All you water, please file neatly
into the ocean - I mean completely,
and if you are dirt, you are meant
to lie on a continent.
Islands and lakes, please prepare,
for your judgment, the electric chair.
Psychology, Global Crime
Where is the life?
Where is personality?
Where is freedom?
Where is an independent being?
Where is life?
Where is the person?
Where is the individual?
Where is the life?
Psychology, why cover life?
I want freedom, no criminals, no psychologicals
Just live, just live, just live. Hmm. My life
In God’s world
In purity
No
Psychology
No
Psychology
Psychology life.
Life
Plan of God
God created a path. No psychologists’ kind
Psychology is a despotic being, trying to be over the mind
For power. For money. To rule the lives
I need to live the pure life. I want. No criminals
No psychological crimes
Written: December 05, 2025,
*****************
Night: a single breath, galaxies stalled in its chest,
silence stone-heavy—glass melodies cracking.
Shadows lean softly against the walls,
not menacing, but patient—
listening for the flicker of a hesitant heart.
From a throne carved in gilded stone
They vented vile voices to the katabatic wind,
wailing whispers waft over wintry wear.
I grasp a world engulfed in fire
Every flicker a fragile fantasizing flake,
shrunken before bloom.
Ego prowls like a stray wolf
shattering serenity into jagged shards,
gain drifting toward despotic dominion.
We raise stone altars disguised as bridges—
only to watch them crumble
into dust beneath our crossing.
Buried deep in earth lies a singular root,
a quiet colloquy to a ubiquitous crown—
Life unfolds, shadows brood,
delicate yet enduring, thriving in the gloom.
And the human spirit shines with brilliance.
Graciousness forms
the apparel of the meek,
tempered in blistering
hues of aura crafted
with the breath of
exhaustion sinking
deep into the soul
of the soulless,
there it wanders
with eyes open wide,
a pop of life silenced
by its surroundings,
forsaken lands filled
with despotic nature,
crucified
their interior along
with their exterior,
proceeding cautiously
as it gravitates
toward the center,
connecting humble
origins placing
the palm of its heart onto
forced separation,
the wind wraps
around creating
sanctuary healing
the wounded descent
of sacrifice,
predetermined
by its antecedents,
a child born
through ashes into
the world's callous
ever ruling
appeal.
Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour
and the imprimatur of the gods
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age.
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic,
even now into Prime Ministers,
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.
I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world.
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums
for opposing forces,
doctrinal battlegrounds
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there,
transcending the reign
of emperors, wealth, privilege
and the power of the State.
And so it is, I hold to my chest
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.
Desiree Dissention disliked dishonest disorderly Denise
Discontented Destiny discounted Desiree’s dislike of Denise
Diabolical Denise displayed despotic disapproval of Desi
Desiree and Destiny’s discord disgusted Desi and Denise
I plead insanity.
By now I should have learned.
Happiness is not for me.
I'm here to get burned.
It's so melodic.
My heart drums a sullen beat.
A tempo so despotic.
Victory song of self defeat.
I'm Insufferable.
Thus should suffer being weak.
Designed irreparable.
Another fix is all I seek.
It's narcotic.
Now it wears my skin.
Discordant harmonic.
Bound to kill me from within.
I fill the interim.
Like a space that isn't there.
Shows my delirium.
You're not here because you care.
I gave too much.
Despite being empty.
Life goes as such.
Live to thrive on the futility.
Its now to question
It's now to dicuss
It's now deny
Any hold over us
By the spawn of
The unconscionable
The dregs of the dregs
The descendants of
Misfits septic as pus
Unacceptable beings
Being devoid of true
Soul, lovers of gloom
Who live as in holes
Like spiders in Webs
They only can kill
If their dens are not
Cleaned out; nows
No time to be still
It's time to be active
Spread the news all
Around , their agendas
Have lost it, Humanity
Is taking back ground.'
“Wars and rumors of wars” – the Bible says
That being so, then we should not be surprised
When selfishness and greed are bubbling over
When covetous, malicious, power-hungry leaders
Bring the entire world to the brink of disaster.
We need always be prepared for the next one
For they will come, surely, as the sun rises and sets
Despotic-minded individuals will seek positions
With no regard for their country’s well-being
Ordinary folks being merely dispensable pawns.
Beware deceivers who say what you want to hear
Cloaked in high-sounding platitudes of patriotism
For it’s possible the next time our country may fall
To perversions of principles we have long cherished
Once gone, they cannot be restored in our lifetime.
Written April 5, 2022
Were you not listening? The world was gasping
As you destroyed the homes of civilians,
Destroying villages with indiscriminate bombing,
Displacing hard-working families by the millions?
Now, we learn your soldiers assassinated
In cold blood ordinary folks only trying to survive,
It’s hard to understand the casualties, ill-fated,
We wonder if war-ravaged children can thrive.
Obviously, the war is not going as you planned
News reports tell us of your military in retreat,
All this carnage for an expansion of your land
It appears that you are facing imminent defeat.
With the world’s most despised despotic rulers
Certainly, your name will go down in history –
With Stalin, Hitler, Idi Amin, all depraved monsters
Who are only remembered for deplorable misery.
Written April 5, 2022
This tragedy is a farce,
A play within a play.
The king says one thing,
The queen another
And the pawn, lying broken
May never recover.
Romantic sop,
(he’s quite the fool)
Watching the battle go on
and on . . .
. . . and on the warfare continues -
A game of Armageddon.
With despotic palaver
The pawn is sent
To the enemy campsite
To sow discontent.
Rhapsodic dolt,
(he’s quite the fool)
An equerry running from side
to side . . .
. . . to side with those in grace.
Insane the thought of victors.
Hollow heroes
With noble guile
Bewitch the pawn
In villainous style.
Quixotic soul
(he’s quite the fool)
Standing in line for a Judas kiss.
People are running for the illusion, I observe.
And believe what the crow says and swerve.
It can be found on the back of a military vehicle.
The country will soar to the hump of the clouds lull.
Even though the disagreement and ten quarrels.
Also, despite the gloom and the weather trials.
we were unsure about the despotic reign of the ego
Men are humiliated by this act, as well as their credo
At what point did tyrants' control become a collar?
Deliverance for those who are on the verge of blander.
Where are the intellects, and where is the truth?
We hope that chaos and disorder might result in soothe
Written: August 24, 2021
Aristocrats may have it in their blood.
It speaks of deeds both dark and heroic,
of evil villains and the truly good,
and markers left both kindly and despotic .
All were aware of centuries long gone,
of conflicts won and lost upon this shore
and loves and lives both humble and wellborn,
within these brooding walls in days of yore.
Majestic symbol in these northern lands,
inspiring those who tread the Pilgrims’ Way,
who gaze across these shining, shifting sands
and know that Bamburgh’s stories live today.
Heavy with thoughts that abort sleep
My mind goes on a pilgrimage to the sky
The view from above makes heaven cry
The earth is plagued with despotic souls
And altars of different creeds are soaked
With the blood of innocent worshippers
Spilled in mortal conflict in defence of God
Their ancestors did not serve and who
They have no knowledge of
But claim monopoly over
So, they seek to invoke lightening and
Draw rain of misfortune upon all
Who will not beseech Divinity as they do
Or believe their half-borrowed beliefs
That deify robed beings on the rostrum
And abhor supplication made in solitude
And broadcast water offered the thirsty
Or rags put on the backs of the destitute
In concealing their sumptuous abstinence
Their faces resemble those of mourners
They profess compassion but will drive
Seared iron through penitent reprobates
Declaring them undeserving of mercy
Intoxicated in pious conceit
They seek to cause pain because
They possess the power to hurt
I too have read from the books they wield
The letters do not preach hate for neighbour
Stop present time now!
Let us go no further.
Let's enjoy the now, somehow.
Muses and we, sisters and brothers.
Batten down the hatches on reality.
Only stars dance, we staunchly state.
Reality has no maternity,
We slammed it dead at the front gate.
Of only insignificance, can we pen?
Strange murmurings of only moons
and stars.
Reality to die slowly in a dark house
of busy pens?
Of that, dare not your soul ever move
nor start.
This world of writing, utterly unreal.
Where imagery is some despotic
king?P
And long words you must look up
to somehow beauty reveal?
To then bow low and kiss a poet's
ring?
September 13, 2020
8:30 pm PST
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