learned.
Why do you still chat
With that Common Rats?
As blind as A Bat;
A Gathering Fat?
Yes, I’m dead upset
And for Bad Fight set.
Would for A Gossip
Who lets his lips slip
Where had Poor Chloe stashed
The money she cashed
That could widen eyes
And trigger Wish Cries…
I know A Callow:
At theft who’s shallow;
The idea A Brow
Would never allow.
Lying down with my eyes open,
spending my day in the dark
Then she comes close,
follows her a hint of spark
Gleaming my face with the light of her smile,
she holds my hand
It starts to rain as I turn around,
I could hear her heels clopping on the ground
The rumble of thunder made me realize,
I was dreaming of her with my open eyes
She left my bed, when I was asleep like dead,
cashed out my soul, leaving tears to shed
To wipe my eyes, I moved my head,
my vision was blurry and I was soaked in red
The growing noise gave me a clue,
The crowd was restless to pass through
There was no thunder, there was no dew,
The clouds were my veins
and the blood was dripping through
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