Nothing Left Undone ~ Thursday, 14 December 2017

~

With so little to live 

for I make excuses 

as to why I survive 

I live while others die 

the luck of a coin toss 

but am I the winner 

No one can say who wins 

the coin toss but someone 

calls either heads or tails 

Do we fault the soldier 

who survives war unscathed 

or cheer he is alive 

Obituaries sing 

the praise of the fallen 

missing absent or dead 

Widows mourn their husbands 

if those men were worthy 

to celebrate with praise 

~~ 

Silly to imagine 

a person unworthy 

of praise love or respect 

However long ago 

my father passed away 

I became a sinner 

Although I gave up God 

and the trappings of faith 

as a ship without sails 

Determined to find truth 

beyond belief in lies 

I gave up God for Lent 

Obviously my faith 

blind in the dark forest 

of childhood broke like bread 

Wonders they say never 

cease maybe this excuse 

is the best I can raise 

~~~ 

Maybe from a window 

I see in a meadow 

a shadow I detect 

Even if I become 

confused as an old man 

with my wits out of joint 

As God is my witness 

I have not sinned badly 

but I am not dead yet

Death offers me some time 

to choose my path to faith 

or tells me to get bent 

Original as death

may sound or trite to ears 

well-versed beyond this point 

Wax cannot melt away 

the years or even tears 

I lost crying upset 

On Bullying (Part Two) ~ Tuesday, 12 December 2017

Create the atmosphere for change in attitudes towards perpetrators hovering over prey children know how to hunt instinctively to harm intentionally may not come as an innate process in our children learning how to survive in a foreign hostile unkind environment despite a modicum of intelligence truth be told I lacked conscience realize it took years for me to see the harm I mastered as a child even if I could wipe the slate clean I would learn nothing about ethics nothing about the good the beautiful the true in each person I meet

Indeed I hurt others by way of language games unaware as a boy never to do lasting damage only to play as children play for fun

Jinxed perhaps by my birth to travel the whole world yet to never return even for one moment to India homeland of this heartbroken boy only I did not know the arbitrariness of birth of life and death perhaps this little boy never could understand Moses' ten commandments alcoholism played a role in my family dynamics acting out reassured my parents I needed attention as a small latch-key kid diminutive in name and stature to other boys even my brother yet I learned to compete against other bullies by seeking out wisdom

On Bullying ~ Monday, 11 December 2017

As an adult I read the news about children bullying other kids little did I know when I was a little kid how evil it could be children don't seem to care about consequences doing harm to others or they seem uninformed how bullying does harm to their sense of conscience how even I took part instigating harm done to a girl named Jody only a cold-hearted monster from storybooks could have acted as mean like a little demon unaware of his own actions against this girl if it were possible that my own admission could help another child still I could not believe such a world could exist but I must try to hope my actions as a child have repercussions like a stone tossed in a pond

Despite being a child the son of immigrants who should have known better even as I look back in horror at my past I realize damage sticks to the wrongdoer as much to the girl harmed back in the seventies the phrase we used was not mentally-challenged or mentally-disabled retarded was the phrase handed down for children to banter like curses of course we did not know how harmful our language had become as speech acts yellow journalism could not exaggerate my actions worse for me still if I said sorry to her today her pains my sorrow would not end

Asterion Dreams (Part 2) ~ Monday, 11 December 2017

Hungry to devour flesh tender sweet flesh of lamb as a Cretan I smell underground rich flavors to tantalize my tongue to salivate for food not simply the insects or confused crustaceans burrowed beneath the sand garbage giving me salt and other minerals from seas near where I dwell rich in electrolytes I liberate to see to continue to be you may know the meaning of life and death but soul is but a hungry ghost

Defenseless little kids in the cavernous dark disoriented lost eventually find their way into my arms into my embrace crude venal corrupted soul whatever touches me clutches my hungry hand obviously with hope to escape my horror how could I let them down underground no one sees the future how actions decides who gets set free realistically none escape alive to see the light of day to roast

tastefully in sunlight along ancient beachfront property where it cost enormous sums of burnt flesh lightly seared by sun salt and surf to my eyes noticeably blinded by absolute darkness I could tell by their scent delicious to devour as one famished by luck starving outside of town endless was my torture without sense or reason unable to ask skies remarkably azure once I escaped or died head cut off so it went

Letter ~ Friday, 8 December 2017

Dear Dean Kemp, I'm not sure if you remember me. I used to attend school, engaging in writing, hidden on the eighth floor at the Art Institute. As honey attracts flies better than salt in wounds, I hope I'm catching you not at a busy time. Of course, you have some time to relax by the pool, kill time, as if there were no problems tomorrow to solve like forest fires engaging fire fighters throughout California, where I learned to salute, my pledge of allegiance, as an immigrant's son. Forgive me if the shoe perhaps never made it to fit the other foot, my chance to rise fell short. 

As you made crystal clear, money in one account cannot fund poor liars, relapsed poets of junk without talent or style, who beat the streets for cash. Nevermind the homeless hovering over steel grates in order to keep old aging bodies warm, the streets of Chicago so cold in winter. Splash lame writers like myself from your Miami pool, the skies so blue and deep. Despite my lack of grace, I ask again if funds may grant this jester court.

Melanoma City ~ Friday, 8 December 2017 (2nd Draft)

I was born in Bombay a city of millions in nineteen sixty-nine but just three months later my mom dad and brother moved away to London even though they took me with them my ghost remains haunting those Mumbai streets restless soul runs circles while I run marathons summoned by the divine imperative to fly with wings of messengers until I return home aging eternally until I become one with my Tartarus shade 

Endlessly wandering with Sagittarian parents we moved again Middlesex where I said goodbye to Amanda westward across the pond because my father worked as a flight controller with Air India suites asked him to move to Queens New York in Kew Gardens we stayed for just two years rest assured I turned five years old before we moved under the sunny dome killer of flesh and blood melanoma city to the home I can't trade 

As for Huntington Beach where locals made me feel foreign I can't complain simple people struggle here to make a living they compete with put downs such experiences left their mark but my friends kept me in check their hearts assented to my own eccentric character warped by beatings and tears I live as an adult child of alcoholic spirits who wore their crowns like a king and his queen I never seemed to fit their family scheme old farts
--

I was born in Bombay 

a city of millions 

in nineteen sixty-nine 

but just three months later 

my mom dad and brother 

moved away to London 

even though they took me 

with them my ghost remains 

haunting those Mumbai streets 

restless soul runs circles 

while I run marathons 

summoned by the divine 

imperative to fly 

with wings of messengers 

until I return home 

aging eternally 

until I become one 

with my Tartarus shade 

Endlessly wandering 

with Sagittarian 

parents we moved again 

Middlesex where I said 

goodbye to Amanda 

westward across the pond 

because my father worked 

as a flight controller 

with Air India suites 

asked him to move to Queens 

New York in Kew Gardens 

we stayed for just two years 

rest assured I turned five 

years old before we moved 

under the sunny dome 

killer of flesh and blood 

melanoma city 

to the home I can't trade 

As for Huntington Beach 

where locals made me feel 

foreign I can't complain 

simple people struggle 

here to make a living 

they compete with put downs 

such experiences 

left their mark but my friends 

kept me in check their hearts 

assented to my own 

eccentric character 

warped by beatings and tears 

I live as an adult 

child of alcoholic 

spirits who wore their crowns 

like a king and his queen 

I never seemed to fit 

their family scheme old farts 

Lowlife ~ Thursday, 7 December 2017

Born without a conscience I learned to develop a thick skin like a crab insensitive to pain felt by others I learn to act as if I care terrible as it sounds I couldn't care less truth be told no one matters triggered bullets enter my brain as if context and perspective play stab exactly where my heart hides if you went to look maybe to find deep space resides within a black hole you poke like Thomas doubting I have risen 

ripe with wisdom from death and my resurrection though you know I can't die of course my corpse lacks pulse lacks breath leaves my voice hoarse singing on stage nightmare tragedy on Broadway Jesus Christ Superstar my black star heart shatters trampled by wild horses traipsing through the desert trapped in my private hell endless torture acting more human than humans cast down without a trace never absolved of sin of crimes against the soul left alone in prison 

hollow inside a shell rotten no doubt portrays bitter fruit hung to dry obviously too strange to fit in with mankind a portrait of outcast liberated divine messengers abandoned by the Lord almighty lowlife scumbag demons wander the streets homeless too poor to bathe we smell or should I say we stink to high heaven of piss and shit we shall outlast worthless souls of noble birth our curse they complain we're insane and flighty

Sick Muse Poems ~ Saturday, 2 December 2017

"In a Mirror, Darkly"

<< Peux-tu, veux tu me recevoir >>

I

Bad ideas don't come cheap take the use of 'crimson' to name our punk rock band really dumb young naïfs with no future ahead we bought into the dream in high school rocking out meant playing noise noise noise as the neighbors would say damned in our private hell four young men made music we came from garageland granted adding 'silence' after 'crimson' revealed our intent as unclear enter the killing fields deaf to hear how that sounds crimson silence were tools

ask the next door neighbor pounding the garage door he couldn't stand our sound creative Priam thought up our ludicrous name fans felt we were a scream rolling on the floor laugh out loud never to know how proud we were to play our bloodshed moniker I now repudiate as grandiose inane silly games pin the tail on the donkey spinning round blindfolded in fear stage fright we played off drunk as teens we couldn't care less about social rules

beyond high school I gave no thought to the future if I were college bound earning a scholarship in cross-country or track even though I got worse yellow with injuries fear and depression set in after freshman year on top of a torsion of the testicle pot helped to deal with the pain no one said no to drugs not among my friends bad trips we can't reverse damaged in the eighties my alcoholic dad taught me whom I should fear

II

Sitting under a bridge nowhere near Phnom Penh a red light beacon flashed evidently the source was not Holiday in Cambodia Pol Pot Colonial France Khmer Rouge or the Killing Fields but something less profound on LSD even a flashing red light seems clever although it clashed noticeably to ears used to a cymbal crash lip split from edge to bell dirty bloody knuckles against the snare drum rim this drummer watched the pier

as The End Cafe lurched toward the raging sea HB made a hard buck noteworthy to witness the early morning news caught the battered onslaught nothing to contribute no handles for our band but now I know Unwound united another group from Olympia three years after we split as Silence went defunct the drumsticks slipped my grip Proctor forced me to sell my beloved trap set on the cheap right bastard to his cunt friend the sheer

rip-off audacity to take full advantage of friends down on their luck egregious his abuse no real friend to Silence a spineless jellyfish Priam in name obscured this one brainless at base as libel stands stranger of name but facts remain to stand the test of time when depression unfit rapid as rabid dogs my brain for thirty years context my only wish topple the pier topple my band my teenage dream speeding toward danger

III

Whether they kicked me out of the band for missing a gig on Halloween or Priam and Zamir left to jam with Aram it no longer matters nobody cares what took place thirty years ago it keeps no one awake daylight enters the room I fall asleep in bed the pipedreams of a teen ended a splash cymbal cracked a drumstick I threw impaled into the wall remember those lost years smoke from my father's pipe dissipates in the air

Wishing never made much happen back then or now nobody knew the past informs every last step before the next the fog machine blows smoke scatters noticeable amounts of dry ice in the path of stage lights for the sake declared it looks damned cool we never got the chance to play at Budōkan outside Orange County nobody knew our sound we never got the call wonders never happen if you can't stick it out never say life's not fair

Wash off the soot and grime from inside the chimney fire burns what cannot last after the band broke up and our second attempt with just drum and bass failed soon as I sold my kit everyone moved away and I went stir crazy however many years spent learning karate I never made Shodan every reason happens because we want something but if our ship has sailed reason rears her wrecked face to remind us a harsh truth we were too lazy

IV

Shaved heads shorn clean of hair charged the air electric with brutal force to shock in awe a fear of war skinheads in flight jackets and combat boots brought hate curiously on stage to harangue and harass with physical abuse kings of the wild frontier from London to HB English Oi meant to rock

Meant to devour hardcore punk with Dischord straight edge straight outta DC's spleen under false pretenses skinheads appeared tougher than misfits born too late sick with antipathy even Baudelaire's muse couldn't rule out the deuce elegant as handsome demons Crimson Silence steered clear of throwing dice

Sinister to insist our band had a fighting chance in a dying scene covering cover bands extraordinaire their songs unoriginal takes unmistakable how the blues influences every version in style mark my words the fake book of standards came to rule punk like Sriracha sauce

Magick couldn't even save our band from doomsday when fate lowers the boom under circumstances beyond our control punk pulled the plug on our noise skill never caused failure our lack correlative to success pressed bad breaks ignorance of the law excuses no poet to unleash her black bile creativity came to me in words more than drum rhythms but for whom kill rock stars came after our demise our demo lost among childish toys

V

Since the band went defunct after eighty-seven the chance to perform live in front of a large crowd only took place during a poetry reading creativity took shape by means of the pen and a sheet of paper kindred spirits fellow travelers showed up for these events where we thrive

Maybe for a moment then burn out like a moth caught by the candle flame until I was twenty I thought I was hot shit I'd found my true calling sick in the brain my muse watched me spiral downward until I lost all sense energy low spirits followed me on the path up until our wedding

Six years later she filed for divorce confusion bit me like a viper crushed I moved to Hyde Park where I've lived for ten years I worked at the bookstore under the direction of the cellar dweller jack of all trades his name meant to hide or conceal in a Roman temple his demise caused falling

My days there were numbered by losing my aegis I lacked shield as defense unable to withstand the barrage of forces seeking my removal surrender seemed the right decision the only choice I had left was move in a fight for stalemate as endgame came swiftly I left out the front door chess ripples from center to edge in terms of power players know how brutal kind faces can become a duplicitous smile leaves a trace to disprove

--

Biography 

Rui Carlos da Cunha started writing poetry by mistake while trying to write lyrics for his band. He never successfully wrote any lyrics for the band; but continued to write poetry for over thirty years. If you like these poems please check out his blog:

https://thecloudscastmovingshadowsontheland.blogspot.com/

He thanks you in advance for your interest in poetry and independent publishing like The Sick Muse. 

--

Introduction

My method for writing poetry may seem strange to people who don't see hidden techniques or rhyme schemes that defy convention. Each line is composed of three movements of six syllables each. Each stanza contains six lines of eighteen syllables. Each poem is made up of three stanzas of six lines per stanza. I remove line breaks in order for readers not to see or look for the rhyme scheme.

My rhyme scheme is functional but convoluted:

ABCADE FBCGDE FHIGHI

In addition to a hidden rhyme scheme and an apparent prose-style of verse, most of my poems lack punctuation to force the reader to slow down to read a poem. Lastly, nearly every poem of this format includes a hidden acrostic at the beginning of each line when taken apart. The acrostic form helps me while writing the poem with a given structure to work with. The first three poems in this series have the acrostics:

BRIDGE ACROSS BEYOND / SECOND ANNUAL REPORT / WONDER WINDOW WASHER

The last two poems have a different acrostic format:

SICK MUSE SCUM MUSICK 

Acrostics may or may not say something down the three stanzas of each poem.

If viewed on a computer screen large enough to fit one long line of one hundred and eight syllables, each poem would appear as three separate long lines. Taken as a whole of thirty-seven poems the total line count of a set would equal six hundred sixty-six lines.

The number system is simply a mathematical game I play with and has no overriding attachment to ecclesiastical theological beliefs. The devil may be in the details but I don't believe in the Satan.

--

Eternal Return ~ Saturday, 2 December 2017

I'm a little freaked out by the death of your mom I know we're not supposed to live forever but it came so suddenly I could not read the signs everlasting life is a myth in my own mind like success we were doomed really to fail from start to finish as a band I'm forced to stay composed under circumstances where I have no control as painful as this life merits my looking back to remember the past the darkness overwhelms

as soon as I enter the cave of unreason anxiety rises from my lack of knowledge on how to flip the switch to start afresh these lines risk nothing but friendship decades in the making I was practically groomed enchanting as that sounds to act as a wordsmith when you lack words to speak simple logorrhea flows words in a river down the page like a knife however the mango I slice I cannot taste its succulent fruit realms

of the occult secret hidden behind the veil eyes full of surprises cinematic like film clips casting a bright light on a projection screen close my eyes I can see memories imagined in the architecture under your mother's roof I walk around no one impedes my silent sqeak like a mouse in a house only ghosts inhabit your mom the fairy queen to all of our projects music literature art as I conjecture

Asterion Dreams ~ Saturday, 2 December 2017

At least, they bring children to play with me. Inside the darkness of the cave, silence pervades the vast network of underground tunnels through which I walk. Trapped like a white rat caught in an endless maze without reward or food. Eternity must feel similar to this hell, this prison where I crave relations with others, family, other children. My siblings whom I lost in a game where they hide and I seek to find them. I have no one to talk over how my day went, what I learn while at school, my tests for aptitude. No one but the silence, and echo its response. I do not like this game.

Dread hunger until death. The children came to play, opportunity cost relatively well-known. Who could not have foreseen these terrible events? Electricity fills the room with eyes open wide, trying hard to see. Anxiety rises, as a cacophony of voices become dense. Mirror sounds bounce off walls as echoes multiply and children try to flee. Sounds dissipate, gurgle, until the cave achieves stillness, all in my name.

Damage Beyond Repair ~ Friday, 1 December 2017

Despite all the damage you inflict on my soul I will turn out okay as the years pass I learn childhood is misery inflicted by parents maybe you disagree maybe you only see the positive in life as I look back in time with memories intact I never had a say given the position of the child in families never be meek or mild even though I was shy I became devious learning how to survive

Bitter roots of despair I learned parents don't care when the bottle is near even though I forgive my mother and father I'm left with arrogance yellow with the sulfur of egg yolk on my face a cleaver full of strife over my tiny wrist my mom threatens to cut my hand off when I stole needlessly from her purse to play video games when I ran feral wild dumb as an animal lost in the wicked woods not knowing how to thrive

Restless little boy runs circles around the wolves in a foreign land fear emerges in his mind to hide within his brain too small to have a spine perhaps to be a man a little boy must grow big muscles must grow strong as I grew lean and thin as a snake charmer's rope I learned to become whole in my development I would never be huge muscular and divine remember why I am alive to bring meaning to those who know not wrong

Sentenced ~ Thursday, 30 November 2017

Just for today I eat out your liver just like every other weekend under no pretenses should you confuse this act as payment for a debt maybe you think I am Internal Revenue Services making rounds badgering you off-grid here in the high desert no I come as a friend less concerned with taxes than taking a bite out of crime from time to time everyone has a job to do before they die and mine is taking out

miscreants like yourself from our society so you cannot cause harm unless someone hurts you first for that falls under self-defense to offset minimal legal codes to follow we allow you to play within bounds boldly laid out by blood vengeance but as you see you are chained for reasons legally I cannot discuss as I am not your attorney your dime entitles you to one phone call but don't expect a signal hereabouts

forget about escape this prison is your life and yours is full of charm ugly as I appear I am a reflection of our justice system maybe someone will come release you from bondage from this eternal hell be that as it may time time passes much more slowly for your act of treason left us with no recourse other than to hold you in contempt of wisdom every living person knows not to take something that isn't theirs to sell

Drumpfy ~ Monday, 27 November 2017

Just for today I can't be happy your bullshit positive attitude elicits only tears in the face of our own brutal hateful machines since Saint Obama left office over a year ago we still have drones taking the lives of both innocent civilians and murderous yet shrewd elite terror squads trained with CIA tactics taught in Afghanistan reliable sources account for fact-checkers to ward off the red scare 

Leave it to a jester kicked out of Camelot my second time around even a court fool must laugh at his own defeat behind the White House scenes granted at no other times was America great unless you throw stonesat glass houses cracking up windows just to hear the sound of breaking glass classic as example Mr Fix It Reagan whose credit for Iran yelled out from the rooftop overt propaganda whence hypocrites declare 

Current lies in office offer executive subterfuge world renown rich as celebrity billionaire apprentice commander with the keys engaging in Twitter insults with Kim Jong-un forming social contacts debating global war with nuclear weapons and a stick up his ass intelligence is not his strong point but who cares when a cheap vulgar sleeze tasteless with silver spoon makes for comic relief approaching parallax

Entitled ~ Sunday, 26 November 2017

I tend to make you wait before I grant titles upon mere second class dimwitted mortal fools my rules seem simple if you pay attention everything you ever wished for may just appear before your own two eyes never presume your will so great you don't bow down before you kiss my ass time heeds no one's desires so who do you think grants access to the good life I bestow titles earned upon those who follow my rules with retention tragedy follows if you choose to disobey or neglect to act wise yolk in your face on stage in your own theater may reveal your disgrace

Even if your beliefs cannot accept my power I trust your faithful wife never wants to suffer your lack of position poverty and hunger terrible bouts of rage anger despair and fear cannot help a person in your situation to overcome the strife and terror you must face to add insults helps none deal with all the problems you obtain when anger your queen observes first hand I won't abide to watch your position worsen

Superfluous ~ Saturday, 25 November 2017

If this is the meaning of life I'm not surprised as reproductive cells darting in directions without an intention our brief motions decline exactly with our age ourselves remain the same unchanged in our habits not even in a group does a transformation in us cause any bells to ring the equation on each side expresses a chemical balance in no way unequal like an identical proposition defines truth as certainty no one cannot ascertain redundant as rabbits yawning at the chasm between this life and death breeding without a care 

Catastrophes occur yet we appear unchanged chemically imbalanced reason does not allow us to see the tightrope as dangerous unsafe in this instance to cross we must decide to act the disaster below somehow must be dealt with by someone in command who does not feel the chafe involved when a certain pressure is applied with the heat from afterglow seeing the world aflame she must stand a pillar of strength fully aware

☆ Iris ~ Saturday, 25 November 2017

7:13 AM ~ Arlo flips the channels through PBS to see Sewing with Nancy. Remembering the obituary of her he saw yesterday, he exclaims, "She's dead!" But, out loud to himself; since no one else is at home. (Nan staying with her sister Mia at her place for a Prince memorial celebratory event with a woman friend Nan met online). And he imagines the strange possibility that his best friend from childhood, his mom dies at that moment of pancreatic cancer which Arlo had just learned about yesterday. As if someone could be in touch with another person so far away as to know when they die before learning about it from the family announcing her passing themselves. Either way, he's heartbroken to hear of Iris being sick for a year or so. He's not upset with his friend, Judd. He probably had Arlo's best interests at heart. He is an unusually emotional man. But one who is insensitive to the needs of his own family, and may dance upon the metaphorical graves of his parents once his own mother passes away. No need to get sentimental on her account. Too difficult to do so anyways. So sad how perceived abuse skews perceptions in the mind of the abused but not the perception of the abusers.

Juju ~ Friday, 24 November 2017

Identity the key to unlock the deadbolt to my grief-stricken heart damage control opens doors with a fingerprint or a retinal scan enter my domicile it isn't much more than a hovel a pigsty note all the books in piles the mail the dirty clothes waiting for me to start to do laundry or clean the cat litter for weeks on end the endless mess is everywhere and spring cleaning nowhere to be found like a working fan to blow the dust around in the heat of summer a cat calls out his cry yellow plaintive lonely he has no other friends he drives the girls crazy

Unique as a black cat looking for attention off Lake Shore Drive I guess nobody else wanted to care for the hungry stray too skinny to leave in the care of nature outdoors on the beachfront along the Lakefront Trail quick to cross the bike path Little Juju Kitty caught my eye tugged my sleeve unlike other moments when I'm running the path I stopped to catch some tail ecstasy in his eyes as I carried him home he grew fat and lazy

Gratitude ~ Thursday, 23 November 2017

Today I tell myself everything is going to work out for the best however I prepare myself for whatever may come my way the worst ask and you shall receive maybe not what you ask for nothing of the kind nothing is better than a swift kick in the teeth crushed like a bug a pest killing is kinder than disregard to ignore or neglect a person simply destroys their soul dashes their hopes to rise above their ruined state

Gratitude like language as a practice to learn about until you dream in a foreign country speaking a foreign tongue to people who feel cursed viral warfare murders their children who without an antidote will find infidels like yourself a foreign invader a lamb for the slaughter nothing will appease them their children are dying you may find things worsen give it time things will work out for the best even if things don't seem so great

Create your dreams to change the world for everyone for the best designed scheme ruins no one but lifts up their humanity to shine like stars in space even if some believe your structures are not sound build to prove they are wrong damned be the naysayers those hated Philistines they will rape your daughter in front of your own eyes to torture you and leave your family in disgrace truth be told gratitude works for the lucky ones who sing to hear a song

☆ Talaq ~ Wednesday, 22 November 2017

Case closed no discussion to pursue no further inquiry or time spent on investigation on blind speculation on wild accusation mother brother father you threw the book at me no longer will we speak mutual disregard useful as a tactic with letter of intent on creating ground rules to ignore each other and move on with our lives not unlike a divorce your Roman Catholic faith will never condone

never will you accept apologies for past mistakes during childhood only you keep my deeds for future reference after dad's cremation reality shatters the mirror of denial removing the mystique made apparent by loss the death of the family patriarch leaves a hole a vacuum to abhor nature consolidate power in separate hives life with you was never normal never loving alcoholics disown

family members who act as individuals children misunderstood as eccentric artists often held to account for past misdemeanors maybe there is no line clearly demarcating adulthood at eighteen I don't care how the state defines when our legal obligations start clean lifting the veil of lies secrecy deception I resolve as my goal yellow with Dutch courage dad went orange with rage remove red at cleaners

Eternal Remorse ~ Friday, 20 November 2017

If probability is metaphysical I will outlive you all not because I enjoy this life much more than you no quite the opposite because I find sorrow at every turn I cannot turn away to look on other spectacles with more appeal knowing full well I hear the call response necessary someone must say what can not be said by others not by politicians nor by news journalists but only by poets

Never will I know joy only fleeting moments always minding the scales as I seek this balance others take for granted safe without deposit the only pleasure known to a man like myself is one found in a book undermined by sibling rivalry someone gains the upper hand and wins relations with family distorted over years resolves between brothers enter resolution talks in a local bar dissolve without focus

Lifting up the casket of my father never happened as his son fails in a timely manner to show up before death to obtain a blessing still a poet transforms when a patriarch falls the pallbearers remain time slips year after year the divide grows wider between brothers whose sins embrace only childhood mishaps strangers beyond youth leaves both still guessing no one harbors ill will but our mother whose scorn cannot hide the dark stain

Omniscience ~ Friday, 20 November 2017

After the state tells us we're old enough to fight and die for our country whether we choose to join the armed forces or choose to work until we die even if we believe we did not choose our path at every step we chose it was we who engaged in other people's games fell for their tricks you see God does not care what type of life you choose to lead for He already knows how your story plays out from start to finish only your legacy

as a human being who creates her own life by her words and actions no one else can decide to override your will unless to justify choices you made under duress beyond control when body and mind close human beings give up their right to their freedom to live lives in bondage otherwise why would you allow pimps to abuse your body without clothes released from any guilt you became a victim to blind supremacy

ask not who bears the weight of fools who suffer time and again transactions still worse yet transgressions borne from childhood mishaps beaten into her skull heinous adults keep down others they can oppress the system doesn't care otherwise the blind eye looks away out of fear if we use a bandage relapse may continue without recourse to care empty as a ship's hull even if the sun sets at the horizon it's an illusion we share

Malicious Genius ~ Friday, 20 November 2017

Diabolos across time hurls a monkey wrench into a factory inspired by his genius to accuse a peasant of kicking off his shoe accusations corner with slander while machines try to devour his boot by sabotage Old Nick Diabolos destroys the works lets history lift the funereal veil off blind poker face cheats a devil cannot lead old habits overwhelm his heart with smoker's lungs Satan coughs up a storm 

Descartes creates a foil a malicious demon a deceiver so great even Descartes denies such a being warrants proof to display the true object of his study during meditation he discovers the root for proving he exists doesn't reside outside cogito ergo sum only his proof requires radical doubt as key to know who plants the seed left in the soil to grow from the earth to assume any organic form 

Take Faust for example he became a legend some choose to emulate even Robert Johnson met him at the crossroads yet the devil's bargain under circumstances beyond recognition underlies your consent form a document made by Satan's own legal minions ready to groom extending hands to shake the deal of a lifetime nevermind the jargon let your hand sign the form your perfect fourths will sound playfully augmented

Young Hare ~ Friday, 17 November 2017

In the zendo before meditation I hear the phrase dropping away body and mind and I reply inside my head not two not one and sit in silence and focus on my breath and posture words rattle in my head deception at each turn like a hall of mirrors inside my head I play entrancing games to keep me awake language hides behind a long black cape magic feeds illusions makes words larger than life more important than food 

in the same place I sit in a pew and listen to jazz vibraphonists my girlfriend by my side later on I mention a perception to wit perhaps the energy and memories of jazz will remain as I said asking not from query but from zazen practice right there atop that stage language hides a rabbit inside a black top hat children with mouths agape ask not out of wonder or surprise but to learn an crafty attitude 

a graceful antelope leaps about in my head as I sit in honest contemplation of mind and body as not two not one beyond language understanding beyond concepts categories definitions meanings multiple shifting thoughts springing inside my head lions leap from a cage engage in swift pursuit of a red antelope whom they seek advantage not two not one not mind not body not language focus on my breathing

Nothing Lasts Forever ~ Monday, 13 November 2017

Sorrow sweet sorrow sad I will borrow sweet sad sorrow on the morrow on the morrow sorrow sweet sorrow sad I will borrow lost memories rolling hills grey blue skies remind me forever of something I forgot rolling hills blue grey skies remember forever someone feels my sorrow on the morrow you may borrow sweet sad sorrow someone whom I have lost worry not to return not to return times past sorrow sweet sorrow sad 

borrow a length of cord borrow the hangman's noose borrow the time and place on the morrow order the green red leaves sweet sad sorrow fill treasuries rolling green boiling red sorrow sweet boiling blood sorrow sad hangman's knot rolling hills true prey flies falcon meat in red beak sorrow sweet blue grey skies on the morrow I will borrow those memories I forget at some cost worry not to return to return to sorrow to memories gone bad 

must I remind myself times past time forgotten someone died lost in grace on the morrow will I borrow a page from grace sorrow sad sorrow sweet rolling clouds grey blue skies never let me forget sorrows green sorrows bled rolling clouds blue grey skies remind me forever memories create lies on the morrow I will create new memories and make new friends to meet worry not to return to sorrow to the door behind which you are dead

Nibble ~ Saturday, 11 November 2017

Words cannot fix the world but speech can heal old wounds between rivals bitter enemies become friends with certain concessions with admissions of guilt to acts of deception or heinous wrongdoing oh who am I kidding besides forgiveness not a thing will help to mend hearts broken by liquor elegant speeches make nothing happen magic occurs not with language despite what we believe about the power of words a child knows when she prays 

beside her damp wet bed with the broken window inside her cold bedroom running a slight fever she asks for forgiveness while sucking on her quilt only God hears her prayers directly from her heart He listens for hidden key signatures to score a symphony of songs lamenting her sorrows even though the child cries out for her mother God hears only her anguish nibbling on her bones she thanks Him for setting her whole body ablaze 

winter arrives as soon as the dessicated trees lose their fallen plumes inside her dark attic Helena sees the stars sing for her songs of joy not to despair or lose hope even while alone when no one sees her tears drenched in sweat from fever rising in temperature her brain boiling borrows oil for the kerosene lamp to light up her room to find her favorite toy wishing her mother near she holds Mumble Bunny close and nibbles his ears

Sonnet ~ Wednesday, 8 November 2017

My doppelgänger ghost haunts Mumbai an infant left behind restless soul never to speak never to sleep never to piss himself crying a storm even if we brought him instead of me my death would haunt his memory my brown baby brother my undelivered twin my stillborn infant troll only God or Satan can spare him suffering neglected unwanted neither God nor Satan care a lick for the boy he hides a spectral form Icarus never flew so close to the blue sun his gaze pure jeopardy Casimiro my twin also could not fly high he was born without wings 

Demons angels and God exist within the mind like a city haunted enigmatically by the cries of a dead child imagined as my own verité is not truth but narrative in style autofiction is lies I died unlike my twin when we left India a land I won't call home Casimiro the boy is just an invention a thriller without spies elegy for my life away from my homeland I the dead soul who sings

Defiance ~ Monday, 6 November 2017

If this is the meaning and measure of life I want nothing of it sometimes mother I wish I were an abortion or stillborn in your womb like my older brother a blue baby nearly strangled by his own cord ask whatever you want of me I will not serve you nor any dumb shit nitwit from our family I am done with all you argumentative cunts decide to remove me from your will I don't care all I wanted was love

not games where you attempt to control my balance with talk of shame and guilt only I would be so stupid to believe you loved me rot in your tomb together forever with your husband ashes and bones only day a sword in the form of a pen will cut your family down those who remain alive fear not that I should want revenge I shall not lift a finger to harm runts your favorite son helped bring into this world wretched beasts whom the waves will shove

under the sea until drowned such is the magic of language words have built noble works of grandeur but also cursed families who won't care for their own do whatever you like your descendants were doomed before I penned these words only remember if you can your kitchen knife against my wrist to thrive not only will I need to forget my childhood like ripples from a stone emanate from zero to dissipate along with tears of dodo birds

☆ Pardon ~ Saturday, 4 November 2017

Without a doubt it was entirely my fault I am to blame for not acting sooner for not showing remorse for not showing up before death took my father away where flames consumed his corpse to leave ashes and bones enter my world of shame where everything I do is wrong like getting caught reconnecting with friends my father told me not to contact nor to meet yes Ricky lit a fire Andy and Louis ran I stayed to put it out 

Excuses aside thin watery excuses deserve a good thrashing xenophobia in Southern California made me say shibboleth countless times to fit in as a foreign-born son who felt both sticks and stones under circumstances outside my own control my father beat me good sixty minutes later I lay crying in bed never could I entreat either of my parents to forgive and forget wrongs accrued without doubt 

Life in America was anything but milk and honey this flashing into reality the phenomenal world lifting away the veil quarrels with brown squirrels never advisable taught me with whom to fight under no condition never argue with mom she endured like redwood in the national parks of Sequoia and Kings Canyon where to travail deliberate hard work would deliver liquid to quench fires of delight

☆ Happiness ~ Saturday, 4 November 2017

I never got the chance to say goodbye to say thank you to my father silly to think four years later that gratitude would wash away the pain language leaves me speechless the confusion I felt just trying to make sense articulating why I never got along with my dad why bother needless explanations never answer questions but cover grief with lies difficult to stay true to not accept denial the family way for years

lifting the veil of fear and illusion from eyes that remember childhood only as a latch-key kid could in solitude with only tears to gain never did I know then how long I would suffer before I climbed the fence ending years of trauma by family torturers amateurs in the art leave me with my sorrow lonely and all alone looking into dark skies yellow diamonds at night speak the length of light years black treacle to my ears

surely honey attracts flies better than sea salt as I know now I stood honestly with no chance to stand up for myself I learned to keep quiet only to bite my tongue because no one wanted to listen to these words realize alcohol affects the future lives of your children to start effective relations in love or for business young men's hearts run riot simply from the hormones flooding the brain and blood with the songs of bluebirds

Critique Week ~ Tuesday, 31 October 2017

For those who read these words whether you choose to read these words before your eyes or some power greater than your own forces your hand to take part in an act reasonable people would choose otherwise than read words they do not choose gift or no gift a book creates its own value for those who see past lies except in your case since you never chose to read these words you cannot say to speak objectively what your own opinion is because your free will

is limited by choice by the fact you must do something for someone else given circumstances demand you do your job to read these words takes tact neglect to smile or look like you don't enjoy work someone may let you lose order and a semblance of control in your life for unemployment checks reasonable people would choose otherwise than read words that say their pay employment and lifestyle may all be affected by whether you fulfill

the simplest of duties do your job get it done don't complain if the belts restrict blood flow these straps help keep you motionless only your eyes may move as these constraints allow you to read or to choose otherwise than to read unless you find something else to do what else can be done other than flex muscles around the eyes and of course sit and breathe you have nothing to prove as you feel cursed locked in eternal damnation these words won't intercede

Hypocrisy ~ Tuesday, 24 October 2017

The homeless sit with signs

on any street corner

visible to the blind

Articles of bad faith

do little to assist

the lowest of the low

Rejects of our families

wandering the cities

neglected without care

Garbage whom collectors

toss away as useless

politicians refined

Elegant in smart suits

notice only problems

concerning their own wealth

Treasures no one else needs

for food clothing shelter 

matters not to the rich

Warren Buffett Bill Gates

worse than politicians

they could help restructure

Engineer poverty

save our ships save our souls

lost at sea ebb and flow

As tsunami waters

give way to destruction

love reaches out to share

Love is more than spare change

dropped into paper cups

without even a word

Treat others as ourselves

we break the golden rule

for the sake of our health

Happiness we pursue

costs our society

those left without a stitch

Rumors of solution

to rid One Chicago

of rodents whose nature

Only asks they survive

like fat cats of Wall Street

fed by our own neglect

Deny rats natural

predators leave garbage

feasts watch them multiply

Entertain this logic

cities become corrals

for roaming sheep we herd

No one person can lift

the poor from poverty

the President-Elect

Trump realized his dream

but fumbled the football

left homeless high and dry

Gwenhwyfar ~ Saturday, 21 October 2017

Farewell dear friend you turn into a white phantom a shadow of sorrow angelic rye whiskey your sultry bourbon voice born from Cuban cigars neck slender ghostly pale while ginger locks cascade in curly waves of red trust in the memory of your joyous spirit hidden like a sparrow on a branch in a bush locked away in my brain an emerald I keep safe like a lost treasure buried for two decades preserved in mason jars measure my days after you took your life nothing more ever to be said eclipse the sun and moon you pass like a comet in a tangerine coupe

Fasten your seat belt boy we're going for a ride this I dream as I sleep as I knock on your door your Karmann Ghia parked restless in the driveway sunny spring day before Memphis in May no one hears my knock at the door tell me you're still alive muffling silent tears your heart shaped with red clay enter to save your life I would if I had known to pay your debts your poor negative bank balance squeeze the blood to your brain lift you in one fell swoop

Hwæt! ~ Saturday, 21 October 2017

Since this is all we've got it was necessary for writers to invent other worlds only seen through the eyes of the mind to imagine people places and things not here right before us because this was too much to bear heros and heroines could save us from our plight we could escape get sent inside a space rocket to another planet or in a submarine adventure the deep sea encounter strange creatures venture to distant shores

We could not get away fast enough from this world and our mounting problems in fact storytelling was not so easy then the bell in the steeple should be rung thrice a day at morning noon and night to make the reader care despite their own worries that nothing could be done no problems could be solved of course we could open a book to get away to find a magic bean maybe a golden egg or a princess inside a tower behind locked doors

To imagine we could be someone we were not a cutter of fine gems each one found on a path within a dark forest lighting our way back home ragged and worn with wear we stumble into bed pick up a book and read read to our heart's content get thrown into new worlds ones where we felt involved or part of the project the solution to end hunger under the dome real problems can be solved step by step one riddle to solve one mouth to feed

Marginal Cost ~ Thursday, 19 October 2017

Unlike debtors' prison I work only part-time at my job a dead end nobody nowhere would choose without real benefits without enough income living like this is not a choice I made I fell through a crack in the floor I sent my paperwork for license to practice massage therapy bend key in slot watch it break I left on vacation to visit my parents envelope in my hand at the airport posted via certified mail

Diminishing returns an economic law on productivity effectively predicts levels of misery in my non-zero-sum bargain with the devil where if I lose someone else opens the locked door together my losses are equal to their gains who discovered this game Oskar Morgenstern was founder of game theory with John von Neumann dense reflection on mistakes makes me wonder how much salt water must I bail

Personally my hell is nothing like prison if subjectivity rewarded a person for ignorance of laws legal economic insuring that stupid social misfits like me make it and get along simply in a system that can't make up it's mind that cares only for fame only the rich wealthy beyond belief know rules broken make the poor sick nothing to be done then but suffer and wait for heaven to strike a gong

Intolerant ~ Wednesday, 18 October 2017

Opportunity knocks my obstinate head in again and again when the time comes round the bend the eternal return of the same like a game heretofore known as slam the front door in my face later known to others especially people who never call me back who write Dear John by pen remember my birthday seven months too late as burn me in effigy simply because I am not you I am not kin not foe nor even friend

Remind me the reason I am alive with you here standing before me even a glance will do but you give the hard stare as if I were to blame generally for the ills of the world they are mine and mine alone brother as you keep up the glare as if I were a freak who fell down the staircase really I fell from stars racing the galaxy with speed out of sheer glee damned if I will give in to ignorance and hate these messages you send

Butcher the homeowner before he hears the cat her meow an army entitled to settle to quarter for lodging in his house during war for peace no one shall find in our own day and time the house splintered to bits order the troops entrance to dine at the table they demand extra space remain available to play their wartime games some hide under the floor entranced by the ghost dance non-immigrant natives display as spirits flit

☆ Looney Tunes ~ Wednesday, 18 October 2017

Tempers flare at age ten when I was arrested put in a holding cell entirely alone except for my best friend who lit a small brush fire maybe I should have run like my other two friends who bolted when police put us in the back seat of a squad car and drove to the entrance of hell otherwise known as wrath that would descend like hail pummeling me with fists righteous with rage and feet kicking my ass from one room to the next his ire absolute relentless his displeasure bursting from his ears like dry ice little did I know then how memories remain hidden beneath the skin

Paterfamilias pushes the envelope for assault without risk opens the temporal portal into terror this son worse than the first restless for attention negating his chances to fit in with others together his family formed bonds against the boy unconscious unrehearsed accustomed as they were to tears they were not moved by the little brother life under my parent's roof was not my own to share their love like blood flows thin

☆ Hollow Smile ~ Tuesday, 17 October 2017

If I cannot finish my degree at the School of the Art Institute since my funding ran out with one semester left and only electives left for me to choose from as this problem is mine and mine alone to solve as no one seems to care whether a poor student succeeds or gets the boot never mind the loans due whether or not I get a scholarship or grant dependent on the powers that be to remember I am not an island 

Accountability for my actions my words spoken written in verse this curse to acknowledge future readers their needs for protective orders to keep the texts intact out of context language twisted devolves measures granted obtain values perverse to change meaning intent to slide into propaganda political motifs emerge from seeds to plant culpable agendas for timid hearts to grow and follow false demands 

Blinded by brilliant light atomic blasts ignite the desire to rehearse impressive explosions of power and might anger is a god filled with rage killing the enemy creates the wind that strips flesh from bone to make ash ignorance has no place in this war of egos world leaders must abide notice the hollow smile before the courts of law key holders are not sage in fact the red button insists war must be waged and won bikini flash

Beyond Essence ~ Monday, 16 October 2017

Born in a foreign land not unlike the blues song Born Under a Bad Sign otherwise than being the Other in ethics as first philosophy my experience as the son of immigrants was always without choice born as a foreigner always held at arms length by strangers who define acceptance of others as not domestic born as un-American Yahweh decides my fate as the Wandering Jew born Roman Catholic

Moving moving moving always moving elsewhere never to return home understanding nowhere I return to is home a life without trophy monstrous indeed I turn away as a retreat into myself rejoice becoming the monster I see within mirror the Minotaur of myth abused and disabused of faith in religion I ask the pelican ignorant as a child what direction to fly his reply was cryptic

Lonely within a crowd I struggled to make sense of life under the dome over and over time and again I remain the Other to strangers never to bond for long nothing lasts forever love is fleeting as sand dropping through a glass neck I count the hours I spend with friends and hold my breath ontologically time is being with others thrown into the dangers nobles of past sought out in battle to return home to the motherland

Hung Dead ~ Sunday, 15 October 2017

Pens are superfluous the stylus replaces the flow of ink with points of light against a screen we lose the need to write on paper in longhand of course cursive is out of fashion an old mode left to posterity forget you won first place in penmanship in grade school nobody cares joints

Garner more attention than a pen and pencil set for graduation only old fogies smoke stogies nowadays kids hit blunts with cigar band nicely swept away with the rest of the rubbish noted without pity elegies for the dead unlamented mourning forgotten songs unsung

Perhaps the weight of world affairs overwhelms some without adulation even our great leaders cannot engage in war in battle in a fight nevermind inscribe words to speak to the people unless they type a tweet

Forget about the past about our history for we have lost our sight our vision with clear mind and pure conscience to win outright thus to unseat global initiatives for apocalypse toll this bell sound bow unrung

Lucid Dreaming ~ Wednesday, 11 October 2017

After the collapse of socialism the rise of social media proliferates widely how do global changes of such diverse nature project onto the scene as if invisible forces tending machines engage the populace with new experiments as schizophrenia articulates our loss of contact with the real for the virtual feel recent gaming cadres invoke with drone warfare collateral damage

Antonio watches as missiles go awry off target to attack people not intended in the piloted strike our apparent failure properly to assess the likelihood of harm inflicted by Marines eager to end conflict abroad and return home to their own flesh and bone aircraft projectiles bomb civilians in their homes who have no time to deal limited in vision with their impending doom who survives will salvage

Aspirations to live as non-combatants in their own insomniac troubled landscape between lucid dreaming and hell on earth while their nightmare terrors often fly past to reach another post an intended target Antonio watches his home and family taken out by a drone coming back from his job as an interpreter he stands stock-still and stares keys in hand as he drops the roses for his wife he bought at the market

☆ Old Farts ~ Sunday, 8 October 2017

I was born in Bombay a city of millions in nineteen sixty-nine but just three months later my mom dad and brother moved away to London even though they took me with them my ghost remains haunting those Mumbai streets restless soul runs circles while I run marathons summoned by the divine imperative to fly with wings of messengers until I return home aging eternally until I become one with my Tartarus shade

Endlessly wandering with Sagittarian parents we moved again Middlesex where I said goodbye to Amanda westward across the pond because my dad worked as a flight controller for Air India his beats asked him to move to Queens New York in Kew Gardens we stayed for just two years rest assured I was five years old before we moved under the sunny dome killer of flesh and blood melanoma city to the home I can't trade

As for Huntington Beach where I was treated as foreign I can't complain simple people struggle to make a living here they compete with put downs such experiences left their mark but my friends kept me in check their hearts assented to my own eccentric character warped by beatings and tears I live as an adult child of alcoholic spirits who wore the crowns like a king and his queen I never seemed to fit their family scheme old farts

Heard ~ Tuesday, 3 October 2017

Time presents itself as impressions fleeting and ephemeral as clouds each sensation of light registers in the brain as intervals or frames moments appear like film to disappear into canisters where movies project images and sound onto a blank screen in a playhouse where crowds organize their own thoughts around your memories images pass before retina cornea lens whence photoreceptors devour with rods and cones actions betray the soul for the gods to observe unlike mortals who gaze longingly with hunger at each other to no avail none carries shame

Like a human being guilt hides deep in their hearts for they confuse duties over honor and greed over their own conscience they thirst for drunken nights but who am I to hold them in contempt of court when my nature abhors elaborate vacuums of social graces such lies unfold fears in our bones

Solely the lonely man observes much like the gods but through the divine haze pupils cannot witness the past as memories like a movie with scenes elegantly opposed as by a director to highlight past mistakes elegies of our youth so widespread as to paint screens and canvas with flights colored by fantasy torture murder and rape if ends justify means hatred glorifies harm who am I but poet whose speech makes nations quake