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We are what we repeatedly do.

quote by Aristotle
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I Choose To Heal

I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.

Tears cried as others measured my pain,
On a scale from one to ten...
Are days I've chosen not to live.
Again!
And again.
AND...again without end.

Why should I celebrate my agony,
On a regular basis?
What does doing this for me achieve?
A hatred and bitterness I pray from me will leave?
Or a constant search to seek validation,
How miserable my life lived can be?

NO!
For others that may be so,
To acknowledge without a letting go.
But for me...
My happiness comes with the knowing,
I can forgive.
Not forgot!
My mind wont let me do it.
But make attempts to forgive I can do.

I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
I choose not to keep my healing wounds,
Left to pick to bleed repeatedly in anger.

I choose with faith,
That God will handle my business.
I choose with faith,
God has my back.
And will correct all that has gone wrong,
To make right for my life.

I choose with faith,
That God will handle my business.
I choose to heal,
Not to relive moments of my agonies.
I already know what it takes to moan.
I already know that process.
I've renewed my commitment to living.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Revolution

Intro(bob marley)
Within 2000 years christ shall return and when I return I goin to be king of
Kings...
Marley brothers
Thats rev...thats rev...thats rev...thats rev...
Krayzie get up...my soldiers, ride...
Bob marley
Revolution in my heart/ oh, they tearin us apart/ we been wastin so much time/
Revolution on
My mind/ everyday problems in the world they maximize/ now tell me how much
Blood must be shed, oh realize things
And times get drastic; a revolution is the only way/ stop this internal warfare,
Yeah...
Marley brothers thats rev...thats for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob marley roll in a bomb-drop cry...soldiers all positions.
Krayzie
I wanna talk about a revolution/ should we talk about a revolution, a
Revolution? come on, I think its time
Its already 1999/ this is real; we ready for revolution/ we said that we tired,
We ready tonight, and we gon ride, ride, ride
With the warriors; we makin a push on babylon the great, better hurry up/ we
Doin it like that; combat on contact
So the police get bombed back/ that gunpowder from my gun got my palms black/ as
We roll and we hit up the rest we chase
The police; we done flipped the script and set a new record/ we send em to
Fire, to flames, we heat and we hot/ cussin
While they flossin shots/ marchin double barrels buckin/ mark the target,
Aint for talkin/ squashin every enemy walkin
And bomb em/ we need to suit up in boots/ recruit us some troops to start
Mashin/ Im packin my sawed off and Im called off
Im called off...
Bob marley
Revolution on my mind(krayzie yeah) we been wastin so much time/ revolution in
My heart/ they been tearin us apart
Everyday problems in the world they maximize/ and tell me how much blood must be
Shed, oh realize things and times get
Drastic/ a revolution is the only way/ stop this internal warfare, yeah...
Marley brothers thats rev...thats for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob marley soldiers all positions...green beret cover formation....roll in a
Bomb-drop cry and bomb down that institution
Krayzie get up...my soldiers, ride...
Marley brothers thats rev...thats for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob marley soldiers all positions...green beret cover formation

song performed by Krayzie Bone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Revolution (feat. The Marley Brothers)

Intro(Bob Marley)
Within 2000 years Christ shall return "and when I return I goin' to be king of
kings...
Marley Brothers
That's rev...that's rev...that's rev...that's rev...
Krayzie Get up...my soldiers, ride...
Bob Marley
Revolution in my heart/ Oh, they tearin' us apart/ We been wastin' so much time/
Revolution on
my mind/ Everyday problems in the world they maximize/ Now tell me how much
blood must be shed, oh realize things
And times get drastic; A revolution is the only way/ Stop this internal warfare,
yeah...
Marley Brothers That's rev...That's for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob Marley Roll in a bomb-drop cry...Soldiers all positions.
Krayzie
I wanna talk about a revolution/ Should we talk about a revolution, a
revolution? Come on, I think it's time
It's already 1999/ This is real; we ready for revolution/ We said that we tired,
we ready tonight, and we gon' ride, ride, ride
With the warriors; We makin' a push on Babylon The Great, better hurry up/ We
doin' it like that; combat on contact
So the police get bombed back/ That gunpowder from my gun got my palms black/ As
we roll and we hit up the rest we chase
the police; we done flipped the script and set a new record/ We send 'em to
fire, to flames, we heat and we hot/ Cussin'
while they flossin' shots/ Marchin' double barrels buckin'/ Mark the target,
ain't for talkin'/ Squashin' every enemy walkin'
And bomb 'em/ We need to suit up in boots/ Recruit us some troops to start
mashin'/ I'm packin' my sawed off and I'm called off
I'm called off...
Bob Marley
Revolution on my mind(Krayzie Yeah) We been wastin' so much time/ Revolution in
my heart/ They been tearin' us apart
Everyday problems in the world they maximize/ And tell me how much blood must be
shed, oh realize things and times get
drastic/ A revolution is the only way/ Stop this internal warfare, yeah...
Marley Brothers That's rev...That's for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob Marley Soldiers all positions...Green Beret cover formation....Roll in a
bomb-drop cry and bomb down that institution
Krayzie Get up...my soldiers, ride...
Marley Brothers That's rev...That's for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob Marley Soldiers all positions...Green Beret cover formation

song performed by Krayzie Bone
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Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 01 - Summer

"Oh, dear, this utterly sweltering season of the highly rampant sun is drawing nigh, and it will always be good enough to go on taking daytime baths, as the lakes and rivers will still be with plenteous waters, and at the end of the day, nightfall will be pleasant with fascinating moon, and in such nights Love-god can somehow be almost mollified...[who tortured us in the previous vernal season... but now without His sweltering us, we can happily enjoy the nights devouring cool soft drinks and dancing and merrymaking in outfields...]

"Oh, beloved one, somewhere the moon shoved the blackish columns of night aside, somewhere else the palace-chambers with water [showering, sprinkling and splashing] machines are highly exciting, and else where the matrices of gems, [like coolant pearls and moon-stone, etc.,] are there, and even the pure sandalwood is liquefied [besides other coolant scents,] thus this season gets an adoration from all the people...

"The beloved ones will enjoy the summer's clear late nights while they are atop the rooftops of buildings that are delightful and fragranced well, while they savour the passion intensifiers like strong drinks and while the ladylove's face suspires the bouquets of those drinks together with melodious instrumental and vocal music...

"The women are ameliorating the heat of their lovers with their chicly silken coolant fineries gliding onto their rotund fundaments, for they are knotted loosely, and on those silks glissading are their golden cinctures with their dangling tassels that are unfastened on and off, and with their buxom bosoms that are bedaubed with sandal-paste and semi-covered with pearly strings and golden lavalieres, and with their locks of hair that are sliding onto their faces, which locks are fragrant with bath-time emulsions, which are just applied before their oil bath...

"Brightly coloured with the reddish foot-paint that is akin to the colour of lac's reddish resin, adorned with anklets that are festooned with jingling bells, whose tintinnabulations on their stepping after stepping mimic the clucks of swans, with such feet those women with bumpy behinds are rendering the hearts of people impassioned, in these days of pre-summer...

"These days the bosoms of womenfolk are bedaubed with scents and sandal-paste, and they are given out to snowily and whitely pearly pendants that are sported on those bosoms, and even their hiplines are with the dangling golden griddle-strings, with such a lovely ostentation whose heart is it, that does not fill with raptures...

"The seams of limbs of ladies of age are conquered by the often emerging sweat, thus those peaky bosomed lustful ladies are presently banding their bosoms with softish fineries, casting aside their roughish apparels ...

"The rustles of air comprising the aroma of watered sandal-paste, blown off by the fans with peacocks' plumage, and the rustle of strings of pearls when the roundish bosoms of loves are hugged, together with the subtle melody of string instruments, and subtly sung intonations of singers, now appear to awaken Love-god, Manmatha, who is as though asleep after his manoeuvres in the last spring season...

"On leisurely seeing the faces of the maids that are comfortably sleeping well on the tops of whitish edifices, the moon of these nights is highly ecstasized, for he is unpossessed with any such flawless face, as his own face is flawed with rabbit-like, deer-like foibles, and when the night dwindles, he doubtlessly goes into state of pallidity, as though ashamed to show his face to the flawless sun...

"The intolerable westerly wind of the summer is up-heaving the clouds of dust, even the earth is ablaze, set by the blazing sun, and the itinerants whose hearts are already put to blaze by the blazing called the detachment from their ladyloves, and now it has become impossible for them even to look at the blazing earth, to tread further...

"The reigning sun's torridity rendered the animals parched, and with unquenchable thirst highly shrivelled are their tongues, throats and lips, and on seeing kneaded blackish mascara like mirages on the sky in another forest, that are cloudlike in their shine, those animals are rushing there, presuming them to be water...

"The women of charm are with smiles and slanted looks, and now they are on par with the twilights that are ornamented with a beautiful ornament called moon, and they are now decorating themselves confusedly and they are inciting the incorporeal Love-god in the hearts of itinerants...

"Extremely seared by the rays of sun, and even by the already seared dust on the pathway, with its slithery motion and downcast hood, repeatedly suspiring when being scalded thus awfully, that serpent is sinking down under the pave of peacock's plumage, distrait of the fact that a peacock is an enemy of serpents, thus distrait is the relative danger from a born enemy or from the searing summer...

"Thwarted are the valorousness and venturesomeness of that king of animals, the lion, for the thirst is abnormal, thereby gaping his mouth much lengthily, and suspiring repeatedly with a lengthened and dangling tongue, and repeatedly whisking his frontal hair of the mane, that lion is not pawing the elephants, though they are at his nearby, and though they both of them are born rivals, thus the scalding summer cooled off their mutual contempt...

"Verily dried up are their throats, but somehow some cool water remaining in their trunks is brought to those dry throats with the prehensility of their trunks, but too scanty is that water for those mega-vores, further muchly scorched by sun's scorching rays and overpowered by heightened thirst, even those water-seeking tuskers are unafraid of those nearby lions, as negligible is the physical danger than the natural danger...

"The scorching sunrays that are akin to the tongues of blazed up Ritual-fire, by them the bodies as well as the souls of peacocks are wilted, thus they wedge their faces in the pack of their plumage for certain coolness, and though they mark the serpents that are milling about under the very same plumage through the plumes and feathers, they peck not those serpents to death, as their priority is to cool off their faces and heads...

"The slime in the ponds is dried up but in some areas Bhadramusta grass is available, and while the herd of wild boars is digging up that grass with their long and broad snouts for a piggish slumber, the sunrays have highly sweltered their backs, but that herd dug the dry swamp more and more, as though to enter the interior of earth, to get a mucky, miry, muddy slumber...

"With the unbearable prickly heat of sunrays highly seared is a frog, and jumping up from a pond with mud and muddy water, it jumped to sit under the shade of a parasol, called the hood of a snake... neither thirstier frog is aware that it is the shade of a snake's hood, nor the thirstiest snake is aware that it is shading a thirsty frog...

"When each other elephant is highly huddling, belaboured is that lake by their elephantine limbs, and completely uprooted are the tall slender stems of lilies and lotuses of that lake, without any remnants of standing lotuses or lilies, thus trampled and agglutinated with mud, they are heaped up under the feet of elephants, and ill-fated are the fishes when trodden by elephants underfoot, and the Saarasa waterfowls are fleeing with fear of this rumpus...

"Akin to sunshine upcast is irradiance of the jewel on its hood, and wigwagging is its twinned tongue licking the air, and it is seared by its own venom, by fiery soil, and by the searing sun as well, and thus tottering thirstily, that hooded serpent is not draining the dregs of frogs, to the dregs...

"Frothily gaping and reeling are the two-pieced snouts, and jerkily extruding are the lightly reddened tongues, and staggering thirstily looking for water with upraised snouts, those herds of she-buffalos are extruding from the caves of mountain with such snouts and gaits, wherein they took shade from the scorching sun so far, but thirst drove them out of those cool caves...

"Extremely withered as though by wildfire and utterly shrivelled are the tender stalks of crops, and windswept by harsh winds they are uprooted and completely wilted and reduced to straw, and all over scorched are they in an overall manner as the water is evaporated, and if seen from highlands till the end of forest, this summer is foisting upon the onlookers a kind of disconcert, as the straw in the wind about the monsoon is unnoticeable...

"Perching on the trees with wilted leaves, flocks of birds are hyperventilating, the overtired troops of monkeys are going nigh of viny caves on the mountain, the water-craving herds of buffalos are rambling hither and thither, the straight flying Sharabha birds are nose-diving into wells and easily lifting up the water...

"The wildfire, that is simulative of a just blossomed bright and fierily ochreish safflower, is exceedingly speedy and further whipped up by the speed of the wind it is eagerly embracing the treetops, that are on the banks of lakes and rivers, with tongues of fire, onto which trees the apices of climber plants are eager to embrace, thus that wildfire has burnt down every quarter of land, in a trice...

"That wildfire, now intensified by the gusts, is blazing the valleys of mountains, and thus skittering across it entered the stands of bamboos, only to shatter them in a second with clattering rattles, then escalated by gusts it is overspreading the straw fields, then from their within, on smacking the perimeter of straw-field, it is broiling the herds of deer, tumultuously ...

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
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The Cloud Messenger - Part 04

The slender young woman who is there would be the premier creation by the
Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a
slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelle’s, a deep navel, a gait slow on account
of the weight of her hips, and who is somewhat bowed down by her breasts.

You should know that she whose words are few, my second life, is like a
solitary female cakravaka duck when I, her mate, am far away. While these
weary days are passing, I think the girl whose longing is deep has taken on an
altered appearance, like a lotus blighted by frost.

Surely the face of my beloved, her eyes swollen from violent weeping, the
colour of her lower lip changed by the heat of her sighs, resting upon her
hand, partially hidden by the hanging locks of her hair, bears the miserable
appearance of the moon with its brightness obscured when pursued by you.

She will come at once into your sight, either engaged in pouring oblations, or
drawing from memory my portrait, but grown thin on account of separation,
or asking the sweet-voiced sarika bird in its cage, ‘I hope you remember the
master, O elegant one, for you are his favourite’;

Or having placed a lute on a dirty cloth on her lap, friend, wanting to sing a
song whose words are contrived to contain my name, and somehow plucking
the strings wet with tears, again and again she forgets the melody, even
though she composed it herself;

Or engaged in counting the remaining months set from the day of our
separation until the end by placing flowers on the ground at the threshold, or
enjoying acts of union that are preserved in her mind. These generally are the
diversions of women when separated from their husbands.

During the day, when she has distractions, separation will not torment her so
much. I fear that your friend will have greater suffering at night without
distraction. You who carry my message, positioned above the palace roof-top,
see the good woman at midnight, lying on the ground, sleepless, and cheer her
thoroughly.

Grown thin with anxiety, lying on one side on a bed of separation, resembling
the body of the moon on the eastern horizon when only one sixteenth part
remains, shedding hot tears, passing that night, lengthened by separation,
which spent in desired enjoyments in company with me would have passed in
an instant.

Covering with eyelashes heavy with tears on account of her sorrow, her eyes
which were raised to face the rays of the moon, which were cool with nectar
and which entered by way of the lattice, fall again on account of her previous
love, like a bed of land-lotuses on an overcast day, neither open nor closed.

She whose sighs that trouble her bud-like lower lip will surely be scattering
the locks of her hair hanging at her cheek, dishevelled after a simple bath,
thinking how enjoyment with me might arise even if only in a dream, yearning

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
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Bush Wacked Liberty

bush wacked liberty courtesy of skull and bones mentality
an illuminati president bush wacked citizens into clone senility
repeatedly boasted proud published rhetoric memoirs gory glory
ghost written claimed waterboarding is not form torture insanity
forcing tortured suspects to swallow heinous bush crime cruelty

forcing citizen clone people to swallow heinous bush policy
torturous might is right torture is bush legacy crime cruelty
victims drowning under control conditions without mercy
agony drowning once traumatic struggle military preliminary
agony drowning cells dying fighting denied life breath humility

agony drowning traumatic struggle resident evil repeatedly
inflicts on fellow human suspect beings drowned repeatedly
suspects innocent until proven guilty is not bush justice mentality
locked up Guantanamo suspects detainees tortured indiscriminately
torture of the innocent wins hearts minds of good people globally?

See also the poem ‘Government By The People For The People'.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Certifiably Delusioned

I know,
You prefer the taste of your life sweet.
And I seem to be repeatedly embittered.
I admit it!
Now...
Which one of us is certifiably delusioned?

I can not escaped from the experience of my scars.
Have you ever made attempts to live your life,
Without tasting anything that had not been pre-sweetened?

I know,
You prefer the taste of your life sweet.
And I seem to be repeatedly embittered.
I admit it!
Now...
Which one of us is certifiably delusioned?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Giving The Attention

If someone finds they are reminding another,
Repeatedly...
Of a disrespect shown and done,
Maybe another approach would be...
Is to not be the one repeatedly,
Giving the attention to remind them.
Sometimes absence delivers a message.
But then again,
Some are so accustomed to being disrespectful...
It has to be part of their D.N.A.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Carrolling II-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song

Carolling II

He Thought He Saw

He thought he saw new Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and found it was
a mirage for each year
sees more control, “what rôle, ” he said,
“for values once held dear?
Some track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.'

He dreamt he saw spam disappear,
all consultations free,
he looked again and found it was
a spybot lottery.
“Is net neutrality”, he said,
“from rash risks viral clear? ”

He dreamt that Microsoft would steer
all trash deleted fast,
then woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello,
with an attachment piece,
he looked again and found it was
the porno scanning police.
“Politically correct”, he said,
“can’t guarantee release.”

He opened it, discovered though,
a trojan horse to fleece –
he looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice hoarse and low:
'when will our worries cease? ”

He thought he saw a hierophant,
who’d deal successful life,
he looked again and found it was
subpoena from ex-wife
demanding child support, he said,
“cards are cut by Time’s knife.”

He looked once more with rage and rant
and swore like a fishwife

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 02 - Rainy Season

"Oh, dear, now the kingly monsoon is onset with its clouds containing raindrops, as its ruttish elephants in its convoy, and with skyey flashes of lighting as its pennants and buntings, and with the thunders of thunderbolts as its percussive drumbeats, thus this rainy season has come to pass, radiately shining forth like a king, for the delight of voluptuous people...

"By far, the vault of heaven is overly impregnated with massive clouds, that are similar to the gleam of blackish petals of black-costuses... somewhere they are similar to the glitter of the heaps of well-kneaded blackish mascara... and elsewhere they glisten like the blackened nipples of bosoms of pregnant women, ready to rain the elixir of life on the lips of her offspring, when that offspring is actualised...

"The stock of Caataka birds that is disquieted with thirst, and though praying prayerfully for raindrops, those water-filled danglers in the sky, namely the clouds, that have many showers to shower, and though their rumblings are heart-stealing and ear-filling indicating rainfall, but those clouds are drifting away, slowly... heedless of the prayers of poor Caataka birds...

"The clouds in their warrior-march are wielding crashes of thunderbolts as their drum kits, and the flashes of lightning as the fluttering flashes of the bowstring of rainbow, and even they are unloosening very sharp arrows from that rainbow, called the sharply torrents, only to rend the lovelorn hearts of itinerants, that too ruthlessly... in their war on behalf of their ladyloves...

"The earth with grass sprouts seems spread with lapis gems that are shred to smithereens, for the grass has yet not attained that much greenery, and muchly sprouted and overspread are the greenish leaves of Kandali plants that suddenly sprout in rainy seasons, and amidst which greensward red insects are muchly mosaicked, thus the earth is beaming forth like a best lady decorated in many coloured jewels, other than whitish diamonds and other crystalline ones...

"This cloudy and showery environ is evermore heart-pleasing to peacocks, hence they are screaming with hilarity and fidgety, and the whole stock of peacocks is brilliant when its fanlike expansive plumage is outstretched, and on impulsively petting and pecking peahens, now they have commenced their peacock-dance

"Highly intensified is the rapidity of the waters of these maidens called rivers, which similes with the promptitude of maidens with misdemeanour, where these waters are new and thus miry, while those dames are newly maturated and thus they are in the mire of maturity, while these waters are hurtling hastily towards their lover, called the ocean, with a seasonally created excitement, those damsels are flirtatiously jaunting with their flirty lovers, and in doing so both of them are reckless about their own kith and kin, since the rapid watercourse of rivers is felling its riverine trees, ubiquitously... and the flirty jaunting of those dames is felling the reputation of her family, far and wide... ah, a season is the culprit to cause a seasonal itch...

"With the advent of rains upshot are the tender sprouts of grass, and the greensward when grazed by deer and other grazers, it is divers in its hue, somewhere with blackish patches, elsewhere with stacks of grass, and somewhere else with verdant pastures, and with their upcast tender leaflets the trees are ornately decorating the Vindhya mountains, thus the environ is heart-stealing, picturesquely...

"Oh, dear, sheeny are the faces of the deer with their swiftly zipping eyes, which are akin to black-lotuses and to your eyes as well, and they the deer and you, zip your eyes more and more, when there is a thunder or a rumble, then you run into my embrace, as they run to overcrowd the white sand-beds amidst lushly thickets of forests, and this georgic beauty of forests and the graceful beauty of yours, all this is promptly rendering the heart highly ecstatic...

"Though the cloud-cover rendered the nights as pitch-dark, and though thundering is thunderous, and though the pathways on ground are indiscernible for it is pitch-black, even in such nights the lover-seeking women are making haste on those paths, that are indiscernibly shown by the flashes of torch-lights, called the flashes of lightning, for they are impassioned to meet their lovers, to all intents and purposes...

A couple sleeping on a bed, but each at the each end of that bed, and when her man is in sound sleep, she is without any rapid eye-movement, for she is thinking that rapidly about the peccadilloes of her man with some 'other' woman/women, and when she wanted to conclude her man to be a beguiler, as said guuDha vi priya kR^it SaThaH 'one who performs libidinous deeds stealthily, is a beguiler...' then a thunderous cloud thundered thunderingly, and in a trice she embraced her man in an airtight manner, notwithstanding his slyness, for he is her man... thus the seasons unite the divided...

"While their lotus-like eyes are shedding teardrops that are moistening their delicate and tender leaf-like lower lips, that are crimson in colour like Bimba fruit, a lip-like small gourd fruit that becomes crimson red when ripened, and they are rejecting their garlands, ornaments or cosmetics, for those ladyloves of itinerants are staying back at home, hopeless of the return of their men in this season, as said proSite malinaa kR^ishaa 'by sojourners enmired and emaciated are their wives...' thus the seasons divide the united...

"Though the rainwater is new and crystalline but when collected by river it turned to whitish yellow colour of the soil, for begrimed is the river water with dirt, grass, and insects, and when it is skittering off in a serpiginous course facing a declivitous path towards ocean, the stock of frogs that have come out of that river seeking rain, they have observed that river with some trepidation, for those frogs are sceptical whether a python is snaking or a pythonic river is slinking...

"Rains denuded the flowers of their petals, therefor on abandoning the petal-less lotuses the honeybees, solicitous of nectar and desirous to swarm the newborn peacock-coloured costuses, buzzing mellifluously they are muddle-headedly swarming on the circular fanlike plumages of peacocks, that are twitch-dancing in the rain...

"When dark clouds full with new waters are thundering repeatedly, the ruttish wild elephants are repeatedly responding them with their own trumpeting, on the premiss that the thunders are the trumping of the 'other-she-elephants' in rut, and while the cheeks of those elephants are shining like the shiny black-lotuses, and rife with ruttish tallowy fluids, hordes of honeybees are harrying them, for that tallowy stench...

"The silver clouds that vie with the whiteness of white lotuses are kissing the black boulders of mountains on mountaintops, while the mountainsides are bestrewn with mountain-rapids, and widespread with debut dancing of peacocks, and all this is inducing a carnivalesque visual revelry...

"The zephyr is smoothly ruffling the treetops of Kadamba, Sarja, Arjuna and Ketaki trees in woodlands, and the fragrance of those flowers is wafting windswept, further allied with the coolant clouds that are with cool droplets of rainwater, the breeze in this rainy season is muchly fragranced and coolant as well, then why can't this breeze breath affair of the heat in any heart...

"While the braids are dangling down onto the convexities of the their fundaments, their heads coroneted with flowers of fine fragrance and while the pearly pendants are dangling from upon the convexities of their breasts, and while their gleeful faces are aromatic with strong drinks, thus these voluptuous women are niftily arousing arousal in their lovers...

"Well decorated are the water-bearing blackish clouds with the wiry flashes of lightning and with rainbows, and they are flashily dangling down with the weight of water, likewise the jewelly ear-hangings and waist-strings of the womenfolk are dangling down that flashily, thus even those vivacious women are instantly stealing the hearts of sojourners, for these exotic women are reminiscent of the ladyloves of those sojourners...

"Now the women are wearing the concatenated tassels of newborn flowers of Kadamba, Kesara, and Ketaki trees, and at the place of hairslide they are wearing the bunches of flowers of Kakubha trees as their ear-hangings, on concatenating them as they like...

"These days the women are not applying sandal-paste that is mixed with yellow camphor etc., for it will be too coolant, and hence their limbs are quietly bedaubed with the powder of aloe vera and sandal-paste as bodily scents, and with flowers bedecked as ear-hangings at hairslides, their plaited hairdo is rendered fragrant with these flowers and shampoos, such as they are, they are in the service of their in-laws in their chambers, but on hearing the rumbles of clouds, they are hastening themselves to their own bedchambers, where their men are in long wait, though the nightfall has not fallen that deep...

"The far-flung clouds are blackish like the black-lotus petals, enchased with rainbows, and they are now stooping, as with Manmadha, the Love-god, who stoops to take an aim with his love-bow, and then lightly whiffed by the whiffle of wind these clouds are milling about slowly and slowly, and the young wives of wayfarers, who are disconcerted mainly by the reason of separation from their men, and additionally by these whifflling, milling, stooping archers, called clouds, wielding rainbows as their love-bows, as they seem coming slowly and slowly only to steal the hearts of the lonely young wives of wayfarers...

"When new waters are besprinkled abated is the ardour of the forest, up to its endmost parts, that was once caused by the simmering summer, and with the newborn flowers of Kadamba trees that forest appears as though gladdened, and when the wind is whiffling the boughs, whiffled boughs are dancing as though to the tune of rumbling clouds, and in that dance the whitish needle-like blades of Mogra flowers are appearing to be that forest's whitish toothy grins, and all-over the forest it bears those grins and giggles...

"In this rainy season when congeries of clouds have showered enough, plethoric is the flowery blossom, hence the womenfolk embed their hairdos with the tassels of Maalati flowers together with Vakula flowers, and with other new blossomy flowers, and the tassels of new buds of Kadamba flowers are pinned and pensile like their ear-hangings, and this has all the hallmarks of lovers, that decorate the hairdos of their ladyloves, themselves with their own hands...

"The women are wearing sets of chains of pearls on the top of their busty bosoms, and on their beamy pelvic girdles and on their torsos a very thin and white finery, and those torsos wear a delicately crimpy triple-waistline, while their belly wears a very fine hairline that suggests their maturity, which bristles up with the sprinkles of new water...

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poem by Kalidasa
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Images Presented

The image that's presented,
Determines how impressive...
Those pretentious rush to protect.
And the image that's presented,
Has less to do with intellect.
Or competence and its effect,
Upon those expecting...
Much more than an image projected to accept.

Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!

Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented,
Do not feed!
Those images presented,
No one needs now!

Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.

Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.

Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.

Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Strungout

The same tactics used repeatedly,
And over and over again in changing times.
Lose their affectiveness,
And the attention they get.

Like an alcoholic who drinks.
Or one addicted to drugs.
A conditioning process has been instilled.
Those highs once enjoyed,
Produce a lesser thrill!

It's like going through the motions,
And devoted to an expectation!
When sensations aren't achieved...
Folks like these blame God.
Or claim they know Him.
But somehow their faith is not strong enough...
To give them what they need,
To identify results they anticipated.

However...
They remain in varying stages,
Reminiscing about those good times
When everything was fine.
And they got what they wanted...
Until that no longer satisfied.
So,
Of course...
Something or someone,
Had to be found guilty or at fault...
For not delivering what they wanted and when!

The same tactics used repeatedly,
And over and over again in changing times.
Lose their effectiveness,
And the attention they get.
Like a child with a toy,
Who begins to annoy...
When that toy has satisfied their whims!

Much like having a variety of religions...
All professing to know God.
But the people are at odds,
As to how this 'Oneness' should be depicted!

Leaving everyone 'strungout' and hyped up...
Physically debilitated!
Intoxicated and stupefied!
To reach for something,
That doesn't quite meet their needs.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Seem Detached From Stress

I admit to feeling honored.
And also repeatedly blessed.
To have someone like you,
Make comments...
About those confessions I profess,
And express with an openness...
To seem detached from stress.

I am not always as secure,
As I seem when attempting to impress.
I just feel what I say comes from an honesty.
And being true to myself,
Sometimes has created my own loneliness...
That has left me with moments of distressed.

I admit to feeling honored.
And also repeatedly blessed.
To have someone like you,
Make comments...
About those confessions I profess,
That expresses an openness...
To seem detached from stress.

But I am not that different,
From those wishing more...
And not less,
Of those moments I regret...
To have a happiness,
That will leave me to be...
Feeling free to be at my best.

Without experiencing an aloneness,
Through what is felt at times...
An unwinding road confined,
To a wilderness...
That sits inside,
Of an inquisitive mind.
Traveling as it does without any sign of rest.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Traveling Backwards

They have lost all support.
And still wish to lip negativity.
Their ignorance is used for sport,
For those who see them as blinded bats...
Dwelling in caves and in deep sleep.

Repeatedly their conversations,
Chase moments that keep them in the past.
Stuck in minds behind the times,
Traveling backwards...
And doing that fast!

They have lost all support.
And still wish to lip negativity.
Their ignorance is used for sport,
For those who see them as blinded bats...
Dwelling in caves and in deep sleep.

Repeatedly their conversations,
Chase moments that keep them in the past.
Stuck in minds behind the times,
Traveling backwards...
And doing that fast!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Restorant of Kintamani

From behind glass
Window Of Restaurant Kintamani
He talked
Again and again
Looking to far away
Blue surface of the Batur lake
To unite firmly with The mount Batur foot
Blak-green colour
To form a straigt-line of horizone
To unite with haze
To unite with the cold air
To bite imy dept skin and bone
That start porous
To bite repeatedly
To bite repeatedly my old memory
That had left behind
To become shadow
Which follow me
Where ever I go
I will run
To go down the mountain
To the lake side
And to dive in
In the dept
of thy secret
to drown all my memory
in the dept
on thy lake
but I doubt
that I could
to do that

I still silently
Still hearing
She told me
Her stories
While I am hearing
Rusling of the leaves
The leaves rustled in the wind
Blow in my heart niche
I left it precipatate/settled
In the bottom
Of my life lakes
Self
(Kintamani, Bali, Saturday, July 15,2006

poem by Prasetya Utama
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God Gave Me No Rest Repeatedly

God charged me
with catalytic energy
which permeates
every pore of my being

God poked me
repeatedly with
first line symptoms
again and again

God tormented me
repeatedly impeded my rest
driving line into mind
relentlessly remorselessly

God persistently plagued me
tormenting thought emotions
denying sleep release constantly
until I got up and commenced his will

Adonai Elohoim thou art my Lord God
and my eternal creator I thy willful servant

Adonai Elohoim thou givest me no rest
let thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven

Copyright © Terence George Craddock
The word Adonai (my Lord) , was substituted for God’s personal name. To avoid having Adonai Yud-Heh-Vav-Heh read as Adonai twice in a row, the Jewish practice is to say Adonai Elohim. Therefore Adonai (my Lord) Elohim (God) . The word elohim means ‘gods’ and ‘judges’. Yeshua (Jesus) uses all three meanings in his word play at John 10: 33-36.33‘The Judeans replied, “We are not stoning you for any good deed, but for blasphemy – because you, who are only a man, are making yourself out to be God [Hebrew: Elohim].” 34Yeshua answered them, “Is it not written in your Torah [Law], ‘I have said, “you people are Elohim’ ”? 35If he called ‘elohim’ [gods] the people to whom the word of Elohim [God] was addressed (and the Tanakh [Scripture] cannot be broken) ,36then are you telling the one whom the Father set apart as holy [sanctified] and sent into the world, ‘You are committing blasphemey, ’ just because I said, ‘I am a son of Elohim’ [God]?
Ultra-Orthodox Jews only use names like Adonai and Elohim in specific religious settings. Euphemisms like HaShem (the Name) , Ado-shem (Adonai combined with HaShem) and Elokim, (the intentional mispronunciation of Elohim) are substituted. Jews do not pronounce Yahweh or Yahveh either and it is not accurately known, if these are true representations of the Name. Jehovah is the English representation of the Name (J-H-V-H) combined with the vowel sounds of Adonai, however most Bibles write God’s name as Lord in either large or small capitals.
God’s personal name was too sacred and could not be written in Hebrew, the language God wrote the ten commandments in. In condensed form it consists of the four letters Yud-Heh-Vav-Heh, and therefore is called the Tetragrammaton, (four letter writing) . God revealed himself to Moses and told him his own personal name, when Moshe was in the wilderness of Midyan, and went to investigate the bush that burned, without consuming itself. The Tetragrammaton was too holy to be written or spoken. The third commandment prohibits taking God’s name in vain Exodus 20: 27; Deuteronomy 5: 11. Anyone who used the name as a curse was put to death at God’s instructions by stoning Leviticus 2410-23.
Because the Tetragrammaton was too holy to be written or spoken, in Yeshua’s (Jesus’) time only the cohen hagadol (high priest) , could speak this name aloud when he entered the holy of holies in the temple once a year, to make atonement for the sins of Israel on Yom Kippur. The actual vowels used to pronounce the Tetragrammaton were considered to holy to be written in the Torah. The word Adonai (my Lord) , was substituted for God’s personal name.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Government By The People For The People

government by the people for the people
for the good for the benefit of the people
this is what government is supposed to be
how many decades since any government
has lived up to this founding noble ideal

government telling people forcing people
to take consequences of fake political fall out
forcing people to swallow heinous waterboarding
torturous might is not right torture is crime cruelty
drowning under control conditions without mercy

repeatedly being proud of this in glory memoirs is sad
agony drowning once is traumatic struggle to breathe
agony drowning cells dying fighting to take a life breath
respire take in air suck in air inhale volume water expire
agony drowning traumatic struggle repeatedly resident evil

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Human Trafficking By Marriage

Egypt under age marriages
buying a poor child bride
bride for sale bride for profit
thank Allah is now illegal

since 2002 illegal in Egyptian law
child married three times a month
in 2002 10,000 cases of abuse
age old customs traditions in use

child marriage now illegal
in contemporary Egyptian law
Prophet Muhammad blessed
be his name would not allow

the buying selling of a child
under disguise of marriage
search your heart now read
Al Quran guide to humanity

then ask would Muhammad
repeatedly sell this poor child
as some of you repeatedly do?
By Allah judgement is passed.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Four Snortets, A Parody With Fondness For Thomas Stearns Eliot

'Now we come to discover that the moments of agony...are likewise permanent with such permanence as time has...Or even a very good dinner, but the sudden illumination-We had the experience but missed the meaning.' - from 'The Dry Salvages' by T.S. Eliot

1

Burnt Snortin'

Mister, or Sir, rather, Thomas Sterns Eliot left his evening door,
late middle age, having lived into the postmodern 'new' millennium,
having again reiterated his propounded new diet whereupon
wandering on a deserted shore near mumbling twilight one might
meet a most inarticulate soft peach or unutterable yet edible Christ,
or a close match, a little kidding, upon which we may, if we dare,
reiterative quartet playing plaintive though palliatively, dine four
squarely in Piccadilly sempiternal before getting sodden after
sundown, preferably on Friday, which is a good time to do it, to eat
and drink again, remembering that it is end of the week, out of the tube

finally unethered, trousers unrolled at last, the mission to get plastered,
doing lines in the stalls, toilet seat become an altar of dissolution.
But, despite numbness of lips and tongue, of nasal passages,
do not hope that trousers shall roll up again till Monday, and do
not call it fixity. And do not call it fistula for that is to come but not
quite yet.

And who cares? or let us forget. Teach us, O Mannered One,
to care and not to care having lost muscle plasticity which a
good pair of dark socks can cover what was once pliant and
supple, now a gruesome obscenity. Have I overstated?
Shall I overstate again? Shall I? No? not now? how all things
crumble, even a souffle caves from expectation and thus we
wait with dope, we wait without hope for hope would be hope
for another line, and yet another, and we are reduced to shouting
repeatedly shouting, Muther f*cker! Muther f*cker, overwrought,
in the stall, temperatures and ovens not withstanding.

So listen, I said to myself stalling for time for the coke to take
effect, wondering why the hell I mentioned a souffle, to kick
in wait without prematurely crashing, for the night, O Friday,
is still young though I am not so young,

I grow old
I grow old
I unfold a
hundred pound
note roll it
tightly tightly
greedy for
lines and

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poem by Warren Falcon
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Kahlo-Christ Conjunctions - Sacrificed Flesh, Broken Bread, Emmaus Vision

[The curious or, better, interested reader may view the images alluded to in this essay at this website: http: //falconwarren.blogspot.com/2011/01/kahlo-christ- conjunctions-sacrificed.html]

Kahlo Strophes

As with love, also the bellows.

Calavera*, the Future stands
hand to mouth, fingers to forehead
unfolding before still instatic shapes.
Hold desperately to frames before
these quaking perceptions.

She could not stop there,
had to flare out, dry paint,
and the dryer flesh peel down
to bone, a sexless esqueleto**,
skull no longer mustached,
a calavera, nothing more,
curved calcium reliant forever
upon canvas, what is congealed
there to fan and burn,
a 'cauda pavonis'***.

- the author, from the text below

*Skull
**Skeleton
***Peacock's Tail (an image in alchemy) .

'Poetry such as this attempts not just a new syntax of the word. Its revolution is aimed at the syntax of the mind itself. Its structuring of experience is purposive, not dreamlike. We are dealing with a self-induced, or naturally or mysteriously come by, creative state from which two of the most fundamental human activities diverge, the aesthetic and the mystic act. The creative matrix is the same in both, and it is that state of being that is most peculiarly and characteristically human, as the resulting aesthetic and mystic experience is the purist form of human act. There is a great deal of overlapping, today especially, when art is all the religion most people have and when they demand of it experiences that few people of the past demanded of religion....A visionary poem is not a vision. The religious experience is necessitated and ultimate.' - Kenneth Rexroth, World Outside the Window, the Selected Essays of Kenneth Rexroth, pg.255-256

Rexroth's words are pertinent to the images used in this essay, Kahlo's painting above is visionary, Grunewald's are religious, and several photos are both, and all are 'aimed at the syntax of the mind itself.. Its restructuring of experience is purposive, not dreamlike.' The images included in this essay, which is more a prose poem than regular prose, are meant to convey equally or more, at least as as much as, the words in their incantatory formations which may induce entrance into 'imaginal' spaces where word and image meet in a practical magic, inspire a felt understanding and perhaps gain a view or actual entrance into what ecstatic poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, calls 'the Greater Relation.'

I've decided to publish this piece-in-progress as it unwinds in spirals 'aimed at the syntax of the mind itself...its restructuring of experience' with the understanding that it may later appear in greatly altered form. In a real sense this writing writes itself; I try to heed, copy, then hone to the bone what might be wanting to be sung, for what is below, and often what I write, is more akin to music, a vocal/verbal lilt beyond a particular solid tilt of view of a world absolute, static logos.

Heraclitus noted thousands of years ago, 'All is flux.'

To this I would only add, and perhaps this is what all of my writing amounts to,

'All is reflux.'

Selah. WF

NYC,1/31/11

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poem by Warren Falcon
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