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I've never worked with the Java community.

quote by Miguel de Icaza
Added by Lucian Velea
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Java Blues

Rick danko
I walked into a diner
And the blonde behind the counter
She asked if she could help in any way
Hell, I knew by her smile
Her number I could dial
If I was in the need of company
But as I bought some java
Instead she brought me a cup of chicory
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
Dont pour me water just fill up my cup
You know it takes a lot just to keep me up
Cost may be more than you care to pay
What good is money compared to fightin pain
Dont try to cheat
Its impossible to beat
The only pick me up thats here to stay
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh coffee, oh coffee
Java blues
Coffees got me
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
The taste of java is like a cocaine rush
Nobodys gonna stop me from drinkin too much
Down in bolivia the people are insane
They want as much for coffee as they do for cocaine
Dont try to cheat
Its impossible to beat
The only pick me up thats here to stay
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
The coffees got me now..
Java blues

[...] Read more

song performed by Nazareth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Haunted By Tigers

NATHAN BEANS and William Lambert were two wild New England boys,
Known from infancy to revel only in forbidden joys.
Many a mother of Nantucket bristled when she heard them come,
With a horrid skulking whistle, tempting her good lad from home.
But for all maternal bristling little did they seem to care,
And they loved each other dearly, did this good-for-nothing pair.

So they lived till eighteen summers found them in the same repute,—
They had well-developed muscles, and loose characters to boot.
Then they did what wild Nantucket boys have never failed to do,—
Went and filled two oily bunks among a whaler's oily crew.
And the mothers,—ah! they raised their hands and blessed the lucky day,
While Nantucket waved its handkerchief to see them sail away.

On a four years' cruise they started in the brave old 'Patience Parr,'
And were soon initiated in the mysteries of tar.
There they found the truth that whalers' tales are unsubstantial wiles,—
They were sick and sore and sorry ere they passed the Western Isles;
And their captain, old-man Sculpin, gave their fancies little scope,
For he argued with a marlinspike and reasoned with a rope.
But they stuck together bravely, they were Ishmaels with the crew:
Nathan's voice was never raised but Bill's support was uttered too;
And whenever Beans was floored by Sculpin's cruel marlinspike,
Down beside him went poor Lambert, for his hand was clenched to strike.
So they passed two years in cruising, till one breathless burning day
The old 'Patience Parr' in Sunda Straits with flapping canvas lay.
On her starboard side Sumatra's woods were dark beneath the glare,
And on her port stretched Java, slumbering in the yellow air,—
Slumbering as the jaguar slumbers, as the tropic ocean sleeps,
Smooth and smiling on its surface with a devil in its deeps.
So swooned Java's moveless forest, but the jungle round its root
Knew the rustling anaconda and the tiger's padded foot.
There in Nature's rankest garden, Nature's worst alone is rife,
And a glorious land is wild-beast ruled for want of human life.
Scarce a harmless thing moved on it, not a living soul was near
From the frowning rocks of Java Head right northward to Anjier.
Crestless swells, like wind-raised canvas, made the whaler rise and dip,
Else she lay upon the water like a paralytic ship;

And beneath a topsail awning lay the lazy, languid crew,
Drinking in the precious coolness of the shadow,—all save two:
Two poor Ishmaels,—they were absent, Heaven help them!— roughly tied
'Neath the blistering cruel sun-glare in the fore-chains, side by side.
Side by side as it was always, each one with a word of cheer
For the other, and for his sake bravely choking back the tear.
Side by side, their pain or pastime never yet seemed good for one;
But whenever pain came, each in secret wished the other gone.

You who stop at home and saunter o'er your flower scattered path,
With life's corners velvet cushioned, have you seen a tyrant's wrath? —

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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An Evolution Of Javanese Religion?

Who lives on this island of Java
stone age Java man is long gone?

Java world's most populous island
scene of dramatic Indonesian history

powerful centre of Hindu-Buddhist empires
Islamic sultanates Mataram in Central Java
sultanates of Ternate and Tidore to the east
Java core of the colonial Dutch East Indies
centre of Indonesia's independence campaign

Java a population of over 136 million one
of the most densely populated places on
earth this most densely populated region
is the world home to 60% of Indonesia's
population and Indonesian capital Jakarta

Java an island formed by volcanic events
thirty-eight mountains form an east-west
spine once active volcanoes Mount Merapi
erupts most active Mount Semeru highest

Java a melting pot of religions and cultures
Indian Hinduism then Mahayana Buddhism
Shaivism Buddhism sunk roots into psyche
pre-Islamic Islamic lore belief and practice

merge murky mystic sharp divisions kyais
orthodox merely instructed in Islamic law
versus mysticism those who seek reformed
Islam with modern scientific concepts war

for mind control santri believe more orthodox
Islamic belief practice versus abangan mixed
pre-Islamic animistic Hindu-Indian concepts
with a superficial acceptance of Islamic belief

Abangan local adat beliefs integrates Hinduism
Buddhism Animist traditions or pure Sharia law?
Indonesian variance from Islam sect mushrooms

Kebatinan metaphysical search for harmony
within one's inner self spiral connection with
the universe with an Almighty God Javanese
occultism metaphysics mysticism and esoteric
doctrines exemplify search tendency synthesis

flexible syncresis in all manifestations attainable
even in conflict Javanese ideals combine human

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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School-Community

School is a community which surrounds you most
A place where teachers seem somewhat like ghosts
Believing that it’s a chance for new friends
But the community also introduces new ends

You believe that you yourself can never be true
To reside into acting into someone that isn't you
The school community soon becoming fake
Inside, many people's hearts begin to ache

We believe in not showing our true selves
The community telling to dig deep in ourselves
Slowly we start believing that freedom is forbidden
But does school truly want ourselves to remain hidden?

Friendships can lead to you being cut down
We sometimes wish this community wasn't around
But then we realise not to defy the real world
And that the real truth is being unfurled

This community teaches us to stand on our own feet
And without this test we shall still remain incomplete
The teachings is something that no one seems to share
In the real world these are teachings we'll need out there

School is a place where there are things we must learn
Otherwise the community outside will cause us to return
The community outside is the place we are yearning
But this community is the place we are still learning…

poem by Silly Artist
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Mr. Dana, of the New York Sun

Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81
A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.
His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view
Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work ter do.
Thar warn't no places vacant then,--fer be it understood,
That wuz the time when talent flourished at that altitood;
But thar the stranger lingered, tellin' Raymond 'nd the rest
Uv what perdigious wonders he could do when at his best,
Till finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed done
A heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun.

Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cuss
Who'd worked f'r Mr. Dana must be good enough fer us!
And so we tuk the stranger's word 'nd nipped him while we could,
For if we didn't take him we knew John Arkins would;
And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin' round fer enterprise 'nd brains,
Whenever them commodities blew in across the plains.
At any rate we nailed him, which made ol' Cooper swear
And Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly hair;
But we set back and cackled, 'nd bed a power uv fun
With our man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.

It made our eyes hang on our cheeks 'nd lower jaws ter drop,
Ter hear that feller tellin' how ol' Dana run his shop:
It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever saw,--
He lived on human bein's, 'nd preferred to eat 'em raw!
If he hed Democratic drugs ter take, before he took 'em,
As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he allus shook 'em.
The man that could set down 'nd write like Dany never grew,
And the sum of human knowledge wuzn't half what Dana knew;
The consequence appeared to be that nearly every one
Concurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun.

This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an item in,--
He spent his time at Perrin's shakin' poker dice f'r gin.
Whatever the assignment, he wuz allus sure to shirk,
He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on work!
If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared ter play,
The daisies would be bloomin' over his remains to-day;
But somehow folks respected him and stood him to the last,
Considerin' his superior connections in the past.
So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gun
On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.

Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83.
A very different party from the man we thought ter see,--
A nice 'nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied 'nd calm,
You bet yer life he never did no human bein' harm!
A certain hearty manner 'nd a fulness uv the vest
Betokened that his sperrits 'nd his victuals wuz the best;

[...] Read more

poem by Eugene Field
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The Amber Whale

WE were down in the Indian Ocean, after sperm, and three years out;
The last six months in the tropics, and looking in vain for a spout,—
Five men up on the royal yards, weary of straining their sight;
And every day like its brother,—just morning and noon and night—
Nothing to break the sameness: water and wind and sun
Motionless, gentle, and blazing,—never a change in one.
Every day like its brother: when the noonday eight-bells came,
'Twas like yesterday; and we seemed to know that to-morrow would be the same.
The foremast hands had a lazy time: there was never a thing to do;
The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped; and the mates had nothing new.
We'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't a yarn to use,
And all we could do was watch and pray for a sperm whale's spout—or news.
It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort; and, though many a volunteer
Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a whale came near,—
At least of the kind we wanted: there were lots of whales of a sort,—
Killers and finbacks, and such like, as if they enjoyed the sport
Of seeing a whale-ship idle; but we never lowered a boat
For less than a blackfish, —there's no oil in a killer's or finback's coat.
There was rich reward for the look-out men,—tobacco for even a sail,
And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who'd be first to 'raise' a whale.
The crew was a mixture from every land, and many a tongue they spoke;
And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an evening smoke,
There were tales told, youngster, would make you stare—stories of countless shoals
Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away at the Poles.
There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we always loved to hear,—
Kanaka and Maori and Yankee; all lent an eager ear
To that strange old tale that was always new,—the wonderful treasure-tale
Of an old Down-Eastern harpooneer who had struck an Amber Whale!
Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lad: if 'twas true we couldn't say,
Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the time away.

'It's just fifteen years ago,' said Mat, 'since I shipped as harpooneer
On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruising somewhere near
To this whaling-ground we're cruising now; but whales were plenty then,
And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay for the ship and men.
There were none of these oil wells running then,—at least, what shore folk term
An oil well in Pennsylvania,—but sulphur-bottom and sperm
Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole, and all of 'em big whales, too;
One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for sulphur-bottom, two.
You couldn't pick out a small one: the littlest calf or cow
Had a sight more oil than the big bull whales we think so much of now.
We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a little below the mouth,—
A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine degrees to the south;
And that was as good a whaling-ground for middling-sized, handy whales
As any in all the ocean; and 'twas always white with sails
From Scotland and Hull and New England,—for the whales were thick as frogs,
And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they lay as quiet as logs.
And every night we'd go visiting the other whale-ships 'round,
Or p'r'aps we'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off the Straits, and bound
To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps to sell

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Soboba

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Aftermath

Now the radio stutters. snaps to life.
Some sour song that sets it right.
And when London falls
He'd like to call
But the stars collide.
They're beautiful and much maligned.
In a universe where you see the worst,
And it's up to you to fix it.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
It's easy to dismiss the "what's it all about" crowd.
There is no doubt. it's this, here, now.
And you close your eyes.
He's not coming back.
So you work it out, overfeed the cat.
And the plants are dry and they need to drink.
So you do your best. and you flood the sink.
Sit down in the kitchen and cry.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
Now the universe left you for a runners lap.
It feels like home when it comes crashing back.
And it makes you laugh
And it makes you cry,
When London falls
And you're still alive.
The radio stutters,
It makes you laugh
And the aftermath,
Open up your eyes.
You're so alive.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
How you've worked it out
And you see it all
How you've worked it out
And you see it all

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Job Proposal

The community has no immunity from the systematic demise
Of inner city enterprise

This demise creates economic development for administrations
In the midst of inner city death cries

Poverty, an opportunity for the business community to procure
Appropriations for the revitalization of bureaucratic relations
Poverty works, it is the hidden agenda that doth lurk

Anti-poverty programs comprehensive and coordinated
Jobs for social workers, counselors and bureaucrats created
While communities, neighborhoods and ghettos waited and waited

Urban Renewal 1949, Community Action Program 1964
Model Cities 1966, Community Development Block Grants 1974
Urban Development Action Grants 1977, Enterprise Zones 1980,
Empowerment Zones 1993

The community has no immunity from the systematice demise
Of inner city enterprise

Poverty and crime are permitted to murder the inner city
Without remorse, without mercy, without justice, without pity

The need for the slums sanctions traditional deterioration of
Social humanity
Representative of, representative of bureaucratic insanity

The community has no immunity from systematic demise
Of inner city enterprise

poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Dear Candice,

If you can't sleep:

*
Make your bedroom more comfortable, keep it cool and quiet.
*
Get up and do something else. Then, go back to bed.
*
Drink warm milk or hot water before you go to bed.
*
Take a warm bath, read a little or listen to some quiet music in the evening.
*
Get fresh air and exercise during the day, but remember: exercise before bed can keep you awake.
*
Go to bed and get up at the same time every day.
*
Don't take naps during the day.
*
Avoid coffee, tea or soft drinks after 5 p.m.
*
Don't smoke or drink alcohol in the evening—it can keep you awake.
*
Don't eat spicy food in the evening.

If you often wake up during the night to go to the bathroom and can't get back to sleep, try not to drink very much before you go to bed.

But remember: if you need to take medication at bedtime, it is best to take pills with a full glass of water.

If you feel lonely:

You can spend time with other people by:

* Becoming a volunteer at your local school, hospital, church or community centre.
* Joining a seniors' club at your local church or community centre.
* Taking a course at your local school or community centre and learning a new activity.

You can also call and talk to a different friend or family member every day. You may want to write a short letter to a friend or family member who lives far away. Sometimes, just writing to someone can help you feel that this person is with you.

If you feel anxious, tense or worried:

* Try to relax by breathing slowly and deeply.
* Take a walk.
* Choose an activity you really enjoy doing, like listening to your favourite music, and do it.
* Tell a friend, family member or your doctor how you feel.
* Join a support group so that you can talk more about your anxious feelings.
* Take a relaxation or exercise class, like yoga, at your local school or community centre.
* Take a course and learn how to do an activity, like needlework or woodworking, at your local community or seniors' centre.

For more information, please contact:

ariel escalona, the sleep expert...(ha ha ha)

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If We Worked Today...

if we worked today
with equal hands,
with equal hearts,
and with equal backs...
if we worked today
with equal souls,
we'd build a world
worth dying for!

if we worked today
with honest hands,
with honest hearts,
and with honest backs...
if we worked today
with honest souls,
we'd build a world
worth dying for.

if we worked today
with loving hands,
with loving hearts,
and with loving backs...
if we worked today
with loving souls,
we'd build a world
worth living for!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Chatting Today

I worked for the union and on my very first communion, you know,
It never ever, ever, ever worked out right
So I spent the night sleepin on the railway
I worked for the foundry and man my mind it nearly drowned
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
It never, it could never work out right
So I said so long, amigo. good night and slept on the railway
The railway, theres no better way, ooh the railway
And its nice to talk to you today
I worked for the miller, a very, very nice type of fell-a {fellow}
But I could see that it was never gonna work out right
So I split and spent the night sleeping on the railway
I worked in the subway arc, oh yeah, yeah
You know it never, no no never, no never no, ever no, worked out right
So I said so long and spent the night on the railway
The railway, give me a bottle of whiskey, ooh the railway
Ooh, theres nothin like the railway
And Id like to thank someone for mascara and good things that I done
And for the time ya spent and the friendship begun
And most of all starry nights on the railway
Ooh, I dont know no better way
Than just, ooh, lyin back an drifting away
I can hear it, I can hear it

song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Chatting Today

I worked for the union and on my very first communion, you know,
It never ever, ever, ever worked out right
So I spent the night sleepin on the railway
I worked for the foundry and man my mind it nearly drowned
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
It never, it could never work out right
So I said so long, amigo. good night and slept on the railway
The railway, theres no better way, ooh the railway
And its nice to talk to you today
I worked for the miller, a very, very nice type of fell-a {fellow}
But I could see that it was never gonna work out right
So I split and spent the night sleeping on the railway
I worked in the subway arc, oh yeah, yeah
You know it never, no no never, no never no, ever no, worked out right
So I said so long and spent the night on the railway
The railway, give me a bottle of whiskey, ooh the railway
Ooh, theres nothin like the railway
And Id like to thank someone for mascara and good things that I done
And for the time ya spent and the friendship begun
And most of all starry nights on the railway
Ooh, I dont know no better way
Than just, ooh, lyin back an drifting away
I can hear it, I can hear it

song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Third Book

'TO-DAY thou girdest up thy loins thyself,
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee,' said the Lord, 'to go
Where thou would'st not.' He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downwards.
If He spoke
To Peter then, He speaks to us the same;
The word suits many different martyrdoms,
And signifies a multiform of death,
Although we scarcely die apostles, we,
And have mislaid the keys of heaven and earth.

For tis not in mere death that men die most;
And, after our first girding of the loins
In youth's fine linen and fair broidery,
To run up hill and meet the rising sun,
We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,
While others gird us with the violent bands
Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,
Reversing our straight nature, lifting up
Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts,
Head downward on the cross-sticks of the world.
Yet He can pluck us from the shameful cross.
God, set our feet low and our forehead high,
And show us how a man was made to walk!

Leave the lamp, Susan, and go up to bed.
The room does very well; I have to write
Beyond the stroke of midnight. Get away;
Your steps, for ever buzzing in the room,
Tease me like gnats. Ah, letters! throw them down
At once, as I must have them, to be sure,
Whether I bid you never bring me such
At such an hour, or bid you. No excuse.
You choose to bring them, as I choose perhaps
To throw them in the fire. Now, get to bed,
And dream, if possible, I am not cross.

Why what a pettish, petty thing I grow,–
A mere, mere woman,–a mere flaccid nerve,-
A kerchief left out all night in the rain,
Turned soft so,–overtasked and overstrained
And overlived in this close London life!
And yet I should be stronger.
Never burn
Your letters, poor Aurora! for they stare
With red seals from the table, saying each,
'Here's something that you know not.' Out alas,
'Tis scarcely that the world's more good and wise

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On A Seven-Day Diary

Oh I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and talked and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and watched a show and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate steak and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and fucked and went to sleep.
Then it was Saturday, Saturday, Saturday!
Love must be the reason for the week!
We went shopping! I saw clouds!
The children explained everything!
I could talk about the main thing!
What did I drink on Saturday night
that lost the first, best half of Sunday?
The last half wasn't worth this 'word.'
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and went to sleep,
refreshed but tired by the weekend.

poem by Alan Dugan
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Two Christmas Eves

I

THE white snow veils the earth's brown face,
Strong frost has bound the veil in place--
Under the wide, clear, dark-blue sky
All choked with snow the hollows lie,
Dead-white the fields--once summer sweet--
And woodlands where we used to meet:
We don't meet now, we never part.
Ever together, heart to heart,
We've worked, lost often, seldom won,
Seen pleasures ended, pains begun,
Have done our best, and faced, we two,
Almost the worst that Fate could do--
Yet not Fate's uttermost of ill,
Since here we are--together still!

For me you left, my dearest, best,
Your girlhood's safe warm sheltered nest;
For me gave up all else that could
Have made your woman-life seem good.
You thought a man's whole heart was worth
Just all the other wealth of earth;
I thought my painter's brush would be
A magic wand for you and me.
What dreams we had of fame and gold,
Of Art-that never could withhold
From me, who loved her so, full powers
To make my love for her serve ours,
To shape and build a palace fair
Of radiant hours, and place you there!
Art turned away her face from us,
And all the dreaming's ended--thus!
Our garret's cold; the wind is keen,
And cuts these rotten boards between.
There is no lock upon the door,
No carpet on the uneven floor,
No curtain to the window where
Through frost-blanched panes the moon's cold stare
Fronts us. She's careless--used to see
This world of ours, and misery!
Why, how you shiver! Oh, my sweet,
How cold your hands are, and your feet!

How hot this face of yours I kiss!
How could our love have led to this?
What devil is there over all
That lets such things as this befall?

[...] Read more

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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I was interested in Java the beginning, but the problem with Java is you do have to switch your platform.

quote by Miguel de Icaza
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This evolution may compromise Java's claim of being simpler than C++, but my guess is that the effort will make Java a better language than it is today.

quote by Bjarne Stroustrup
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3

when he wakes up
his thoughts are heavy
like ripe plums,

java he remembers,
big waves, and
volcanic eruptions,
humanity running away
to save what is it
that values themselves
to the right to live

java plums, violet, darker
than that, miserable,
covered by magma,
heights and disbelief
it happened in one
wink, and then one buries
all to forget, like a book
one goes to the next
chapter: this one is about
discovery, happiness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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