Abuse Bluetry # VI

An abuse a report I don’t retort I save my I for you
Sanity or peace – at the crossroads I want a piece of pie

I’ve got the virus so bad down my pipeline, I talk poetry instead of words, spittin rhymes all the time, lost memory recording rumination rhyming in time chillen. A virus striving to proliferate, probing pounding my mon venus, veins vibrating rhythms of poetry I can’t hold off any longer a vaccination didn’t cure the poetry virus my wounded soul carries, I can’t fathom who I am, where I exist in a labyrinth of sanity this way to feign pain to the inner sanctum.

Formatting bluebirds wrangling on a computer keyboard for seeds before flying off with obsidian torts in moonlight gazing settling stark naked on peeling disseminated trees branches.

Leave form for them who see more than I see who I say I am a local shape-shifter, birthed conscious universality of incense timed algorithms who constantly lie absorbing every I in my world of I’s am who they say they are and I am you, the I in my eye is same as your eye

I promise you the world today if only you’ll publish me the deed in lieu of foreclosure signed sealed and delivered –heart and soul for an ounce of the blues I’ve strung here stung here, be nice don’t stare don’t disrespect - I don’t want to be cuckolded either but everyone can’t be a stones’ throw away once the best will come to those who come knocking last ain’t x-actly held beholden true – ooh ooh your way is as good as trying to get when you got when you try anyway cause you can’t admit you’d ever give up or if you did how could you.

Absorb like a sponge with poetic touch a genius of sense sentiment each vertebra holds promise of spirit gazes crossing deserts of darkened psychopaths lost a vision, a sky light of delightful glimmers beckons to see murky ink beneath that star gaze.

Heart pussy dick one woman or man I can’t recall, point is, why can’t I be me first and second be my gender tell me is it my race, religion all copycatting social rejects, disaster, despondence and glee. Like a glacier rotting away I sit eating ice cream while the world degenerates, the landslide arrives in tow of my wisdom. All ow ance to tow my heart in lieu of surrender to a horrendous poetry deed –Buddha beckoning open window let the wind escape its misery accepted by this cityscape.

Gender race face all the rest glee gall all about who we know not who we are - love the poetic glow, get got a new face a new race a rhyme and rhythm hijacking inner flow has entered my soul and I got the blues here for sure, I got my face back on set, timed to society’s soul fell on face get up and go again brush of the dirt and wipe the tears choice.

Publish me I promise you I’m for sale in lieu of poetry foreclosure. I’ll lick your toes, fit your image sell my soul blow me say my name. I’m down with the devil as much as you are in society’s grasp. I strive to inhale exist side by side. Explore – search for more - heard about poetic genius the other day, got the bums rush - how cool is that for more.

Rain georgettes violets
poet laureate soul for sale
writer extroadinaire
poet for sale … how much will you pay?

A Little Thirst is all ... To Quench or A Completely Distasteful Yet Very Likely Story Explaining How Disease Travels...

The day had been a long one beginning with church in the morning and including relatives rarely seen. His sister Sara was getting married this Saturday coming and today was Christmas. His father’s sister, Audrey and her husband Delmar, had arrived yesterday from Albany with his niece, Farah, and nephew, Freeman, in hand.
The dinner feast had been served early and everyone was relaxing full with good foods, baked honeyed ham and stuffed Cornish hens. Sara and her fiancé, Delroy, stretched out on the sectional leather recliners of the couch watching some early night TV while the other adults shared laughs and drinks. Carlton sat in a corner of the kitchen watching the scene unfold like the dusk outside. Marisa sidled up to his mom and they whispered and giggled. His mom jiggled her boobs in her low cut dress. Carlton watched his Dad, Cornelius, standing near the RCA Victrola humming to the music he played, spinning the stem of his glass of red wine. Freeman, who was sixteen, stood next to Cornelius pressing closer, and talking into his ear. Cornelius put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and the two laughed.
Marisa passed her wine to Freeman, saying, “Want some baby? Yo’ mama don’t let you experiment too often and since I’m passin’ you the glass, you may as well cut loose with family first.”
Freeman accepted the wine shyly pressing his lips to the wine cup like an unknown lover. Carlton's mom passed by him and ran her fingertips along his spine coquettishly. She passed his chair and reached above his head into the cabinet for a clean glass passing it to Audrey. A chill passed through Carlton and he shivered involuntarily after her hand had left his skin.
“How bout you baby,” his mamma Carleen cooed to him, her fingertips eliciting a new shiver, you want a lil’ too, his mom said brazenly offering Carlton her half full glass.
“No, mom, I’m cool, ” Carlton said, thinking that twelve years old was still too young for drinking. He wondered how high his mom was.
Delmar entered the room, pulling his tie off with one hand and scratching his ear. As he passed by Audrey he playfully spanked her butt and as he passed by Carlene his arm passed fleetingly across her upper back to her waist. Carlton wondered if she shivered too the way he did when she touched him. Was that the way all touch was?
Carlton knew that his sister had told Audrey and Delmar that they could use her bedroom tonight and she’d also made it clear, that she’d be bunking in his along with Freeman. The little girl, Farah, would sleep on the couch and his parents would stay in their own room.
Carlton got tired of the show and went upstairs to be alone for a while. He turned up some Led Zep on his cd player using his headphones. Relaxed and nicely worn out, he let his mind wander and pulled one of his mags from under the bed. When he awoke it was dark in the room and he heard the sound of steady breathing. His sister was on the lower bunk bed with her leg hanging loosely over the edge. His cousin, Freeman, was on the upper bunk and Carlton listened as Freeman turned in his sleep, and a soft snore escaped his lips.
Carlton felt his penis engorged and got up to go take a piss. He put on a pair of pajama bottoms and then decided to go downstairs to get a glass of water. He passed by his niece who appeared calmly sleeping. The sectional recliners were still out and she lay there by herself. There was a soft night light from the kitchen. Carlton went to the sink and put his hand to feel the water. He stood a few seconds waiting for the water to run more coolly. When he felt satisfied, he drew a glass from the sideboard and filled it with cold water.
He sat on the couch next to his five year old niece swallowing huge gulps of water. Carlton went and refilled the glass and returned again. He again gulped. The ham had been very salty. He put the glass on the table and stretched out thinking the moonlight coming through the blinds was the perfect amount of light. He looked over at his curly headed niece who had turned towards him with eyes wide open. He looked into her eyes and felt that familiar thrill of a shiver pass over his body. The blanket had fallen from her and it twisted about her feet. The room was warm. He reached over intending to cover her and put his arm at her waist. Farah’s nightgown had slid up to her waist and she had no underwear on. He tugged at the hem, intending to pull down the skirt of her gown.
Instead Carlton impulsively reached around to her front caressing her mons pubis. Neither broke eye contact. With no intention of proceeding further, suddenly his fingers were between her labia. It was very moist and inviting. Carlton moved his index and middle finger very lightly, the moistness absorbing him, her eyes compelling him. He felt his finger blend into the moistness of the labia, his finger inhaled by a soft pliant wet crevice. The pleasure he felt reflected in the moonlight cast across her face and her gaze remained steady, her lips slightly parted like his mother’s when she ran her hands across his back. He pushed his third and longer finger down a bit more while his index played with her man in the boat. Farah sighed contentedly, her eyes fixed on his.
Carlton turned away feeling the hot rise of a blush full of shame, he hurriedly sat up. Earlier he’d refused a drink and now he’d touched his five-year old cousin. He looked at her once more in the eyes and she stared back supplicantly with doe eyes. He turned away and ran back up the steps to his own room and lay on the guest bed where he’d been earlier, before he had woken up to hear his sister and cousin’s snores and needed to piss and drink water. Isn’t that all that happened after all?


The point is - sexual abuse runs in families. Mom was abused by uncle Jim and then her son is abused by her dad is the way of it. Speaking out is the only way to end the abuse. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Reading writing ... equals literacy

The recent article I wrote on my blog, Our Educational System, spurred me on to re-examine how this system affects our young students and their skills. As a social worker who worked in our system in public high schools with teens from 13 to 21 years old for 16 years and then worked with pre-k children for another 5 years, I’d like to share what I learned about our children and their skills. This necessitates a comparison.
Back when I was in school we had five classes per grade, beginning with the number 1 class and proceeding to the number 5 class. Thus, there was 1-1, 2-1 etc. Logically speaking one would have thought that the 5 class would have been the slowest and the number 1 would have been the fast learners, however in my school, the 1 class was the “quick learners” and the number 2 class was the "health education class," which included wheelchair bound children and very slow learners. What really was strange was that everyone knew how to read albeit some read more slowly than others. Also everyone eventually learned to write as well. The slower learners weren’t as good with grammar and spelling and for many of the slower learners, spelling and grammar problems remained. I was always in the number 1 class as I was very precocious and generally learned anything to do with reading or writing very fast. My deficits were about where things are, so maps and map memorization was a problem for me. There were always more than 30 children in each class. In those days, my neighborhood, Washington Heights, (now called Hudson Heights by all the realtors) had many foreigners. The difference is that they were from many places, not like now when there are a handful of Russians and mostly Dominicans. There was a great influx of Puerto Ricans and Greeks to my area, and people from Russia and other Slavic nations (the nations now have since changed names). From the time when I was very young, all my teachers complained that I couldn’t keep quiet. Any foreigner was seated next to me and usually learned English quickly as I would share my notes and help them. This situation also seems unique now.
The first 5 years I worked with pregnant teens in high schools, I learned that over half of our students could not write a proper sentence. About half could write within two years of their grade level. About another quarter could write with many spelling and grammatical errors but the words would make sense. And the last quarter or 20% could not logically string one sentence to the next to write a cohesive paragraph on any given subject matter – even on one they know about. For example, if they were asked to write a paragraph on who is their favorite rapper and why, only half of them could do this successfully. I was dismayed to observe how poor their writing, reading and comprehension skills were. Teenagers 15 years old were writing at what I judged to be a second or third grade level. At this time, some of the high schools I worked at tried to get around this issue by teaching their youngsters to think and to argue out a point verbally. The principals applied for waivers from the state so the children could do a series of oral defenses and speeches instead of taking regents, where they learned to argue a thesis from beginning to end. I was impressed by what I saw but still, again, there was at least 40% who could not keep up to the regiment or structure and this was in spite of the judges trying hard to be very lenient. I wondered why our society had changed this much from the time I was a teen to now and I still don’t have an answer. I have met writers too who are good writers, and they cannot spell and don’t know proper grammar. Professional agents and book companies have told me, that they feel basic academic writing skill is unnecessary and unimportant. They say, what is important is that the person write well or rhyme well. I can round this out by adding that they will further say that's why they hire someone like me to do the editing and clean it up. And the weird thing here is that I know how to make street lit sound street lit enough and put in enough modernisms to make it a go on both sides too. White people and everyone else in the public schools now write Ebonics if they write at all. Proper writing is a dying skill today.
A few years back, a young man was sent to me from 9th grade. I was told to find out how he had gotten to this grade and couldn’t read or write at all. I did as I was told and apparently, he was such a sweet personality, that no one had paid attention to the fact that he couldn’t read an entire sentence. Even when given a children’s book for 5 to 7 year olds, he could barely read any of the words. OK, I admit this is unusual, but not as unusual as it seems. I have also met special education students who could barely write, but who could spout beautiful rhymes instantaneously apparently effortlessly as well.
I grew up without a television. Our radio broke when I was about 6 and wasn’t replaced for a few years. Books was my only entertainment, without which, I would have suffered even more than I did. As I tell everyone, my childhood was fraught with anxiety and despair. My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was a few months old and the first year of my life welfare sent a series of caregivers to care for us so my dad could go to work. My mom was in hospital for about 6 months. We were have-nots in every way. I had two dolls which I had been given after I’d turned 6. I washed my own clothes and ironed them at 7 years old. Sorry, I wish I knew what childhood meant. One sister liked to play teacher and I learned to read and write to please her originally. I was reading and writing at 4 years old. I read and wrote for love.
Obviously I have no idea where this dilemma of our literacy is headed but one place it is headed is to put the entire onus for literacy on the teachers in the way of statistics like I described in the previous article. I also think that perhaps our society is going to return to a previous age when letter writers got paid and people got paid to read to others too. In the middle ages there was a particular class of people that were paid to perform this service for the general populace. Hey if I live long enough I can be one of those people. I urge you to talk to our teachers about this, talk to each other – you’ll see I’m not exaggerating.


Also check out this fascinating stuff:
John Taylor Gatto and his official website

Our Educational Sytem

Lorraine Kashdan got me started this morning on this educational memory lane tangent. I have a long history with the old Board of Education of New York City and the new Department of Education of New York City. Different names to feed us a new line of shit. I don't know how the educational system is in the UK but as the mom of an LD son and also because I worked (past tense) in our school system here for 21 years, I can tell you a lot. The system is a lot of bullshit and does not work to help you get what you need. Lorraine you touched a nerve! Ouch!
Our schools here in New York City have experts from UK visiting here to rate us and tell our administrators how to improve - but are UK success rates that much better? Not really if you do some research.
Our system here is about paperwork - not children's needs. Here you have to be an advocate for yourself and your children's needs. If you’re not – your children will fall through the cracks. Been there and done it and glad to be out of it on all counts ... professionally and personally - well not quite yet – as being involved with DubbleX means being involved with his son’s educational needs too.
I’ll give some history here then come back to my original thesis of how educational values are going down the drain and statistics are the on board values of the day and how now, raises will be given to those who have good statistics.
Back in the old days with the old board, my son was given several labels and diagnoses. As his condition changed and improved over the years he outgrew his diagnoses. The point is these diagnoses are all bullshit. The things to think about and work on are the child’s deficiencies. Once you have a clear idea of these deficiencies, it is easy to devise or find someone who can devise a series of instructional lessons developed to meet these deficiencies. My son’s educational deficiencies were in reading/ writing and math. My help came from an older sister who told me to use phonics to treat the first and gave me specific instructions. She said start with the letters AT then move through every letter of the alphabet and put it in front of the AT. This was only for starters. Eventually through this system you’d work your way through every vowel. OT, OB, OD. The point of this is that I sat with my son with a notebook. I divided the pages into 4 columns. The other first columns are the original columns we created together and afterwards he copied each word to the other three columns after we had practiced saying them several times.
Following is a short example of how my son and I worked together. I’d sit with him. We’d both have our own notebook and I’d kick off our learning session, “AAT is not a word, what about BAT? And I instructed him on sounds of each letter. After I wrote it on my own pad I’d wait while he copied in his first column. Then we’d go to C. CAT, etc. No doubt this was tedious but by the end of a summer following this routine my son’s grade level went up over 2.5 years. I also bribed him with whatever he wanted. Sometimes it was a special treat like burgers and fries at the local diner. Sometimes it was a comic book from the store. My sister ridiculed me when she found out I supported his love for comics and insisted he needed to read the classics. I read him Treasure Island. Honestly I didn’t remember this detail but my son happened to remind me of this the other day.
The math thing was very similar, beginning with the number 1 and adding 1, then 2 then 3 to the number 1 up to number 10 and copying it over 3 times. Eventually we got to 10 plus 10. The minuses go the same route. 10 minus 1, 10 minus 2, 10 minus 3, etc.
There was a clear parallel development between my inner growth and development and his. The more I learned about how I could parent him without losing my temper and by using a series of tactics and maneuvers to get him to do what I wanted the more I could move things along for both of us. I developed as a parent as he grew and developed.
Later when he was older we memorized the times tables with great difficulty and eventually he was permitted a calculator in high school. He was permitted to substitute a computer course for Spanish since that seemed to be undoable for him. Strangely, he took a liking to sign language and learned some from a friend of mine quite easily. Pity, that wasn’t an option for him. Obviously his mind works differently and he has developed a different pattern of intelligence.
My son not only graduated high school with honors, when he was in 7th grade, his nation wide testing scores proved how much this had helped him. His reading level tested at 12th grade level. Comic books are a mother to read – try it yourself sometimes – comic book writers have a great vocabulary. My son is a college graduate. We accomplished this with the following tactic. He dictated while I typed. It worked better this way for the papers he was required to write on various subjects.
I am very disappointed in the value of the educational system. A close friend, a history teacher, told me the other day that he was put on the carpet about his regents stats not being high enough. Even when students come from another school and he has never met them before, or students he hasn't taught for several years, show up and take the regents in his school he is responsible for their grades on the regents. Tell me anyone – does this make sense?
After this, his principal met with him and wrote him up for not having high enough pass stats. This teacher wrote a reply saying that his scores were 15% higher if you took out the children he never met before. When you took out the children who he met but it was over a year ago, then it came up another 5%. Still 68% rate is not good enough. These are children who may miss a day or 2 or more each school week.
Then the principal followed this up with that he has to see every test this teacher gives the class at least a week in advance. This particular history –social studies teacher makes up weekly quizzes for each class. He was further instructed by his principal to write every question on any of his quizzes from recent regents exams given over the last 2 years. This teacher went and bought half dozen regents prep books and began reading them so he could do as he was told.
This high school social studies teacher couldn't believe that the word holocaust is never mentioned or that it is only called World War II and makes no written mention of the word Nazi. This teacher really lost his mind when he saw that none of these books made any written mention regarding the 6 million Jews who were killed. What is written instead is "many people were killed". Yes indeedy, many people were killed along with 6 million Jews, gays, Asians, Gypsies and all ethnic types mixed race/religion bloods. Our educational system is becoming a system of systemically fed mistruths or partial truths feeding our children a very watered down version. Teachers are going to be rewarded for good statistical reports - not well educationally rounded children. Our educational system is turning our future, our children; into insipient, easy to control robots while the rich and powerful continue take control. Our children won't know our past, which is necessary to creating a new future. Those who are in charge - including Obama - don't have their children attend our public schools! Our entire educational system is a political challenge to an endangered species - us.

Bluetry Full Circle Smoke Blues #12

Bluetry Coming Full Circle I Smell Smoke or Bluetry Full Circle Smoke Blues

I'm blown away in the smoke of my mind created by the smoke of the eye mind of your mind.
I'm gonna take a sip of that southern smoked cooking, finger lickin' chickin charcoal broiled smoke embers rising from ashes I'll meet you there after I get me some smoked salmon mr brant, I love me some smoke dreams, with perfect seams, flawless rising in silver swirls

Frenetic – full of poetic madness I arise out of smoke slowly rising flowing from discarded disregarded embers of burned words into mad repetitive self perpetuating silver swirls.

My bluetry emerges at that speak-easy softly lit smoky lounge on the left where the mood is set with red and orange burning embers candle lights giving off smoke rising in silver swirls.

The crowd inhales my words and exhales patchouli oil scent silver swirls of smoke rising.

On a roll – jelly-roll - my bluetry spell has taken its toll, let the good times roll, and forget about sorrows or tomorrow, think about today. I'm too busy, come tomorrow there's a lot more networking to do.

Lost in a series of masquerades, delusions to who I am allusions and illusions - let er rip for old times sake daddy sing me those blues tonight!

Under the magnolia tree I fell skinned my knee, the sky ripped open clouds burst and the street went up in smoke I thought I must’ve toked some real good stuff because next thing I knew whole city was up in smoke and I was with a chartered band going nowhere fast and an open wound read my prayers somewhere those blues those blues were wailing, the trombone feels my blow as my words flow to slow the utterance of my soul, the whole world is up in smoke unless you stop try the tracks we’re on. I’m sorry I gotta move on – all this smoke is getting in the way of my living.

Living aggrieved in poetic frenzy- I give my life away up in smoke going once twice sold, I can’t capitulate capitalize civilize cooperate encapsulate, insulate any more, just let go let the good times roll you can’t always get what you want and if you try sometimes you may just find what you need and so lady smoke had her way with me, she got to me finally in my ever evolution I keep searching for solutions.

I need someone to love, fit me like a glove, turn down that candle now. It’s giving off to much smoke I can’t inhale. I wanna make some love now, play those blues in the background while I put my life on hold, sit here waiting for you to get your shit together and taken aback by constellation of fate I’ll read the emancipation proclamation to see if I understand you. I’m a jew, you know, and they been trying to eliminate jews a long time from the main stream.

Keep us all quiet with our little asses fighting each other to keep our masses down. We stay redundant - reducible to molasses while the conspiracy roars in my ears we keep fighting one other instead of taking their asses down a notch or two.

I’m so blue I can’t breathe. All that smoke – the whole world is up in smoke, not a joke.

Up in smoke.

Billie's Blues on Consumerism - Bluetry #5

Consumerism’s got the best of me in spite of my fighting so hard to maintain the good thinks in life. I keep fighting a losing battle. I want to believe the best things in life are free but I get stopped in my tracks.

Buy buy buy they implore, while I have nothing left to buy with except very extended credit debts. I’m outta cash supply, debts mount easily. Buy, buy, buy, come read poetry. Buy a glass of wine. You can’t sit there and read. You’ve got to pay your dues too. Don’t forget the entrance fee. Cough it up.

Tons of paper discarded daily senselessly. No one could be so sad. Trees ask me to tell them why they’re born to be discarded they wail about their senseless lot, they live to be - they ask me if I know why it’s like this, what’s all this suffering for? I cry. I cry.

Lights on in every room whether you’re home or not to keep the burglars away. In Harlem Mexicans crowded 3 families to each apartment while we pay taxes to build another Yankee Stadium right next to the one already there. The rich pay more for private boxes while Mexicans live in NYC barracks, 20 in a 3 room apt, barely able to pay the rent. Please I beg you give the poor some of my taxes instead I plead. They turn a deaf ear. Please, please?

I sit in my room looking out at the rain, no one could be so sad. Gloom everywhere, I sit and I fear, I don’t know what the world is coming to.

Kill canned hunts. WTF, what kind of concept kills caged animals for a few dollars from the rich? I can’t wait. I want to kill hunters; torture them watch life slowly drain from them, their heads lolling to one side. I place their head on my lap. Take a pic too, like they do to the lioness bleeding from her mouth, trying to feed her cubs behind the fence, teats full of milk. Make them like quarry, my prey, another trophy.

You can’t hide from the ugliness I try to hide I do, I do. I can’t take much more.

I sit in my chair filled
Filled with despair.
No one could be so sad.
gloom everywhere, I sit and I stare. What’s the state of the universe? Is there anybody out there?

The ugliness all a glow, picture show for family. Bring up your moohlah! We got yours here. Worse than Sodom & Gomorrah. My soul’s for sale. Name your price! Sold to the devil at the crossroads!

This revolution will not be televised; will not put the shine back on your teeth. Civil rights gone, lives tapped into by government, someone’s in control somewhere. Not me, hey, I’m all alone in here waiting for the pain to go away. I sit in my chair full of despair, no one could be this sad.

I cry to trees. They hear my pleas. No one else does.

Please! Please. Is there anybody out there?

Credits go to the following sites for publishing this poem previously:

Mad Swirl

Kevin Zeese occupy blog

Occupy Wall Street Anthology

Bluetry by DubbleX and Violet

Days vanish in the world pool of time, grabbing a few moments before the tsunami of tomorrow washes away memories in a violent abrupt reality and leaves us clinging to a branch of yesterday

Pulled out to sea to swim in a thousand tomorrows to be drowned in the whirlpool of today.

Proletarians keep staring, wondering what happens to their millions 

Society did not make me crazy but it certainly isn’t good for my sanity

Joy forces circles into squares, it works for her

Sometimes life is forcing circles into squares

You rescue me

You are my EMS my NYPD, my NYFD, my doctor, my nurse

You care for me when at my worst

You quench my love thirst

I get so fucking tired of talking to machines

I say stuff and machines don’t know what I mean

I get so vexed I start to scream

I push cell buttons

I press 0 for the operator but only the machine talks to me

They program it so that it has a slightly husky partly raspy computer voice

They even have a machine that talks in a black voice

I am gonna die, you’re gonna die too but before we all leave, 
this whole world’s gonna know 
that we came thru, that I am who I am and do what I do

You do what you do, what do you do,

you let the world know that Dubblex and Violet came through

the only people that drown are the ones that panic,

I wanta chill gotta try to do or die

maybe one day man won't die

maybe one  day people will no longer cry

maybe one day will come

When color is nothing more then a rainbow in the sun

Life is one drop of bittersweet wine. Don’t whine about spilled wine 
drops off the lips of time-spilled fine wine.

The drop runs off the table and stains the rug, splash, a new design

Is this life span in time before your drop-splashed life

Love as long as this dash between birth and death last

These atoms represent me

They are nameless; they are contained in me

My atoms go deep to my soul energy

Everything we see is vibrating energy

These atoms are labeled me walking upside down in my spiritual anatomy

Mimicking Marilyn Nelson (a tribute)

Every once in a while I like to mimic other authors. Early on in this blog is a mimicking Marguarita Duras. Don't know why it tis' I like to do so, perhaps to show I can. This mimicking Marilyn Nelson was written in 2000 in a class where we were studying her works. The professor later asked us to mimic an author in style. I've caught her flavor here and pass it on for you to judge. Pity I don't recall the name of her original poem.



Lorraine stood barefoot by the parlor door
Watching the dancers glide across the floor
She’d polished smoothly on her knees that morning
along with every other household thing

Her cakes are all the rage that night
and Miss White’s gown is oh so tight
about her waist, while Lorraine’s pastries
draw the guests to glance her way, she giggles

Mister Tyler draws near to the parlor door side
Where Lorraine stands peeping, holding the drapes aside
His hand stretches out to touch her shoulder
Then drops to encircle her waist, they shudder.

Lorraine fidgets to escape his firm embrace
Swiftly he spins her while tilting up her face
at an angle to gently meet with his left hand
Lorraine feels ashamed, all those ladies dressed right - so grand

Spinning frantically across the room, she spies Mr.Tyler’s uncle
his face masked with a smirk and disapproval.
Whirling and turning, her face glowing hot, hot, hot
Mister Tyler grins, pleased by her embarrassment

and the power it gives him, the control over Lorraine
never foreseeing a future with their son
who he would claim to own, yet refuse to raise
Lorraine alone would love her son, and for this, give praise

MORE ON JESUS ND BEING JEWISH

Am I proud to be jewish -
I am and I’m not,
I don’t know I guess

I’m proud of being jewish
because being jewish means
to be educated, a literary lunatic
in certain circles,
you know what I mean
I know they had tough jews
my father sat on the cusp of that realm
on the outskirts of the jewish mafia

nd ... I suppose...I’m as liberated -
nd as free as one would want to be
or can imagine to be in this society
or any other, again, I suppose
But you asked me
Am I proud to be a jew

I am but when people make disparaging remarks
such as jews are cheap
or you killed jesus
jesus please forgive me;
I wasn’t born yet to suffer for ur sins

so I ask you; if jesus died for ur sins
then forgive me please
and if he died for mine
forgive me again please
but remember jesus is my forefather
and I do follow his path
being an upstart and all
runs in my family
saying what I mean, and doing what I say -
follows jesus also and is why he died for our sins
Isn’t it?

Jesus was an upstart and so am I
our big and honest mouths get us in trouble
So much time wasted arguing & fussing
when we’re all only visitors here of our own demise.

Sestina Of Life

Crisis is either way you lose
different from win some lose some
Gotta keep plugging along
light at the end of the tunnel
a new moon wilderness
my heart, a song of desire

my psyche is brimful desire
momentarily mine, a life lost
new spring & full moon wilderness
Just a little more, more time some
times life is like winding tunnels
gotta keep plugging - moving along

I don’t follow others, I move along
to my own beat, why admit what I desire
Is it there at the end of this tunnel
If I can’t see I’ll surely get lost
again even if sometimes I win some
This city is just like a wilderness

wild flowers, blue birds, mosquito wilderness
and danger lurks so best choice all along
not always clearly heard say some
Pretend to have or not have desire
There are only painful losses
hidden away in underground tunnels

skin deep vicissitudes tunneling
to surface; a wild card in a missing wilderness
of light, Ye of little faith, you can’t lose
I’ve known it my entire life, all along
Finally, the truth! My heart’s desire
I’ve come into my own; I’ve come into some

O.K. I’m content it’s this much, then some
Found there while digging an underground tunnel
solidified in old accomplished signs of desire
on the sun’s desert moon of the wilderness
scent of bergamot trailing along
Nostalgic gazes fazing ambitious loss

loss doesn’t mean I don’t have some
left like our lives tumble along a tunnel
of love and encompass a wilderness of desire