Here's to the fellow we hold dear,
his blood, it was said, teutonic.
He holed up in County Lincolnshire
to escape the plague (bubonic).
'Twas there an apple fell on his head
and gave him a wonderful notion.
Before he even went to bed,
he wrote down the laws of motion.
Winter of Discontent
Cloudiness has settled in the sky
An act of unpalatable truth of the kind
A summer sun easily hides
Old dwellings are full of cracks
Sagging roofs and dust on the windowsill
Pot-holed roads, dry as clay, lead from
From doom to the gloom of routines
Nothing changes; life is an endless struggle
Spring is far away
Then, a miracle happens, splitting clouds
I saw the sun, as the flowers in the garden
had seen
warming my face, letting the illusion continue
Turning over in a ruffled bed,
stark red numbers sear 4 a.m. into bloodshot corneas.
Nothing but darkness creeps through threadbare curtains, frozen in place.
A desolate silence becomes deafening, as birdsong no longer crescendos—
what would have been the breaking of dawn.
It's been six years now since our brightest star was thrown out of orbit,
exposing the frozen side of the sun.
No longer does our planet experience the warmth of its radiation,
nor the glow of its solar flares.
Within a fraction of a second, humanity was plunged into an everlasting night.
Temperatures plummeted; mass hysteria was at its peak.
Crops perished within hours to days,
as the new icy tundra eclipsed once-thriving farmlands.
The birth of a perpetual Ice Age was at hand.
Power grids crystallized and snapped.
Cities crumbled; small towns were blotted out,
disappearing off the map, never to be seen again.
Death's gelid hand spared but a few souls—
holed up in a scientific research bunker in the Arctic.
We are but the unlucky few who get to “live” in this glacial purgatory,
wandering aimlessly forevermore.
Thought, with intelligence? When?
How about the proof?
Setting fire to where and when?
Devil, art aloof?
Fire inspiration, thy pun.
What to do for fun?
Good sense, laddie, and reason!
Fly not close to sun!
Cold fusion, thy harpsichord.
Crystal glass a-flow.
Demon -sultan, fife and sword!
Hell and Heaven, row...
Toil and turmoil, tamarind.
Dappled roes a-fly.
O Reality, how ye thinned!
Grinned the gangrel Sly!
Water of the chasm deep?
Haunts within the sleep.
Void, abyss, around step creep!
Dragons, time to reap!
Vampires, paint thy eyes black!
Do not face the day!
Spend thy life holed not in crack!
Poisonous to pay...
Coals of dark fire, sing in me!
Fling, O fancy-free!
Dynamite and destiny!
Stay awake for she...
Push and pull, life’s game inane,
fleeting joy, lingering pain;
a strange darkness where we dwell,
holed up in body-mind shell.
We wish to have right of way,
in this form doomed to decay
and it’s only when death nears,
oblivion heightens fears.
Fast forward to point of death,
the moment of our last breath;
knowing not where we’re headed
and to whom we’ll be wedded.
Back here now, as we exhale,
does heart sing or does it pale,
worried about the morrow,
attachments cause of sorrow?
Instant can be soul’s release,
free from fear, flowing with ease,
if we get to know we are,
light of God, a shining star.
God is love and heart’s His home;
living light is our genome,
which we see in direct sight,
if but we give up the fight.
Mix black lentil batter
Must add salt and spices
Make holed rings, put in oil
Meduvadas frizzle
Mouthwatering, fluffy
Melts in mouth, soft, crispy
My most favorite snack
Dig only until your fingers can reach,
don't fall face down into the ground,
you're not soil yet
Extend your hands only until warmth is still home,
don't deplete yourself of what you give,
even stars die a cold death
Build your fences only until their faces are friends'
don't reach for the sun,
you'll only burn yourself
Sing to the gods only until your voice is air
don't meddle with hands
religion isn't only yours to reclaim
Guard your walls only until the soldiers are rivals
don't stick your guns at every gate
not all neighbors are villains
Count the waves only until the sea waves back
don't wait for the sun to sink
your boat is holed of your own feet
Rush back home on more than weekends
don't fit love into tight routines,
time doesn't entertain belated guests
Love until your bones are soil
don't worry about bills and gods
humane is the best you can.
Longing for long seas
Dying to meet Miss Bittersweet
On roads between tent poles
In oil holes and tall trees
Take cover
Spin rubber
Tumble and bleed
Along pot holed streams
Let home become a highway
Rolling asphalt day to day
Nowhere to be and everywhere to go
Roam and stay home
And never feel sick again
In the places you've never been
So when long seas wind
Below gears you grind
Everything left behind
Past guard rails and double lines
Find a town within a friend
And close your eyes in Miss Bittersweet's den
My own home.
With a backyard garden to roam.
But I’ll save it for the rabbits to eat.
Watering plants would leave me beat.
I could go to the pool.
But I’d rather have an icy shower to keep me cool.
There’s nothing wrong with this place.
Except all the empty space.
No photos on the walls.
Not even a ghost to wander the halls.
In this place where I survive.
Holed up in here, no reason to try.
I would rather live underground.
Where no one is searching, not even a hound.
No crying or even laughter.
The silence is what I’m after.
Underground is for those like me.
Who never learned to climb a tree.
All we do is write on the wall.
“We were here,” and that is all.
Gaza's hostages
When IDF tried to free six of Hamas hostages
holed up in a tunnel, the six, two women and
four men were found dead
three questions arise.
When were the hostages shot?
During the firefight?
Or were they sacrifices?
we know that the vile regime
the Israel regime is capable of anything foul
Hamas could have murdered
the hostages to stop the IDF from searching
for more hostages
What did I take away
from summer camp?
Not COVID
this year,
nor the clap
of one hand ringing.
But, instead
a more resilient health
of authentic sacred wealth
TransFormative dance
singing integrity's great
synergetic
bromance.
Polyphonic men
mind and body embracing
polypathic gods
re-imaging polytheistic goddesses
engaging all us in-between
communal transubstantiations.
My own spirited mind
and strong natured body
transition
has not been solely limited by Others'
lack of win/win imagination
But also,
perhaps primarily
and primally,
by my own
win straight mind
lose ***** body
trauma story,
His-poled v Her-holed history
Mind blaming
and body shaming
Left hemisphere's lack
of co-passioned pleasuring
Right-now transcendent
peak co-empathic mystery
More resiliently inquiring--
What transformative longing
does bromance take away
from summer's sacred belonging
mind and body camp?
"kamikaze"
Isn’t it odd
how you always gravitate back to me,
I circle your mind like a helicopter
you watch me
like a moth
attracted to flames,
lit in succulent tender air waves
the others will state their absolute grievances,
it’s a force majeure for preconceived
unaccountable and unavoidable catastrophes
but We,
persist, We,
kamikaze
all artificial
and unintelligent,
other side of the wall
reasoning
bows,
to Love,
always
Love,
gravitates,
persists,
calls us all in
just as debutantes,
there We are,
our insides shining out,
illogically
semi-public
so un-upperclassed,
We are, barefeet dancing
under eye-glass boiling,
serious insects
quartered illogically
'neath microscope petri'd
kamikaze
Love
calls Us all in
debutantes
illogically
troped
“Juliet is the Sun!”,
espouses Romeo;
little does he know,
She is more
than a
soft black-holed velvet galaxy
She's a
Universe, diamond sharp
turned inside out
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Leaf
It wasn’t the time to leave,
but stem chewed and gale combined and the leaf fell.
Hairstreak, full green not yet ready,
not curled by summer’s end, crisped by West Coast salt, mottled by frost or holed by Sawfly.
Shadow dancing the lake.
Tumbling, a fairground shuggy, a mother’s touch rest onto the blackness.
The magnetic water pull.
The long float.
Damselfly platform.
Captured on lava foreshore whipped by the fell breath channelled down ice ravaged ghyll.
Purpose complete.
Its forgetful host fed, post prandial.
Unburdened.
Awaiting the awakening.
Say, how long will you stare at the candle?
Until when will you stay holed up in this dark room?
When will you remove your shell-like blanket,
And revive your heart from this sorrow-filled tomb?
I see, that person does not favor you.
But doesn't the world think otherwise?
Why stay true for one well-hidden lie,
When there's only truth in the starry sky?
That flame burns you a hopeless sight.
That candle will stay forever as you watch.
Will you be alright with such a tiny light?
It can burn everything, if it falls from your touch.
It will show you a beautiful blaze,
A sight you once knew.
It will keep you in a daze,
Slowly feeding from you.
Don't let the candle blind you with its light.
Don't let it take the place of your night light.
Don't let it cover your eyes from what's truly bright.
Don't let it burn your room with fright.
Now child, reach for the window's handle,
Free yourself from this hopelessness.
Say goodbye and blow away the flames of the candle,
Look at the stars, burning for you to witness.
Inspired by "All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini." - Jack Freestone
A burlesque performer named Gieter
Decided her act would be sweeter
If she wore a bikini
Peep holed, teeny weenie
She’s hoping her fans want to meet her!
But sadly her tailor from Totton
Omitted to use special cotton
Gieter exhaled to sing
New bikini went ping
Her performance was quickly forgotten!
Huge boobies resemble cow’s udders
They’re flopping about not like rudders
I have to attest
The sight of her chest
Was grotesque, it gave me the shudders!
I screamed, “Gieter you may be a star
But this time you’ve pushed it too far
Please remember this fact
Use two fans in your act
And purchase a much larger bra!”
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