my palms are pink
heart line
head line
life line
lucky bracelets circle my wrists
giant mystic cross appears on fleshiest part
I am intrigued
get out my palmistry book
to give myself a reading
In rain, snow, or shine,
Two daily walks always mine.
I'll live a long life.
Always on my own two feet.
Always walking my own way.
graham cracker wanted his own story book
looking for the perfect song and hook
liked the tale of the gingerbread man
renamed himself Graham Cracker Dan
Hired a ghost writer named Mr. Brim
Make me sound smart, he instructed him.
Dan contracted the book out to his cousin.
Give him songs, make it a dozen.
Make mine epithet ( R T I P ) I'll leave it
To my devoted readers to surmise which
Piece is resting the better.? Or deeper.?
Thats if i've made it through; though? Oh
My.' I'm twisting and turning already.)
You know.? I alway hit a dead
End in lifes scene .' Maybe if not in death.? Oh well
What can we do.? You can never get away
From being shafted it seems.? Sweet dreams.)
THE TRUE MEASURE OF PURITY CAPTURED BY THE BIRTH OF HIM I AM TOTALLY REMINDED OF FRAUENKIRCHE OUR LADY COVERED WITH ONLY FAITH THE PURITY OF MOTHER AWAITING THIS GLOURIOUS ENDEAVOR EXPERIENCED ONLY ONCE BY ONE HUMAN BEING SENDING OUT THE SHEER NOTION THAT ONE COULD ACTUALLY BELIEVE THAT FAITH IS THE ONLY GARMENTS TO WEAR CLUTCHING THE EARTH AS IT RUMBLES WATCHING THE SKY CRY OVER THE MOUNTAINS OF FROZEN TEARS GLISTENING THROUGHOUT THE HEAVENS MY PEACE ZONE WHERE MY SPIRIT SITS WITH MY BACK TO THE TEUSFELSTRIT THE FOOT IMPRINT OF SATAN LEFT BEHIND WHEN HE STOMPED HIS FOOT ENRAGED AT THE ARCHITECT HE TRIED TO TRICK HIM TO LEAVE THE CHURCH WINDOWS OPEN FOR HIM TO DEVOUR SOULS INSIDE THE CHURCH FAITH SUFFICED THE ARCHITECT BUILT COLUMNS AND ACTUALLY BLOCKED SATANS TRICKERY IN MOTHER MARYS LOVING ARMS THE SACRED HEART OF MARY
My happiness no longer depends
On anybody else but just me,
But I promise my love never ends,
I just want you to know I now feel free.
My misery is no longer blamed
On anybody really, just myself,
Because I realize only I feel ashamed
Of leaving my heart dusty on a shelf.
My joy is no longer derived
From anybody, but me, myself, and I.
No longer want what is contrived,
For our love is my new reason why:
?My happiness is now of my own making,
Because this love is mine for the taking,
And your heart will soon be learning
Just how I reached my own enlightening.
I am Amethyste
I like to throw a verse
Or two
I like the angles
And corners
I create
I long to create a world
Of my own.
He wouldn’t feed — his People —
Though Hunger — made them Pale —
He stored the Grain — in Secret —
And called their Pleas — a Tale —
Ten Million — went to Silence —
Disguised — as Mercy’s Sum —
His Wife — received the Portion —
The Needy — received None —
The Bread — became a Symbol —
Of Justice — left to Spoil —
The Poor — were Ghosts at Supper —
Who labored — for his Toil —
And still — the Wind — remembers —
The Names — the Ledgers — signed —
For Truth — though Starved — is Patient —
It Feeds — the Human Mind —
The Sun burns down
Turning the day into a hell
Tarmac burns and bubbles
Sticking to children’s feet
Sunscreen will not work
Your body turns red in minutes
Clothes hurt way too much
And sleeping is almost impossible
All you can do is pray for cold air
Or you could pray for a quick death
Either way would be a blessing
Chill please. I was just kidding
But, think about this for a second
At least you wouldn't hurt anymore
© Poem – IV/XI/MMXXV
LRET
Spare a dollar for your thoughts,”
her angelic voice murmured.
His callused hands — firm,
visibly burdened.
“My stomach’s in knots, I’m distraught —
when will my heart stop hurtin’?”
She slides over a coffee-stained napkin;
he grabs it without askin’.
Three small words it simply stated:
Own your story.
He grinned and waited.
“What does this mean, young girl?”
She brushed her silk hair,
tightened her bow.
“That’s for you to find out —
only you’ll know.”
A smile at last came across his face.
“Can I at least get a name?
You can’t leave without a trace.”
She looked in his eyes and said,
“You’ll see me again.”
The man thought — if not now, then when?
The girl straightened her white dressing gown,
got up and left the diner downtown.
For if the man sees her again, he will never know —
some stories are best left untold.
My favourite time in childhood
was pre-school as the only one
playing in my own little bedroom
with my toys and myself for fun
These days, I realised one thing
communication was a real defect
realising I had a stammer, so real
caused me trouble whoever I met
So I really loved life on my own
loving my own company O so sweet
learning to be content and happy
lying on the floor was my comfy seat
We had two cats and a dog
they were great friends for me
love to cuddle them in my arms
watch them run around so free
These days were special memories
ones that I look back with joy
it's amazing now at seventy-one plus
I wonder what I could say to that little boy
The man in the elevator farted,
He mocked us, not knowing sharts departed.
The stench was like a salmon left to rot—
Provoking our anger was all he sought.
Trapped in the foul-smelling elevator,
He begged a shirt from a sneering waiter.
Refused, a dame gave four menstrual pads—
He wore them proud, a banner for the lads.
Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Still, that skirt got stained with a little squirt.
He would have claimed Scottish, had we not known—
We wish good toilet manners he’d have shown.
Call me low birth, make what so fun,
No pink birth, but a proud man’s son,
Fate-bestowed be my birth,
But built I’m by self-worth,
Dare, who’s here ever what I’ve done?
_______________________
Translation | 19.10.2025 | birth, fate, pride, worth
Note: This verse is taken from a Sanskrit play, Veni Samhaar, by Narayana Bhatt of 9th Century CE. It centres around the story of Mahabharata. When Karna is questioned about his birth-- not as blue-blooded warrior, saying that he is just a son of a chariot-in-charge, not a full-fledged kshatriya warrior, he responds with this verse. Veni Samhaar means braiding of hair, a vow taken by Draupadi/Bheema to avenge an insult by Kaurava cousins. Here is transliteration of the text, and feel the force of the Sanskrit verse:
Sootah vaa soota-putrah vaa
yah vaa kah vaa bhavaami aham |
Daiva-aayattam kule janma
mad aayattam tu paurusham || Veni Samhaar ||
When pain is mirrored, it does not disappear—
it doubles, refracted through the wounded self.
The mind, once fortress, becomes the new frontier,
its soldiers turning inward to protect itself.
An insult flung, narcissistic manipulation—
the body answers, trembling, in kind.
Defense mistaken for provocation,
and guilt begins to colonize the mind.
The abuser smiles—order is restored,
the victim wears the shame like a second skin.
Yet in the dreamwork, symbols twist and strain,
the truth insists on this hammer within.
For rage, when born of terror, is not a crime —
it is the psyche screaming to let me out.
I passed an old man
along his way - commented
that he smelled like piss
He stopped and turned to thank me
for my acute sense of smell.
He then proceeded to piss
on my shoes. Telling me to
piss-off, with an elf-like grin
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