Long Spoken word Poems

They were gambling in front of the house.
Manservants and pages bustled about
Serving Suitors who just curse and carouse.
Few mix wine with water. I heard one shout,
"Clean down the tables with wet sponges! Rouse
Yourselves! And when you've done that lay them out
Again!" Some others carve mountains of meat.
I’m almost ready to admit defeat.

Then I thought I glimpsed Athena (disguised
As a man) long before the others did.
Sat among the Suitors I’ve long despised,
I daydreamed of how my father would rid
This house of these hopefuls. I was surprised
At the images - horrible, vivid -
The Suitors’ bloody bodies heaped chest-high
Slaughtered by the king they’d sought to defy.

As I sat brooding, I spied a stranger
At the gate, and went straight to greet him there.
Great Athena's stratagem to change her
Appearance at first kept me unaware
Of her divinity. For, the danger
Of my being overawed was unfair.
Faced with a mortal, I could be at ease
And act without feeling I had to please.

I said, “Welcome. You won’t believe how glad
I am to see you. Come drink, eat, and tell
Me the reason you’ve come - good or bad.
Please, sit close by me so I’ll hear you well.
My mother's Suitors upset me, I'm sad
To say, loud and insolent. Drunk, they'll yell,
Shout, and tell bawdy jokes. Just ignore it.
For decent company, they are unfit.”

At that moment, the great door opened wide
And the noise of feasting and merriment
Grew louder and reverberated inside.
Four of my mother’s Suitors hellbent
On having a good time sat down beside
Me and the stranger. It was evident
They’d drunk far too much from their boorish ways,
Rough, tipsy voices, and their glassy gaze.

One, Antinous, said, “What’s this? No music
Dancing or singing? Where is Phemius,
The minstrel? Tell him to play or I'll kick
His backside! Tell him, I, Lord Antinous,
Wants everyone to hear how artistic
He is with a sweet song harmonious
And pleasing. Get to it, Telemachus,
Get him to sing. Don’t look so serious!”

I nudged the stranger to edge down the bench
To get away from these aggressive drunks
And avoid breathing in the fetid stench
Of their sour wine-soaked breath. Their beards had chunks
Of vomit on them as they tried to quench
Their insatiable thirst for wine. Each dunks
His face in food bowls like pigs at a trough
Gorging so fast that they splutter and cough.
			
I whispered to the stranger, “What I say
Is, though I don’t mind a little excess
And feasting's cheap when you don't have to pay,
There, in some dark uncharted wilderness
May lie the bleaching bones - or perhaps they
Grind to powder in the surf relentless -
Of my father, Odysseus, long gone,
Whose wealth these greedy vultures feed upon.”

Another brute, Eurymachus, stood up.
He staggered unsteadily on his feet.
Swaying to and fro, wine spilled from his cup.
Eyes bleary, face white as a laundered sheet,
He bared his backside, wagged it like a pup,
And farted. “I thought I’d give you a treat!”
He said, in generous mood, his speech slurred
Staring down at his friends with vision blurred.

Lord Antinous giggled. “You are unfit
To grace this respectable, noble place.
That stink would curdle goats’ milk! I admit
You’re daring in baring your bum. Replace
Your face with your bum – there’s more hair on it!
The barefaced cheek you show is a disgrace!
I suggest you sit on your best feature
You ill-mannered, uncouth, ugly creature.”

Eurymachus retorted, “You're no Greek god
Yourself, Antinous! Fair Penelope
Will choose me over you - you drunken sod!
And, I can say, without hyperbole,
She'll be transfixed by the size of my rod
When I hook her! What a catastrophe
For her if she handles your tiny worm -
She’ll not even notice it twist and squirm!”

They guffawed and shouted, “More food, more drink!
Bring more bread - and more meat - and much more wine -
Lots - if you don't want us to cause a stink!
Bring on the dancing girls! We need some fine
Young maidens to be sent to us. Just think
What we can do with those girls, boys! We'll line
Them up take our pick, kiss them quick and grope!”
To the stranger I said, “I’ve lost all hope.

These brutes, sir, would pray for much longer legs -
For no amount of pleading would save them 
If my father came back. They'll drain the dregs
Of the last of the wine, spit out their phlegm,
And belch foul breath smelling of rotten eggs,
I fear, before then. We will never stem
Rumours of his homecoming. But he's dead.
Now, sir, tell me about yourself instead.”

He replied, “I’m your father’s friend, Mentes,
On a voyage, here with my ship and crew.
Our fathers - your grandfather, Laertes,
And mine, were good friends, as he will tell you.
I came here because I've been told that he's
Home - your father, Odysseus. Not true
It seems. I know for sure he isn't dead.
But he’s not on the mainland, that's what's said.

Therefore, it’s more likely he's held captive.
Strange thing - there is a voice inside my brain -
So strong I know it's authoritative -
That tells me he will soon be home again.
Your father is clever and adaptive.
Thus, even though he's bound with iron chain,
He'll find some means of getting back home here.
You are his son? I see the likeness clear.”

Mother says I’m Odysseus's son,
But it's a wise child that knows his father.
I would prefer to be the son of one
Who'd grown old upon his own land - rather
Than of that unluckiest of men - none
Disputes - King Odysseus. I gather
My father's doomed to die captive or roam
The seas. Either way, he'll never get home.

When my father was here, life went on well.
Now, we don't know if he's dead or living.
It would be far better if they would tell
Us that he'd died in battle. In giving
Such news, they'd allow us to break the spell
He's cast over us, and start forgiving
Those who killed him. Then, I could build a mound
To his memory and our line renowned.

But now he's gone without a single trace.
I inherit nothing but sad dismay,
And it doesn't end with my grief, the race
To marry my mother is on. Each day
They eat me out of house and home. We face
Ruin by them while they pretend to pay
Court to my mother who cannot decide
Whether she will or not become their bride.

I’ll call a state assembly tomorrow.
Lay my case before them, and ask the gods
To help me. More in anger than sorrow,
Bid the Suitors depart. Reduce the odds
Ranged against me. Let my dear mother go
Back to her father. If her nature prods
Her to wed then he can give her away.
I’ll search for my father that very day.

Alexander Blackie...

Read More

Joe: "It's 9 a.m., here in Gotham and my partner, Mike and I, have been here since 7 a.m., and we also passed a cow coming over here!"
Mike: "That was no cow sir just a very nice looking St. Bernard, sir."
Joe: "Who asked you, your holiness. It was very big, and if it had chased me, I would have had to use all my bullets and yours, just to put it down!"
Mike: "Sir, they are lifesaver's!"
Joe: "You mean they are life takers, enough then, just tell me what you have so far.   What a mess!"
Mike: "Well sir, we have the victim here [points to the body] a Mr. Carl O'Malley, age 69, caucasian, and a retiree. He also owns one vehicle, parked downstairs, we're having it towed down to the yard, it's a gleened cherry apple special, 4-door convertible, fully loaded, 32" screen HDTV, but one setback. Just a small area, we had found some corrosion, sir."
[Joe and Mike steps out for a bit while the victim's body is removed]
Joe: "Did he have any heirs?"
Mike: "Not that I know of sir?"
Joe: "Okay, I want you to check if he had any relatives. Afterward, [whispers] check on the blue book value of that car, then get that information back to me. Okay, do you understand me?"
[CSI signals that they are done]
Mike: "Yes sir."
[Joe takes a call and returns after a short while]
Mike: "Sir, they have just removed the body and that everything went like clockwork."
Joe: "Well, let's get back in there and do some detective work, what do you think."
Mike: "Sir, as you can see, they align the markings on the floor where the victim had been shot. The victim was in a twisted position on the floor. When the body fell, it fell to a contort position."
Joe: "That's good! Could I get an officer, please!"
[an officer approaches, and Joe hands him a bag]
"Now, I want you to take this bag, then seal it for me." 
[officer returns with the sealed bag]
"Now, attach this small bag with it, it's the victim's personals. It will need to stay in the evidence room until the next of kin is notified. Here's the paperwork that goes with it."
Officer: "Sir, you forgot to sign it."
Joe: "Okay, give it to me, [writing] and there it is, done, and now that you have my signature, off you go!"
[standing in the hallway, seeing off the officer, a woman carrying an infant juggling groceries were in passing]
Joe:  "Cute kid, bet he likes to be cuddled."
Woman: "Bet SHE don't!"
Joe; "I was going to help carry your bags, but  ."
Woman: "Looks like you can't even carry yourself!"
Joe: "Well let me carry the kid then."
Woman: "Nah, you'll break him!"
Joe: "THE KID?"
[Giggling]
Woman: "Okay, come on then, you big gorilla!"
Joe: "Well, that is a surprise, here let me take that for you."
Woman: "Thanks, the kid's name is Joey!"
Joe: "Well, what do you know, that's my name too!"
Woman: "Your name is Joey?"
Joe: "Well, it's Joe, Joey, only to ma!"
Woman: "You had a mother."
Joe: "Oh, don't start up again, I'm still recovering from your first knock-out, and I think that it was an upper-cut."
[more giggling]
Woman: "Name's Mary. You a boxer Joe?"
[an apartment hallway talk fades]
[Joe returns]
Mike: "Sir, can you come in here. Now, admittedly I was a bit confused at first, but my subconscious mind led me to believe that the victim's back was most likely facing the assailant before the attack, and just when the victim had turned, that's when the shooter shot him. That's also in the responding officer's reports, both stated that the body was slightly twisted around. 
Joe: "Well, that's how we found him Mike but what I don't understand is all the blood spread all over the place?"
Mike: "Sir, I think the way the blood is all spread about the room's mid-section, other than where bled out on the floor.  Picture this. Mr. O'Malley was a ballad dancer, saw the pictures, it's all over the place, like the blood."
Joe: "What's your angle?"
Mike: "This guy is dying and realizes that he is not in the place that he wants to be at the end of his life, in his kitchen. And what does he do, the guy wanted to be on stage and he was in pickle, after all, this was his final curtain call so he did what he did best and being in that spinning momentum, he did that pirouette thing, and by looking at the amount of blood loss, there seems to be more blood on the walls and stuff, then on the floor. In the end, he must have been writhing in pain."
Joe: "Amazing kid! To the very end eh? The final curtain. That's something kid! I bet you're hungry."
Mike: "I'm starving!"
Joe: How's about a 20" Gotham pizza on me."
Mike: "Wow, thanks, sir."
Joe: "Come on, let's get out of here before we become furniture!"
[coming to Joe's car outside]
Mike: "Sir, I wanted to thank you for helping me out since I started
Joe: "Just get in the car kid before your pizza gets cold."
[two guys saw getting into a car laughing]
Joe: "You know kid, you did good, you did real good. You are going to do good in whatever you do, and wherever it takes you, kid."
Mike: "THANK YOU, SIR!"
Joe: "I think it's way past time, you earned your stripes today." Great job kid! Oops! I meant to say, thank you, SIR!"

Date: 08/22/2019
Ten Word Challenge Contest
Sponsor: Kai Micahel Neumann...

Read More

The sun was rising high in the east over the town of Milton creek
It was the eighteenth day of December, the start of Christmas week
All the store fronts were decorated; it was a colourful sight to see
And even outside Sheriff Koplin's jailhouse was a six-foot pine tree.

The town church was now completed, and it now had a preacher
He hailed from way back east and he was once a schoolteacher
His folks were of Dutch descent and his name was Paul Nederlof
All the ladies in town loved him because his hat he'd always doff.

Tom had been away to see some doctors in the state of New York
He'd struggled of late digging deep graves with his shovel and fork
The doctors had all advised him that he should do no more digging
But he needed income and some way of making an honest living.

He decided to keep his funeral parlour and what he would now do
Would be to employ some townsfolk and pay them a dollar or two
Preacher Paul would also be hired to do any readings when required
As far as digging graves was concerned; Mayor Tom was now retired.

Tom spread the word that there would be a council meeting at noon
And would take place in his mayor's office above Jan's Manx saloon
Lin opened the meeting saying, "As you know Milt used to do Santa
And he'd always give all the kids a bag of candy, an apple or banana."

After a brief silence Sheriff Koplin said, "Well, it won't be the same
But if you can't get a volunteer to do Santa, then yes Lin I'm game."
Lin added “That would be such a lovely thing to do in Milt's memory
And for honouring him there will be a steak meal at Aces on me."

Lin added "I had a letter from Ranger David, wishing y'all good cheer
But he won't be heading back to town until sometime in the new year"
It was now Tania's turn to speak up, and excitedly she had this to say
"Deb and I will make some cakes and we'll both sing carols on the day.

Then Deputy Terry said," I'll be able to make a grotto out of wood
And if the mayor has any old spare pine coffins; well, that'd be good"
Tom said, "Come and see me at sun-up and I'll see what I can do
And I'm sure a few of our good townsfolk will be happy to help you."

Then from out of her bag Jan produced a large bottle of clear spirit
Sheriff Koplin stared at it curiously and he wondered what was in it
Jan then poured out seven glasses and offered everyone a drink
Saying, "It's called Manx spirit, do try it and tell me what you think?."

Everyone in the room had a taste, and they were pleasantly surprised
Tom said, "Jan, this is real good stuff and will sell well" he surmised
With the town's business discussed the meeting ended mid afternoon
Tom added, "Best rattle your hocks 'cos Christmas will be here soon."

The days flew by, and it was now the twenty second day of December
Tom was determined it would be a day for the townsfolk to remember
Everyone in town played their part ensuring that everyone had fun
Sheriff Koplin looked a bit uncomfortable in his Santa suit in the sun.

Nighttime quickly approached and Preacher Paul stood up to speak
"I'd like to say a few words about an honourable man of Milton Creek
Although I didn't know him, I've been told he was sincere and true
He was very supportive of everyone, especially those that he knew".

"From what you folks have told me, Milt had a great interest in poetry
And he also liked to write poetry himself and so very talented was he
Tania has chosen a few of his poems that she'd like to read out to you
Yes, Milt was a very talented poet; a fact you folks already knew." 

Tania finished reciting three of Milt's poems and then had this to say
"Let's not forget our good friend Milt who left town a year ago today"
Then all the children stood behind Deb and Tania and started to sing
It was quite emotional to see, the town had never seen such a thing.

Chirping crickets couldn't be heard as the sound of carols filled the air
The whole town had turned out it seemed because everyone was there
It had been quite an emotional day with lots of laughter and a few tears
A day the townsfolk would never forget, and they'd remember for years.

The celebrations ended Preacher Paul said, "Hope to see y'all soon"
Some of the menfolk weren't ready for bed and headed off for the saloon
It had clouded over and from the sky above a few fine flakes of snow blew
Lin whispered to Tom," I think it's a sign from someone we once knew. "

The day had been a great success and for all the children it had been fun
Mayor Tom was so proud of everyone and for everything that they'd done
It had been a day of remembrance and celebration but had ended too soon
Bedtime can wait a while thought Tom and made his way over to the saloon.

Mayor Tom pushed open the batwing doors and the party was in full swing
Tania and Deb were both up on the stage because they both loved to sing
It had just gone past the midnight hour when two loud gun shots rang out
Folks rushed out of the saloon onto Main Street but there was no one about.

In the distance they heard galloping hooves as someone rode out of town
Sheriff Koplin rushed over to the saloon and said "I found a body face down "
There were loud gasps from the crowd, and someone asked him "Well, who?"
The sheriff answered, "I'm not prepared to say, but it's not someone you knew."

Sheriff Koplin, Mayor Tom, and Deputy Terry went to the end of Main Street
Mayor Tom said "We need to keep this quiet, so I'll go and get a winding-sheet"
They quickly covered the lifeless body and placed it on a wagon to take away
"Justice will be served" Said Sheriff Koplin," Sun-up we ride east for Santa Fe."



Milton.L.Hankins Left town on the 22nd of December 2022.
Never to return.
I'm sure he's looking down and 'chuckling'
Rest In Peace Milton.






Written on the 22nd December 2023,






...

Read More

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Paint Me As An Event
The Picture of Dorian Gray, a decent fanciful novel by Irish writer Oscar Wilde, published in 1890. The novel, the only one written by Wilde, had six additional chapters when it was released as a book in 1891. The work, an exemplary tale of a young man who acquires perpetual juvenility as a significant investment of his soul, twas a romantic delineation of Wilde’s pure beauty and 'art for art's sake' emphasizing the obvious and sensuous attributes of art and drawing o'er rational, moralistic or chronological tolerances. “There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book,” wrote Wilde. “Book are well written, or badly written. That is all.” These proverbs that make up the “Preface” of Wilde’s novel were his response to those critics who had condemned the lewdness and unhealthiness of this story. Nevertheless, for all its transgressive pleasures, The Picture of Dorian Gray could easily be read as a profoundly moral book, even a cautionary tale against the dangers of vice. Dorian’s plunge toward ethical ugliness is neither praiseworthy nor advantageous. Indeed, the beautiful boy is the least interesting character in the book that bears his name. To be sure, it is the succinct wit of Lord Henry Wotton that urges Dorian on his quest for sensuality and sensation, but Dorian’s values pervert the deeply serious "oscarwildean" ethic that they externally mirror. Whereas, Wilde’s essays advocated individualism and self-realization as a route to a richer life and a bounteous equitable gentlefolk, Dorian follows a path of debauchery, self-indulgence, and the objectification of others. It is, nonetheless, a story that poignantly reflects Wilde’s own double life and anticipates his fall. Dorian’s repudiation, “Ugliness was the one reality,” neatly summarizes Wilde’s aestheticism, both his love of the artistic and his attraction amidst the impious.

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Paint Me As An Event
The saga originates in the particular art studio of Basil Hallward, which is considering a contemporary canvas amidst his sarcastic and amoral advocate, Lord Henry Wotton. Henry speculates that specific painting, a portrait of an exceptionally attractive adolescent individual, should remain uncovered, but Basil opposes, apprehending that his infatuation amidst the unprecedented portrait’s subject, Dorian Gray, can transpire observed against individual achievement. Dorian then appears, and he is fascinated as Henry demonstrates his conviction that one should savor presence to the absolute by gratifying one’s motivations. Henry likewise influences escape such elegance including adolescence are temporary, and Dorian confesses that he wouldst grant his soul if the portrait were to grow old and wrinkled while he remained young and handsome. Basil furnishes the painting with Dorian. Henry resolves to exercise on the scheme of embellishing Dorian’s personage. A few weeks later, Dorian tells Henry that he has befallen in love with an actress, Sibyl Vane, because of her great beauty and acting talent. Henry and Basil go with him to a shabby theatre to see Sibyl, but her performance is terrible. Sibyl describes to Dorian that now that she knows what authentic love is, she can no longer purport to be in love on stage. Dorian is nauseated and wants nothing further to do with her. When he returns home, he sees a cruel grimace on the face of his portrait, and he resolves to solicit Sibyl’s indulgence. Henry visits the next day, nevertheless, with news that Sibyl committed suicide the previous night, and he convinces Dorian that there is no reason for him to feel bad about it. Dorian has the portrait transferred to his attic. Henry delivers Dorian a book that he finds morbid and engaging, "Against The Grain" by Joris-Karl Huysmans. Following the book’s magnetism, Dorian consumes the subsequent 18 years in the pursuance of whimsical and carnal prodigality, and he matures increasingly induced to evil. He frequently visits the portrait, remarking the signs of aging and of depravity and degradation that emerges, though he prevails unblemished. One evening he runs into Basil, who tells him that there exist implicated rumors that he has destroyed the lives and reputations of many people. Dorian, notwithstanding, refuses to endure culpability. Basil confesses that he does not recognize Dorian anymore, he counters by accompanying him to the attic to see the portrait. The painting has become horrifying. Basil tells Dorian that if this is a representation of his soul, he must lament and pray for clemency, but he abruptly heightens enraged and Dorian murders Basil. He blackmails another former friend into disposing of Basil's body. Dorian proceeds to an opium den, where Sibyl’s vengeful brother, James, finds him, but the fact that Dorian still appears quite young discourages him from performing. Nonetheless, another patron of the den later divulges Dorian’s age. At a succeeding hunting party at Dorian’s country estate, one of the hunters unintentionally shoots and kills James, who was hiding in a thicket. Some weeks later Dorian tells Henry that he has selected to become righteous and latterly elected against overwhelming pleasure of a young girl who was belabored with him. Dorian goes to see if the portrait has elevated because of his distinguished commitment, except he perceives slightly that that has procured an appearance of craftiness. He decides to terminate the portrait and stabs it with a knife. His servants hear a scream, and, when they arrive, they see a loathsome old man dead on the floor with a knife in his chest and a portrait of the beautiful young man he once was. 

2020 February 11...

Read More

Moby Dick, a novel by Herman Melville, published in London in October 1851 as The Whale and a month later in New York City as Moby-Dick; or, The Whale. It is dedicated to Nathaniel Hawthorne. Moby Dick is generally regarded as Melville’s magnum opus and one of the greatest American novels. Moby Dick can sustain numerous, if not seemingly infinite, readings generated by multiple interpretative approaches. One of the most fruitful ways to appreciate the novel’s complexity is through the names that Melville gave to its characters, many of which are shared with figures of the Abrahamic religions. The very first line of Moby Dick, for instance, identifies Ishmael as the narrator; Ishmael was the illegitimate (in terms of the Covenant) son of Abraham and was cast away after Isaac was born. There are several other Abrahamic names in the book as well, including Ahab that, according to the Hebrew Bible, was an evil king who led the Israelites into a life of idolatry. Melville’s Ahab is obsessed with Moby Dick, an idol that causes the death of him and his crew. The ship that saves Ishmael, the Rachel, is named for the mother of Joseph, known for interceding to protect her children. It is Rachel, as depicted in the Book of Jeremiah, who convinced God to end the exile placed upon the Jewish tribes for idolatry. The rescue of Ishmael by the Rachel in Moby Dick can thus be read as his return from an exile caused by his collusion (because he was on the Pequod’s crew) in Ahab’s idolatry of the whale. Melville’s use of these names grants his novel a rich layer of additional meaning. Between the passages of carefully detailed cetology, the epigraphs, and the shift from a hero’s quest narrative to a tragedy, Melville set the stage for purposeful ambiguity. The novel’s ability to produce numerous interpretations is, perhaps, the main reason it is considered one of the greatest American novels. Melville himself was well versed in whaling, as he had spent some time aboard the Acushnet, a whaling vessel, which gave him firsthand experience. He also did tremendous amounts of research, consulting several scientific sources as well as accounts of historical events that he incorporated into Moby Dick. The Essex, a whaling vessel, was attacked by a sperm whale in 1820. The ship sank, and many of the crew members were either lost immediately or died of starvation as they awaited rescue for nearly eight months. Melville likewise interviewed the story of Mocha Dick, a famed whale who was, like Moby Dick, very white and aggressive and whose name was an inspiration to Melville. Mocha Dick was often found off the coast of Chile in the Pacific Ocean, near Mocha Island. He lived during the early 19th century and became a legend among whalers. In 1839 a story about the whale was written in The Knickerbocker, which was likely the source of Melville’s discovery of Mocha Dick. Unlike Moby Dick, however, Mocha Dick was eventually killed and used for oil. Melville befriended fellow author Nathaniel Hawthorne during the writing of Moby Dick, which led to him dramatically revising the narrative to make it more complex. The novel is dedicated to Hawthorne because of his impact on Melville and the novel. At first, the public was unimpressed. It sold fewer than 4,000 copies in total, with fewer than 600 in the United Kingdom. It was not until the mid-20th century that the novel became recognized as one of the most important novels in American literature.

Moby Dick: Retribution, Be It Man Or Beast

Moby Dick famously opens with the narratorial invocation “Call me Ishmael.” The storyteller, like his biblical counterpart, is an outcast. Ishmael, who turns to the sea for definition, communicates to the audience a specific concluding voyage of the Pequod, a whaling vessel. Amidst an account of endured tests, trials, and tribulation, fairness, and delusion, the reader is acquainted with numerous personalities, many of whom have names with religious reverberation. Unique ship’s captain is Ahab, who Ishmael and his sidekick Queequeg promptly discover is dissipating his subconsciousness. Starbuck, Ahab’s first-mate, acknowledges this predicament too, moreover, it is the exclusive totality throughout the novel to assert his condemnation of Ahab’s increasingly obsessive behavior. Aforementioned, the nature of Ahab’s delusion is first revealed to Ishmael and Queequeg after the Pequod’s partners, Peleg and Bildad, disclose to them that Ahab is nevertheless recuperating from a confrontation with a massive whale that resulted in the dissolution of his leg. That whale’s pseudonym is Moby Dick. The Pequod introduces sail, and the crew is forthwith apprised that the aforementioned journey decrees this act be unlike their separate whaling commissions: this course, notwithstanding the disinclination of Starbuck, Ahab purposes to hunt and kill the odious Moby Dick no matter the cost. Ahab, including the crew, continues their momentous voyage and struggles with several obstacles simultaneously whilst on its way. Queequeg befalls ailing, which provokes a coffin to be built in anticipation of the gravest. Subsequently, he recovers, the coffin becomes a replacement lifeboat that eventually saves Ishmael’s life, a befitting rescue that will write ts course in due time. Ahab accepts a prophecy from a crew member familiarizing him with his impending demise, whereto, he neglects. Moby Dick is detected and, for three days, assaults fiercely with Ahab and the Pequod until the whale destroys the ship, killing everyone except Ishmael. Ishmael survives by floating on Queequeg’s coffin until he is picked up by another ship, the Rachel. Another foundling that the sea produces no longer abandoned.

2020 February 11...

Read More

I know you're not here

but you are in my heart 

so 

you are always with me

i'll just slip into you

with these words.
 
I know 
there are mountains
dwarf the cities below 
peaks that stride above the heavens
attempt to graze the planets if even so lightly.

That
there is a special star that rises daily
against shades of air lit.

They tell me
there is a wide deep void that is grand - a canyon
not too far for any adventurer who dares to look down its throat.

Our world is tightly splattered in miraculous views.

I remember diving through the horizon 
where on the other side
I found intricate scenes

I walked down a dock straight into an orange wine sunset
through to steps led to a bridge 
walked across to an enchanted glitter covered road
to a winding path with a floating pink shaded fog
until I wandered into an explosion of nature.

Once,
alone,
I witnessed a mud escarpment
with splashes of burgundy, shades of maroon,
tones in burnt copper and chestnut browns.
I found a rare waterfall 
rushing down into an inviting pool
a crystal clear deep blue lagoon unused
around it emerald spruces gathered in a cluster of trust.

All in all so alluring I willingly stripped bare and melted into
the refreshing fully chilled basin down to its coral bottom.
I was greeted by an array of tropical aquatic life.
Nude, free, happy
I swam in the simplicity of the moment.

Another time it was
a blinding white wavy desert floor 
totally stripped for miles,
then one 
just one live growing plant 
it looked like tall fanned out verdant fingers.
Remarkable,
however 
what a thin shadow it cast.

A bright blue scrim provided a contrast 
framed for a photographer to snap.
Floats in white, 
scarce 
were frozen in place 
and not a wire was evident,
just motionless etchings.

I sat on the burning sand 
took a position and meditated.
My mantra, 
rebounded off the thickness of the sultry atmosphere 
I heard my own voice return to fill me.
I bathed in the simplicity of the moment.

Yes
I love this world
All its treasures
I swear  

But you,
ah you

Not all of nature 

Not the sun that lights the day
sprinkles the skin in its brilliant sheen
or the moon that with 
its romantic smile
its alluring suggestions 
seduces even the least romantic of us.

Not the miraculous 
vegetation of every kind 
or the moss laden beds where lovers have often laid as one
linked to one another - inspired by natures erotic whisper.

Ah
but you,

I would sacrifice all else,

just to breathe in your love 
just to bathe in you.

You my passionate want.

Our love is my Mecca.

When I hold you softly in the strength of my arms.
Touching your face sends shivers through my consciousness,
holding your hand is like plugging into bliss,
watching your mouth,
the dent above your lips,
you know I overdose ecstatic 
when mine touches yours.

I want to stay - mine on yours,
as we speak, as we dream.
How I love your smile your laugh.

I hold you in the enchantment of my mind.
I caress you in the secret chambers of my dreams.
I cherish your scent - infinite, singular, invigorating.
I roll with you in the autumn leaves of my imagination.

I wish you everything - for you are everything to me.

I would if I could
I would reach beyond my grasp to,

to pull Magic from my hat.
Squeeze a snowball into a skating rink
just to dance on water with you.

I will love you into our after life,
no man as fortunate as me. 

They say reach for the stars 
you may end up with the moon.
I reached.
I got you,
my universe.
No man as fortunate as me.

Let me make every step you take safe, secure, pillowy soft
try not to faint from the sheer fragrance of you.

               Together we are sunset shadows,
shadows that will never fade.
               Imprinted permanently on the iris 
of the early evening sky light.

(pause)

do you remember back when we just met

do you remember when it started to sleet
when we used the bark from trees
to toboggan down the circled path of the mountain

dizzy 
we hit the brakes

brakes crafted
from the branches of a spruce 

but friction 
lit them like matches on kerosene 

and i really think the smoke filled
our lungs
travelled to our heads
because
even before the sleet turned to hail
we slipped under the lawn

spent hours and hours
covered in each other's silky embrace
and i confess i peered at every drop of you
treated my eyes to your 
unveiled 
natural 
naked 
nothing but you 
splendour
i held that moment 
fragile as it was
with the greatest of care
and hold it still with the same reverence

and i really think nothing should feel

that good 

because 

it just led us to lock lips 
and you know i could of kissed you 
an eon 
passed through it
as if it were a fraction of a second

our hearts synced
and i really think that
our breathing
our voices 
melting into the air
playing like music 
is what drove us mad 

and i get very creative 
when i go mad 
the stuff "crazy good" is made of

it must of worked because
we finally reached the peak of our crescendo 
laid in the sublime of one another
i must of loss consciousness 

because

i still don't remember our rendezvous ending

but it must of

because i immediately 
felt your absence 

and i really think that's why 
i wrote you

why i wrote

wanna slip under the lawn

   again

and i really think that's why
we've been 

why we've been 

     together forever

Dec 2015
armand...

Read More

War and Peace: That Midst Nations And Nationals

War and Peace, a classical fiction by Leo Tolstoy, first published as Voyna I Mir in 1865–69. This picturesque reflection of early 19th-century Russian culture saw as its power of vivid detail and change from subconscious interpretation, is commonly viewed essentially a masterwork of Russian literature and one of the world’s greatest novels. War and Peace are known for their realism, something Tolstoy achieved through intensive research. He visited battlefields, read history books on the Napoleonic Wars, and drew on real historical events to create a novel of living history. Tolstoy had originally planned to write a novel centering on the Decembrists, whose revolution in 1825 against the tsar attempted to end autocratic rule in Russia. The Decembrists failed, however, and those who were spared execution were sent to Siberia. Tolstoy wanted to depict a Decembrist, now old, returning from exile. As Tolstoy wrote and revised, however, the novel evolved into the War and Peace known today—a novel that takes place more than a decade before the Decembrist movement. The novel’s primary historical setting is the French invasion of Russia in 1812, which was a turning point in the Napoleonic Wars and a period of patriotic significance to Russia. Some historians argue that this invasion was the event that metamorphosed into the Decembrist movement years later.Many of the family names used in War and Peace are slight alterations of real names Tolstoy had encountered in his life—a deliberate strategy intended to make the novel feel familiar to the Russians who read it. Bolkonsky, for example, is a manipulated version of Tolstoy’s mother’s family name, Volkonsky. Tolstoy also created the majority of his characters with his family members in mind; for example, his sister-in-law, Tanya, was the inspiration behind Natasha. Tolstoy’s firsthand knowledge of war likewise influenced War and Peace. When he was 26 years old, he fought in the Crimean War, which he also wrote about in three sketches describing, graphically, his experiences during the Siege of Sevastopol, published 1855–56. Tolstoy wrote War and Peace for over six years. The novel was originally serialized by the Russian periodical Russkiy Vestnik under the title 1805 starting in 1865, but its somewhat indifferent reception and Tolstoy’s compulsion to revise spurred him and his wife, Sofya, to decide to stop the serialization and instead focus on publishing the novel in volumes. Tolstoy continued to write, and he also hired the prominent artist Mikhail Bashilov to illustrate the novel. By 1868 three volumes had been released and were selling rapidly. Tolstoy finished three more volumes between 1868 and 1869. Sofya had copied several drafts, all by hand. All told, War and Peace filled more than 1,200 pages when first published.

War and Peace: That Midst Nations And Nationals
"War and Peace" opened in the Russian city of St. Petersburg in 1805, as fear of Napoleon’s continuous war-making begins to insert itself. Most of the characters are acquainted at a reception, including Pierre Bezukhov, Andrey Bolkonsky, and the Kuragin and Rostov families. Much of the novel centers on the communications between the Bezukhovs, Bolkonskys, and the Rostovs. Following their debut, Andrey Bolkonsky and Nikolay Rostov go to the Austrian front under General Kutuzov, a fictional image of Mikhail Kutuzov, to engage with Napoleon’s troops. Andrey is then injured at the Battle of Austerlitz and presumed dead until he arrives home to his wife, Lise, who dies during childbirth soon after. Pierre, meanwhile, has married Helene Kuragina. She is unfaithful to him, and Pierre duels with the other man, almost killing him. He soon grows overwhelmed by his wedlock and abandons Helene. He enlists amongst the Freemasons, which influences his personal and business fortunes greatly. In the meantime, Nikolay has racked up a considerable quantity of gambling debt, which causes the Rostov family to lose most of their fortune. He is encouraged to marry a wealthy heiress, despite promising to marry Sonya, his cousin. Nikolay ultimately witnesses the peace amidst Tsar Alexander I and Napoleon (Treaties of Tilsit, signed in 1807). Andrey promptly becomes linked with Natasha Rostov only to be told by his father that he must wait a year before marrying her. After some time away, Andrey discovers that Natasha has been adulterous. He renounces her, and Pierre sympathizes with her, eventually falling in love. In 1812 Napoleon invades Russia, forcing Alexander to declare war. Andrey returns to service, and Pierre is forced to believe he must privately assassinate Napoleon. As the French advance, Mary, Lise’s sister, is forced to leave her house. Nikolay finds her in the streets, and the two reconnect. Pierre, still crazed by his imaginary duty, is apprehended by French forces and witnesses many executions, which deeply affect him. During his imprisonment, he befriends Platon Karatev, a wise peasant. He is later freed from the French and promptly falls ill. After recovering, he marries Natasha, and they have four children. Nikolay weds Mary, and the two enjoy a happy married life. 

2020 February 13...

Read More

MORNING DEVOTION

Heavenly Father:

I lift up travelers to You. 

I pray for peace for Jerusalem and safety for Israel. I pray that between one and all of Her children would come to a saving knowledge of Jesus today. I pray for Her enemies, my enemies, and the enemies of all Jews and Christians. 

I pray for leaders and for those in positions of power, influence, control, and authority in this world. 

I pray for all those who are serving and who have served in the armed forces of the United States.

I pray for the unborn, the newborn, and for those who will lose their earthly lives today. 

I pray for pastors, teachers, ministers, missionaries; for those doing Your work here on the earth; for Your Church and for all the programs It’s involved with to lead souls to Jesus. I pray for those who are being persecuted and martyred for proclaiming and maintaining their faith in You. 

I pray for my family, friends, and acquaintances. 

I pray for those whose birthday is today. 

I pray for those who are being directly affected by world news, current events, and “earthquakes in diverse places”. 

I pray for unsaved members in my family, and among my friends and acquaintances. 

I lift these petitions to You. I pray for these people. I pray for their families, their friends, and their acquaintances. Please forgive them of their sins. I pray that they would know You, that they would come to know You if they don’t already, that they would be known by You, and that they would grow in the knowledge of You. I pray that they would sense that they have a need and that they would then come to realize that that need can only be fulfilled by You. I thank You that You meet us right where we are and I pray that You would bring people, events, and circumstances into their lives that would cause them to turn to You, to seek You, to cry out to You; that the Holy Spirit would come alongside them and convict them; that they would confess and repent of their sins, ask You for mercy and forgiveness, believe and confess Jesus as Lord and Savior, and receive and accept Your gift of eternal life. I pray that You would give to them the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of You, the eyes of their understanding being enlightened. 

I pray for the United States. Please forgive Us for the sins that We have committed and that We continue to commit. I ask that before You judge Us that You would cause a man or a woman to be raised up who would stand in the gap and lead a revival that would spread around the world and that countless multitudes would be brought out of the valley of decision and into Your eternal Kingdom. 

Father, please forgive me for unconfessed sins of omission, transgressions of commission, and the iniquity in my own heart. I confess that I have sinned in all of these areas. Please help me to want to truly repent of those specific transgressions that I willfully and without excuse give in to time and time again and keep me strong in those that You have given me victory over. 

Please forgive me for all of the times when I have grieved, quenched, and tempted the Holy Spirit. I ask now that Your Spirit would empty me and refill me; that He would lead me and teach me. I thank You for the Holy Spirit’s continuing work of sanctification and that because of it I am moving ever closer to becoming the new creation that You are fashioning me to be.

I pray that today would be the first day of the rest of my life. I pray that I would recognize need and that I would always know that although I can’t do everything I can still do something. I pray that during times of trial, tribulation, and temptation that I would choose to rely on Your promises that You will never leave me nor forsake me, You will not allow me to be tempted above that which I am able to bear, and that if I endure I will receive the crown of life. Please give me the desire to resist, the patience to withstand, the constancy to persevere, and the faith to believe. Fortify me with heavenly courage in order that I may be a steadfast and reticent sufferer. 

Please continue to give me Your wisdom, Your understanding, Your instruction, and Your knowledge so that I may continue to grow in fear, faith, trust, obedience, and humility. And may Your Spirit rest upon me, the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the Spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord. 

May Your will for my life be wholly fulfilled. May I practice Your presence. To love You with all my heart, soul, mind, strength, and to love my neighbor as myself are what I ask that You would cause to be my greatest desires. Please show me where You would have me serve You today. Use my life for Your glory and when my time on this earth is through and I stand before Your throne to give an account may I be deemed by You to have been a good and faithful servant.

Come Lord Jesus.

In assurance of faith, unwavering, in accordance with Your will and by the power of the Holy Spirit, I ask these things in and through Jesus’ name, Amen....

Read More

I    V    I      
                                                    I    V    I 
                                                    I          I
                                                    All roads   
                                                    lead   to
                                                    Christ... 
                                                    Raging 
                                                    waters 
                                                    stand still 
                                                    before His
  --------will, as clouds of grey drain their spill,for all roads lead to Christ.--------
   >>>  Mountains spread their peaks for when He speaks, the    valleys  <<< 
  _____ bow before the circulating creeks…    For all roads lead to Christ.______
                    His                         truth displayed                  within        
                      the                       roads      laid                    And                    
                         His                   Angels are on               parade,
                            For               all roads   lead       to Christ.
                                Love      and light on   queue  
                                           within    our   view,
                                             as His   heart of 
                                              heaven  comes  
                                               through…  For 
                                                all roads lead 
                                                  to    Christ.
                                               Children    play 
                                              along and cherubs 
                                             dance with    song
                                            As the bird's   chirp 
                                           with joy all day long…
                                            For all roads lead to 
                                             Christ.The crosses 
                                               boldly bare  His
                                                love we     all
                                                 share,    And 
                                                 we send our
                                                   pensive 
                                                    prayer…
                                                  For all 
                                                 roads 
                                                 lead to 
                                                Christ.
                                              We look 
                                               toward 
                                               the sky 
                                               and ask 
                                               the 
                                               question 
                                               why,for our 
                                               sins he had 
                                               to die,for 
                                               all roads 
                                               lead to 
                                               Christ.    
                                               I     !     I       
                                               I     !     !
                                               I     !     I     



 
                          
                                            Shape Poem...With Eve Roper Sponsor... Nov.14.2018
Repost...May.02.2020

God bless all the families who have lost loved ones...and to all the front line workers during this Covid-XIX Pandemic
                                       
                                          
                                         
                                 


All Roads Lead to Christ

Raging waters stand still before His will
As clouds of grey drain their spill…
For all roads lead to Christ.	

Mountains spread their peaks for when He speaks
The valleys bow before the circulating creeks…
For all roads lead to Christ.

His truth displayed within the roads laid
And His Angels are on parade…
For all roads lead to Christ.

Love and light on queue within our view
As His heart of heaven comes through…
For all roads lead to Christ.

Children play along and cherubs dance with song
As the birds chirp with joy all day long…
For all roads lead to Christ.

The crosses boldly bare His love we all share
And we send our pensive prayer…
For all roads lead to Christ.

We look toward the sky and ask the question why
For our sins he had to die…
For all roads lead to Christ.




Repost...May.02.2020
Faith in a Poembook
Sponsored by: Heather Secrest

Placed 3'rd...Thank You...

Read More

The Sandless Sand Castle

Let me tell you about my eldest brother.

I am: the "Scram!", the "Beat it!", the "What you looking at?!", and the "Turn around and watch the movie!", younger brother. As you can see, he has, a lot of phrases he says to me, whereto, I've just but one and it is, "I'm gonna tell mom!???", comment that was bravely said, with a pose best described to be, {S-H-A-K-ingly}. What I am meaning to say, is that, he, "vehemently enjoys his privacy?" Well, what would a six-year old kid know about the words, "ve-he-ve-he-ve-hementalee" and "pri-vah-C". The words I know there are--other than "his", is, "enjoys", so obligingly, I was been accommodating. So the crazy cycle, gets to be recycled, so the madness, merrily goes on...

It was until the age of nine, he was more respectable to me. Treating me more as an equal, and though, he no longer put me around his neck, have me stand, whilst he stands on his long surfboard, and to the count of three, whence I lept off into the seawater. As he paddles in, I swam as fast as I could, both of us used the waves to push us in. 'Twas a race for me, but for him, 'twas not, for he just wanted to be sure I reached the shore--safely. He then paddled out and rejoined with his friends, for this is the age, that I knew of the words, "vehemently" and "privacy", and with that, I embraced most honorably. I stood on the sandy beach whilst he surfed magnificently, and decided to build a 'sandless' sand castle of him, to be ingrained in the treasury of my mind. I'd lock and hold its key and hide it most secretly, for 'twas just to be, a part of my future me, just something we call, a "memory".

I am a couple years older, eleven I'd be, in our town home of Hilo, Hawaii. In the upstairs room, known as the Chamber room, that was twice as high than the rest of the house, with french windows that extended on our rooftop. Supposedly, an imaginary third or perhaps a fourth floor exist above this rooms vaulted ceiling, --it hides. Sparsely furnished, asides mom's baby grand piano, it echoes most pleasantly. I would stand in a corner and make a snap holler, then ran after several parts of me wafts away. On the other side, stood I, with a puzzled face looking about. {Later, when we moved to the mainland, I had looked back at its soulless presence, and wondered if the remnants of me would be okay. I smiled, as the car pulled away, I could see the roof's extensions and thought, perhaps the new family will have kids same age as me. If so, I know they'll holler too and their echoed presence, will find the parts of me and play the 'echo' game, and have fun, most pleasantly}

In "69, much in the news, a place called Vietnam, of particular interest to our family. My older brother is over there, fresh out of high school at eighteen. Now he's nineteen, a real G.I. JOE, though he joined the marines as a scout for his small band of men. At home, he runs barefoot across lava fields dotted with shiny sharpen edged stones, e'er so carefully, scuba dives, throw the fish net, hunt down live game of wild boars or goats, and cliff fishing too. Apollo was also in the news, and dad bought me a Revell plastic model to play with, mostly, upstairs in the Chamber room. One day, I heard my mom crying aloud, unceasingly. I ran to the stairway where I saw her sitting, blocking me, weeping uncontrollably. Two men, dressed in uniform, stood at attention just beyond our french doorway. Just behind them, neath the portico of our driveway, parked a black 4-door sedan, with white ambiguous inscription on the drivers side door. All this seen by eleven year old me, as I stood on the bay seats of one of the chamber's bay windows, looking betwixt outside and back down a longer glance, of mom holding a paper, sobbing whilst sitting on our stairway, blocking me. My sisters gathered round her, with perpetual hugs of such intensity, as I too mourned having realized what IT, had to be. I was alone in that great Chamber room, yet I felt those parts of me, hugging me, just like my sisters hugged our mom, tenderly.

Today is my brother's day. I affectionately honor him, for 'tis has been near to five decades and bout a year, since I physically was in his presence. Our village of the family alma mater, mines included, the VFW Post, is named after my brother. Our town of Hilo honored him and others with a memorial in the most quietude part of town, next to a pristine lake with dinghies of father's and son's, or elderly single men, all fishing in its most pristine setting. My brother's buried in Hilo town's Veterans Memorial Cemetery, on a hill, overlooking the town.

Okay my brother, for it is time, once again. We will enjoin our spirits and seize this day. Today marks the semi-centennial, half-a-century, five decades, or the fiftieth year of 'Memorial Days" we've spent together. So now--you know the drill, it is time for me to go to my secret hiding place, get the key, and unlock my 'sandless sand castle'.

2019 May 27...

Read More