All the fireflies of the town
Have gathered in front of
The Town Hall.
Being mere sources of light
Not worm
Nor life.
Mere sources of light -
The way sometimes
Humans become
Mere genitals.
I can't look at their light
Are they brighter than the Sun?
I can look straight into
The sun, Day and Night.
Still, I can't look at
The Fireflies
Like the people who
Look at the genitals
Can never look at
The Eyes.
A PEEVED OFF DOUG FORD
WITH TRUMP, HE HAS STRUCK A CHORD
NOW TRUMP WANTS FORD GORED
Amidst ¦¦¦ flowers ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ wine,
I pour alone ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ I invite the Moon,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Moon does not ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ drink,
My shadow ¦¦¦¦¦¦ follows the movement of my body.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ shadow ¦¦¦ keep me company a while,
The practice of mirth should keep pace with spring.
I start a song and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ dance and the shadow moves grotesquely.
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ let's rejoice with one another,
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ again far in the Milky Way.
(Blackout of Amidst the Flowers a Jug of Wine by Li Bai)
nestled in small town
poets, writers , and hippies
living peacefully
I went across the field of daisies
Lavenders and tulips too
The time around was self-erasing
Flowers bent as I walked through
Stepped onto a wooden path
Trees ahead were falling down
Leafy branches I did pass
Out of woods I went to town
It was raining through the sunlight
Garbage and recycling bins
Stood there overflown as I
Passed the cobblestone old streets
I’ve found your house rang the door
Someone else’s voice proclaimed
You don’t live there anymore
And they can’t recall your name
Then I died and went away
Cause the dead can walk unseen
So I do this everyday
Walking in and out of screen.
Wherever I turned
a cloud of flies in front of me
blotting out day, blocking my way
rubbing their legs, buzzing away
leaving me nothing good to say
Was there no solution
to the atmosphere’s dissolution
Seeing none, I doubled down
~ tried out my frown in a different town
Up in a castle, castle far waste, fields full of snow droft, skies black,fog,gray.
Time frozen ice, where no one can stay,day top of day, a life's faded cake.
Cake frosting layed, on top layers stay, a day's magic flake, for sunsets on lakes.
Moon lit night, shade of light, pale like skies, on rooms up high.
Golden gates, inside blue lakes, of snow form flakes, a light shine fades.
Sunset moon, ice cold blue, stars shine too, in loft snow loon.
Empty jewels, in lands of fools, in diamond rooms, and frosty tombs.
Eyes of blue, ocean moon, time too soon, in castle ruins.
From out of this hill's wide girth
Have shaped, and stately
Though old, and at rest
A grand dame's posture.
In folds of its lower slopes
Traced, spread out, before
With bluebell threaded
Gown's timeless allure.
I've had my fill of the surface scene for now.
Navigating this new age mania and tectonic indifference.
I'm sailing underground to anchor up in glia monster town.
They're all poisonous down here but mostly harmless.
They flash colors, so you know where you stand
There's a steep learning curve, that's for certain
But everybody minds their own, without demands.
There's no sparring for the attention of the sun.
Everyone is in shadow; we're equally grounded.
No keeping up with the Joneses and Jetsons.
We're cool as ice bears and snow penguins.
No biters here to abbreviate your fate.
No gamblers to piss away all your pay.
No sniffers or grifters playing smelly games.
No angels on milk cartons, the young are all safe.
No stompers or sliders in red surface shoes.
Bleeding out on our palette of sweet, baby blue.
Sometimes the clack on the surface
seeps down through the cracks.
That's when the Gilas become a bit restless.
With a flicker of grace, the polluted are purified.
Soon enough, peace is restored to its place.
Sliding back into the charity of silence.
I'm thriving and have no desire to surface.
The African night goes robust with
silence and attentiveness.
Darkness, grave, deep and merciless,
hisses remorselessly but soundlessly.
The moon is on a visit to her grandmother
Fireflies on bulrushes give blinking light, like exhausted
Twinkling stars expelled from heaven.
Post-suppertime, belching stomachs recline on
Whims of a slow-travelling night with faithful
Silhouettes walking ahead of stalking shadows.
Orchestral insects keep the night company
Folktales steal into this power of darkness —
A breathing nocturnal art with the pulse of
Communal growth . . .
The town crier is abroad
He needs no other identity but his voice,
A foghorn in the entrenched darkness.
Next is his wooden gong,
An instrument of life.
His voice rides smoothly through the night —
At times with punch, some other times
With the sound of glory . . .
And when there’s gloom,
With the sonorous flow of woe.
As a young child my mind goes back to Tom,
a pure dark gray old tom cat.
We went visiting in the town next door,
when Tom took up with me.
The neighbors said,
they had never seen him before.
We took him home,
giving him a bath then food and milk.
I dressed him up in my doll clothes,
then gave him a baby bottle of cold milk.
Tom was my real baby doll disguised as a cat,
and he loved it.
We both had many wonderful hours of fun,
as Tom got extra rubs with cold milk.
Driving down the road
Off ramp ahead
Small town lights
Flicker; the false promise
Something more than
A closing down factory floor
Old Churches for sale
Dressed in flags of white and red
Night sky above
Blind curve ahead
UNDER THE CLEAR AMERICAN SKY
IN A SCHOOL WHERE FAR-OFF MEMORIES LIE
ENDLESS WAS THE HAPPY FARE
AT LEAST TO THOSE WHO ONCE LIVED THERE
SCHOOL DAYS SEEMED TO NEVER END
EXPERIENCES WITH FOE AND FRIEND
THE SMELL OF PENCILS, BOARDS, AND CHALK
THE TIMES WE COULD AND COULDN’T TALK
AUTUMN DAYS AND FOOTBALL GAMES
STUDY HALL AND BEST FRIENDS' NAMES
DANCES ON A FRIDAY NIGHT
KISSING IS SUCH A PURE DELIGHT
SUMMER WARMTH AND WINTER CHILL
TIMES THAT GAVE US SUCH A THRILL
SOMETHING NEW WITH EVERY DAY
LEARNING LIFE IN EVERY WAY
REMEMBERING YOUR FIRST GREAT CRUSH
THAT GAVE YOU SUCH AN LOVELY RUSH
WALKING HOME WITH BOOKS IN HAND
FEELINGS HARD TO UNDERSTAND
ALL YOUR SENSES YOUNG AND CLEAR
A FUTURE BRIGHT AND WITHOUT FEAR
A BODY YOUNG AND WITHOUT PAIN
ENERGY THAT HAS NO DRAIN
KEEP THESE THOUGHTS WITHIN YOUR MIND
AND TAKE THEM OUT FROM TIME TO TIME
THE FRIENDS YOU HAD ARE ALL STILL THERE
IN MEMORIES STORED WITH LOVING CARE
Born in a high rise, low mind concrete prison.
Delivered gift wrapped to a predestined repetition.
Bars on doors, on windows and wrapped around my mouth.
The loudness of silence.
Unknown entities draped in faded British bulldogs holding pints and childhoods, one in each hand.
The family men gathered whetting their lips with hops, hurt and hate.
Loose Knuckles and loose lips both sink women, I mean ships.
Warm dead paving, a lifetime of chewed up, spat out offerings littering the estate like a Jackson Pollock altar.
Sacred violence.
The bikes piled up on the green, a can in the spokes, a flame, a bike missing, an R.I.P plaque on a wall.
The smell of BBQs, the feel of brick walls baked from sun and slander, the sound of beatings in the distance, the taste of stolen innocence.
Sirens and sadness - a Somers Town soundtrack, 10 blackjacks, a panda pop, and a boy who didn’t make it home. Another child who died alone.
Will I ever be happy here? Free? A story of redemption?
Escape.
Will I make it or just another obituary from the council estate.
This town is a burden
It lacks everything I need or want
Yet it holds doubt and discomfort
This sorry place has become a punchline
The thing it’s most known for is its emptiness
It holds enough attention to keep me writing about it
The joke is old
Just like the people
It’s been overused
Like the sidewalks
I’ve become bored with both the joke
And the town
It’s calm and quiet
And rid of people
I’d rather be anywhere else
I carry the burden of the town that sleeps before me.
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