Long Neither here nor there Poems
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In my world nevertheless, these reasons compels me to be alone
For no one can even begin to comprehend to things of unknown
Whether a curse or a deliverance to befall upon me
I have not a choice, neither here nor there to ever be
And having lived an unpredictable life faithfully such as mine
I would redeem myself in The Ancients, as long I be given time
Therefore… with the future to unfold, I have resolved myself to serve
If not to ensave, death as penalty is an afterall I’m to deserve
Let us be on with our way, for the night is to be awaken soon
With luck, let there be light to guide us from beneath the moon”
{As I sheath my metal, I stood my ground and awaited for her
Awaiting… for perhaps a miracle which may yet draws near
This single hope stayed with me as I followed Alkaiya along
Finally knowing as well, this is indeed the world I belong
After what seem forever, we decidedly stop for a moment’s rest
An unfounded moment, for myself I’m unable to simply outlast
There were stones, darken rocks masking the wilderness around
The unsettling settles… as my time as always is to bound
Sitting in my bed once more, I am without quiet relief awoken
For return is but my recounted nightmare of what time beckons
Before my next entry to come, will perhaps be one even harder
As it is the last moment to recall, we have stumbled upon the Heaori Chamber}
In my world I am but a no one
A no one to everyone else who doesn’t believe
Given is another world I can run
Yet… its essentially hard to remain well receive
Little did I thought I have escaped it all
Little am I to know, my service to the Word retains
With many months ago since to ignore
A certainty is certainly less worthy for complains
Back into The Ancients I return once again
Back into hidden love, back into unfavourable dreams
How else if nothing else is to remain?
If not in my world but to have the other world bring
Time and again, the time of the unknown revisits
Always with a meaning deeper than before to believe
Time after time with my mind to battle and weep
Am I aged with enough faith to take another leap?
A chamber where dreams meet fate
Do I possess the strength to enter for dreams to come true?
Will I ever be regrettably too late?
To prevent the death of Alkaiya to be undoubtedly real
………………………………………………..
Aspirations are a self revealing Impress,
peeping in gem facet placeholder-
of ruby glimpses
of
Fairy tale covers,
covertly-airbrushed by the atmosphere,
over genuine zirconium expectations.
In inner light magistrate cache cow-
in the crystal stereo
of the now and here,
flashes impetus clear like a streaker revealing
to illustrate, the daring, self inspiration of its baud rate
of liberation-ad-here.
Geniing the busy body of it's own needful premise
of seedful impetuous implication, promised on premises.
A banner at happy hour suggesting intoxicating ingestion.
Drunk with in-advertising
getting premonition of-promotion, imbibing
the "jasmine in your mind."
Relation-ships moon causes the roiling sea
to gem carats of her sparkling sirens.
Alluring rocks to dash you to pieces
in drawn compliance..
Unsown light can give you the creatures of her disease,
calling bluff to serve her touring manifestations.
With marked cards to lay down in flush that had lay dormant but surfaced up from the sleeve
and from the seep of pasts saved ante ups.
They are a whiskey shot at a saloon.
Liquid courage that causes you to bark at the moon.
Tide a naked ride tied to the back of a train,
of bad ideas, after tion, ction and igeon
blows your cover, like sudden electrical storm
over the rainbow over landover and hot air,-
balloons like a mushroom
clouded idead ideal that transports you into the stratosphere of her thundering strutopeels.
Her bubble puts you in her hair brained funny papers, periodically.
To keep you sober, from occupying
a van down by the river. (Which sounds good to me) incidentally, but that's neither here nor there,
immaterial, witness,
these thought bubbles-seductively
siring, serial 'vamped vapor round firing
like a ghost mistress who puts you in a stupor
on the grounds of desiring, her consecrated things.
In the labyrinth of thoughts, where the soul and mind intertwine like the vine,
A dance of shadows and light, where memories whisper like the wind through leaves,
There lies an abyss, deep and wide, like an unexplored ocean,
A realm where reason and emotion collide like falling stars.
The heart and intellect, in an unending ballet, like two twin spirits,
Each step a testament to the battles of yesterday, the storms within us,
Some lose their minds, yielding to the embrace of the soul, like a butterfly in flight,
Drifting into madness, a sanctuary, a sacred place like a forgotten temple.
Others forsake their soul, clinging to the vast domain of the mind like a castaway to a raft,
Becoming incarnate intellect, in the cold, unyielding reign of logic like an ice fortress,
But in this realm of reason, where feelings are kept at bay like ghosts,
They find themselves lost, in a world of endless gray, like a dream without color.
There are those who lose both, in the struggle to be whole, like a leaf in the wind,
Accepted by the world, but fragmented in their soul, like a broken mirror,
They walk the earth in shadows, neither here nor there, like bodiless shades,
Lost in the interval, in a state of quiet despair, like a lost echo.
And then, the few, who never taste the madness of the heart, like unyielding rocks,
Who live their lives in balance, each part a separate art, like a self-contained painting,
What dreadful existence must they lead, devoid of ecstasy and pain, like a field without flowers,
A life untouched by chaos, in a banal world, like a story without beginning or end.
Oh, to be mad, to feel the depths of every tear, like a rain of stars,
To dance with joy, to tremble with every fear, like a leaf in the wind's breath,
For in the madness of the soul, true freedom lies, like a sky without limits,
A journey through the cosmos, under the infinite heavens, like a dream without end.
Thus, let us cherish the madness, the eternal quest of the mind, like a sacred pilgrimage,
For in this dance of shadows, our souls are truly blessed, like hidden treasures,
Let us lose ourselves and in losing, find our way, like a river finding its sea,
In the beautiful chaos, where both heart and mind stray, like two wandering stars.
I once met a waiter in Berlin.
A tall man with blonde hair,
a long scar above his eye,
I knew his name only to be Jurgen.
Following coffee one fine day I asked this man,
“Do you know where I can go to find a splash of life?”
He replied with a smile,
“I'm sorry I'm not the best for that, perhaps you should speak to my wife.”
And with that he called over a very pretty lady,
as he summoned her he told me that her name was Sadie.
I looked at her and said,
“Oh my gosh miss but you are quite amazing...
please excuse me for my amount of gazing.”
She told me not to worry,
it was neither here nor there.
But that I should find my way to the edge of town,
practically to the brink of nowhere.
I looked at her confused and I said,
“What miss should I travel so far to see?”
She looked at Jurgen, then back my way, and simply said,
“I guess you'll just have to trust me.”
So I paid for my coffee,
then I started out.
Not knowing where I was going,
my head full of doubt.
I walked past the stores,
and the city shops.
I reached the country farms,
their lands brimming with crops.
I walked so far in fact my legs began to falter,
I cursed Sadie and her cryptic words
as I traveled halfway to Gibraltar.
Then just as the sun was about to tuck itself behind the horizon for this night,
I saw what I believed to be the most awe-inspiring sight.
Maybe it was the glister of her blue eyes against the stony mountains behind her en masse,
or perhaps it was the shade of her beautiful auburn hair atop the chartreuse grass.
Whatever it was I was smitten from the start.
I knew it to be true,
I knew it deep within my heart.
She smiled at me with all her warmth and said,
“Well hi there handsome, what brings you way out here?”
I said,
“You know, at first I wasn't sure, but now it's very clear.”
It's been twenty years since I married her,
that little splash of mine.
We moved to the city and I became a waiter,
not always,
but just from time to time.
Now on days when patrons ask me
just where should they begin.
I smile and say,
“It starts by speaking to my wife,
instead of drinking coffee in the cafes of Berlin.”
January 7, 2016
I'm now in the 3rd chapter of the Relationship Epidemic as I focus on the role of the female
They say one man's trash is another man's treasure, so my girl is my seashell
Since before time, women were loyal before a man is
The backbone of a family, hello, they give birth to the kids
They rarely get lazy
Unlike men who complain about labor pains, but can't show you the baby
Being deprived of attention is what a woman can't stand
If you can't keep up, they grab another dude by the hand
Females left and right can be lovable
As well as gullible
Giving, receiving, and at times also
Deceiving
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" saying is so true
Bite her first she'll bite back twice as hard shame on you
If there's one thing they hate
Is never being on a date
Never comfortable with a nice night in the house
Because they feel trapped like a mouse
That's what I see with girls that are younger
More likely to look for love in the wrong places to satisfy that hunger
When they get cheated on
Or beaten on
They can't trust a male so they turn lesbian or bisexual
Love/sex life is more perpetual
That vision can be perplexible
However it makes life more flexible
It's easy to understand why they want the finer things in life
After all who doesn't, it cuts like a knife
They value commitment, its extensive
We all know women are sensitive
All of that serotonin in the brain
Mistrust on her heart, what soap will wipe off that stain
Mothers, sisters, wives bring some of the pain
Aunts, girlfriends, grandmothers turn snow into rain
A female will never love you in vain
They crave attention, if they don't get it they feel shame
Cheat on a guy and say they're the one to blame
Messed up right?
Do the Right Thing like Spike Lee
No, that's ok girls rather be sneaky
Coretta Scott King, she's so royal
Even after Dr. King got shot, she stayed loyal
Asked my girl if I died, will she get over me
She said not so quick
Replace me? Who will?
That's a different pick
But that's neither here nor there
Good and bad females everywhere
Love attracts girls like plants and meat attracts bears
They can be a man's best friend
To the end
As well as nightmare
Break a woman's heart if you dare
The sun baked down on our Karoo town
It is dryer than dry; not a cloud in the sky.
No one in the street.
Nothing moves in that heat.
It is the end of the school holidays
Nothing to do; too hot to play,
Except to swim in the farmer’s dam;
Hoping we will not be told to scram
Before we can dive in
For that cooling swim.
Down the road, through the fence
We laugh, with naughty jubilance.
Through the bush, to the dam
Excitedly we run.
Shirts and pants off in a flash
Into the water, we dash and splash.
But happy times must end too soon.
As we walk home in late afternoon
There is a snarl, there is a growl
Two Dobermans are on the prowl
They block our path from front and back
Preparing for attack.
Our only hope, to turn and flee
In the distance, a single tree
We do not wait, we spin around
And race across the open ground
They catch up quickly and try to bite
As we scream out wildly on our frightened flight
The moment sharp teeth sink into my thigh
I know I am going to die.
My flesh is ripped,
To the bone is stripped
I stumble, I fall
I try to crawl.
Blood pours onto the dusty sand.
I am alone, not a helping hand.
Why?
Why me?
Why is this happening to me?
I am too young to die.
Brutal teeth are the last I see
As they clamp, and tear though my eyeballs.
Then darkness, I am blind
I scream in terror at my plight
At every crunching sound, at every painful bite
I can smell the stench from jaws as they rip
And taste the salt of blood from my torn off lips
Strong paws claw.
Jaws grind, chew, and gnaw
My flesh with fierce ferociousness.
I drift in and out of consciousness
There is no bottom to the dark depth of my despair
I cannot move or see, but only feel and hear
The chewing, crunching teeth on bone
And feel the helpless fear that overcomes, now hope is gone
Will this gnawing never cease?
Please God kill quickly, give me peace.
The pain is neither here, nor there
But everywhere
Yet, I do not care.
I know, that only when I am dead, the pain will cease.
Only then, will there be peace.
Slowly it comes.
Life’s agonising light turns into the darkness of night.
The snarls become a song. Soft music in the air
A world without care.
Then I am gone
REFINING AND MAINLINING HYPERBOLE
Something reliable, desirable, easily obtainable and consistently good
So a junkie best know the right neighborhood
The right junkie to see who won’t stab you in the back
And who doesn’t have a deck of five aces to stack
Some junkies have held eights and aces and lived to tell the tale
When the “dead man hand’s” reputation came to fail
But tragically the guy with five aces came to die
It seems the number five was one digit too high
And that’s simply what happens when a junkie plays poker and bets too steep to boot
This, of course, is all hypothetical hyperbole for a hypodermic and the dope that some junkie wants to shoot
And a junkie who won’t shoot him in his attempt to shoot his way out of a showdown with death
While a junkie named, appropriately enough, “Junkie” on Eighty-Ninth Street and Lex takes his final breath
Because his old lady named, appropriately enough, Lady
As I always suspected, turned out to be Lady, a lady who was shady
And I find it unspeakable that a junkie wouldn’t warn another about a hot shot
Which, in junkie parlance, means the shot is hot but his body will soon be not
Because one grows room temperature rapidly after a hot shot amidst the stench of rotting flesh and muscle melting into a putrid mess
But don’t expect Lady, the shady lady, to ever confess
****….that junkie named Junkie owed Lady’s ex-old man too much money for a junkie named Junkie to owe
And Lady knew where Junkie hid a kilo of blow……….
To this day Lady the shady lady will tell you that she had no choice
And of course blames it on a chick no one but Lady seems to have known named Joyce
Whose dad owned a Rolls Royce
And whose half-Asian half American Indian step brother had a beautiful soprano singing voice
But that’s neither here nor there
However, I will tell you what is obstinately and obviously clear
A junkie better know the right neighborhood
Because the acrid aroma and stagnating stench of rotting flesh don’t smell very good
© 2012……free cee!
Heir on Fire
by Michael R. Burch
I wanted to be Shelley’s heir,
Just fourteen years old, and consumed by desire.
Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
I went to work—pale, laden with care:
why wouldn’t the words do as I aspired,
when I wanted to Keats’s heir?
My verse seemed neither here nor there.
How the hell did Sappho tune her lyre?
And why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
The journals laughed at my childish fare.
Had I bitten off more than eagles dare
when I wanted to be Byron’s heir?
My words lacked Rimbaud’s savoir faire.
My prospects were looking quite dire!
Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
At fifteen I committed my poems to the fire,
calling each goddess a liar.
I just wanted to be Shakespeare’s heir.
Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch, age 25
Frail bit of elfin magic
with eyes of brightest blue,
sleep now lines your lashes,
the sandman beckons you …
please don't fight—
it's all right.
My newborn son, cease sighing,
softly, slowly close your eyes,
purse your tiny lips
and kiss the crisp, cool night
a warm goodbye.
Fierce yet gentle fragment,
the better part of me,
why don't you dream a dream
deep as eternity,
until sunrise?
Frail bit of elfin magic
with eyes of brightest blue,
sleep now lines your lashes,
the sandman beckons you …
please don't fight —
it's all right.
My Doctir’s Excus
by Michael R. Burch, age 8
I can eggsplain why Im sick.
Sick as a brick
and my stule is thick.
I came to school
and I caught it from Rick.
Now I’m sick as a brick
and my stule is thick.
I cant do my homework
becus Im sick.
I cant take tests
becus Im a mess.
Blame Rick, the prick!
—signed, my doctir Ann Onimus
PS, Thurd grade is hard enuff on kids nervs and bad graids make my simptoms worse! Liten up, doctir’s orders!
Keywords/Tags: Heir, fire, Muse, Shelley, Keats, Sappho, Byron, Rimbaud, Shakespeare, student, sick, school, homework, desire, work, words, verse, poems
In the yonderscape ; neither here nor there, yet within sight, An Emogician appears in a lucid dream in white The top hat and all and holding an atomic pocket watch. He informs you, He is Authomas come to fix the botch, in the COG Cognitive Oversight Grid. It has mareware, reaching into the hat, with a grin. So hold on and beware Awakening at the computer screen. It must be a trick. A muffled scream unseen says, it is original lunatic I feel my body jerk, falling back to sleep. A yellow balloon in the corner weeps, as a dark shadow grows on the wall. The balloon laughing, begins to fall. Landing on a pin; Yelling you won’t die The bursting yellow into blue sky Flying towards a sun filled horizon A butterfly moon begins its rising Forgetting I was dreaming. Reality had kissed him.All is safe, at the Ai Telepathic Liaison Avatar Neuro Tech. System
Inspired by the song “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon
"You know that I could use somebody...
You know that I could use somebody... Someone like you..."
The worst days are the ones that we let go by
That we failed to live
The days that we should've spoken up and said something but we never did
Yet when it's all falling down now it’s important
But when I'm gone and you've gotten rid of me, there is no way to abort it.
They say that life is priceless, so just how can we afford it?
These are my recurring thoughts. The ones that ought to be naught, but they are.
The ones that slow time down and allow my mind to explore, to go far.
I won't lie and say these thoughts don't exist.
The truth is that I'm waiting on you to free me.
The remnants of your excellence will suffice enough to do just this.
These are the thoughts that creep up on me.
Catch me when I'm awake but consciously sleeping. I'm just elsewhere.
Trying to find the place where I belong
As I look to my left
Then to my right
I see no place neither here nor there.
Back history is suspending us.
Not propelling but maintaining, but the undying stress of it all is conflicting and straining.
Every time the thought occurs it gets harder to leave.
Yet if this is the highest point, the pinnacle of sorts, of this irregular discourse, then what is there left for us to achieve?
These are the days when I know I need some help, but you won't be there
This problem has no solution, but I won't even remember; when this chair falls and I hang by this belt we will have found our conclusion.
"You know that I could use somebody...
You know that I could use somebody... Someone like you..."